Ex Libris 
 K. OGDEN 
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 LOS ANGELES

 
 CHIMES FROM NAT 
 
 i ' 
 
 BY 
 
 THOMAS BURNS, 
 
 SCHOOL BOARD OFFICER, 
 
 WITH INTRODUCTION, 
 
 BY THK 
 
 REV. JAMES GRAHAM POTTER, 
 
 NEWCASTLE-UPOX-TYNE. 
 
 NEWCASTLE-CPON-TYNE : 
 
 PRINTED AND PUBLISHED BY J. M. CARK. 21, LOW FRIAR STREKT . 
 
 1887
 
 
 TO 
 
 WATSON ASKEW, Esq., J. P., 
 
 PALLINSBURN. 
 
 I DEDICATE THIS VOLUME. 
 
 A SINCERE, AND AFFECTIONATE, 
 
 BUT UNWORTHY RECOGNITION 
 
 OF THE GENEROSITY, KINDLINESS, AND CHARITY OF HEART. 
 
 DISPLAYED IN THE LIFE OF 
 
 THE MAX. 
 
 WHICH THE PUBLIC HAVE LONG ADMTRKD. 
 AND UNIVERSALLY ESTEEMED. 
 
 THOMAS BURNS. 
 
 November, 1S87.
 
 3nfrobucfion to ff}e Hirst (Ebtfion. 
 
 It affords me great pleasure to comply with the earnest 
 request of the author of the following selections of his 
 poetry to introduce the volume to the public, with a few 
 introductory remarks. Lengthened and intimate friendship 
 between us might, by many persons, be deemed a sufficient 
 motive to bespeak for him a considerate attention and 
 respect, but, in such an important undertaking, other and 
 weightier reasons have had influence with me. 
 
 'o* 
 
 Few persons can understand and appreciate the circum- 
 stances of Mr. Burns's bygone life without being constrained 
 to acknowledge the amazing industry, and singular self- 
 application, which must have characterised his efforts, in 
 order to produce a volume, every section of which is 
 calculated to teach a lesson of moral purity, practical 
 benevolence, or sincere affection. His love of nature is 
 conspicuously exhibited in every page. Mountain and 
 meadow, tree and flower, the heavens above and the earth 
 beneath, sea and shore, stately man and winsome woman, 
 love and hatred, fair play and foul, incidents recorded in 
 Holy Scripture, in history, and in daily life amongst 
 ourselves, have all been laid under contribution to furnish 
 him with themes for his Muse. Amid such a great variety 
 of subjects as the volume contains, some, no doubt, will be 
 esteemed more interesting and more ably executed than 
 others ; but, the candid reader will, throughout, discern 
 striking features of care, taste, and powers of observation 
 and reflection of a markedly individual type. 
 
 The social circle in which Mr. Burns was born and bred 
 rendered his life, in its earlier stages, peculiarly trying and 
 severe. Till twenty-seven years of age, his life was spent in 
 the hard and ceaseless toils of husbandry amid the northern
 
 VI. 
 
 villages of Northumberland. He enjoyed only for a few 
 months the benefits of a school education. All he knew, in 
 this respect, was taught him by his worthy and pious 
 mother, and the range of her literary culture was confined 
 within the boards of her Bible — after all, the best and 
 purest manual of the English language in the land. 
 
 A great and manifest change, amounting to a thorough 
 mental and religious resurrection, came over Mr. Burns 
 when about twenty years of age. He then awakened to an 
 earnest sense of his manifold deficiencies. He became 
 sensible of the utterly neglected and uncultivated state of 
 his intellectual faculties. He felt that he knew nothing, 
 and had learned nothing, but implicit obedience to the calls 
 of routine, drudgery, and bondage. The simplest elements 
 of education, except reading, were entirely beyond the 
 boundaries of his acquired knowledge. But, no sooner was 
 he impressed with the conviction of his deplorable condition, 
 than he set himself manfully to rectify the evil. Without 
 teacher, or any assistance whatever, he applied himself to 
 the study of arithmetic, writing, grammar, phonography, 
 and composition ; and, whilst thus engaged in his searching 
 after all knowledge, he abandoned the plough, and joined 
 the police force of Newcastle. Shortly after the institution 
 of our School Board, he was appointed one of its officers, 
 the duties of which situation he at pi-esent discharges. 
 
 The critical reader of this volume will, doubtless, come 
 across lines, here and there, which, with a little more 
 cultured taste and painstaking assiduity, would have been 
 rendered more rhythmical, smooth, and sweet in their 
 recital. With all their original sins upon their heads, 
 however, a very large proportion of the pieces have already 
 appeared in the Hawick, Langholm, Kelso, and other 
 provincial newspapers and magazines, which testifies, in a 
 measure, to their acknowledged merit and excellence. 
 
 To Mr. BURNS's friends and admirers the contents of this 
 volume will be recognised as worthy of his head and heart.
 
 VII. 
 
 But they will only regard it as an earnest of something 
 more substantial and finished, which, they believe, his 
 sterling abilities are quite competent to produce at no 
 greatly distant day. 
 
 We are pleased to testify to the fact that our most 
 sanguine expectations, at the issue of the first series, have 
 been fully realized in the selections now offered to the 
 public, and anticipate for this volume a cordial welcome in 
 many quarters of our country-side, and beyond it ; and trust 
 that many hearts will be supported, guided, and encouraged 
 by the high-toned sentiments of the upright, amiable, and 
 warm-hearted author. 
 
 JAMES GRAHAM POTTER. 
 
 Neivcastle-vpon- Tyne.
 
 IX. 
 
 By THE AUTHOR. 
 
 The author feels keenly his responsibility in placing the 
 creations of his fancy before the eye of the intellectual 
 world, but, whether he has done right, the public must 
 judge. However little the reader may see in the following 
 productions to merit his approbation, we sincerely hope he 
 will not find much to condemn. The intention, throughout, 
 has been good. 
 
 &■ 
 
 Nature has been to the author a volume full of ineffable 
 benignity, and he humbly claims to have recognized, though 
 faintly, how wonderful and diversified are its illustrated 
 pages. Formed, as they are, of wood and mountain, lake 
 and river, vernal sky and summer verdure, virgin morning, 
 meridian noon, dewy eve, and sable mantled night, spangled 
 with its silent pageantry of moon and stars, the singing of 
 birds in the groves, the merry music of the streams, the 
 profusion of flowers adorning hill and dale, the solemn sigh 
 of the winds wafting sweet perfume over the altar of the 
 universe, harmonizing, as they do, to minister to the finer 
 instincts of our natural senses, places the intellect in the 
 most favourable conditions to grope its way into the highest 
 spiritual verities. 
 
 Impressed and actuated by such influences, we have often 
 experienced an expansion of thought, both extensive in its 
 grasp, and varied in its beneficence. Under the charm of 
 these impulses, we have felt our better nature throb with 
 love, tenderness, and gratitude, until it exhausted itself 
 in a tributary torrent of song ; and, though it may be vain 
 for the author to indulge even the faintest hope, that such 
 productions as the following pages present, can ever move
 
 X. 
 
 the great high-strung heart of the intellectual world, yet he 
 consoles himself with the fact that they have already added 
 to him their quota of refining pleasure, in occupying, as 
 they have done, many a happily-spent hour. 
 
 A great source of encouragement has also been derived 
 
 from the kind support received, both from local and 
 
 provincial editors of newspapers, who have courteously 
 
 opened their columns to give expression of their approval 
 
 of these humble efforts, for which he begs to return them 
 
 his most sincere thanks. 
 
 THOMAS BURNS. 
 
 s^,j^_ toy: jftfe M-i*&zm *r-
 
 XI. 
 
 3 n bey. 
 
 The Banks of Till - - - - - 1 
 
 The Poet's Mission ...... 12 
 
 Spring-tide Impressions - - - - - - 14 
 
 The Banks of Teviot - - - - - - 16 
 
 Sonnet — To Inspiration ------ 19 
 
 Star of the Morning ------ 20 
 
 Guide our Souls ------- 21 
 
 A Day at Bywell ------ 22 
 
 The Soldier's Return ------ 24 
 
 A Wedding Day ------ 26 
 
 A Call to Heroism ------ 28 
 
 Lines on the Anniversary of Robert Burns - - - 30 
 
 The Poet at Work in the City - - - - 31 
 
 Lines written on visiting Denholm, the Birth-place of 
 
 Dr. Leyden ------- 32 
 
 Lines by a Brother Poet, dedicated to the Author - - 35 
 
 Song— To Mary ------- 37 
 
 'Tis not thine Eye so proudly Glancing - - - 38 
 
 Sailing through the Kyles of Bute - - - - 39 
 
 On entering a Highland Glen - - - - - 41 
 
 A Glance at the Mountain Tarn - - - - 43 
 
 Musings on Arthur's Seat, Edinburgh - - - - 44 
 
 A View of Ben Lomond - - - - - 46 
 
 A Reverie written among the Highland Hills - - - 47 
 
 A Day on the Braes of Gleniffer - - - - 50 
 
 A Reverie on the Banks of Tweed - - - - 53 
 
 The Drunkard and his Wife - - - - - 55 
 
 The Sun ........ 60 
 
 To the Hero of the House ----- 62 
 
 A Genesis of Imaginative Creations - - - - 63 
 
 Soliloquy on Youth ...... 69 
 
 Soliloquy on Character - - - 74 
 
 The Poet's Counsellor - - - - 79 
 
 Love -------- 90 
 
 Autumn — The Song of the Derwent - - - - 92 
 
 Ode to Poets ....... 94 
 
 Snow ........ 97
 
 Xll. 
 
 The Lark ....... 98 
 
 An Autumn Soliloquy ------ 99 
 
 The Human Mind ...... 101 
 
 The Birthday by Grace - - - - - - 103 
 
 Ode to Experience - - - - - - 105 
 
 A World of Sorrow - - - - - - 108 
 
 Soliloquy on Life - - - - - - 109 
 
 A Bundle of Myrrh is my well-beloved unto me - - 111 
 " As the Lily among Thorns, so is my Love among the 
 
 Daughters" - - - - - - 114 
 
 A Hymeneal Ode - - - - - - 117 
 
 Written on the occasion of a Silver Wedding - - 120 
 
 Woman's Charms - - - - - - 122 
 
 Come, Sing a Song to me, my Love - - - - 123 
 
 Thoughts on Christmas - - - - - - 125 
 
 Keflections under the Last Moon of the Old Year - - 127 
 
 Jubilee Banquet in Jesmond Dene - - - - 129 
 
 To a Young Lady - - - - - 132 
 
 Musings by a Biver - - - - - - 133 
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 The Temple of Faith - - - - - -135 
 
 To Hope - - - . ... 135 
 
 Qn a Young Lady's Character ----- 136 
 
 To a Friend ..... . 136 
 
 To a Critic - - .... 137 
 
 SONGS. 
 
 Lavinia - - - - - - - -13S 
 
 The Flush is on the Morn • - - - 139 
 
 Alice Lee - 140 
 
 The Summer Eve was Balmy - - - - 141 
 
 Two Beamy Eyes - - - - - - 142 
 
 The Sea! The Sea ! - - - 143 
 
 When Jenny tried her Searching Fires - - 144 
 
 The Charm of Jean - - - - - - 145 
 
 The Banks of Tyne ------ 147 
 
 To Flora- ------- 148 
 
 The Maid I Love- - - - - - 149 
 
 Annie Grey - - ... 150 
 
 The Banks of the Wansbeck - - - - - 152 
 
 To' Jane - - - - - - - -153 
 
 A Young Maid to her Lover - - - - - 155
 
 Xlll. 
 
 Love Song - - - . . . - 156 
 
 An Old Maiden's Song ----.. 157 
 
 A Virtuous Cottage Girl - 158 
 
 To Her Gracious Majesty the Queen - - - - 159 
 
 SACRED SONGS. 
 
 To the Memory of Mary White - .... 161 
 
 In Memoriam of Elizabeth Tunnah .... 162 
 
 In Memoriam - - - - . - - 164 
 
 Many shall be purified, made white, and tried - - 166 
 
 List of Subscribers --.... 1(59 
 
 Opinions of the Press ------ 175
 
 ITT " 
 Jil. 
 
 MES FROM NATUR
 
 XVI. 
 
 to t§t $uf0or. 
 
 Dear Sir, your sonnets shall live for ever. 
 
 The language used in the structure of them 
 
 Is, to say the least, most magnificent. 
 
 They are gems of poetical ideas. 
 
 The reader is crushed 'neath an avalanche 
 
 Of resistless beauty, that sweeps the soul 
 
 To the pinnacle of sublimity. 
 
 The base sounds of a wicked world are drowned 
 
 In thy glorious Niagara of song. 
 
 Thy Muse can explore the regions of space, 
 
 And ride on the wings of the hurricane. 
 
 With an eagle eye she has soared into 
 
 The very innermost heaven of thought, and 
 
 Culled the choicest dainties of knowledge. She 
 
 Has paid an exploring visit to the 
 
 Fountain of inspiration, and bottomed 
 
 The science of rhyming navigation. 
 
 She has crowned the summits of eloquence 
 
 In princely grandeur and splendour gorgeous, 
 
 With extraordinary versatility. 
 
 Long, oh ! long, may she flourish in glory, 
 
 Abounding in majesty, wisdom, and 
 
 Truth, till thy name, like thy illustrious 
 
 Kinsman, be placed in the archives of fame. 
 
 Sing on, then, oh ! sing on, till the four winds 
 
 Of heaven scatter abroad thy poems, 
 
 And make them the delight and praise of men. 
 
 D. W. P.
 
 She Banfee of Sill. 
 
 Oh ! graceful Till, meandering tide, 
 Of Millfield's fruitful plain the pride, 
 How oft I've wander'd by thy side 
 
 In flowery spring. 
 There first my Muse, her numbers plied, 
 
 And learn'd to sins. 
 
 '8' 
 
 My youthful pulse was beating strong, 
 The fibres of my heart among, 
 For laughing joys, resistless song, 
 
 In cadence rare, 
 Swift shot her glowing notes along 
 
 With gentle air. 
 
 My native lyres, poor artless lays, 
 May never earn a meed of praise, 
 But, if it cheer life's fleeting days, 
 
 Naught will I mind. 
 Imagination's pleasing rays 
 
 Has much refin'd. 
 
 Where'er my footsteps chance to stray, 
 By rugged rock or flowery brae, 
 My Muse will radiate the way, 
 
 With sparks of rhyme. 
 Though cold winds round me sighing say 
 
 You're wasting time.
 
 THE BANKS OF TILL. 
 
 Though neighbours flaunt me in their rage, 
 With faces fashioned to the age, 
 Illiterate in nature's page 
 
 And sneering smile, 
 Against them all a war I'll wage 
 
 In honest toil. 
 
 Dear winding Till, thy fresco'd brink 
 
 Gave fancy's eye its fiery blink, 
 
 And drew my untrain'd mind to think 
 
 On glen and grove, 
 Where I could sacred wisdom drink 
 
 From cups of love. 
 
 Come strike, my Muse, thy trembling lyre, 
 With greater glee thy song inspire, 
 Let nothing check thy ardent fire, 
 
 And flame divine. 
 For youthful passion's strong desire 
 
 Will soon decline. 
 
 Let's tune the lay, while nature's charm 
 Keeps manhood's throbbing bosom warm, 
 Nor let corroding care's alarm 
 
 From song beguile. 
 Though fortune with reversed arm 
 
 Delete her smile. 
 
 Gay pictures doth TilPs banks adorn, 
 There buds the beech, and blooms the thorn, 
 And yellow shakes the waving corn, 
 
 On either side. 
 To walk Till's flowery fringe at morn 
 
 Was once my pride.
 
 THE BANKS OF TILL. 
 
 To brush the dew, at opening clay, 
 From off the drooping f roudy hay, 
 And watch the lazy mist essay 
 
 To wing its flight, 
 Athwart the glowing, sunlit way, 
 
 O'er Flodden's height. 
 
 *o* 
 
 Oft has time's journalistic pen, 
 Retraced those walks and scenes again, 
 And sealed on mem'ry benign 
 
 Each prospect fair. 
 Pledged the glory to remain 
 
 Engrave q there. 
 
 *&* 
 
 The first wrote phrases in life's tale, 
 Can never on their tablets pale, 
 Nor will one deep impression fail 
 
 Through life's long years, 
 Caught in youth's primogenial veil 
 
 Of hopes and fears. 
 
 Man's life's a dreamy minstrel song, 
 Blythe nature's scenic groves among, 
 Ten thousand, thousand teachers throng 
 
 About his mind, 
 And every unit owns a tongue 
 
 Free as the wind. 
 
 I've seen Till kiss'd by swallow's wing, 
 On twig the blackbird o'er her swing, 
 And to his mirror'd image sing 
 
 A roundelay, 
 Enthroned on high, as choral king, 
 
 In plumage gay.
 
 THE BANKS OF TILL. 
 
 When bluebell and forget-me-not 
 Made luminous the woodbine grot, 
 And gave attractions to the spot 
 
 As few conceive. 
 Their rosy-fingered zephyrs float 
 
 The charms to weave. 
 
 How grand the view from Yeavering Bell, 
 High towering over Mill6eld's dell, 
 Through which the crystal glen doth swell 
 
 'Mong waving grain, 
 Where fragrant herb and ashphodel 
 
 O'erstud the plain. 
 
 When seated in that charming zone, 
 Among the heathei'-bells alone, 
 On Till's clear surface gazing down, 
 
 Oh ! glorious sight, 
 Upon a summer's afternoon, 
 
 What rare delight. 
 
 Enraptur'd there the charm to trace, 
 That decks the plain's fair-cultur'd face, 
 Or, musing on the human race, 
 
 Who wav'd the flag, 
 And trod its turf with martial pace 
 
 Ftom base to crag. 
 
 From its proud top with ardour keen, 
 The varied fields with joy I've seen, 
 Some cloth'd in hue of emerald green, 
 
 So picturesque ; 
 AVith speckled pea, and blooming bean, 
 
 'Neath Phoebus' disc.
 
 THE BANKS OF TILL. 
 
 Old border castles circle round 
 
 Which once dread feudal legions bound, 
 
 Where beacon light and trumpet sound 
 
 Rous'd men to war, 
 From humble cot, and classic ground, 
 
 Both near and far. 
 
 Within whose walls the proud and great, 
 Exulted in their wealth and state, 
 And served at fortune's golden gate, 
 
 A favour'd few, 
 Who did on tassell'd honour wait, 
 
 And lustrous grew. 
 
 But all their magic spells and charms 
 Could not evade the Scottish arms, 
 From throwing them into alarms, 
 
 And poignant grief ; 
 For warriors came like bees, in swarms, 
 
 In blood and strife. 
 
 From Cheviot's cloud-capped peaks on high, 
 The landscape stretches on the eye, 
 To where the anchor'd vessels lie, 
 
 By Berwick pier. 
 Few grander sights can we descry, 
 
 Than waxes here. 
 
 Come, rapturous joy, in numbers tell 
 The pleasure o'er my soul which fell, 
 When poesy tranced on Yeavering Bell, 
 
 Plied her sweet art, 
 And drank from inspiration's well 
 
 With gladden'd heart.
 
 THE BANKS OF TILL. 
 
 For as the verdant valley glow'd, 
 As fast the happy numbers fiow'd, 
 Illustrious fancy's golden rod 
 
 Brought forth a spell, 
 From each green arbour, grove, and wood, 
 
 And leaf-clad dell. 
 
 There bounteous labour's pliant hands 
 Her primal native strength extends, 
 And through the sun-flush'd valley wends 
 
 With plough or hoe ; 
 While woolly flocks the shepherd tends 
 
 With footsteps slow. 
 
 Enchanting scenes, how sweet to sing, 
 When youth and love are on the wing, 
 And floating gales the fragrance bring 
 
 From field and bowei*, 
 Where twice ten thousand voices ring 
 
 Their song of power. 
 
 There Coupland stands in sylvan shade, 
 
 Sedate within the quiet glade, 
 
 Around whose towers the fir trees spread, 
 
 So fresh and green ; 
 Where " Roman monk" and seer deep read 
 
 Have honour'd been. 
 
 Ford, screened within her leafy bowers, 
 Erects her ancient castle towers, 
 Where love allured, with siren powers, 
 
 Proud " Scotia's king," 
 Did from his grasp in fateful hours 
 
 His kingdom wring.
 
 THE BANKS OF TILL. 
 
 Then " Scotland's waning star " went down, 
 And woeful was that day's dark frown, 
 For few across her mountains brown 
 
 Return'd to tell, 
 When Surrey's host the day had won, 
 
 How many fell. 
 
 Old Chillingham, in silver ray, 
 Displays her crags and turrets gay, 
 Where dappled deer and cattle grey 
 
 Browse on her brow, 
 Where lusty stag and fleet deer play 
 
 By glen and knowe. 
 
 In dreams I trace Till's windings fair, 
 Tis mem'ry's bliss to linger there, 
 And still my mind with earnest care, 
 
 When day is done, 
 Marks Heaven's work engraven clear 
 
 By show'r and sun. 
 
 There o'er my head the lark hath sung, 
 And 'neath my feet the wild flow'rs sprung, 
 As nature all her fretwork hung 
 
 In sparkling dew, 
 While choristers through copses rung 
 
 Their music new. 
 
 There in the summer's twilight hour, 
 In sober solitude secure, 
 Expanding fancy's foster pow'r 
 
 In ecstasy, 
 Used her delicious song to pour 
 
 At close of day.
 
 THE BANKS OF TILL. 
 
 Until dank trembling shades of gloom 
 Veiled the glowing green tress'd bloom, 
 And night's cold tears fell on the tomb 
 
 In copious show'r, 
 Which gemmed the palaces of doom 
 
 'Neath ambush'd bow'r. 
 
 And Luna, with her silent beam, 
 Came out to dance upon the stream, 
 With soft-ey'd daughters all agleam 
 
 In Orient glee, 
 Which did with sphery light relume, 
 
 Stream, wood, and lea. 
 
 Romantic by Till's fennel side 
 Old Etal stands in sylvan pride, 
 Kiss'd by the restless lapping tide 
 
 Which sportive plays, 
 Where faded grandeur still reside 
 
 And fancy strays. 
 
 There " Rob de Manners," knight of fame, 
 
 And others of illustrious name, 
 
 By whom both Roos and Rutland came, 
 
 Who laurels wore, 
 Whose souls flashed out in martial flame 
 
 In deeds of yore. 
 
 Close by the river ruins tell 
 
 Us of St. Mary's Church and well, 
 
 On which marauding Douglas fell 
 
 In rallying cry, 
 With stout halberdiers at his heel 
 
 Full haughtily.
 
 THE BANKS OF TILL. 
 
 Bnt still the scented zephyr breeze 
 Sings soft as ever through the trees, 
 And dance as lightly on the leas 
 
 As when that fane 
 Show'd belt'd knight with kirtell'd knees 
 
 On window pane. 
 
 Or when the country nobles round 
 All worshipped on its hallowed ground, 
 As monks and friars did expound 
 
 The word of God, 
 Which now in Britain's heart has found 
 
 A sure abode. 
 
 Grand yet on Duddo's rocky brow, 
 Her castle ruins stand to show, 
 Where patriotism's withering glow, 
 
 And genius bright, 
 Shone over Grindon's plains below, 
 
 Stryvelings' site. 
 
 Still glittering clear in silver gleam 
 Runs Twizel's flowery fringed stream, 
 Shining in the solar beam 
 
 Of summer morn, 
 Where Percy with Northumbrian cream 
 
 Blew war's shrill horn. 
 
 And there with honour's itching charm, 
 Throbbing heart and sinewy arm, 
 Felt true manhood's blood flow warm 
 
 With pride, to show 
 The patriotic, ardent germ, 
 
 Of martial glow.
 
 10 THE BANKS OP TILL. 
 
 To wield the lance, and couch the spear, 
 Around Stryvelings' home so dear ; 
 Where blooming maidens void of fear, 
 
 And strong of will, 
 Did watch the fight, at evening clear, 
 
 From Duddo's hill. 
 
 But glance, proud muse, at Routing Lynn, 
 Where coy romance with beauty reign, 
 Like to a mountain denizen, 
 
 Impearled o'er 
 Within her flower bespangled shrine 
 
 Of finest lore. 
 
 There comes the clashing moorland stream, 
 With all its silvery spars agleam, 
 Bright sparkling in the solar beam, 
 
 From heights above, 
 Quick gliding with its sedgy team 
 
 Through heath-clad grove. 
 
 The barrier rocks, high, hoar, and grey, 
 It moistens with its foaming spray, 
 Which through the excavations play 
 
 With merry peal, 
 Adashing, leaping, all the way 
 
 In facile reel. 
 
 Still yonder fair Pallinsburn stands, 
 Amid her wide embroidered lands, 
 And much affection she commands, 
 
 For honour's there, 
 With counsel wise, and open hands, 
 
 Advice to share,
 
 THE BANKS OF TILL. 
 
 11 
 
 'Twas here the truth Paulinus spake, 
 Baptised his converts in the lake ; 
 Bless'd noble work to undertake 
 
 With reverent awe. 
 And that, alone, for lost men's sake, 
 
 And Gospel law.
 
 £be poet's (TIMssion. 
 
 Attune thy voice, my muse to noble strains, 
 
 And celebrate the harmonies of song ; 
 
 Awake transporting enthusiasm, 
 
 That warmeth the keen mind of the poet. 
 
 Wrapt in the contemplation of the grove, 
 
 Or, at the side of the musical stream, 
 
 Glimmering in the pale moon's mazy ray ; 
 
 Animate thou my imagination, 
 
 Empower her wing to traverse the regions 
 
 Of numerous created substances. 
 
 Help her to penetrate and explore the 
 
 Rich empire of rare possibilities, 
 
 Where with clear vision she may descern 
 
 The marvellously beautiful, which ev'r 
 
 Captivates and enchants the vocal soul, 
 
 Returning again, laden with choicest 
 
 Materials in the wide economy 
 
 Of sweet, delightful exhilaration. 
 
 Laudable enterprise is this, my muse ; 
 
 Pour out thy sorrow-soothing sentiment 
 
 Of honied virtue to the yielding heart ; 
 
 Cease not thy happy, elevating songs, 
 
 Till the mellow light of the morning star 
 
 Of a new era gilds the horizon 
 
 Of this purple clouded and guilt stained world. 
 
 Methinks that the chime of the poet's lays 
 
 Will swell on the troubled billows of Time, 
 
 When trophies of the proudest conqueror 
 
 Are mouldered to dust in the valley of 
 
 Forgetfulness ; when superb mausoleums 
 
 Shall stand unnoticed and unknown in the 
 
 Desert, where the venturous traveller
 
 THE POETS MISSION. 1$ 
 
 Has failed to find a path on which to tread. 
 
 Posterity will plant Forget-me-nots 
 
 On the poet's urn, and water with tears 
 
 Of gladness the prodigies of his fame, 
 
 x\s long as the sun's sweet influences 
 
 Gives an expression to the vaulted sky, 
 
 By his glorious lustre of new born day ; 
 
 While from glittering summits of peaked rocks, 
 
 And verdurous shining slopes of mountains, 
 
 Soft exhalations ascend and mix with 
 
 The light air of the radiant morning, 
 
 Rising like smoke from nature's sacrifice, 
 
 When springing flowers exhale the sweets received, 
 
 And fleet winged inhabitants of the grove 
 
 Pour forth rich warblings from their little throats, 
 
 To Him who gave them voice and melody, 
 
 In one grand choral psalm of native praise ; 
 
 Musical their glorious anthems ring 
 
 In adoration of the works of God, 
 
 Directing our wandering thoughts upward, 
 
 To where His truth and bounty shining rise, 
 
 Each smiling morn is a lively proof 
 
 Of our infinite Lord's benevolence, 
 
 Tired nature awakes with renewed vigour, 
 
 Astonished woods become vocal with praise ; 
 
 Sombre hills, dewy plains, and tinkling streams, 
 
 Join in one harmonious chant of joy, 
 
 Uttering loud peans of gratitude, 
 
 Kindling the fires of meditation 
 
 On every animated altar 
 
 Where wonders are being celebrated, 
 
 Happily welding into a union 
 
 Of reflective sympathy all our minds, 
 
 Wiping away the tears of discontent 
 
 From the clouded eye of humanity.
 
 Spnno^tifce 3ntpression0. 
 
 Again see nature's sovereign smile 
 Comes quivering round our northern isle, 
 Sweet beaming down the mountain side, 
 With royal petal-aiding pride, 
 Soft lingering on the pale-cheeked plains, 
 Nursing .them with genial rains. 
 
 The sweep of Winter's scimitar, 
 Wild ruling in avenging war, 
 Is hushed to peace when light and song, 
 Advancing with their charming throng, 
 Of sweet, apportioned, odorous fumes, 
 Which every blue-ridged hill relumes. 
 
 Blythe Spring, thy grand inspiring flame 
 
 Electrifies the earth's cold frame, 
 
 Come forth in lustre's richest dress, 
 
 With balmy zephyrs to caress 
 
 The bosom of each glancing tide, 
 
 Which murmurs through our valleys wide. 
 
 I 
 
 What visions of serene delight 
 Flash now upon our ravished sight 
 Thy charming power, enthroned on high, 
 Gives to the woodland shades a sigh, 
 Which through the silent welkin rings, 
 Till universal nature sings.
 
 SPRING-TIDE IMPRESSIONS. 
 
 15 
 
 My soul come wake thy gen'rous fire, 
 Let spring-tide gales thy strain inspire ; 
 Rise to the grandeur of your state, 
 In idleness 'tis vain to wait ; 
 With graceful mein, and aspect kind, 
 Love deigns to crown the active mind. 
 
 From thought's deep chalice let me pour 
 The vintage of my muse's lore, 
 Engathered from the opening flow'rs, 
 Which rise beneath the dew bathed bow'rs, 
 For vagrant fancy's sandall'd feet 
 Around those symbols often beat. 
 
 There music floats on every gale, 
 And holds its concert in the vale, 
 Where hallowed airs and symphonies 
 Ring out thank-oflerings to the skies, 
 Until my soul, in dreams sublime, 
 Feels lost to care, to earth, and time. 

 
 She Banks of Zcmot 
 
 It takes a moment only 
 
 To bring to memory, 
 That shady spot so lonely, 
 
 Each tinted flower and tree. 
 
 That path where youth's emotions 
 First felt joy's melting touch, 
 
 And frankly drank the potions 
 Which did my heart enrich. 
 
 I seem again to listen 
 
 The quiet Teviot's flow, 
 To see the sunbeams glisten 
 
 Upon its surface low. 
 
 To hear the wild birds singing 
 All through the copses sweet, 
 
 The lapping waters ringing 
 Their anthems at my feet. 
 
 Whene'er I think of boyhood, 
 
 Or see a sylvan copse, 
 It brings to mind the greenwood 
 
 That waves o'er Teviot's slopes. 
 
 Some blythesome boys who dandered, 
 With me on Teviot's banks, 
 
 To foreign shores have wandered, 
 And act in other ranks.
 
 THE BANKS OF TEVIOT. 17 
 
 With them youth's halcyon summer 
 Seemed just to melt away, 
 
 And leave the pensive dreamer 
 To ruthless cares a prey. 
 
 We plucked the yellow gowans 
 From off the blushing glade ; 
 
 We robbed the blooming rowans, 
 And watch'd their blossoms fade. 
 
 We culled the pink-eyed roses 
 Which on the briers grew, 
 
 Where scented balm reposes 
 On beds of sparkling dew. 
 
 We heard the insects humming 
 
 In wild ecstatic joy ; 
 We saw the swallows skimming 
 
 The river's glancing eye. 
 
 There poesy came a-courting, 
 And won my plastic heart ; 
 
 She's left me joys transporting. 
 With which I'll never part. 
 
 Now, close in hymen's union, 
 Our emanations knit ; 
 
 While sympathy's communion 
 Doth nurse my innate wit.
 
 18 THE BANKS OP TEVIOT. 
 
 But, though my pen is glowing, 
 With inspiration's fire, 
 
 And metaphors are flowing 
 Along my thrilling lyre. 
 
 Such arbours so inviting 
 As vocal Teviot's are, 
 
 Excel my power in writing 
 And set my thoughts at war.
 
 Sonnet— Zo 3nspiration. 
 
 Soul-moving spirit, divine essence given, 
 
 Contexture from the sacred loom of heaven, 
 
 Great Parent union of the universe, 
 
 Revealed in reason's logic ripe and terse, 
 
 Glorious in conception's pregnant wealth, 
 
 -And generous in wisdom's cheerful health, 
 
 Mystic in solitary power and thought, 
 
 In wreathing mists and rolling storm clouds caught. 
 
 Thy hand can grasp the ocean by the main, 
 
 Or roll the laughing thunder o'er the plain ; 
 
 Thou rob'st thyself in rays of sunset fires 
 
 To dance with colour round the rainbow tiers, 
 
 While glist'ning angels on their ladders nod, 
 
 And own thy movements worthy of a God.
 
 Star of tbe fl&ornfng. 
 
 Iam . . . the bright and morning star." — Rev. xxii., 1G. 
 
 Sweet star of the morn 
 Arise in our hearts, 
 
 With brightness adorn 
 Our spiritual parts. 
 
 Let thy smiling ray 
 Of victorious grace, 
 
 Its virtue display 
 On each happy face. 
 
 That reasoning thought 
 May speed its career, 
 
 With experience bought 
 Mid clanger and fear. 
 
 Should cold frosts of care 
 Forbid hope to bloom, 
 
 Let lambent beams fair 
 Enlighten the gloom. 
 
 That glory may bud, 
 
 And bring forth her fruit, 
 As holiness spread 
 
 O'er tendril and root. 
 
 Soon Jesus will come 
 To garner his share, 
 
 And take the fruit home 
 To treasure it there.
 
 (Sutfcc our Souls, 
 
 Tune — ''Land ahead, its fruits are waving." 
 
 Guide our souls to Calvary's mountain, 
 Ready waits redemption's Lord, 
 
 Close beside the open fountain, 
 Which His dying love procured. 
 
 Chorus. 
 Then transported we shall be, 
 
 By bright glory, gliding free, 
 Beaming from the Saviour's face, 
 
 O'er the sacred heights of grace. 
 
 Let the Holy Spirit's blessing, 
 Fan the spark of love Divine, 
 
 Till our souls new life possessing, 
 In Thy favour rise and shine. 
 
 Let the eye of faith immortal, 
 Kindling, view the joyful train, 
 
 Marching up to Heaven's portal, 
 Victors over care and pain. 
 
 Radiant in the dazzling brightness, 
 
 That illumes eternity ; 
 Wearing robes of snowy whiteness, 
 
 Purchased by redemption's fee.
 
 a 2>a£ at B^welL 
 
 When the silvery orb, at the opening of clay, 
 Had pencill'd the clouds with its radiant ray, 
 Prompt to the call of a kind invitation, 
 Joyous and proud, in our favoured position, 
 Swift fancy sped out at the first flush of morn, 
 And, perched on the bloom of the virginal thorn, 
 The rich shrine of nature revealed to our view, 
 Glanc'd fresh on the eye through its mirror of dew. 
 
 The flowerets all charmed, and smiling with glee, 
 Their odours delicious were throwing out free ; 
 Enchanting delight beckoned down from her throne, 
 While sympathy laughed from her sylvan green zone. 
 The blithe feathered flocks were abroad on the wing, 
 Each lone bush a temple, where anthems did ring, 
 For the poet who soars to Amatha's springs ; 
 This place is well fitted to strengthen his wings. 
 
 Merry whispers of joy were everywhere heard, 
 Coy happiness chimed from the arbours and sward ; 
 Impressions of nature are eloquent here, 
 Like evangels they rise and fall on my ear ; 
 And long I'll remember those bliss-giving hours, 
 I spent by the Tyne among Bywell's green bow'rs, 
 Where our hearts in their fondness joined in the lays, 
 As sung by the birds in their ravishing praise.
 
 A DAY AT BYWELL. 23 
 
 How fain would I stay among madrigals here, 
 
 To muse by the river so placid and clear ; 
 
 But whispers of duty are ringing return 
 
 To the City, where genius my musings spurn. 
 
 Released from all clamour, and riot, and noise, 
 
 "Which jars with the quire of my emulous joys, 
 
 I'd sculpture each scene on the bulwarks of thought, 
 
 And publish the harmonies cunningly wrought. 
 
 Enamoured 'neath pines that encurtain the vales, 
 Or numbering the notes of volatile gales, 
 "Watching bright sunbeams effulgently quiver, 
 Down on the face of the glittering river. 
 Traversing through mazes with soul trancing fire, 
 Or charging some breeze with my musical lyre ; 
 Inhaling sweet pleasures from cloud-mantled hills, 
 And drinking contentment from nature's clear rills. 
 
 The cypress of peace I would twine round my brow, 
 While my muse like the Tyne continued her flow, 
 These woodlands melodious would be a retreat, 
 Where echoing welkin my song would repeat. 
 As this mellow voice in free accents did melt, 
 And ring round the sphere where the minsti-el dwelt, 
 Till the odours of truth, balsamic and rare, 
 "Would both sublimate life and abrogate care.
 
 Zbe SolMer's IReturn. 
 
 I've wandered round this whirling sphere, 
 
 To serve my Queen and country dear, 
 
 In weary marches, night and day, 
 
 A soldier in the battle's fray ; 
 
 Involved in tumult's wild uproar, 
 
 On fevered Afric's sun-streaked shore, 
 
 Far from my friends and native home, 
 
 With parched tongue compelled to roam. 
 
 Full many a foe did me engage, 
 
 Convulsed in anger's burning rage ; 
 
 Still I've left that dangerous coast, 
 
 Again the Ocean safely cross'd. 
 
 But all my comrades dear are dead, 
 
 Who were to battle with me led ; 
 
 Some lie beneath the forest gloom, 
 
 And others sleep in rocky tomb. 
 
 No gentle hand, or weeping eyes, 
 
 Came forth to soothe their agonies ; 
 
 Naught but the burning solar ray 
 
 Beheld them as they gory lay, 
 
 Upon that dire and dismal field, 
 
 They unto death their lives did yield, 
 
 Old England's glory to unfold, 
 
 And Britain's prestige to uphold, 
 
 Amid the tempest's awful roar, 
 
 Repugnant fortune locked her store ; 
 
 Each side before and round behind 
 
 The raging battle us confined, 
 
 While quick, more quick, the war-bolts flew, 
 
 Sweeping each hill top and plateau.
 
 THE SOLDIERS RETURN. 
 
 25 
 
 A sulphury haze o'erspread the grove, 
 And round our ranks a net-work wove, 
 Till nothing but the drum and fife 
 Fell on our ears amid the strife. 
 But as the mazy dance went round, 
 And slippery grew the rocky ground, 
 There fell unnumbered, side by side, 
 The flower of England's soldier pride ; 
 No more to leave that sand-reefed shore, 
 O'er which the angry typhoons roar. 
 Where sympathy with melting eye, 
 May never breathe a soothing sigh, 
 Till dark oblivion kindly cast 
 Her gloomy veil o'er suffering past. 
 Still, in dejection, let none grieve, 
 For every name a deed did leave ; 
 And, what are honours' fondest smiles, 
 If they're not sculptured out in toils.
 
 a WlebMng E>a£. 
 
 Sweet on the green mead's solitude, 
 A violet and a daisy stood, 
 
 Glancing in the morning's ray ; 
 While came with bounding pace along, 
 A blooming maiden, fair and young, 
 And merrily this song she sung, 
 
 This is my wedding day. 
 
 The daisy to the violet says, 
 Mark how espoused beauty's blaze 
 
 In tasteful bridal dress. 
 Love's light doth from each feature stream, 
 She's fondling hope's delicious dream, 
 In youthful morning's blithesome beam, 
 
 Her buoyant feet we'll kiss. 
 
 For soon the stamp of anxious care 
 May dash that sportful grace so fair, 
 
 That's playing round her now. 
 The coming sweep of Time's behest 
 Will thread the mazes in her breast, 
 Then cold, appalling grief may rest 
 
 Upon her youthful brow. 
 
 But the kiss, so kindly given, 
 
 From those flowers the joy had riven, 
 
 In dishabille they lay. 
 That look of innocence was gone, 
 Which on their virgin petals shone, 
 I heard the am'rous zephyrs moan, 
 
 To see them fade away.
 
 A WEDDING DAT. 27 
 
 And, that clay, ere the summer sun, 
 Unto the west his race had run, 
 
 Swift through the azure sky, 
 Impulsive hope had anchor weighed, 
 And the sweet-featured, dark-eyed bride 
 Was cast upon the Ocean's tide, 
 
 Among its foam to die. 
 
 The bridal party, pleasure bound, 
 A fated boat, alas ! had found, 
 
 And launched it on the main. 
 Soon sea-ward was the frail craft hied, 
 For gallantly the oars were plied, 
 By he whom Hymen clothed in pride, 
 
 In yonder sacred fane. 
 
 Till rushing in its reckless wrath, 
 
 The wild wind struck aslant their path, 
 
 And tossed them on the surge. 
 A shriek rang round the rock-bound shore, 
 I looked athwart the tempest's roar, 
 But all had sunk, to rise no more, 
 
 Deep in the awful gorge. 
 
 Think ye, who sail o'er pleasure's stream, 
 How dangerous 'tis for men to dream, 
 
 On life's delusive wave. 
 Then let not momentary joy 
 Great reason from her throne decoy, 
 While leering death his skill employ 
 
 To fill the greedy grave.
 
 a (Tall to Ibcroism. 
 
 Men of Britain, listen to me, 
 Do your duty, young and old. 
 
 With the pow'r God has endow'd thee, 
 Minds are never to be sold. 
 
 You whose thoughts in freedom wander, 
 What are Britons rights I ask 1 
 
 Not as sycophants to pander, 
 
 To the great and shun your task. 
 
 Horny hands and sunn'd complexions, 
 Cannot forfeit nature's claim ; 
 
 Stations differ, but affections 
 
 Dwell in rich and poor the same. 
 
 Why did God, the King of Nature, 
 
 Make our intellects to toil 1 
 Did He just create a creature, 
 ' For to till and dress the soil 1 
 
 Think ye haughty iron hearted, 
 Lolling at your sumptuous boards ; 
 
 Think how many limbs have smarted, 
 For the sweets your state affords. 
 
 Ye who use unhuman scourges, 
 
 And oppress with pinching screws ; 
 
 Think awhile what duty urges, 
 Agents of His will to use.
 
 A CALL TO HEROISM. 
 
 29 
 
 Hark ! He answers, wild tornadoes 
 Strew the dark blue sea with wrecks ; 
 
 Wasting towns, plantations, meadows, 
 Air the voice by which He speaks. 
 
 Oh ! for sin, what visitations 
 Rigorous men must undergo ; 
 
 They would e'en fix habitations, 
 Where the wild winds answer, no.
 
 Xines on tbe anniversary of IRobert 
 
 ©urns. 
 
 Let adverse time research her urns, 
 And bring her relics out to gaze ; 
 
 Few greater names extant than Burns, 
 None more deserves a poet's praise. 
 
 His soul in friendship's mutual flush, 
 Was laden with a rich perfume ; 
 
 "While nature's fresh consonant blush, 
 Nursed fancy into bridal bloom. 
 
 Wed to the music of the spheres, 
 That gleesome sonorous voice of his ; 
 
 Clear through the isles like echo veers, 
 To fill a waiting world with bliss. 
 
 He charged his heart with ardent love, 
 And tuned his intellect for song ; 
 
 His harmonizing muses prove, 
 
 How bouyant was his pow'r and strong. 
 
 Divine the strains to Mary sung, 
 
 No other singer so re fined ; 
 When Heaven's dart his soul had stung, 
 
 And burst the flood-gates of his mind. 
 
 Ye monarchs of the Muse give ear, 
 Mark well the transports of his pen ; 
 
 Did ever man such music hear, 
 As echo's over Logan Glen.
 
 XTbe poet at work in tbe Cit$. 
 
 Along a dark alley, 
 
 And up an old stair, 
 
 A family of three 
 
 Dear children lives there. 
 
 A rap at the door 
 
 Raised a shrill voice within, 
 
 As I lifted the latch, 
 
 And promptly stepp'd in. 
 
 Just list to the murmur 
 
 Which fell on my ear, 
 
 Sir, my husband is dead, 
 
 And clown roll'd a tear. 
 
 We've had nothing to eat 
 
 Since yesterday morn, 
 
 We're just pining in bed, 
 
 Without hope, all forlorn. 
 
 The frost is so hard 
 
 And the wind blows so chill, 
 
 Jim's boots want the sole, 
 
 And Jane Ann's lying ill. 
 
 Will's clothes are so bad 
 
 That he cannot appear, 
 
 While the wind blows thus cold, 
 
 And the frost so severe, 
 
 A day among people 
 
 So abject and poor, 
 
 In houses which scarce 
 
 Own window or door. 
 
 May well melt the heart, 
 
 And fire the soul, 
 
 With eloquent pity, 
 
 Past power of control. 
 
 Here is a commission, 
 
 And service for youth, 
 
 A shrine for compassion, 
 
 An opening for truth.
 
 Xines written on visitino Benbolm, tbc 
 Birth-place of IDr. He^en. 
 
 Strangers who visit the birth-place of Leyden, 
 
 Think what his genius for Denholra has done ; 
 He forrn'd a standard for Scotland to pride in, 
 
 Which few have eclipsed since freedom was won. 
 On memory's disc allusions are rising, 
 
 Illusions I culled in life's morning prime ; 
 Well those pure treasures to-day I am prizing, 
 
 They fire my pen with an ardour sublime. 
 
 How softly her sighs young Summer is breathing, 
 
 Around the carved column upraised to his fame ; 
 Blythly fresh morning her garlands are wreathing, 
 
 Crystalline beams round his art sculptured name. 
 Low 'neath the shadow his birth-place is standing, 
 
 Proud on the eye of the Poet it gleams ; 
 Dignified, graceful, yet so unpretending, 
 
 Light from its precincts effulgently beams. 
 
 Prospects around me are smiling and blooming, 
 
 Green wave the pines on yon tapering dales ; 
 There Leyden's spirit's still ardently roaming, 
 
 Round spiral cones, where wild scented wind sails. 
 Prints of his footsteps I fancy I'm tracking, 
 
 Over the lustred and yellow cupp'd plains ; 
 Through daisy-decked meads where ribb'd clovers rocking, 
 
 New bathed by the tears of eventide rains.
 
 LINES ON THE BIRTH-PLACE OF DR. LEYDEN. 
 
 Up in the chariot of fancy high flying, 
 
 Through thin spreading clouds that veil the blue sky ; 
 Or down in the dell where naiads are plying, 
 
 Their musical songs to the zephyrs sigh. 
 My rapturous soul a kinship is throbbing, 
 
 Impelled by the rage of passionate fire ; 
 Attuned to the sound of Teviot's waves sobbing, 
 
 As they march to the dirge of leaf-covered lyre. 
 
 Down on the torrents from giddy brinks rushing, 
 
 And slaty heights girt with broom, thorn, and fir ; 
 Anthems of nature come sonorous gushing, 
 
 With power that alike can hallow or stir. 
 Bounding like rivulets, frisking and skimming, 
 
 Leaping to life from the heath-mantled hill ; 
 Joy in their accents abundantly beaming, 
 
 What pleasures I felt by this love-laden rill. 
 
 Crisp shine the rays on the valleys enchanting, 
 
 Bright on their foliage the silver beams play ; 
 Emblems of Summer are everywhere flaunting, 
 
 Proud the red pimpernal smiles by the way. 
 Tiny heath flowers on the Dunion are flashing, 
 
 Clamorous screams the lone curlew and snipe ; 
 Mists from the river the crow bells are washing, 
 
 And clear through the bowers ring the blackbird's pipe. 
 
 Slitrig and Borthwick with foam bells up blowing, 
 
 Glide down in their joy the Teviot to join ; 
 'Neath arches of elm and firwood they're flowing, 
 
 Where Leyden first bowed at poesy's dear shrine. 
 Hark ! whispers of love on gales are advancing, 
 
 With notes which inspire my musical soul ; 
 Round shattered green craggs viewless forms are dancing, 
 
 Who's fettered my spirit in quivering thrall.
 
 34 LINES ON THE BIRTH-PLACE OF DR. LEYDEN. 
 
 Should the current of thought from its fathomless fountain 
 
 Burst forth in its freshness to water my lay, 
 I'll wing it for flight o'er meadow and mountain, 
 
 To bask in the light of fame's luminous ray ; 
 Where swift-footed genius serenely is vaulting, 
 
 High on the time-honoured stage of renown, 
 And voluble envy's base somersaulting 
 
 Can never gain more than a scornful frown. 
 
 Then fame in an impulse of passionate feeling, 
 
 Would fire the fibres of every tongue ; 
 While whetted sensations assurance was sealing, 
 
 In the emulous bosoms of old and young. 
 Tread soft o'er the turf, ye peasants hay-making, 
 
 Often the theme of our song worshipped there ; 
 Again at his shrine a Poet's awaking 
 
 The genius who rides on copse-moving air.
 
 TLbc following Xines are tbe Composition of a 
 JBrotber poet, oeoicateo to tbe Hntbor. 
 
 Ah ! thinkest though I've never heen upon high Ruberslaw, 
 And that I've never yet beheld the scenes that you there saw, 
 Or think you I have never felt the quick, deep thrilling glow, 
 Which you have felt when standing there above the plains 
 below. 
 
 Where is the spot in Borderland that I have never trod ? 
 And think'st thou that I am blind unto the works of God 1 
 I tell thee nay ; and this is true, whatever you may feel, 
 That there is much within this world to sour an honest chiel. 
 
 Know you not this that I have sung, and wove my heart in 
 
 rhyme, 
 But anything that we can write wont stand the touch of time ; 
 What are our songs but echo's faint of notes by others sung, 
 And who will read the wretched lays that you and I have 
 
 strung. 
 
 But let not this your spirit damp, nor blunt your ready quill, 
 All that you need thee to inspire is just the towering hill. 
 Now when you're wearied of the Tyne just back to Denholm 
 
 draw, 
 And let us have another song as rugged as the law. 
 
 Oft have I stood late where you stood high perched above 
 
 the vale, 
 Lost, as it were, in fancy's dream, or some old Border tale ; 
 And there I've heard the plover's wail like some sad dirge 
 
 of grief, 
 And there I've been when Autumn stole the greenness from 
 
 the leaf.
 
 36 
 
 LINES OF A BROTHER POET. 
 
 And yet, dear Tom, of what avail is this to you or me, 
 Where Leyden strayed and wooed the Muse, that Muse 
 
 we'll never see. 
 His harp none of us can restring, his was the master hand, 
 So after him, ah ! who need sing of Scotia s Borderland. 
 
 But thunder on, my brother bard, like Etna, all afire, 
 
 The name of Burns is quite enough to make mankind admire; 
 
 When next you sing of Border scenes, and Summer dressed 
 
 sae braw, 
 May some sweet lass wi' dimpled cheek her mantle owre 
 
 thee thraw. 

 
 Sono— Go flDarp. 
 
 Wherever my thoughts are commissioned to roam, 
 Free as air when abroad nor in fetters at home ; 
 Whether rais'd to the skies, fix'd on earth or the sea, 
 They always return, my dear Mary, to thee. 
 
 The pow'r that disperses the clouds as they fly, 
 And gilds the bright orbs that illumine the sky ; 
 In the blue eyes of Mary displays to my view 
 A radiance more cloudless than stars ever knew. 
 
 When my mind on life's sweetest connections attend 
 To imagine the maiden, the wife, or the friend ; 
 My Mary to each of their claims I prefer, 
 For all their perfections are blended in her. 
 
 Life's morning in love did my Mary employ, 
 Nor yield at its noon a less sensible joy ; 
 From its ev'ning her presence will banish the gloom, 
 A nd cheer its dark night on the verge of the tomb.
 
 'Gis not Wbinc £ye 00 prouW^ ©lancing. 
 
 'Tis not thine eye so proudly glancing 
 
 That twines joy's wreath round wisdom's brow, 
 Nor yet those lips whose voice entrancing 
 
 Inspires with more than mortal glow. 
 'Tis not thy breast, which calmly beating 
 
 Reveals within the mind divine, 
 That adds such rapture to our meeting, 
 
 'Tis this — I know thee wholly mine. 
 
 It is the ceaseless echo sounding, 
 
 Love left within my youthful soul, 
 Which keeps her best affections bounding 
 
 To bring all under love's control. 
 For years my life's been spent in dreaming, 
 
 Or building palaces in air ; 
 Down tear-steep'd time still fancy's beaming 
 
 To worship with Letitia fair. 
 
 Though time's swift courser gaily ranging 
 
 But slowly steals youth's charms away, 
 What limit hath the heart for changing, 
 
 Is it a year — perhaps a day ? 
 The false chameleon's colours vary 
 
 With every sunbeam's alter'd hue, 
 And love may prove to minds unwary 
 
 As bright but as inconstant too. 
 
 But thou, like eastern clay declining, 
 
 When all the glow of youth is past, 
 Still walkest on in beauty shining, 
 
 Thine aspect loveliest at the last. 
 Nor shall a cloud arise to banish 
 
 One ray which emanates from thee, 
 Till all at once thy glories vanish 
 
 In deaths immeasurable sea.
 
 Sailing tbrougb tbe lilies of Bute. 
 
 I've travelled east, and west, and north 
 To view the virgin bloom of worth, 
 But never could I find its pride 
 Till sailing down the hill-girt Clyde. 
 Sweet Kelvin Grove and Craigielea 
 May sing their ancient maids with glee ; 
 Give me the lass from Levenside, 
 I met while sailing down the Clyde ; 
 The lass with whom I pressed my suit, 
 While sailing through the Kyles of Bute, 
 On board the great " Columba." 
 
 Her person every charm combined 
 That hovers round the poet's mind ; 
 Her knotted hair luxuriant rolled 
 Down her soft neck like waving gold. 
 Her blooming cheeks the tints disclose 
 Like lilies damask'd with the rose ; 
 Her brow, with fair proportion due, 
 Like polished iv'ry struck my view ; 
 With this fair lass I pressed my suit, 
 While sailing through the Kyles of Bute, 
 On board the great " Columba." 
 
 Beneath brown arching fringes shone 
 Two eyes which sparkled like the sun ; 
 Though artful glances said, beware, 
 Young Cupid lies in ambush here. 
 His bow is bent, he points his dart, 
 His eyes are on the gazer's heart ;
 
 40 
 
 THE KYLES OP BUTE. 
 
 The look of leisure which she wore, 
 Excell'd all sights I'd seen before ; 
 And lured me on to press my suit, 
 While sailing through the Kyles of Bute, 
 On board the great " Coluniba." 
 
 Her Grecian nose of faultless frame 
 No envious critic e'er could blame ; 
 Through lips of pure vermilion bright 
 Two rows of pearl flashed to sight. 
 Her soft words formed the while a chain 
 My best affections to detain, 
 To watch the sunny smiles preside, 
 Which made a paradise of Clyde ; 
 For there I pressed my gracious suit 
 While sailing through the Kyles of Bute, 
 On board the great " Columba."
 
 ©n enterino a HMgblanfc (Slen. 
 
 Tis sweet to muse between the hills, 
 Beneath the birch tree branches green ; 
 
 When nature's choicest music fills 
 The trackless solitude serene. 
 
 In every blade there is a tongue, 
 Communing with the grateful air ; 
 
 E'en silence sings a plaintive song •* 
 To those who have the will to hear. 
 
 Freed from the city gross and gay, 
 With care conjured to sleep awhile, 
 
 We'll let contentment have its sway, 
 And cheerfulness assume her smile. 
 
 We'll revel in adoring gaze 
 
 Till pleasure throbs in every vein, 
 
 And feelings of aspiring praise 
 Within our bosoms rise to reign. 
 
 We'll trace the brook through each recess, 
 And count the charms that stud the ground ; 
 
 We'll wrap the soul in conscious bliss, 
 Where man's dominion cannot wound. 
 
 We'll gaze on steeps and foaming falls, 
 And breathe the cool, refreshing air, 
 
 Between the flowery, tufted walls, 
 
 Which sun and shower have dress'd so fair.
 
 42 
 
 A HIGHLAND GLEN. 
 
 We'll watch the fitful shadows blue, 
 Play round the piny foliaged dale, 
 
 And list, the blackbird's lillelu 
 
 Pipe from the bush above the vale. 
 
 Thus charm away the laughing hours, 
 With thoughts harmonious and free ; 
 
 As winds that fan the nodding flow'rs, 
 Or swell the summer melody.
 
 H ©lance at tbe flDountain £arn. 
 
 In the cleft of the mountain, wild and cool, 
 
 Flashes a silvery, flower-edged pool ; 
 
 And the gloom from the rock-rimm'd, tufted crest, 
 
 Sleeps silently over its mirrored breast. 
 
 Here the eagle dreams on his high-poised throne, 
 
 Or soars in his pride to gaze at the sun, 
 
 While nature exults in the furze and fern, 
 
 To publish her joy by the mountain tarn. 
 
 Here beauty basks on the prospect fair, 
 Caressed and kissed by the mountain air, 
 Not a jar is heard but the white sea-mew 
 Answering the pipe of the grey curlew ; 
 Or the rattling stone which slides from the hill, 
 Disturbing the silence intense and still, 
 Scaring to flight the lapwing and heron, 
 Perched by the side of the mountain tarn. 
 
 Here, too, is the bee, on the sweet heather bell, 
 
 Dipping her fangs in the juice of the fell, 
 
 Also the butterfly, active and bright, 
 
 Sporting herself in the blazing sunlight ; 
 
 While 'neath the dark peaks of the mountain shroud 
 
 At rest sleeps the spirit of solitude, 
 
 Half veil'd in his bed by the grey-backed cairn 
 
 That hangs like a cloud o'er the mountain tarn. 
 
 The trembling rushes that gleamed in the morn, 
 And insects that hummed on the leaf of the thorn, 
 With the tide which flow'd from the cold veined rock, 
 Like a wild night dream on my fancy broke, 
 For the sweep of the summer's orient wing 
 Inspired the birds with a rapture to sing, 
 And the sunless caverns, dank and stern, 
 All blended their song round the mountain tarn.
 
 flDusings on Hrtbur's Scat, je&fnburab. 
 
 Edina, thou nurse of the gallant and brave, 
 
 What wreathes of distinction encircle thy brow ; 
 
 The wildest ambition could scarcely well crave 
 A glory more rich than illumines thee now. 
 
 Thy chaplets were cull'd from the gorgeous bloom 
 Of well-earned victory, prowess, and faith ; 
 
 Nor thundering vengeance, with stake, rack, and tomb, 
 Could move the high purpose that smiled at their wrath. 
 
 The ashes which sleep in the gloom of St. Giles 
 
 Shook the slumbering spark of young freedom to flame, 
 
 Which terrors, nor pains, confederate wiles, 
 Had half daring enough to conquer or tame. 
 
 How blest were the accents that fell from their tongue, 
 
 In joyfully entering the valley of death ; 
 The suppliant's prayer and triumphant song 
 
 Rose on the last throb of their struggling breath. 
 
 Edina, thy locks are enwreathed with beams, 
 
 And powdered with dust from the amaranth bloom ; 
 
 From your centres of thought intelligence streams, 
 While silver-toncrued science claims thee for her own. 
 
 *&' 
 
 But pen cannot trace, nor can language define, 
 The gifts and the triumphs recorded by love, 
 
 On the zeal-beaten breast of thy glorious shrine, 
 Fit emblem of that in the mansions above.
 
 musings on Arthur's seat. 45 
 
 My mind, with its searching eye strained to the view, 
 From the picturesque peak of high Arthur's Seat, 
 
 Rolled far over Neptune's dark mirror of blue, 
 And sky-pointed steeples that stood at my feet. 
 
 I saw where ambition had harnessed her car, 
 And cruelty's treaty was cancelled by blood, 
 
 Where beauty and passion were called to the bar, 
 And frenzy ran wild in old Holyrood.
 
 B IDiew of Ben Xomont). 
 
 What a burst of magnificence kindled my eye, 
 When the sun pitched his tent on Ben Lomond so high ; 
 The sweet breeze of summer on soft tinsel wing, 
 Seemed bound by a spell, and too solemn to sing. 
 
 The wrinkles that time had engraved on his brow, 
 By its moon-horned spears and conquest crowned plough, 
 Unfolded to me through the light bracing air, 
 A beauty more potent than mind can compare. 
 
 The awe-moving spirit soothed my soul as it fell, 
 And freshened devotion its wonders to tell ; 
 O'er glens of black umbrage by cataracts riven, 
 His shadow hung high in the azure of heaven. 
 
 Here the glory of nature hath nothing to fear, 
 For time the restorer unbidden sits here ; 
 On Ben Lomond the sun rests his banquet to keep, 
 And mirror his glow on the breast of the deep. 
 
 When the swift billows sleep in the calm sober eve, 
 Down the sides of Ben Lomond the Highland winds heave ; 
 O, land of my fathers, of friendship and might, 
 Glowing with virtue and smiling in light. 
 
 Thy freedom and honours full chartered retain 
 
 The fame of thy Wallace, Scott, and Burns maintain, 
 
 For their art sculptured busts I saw on my way, 
 
 With the tombstone at Greenock will shrink and decay. 
 
 But the songs are engraven in letters of love, 
 And circle the seal of the mintage above ; 
 Ben Lomond subdued to soft feeling declares, 
 No country save Judah have any such heirs.
 
 H IReverie written among tbe Ibigblanfc 
 
 1bi»9. 
 
 The Highland hills no hills can vie 
 Beneath the mansions of the sky ; 
 Where'er we turn our restless eyes, 
 Their rugged cliffs around us rise. 
 Nor poesy's paint, nor flattery's dress, 
 Can e'er the grandeur here express, 
 Or tell which is the greater part, 
 Materials, or forming art. 
 
 They rise like sumptuous arches high, 
 To press their tops against the sky, 
 While round their battlements we see 
 The branching nature-planted tree, 
 On which the milk-white blossom blows, 
 Each season that the sun bestows ; 
 In shady nooks the blue-bells bloom, 
 And roses breathe a rich perfume. 
 
 These very glens our fathers sought, 
 When with earth's vanities they fought ; 
 Among their stilly steps they knelt, 
 And sacred influences felt. 
 Yon grey old trunks that point to heaven, 
 Which many a winter's wind hath riven, 
 Still stand for all who wills to read, 
 A witness for the mighty dead.
 
 48 A REVERIE. 
 
 Our lot is cast in riper years, 
 But sunshine dawned thro' falling tears, 
 And He who spread the spangled roof 
 In sweet communion adds a proof. 
 He still controls the tempest's rage, 
 And with it writes a brighter page ; 
 To-day His chariot is the breeze 
 That skims the mountain tops with ease. 
 
 The birds that hop from bough to bough, 
 The springs that break the mountain brow, 
 The lofty grandeur, strength, and grace, 
 Engraven on its time-stained face, 
 The mighty oak, the forest prince, 
 The animated flowers that glance, 
 Declare the miracle to me 
 Of God's immovable degree. 
 
 How sweet it is from care to fly, 
 Where we can lay our follies by, 
 To list the hill-throned spirits preach, 
 And wisdom through her silence teach. 
 Ambition cannot covet more 
 Than sit at heaven's chamber door, 
 Away from strife's incessant war, 
 Companion to the morning star. 
 
 Wrapped up in strange, mysterious dreams, 
 No sound except the curlew screams, 
 With cloud enthron'd benignant love 
 Dispensing favours from above. 
 'Twas hours like these the prophets knew 
 When glory blessed their wistful view ; 
 'Twas on the mountain Moses saw 
 Jf.iiovaii's face, and got the law.
 
 A REVERIE. 
 
 49 
 
 I think an eye could scarcely ride, 
 Or contemplation well preside, 
 Or fancy play where more invites 
 Than on these wild and pathless heights. 
 Here man may all his soul unsphere, 
 And meditate on time's career, 
 Or charge the echoes with his song, 
 Till every cave the notes prolong.
 
 a Da^ on tbe Braes of (Mcntftcr. 
 
 Ye powers teach me some words to find, 
 For this that now inflames my mind ; 
 Muse lend to me thy venturous wing, 
 In tuneful phrase my theme to sing, 
 A mightier vigour here bestow, 
 Than e'er before thou'st deigned to show, 
 My simple lute dare scarcely trace 
 The lineaments of this fair place. 
 
 I cross'd the stream beneath the shade, 
 That dances thro' the downy glade, 
 By which a kind memento stands, 
 With Tanxahill's advice to friends. 
 'Tis such a place where friends may dart 
 To speak the raptures of their heart ; 
 Above, the hawthorn shakes its head, 
 And proud the oaken branches spi'ead. 
 
 I drank from out the lettered well, 
 That nurses yet the heather bell, 
 At which the poet lov'd to peer 
 When Autumn came the woods to sere ; 
 I rested where the woodbine curl'd, 
 And faded blossoms newly gnarled 
 From off the spicy, amorous thorn, 
 Where fancy's fruits were often born.
 
 THE BKAES OF GLENIFFER. 51 
 
 Each image did my fancy fill, 
 
 And prompt my genius and my skill, 
 
 To wake again the immortal lyre ; 
 
 But naught could my dull senses tire, 
 
 Or animate the strains divine, 
 
 Dear Tannahill, which once were thine, 
 
 Thy soul must like thy dust repose, 
 
 Until the last dread trumpet blows. 
 
 The hand of Nature may be bold, 
 Producing friends to match the old, 
 And forming master minds to reign, 
 In music's realms o'er again ; 
 But who'll beget a son to sing, 
 In artless strains so like a king, 
 As gifted Tannahill has done, 
 To make love's softest secret known. 
 
 Ah ! can it be that love inspires 
 
 Two bosoms with the same desires ; 
 
 Yes, kindred souls a pleasure find 
 
 In exercises of the mind ; 
 
 Where Tannahill once sang so sweet, 
 
 I've often wished to plant my feet, 
 
 And view the spot the Muse made known ; 
 
 He was a favourite of her own. 
 
 Let fortune her best talents give 
 To unborn sages yet to live ; 
 Let great designs from gen'rous breast 
 Swell out to soothe a world to rest ; 
 Let conquest from her bower prepare 
 A wreath of ease for slaves to wear, 
 Still, Tannahill, thy lays we'll sing 
 While roses blush behind the spring.
 
 52 THE BRAES OF GLENIFFER. 
 
 The cultured plains, and grassy hills, 
 Green meadows, shady banks, and rills, 
 Delightful groves where brackens grow, 
 And willows where the waters How, 
 With flowers that gem sweet (Stanley) sward, 
 All seemed to say here mused the bard, 
 We've seen the pencil touch his lips, 
 Then dance between his finger tips. 
 
 The feathery woods on every side, 
 With ready chorus, too, replied, 
 On us with glee he cast his gaze, 
 With eyeballs in poetic blaze, 
 And often sighed with sage-like art, 
 From you, my friends, I soon must part ; 
 And, ever since he went away, 
 We've sung our sorrow day by day. 
 
 He seem'd possessed of every joy, 
 That happy lovers' thoughts employ, 
 Till clouds his cheerful life o'ercast, 
 And, lo ! he withered in the blast ; 
 The sylvan shades all heard the shock, 
 And mourned to hear his heart was broke ; 
 Hope woke to find her favourite fled, 
 And with hot tears bedewed his bed.
 
 a IReverie on tbe Bands of Gwec£>. 
 
 I've heard the cultured maiden sinerine, 
 
 Flushed with beauty's studied grace, 
 When a thousand eyes were springing 
 
 To the painted charmer's face ; 
 Drinking in the pregnant pleasure 
 
 With a triumph of delight ; 
 Sporting with the brimming measure 
 
 In the gas's mazy light. 
 
 Beneath the spell were bosoms glowing, 
 
 Rapturous in amusement's tide ; 
 Silken garments loosely flowing 
 
 Round the sacrifice of pride. 
 Trained to fashion's best behaviour, 
 
 Boasting love's illusive smile, 
 Breathing out their souls' endeavour 
 
 In soft art's alluring wile. 
 
 To the play-house see them streaming, 
 
 Sparkling in expensive glee ; 
 Youth with age elated teeming, 
 
 Sad the sight for Muse to see. 
 Give to me the copse-clad mountain, 
 
 Where the voice of nature rings ; 
 Or the embower'd, shining fountain, 
 
 Where blythe birds their anthems sing. 
 
 How great the charm in discerning- 
 Polished wisdom's written laws, 
 
 Worthy all our care in learning, 
 None need here deplore the flaws.
 
 54 A REVERIE. 
 
 When the sun at eve is bowing 
 
 Its obeisance to the main, 
 veet the sight of sea-waves flowing 
 Round the fringe of daised plain, 
 
 Mark the humble hare-bell throwing 
 
 .-^ 
 
 Beauty to the sun-smit heath, 
 And carnation's grace bestowing 
 
 Lustre on the varied wreath. 
 But above all sights excelling 
 
 Foremost stand the Banks of Tweed, 
 With their primal woodgroves swelling, 
 
 Or the shrine of glorious deed. 
 
 Saci'ed shade for Poet's dreaming, 
 
 Here reflection prompts the pen ; 
 Vocal come bright zephyrs streaming, 
 
 Chiming out the names of men. 
 Radiant in immortal splendour, 
 
 Sparkling with a matchless worth, 
 Relics of old Scotia's grandeur, 
 
 Happy land that gave them birth.
 
 Zbe E)runfcarfc anfc bis Mife. 
 
 Wife. 
 
 You'll remember well the clay, Jim, 
 
 When we began to court, 
 Oh ! you were then so neat and trim, 
 
 And full of gleeful sport. 
 
 Your speech was so bewitching, Jim, 
 Your laughter was so light, 
 
 It set my feelings all aflame 
 To see you come in sight. 
 
 No other sound fell on my ear 
 
 With cadences so sweet, 
 As when thy tinkling footsteps, clear, 
 
 Our cottage door did greet. 
 
 A gushing stream of varied joy 
 Came o'er my trembling heart ; 
 
 My tongue, at other times so coy, 
 Forgot its cunning art. 
 
 Why was my womanhood so weak 
 
 On that delicious hour? 
 Why could I not like others speak, 
 
 And set at naught thy power 1 
 
 Impulsive youth can best explain 
 
 The fascinating charm, 
 Which did my fervid soul constrain, 
 
 And fondest feelings warm.
 
 56 THE DRUNKARD AND HIS WIFE. 
 
 The world then, with all its pride, 
 
 Seem'd only dross to me ; 
 When you were absent from my side 
 
 I could not happy be. 
 
 But you're not the man you were, Jim, 
 Your brow has grown so dark ; 
 
 Your sunny smile lias grown so grim, 
 It's lost its cheery spark. 
 
 Husband. 
 
 Oh ! Mary dear, you speak the truth, 
 
 My sunny smiles are gone, 
 And all the playful beams of youth, 
 
 Which once so radiant shone. 
 
 The winning words, foretelling bliss, 
 You taught me then to sip, 
 
 That fluttered round the glowing kiss 
 When lip saluted lip. 
 
 Those fettering vows of love, my dear, 
 
 Have often me chastis'd ; 
 I have not done my part, I fear, 
 
 At this I am surpris'd. 
 
 And, Mary, can you see the shroud 
 That darkens now my brow, 
 
 It hangs around me like a cloud 
 In sorrow's angry bow. 
 
 Twas nothing but the liquor's curse 
 
 That did my visage mar ; 
 My manhood's lost, and, Avhat is worse, 
 
 My soul fell at the "bar."
 
 THE DRUNKARD AND HIS WIFE. 57 
 
 Oh ! how shall I repent the drop 
 That first defiled my lip ; 
 
 I stand alone, without one prop 
 To hold my courage up. 
 
 Wife. 
 
 How often I foretold you, Jim, 
 What the vile cup would do ; 
 
 How it would inundate your prime, 
 And make a wreck of you. 
 
 And still you would persist, dear Jim, 
 To take a glass, and more, 
 
 And never thought it any crime 
 My counsel to ignore. 
 
 A woeful wretch you look now, Jim, 
 In this our des'late home ; 
 
 Still I love you just the same, Jim, 
 In poverty and gloom. 
 
 Husband. 
 
 Well, Mary love, I grieve to see 
 That shrivelled form of yours, 
 
 I might have nursed and cherished thee 
 With all my vig'rous powers. 
 
 Those rags and tatters round thy form 
 M ight have been gauze and lace ; 
 
 Had I but spared thy winning charm, 
 And saved thee from disgrace.
 
 58 THE DRUNKARD AND HIS WIPE. 
 
 Had not the Devil's poisoned cup 
 
 Been put into my hand, 
 'Twas it that broke our comfort up, 
 
 And me with baseness brand. 
 
 Wife. 
 
 There's little John and Mary Ann, 
 
 Maria, Will, and Meg, 
 Fain would they all your course restrain, 
 
 God knows we plead and beg. 
 
 Oh ! would you just but stay with me, 
 And these our little dears, 
 
 Think what a different man you'd be, 
 Have pity on our tears. 
 
 Their ruddy lips delight to kiss 
 Those haggard cheeks of thine ; 
 
 How can you be to them so base 
 As cause them all this pain. 
 
 Husband. 
 
 Well, I will promise you, my wife, 
 To join the pledge this day, 
 
 Again I'll try to bless your life, 
 And that without delay. 
 
 My wages yet entire are, 
 
 And you shall have the gold, 
 
 No more the threshold of the " bar " 
 I'll cross with footsteps bold.
 
 THE DRUNKARD AND HIS WIFE. 59 
 
 These little ones, who love me so, 
 Shall be their father's pride ; 
 
 To school, on Monday, they shall go, 
 And I will be their guide. 
 
 Wife. 
 
 Then to the pawnshop now I'll haste, 
 And get your light-grey suit ; 
 
 To-morrow you shall look your best, 
 Since you have fac'd about 
 
 Yes, unto the Church we'll go, Jim, 
 
 With countenance aglow ; 
 And we'll count our troubles o'er, Jim, 
 
 In this dark vale below. 
 
 Husband. 
 
 Now I feel God's mercy strong, dear, 
 
 It helpeth even me ; 
 There's nothing now I need to fear, 
 
 Since mercy flows so free. 
 
 Your tenderness has wooed my soul 
 Back from the gulf of hell ; 
 
 I saw the waves of sulphur roll 
 O'er thousands as they fell.
 
 £be Sun. 
 
 Ineffable and richly bright, 
 
 See the glowing monarch rise, 
 Bathing earth in glorious light, 
 Laden with inspiring joys, 
 On the pinioned breeze, 
 Flushing through green trees, 
 Softly breathing life. 
 
 The sweetest face that nature wears, 
 
 Through the generous changing year, 
 Is when the solar orb appears 
 Glancing from an amber sphere, 
 Cheering every flower, 
 By his bracing power, 
 So gently and calm. 
 
 His orient rays flush up the clouds 
 
 With choice beauty's finest glow ; 
 They wrap the beryl seas in shrouds, 
 And create the shining bow. 
 Singing as they go, 
 Swerving to and fro, 
 Melting all to love. 
 
 Bright sparkling down on mossy realms, 
 
 With an ardent, kind caress ; 
 Stealing through the green draped elms, 
 That the sky clad mountains dress. 
 Dispelling sadness, 
 And spreading gladness, 
 Over nature's face.
 
 THE SUN. 
 
 61 
 
 Tinting the daisy's vermil cheek, 
 
 Which on the vernal meadow glows ; 
 Lining the copse-clad mountain creek 
 With white lily and primrose, 
 Where each petal bloom, 
 Sighs its rare perfume, 
 To the passing gale. 
 
 Clasping jewels around the stems 
 That spice the blushing plains ; 
 Scattering wide his shining gems 
 By the shrine where glory reigns. 
 And maternal bliss, 
 Stamps her throbbing kiss, 
 On the meek-ey'd Queen.
 
 Zo tbe 1bero of tbe Ibouse, 
 
 We'll ring Gladstone's fame thro' shop, cottage, and hall, 
 Till vine-creepers shake as they cling to the wall, 
 And children applaud at their hoop, top, and ball. 
 Go twine the orange with the green, 
 With loving hands and reverent mien ; 
 Let faithful trust in him he seen, 
 For stauncher patriot ne'er has been. 
 
 His name make the watchword in college and school, 
 Sound it to the song of the artizan's tool, 
 Breathe it out to the winds that encompass the pole. 
 Go bring flowers and holly green, 
 With loving hands the wreath entwine, 
 And set it on his brow to shine, 
 For stauncher patriot ne'er has been. 
 
 Publish his worth in your temples and churches, 
 Sing it 'neath the boughs of umbrageous birches, 
 Where mellow-voiced ring dove at ev'ntide perches. 
 Go cull the violets sweet and clean, 
 Dahlia with her lustrous sheen, 
 And place the lily them between, 
 Graceful flower o'er all the Queen. 
 
 Send round the awe-struck world an invocation, 
 Tell men of every tribe, and tongue, and station, 
 To come with diadems from every nation, 
 
 As trophies for the chief of men ; 
 
 For one more faithful time's ne'er seen, 
 
 A prelate to our noble Queen, 
 
 In her progressive, pious reign.
 
 B (Bencsis of Smaoinativc Creations. 
 
 I've sung of valour's force and triumph's arms, 
 
 Pleasing maids, amorous and faithful swains ; 
 Of empires immense, and beauty's charms, 
 
 As well as vulgar passions with disdain. 
 I've plumed my Muse's wings for heights unknown, 
 
 And tried through tracks unkenn'd before to rise ; 
 O'er passes dread and awful gulfs I've flown, 
 
 To meditate on truth and gather joys. 
 Where heavenly wisdom hath her seeds of glory sown. 
 
 Eternal wisdom none can comprehend, 
 
 Nor her most secret counsels speak or sing ; 
 Still 'tis a pleasure great our strength to spend, 
 
 Beneath the glorious cover of her wing. 
 Her's was the wing that hatch'd primeval day, 
 
 When God's Almighty energy first moved ; 
 Each summon'd atom hastened to obey, 
 
 And shining orbs, by skilful action groov'd, 
 Through fluctuating fields of air an open way. 
 
 There's stamp'd on nature's wise economy 
 
 One purpose of the high eternal mind ; 
 View yon incumbent, deep, and dark-fac'd sea, 
 
 Behold upon its frame perfection sign'd. 
 Its easy motion, ebb and flow, express, 
 
 A force divine, magnificently grand ; 
 Its billows and its waves confess, 
 
 They dare not break their Sov'reign Lord's command, 
 Nor o'er the sand-reefed shore their roaring surges press.
 
 64 IMAGINATIVE CREATIONS. 
 
 With voice confederate earth and heaven declare, 
 
 That perfect prudence ruleth all things well ; 
 Round acts fortuitous convenient care 
 
 Has left instructive characters to tell 
 What is conducive to man's native needs. 
 
 There's not in wide immensity a charm, 
 But thro' deliberate means elect God leads, 
 
 His favour by a motive vigour warm, 
 Of gravitating energy to wondrous deeds. 
 
 The gales that sweep the limitary hills, 
 
 Or bends the aged forest oak at will, 
 But fans the primrose by the tufted rills, 
 
 And sinks to sleep upon the moorland still. 
 The thunder bell'wing from the swarthy cloud, 
 
 Like to a spectre moving, none knows how, 
 While echo answers echo long and loud, 
 
 O'er shuddering cataract and mountain brow, 
 Wrapped in a brazen column'd wavering fluid. 
 
 When waves roll stormy, and the winds blow wild, 
 
 Or plunge like headlong runners in their race ; 
 And shivering stars out-flaring far yet mild, 
 
 Irresolute hide their radiant face. 
 When clouds in squadrons chase along the sky, 
 
 Like nations hurrying to the seat of war, 
 Whose standard blazon'd signs in tatters fly, 
 
 Strange symbols of reproach their fame to mar, 
 Last remnants of the chivalry which shone so high. 
 
 Perhaps some here may question reason's light ; 
 
 If so, then let them into nature dive ; 
 Her magazines have such a depth and height, 
 
 No human mind can reach howe'er it strive.
 
 IMAGINATIVE CREATIONS. 65 
 
 Though high the instinct of the poet's'soul, 
 Groping about in wondrous realms unseen, 
 
 And heavenly radiance in his eyeballs roll, 
 With bright-edged hope darting in between. 
 To animate, to foster, cherish, and control. 
 
 You've heard the whirlwind and the sandled storm 
 
 Among the dark-winged clouds their strife prolong ; 
 Ten thousand harps take up the dread alarm, 
 
 And clamorous floods repeat the furious song. 
 But I by study fed with musings rare, 
 
 A nursling of heaven's highest power, 
 Steal out as softly as the sun-braced air, 
 
 Into imagination's joylit bower ; 
 No dark-rimed shadows of annoyance meet me there. 
 
 Unbridled there I let my fancy stray 
 
 'Mong joys maternal, moral, and divine; 
 Like sun revolving through ecliptic day, 
 
 To tincture rosy rubies in their mine. 
 While thus engaged in search of secret things, 
 
 Inspecting spheres, and ranging through the skies ; 
 Or tracing motions to their hidden springs, 
 
 Thus by example show how men may rise 
 To eminence imperial, and reign as kings. 
 
 Philosophers and poets, as a rule, 
 
 Toil much in visionary forms and schemes ; 
 They wage eternal war in dreamland's school, 
 
 And dip their pens in fancy's shining streams. 
 The lofty palaces in which they dwell, 
 
 Devotion builds and artful pleasures fill, 
 Until the blandishments of wit excel 
 
 And genius proves her energetic skill, 
 By making faithful and benignant efforts tell.
 
 G6 IMAGINATIVE CREATIONS. 
 
 A sempiternal scale there's to ascend, 
 
 Where every upward step displays to view 
 Far more than human mind can comprehend, 
 
 Or faith's celestial eye can well pursue. 
 The spirit owns its dwarfishness and palls 
 
 Before conception's propagating flame ; 
 Elastic reason in her anguish falls, 
 
 And loses in this excellence its claim, 
 Or faints outright between the hampered brain's hot walls. 
 
 But soon the momentary check's o'ercome, 
 
 The silver rill of thought resumes again 
 Its nervous current, 'neath a load of foam, 
 
 Gath'ring virtue to enrich the main. 
 Blest is the man who so much action takes 
 
 In nature's art, and learns its destined use ; 
 Who from dull sloth's inglorious slumber wakes, 
 
 For observations such as these conduce 
 To independence, which the master mind aye makes. 
 
 This universe, on which our lives are cast, 
 
 Is but the great expression of one mind, 
 Within the ring of heaven fixed fast, 
 
 Where mystic octaves form a chain to bind. 
 The wing of genius, in its flight afar, 
 
 Whether by artist's touch or poet's pen, 
 Can neither manufacture, give, or mar, 
 
 Or add one atom to the grand design, 
 Or influence the lustre of a single star. 
 
 The many coloured thoughts that robe the earth, 
 Portrayed in music, literature, and art, 
 
 Owe not to ingenuity their birth, 
 
 Love ciphers them upon the open heart.
 
 IMAGINATIVE CREATIONS. 67 
 
 The clearest thoughts come from the lowest mind, 
 Like water filtered through the sandstone rocks, 
 
 Which dust-stained travellers so refreshing find, 
 "When ushered into flower-fringed brooks, 
 First tasted by the glowing, scented, summer winds. 
 
 Thus has my Muse oft exercised her power, 
 
 In singing wonders she has felt and semi ; 
 While rosy light diffused its tender shower 
 
 Among the spacious valleys fresh and green. 
 And e'en when sluices of ethereal light 
 
 Were shut by peaceful night's alternate care, 
 O'er tracts cerulean I have bent my flight, 
 
 To try my harp amid empyrean air, 
 And some new idea on my heart's soft tablet write. 
 
 With much contrivance I have sought to trace 
 
 A photo of the self-existing mind ; 
 Search and research points to the human face 
 
 Where waves of love and reason's ray I find. 
 But all my searching cannot yet declare 
 
 From whence those nervous functuaries come ; 
 Watching, ready-trained out-guards of care, 
 
 That speak when voice and tongue alike are dumb, 
 Among the youthful features of a loving pair. 
 
 Was I possessor of a stronger mind, 
 
 That never wearied or could feel a pain ; 
 Or if I had my wondrous self designed, 
 
 With passions formed obedient to the rein, 
 I might have made my steps all sacred here below, 
 
 And many a sweet immortal anthem sung ; 
 When swathed in honour's peaceful florid glow. 
 
 The sainted Muse's tuneful Catholic tongue, 
 Chimes forth like shrouded angel with a star girt brow.
 
 68 
 
 IMAGINATIVE CREATIONS. 
 
 A vast and vivid glory lights the path 
 
 Of those who step to music's plea within ; 
 Like pilgrim legions with their swords of faith, 
 
 From victory to victory they run. 
 In every living, grave, majestic eye, 
 
 The melancholy tears of pity shine ; 
 While benediction's flag floats high, 
 
 Because the power that prompts them is divine, 
 Balancing their souls on the pivot of a sigh.
 
 Soliloquy on Jl)outb. 
 
 'Tis mine to scan youth's thoughtless stage, 
 And mark its errors on my page, 
 There vices lurk concealed from sight, 
 And dangers hide beneath delight ; 
 Youth kindles raptures in the mind, 
 While giddy false allurements bind, 
 
 With chains of joy, 
 
 Which sour and cloy, 
 The dew of elevating grace 
 That sparkle over nature's face. 
 
 In rivalry and fond pursuit, 
 It pants for pleasure's ashen fruit, 
 O'erstraining nerves to grasp the cue, 
 Till maddened senses touch and rue, 
 For greedy nature covets more 
 Than her fountains can up store ; 
 
 Such gales of pride 
 
 Disturb the tide, 
 Till roaring tempests seize the barge, 
 And turn to wrath the fickle charge. 
 
 To those who read the leaves of fate, 
 And on experiences wait, 
 The firmament of life doth change, 
 For youth sees but the silver fringe ; 
 Yet few there be while morning smiles, 
 That give themselves such arduous toils ; 
 
 The book of fate 
 
 They keep in state, 
 And thoughtless through the mazes run, 
 Till downward tends life's slanting sun.
 
 70 SOLILOQUY ON YOUTH. 
 
 While joys invite them to their arms, 
 
 And grandeur smiles and spreads her charms, 
 
 No conscious care will they display, 
 
 In marching up youth's glowing way. 
 
 Engaged with trifles, see them stand, 
 
 On manhood's flow'ry borderland, 
 
 With prospects high, 
 
 And sanguine eye, 
 Impetuous as the springs of love, 
 Which all the soul's dominion move. 
 
 Youth's sparkling eye and heaving breast, 
 Filled with vicissitudes of zest, 
 Might throbbing in each ample vein, 
 Prepared to enter strife with pain, 
 Elate, assuming courts the storm, 
 Than falls to earth a rebel worm 
 
 Inanimate ; 
 
 Repulsive fate, 
 For one whose pride it was to wear 
 A self -impassioned aping air. 
 
 When youthful spirits mount to fly, 
 And speculation's tide runs high, 
 Should general plaudits on them press, 
 They write in capitals— success ; 
 Hug the goddess in their arms, 
 And carve ambition round their charms, 
 
 While nature's page 
 
 Their prowess gage, 
 As frequent pauses of love's light 
 Beams on their efforts sweet and bright.
 
 SOLILOQUY ON YOUTH. 
 
 Through ev'ry rent of this veil'd world 
 Wisdom unto man is hurled ; 
 The flow'rs, the stars, the wind, the sea, 
 Combine to sermonize for me. 
 There's music in conflicting spheres, 
 That each observant listener hears ; 
 
 For mind can peep 
 
 Through strata deep, 
 And treasure up in memories 
 The purple shadow and blue breeze. 
 
 As gales the peaks of mountains kiss 
 Before they reach the low abyss ; 
 So minds touch first the outer fringe 
 Before they fathom reason's range. 
 And, all along the path of youth, 
 We gather up the balm of truth 
 
 With gentle hand, 
 
 And list'ning, stand, 
 To nature's whispers, mild and low, 
 Minds, like flowers, must wax and grow. 
 
 Oh ! blissful morning of the soul, 
 
 Before affliction's wild waves roll 
 
 Their torrents of oppressive strife, 
 
 Or sweep the crossings of our life ; 
 
 For, after Summer's rosy hours, 
 
 Comes Winter, with its blasts and show'rs, 
 
 When gladness dies, 
 
 And pleasure lies, 
 Like Autumn leaves, gnarled and brown, 
 Through which the angry whirlwinds moan.
 
 72 SOLILOQUY ON YOUTH. 
 
 Lapt up in youthful ecstasies 
 On radiant pinions watch men rise, 
 While ardent love, devoid of fears, 
 With kisses stem the fount of tears ; 
 And this sweet, necromantic hour 
 Clothes after-life in mystic power 
 
 Of glory bright, 
 
 And visions write 
 Across the spangled sky of sense, 
 With vital energies intense. 
 
 Deep in the sacred soul there lies 
 A solemn breathing pow'r which sighs, 
 Like odours from the scented rose, 
 Which slowly, but surely disclose 
 Its wave-pulsing splendour of truth, 
 Joy swath'd in the heyday of youth. 
 
 As hope invites, 
 
 And love unites, 
 The foam-bells on the tide of years, 
 To kiss away the surge of fears. 
 
 When our speech, like a mountain mere, 
 Mirrors emotion's mysteries clear, 
 Throbbing against the window-pane 
 Of the then filmed active brain. 
 Assailed, riled, fear-vexed, and wrung, 
 By some fever-visioned tongue, 
 
 Which vengeful casts, 
 
 Invading blasts 
 Charged with auguries divine, 
 To make the hapless, victim pine.
 
 SOLILOQUY ON YOUTH. 73 
 
 When youthful hope the bosom fills, 
 And faith ascends life's emerald hills 
 With all her privileges high, 
 Heaven's artillery to ply, 
 Tis then that every frowning wall 
 Before the columned charges fall, 
 
 A wreck complete, 
 
 Beneath our feet ; 
 While like a glad, aspiring sun, 
 O'er ev'ry obstacle we run. 
 
 Rise, with the herald of the Spring, 
 To bathe in glory every wing ; 
 Youth hastens on, life's sun is up, 
 Hope beckons from the mountain top. 
 God-like, with sweet serenity, 
 Arrayed in beams of deity. 
 
 There we'll summer, 
 
 Where no comer, 
 O'er life's pebble-paven river, 
 Shall disturb our joys for ever.
 
 Soliloquy on Character. 
 
 An impulse has my fancy smit, 
 Should inspiration grant me wit, 
 I'll ask consummate skill to dress 
 My rising thoughts in loveliness ; 
 The theme's so great, it would require 
 An Angel with a pen of fire, 
 
 In Heaven's light 
 
 The tale to write ; 
 Still I presume with joy to trace, 
 In prototype, the human face. 
 
 Here joys expand and honours shine, 
 And drop to graves in Misery's mine ; 
 Haughty thoughts by Love inspir'd, 
 Sharp- pointed, and with rapture fired, 
 In pride their own importance find, 
 And feel how hard the world's to bind, 
 
 And subjugate, 
 
 By passion's bate, 
 For zealous men, who chase for fame, 
 Oft die before they grasp their aim. 
 
 Yet men are men, and all who dare 
 Shall triumph over cold despair ; 
 The man who strives to set his name 
 Upon the pedestal of fame, 
 Each day will find a host of foes, 
 Around his pathway thickly close, 
 
 With taunting jeer, 
 
 And scornful leer, 
 New-cast with care, and cheaply sold, 
 In some poor Witling's borrowed mould.
 
 SOLILOQUY ON CHARACTER. 75 
 
 There are whose various cares combine 
 In one great business, drink and dine, 
 Who neither time nor treasure waste 
 On aught but what their lips can taste ; 
 Their books the gossip of the town, 
 Their study all their own renown, 
 
 Indulgent feast, 
 
 So daintily dressed ; 
 Thus, feeding well, they soon grow great, 
 But ne'er increase in wisdom's weight. 
 
 Great heroes some, in table talk, 
 
 Illustrious in evening walk, 
 
 For Lords and Ladies, twice three-score, 
 
 Before their names bow and adore ; 
 
 And though their verbiage you may mow, 
 
 Beneath your scythe it still will grow ; 
 
 Full rank and green 
 
 The strokes between, 
 Till men through etiquette admire 
 Their flashing equinoctial fire. 
 
 Some masquerade in reputation, 
 And feed their virtue on ambition, 
 Whose policy it is to wait 
 Before a patron's open gate, 
 Till art and application warm, 
 Fairly take my Lord by storm, 
 
 And favours gain, 
 
 In the campaign ; 
 Catching caprice, when in glory, 
 To ring home the well-tim'd story.
 
 76 SOLILOQUY ON CHARACTER. 
 
 Some are by fame so keenly fired. 
 And strive so much to be inspired, 
 They levee with large-minded men, 
 Who govern by their powerful pen ; 
 But low-born wits, however vain, 
 Can never conquer fate and reign, 
 
 Or court, or creed, 
 
 Nor yet succeed, 
 With vacant, dry, laconic toil, 
 To charm the world with their poor style. 
 
 There are who care for naught but cold. 
 Who have both soul and honour sold • 
 They either suffer, preach, or pray, 
 Though lightning round their pathway play ; 
 They smile as sweetly as the sun, 
 Present the joke, and point the pun. 
 
 Should they contend 
 
 To gain their end, 
 They love or fight with equal force, 
 Court, wed, elope, or wife divorce. 
 
 Others prefer to range above, 
 And lavish on the stars their love ; 
 Oh ! how it doth their joy enhance, 
 To watch the glittering planets dance, 
 What vast experiments they try, 
 To draw the secrets from the sky, 
 By subtle thought, 
 Through labour brought, 
 Till men of mind their art admit, 
 And catalogue their name in writ.
 
 SOLILOQUY ON CHARACTER. / / 
 
 There are, also, whose pleasure lies, 
 Like beams of glory, in their eves, 
 Attending parks and city halls, 
 Lectures, plays, and fancy balls, 
 Admiring all the painted waves 
 Brought into play by impious slaves ; 
 
 When by a fit 
 
 Of frenzy smit, 
 They stifle nature with their art, 
 And petrify the high-strung heart. 
 
 Then there's the gay, embroider'd spark 
 Who drinks champagne and acts the clerk, 
 To which the barmaids tune their reeds, 
 Whose pert effrontery succeeds 
 In kindling vile, immoral fires, 
 Which ev'ry serpent vice inspires 
 
 To acts obscene, 
 
 Behind the screen, 
 Where impudence and snares immense 
 Extract the life from common sense. 
 
 And some do naught but idly roam 
 Beneath the world's majestic dome, 
 Whose study is the open street, 
 Their pamphlets the men they meet ; 
 With venal tongues ejaculate 
 Inglorious, poor, satiric wit, 
 
 And think they shine, 
 
 In princely line, 
 Before a few indulgent eyes, 
 Who ne'er to honour's turrets rise.
 
 78 SOLILOQUY ON CHARACTER. 
 
 A few there are that time divide 
 Between devotion, lust, and pride, 
 And from their haughty temple frown, 
 On all who wear not fortune's crown. 
 These only move when glory's ray 
 With yellow pinions flush the day, 
 
 And flattering eyes 
 
 Upon them rise, 
 Which, sunlike, nurse each tender shoot, 
 And load the stems with luscious fruit. 
 
 Then see the man of smiling mood 
 Who laughter makes his daily food, 
 And all that's bankrupt in the knack, 
 Are satirized with sentence black ; 
 Their prudence in their folly lies, 
 Like wisdom, in an odious guise, 
 
 Commercing fun 
 
 With burlesque pun, 
 And treading on the loud applause 
 That wild enthusiasm cause.
 
 Gbe poet's Counsellor. 
 
 Long, long ago, when time was young, 
 And music roll'd on Grecian tongue, 
 When grapes of gold, on Casbin's hills, 
 Drank sweetness from the limpid rills, 
 I o'er the Muses did preside, 
 And well I could the light notes ride ; 
 For long my magic lute's been still, 
 As well this pathos breathing quill: 
 But brighter seems their charming smile, 
 For having been at rest a while. 
 Just now they're warming into flame, 
 And soon will fortune's homage claim, 
 For such a wealth of trenchant wit 
 A poet's page has never lit ; 
 Yea, every syllable shall throb 
 With wonders of the mighty globe. 
 Some say 'tis vain again to toy 
 With fancy's narratives of joy : 
 But light, which dawns to melt the soul, 
 'Tis heaven's mission to control. 
 To-day hope's bracing voice rings clear, 
 Come forth and drink of pleasure's cheer ; 
 And when the mind is fann'd to flame, 
 Why its effect may be the same ; 
 Go urge each impulse into power, 
 Nor stop to slack your speed an hour. 
 The Muse is shy ; who would her woo, 
 Must show impassioned heart and true ; 
 My knowledge lies at your command, 
 Go, then, and win her heart and hand. 
 Come, now, each heart with grandeur string, 
 And make the vales of Britain ring ;
 
 80 the poet's counsellor. 
 
 Bright paint in sound the forms of joy 
 
 That flush the cheek and care destroy, 
 
 With hope's ingenious dreams of power, 
 
 Conjure to peace the passing hour. 
 
 Sweep hack the phantoms of despair, 
 
 These dark stolVl visitants of care ; 
 
 Fidl often at them thou hast laugh'd, 
 
 And turned aside their rancid shaft, 
 
 "While melting glimpses fell like rain, 
 
 From love's electrifying chain. 
 
 When poesy for the poet's soul 
 
 The fetters forg'd that her control, 
 
 'Twas then that kind, congenial grace, 
 
 Illumed with light each songster's face, 
 
 And gave the wayward passion's will 
 
 To sport with fancy's mystic spell : 
 
 Light as a meteor on the lake, 
 
 Or song that sleeping echoes wake, 
 
 Around the lofty mountain grey, 
 
 And carries out the roundelay 
 
 Down to the green declivities, 
 
 Like timhrel sound on viewless breeze, 
 
 Then back to busy scenes of life, 
 
 In wondrous fascination rife, 
 
 With buskin'd limb and lineament, 
 
 To teach us lessons of content, 
 
 And perch a deathless tongue to speak 
 
 On every point of nature's peak ; 
 
 Where mem'ry's rays ne'er cease to warm 
 
 The pomp and splendour of her charm, 
 
 For pleasing thoughts ring out so clear 
 
 That all creation round cloth hear. 
 
 Come, drain again the festal cup, 
 
 And work your noblest feelings up : 
 
 Ambition's web is not yet spun,
 
 THE POET'S COUNSELLOR. 81 
 
 Your light may soon eclipse yon sun. 
 Great heroes all are grave and bold, 
 And courage dwells in living mould ; 
 Their speed is like the lightning's bar, 
 Fast flashing to the fields of war. 
 Uplift the glorious standard high, 
 Launch it upon each kindling eye ; 
 Prove to the quiv'ring rage of zeal 
 The fiery chivalry we feel. 
 Should conflicts deepen, then be brave, 
 A goal of glory, or a grave ; 
 Let our proud mottoes ever be, 
 Dare death before vile slavery. 
 
 The noblest passions of the soul 
 
 Are those humanity control ; 
 
 But even sages, calm and wise, 
 
 To holy rapture sometimes rise. 
 
 This world's a field of deadly strife, 
 
 Where brackish envy poison's life, 
 
 And all the wisdom we can bring 
 
 Will scarcely cleanse its mountain spring. 
 
 The grandest bubble on life's stream 
 
 Is poesy mirror'd on a beam, 
 
 Out sporting in the light of love, 
 
 With fixed eye on heav'n above ; 
 
 Collecting all the sweets earth yield, 
 
 From azure sky, and fresh en'd field ; 
 
 With trophied arts of every kind, 
 
 To move the heart, or train the mind. 
 
 No pageantry or pomp outvie 
 
 The Muse's immortality ; 
 
 No brighter constellations shine 
 
 Through sin's dark cloud, oh ! Muse, than thine. 
 
 Each sigh you breathe exults with glee, 
 
 Light as the red flamingo free ;
 
 82 the poet's counsellor. 
 
 Whilst, joy bound, in your light canoe, 
 
 The past or future sailing thro' ; 
 
 Or dancing on the mountain dew, 
 
 To rippling note of wild curlew ; 
 
 Sometimes companion of the bee 
 
 In halcyon independence free, 
 
 Throughout the flowery wilderness, 
 
 With zephyrs interchanging bless. 
 
 I mount on wings of strong desire, 
 
 In quest of inspiration's fire, 
 
 To yon fair land, sun-grain'd and bright, 
 
 To bathe my thoughts in heav'nly light ; 
 
 Bnt sluggish thought dare scarce advance 
 
 Where radiant files of angels dance, 
 
 Yet fancy's steed is full of might 
 
 To scale the planetary height ; 
 
 Though clouds conclens'd their columns raise, 
 
 Whose Orient veins, and golden blaze, 
 
 Stupendous crown the crystal arch, 
 
 Triumphant fancy courts the march. 
 
 My fingers tremble at the rein, 
 
 Creation swims within my brain ; 
 
 Still on my ariel courser flies, 
 
 Away through gleaming, star-watch'd skies ; 
 
 Up o'er each flaming mountain chain, 
 
 And through the meteor-paved plain, 
 
 Where mingling worlds in thousands glow, 
 
 Whose blazing volumes spread and flow, 
 
 Till beams and streams all fade away, 
 
 And lose themselves in endless day. 
 
 Omnipotence new measure takes, 
 
 And wide eternity awakes ; 
 
 While travelling here a ravished guest, 
 
 Surprise thrills through my trembling breast ; 
 
 No darts of envy here can sting,
 
 the poet's counsellor. 83 
 
 For every occupant's a king. 
 
 But, why should I expend such pains 
 
 Traversing those celestial plains 1 
 
 As easy grasp the rainbow's foot 
 
 As through the space infinite shoot. 
 
 When yon bright sun-like sands had run, 
 
 My race would only be begun ; 
 
 This earth is comely, as a whole, 
 
 With beauty fringed from pole to pole ; 
 
 The sunny day in splendour teams, 
 
 Night, world-jewelled, radiant gleams. 
 
 Oh ! flower robed earth, I do love thee ! 
 
 How aenerous thou art to me ! 
 
 The dewy eve, the rosy morn ! 
 
 The balmy glade, the blooming thorn ! 
 
 The choristers that sweetly sing 
 
 Their worship to high heaven's King ! 
 
 The requiems of forest trees ! 
 
 The music of the winged breeze ! 
 
 Anoint life's path with many a kiss, 
 
 And fill the mem'ry with soft bliss. 
 
 The weak mind feels the great mind's might, 
 
 The dark mind basks in living light ; 
 
 The strongest man the storm doth test, 
 
 The weak one stands beneath his breast ; 
 
 The winds which lash to foam the sea 
 
 Scarce touch the floweret on the lea. 
 
 The sacred Muse as restless proves, 
 
 As bickering stream through pebbly groves, 
 
 Meand'ring on between its banks, 
 
 And for great pains gets slender thanks ; 
 
 Like woman's weapon of defence, 
 
 She's skilled in every excellence ; 
 
 Whether she plies her art to vex 
 
 The bold, or please the softer sex,
 
 84 the poet's counsellor. 
 
 Her royally-constituted worth 
 
 Is stamped on each illustrious birth, 
 
 Like whooping eagle, unconstrained, 
 
 Excursionist through mountain land, 
 
 Far wand'ring in his skyward flight, 
 
 Assaying to outsoar the light, 
 
 Till wearied with a drooping head, 
 
 He seeks the rock from which he fled ; 
 
 And, when its peaks he doth espy, 
 
 He claps his wings for very joy ; 
 
 As tides which flow from neighb'ring grounds, 
 
 Return unto their native bounds ; 
 
 As stars ne'er from their station veer, 
 
 Nor blazing meteors change their sphere ; 
 
 The needle pointing to the north, 
 
 The centuples the sky puts forth, 
 
 Give proof unto my conscious mind, 
 
 That nature's gifts their bias find. 
 
 Some love to sail the raging seas, 
 
 In search of curiosities ; 
 
 Some tread the wide, climatic road, 
 
 To see how nature thrives abroad ; 
 
 Or gaze on art's well-favoured fields, 
 
 Or drink the juice Burgundy yields, 
 
 Or test the charms of damsels fair, 
 
 Who revel in the balmy air. 
 
 Another at the tropics pines, 
 
 To gather drugs from wealthy mines ; 
 
 And, while temptation lights the way, 
 
 Without reluctance there they stay. 
 
 But though great joys abroad we find, 
 
 Home is the centre of the mind ; 
 
 The treasures that are first possess'd, 
 
 Are magnets on our mother's breast; 
 
 Though minds to different worlds incline,
 
 the poet's counsellor. 85 
 
 This medium all shall keep in rein. 
 The feet may tread a foreign shore, 
 Where sweet felicities implore ; 
 Yet rage of rough, imprison'd seas, 
 Will be exchanged for prudent ease, 
 And think it folly to complain 
 Against the furbished lance of pain, 
 That we may gain the harbour home, 
 No place like this where'er we roam, 
 No picture can the Muse employ 
 To give a banquet of such joy. 
 When vice and virtue lose their name 
 In deathless joy or endless shame ; 
 When time wears out the grand machine, 
 The works of genius shall be seen ; 
 There laurels yet, on fame's green tree, 
 For all who hold their birthright free. 
 Some say we chase, with vain pursuit, 
 What mocks our hope, like Sodom's fruit ; 
 And that misfortune has designed 
 Our best thoughts to the whirlwind. 
 Shall there no trace of us be found 
 When we have left this spacious round 1 
 Shall no bright page of ours be read 
 When we have mingled with the dead 1 
 Our blame is great if so we fall, 
 For God has pledged his power in all ; 
 And, if that power is fully proved, 
 Then unborn ages will be moved ; 
 Yon lamps of night must all decay, 
 And earth and skies shall flee away. 
 But truth, that pure, immortal thing, 
 Can lift our verse on pauseless wing, 
 And shrine it in seraphic grace, 
 To till with light both time and space;
 
 86 the poet's counsellor. 
 
 For aught that human wisdom knows, 
 
 A harvest yet may crown our throes. 
 
 From east to west hope's ardent eye 
 
 Can distant azure voids descry, 
 
 "Where raging tempests play at large, 
 
 Untouched by poet's plough or barge. 
 
 There seasons smile, and oceans roar, 
 
 And golden Autumn yields her store. 
 
 Spread to the breeze swift poesy's sail, 
 
 Don truth's invulnei"able mail ; 
 
 Though mountain waves swell big with pride, 
 
 The more refreshing is the ride ; 
 
 Sure as the stars inflame the Pole, 
 
 Our presence shall those waves control. 
 
 As sun and moon's unaltered ray 
 
 Look back on periods in decay, 
 
 So, with a wealth of glory stored, 
 
 Our works will live to be adored. 
 
 Now what incitement here appears 
 
 For us to immortalize the years, 
 
 That we, as men, are treading on, 
 
 While life's circuitous maze we run ; 
 
 Immortal harps, awake ! awake ! 
 
 Sing till the nations hear and shake ; 
 
 Thick clouds of darkness chase away, 
 
 With your enraptured sunny ray ; 
 
 Love's accents sweet incessant roll, 
 
 On echoes swift, from pole to pole, 
 
 Until joy's bright transporting dart 
 
 Propitious smiles from every heart. 
 
 Ten thousand charms a poet wears, 
 
 And every charm some pleasure bears, 
 
 When majesty, in cogent mien, 
 
 Unveils the panoramic scene. 
 
 What secret joy dilates the breast,
 
 the poet's counsellor. 87 
 
 What vexing cares are hushed to rest ; 
 Each touch she gives the trembling string 
 Delight attunes her voice to sing, 
 And marshals that illustrious choir, 
 All taught by inspiration's fire. 
 Responsive booms upheaving rise, 
 While ardour sparkles from all eyes ; 
 Heroic shades, in living grace, 
 With transport beaming on each face, 
 Come dancing forward to improve 
 The triumph of new kindled love. 
 There music, with its gen'rous breeze, 
 Soothes every aching heart to ease ; 
 While sighing sounds with wisdom glow, 
 And peans rare instruction sow, 
 Till sense and soul alike are blest, 
 With images their notes suggest ; 
 Then, fresh equipped, with mind serene, 
 I hie me to the sylvan scene, 
 To view the grandeur smiling there, 
 And copy nature's face so fair, 
 That when I come to tell my tale, 
 My simple language may unveil 
 A catalogue in every line, 
 Of soft sweet pleasantry divine. 
 What first the catalogue cloth grace 
 Shall find herein the highest place ; 
 Now at your peril give them room, 
 Impetuous, pressing, here they come ; 
 Give ear unto their classic feet, 
 Incased in dulcimers discreet ; 
 Sporting in fame's glorious race, 
 Led by proud genius to the chase, 
 None on the course appears so great 
 As merit in a low estate.
 
 88 the poet's counsellor. 
 
 Whoe'er would prove a conqueror, 
 With wise immortals must confer ; 
 The regal prize which beams on high, 
 Like luminous crescent in the sky ; 
 The mighty fates for those designed, 
 Who forward run with steadfast mind ; 
 The orient gems which ceaseless blaze 
 On temples canonized in praise, 
 Were plucked with short, expiring breath, 
 Beneath the frowning shades of death. 
 To those whose souls are tempered thus 
 Fame ne'er bestows a niggard bliss, 
 But gives the sacred flame sublime 
 To minds who can the highest climb. 
 The harmony instinct of heaven 
 Was to the holy prophets given ; 
 The more at poesy's shrine they knelt, 
 The more of God they knew and felt ; 
 That awe-inspiring might of mind, 
 Wherein they stand like gods enshrined, 
 Array'd in animated light, 
 To glad the heart and please the sight ; 
 Enrolled before broad nature's face, 
 And hallow'd round with rays of grace. 
 This ever-budding, fragrant rod, 
 Known but to poet-kings and God. 
 No clouds of time shall ever hide 
 Its monuments of mental pride, 
 Though adamantine silence seize, 
 With frosty breath, and try to freeze. 
 As hope gives wings to morning clouds, 
 And veils the sky in silver shrouds, 
 So these will shine with golden hue, 
 Through hours of darkness for man's view. 
 Before 'twas set in verse sublime,
 
 THE POET'S COUNSELLOR. 
 
 89 
 
 Or yet translated into rhyme, 
 
 Ere ever patriarchal quill 
 
 Began to play on Zion's hill, 
 
 Or men had met to praise or pray, 
 
 Or Adam's hair had changed to grey ; 
 
 Ere parlous Eve for wisdom sought, 
 
 Or this our world to ruin brought, 
 
 Unto it audience angels gave, 
 
 And heard its marvellous music wave, 
 
 Through all the air-arrested plain 
 
 Of Heaven's paradisal fane, 
 
 Swift-moving like the winged fluid. 
 
 From out the dark depending cloud, 
 
 Whose form is fire, whose life is strength, 
 
 Sceptred, crowned, and rob'd at length ; 
 
 Quick as the pulsings of the blood, 
 
 Sanguine as inspiration's flood, 
 
 Like primal morning's space-spread wings, 
 
 Whose record still great blessing brings ; 
 
 With arrows and with bow of beams, 
 
 O'er life's dark mountains poesy gleams, 
 
 To Heaven's columned chrysopraise 
 
 Her students' eyes she doth upraise, 
 
 Though, at times, she sups with sorrow, 
 
 Oh ! what pleasures she can borrow. 
 
 Wood, wold, and hill, field, city, sea, 
 
 With brook-bound plain and leaf-clad lea, 
 
 She leads by fancy's golden rein, 
 
 Forth for survey in jovial train. 
 
 This is the bard's peculiar aim, 
 
 To show the mind-made world's great claim, 
 
 The life writ of his heart's behest 
 
 Is serving God as poet, priest.
 
 i( 
 
 %OK>C" 
 
 (The following- was written in answer to a Poem received from a 
 
 Lady.) 
 
 Naught so delicious is as love 
 
 On this sublunary ball, 
 It lifts our thoughts to Heaven above, 
 
 And sanctifies them all. 
 Its favours flit o'er nature's face 
 
 Like shadows on the stream ; 
 It lightens all the tracks of space 
 
 With emulation's beam. 
 
 Love rises on the blushing morn, 
 
 And drops from dewy cloud ; 
 It is by every green herb worn 
 
 That earth's fair bosom shroud. 
 It breathes a gale of flawless faith, 
 
 And weeps rich tears of grace ; 
 It hedges in joy's pleasant path, 
 
 And drapes the rainbow's cress. 
 
 Love fringes round the mountain top 
 
 With solemn grandeur's awe, 
 And down the star-tiled astral slope 
 
 It doth sonatas draw. 
 Love spangles o'er the roof of night 
 
 With iridescent smiles, 
 And wafts its sweet, cathartic light, 
 
 Down on the mantled isles.
 
 LOVE. 91 
 
 The angel-buildecl fane above 
 
 That shines on Zion's hill, 
 Is lighted with the hues of love, 
 
 Which all its chambers fill. 
 Eternal as the Word of Him, 
 
 Whose world-winnowing wing 
 O'erspans the lamps round earth's broad rim, 
 
 Which light the pond'rous ring. 
 
 O ! sacred talismanic power, 
 
 Thou amulet of peace, 
 Protect me through each fleeting hour 
 
 Of life's recondite race. 
 Guide thou me scathless to the goal 
 
 By augury divine ; 
 Correct, Oh ! love, the bloated roll 
 
 Which I must shortly sign. 
 
 Bless every tongue that speaks my weal 
 
 With fruitage ripe from Heaven ; 
 And may thy great eternal seal 
 
 Be on their soul engraven. 
 Reveal thyself unto the fair 
 
 Who smile upon my page ; 
 Let all that is both good and rare 
 
 Rise in their tutelage.
 
 autumn- -^be %o\\q of tbe Becwent 
 
 The care-burdened city I've left for a while, 
 Enamoured with nature by Derwent to stray, 
 
 There bask in the beams of her saffron smile, 
 And study the grandeur which bounty display, 
 
 Already the hue of the yellow appears 
 
 On green perfumed leaves, where blossoms were born ; 
 The first breath of Autumn the beechen tree seres, 
 
 Where plaintive winds meet o'er their fragrance to mourn. 
 
 The fleet-footed Summer, so cloudless and cleai', 
 
 Departs from our view like a shadow's swift glance ; 
 
 With azure blue eye, bedimmed by a tear, 
 Back gazing on beauty subdued in a trance. 
 
 The cup of the blue-bell now drooping clown turns, 
 And fresh dews of twilight no longer descend 
 
 On silk-covered stems, whence lustre outburns, 
 
 To gladden the glen where sweet Derwent's waves wend. 
 
 The wild rose that shone on the stalk of the brier, 
 Has gone with its power of enchantment and bliss ; 
 
 And mute cower the birds, whose eloquent fire 
 Gave music and mirth to each ambushed recess. 
 
 Now hushed is the voice of each song-laden dell, 
 
 Where tranquil and silent sweet Derwent's waves glide ; 
 
 Yet over my soul comes a rapturous spell, 
 To strengthen the Muse for her magical ride.
 
 THE SONG OF THE DERWENT. 93 
 
 Historic old Axwell, and ancient Gibside, 
 
 Which love's fairy pencil time taught to illume, 
 
 Beneath the green mazes of sylvan tress'd pride, 
 Or yellow laburnums prolific in bloom. 
 
 The keen pleading tone of the wood-pigeon's note, 
 From fringes of pine-wood out-breathing their balm, 
 
 No longer resound through the green glancing grot, 
 Like pleasing l-efrain of a pastoral psalm. 
 
 The flowerets of nature are left to decay, 
 
 Daisies and buttercups, pensile and fair, 
 Which lit up the valleys with luminous ray, 
 
 And breathed out their odour to perfume the air. 
 
 Yon fir-belted lawn June pictured so gay, 
 And kissed with expressions of kindling joy, 
 
 Now rueful lies stripped of its glory to-day, 
 All its jewels are left to languish and die. 
 
 • 
 
 But why should we grieve for the fall of the flower, 
 Sweet beauty has made her retreat to the town ; 
 
 She's gone with much vintage from green mead and bower, 
 Gemmed over with pearls, rich, buxom, and brown. 
 
 And soon she'll return when angel-faced Spring 
 Brings back to his chariot the fiery-winged sun ; 
 
 Again those sweet dells with sweet anthems will ring, 
 When fresh-mantled in smiles fair Summer comes on.
 
 ©fce to poets. 
 
 Ye who would soar on " Homer's wine," 
 
 And love's alluring passions sing, 
 
 Or strike again Anacreon's lyre, 
 
 To till the page with tragic fire, 
 
 Let ardour from your bosoms rise, 
 
 And wing its incense to the skies ; 
 
 Never let, that generous flame 
 
 Feel the humbling blush of shame ; 
 
 Let naught obstruct thy nice survey, 
 
 Or aught sweet modesty betray ; 
 
 Advent'rous let each spirit soar, 
 
 Celestial beauty to explore ; 
 
 Along time's tempest-beaten strand 
 
 Let fancy ply her magic wand. 
 
 Go forth, traverse the realms of light, 
 
 And quaff the cup of dear delight ; 
 
 For, when at poesy's hallow'd shrine, 
 
 We poets hail the power divine ; 
 
 And when boon nature round us pours 
 
 The nectar of her pleasing stores, 
 
 We golden goblets fill and drain, 
 
 Then strike the harp with might and main, 
 
 While every quiver proves a dart, 
 
 Conveying joy straight to the heart ; 
 
 But, still the sweep of skilful hand 
 
 Cannot such harmonies command, 
 
 As drew the listening trees apace, 
 
 On Tiber's .banks, to dance with grace. 
 
 'Tis hard, but patience must endure, 
 
 To bear the flaws it cannot cure ;
 
 ODE TO POETS. 95 
 
 Each tone must reap its own applause, 
 
 In tints of truth on nature's laws ; 
 
 Like beauty's queen, amid the isles, 
 
 Out sowing captivating smiles, 
 
 Among the azure fields of air, 
 
 Serene as Heaven, and pure as fair ; 
 
 Her beaming eyes, in full employ, 
 
 Transmitting pleasure, love, and joy. 
 
 Yes ; labour on, with hope elate, 
 
 Move forth in awe-inspiring state, 
 
 Till Heaven, and all the stars that run 
 
 Their silent circuits round the sun, 
 
 Yield up to thy research and sign 
 
 Your conquering energy divine. 
 
 And when you reach that golden mien, 
 
 Which cloth your noblest wish contain, 
 
 Poise your strength, and nurse your power, 
 
 There's further trials to endure ; 
 
 Still press thy claims with eager strife, 
 
 Peace lies beyond the mark of life ; 
 
 That treasure gained may not be sold, 
 
 Nor brib'd away by gems or gold. 
 
 I'd rather be a poet priest, 
 
 With fervid vein of genius blest, 
 
 Led forth, by fancy, in the train 
 
 Of noble intellect to reign ; 
 
 Then be the bearer of a name 
 
 Which gold lifts to the throne of fame ; 
 
 For then o'er envy I could soar, 
 
 And feel its pois'nous sting no more, 
 
 Where stainless virtue e'en would shine 
 
 On claims and honours, nor decline ; 
 
 Bright girded round with glories great, 
 
 Full conscious of my blest estate, 
 
 With countenance serenely gay,
 
 96 ODE TO POETS. 
 
 \ 
 
 And balanced sentence form'd for sway. 
 The coming age I'd count mine own, 
 To mould at will, and give it tone ; 
 Those freshly, glowing, young desires, 
 Which evei'y human bosom fires, 
 With longings for some distant joy 
 Which, as we grasp, begins to cloy ; 
 For "poets are the world's teachers, 
 Love's disciples, and her preachers."
 
 Snow. 
 
 How pure is the snow, the beautiful snow, 
 Dancing down on the earth below, 
 Kissing the tops of the mountains green, 
 Gemming the valleys with crystal sheen ; 
 Whirling cheerily through the air, 
 Making the world look all so fair. 
 
 Watch how it wheels in its virgin flight, 
 On feathery pennons soft and light, 
 Gently falling to carpet the ground, 
 Muffling the traffic's humming sound ; 
 Sweeping along, so buoyant and fast, 
 On the slanting boreal blast. 
 
 Shrouding the city in radiance sweet, 
 Clothing the forms out in the street, 
 Hailing, with kisses, the new-born smile, 
 Trembling in pity all the while ; 
 Soft as the sigh of the morning beam, 
 Frisking over the placid stream. 
 
 Fanning the cheek of the youthful maid, 
 Mantling over the leafless glade ; 
 Loading the boughs of desolate trees, 
 Sheltering them from the angry breeze ; 
 Studding with pearls the skirts of night, 
 Dressing nature in nuptial white. 
 
 «ffv^
 
 Gbe Xarfc. 
 
 Bird with the dewy crest, 
 And grey speckled breast, 
 With what rapture I list 
 On the moorland to thee. 
 
 All unconscious of care, 
 Among broad-belting air, 
 I can never compare 
 My enjoyment with thee. 
 
 High over the lone cot, 
 And yellow-flower'd moat, 
 Your sweet cadences float 
 In soft dalliance free. 
 
 Aloft to the cloudland, 
 On wings trenchant you wend, 
 Could I pinions command, 
 Thy companion I'd be. 
 
 Yes ; light-hearted I'd roam 
 To the blue-curtained dome, 
 And gaze in at the home 
 Of blest spirits with thee. 
 
 Bird with the dewy crest, 
 And grey speckled breast, 
 Oh ! how vernal's thy nest 
 On the sweet-scented lea.
 
 Bn Hutumn Soliloquy 
 
 'Tis Autumn, but the sun's warm beams still stay 
 To cheer the earth, and the moon's mild ray 
 So silvers o'er the night ; the air so bland, 
 One fancies heart-reviving Spring at hand. 
 
 Silent and sober rest the winged throng, 
 All nature's still ; the thrush's mellow song, 
 Which startles and enchants each listening ear, 
 Is heard no more to pipe his gen'rous cheer. 
 
 The sullen shadow, pacing by my side, 
 
 Seems somehow meant to mock my cherished pride ; 
 
 Or rather, tent as monitor and friend, 
 
 Counsel to give, or precept kind to lend. 
 
 I wonder what I am, and where I go, 
 
 Turn in my thoughts to search, and let me know ; 
 
 Reveal my character and present state, 
 
 My future prospects, my eternal fate. 
 
 The hand which hung yon brilliant lamp on high, 
 With fiery studs adorn'd the azure sky, 
 Gave me a living soul, built up this frame, 
 And balanc'd reason's intellectual flame. 
 
 All nature serves its Maker, so should I 
 To this end make my thoughts and acts comply ; 
 E'en yon bright fount which pours the blazing day, 
 Is serving dew-drops with its glitt'ring ray.
 
 100 
 
 AN AUTUMN SOLILOQUY. 
 
 My heart swells big with gratitude and love, 
 As faith's keen eye scans yon bright world above, 
 For hosts of shining ones, with pitying eyes, 
 Are smiling tenderness from Paradise. 
 
 There's not a tinted blossom on the tree, 
 
 Or singing bird, or busy working bee, 
 
 But proves His power Whose plans are all divine 
 
 Who man to save did all perfection join. 
 
 There's not a flower in the summer grows, 
 Nor a snow-flake in the winter blows, 
 But whispers knowledge to the human heart, 
 And shows us cunning pencilling of art. 
 
 Oh ! then, what prospects to my soul appears, 
 Beyond the twinkling stars and rolling spheres, 
 For when I cease to sing life's thrilling song, 
 I join the everlasting happy throng.
 
 Gbe Ibuman flIMnfc. 
 
 How facile and free is the mind, 
 No fetters forg'd by man can bind 
 
 Or bar its spacious way ; 
 It skims this wide terrestial sphere, 
 As light as winged elysian air, 
 As jubilant and gay ; 
 It drinks the cordial from love's cup, 
 
 And leads the victor's train ; 
 It lifts embrown'd industry up 
 On honour's throne to reign. 
 So quaintly and gently, 
 Singing as it goes, 
 Aye flashing and dashing, 
 Revealing what it knows. 
 
 The mind has secrets to reveal 
 That yet lie under God's own seal ; 
 
 What wonders of research 
 Is in its well fledged, downy wings; 
 What light from Heaven's court it brings 
 Down yonder starry arch. 
 It wanders where the silvery sun 
 
 Has never sent one beam, 
 Unswerving onward it doth run 
 By hallow'd joy's sweet stream. 
 Inspiring and tiring 
 Devotion's upward glance, 
 Still watching and catching 
 At every passing chance.
 
 102 
 
 THE HUMAN MIND. 
 
 It sounds Erac's rocky dells, 
 And rings imperial Salem's bells ; 
 
 It wakes the minstrel's song 
 The Great Creator's Name to praise, 
 Draws clown on earth fair glory's rays 
 Upon the blood-wash'd throng. 
 The choicest gems in nature's mould, 
 
 Or dark Golgunda's mine, 
 Pales down before the lustre bold 
 That from the mind outshine. 
 Its charming and warming 
 The nations with its bliss, 
 Soft blushing and flushing 
 With animation's kiss. 
 
 ^^ 

 
 Zbe Btrtbfca^ b£ (Brace. 
 
 With joy I hail the glorious morn, 
 The day my soul by grace was born, 
 That day to me is doubly blest, 
 On it I found the promised rest. 
 
 Oppressed beneath a painful load, 
 Rushing down the deathward road, 
 Despising holy wisdom's voice, 
 Vice-bound I had no other choice. 
 
 Impelled by passion's luring bait, 
 To play at the infernal gate, 
 Rejecting love and all her claims, 
 Tampering with vile scourging flames. 
 
 Till ruin's liquid, lapping wave, 
 Came seething with its warning grave, 
 'Twas then I heard the Word of God, 
 And chose for good the upward road. 
 
 " Return," a voice like thunder cries, 
 " Return," reverberate the skies, 
 " Return," dreamer, love exclaims, 
 Retreat from out the burning flames. 
 
 Ten thousand envoys loudly cry, 
 " Return, O soul, why will ye die." 
 Repentance on swift pinions rise, 
 And bears, I will, unto the skies.
 
 104 THE BIRTHDAY BY GRACE. 
 
 Affrighted now I backward hied, 
 And wept that I had Heaven defied, 
 Wondering how abandoned me 
 Should thus by Mercy saved be. 
 
 But a sweet angel gently sped 
 To tell me One had fought and bled, 
 While hosts of seraphims replied, 
 For you He shed His blood and died. 
 
 Go wash thee in that sacred flood 
 Of precious wonder-working blood ; 
 Come lay thy guilt down at His feet, 
 And let His will thy wants all meet. 
 
 Resound your harps celestial choirs, 
 Heavenly hosts strike up your lyres ; 
 Let earth and sky hosannas sing 
 Unto salvation's mighty King. 
 
 With joy proclaim the glorious morn, 
 That clay my soul by grace was born ; 
 That day to me is doubly blest, 
 On it I found the promised rest.
 
 ©fce to j£ L rpertence. 
 
 Oh ! what a dreary place 
 
 Is this I'm called to tread, 
 I long for light, I long for grace, 
 For ah ! what tears bedew my face, 
 I feel all joys are fled ; 
 Man, born to grief, 
 Sighs for relief, 
 And hopes that life, with all its woes, will be but brief. 
 
 A stranger far from home, 
 I tread this weary road ; 
 Onward with fainting steps I roam, 
 And panting cry Redeemer come, 
 And ease me of this load ; 
 Support my soul, 
 While billows roll, 
 Bear me away beyond the ken of either pole. 
 
 Life's full of bitter strife, 
 
 Each moment's cloth'd with dread ; 
 For help I cry, my loathing's rife, 
 I long for death's keen friendly knife, 
 To cut the brittle thread. 
 Oh ! care-worn breast, 
 Soon thou shalt rest 
 In Heaven's sweet home, to dwell for ever with the blest.
 
 106 ODE TO EXPERIENCE. 
 
 My leaky bark's at sea, 
 
 The sport of every gale ; 
 The tempest roars, the port I see, 
 And Lord my compass points to Thee. 
 Saints and angels hail, 
 Though surges toss, 
 And troubles cross, 
 Wrecked upon life's main I give up all for lost. 
 
 How long in strife, how long 
 
 Shall this poor bark remain, 
 So far from home, rude waves among, 
 Where no triumphant victor's song 
 E'er sounds across the main ; 
 Behold, I sail, 
 And catch the gale, 
 That wafts me in where sweet praises never fail. 
 
 Farewell, ye dang'rous deep, 
 Boist'rous waves farewell, 
 My corpse can 'neath thy green lave sleep, 
 For there my heart will cease to weep ; 
 No more could terrors quell, 
 Safe anchor'd here, 
 I'd know no fear, 
 And never, no never more should I shed a tear. 
 
 Ye glorious, gliding streams, 
 
 Why should I thus complain 1 
 I feel the sweet meridian beams 
 Illume my mind with rapt'rous themes, 
 And grand seraphic strain 
 My bosom swell, 
 And who can tell 
 What joys ecstatic in these blest regions dwell.
 
 ODE TO EXPERIENCE. 
 
 107 
 
 Roll on ye fleeting years, 
 
 Haste with the judgment day ; 
 Come forth, my Lord, dispel our fears, 
 Come in Thy pomp and dry our tears, 
 Thy wondrous Self display ; 
 Behold, earth flies, 
 The dead arise, 
 Aud all the sainted throng scale the ethereal skies.
 
 B TKHorR) of Sorrow. 
 
 (LINES penned on seeing a picture with the above title.) 
 
 The rude billow of strife, 
 And the cold gales of care, 
 
 Have muffled my life 
 
 With the foam of despair. 
 
 I must drop here and die 
 By the vengeance of fate, 
 
 'Neath a dark, sunless sky, 
 At humanity's gate. 
 
 While I'm dreaming of days 
 When my head lay at rest, 
 
 In love's mellow rays, 
 
 On my kind mother's breast. 
 
 The joy-kindling eye 
 
 Of my father, which shone 
 O'er my mother and I 
 
 With its language is gone. 
 
 And those billows of strife, 
 With their surgings of care, 
 
 Are choking my life 
 In the foam of despair.
 
 Soliloquy on %ifc. 
 
 How various are the mariners' days 
 
 On life's tempestuous sea, 
 How devious the chequered ways, 
 
 What strange events I see ! 
 
 When pleasant hours glide sweetly on, 
 And health and strength remain, 
 
 But ah ! how soon that comfort's gone, 
 And I return to pain. 
 
 The former aids my active mind, 
 And lends me wings to fly; 
 
 The latter doth my spirit bind, 
 And makes me prostrate lie. 
 
 A joyful gale of prosperous scenes 
 
 Again my thoughts attend, 
 While everything that intervenes 
 
 My views and hopes befriend. 
 
 When gathering torrents o'er me burst, 
 My soul assumes death's pall ; 
 
 Faithless 1 quit my earthly trust, 
 And low beneath them fall. 
 
 To-day my garment's wet with tears, 
 
 And hope and I are one ; 
 To-morrow loads my heart with fears, 
 
 And makes me crv " undone."
 
 110 SOLILOQUY ON LIFE. 
 
 One hour I struggle hard with fate, 
 Unmoved withstand her blow, 
 
 The next bow'd down in woeful state, 
 As heartless, faint, and low. 
 
 A moment more bright prospects rise, 
 
 Then big with hope I read, 
 Anon, alas ! the vision flies, 
 
 And troubles supersede. 
 
 As sure as peace enchants my soul, 
 
 And fans the flame of love, 
 As sure dark billows o'er me roll, 
 
 My faith again to prove. 
 
 Sometimes my heart seems almost clean, 
 
 And Psalmist like I sing, 
 But when I turn my thought within, 
 
 My conscience gives a sting. 
 
 They lecture guilty, wretched me, 
 
 "Abase yourself," they cry, 
 Until repentance sets me free, 
 
 And all my terrors fly. 
 
 I wonder oft as I pursue 
 
 This chequered path of tears, 
 
 If creaturehood could ever shew 
 One so brimful of fears. 
 
 But as I analyse my cross, 
 
 God's Word reveals to me, 
 That He did suffer greater loss 
 
 Who died to set me free.
 
 a BunWe of flfe^rrb is ms WelU=belOY>eo unto 
 
 /Ifee, 
 
 He's formed for sway 
 
 Whom I portray, 
 The monarch's written on his cheek ; 
 
 Joy, love, and awe, 
 
 Sun braid the law, 
 Which through red blushes furtive speak. 
 
 While honour's light 
 
 Puts fear to flight, 
 For triumph on his temples shine ; 
 
 The golden blaze, 
 
 Of well-won praise, 
 Around his perfumed name I'll twine. 
 
 His auburn hair, 
 O'er brow so fair, 
 
 Both amply curled and neatly shed, 
 Like splendour lies, 
 Round two such eyes, 
 
 As ne'er before graced human head. 
 
 There gaze expert 
 Thrills through my heart, 
 
 And heats the current of my blood ; 
 While reason flings 
 Her downy wings 
 
 Inert on pleasure's sparkling flood.
 
 112 A BUNDLE OF MYRRH. 
 
 An equal claim 
 
 He has to fame, 
 For secrets of six thousand years 
 
 Like echoes rest 
 
 Within his breast, 
 While large-soul'd wit his speech outbears. 
 
 His voice the source 
 
 Of victor's force, 
 Which round his lips like glory curls, 
 
 Where wonders dwell, 
 
 And blessings swell, 
 And honour drops impassioned pearls. 
 
 The startling gleam 
 
 Of music's stream 
 Has touched with mirth's electric wave, 
 
 And vital fire 
 
 His breathing lyre, 
 And taught it deathless strains to rave. 
 
 Those strains resound 
 
 Through earth's wide bounds, 
 Great minstrels to that song reply ; 
 
 He leads the choir, 
 
 While all conspire 
 With voice and lute to lift it high. 
 
 With nimble feet 
 
 The peals repeat, 
 For all the sister Muses nine, 
 
 Exert their skill, 
 
 And GoD-like will, 
 His harp to fill with pathos fine.
 
 A BUNDLE OF MYRRH. 113 
 
 Such notes profound, 
 
 With trancing sound, 
 Up warble to the pendent clouds, 
 
 Till all admire 
 
 The tempered fire, 
 That thrills those vapours into shrouds. 
 
 The virtuous mind, 
 
 Nor wave, nor wind, 
 Can e'er engulph with envious frown ; 
 
 Such joys subsist, 
 
 Though fates resist, 
 And tyrants rage beneath its throne. 
 
 And such a mind 
 
 In him I find, 
 Where excellence with genius reign ; 
 
 Yon shining ball 
 
 May quench and fall. 
 But he for ever shall be mine.
 
 " Hs tbe %tl£ amono TTborns, so is my %ovc 
 among tbe Bauobters. 
 
 Indulgent praise 
 
 Inspire my lays, 
 Great is the theme I wish to sing ; 
 
 Each attribute 
 
 To pleasure suit, 
 And o'er my verse perfection fling. 
 
 No Roman ode 
 
 Bears such a load 
 Of excellence, divinely strong ; 
 
 For every grace, 
 
 Adorns the face, 
 Of her who prompts my rising song. 
 
 No hero's praise 
 
 Can fire my lays 
 Like hers, with whom this lay began ; 
 
 For love sincere, 
 
 And courage clear, 
 Two columns raise fair as the sun. 
 
 She wears the palm 
 
 For wisdom's balm 
 O'er all the charming maids I know ; 
 
 Her very name 
 
 Conveys a flame 
 Which sets my bosom all aglow.
 
 AS THE LILY AMONG THORNS. 115 
 
 Oh ! could my pen 
 
 On glowing lino 
 Her excellence superbly place, 
 
 Such witching charms 
 
 My soul so warms, 
 The words melt e'er I can them trace. 
 
 But every wile 
 
 With cautious toil 
 In transport yet shall act their part, 
 
 Till pathos sweet 
 
 Her vows repeat 
 On passion throbbing round the heart. 
 
 When woman charms, 
 
 And music warms, 
 'Tis then we nobly dare be brave ; 
 
 For worth inflames, 
 
 While virtue claims 
 To hold proud empire o'er the grave. 
 
 A scanty span 
 
 Is spared for man, 
 On this round, sublunary ball ; 
 
 But hope down brings, 
 
 On whisp'ring wings, 
 A pledge of ecstasy to all. 
 
 My love's a pledge, 
 
 On Heaven's ledge, 
 Which draws my soul to that sweet ehme ; 
 
 Though years must fly, 
 
 And pleasures die, 
 Ripe wisdom spans the gulf of time.
 
 116 AS THE LILY AMONG THORNS. 
 
 Our life's not long, 
 
 And soon we'll throng 
 Blest occupants on glory's shore, 
 
 When every breast 
 
 True love invest, 
 Will hence on guarded wings upsoar. 
 
 Friend from my side, 
 
 Life's laurell'd pride, 
 Full richly freighted you I'll give ; 
 
 Like hero bold, 
 
 I'll glory fold, 
 Around the sanctum where you live. 
 
 3^3$ TN
 
 a Hymeneal ©fee. 
 
 TO A FRIEND, ON THE EVENT OF HIS MARRIAGE. 
 
 My pen can scarcely well refrain 
 
 From its high-flying, angry strain, 
 
 For a critic full of knowledge, 
 
 Glean'd in the world's open college, 
 
 Without precept, aid, or books, 
 
 Down on my simple effort looks. 
 
 Why should the lions of our age 
 
 With clam'rous tongues 'gainst peace engage, 
 
 And seek occasion to oppress 
 
 The lowly moping lamb of grace 1 
 
 But glad I am, my friend, to hear 
 
 You've gained distinction in a wife. 
 
 Now, should disquietude appear, 
 
 Keep always foremost in the strife ; 
 
 For once the wife's pert elocution, 
 
 To flame the coals of discord blow, 
 
 No peace-erected constitution 
 
 But what her tongue will overthrow. 
 
 Now here my language I must tame, 
 
 Or I may injure your fair dame. 
 
 Love, youth, and beauty charm the brave, 
 
 And every poet is their slave ; 
 
 When doubts or discontent arise, 
 
 A wife's a fountain full of joys ; 
 
 Her kind forbearance oft atone 
 
 For harsh severities which frown, 
 
 To torment, irritate, and vex, 
 
 The toiling mercenary sex.
 
 118 A HYMENEAL ODE. 
 
 I've sailed myself the seas of life, 
 Beneath the ray of beauty's spell, 
 I've also fought on fields of strife, 
 And quenched my thirst at Hymen's well. 
 Youth's gilt cup I've filled in pleasure, 
 Full to the brim with love's discourse, 
 In the shady lanes when leisure 
 Amplified its winning force. 
 
 Much pleased I am that love has wrought 
 
 Within thy breast the pious thought, 
 
 And guided forth your eye to see 
 
 The use of such variety. 
 
 I hope joy animates the gaze, 
 
 And leads you to the shrine of praise ; 
 
 For when we think how wives were formed, 
 
 From ribs by breath eternal warmed, 
 
 To furnish man with blooming joys, 
 
 Our thoughts are lost in blest surprise. 
 
 A virtuous and a loving wife 
 
 Deserves her husband's highest praise, 
 
 And tender usage of her life 
 
 Should all her best affections raise ; 
 
 But when such kind results as these 
 
 For want of prudence we neglect, 
 
 'Tis vain to think our wives will please, 
 
 Or grant us their high-toned respect. 
 
 I also trust, 'neath kindly care, 
 Your wife will grow divinely fair, 
 Indulge you with a beauteous race, 
 Which will their father's gifts express, 
 That generations yet to be 
 May read in them his poetry.
 
 A HYMENEAL ODE. 119 
 
 This breath, on which our lives depend, 
 Like to a parting sigh we spend ; 
 Soon will the soul her prison break, 
 And, eagle-like, her freedom take. 
 I hope, dear friend, you've had a care 
 To choose a wife that is no flirt, 
 For patience with a shrew that's fair 
 Makes her more insolent and pert ; 
 The only way to shun these elves, 
 Where numbers do their ruin find, 
 Is choosing women like ourselves, 
 In fortune, figure, taste, and mind.
 
 
 Written on tbe occasion of a Stiver Meootno 
 
 Illustrious Muse tune thou my tongue, 
 
 Like harp of golden string, 
 Help me to raise my lofty song 
 
 On love's triumphant wing. 
 
 Along the mazes of your strains 
 
 Flows force divinely sweet, 
 In sympathy's harmonious veins 
 
 Allurement's pleasures meet. 
 
 The sparkling streams of youthful love 
 Which makes the bosom swell, 
 
 Still through their crystal channels rove 
 Beneath life's sacred spell. 
 
 As fair the tree of pleasure grows 
 
 To shed its timely fruit, 
 As when young life hung on its boughs, 
 
 And sprung from every root. 
 
 Years may have o'er your temples thrown 
 
 A veil of thought and care, 
 But reason hath profusely sown 
 
 Her seeds of honour there. 
 
 Kindred spirits are born for fears 
 Which spring from sorrow's mine, 
 
 But sympathy dissolved in tears 
 The pangs of life refine.
 
 A SILVER WEDDING. 121 
 
 When sorrow sinks before delight. 
 
 True love illumes the soul, 
 And rays of sweet, conjugal light, 
 
 Flash round the dusky pole. 
 
 Blest wedlock's soft and silver thread 
 
 Gilds all the web of life, 
 While hope and courage peace persuade 
 
 To throw aside all strife. 
 
 Yea wedlock's like a glorious sun 
 
 Which radiates our days, 
 And casts a spell of beauty down 
 
 On wisdom's well-won bays. 
 
 I hope yet long great Nature's wheel 
 
 May tell you happy hours, 
 Provide you draughts from pleasure's well, 
 
 'Neath love's pavilioned bowers. 
 
 Then when your glass of life is run 
 
 To venerable age, 
 And all its vital cords are spun 
 
 Upon this mortal stage, 
 
 You'll bless the hand that led your way 
 
 Through every dawning hour, 
 In flowery paths of youth's heyday, 
 
 And gave you marching power.
 
 Woman's Cbarms. 
 
 I'll tune my harp to woman's charms, 
 For at her flame my bosom warms, 
 Her lily neck and waxen arms 
 Arrest my eye, and prompts a sigh. 
 
 The various passions in my bi*east 
 
 Like rivals rise in eager zest, 
 
 Their powerful auguries to test, 
 
 In friendship bright and sweet delight. 
 
 Far richer than Falernian wine 
 
 Is this alluring cup of mine ; 
 
 'Tis this that makes the features shine 
 
 With pleasing care and will to bear. 
 
 Who that has seen the genial rays 
 Which round the love-lit forehead plays, 
 But what has felt the vernal blaze 
 Thrill through his heart with magic art. 
 
 The very surges on life's main, 
 The baleful drops of sorrow's rain, 
 The deeds of war, and hours of pain, 
 Beneath love's ray dissolve away. 
 
 Let woman list the glad refrain, 
 Nor think these sacred honours vain, 
 That warble through a bliss-fill'd vein, 
 With vagrant will and native skill.
 
 Come, Sing a Song to me, m^ Xove, 
 
 Corne, sing a song to me, my love, 
 
 Thou knowest how I long, 
 Resume thy harp again and give 
 
 Another melting song. 
 I've listened oft with secret joy, 
 
 And half-veil'd swimming eyes, 
 Unto the soaring minstrel boy 
 
 Who sings with such surprise. 
 
 Men shall adore thee, 1 contend, 
 
 Of every creed and clime, 
 And forth thy name on history send 
 
 Throughout the course of Time ; 
 The wise in speech, in sense, and mind, 
 
 The soldier, sage, and priest, 
 King, prophet, hero, bard, will find 
 
 Within thy lays a feast. 
 
 The old, the young, the rich, the poor, 
 
 Coy maiden, and strong youth, 
 Shall draw sweet pleasure from thy store, 
 
 And praise its flavoured truth. 
 When time's grey wing shall winnow all 
 
 Base metal from life's gold, 
 And every warranty appal, 
 
 And love herself grows old. 
 
 The rising wavelets of your song, 
 
 Light as galactic air, 
 Will dance on every human tongue 
 
 Dame Nature doth prepare.
 
 124 COME, SING A SONG TO ME, MY LOVE. 
 
 The boundless elemental whole 
 
 Of incarnation's train, 
 Tears from the socket of its soul 
 
 Will on thy memory reign. 
 
 That rich, mysterious gift divine, 
 
 Self-conscious of its life, 
 Imbues itself on every line 
 
 Without a sign of strife. 
 Around thy wide-spread disc of fame 
 
 Shines honour's blazing star ; 
 Spite, lust, and pride quake when thy name 
 
 Sounds on the held of war. 
 
 A brainless mass of copyists 
 
 May nicker, flash, and vie, 
 But soon their laboured, rayless lists 
 
 Beneath time's gaze will die. 
 Like shifting shadows in the sun, 
 
 Or waves that mark the sea, 
 They'll sigh the syllables undone, 
 
 And shift with woe is me.
 
 Gbougbts on Cbristmas. 
 
 Go forth, my soul, assert thy might, 
 And celebrate the sweet delight 
 
 That dawns on Christmas Day. 
 Think how those mercies, rich and free, 
 Were brought from Heaven to earth for thee, 
 
 On primeval Christmas Day. 
 
 This world, long veil'd in dark'ning gloom, 
 Now sheds its truth-empurpled bloom 
 
 On natal Christinas Day. 
 Could light of Patriarch's compare, 
 Or Solomon such glories wear, 
 
 As doth this Christmas Day. 
 
 The Word came singing into space 
 To conquer death by gifts of grace, 
 
 On hallow'd Christmas Day ; 
 Hell, listening, heard the holy chime 
 Ring through her deep infernal clime, 
 
 Man's Saviour's come today. 
 
 The Saviour came with wealth untold, 
 He came great wisdom to unfold, 
 
 To Him your voices lift. 
 In Him we find a plenteous store, 
 His goodness makes life's cup run o'er 
 
 With many a various gift.
 
 126 THOUGHTS ON CHRISTMAS. 
 
 By Him the mighty love of God 
 Within our hearts is shed abroad ; 
 
 He gives the weary rest. 
 The vast creation owns Him King, 
 And every lip His praise should sing, 
 
 The noblest and the best. 
 
 How wond'rous kind is Christ to us, 
 In scattering joy and wisdom thus, 
 
 To sate those wants of ours. 
 And if such fulness now is given, 
 What will follow, then, in Heaven, 
 
 Among the golden towers. 
 
 Oh ! if I could but enter now, 
 And low before His footstool bow, 
 
 And show the jewel He gave, 
 Then with the angels I would raise, 
 My voice in everlasting praise, 
 
 To Him Who came to save. 
 
 Dear Holy Ghost teach me the song, 
 Sung by that bright celestial throng, 
 
 Who first revealed Thy Name 
 To lonely shepherds, poor and weak, 
 And gave them fortitude to speak, 
 
 Thine Advent to proclaim. 
 
 I pray Thee let Thy gracious showers 
 Invigorate my languid powers, 
 
 That they may thrive and grow ; 
 Come, till with blessings every place, 
 Till fruits of faith shoot up apace 
 
 In all who dwell below.
 
 IReflections unoer the Xast /l&oon of tbe ©lo 
 
 H>ear. 
 
 The woods were enrobed in their garments of snow, 
 And the moon lit the vale with her phosphorus glow ; 
 Awhile I paus'd to think and breathe, 
 The snow-clad branches underneath, 
 To watch the moon's fantastic wave 
 Dance o'er the lily's silent grave ; 
 Short appear'd to me the time 
 Since she stood in virgin prime, 
 So chaste and fair, 
 In summer air, 
 Extending her petals slim, graceful, and sweet, 
 And bathing with tears my irreverent feet. 
 
 Then odours ambrosial seasoned the earth, 
 And Nature rejoiced in her amplified birth ; 
 
 Her genius and industrious art 
 
 Had set a gem on every part, 
 
 And by her robes, gay and serene, 
 
 Showed herself a regal Queen ; 
 
 Ruler of the spacious sky, 
 
 Where unnumbered orbits lie, 
 In sweet retreat, 
 Praise to repeat, 
 Along the descent of the glory gilt way, 
 And out through the gates of the blazing day. 
 
 The fair orb of night with celestial ray 
 
 Was gilding the glades where I chanced to stray, 
 
 When, mov'd by pity's soft extreme, 
 
 I felt my soul glow into flame ;
 
 128 REFLECTIONS UNDER THE LAST MOON. 
 
 For fancy's pencil set to paint, 
 To me a sense -delighting haunt, 
 Full of joy and hallow'd bliss, 
 And the view contrasts with this 
 Cold Winter scene, 
 Where grim death reigns ; 
 Still methinks I can hear that well-lov'd voice ring, 
 Now translated by death to eternal Spring. 
 
 Sweet Spring-tide will burnish those arbours again, 
 And balmy breath'd Summer revisit the plain, 
 
 While Time hands round from land to land, 
 His cautious running glass of sand, 
 Dressing the dells from year to year, 
 And vouchsafing sovereign cheer 
 To the shining floweret race, 
 Shedding lustre o'er earth's face, 
 While studious man 
 Beholds the plan, 
 Exulting on pinions of wonder and praise, 
 And thought e'en at moonbeams enkindle her rays.
 
 Jubilee Banquet, in Jesmono 2>ene, to Scfoool 
 TTeacbers ano ©Ulcers. 
 
 (GIVEN BY THE MEMBERS OF THE NEWCASTLE-UPON-TYNE 
 SCHOOL BOARD. 
 
 We went not thither solely just to trace 
 The varied beauties of the place, 
 Tho' science, art, and nature there combine 
 To make the glowing prospect shine, 
 Beneath the ancient pine trees' classic pride, 
 Where Ouse's wreath-bound waters glide. 
 
 B 1 
 
 Nay, rather woo'd by joy and glad surprise, 
 
 To sun ourselves 'neath friendly eyes, 
 
 The favour'd grateful guests of high-soul'd men, 
 
 Ye pow'rs descriptive aid my pen ; 
 
 No place more fit to banquet in, I ween, 
 
 Than Jesmond's sweet secluded Dene. 
 
 What tides of potent bliss illume the soul, 
 What raptures o'er the heart-strings roll, 
 When kindly jokes the laughing hours beguile, 
 And friendship triumphs in a smile? 
 When spirits into fervid spirits drink, 
 And eyes reciprocate love's blink 1 
 
 Here health's pure balm is wafted on the gale, 
 And charms unrivall'd braid the vale ; 
 Beauties, refresh'd by dews of opening day, 
 Outbrave the sun's unclouded ray, 
 While contemplation's pilgrim feet pursue 
 Soft-tinted Truth's celestial hue.
 
 130 JUBILEE BANQUET. 
 
 Here Nature smiles at science and our schools, 
 
 And widens philosophic rules ; 
 
 Auspicious zephyrs, stealing to repose, 
 
 Their triumphs to our minds disclose. 
 
 Long may these fragrant bowers renew their bloom, 
 
 And yield to man their rich perfume 
 
 Oft have these scenes proud fancy's eye refined, 
 And breath'd enchantment o'er the mind ; 
 Beneath the shady grandeur of whose boughs 
 There's many a poet pledged his vows, 
 And many a race has verg'd its narrow span, 
 Since first Old Ouse thro' Jesmond ran. 
 
 Here russet tints with taste and talent blend, 
 Which help young genius to ascend 
 To thoughts beneficient beyond compare, 
 Which brace the mind to do and dare, 
 Till swelling strains of gratitude up start, 
 And eddy round the ardent heart. 
 
 The waters tinkling thro' their time-groov'd way 
 
 Awake the Muse's keen survey, 
 
 Then gushing forth resistless raptures tell 
 
 To echo in her moss-lined cell, 
 
 The flowery beauty and the magic pow'r 
 
 That lies in Jesmond's frondy bow'r. 
 
 When evening breezes flap their dewy wings 
 On Jesmond Dene's enchanting strings, 
 And fancies flaunt where flowers unfold 
 Their streaks of vegetative gold 
 Round ruins antique, clad in ivy green, 
 How sweet's the hour in Jesmond Dene.
 
 JUBILEE BANQUET. 131 
 
 When powder'd blue-bells 'niong the witch-grass ring, 
 
 And birds on nodding blossoms sing, 
 
 When love's luxuriance floats from bough to bough, 
 
 As pairs convene to seal the vow, 
 
 Then young affection's most endearing smiles 
 
 Lends Jesmond Dene ten thousand wiles.
 
 TTo a 22ouit3 Xaop on reacbing ber Eiobteentb 
 
 3Birtboa£. 
 
 While youth's clear orb is shining sweet 
 Down on life's morning path, 
 
 Ask heavenly aid to guide thy feet 
 In purity and faith. 
 
 The tempter lurks among the flow'rs 
 
 That gem the distant dells, 
 And you will need all virtue's powers 
 
 To break his cursed spells. 
 
 A host of vanities will try 
 
 To win thee by foul wiles, 
 And, should you to their wish comply, 
 
 Farewell to honour's smiles. 
 
 Take for your guide the light of life, 
 
 And let it lead you on, 
 Beyond all earthly scenes of strife, 
 
 Where suns have never shone.
 
 flDusinos b\> a IRiver. 
 
 Sparkling, smooth, and winding river, 
 Kissed by solar beam and breeze, 
 
 What a ceaseless, true endeavour 
 You are making to the seas. 
 
 Gurgling, rippling, gentle river, 
 Flowing 'neath ancestral trees, 
 
 How your liquid pinions quiver 
 Through yon flow'r-enamelled lea. 
 
 Swinging, chiming, sweeping river, 
 Creeping round the mountain side, 
 
 Till thy lute-voic'd wavelet shiver 
 O'er the vaulted rocks with pride. 
 
 Smiling, dancing, singing river, 
 Hurrying on to other isles, 
 
 Shall thy restless motion never 
 Weary of its endless toils. 
 
 Pageless, timeless, crystal river, 
 Tedious, sleepless, calm, and free, 
 
 Nature cannot boast a giver 
 More beneficent than thee. 
 
 Moon reflecting, wand'ring river, 
 Purpled with night's starry hue, 
 
 All the oozing founts deliver 
 Up their treasur'd stores to you.
 
 134 MUSINGS BY A RIVER. 
 
 Singing, sighing, humming river, 
 Flooding grot and tufted dell, 
 
 "With the ancient semiquaver 
 That on Eden's myrtles fell. 
 
 Splashing, tossing, foaming river, 
 
 Dashing over caverns deep, 
 Passing gulf and height more clever 
 
 Than the gales that forests sweep. 
 
 Interlaced and bow'r-bound river, 
 
 Rolled through channel, cloud, and sea, 
 
 Down the groves of change for ever 
 To an unknown destiny. 
 
 Joyous, jesting, pregnant river, 
 With melodious buoyant glee, 
 
 Could I rise to thy endeavour, 
 Oh ! how useful I would be.
 
 Sonnets. 
 
 Zbc temple of tfaitb. 
 
 This world's a solemn temple unto me, 
 
 Filled with awe pervading majesty, 
 
 The sun which gilds the firmament above, 
 
 That changeless emblem of exhaustless love, 
 
 Who measures time, and over earth presides, 
 
 Whose universal courtesy and pride 
 
 Shines gloriously, indeed, but brighter far 
 
 Is faith to me than sun, or moon, or star. 
 
 From it ten thousand streams of interest flow, 
 
 To glad the face of Nature here below, 
 
 And flood the earth with joy, and love, and bliss ; 
 
 O ! what a grand, sublime, conception's this, 
 
 Faith's noble monuments o'erwhelm the sight, 
 
 Of all who stand in its supernal light. 
 
 Zo 1bope, 
 
 Hope, brightest luminary in the sky 
 
 Of our mental vision, luring the mind 
 
 Forward through all the vacancies of sense, 
 
 Animating and electrifying 
 
 Man to the pursuit of all that is good 
 
 And praiseworthy in the circles of life ; 
 
 Expanding and enlivening energy 
 
 To light the path of the philanthropist 
 
 In his wide travels for humanity. 
 
 Inspiring the serf with deliverance, 
 
 And wreathing the toiler's brow with success ; 
 
 Obstacles all but unsurmountable, 
 
 With vast voids of thought unnavigable, 
 
 Open before thy opalescent beam.
 
 136 SONNETS. 
 
 ©n being asfeeo to Delineate a UJoung 
 Xaos's Character. 
 
 How dare you boldly ask me to explain, 
 
 That lovely treasure shining in your eyes 1 
 Such wondrous knowledge angels ask in vain, 
 
 Alas ! it fills those creatures with surprise. 
 This coldly scanning world shall never know, 
 
 Or judge aright, a woman's native zest ; 
 The whispering source of wealth which lies below 
 
 Can never be by mortal tongue expressed. 
 While warring elements of treacherous sin 
 
 Their rude audacious pranks so cruelly play ; 
 No earthly wisdom can the prize divine, 
 
 That is so closely wrapp'd in folds of clay. 
 Vain thought, thy pensive power can never trace 
 
 The jewel which relumes a woman's face. 
 
 XTo a jfrienfc. 
 
 ! may heaven support thy sweet belief, 
 It gives my conscious bosom blest relief, 
 To hear thy kindly pen describe so well 
 My humble efforts, and their wonders tell. 
 You've often watch'd me mount my themes and try 
 To clap my wings against the star-pav'cl sky, 
 
 And pleased I am to hear you thus rehearse 
 The sallies of my passion-pointed verse. 
 Whatever truths the Muse to me unfold, 
 
 1 pledge my word to you they shall be told ; 
 Meanwhile I'll prove myself, and train my mind 
 To grasp the dignity of human kind, 
 
 Rule well my life by Heaven's highest plan, 
 Till I outstrip the angel in the man.
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 137 
 
 Zo a Critic 
 
 The man who clips his pen in mirth to scoff, 
 
 Or sets his idiotic laughter off, 
 
 Or uses poesy's bit and brace to drill 
 
 Faults in another's philosophic skill, 
 
 Then blows his puerile vapours through the hole, 
 
 Doth doubly earn the epithet of fool. 
 
 Was critic blessed with half-a-grain of sense, 
 
 He would not hazard such a frail defence ; 
 
 With Muse so awkward, dry, and unpolite, 
 
 Base-born, unfledged, unqualified for flight, 
 
 His waggish style, and virulent address, 
 
 The height of pride and impudence confess, 
 
 As scant of courtesy are his poor strains, 
 
 As if they'd issued from some coxcomb's brains.
 
 Songs. 
 
 Xavinta. 
 
 Come forth, Lavinia, to the grove, 
 How fair the prospect round us lies, 
 
 Light-hearted through the woods we'll rove, 
 And drink the bliss that love supplies. 
 
 The winds are sleeping on the plain, 
 
 Where flowery-kirtled naiades play, 
 The golden wheels of Sol's last train 
 
 Are passing by another day. 
 
 The pure-ey'd wand'ring Queen of Night 
 Hath stamped her smile on yonder cloud, 
 
 And twin'd a chaste and sacred light 
 Around the leaf-fring'd hazel shroud. 
 
 Inspiring fancy's keen desire 
 Is moving every votive spring, 
 
 While fretful passions fan the fire, 
 And tinkle on each gen'rous string. 
 
 Come, dear Lavinia, take my arm, 
 
 O ! quench this scourging flame of strife, 
 
 There's such a virtue in thy charm, 
 I'd feel no more the ills of life,
 
 SONGS. 
 
 139 
 
 Zhe jflusb ie on tbe flfeorn. 
 
 The flush is on the morn, 
 The gleam is on the grass, 
 
 And the bloom is on the thorn 
 "Where the lover meets his lass. 
 
 The blush is on the rose, 
 The bee is at the sweet, 
 
 And the graceful lily blows 
 In the shady, cool retreat. 
 
 The birds are full of glee, 
 The echo's on the wing, 
 
 And the daisy-dappl'd lea 
 
 With a thousand anthems ring. 
 
 But beauty's choicest grace 
 
 Grows languid, staid, and pale, 
 
 "When contrasted with the face 
 That I met in Derwent Vale. 
 
 ^^*< mmi& mv£*«m&
 
 140 SONGS. 
 
 tllice Xet\ 
 
 She's blithesome as the zephyr 
 
 That sips the summer clew, 
 And she's fairer far than lily 
 
 The valley ever grew j 
 Her eyes beam like the sapphire 
 
 So beautiful on me, 
 Earth never gave a sweeter flow'r 
 
 Than lovely Alice Lee. 
 
 Were I the King of England, 
 
 With all the world beside, 
 I would give my crown with pleasure 
 
 To have her for my bride. 
 Her blissful lips, O ! sweet repast, 
 
 Denied, alas ! to me ; 
 Earth never gave a sweeter flow'r 
 
 Than lovely Alice Lee. 
 
 The moon may lose her lustre, 
 
 The stars their sober glare, 
 Yea, the sea may change her motion, 
 
 And leave her channel bare ; 
 But my love, with noble purpose, 
 
 Shall ever centr'd be 
 On perfection's sweetest creature, 
 
 My lovely Alice Lee.
 
 SONGS. 141 
 
 Zbc Summer j£ve was Balmp, 
 
 The summer eve was balmy, 
 The sun had sunken low, 
 When first I met with Fanny 
 Beneath the chestnut bough. 
 Her face it was so fair, 
 
 The like I'd never seen, 
 For bright on every feature 
 
 "Was starap'd the image, Queen. 
 
 Her neck was like the lily, 
 Her cheeks were like the rose, 
 
 Her breath was like the odour 
 That through the garden flows. 
 
 Her face it was so fair, &c. 
 
 Her lips were like the crimson 
 
 On dew-bent poppy rim, 
 Her eyes outshone the azure 
 
 In which the planets swim. 
 
 Her face it was so fair, &c. 
 
 Her voice was like the breezes 
 
 Aurora's beams refine, 
 When first I heard its pathos 
 
 I thought its force divine. 
 
 Her face it was so fair, <fcc. 
 
 Her robes were those which beauty 
 Weaves on her flowery loom, 
 
 And borders with the purple 
 That tints the apple bloom. 
 
 Her face it was so fair, &c.
 
 142 SONGS. 
 
 £wo Beam\> )£\>es. 
 
 Two beamy eyes, as black as jet, 
 
 By courtesy and favour, 
 Have near my heart a magnet set, 
 
 To prompt its best endeavour. 
 
 Each sprightly glow of conquering truth 
 Comes swath'd in conscious honour, 
 
 To radiate the clouds of youth 
 That flit before the donor. 
 
 Through hov'ring mists of damping fears 
 Dart gleams of vernal pleasure, 
 
 Which quiver round the joy-drawn tears 
 That memory's casket treasure. 
 
 To worship 'neath those eyes of jet, 
 And feel sweet bliss prevailing, 
 
 Nor pow'r on earth, nor angel net, 
 Can draw to such regaling. 
 
 A sacred rapture breathes around, 
 Words fail me in expressing ; 
 
 While fancy chimes 'tis hallow'd ground, 
 And begs to share the blessing.
 
 songs. 143 
 
 Zbe Sea ! Zfte Sea ! 
 
 The sea ! the sea ! the trembling main. 
 On whose smooth brow the breezes sleep ; 
 
 No breath disturbs the azure plain, 
 Or moves the surface of the deep. 
 
 Swift o'er the tide the steamers run, 
 Fearless of wreck by wave or wind, 
 
 Like painted insects in the sun, 
 
 Nor hear the storm that yells behind. 
 
 But gales awake, and pierce the clouds, 
 From whence the bell'wing thunders roar, 
 
 Which tear the noble craft to shrouds, 
 And dash her on the rock-rimm'd shore. 
 
 By smiling gales too soon betrayed, 
 To leave the port and tempt the wave, 
 
 That azure plain, where once she played, 
 Becomes, alas ! a gaping grave. 
 
 The moral points to life's highway, 
 
 When hope looks fair and honours bloom, 
 
 To-morrow ushers in decay, 
 
 And all is cover'd o'er with gloom.
 
 144 SONGS. 
 
 When 3ennp tricb ber Searcbin^ 3fires. 
 
 When Jenny tried her searching fires, 
 
 And all her shafts let fly, 
 She fill'd my breast with strange desires, 
 
 Which stay'd my roving eye. 
 
 While melting strains fell from her mouth, 
 
 I worshipp'd at her lip, 
 And thought all harmony and truth, 
 
 I eagerly did sip. 
 
 But when she moved, the air, the grace, 
 
 No mortal could escape, 
 My eye, in wonder, left her face, 
 
 And centr'd on her shape. 
 
 Her snowy breast to me bespoke 
 
 An innocence within ; 
 Her sunny hair and dapper neck 
 
 Made me, alas ! more vain. 
 
 But neither shape, nor neck, nor face, 
 
 Did me so much enthral, 
 As common sense, that happy grace, 
 
 Gave beauty's charm to all. 
 
 
 mm 
 
 F— ' Til 
 

 
 soxr.s. 145 
 
 Zbe Charm of 3ean. 
 
 Tune : — " Of a' the airts the wind can blaw." 
 
 The golden sun his race has run, 
 
 And slowly doth descend, 
 To rest his edge on Ocean's wave, 
 
 Whereon his colours blend ; 
 He lingers, trembling, loth to spoil 
 
 The glorious gilded scene, 
 That melts my soul to fervent glow, 
 
 While gazing on my Jean. 
 
 'Tis sweet at evening's hour to stray 
 
 Along the sea-beat shore, 
 To hear the merry sailors' song, 
 
 And ancient Ocean roar ; 
 To view the far-receding craft 
 
 Glide o'er the billows green, 
 To watch the stars serenely shine 
 
 Above me and my Jean. 
 
 I love to stray through balmy groves 
 
 When shades are closing round, 
 To hear the tinkling waterfalls 
 
 Awake their murmuring sound ; 
 This drives away the sombre cloud 
 
 That comes our hearts between, 
 Then fancy has no time for fears, 
 
 Her joy exults in Jean.
 
 146 
 
 SONGS. 
 
 A Burns before has praised his Jean, 
 
 And sung her charms divine, 
 His might be fairest of the fair, 
 
 But not more fair than mine ; 
 Her mind is like the diamond's bed, 
 
 By vulgar gaze unseen ; 
 In dai'kest hour, when troubles roll, 
 
 I find a light in J ean.
 
 SONGS. 147 
 
 Zhe Banks of Zyne. 
 
 Tune : — " Bonnie Mary o' Argyle." 
 
 I have heard the blackbird singing 
 
 To his nest-mate on the tree, 
 And the distant echoes ringing 
 
 Over mountain, stream, and lea ; 
 I have seen the clover waving 
 
 In the buoyant summer breeze, 
 And the troubled billows raving 
 On the wild, romantic seas. 
 
 But I've felt a throb more joyous 
 
 Move this pulsing heart of mine, 
 In my walks with lovely Annie 
 On the flowery Banks of Tyne. 
 
 I have watched the sinking sunlight 
 Flush with gold the evening sky, 
 And I've seen the magic moonlight 
 
 The cold cheeks of Ocean dye ; 
 But I never felt such pleasure 
 In creation's fairest charm, 
 As I've found in hours of leisure, 
 With my Annie on my arm. 
 Then I felt a throb more joyous 
 
 Move this pulsing heart of mine, 
 In my walks with lovely Annie 
 On the flowery Banks of Tyne.
 
 148 SONGS. 
 
 Zo flora. 
 
 O ! Flora, I have lost my heart, 
 
 Smile not to hear me sigh ; 
 If I am right, the fatal dart 
 
 Came from your coal-black eye. 
 
 Come, Flora love, and give me thine, 
 
 How can you see me pine ; 
 Yet, Flora, I'll let mine remain, 
 
 If yours you will resign. 
 
 But, if with yours you will not part, 
 
 I'll try mine own to take, 
 E'en though the strife may cause a smart, 
 
 That both our hearts will break. 
 
 Now, if we could make this compact, 
 Much good might from it flow, 
 
 In unison our hearts would act, 
 And far more fonder grow.
 
 SONGS. 149 
 
 Gbe flDaifc 3 love. 
 
 Go round this spacious planet rove, 
 Bring all the flow'rs that odour shed, 
 
 Search every grot, and every grove, 
 
 Where Nature hath her bounties spread. 
 
 Bring all that's rich, and all that's rare, 
 And all that's worthy to be known ; 
 
 Collect from sea, and earth, and air, 
 From fossil, plant, and precious stone. 
 
 Let wonders great with wonders vie, 
 
 And latent pow'rs their might dispense ; 
 
 Let this attract the raptur'd eye, 
 And that allure the ravish'd sense. 
 
 Give me the maid with native grace, 
 Eliza, come and bless my view ; 
 
 Then every former beauteous trace 
 Will vanish like the morning dew.
 
 150 SONGS. 
 
 Hnnie <5re£. 
 
 My love has merit in her mould, 
 
 And lustre in her eye ; 
 I ne'er beheld in young or old 
 
 Nobility so high. 
 
 For her I'll climb the mountain side, 
 
 For her I'll stem the flood, 
 For her I'll brave the battle's tide, 
 
 And spill my dearest blood. 
 
 By night I'll watch her dewy sleep, 
 And o'er her bend to pray; 
 
 Within my heart's recess I'll keep 
 Her image night and day. 
 
 I'll crown her with the diadem 
 
 Of Nature's fondest love, 
 And wreathe around her brow a gem 
 
 Of daisies from the grove. 
 
 Already reason's precious dower 
 
 Her lettered mind sustain, 
 While deep, inverted, cheering pow'r 
 
 Rich trophies for her gain. 
 
 But often youth's accomplished smiles 
 
 Makes innocence its prey ; 
 Full soon I found her spendthrift wiles 
 
 Had led my heart astray.
 
 SONGS. 
 
 151 
 
 'Twas thus my fancy painted her 
 With young untutor'd hand, 
 
 When flutt'ring love began to stir 
 Its richly gilded wand. 
 
 In scorn she turned her eyes aside, 
 
 On other joys to stray, 
 Though in convulsing grief I cried 
 
 I'm dying, Annie Grey.
 
 152 SONGS. 
 
 Z\k Banks of tbe Wlansbecfc, 
 
 A tale of love I wish to tell, 
 Which lately on a day befell, 
 Where on the hill and in the dell, 
 I drank the bliss of a magic spell, 
 On the bowery Banks of the Wansbeck. 
 
 Fvdl blithe we were as birds at play, 
 Among green trees that sunny clay, 
 Which gave their charm all the way, 
 To the bright torch of a lover's ray, 
 On yon bowery Banks of the Wansbeck. 
 
 By castle wall, and new-mown hay, 
 Our hearts bespoke our feet to stray, 
 Love's sweet devotions oft to pay ; 
 While lip touched lip in amorous play, 
 As we tripped the Banks of the Wansbeck. 
 
 Now loitering by the sullen stream, 
 Which lay the town and us between, 
 Wishing the hours had longer been, 
 To enjoy the pleasures of the green 
 And enchanting Banks of the Wansbeck. 
 
 No prying eye's intrusive stare 
 Disturbed our peace with wanton glare, 
 Nor sting of sorrow found we there, 
 For everything was bright and fair 
 That day on the Banks of the Wansbeck,
 
 SONGS. 153 
 
 Zo 3ane. 
 
 I have whispered thy name to the wind, Jane, 
 
 And folded it close to my soul ; 
 The tears that you shed I've enshrined, Jane, 
 
 For a keepsake in memory's bowl. 
 
 Just a single taste of your lips, Jane, 
 Or a glance from your glowing eye, 
 
 Would a world of pleasure eclipse, Jane, 
 To the wretch who breathes but to sigh. 
 
 I could die in the bliss of your breast, Jane, 
 Like a floweret new culled from its stem, 
 
 Or sink like a star in the west, Jane, 
 Some other horizon to gem. 
 
 Is thy bosom still open for me, Jane 1 
 If so, to its banquet I'll come, 
 
 To bask in its innocent glee, Jane, 
 Where else can I find such a home ? 
 
 ! spare me the pledge of your smile, Jane, 
 'Twill banish despair from my mind, 
 
 And act like the sun in April, Jane, 
 That lightens the wing of the wind. 
 
 The ruddy carnations that rise, Jane, 
 To damask thy downy, fair cheek, 
 
 With the charms that flash in thine eyes, Jane, 
 A passionate witchery speak.
 
 154 SONGS. 
 
 I wish I was wedded to thee, Jane, 
 To lose my existence in thine, 
 
 How cheerful and happy I'd be, Jane, 
 If once I could say thou art mine. 
 
 Sweet joy would flow evenly then, Jane, 
 And peacefulness hallow our life ; 
 
 O ! answer the quest of my pen, Jane, 
 And say that thou wilt be my wife.
 
 SONGS. 155 
 
 a ©otthg fIDato to ber Xover, 
 
 'Twas a fine autumn eve, the sun was declining, 
 
 And gilding the hills with a garment of gold, 
 I saw a fair maid o'er a wicket reclining, 
 
 By a relic of history, hoary and old. 
 Around her the chestnut leaves, faded and yellow, 
 
 Were silently dropping from off the spread tree, 
 And she sang in sweet voice, pathetic and mellow, 
 
 ! why does my lover not hasten to me. 
 
 I gazed on her charms so rarely enhancing, 
 
 And challenged the pow'rs who were ruling above ; 
 To name me a creature so pertly entrancing, 
 
 Or that is more worthy a young gallant's love. 
 For naught could compare with the thrilling emotion, 
 
 And soft perturbation that swell'd in my breast ; 
 The sight that I breath'd in my ardent devotion, 
 
 For her who bent over the wicket to rest. 
 
 And now though the winds of misfortune are roaring 
 
 O'er life's rocky summits, thro' valley and tree, 
 That charming young maiden I still am adoring, 
 
 For she's a sweet garden of pleasure to me. 
 ! fresh on her cheek smile the new blowing roses, 
 
 Love blinks like the sun from her luminous eye 
 And deep in her bosom a fragrance reposes, 
 
 Much richer than odours on lilies which lie.
 
 156 SONGS. 
 
 %ox>e Song. 
 
 I knew not what whim had his fancy possest, 
 Whether friendship, or love, or a butt for a jest, 
 With these words I besought him his meaning to test. 
 
 In the mirror of truth let your feelings be known, 
 For fancy is wayward, impulsive, and prone, 
 To reap in the fields where it never has sown. 
 
 Bring all your affections and innocent glee, 
 
 And meet me to-night 'neath the old spreading tree, 
 
 That grows by the side of the sleepless blue sea. 
 
 And if ever young love had a skirmish with fun, 
 
 In all the enjoyable battles he's won, 
 
 I will prove him down there in a magical run. 
 
 He came, and I watched for a proof of his art, 
 
 And his power to subdue when most guarded the heart, 
 
 But my armour was vain 'gainst his sharp-pointed dart. 
 
 For when to the trysting ti'ee my lover came, 
 What joy fill'd his heart, ! it wanted a name, 
 He triumphed in mischief, while I bore the blame. 
 
 Then these exquisite flirtings enhanced my delight, 
 Till the golden-wing'cl moments grew swift in their flight, 
 And forced us to part on the verge of the night.
 
 SONGS. 1 5 
 
 m 
 
 Bn ©Ifc flDaifcen's Song* 
 
 Hurrah ! oh ! hurrah ! for an old maiden's life, 
 She's a fool who is bound to act as a wife ; 
 I've no one to vex me or rob me of ease, 
 I worship myself, and I live as I please. 
 
 I go where I like, and come back when I choose, 
 I've no will to obey, no tongue to abuse ; 
 I chide, or applaud, or make love to the cat, 
 And enjoy to the full my innocent chat. 
 
 My cottage is orderly, peaceful, and clean, 
 And seldom beyond its trim precincts I'm seen ; 
 The gossips around me I carefully shun, 
 So they say that I'm out of the realm of fun. 
 
 The novels I read now are transcripts of truth, 
 All printed with tears in the heyday of youth, 
 When tides of emotion were urgent and wild, 
 And the serpent deceit on womanhood smil'd 
 
 My heart is a tomb where the old lovers lie, 
 With these I'll commune till the day that I die ; 
 And I swear by the love they lavished so free, 
 No more shall the world's song captivate me. 

 
 158 SONGS. 
 
 H HMrtuoua (Tottage Girl. 
 
 Within a woodland shade remote 
 Stands dear Eliza's dwelling, 
 
 And whispering gales her praises float 
 On winged anthems swelling. 
 
 She's tender, gentle, young, and sweet, 
 
 Beyond my pen's portraying, 
 The very music of her feet 
 
 A sense of joy's conveying. 
 
 The warbling lark that wakes the morn 
 
 With soft melodious singing, 
 The blackbird whistling from the thorn 
 
 Eliza's name are ringing. 
 
 The thoughts that haunt the realms of joy 
 Where youthful fancy's wheeling, 
 
 The qualms of care that love employ 
 My dear Eliza's feeling. 
 
 A kindly candour gilds her face 
 
 With truth that's well worth knowing, 
 
 And in her tranquil eyes I trace 
 A chastened fervour glowing. 
 
 She stands in virtue's sacred beam 
 Like blest perfection shining, 
 
 Serene as angel in a dream, 
 With hope about her twining. 
 
 A conscious love that owns no guile 
 
 Eliza's soul is filling, 
 While simple peace's radiant smile 
 
 This heart of mine is thrilling.
 
 SONGS. 159 
 
 Go 1ber (Sractous flDajesty tbe (SUieen, 
 
 IN COMMEMORATION OF THE JUBILEE OF HER REIGN. 
 
 Victoria, our Empress Queen, 
 Illustrious thy reign hath been ; 
 Descent and honour bless the clay 
 Your ancestors assum'd the sway. 
 The Noble Prince who won thy heart 
 Shew'd quite as great and good a part ; 
 Your lives were music set to verse, 
 Which Europe failed not to rehearse. 
 
 "When little children's pattering feet 
 Did through the corridors repeat 
 To trance your Royal listening ear, 
 And meeken joy with care and fear. 
 ! what a blissful home was thine, 
 Each full orb'd grace did round it shine, 
 Till death's cold, sullen, woeful dart 
 Enshrined thee in thy people's heart. 
 
 'Tis well to suffer and to feel 
 The sacred touch of sorrow's steel ; 
 This sanctifies the soul in youth, 
 And sweetens sympathy with truth. 
 E'en so the sorrows of our Queen 
 Have made her widowhood serene, 
 And borne an eloquent degree 
 Of sublimated majesty.
 
 160 SONGS. 
 
 Long may you sit on England's throne 
 To dictate counsel unto men ; 
 And methodise for their advance 
 Up freedom's path of excellence. 
 Through all thy character is seen 
 The woman, mother, friend, and Queen 
 Wielding the golden sceptre, love, 
 Raised first within the courts above. 
 
 To-day your standard floats unfurl'd 
 In chaste dominion o'er the world ; 
 While trophies of your glorious toils 
 Are held as consecrated spoils. 
 Our souls bound forth in throbs of glee 
 To hail thy welcome Jubilee ; 
 And music waits on ardent wing 
 The triumphs of thy reign to sing.
 
 Sacreb Songs- 
 
 Go tbe flDemon> of flDarp Mbite, 
 
 Who Departed this Life on 12th October, 1887. in the 
 77th Year of her Age. 
 
 " The work of righteousness is peace, and the effect of righteous- 
 ness is quietness and assurance for ever." 
 
 Shade of affection, kind, and dear, 
 Removed to realms of endless light ; 
 
 Through suffering oft, and sorrow here, 
 You had to wage life's sanguine fight. 
 
 Thine eye of faith which scaled the hills, 
 Where fall the luscious dews of grace, 
 
 And flashed out o'er the heavenly rills 
 That human sense can never trace, 
 
 Now revels in the pleasing view 
 Of angels robed in shining white, 
 
 And basks along the avenue, 
 
 Where God's own glory shoots the light. 
 
 Preserve, O ! grave, within thy gloom, 
 The sleeping atoms of her dust, 
 
 Till Christ shall ope the narrow room, 
 And wake again the sacred trust. 
 
 Ye stars of peace, with steady ray, 
 
 Watch well, and guard her hallow'd bed ; 
 
 Watch till yon sun and moon decay, 
 And Christ recalls His sainted dead.
 
 162 SACRED SONGS. 
 
 3n flDcmoriam of i6li3abetb Gunnab, 
 
 Who Died 16th April, 188fi, in the 78th Year of her Age. 
 
 MOTHER OF A LARGE AND INFLUENTIAL FAMILY. 
 
 All earthly hopes and earthly fears 
 Entwined round joy parental, 
 
 Intensified by anxious years 
 
 Clad in love's three-fold mantle ; 
 
 Corroding trials sanctified, 
 
 Meek prayers heard, and patience tried, 
 Accepted now before the throne. 
 
 When bow'd beneath affliction's rod, 
 She bore its grief submissive, 
 
 Her heart was stay'd upon her God, 
 Her spirit calm and passive, 
 
 Like one who basked on virtue's height, 
 
 Beneath sweet glory's mellow light, 
 Well strengthened for life's duty. 
 
 Now freed from trouble, care, and sin, 
 In robes of shining brightness, 
 
 Fair Zion's courts she stands within, 
 Immutable in whiteness ; 
 
 The choicest honours gain'd below, 
 
 Such rare delights can never show 
 As grace her brow now glorious. 
 
 Redemption's price for her is paid, 
 She wears a crown immortal ; 
 
 Those ashes in the grave wo laid 
 Will vet cross Zion's portal ;
 
 SACRED SONGS. 163 
 
 Beside the flowing brooks of joy, 
 She walks in peace without alloy, 
 In realms of holy beaut)'. 
 
 Ye mourners wipe away your tears, 
 Refrain from further grieving, 
 
 Behind the darkness light appears, 
 Lift up your eyes believing ; 
 
 Soon tribulation's roiling tide 
 
 Into eternity will glide, 
 
 Prepare your souls to meet her.
 
 164 SACRED SONGS. 
 
 3n flDemo riant. 
 
 Reflections at the Grave of my Mother, Mat 10th, 1886. 
 
 Awake recollection, thy harp chords are ringing, 
 
 A strange flood of sorrow swells over my soul, 
 The long buried memories around me are springing, 
 
 Whose upwelling surgings I cannot control. 
 Too great those emotions for mortal revealing 
 
 In the eye of this grovelling world's cold gaze ; 
 They come like the segments of moonbeams soft stealing 
 
 Through deep foliaged glens of the forest's wild maze, 
 With their sharp glancing dart, 
 Thrilling straight to my heart, 
 
 To illumine each cell with their sacred rays. 
 
 The heart that throbbed fondly to me its best blessing 
 
 I see laid to rest in the dolorous grave ; 
 Those lips that the Father so oft was addressing 
 
 To smoothe me a way o'er life's dark frowning wave. 
 The eye that once shone with the essence of kindness 
 
 Lies dim in the cold somhre palace of death, 
 Asleep with the dust in the chamber of blindness, 
 
 Till the Saviour returns and gives a new breath ; 
 When the ransomed shall rise, 
 With her multiplied joys, 
 
 To walk with the Lord in the heavenly path. 
 
 Alas ! the short years are so swiftly revolving, 
 Hoar death is for ever abroad on the wing, 
 
 Some one every day the grand secret is solving, 
 Soon all the redeemed in bright glory will sing, 
 
 Whose robes have been washed in the sin-cleansing fountain, 
 Whose names are engraved in the book of the Lamb.
 
 SACRED SOXGS. 165 
 
 Who Himself paid the price on Calvary's mountain, 
 And freely invites all his followers home, 
 
 When their trials shall cease, 
 
 As they stand forth in peace, 
 To get their reward in the kingdom to conie. 
 
 While those hallowing thoughts in my bosom were glowing, 
 
 Embalmed with the perfumes of lingering love, 
 And my spirit in reverence to heaven was bowing, 
 
 An angel was sent from the mansions above. 
 Relieving my heart from its sorrowful sobbing, 
 
 And opening the kingdom of hope to my view, 
 My mind leapt aloft from its anguish and throbbing, 
 
 With a transitive joy I ne'er before knew. 
 Thus my thoughts soon were lost 
 In the blood-ransomed host, 
 
 Arrayed in white robes that will ever look new.
 
 166 SACKED SONGS. 
 
 /IDans sball be purifies, mafce wbite, anfc 
 
 tries. 
 
 Tune : — " The Lion of JudahJ 
 
 ! once we were traitors to virtue and God, 
 Ignoring the Saviour, and slighting His blood, 
 All strangers to purity, valour, and faith, 
 And meriting naught but the sentence of death. 
 
 Till Christ by His Spirit our stony hearts cleft, 
 And deep in their centre His love compass left, 
 To charter our course over life's wavy main, 
 Through gales of adversity, trial, and pain. 
 
 The sun never shone from his amber gilt bower, 
 With such an effulgence of splendour and power, 
 As the glory that dawns on each favourite one, 
 For whom the Redeemer did suffer and groan. 
 
 How blest were the breathings of triumph which fell 
 From Him when He conquered temptation and hell ; 
 '"Tis finished," the Judge of the World did cry, 
 I've opened a pathway to glory on high. 
 
 When the light of the sun grow languid and pale, 
 The face of its dying Creator to veil, 
 The Heavens grew black, and the solid rocks rent, 
 For wrath on the Lamb its full vengeance had spent.
 
 SACRED SONGS. 
 
 1G7 
 
 Once more the Redeemer shall shake earth and sky, 
 The mountains of Israel, majestic and high, 
 Shall vanish like mist 'neath the touch of His feet, 
 As soon as His blood-ransom'd Church is complete. 
 
 But meanwhile our lamps of affection we'll burn, 
 To lighten the path for the ransonied's return ; 
 We'll gird up our loins with new ardour to love, 
 And tell the benighted Christ reigneth above. 
 
 Jfinis-
 
 &tsf of (patrons anb Jiufiecrifiere. 
 
 The Most Hon. the Marchioness of Waterford 
 Watson Askew. Esq., J.P.. Pallinsbarn 
 G. A. Fenwick, Esq.. By well Hall 
 J. Co wen, Esq.. Stella Hall 
 
 W. D. Stephens, Esq., J.P., Mayor of Newcastle-upon-Tyne 
 Alderman C. F. Hamond, J. P., do. 
 
 Do. T. P. Barkas, F.G.S., do. 
 
 T. McDermott, Esq., J.P., Gateshead 
 R. G. Bolam, Esq., J. P., Berwick 
 Councillor T. Itichardson, J.P., Newcastle-upon-Tyne 
 
 
 Do. 
 
 T. B. Sanderson, 
 
 do. 
 
 
 Do. 
 
 J. C. Laird, 
 
 do. 
 
 
 Do. 
 
 E. Lord, 
 
 do. 
 
 
 Do. 
 
 W. Sutton, 
 
 do. 
 
 
 Do. 
 
 H. Morton 
 
 do. 
 
 
 Do. 
 
 G. Harkus, 
 
 do. 
 
 
 Do. 
 
 S. Quin, 
 
 do. 
 
 E. 
 
 M. Bainbridge, Esq., J.P., 
 
 do. 
 
 J. 
 
 Philipson, Esq., J.P., 
 
 do. 
 
 T. 
 
 Hodgkin, LL.D., 
 
 do. 
 
 R. 
 
 S. Watson, LL.D., 
 
 do. 
 
 T. 
 
 Hunter, Esq., Postmaster, 
 
 do. 
 
 D. Pennethorne, Esq., Her Majesty's Inspector of Schools 
 
 T. H. Bainbridge, Esq., Newcastle-upon-Tyne 
 
 Rev. J. C. Bruce, LL.D., do. 
 
 Rev. Canon A. T. Lloyd, D.D., do. 
 
 Rev. A. B. Grosart, D.D., LL.D., Blackburn 
 
 Rev. J. M. Lister, M.A., Newcastle-upon-Tyne 
 
 Rev. A. S. Wardroper, do. 
 
 Rev. M. Gibson, M.A., do. 
 
 Rev. S. E. Pennefather, M.A., do. 
 
 Rev. J. Thompson. M.A., do. 
 
 Rev. J. G. Potter, do. 
 
 Rev. J. A. Craig, Crookham 
 
 Rev. W. R Barrie, Long Framlington 
 
 Rev. W. Glover, Horsley-on-Tyne 
 
 Rev. G. Aitken, Holy Island 
 
 Rev. T. Champness, Joyful News Home, Rochdale
 
 170 SUBSCRIBERS. 
 
 Rev. E. C. A. Foster, The Tower, London 
 
 Rev. Edward Thornton, M.A., Ancroft 
 
 Rev. I. Jones, Birmingham 
 
 Rev. J. Gunn, Stitchel 
 
 Dr. F. Page, Newcastle-upon-Tyne 
 
 Dr. J. R. Baumgartner, do. 
 
 Dr. Scott, do. 
 
 Dr. Barkus, do. 
 
 Capt. S. J. Nicholls, Chief Constable, Xewcastle-upon-Tyne 
 
 Hon. Supt. G. Tunnah. do. 
 
 Supt. R. Wilson, do. 
 
 Supt. M. Beattie, , do. 
 
 Supt. R. Anderson, do. 
 
 Supt. C. Campbell, do. 
 
 Supt. R. Moss, do. 
 
 Inspt. J. Gray, do. 
 
 Sergt. J. Armstrong, do. 
 
 Sergt. T. Chalmers, do. 
 
 Sergt. J. Hunter, do. 
 
 P.C. R. Speed, do. 
 
 P.C. W. Taylor, do. 
 
 P.C. T. Johnston, Holy Island 
 
 J. W. Gibson, Esq., Clerk to Guardians, Newcastle-upon-Tyne 
 
 W, Gladstone, Relieving Officer, do. 
 
 F. Potts, do. do. 
 
 G. Martin, do. do. 
 J. Lightfoot, do. do. 
 J. Veitch, do. do. 
 
 G. Buckley, Esq., J.P., Chairman to Newcastle-upon-Tyne 
 
 School Board 
 W. R. Plummer, Esq., Newcastle-upon-Tyne 
 G. Bell, Esq. , do. 
 
 A. Goddard, Esq., Chief Clerk to Newcastle-upon-Tyne 
 
 School Board 
 W. Breakwell, Esq., Inspector of Schools 
 
 A. Bosuamworth, Clerk, Xewcastle-upon-Tyne 
 H. J. Eggleton do. do. 
 
 B. Holmes, School Board Officer, Newcastle-upon-Tyne 
 J. Gibson, do. do. 
 
 J. Scott, do. do. 
 
 R. Fleming, do. do* 
 
 W. H. Hawken, do. do.
 
 SUBSCRIBERS. 171 
 
 J. Metcalf, School Board Officer, Xewcastle-upon-Tyne 
 
 J. Steel, 
 
 do. 
 
 do. 
 
 R. S. Hawk, 
 
 do. 
 
 do. 
 
 It. Burns, Certificated Master, 
 
 do. 
 
 E. W. Mole, 
 
 do. 
 
 do. 
 
 E. C Dougherty, 
 
 do. 
 
 do. 
 
 J. Smith, 
 
 do. 
 
 do. 
 
 W. Roberts, 
 
 do. 
 
 do. 
 
 E. B. Raymond, 
 
 do. 
 
 do. 
 
 J. Douglas, 
 
 do. 
 
 do. 
 
 J. C. Chippendale, 
 
 do. 
 
 do. 
 
 K. H. Gilhespy, 
 
 do. 
 
 do. 
 
 E. D. Strother, Certificated Mistress, 
 
 do. 
 
 A. Nash, 
 
 do. 
 
 do. 
 
 H. W. Knox, 
 
 do. 
 
 do. 
 
 E. Davidson, 
 
 do. 
 
 do. 
 
 J. Wilson, 
 
 do. 
 
 do. 
 
 F. Hayes, 
 
 do. 
 
 do. 
 
 A. Muir, 
 
 do. 
 
 do. 
 
 H. Ireland, 
 
 do. 
 
 do. 
 
 A. Smith, Etal 
 
 do. 
 
 
 G. W. Mavin, Certificated Teacher, 
 
 do. 
 
 T. Kay, 
 
 do. 
 
 do. 
 
 J. L. Strong - , 
 
 do. 
 
 do. 
 
 H. T. Smail, 
 
 do. 
 
 do. 
 
 E. Sneath, 
 
 do. 
 
 do. 
 
 E. Reed, 
 
 do. 
 
 do. 
 
 E. Hopper. 
 
 do. 
 
 do. 
 
 T. Reed, 
 
 do. 
 
 do. 
 
 C. Beves 
 
 do. 
 
 do. 
 
 R. Gray, School Board Officer, Walker 
 
 
 G. C. Stewart, Esq., 
 
 Xewcastle-upon-Tyne 
 
 
 J. C. Wilthew, Esq. 
 
 , do. 
 
 
 Joshua Davidson, E 
 
 sq., do. 
 
 
 Richard Welford, Esq., do. 
 
 
 H. Appleby, 
 
 do. 
 
 
 E. Ritchie, 
 
 do. 
 
 
 A.. Tunnah, Esq., 
 
 do. 
 
 
 J. Mein, Esq., 
 
 do. 
 
 
 J. Hopper, Esq., 
 
 do. 
 
 
 R. Swan, Esq., 
 
 do. 
 
 
 A. McBryde, Esq., 
 
 do. 

 
 172 SUBSCRIBERS. 
 
 T. Potts, Esq., Newcastle upon-Tyne 
 H. Lister, Esq., do. 
 
 R. Appleby, Esq., do. 
 
 C. J. Astrop, Esq., do. 
 J. Atkinson, Esq., do. 
 H. Ward, Esq., do. 
 J. Leitch, Esq., do. 
 W. Southern, Esq., do. 
 
 J. Park, Esq., Johnston, N.B. 
 W, Archibald, Esq., Paisley, N.B. 
 A. McLeman, Esq., Berwick 
 W. Wilkinson, Esq., Shafto Moor 
 J. White, Esq., South Africa 
 
 D. W. Purdy, Esq., Ettrick 
 G. Simpson, Esq., Hawick 
 T. Scott, Esq., do. 
 
 J. Burns, Esq., do. 
 
 A. Burns, Esq., Gateshead 
 
 R. Laidlaw, Esq., do. 
 
 J. Anderson, Esq., do. 
 
 T. Henry, Esq., do. 
 
 K. Jones, Esq., do. 
 
 W.Rutherford, Esq., do. 
 
 J. Lumsden, Esq., do. 
 
 A. White, Esq., do. 
 
 G. Nairn, Esq., Stitchel, N.B. 
 
 J. Laidlaw, Esq., Marlfield, N.B. 
 
 J. Laidlaw, Esq., Cramliugton 
 
 R B. Pringle, Esq., Newcastle-upon-Tyne 
 
 J. Stewart, Esq., 
 
 do. 
 
 J. McQuellen, Esq.. 
 
 do. 
 
 C. Pillar, Esq., 
 
 do. 
 
 J. Pillar, Esq.. 
 
 do. 
 
 R. Stewart, Esq., 
 
 do. 
 
 J. Donkin, Esq., 
 
 do. 
 
 P. Irving, Esq.. 
 
 do. 
 
 W. Bertram, Esq., 
 
 do. 
 
 D. Kemp, Esq., 
 
 do. 
 
 R. Lumley, Esq., 
 
 do. 
 
 Geo. Lynn, Esq., 
 
 do. 
 
 J. Wilson, Esq., 
 
 do. 
 
 R. Moffatt, Esq., 
 
 do.
 
 SUBSCRIBERS. 173 
 
 J. Moffatt. Esq., Newcastle-upon-Tyne 
 
 G. Richardson, Esq., do. 
 
 J. Rickerby, Esq., do. 
 
 J. Abercromby, Esq., do. 
 
 R. Dick, Esq., do. 
 
 A. Tait. Esq., do. 
 
 M. Easton, Esq., do. 
 
 E. Easton, Esq., do. 
 
 G. H. Elliott, Esq., Librarian. Gateshead 
 
 W. White, Esq.. Newcastle-upon-Tyne 
 
 J. Y. Burns, Esq., Caverton Mill, N.B. 
 
 J. Burns, do. do. 
 
 Miss E. Gray, Marden 
 
 W. Spraggon, Esq., Ford 
 
 T. Dunn, Esq., Ford 
 
 R. Dunn, Esq., Ford 
 
 A. Pringle, Esq., Spital Tongues 
 
 H. Brown, Esq., do. 
 
 W. Charlton, Esq., do. 
 
 W. S. Anderson, Esq., do. 
 
 Miss A. Burns, Kersknow 
 
 J. Burns, Esq., Frogdon 
 
 D. Gray, Esq., Gainslaw Hill 
 
 C. Gray, Esq., Eyemouth 
 
 T. King, Esq., Edinburgh 
 
 Mrs. Kinghorn, Xewcastle-upon-Tyne 
 
 Mrs. Todd, do. 
 
 Mrs. Millar, do. 
 
 Mrs. Gray, do. 
 
 W. Walker, Esq., do. 
 
 J. M. Carr, Esq., do. 
 
 A. McAllum, Esq., do. 
 
 C. S. Proctor, Esq.. do. 
 
 A. Draper, A.S.R. , Spital Tongues 
 
 T. Alder, Esq., do. 
 
 W. Hedley, Esq., do. 
 
 J. Bullerwell, Esq., do. 
 
 J. S. Gray, Esq., Newcastle-upon-Tyne 
 
 J. McKendrick, Esq., do. 
 
 J. Davidson, Esq., do, 
 
 J. Crosby, Esq., do. 
 
 J. Hickey, Esq.. do.
 
 174 SUBSCRIBERS. 
 
 B. Pickering, Esq., Newcastle-upon-Tyne 
 
 W. J. S. Scott, Solicitor, do. 
 
 J. Wright, Esq., do. 
 
 J. Watson, Esq., do. 
 
 J. G Scott. Esq., do. 
 
 W. T. Tate, Esq., do. 
 
 B. McAnulty, Esq., do. 
 
 J. Scott, Esq., Eyton 
 
 E. Williamson, Esq., Newcastle-upon-Tyne 
 
 Alex. Hay, Esq., do. 
 
 Aaron Watson, Esq., do.
 
 Opinions of ffje $)re00. 
 
 NORTHERN EVENING EXPRESS. 
 
 '■Whether the mantle of the famous Robert Burns has fallen 
 on one of the same name, whom, like the Ayrshire hard, has followed 
 the plough, and has been at pursuits as uncongenial to the cultivation 
 of the Muse as an excise officer — a policeman — and is now looking 
 after the stray waifs in our city, the public may find, when they 
 see the Poems, that there is similarity of history, if not kinship of 
 blood and genius." 
 
 TYNESIDE ECHO. 
 
 " The volume is a collection of poetic gems, of which the Author 
 has every reason to feel proud.. Many of the Poems exhibit marked 
 poetic power. Rhythm and sweetness are their main characteristics, 
 and in all of them the reader will find a freshness and simplicity 
 that should secure the work the approbation of all lovers of poetry. 
 Mr. Burns sings of Nature in all its forms, and its burden is the 
 inspired utterance of a naturally gifted mind." 
 
 HAWICK ADVERTISER. 
 
 " The friends of the Author only regard the present collection as 
 an earnest of one more, highly finished, which will likely follow. 
 The Author is worthy to be classed amongst the Northumbrian 
 bards, and towers above many of them. The language of the pieces 
 is forcible, and the sentiments are pious. The subjects are homely, 
 and some new thoughts will be found by those who read it." 
 
 NORTHUMBRIAN. 
 
 " The Author must have been possessed of a wonderful amount of 
 application, if not a certain amount of genius. The subjects are 
 varied, and the pieces cleverly written." 
 
 EXAMINER. 
 
 "In the romantic Northern land the spirit of poesy never dies, 
 and, from time to time, it manifests itself in the most unlikely 
 quarters. The Poems before us evince a strong love of Nature, and 
 of fervent sympathy with mankind, and are characterised by their 
 good taste and the healthy spirit which pervade them." 
 
 NEWCASTLE WEEKLY CHRONICLE. 
 
 "The Author may be complimented on the literary achievement 
 comprised in this volume. We could not sum up the merits in more 
 appropriate or truthful terms than those used by Mr. Potter in his 
 introduction. That gentleman writes : — ' His (Mr. Burns's) love 
 of Nature is conspicuously exhibited in every page. Mountain and 
 meadow, tree and flower, the heavens above and the earth beneath, 
 sea and shore, stately man and winsome woman, love and hatred, 
 fair play and foul, incidents recorded in Holy Scripture, in History, 
 have all been laid under contribution to furnish him with themes for 
 his Muse.' The reader will discern striking features of care, taste, 
 and powers of observation and reflection of a markedly individual 
 
 type."
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 
 Los Angeles 
 
 This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. 
 
 Form L9-Series4939
 
 AA 000 368 136 8
 
 rAVKoAMu