■$$$££$ 
 
 AND 
 
 INSIDE fefl
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 
 12 
 
 ^m^^^ t ^m^^~[ 
 
 LONDON : 
 AYLOTT & CO., S, PATERNOSTER ROW 
 
 AND 
 
 ■I'- H. REES, \l.iu\ I in \\l BEES.
 
 FOREST 
 
 AND 
 
 FIRESIDE HOURS. 
 
 tyvtw. 
 
 BY 
 
 WESTBY GIBSON. 
 
 LONDON: 
 AYLOTT & CO., PATERNOSTER ROW; 
 
 AND 
 T. H. BEES, ALDINE CHAMBEBS. 
 
 1853.
 
 Cfntmtt at Stationers' ^all.
 
 /5f 
 
 TO 
 
 RICHARD MO^CETON MILNES, ESQ., M.P. 
 
 IX REMEMBRANCE OF 
 
 HIS KINDNESS AND ENCOURAGEMENT, 
 
 Etttlc 33oofc of $oem* 
 
 GRATEFULLY AXD RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 
 883857
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 My first literary venture, albeit a small one, is now launched on the sea of public 
 opinion, for '■ foul yeatfier or fair ;" either to be shaken and " split," or "tight 
 and \ twaply-rigged," to keep on her way merrily. Many favourable 
 
 opinions and good wishes of friends known and unknown, go with it, like fair 
 winds and flowing waves— auguries of a prosperous voyage, and that good fortune 
 which may tempt me again and again to venture, not, however, with such small 
 craft, but wjth swelling argosies, until I become really "strong in the sea." Of 
 results so rare, I am not sanguine ; but I have hope to meet with a fair measure 
 of success ; and if, on the contrary, I achieve but failure, I shall not be dis- 
 couraged from making a second attempt, as early as expedient and practicable. 
 
 Some years since, under the norm de plume of "A Sherwood Forest Youth," I 
 made an unsuccessful attempt to bring out a volume of my Early Poems, many 
 of which had appeared in magazines with very flattering editorial introductions. 
 I was compelled, however, to abandon it when it had reached a goodly height of 
 promise— troubles having come in my way, "not singly, but in battalions," 
 making dreary havoc for a time of the sunny fields of Imagination, and the 
 earnest onsets of Hope. From that mass of verse I have selected a few of my 
 best Poems, preferring those which have not hitherto been given to the public- 
 eye. 
 
 The present volume, therefore, comprises Poems written before my twenty- 
 third or twenty -fourth year, and under circumstances of no ordinary difficulty — 
 chiefly during my first rough experiences in that Great Wilderness which (un- 
 known to friend or relative) I entered in my eighteenth year, after a long winter's 
 walk of nearly two hundred miles, through ceaseless rain and fog— without a 
 single acquaintance in all that vast congeries of stony arteries— without the power 
 of labouring at my wonted trade ; but with the solitary equivalent of one night's 
 balmy or unbalmy rest, and with a vague strong fancy upon me, that, Aladdin- 
 like, I should light upon something which, with a little energetic rubbing, would 
 bring me, if not the riches of the mine, assuredly something more than the feast 
 of the Barmecide. In those days, Poetry was to me truly, "the bliss of solitude," 
 though powerless to remove or soften the imperious wants of this lower-life. Of 
 nearly thirty poems then printed in goodly corners, only in one instance, did I 
 discover that the article "verse" bad really a market-value, could be fairh 
 measured, and, mirabilt dictu, eon). I find its way into a receipt-slip — (an 
 unstamped one !) Poor Poesy ! divinely -born, and wondrously-nourished with 
 ambrosia and the inspiring nectar— f caster with the gods ! what need to trouble 
 thee with earthy considerations about daily bread and shelter from the elements.
 
 VI PREFACE. 
 
 "and such small door." "Thy mind to thee a kingdom is !" and is not that 
 sufficient ? 
 
 Since these Poems were written, I have been far from idle in my leisure-hours 
 — Poetry can flourish amid wild wind and whelming rain, though its branohes 
 may grow with knot and gnarl in them, and the leaves may put forth a deeper 
 hue. I hope erelong to be enabled to bring out a volume of Later Poems : 
 " Phcebe, or the Spirit of May Eve, &c." — a five-act drama, " Tlie Sisters" — and an 
 extensive series of Essays upon Biblical History and Antiquities, Mythology, and 
 Folk-Lore, upon which I have been deeply engaged for years. 
 
 I may further bo permitted to say, that with me, Literature is the pleasure, not 
 the business of life. For twelve years have I been a hard-worker in one of those 
 gloomy old City-offices where much business is done, but not in the commodities 
 of Sunlight and Air — a place buried among high walls, where only in one or two 
 weeks of the year, and at a certain time of the day, and through one corner only 
 of an inner-window, can the Sun shoot a direct shaft of light, printing upon my 
 desk a golden fleck of glory, that trembles, and wavers like some bright 
 bewildered spirit chance-strayed into Hades — a place filled with the dust and 
 fume of dye-goods, that have little power to call up visions of the shining cham- 
 paigns of India, or the fruitful valleys of Guatemala. 
 
 It is mine to mingle daily with those whose minds are of "business" all- 
 compact ; to whom the knowledge of my far-away Forest-dreams and Fireside 
 Fancies will, I dare say, give me all at once the semblance of an insubstantial 
 spirit — some "gay creature of the element," instead of that real substance, erst 
 quick at the pen, dexterous at figures, and bound for so long a time to the dead 
 wood of the desk. Nevertheless, I can say, and with truth, that the fascinations 
 of Literature have never yet caused me to neglect any of the ordinary duties of 
 life — airy pleasures have never yet interfered with the weightier claims of business 
 — the hour of seven has always been as a barrier between two lives : the Clerk's, 
 the Student's ! And further, so close has been this application to business, that 
 in all those years, my deep love for the beauties of Nature has not been enriched 
 by even one holiday-ramble to the dear old places that rest so pleasantly in my 
 memory — the scenes of my 'prentice-days among the hills of North Staffordshire, 
 by the windings of the Trent — of my boyhood, in green and lovely Leicestershire, 
 so full of fruitful fields and running waters, and varied landscapes of forest and 
 wold — or of my birth and childhood, in a village of " Old Sherwood," where my 
 grandfather's stories of the " merrie outlaws," first set me wondering, and 
 dreaming dreams. 
 
 Thus much I have thought fitting to say of myself, in putting forth my little 
 volume (haply the first of many) ; full of grateful pleasure in reviewing the kind 
 encouragement given to me ; and with an increasing hope that for me and 
 "mine" — "Time and the hours have run through the roughest day !" 
 
 WESTBY GIBSON. 
 12, Catherine Street, Strand. 
 December, 1852.
 
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 CONTENTS. 
 
 I. HELEN ... .1 
 
 II, THE HARVEST-GLEANING . . 10 
 
 III. THE FALL OF THE LEAF . . .12 
 
 IV. .... 16 
 V. THE FLOWER IN THE BOOK . . .22 
 
 VI. SABBATH DAYS . . .24 
 
 VII. SUMMER AND SORROW . . .25 
 
 VIII. THE SLAVE-TRADE . . .29 
 
 IX. MARY LEE . . . .36 
 
 X. THE END OF SUMMER . . .38 
 
 XL SONG OF THE BROKEN BOUGH . 40 
 
 XII. " WHEREFORE AND WHY V . . 48 
 
 XIII. THE WOODLANDS . . .52 
 
 XIV. SUMMER-TWILIGHT . . .57 
 XV. SPECIMEN OF A BLANK VERSE TRANSLATION OF 
 
 THE "BOOK OF JOB" . . 71 
 
 XVI. AUTUMN THOUGHTS . . . 75 
 
 XVII. THE EARLY VIOLET . . .87 
 
 *„* Nos. v. and xi. were printed in a Magazine in 1844. No. xiv. appeared 
 in the Literary GazJtc, in September, 1842, and is now printed as altered in 1844. 
 The other Poems are given to the public for the first time.
 
 POEMS 
 
 HELEN. 
 
 Night is waning ! a crimson glory 
 
 Burns in the grey-dark Eastern sky ; 
 Shadows are fleeting ; starlight and moonlight 
 
 Trembling, vanish, for Day is nigh ! 
 Hushed is that soft delicious music, 
 
 Showering the broad heavens with delight, 
 Poured from a bird's heart, full and fervent, 
 
 Poised in the moonlit air all night ; 
 Heard like a spirit-voice, singing above, 
 Bringing sweet tidings of comfort and love, 
 
 "When, restless and heart-sick, for sleep we pray 
 
 Morning! the light hath burst its fountains, 
 Flooding the dim grey clouds ; and they shine 
 
 Golden, and red, and empurpled : the Heavens 
 Are filled with great glories, all-divine !
 
 HELEN. 
 
 Sunrise ! the land, in its wondrous beauty, 
 Strikes on the sense like a world new-born — 
 
 All summers of Eden thronging upon us 
 In one sweet hour of the early morn ! 
 
 The white mists die on the wide brown wold ; 
 
 The dewy forest is steeped in gold ; 
 
 Like fire shines the river a league away. 
 
 All things arise from the bonds of slumber, 
 
 Out of the mystic world of dreams — 
 Life in a myriad shapes is stirring, 
 
 But one glad impulse in all there seems : 
 Hark to the lark, (high spirit and earnest !) 
 
 Gone from her nest in the lowly ground ; 
 Sweetly binding the earth and the heavens 
 
 In one great circle of rapturous sound ; 
 And the soft low croon of the woodland dove, 
 Brooding over the dear life of love, 
 
 Early and late, through the calm summer hours. 
 
 How pleasantly mingle the sylvan voices 
 Of birds, quick — darting from tree to tree ; 
 
 And round the white cups of the wild-rose hovering. 
 His merry small trumpet sounds the bee ; 
 
 Along the meadows run murmuring noises 
 Of waters, babbling as they fall
 
 HELEN. 3 
 
 Down to dim hollows, hard by the woodland, 
 
 That hums through its branches, one and all — 
 Stirred by light airs., that fitfully blow 
 From windy uplands, through valleys low, 
 Mingling the odours of all sweet flowers. 
 
 Helen hath risen— her heart in a tremble — 
 
 Her eyes soft-drooping in tearful gleams ; 
 Again night's phantasy ponders she over, 
 
 For Love was the lord of all her dreams ! 
 Ah ! little her struggling thought remembers, 
 
 But shadowy glimpses of some sweet clime, 
 Like realm of Faerie, inviolate ever, 
 
 Charm'd from the wizard touch of Time, 
 "Where hopes and desires, too rich for this earth, 
 Hung round her ripe harvests — a wondrous birth 
 
 Of pleasures undying, bright, and whole. 
 
 Fain would she recall words, loving-earnest, 
 
 (The voice of a heart to her own heart dear !) 
 Haunting her still, like distant music, 
 
 Coming and going upon the ear. 
 Ah ! Love to thy bosom hath stolen, sweet Helen, 
 
 Stirring its deeps with a lordly power ; 
 Like the life in the rosebud thrilling and burning 
 
 Soon to burst forth — a glorious flower !
 
 HELEN. 
 
 Thy soft-beaming smiles, and pensive sighs, 
 Are born of that balmy heaven, which lies 
 Warm-brooding on thine entranced soul. 
 
 Thy Maytime of girlhood is waning, dear Helen, 
 
 Into Life's passionate Summer it dies ; 
 And oh ! from thy pure and gentle spirit, 
 
 Love-charm'd, what issues of beauty may rise !— 
 Balm-breathing mercies, angel charities, 
 
 Pleasures unfailing, affections sweet, 
 Springing up, like the flowers of Eden, 
 
 Around Life's weary-wandering feet. 
 O the time that is coming seems pleasant to thee, 
 But ah ! who knoweth how sad it may be ; 
 
 Lor joy is a vapour, and Love but a breath ! 
 
 Rapt in sweet reverie, hearing no warning, 
 
 All things yield to thee omens bright, 
 That thy days like the Summer s shall softly mingle, 
 
 Evening and morning, without a night : 
 Thy soul going forth, like happy Ariel, 
 
 Living a sweet life under the flowers, 
 And circling the world, at her own wild pleasure, 
 
 With a bright ring of delightful hours — 
 How lovely the future, fond dreamer, to thee, 
 But ah ! none knoweth how dark it may be, 
 Eor Life ever lies in the shadow of Death !
 
 HELEX. 
 
 Dear Helen, fond dreamer! she opens her casement, 
 
 Shaking the dew in showers from the Laves 
 Of woodbines, clinging with loving clusters 
 
 And balmy trails, from the porch to the eaves : 
 She looketh forth — a morning of Summer 
 
 In all its beauty bursts on her sight ! 
 O'er her sweet face, the leaf-shadows tremble, 
 
 With twinkling spots of the golden light ; 
 The warm winds wooingly round her blow, 
 Breathing rich odours, and murmuring low, 
 
 Coming, and going, and lingering long ! 
 
 White-shining sun-streaks, and melting shadows, 
 
 Dreamily wander along the land ; 
 The hills in their purple and steadfast beauty, 
 
 Shutting it in upon either hand, 
 Like some bright spot from the rough world hidden. 
 
 That far in the palmy Orient lies : 
 So deep a quiet broods over the landscape ; 
 
 Such airy sweet noises people the skies ; 
 A yearning impulse beats at her heart, 
 Her happy thoughts into utterance start ; 
 
 Her soul out-gushes in rapturous song ! 
 
 She sings — and the sun grows high in the heavens. 
 The hours steal by her on noiseless feet;
 
 6 HELEN. 
 
 Her voice, in thrilling impassioned measures, 
 
 Pouring forth music, angel-sweet. 
 But ah ! her song is suddenly ended ; 
 
 The light grows dark in her fidl blue eye ; 
 Something of evil hath breath' d upon her, 
 
 She trembles like one about to die ; 
 There's a sharp wild pain at her heart — and her eyes 
 Are filled with tears, and she moans, and cries— 
 
 " Ah me ! I am dying — all alone ! " 
 
 Alone and dying, alas ! poor Helen ! 
 
 The nearest house is a mile away ; 
 And none may bring to thee help or comfort 
 
 Through all the long long summer-day ; 
 Hard by, is the dark and lonesome forest ; 
 
 The wide wold opening behind and before ; 
 And seldom up through the quiet meadows 
 
 Cometh a traveller to the door ; 
 " Oh ! none can hear me, ah me !" she cries, 
 "While the tears rain fast from her darkening eyes, 
 
 "lam dying ! alone ! alone ! " 
 
 Wearily creepeth the time, O wearily ! 
 
 And ever her face is thrilled with pain, 
 Her sad gaze turned to the happy morning, 
 
 Hoping — yet feeling all hope is vain !
 
 HELEN. 
 
 No one cometh, and nought she seeth, 
 But the white pool and the shining river, 
 
 The twinkling gleams of the windy meadow, 
 The tall grey poplars waving ever, 
 
 And her garden — that fairy nook of flowers ! 
 
 Ah, never more in the twilight hours, 
 
 . By his side in sweet talk may she linger there ! 
 
 No one cometh, and nought she heareth, 
 
 But the wind in the fluttering leaves ; 
 The throstle high on the elm bough singing, 
 
 The swallows twittering under the eaves ; 
 And the happy bees in the flower-beds swarming, 
 
 Or humming her chamber round and round, 
 With wearying noise — her sense bewildering ! 
 
 Vainly she listens for human sound ! 
 Alas ! all hope from her heart is flying — 
 No one cometh, and she is dying — 
 
 Breathing her last to heaven in prayer. 
 
 O sad it seems thus to die, sweet Helen, 
 To pass in thy youthful prime away ; 
 
 The world of summer around thee smiling, 
 Thine heart growing happier every day ; 
 
 All thy sweet graces and virgin-beauties, 
 Low in the cold dark grave to hide ;
 
 HELEN. 
 
 Nor Love's fond looks, nor the voice of gladness, 
 
 Turning the arrow of doom aside. 
 " surely the world goeth wrong /" we cry, 
 " For all that is fairest is first to die, 
 
 And why — ah me ! 'tis mystery all !" 
 
 Yet may it be well that so soon, sweet Helen, 
 
 The golden sands of thy life are run ; 
 For now, if long memories crowd on thy spirit, 
 
 Of all thou hast felt, and thought, and done, 
 In the years flown by, 'tis a vision of beauty, 
 
 Bearing no shadow- — no stain of sin ; 
 Thou shalt hear at the gate of Heaven, untrembling, 
 
 The still small voice, saying " Enter in!" 
 " O truly the world goeth rigid ! " we cry, 
 " 'Tis a merciful thing thus early to die 
 
 Ere the evil shadows on life can fall." 
 
 At shut of day, when the showers were over, 
 
 We found her dead by the fallen chair ; 
 All afternoon, the sharp gusts flying, 
 
 Had blown the rain through her golden hair ; 
 But the moonlight falling — softly falling — 
 
 Trembling, kissed her dear lips and eyes ; 
 Her white hands were folded — for prayers had taken 
 
 Her angel-spirit into the skies !
 
 HELEN. f 
 
 » 
 
 All me ! 'twas a sad and bitter sight ! 
 And all through that long, and bitter night 
 Nothing was heard but sob and moan. 
 
 Oh ! never more may the old sweet accents 
 
 Make a fond mother's heart rejoice! 
 Never more may her eyes beam softly 
 
 Dear answers to one deep earnest voice ! 
 She is gone, like a flower for Earth unfitted — 
 
 Its sweetness yet in the breathing bud — 
 To flourish anew, in immortal beauty, 
 
 Where all things are perfect-sweet and good ; 
 Whilst, blinded with tears, through all the long night, 
 We moan to each other, heart-broken quite, 
 
 Wishing that our life too were flown. 
 
 (1845.)
 
 THE HARVEST- CLEANING. 
 
 'Tis fifty years, next harvest-moon — 
 
 How fondly I remember, 
 Dear wife, that sunny afternoon — 
 
 That sweet time of September ! 
 I saw thee — beams of glowing light 
 
 (Soft shadows intervening) 
 Made thy bright face more rosy-bright 
 
 While in the harvest gleaning. 
 
 All day, among the shining corn 
 
 My gaze to thee was turning : 
 O day of days ! the love new-born 
 
 In every vein was burning ! 
 Thy gentle voice, in song, I heard 
 
 Sweet as the dove's, at e'ening; 
 And all my soul, in rapture, stirred 
 
 While in the harvest-gleaning.
 
 TIIE HAKVEST-GLEANLJTG. 11 
 
 We saw the haiwest-moon arise, 
 
 In seas of rosy splendour : 
 A richer light jvas in our eyes — 
 
 A presence warm and tender : 
 The few words trembling on the tongue, 
 
 Dear wife, how full their meaning ; 
 For aye ! the bells raug blythe ere long, 
 
 After that harvest-gleaning. 
 
 O ! blessings on all summer-hours, 
 
 And such sweet harvest-weather — 
 Knitting two fond young hearts, like ours, 
 
 In Love's bright bonds together : 
 For hath not Love, dear wife of mine, 
 
 Still on my bosom leaning, 
 Made all the dark years brighter shine, 
 
 Since that old harvest-gleaning ! 
 
 "We've shared these fifty long long years, 
 
 Our pleasure and our sorrow ; 
 We still may mingle smiles and tears 
 
 Till one soon-coming morrow : 
 And then — O would that both might die, 
 
 From earth our fancies weaning, 
 And go, where Heaven's bright harvests lie, 
 
 For our eternal gleaning. 
 
 (18-13.)
 
 THE FALL OP THE LEAP. 
 
 Autumn is with us ! from the yellow woods 
 Fitfully steals a solemn dirge-like sound, 
 That pauses oft, and oft with louder swell 
 Recurring, takes perforce the ear of man, 
 Telling of change, of Summer days gone by, 
 When different was the sound in forests heard, 
 While the long lingering breezes from the hills 
 Swept down upon the multitudinous leaves 
 With a deep dreamy music sweet to hear. 
 
 Autumn, wild Autumn, to the earth is come, 
 And the earth seems, with melancholy tongue. 
 To cry at the stern spirit's desolate path 
 Through her fair realms— o'er the wide airy wolds. 
 And shadowy hollows, and high sylvan slopes, 
 And tracts of harvest in the southwind swaying 
 With long, bright, sealike ripples, miles away ;
 
 THE FALL OF THE LEAF. 13 
 
 And flowery glades, where happy Summer came 
 Erewhile, and lapt in reverie sweet, lived o'er 
 The balmy labours of her time again — 
 All dreary now ! — So plaintive is the sound 
 In the sere rustling boughs, of sighing winds 
 Wandering forlorn: so like a voice of trouble, 
 That in old time, the Pagan's heart had thrilled 
 In the still night to hear it, like the moan 
 Of spirits of the woods, sobbing aloud 
 For the dark ruin fall'n on all sweet nooks, 
 Fragrant with flowers, and hung with twilight dim, 
 Where they abode the pleasant Summer through. 
 
 But otherwise, thoughtful, interpret we 
 Nature's deep language, full of meanings stern, 
 And fervent prophecies, forewarning us 
 Of Autumn days to come on mortal life ! 
 
 All Summer's glory wanes — fast going down 
 Into the dust, and the sweet flowers are few; 
 For the meek sunbeams fail as heretofore 
 To woo their balmy spirits forth, and charm 
 The bud of night to a fair morning flower. 
 Aye ! few and dying ! the swift withering blight 
 Stains the white leaf; the purple groweth pale, 
 And hourly the rich life doth steal away 
 From every fragrant herb and forest bough ! 
 And, day by day, the Autumn tints prevail —
 
 14 THE FALL OF THE LEAF. 
 
 Purple, and red, and golden ; for the Tear 
 Koyally puts her richest splendours on 
 When Autumn calls her down into her grave — 
 How unlike aught that man conceives of death ; 
 And yet how like the hrilliant hue that burns 
 On some young cheek, (the sunset-flush of life !) 
 Cheating awhile a mother's yearning heart, 
 When wistfully she bends o'er that sweet form 
 She thought so much of— ah ! the fond false dream ! 
 She feels that death is coming, and e'en now 
 Knocks at the door, and brooketh no delay ! 
 How thick the fallen leaves lie underfoot, 
 And fast and faster every gust bears down 
 The stricken multitudes, and swells the heap : 
 When the wind dies, some, all too frail to hold 
 "Upon the bough, loosen and gently drop, 
 Fluttering aloof awhile, as loth to leave 
 Their airy birthplace ; even as in old age 
 Man clings to earth, and fain would linger still. 
 And evermore the little whirlwinds rise, 
 And swirl the dead leaves round and round the trees 
 With a wild weird music, that to hear 
 Makes sad indeed, till higher mood of thought, 
 Trumpet-like, rouse the faint and trembling heart, 
 Calming the troubled waters, as the breath 
 Of some great spirit thrilled through all our being.
 
 THE FALL OF THE LEAF. 
 
 Surely it is Heaven's doing ! for we hear 
 Sweet eloquent tongues replying evermore 
 In loving parley, to each questioning thought, 
 To which the world — the rough and giddy world — 
 Gives mocking answers ; and a solemn awe 
 Gathers upon us ; some mysterious sense, 
 . Beyond our life, makes revelation sweet 
 Of some bright angel walking by our side, 
 As in old time, and like a true good friend, 
 Soothhig our fretful spirits with his smiles, 
 Breaking the threatening cloud into sweet showers, 
 And on the falling drops, with hand of light, 
 Painting the rainbow — sign of Love undying ! 
 Death's shadowy Fear turning to_calm bright Hope! 
 For Life's fine vanities rebuking us, 
 And wanton waste of the short precious hours, 
 "When oft-times his sweet voice hath called us back 
 To the happy valleys, where not yet dried up 
 The Eden waters comfort the fallen Earth : 
 And while in eloquent strain he breathes of Time, 
 And Change, and our Life's end, he leads us on 
 To where, close on the borders of this world, 
 Heavengate wide-open stands for evermore. 
 
 (1845.)
 
 MAT. 
 
 i. 
 
 The sweetest days of spring- time come 
 
 "With the opening morn of May ; 
 But the pleasant pipe, and humming drum 
 
 Greet not the glowing Day ! 
 We are blythe of heart, but not with the heart 
 
 Of the golden Olden-time, 
 When Prince and Peasant alike took part 
 
 In the merry morrice-mime : 
 When the hillside rang with shout and laugh, 
 
 And the forester's wildwood-song ; 
 And even Old Age, with twirling staff, 
 
 Would dance in the Mayday throng — 
 When Love, conspiring, with child-like Mirth, 
 Waylaid the ancient Lord of Earth, 
 
 Entangling his wings with flowers ; 
 And muffling his scythe in leafy bands ; 
 And snatching the glass from his nerveless hands, 
 Wilfully shook the warm bright sands, 
 
 Bewildering the warning Hours !
 
 MAT. 17 
 
 * ■ 
 
 II. 
 
 To the silent fields, in the early morn 
 
 We go not a- Maying now, 
 To gather rich spoils of the shining thorn, 
 
 And the yellow oaken bough — 
 Through the dark old woods, 'ere the foraging rook 
 
 Flaps out of his windy nest ; 
 While the doe still sleeps in her ferny nook, 
 
 With the dew on her star-bright breast — 
 By the moonlit marsh, and the moorland stream, 
 
 Where the richest wild flowers blow — 
 Eeturning 'ere twilight's pearly gleam, 
 
 Half-hid in the vernal show : 
 With dewy branches the May-pole to bind, 
 And startle the sunshine and drowsy wind 
 
 With streamers and garlands gay. 
 No more — now the good old custom's dead — 
 Shall the clustered blooms of spring-time shed 
 Their balmy odours on one bright head 
 
 In the crown of the Queen of the May ! 
 
 in. 
 
 That wildwood-life of the May is o'er, 
 
 With the golden olden-time — 
 (It may shine in the scholar's dusty lore, 
 
 And ring in the minstrel's rhyme !) 
 
 c
 
 18 MAT. 
 
 But a spirit as earnest still beams in the eyes 
 
 Of the child by the forest-springs ; 
 And wakens the song where the shuttle flies, 
 
 And the busy hammer rings ; 
 'Tis felt as the grey-haired grandame turns 
 
 The wheel with its whispering thread — 
 In the flush on her wrinkled cheek that burns, 
 
 And the tear-drop silently shed ; 
 It lives in the maiden's shadowless smile, 
 As she dreameth her day-dreams, and ever the while 
 
 Doth some sweet name repeat : 
 The dweller afar, on the waste wide sea ; 
 The pilgrim asleep by the sycamore-tree, 
 And the exile— are filled, bright spirit, by thee 
 
 With visions and memories sweet. 
 
 IV. 
 
 fairest of all those guardian-powers, 
 
 That since Time's Eden-birth, 
 Have led the dark and the shining Hours 
 
 About the changing Earth — 
 Heaven greets thee with smiles, O beautiful May ! 
 
 The sunny seals of his love 
 Eest softly on Earth, till the fountains of Day 
 
 Have silently ceased above.
 
 MAT. 19 
 
 Thy voice is all music — a pleasant rhyme 
 
 That is married to some sweet tune !— 
 From the lapse of the rainy April-time, 
 
 To the rosy break of June. 
 How lovely thy golden morning-calms, 
 As spirits were soothing with gentle palms 
 
 The fret and the fever of Life ; — 
 Thy bounteous evenings of balmy dew — 
 Thy solemn nights, when the soul may renew 
 Her heavenly armour and weapon true, 
 
 For the world's unceasing strife. 
 
 T. 
 
 Come forth ! let us ramble in thoughtful mood, 
 
 Through the glowing mid-day hours ; 
 Where the sweet South shakesfrom the blossomingwoods 
 
 The pearly and perfumed showers — 
 Through the tangled coppice, whose boughs have burst 
 
 Into sprays of purple and gold, 
 As a spirit of Autumn still were nursed 
 
 In each subtle and fairy fold, 
 To nooks where the water-leaves lazily lie, 
 
 And the chiming bubbles break ; 
 And glades, where the primrose's gentle eye 
 
 Seems pensive for Love's sweet sake — 
 Or sit 'neath the virgin banner of Spring, 
 Bound whose brown standard the bindweeds cling 
 § c 2
 
 20 MAT - 
 
 With flowers like the full May-moon ; 
 Where the woodbines lavish their fragrant store ; 
 And the wilding rose, from its golden core, 
 Loosens its rich leaves evermore 
 
 In the lightest breath of noon: 
 
 VI. 
 
 Come forth ! over all the land around 
 
 Sweet murmurs mingle and meet, 
 With the click of the loom, and the hammer's sound, 
 
 In the hidden village street ; 
 There's a whisper of leaves on the shadowy hills, 
 
 And below, sings the merry mill-stream ; 
 And the wood-pigeon's voice that the solitude fills 
 
 A spirit of Love doth seem ; 
 The blackbird's challenge comes loud and high 
 
 To the thrush in the hollow dells ; 
 And a voice (Spring's sweetest !) is heard in the sky, 
 
 As of two soft-shaken bells. 
 And hark ! a shout from the heart of May — 
 Of childhood, gathering flowers all day, 
 
 Leaf-crowned, like a sylvan chief; 
 Or searching for elf-stones, and quaint country things- 
 The black bee belted with " three " bright rings ; 
 The feather that " once was a fairy-king's ;" 
 
 And the " white lady " hid in a leaf.
 
 MAY. 21 
 
 Til. 
 
 All things that have motion and breath, are heard 
 
 At thy coming, O May, to rejoice ; 
 But sweeter than cry of beast or bird, 
 
 Is the happy human voice ! 
 Let our souls be filled, as the hours flit by, 
 
 "With youthful and thoughtful delight ; 
 Ere the shadow comes down the shining sky, 
 
 Or the storm on the stilly night ! 
 And remember, the riches of harvest are won 
 
 From the stir in the soft spring-blade ; 
 And the ripe fruit swells to the August sun, 
 
 From the blossoms that quickly fade : 
 So the flower-like fancies and feelings rife 
 In the earnest and passionate days of Life — 
 
 In the spirit's glowing May ; 
 Unlike to blossoms by East-winds caught, 
 "Whose palmy promise slips down to nought — 
 Shall yield rich treasures of fruitful thought 
 
 For the wild dark Winter's day. 
 
 (1844.)
 
 THE FLOWER IN THE BOOK. 
 
 CHILD. 
 
 Tell me, tell me, my mother dear, 
 
 In many a lonely and silent hour, 
 Why, buried in thought, do I hear you sigh ; 
 And sometimes I see a tear in your eye, 
 
 Whilst gazing on that old withered flower ! 
 Oh, mother, it makes my heart ache to see 
 
 Tour dear sweet face with so sad a look : 
 Ah! there's something that troubles, something that 
 
 grieves — 
 A. mystery to me — in the dry dead leaves 
 Of the flower in the book. 
 
 O, fling it away, my mother dear, 
 
 Why keep such a crushed and withered thing r 
 I'll bring you the sweetest wild flowers, for I know 
 Where the violets down in the hollows grow, 
 
 And the primrose shines by the forest spring.
 
 THE FLOWER IN THE BOOK. 23 
 
 I'll make you, dear mother, a posey sweet, 
 
 And then you will kiss me, and smiling look ; 
 For there's nothing that troubles, nothing that grieves, 
 In their rich dewy cups, as in the dead leaves 
 Of the flower in the book. 
 
 MOTHER. 
 
 O bless thee, my child, for thy loving thought, 
 
 But little of life can thy young heart know— 
 How a simple flower may bring tears to the eyes, 
 And the saddest and tenderest feeliugs arise, 
 
 With thoughts of the years that are gone long-ago ! 
 O, I could not part with these few dead leaves 
 
 For a balmy cluster fresh from the brook ; 
 For memories troubled, and memories bright, 
 Ever thrill my heart through, at the sad-sweet sight 
 Of the flower in the book. 
 
 'Twas thy father gathered this flower, my child, 
 
 A treasure sweet to thy baby-eye ! 
 But it withered soon — and thy father died — 
 Heart-broken, I too could have lain by his side ; 
 But for thy dear sake — Oh ! I could not die !
 
 24 SABBATH DATS. 
 
 And now, offcimes, in these lonely years, 
 On a relic so precious I love to look : 
 For memories troubled, and memories bright, 
 Ever thrill my heart through at the sad-sweet sight 
 Of the flower in the book ! 
 
 (1845.) 
 
 SABBATH-DAYS. 
 
 These Sabbath-days are shining clues to Heaven ! 
 
 The overflow of Mercy ! wide-thrown doors 
 Into Joy's house ! sweet wayside shelters given 
 
 When round our path forlorn Life's tempest roars ! 
 Smiles of Eternity ! flowers in Time's dust ! 
 
 Armour-of-proof beneath our pilgrim-guise ! 
 Luxuriant banquets after six days' crust ! 
 
 Foretastes of Heaven ! true dreams of Paradise ! 
 Fair garden walks — which, leaving for a time, 
 
 Breaths of sweet air about us lingering play — 
 Whence we may bear, as from the Eden-clime 
 Poor Adam might have yearned, some balmy flower away. 
 
 (1842.)
 
 SUMMER AND SORROW. 
 
 ■ _____ 
 
 Come forth, while Summer, like a spirit, lies 
 In balmy slumber, dreaming happy dreams, — 
 Bright pageants flitting by her tranced eyes, 
 Born of dim shadows, and soft wave-like gleams. 
 Come forth ! for soon shall the wild Autumn rise, 
 And swell with gusty rains the forest-streams, 
 And fill the hollow dells with dreary sound, 
 
 And strew with leaves the cold wet ground- 
 Leaves by his fiery fingers all embrowned ! 
 And, with a touch, seal up, in one short night, 
 The flowers, those fairy-fountains of delight ! 
 The summer-flowers, so sweet, so pure, so bright ! 
 
 Come, gentlest, let us press with eager feet 
 The glistening sod, yet rich with leaf and flower ; 
 Come, for Life's pleasures are but few and fleet ; 
 And Change doth brood o'er all with subtle power 
 Time is the Lord of all things fair and sweet — 
 He hath his will, each swift and flymg hour ;
 
 26 SUMMER AND SORROW. 
 
 And be it solemn Night, or busy Day — 
 
 December dark, or shining May — 
 His wizard-hand beckons our Joys away 
 Into the dreary gardens of the Past : 
 Yet let them vanish, flower-like, ere so fast, 
 We are merry-hearted, dearest, while they last. 
 
 'Tis true, our Life is but to come and go — 
 We take instinctively our baby-breath ; 
 A step among dim perils, quick or slow, 
 And unawares we meet the angel Death : 
 We cannot parry the all-dreaded blow ; 
 'Twere vain to gainsay whatsoe'er he saith ; 
 For, having breathed the air of Time, we die — 
 
 The source and end of Life so nigh, 
 It seems, when gone, the twinkling of an eye ; 
 Yet is there space for Pleasure, if for Grief — 
 For smiles and tears ! Although the time is brief, 
 The rose can flourish with the cypress-leaf. 
 
 Come to the glowing fields, and forests dark 
 With leafy Summer ! from the world's dread strife, 
 Child-like, to Mother Nature, come, and hark ! 
 A myriad sounds with Love and Gladness rife ! 
 See, how beneath the gnarled and mossy bark, 
 Trembles and throbs the earnest Spirit of Life !
 
 SUMMER AXD SOBBOW. 27 
 
 Soft starry leaves, and flowers, and fruitage bright, 
 
 Wrestling in turn, with gentle might, 
 'Gainst slow decay, sharp blast, and heat, and blight. 
 Let Nature thrill thy soul with richest powers ; 
 So thoughtful Joys may crown Life's darkest hours, 
 And fruits eternal rise from Earthly flowers ! 
 
 - 
 Come, where thy tearful eyes shall cease to trace, 
 
 Far off, the dreary gleam of one white stone : 
 
 Stay not indoors, beside that vacant place, 
 
 And for the lost one wearily sigh and moan : 
 
 Is there not still bright life in that dear face ? 
 
 Hath not that gentle voice more heavenly grown ? 
 
 Sitting, like one of every hope forlorn — 
 
 Thy soul of all its splendour shorn — 
 
 Thy foolish tears do blind thee, night and morn ! 
 
 Thou wilt not Summer's glorious tidings hear, 
 
 Nor see, foreshadowed by the bright mid-year, 
 
 The ceaseless Summer of the lost and dear ! 
 
 O come ! let Nature to each sense reveal 
 Her bounteous riches — all her wonders show : 
 Thine heart shall soon the old pulse of gladness feel, 
 When airs, Heaven- willed, about thee freshly blow ; 
 And on thy doubts, the sweet belief shall steal 
 Of Love and Joy, past mortal sense to know;
 
 28 SUMMER AND SORROW. 
 
 The film shall fall from thy long-darkened eyes ; 
 
 Thou shalt not waste thyself in sighs ; 
 Thy soul in glowing strength again shall rise ; 
 The hours shall calmly pass — aye ! it shall be 
 As if the Angels walked and talked with thee, 
 Making, in Time, bright touches of Eternity ! 
 
 (1844.)
 
 
 THE SLAVE-TBADE. 
 
 O for a voice of power, whose fervent sound 
 Should thrill all hearts, till loud o'er land and wave 
 Swelled the deep chorus to Earth's utmost bound — 
 " Freedom to all, and Justice to the Slave !" 
 Sousing the nations from their shameful sleep 
 To noble warfare 'gainst the Evil Thing — 
 The curse of Slavery from the earth to sweep : 
 O'ershadowed by the Almighty's awful wing, 
 Fired by His Spirit — haply soon to smite 
 Tbe fearful Sin to dust, vanquished, and slain outright ! 
 
 The vile Slave-traffic ! O what words can paint 
 The loathsome horrors of so sad a theme ; 
 Making the very soul grow sick and faint, 
 Like one oppressed by some terrific dream.
 
 30 THE SLAYE-TEADE. 
 
 No dream, alas ! no fiction of the brain ! 
 Still, as of old, we see Sin's hateful brood, 
 Mammon and Moloch, flushed with triumph reign — 
 Their world-wide altars steeped in human blood : 
 The soul, amazed, deems all Hell's raging powers, 
 For tenfold havoc, loosed on this fair world of ours ! 
 
 Alas ! that man in his base lust for gold, 
 Fierce and remorseless, feasts on human spoils — 
 Nursing the Fiery Sin, that uncontrolled 
 In his dark bosom, like a serpent, coils. 
 When shall Truth's heavenly light chase from each land 
 This dismal cloud ! How long, O Grod, how long 
 Shall these things be, ere Thine all-righteous hand 
 Set loose the captive, and undo this wrong ; 
 Even as of old, in Israel's hour of need, 
 From Pharaoh's iron yoke thy chosen ones were freed ! 
 
 "Why thus doth man oppress his fellow ! why 
 Trample upon him, as a reptile base ; 
 Scoff at Thy warnings, and Thy power defy, 
 Who mad'st all nations of the Earth one race ! 
 The Form Divine is stamped on every mind ; 
 The birthright, Liberty, belongs to all : 
 Yet doth man seize Thine handiwork, and bind 
 The free-born limb, and hold in hideous thrall
 
 THE SLATE- TRADE. 31 
 
 The immortal soul — by Tyranny and Lust, 
 Chains and the scourge, brought low — e'en to the very 
 dust. 
 
 Yet 'tis for this, man to Thy "Word appeals, 
 "Wresting its shining Truths to some foul lie — 
 "Spurning the Law which saith of him that steals 
 And sells his fellow, he shall surely die ! 
 Aye ! and these deeds in Christian lands are done, 
 Even in Thy Name, O Cod of Truth and Eight ! 
 False hireling priests (betraying thy dear Son) 
 Thus darken the bright rays of Gospel light ! 
 Profane Thine Altars ; and in impious mirth, 
 Baptise the crouching slave to swell his mai'ket- worth. 
 
 Brave hearts and true ! how have they torn the veil 
 From these sad scenes of misery and wrong ! 
 East, West, South, North — told the appalling tale 
 In fiery tones, in language stern and strong ! 
 O that I too could with bold faithful hand, 
 In their dark hues, these ruffian-deeds portray ; 
 Show foul ships haunting many a Southern strand, 
 Hungering for human cargoes night and day, 
 By fraud and violence won. O sickening gain, 
 Making men raging fiends, and blood to fall bike rain !
 
 32 THE SLAVE-TRADE. 
 
 How sad thy doom, Africa ! since first 
 The curse of Slavery was loosed on thee ; 
 And, like a dire and withering Plague, it burst 
 Through all thy mystic realms from sea to sea. 
 How have thy children fall'n ! by their own kings 
 (Made fierce and drunken) hunted down by night — 
 Towns set on fire, to seize the wretch that springs 
 Out of his blazing home, half-dead with fright ; 
 And hundreds slain in blind and savage fray, 
 That some poor captured few might be the Slaver's prey. 
 
 How are they driven down in fettered bands, 
 A thousand miles to that crime-blackened shore, 
 Through desert woods, and o'er vast burning sands, 
 Home-sick, heart-broken, fainting evermore ! 
 Well may they fall, crushed by the heart's keen strife, 
 On that dread journey ! better far the grave, 
 Than to drag on a wasting Death-in-Life, 
 Both soul and body doomed— the white man's slave ! 
 The spirit palsied with foul shame and wrong ; 
 Torture, disease, and toil, their lot their whole life long. 
 
 Vain are your wrathful cries— your prayers as vain ! 
 Dark sons of Afric, ye are bought and sold — 
 Branded your writhing limbs ; the blood-wrought chain 
 Binding ye down, crammed in the black ship's hold.
 
 THE SLATE TEADE. 33 
 
 Grow mad with anguish ! woman, sob and moan 
 For thy lost babes — lift up a terrible cry ! 
 Think ye 'twill soften bosoms hard as stone ? 
 Break your sad hearts — what matter if ye die ? 
 One-third safe-brought to the vile human-mart, 
 Shall heap his coffers high, and glad the slave-king's heart. 
 
 -'"Wild the sea-perils of that felon-bark, 
 Becalmed 'neath Tropic skies, that rain down fire - % 
 Swept by fierce hurricane and tempest dark, 
 As if pursued by vengeance swift and dire ; 
 "While maniac-yells, louder than noise of storms, 
 Burst from her loathsome bosom, where grim Death 
 Feasts in the pestilent air ; and ghastly forms 
 Mad with their torment gasp for heaven's sweet breath. 
 Ah ! many a bleeding corpse by morning-light 
 Shall feast the ravenous shark close following day and night ! 
 
 Safe brought to port, this living merchandize 
 Put-up for sale, is handled with nice art, 
 By keen-eyed traders, chaffering down its price, 
 Like butchers, dealing at a cattle-mart. 
 O hateful sight! husband and wife and child 
 Naked and chained — the gaze of brutal eyes ; 
 Clasped in each other's arms, with outcry wild, 
 Nought but the sharp lash rending life's sweet ties ; 
 Sold to fierce masters, burnt in face and brow, 
 Severed from all ye love — aye ! Death were welcome now ! 
 
 D
 
 34 THE SLAVE TEADE. 
 
 'tis indeed a painful task to draw 
 These truthful pictures of the Negro's life — 
 These horrid tortures, sanctioned by the Law, 
 Even though the heart break with the terrible strife ! 
 Toil on, poor slaves — what matter, weak or strong ! 
 If faint with sickness, or with toil outworn, 
 Te must be scourged with the thick-knotted thong, 
 The switch of lancewood, or sharp ebon-thorn ; 
 Nor shall the driver, demon-like in power, 
 Spare "Woman's tender frame in Nature's trying hour ! 
 
 Like beasts of burden, ye must toil, poor slaves — 
 Famished, with harvests round you, rich and deep ; 
 "Wounded or sick, the o'erwrought body craves, 
 In vain for rest, or the soft balm of sleep. 
 Work — work in cane-field, or in damp morass, 
 That loads the air with sickly poisonous breath ; 
 Through the chill night and burning day, alas ! 
 Dragging Life's burden wearily down to Death : 
 No Hope ! no Comfort ! brimmed your Cup of "Woe, 
 Because your skin is black, although Heaven willed it so ! 
 
 Shall not God visit you for all these things, 
 Te Nations, waxing fat and proud with crime — 
 Eain mischief down, and break the strength of Kings, 
 As He smote Egypt fiercely in old time ?
 
 THE SLATE TRADE. 35 
 
 Hath He not said — His curse shall be on all 
 That deal in Souls, and that grind down the poor ! — 
 Though slow to wrath, yet may His Vengeance fall 
 Terribly sudden, and His Arm is sure : 
 The blood of thousands crieth from the ground — 
 Think ye His ear is deaf to that wild wailing sound ! 
 
 O that ye may avert so dread a fate ! 
 Loose then the curse that withers from your land ; 
 Bind up the Negro's wounds, ere yet too late ; 
 And greet him with a brother's loving hand ; 
 Hasten the coming of that happy time, 
 "When the sweet gospel-light shall fill the Earth ; 
 And all this chaos of dark Wrong and Crime, 
 Shall pass away, and a new world have birth, 
 Kindled by Love Divine — o'er land and sea 
 No man be slave to man — all tribes and nations free ! 
 (1845.) 
 
 o J
 
 MAEY LEE. 
 
 this is not the happy world 
 
 That once it seemed to be, 
 Ere Death had taken her whose love 
 
 Made life so sweet to me ! 
 Alas ! that all we love the most 
 
 So soon should pass away ; 
 And sorrow crush the joyous heart 
 
 In one short fleeting day ; 
 For never more — O never more, 
 
 My Mary's heart shall beat for me ; 
 
 1 would that my life, too, were o'er, 
 
 Sweet Mary Lee ! 
 
 That last bright morning of her life, 
 How full of bliss were we : 
 
 Like all those happy hours, we thought 
 The aftertime would be.
 
 MAET LEE. 37 
 
 Our earnest words, at parting, breathed 
 
 Of Love's delightful years ; 
 And now, her face hath no sweet smile — 
 
 And mine is wet with tears. 
 
 tears are vain, for never more 
 
 My Mary's heart shall beat for me ; 
 
 1 would that my life, too, were o'er, 
 
 Sweet Mary Lee ! 
 
 i 
 Oftimes her gentle form returns 
 To memory's yearning eye ; 
 But soon the lovely vision fades, 
 
 And then I long to die : 
 And oh ! how sweet a calm there steals 
 
 Upon my aching heart, 
 To feel myself in that bright land 
 Where we can never part — 
 To feel that there for evermore 
 
 My Mary's heart shall beat for me ; 
 O would this weary life were o'er, 
 Sweet Mary Lee ! 
 
 (1844.)
 
 THE END OF SUMMER 
 
 How solemn a change over all the land, 
 
 Eroin morning to night, through the long calm day- 
 A spirit hath waved her shadowy hand, 
 
 And the glories of Summer are fleeting away ! 
 A keen irresistible sleepless power 
 Is the Lord of each new-horn vassal hour ; 
 Moving on swift and silent wings, 
 His burning arrows abroad he flings — 
 The grey destroyer of all sweet things ! 
 Tet cheating the thought, and dazzling the sense 
 "With gorgeous enchantment and beauty intense — 
 An awful handwriting, speaking to all, 
 
 Of terror and ruin, and darkness drear ; 
 Like the warning on Babylon's royal wall, 
 
 Making the proud heart stagger with fear. 
 
 By night, there's a subtle calm in the skies ; 
 
 A solemn splendour comes with the morn ; 
 There are tears in our mother Nature's eyes, 
 
 And her voice is tremulous, low, forlorn :
 
 THE END OF STJMMEB. 39 
 
 You may hear in the stillness a wailing sound, 
 Soft flitting along the stuhhle-groiuad ; 
 For the homeless wind is sweeping by, 
 And a myriad leaves are stricken, and die ; 
 And, drifting down, hi the hollows lie : 
 Sharply they crinkle under the feet, 
 "Sending up no crushed odours sweet : 
 Nature, thy child, the bold bright Tear 
 
 Will never rally from that weird breath — 
 Sore-stricken he lies in the moonlight clear, 
 
 On a bed of brown leaves, in the garden of Death. 
 
 (1845.)
 
 THE SONG OF THE BROKEN BOUGH. 
 
 It was a pleasant life of old, 
 
 In the green heart of the wood, 
 To flourish with my kindred-boughs, 
 
 All rich with leaf and bud ; 
 Yielding the sultry noon-tide hours, 
 
 A cool and twilight gloom ; 
 Or, bowing back our leafy crowns, 
 
 Give the bright heavens room 
 To smile on the free wild natures all, 
 
 Haunting our forest- clime ; 
 Or feel the fragrant welcome, given 
 
 By the Earth, in her sweet prime — 
 the difference to the broken bough, 
 
 Since that delicious time !
 
 THE SONG Or THE BROKEN BOUGH. il 
 
 What years have passed, since my germ lay hid 
 
 In its birth-place, still and dark, 
 Yearning to break its subtle folds, 
 
 And pierce the gnarled bark ! 
 The sap that swelled from root to head, 
 
 And every wind that blew, 
 The rain, (rich largess of the Spring !) 
 
 The balmy evening dew, 
 And the Light — Creation's kindly helps ! — 
 
 All furnished me with powers ; 
 Enough for the wants of rugged strength — 
 
 Enough to nurture flowers, 
 "Whose odours (a sweet waste of Love !) 
 
 Should woo the flying Hours. 
 
 "When the eldest Spirit of the Tear 
 
 Brought comfort to the land ; 
 And the squirrel and the dormouse broke 
 
 From Winter's frosty hand ; 
 Unfolding wide my leafy fans, 
 
 And blossoms white as snow, 
 I cast the old-year's wrinkled leaves 
 
 Among the weeds below ; 
 And soon grew dark, and proof against 
 
 The summer's fervent heat —
 
 42 THE SONG OF THE BKOKEN BOUGH. 
 
 A shelter for the mother-bird ; 
 
 The fainting doe's retreat ; 
 And a shade, where the languid pilgrim loved 
 
 To cool his burning feet. 
 
 When the wizard-breath of Autumn shook 
 
 The ripe fruits heavily down ; 
 And the high-heaped wain rocked to and fro 
 
 In the harvest, rich and brown ; 
 A splendour fell upon us all — 
 
 'Twas gorgeous to behold 
 The tame green, dashed by the fiery hues 
 
 Of purple and of gold : 
 But our beauty waned, as the bright leaves whirled 
 
 In stormy eddies round ; 
 Or, loosening in the breathless air, 
 
 "With a low complaining sound, 
 Dropped one by one reluctantly, 
 
 And slowly reached the ground. 
 
 When Winter toiled through the knee-deep snow, 
 
 And the winds went wailing by, 
 And the old discrowned Tear lay down 
 
 In the solitude to die —
 
 THE SONG OF THE BKOKEIf BOUGH. 43 
 
 On the forest-branclies black and bare, 
 
 But the hoary moss was seen 
 With the woodbine's faded tapestry, 
 
 And the ivy ever green ; 
 Yet in bough and bole, through a hundred rings 
 
 The soul of beauty stirred, 
 To burst in a myriad fairy-stars, 
 
 "When the voice of Spring was heard ; 
 As a lover's balmy thoughts rush forth 
 
 In many a glowing word. 
 
 Now Time moves onwards, led in turn 
 
 By the dark and shining hour ; 
 And I show, like a dreary face of Death 
 
 In Pleasure's glorious bower : 
 I bring a fear of the Autumn-time, 
 
 To the manhood of the year : 
 The sap runs not in my withered limbs, 
 
 My leaves are shrunk and sere ; 
 Nor have I strength to cast them off, 
 
 Though so frail a hold have they, 
 The lightest gust that stoops so low 
 
 May bear them all away, 
 To the cold wet ground, at length to feed 
 
 The Spirit of Decay.
 
 1 ! THE SONO OF THE BBOKEJST BOUGH. 
 
 A few more days shall bring the light, 
 
 And darken in the tree ; 
 And the elin-bough, once so beautiful, 
 
 The spoil of Death shall be : 
 Soundless and stirless, when the world 
 
 Wakes in the inorning-sun, 
 Or sleeps at noon, in the glaring light ; 
 
 Or, when the day is done, 
 Lies in the glory of the dew, 
 
 Touched by the white moonbeam. 
 In the windy night, my dry dead leaves, 
 
 Restless, shall ever seem 
 Like the voice of Death, in the ear of Sleep, 
 
 Whispering a fearful dream. 
 
 The sweet bxnght flowers, in season, still 
 
 Shall spring in wood and field ; 
 The violets, as with love new-born, 
 
 Their inmost perfume yield ; 
 All day and night shall the hawthorn blow 
 
 To welcome in the May ; 
 Wild roses fill with lavish sweets 
 
 Each dusky woodland -way ; 
 And woodbines, climbing evermore 
 
 To the bright southern sun,
 
 THE SOXG OE THE BBOKEX BOUGH. 45 
 
 Clasp the green boughs with balmy trails 
 
 That blossom as they run ; 
 Tet weary of my fragile hold, 
 
 The broken ehn-bough shun. 
 
 Wild natures of the sylvan realm ! 
 
 The rabbit aud the hare 
 Shall play in the clustered fern and grass — 
 
 The brown deer's secret lair ! 
 The squirrel's sharp and jocund cry 
 
 In the shadowy copse be heard ; 
 With the ring-dove's croon, and watch- words sweet 
 
 Of many a brooding bird ; 
 And the golden-girdled bee that makes 
 
 Sweet pleasure of all toil, 
 Where the white wood-blossoms shine and dance, 
 
 Keep up his happy coil ; 
 But steal not, as of old, from me 
 
 A rich and honied spoil. 
 
 And m erry -hearted youth shall come, 
 With the basket and the crook, 
 
 For the bearded nut, and purple sloe 
 Eipening in secret nook —
 
 46 THE SONG OF THE BKOKEN BOUGH. 
 
 To plunder the poor bird's happy nest 
 
 And hive of the forest bee — 
 Their joyous whoops of thoughtless mirth 
 
 Ringing from tree to tree, 
 A moment hushed, as the withered bough 
 
 Breaks on the startled eye — 
 'Twere a childish feat then to pull me down ; 
 
 And with triumphant cry, 
 To trail me at their own wild will, 
 
 In a distant place to lie. 
 
 But wherever I rest — at length become 
 
 The hoary lichens' prey — 
 My ruins shall bear to the mind of man 
 
 A lesson of Decay. 
 Thus fall the fairest boughs of Life — 
 
 Time ever will destroy 
 Desires and Hopes, the trembling buds 
 
 To the opening flowers of Joy : 
 All things of Earth must fade, and die, 
 
 Be they young, or passed their prime ! 
 The mighty trunk — a thousand years 
 
 The lord of the forest-clime — 
 Must perish like the smallest leaf 
 
 In the burning breath of Time !
 
 THE SONG OF THE BEOKEN BOUGH. 47 
 
 Aye ! Death shall still the merriest voice — 
 
 The clearest eye bedim ; 
 And make the stoutest heart to quail, 
 
 Nor battle do with him ; 
 The good, the eyil ; the blithe, the sad ; 
 
 The king by the beggar's side 
 Shall pass together through that gate 
 
 "Wide as the world is wide ; 
 For all the Earth is the Hunter's realm, 
 
 And he keenly doth pursue 
 The affrighted quarry all the year, 
 
 "With his swift and silent crew — 
 Turn where ye may, his dark eye turns, 
 
 And the arrow pointeth true ! 
 
 (1843.)
 
 « WHEREFORE AND WHY !" 
 
 " the world is a happy and beautiful world !" 
 
 Said a child that I met by the way, 
 " For hark ! how the wild winds rush through the pines ; 
 And see how the sunlight dances and shines 
 
 "Where the rippling waters stray. 
 O the woodlands are filled with wonderful things — 
 There the woodpecker taps, and the storm-throstle sings, 
 
 And the squirrels are ever at play : 
 There the startled water-hen claps her wings ; 
 And the dragon-fly airy summersets flings ; 
 And the trout breaks the pool into sparkling rings ; 
 And the bulrush waves in the tangled springs, 
 
 Where the white-lily floats all day." 
 
 " Ah ! the world is a beautiful world," I said, 
 
 " To a shadowless spirit like thine !" 
 As from forest and field, through the shining hours, 
 He heaped up his treasures of eggs and flowers, 
 
 And fairv-stones rare and fine.
 
 " WHEEEFORE AND WHY ?" 49 
 
 At times, from copse and hollow, hard by, 
 Bang out his Wythe and exulting cry, 
 
 Till the sunlight had ceased to shine : 
 "When the blue veil of twilight covered the sky, 
 And the spirit-like stars came out on high, 
 And slumber fell soft on his weary eye, 
 Still he murmured — " How fast the hours do fly 
 
 For a life so happy as mine !" 
 
 " this world is a dark and wearisome world!" 
 
 Said an old man I met by the way : 
 " I look on my lifetime of fourscore years, 
 And alas ! what a picture of gloom it appears 
 
 Scarce-touched by a golden ray ! 
 What fearful phantasies fill my brain ; 
 For the past, with its visions of sorrow and pain, 
 
 Still haunts me, by night and by day. 
 
 "What is Life, when our pleasures so quickly wane 
 
 When all that we toil for, and hope for, is vain ! 
 Ah ! long in the dreary church-yard have lain 
 The friends of my youth ; and alone I remain — 
 
 O would that I too were away !" 
 
 "Ah ! this world is a wearisome world !" I said, 
 " To a spirit forlorn as thine !" 
 
 E
 
 50 " WHEREFORE AND WHY ?" 
 
 As slowly he toiled through the shining hours, 
 He saw not the twinkling leaves and flowers 
 
 His tottering feet entwine ; 
 Dim shadows might waver, the rich light glow 
 On his wrinkled cheek, and the merry winds blow 
 
 But his eyes with no pleasure would shine : 
 When the round red sun was sinking low, 
 How sadly he shook his thin locks of snow, 
 And muttered — " O would that I too might go — 
 I long to be gone ; but the hours are too slow, 
 
 "For a life so weary as mine !" 
 
 'Tis a wonderful world ! I say to myself, 
 
 As I thoughtfully walk by the way — 
 Time flies ; and Eternity cometh up slow ; 
 The Earth groweth old, anrl what more do we know 
 
 To-day than we knew yesterday ? 
 That if born, we may live, just a Mayfly's flight, 
 Or the raven's great circle span outright — 
 
 Then die, be our time what it may : 
 That night follows morning ; and morning, the night - 
 After spring-time and summer, the autumn-blight 
 Brings black winter in ; but will Death first smite 
 The branch that for years hath basked in the light, 
 
 Or the blossom new-born to-day ?
 
 " WHEBEFOKE AST) WHY?" 51 
 
 O the world goeth round from sun to sun — 
 
 Now moonlight — now starlight shine : 
 Surely wiser we grow — yet the " wherefore and why" 
 That this thing or that thing is first to die, 
 
 Poor man hath no wit to divine. 
 The morning is breaking — the cock may crow ; 
 The rain and the wind may beat and blow ; 
 
 Ami the sky begin to shine ; 
 But the child so happy some hours ago 
 Is mute and blind, in Death lying low ! 
 While the old man awakes, and rocks to and fro, 
 Still drearily moaning — " would I might go ! 
 
 What a long weary life is mine !" 
 
 (1843.)
 
 THE WOODLANDS. 
 
 Come to the woodlands ! Summer hath unfurled 
 His glowing banner to the drowsy wind ! 
 
 Leave for a while the stern ungentle world, 
 "Where Love soon wearies, Friendship grows unkind ! 
 
 Where the keen shafts of Care are thickly hurled, 
 Till unto Death the wounded heart hath pined. 
 
 Come, where broad boughs in twining arches meet ; 
 
 And flowers, untroubled by the sultry heat, 
 Delay our willing feet — 
 
 Where Nature sits beside the hidden streams, 
 Filling the mid-day twilight with sweet sylvan dreams. 
 
 Pleasant our way shall be through winding alleys, 
 Whose leafy labyrinths lead to some green glade, 
 
 Where the wild brook, with murmuring music, sallies 
 From shade to sunlight, and again to shade ;
 
 THE WOODLANDS. 53 
 
 Luring us down to far-off fragrant valleys, 
 
 Where silent myriads bloom and softly fade. 
 Oft on the woodland-verge, the radiant light 
 Burns in the boughs, and feasts the sylvan night 
 
 AVitli pictures rosy-bright — 
 Of wood and wold, uplands with harvest crowned, 
 Pirn spires, and shining streams, and heaven's sapphire 
 round. 
 
 Here the wild honeysuckles climb, and fold 
 
 The gnarled boughs with spires and leafy knots ; 
 
 And clustered blossoms, rich with ruddy gold, 
 Veiling the light from green sequestered spots — 
 
 Sweet try sting-places for young Love ! — which hold, 
 Three seasons through, their soft enticing plots 
 
 Of wild flowers, wooing the lone-wandering wind, 
 
 'Mong shadowy boles and knotted roots entwined, 
 To loiter, and unbind 
 
 Their perfumed sweets, and waft them lightly down 
 The stony arteries of the hot and brooding town. 
 
 Here lonely byeways lead to some dark nook, 
 Whose matted branches, drooping heavily down. 
 
 Drift in the shineless waters of the brook, 
 
 O'erhung with sombrous glooms and boskage brown — 
 
 (Where woodmen saw, of old, with wildered look, 
 The staring Sylvan weave his leafy crown)
 
 5 J THE WOODLANDS. 
 
 By the slow current, full of swaling weeds, 
 Rich waterblooms, and fallen feathery seeds ; 
 
 And where dry rustling reeds 
 And tangled swords of sedge wave to and fro' ; 
 And in the weird-like silence the white lilies blow. 
 
 What peaceful gladness crowns all sylvan lives ! 
 
 The ouzel's song, in a melodious breeze, 
 Blends with the woodspite's clamour, as he rives 
 
 The withered bark ; and golden-armoured bees 
 With sounding trumpets, march from hidden hives 
 
 To balmy underwoods and flowery leas : 
 And where the pine-bough holds her half-seen nest, 
 The ring-dove, troubled with some sweet unrest, 
 
 Upbows her throbbing breast, 
 And quivering throat, emblazoned with rich rings — 
 With all the Summer brooding in her fluttered wings ! 
 
 How the shy deer, hearing unwonted sound, 
 Start from the dewy vert, and quickly turn 
 
 Their branching fronts, standing at gaze around — 
 Lost in an instant 'mong the waving fern : 
 
 The lithesome squirrels throng the mossy ground ; 
 And dormice, straying from their woody bourne, 
 
 Steal back, if but a bough soft-lifted shake ;
 
 THE WOODLANDS. 55 
 
 Their dream-like flight, the golden pheasants take 
 
 Out of the flowering brake ; 
 And happy love-notes fill the quiet air — 
 For every tuft of leaves is some glad creature's lair! 
 
 Soon might the woods seem haunted, as of old, 
 
 "With light-veiled Nymphs and dreaming Deities — 
 
 Such spots of marvellous beauty we behold, 
 "Where light and shadow battle in the trees, 
 
 Whose shining openings shape Noon's gorgeous gold 
 To wondrous semblance (as the eye may please) 
 
 Of leaf-entwined staff, and wide-mouth'd horn ; 
 
 And the tossed wine-cup by mad Maenads borne, 
 When, with bright hair unshorn, 
 
 Young Bacchus revelled ; and Pan's lusty band 
 Trampled with horned heels the echoing wild wood-land. 
 
 A sleight of Fancy ! in a moment, lo ! 
 
 The dizzy Satyrs their swift circles trace : 
 Pipe the shrill reed — the trumpet, loudening, blow — 
 
 Startling the brown deer with a sound of chace ! 
 Down the dark aisles the twining dancers go, 
 
 By softly-chiming springs, where, with white face, 
 Peers the lone Naiad through the water-leaves ; 
 And where sweet coronals the Dryad weaves ; 
 "While all the woodland heaves
 
 56 THE WOODLANDS. 
 
 With the wild winy revel, till the eye 
 Lose the dim dream, the lingering spirit-echoes die ! 
 
 When through the deepening shadows of the night 
 Heaven's argent crescent shoots its steadfast rays, 
 
 And all wet leaves seem twinkling drops of light !— 
 Fond Phantasy still holds the tranced gaze ; 
 
 For lo ! the Fairy-folk, with harness bright, 
 Flashing along a hundred forest -ways ; 
 
 And up lone-lying hollows, far and near, 
 
 Upon the wind the sweet bells jingle, clear ; 
 And sounds delight the ear, 
 
 As some wild rite of the old Fairy-time, 
 Still swelled with shout and music blythe to morning-prime. 
 
 Fair woodland-haunt of Childhood's happy hours — 
 How oft in Spring, and murmurous Summer-time, 
 
 And solemn Autumn, in these haunted bowers, 
 
 Humming my earnest thoughts in sounding rhyme, 
 
 Have I long-lingered, nursing Life's bright powers 
 In the rich quiet of this sylvan-clime ; 
 
 Where the sharp tears of Sorrow cease to start — 
 
 Where Care soon wearies, 'gainst the charmed heart 
 To launch his blunted dart ; 
 
 For Joy (sole gossip of the smiling day !) 
 Here lulls old Time to sleep, and steals his scythe away. 
 
 (1840-4.)
 
 SUMMER TWILIGHT, 
 
 In early June, the bright mid-time of Summer, 
 In the soft passage of the twilight hour ; 
 
 How deep a quiet steals upon the spirit, 
 
 With the light dew that fills the pining flower. 
 
 The Evening-hour, when our great mother Nature, 
 Lieth entranced in thoughtful calm delight, 
 
 Under the leaves, with gentle arms encircling 
 The wearied day, and soft-uprising night. 
 
 The sweet mid-time, when Earth's glad heart is trembling, 
 Stirred by the warm bright rains and brooding heat ; 
 
 And through the rich May-grass, in childlike wonder, 
 Steals happy June, with light bewildered feet.
 
 5S SUMMER TWILIGHT. 
 
 ( ) ye twin-spirits of Twilight and of Summer ! 
 
 Your mingled charms my willing feet have brought 
 To the green fields, where man's wild voices never 
 
 Troubled the charmed sources of life and thought 
 
 And where the impassioned soul delights to gather 
 Fancies of spiritual beauty — thoughts intense ! 
 
 Listening to nature's soothing, solemn tidings, 
 At the dim portals of each earthly sense. 
 
 What harvests thence shall rise, in ten-fold splendour, 
 To feast and comfort life's dark after-days ; 
 
 .Sweet, as in times of primal pain and sorrow, 
 Memories of Eden, and God's ancient ways. 
 
 The shining fields, the fair unfolding valleys, 
 Still bear the impress bright of feet divine — 
 
 At all times lovely ; but how wondrous lovely, 
 "When far and wide the evening-glories shine ! 
 
 While softly ebbs the golden tide of sunlight, 
 
 What strange bright fields of splendour fill the sky, 
 
 Like marvellous glimpses of those "happy islands," 
 Far-off enchanting the sad seaman's eye.
 
 SUMMER TWILIGHT. 59 
 
 Along the upland-wolds and forest summits, 
 The sunset trails its scattered flakes of fire, 
 
 And centring brightly in the broad mid-valley 
 Steeps in white light the airy village spire. 
 
 Slowly the sun descends — in gold and purple 
 Royally clothed, like nature's King and Priest— 
 
 His glowing arms outstretched in benediction 
 On all the nations of the darkening East. 
 
 Yet lingering thus, we know the calm bright morning 
 Spans the broad seas, and fills the western clime- 
 Emblem of Him, in whose eternal presence, 
 Swell and return the circling rings of Time. 
 
 Go forth, O sun ! upon thy high evangel 
 Of life and love undying — awhile depart : 
 
 Thy farewell beams shall yield immortal pleasures — 
 The sweet birth-right of many a kindly heart. 
 
 The light fades sensibly ; Heaven's rosy arches 
 
 Deepen to purple darkness over all ; 
 The white cliff gleams not on the dusky upland ; 
 
 Nearer and nearer the long wood-shadows fall.
 
 60 SUMMER TWILIGHT. 
 
 The witch-elms blacken, and the wayside poplars, 
 With ever-trembling leaves that love the light, 
 
 (llisten no more : the mystic wand of twilight 
 Subdueth all things unto its sweet might. 
 
 The chesnut's fragrant spires, rich lilac-clusters 
 Crowning fair gardens, and all shining blooms 
 
 Unsealed by nightly dews, grow dim and weirdlike, 
 Nestling among the thickening under-glooms. 
 
 How sweet to feel, in this inscrutable darkness 
 Of shadow upon shadow lying deep, 
 
 The ceaseless fragrance (nature's purest incense) 
 Doth, all night long, its way to heaven keep. 
 
 For night already fills the dim-seen valleys, 
 The spinneys ever dark, grow darker still : 
 
 The ripphng gold fades softly from the waters, 
 As the last sun-gleam streaks the distant hill. 
 
 A night all twilight ! vague soft threads of colour 
 (Beams of the triple-element) lingering, burn ; 
 
 As, in the starry lap of Darkness, slumbered 
 The sunlight, until Morning's swift return.
 
 SUMMER TWILIGHT. 61 
 
 A pleasant gloom. ! for the white flag of moonlight 
 "Waves not in solemn beauty o'er these skies, 
 
 That sweetly realise some fair child-vision 
 Of shadowy wings, and fond-regarding eyes. 
 
 .It is -the hour, when nature's free wild offspring 
 Seek the warm nest of Love — the leafy lair : 
 
 Soft feet along the sylvan sward are stealing ; 
 And softer wings flit down the silent air. 
 
 All heaven and earth grow still ! a balmy quiet, 
 By light, uncertain noises, an instant stirred — 
 
 Like wasting circles of rich and distant music ; 
 Or whispers in our own hushed spirits heard. 
 
 Sounds that make silence more and more impressive, 
 After the clanging noise of mid-day life ; 
 
 Sweet as the heart's true voice of gentle kindness, 
 To the old fond words returning after strife. 
 
 At times, familiar sounds arise around me — 
 The sudden boom of the belated bee ; 
 
 The mingled murmur of myriad dancing units ; 
 The loving watch-words in the twilight-tree.
 
 62 STJMMEB TWILIGHT. 
 
 And happy haunting sounds of dew light-falling 
 From leaf to leaf, and whisperings of the air ; 
 
 Soft as the voice of childhood, sleep-o'ertaken, 
 
 Breathing sweet household words of praise and prayer. 
 
 In this hushed calm of summer and of twilight, 
 Arise rich sounds that but to night belong : 
 
 Voices, all mute among day's mingled voices, 
 Steep the wide realms of air in floods of song. 
 
 Hark to the wood-lark in the starry darkness — 
 
 The sylvan spirit of the summer-night 
 Singing unseen — the very heavens tremble 
 
 In that wild stress of rapturous delight. 
 
 And yet a wealthier strain of passionate music, 
 The nightingale sings in the lowly thorn— 
 
 A farewell solemn, swelling into triumph, 
 
 That her young brood shall greet the golden morn. 
 
 And from the dusky pinewood, plaintive noises 
 
 Betray the brooding fancies of the dove ; 
 The night-jar's dreamy voice floats down the orchard 
 
 Blent with the owl's wild cry of earnest love.
 
 SUMMEE TWILIGHT. {M 
 
 And sounds of human neighbourhood mingle ever : 
 The watch-dog bays : and from the hillside starts 
 
 The chiding echo ; then the darkling village 
 
 Lifts the last-swelling psalm of thankful hearts. 
 
 r 
 
 The church-clock strikes : for Time, the mighty seraph, 
 Whose flying feet never on earth alight, 
 
 Sweeps- on ; and suddenly in the summer darkness 
 Smites with mailed hand the sounding doors of night. 
 
 Those absolute sounds, and lingering undulations, 
 Wrestling in sleep with the dream-laden brain, 
 
 Shall be to some, like Autumn's thronging thunders — 
 To some, the silvery lapse of Summer rain. 
 
 Sound on, O Time ! hold the enchanted spirit 
 With varying dreams, in sweet or fearful thrall ; 
 
 Or crowd the waking sense with flickering memories — 
 Sun-streaks and shadows on the soul's white wall. 
 
 Grief starts and moans— a precipice of darkness 
 Looms up between her and the fair dream-land ; 
 
 Whilst happy youth, late-flying from the tempest, 
 Now rounds the rich light in his rosy hand.
 
 G4 SUMMER TWILIGHT. 
 
 Fond Hope is eager for her sunny journey — 
 
 Lo ! sharp rains hiss, and wild winds clang the door ; 
 
 The bright fruits slip from Infancy's light fingers — 
 A new dream comes, budding and ripening more ! 
 
 Love dreams of joy-bells ringing gaily — gaily — 
 Foredating some sweet morrow of delight ; 
 
 While Filial Love, 'mong death-bed shadows seated 
 Tearfully counts the awful pulse of night. 
 
 Fear wakes and listens, as a felon listens 
 
 The hammer clanging out life's wasted prime ; 
 
 But Faith, upborne in Heavenly Vision, heareth 
 Faint echoes only of the voice of Time. 
 
 That voice is still ! the flood of awful silence 
 O'ersweeps the airy bound of night and morn ; 
 
 But to the inner ear those sounding circles 
 Shall still roll on, and break on years unborn. 
 
 The silence, deepened by that tongue of iron, 
 
 Swoops down from yon wild round of wood and wold ; 
 
 But its stern power is broken by soft voices — 
 The wild-bird's song — the bleating from the fold '
 
 SUMMER TWILIGHT. 65 
 
 Dread were this darkness, that great solemn circle 
 Whose centre seemeth this poor soul of mine ; 
 
 But that a wondrous ring of steadfast glory, 
 
 Resting on Earth, girds me with strength divine. 
 
 That midnight strain — that bleat of fond reliance — 
 Bring thoughts of One, our Father-friend alway ; 
 
 That solemn splendour on the far horizon, 
 
 Burns with bright glimpses of the Eternal Day. 
 
 How in the dead night-hours come to the spirit, 
 Visions of what hath been, and what shall be ! 
 
 The glooms and grandeurs of the hoary ages, — 
 The Golden Time that later eyes shall see. 
 
 There, the wild revels round lascivious idols — 
 The shining Cross borne over fields of blood ; 
 
 Here, the sweet incense of earth's mingled voices, 
 Lifted to One, All-wise, All- great, All-good. 
 
 There, pale thin spectres thronging leaguered cities, 
 Fire-wasted fields, and reeking battle- grounds ; 
 
 Here, happy homesteads, window-deep in harvests, 
 And thriving towns — one hum of pleasant sounds.
 
 66 SUMMER TWILIGHT. 
 
 The sword's sharp eloquence — the insolent trumpet 
 Stilled at Love's challenge, potent-sweet and kind ; 
 
 Squalor, and sin, and deathly darkness, flying 
 Before the eternal morning of the mind. 
 
 O Time, thou voyager by that vast river, 
 
 "Whose silent currents onward roll and sweep, 
 
 From the bright well-head of the forfeit Eden, 
 Down — ever down to the Eternal Deep. 
 
 When, with thy marshalled hosts of deathless spirits. 
 
 Will thy long voyage cease for evermore — 
 Thine awful argosy of mortal passions 
 
 Landed before the Lord of that dim shore ? 
 
 Son of Eternity ! world-warring Angel ! 
 
 When, with faint-faltering feet, and eye grown dim, 
 AVilt thou find rest — put off thy battered harness — 
 
 Where flowers ambrosial soothe each bruised limb r 
 
 Read we aright, Time, thine hourly warning ! 
 
 The nights pass swiftly by, the long days cease ; 
 Soon shall we enter, weary way-worn pilgrims, 
 
 The gates of that Great City of Love and Peace.
 
 SUMMER TWILIGHT. 67 
 
 There, filled with perfect bliss, in heavenly places, 
 By service sweet fulfilling His decrees — 
 
 Thou shalt be to us like an old-world minstrel 
 With sad-sweet songs and lingering memories. 
 
 Memories of fruitless hopes, and passionate sorrows. 
 
 And fears, and all the Spirit's awful strife ; 
 With sweeter memories of that dreary Chaos 
 
 Pierced by the glowing breath of Higher Life ! 
 
 Then shall we see what here is faintly dreamed-of, 
 That angel-powers are ever round our feet ; 
 
 And in the God-given cup of Life is trembling 
 The bitter drop to make the sweet more sweet. 
 
 And though oftimes on earth we pine and murmur, 
 Seeing with sullen eyes, nor Good, nor Eight ; 
 
 Then shall we feel this mighty round of Darkness, 
 A hand's-breadth shadow in the boundless Light. 
 
 Thus speaks " the better voice," when weary-hearted 
 We find Life's path-ways Winter-dark and cold ; 
 
 And yearn again, with childhood's eager fingers, 
 To clutch at flowers in sparkling heaps of gold ! 
 
 f 2
 
 68 SUMMElt TWILIGHT. 
 
 Thus speaks — in darker and dread-flying moments, 
 When the vexed soul rebels 'gainst His great Breath, 
 
 Wild-wishing, Life were one bright Summer sparkle, 
 Out-trampled by the dusty heels of Death. 
 
 Drear thoughts unborn through all this tranquil season, 
 When the calm soul hath keys of wondrous might, 
 
 Soft-stirred to harmonies, divine and glorious, 
 By the fond fingers of the Summer-night. 
 
 O breathing silence ! beating heart of Quiet ! 
 
 Hushing the querulous thought to dreams sublime : 
 Sweet solemn Presence ! something heavenly -holy 
 
 Bringing again the Angel-days of Time ! 
 
 Spirit-like, in the circling arch of Heaven 
 
 We feel our Life grow wondrous large and stroDg ; 
 
 Its secret wells, Earth's fallen sphere o'erflowing, 
 In waves of living glory roll along. 
 
 Entranced, we hear the ceaseless inner-voices 
 Of all things — lo ! a mightier voice doth call 
 
 From the four quarters of the midnight heavens 
 Divine and sweet, and sounding-ou through all !
 
 SUMMER TAVILIGHT. 69 
 
 And from yon starry threshold, ever blowing 
 Soft airs of Heaven, in balmy currents, beat : 
 
 World-pilgrims we, through regions wild and lonely, 
 Cheering our weary way with odours sweet. 
 
 We see the long dark days of brooding Sorrow 
 Sink down to happy calms and lovely eves — 
 
 His bounteous blessings, falling, unobtrusive, 
 Like dew-drops on the dry sun-smitten leaves. 
 
 Strengthened by claspings of a Hand Almighty, 
 All earthly things have Heaven at their core ; 
 
 And in the lavish element of Mercy 
 
 The Earth is sweeping onwards evermore. 
 
 ( ) night of steadfast calm, and haunted twilight, 
 
 Lifting our souls from sphere to brightening sphere— 
 
 We mount with reverent feet the Empyreal ladder 
 On whose far summit loving hands appear, 
 
 Calling us home — for in our mortal bosom 
 There throbs a Spirit born not with our birth, 
 
 A spark of subtle fire — a seraph-splendour 
 
 Thrills the dry bones, and binds the dust of earth.
 
 70 SUMMER TWILIGHT. 
 
 Earthwards we came, shorn of our forfeit glories, 
 To live our Life, and His great way complete : 
 
 Erelong returned, to sweep through harps of Heaven 
 Ionian anthems, wondrous, grand, and sweet. 
 
 Beyond the shock of Time — the bounds of Darkness- 
 Far down the Ages shall the tidings run 
 
 Ever and onward — the Great Triune Mystery — 
 The unsealed mystery of His dying Son. 
 
 (1844.)
 
 JOB XXXYIII. 
 
 FB0M A SEW AND LITERAL TRANSLATION OP THE BOOK 
 
 OF JOB, FBOM THE ORIGINAL HEBEEW, INTO 
 
 ENGLISH BLANK TERSE. 
 
 7 ERSE. 
 
 1. Jehotah from the tempest answered Job, 
 
 2. And said, Who is this that maketh counsel dark, 
 By speeches lacking knowledge ? Pray-thee now, 
 
 3. Bind-up thy loins like a strong-man, for I 
 Demand of thee, and do thou make Me known ! 
 
 4. Where wast thou at the Foundings of the Earth ? 
 Declare, if knowledge thou indeed dost know ! 
 
 5. Who set its measures ? — seeing that thou knowest ! 
 Or who stretched over it the boundary -line ? 
 
 (>. On what were its foundations sunk, or who 
 Laid down the corner-stone thereof, the whfle 
 
 7. The stars of Morning altogether sang, 
 And all the sons of Elohim shouted loud ! 
 
 8. And icJto shut-in the sea with folding-gates ; 
 When it burst-forth, outflowing from the womb.
 
 72 job xxxviii. 
 
 VERSE. 
 
 9. And when I made a cloud its covering, 
 
 And darkness flowing-down its swaddling-band ; 
 
 10. And I brake up my graven-line of Earth 
 Above it, and placed a bar and folding-gates, 
 
 11. And said, Unto this point thou comest, but 
 Thou shalt not add thereto ; this bound is set 
 Against the swelling pride of thy great waves. 
 
 12. — From the beginning of thy days, didst thou 
 Command the Morning ? or make the dawning light 
 
 13. To know his station, thence to seize upon 
 The out-spread borders of the Earth, whereby 
 The Evil-doers are shaken out of her ? 
 
 14. She turneth under, like the potter's clay 
 Unto the mould, and things uplift-themselves, 
 Like as it were a garment covering her ; 
 
 15. But from the Evil-doers their share of light 
 Is holden back, and broken the strong arm 
 
 16. In casting forth the spear. Hast thou gone down 
 Unto the winding inlets of the Sea, 
 
 Or in the unsounded hollow of the Deep 
 
 17. Hast thou proceeded ? Were the doors of Death 
 Laid open unto thee, and didst thou see 
 
 18. The doors of the Shadow of Death ? Didst thou descry 
 The uttermost expanses of the Earth ? 
 
 Declare, if thou dost know the whole thereof ! 
 
 19. Say, which way doth the Light retire to rest ;
 
 JOB XXXVIII. 73 
 
 VERSE. 
 
 20. And Darkness — which his station ? Seeing that 
 Thou leadest him unto his utmost bound, 
 
 3 ad also knowest the pathways of his house — 
 
 21. Knowest thou because thou wast begotten then, 
 And that the number of thy days is great ? 
 
 22. Hast thou gone into the treasuries of snow, 
 And hast thou seen the treasuries of hail, 
 
 23. Which I reserved for the Wintry time 
 Of binding-up the Earth, and for the day 
 Of seizing and devouring its green things ? 
 
 24. In what way is the Light apportioned out 
 So evenly ; how scattereth it abroad 
 
 25. The East-wind on the Earth ? Who hollowed out 
 A channel for the overflowing rain, 
 
 And for the piercing shaft of thunders a track ? 
 2(3. To bring rain on the Earth where no man is, 
 
 The AVilderness wherein there is no man ; 
 27. To saturate the place of shattered rocks, 
 
 And land by fire convulsed, and so to cause 
 
 The fertile spot of tender green to spring. 
 2s. Is there a father to the rain ; or who 
 
 Hath made the drops of dew to be brought forth ? 
 29. Out of whose womb hath issued forth the ice ; 
 
 And the hoar frost that falhtli from the heavens 
 30 Who hath engendered ? When the waters in 
 
 The likeness of a stone conceal themselves,
 
 74 JOB XXXTIII. 
 
 VERSE. 
 
 And when the faces of the Deep cling fast 
 
 31. Unto each other ? Hast thou also bound-up 
 The genial motions of the Summer-heat 
 
 Or loosed the nipping-blasts of Winter-cold ? 
 
 32. Didst thou bring back the distant scattered winds 
 Each in his season ; and didst thou lead forth 
 The wasting Northern Wind with all his sons ? 
 
 33. Knowest thou the statutes of the Heavens ? Didst thou 
 Really ordain their sovereignty on Earth ? 
 
 34. Hast thou uplifted to the heavy cloud 
 Thy voice of thunder ; and the overflow 
 
 35. Of waters — doth it cover thee ? Dost thou 
 Send forth the lightnings, and do they go forth, 
 
 36. And say to thee, Behold us ! Who displayed 
 His Wisdom in the colouring of the clouds, 
 
 Or who gave to their sculptured forms Sis skill ? 
 
 37. Who numbereth their watery atoms by 
 
 His Wisdom ; and the falling showers of Heaven 
 
 38. Who bringeth down, when the small vaporous dust 
 Is fused into a molten mass, and when 
 
 The drops do cling together ? 
 
 *#* The words printed in italic are not in the Hebrew Text; 
 they are inserted to make the sense clearer to the English reader, 
 after the manner of the Authorized Version.
 
 AUTUMN THOUGHTS. 
 
 It is the time — the solemn Autumn-time. 
 When the rich world of Summer must decay : 
 The wild fruits fall — o'erpast their mellow prime ; 
 And some sweet race of flowers dies every day ; 
 And o'er the wide grey meadows, thick and fast, 
 Drift the dead forest-leaves, caught by the wailing blast. 
 
 O'er hill and vale, a restless spirit broods — 
 Sad-haunting noises fitfully rise and fall, 
 Heart-touching, bringing us in solemn moods, 
 To muse on worldly joys gone past recall: 
 To count life's mispent hours (heaven's precious boon!) 
 And hours ere Death to come, and vanish just as soon. 
 
 The bright Time-present soon becomes the Past — 
 Far-off, a glittering point of lingering thought ! 
 The years flit by ; the Future comes at last,
 
 '6 AUTUMN THOUGHTS. 
 
 And with it, Death ! and all our dreams are nought ! 
 
 So short our life, but glimmering motes are we 
 
 A little sunshine-dance, and out of sight we flee ! 
 
 Death's shadowy finger ever moving round, 
 To every point of time must surely go ; 
 But none knoweth when shall his last summons sound- 
 In childhood's ear it may be whispered low ; 
 Or from the banquet start the wedding-guest ; 
 Or in fond friendly voice, call good old age to rest. 
 
 We die each hour we live ! Life's secret wells 
 Waste in calm-taken breath or heart-deep sighs, 
 Even as the wind-borne sound of clanging bells, 
 In lingering lessening murmurs softly dies ; 
 Yet in light sports we waste the flying hours, 
 Thoughtless, as children are, in churchyards gathering 
 flowers. 
 
 Life hath its lavish Spring-time ; day and night 
 Yielding each yearning sense all-glorious dowers — 
 Its Summer, rich with many a calm delight ; 
 Love's balmy feelings, Mind's immortal powers — 
 But let us meanwhile for the morrow care, 
 Lest the wild Autumn-weather smite us unaware.
 
 AUTUMN THOUGHTS. 77 
 
 For Life and Death together once must meet 
 In each man's time — the end of all his years ! 
 We revel gaily, so the hours run fleet : 
 "We measure their slow steps with trickling tears : 
 We sleep, and nothing know — but Time steals by ! 
 Ail hour comes, when the world slips from us, and we die! 
 
 Aye ! all are thine, inexorable Death — 
 The dear familiar forms, the hearts of worth : 
 Dread spirit, withering with thy wizard-breath 
 The fairy-circle of the happiest hearth ; 
 Scattering the light so richly wont to shine ; 
 Breaking the tendrils sweet that heart to heart entwine. 
 
 Thine is the slumbering babe, whose innocent smiles. 
 To this poor world bring gleams of Heaven near ; 
 The happy youth, whom fairy-lore beguiles 
 His little golden Babels oft to rear: 
 And the fond maiden, in whose tearful eyes 
 Time sits, Love-charmed, and weaves his sweet false 
 prophecies. 
 
 Thine is the mother too, whose priceless worth 
 
 M akes thoughtful children dream of those old days, 
 
 When Angels folded their bright wings on earth ;
 
 78 AUTUMN THOUGHTS. 
 
 And thine is manhood, up Life's mountain- ways, 
 Great-hearted, toiling on ; or bowed with years, 
 Winning rich gleams of Hope through Memory's stormy 
 tears. 
 
 To all Earth's children comes this equal fate, 
 Or clothed in purple or in hodden-grey ; 
 The beggar's staff, the sceptral sign of state, 
 Alike at thy stern summons cast away : 
 Here, the green weeds ; there, blazon'd banners wave, 
 What finds the battening worm but dust in either grave ? 
 
 How vain, Ambition ! dreaming of trampled crowns, 
 And world-wide conquests, lo ! the dreamer's dead ! 
 And Power — not armies vast, nor bastion'd towns, 
 Guard from thy dread assault the conqueror's head ! 
 Through armour-of-proof thy touch as easily goes 
 As to the little heart beneath the cradle-clothes. 
 
 Affection's tears can nought with thee avail ; 
 Nor Beauty dazzle thee with her bright eye ; 
 Thou wilt not hearken to Love's fervent tale, 
 Nor Virtue's voice — the fated one must die ! 
 Youth mocks thee vainly ; no Medean power 
 Hath wise Old Age, to stay the dark-descending hour.
 
 AUTUMN THOUGHTS. 7! 
 
 A little while — although my life hath told 
 Its golden prime alone, I too may go ! 
 The spring-time rain shall loose the churchyard-mo aid: 
 ,Babu-breathing airs' of Summer o'er me blow ; 
 Between the graves, the drifted leaves lie deep ; 
 And the snow fall ; while I — I shall be dead-asleep ! 
 
 A little while, and haply I may lie 
 Where no fond tears may on my face be shed ; 
 Xo kiss bring comfort — no heart-stricken cry 
 Of those I love, arouse me from my bed : 
 A short time longer — young and old shall go 
 Beside my grave, and none shall heed who there lies low 
 
 Yet still I live : aye ! years may yet be mine, 
 And soft desires mature to rich delights ; 
 Love lead me where the lavish Summers shine : 
 Or sorrows beat like dark December-nights 
 My weary staggering spirit, till the end 
 Shall be a thing desired— aud Death, a welcome friend ! 
 
 Sad thoughts assail me now, by night and day ; 
 For Death hath stricken those I dearly love ; 
 Alas ! no power his fearful course can stay —
 
 80 AUTUMN THOUGHTS. 
 
 No wail of anguish, touch of pity move ! 
 When his dread shadow stalketh through the room, 
 Shall mortal hand beat back the Heaven-strung shaft of 
 doom? 
 
 First a dear Sister died ; a gentle child 
 Whom once to love was to love evermore — 
 Ah me ! to miss thy prattling sweetly-wild, 
 And think all thy soft winning ways are o'er ; 
 And but in dreams, to see thy blue eyes shine, 
 And feel thy little fondling arms my neck entwine ! 
 
 Plow like thy namesake, wert thou, darling "Rose" — 
 As beautiful, and in thy life as brief ! 
 It but a little shower and sunshine knows, 
 And dieth even in the opening leaf— 
 Thou mightest not o'erpass that circle sweet 
 Of hours Elysian, drawn round childhood's fairy feet ! 
 
 Dying, without a wrinkling touch of Care ; 
 Ere Sin could lure thee with her silvery tongue ; 
 Ere Grief, forestalling Time, could blanch thine hair ; 
 Or Eears, soul-scaring, haunt thee all night long — 
 Dear one, gone home ; we will not weep for thee : 
 Thy tears for us should fall, if tears in Heaven can be !
 
 AUTUMN THOUGHTS. 81 
 
 And then my Mother died — O, there is naught 
 More bitter for the youthful heart to know ! 
 How hard to seize the slow bewildering thought, 
 And feel that one so loved is lying low : 
 Though boding years of suffering and of care 
 Had dimmed her lustrous eye, and Autumn-touched her 
 hair. 
 
 What pictured memories of the past arise, 
 Like sun-gleams breaking through a cloud of tears ! 
 I see her now, with chddhood's sparkling eyes — 
 Now with the thoughtful gaze of riper years ; 
 In joy, how happy-hearted ; and in sorrow, 
 How patient-sweet and hopeful for the brighter morrow ! 
 
 Never could we requite thee, Mother dear, 
 E'en with a life-long term of loving thought, 
 For all thy lavish care from year to year, 
 Since first within us Life's keen motions wrought : 
 A larger life we need — a happier clime : 
 Our heart's deep currents break the measured marge of 
 Time ! 
 
 For one bright smile of thine, like those of old, 
 O I could press through Death's mysterious gloom ! 
 A thousand joys might loosen from my hold 
 
 G
 
 82 AUTUMN THOUGHTS. 
 
 But once to grasp thine hand beyond the tomb — 
 To feel thy kiss upon my happy cheek, 
 Or in the old sweet voice of earth to hear thee speak. 
 
 Ah ! fond desires to no sure issue brought — 
 The eagle- will out-soars Life's earthy powers : 
 Thy wished presence must alone be sought 
 In the dim track of Memory's treasured hours : 
 Or in lone watches of the night, we meet 
 Where Heaven's bright threshold draws my dream- 
 enchanted feet. 
 
 O happy memories of the Orient dawn 
 Of Life, sun-steeped, sparkling with rosy showers, 
 When Time hath all the Elysian light withdrawn, 
 And the moonlit melancholy eve is ours, 
 In thoughts and dreams, your spirit-splendours rise 
 And all the bright old mornings throng the tearful eyes. 
 
 Time, as in pity, loves to keep awhile 
 Life's desert rich with Memory's vernal stream ; 
 Bright visions now bring back her gentle smile, 
 Chasing the shadows of some cradle-dream : 
 Or rosy flecks of sunshine warmly rest 
 On her dear face, and mine soft-pillowed on her breast.
 
 AUTUMN THOUGHTS. 83 
 
 Or kneeling by her immemorial chair, 
 In the red firelight of our cottage-hearth, 
 We breathe to heaven each simple household prayer — 
 The purest incense of the fallen earth ! 
 Sweet dew of prayer and praise, by night and day, 
 ^Returned in blissful showers on all Life's after-way. 
 
 Fond thought still deems that home an Eden-nook. 
 Where the hushed wings of angels ever-stirred — 
 Sweet memories clustering round the Holy Book, 
 With her dear voice impressed on each bright word ; 
 Bringing to hours of thought a heavenly calm, 
 Clothing Life's arid waste with fountain and green palm. 
 
 Unfading memories these, O mother mine ! 
 Cheering our way along the lonely land, 
 Mingled with vision-gleams of forms divine — 
 A shining crowd ! and one fond beckoning hand 
 Calling us up the starry heights above, 
 Nor Death, nor that Great Life breaking the bonds of 
 Love ! 
 
 Filled with the summer-calm of perfect bliss, 
 I know thy yearning heart will still find room, 
 For all beloved on earth — thou would'st not miss 
 
 g2
 
 Si AUTUMN THOUGHTS. 
 
 One cherished flower, plucked for a darker doom : 
 Surely so sweet a pleader shall prevail — 
 Thy tears, if heard oil earth, shall they in Heaven fail ! 
 
 How great thy Love, that thus thy spirit clings 
 To all beloved, suffering and lingering here ! 
 That still the shadow of thy seraph-wings 
 Is over us — thy sweet voice ever near — 
 Constraining us on Life's uncertain way, 
 So that our oft-enticed feet go not astray. 
 
 Once in my childhood, I lay near to death, 
 (All wan and drooping, Spring-time's golden flower!) 
 How sweet to think a mother's prayerful breath 
 Thrilled to the trembling core with wondrous power : 
 Surely the spirit, that then had gone before, 
 Shall yet with spotless wings 'light on that happy shore ! 
 
 Surely the Life then spared shall here be stirred 
 To glorious issues in the Almighty's hand ! 
 Each golden precept, and each earnest word — 
 Immortal seed broad-cast upon the land — 
 Through the dim years, in harvests deep to rise, 
 And ever shine above in thy clear spirit-eyes.
 
 ATTHnO" THOUGHTS. 85 
 
 Like Pilgrim, wrapt in tranced thought intense,. 
 I fain would see.the shining mountains gleam — 
 A glory, dazzling to all mortal sense ; 
 fiSoie lovely than the Poet's fairest dream! 
 There by the living streams, 'mong forms divine 
 Unutterable delights for evermore are thine. 
 
 Waking from happy dreams, sometimes I feel 
 Glimpses by night of thee are kindly given — 
 Xo striving thought can all the truth reveal ; 
 Soon from the light, the baffled sense is driven ; 
 And but a lingering heavenly smile doth tell 
 In sweet and earnest way that all indeed is well. 
 
 Ah me ! Life's troubled ways have kept my feet 
 From sad- sweet pilgrimage to thy distant grave ; 
 I can but picture grass and wild flowers sweet — 
 Sole epitaph above thy dust to wave ! 
 And yet what need of more — thy virtues here 
 Are on the fond hearts' tablets written, Mother dear ! 
 
 No pictures carry down the after-years 
 The limning of thy mild and earnest face 
 But evermore even through rising tears
 
 86 AUTUMN THOUGHTS. 
 
 'Tis sweet, in Memory's glass, thy form to trace : 
 The years may pass, and all that love thee die, 
 Thy features lost to earth shall shine beyond the sky. 
 
 Thy glowing smile, that oft was clouded here, 
 Is now eternal beauty on thy brow ; 
 Thy voice so potent-sweet on Earth to hear, 
 O could we hear its thrilling eloquence now ! 
 Life's sufferings ended — the wild warfare done — 
 The life of deathless life thy happy soul hath won. 
 
 Why should dark fancies of the grave appal — 
 Think we of that which goes not to the ground ; 
 For if Life's marvellous house to ruin fall, 
 The Spirit is lord of realms eternal crowned. 
 Even so the amaranth's sweetness fills the skies 
 When the sere-stricken plant drawn earthward droops 
 and dies ! 
 
 Death is called Night ; but oh ! 'tis like the night — 
 Earth's shadow lost in one eternal day ! 
 Life ends not then, but doth begin aright 
 Clothed in splendour fading not away : 
 Breaking the sevenfold bands of Time, at length, 
 The soul, like Sampson, wakes, glowing with giant-strength. 
 (1844.)
 
 
 THE EAELY VIOLET. 
 
 i. 
 
 Would that the balmy days of Spring were come ! 
 My heart's sick pulse beats wearily to and fro ; 
 While Earth is lying cold and deathly-dumb, 
 Wrapt in white cerements of the Wintry snow, 
 O sweetest of all sweet-recurring times — 
 Thou bright and earnest childhood of the Tear, 
 How childlike-earnest I with passionate rhymes, 
 Would smite and pierce old Winter's frozen ear ; 
 
 And call from deepest Chaos drear 
 ( )f night-like Day, and white-bewildering night, 
 Thy warm and mellow eves, and morns of lavish light.
 
 ss 
 
 THE EAELT VIOLET. 
 
 II. 
 
 Arise, O spirit of Spring, with fervent song 
 Sweep o'er yon lone white wold and woodland bleak : 
 With soft magnetic touches, thrill and throng 
 Each sluggard sense, and flush the pallid cheek. 
 Break-up the barren silence ; chill and mute 
 Even the stormcock shuns the rushing rain ; 
 Alone the robin pipes his piteous flute, 
 Charmed by the far-off glimmering casement-pane — 
 
 Nor pipes to my lone ear in vain — 
 And dusky hordes of wild-fowl, hungry and spare, 
 Eroin frozen mountain-meres, driven seaward, clang the 
 
 air. 
 
 in. 
 
 When I look forth, thoughtful, to see where lie 
 The old familiar places of my love — 
 "Wide wastes, slow-drifting, circle my sad eye, 
 With swirling storms of snow and sleet above — 
 A dreary realm, where no soft shadows fall ; 
 No sounds arise, save whispers from afar 
 Heard spirit-deep, as Time should wearily call 
 To silence wearier — We only are ! 
 
 Nor sun, or moon, or lonely star 
 Comfort the desolate land ; and his white head 
 Weird Winter lays along the grave of all things dead.
 
 THE EAELT TIOLET. ^9 
 
 IT. 
 
 Sometimes of all his Titan splendour shorn 
 pes the Sun, a phantom red and strange ; 
 And Nature, roused from deathlike trance forlorn, 
 Leaps staggering forth in wild and wondrous change : 
 The jNor'winds rage — the rains plunge heavily past 
 Through dreary gulfs of melancholy sound; 
 And sad shrill noises pierce the sullen blast 
 Like cries of spirits, from airy shores profound 
 
 Dashed headlong to the dismal ground — 
 Whirled o'er wild crags and chasms and forests stark : 
 While day gropes blindly down from dark to deeper dark. 
 
 O for a potent spell, to shape awhile 
 A gorgeous pageant of enchanted days, 
 When Hope — the Ariel of Life's lonely isle — 
 Charmed with sweet airs down childhood's flowery maze ! 
 O that on plumes of swift and silent thought, 
 In wide and widening rings, my soul would rise 
 Over these late-dark days, till memory caught 
 Far off, the marvellous gleams of sunset-skies ; 
 
 Thence fondly feasting her lone eyes 
 With all the spirit-splendours of the past, 
 That on the years unborn their rosy reflex cast.
 
 90 THE EARLY VIOLET. 
 
 TI. 
 
 It may not be — sharp pains assail my heart, 
 And deeper shadows settle on my soul ; 
 Veiling the vision of its sunny start 
 On that great race which hath no earthly goal : 
 In Memory's shadowy masque, I see alone 
 Hopes, wisp-like, dancing on the gulf Despair ; 
 Fair Friendships, with the Summer-swallow flown ; 
 And Sickness, sharing with her sister Care, 
 
 The bitter crust — the lenten fare ! 
 And Death, late-calling those I love away ; 
 And all the ambushed armies that our Life waylay. 
 
 VII. 
 
 When will the slow hours bring that time again 
 "Whose breath shall loose this sullen Death-in-Life- 
 Whose voice in all the chambers of the brain 
 Shall rouse the spirit-echoes rich and rife ? 
 Would I, in pensive parle of earnest thought, 
 Magician-like, the future years forecast, 
 Suddenly all bright phantasies are brought 
 To blear confusion ; blast and wilder blast, 
 
 Whirling in circles wild and vast, 
 Drive the thick-hurrying rain and ringing hail, 
 On my lone roof all day, and all night long prevail.
 
 THE EAKLY TIOLET. 91 
 
 Till. 
 
 I yearn for Spring ; and ah ! 'tis not in vain — 
 .a 1'trle gentle vqice doth softly steal 
 O'er the wild hurley of the wind and rain, 
 And once again the old Wythe pulse I feel ! 
 Before rne stai'ts an apparition bright — 
 The Early Yiolet ! herald of the hours 
 When rosy vapours meet the morning-light 
 O'er molten snows, and disenchanted flowers 
 Of frost descend in silvery showers — 
 Blessings on that dear hand which gathered thee, 
 Sweet forest-flower, charmed root of Life and Love 
 to me ! 
 
 IX. 
 
 In the wild lap of rugged Winter nursed, 
 Thy fairy-fingers with a touch unbind 
 Earth's stubborn thrall ; thy subtle breathings burst 
 The sterile barriers of the Norland wind — 
 Leading along the land, by farm and fold, 
 Through dingles green, thy shrinking sisters — soon 
 Shall Man and Nature sweet communion hold 
 Upon the hills at morn ; in woods at noon ; 
 
 Or where, all night, the mellow moon 
 Dips her white pillar in the restless wave ; 
 And tracts of star-lit bloom bind Winter in his grave !
 
 92 THE EARLY VIOLET. 
 
 X. 
 
 With fervent prophecies the sense overwhelm — 
 For soon shall Spring unto the Earth return, 
 Even as a ghost from Hades' hidden realm, 
 Thrilled by the nectar-drop from his dark urn : 
 Erelong the pulse of Nature full and large 
 Shall beat her airy bounds ; Heaven's arches glow ; 
 And wandering waters, dashed from marge to marge, 
 Loosen the tangled flags from ice and snow : 
 
 And tinkling rills begin to flow 
 Through smouldering drifts ; and flying shafts of light, 
 Sharpened and swift, wide wold and upland-forest smite. 
 
 XI. 
 
 O joy, to realise Spring's rosy dawn ! 
 When the meek spirit of the Sunbeam weaves 
 Rich fancies on the vernal Earth, indrawn 
 Through the fine fibres of the flowers and leaves ; 
 When the warm dews, cleaving the gnarled bark, 
 Break the brown rings where years embalmed lie ; 
 And showers, with flickering spears of light and dark, 
 On windy chariots swiftly whirl and fly ; 
 Or haply, Heaven sails calmly by 
 With starry argosies from shore to shore, 
 While Earth, unseen, to some bright goal glides evermore.
 
 THE EARLY VIOLET. 93 
 
 XII. 
 
 Bright harbinger of Spring ! fain would I follow- 
 In thy delicious footsteps, full of Hope 
 For balmy days, by bush and briary hollow 
 DnripMeg with sylvan gloom the shining slope — 
 
 - 'Xeath twilight under-roofs of cloistered green, 
 
 Where, glades lie glimmering to the circling hours — 
 Green fanes, o'er-arched with sun or starlight sheen, 
 Where ferns heat-smitten, batten on sweet showers ; 
 
 And moonlit weeds seem fair as flowers ; 
 And on the murmuring boughs and mossy ground 
 
 The rich rains flying fall with wild delicious sound. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 The golden Time returns — of storms o'erblowu, 
 "When southerly pathways of the sun are seen 
 In brightening rings ; and ridges, hard as stone, 
 Are softly swathed in belts of gold and green ; 
 When branches, white with starry knots of rime, 
 Drop fruitful rains, melting the stubborn mould ; 
 And shadows quickly fill the fragrant lime ; 
 And scattered acorns at our feet unfold 
 Slowly their shoots of rosy gold ; 
 And maples crown the fields with dusky fires, 
 And witch-elms flower, and pines expand their glistening 
 spires.
 
 i)i THE EARLY VIOLET. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 With, lovely gleams of breathing bud and bloom, 
 Shall my sad eyes be sweetly-startled oft, 
 Should I, faint-footed, leave my lonely room 
 To roam the garden or the orchard-croft — 
 Fair snowdrops, on whose virgin-petals shine 
 Hearts greenly-blazoned ; cowslip-clusters bright, 
 Whose fragrant breath in beakers of bright wine 
 Shall charm whole households, when the yule-log's light 
 
 Plames down the drear white Winter-night : 
 And Childhood's favourite flowers in myriads seen — 
 Long tracts of shining stars in realms of deepest green. 
 
 xv. 
 
 And wild-fires on the gleaming quarry-sides 
 From tufted poppies ; and that golden star, 
 Whose whitened orb, in the hot season, glides — 
 A restless spirit o'er field and wood afar ; 
 Wind-flowers and daffodils by mere and lake 
 Wooing the breeze — sweet source of pensive rhyme ! 
 Dream-lorn primroses ; and the thorn that shakes 
 Its bursting pearls in myriads for the time 
 
 Of the May-morn's empurpled prime ; 
 And sweet-briar sweeter that so soon it dies ; 
 And fruit-trees scattering wide their fragrant prophecies.
 
 THE EARLY VIOLET. 95 
 
 XVI. 
 
 O golden Time, with garlands of bright flowers 
 Circling the Wintry wastes by day and night ; 
 O joyous Time, that doth enrich the hours 
 With bridal songs — rich dowries of delight ! 
 Where crystal daggers shatter from the eaves, 
 Shall the blythe swallow build Love's nest of clay ; 
 The druid-wren her temple of green leaves 
 Shall fill with song ; the robin pipe all day 
 
 In the old sweet familiar way ; 
 And ringdove-strains of rich and passionate tone, 
 Seem softened bugle-notes in far-off valleys blown. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 How sweet to hear, chiding the laggard morn, 
 The lark — sweet centre of wide spheres of song ! 
 The nightingale, like some glad creature born 
 In Paradise, the old bright age prolong : 
 And in mid-stream, the warbling ouzel see 
 Breaking the water into sparkling rings ; 
 The linnet basking on the sunny tree, 
 And full of song, preening her happy wings ; 
 
 And mark beside the woodland-springs, 
 On the mossed stone the silent halcyon sit, 
 < )r like a spirit o'er the reedy marish flit.
 
 96 THE EAKLY VIOLET. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 The simple fly with murmuring wings shall break 
 The Wintry silence, Lethe-like, and drear : 
 The smallest stir of life shall help to make 
 That harmony my soul delights to hear. 
 The hum of wild bees in the flowering sallow 
 Early at Love's sweet labour, full of mirth ; 
 And sound of harness on the hillside fallow 
 Shall tell how soon the rugged strength of earth, 
 
 Subdued, shall bear a vernal birth, 
 Whose fruitful harvests swelled by Breath sublime, 
 Shall guard the soul's bright house in battle-days of Time. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 O beauteous flower ! how richly art thou crowned 
 With early memories, liberal of Delight — 
 Of seasons, when with every wandering sound, 
 Came fairy -fancies, wondrous rich and bright : 
 Voice unto voice seemed ever-calling sweet, 
 From hidden dell and far-off shining steep — 
 From streams on sedgy shores that idly beat 
 With dreamlike noise ; from verdurous bosques that 
 sleep, 
 In sunshine soft, or shadow deep ; 
 From nooks of twilight sown with stars and dews — 
 Voices that all the sense would with great joy suffuse !
 
 THE EARLY VIOLET. 97 
 
 .- 
 
 XX. 
 
 Again a boy — I climb the high hillside, 
 Breasting the wild shafts of the upland rain ; 
 Track the dark river through the woodland wide ; 
 Or thread the shadowy windings of the lane — 
 To find the fair-unfolding flowers that make 
 The joy and marvel of Life's early hours ; 
 To hear new voices in each bush and brake, 
 And stir of brooding wings in leafy bowers ; 
 
 Or over fields of clustered flowers 
 Follow the hawkmoth's voiceless wavering flight — 
 The thrice-born prophet of immortal life and light ! 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Or lie in idlesse in some sunny glade, 
 
 (For sylvan pastime in a Pagan-land 
 
 A fitting scene) where flickering light and shade 
 
 Wrought fairer dreams than Prosper' s airy wand — 
 
 There among flowers, unto my tranced eye 
 
 Came the bright shapes of many an earthy creed ; 
 
 That float in air, and glisten in the sky, 
 
 Flash from the waters, breathe from flower and weed, 
 
 And smile in seas of harvest-seed, 
 
 Or make all night those spirit-startling sounds 
 
 That rise and fall, and linger in lone forest-grounds. 
 
 ii
 
 98 THE EARLY VIOLET. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 These were but glittering motes of Heathendom — 
 Delusive figments of old dreaming Time ! 
 Now, fairer visions with the violet come : 
 Sweet solemn thoughts review Creation's prime : 
 Visions of Chaos to its nether maze 
 Pierced by God's breath, and the keen brand of Morn ; 
 Of all the marvellous works of God's own days — 
 Flowers and all fruitful trees in Eden born 
 
 That ere their balmy leaves had worn 
 One trembling raindrop, gleamed in Adam's eyes 
 Opening upon the shining fields of Paradise. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 Thoughts of the happy days ere Sorrow came, 
 Ere Sin's dread shadow from that Garden fair 
 Made dark the Earth, and the bright cherub-flame 
 Drave out the Weepers to the common air : 
 And thoughts of all the myriad sons of Earth, 
 Toiling thenceforth in bitter sweat and tears ; 
 Of pain and anguish in the hour of birth, 
 And wearying sorrow through the after-years — 
 Till Death shall loose with sudden shears 
 Life's silver cord, or with a pitiless hand 
 Tear slowly, one by one, each heart-inwoven strand.
 
 THE EARLY YIOLET. 99 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 Yet in this dreary world of Sin and Grief, 
 Love's wondrous symbols shine upon the hours ; 
 With the sharp thorn and bristling thistle-leaf, 
 Bloom in due time all Eden's scattered flowers. 
 "When streams are black with frost, and ghostly-white 
 Lie field and wood, and wild rains sweep the wold ; 
 The fruitful seasons, lavish of delight, 
 Brood in the boughs and slumber in the mould — 
 
 Aye ! evermore the Earth is rolled 
 Through shining spheres and balmy realms of air, 
 For God is all-in-all, and Good lies everywhere ! 
 
 XXV. 
 
 Though from the cradle to the open tomb, 
 Sweet Love is chased by swifter-footed Sorrow, 
 Tet oft she makes the pallid cheek rebloom, 
 And crowns the dark night with a golden Morrow ! 
 And thus this lone-desponding heart of mine, 
 With quickened sense thrills unto tidings sweet ; 
 When flowers — bright relics of a world divine — 
 Bring the old glories round our pilgrim-feet ; 
 
 And with sweet voices oft-repeat 
 The angel-breathings of that Garden fail*, 
 That God is all-in-all, and Good lies everywhere ! 
 
 (1845.) 
 
 h2
 
 Should the Author have the good fortune to 
 meet with a fair encouragement from the Public, for 
 his volume of Early Poems — Forest and Fireside 
 Hours — it is his intention, as soon as possible, to 
 
 publish a Second Volume, entitled " Phcebe, or the 
 Spirit of May-Eve," &c, being a Selection from 
 his later Poems, written between 1845 and 1853 : 
 dedicated, with permission, to his kind and esteemed 
 friend, the Rev. Arthur Benoni Evans, D.D., of 
 Market Bosworth, Leicestershire.
 
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