Ca797d 0- \ 1^ THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES THE DOMESTIC HEARTH, AND OTHEE POEMS. T II E DOMESTIC HEAR T H AND OTHER POEMS. BY ISABELLA CAULTON. S E C O i\' 1) EDITION. " That Great Altar, wberr the wont amoiiKst ub somelimen perform the vorthip of th« Krart, anil where the beat have offtri'd up nucli nacrilirun, and done «iich deeds of heroUm, a>, chronirliM, would put the proudvat ii inplcs ul Uld Time, with all ilu'ir vnunliuK annnl>, tu iL< bluah." CuAaLkf Dii uunt. MANCHESTER: linAIISllVW AMI BLACKLOCK, UROWN STRKLT, AND KLliKT STKEKT, LONDON, TO MRS. HUDSON H A UVERBllACK, WESTMORELAN D. CZ7f?U My Dear Mrs. Hudson, It is with feelings of unmixed satisfaction that I avail myself of your kind permission to dedicate to you my metrical essays. Indeed, to whom could they be more appropriately devoted, than to one under whose roof the greater number of them were composed, and who has ever, in her own life, illustrated the beauty of the subject on whicli tlic chief of them treat ? As an earnest tribute of esteem, an offoring of sincere affection, 1 intrcat you to receive my humble volume. A few words regarding the Poems themselves may not be here misplaced. My aim has been to represent, though in a detached form, the influence, the importance, of a Religious Home, — of a holy and happy Hearth, — IV DEDICATION. of woman's sway in its best and purest sense, — of the love, the duties, the mutual delight, that should unite the members of one family, the little band that God himself has knit together. The consequences of such a " Domestic Hearth " I have endeavoured to shew in the " Departure of the Missionary," " Ernest," and others ; how far 1 have succeeded must be left for my readers to decide. "Many of the " Miscellaneous Poems," and nearly all the " Poetical Emblems," have already been published, and, though conscious of their imperfections, it is altogether with more of hope than of fear that I send forth my volume ; as, while from its want of pretension, it may escape the notice of the critic, I feel that at least it holds forth no false light to allure, no evil principle to mislead. I remain, my dear Mrs. Hudson, Your affectionate ISABELLA C A U L T O N . M ANIinKSTKIt, Srpftnber 'lllh, IHCl. PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION. In again presenting her little volume to the notice of the Public, the Author cannot but express her acknowledgment of the kind reception the work received on its first appearance. She ventures to hope the present corrected edition may be equally fortunate, and the additional Poems it contains, meet with the same kind consideration as their companions have already done. MANCnitHTKIl, Srptrmbn ISlh, I»44. CONTENTS THK POMKSTIC HKARTH. '^o"- iNTRODfCTony Stanzas .. .. •• ' Dbparturb of tub Missiovaky .. 3 The Fatbkri.ess ' A Skbtcu '0 Tub Kvknino Invitatiom .. .. •• ■• '*' Bihthuat Lines "' Ernest '^ Tub Old House '■' A Dbatu Scenk V. V^ 1 Bl.KS!« TUBE AS thou SlEKPEST 31 The Old Home '•< a moovlioiit w m.k •'*♦' A I.AV or DrPAHTiKK ■*0 THK ( llll.ll't I'llAVJIK •*■'* To <'llUISTMA» ^ IloL'sKiioLD Call and Hvmn *** To MY WksTMORKI AM) FIoMK .. Jl VI CONTENTS. POETICAL EMBLEMS. PURITV . . . . . . . . . . . . b7 A Sorrowful Remembrance .. .. 59 Humility.. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. 61 Good Humour €3 S.^.VCTITY . . . . . . . . . . . . 86 Glory . . . . . . . . . . . . 68 i.mmortality 71 To TiiK Lily of the Valley .. .. .. .. 73 Wild Flowers.. .. .. .. "5 The Faded Noseoav 77 Introductory Stanzas for my Sister's Album or Trees asd Flowers 79 KRAGMENT.S. Memory .. .. .. 83 Outlines of a Life 89 The Parting .. .. .. .. SA The Hidden Fountai.v .. .. .. 97 The Convict lUO ivii.sceli.am;ou3. Tub Lover of Natuke'.s Farewell .. .. 107 Lines, written on a Moonlight Night .. 110 A SoNo of Farewell.. .. .. .. Ill TiiK Warrior's Finkiial 114 Tub Stranger's Uravk .. 116 The Conqueror's IU-rial .. .. 118 A Urkam 121 'I'rkeii. . 126 CONTENTS. VH MISCELLANEOUS. Lines, written .-vfteii Visiting an Infant School 129 SoNO OF TOE Adopted .. •• •• '^1 On a Lock of Hair, on the Envelope op which WAS written "Your Mother's Hair." .. 133 Ou! BRING SIE NOT TO CoiMlTLY HaI.LS 137 A Painted Group of Rki> and White Roses ., 139 Lines, suggested from a Scene in tub concluding VOL. of "The Water Witch" .. 141 Remember SIe .. . .. 144 The Old Familiar Faces 146 Song 143 Come to .Me.. .. 149 The Labourer's Evening Song 151 A Cradle Sono 152 Water— Air— Earth 154 Stanzas .. '58 I .Saw Him Pray 160 A I)rea.m of Home 16J Co.M.MUVlNOS '<>4 The JIother to hkr First Horn 169 HiiADOws .. •• 173 Sono 1'4 SACRED PIECES. MiSKRERK 177 Invocation to the Spiuit .. .. .. 1'9 Notes 1**3 POEM S. THE DOMESTIC HEARTH INTRODUCTORY STANZAS. The Domestic Heartli ! oh love it well ; What its light hath wrought, oh who can tell? How it hath soothed, by Memory's thought, How it hath saved, by the truths it taught, How its spirit-remernbered tone Hath spoken peace to the stricken one! Thy father's hearth ! oh torget it not, Though rich and great be thy after-lot ; Whate'er the world may have brought thee new, It hath given no love more pure or true, Nor are its riches or loftier ties Aught to equal thy home's sweet sympathies. THE DOMESTIC HFARTH. Thy childhood's liearth ! what happy play, What love outpoured on thy daily way, Its annals give; — thy mother there Sat with her meekly-braided hair, And watched untired; thy father smiled, And shared the noise of thy gambols wild ; And there thy sisters' maiden glee Heightened the household harmony. Thine English hearth ! thy first sweet home ! Oh never let this world's shadow come. To chill the warmth it could once impart To the budding hopes of thy youthful heart : And when thou prayest on bended knee Remember, that hearth first taught to thee, The glory of Heaven's eternity ! THE DOMESTIC HEARTH. THE DEPARTURE OF THE MISSIONARY. He went forth 111 his Saviour's strength, to spread his tnitli '5Iong heathen isles: yet when the moment came Tliat he must leave his English home, and all Familiar things, the strong man bowed Within him. " I leave ye, fond and dear ones, leave ye now, And well indeed, this parting hour may bow My soul in bitter anguish ; I ne'er knew The love I bore ye, never felt how true Your constancy hath been; beloved ones! tell, May not tears mingle with a last farewell ? " Father, once, once again I bend tlic knee. As when a child before thee ; let there be A blessing in thine own familiar words For him who leaves thee! strike again, the chords Where memory dwells; speak, as in mornings past, A benison upon mc ; 'tis the last." THE DOMESTIC HEARTH. The old man rose in a parent's might, And he laid his trembling hand On the youth who there before him bent, Ere he sailed for a foreign strand ; His voice grew firm as the v^-ords flowed on, And thus that father blessed his son :— " I bid thee God speed, in His holy name Who for our sakes suffered reproach and shame ; I bid ihee go, as to battle-field, With the Spirit's sword, and the Spirit's shield; The cross is thy banner,— thy captain, the Lord, Desert not his service, obey thou his Word;— Be faithful to death in the Christian strife, And thy God shall give thee a crown of life. " Then held he the youth in a last embrace, And hid on his bosom, his aged face. «• Mother ! thou hast not forgotten the days. When at morning time and even, Thou taught thy lisping child the ways, That lead to God and Heaven — My mother, I go, among heathen, to raise The prayer of thanksgiving, the hymn of praise, I go to teach, what thou taught me well, The faith of the land where my kindred dwell ; THE DOMESTIC HEARTH. 'Tis a thorny path, and a perilous one, Oh ! mother, wilt thou not ' speed ' thy son ?' Fast fell the mother's tears, his head she laid Upon the breast, which pillow oft had made For her beloved one ; kissed again the brow, She felt as tho' she ne'er had kissed till now ; Pressed to her own, that cheek so dear, so pale, Then wept again a mother's bitter wail ; But it passed over and she bade him go In tones as calm, as rippling water's flow. "Go forth, my bright one! go in duty's path. And point the refuge from Jehovah's wrath ; Let pious breathings from thy lips invite Strangers to share the Spirit's holy light : Thy mother blesses thee, and prays that He Would give thee of His own bright purity. •'Oh, Holy Saviour! look thou from above, Send on thy servant here, thy heavenly love, To thee I give him ; be his guiding light, His shield in peril, and his strength in fight, — Comfort and soothe him, till his day is done ; fJod of the martyrs' army, guard my son!" THE DOMESTIC HEARTH. Two graves are in a green churchyard, Beneath an English sky, The blackbird warbles o'er the sod, A riv'Iet murmurs by ; — In India's burning land is made The Christian preacher's grave ; Yet, shall their spirits dwell with Him Who mighty is to save. THE DOMESTIC HEARTH. THE FATHERLESS I stood again beside the hearth, Where once my father smiled, And though kind voices greeted me. He welcomed not his child ! They took me to a grassy grave, I saw the white tombstone, And then I knew the tale was true, That he indeed was gone ! Father ! I knelt not by thy side When life was fading fast, I dreamed not that the dart had sped, That thou hadst breathed thy last ; — I did not see the peaceful smile, Gleam o'er thy pallid brow ; Hut the blessing that thou left thy child, Is with me even now ! THE DOMESTIC HEARTH. Oh ! father, 'twere a selfish thought To wish thee here again, Back from thy home of peace and rest, To bear earth's weary chain ; Yet, could I call thee one short hour, How would I pour to thee My heart's full weight of suffering, — My love and misery. I'd lie once more upon thy breast, As I was wont to lie, When a little child thou fondled me With a parent's perfect joy; And thou should'st kiss away my tears, And smile away my pain — Oh ! father, father, those are hours That may not come again ! My father ! when I met thee last, I little thought 'twould be The very last expression Of thy tender love to me ; I pictured hours of happiness Within our quiet home, And wliat destroyed my visioned liliss?- A shadow from the tomb. THE DOMESTIC HEAKTH. My father ! did'st thou see the pang, That rent ray heart in twain, When first they told me that thy voice I ne'er should hear again ? Oh, no, tliou didst not, thy freed soul E'en then had winged her flight To the mansions of eternity, The realms of endless light. Thou had'st been welcomed ere that hour. By her, thy sainted child, \Vho, a little while before thee, passed, A spirit undi'filed; Her seraph-voice now sings to thee. The strains that angels hymn, — No pain can hush its melody, No death her eve can dim. My sainted dear ones! I will joy. That ye are freed from earth. That sin, nor woe, can never more Within your breasts have birth; And I will whisper to my heart. When grief is bursting o'er, "They are not dead, our parted ones. Nor lost, but 'gone before.'" 10 THE DOMESTIC HEARTH. A SKETCH. He pined for his wild glades, Kor the sweet breatliiiigs of Spring's joyous sky; The gleaming l)eaiity of the primrose beds, And the rich forest-paths' dim shadows. He thought to look upon his childliood's haunts, And woo from their pure air, the truant, — licaltli, To ])aint his cheek again: oh, how fondly Would he stray their paths among! would seek The green hill side, to court its fresh'ning hreeze. And hathe his fever'd brow in the cool stream, Where the hanging houghs of wilding roses Threw even a mid-day shade : there would he lie. And with enraptur'd ear drink in the sounds Of nature's cheerful voice,— the tinkling rill That went so gently on; and yet with such (ilad music, — the bird's wild gushing song, And the low ceaseless hum of busy insects. THE DOMESTIC HEARTH. 11 Redolent of life and joy. It was his Favourite spot ; for there in happy years, When deeper lore was left, his chosen Mate and he had lov'd to stray ; had revell'd O'er pure thoughts in lofty rhyme ; had marvell'd At the tales of red-cross knights and their bold Deeds; of perill'd maidens aidless ; of good And guardian genii, watching tenderly Their earth-born charge ; and all the gentle tales Of the sweet fairy tribe, that sport within The lily's bell, and sip the midnight dew From the cup lichen's goblet. How did those Witching dreams fill their young hearts ! had they not Seen those bright green spots where all around was Wither'd, and wore not these the very courts For fairy revelries ? had not soft music Wild as air-harp's voice, blent with the fountain's Gurgle, whene'er the western breeze sigh'd thro' The crannies of the rock, under whose bhade They lay ' His later prayers are answered now, And he stands once more beside the stream : once More the west wind brings its murmuring sound — Again the brook's wild ripple joins the tune; The same rough beauty shines upon the crag ; The same sweet wildflowers deck the verdant sod ; And the same songs of blackbird and of thrush. 12 THE DOMESTIC HEARTH. Make melody among the leaves. Alas ! That he is changed! — weary years of exile 'Mid the city's toils, the anxious thought, The burden, and the care, that commerce brings Her sons, bows down his frame; too late he comes, For all his well-lov'd birth-place now can give Ts a green grave to rest in. The autumn Leaves fell dry and sere, and rustled 'neath his Tread ; the evening breeze grew strong and chill, And his sick frame weaken'd as days wore dark; Yet, while his strength remained, he oft would stray Where tlie declining sun enrobed the west, Watch the red light, upon the winding stream, And list the wakeful bird's last tuneful note; And then Faith's trustful smile would light his brow, And he would thank, with a child's love, the Father For his gifts. Round the glassy slope of our Green churchyard winds a little rill ; it chimes A cheerful hymn among our dead, to tell Us there is life ! — life yet! for those we mourn ; Just where those waters sing their gentlest song, And where the elm-bough hangs its leafy shade, His grave is made. THt DOMESTIC HEARTH. 13 THE EVENING INVITATION, Sec, love, how soft the sunhcams f;ill Across our lattice pane ! And hark the blackbird's evening call, — Shall we not forth again ? Yes, let us hasten to the bower, Beneath our broad oak tree ; Where verdant leaf, and blooming Howcr. Were trained and Kd by thee : Stood I not by and praised the while ? And thou did'st say my look and smile To thee in truth were far more dear Than aught that God hath given thee liire. 14 THE DOMESTIC HEARTH. Come! see how gracefully the shade Is thrown of yonder trees ; And listen to the music made By birds and humming bees : And look thou at the golden corn, On the gently-rising lea, It waves beneath the evening breeze, Like thy loved billowy sea : I'll bring our boy, and sit me down Beside thee, whilst thou tell Of islands in the far-off seas. Where the swarthy pirates dwell : I'll listen to thy perils, love. In the tropic's scorching noon, The blackness of the stormy wave. The poisonous simoon : Thou'lt tell of the plumed chief, who dwelt Where grows the tall palm tree, — Think'st not I love to hear his name, When he saved and tended thee? And see our boy, his baby brow, His bright, blue, glancing eye, Are raised unto his father now, As if inquiringly : Will he, too, love an ocean life, A war-ship be his home ? — liut no wild thought of parting now Across my heart shall come. THE DOMESTIC HEARTH. 15 Here is our bovver, and here the tree, The birds sing in it merrily ! The sky is one deep golden glow, The wheeling swallows come and go, Our child is lying on my breast, I feel thy arm around me prest, The hour, the scene, — all, all combine,- Oh ! what a happy lot is mine ! 16 THE DOMESTIC HEARTH. BIRTHDAY LINES, I greet thee, brother ! for once more The laughing Spring unfolds her store, Once more the sunbeam's bright'ning ray, Sheds glory on our pilgrim way; Again the fresh'ning breeze of morn, Calls us to meet it at the dawn : Light bounds the stag on upland lea ; Low bends the bud to kissing bee ; And all things young and bright and fair, Meet in the spring day's balmy air. Thy birthday, brother ! oh ! how well Can faithful mem'ry weave her spell. And bring before me at this hour Thy infant charms in all their povv'r, — Can 'mind me what I felt the while I watched thy cherub, playful smile, When first I kiss'd the baby boy. And wept, — ay wept, — a sister's joy. THE DOMESTIC HEARTH. 17 But years have pass'd since thou didst rest In peace upon our mother's breast ; And the' not yet may sorrow throw, A shadow on thy youthful brow, — Not yet may worldly cares, or strife, Fling their dark shade around thy life, — Yet has each year, in shine and gloom, Been one step nearer to thy tomb. And oh ! could I thy burden bear, Of earthly woes, and pain, and care; Could I but shield thee from the sob Of bitter grief, the burning throb Of agony, — thou shouldst not know One sigh of pain, one hour of woe, But journey through this vale of tears. Bright joy increasing with thy years. Dear art thou, brother ! lov'd so well, No earthly act could break the spell That binds mc to thee ; no, tliougli Shame Should darken with her clouds thy name. Though Hate should shun thee, Crime should bring Her with'ring touch, her serpent sting, — Though o'er thy head hang every ill. Yet would I bless thee, — love thee still. 18 THE DOMliSTIC HEAKTH. And now farewell ! I fain would send One spring-bud from my heart, to blend With flowers of brighter hue, and lay A garland at thy feet to day ; And that is done, while thro' my soul Afiection's deepest raptures roll ; And though behind the mist of years, Too oft, alas, approach'd with tears, — / cannot write, or speak, of all The blessings that on thee may fall ; Yet, in one line, my prayer I'll tell, God bless thee, dear one, fare thee well. THE DOMESTIC HEARTH. 19 ERNEST. I. He sat by the side of a lovely bay, Whose waters in beauty and calm there lay, Gliding in murmurs the beach along. As the zephyrs passed o'er them in breezy song : The moonbeams their silvery brightness gave To the light sea-spray of each mimic wave, And touched with those rays of refulgent light The sails of each bark with glittering white, 'Till they seemed as they passed on their path, to be Some wandering spirits of that blue sea, Who had left their home in the coral caves To sport for a while on the restless waves. 'Twas a beautiful scene, — so fair, so pure, So holy and still, few hearts could endure A glimpse of earth's pleasures and wiles should come To lure the thoughts from that fairy home ; Yet one, a dark stranger, he took no heed Of the glorious sight ; he cast as a weed 20 THE DOMESTIC HEARTH. Away from his breast, the soothing spell Of a moonlit sky ; and he heard them tell Of a God in the beauty on which they gazed, Whom with their hearts they worshipped and praised,- Of a heaven, beyond those azure skies, "Where the dead in faith, hereafter would rise, With a cold disdain, and his lip the while. Would curl in a proud contemptuous smile ; He joined not the music of choral song. As it echoed the sacred roof along ; And when knee was bended in sanctity, There Ernest disdained in his pride to be. Destruction's withering glance had been Within his dearest bowers ; And Death's cold hand had torn away His fondlicst cherished flowers ; His soul still mourned for broken ties. Of earth's frail friendship given. His hopes were placed on idols here, Not one found rest in Heaven. Woe, woe for man ! bright hopes hath he, And strong affection fit for holy things ; Yet, round the weeds of earth entwined they be, And to such failing props he ever clings ; — Himself, immortal as his purchased home, He wastes his all on earth, nor looks beyond the tomb. THE DOMESTIC HEARTH. 21 II. Soft evening came again ; — and Ernest strayed In yon lone valley ; the bright sunbeams made A parting glory round the forest trees, The air was perfume, and the evening breeze Came, with its murmured music ; the bird, Sweet-voiced as Heaven's own chorister, was heard Trilling her lonely notes : one dwelling stood Half in the shelter of an arching wood, — A home of beauty ; a glorious ray. The ling'ring farewell of departing day, Lay on its threshold ; but there came a moan, A sob of grief, a low suppressed groan, Signs of deep woe within ; he paused, and gazed Thro' a half-opened casement ; there he saw A youth upon his couch, whose eyes first raised To Heav'n in prayer, with deep love and awe. Now turned and rested on the mother lone Who knelt beside him ; she was silent, — all Her lowly faith, her trust, scem'd vanished — gone, For he, her last, her cherished one must fall. She mused in grief upon the liours When he, the dying one, would play, A happy child among the flowers, More beautiful than they ; She saw him in maturer years, The soother of her widow's tears. 22 THE DOMESTIC HEARTH. Then turned she to his death-touched brow ; — He spoke, — " My mother weep not thou, Nor mourn that I must leave thee ; He, who lives Eternally, the Holy One, — He gives His chast'nings to his own ; He never leaves, Nor will forsake, and even if He grieves Thy heart, my mother, 'tis to heal again With more abundant blessing for the pain, — . Oh weep thou not ! we yet again shall meet Where He, whose name I worshipped at thy feet. Will present be. Speak to me ! let me hear Thy voice again, and let the tones so dear, Breathe His own words. Mother, dear mother, speak 1" She raised her head, and then in accents meek. She spoke in prayer, "Lord, thou art good alone. Not mine own will, but thine, yea Thine, be done! " One moment more, and all his woes are past, — A smile, a murmur'd — " Mother " — 'twas his last ! The stranger saw and heard, and not in vain, " There is a world where love shall live again," Was echoed through his breast; he turned aside, And sought the forest ; vanished all his pride And wild delusions ; truths he would not hear Erstwhile, now came with balm, and with a tear, Contrition's purest offering, he made The wood a sanctuary, and the scorncr prayed. THE DOMESTIC HEARTH. 23 THE OLD HOUSE. " Life and thought have passed away." ALFRED TENKTSON. The house was old, and chill, and vacant ; The once wide-swinging door creaked slow on Rusty hinge ; the window-panes where childhood's Seeking eyes had watched, where summer winds Had stolen tlie rosehud's breath, to scatter Far and near its fragrance, — were thick hung with Dust, and thro' its gloom the noonday sunbeams Scarcely passed. In sooth, a mournful look It bore, deserted rooms echoing but Strangers' footsteps ; a cold and cheerless hearth, Damp on the walls where pictures erst had shone, And all sweet voices gone. 24 THE DOMESTIC HEARTH. Methinks, among The things of common life that meet Decay, Wither beneath his crumbling touch, and lose Their brightest hues in his dull ashes, — none Hangeth on the heart with such subduing Spell, as a hearthstone deserted. The place. The nestling place of household happiness. Where the voice of love sounds sweetest, where the Rich treasures of the cultured mind are all Unstor'd for home delights : — the spot her form Has hallowed, who bore, and watched, and gave in Her pure life, a living beauty to the Truths she taught ; — the place where all the strongest Links of life are first and firmest bound, To all time hence is sanctified. So we, The strangers in that lonely place, stood by. While thought, — sad, chastened thought, — stole o'er our hearts. And then one came and said, how once, long years Ago, a bride, with him she loved came in Her happiness to this her home : how, in Summer eves they wandered by the side Of the calm river, sought the mossy bank Of the wild dingle, where the glow-worm woo'd Her lover ; and when Winter's snow lay white Upon the ground, and storms swept o'er the hills. Then, round their glowing hearth, (sacred to her, THE DOMESTIC HEARTH. 25 In that he blest it ■with his presence and His love) — they held communion sweet of Wedded hearts. And so years passed away, And round the daily board in the wide hall, Gathered young faces, full of life's first joy. Who shed o'er all, the sunshine of their glee, And made these quiet rooms ring loudly with Their mirth : but the legend told, how sadly Changed the mother's face, how anxious was her Brow, and how, when youthful heads were bowed In sleep, she sat alone by midnight fire ; For he who brought her there, and bade her call It Home, left her for noisy revelry. Lo, as the speaker told the tale, how strong IJefore us rose the image of that wife ! How deemed we that we guessed the thoughts that passed In reverie across her ; her girlhood's home. Would she not think of that, so tranquil And so kind ? Her mother's smile, her father's Voice, the book and song around the winter's Fire ; — and the time when lo, another joined Their social knot, soon the best loved of all ; His voice, liis look, the pressure of his hand, When 'ncath their own sweet-scented lime he poured His heart's tale forth, and prayed her be to him Companion of his way ; — oh ! what did she, When these precious dreams of days gone by 26 THE DOMESTIC HEARTH. Illumed her heart ? TVTiat could she do, but weep And pray for him, and bless him ! Then we asked What time brought to this sorrowing one? and The teller told, — that worn at length with grief And slow decline, she lay her down to die. And how her failing voice breathed forth her faith Unto her God, her love for those he gave ; And that until the moment when her eye Had looked its last, her heart had ceased to throb, She strove with soothing words to comfort him Who knelt beside in grief : his was the hand She held in life's last grasp, — his the face, on Which her eye fixed its last gaze, and on his lips Love's last and ling'ring kiss, — and then around The hearth a little mournful group gathered In their first desolateness : the fair-haired Girl, with quivering lip and tearful eye Recalling, 'mid her grief, her mother's words, The lessons she had taught upon that spot ; The boys, strong in young unbroken spirits. Yet bowing down their heads, to hide the tears That would not be controlled ; and the young child Whose seat had been its mother's knee, whose bed Its mother's breast, calling with louder cries On her, who for the first time answered not, Nor came. THE DOMESTIC HEARTH. 27 Alas ! and he, the wo-struck man ! Who valued not the gem until 'twas lost, Wept he ? That night, he, with his children, knelt Beside her bed, and vowed a holy vow Unto his God, to guide his orphans in Religion's path; quit the ways of folly And of vice, and raise an altar where she Long had prayed. And when to him, all grey with age, The summons came, he parted from the world In Christian faith, and round his couch, his Children's children knelt and wept their sire. 28 TUE DOMESTIC HEARTH. A DEATH SCENE. Her eyes unclosed And turned with looks of fondest love upon The boy, the brother, who knelt in sadness By her couch ; the glowing tints of autumn Sunset, streaming through the open lattice, Threw a ray of glorious light around Her dying form ; but ere the last sad seal Of death was stamped upon her brow, one bright Ray of genius, one flash of former Days, passed o'er her heart, flushed the wan cheek, Lighted the dim eye, with more than earthly Beauty ; and then, soft murmurings came, Affection's parting tribute, to the dear Earthly tie that still remained, her choicest And her last. "Weep not for me! for though my strength decay, And feeble life is flitting fast away ; Yet think not, that to leave this world is loss, My spirit now can spurn the earthly dross THE DOMESTIC HEARTH. 29 That long enchained it ; and this lower sphere, Excepting thee, contains no being dear ; And thee I now can leave, for thou hast known Thy Saviour's love, and He will guard his own — Weep not for me. "Weep not for me : there is no cause for tears, My soul is now beyond all wayward fears ; The sting of death is not ; for He who bore Our sorrows for our sakes, hath passed before Thro' the grim portals, and for us did pave The way to bliss, by victory o'er the grave ! Weep not for me. " Weep not for me ! thou shouldst not grieve for one Whose trouble, sorrow, and whose toil are done ; Thou shouldst not mourn that freely I can go Where the pure streams of Life Eternal flow ; And I, who oft have felt disease and pain, And dwelt in sorrow, should I turn again To things of earth, now that I stand before I'lic very threshold of my Father's door ? Weep not for mc. "Oh! no, mine own! my loved one! who hath twined Thine image round my heart, seek not to bind Me still to earth ; it may not, cannot be, E'en now, my soul is flutl'ring to be free ; 30 THE DOMESTIC HEARTH. But oh ! forget not, in a few short years We'll meet again, where thou shalt shed no tears, For He, who long hath loved us, will be Our joy, our glory, ours eternally ! Farewell, thou wert God's dearest gift, and He, Oh ! He will bless thee — Weep not then for me ! " THE DOMESTIC HFAKTH. 31 I BLESS THEE AS THOU SLEEPEST. I bless thee, as thou sleepest, my beautiful, my child ! A joyful watch beside thy couch, my heart hath oft beguiled, — I gaze upon thy infant face, I kiss thy lineless brow. And the gushings of a mother's love, o'erflow mine eyes e'en now. Not two have been thy summers, my joyous one, my pet, Thy mother's voice can soothe all thy baby troubles yet ; No cloud hath overshadowed thee, but what she can dispel, And ihy love, and thy endearments repay her care full well. But there are years of future, which it may be thou wilt sec. And then her arm be powerless, to ward off ill from thee ; A shade may come upon thy brow, a dimness on thine eye, And a weight of this world's misery, upon thy spirit lie. 32 THE DOMESTIC HEARTH. Oh ! even, as I gaze upon thy soft and rosy cheek, A vision rises shadowing, what other years may speak ; Earth's sorrows hring their heavy loads, earth's joys their soul's unrest, And her glory, and her bravery, their thorns to wound the breast. I see before me all that train of busy hopes and fears, Which first are bright and glittering, but close in bitter tears ; Life's dearest treasures perished, her rainbow smiles believed, — God shield thee, young and dear one, from all my vision weaved. Yea, holy thoughts breathe round thee ; I know that He can guide, Thy spirit's bark in safety, o'er temptation's foaming tide ; And when thy soul is heavy, and when thine hope is dim, The comforting of faithfulness will surely come from Him. Oh boy ! my spirit bows me ! He who gave, alone can tell The yearning hopes o'crflowing, from Love's undying well ; — But Sleep's warm spell unlooses, again for me thou'st smiled, And to my heart I press thee, my beautiful, my child I THE DOMESTIC HEARTH. 33 THE OLD HOME, " Blest That home, where God is felt." FELICIA HEMANS. There was a Home, a love-bright Home, It stood in a garden's shade, Where flowers of various form and hue A living perfume made ; And trees, rich trees ! the honied lime, The spreading sycamore. The chesnut with its giant leaf And ivory crests it bore. By that dear Home the old church stood, With ancient buttress grey. Where childhood, youth, and hoary age. For years had knelt to pray ; And the bells of joy, the knell of woe — Signs of life's varied hour; — For centuries their tones had rung From out its ivied tower. S4 THE DOMESTIC HEARTH. Around that Home green hills were spread, And bare crags rose between, While little rills went merrily, Their birth-place all unseen ; And when the sun in pomp and pride Sank to his evening rest, The last gleam of his golden rays Lay on the calm lake's breast. Yea, beautiful that dear Home stood, Nature's pure charms around ; But beauties holier than these Within its walls were found ; There dwelt meek Charity, there Faith Her high inspirings gave, — Teaching the lamp of love to fling Its radiance on life's wave. Oh ! sweet the voices that were heard Within that Home at night, When the cheerful Hearth illum'd the walls, With rays of flickering light ; And when upon the wearied earth Night's heavier shadow lay, The little band assembled there, United, knelt to pray. THE DOMESTIC HEARTU. 55 Alas ! alas ! in that dear Home The stranger's foot doth tread ; And he who claimed our reverence there, Lies with the cherished dead ; The tidings of redeeming love By other lips are told; For God hath taken to His rest The Shepherd of the fold. Oh! pastoral Homes of England ! How little do some know, The streams of Truth and Holiness That from your sources flow ! How, in the world's rough, rugged path. Or luring, treacherous way. How strong the bands, ye forged to guard, About the heart will stay ! But we, who shared that dear old IIomL-, Tho' severed be our lot, Will love its memory as a shrine. Its lessons unforgot ; One golden thread will ever hold 'Neath cot or lofty dome ; For a blessing rests upon its strength, — The tie of a holy Home. 36 THE DOMESTIC HEARTH. A MOONLIGHT WALK FATHER. AMY. FATHER. A calm, still, moonlight night. How hushed its beauty, and how stilled its life ! The tall trees throw their shadow, but their boughs Are tuneless now, song hath chimed itself To sleep. The flowers lie side by side, with leaves All softly folded in perfumed repose ; High in Heaven's arch above, the stars twinkle Witli dimpling light, and round the moon, fleecy Clouds hang their light drapery. Beautiful, How beautiful is night ! and oh ! how rich The many-coloured thoughts that spring from speech With her ! Who bringeth to the pining heart Forms of the lost, the parted ? — whisporcth In the ear, tones of some voice that death hath Stilled long years ? — and to affection's weeping Eye giveth sweet dreams ? 'Tis night; kind, watchful Night : My spirit wooes thee, quiet one, comes THE DOMESTIC UFARTII. To thee from the angry chafing world, from The rough din and glare of day, bares her thoughts Unto thee, for that thy breathings, comfort ! (Pauses.) But come, my child, my fair-browed girl, come yet A little forth : rest thy dear arm in mine, Thou dost not fear this mingled light and gloom, This calm so breathless ? AMY. I do not, father : Mv mother ever loved this hour, and oft \Vould bid me pause, and think if beauty such As this were earth's, God's gift to man, what must The glory be, of Heaven, God's own throne ? FATHER. Vet, dost tliou love to ponder on her words My Amy ? 1 do my father ; Oft in the fading light of the rich summer's Eve, I deem 1 hear her voice ; gentle its Tones were always, — and that one sad moment 37 3$ THE DOMESTIC HEAKTH. When her pure soul took flight with whispered words Of Christian triumph, more frequent still, Is present to my mind. FATHER. She was the angel Of my life ; the sun that lighted in my soul The beams of heavenly knowledge ; gentle She was, and in that lay her strength ; pure was She, and thereby throve her teachings ; patient And hopeful ever, and her woman's love Bore her thro' all. Be thou like her, child, And thou may'st be a guiding light, and bless The path of others yet unborn. Woman's Virtues are for all time ; their influence lasts From life to life ; Heaven's dew in silence Rises, noiselessly performs its task In the grey twilight, and tree and flower, And blade of grass, alike are strengthened And refreshed. So, in the sanctuary Of her home, should woman's teachings be. But Hist, our village clock chimes later hour than I had thought ; yet, ere we homeward turn, tell To me once again those words thy mother Loved ; slie taught thee them at such an hour As this. THE DOMESTIC HEAUTir. 39 AMY. Tread lightly ; 'tis a sacred hour, A quiet sabbath time ; The breeze hath ceased, and lulled to sleep The murmurs of our lime ; No ripples stir yon placid lake, Darkened by coming night. The birds that sung from yonder brake Are silent ; tread ye light ! No whisper I let not language speak The beauty that ye see ; Gaze ye, and worship, but be still. Nor let a sound from thee Break the deep silence that pervades The grandeur of this spot ; There is not even a leaflet stirred, — Tread lightly, — whisper not! Breathe softly ! o'er our head is stretched Earth's noble canopy ; The moon is risen, and she reigns In Heaven most gloriously ; Here, let thy soul admire, adore, And thy deep feelings waft Incense to Him, who framed the whole : God present ! Breathe ye soft ! 40 THE DOMESTIC HEAKTH. A LAY OF DEPARTURE, Now, I depart, For I have lived the last of all my race, And wandered in their ruined dwelling place, Lonely in heart. The rank weed grows In the wide hall, and man's rude step hath thrown Each fragrant beauty of the garden down, — Trampled the rose. And forms, who shed A living beauty in their graceful glee, Visit no more the dear home-paths with me, For they are dead. I saw the tomb That opened first for age, receive the flower That just had budded in its parent bower. In all its bloom. THE DOMESTIC HEARTH. 41 One after one In manhood's prime, in beauty's youthful grace, They passed away, and in the ancestral place Left me alone ! 'Tis a sad thought That one, should go forth on the wild world's tide, And the dear ties who would have stayed beside All vainly sought ! Asa rich tone Of wcll-rcmembercd music, is the voice That once could make my weary heart rejoice, Tho' long since gone, To join the hymn Of angel voices, in the heav'nly throng, Who to their blest Redeemer's courts belong ;- But day grows dim, And one more look, I fain would give to all The hallowed remnants of my father's hall ; — And then to Him Ilcnce I commit me, — who tho cup of woe Draini'd in His patience, though to overflow, It p.'issed the brim ! 42 THE DOMESTIC HEARTH. Still I go not ! Oh ! little, those with all their kindred bound Think how the lone heart clings, e'en to the ground Of a loved spot ! How the soul pours Her passioned feelings forth, upon the things Yielding fond tales to which pale mem'ry clings Of long past hours ! But daylight goes ; Dimly is thrown a pale ray on the walls, Heavy around me night's dark curtain falls, To grey repose. With aching heart. In distant climes 'mong strangers hence to dwell, To thee old home, I bid my last farewell ; So, I depart! THE DOMESTIC HEARTH. 43 THE CHILD'S PRAYER, Those peaceful holy words, How beautiful they come, From the ruby lips of childhood. In the shelter of its home ! When with raised hands and eyes, In hushed and childish awe. The " Heritor of Heaven" prays To keep his Father's law. There were fond eyes upon him bent, As the boy in silence knelt ; There was a heart that with him went. And each petition felt : And blessings on his own young head, On his loved and childish ties, Echoed upon the mother's heart, With winning sympathies. 44 TUE DOMESTIC HEARTH. And then he murmured " Lead us not Into temptation, Lord," That needful pray'r, which after-years, Unuttered, may record ; Oh, little knew'st thou, fair young child, Of what thou asked for then, How need it, when in time to come Thou art a man, with men. The sinful heart, the wayward will, That brooks not of control ; The weight that passion's storminess Loads on the struggling soul ; The world's wild witchery, the love Of luring things, and strange, — All, all that earth can do to work A deep, a burning change ; — For oh ! e'en love may prove a snare, (So frail a heart have we ;) Thou to the gift the worship pay That should the Giver's be ; — Thy good may wither in thy grasp. When thou a hold obtain'st, — Oh ! little know'st thou, darling boy, What thou hast prayed against ! THE DOMESTIC HEARTH. 45 But deeply did my spirit feel The burden of that pray'r, And fervently an Amen breathed To Him who saw us there : Oh I in the daily paths of life, How frequent should we pour These strength'ning words, " Deliver us, In wild temptation's hour." 46 THE DOMESTIC HEARTH. TO CHRISTMAS, Thou'rt welcome merry Christmas With thy hours of mirth and cheer; — Thou'rt welcome, though thou markest The close of another year. Thy leafless trees with snow wreathed, Thy hoar frost on the hill, The lake erst dimpled by the breeze, Bound in thy chains, and still ; Right welcome art thou, Christmas, For the tones of love and glee. That haunt our social hearths and homes. With cheerful melody. For the kindly words affection breathes, Upon thy hallowed morn, When to suffer and to die for us A Saviour was born ; And many a greeting, Christmas, Will be given thee by the young, THE DOMESTIC HEARTH. 47 The joyous ones whose spirits light No sorrow hath unstrung ; There will be sweet hours, Christmas, Gay meetings, friend with friend, And love will nestle 'mid the group, And soul with soul will blend. I, too, may greet thee, Christmas, With something like to joy. Though what thou bring'st is mingled With Earth's impure alloy. Yet blessings are there many About my path which climb, And fond and true ones share with me, Thy happy firelight time. Then come thou, welcome Christmas, Though cold and dark thou'rt clad ; Age hath a cheerful smile for thee, And youthful hearts are glad ; And when thou goest, Christmas, Leave with me as we part. For all the gifts thou broughtest, A lowly, grateful heart. 48 THE DOMESTIC HEARTH. HOUSEHOLD CALL, AND HYMN. Home ! for the flower has been left by the bee, Home ! for the song-birds are hushed in the tree, The sunlight has faded from valley and hill, And silence is brooding, deep, solemn, and still. Home from the city ! come, father, come now, Smoothe the deep lines on thy care-riven brow ; One looketh for thee, the mother, whose day Is anxious and watchful ; she waitcth to pray. Come from the greenwood, ye glecsome and young, Far in the meadows your voices have rung ; From flowers, from fountains, from green hills' fresh air, Come back to the off''ring of household pray'r. For He, who hath fill'd your young hearts with love, For tree, and for bird, and blue sky above, Loveth the worship that truthfully lies. In the incense of Home's sweet sacrifice. THE DOMESTIC HEARTH. 49 Join ye beloved ! bend lowly the knee, From trouble and toil a moment be free ; Though He hath given, or taken away, — Kneel ye and worship. — ^^join, loved ones, and pray. H Y yi N. In evening dim With humble gratitude, with heartfelt praise, Father of light and life, to Thee we raise Our household hymn ! Hear, I^ord, we pray ; Forgive the evil that thine eye hath seen, What tongue hath spoke, where erring foot hath been, Through the past day. We thank Thy care ; 'Tis Thou hast shielded. Thou the table spread, Thou the weak steps of tott'ring childhood led, Thou lov'st to spare. Our fathers prayed In the lone wilderness ; "mid cavcrned rock, On the wild moor, amid the tempest shock. Their footsteps strayed. 50 THE DOMESTIC HEARTH. The martyr's blood Poured forth like water ; yet the Christian song Of Faith triumphant, floated full and strong, In its rich flood ! Our songs arise, Where all life's charities around us blend, Where love meets love, where mingles friend with Iriend. And kindred ties. And thus, we strive To thank Thee, Lord ; and when our hearts endure, But ill, earth's load, — oh ! let Thy Spirit pure, Our faith revive. And now, from ill Keep us, we pray Thee, through night's starry hours. And with the day-spring, raise us with fresh powers To serve Thee still. Be with us, when Still sleep is on us ; thro' Thy Son most dear, Accept our off'ring ; let Thy mercy hear Our one Amen. THE DOMESTIC HEARTH. 51 TO MY WESTMORLAND HOME. Home of my earlier years ! the thoughtful time Of evening twilight, brings unto me now, The cheerful music of thy sweet bells' chime. Thy quiet, and thy beauty; to Jhee bow My gratitude and love ; faint must memory be, Ere my heart turn forgettingly on thee. Home ot the crag and liill ! where trickling stream!> Well forth from crld grey rock ; where the wild bird, Breaks the lake's stillness with her wetted wing ; Of moor, and fell, where only sounds are lienrd, Of Nature's own, the insects' hum, the plover's cry, That riscth in the air complainingly. 52 THE DOMESTIC HEARTH. Thine are the hills, the soft green sloping hills, That at the sun's departure lure his beams To linger on their summits ; thine the rugged Scaur, Rough rising, till like castled pile it seems, And the clear bubbling brook, whose merry call Is answered by the leaping waterfall. Oh! home beloved and beauteous, thou wert mine 'Mid the rich gifts of those most golden years, When girlhood springs to woman ; when the heart First feels its strength — its love ; its very fears Powerless to wound ; life has not then been cast In cloud and gloom by sorrows of the past ! Holy and pure the love that dwelt with thee, Shedding its gentle influence, day by day. On all around ; strengthening the feeble heart. And dropping comfort in the poor man's way : Bright was the lamp that burned aye with thee, The light of universal charity. And for all this I bless thee ; yea, for more, — For the rich thought, the high pure heart, and strong, The intellectual wealth that fires the soul With its own glory ; — these to thee belong, And in my song if ought of power there be, Its best inspirings came to me from thee. THE DOMESTIC HEARTH. 53 And now, amid the city's hum and toil, 'Mid the rough strivings of our daily way, Doth the sweet influence of thy teaching still About my heart retain subduing sway ; And when my children pray beside my knee, Riseth an orison for the loved with thee. Sweet home, farewell ! at least in song farewell, But not the memory of thy happiness ; True is the love that 'neath my roof doth dwell. And children cling around with soft caress ; Yet, still amid the visions of the past, Lingers a dream of thee, — the loveliest, last. END OF THE DOMESTIC HEARTH. POETICAL EMBLEMS POETICAL EMBLEMS. PURITY. (1) THE WHITE WATER LILY. A blue and gentle stream, so still and calm, With hanging trees beside, — it is a balm To the tired heart to wander there alone, And let the world's rough tales be hushed and gone ; There is a rustling murmur of the leaves, Whose gentle touch the gliding wave receives, And when the sun's bright rays stream in between, And gladden all the waters, then are seen The pure white lilies on their cars of green. 58 POETICAL EMBLEMS. Ye are so beautiful, ye pearl-like flowers ! A placid saint-like loveliness is yours ; Ye only dwell in waters clear and still, Ye shrink from storm and darkness, and ye fill Your pure white chalice with those radiant beams, Your own bright God, in noontide glory streams ; Ye live but in his love, for when the west Receives his light, then ye, who were so blest, Sink mournful in the glassy wave to rest. Oh, flowers of beauty ! could I only see The same abiding trusting love in me, — The same calm purity within my breast What freedom then were mine, — what holy rest ! Oh, not on earth's rough waves can Innocence A perfect garment from her stores dispense ; But in the world, where storms can ne'er distress, And sin defile not, may my spirit rest, Clad in the " white robes of His righteousness." POETICAL EMBLEMS. 59 A SORROWFUL REMEAfHRANCE (5) THE WILD SCABIOUS. A sad remembrance ! Oh, why shade Fair flower, with words of gloom, Tliy soft pale beauty ? on thee throw, Aught telling of the tomb ? Thou gleamest in the hedge's pride, Among the ripened corn, When from -the fields the harvest store With shout and laugh is bornf. Thy petals meet the cheerful sun Nor shun his ardent gaze ; And to the passing eye, no grief Thy well-known form displays. 60 VOETICAL EMBLEMS. And yet, fair flower, thy meaning sad, Thee, to me more endears, Than if thou didst not tell of woe. Of suffering and tears. A sad remembrance ! there are few To whom earth does not give Some shadow of the past, to throw A dimness while we live. One sad remembrance, all must know, The heart, the thought of sin ; Pale flower ! be thou to me a sign Of penitence within. Whisper thou to me, as I feel How my own heart hath striven, " On earth sad memories may cling, But there are none in Heaven." POETICAL FMBLCMS. 61 HUMILITY. (3) THE COMMON BROOM. The Clarion sounds its shrilly note, And brightly shines the quivering lance, While belted knights go proudly by. To win their sovereign ladies' glance ; There are proud banners waving high, And knightly pennons gaily blent, And childhood blithe, and manhood grave. Are hastening to tlie tournament. Lo, many a lordly baron's crest Is blazoned on a glittering shield, The " Dragon" fierce, the rampant " Hear," To neither will the "Eagle" yield ; But 'midst them all, none loftier wears His helmet where his badge is set, Than that black knight, with kingly mien. Our England's own IMantngenct. 62 POETICAI. EMBLEMS. And what his badge ? what crest wears he, To which all others must give room ? A simple plant with yellow flower, Planta Genista, Common Broom ; And many a castle, many a field, Where foemen meet in fiery wrath. That little wilding flower has seen The foremost in the battle path. The royal race has passed away, Nought of it but the name remains. The plant which gave that name we see, Yet blooming o'er our native plains : The tale is told, naught will I say Of any moral there may be, But sure, no strain could ever give More lesson of "Hximility." POETICAL EMBLEMS. 63 GOOD HUMOUR. (4) THE HEART'S-EASE. There's a purple flower, with a yellow eye, Which in shine or in shade looks cheerily ; No bud more choice can the garden yield, Yet it blooms as fair in the distant field ; In hedgerow rough, by the dusty way You may find it growing bright and gay ; And the coppice wild, and th'* dingle rude, Have its charms to deck their solitude. The dew of the morning upon it may lie, It cannot bedim the sweet smile of its eye ; The storm and the tempest sweep over the plain, - To spoil its gay glances, they try, but in vain ; 64 POETICAL EMBLEMS. 'Tis a sparkling gem in the dark green wood, It will bend to gaze on the crystal flood, — Then smile at the rush of the taunting breeze, Oh, who doth not know my bonny Heart's->ease ? Oh ! gentle maiden, 1 pray pass by My cheerful blossom right lovingly ; And list a word of the minstrel's song, To whom such fancies of right belong ; There's a spirit dwells in each fragrant flower That e'er grew fair in summer's bower ; 'Tis Love, within the queenly rose ; Fragrance, the purple violet knows ; The star-like primrose, soft and dim, Hath gentle Hope, her breast within, And in the lily's pearly breast, Pure Innocence there stands confest. And all are bright and good, but when The fierce wind whistles in the glen, And scatters from its fragile stem. The charms of many a stately gem, Then Love will vanish from the rose, E'en from the primrose Hope too goes. And none will raise a cheerful smile. Save my own favourite the while. POETICAL EMBLEMS. 65 Good Humour is the Pansy's fay, Thee, doth he visit, maiden, say ? You may know him by his courtesy, By his ready and winning sympathy ; By his pleasant voice, his kindly mood, To think and act for other's good ; By his peaceful look and word, By his cheek, when wrath is pour'd By each and ev'ry one of these, You may know the spirit, who all can please The fay that dwells in my bonny Heart's^ease. 66 POETICAL EMBLEMS. SANCTITY. (3) ST. JOHNS WORT. Thou art a holy flower : Dost thou not bear the name of him, who laid His head upon that heavenly breast, Avhich paid Our ransom from death's power ? Thou hast a meaning too, Of high enduring faith, and trust, and love. And pure imaginings ; thoughts sent above From earth, that fain would woo Our hearts to rest with lu-r, And share the short-lived gifts she sheds o'er those Who carelessly will slight the blest repose, Thy emblem can confer. POETICAL EMBLEMS. 67 Bright rtower ! I gaze on thee, And fain would draw unto my wayward breast, Some of the calm thy golden leaves express, — Some of the purity. Oh, be to me a shrine ! And let thy silent moralizing feed My soul with sanctity, and onward lead To holiness divine ! 68 POETICAL EMBLEMS. GLORY. (C) THE LAUREL. Wave high the banners ! — let them proudly float, O'er hall and turret, o'er drawbridge and moat ; Wave them on high o'er the flower-strewn path, Lofty honour the conqueror hath ; He hath fought the fierce battles of holy land, He returns the noblest of all his band ; And the mail-clad train who follow his steed, Bring captives and gifts, — tlic warrior's meed : Shout and trumpet his triumph proclaim, " And he shall have glory and deathless name ;" So saith Fame. Hang up the banners ! and let them fall In silken folds round the castle hall ; Hring forth the flagon, pile high the board, With wine and meats be its length well stored ; POETICAL EMBLEMS. Bid the guest pass the wine-cup free, Loud be the song of festivity ; And while the laurel-crown wreathes his brow, Let the minstrel chaunt of his lord I trow ; Hari) and voice shall his triumph proclaim, " And he shall have glory and deathless name ;" So saith Fame- Once more the banners wave high in the air. Once more is the coal-black war-horse there. Again the steel-clad train clank by, The trumpet's notes o'er the hills peal high, The sunbeams glint on each burnished spear, liut the helmeted chief ! — he is not here ! Tliey bear him away to the chapel's shade. In a lordly tomb is that warrior laid, Hut his name is carved in letters of stone, And his statue lielh stiff and alone : " And well, shall that trophy his deeds proclaim, For olory he liath, and a deathless name ;" So said Fame. A bright and a sunny summer's day, Sweet comes the breath of the fresh turn'd hay ; And peasants' cottages cheerfully peep, From their garden shade on the hilly steep ; Down by the streamlet, whose ripples glide, Hy the long grass on the dingle's side, 69 70 POETICAL EMBLEMS. Half cover'd with weeds and waving fern, Lies a knight's effigy, stiff and stern, And near it a few grey walls to tell, There once was a chapel within the dell. But who the knight, of his deeds or name, Or where he died, or whence he came. No one knoweth, — Not even Fame. Cold and shining laurel bough. Glory's emblem fit art thou ; Hiding thy bright green beneath. Bitter juice and pois'nous breath ; So, although thy wreathed crown, Bringetli shout and triumph down. Homage none thou'lt have from me. False and glossy laurel tree. POETICAL EMBLEMS. n IMMORTALITY (7) THE AMARANTH. Oh ! name it not to me ! Hopes (lashed aside, and love that did not last, And constancy that with the wild winds past, Blend with that mimic tree. True, its Howers do not die ; But still live blooming on, unchanged by years. As if they careless were of human tears, And scorned mortality. I gaze upon one now ; It is the same in look, as in the hour When it was given me as love's own flower, Pledge of a faithful vow. 72 POETICAL EMBLEMS. But years have long passed by, And all the hopes and visions which thou bore In rich luxuriance flower, are no more, Thou art a mockery ! Oh ! take it hence from me, It tells of trust deceived, of love forgot. Of early youth's wild dreaming hours, and not Of Immortality ! I POETICAL EMBLEMS. TO THE LILY OF THE VALLEY I d(j not know, oil, gentle flower, What poet-name is thine, Nor what the fancied attribute Hid in thy leafy shrine. Sweet is the fragrance of thy bells, And rich thy broad leaves* fold ; More beautiful thy purity Than gems, or orient gold. liut sweeter far the memory Of what thou bring'st to me. Than all the poet's pen could tell Of minstrel fantasy. How many hours of by-gone years, How many tones of glee ! And days of quiet hapjjiness, Rise at the sight of thee ! 74 POETICAL EMBLEMS, The garden with its perfumed buds, The song-birds on the bough, The grey old wall with ivy wreath'd. Are spread before me now ! And faces that 1 cannot meet, Hearts that will beat no more ; But the love they gave, the truth they taught, Will last till life be o'er. Oh ! how the griefs of later years Fade in this light away ! How fleeting are the clouds that hung Their gloom upon the day ! But thus it is ; th.it beam of love, By God to mortals given, Beareth where'er its light may stray A touch divine of Heaven. And now adieu, fair lily bell, I leave thee on thy bed ; While, to my daily path I bear The comfort thou hast shed. Oh ! never shall my heart despair, Or sink in sorrow's hour, While lie, who watcheth all, can send Such blessing in a flower. POETICAL EMBLEMS, WILD FLOWERS, IRLTH AND FAITH. Wild Flowers, Field Flowers, what do ye bring l* — " Thoughts of the verdant and dancing spring ; Of the shadowy beds with primroses pale, Of the violet breath on the scented gale, Of the waving heath with its purple bell, Of the lady fern by the springing well. Of the wild wood-path, with its tangled stems. And the fields with their bending and living gems. Wild Flowers, Wild Flowers, what can ye tell ? " The secret tales of our lonely dell ; We can tell the words of the blackbird's song, As his notes the ev'ning winds prolong ; We know the tale the nightingale weaves, And the joyous hum of the springing leaves, — The voice of the winds in their whispers low. And the rivulet's laughing song we know." 76 POETICAL EMBLEMS. Wild Flowers, Wild Flowers, what can ye give ? — " A lesson oi faith, to all who live ; A whisper of truth to every one, Who deemeth his hope and his joy both gone ; Do we not shew forth His love who made Our home in the wild and woody glade ? Who decked us with beauty, and made us fair, And breathed on us odours to scent the air ? Thinkest thou not He loveth to gaze On the grace we shed on the rough pathways ? Then, if upon things so fragile as we He looketh with love, — much more on ye. Who must live through a long Eternity. Yes, this is our lesson, — no life-track is dead, If light from His pillar upon it be shed ; Then banish thy fears, thy sad thoughts yield, To the Moral told by Flowers of the Field." POETICAL EMBLEMS. 77 THE FADED NOSEGAY, Ye were blooming brightly, gentle flowers, In hedge and mossy dell. And the dusty road-side's step-worn way Ye ornamented well ; 1 sought ye in dingle and lonely glade, And a nosegay sweet for my bower ye made. But yesternight ye blossomed still With leaf and cup arrayed ; Aiul now your colours are dimm'd and dull, And your withcr'd forms are laid Low in the dust from whence ye grew : — Alas, fair flowers, must ye seek it too ? Ye were graceful, bending, fragile things, And many a tale have taught, To the patient and the humble heart. With pure instruction fraught ; And now, dead flowers, ye may teach to me. How sweet e'en decay and death may be. 78 POETICAL EMBLEMS, Ye were scatter'd abroad by Him, whose hand My own existence gave ; Ye have lived a life of meek content, Nor when the tempest wave Of storm and whirlwind fiercely blew, Did ye swerve from your humble meekness true. Ye have drunk in the dews of Heaven's gift And gloried in its light ; Ye have greeted the blush of the early dawn And bowed to the cooling night ; Ye have given a charm to the dewy grass. And scented the air for all who pass. And thus ye fulfill'd your destiny, Oh, dead and faded flowers ! Ye bloom'd and shone unseeking reward. Ye smil'd thro' mournful hours : Oh ! may I, with chasten'd heart and will, My course of duty as well fulfil. POETICAL EMBLEMS. 79 INTRODUCTORY STANZAS FOR MY SISTER'S ALBUM OF TREES & FLOWERS Trees, Flowers, and Poesy ! what other charms Need'st thou, in happy hours, to fling around Home's graceful beauty ; or, what spells to burst The folds, that waking life hath o'er thee ])ound ? Oh, many a glorious vision here may wake, ()1 the dark wood, and fairy-haunted shore. Of forest dingles, and their tangled brake, Which nature's votary loves to explore. And the green meadow-path, with its sweet blossoms, And all its gentle tribe of child-loved flowers. The yellow daffodil, the cowslip nodding, — Do they not all come back, — those sunny hours. 80 POETICAL EMBLEMS, And childhood, with its laughter and its love, Its buoyant ecstacy, its ringing glee ; Doth not its melody, e'en now, my sister, Come back in happy memory to thee ? The winding river, with its onward waters, On which the pearl-like water-lily lay ; The spreading trees, with their green summer mantle. The sunset ramble at the close of day ; — These, ay, and more than these, sweet thoughts will haunt thee. For Poesy hath twined her witching spell. And the hid thought, and the awaking fancy. Her changeful melody may truly tell. A glorious gift to man ! the power to breathe Rich thoughts and visions in melodious words ! And with those breathings, thrill the mystic link That echoes with the heart's most hidden chords. A glorious boon ! and well I know, my sister, More gifted strains will on thy pages be ; Yet still I pray thee, let affection linger On the few lines I dedicate to thee. FRAGMENTS. FRAGMENTS. MEMORY. There's a spirit lingers with the sun's decline, Sighs with its parting ray, Travels afar upon the evening wind, Weeps with the close of day ; Her presence wanders in the wild wood shade And dreams o'er reveries herself hath made ; She hears the rushing of the waterfall, And with that melody loves to recall Some dreamy vision of her former hours, Round which a host of sprite-like spells she pours ; This spirit moves in garden and in dell, Claims kindred with the sprite of haunted well ; 84 FRAGMENTS. The hawthorn bough just budding in the spring, The autumn leaf ting'd with bright colouring, All love this fay, and bring an offering. She brings the sight of other days, Before the mourner's eye, — She revels round the ruddy blaze And long departed ones will raise ; — Her name is Memorv. And now, I woo her presence to my rhyme, She whispers secrets of life's earlier time. Tells o'er again the tale by others told, "Which oft repeated, yet was never old ; "Whispers the tones of those who now are dead, And brings before me visions which have fled ; Oh ! see again, around me is the glade By fancy cherished where my childhood played, There is the river, sparkling in the beam Of the mid sun ; we called it the "Great Stream,' Nor deemed aught larger e'er was seen before, Its breadth some thirty forty yards, not more. And there too, stand in noble ruins grey. The lofty towers of those who once had sway O'er the fair scene around ; now, nothing there Pays homage to the haughty Earls of Clare ; '" ' Their name, their race, their deeds of glory done, Their very nicm'ry to the wild winds gone. FRAGMENTS. 85 But the Sprite hurries on, and lingers not Till she has reach'd a well-remember'd spot ; 'Tis an old house with jutting roof and eaves, And there, the longest tale sweet Mem'ry weaves. 'Tis summer time, but in the quiet street, Not trampling much is there of busy feet, So in that cool, still room, with pictur'd walls, Only the hum of distant voices falls ; A sunbeam streams through the half-blinded pane, And lights a child there seated on the floor, With prints, and books of legendary lore ; Of brave King Arthur with his knights, Of elfin tricks, and fairy sprites ; An enchanted prince, a beauteous dame. Held in vile durance till there came The destined lover, to subdue The spell that bound his ladye true ; And mournful stories of decline. Of young hearts in their first spring time. Ay, even tales of woe and wrong Were wreathed into the cherished song ; And then the child would weep to read Of treacherous and murderous deed ; Would marvel at the magic told. That slumbers in vast caverns old ; Of golden bird, and singing tree, And all the gems of farry Told in wild " Nights of Arabv." 86 FRAGMENTS. Oh ! much I marvelled often then, If in the haunts and paths of men, When childhood's days were pass'd and gone, And I could guide my steps alone, If ever it would chance to me Such sights and sounds to hear and see ; I could not tell ! — it might be so ! The world was all for me to know ! Alas ! I cannot marvel that again. In sooth I was a wayward child, Of wild imaginings ; For when 'twas future all to me, I sigh'd full oft, for Memory, And pined for her to bring The tales she told to other hearts Who unlike me, had felt the smarts Of what long life and troubled years, Can add unto a mortars tears ; I heard them tell of blight and grief, Of woe, that sought in vain relief, And only for itself would crave A lonely and forgotten grave ; — Of agony and hopelessness, Of woman's heart in that distress Which she alone can know, When all to which she clung and Ican'd And firm and truthful to her seem'd Is but a broken vow ! FRAGMENTS. 87 Airthis, and more, I often heard, And sigh'd for wings e'en as a bird, That I might fly afar, and see The workings of earth's misery ; Remembrance then to me might bring Some waters from her hidden spring. Oh ! strange in earnest, is our secret soul, Strange the wild workings of our mind ; Why willingly thus seek to reach the goal Which afterwards we would not find ? Alas, alas ! I thought it then a joy. To feel some portion of earths rough alloy ; I've gain'd it since, have felt my heart throb deep With sorrow's touch, that would not, could not sleep; — Have wept with real grief, on hopes that fled, O'er aims aspiring, that soon too were dead ; Yet may I say that now my chast'ned soul, Sees life not in " its parts," but as "a whole; " Can view a guiding hand, in what might seem To careless vision but an aching dream. True, I have loved, and lost : but they I mourn Can feel no more the woe of this world born ; And could 1 wish on earth to see them back, To tread again a painful, arduous track ? Oh ! no, I could not ; tiiey at least are free. From any perils that may wait on me. 88 FRAGMENTS. And all, not all are gone, — Oh ! there are yet Some cherished dear ones who will not forget ! Some, who would share with me whatever woe My heart to purify must undergo : — Earth yet is bright, I still can view with glee The blossom'd bough, the bird upon the tree, Still revel in the glory of the noon, Still list the wild brook, chaunt its jocund tune ; Then will I trust, that He, who gave me these. And temper'd so my mind that they might please. Who yet upon my path such treasures pours, Will keep and guard me, in my future hours. FRAGMENTS. 89 OUTLINES OF A LIFE. Within a small and curtain'd room, Fond hearts were bow'd in grief, in gloom ; There, lying on his latest bed, With tears of love around him shed, Was a pale form, whose years of life Were with struggles ever rife ; Whose high aspiring hopes had been Like to the bow in April seen, Bright, beautiful unto the eye, But vanishing most hastily. Long years ago he stood besido His father's grave, and felt the wide Strange world henceforth to him was bare, Of what affection's blessings arc ; He knew no heart to him that clung, No form tliat on his accents hung, 90 FRAGMENTS. No one to bless him, none to guide His youthful steps to manhood's pride ; With little hope, with none of joy, He stood — a lone, sad-hearted boy. Time winged his flight, and brought to view The painter's power ; to nature true, He sought her vales, her hills, her streams, By morning sun's first rising beams ; And in the ev'ning twilight pale. When night enrobed her with a veil, His heart in soft'ned sadness felt How beauty e'er with nature dwelt. And oh! how rich the dreams that sprung Within his breast, unskilled and young ! How breathed he freedom in each gale That swept the red crag with its wail ! How filled liis heart with purest thought, How love, and peace, and hope were brought, - By wild flowers on the mountain side. By murmurs of the swelling tide, liy gurgling brook, by rippling lake, Where drooping trees their shadows make, Till earth was loved for her sweet sake ! Years fleeted by ; his boyish span Of life was o'er ; the youtli a man ; FRAGMENTS. Enibrown'd his once pale cheek, his eye More quiet in its luxury Of living light ; the rosy chain Affection binds was link'd again About his heart, and round his hearth Rose the light sounds of childhood's mirth, While gently minist'ring by his side Was she, his heart's deep cherish'd pride. Alas ! alas ! it may not be, That life glides on from sorrow free ! And 8o to him, upon whose brow The cold death damp is rising now, Came trouble, suffering, and tears : — Oh ! who, in his first trusting years, Can e'er believe a time may come When earth will no more yield a home ; That Genius, like the fabled bird, May breathe its dying song unheard '( There are some hearts who cannot brook The careless word, the chilling h^ok ; Who in their sorrow shrink aside From the world's sympathy ; wlio hide A stricken spirit, broken heart ; Who cf themselves can bear no part In the world's strife; yea, such there be. With whom life's stcp'moves heavily ; 91 92 FRAGMENTS. And oh ! for such to go along The world's broad path, mix with the throng That jostle all ; — for such to strive And fail ! where others hourly thrive ! This was his fate ; too gentle he To seek, or win the mastery ; And so the busy world went on, And men sought honours, wore when won, Many a self- exalted name Became another word for Fame. While he, in pain and penury. Sick and heart-worn, lay down to die. A dying man ! what mystery Lies in the words ! what history Of earth and heaven ! a spirit's light Breathed into dust, struggling in sight Of its two homes ; the one, all pure, Bright, deathless, and its promise sure ; The other, with its prospects vain, Its show of joy, its real pain. Its troubled light of many years, Its smiles, its wretchedness, its tears ! — Oh God ! oh God ! Thy saving power Alone can calm at that dread hour ! FRAGMENTS. i)S But little space remained, the day In crimson glory waned away, And left its latest ruddy beam On the light ripple of the stream Tliat murmur'd the old beech tree by. As 't were some moaning Spirit's sigli. Me bent love's gaze upon the few Last links of life ; those dear ones who Pressed quiv'ring lip to his cold cheek, And wept the grief they could not speak. — '•■ God comfort thee ! my lov'd, mine own! And guard thee in thy path alone, Ever thou wert the dearest tie Life held upon me ; once more lie Thy cheek to mine ; our God above. He will reward thy truth, thy love, For thou, and I, and He alone, Know what tliy woman's faith hatli done , My children ! — wife ! — I bless ye all ! " Slowly descended evening's pall, And as day vanish'd into night, His spirit passed ; a trembling light, Glcam'd for a moment in his lye — His soul was in eternity. Time, as thou wingest by With thy day and night ; "^ 94 FRAGMENTS. Life, as thou glidest on, Like shadow from our sight, See ye aught like him I've sung. In your pauseless flight ? To the quiet breast of Death Bear him swift away, For with you, oh ! Time and Life, He yearneth not to stay ; Both his feeble heart have wrung ; Bear him hence away. POETICAL EMBLKMS. 95 THE PARTING "Life's bounding, bursting joy." — Festus. They parted 'neath The old green l)eech that grew beside her home ; The sun's red light had set, and all his train, Amber and purple clouds, had pass'd away As bright things ever do — evanishing. 'T was the grey of twilight, — not dark, so they Might see each other's face ; and they stood, each On the other gazing, with clasped hands And throbbing hearts, waiting to hear Farewell ! 'T was a fair cheek he bore, And fairer brow ; a quiet eye of blue. And hair of clust'ring brown ; a face whose Calmnessshewed strength, — strength of heart, of thought. Of purpose. Her hair was black as raven's Plume, or midnight ; curling in masses round Her cheek of mantling brown, — as love had kiss'd It in a sunny clime, — lustrous her eyes, where Passion slept, or if he woke, 'twas but To shew his smile. 96 FRAGMENTS, She bent her slightly forward As best to hear his voice, and the dear words, Life's spell for ever, — that he breathed. Quickly beat Her heart responsive to that radiant joy, The newness, sunniness of love. They parted : He to the world again, as one of it ; To strive, to win, to mingle in the whirl With other men ; to dream of name and fame, Of eminence of state, — the many gauds Life scatters to allure. She, to her home. To count the weary days till he return ; By day to think of him, to dream by night ; To treasure up his words, for her heart's food ; To love what he has looked upon, worship What he has loved ; to live a charmed life. He, the magician, gone. The heart of woman ! How often are its treasures poured vainly ! Ah ! how vainly ! FRAGMENTS. 97 THE HIDDEN FOUNTAIN. There is a rill which trickles through A mossy pathway, where the dew Of early morning often lies, Unreck'd of by the scorching skies ; Tall trees embower it from the light, And 'mid them, with their merry tune, Wild birds sing carols there at noon, And Philomela mourns at night. And once beside tliat fountain lone. There stood at eventide, A youth, with sunny lineless brow, A maiden by his side. They had pass'd many an hour beneath The shadow of those trees, — Had stood upon the hill above To court its frcsh'ning breeze ; And now, they met but once again Before the bark sailed o'er the main, That would take one away ; The maid was yet in girlhood's spring, That blessed time when slight things bring A smile upon tlie day. u 98 FRAGMENTS. This eve, there was a graver shade Upon her rounded cheek, For thought was wildly wandering On things she might not speak ; " Look up, sweet Mary, wilt thou love This fountain for my sake ? And wilt thou join the thoughts of me With music from yon brake ? I may not choose but leave thee sweet,— Eut think too, Mary, when I come From sunnier lands to our dear home, What joy 'twill be, to greet With thee again, the bowery shade, Of this our own beloved glade! " She raised her eyes at his appeal, Eyes, dark as were his own ; He kiss'd her cheek, and whisper'd there Half Love's, and half a Brother's prayer ; Another minute lingered on The mossy pathway, — then alone. The fountain gurgled, — they were gone. Long years are o'er, since they two stood Beneath the shadow of that wood ; And ne'er again in glade or dell, Met they to speak the word. Farewell. It was their first, it was their last, — I ^-v / FRAGMENTS. For death's dark shade hath long since past Upon that bright boy's noble brow ; — His grave is under Grecian skies, A fallen fane beside it lies, And breezes from the ^gine wave. Sweep o'er the English sailor's grave. And she, his girl-love, hath ere now An altered look, altho' her eye Beams gently still, and tenderly. She beareth too another name, Hath other love to guide, And many a young and loving one, Calls " Mother " at her side ; Happy she is, and dearly loves. Yet sometimes visions of the groves Round childhood's home -will to her bring Remembrance of that welling spring ; And then a tender smile, and tear, Tell that his memory still is dear. 99 100 FRAGMENTS. THE CONVICT. Gloomily rung the prison bell, Its sound boom'd hoarse in the convict's cell ; It rous'd from the heavy sleep of woe, One who her country must soon forego, Who in little space must leave its strand For a felon's life in a foreign land, There to suffer, to pine, to die; — Oh! was not this waking to misery ! She woke from a dream of hor early days. From a ramble along the field-pathways ; From a vision of hall, and old church spire, The song of her mother, the kiss of her sire ; FRAGMENTS. 101 From gathering flowers in wood and dell, With the childish playmates, she loved so well ; And she heard in her dream the laugh of glee. The song of the birds in the old beech tree, And the prayer that she learned at her mother's knee. She woke from her dream, from her vision's glow, To the jailer's footsteps sullen and slow ; To sound of the key in the grating ward, To the measured step of the watchful guard ; To gleam of sunbeams brokenly thrown On the dark damp walls of frowning stone ; She woke to the mem'ry of sin and shame. Of years of guilt, and a prisoner's name ; She raised her head with a wistful sigh, — Oh ! was it not waking to misery ! Slu- looked around, — oh ! wlio saw she there ? With grief- worn face, and silvery hair ! Wlio knelt by her side ? Who spoke in a tone Making past years and the present seem one ? Had journey'd long miles, his limbs old and weak, To weep on her breast, to kiss her wan check ? She gazed on his face with a glazed eye. Old thoughts and feelings rush'd rapidly by, Till passion burst forth in the outcry wild, My Father ! my Father! pity thy child ! 102 FRAGMENTS. Oh Love and Life ! strange meetings have ye ! Who, in his home's sweet sanctuary, The cheek of his young, his innocent child, Glowing before him, pure, undefil'd. Ever durst dream that sin could bedim The face that was joy and rapture to him ? Yet, in this dark, this crime-haunted spot. By all unheeded, bj' most forgot. She who had lisped by her father's side. Had read at his chair, his joy and pride ; Had left her first home for a wayward love, And seen that love all treach'rous prove ; Had wandered for years the guilty thing, On which the world its scorn doth fling ; Felt once again sweet familiar words Steal o'er her heart, till its hardcn'd chords Softened beneath them, till the warm tear Gushed down her cheek, and she knew she was dear Yet to one heart ; all forgotten her pain. She sank on the breast where a child she had lain. A few days more, and o'er the sea, A tall ship sped its way ; The free wind sung in its spreading sails. Sad hearts within it lay. FRAGMENTS. 103 But one there was 'mid that convict crew, ^Vho bore on her faded cheek The chast'ning marks of sorrow's touch, In her look subdued and meek : Love had sent its purest light T' illumine her darken'd mind, And many a thankful prayer she said For the father left behind ; And when upon her life's last couch She lay with struggling breath, The same bright ray of Love Divine IHum'd the path of Death, MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS THE LOVER OF NATURE'S FAREWELL. " Beautiful ' How beautiful is all this fair free world, Under God's open sky." " My toul hath sent her farewell." .MRS. IIKMAV*. There is a gentle freshness in the wind, That plays across my brow, and cools The fever of the soul, which leaves behind Its burning traces ; feeling rules Tiiis hour of autumn calm, and fancy strays O'er shortening life, and quickly-fading days. 108 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. Beautiful earth ! how deep within my soul Hath love of thy bright glory been ; How hath my heart drunk fondly in the whole, The touching beauty of thy evening scene ; Thy gem-like flowers, thy fountain's murmuring fall, That made the star-lit air so musical. The gushing of the lonely forest rills. The bird upon the mountain pine ; The free fresh air among the swelling hills, The glory of thy canopy divine ; — All these have done in solitude their part. And saved me from that loneliness of heart Which the tired spirit oft will feel, when some Of earth's fond fancies have deceived ; And brighter soothings to my heart hath come, When over fading hopes I grieved. From the meek bending of some gentle flower. The minist'ring spirit of the mournful hour. Fair earth ! I woo'd thee in thy loneliest haunts — Sought the dim shadow of thy woods ; Found in thy temples aidings to my wants, Checrings upon my saddest moods ; And now I come to lay me on thy breast, And ask of thy green turf a spot of rest. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 109 I may not seek thee more, — nor dewy morn Nor fading eve shall see me now ; The love of thy bright things was with me born, To thee was paid my early vow ; Now take my farewell, let our parting be In the green twilight of my own roof tree. And these fond yearnings of my soul — shall they With earthly things decay and die ? Oh! no; the dawning of another day Shall come to greet my dying eye ; Anotlier world, a sky than this more bright, God on his throne, the glory and the light ! 110 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. LINES WRITTEN ON A MOONLIGHT NIGHT. Oh ! dream not here one worldly thought, - Speak not a heedless word, But let thy soul in this calm night, Wing onwards in its heavenward flight. E'en as a bird. Tell not a tale of earth-born woe, Breathe not an anxious sigb ; And if thy heart hatb worldly been, Come forth unto this glorious scene, Gaze at this sky. There is the soft pale canopy Of night; a risen moon, Wliite sailing clouds, — a single star ; — 'Tis all the picture, but afar 'Twill call thee soon. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. Ill For should a darker cloud o'ershade The gliding planet's place, A line, first pale, then brighter tells That breaking are the gloomy spells That hide her face. Oh ! look upon it with an eye Of Faith's sublimest ken ; See in that light which hangs above. An image of the enduring love Of God to men. Then pray, that when He sends a cloud Upon thy path awhile, Through the dark shade thy soul may sec The bright ray of Eternity Shino, as His smile. 112 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. A SONG OF FAREWELL. " When will ye think of me kind friends?— Mrs. Hemans. When will ye think of me ! — Oh let it be, When night's approaching gloom spreads o'er the lea, When round the winter's hearth and cheerful blaze Ye hold sweet converse of past happy days : Then think of me. When Autumn's tints are spread upon the woods, And the bright sunlight throws its gorgeous floods, Upon their hue ; when bush and brake are laid In the soft brilliancy by sunset made ; Then think of me. MISCFLLANEOUS POEMS. 113 When by some gurgling stream ye dreaming lie, Where arching trees shut out the noontide sky, And linger o'er some rich pure strain of old By one of Poesy's inspired ones told ; Then think of me. When on the hallowed morn the breeze's swell Wafts forth the music of the Sabbath bell ; In the hushed hour of holiness and prayer, When ye ask blessings for your loved ones there ; Then think of me. When will ye think of me ? Oh blend my name With what ye love the most ; let it remain A link of recollection to the past. Which was too beautiful on earth to last : Blend it with music's strain, and when ye tell Tales of the early dead, who loved ye well ; Then think of me. H 114 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. THE WARRIOR'S FUNERAL Peal forth the sad bell's tone ; Be hush'd the song round the festive board, Lower'd the banner, sheathed the sword, — A chief from his place is gone. Sad is each noble brow ; No more shall he head their war career, 'Gainst gleaming blade and serried spear ; Woe for his warriors now ! Measured and slow the tread Of the soldier-train, as it pass'd to day ; Though dazzling it shone in its rich array, Its march was with the dead. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. They carried him on his bier, Whose eye in the hour of battle flashed, When the charging squadron onward dashed, Whose shout was one of cheer. Riderless there his steed, For the hand is stiff that guided the rein To the thickest fight on the battle plain, To many a gallant deed. And thus doth the strong man lie ! Whose plume was foremost where none would yield, Whose arm had won on the hard-fought field. Whose watchword, " Victory ! " A wailing for the bravo ! Comrades, ye list for his voice in vain, Earth home to earth hath called back again- lle passes to his grave. The bugle's wail is done ; The white robed priest hath prayed by the tomb, Tlic- volley hath flashed forth its pealing boom — The chief is left alone ! 116 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. THE STRANGER'S GRAVE. There was a lone neglected mound, Rank weeds and nettles grew around, No tender hand had smoothed the sod. The careless foot had o'er it trod, No sorrowing eye e'er shed a tear, Only the hoarse wave murmured near ; No sigh of pity, love e'er gave. And why ? It was a Stranger's grave. It stood alone, the wild wind's sigh Moan'd thro' the weeds in sweeping by ; The summer's sun shone brightly round, Green leaves and flow'rets decked the ground, But then the tall grass only wav'd In silence o'er the Stranger's grave. She came from far ; where southern vines Hang clust'ring over ruined shrines ; Where dark eyes glance, where music's tone Breathes in each word ; where swift and lone MISCELLANEOUS POEMS, 117 The barque at midnight skims the sea Of cloudless heavened Italy. She came from home ; where the bright beam Affection sheds, doth ever gleam ; She left it for our northern land, A fair-haired stranger sought her hand. And told her, o'er the darkening sea. In his mountain home 'mid the brave and free. She should reign the queen of his princely hall, His own lov'd maid, more dear than all The wealth and honours earth e'er gave — She came ; and there's the Stranger's grave. I've trod her own bright land, and seen The hills were oft in youth she'd been ; I've stood beneath the chesnut tree. Which spreads its branches beauteously O'er the low cot where first she dwelt In happy childhood ; and I've felt, As o'er my cheek the perfumed breczr Wafted its incense from the trees. And whispered with a dying moan, O'er the deserted threshold stone, As still I heard the northern wave Hoarse murmuring near the Stranger's grave. 118 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. THE CONaUEROR'S BURIAL. (10) 'Twas in Caen's cathedral aisle, — The morning sunbeams shone On its pillared arches tall, Its tombs of sculptured stone : Chieftains were gathered there With strong and haughty tread, And priests, in holy robe and stole Prayed by the mighty dead. Banners were hung above the bier, A broken lance lay by, A coat of mail, and helmet, shone In solemn pageantry ; And round, with gloomy brow, there stood A mailed and noble ring, The Norman's belted knights, to watch The burial of their king. The chaunt had ceased, the mass was said, And to the tomb they bore The coffined chief, — while flag and spear. Drooping, their glories wore ; MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 119 And mournfully the requiem rung, Its sad and solemn tone, As they pass'd to lay the warrior down, In his cold bed of stone. " Ye come not here ! " thus rose a voice, By the very grave, to say, " Not in the shadow of Caen's aisle That soldier's dust ye lay ; No right hath he to the tomb ye made, Back with your holy sign, I face ye. Barons, in your strength, — Back, for the place is mine ! " Dark grew each brow, and quick the flash Of the sudden lifted spear ; But firmer the voice of that peasant bold, *' Back ! for ye come not here ; Here stood my home, Avith its glowing hearth. Where my sire his children reared ; Safely we gathered beneath its roof, Till your bastard king appeared ; He fell'd the tree that o'ershadow'd us, From the walls he pull'd each stone, And built, in his pride, a lofty dome. To the Great Eternal One. A robber's gift God acccptcth not. Return with your holy sign ; 120 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. The hand is cursed that spoils the poor, Back, for the place is mine ! " And thus they stood by the yawning grave, The peasant with flashing eye. The burial train with anger mute. The dead king lying by : And wonder fell on all who heard, On Prelate, Priest, and Lord, And softly to the man they spoke, With many an urgent word ; Both gold and gems they lavish'd free, To have his ban unsaid ; And at length within his chosen tomb The Conqueror's bones were laid ; But to many a mailed breast was told, This lesson stern that day, — Not always IMight, in the place of Right, Goeth uncheck'd its way. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 121 A DEE AM. I roam'd thro' forest, I wandcr'd o'er hill, I sought the valley where bubbled the rill, I rang'd the green islands where mines of gold Lay beneath their green surface ; 'mid ruins old, The beautiful relics of long past time I sought me a home ; in the wintry clime Of the freezing north, — 'mid isles of the west, I wander'd and sought, but found there no rest. And glorious indeed was many a sight That greeted my wanderings — tlie heavenly light Of the moon in her beauty, — the splendid ray, When the sun departs with the light of day, Yet leaves in his path a lingering glow. The mark of his footsteps ; the arching bow la the cloudy sky, sweet Mercy's token, Like a smile of love to a heart near broken. 122 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. And the works of man, in his pride and pow'r, His pomp and splendour, — that thing of an hour! His pleasures and sorrows, his hopes and fears, His glowing mornings, his evening tears ; I saw them all, but I turned me away, Oh wherefore my spirit, here must it stay ! And I cried aloud in my aching dearth, " Oh what canst thou give me, thou weary Earth? " Then a voice arose on the torrent loud, There came the swell of a trumpet proud. And a figure pass'd by me, in lordly array, " Come join thee my banner, I may not stay. They call me Fame, and thy glory I'll spread. Till nations shall mourn, and hallow thee, dead," But I shrank from her praise, I loathed her name, Oh what hath a mortal to do with Fame ! A light sound spread through the flutt'ring leaves. Like a bird's soft rustling beneath the eaves, A form appeared, — I glanced the while At her joyous looks, when with witching smile She beckon'd me forth amid the throng That echo'd her footsteps with dance and song ; " My name is Pleasure, a fairy home, I'll give in my palace, come stranger, come." MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 123 Hriifht roses were twined amidst her hair, Her voice was pleasant, her looks were fair, But I knew her lures were a mockery, all, I knew the flowers round her brow would fall To earth all faded ; I knew the tone, She charmed with now, would change to the trroan Of bitter remorse ; and I scorned her wiles, Her cheating pleasures, her treach'rous smiles. On the evening breeze's gentle swell, A bright figure came ; like the lily's bell, 'Mid the shadowy leaves on some green bank's side, Was her graceful form ; and while Pleasure's tide Of flatt'rers and follies before her fled. Her voice like sweet music thus murmured, " My name is Religion, come dwell with me, And bright are the treasures I'll give to thee." I bow'd me before lier, Oli, take mc, I cried, From the woes of earth, its pomps and its pride ; Oh ! take me far hence, to some other sphere, And leave mc not longer to wander here, In all the pangs of my soul's wild moan, — This is not, this is not my spirit's home! She spake again, and her words were mild And soft as the breath of a sleeping child. 12t MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. " I gladly ■will take thee, and make thee mine, And I sign thy brow with my holy Sign ; Thou must follow my paths thro' good and ill, Thou /must watch thy heart and thy passions still ; " She breathed a breath o'er my weary soul. And into my heart her holiness stole. And she pointed above to the glowing skies, •'It is there, it is there, thou'lt find the prize." A voice now rose with the nightwind's sigh, A cold chill rushed, and a form stood nigh ; His cheek was hollow, his eyeballs dim. All things around us trembled at him ; The shrinking flowers, as he passed their side. Bowed their heads in terror, and bowing, died,- His withering touch, and his icy breatli. Told the name of the fearful image — Death. I shrank aside, but he shook his cold dart With a grisly smile at my fainting heart ; I turned to her I so lately had sworn To serve and follow ; she smiled, as the morn When it breaks o'er the hills, at my shrinking fear ;- " I told thee no prize for my servants was here, The figure thou see'st, is sent thee to give, The reward I promised; — trust to me, and live ! " MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 125 One touch from her hand, and the tyrant's phice Was fill'd by a sylph with an angel's face ; She breath'd on his dart, and before my sight It threw forth bright rays of refulgent light ; Bright waving curls, in their richness roll'd To his feet in masses of paley gold, With a look as sweet as the heavenly maid "NMio disarmed his sting, his hand he laid On my throbbing breast ; my spirit is free! Oh ! Death, bright Death, thou'rt welcome to me ! 126 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. TREES. The Trees, the Trees, the beautiful Trees ! How gracefully bend they to the breeze ! The bright spring sky peeps merrily through Their waving boughs, with its eye of blue ; How light and dancing their shade is thrown By the gentle ray of the gliding moon ! Each slender leaf hath a silver tip, Whiter than foam on the sea-wave's lip, Oh, sweet to the ear with the midnight breeze. Is your gentle rustling, youthful trees ! The Trees, the Trees, the glorious Trees ! Rich in the summer our sight to please ; The scented limes hang down their shade, The arms of the oak a grove have made, A murmuring sound is through them sent. Like music above in the firmament ; The cushat dwells in their shady bovver, And calls to her love in the twilight hour. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 127 The blackbird sings from bis leafy screen, The throstle her nest has there unseen ; Who doth not love sights and sounds like these ? Ye are strong in your manhood, towering Trees ! The Trees, the Trees, the gorgeous Trees ! Birds from lands o'er the billowy seas, No brighter colours have o'er them spread, — Beauteous they are, and unnumbered ; The leafy boughs still richly fling A noonday shade o'er the bubbling spring ; The birds yet sing 'mid their lone retreat. And we stop to list with ling' ring feet ; — But with all the splendour of their hue, Decay, and Death are hastening too, Scatter'd they'll be by the autumn breeze — Ye are fading, fading, splendid Trees ! Alas ! the Trees, the deserted Trees ! Where green leaves hung, now ice drops freeze ; Their leafy crown is withered and gone, I -ike earthly hopes falling one by one, And the wreathing snow on the black'ncd bough. Is all that forms their coronal now ; No perfume is lent the passing wind, No shelter is given the starving hind ; We hear nor birds, nor humming bees ; — Your glory hath vanished, spectral Trees ! 128 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. Fair Trees ! ye have a lesson given, Bright guides ye are on our path to Heaven ; Like yours, our youthful beauty spent, Like yours, our lofty manhood's strength ; Then autumn ripe, but fading, shews. The unsheltered path to age's snows ; But then, bright Trees, our second spring. Shall aye remain, with folded wing ; And Beauty, Glory, all shall be Our own ! throughout Eternity. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS, 129 LINES WRITTEN AFTER VISITING AN INFANT SCHOOL. Hist ! to those low breath'd sounds, so soft and clear, That fall like murmuring waters on the ear ; Hark ! to those childish accents, lisping words Of holy import ; strike thej- not the chords Of deep, deep feeling ? — my heart bounds again Responsive to that sweetly simple strain, — Passes the melody, in echo dim, The ling'ring beauty of the Infant's Hymn. Is it not lovely ? Gaze on yonder scene. Peaces and forms of morning's youngest beam Are rang'd before thee ; snatch'd from vice and woe. And taught within the narrow path to go ; Taught, the strait road of virtue's way to keep. And brought thus early to their Saviour's feet ; Oh! bow thy heart in humble pray'r, that Ho Will bless the objects of this Charity. I 130 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. Oh ! while I look upon these Infant forms, Thus brought to seek their God, my spirit warms Within me ; I forget the spell, the sound Of all things worldly, aught that ever bound The soul below, — all poverty and care. All sin and shame, and see before me there. Spirits preparing for a heavenly prize, And young Immortals travelling to the skies. Ye humble Infant ones ! who lowly bow At that great Sacred name ye nam'd just now, Pray that His precepts may for ever dwell. Strong in your hearts, — praise ye, and serve ye well That Holy Name — He bade the feeble come. And seek with Him, a bright and heav'nly home, And when young cliildren stood around his knees. He said, " My kingdom is of such as these." Praise Him and serve Him well, and then shall ye, In Heaven dwell with Him, through Eternity. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 131 SONG OF THE ADOPTED My home, my home ! my lowly home ! Oh ! wherefore doth thy shadow come And haunt my heart, and flush my brow. And bow my spirit ? Wherefore now, When all around is bright and gay, Thus ever near me ling'ring stay The voices of thy still-lov'd hearth I Oh ! who can tell tlie licart's own dearth ! Tliey give me jewels from the mine, And flowers 'mid my hair they twine ; They bid me join the dancer's throng, Or list the merry minstrel's song ; Forms are around me, bright and fair, And kind looks too," but are they there Who bent beside my cradle bed, Who pillow'd on their breast my head ? 132 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. They give me gems, they give me gold, And many a flatt'ring tale is told ; But can they give my father's voice, And thus my vreary heart rejoice ? Or bring my mother's gentle eye. To watch me fondly ? Why, oh, why. My lowly, but my beauteous home, Thus haunting, doth thy shadow come ? Where is my brother's bounding step ? Goeth he to the fountain yet, The trickling fountain, where the leaves Of the long fern wave with the breeze ? And music from the blackbird's note, Fills the lone valley with its note ? My sister ! — doth she wander now Under the lime tree's scented bough ? They are not here ! ye do not bring Back to my heart its master-spring ; Ye have bright things, but bid the tree That crowns their dwelling bend o'er me ; Give me again the thrilling tone That pure allcction calls its own ; And, would ye bid health's roses come And paint my check, — oh ! take me Home ! MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 1-33 ON A LOCK OF HAIR. ON THE ENVELOPF OP WHICH WAS WRITTEN, WITH HER OWN HAND, " vooa mother's haiu." •' Your Mother's Ilair !" but simple words, Yet strike they strongly mem'ry's chords ; They shew me, through my rising tears. Records of days of other years ; They throw across my fancy some Bright visions of my early home ; They tell me that the days are gone When I could call that home my own. 134 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. How mournfully this sever'd tress Reminds me of past happiness ! The low sweet voice, whose accents thrill Upon my heart, — I hear it still ! — The tender care, the soft dark eye, Watching her dear ones constantly ; And more than this, tli' unwearied love. That shone all other things above. The hour when, hushing childish glee, We knelt beside our mother's knee ; And whisper'd in the quiet there, The breathings of our ev'ning pray'r ; — The voice that bless'd our youthful head. The soft " Good Night" at parting said, The tenderness of look and tone ; — How beautiful on us they shone ! The dear liome-faces round our hearth, The game that raised our childish mirth ; The tale of knight or robber bold, The mournful song of Scotland old ; Or in a ruder, simpler rhyme. Some ballad of the " olden time ;" — Those hours I never more can see. But bright their memory is to me. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 135 Dark waving curl ! on thee I gaze, And thou art changed since other days ; Amid the deep shade of thy hue A paler ray is gleaming too ; Those silv'ry threads tell of long years Pass'd in this pilgrimage of tears ; Of beauty faded, — oh ! how much, By the rude blight of sorrow's touch ! My mother, tliou alas! not now May smile a shadow from my brow. For we are ])arted ; and though fain I'd hush me on thy breast again, Yet duty's stern, unflinching course, Divides me from my parent source, And keeps me absent still from thee. Though Life bring joy or misery. And yet there are some dreamy hours, When Hope again exerts her powers ; And then she whispers, there may come A day to call the wand'rcr home ; My mother! I cannot express The strength of the wild happiness Those day-dreams give ; they shew the track That leads to haunts of childhood back. 136 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. But though we ne'er again should see The same roof bend o'er thee and me ; Though other forms and love have power Upon my heart ; yet, till the hour When life departs, thy name shall be A spell of deepest strength to me ; Blest may'st thou be, where'er thou'lt dwell, My own dear Mother ! Fare thee well ! MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 137 Oil! BRING ME NOT TO COURTLY HALLS. Oh ! bring me not to courtly Halls, Mine be the heathy hill, where falls Heaven's sun and dew ; where odours shed Their balm around ; where over head The lark sings gaily towards the sky, And cheers us with his minstrelsy ; — These are the joys that never pall ; Oh ! not for me be the courtly Hall ! I cDuld not leave the woody glade, Nor quit the forest's leafy shade ; 1 would not lose the flowing rill Whose soothing murmurs echo still In cv'ning silence; nor, the' fair Thy city, could I breathe its air : Oh ! no, its domes and tow'rs would be But emblems of captivity. 138 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. Mine, mine, be nature's charms alone, Far away from the busy town ; The humming bee, the breezy heath, The budding trees, the honied breath Of all the blooming flowers that lie In beauty 'neath the deep blue sky, The rushing of the waterfall ; — But not, oh, not the courtly Hall I MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 139 A PAINTED GROUP OF RED AND WHITE ROSES. HriiiLj the Rose, the red, red Rose, Bind it over blooming brows, Let the merry dance and song Thro' the night their sounds prolong, Set the wine-cup on the board, Let the merry laugh afford Joyous strains, — but why, ye fair, Unbind your Rose-wreaths ?— thorns are there ! Bring tlie Rose, the pale white Rose, To deck the maid in Death's repose ; Lay it on her icy breast. Fit emblem of her holy rest ; Tho' sobs bewail, tears dim the eye. Nor maid, nor flower will heed the cry ; Jlcr soul is now in bliss, and knows No wounding thorn, no earthly Rose. ^^ MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. Bring a Rose, a withered Rose, Nor proudly cast it from your brows. Meet picture is it of a breast, Earthly in view, in hopes unblest, Hast seen thy rosy buds decay ? Have earthly blossoms pass'd away ? Then seek thou Heaven, there only grows An everlasting, thornless Rose. MISCFLLANEOUS POEMS. Ill LINES SL-Cr.KSTEU FROM A SCK.VB IN TUB CO.VCLUDl.VC VOLIMK OK TlIK "WATKR WITCH." The sails arc set, my vessel's prow, In all her pride, breasts the waters now ; Once more slie floats, like a beauteous queen, On the broad blue billow, her pageant scene ; Time presses fast, yet ere I go, One parting word thou wilt l)estow, Eudore, on him wha long hath been The sharer of thy sea-life's dream, A farewell, — it may be the last ; The sun is up, time presses fast. 142 MISCELLANEOUS PCEMS. The maiden turned a hurried look, A glance at her new-found home she took ; Then gazed again at the heaving sea, — *' 'Twas my childhood's home, and it now shall be The one I will choose," — her hand she laid On his arm the while, then trembling said, " I will go with thee, thy home is mine, For oh ! I am thine, and only thine ! " " But thou hast a home on the glad green earth, Thou may'st list to the birds in their summer's mirth ; Thou hast friends and a country, a hearth and a home. Where the perils I meet with can never come ; Thou may'st wander at will on this beauteous shore, And leave the terror of Ocean's roar ; " IJut the maiden murmur'd, her head reclin'd On his manly breast — " Thine ! only Thine! " " But hist thee again ; thou knowest I go Where the battles rage, where the whirlwinds blow ; Thou know'st my name is a name of fear, Canst thou bear that name, nor let a tear. E'en in thy dreams, tell that thou griev'st, To have left the land which now thou leav'st ? Canst thou happy be in my wandering lot, The wife of an outlaw, proscribed, forgot? " As the tendrils cling, of the drooping vine. So clung she and whisper'd — *' Thine ! only Thine ! " MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 113 A flash of pride exulting flew, O'er the sailor's beaming eye of blue ; " Now art thou mine ! and mine alone, Well and nobly thy love is shewn ; Our hopes are one, our home the same. Through good and ill, through praise and blame ; We'll leave the murmur of forest leaves, For the crested wave, and the whistling breeze ; A sailor's home again is thine, ]\Iine own Eudore! Now art thou mine ! " 144 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. R E :M E M B E II U E . You bid me wake the muse's lyre And cliaunt with a poetic fire ; — You bid me tune th' harmonious string And words in measured cadence sing, That the soft wish, " Remember me," The burden of my song should be. E'en be it so : those accents fell, When last we whispered a farewell, Upon mine ear ; and I have dwelt Upon their sound, till I have felt No other tones could ever be So dear, as thy '* Remember me." MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 145 And when to foreign lands I roam Far, far from that lov'd spot, my home ; When parted by the billowy sea, And all I love is — Memory ! Will thy affection faithful be, And wilt thou then " Remember me ?" For oft in that calm pensive hour When moonbeams shine o'er ruin'd tow'r, When Memory loves to weep and pore O'er joys and pleasures now no more, Then will I breathe a sigh to thee, And think I hear " Remember me." 1 charge thee, then, ere now we part, I charge thee by my breaking heart ; — By every fount, and valley green, Where oft together we have been. By the deep grief 1 dare not tell, By the wild accents of farewell. By every vow I've pledged with thee, — I charge thee to " Remember me !" 146 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. THE OLD FAMILIAR FACES. Know ye what it is to mark, Earth's bright baubles all grow dark ? Know ye what it is to prove, How short and frail the stranger's love ? O, then, ye have come the worth to learn, Of the Old Familiar Faces. Know ye what it is to lie, In pain and sickness heavily, With none but hired feet to tread, With careless step around your bed ? Oh, then, you know what 'tis to yearn For the Old Familiar Faces. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 147 Have ye seen the proud man's scorn ? Felt your heart grow sad and lorn ? Have ye found, what most can tell, How few there ore who love ye well ? Oh, then, ye know love's lamp doth burn With the Old Familiar Faces. Old ! the very word endears ; "Who have wiped our earliest tears ? Who have soothed away our grief. When nought beside could give relief, But with kind hand and sweet concern, The Old Familiar Faces ? God be with them, one and all ! His best gifts upon them fall ; Deeply in my heart they live. And whatever life may give, Or joy, or grief, with love I'll turn To the Old Familiar Faces. 148 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. SONG. No more, no more, we meet no more, Receive my parting lay ; A mournful one it fain must be. Thy love has pass'd away ; The name my heart throbb'd quick to hear Must now forgotten be ; I did not think I could have said A last farewell to thee. My path must be a distant one, From all that tells of thee ; And thoughts of happiness now gone, Alone my portion be : Sadness and woe, and loneliness, Must strew my passage o'er ; Thou wilt not share its bitterness, For here we meet no more. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 149 COME TO ME. Come to me ! for I weary now Of the long hours apart from thee ; Come to me ! that afFection's glow May kindle into ecstasy ; And I once more may be to thee, A sharer of thy joy or misery. I pine me for thy voice, — its tones Have o'er my heart a magic power, Stirring the current of that love Which yet is strong, as at the hour When fervently I spoke the binding vow ; — Oh ! deeply dotli my heart thrill to it now ! Come, for thy breast I yearn ; — the rest It ever gave 'twill give again ; Come, that thy tenderness may soothe. As it was wont, an hour of pain ; And wliilc I feci thy arm around mc press, May yield me to my spirit's happiness. 150 MISCELIANEOUS POEMS. Another spell, — our babe's young eye Is kindling brighter day by day ; Come thou and bless the baby girl Who will throw sunshine on our way ; A tendril round our hearts, a blessing, sent To be our own, our household ornament. Come then, for when I bend the knee The Spirit's blessing to implore, My heart in sadness misses thee. Who by my side had knelt before : And sighs will mingle with the prayers I send, And mournful thoughts with heav'nly hopes will blend. My parted one ! I see thy form In the still visions of the night. No longer be it but in dreams, Come, thou, and bless my eager sight, — Oh ! love hath happiness all else beyond. Back then beloved, to thy true and fond ; Come to me ! MISCELLANEOUS rOEMS. 151 THE LABOURER'S EVENING SONG. WUITTEN TO A GERMAN AIR. The twilight hour steals gently on, The toilsome day is o'er ; The bee and bird have ceased their song, And we need work no more : The ev'ning star shines in the sky. Our children know the hour is nigh ; Homeward, Homeward — Home wc wend our way ! We have borne the weight of Labour's toil For the lov'd ones at our home ; And childhood's eye, and their mother's smile Will brighter when we come : The dearest gift from Heaven above, Is the soft gush of house-hold love : Homeward, homeward — Our path is to our home ! 152 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. A CRADLE SONG. Oh ! hush thee, my baby boy, Be my bosom thy couch awhile, And the soft dim shade of thy fringed lids | Hide thy bright eyes' gentle smile ; Already the downy wing Of slumber is hov'ring nigh, We'll welcome its presence, and woo its rest With a mother's lullaby. No sorrow hast thou to scare From thine eyes their calm repose, For all of life thou dost know is yet But the budding of the rose ; The lures and wiles of earth For thee have yet no charm, And slight is the strength that can guard thee now, The shield of thy mother's arm. MISCFLLANEOUS POEMS. 153 Oh ! baby, in after years, When memory's store is all That can tell of the past, or speak to thee Of affection beyond recall ; Perchance, when world-weary and w-orn, Some thought may bring murmuring by, Like a far-off echo, the spirit tone Of thy mother's lullaby ! Sleep shadows thy face, my child, Oh ! grateful its shelter be ! And thy dreams, my baby, be dreams of love. Sent from Heaven to visit thee; Oh ! holy the calm that's shed On thy cherub lip and brow. And well might earth's Mighty their crowns fling down, For rest such as thine is now ! 154 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. WATER— AIR— EARTH. '"> " My mother earth." -Btbon. Bring wine, bring wine to the festive board, Full and high be the goblet stored ; Quaff the draught 'mid the incense high, Of song, and laugh, and revelry ; Poets may rave of the flowing rill, Ours be the rosy grape-cup still ; Minstrels may chaunt of the sparkling spring. Be ours the brilliancy wine will bring ! Give wine ! give wine ! MISCELLANEOUS POEMS, 155 The sick man lay on his couch of down, And vassals mov'd at a nod or frown ; Beside his bed is a crystal cup, And with purple juice it is blushing up ; He moves, he speaks — what needs he now ? Is there not wine for his pallid brow ? Will not the dew of the grape so much As cool the flame of his fever'd touch ? Oh ! what doth he ask for, that dying king ? " Bring Water ! fresh Water, cold from the spring ! " A gay saloon, a crowded hall, Perfum'd lamps for a festival ; Rich and lustrous the jewels shone, A kingdom's ransom were worth but one ; Rare flowers shed their od'rous breath. And gleam'd in the hair a fairy-wreath ; Sculptur'd figures of Parian stone, Bent in their beauty, as though alone They stood in the light of a Grecian sky. And worshippers knelt in ecstasy : Methinks 'twere well to be lord of all The wealth on the mirror'd and pictur'd wall, 'Twcre surely well to receive the meed Of high renown and chivalrous deed, — Yet, with pallid look, and faint reply, The lord of tliat splendour passes by ; 156 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. He bends his form with a feeble wail, His colourless cheek is yet more pale ; Something he murmurs in faintness there- •' Away, away, give me Air, fresh Air ! " Take one from the city's living horde, Unto him be Earth's choicest treasures pour'd, Load him with gifts, and gems and gold, With robes of price, and wealth untold. Be his name like a flaming beacon spread. His deeds in the page of truth be read. Yet years speed on ; his hair is grey, Life's long shadows darken his way, And the dream has pass'd. With paces slow Back to their homes the mourners go ; The state is over, the funeral done. The world's last goal at length been won : For with closed eye and nerveless breast, On his " Mother Earth " he is laid to rest. Oh ! is it not thus in our moral life ? We war for glory, we strive with strife, We toil for riches, we labour for Fame, That fading wreath to a dying name. Till wearied and spent ; and the sweet revealings That Nature could breathe to our purer feelings, MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 1.57 The hopes and pleasures she scatters by, Whether dark the clouds, or sunny the sky ; The heart's best treasures, Faith, Hope, and Love, We lightly scorn ; and when are wove The twining folds of that *' silver cord " On which the deeds of a life are stor'd. Worthless and soil'd, its length is shewn, Alas ! alas ! the work is our own ! 158 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. STANZAS. Yes, 'tis a weary world, A world of cark and care. Where the best aid it gives to grief Is cold and calm desjjair ; I There's a shadow on its bloom, | A blight upon its flow'rs. And the gloom that should dwell with night, Darkens the morning hours ; Take me away. They tell me earth is glad. In " beautiful array, ** That she scatters joys with a lavish hand Through the sunny summer's day. They say that life is bright While youthful feelings glow, Perchance I have a wintry heart. For mine hath not been so ; Take me away. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 159 They tell, that there are ties To fill the loving heart, But, alas ! there are none for me, Mine is a lonely part : I never knew parent's love, Have none to wish me near, And none who, in sorrow or pain. Would smile away a tear ; Take me away. Oh ! do not say the day Is bright, or e'er can be ; Will music dwell amid the boughs When leaves have left the tree ? I once had brighter dreams. But they were quickly gone. And none will mourn my absence now, For I am all alone ; Take me away. 160 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. I SAW HIM PRAY. I saw him pray ; 'twas in childhood's time, One eve of beauty, in summer's prime, He knelt in love by his mother's side, The mother who look'd with chasten'd pride On her fair boy ; and his young lips mov'd In lisping words, to his Father above. I saw him pray ; alas ! there was woe ; And tears cours'd down in their rapid flow O'er his pale cheek ; he knelt, as of old, By his mother's side, but her lips were cold, — Her voice blcss'd not now that youthful head ; He knelt in grief, — he pray'd by the Dead. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. IGL I saw him pray ; many years had flown, And his voice had gain'd a deeper tone ; The blush of youth from his cheek had fled, The hue of manhood was o'er it spread ; And he knelt beneath his own home tree. Glad looks were round him of youthful glee, And he pray'd the God he had serv'd and known, To bless and strengthen his lov'd, his own. Behold him pray ! he kneels not now, For Death has breath'd on his pallid brow ; His eye is dim, and his strength has fail'd, — But soon to his soul will be unveil'd The bliss he has sought, — Hist ! one low pray'r ! — His spirit flew to her glory there ! 162 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. A DREAM OF HOME. 'Hark ! the home-voices call."— Mrs. Uema>3. My home ! my childhood's home, my father's hall ! Oh ! bright and beauteous are the rays that fall Across my spirit ; for again I sec, In fancy's picture, things long hid from me ; And in this hour of dark disease and pain, Voices long mute are calling me again ! Oh ! thou wert beautiful, thou cherish'd spot ! While life remains thou wilt not be forgot ; Thy forest splendour, and thy waters clear, Thy pastures free, where roamed the timid deer ; All crowd before me, and my bosom swell With mingled feelings, words would fail to tell. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 163 And they, the loved, tlie loving, — where are they ? Call'd in their beauty to Eternal day ! Yet, still methinks I see those faces fair, And hear the murmur of that ev'ning pray'r ; Fancy I feel upon my care-worn brow The kiss bestowed at parting, even now. But years have pass'd, and years both long and lone, Since last I dwelt beneath thy roof, my home ! Strangers possess thee, and thy courts are now Th' abode of others ; and of those whom thou Knew in days gone, not one is left, but he Who mourns in dying o'er a dream of thee ! And now that vision fades ; the dream is gone, And I am in a far-off -land — alone ; Yet not alone, for thou, oh ! God, art nigh. And look'st upon mc with a gracious eye, "Will be my Comforter, and givu to me A home, a mansion in Eternity. And tho' in this dread hour, no father's hand I'ress mine in anguish ; none in sorrow stand Beside my pillow ; tho' no motlier's voice Breathes holy words that bid the soul rejoice ; Yet thou art witli mc, and thy arm sustains My soul, tho' weak with many mortal pains : Receive my spirit Lord ! to Thee I come. And leave ICarth's beauty, for a Heavenly home. 164 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. COMMUNINGS. CONSCIENCE— SPIRIT OF YOUTH. "Awake! thou that sleepest." — Epresians — 5th. CONSCIENCE. Spirit awake ! and let us calmly view This earth, where thou now dwell'st and ling'rest too ; Arouse thee sleeper ! for the gladsome day Is wearing surely, steadily away, And though the shades of eve not yet are thrown Across thy path, thou light and thoughtless one. Yet, listen to my voice, my warnings take. Shake off thy dead'ning slumbers, Spirit, wake ! Look now around thee dreamer, gaze, and say "What doth thou see worth all thy fond delay ? MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 16^ SPIRIT OF YOUTH. Oh ! there is beauty in green earth's abode, In her deep vallies where no foot hath trod, Save the lone wanderer, who can rejoice To listen only to the wild bird's voice ; There is deep pleasure in the woodland shade, There is soft music by the clear brook made, There's beauty in the flowers, the insect thing That stretches to the breeze its tiny wing : There is wild magic in Old Ocean's roar, When his mad waves fall rudely on the shore ; There's gentle soothing when the evening tide, Comes rippling soft, as if a Spirit sighed ; There's majesty upon the midnight sky When moon and stars together reign on high ; — Oh ! beauty is above me and around, Surely, I linger safe wliere she is found I CONSCIENCE. Alas ! alas ! these will away, and I Can tell that Earth will fade, her flowers will die, Iler beauties all will languish and decay, Her light and splendour arc but for a day ; And where her haunts arc now so fresh and green. Ere mom, may traces of a wreck be seen : 166 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. Storms shall o'erturn and whirlwinds tear and spoil, And blights shall with'ring, mock thy care and toil ; Earth will not last, thou must not linger here, Haste thee, thy home is in another sphere. SPIRIT OF YOUTH. But Earth hath love amid her beauteous ones, With her fair daughters, and her lordly sons ! Fond looks, and words to soft affection dear, Young forms of life and light dwell with me here ; And there is one, a lovely one, who strays With me in woods at even, when the rays Of the declining sun enrich the trees With golden gifts at parting, — lists the breeze, Mix its wild music with the lonely bird. Who in that heart-felt hour, is nightly heard. Gushing her soul in song ; and there are spells, Pour'd forth from minstrel hearts, as from deep wells Of inspiration ; — Oh ! this world is fair, Fair, in her gifts, her riches, and 'tis there 1 love, and am beloved ! call not my heart From all its clinging tenderness to part. CONSCIENCE. Oh ! hush thee, vain one ! husli thee ! where is now The deep remembrance of thine early vow ? MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 1G7 Where are the hopes, the promises, the teais That mingled with thy dreams of future years ? Pause thee once more, and listen while I speak, To one infirm of purpose, wayward, weak ; List to the tale I've told thee oft before, Hear, while thou may'st, soon time may be no more. Spirit ! beyond this region is a home. Where only God's redeemed ones can come ; A land more bright, more glorious, than the eye Of man e'er saw ; that dwelling is on high : No blights e'er enter that thrice blessed abode. No tears e'er fall, nor sorrow's heavy load, Oppress the heart-worn ; all is life and joy. That nought can ever weaken or destroy. Spirit ! the Great, the Holy One ! who dwells Within the land of which my tongue now tells. That Being is thy King ; and thou hast sworn Thyself his subject ; in life's early morn Thou brought to him thyself, thy love, thy all. In his own cause to fight, to stand, or fall ; Thou gav'st him then thy heart ; oh ! pause thee, now, Art tliou his soldier still ?— hast kept thy vow ' SPIRIT OF VOLTH. But He too gave me earth ! say, warner, say, Is it not He who gives the laughing day / 168 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. Does He not live in Spring's delicious sky, Pass not His whispers in the breezes by ? Breathes He not Life and Love upon the whole ? Is it not His pure beauty that my soul Lives and delights in ? Let me, let me love The links of that bright chain which He hath wove ? CONSCIENCE. Love them ! oh, yes ! but give them not thy heart, When all must one day from thy gaze depart ; And if earth roll'd for ever on her course, Would'st thou, too, live ? Will she be the source Of all thy bliss, thy pleasure, when the grave Enwraps thee ? Can her witchery save One of thy loved ones ? Is the tale not true, That they are strangers, thou, a pilgrim too ? Oh ! hear me. Spirit, hear me, — let the thrill Of deep affection bless thy fond heart still ; Hoard up bright treasures for thy yearning soul. But let them not be earth's, nor earth thy goal ; She cannot fill the void, the aching void. That stays amidst her gifts, and hath destroy'd Their beauty and their joy ; she will forsake, Throw off her chains then, loit'rer, and awake! MISCELLANEOUS POEMS, 169 T1[E MOTHER TO HER FIRST-BORN " Oh ! the joy, The deep, deep happiness,— though earth's alloy, Feur that still bodes, lie there, — of pouring forth The heart's whole power of love, its wealth and worth, On something all its own ' " Mrs. Hk.man's. Thou art most beautiful ! how my very soul Dwells on thy features, while across me roll The deep warm gushings of a mother's heart, In that pure love which hath no counterpart ; No passion e'er its pow'r so full hath shewn Like this I fcfl for thee, my boy, my own ! 170 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. Fair are thy features, bright one ! doubly dear, For shadowing back his picture, who, if near. Would bless thee as thou liest in dreamless sleep, And bid thee, 'mong thy choicest treasures, keep Thy mother's image, bid thee not destroy The hopes that dwell around thy life, my boy ! And Hope in all its brightness hangs around Thy cradle-bed, my gentle one ! No sound But that of love, of blessing, fervent, deep. Hath yet e'er greeted thee ; and o'er thy sleep Thy mother oft hath breath'd her pray'r, that love From Him who gave thee, light from Heav'n above, May shine around the course thou hast to run, And guide thee on thy heav'nward path, my son ! Yet, still, while vainly shadovving forth the tale. That future years shall tell — athwart the veil That Mercy flings before it, earthborn Fear Will, with its bodings, bring a starting tear ; Will, while 1 look upon thy guileless brow Whisper that others, innocent as thou, Have liv'd and fall'n ! Oh, not to thee be known Guilt or its paths, mine innocent, mine own ! In other days, in years that are to come, When life's stern duties call thee from thy home ; When on thy father's manly brow appears The hoary traces of long, long, past years. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 171 And when thy mother bends with feeble age, Say, wilt thou then forget thy life's first page ? Forget the love that centered all in thee ? — Thou, thou forget ! Oh ! no, it cannot be ! That smile upon thy wak'ning face repels The fearful thought, and other language tells, — Blessings rest on thee ! happiness unknown ! Mine, mine thou art, my gentle one, mine own ! 172 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS, SHADOWS ' The most beautiful things in life are but shadows." — Charles Dickkxs. Shadows ! O'er the distant hills they sweep, O'er the blue and heaving deep, Down the vale, across the glen, — Vanishing as swift again. Shadows ! O'er life's sunny path they fall, Dark and heavy as a pall, Dimming flowers we fain would cull, Driving hence the beautiful. Shadows ! To the lover's whisper'd vow, Now the heart its strength doth bow. Now, it waileth at the doom Of love laid silent in the tomb. MISCELLANEOUS I'OEMS. 173 Shadows ! Guilelessness of infancy Round our path so sweet to see, Where is it as the years flee by ? Ask of the world, and hear it sigh ! Oh Time ! Oh Life ! your yearnings bring, Scarce, save vahi imaginings. But when we have your boundary past, And clouds ye gather lower their last, With holy rapture we shall see How shadowless Eternity ! 174 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. SONG WRITTEN TO MUSIC. If to think of thee hourly With love's deepest feeling, To pray that earth's brightest May gladden thy lot ; To cherish thy name Tho' my passion concealing, If this is forgetting, Then thou art forgot ! If to find night by night Thy dear form in my slumbers. In vain seek the place Where thy image is not, To breathe my fond praise In a poet's wild numbers, If this is forgetting. Then thou art forgot ! SACRED PIECES. I MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 177 ]M I S E R E R E Miserere ! Listen, Lord, To thy creatures grace accord ; Hear, oh hear, our humble plea, Miserere Doniinc ! Our virtue passed by as the wind, Against Thee deeply have we sinn'd, — In contriteness, we bend the knee, Miserere Domine ! Dark thy judgments o'er us bend, Far away is lover, friend, — Only wrath and woe we see. Miserere Domine ! Yet forgive for Jesus' sake, Let His death atonement make. Set the captive sinner free, Miserere Domine ! M 178 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. No costly oif' ring we do bring To lay before Thee, — Heavenly King, We come in our extremity, Miserere Domine ! A broken heart, a weary soul. We bring to Thee, — oh ! make us whole, Cleanse us, for impure are we, Miserere Domine ! Miserere ! By Thy Son ! Death o'ermaster'd, vict'ry won ; By Thy promise, by Thy Word, View our grief, our misery, Lord, Hoar ! tho' deep in guilt we be, Miserere Domine ? MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 179 INVOCATION TO THE SPIRIT. Send forth thy breathings, Spirit ! send them now, "While thus in solitude, I humbly bow ;My soul unto Thee ; let thy whisperings tell Of things on high, where only ever dwell Pure holiness and peace ; raise, raise my soul To know in part thy essence, — its pure whole I may not penetrate ; — but do thou distill Thy gentle influence on my stubborn will. While with my heart I commune, and am still. Send forth thy breathings. Spirit ! let them come, Like Heaven's own dews, in silence, and with some Of Heaven's own purity ; oh ! send them forth Upon my soul, altho' so little worth It be thy guidance, — yet Thou Holy One, One with the Father and the blessed Son, Thou never yet hast turned away thine car, Nor left unnoticed a poor suppliant's tear, Then now vouchsafe thy mercy, Spirit, hear ! 180 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. Send forth thy breathings, Spirit ! let them guide My heart in safety through strong passion's tide ; Send forth thy breathings ! let them inly burn In rapt'rous elevation, — be the urn From whence, as gushings from a fountain pure, Thy strength and power may nerve me to endure Earth's weariness and woe ; whatever pain My being's end requires me to sustain. Shall cause no murmur if Thou still remain. Send forth thy breathings, Spirit ! Triune God ! And guard me in the path that all have trod. And all must tread ; that dark and gloomy vale, Where hope shall languish, and " desire shall fail, " Where the bright " silver cord " shall loosened be, — What then can comfort, if I have not Thee ? Jehovah, Son, and Spirit ! Oh ! do Thou In mercy hear me while I lowly bow, — Send forth thy breathings. Spirit ! send them now ! NOTES. NOTES. NOTE 1.— Page 57. Nymphea Alba. The White Water Lily may be called the most beautiful of all our native flowers ; its magnificent corolla of pure white, supported by broad green leaves, floating on the still surface of an inland stream, breaking in among the flags and rushes with their uplifted spears, as it were, to form a hedge of protection to it, is truly a lovely sight. It is only for a few hours in the day that this beau- tiful aquatic opens its petals, and after closing them, it either reclines on, or sinks below the surface of the water. " Those virgin lilies all the night Bathing their beauties in the lalic, That they may rise more fresh, more bright, When their beloved sun's awake. " Moore. Ill Kgypt this flower was dedicated to the moon, and was considered emblematical of Purity and Chastity. The Priestesses wore them wreathed in their hair on festivals. The Lotus of India, so entwined in Oriental Literature, is a flower of this tribe. 184 NOTES. NOTE 2.— Page 59. Scabiosa Arvensis. The Wild, or Field Scabious. The flowers of this plant are of various colours, sometimes white, but more generally of a pale lavender, approaching to blue. It grows in pastures and corn-fields in great profusion in July and August; its delicate appearance, with a very »light bend at the top of the stalk, has caused it to be thus noticed :— " It softelie droopos its head, as if it had a sad memorie.'" NOTE 3.— Page 61 Spartium Scoparium. The Common Broom, anciently called Planta Genista, " and under that name possesses much historical interest." By Gofroi, Duke of Anjou, father of Henry II. of England, it was worn as a crest, or as an old writer expresses it, " he wore a broom stalk in his bonnet." This circumstance gave the name " Plantagenet " to the princes of hi.s royal house, " who all bore it, from Henry, the first royal sprig of Genista, down to Richard III the last degenerate scion of the house of Anjou." " The Broom is now the badge of the Highland clan, Forbes ""—/Jaaicr's British Floicerimj Plants. NOTE?. 1 85 NOTE 1.— Page 63. Viola Tricolor. The Viola of Botanists, the Pansy of Horticultur- ists, and the bright and bonny Heartsease of gladsome ohildren Like most of the old names given to flowers, it is an appropriate one, for, whether met with on the moor or the dingle, by the dusty road, or the cottage door, it lias ever the same welcome look of gay cheerfulness, — I bear within me the charmed gift Of cheerful hopes and thought : Enduring trust and meek content, Me, hath my Maler taught. NOTE 6— Page 60. Hypdricum Perforatum. The name of St. John, given to thi.s flower, is probably the reason of its being distinguished as the repre- sentative of " Sanctity," besides this, it has always been considered a " Plant of Power," in foretelling the good o bad fortune in marriage of those who dived into sucli .secrots, in the " expulsion of demons," and tho " hindering witches of their will." The word Hypericum, according to Dr. Withering, being derived from two Greek words, signifying power against a spirit. 186 NOTES. NOTE 6.— Page 08. Cerasus Laurocerasus. The bright and shining leaves of this shrub are a fitting representative of the glitter accompanying Glory and Fame : the springing of its young leaves before the old have dropped from its boughs, thus earning for it the name of evergreen, may also siguify one generation rising up to continue the plaudits bestowed by the receding one. How far the remainder of the parallel may hold good, must be left to those whose brows have worn the laurel crown. NOTE 7.— Page 71. Gomphrena Amaranthaceffi. One of the flowers used to deck the dead, to hang in garlands upon their grave. " The Globe Amaranth is supposed to be the Amaranth of the Poets, which from the durability of its flowers, was considered the emblem of Immortality. It seems to have been used at funerals in the time of Homer, as he describes it as worn at the funeral of Achilles ; and it is still employed for the same purpose in various parts of the Continent." Mrs. Loudon. NOTES. NOTE 8.— Page 8i. Tunbridge Castle, in the county of Kent, one of the erections of the Xorman Invader. All that now re- mains is a small portion of its outer wall, and the two towers of the gateway. NOTE 9.— Page 03. " With thy day and night." After the above was written, the Authoress became acquainted with a passage in the e.\traordinary poem of " Festus, " to which her own bears resemblance sufiBcient to inculpate her, without explanation, in the charge of Plagiarism. " I loolicd and saw Time on his two great wings— one night, "no day." In the present volume day and night being the simplest division t»f time, presented themselves to the imagination of the writer as his attendants. The Authoress owes this explanation as much to the gifted author of" I'cstua " as to herself. NOTES. ^ OTE 10.— Page 1 18. The Cathedral of Caen, in Normandy, was built by "William the Conqueror, who left directions at his death that his body should be there interred. His injunctions were obeyed, and when his tomb was prepared, and the train of knights, prelates, and nobles assembled to per- form the funeral obsequies, a man stepped boldly to the grave and sternly forbade the interment. " Who art thou ?" they inquired, " who thus rashly interferest, and wherefore dost thou challenge our right to lay the body of the king in his tomb, in the cathedral that he himself erected for the honour of God?" "1 am Ascolinus Fitz Arthur," replied the man in fearless tones, "and I refuse you the right to lay the Ling's body in that grave, because the ground is 7nine. On this spot stood my father's dwelling, — here was the earth where I was reared: without law, without compensation of any kind, your king, William the Bastard, took possession of my father's house;— he tore down the roof— he levelled the walls— he affected to sousecrate it to God— shall God accept robbery for sacri- fice ?— accursed be the hand that despoiled the poor man's home— ye shall not lay his bones to moulder here, for the grave is mine. Great, say the old chroniclers, was the amazement of baron and priest at this denounciation of Fitz Arthur; they were seized with a superstitious dread, and thought not of resi.'iting the man's command. Finally, by fair words and a large payment of money, they obtained his leave to lay William in this grave, but the incident was thought ominuus, and prophetic of the judgments that would fall on his decendants for his many deeds of rapine and violence."—" Heirs Apparent,'''' in Bradshaw''s Journal, By Mrs. H. C. Caddick. NOTES. NOTE 11.— Page 151. " The weary, the fainting, the dying, call not for Burgundy or Champagne, or Tokay ; the longing of their heart, the hope of their recovery, or the alleviation of their anguish, is ' Water I ' -Water clear from the foun- tain, or fresh from the cistern. When cold sweat bedews the temples of the monarch— when artery and vein have forsaken each other and the curling fluid is breeding corruption, — when the currentless throat begins to be choaked up by its own refuse— when the angel of death stands ready to loosen the ' silver cord, ' and ' break the wheel at the cistern,' and the ' pitcher at the fountain ! ' What then recks the monarch for his state and his diadem ? Cast aside that sceptre, it is a bauble; doff that crown, it is nothing; rend away the velvet and tinsel, they are trash ; rfmovc that coverlid of satin, it is a burden ;— give him the fresh air of Heaven, —the first draught of nature that he drew,— so that the king may die easily, and in peace; free the monarch of all the trappings of his grandeur, so that the spirit of the man may monnt in triumph to its God ! "—Abridged from " Mudie's Guide to the Observation of Nature." OPINIONS OF THE PRESS ON THE FIRST EDITION. " We beg to introduce tlie book as containing some very sweet verses, written evidently from the heart. They all evince great purity and tenderness of feeling, a pas- sionate love of nature, and a piet^v at once profound and humble ; these we conceive to be the best characteristics of feminine talent"— Manchester Times, March 23, 1843. " The work well serves the object in view of the amiable authoress. The morality of the pieces is unex- ceptionable, and several of them have great poetical merit. The following lines are extremely beautiful." — The Westmoreland Gasclte. " A volume of very beautiful and very moral poems, the versification is extremely sweet and harmo- nious, and the sentiments are highly pure and elevated. We choose at random, fur, to select tho best from such a melange of lovely things, is impossible ; — yet what more beautiful than the following." ***** " Many of the pieces remind us of ' L, E. L.' in her plaintive mood, particularly 'Memory.' If the exertion of talents for the laudable purpose of improving and strengthening female virtues, and teaching the beauty OPINIONS OF THE PRESS. of domestic happiness, deserve encouragement, (Len Mrs. Caulton mar fairly claim the reward due to such eflbrts, most fully carried out." — London and Paris Magazine " This little volume contains some poetry of the right cast, earnest and tender, such as should issue from the heart of a true woman. We have been much pleased with many of the pieces, and only regret our inability, for want of space, to quote more than the following short extract from the Poetical Emblems, which will remind our readers strongly of Mrs. Hemans " — Maidstone Journal and Kentish Advertiser, Dec. 12, 1843. " Deeply has our authoress entered into the enjo)'- ments of home, and gracefully has she pictured her own feelings in the Poems before us. Several of the pieces evince deep piety as well as a happy power of versifica- tion. 'The Fatherless,' 'The Child's Prayer,' 'The Evening Invitation,' are deserving of notice. The longer pieces are well-conceived slietchcs, and full of kind and generous sentiment. The fragment entitled 'Memory' will be read with pleasure again and again. The ' Poetical Emblems ' contain many pretty and elegant conceits ; we only regret that there are so few of them. To our fair readers especially we recommend this little volume, as well calculated to keep alive in thi'ir bosoms feelings of gratitude to their Heavenly Father for the blessings of a Domestic Hearth." — M ancliestcr and Salford Advertiser, Dec. 9, 1813. " The poetical compositions in which the author has embodied her thoughts are evidently emanations of a. pious and elegant mind. Tliey have, indeed, as is inti- 192 OPINIONS OF THE PRESS. mated in the Preface, no pretension, but they have much more real beauty, than many poems to which that praibt cannot justly be awarded." — Christian Mother's Magazine, June, 1844. Favourable notices were also given of ihe work by the ' Manc'nester Guardian^ the ' Spectator,' and others. BRADSUAW AND BI..\Ch'LOCK, PRIN'TEBS, BROWN-STRKKT. ^H^ ^ This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. REMINGTON RAND INC. 20 213 (533) ^_ THE LIBRARV UC SOUTHERN REGinNflt I iRRARY FACILITY AA 000 365 549 5 f %.