THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES PARVULA; OE, A FEW LITTLE EHYMES, ABOUT A FEW LITTLE FLOWERS, A FEW LITTLE BIRDS, AND A FEW LITTLE GIRLS: TO WHICH AEE ADDED, A FEW LITTLE SONGS, AND A FEW OTHER LITTLE THINGS. BY MINIMUS. LONDON : TRITBNER & CO., CO, PATERNOSTER ROW. r-c; A. Gould & Co., 43, Cranbouun Street, E.C. EEEATA. Page 11, line 2, for a colon read a comma. Page 17, line 7, for "fine" read "find." Page 76, line 7, for "net" read "not." Page 130, line 29, for full stop read comma. Page 130, line 30, for " e'en" read " even." Page 119, line 14, for "unto" read " imto." Page 165, line 21, tor full stop read semicolod. Page 168, line 13, read " The Rose of Sharon, Thou; and I,' Page 173, line 5, for " serge" read " swge." .•— > "" ■-— ' I know these rhymes will be pass'd by, And justly so, in sheer contempt : And yet, although I know not why, It pleases me that I have dreamt. Or, if some luckless wight there be, Shall chance a rhyme or two to see, How will he love to laugh at me ! " What trash, what nonsense !" — will, he cry — " How wholly from all thought exempt !" And yet, although I know not why, It pleases me that I have dreamt. CONTENTS. A FEW LITTLE FLOWERS. PAGE The Return of Spring ..... j Daisies --.....3 Stitchwort ---.-.. 4 Pimpernel ....... 5 The Violet 7 The Dying Hermit to the Lily of the Valley - - 8 The Pansy ---.... 9 Lines to Fanny, with a Bunch of White Pinks - - 10 Hyacinths ....... 12 The Daisy ....... 13 A Thought among the Eoses - - - - 15 Snowdrop ------- 16 Mignionette - - - . . - 17 Speedwell ----... 19 The Pansy and the Violet. (A Sonnet) - - - 20 Sent with a Rose to Rose ..... 21 The Violet and the Poppy- - - - - 22 The Garden Convolvulus or Ipomoea - - - 23 Wild Clematis ------ 25 Seaweed : or, A Wreath for Mary - - - 26 Mistletoe --.....30 Woodruff --..... 35 Eyebright ....... 36 Lavender ....... 33 A FEW LITTLE A Thought amongst the Birds The Happy Bird - To the Cuckoo. (A Sonnet) The Nightingale - The Restless Bird - 'lin'SwulloW Changeless Birds - BIRDS 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 VI CONTENTS. A FEW LITTLE GIRLS. The Little Girl and her Shadow - A Child's Thought about the Stars Little Lucy .... A Logical Stroll .... My Evening Walk with Sophy Our Nell To Florence. (A Sonnet) - Mary's Eelease .... Lines Addressed to a Little Girl - The Death of Eosa The Ninth of May .... A Sonnet ..... Emily ..... My May-day Dream Gentle Edith .... Heart Woes .... A Sonnet - - - Yes, I shall meet her fair and young How Eosa died .... The Universal Hope A FEW LITTLE SONGS. When singing Songs, all Hearts to break Oh ! that I could fly to thee, Love ! I look in thy dear eyes, sweet Dove ! Why should I seek in the far Western Isles Oh, crown me not with Eoses Basely, then, thou didst deceive me Where is Ellen ? I stay'd with her the latest Thy very frowns excel the smiles of others The Eye's the high road to the Heart Tho Bachelors .... Throe were the Graces Like Foam that shuns the Shelving Shore Phyllis ! dost thou love me ? Evensong .... - CONTENTS. VI 1 A FEW LITTLE LOVE LYRICS. PAGE ToEebecca - .... 105 Rosa 107 The Lovers Winter 109 "Tis true She broke her Faith to Me - - 111 Frailty 113 The Four-Leaved Shamrock .... 114 Love's Eye ------- 115 The Farewell 116 Far and Near - ... Hfi A FEW LITTLE EPIGRAMS. To Fanny ------- 121 On being asked why Rosalinda Byam had never fallen in love ------- 122 The Homeopathic Doctor's Son at Breakfast - - 123 On a certain well-known Statue - - - 124 Her Sweet Lips -----. 125 The Christian EpigTam ..... 120 A FEW LITTLE SCATTERLINGS. A Legend of Blackheath - * - - - - 129 The Human Touchstone ----- 133 The Human Ship - - - - 135 The Human Clock - - 136 The Human Fledgling - - - - 137 The Human Emmet - - - - 138 The Human Droplet - 139 The Human Wonder - - - - 140 The Human Mystery ... - 141 The Human Self-Survivor- - - - 143 The Human Immortal - - - 144 The Human Solitaire - - - 1 46 Che Hum;.]. Father Divine - 148 VI 1 1 (INTENTS. PAGE The Human Mother's Angel Babe - - - 150 The Human Future telescoped .... 152 The Human Soul's Nap ..... 1 53 The Human Soul's Counterpart - - - - 154 The Human Soul's Chart - - - - - 156 Tho Human Soul's Heaven - . - - - 158 Sappho ....... 160 To a Streamlet - - - - - - 164 Epitaph for my little Dog Boz .... 167 The Christian's Heart - - - - - 168 A Sonnet ....... 170 Heaven ....... 171 Lines ....... 173 The Bereaved Mother - - - - - 175 Myself ------- 177 Night 179 Two Persons ..... isi To my Mary - - - - - - 183 Why is the Night so still ? (A Sonnet) - - 184 Weep not Woman's Love Sun and Moon By the Sea - A Sonnet To my Mother Lines 185 186 187 188 190 191 192 POEMS. THE RETURN OF SPRING. The Cowslip with her golden key Has open'd now the door of Spring ; The Flow'rs peep out from, lawn and lea, And little Birds awake to sing. The Kingflow'r, with her golden cup, Comes forth, to catch the dewy rain ; Rejoiced at noon to yield it up, Untainted, back to Heav'n again. The virgin Daisies, one by one, Still to the genial season true, Kiss'd into being by the Sun, Bask out their little lives anew. B THE RETURN OF SPRING. The Wild Thyme breathes upon the air So sweet a breath, that thither stray, Love-led, the roving Bees, and there Steal honied kisses all the day. The Nightingales, love-mated, sing Their bridal lays in forest dells ; While all the little Lilies ring A marriage peal with ivory bells. The Lark that sunward sails along, Thro' music, till she seems to die, Dx-own'd in a flood of rising song, And make her grave in yon blue sky : Awakes a longing in my breast, Like her to sweetly float away, Song-wafted, to the realms of rest, And regions of eternal May. For if, great God ! so fair this Earth, Which Thou hast made for such as me, All soil'd with sin, and nothing worth, What must Thy world of Angels be 1 DAISIES. DAISIES. Ob. ! sight reviving to behold, Yon Daisies o'er the meadow spread ; With robes of white, and crowns of gold, And fringes tiriged with rosy red. Lo ! how they shine as emblems bright Of Saints beyond Death's dreary flood, With golden crowns, and garments white Resprinkled with the Saviour's blood. 4 STITCnWORT. STITCH WORT. The graceful Sbitchwort's starry flow'r, Now that the Spring is shaking Her emerald dust o'er bush and bow'r, Is seen from slumber waking. She bears ten little golden darts, Within a silver quiver : .And this the lesson she imparts, T>y many a peaceful river. " A time will come when War shall cease, And Mercy's voice be heeded ; When all the world shall be at peace, And sword no longer needed : " And all the weapons War hath known, Since Earth began her story, Be but as ancient relics shown Of what was ancient glory. " O, happy time ! thrice happy time ! When war-drums cease to rattle ; And not a heart in any clime Is widow'd by the battle : " And arms, which warriors deem'd of old So niigbty to deliver, Hang harmless, as these darts of gold Within their silver quiver." PIMPERNEL. PIMPERNEL. That scarlet flow'r, this morni is Asleep upou the grass, Isoatl'd "Tim Shepherd's Warning," Or, " Poor Mau s Weather-Glass. " For, when the black clouds lower, As now in yonder sky, Against, the coming shower She shuts her golden e ve. As though she knew who solely Can quell the tempest's strife, And so entrusted wkoll ■ To Him her patient life: Not vainly antedating The fury of the blast ; But in sweet slumber waiting, Till all its threats are past. But when the storm is over, She opes her eye again, To charm the musing rover Along the grassy plain. TIMPERNEL. In silent show she teaches, Where'er her blossoms be ; And thus it is she preaches, That little flow'r, to me : " How many a sheep has perish'd From out the Christian fold, Because he had not cherish'd Some truth his Shepherd told : " Perish'd, perchance, through scorning To brook some storm, which he, Who knew his Shepherd's Warning, Had suffer'd patiently. " ' To him who seeks salvation, To know this truth is given ; Without much tribulation He cannot enter Heaven.' " Who, had he trusted purely, Till the cloud had pass'd away, Had oped his eyes most surely, To greet a brighter day. " In peace the Christian sleeps him, When storms are gathering nigh ; For there is One who keeps him, As the apple of His eye." THE VIOLET. THE VIOLET. The golden gates of Heav'n unfold To welcome back the day ; The weary peasant o'er the wold Wends slow his homeward way. The Violet's fragrance fills the air, And thralls the yielding sense : Some flow'rs are gaudy, some are rare, But few such sweets dispense. This sweet endowerer of the gale I sought intently round, And only in the loneliest dale The bashful flow'ret found. Thus real worth retires, afraid To quit its native bow'r, Modest and humble, loves the shade, Like this sweet-scented flow'r. Oh ! may I then true worth possess ; Contented still to be Unknown where God delights to bless, And lew but God can see. 8 THE DYING HERMIT TO THE LILT OF THE VALLEY. THE DYING HERMIT TO THE LILY OF THE VALLEY Sigh, little Flower, sigh for me, When plaintive zephyrs fan ; I'd rather have one sigh from thee, Than thousand tears from man. "Weep, little Flower, weep for me, When dewy Eve descends ; More real is thy sympathy, Than all the world pretends. Toll little Flower, toll for me, Thy tender, tremulous bell ; And let the breeze the Sexton be To ring my funeral knell. Mourn, little Flower, mourn for me,. In dress of snowy white ; And I'll not ask the mockery Of man's sepulchral rite. Waft, little Flower, waft for me, Sweet incense to the skies ; That, wrapt in thee, my soul may flee, Entranced, to Paradise. THE PANSY. 9 THE PANSY, I saw the little Pansy bask In summer's sun beguiling ; As if her only pleasant task To live a life of smiling. -'&• I saw the same small Pansy moist, 'Neath heav'n's cold rain-drops sleeping ; As if she never had rejoiced, But lived a life of weeping. I saw the wind unkindly shake The harmless, silent, flower ; But she, too lissome far to break, Display'd the greater power. For, wounded neither by the rain, Nor by the rough wind's madness ; She waited patient, till again The Sun return'd with gladness. Fond Woman's like this little flow'r, That sees her moments sunny ; But life is not the constant hour When bees are making honey. For changing fate brings frowning skies — But Woman's patient reason Smiles on till brighter hours arise, And mocks the stormy season. 10 LINES TO FANNY. LINES TO FANNY, WITH A BUNCH OF WHITE PINKS. Along the garden-walk I stray VI, To cull a fitting flow'r for thee ; And musing there I long delay VI, Uncertain which that flow'r should be. For, for the Maid who wakes my Muse, In heart so pure, in face so fair, It needful was that I should choose The purest and the fairest there. At length, beneath the sheltering shade Of Roses, hiding from the light, By their own fragrant sweets betray'd, These white Pinks caught my wandering sight. So chastely delicate their mien, So sweetly rich their fragrance rare — " Bright flow'rs ! " I cried, " ye are, I ween, The purest and the fairest there." I cull'd them, for 'twas known to me, Thy Sire would hold a feast to-night, And that I there should meet with thee, Amid the lords and ladies bright. LINES TO FANNY. 11 And still, in simplest garb array'd, I find thee here, as everywhere j Though bright the throng, beloved Maid ! The purest and the fairest there. Take them ; and may thy breast be found As free as they from any blot, And shed its fragrant virtues round On those who own a lowlier lot. So shalt thou, wdien from death's repose Thou wakest, heav 'nly joys to share, Still shine amid the throng that shows The purest and the fairest there. 12 HYACINTHS. HYACINTHS. Two roots of Hyacinth I took, And placed each in a glass below- Fresh water taken from the brook, And left them there a month or so. But whence the flow'rs I find instead, These lovely flow'rs of gayest hue ; The one all deeply, darkly red, The other darkly, deeply blue 1 And whence this sweet mysterious Pow'r, Whose breath makes summer of the air, Pervading throughly all the flow'r, As tho' her very soul it were 1 Now, flow'rs, the Philosophic say, Are fed on man's impoisoning breath ; So wonderful is Nature's way, She nurtures Life itself with Death ! If, then, while here below, we think Earth's simple flow'rs so very fair, When from polluted streams they drink, And feed upon a poisoning air — Oh, with what fragrant beauty rife Those flow'rs will be when freed from Death, And water'd by the stream of Life, And breathed upon by Angels' breath ! THE DAIST. 13 THE DAISY. Earthly, unearthly Flow'r ! That, springing from the ground, Livest thy little hour, A prisoner bound To the dull Earth That gave thee birth. Yet, spurning the cold clod, Dost raise thy golden eye, Far from the darksome sod, To the glad sky That gave thy dress Its loveliness. Like lowly Christian thou, Leading his short career, A joyless captive now In prison here On the dull Earth That gave him birth. Yet, lifting his meek eyes, Far from his parent dust, To Heav'n, whose love supplies His breast with trust, And every grace That there we trace. 14 THE DAISY. Oh ! teach me still to gaze Heav'nward, while here I pass These miserable days ; For now, alas ! No friend have I Save in the sky. And e'en the sky is dark, Fled is the Summer's dream, Ah me ! I cannot mark A single beam To give the breast One hope of rest. Yet thou dost know, meek Flow'r I That somewhere in the sky, Although the clouds may low'r, There is an Eye That watches thine With love divine. Yes, and there is an Eye, That ever meets thy gaze, Sad Christian i when on high Thy heart doth raise A look of trust From out the dust. Trust, when the tempest raves, Trust, when the clouds increase, This is the trust that saves, And brings us peace, And proves that Heav'n Our trust has giv'n. A THOUGHT AMONG THE ROSES. 15 A THOUGHT AMONG THE ROSES. The Roses grew so thickly, I never saw the thorn, Nor deetn'd the stem was prickly, Until my hand was torn. Thus, worldly joys invite us, With rosy-colour'd hue ; But, ere they long delight us, "We find they prick us too. 1G SNOWDROP. SNOWDROP. Little flow'ret, white and green, Sweetly pensive art thou seen; Meekly bending down thy head, In thy leafless forest bed ; Graceful on thy slender stem, Beauteous thou, a perfect gem ; Telling us of joys in store, Winter's gloom is passing o'er ; Sacred promise from above, Emblem of a Saviour's love ! Spotless white he was as thou, Like to thine his head did bow; Like to thine his lowly birth Brought sweet peace to all the Earth. M1GNJ0NETTE. 17 MIGNIONETTE. Not fair, as other flow'rets are, For so has Heav'n decreed, And they who view thee from afar, Might take thee for a weed. But all who once draw near to thee, Upon the garden plot, Find rarest charms thine own to be, Charms other flow'rs have not. For to each gale, that hovers round, Thy fragrant bosom throws Sweets far more precious than are found In Lily or in Rose. And well I know a little Maid, By no means fair to see, And yet in whom I find display 'd Unrivall'd charms for me. There are who know her but by sight, And view her from afar, Who say, she is not grace bedight, As other maidens are. c 18 MIGNIONETTE. But all, who Lave but once drawn nigh Awhile to Lucy's side, Have soon found out the reason why She fills my breast with pride. For Lucy's heart is fragrant all With sweets beyond compare ; And, though her beauty be but small, Her virtues are most rare. And Lucy's mind is richly fraught With Wisdom's choicest lore ; And hearts by Lucy's words are caught. As never hearts before. And (joy !) for me this dear Flow'r blows. While all my heart is set, Not on a Lily or a Rose, But sweetest Mignionette. SPEEDWELL. 19 SPEEDWELL. Doubting pilgrim ! forced to wander, Loth the while to roam, Now your fond affections ponder On your distant home : Mark the little Speedwell, peeping With its azure hue ; Heav'n itself her petals steeping In its own bright blue. Wheresoe'er the spirit settles Of the smiling Spring; There those little glossy petals Joy and beauty bring. Choice the lesson they are lending, When to Heav'n unfurl'd ; One to either part extending Of the quarter'd world. Read it, pilgrim ! for she lingers Here for your delight, Pointing with four fairy fingers — Read her lore aright : " Wheresoe'er your steps are going, East or West or North ; Or, where Southern gales are blowing, Haply speed you forth : " Oh ! where'er, by hardship driven, You may chance to dwell ; O'er you is the same blue Heaven — Pilgrim ! speed you well !" c2 20 THE PANSY AND THE VIOLET. THE PANSY AND THE VIOLET. A SONNET. Two floral gems of rival grace I know — Tlie Pansy one, and one the Violet — The one will only condescend to grow, When train'd aright, and in a garden set. The other needs no culture to abet, But will the self-same fragrant grace bestow, On the wild bank, by rill and rivulet, As in the choicest garden Kent can show. The Pansy is like Cheerfulness, and needs A fit occasion, and incentive rare, To hurry into birth its latent seeds. The Violet, like Virtue, ever fair, The smile or frown of Portune little heeds, But sheds her fragrance forth, 0, anywhere ! SENT WITH A ROSE TO ROSE. 21 SENT WITH A KOSE TO ROSE. Go, blushing flow'r ! And tell her this from rue, That, in the bow'r, From which I gather'd thee* At evening I will be. And further tell, In tearing thee away, A petal fell ; And, falling, seem'd to say — " Thy Rose is hurt to-day." And, while I stripp'd Thy stem of leaves below, A dew-drop slipp'd, Slipp'd on my hand, to show — "And thou hast dealt the blow." But, while I stand, The tear, with subtle art, Dries on my hand ; As wishing to impart — "And thou canst heal the smart.' Then bid her fly, When sun-set skirts the West, To me, that I, Upon my happy breast, May soothe her own to rest. 22 THE VIOLET AND THE POPPY. THE VIOLET AND THE POPPY. As through a shady nook I stray 'd, With darling Ellen by my side, Beneath a flaunting Poppy's shade, A modest Yiolet she espied. And quick she drew her hand from mine, The little hand T oft had press'd, And gather'd it with smiling eyne, And placed it in her snowy breast. And while, unconscious, there it lay, And rose on every rising sigh, Enriching every zephyr gay, That brush'd her heaving bosom by : " Oh ! why," she meekly ask'd, "where'er This little flow'ret decks the vale, Does such sweet fragrance fill the air, And float on every dancing gale ; " Yet yon tall Poppy, gayer far, Tempts no rude hand to tear it thence ; Its odours so repulsive are, And loathsome to the shrinking sense ?" " I cannot tell the reason true," I said, "why Heav'n has thus design'd ; But tins I know, no flow'r e'er blew, But taught some lesson to mankind. " And, oh ! methinks the human crowd This truth in these two flow'rs may trace, That ' God resisteth all the proud, And giveth to the lowly grace.' ' THE GARDEN CONVOLVULUS OR IPOMiEA. 23 THE GARDEN CONVOLVULUS, OR IPOMCEA. There is a flow'r, a lovely flow'r, That, in the dewy morning hour, Unfurls to greet the welcome light Her blue and purple banners bright ; As though she knew all other flow'rs, That deck the lawn or grace the bow'rs, Would, as with mute assent, confer The palm of loveliness on her ! But only for a little while This lovely flow'r is seen to smile. Ere yet thro' Heav'n the genial sun Has half his race of glory run, Beneath the burning noon-tide skies She folds her beauty up, and dies : Folds inward all her radiant bloom, And makes her own fair breast her tomb. Sweet flow'r ! methinks thou typest well The fate full oft of gentle belle ; Who, through the dawn of early life, With peace, and hope, and gladness rife, Has gender'd joy where'er she went, So smiling and so innocent ; 24 THE GARDEN CONVOLVULUS OR IPOM.EA. While none so fair, so blithe, as she, The pride of all the family ! But only for a little while The merry maid is seen to smile ; Ere yet the morn of life is o'er, Her peace and gladness are no more ; For Love has sped his cruel dart, And pierced the unsuspecting heart ; And now she pines in vain desire For one who feels no kindred fire ; And lives (while yet she lives) to prove The pangs of unr< quited love : Gone now is all her mirth and glee, And none so sad, so strange, as she. Yet still her secret, unconfess'd, She hides within her burning breast ; She tells not him the reason why So pale her cheek and sunk her eye ; But veils it all in deepest gloom, And makes her own sad heart her tomb. WILD CLEMATIS. 25 WILD CLEMATIS. The Autumn May, which vulgar men Clematis call, Now twisting, twining, through the glen, O'er hedges tall, Has silver'd all the scene around ; "While high above, Where snowy wreaths the Hawthorn crown'd, The insects rove. Oh, what an eye has God bestow'd On mortal man, To see, as journeying o'er the road, Divinest plan ; And not a straggling thing misplaced, Or scene awry, While God, in all creation traced, Instructs the eye ! 26 SEAWEED. SEAWEED : OR, A WREATH FOR MARY. Unfold your charms, ye summer bow'rs, So elegant and fairy ! I come to pluck your choicest flow'rs, To form a wreath for Mary. Yon Rose, that, conscious of her grace, With bashful beauty flushes, I'll gather ; for 'tis like the face Of Mary, when she blushes. Yet, no ! the Rose, tho' very fair, Is very frail when cherish'd, For, pluck'd and placed in Mary's hair, Ere evening 't will have perish'd. Sleep, then, in undisturb'd repose, And let my choice be wary ; I will not have you, fragile Rose, To deck my wreath for Mary. No ! I will take yon Lily white, Beside the streamlet blooming : 'Tis like the ray of heav'nly light My Mary's soul illuming. SEAWEED. 27 But see ! the Lily kisses now The streams as down they trickle; To kiss the gale now see it bow : The Lily then is fickle. But my Love fickle will not be, As lilies fight and airy : Then, Lily, I'll not gather thee, To grace my wreath for Mary. The flow'rets in my garden gay, Tho' countless charms displaying, I've seen them all the live- long day, With every zephyr playing. Now they are basking in the Sun, From whom their charms they borrow, And, when he flies, they, every one, Feign dewy tears of sorrow. Sometimes the Honey-bee they court, Sometimes the Insect glittering, Nor heed they, in their idle sport, How sunny hours are frittering. Then I will haste me from a scene Of virtue so unchary ; Inconstant flow'rs of trifling mien, Ye shall not deck my Mary ! 28 SEAWEED. What must I do ! I can but grieve, For great is my quandary, I nothing have wherewith to weave A wreath for gentle Mary. Oh, what is that on yonder spray, Quick dancing o'er the billow, That toys with Ocean all the day, And makes the wave its pillow ! See, how 7 it bounds in w r ild delight, And trips it like a fairy, With steps so light, and spirits bright, Ah ! this is like my Mary. The Sun may shine, the Breeze may blow, She knows no other wooer, The Sea, the Sea, alone, I trow, Is everything unto her. The fiercest storms may break his rest, Yet she is never missing ; But, ever constant at his breast, His troubled brow is kissing. And so to me will Mary be, As faithful and as loving ; An ocean of adversity Her single kiss removing. SEAWEED. 29 Then thee, brown Seaweed ! I will take, (I'm glad my choice was wary,) And with thee I will strive to make A wreath to deck my Mary. Oh, teach her, when she looks on thee, To feel for my devotion ; Teach Mary to be true to me, As thou art to the Ocean ! Tell her, tho' every other flow'r Is frail and fickle ever, That Thou canst baftle Time's rude pow'r, And never changest — never ; But when, long parted from thy spouse, Upon the lorn shore liest thou, Nothing can then thy mirth arouse, But pining, drooping, diest thou. Then I will haste to make my Fair, A wreath of Seaweed hairy, For nothing, save Seaweed, shall dare To grace my wreath for Mary. 30 MISTLETOE. MISTLETOE. I sing that tiny little tree, Which maidens call the Mistletoe ; Whose slender stem, and balls of snow, Are sacred, Yule ! to thee. The tree that will not live alone, Must have a mate with whom to live ; Must have a mate to whom to give Grace, beauty, all her own. The Giant Oak, which men aver To be the Monarch of the Wood, Upon his dauntless bosom rude Delights to cherish her. The Druids, wondering, view'd the sight, When round the Oak they saw the tree, And marvell'd at the victory Of weakness over miwht. In reverend awe they used to hold The little shrub, which aye they thought To men and gods with terror fraught, And this the tale they told. MISTLETOE. 31 Balder, their god, fell in a swoon, Fell in a swoon at noon of day, And dream'd a dream, their legends say, That he would perish soon. But anxious Traja, from her son Still hoping to avert the lot, Conjured all things to hurt him not, Her dearest, youngest one. Conjured the beasts in dale and hill, The water, fire, and all the trees, All metals and all maladies, To do the youth no ill. And of such pow'r was her command, That all things yielded, goddess-bound, And nothing anywhere was found That could the spell withstand. Then Balder, hastening to the fray, Stood in the midst among the slain, "While flying shafts flew round in vain, Nor wrought the least dismay. But Loke, at length, his boldest foe, Much marvell'd what the cause could be Of Balder's matchless bravery, And sought the truth to know. 32 MISTLETOE. So of an ancient Dame he took The features and habiliment, And forth to aged Traja went, And these the words he spoke : "Know, Traja ! on the battle-plain, The darts, and flints, and weapons all, By which so many thousands fall, On Balder fall in vain." "And well I trow what you assert, For all these things by spell are bound," Said Traja, "nor can aught be found, That may do Balder hurt." "All things have I conjured," she said, " All save one tiny little tree, Which was so small it seem'd to me To show no cause for dread. "Upon the Oak I saw it grow, With scarce a root wherewith to cling, And with no earth or anything — They call it 'Mistletoe.'" So Traja spoke, and quickly Loke Search'd for the little shrub she named, And hasten'd where the Godheads aim'd At Balder useless stroke. MISTLETOE. 33 There in the foremost file he found The sightless Heeler, skill'el to wing The shaft anel flint from how and sling, An el deal blind death around. " Oh, tell me, Heeler ! tell me why, When all the other darts are sped At only haughty Balder's head, Yours all at random fly ]" " Blind are these eyes,"' the youth replied, " At venture thus I draw the bow ;" "Then take," said Loke, " this Mistletoe, Baleler is at your side." Then took blind Heeler, so they tell, The tiny stem of Mistletoe ; Strung epiick the bow, aitn'el straight the blow ; And Balder lifeless fell. Thus was a Goddess' son laid low, Laid low in battle by a sprig ; A tiny, tiny little twig, Of slender Mistletoe ! Laid low, for so the Fates design'd,, Not by a veteran, skill'd to slay With practised aim unswerving ; nay I A youth he was, and blind. D 34 MISTLETOE. And, oft as Yule brings feast and fun, Still is it maidens' lot to see, E'en by this self-same little tree, A kindred triumph won. For, arm'd with sprigs of Mistletoe, Blind Cupid wings his little dart, At many an unsuspecting heart, And lays his victim low. WOODRUFF. 35 WOODRUFF. Amid a thousand brighter flow'rs, We scarcely note thy tender bloom, Sweet Woodruff ! when the vernal show'rs Have call'd thee from thy winter tomb. But should we find thee wither'd, reft E'en of the humble charms thou hast, We feel a precious sweetness left — A sweetness that no ills can blast. Thus modest worth remains unknown, While fairer Beauty's flatter'd name On ev'ry Zephyr's breath is blown, A candidate for human fame. Let sorrow come — mere Beauty now Has lost her adventitious pow'r : While chill'd, and bruised, and broken, Thou Art sweetest in that trying hour. d ti 3G EYEBRIGIIT. EYEB RIGHT. Long had I wander'd o'er the fields, « Much woud'ring what might be your name, Fair flow'r, that golden Autumn yields, That I might give you worthy fame ! For fame is not to merely bloom, And I required your properties ; But might as well have ask'd a tomb, As those from whom I sought replies. They only knew that here you grew, And ever had, for they had seen, When Childhood's years were very few, That you were still where you had been. But what your name they never heard, Nor ever ask'd, nor cared to know, Nor why the Autumn you preferr'd : Enough for them to see you grow. Well, little Flow'r, with grace bedight, Despairing of your proper name, I call'd you then "Mine eyes' delight," And thought you well a rhyme might claim I EYEBRIGHT. 37 For, walking with your sprigs in hand, Or twisted in my button'd vest, Mine eyes, where you did not expand, Had never seen me gaily dress'd. At length the voice of Science came, And taught me whafc I roam'd to seek, That "Eyeb right" was your English name, "Euphrasia" to the polish'd Greek. Oh ! now fresh admiration grows, For by that name have Bards address'd The girl who shared her Father's woes, And fed him from her milky breast. Then, blossom still, " mine eyes' delight," As heretofore, in field and grove, 1 see iu you an emblem bright Of filial duty, filial love. For you are as a duteous child, Who, when the Earth was almost bare, Alone upon her bosom smiled, Her loving little daughter fair. 38 LAVENDER. LAVENDER. The lovely Lilies all are dead, The Rose has lost her bloom ; The Earth, that once their beauty fed, Has now become their tomb. Sweet Lavender ! with fragrant breath, Unchanging, thou dost brave The storms that veil'd the flow'rs in death, And smilest o'er their grave. True type art tbou of Christian faith, "Which, when Life's blossoms fall, Knows nought herself of change or death, Triumphant over all : Which, when the toys the world so loved Blaze on her funeral pile, Will stand, 'mid Nature's wreck, unmoved, And : 'o'er the ruins smile." A FEW LITTLE BIRDS. A THOUGHT AMONGST THE BIRDS. 41 A THOUGHT AMONGST THE BIRDS. A thousand twigs, a thousand sprays, Dance to the breeze in yonder wood, Which, while the Summer there delays, Are vocal with the feather' d brood. Were all birds Eagles, where would be The songs that make the forest glad ; How could the twigs ring all with glee, Unless those twigs their Songsters had 1 But God, who wills that every twig With music all its own should ring, Has made a Bird for every sprig, To sit upon it and to sing. And thou, O man ! though small thy sphere, And thou canst take no lofty flight, But seem'st a very nothing here, A being fruitless, useless quite : Let those like Eagles soar away, On whom are Eagle wings conferr'd ; Thou hast thy use as well as they, There is a twig for every Bird. 42 the HArrr bird. THE HAPPY BIRD. As on the Ewell bank I stray, Methinks if birds had reas'ning mind, They'd bless the branch on which they play, Rejoiced they are not human kind. For yonder blithe sweet-throated Bird Has tuned the dull and heavy air ; And sweeter tones I never heard, While I am doubly bent by care. How blest the Bird, who only seeks The first green leaves to couch among ; Whose voice expressive music speaks, And all he speaks to Heav'n is song ! Thou well may'st fly at sight of me, A stranger to thy wild domain ; Mirth, merry Minstrel ! dwells with thee, Thou could'st not sing with human pain. TO THE CUCKOO. 43 TO THE CUCKOO. A SOKXET. Herald of Spring ! who bringest in thy train Peace to the earth and blossom to the bow'rs ; Now, like a reimbodied ghost, again Thou kindly visitest this world of ours. Nor wilt thou leave us, till thy magic strain Has lured from out the bud the prison'd flow'rs ; And every forest smiles, and every plain, In the full glory of the summer hours ! Oft in still evening to this grove I fly, And muse upon thy welcome voice alone ; iSTor of the peevish multitude am I, Who quarrel with the sameness of thy tone ; But rather will on bended knee lament That all I say is not as innocent. 44 THE NIGHTINGALE. THE NIGHTINGALE. The Birds now cease in wood and dale To sing unwritten songs; Save where the sleepless Nightingale Her plaintive strain prolongs. " The heart that loves," I hear her say, " Is not the heart that sleeps ; The throat may trill the sweetest lay, The while the bosom weeps. " The cold, cold world but little knows Of all that warm hearts feel, When they who wake the bosom's throes Are not at hand to heal. " All night I sigh, but sigh in vain, For one who is not nigh ; But 'though unheeded I complain, Yet still I can but sigh. " Before the world I still am gay, And hide my woes from sight ; I smile, like others, all the day, And weep alone at night." 'Tis thus lorn Philomela cries, Or so it seems to me, For thus it is my own heart sighs, Too cruel One ! for thee, THE RESTLESS BIRD. 45 THE RESTLESS BIRD. The Bird, retum'd from o'er the seas, Hies quick to gain his resting trees ; The trees obtain'd, he seems to doubt His rest, and speeds the copse about ; His well-known echo strives to learn, And makes her own his sure return ; Till all the trees with song declare, The herald of the Spring is there. Now perching high we hear him sing, Now as he darts on restless wine, Above, below, around the spot, 'Tis hard to say where he is not. At length a Bird of gentler hue Arrests his amorous. visual view ; Within a bush, or on a tree, A home she governs curiously. 'Tis strange what magnet pow'rs attract That roving Bird to points exact : About the spot, at noon, at night — At morn he finds his sole delight : His song that late fill'd all the grove, Is now confin'd to spheres of love : We find him where he last was seen, He flits — is back where he has been. 46 THE SWALLOW. THE SWALLOW. Would that, in the winter drear, I my wings could fold ; Like the Swallow disappear From the searching cold ! Nor should dance in stately hall, Nor should smiling face, Christmas glee, nor friendly call, Reach my hiding place. While the world in frequent tears- For its Summer weeps ; Happier he no Winter fears, Hears it not but sleeps. Lost to hearing, reft of sight, Would I might repose ; Nor my waking sense delight, 'Till awoke the Rose. Then the foremost, then the first, Light of wing to fly ; In the dew to quench my thirst, With the Rose to sigh. CHANGELESS BIRDS. 47 CHANGELESS BIRDS. The Finch, whose plumes a thousand years were green, Thro' the next thousand still the same is seen ; The Chaffinch wears the same unchanging hue, As when first bright'ning to Creation's view; The Robin's breast has still its ruddy glow ; The Swan wears still its wings of spotless snow; The Blackbird still is dusky as the night, The Magpie ever mingled black and white. The Finch still chirps in his primeval key ; The Chaffinch pipes the same lay ceaselessly ; The Robin pours his plaintive note and full, Bright in the dull time, in the bright time dull ; The Swan yet shrieks, yet flows the Blackbird's song; "While the quick Pie darts chattering along. All keep their character thro' Nature's range — And Man, poor Man alone, is giv'n to change ! A FEW LITTLE GIRLS. THE LITTLE GIRL AND HER SHADOW. 51 THE LITTLE GIRL AND HER SHADOW. Came a little Maiden To the River's brink, A-weary and a-thirsty, There to take a drink : A comely little Maiden, Graceful as a fawn; A lovely little Maiden, Rosy as the dawn. No vessel she or pitcher To the water took, But made her hand the basin, And dipt it in the brook. And, when she bent her forward ; The limpid wave to quaff, Upon the glassy water She dropp'd her photograph : A lovely little Maiden, With one knee on the strand, From out the crystal River A-drinking with her hand. E 2 52 THE LITTLE GIRL AND HER SHADOW. The Maid has left the River, The shadow, too, has fled ; But to what hidden region Think ye it has sped 1 Some, perchance, will coldly Tell nie that they ween The pleasing little shadow Will never more be seen : That, when with little Lucy It left the shining River, It vanish'd into darkness, For ever and for ever. But I will not believe it, For nought is done in vain ; And I trust that shadow Yet to see again. For, methinks, when Lucy, Bending o'er the wave, Her lovely form reflected To the River gave, Angels stoop'd enchanted From their seats above, And bore it in their bosoms To the realms of love : THE LITTLE GIRL AND HER SHADOW. 53 And that those fair features, Which so charm'd me here, Painted all in sunbeams, Now in Heav'n appear. Painted all in sunbeams Thrown from Jesu's face, Sure they will be worthy Heav'n itself to grace. And, on the walls of Sapphire, Pound the throne of light, Where Seraphs veil their faces Prom Jehovah's sight, Why should not Saints and Angels There delight to show The picture of a lovely Little Saint below : A rosy little Maiden, With one knee on the strand, From out a crystal River A-drinking with her hand ! 54 A CHILD'S THOUGHT ABOUT TnE STARS. A CHILD'S THOUGHT ABOUT THE STARS. The Cambridge term at length was o'er, The first that I had spent ; And, skill'd in scientific lore, I hasten'd back to Kent. Two dozen lectures I had heard Upon the starry skies, And found how common people err'd, Who look'd with common eyes. For all who wish to read the sky, And make its wonders known, Must learn to look with Newton's eye, And not believe their own. And, pleased that I had learn'd so soon To tread the spangled plain, I wander'd forth, beneath the Moon, To traverse it again : And, on the map of Heav'n, to trace Those worlds, which, as they shine, Roll round and round through endless space,. Spun by a touch divine. a child's thought about the stars. 55- But while I mused, in thought profound, Upon the glittering sphere, Lo, creeping o'er the dewy ground, A something glimmer'd near ! And soon a little girl drew nigh, To cross the village stile, Her sweet eyes fix'd upon the sky, And beaming with a smile. " And wherefore here, my little lass ! And what the charm," I said, " That tempts you o'er the dewy grass, When day so long has fled ? " And what the subject of your dream, That thus, with wondering eyes, So wrapt in pleasing thought you seem, While o-azing on the skies V Those eyes assumed unwonted light : " I'm thinking, Sir," said she, If Heaven's wrong side be so bright, "What must the right side be ! " How vain is knowledge, then, I thought. E'en though to Heav'n it reach, If that, which Science never taught, A little girl can teach ! 56 a child's thought about the stars. And ye, who live in peace and health, Twin blessings from above, And revel daily in the wealth Of Friendship and of Love : Oh, think, when joys like these delight, Tho' this side Heav'n are ye, " If Heaven's wrong side be so bright, What nmst the right side be ! " LITTLE LUCY. LITTLE LUCY. 57 She took up life, as if to be To her were nothing new ; — Play'd with the sunbeams on the lea, And with the drops of dew. She pluck'd the lilies from the dell, The rose-bud from the bow'rs ; As if she came with us to dwell From out a world of flow'rs. She leap'd to hear the strains of mirth The wild bird's notes prolong ; As though she came to live on earth From out a land of song. The brightest, sweetest, things that grew In this our world of woe, Were all of Earth that Lucy knew, And all she wish'd to know. For, ere the frost fell on the plain, Her spirit plumed its wing, And gently flutter' d back again, To where it still was Spring. 58 A LOGICAL STROLL. A LOGICAL STROLL. "Wilt thou thro' the groves of Ewell, Dearest Kate ! along with me % We will gather mental fuel, Under every branching tree. Of the leaves that widely glitter We will make our reas'ning page ; Never can be Logic fitter Mortal wonder to engage. Why do not all trees resemble, Since they grow on kindred ground 1 Why does this in silence tremble, Why does that the breeze resound 1 Why do Birds choose this for singing, That for shelter'd nesting room ? Why to this is ivy clinging, Why round that do violets bloom ? We will look the wonders over, Musing pleasantly the while, And, at that we can't discover, Seek each other's eyes, and smile. MT EVENING WALK WITH SOPHY. 59 MY EVENING WALK WITH SOPHY. The stars were glist'ning far and wide, When Sophy gazed upon the skies ; " Oh, what more beautiful ! " she cried — But she forgot her eyes. The Bird of Night flew o'er her head, And, singing, bade the grove rejoice ; " Oh, what more exquisite ! " she said — But she forgot her voice. Transparent Cynthia's tender ray Athwart the dark leaves silvering stole ; " Oh, what more pure ! " I heard her say — But she forgot her soul. " The dews how gi-ateful to the ground, When parch'd with thirst the herb appears ; But what for aching hearts is found ! " — Oh, she forgot her tears ! 60 OUR NELL. OUR NELL. She lived upon the banks of Dour, Close by the cowslip dell ; The fairest and the sweetest flow'r On all those banks was Nell. Lord William, angling in the brook, One lovely summer's day, Saw with delight, desired, and took Our favourite flow'r away. He thought it meet that charms so rare Should deck his princely hall ; There now she shines 'mid blossoms fair The fairest of them all. And there they call our simple flow'r " The Lady Drachenfell ; " But on the lowly banks of Dour She still is known as " Nell." TO FLORENCE. 61 TO FLOKENCE. A SONNET. May he, the happy one, whose own thou art, Protect thee, Florence, as I would have done, From every evil thing that could impart One pang to thee, thou lovely, gentle one ! And yet rude Winter's hand will steal athwart The flowers that smiled beneath the summer's sun ; And never throbb'd there yet a human heart That always could Affliction's winter shun. Should ever, then, an Angel, sorrow-shod, Visit the home thou blessest, gentle Dove ! Oh, meekly bend beneath the chastening rod ! Look heav'nward to the better home above, And in thy trials hear the voice of God, " The children whom I chasten, those I love." 62 mart's release. MARY'S RELEASE. My own name was the latest word That fell from Mary's tongue ; And then her voice in Heav'n was heard, And with the Angels sung. I know not what her earliest theme, When from the body free ; But, did she pray, I fondly deem, She something ask'd for me. Or, if they make no pray'r on high, But praise where Mortals pray, Methinks she thank'd her God that I Beheld her pass away. For who a death like her's could see, And not at once decide To live as Mary lived, that he Might die as Mary died ! LINES ADDRESSED TO A LITTLE GIRL. 63 LINES ADDBESSED TO A LITTLE GIBL. " From the abundance of the heart the mouth speaketh." The sorrow'd heart's a fount of woe, Whose waters, when they rise, The teeming bosom overflow, And run out at the eyes. But when no tears from eyelids start, Because the tide is weak, Then, from the fulness of the heart, The very mouth will speak ! When David, after battle won, Thus mourns his victory : " O Absolom, my sou, my son, Would I had died for thee !" In vain his friends, with prudent art, To check the utterance seek ; For, from the fulness of the heart, The Father's mouth would speak ! And when the Gentile Mother* made Her plaint, Lord ! to Thee, And for her little daughter pray'd, That she might holpen be : * See Matt, xv., 23. Gt LINES ADDRESSED TO A LITTLE GIRL. E'en when Apostles bade " depart," She still Thine aid would seek ; For, from the fulness of the heart, The Mother's mouth would speak ! And grow thou up, dear little child ! The Church's daughter true ; That she, when storms are raging wild, May love to pray for you : For, when you feel Affliction's smart, And your own faith is weak, Then, from the fulness of the heart, Her holy mouth will speak ! THE DEATH OF ROSA. 65 THE DEATH OF ROSA. To-night, with hallelujahs ring Loudly the joy-encircled skies ; For Rosa's soul on an^el-wins Has soar'd aloft to Paradise. As peaceful sinks the setting Sun That steals beneath the western wave ; So Rosa, when her race was run, Stole calmly sinking in her grave. If e'er to quit an angel deign The joyful mansions of the sky, To choose our heritage of pain, To sorrow, wither, and to die ; In Rosa's soul that seraph lies — That heav'nly soul, that now has fled, Fled back again to those glad skies, She left to mingle with the dead — >•;<• She seem'd like Jacob's ladder giv'n, "While here her gentle form abode ; Tho' placed on Earth, she lean'd on Heav'n. And all her steps led up to God. As the spent Comet seeks the Sun, Retracing all its radiant flight ; So she, when her bright course was done, Fled backward to her source of light. F 6G THE DEATH OF ROSA. As panting seeks the stricken hare The spot where once she loved to roam ; So stricken Rosa sought her lair — The saint, expiring, hasten'd home. Oh ! if a tie (as some would prove) Connects with us of mortal birth, In glorious sympathetic love, Souls that have left this transient earth ; Be mine thy mantle — bid me wear Thy spirit patient and sincere, Thy noble mind, thy virtues rare — Oh ! make me all that thou wast here. A beacon on life's ocean wave, Point to thy haven in the skies ; Whene'er the stoi-my billows rave, And with unwonted surges rise. See ! where, in yonder fairy vale, The brightly, softly flowing stream Doth, in its crystal bosom pale, Reflect the welkin's mellow'd beam. So thou, by trails thou leav'st behind, Of love, of peace, of heav'nly rest, Shalt live in every virtuous mind, And find a mirror in each breast. THE NINTH OF MAT. 67 THE NINTH OF MAY. You look the same, old Aspen tree, As on that ninth of May ; When plighted she her troth to Hie, For ever and for aye ! 'Twas here upon the grassy lea, Beneath your boughs, we lay ; When plighted she her troth to me, For ever and for aye ! The skies were glad, and so were we, And all the world was gay ; When plighted she her troth to me, For ever and for aye ! Three Mays have been, and ceased to be, Since shone that happy day ; When plighted she her troth to me, For ever and for aye ! And she has fled ! .... 0, sacred tree ! Why am I doomed to stay 1 For plighted she her troth to me, For ever and for aye ! f2 68 THE NINTH OF MAY. I see thee still, in cruel glee, Still with the Zephyrs play ; Where plighted she her troth to me, For ever and for aye ! Yet somewhere mine she still must be, Tho' far from sight away ; For plighted she her troth to me, For ever and for aye ! O, Aspen tree, would I were free From this impris'ning clay ! For plighted she her troth to me, For ever and for ave ! A SONNET. 69 A SONNET. Often in visions a departed face Bends sweetly over me : six years have flown, Since Death withdrew me from the fond embrace Of her T loved with love few breasts have known. O ye, whose hearts have loved and lost, alone Can tell how sweet it is by night to trace The form of one who still remains our own, Tbo' far removed from ns her dwelling-place. They who were bound by only Beauty's chain May weep awhile, but soon their tears are dry, And then they love, or seem to love, again. But they who loved as Emily and I, Made one by God, can never more be twain ; For love, true love, will never, never die ! 70 EMILY. EMILY. At morn I ask'd her how she felt ; " Far better now," she said ; Most kindly God witb me has dealt !' At evening she was dead. ■& And I, who thought her growing well, Had left her all the day ; When, lo, a neighbour came to tell, That she had pass'd away ! That she had pass'd away, and left Me here alone to live, Alone in this wide world, bereft Of all this world can give. For, oh ! the world ne'er gave to me But one gift I could prize ; And that, before it mine could be. It sent back to the skies. MY MAY-DAT DREAM MY MAY-DAY DREAM, Earth ! with your pleasant sunny hours, And warblers sweet in leafy nooks : Earth ! with your myriad fragrant flow'rs, And thousand placid silver brooks. Earth ! with your ceiling sapphire blue, And with your carpet emerald green ; And glorious bow, of every hue, Betok'ning peace and skies serene. Most mocking Earth ! Who tore from me What most my trusting heart ador'd : — Oh ! had you no Gethsemane — ! Oh ! had you no arisen Lord — ! 72 GENTLE EDITH. GENTLE EDITH. And she has fled, the Maid divine, To whom alone were known The sorrows which were only miue, But she made all her own. She shone, as shines yon Moon to-night, That, in the black'ning sky, Supplies the clouds with pinions light, As o'er her breast they fly. Her breast I burfchen'd with the crowd Of woes that darken'd mine ; Yet still she made the blackest cloud With rays of hope to shine. Bub since, dear, gentle Edith, thou Hast wander'd out of sight, How dark appear my troubles now ! — There is no Moon to-night. HEART WOES. 73 HEAET WOES. The heart has bitter woes, And many a smart ; Which He, He only, knows, Who made the heart ! And why should I reveal To any breast The anguish which I feel For one at rest 2 None knew how much I loved, Nay, knew not I, 'Till Death her soul removed To yon far sky. But now I feel how sad, And lone will be, The life which she made glad, And only she. Yet, after bitter pain, Is joy most sweet ; And we shall meet again, For ever meet. 74 HEART WOES. Be, then, my aching soul, Awhile resign'd, 'Till Heav'n shall make thee whole ! Oh ! bliss to find, When summon' d from the tomb, I stand among The crowds that wait their doom, Of every tongue ; And myriad faces shine, All strange to me, One sweet face smile on mine, Thine, Emily ! SONNET. 75 SONNET. Escaped from earthly woe to heav'nly weal, Cordelia's happy soul is gone to reap The rich reward of never-tiring zeal ; And smiles in joy, while we are left to weep. Yet, as those tenants of the briny deep, Who, when the raging of the storm they feel. In precious tears their rising sorrows steep, Tears that anon to costly pearls congeal : So we, if with the sacred eye of Faith, Peering far off above this darkening earth, We saw her glorious triumph over death, Would turn our sorrow into holy mirth • And ev'ry teardrop would become a gem, To grace Cordelia's heav'nly diadem. 76 YES, I SHALL MEET HER FAIR AND YOUNG. YES, I SHALL MEET HER FAIR AND YOUNG. Yes, I shall meet her fair and young, When this lone pilgrimage is o'er ; Meet her to whom this bosom clung, And clings, and will cling evermore ! 'Tis said they do net wed above, Nor are in any marriage giv'n; But what care 1 1 In Heav'n they love, And 'tis enough to know of Heav'n. In Heav'n they love, and so will she ; In Heav'n they love, and so will 1 ; And all her love will be for me, Tho' teeming myriads throng the sky For, were she ask'd from Heav'n to choose A partner for eternity, I know she would all Heav'n refuse, And to her breast take only me. And I shall meet her young and fair, E'en fairer than she was below ; For she will lack that mortal there, That veil'd on earth her spirit so. YES, I SHALL 3IEET HER FAIR AND YOUNG. 77 And God will give me eyes to see Things that were hid from mortal view ; And, oh ! what bliss indeed to me To read that spirit through and through ! And I shall meet her fair and young As young as on that fatal day When cruel Death this bosom wrung In tearing thence her heart away. o> For, though in Heav'n's unchanging clime Eternal ages come and go, Ages that mock the tide of Time, Yet none in Heav'n can aged grow. "a"-" a 1 And therefore 'tis, whene'er we hear Of Angels visiting the earth, Those Angels always young appear, Whate'er the ages since their birth. Yes, I shall meet her fair and young, "When life's lone pilgrimage is o'er ; Meet her to whom this bosom clung, And clings, and will cling evermore ! 78 HOW ROSA DIED. HOW ROSA DIED. Who would not envy Rosa's death 1 — Oh, gracious Saviour, be it mine ! — I watch'd her while the parting breath Breathed out her spirit into Thine. Soft as the lily, Zephyr-kiss'd, Breathes forth its fragrance to the skies ; Her pale and slender frame dismiss'd The happy soul to Paradise. Yet ask'd the Scoffer, < Wherefore I Believed her spirit fled away, Like incense, upward to the sky, And sank not with the sinking clay.' " You say you stood beside the bed With watching and with anxious eyes ; But did you see it as it fled, Or did you hear it upward rise 1" I answer'd — " To yon garden fair I hasten'd at the early hour When dewy Morning wander'd there, And scatter'd pearls on every flow'r; " And linger'd near my favourite rose, Which fairest in the Morn appears, When like a plighting Bride she shows, And blushes through her dewy tears. HOW ROSA DIED. 79 " And long I watch'd her petals all Glist'ning with dewdrops everywhere, Yet saw I not one dewdrop fall ; I only saw they sparkled there. " I tarried yet a longer while, Till beam'd the Sun of noon-day bright, And the Rose revell'd in his smile, And bathed her in his liquid light : " And watch'd the dewdrops yet again That now were basking in the Sun ; But all at once my watch "was vain, For they had vanish 'd every one. u Drawn by his beams to Summer skies, Quick through the glowing air they fled; And yet I did not see them rise, Nor hear them as they heav'nward sped. " So, in that deeply solemn hour, When Rosa turn'd her gaze on high, And summon'd all her fleeting pow'r, To breathe that last long lingering sigh : " The Sun of Righteousness above Look'd down upon the Maiden blest ; Inhaled her soul with beams of love, And drew her to His longing breast." 80 THE UNIVERSAL HOPE. THE UNIVERSAL HOPE. One told me she was lost for aye, Because removed from view ; And doubted what I loved to say, That we should meet anew. For in the spirit world, he held, So changed will be our lot ; All earthly wishes will be quell'd, All earthly loves forgot. And I could answer only this : "A hope inspires my breast, That we shall share each other's bliss, In Heav'n's eternal rest. " And God, with whom is no deceit, This hope had never giv'n ; Did He not mean that we should meet Our parted friends in Heav'n." " ' Tis but an eartly hope," he said, " Which earthly wishes teach ; When once from Earth her Spirit fled, It fled beyond all reach." THE UNIVERSAL HOPE. And I, " Can that be earthly hope, That shines beyond the tomb 1 'Tis only light from Heav'n can cope "With death's funereal gloom. " No ! tis a hope bestow'd on man } When his first Father fell ; Bestow'd by Him who will and can Fulfil His promise well. "No worship but has cherish'd faith, In old or modern days, Of some reunion after death, Tbo' all in different ways : '•' Spum'd only by the creed we deem The darkest creed of Hell ; And you are welcome to your dream, Self-fooling Infidel !" " G A FEW LITTLE SONGS. WHEN SINGING SONGS ALL HEARTS TO BREAK. 85 WHEN SINGING SONGS, ALL HEARTS TO BREAK. When singing songs, all hearts to break, I see thy bosom rise, To give birth to those notes that take All ears with sweet surprise ; I wish I were a little note From out that breast to slip ; To quiver, quiver, in thy throat, And die upon thy lip. To die upon thy lip, my Love, And vanish into air, Were, sure, by all the Pow'rs above ! A death of transport rare. A death as short as sweet confess'd ; For still, with pleasing strife, That swelling throat and rising breast Would call me back to life. 86 OH ! THAT 1 COULD FLY TO TIIEE, LOVE. OH ! THAT I COULD FLY TO THEE, LOVE. Oh ! that I could fly to thee, Love, Had I but two little wings, Quickly they should carry me, Love, "Where the bosom's flutterings Bear my heart, which, space defying, Is to Mary ever flying. E'en the heav'nly rays of light, Love, Tho' so rapidly they speed, Some can stay their hasty flight, Love, Fix them to the shape they need ; And (such pow'r to Art is given !) Paint thy form in beams from Heaven Lishtninc; in its winged race, Love, Stops its course when man desires ; For he tears it from its place, Love, Holds it fast with little wires ; And at will its pinion uses, Sending it the way he chooses. But this little heart of mine, Love, Nothing e'er can make to stay ; Knowing w T ell that it is thine, Love, Still to thee it finds its way. And 'tis well, for, did it tarry, Room were not for thy heart, Mary ! I LOOK IN THY DEAR EYES, SWEET DOVE. 87 I LOOK IN" THY DEAR EYES, SWEET DOYE. I look in thy clear eyes, sweet Dove ! And there with wonder see Two little Photographs, my Love ! In miniature, of me. Two little portraits, which disclose How pale my cheek has grown, Since Love has learn'd to steal the rose That Youth had deem'd his own. Yet wherefbi'e, Mary, wherefore shun The hymeneal chain ; Oh ! why, when you and I are one, Should I and you be twain ? Nay, promise, Love ! to heal the smart, And we the knot will tie ; And live for aye with heart in heart, As now with eye in eye. 88 WHY SHOULD I SEEK IN THE FAR WESTERN ISLES. WHY SHOULD I SEEK IN THE FAR WESTERN ISLES. Why should I seek in the far western isles For a Paradise clearer ; When humbler, but happier, lovelier smiles, Are sunning me nearer 1 The Orange and Myrtle May bloom for the Turtle ; The shores echo out with the song of Canary : But why should I roam to the far Western Sea, When an Island of Beauty and Love is in thee ; My humble, my innocent Mary ! Let the Gold Bird, as he never knew care, On a pinion elative, Soar, while he dazzles, enjoying the air, But 'tis not my native. 0, where the Bird shivers, Beside the frost Rivers, And breezes, and all but my passion, may vary ; There will I linger, contented to be The tendril that grows and will perish with thee, My humble and innocent Mary ! OH, CROWN ME NOT WITH ROSES. 89 OH, CROWN ME NOT WITH ROSES. Oh, crown me not with Roses, "While I sing my songs to thee ; For, Love ! thy cheek discloses All the flow'rs I care to see. Oh ! the Violet may be scented With the fragrant breath of Spring : But with thee, my Love ! contented, 5 Tis for thee, my Love ! I sing. Tho' flow'rs may be for Venus The becoming sacrifice, Dear Girl, we have between us Ev'ry flow'r that she may prize ! The Heartsease for the Lover Makes the Violet and the Rose : I care not to discover Where a fairer flower blows. 90 BASELY, THEN, THOU DIDST DECEIVE ME. BASELY, THEN, THOU DIDST DECEIVE ME. Basely, then, thou didst deceive me, When I ask'd thee, "Art thou mine V* Saying ever, " Love ! believe me, All this faithful heart is thine." Scarcely three short months had vanish'd, Since I left thee for the sea; And had wander'd, lone and banish'd, Wishing ev'ry where for thee : When I hasten'd back to meet thee, Longing for those eyes of blue, Longing once again to greet thee, As my Edith, fond and true ; As my Edith, who had breathed me Vows I could but think sincere ; But whose frailty has bequeathed me Breast of flint and brow severe. I will leave the fields that hold thee, I will hasten back to Kent ; Other arms shall now enfold thee, Edith ! I am quite content, Heart like mine will not regret thee, Heart where love has ceased to dwell ; I but grieve I ever met thee, Edith Marv ! fare-thee-well. WHEKE IS ELLEN I 91 WHERE IS ELLEN 1 Where is Ellen ? Where is Ellen ? For the merry Spring is here ; Trees are blooming, birds are pluming, One by one the flow'rs appear. But to me can bring no gladness Singing Bird or blooming bough ; Cries my heart, o'ercharged with sadness, " Ellen, Ellen, where art thou ?" Where is Ellen ? Where is Ellen ? For the merry Spring is here ; Trees are blooming, birds are pluming, One by one the flow'rs appear. Spring is here; the birds are telling Tales of love from tree to tree ; Spring is here, but not my Ellen — She alone is Spring to me. Smiles her mouth, the sun is beaming I Blush her cheeks, the roses blow ! Weep her eyes, the dews are gleaming ! Heave her breasts, the lilies show ! Where is Ellen 1 Where is Ellen 1 For the merry Spring is here ; Trees are blooming, birds are pluming, One by one the flow'rs appear. 92 WHERE IS ELLEN ? Trees arc blooming here, but Ellen Absent is from every grove ; My sweet tree, whose buds are swelling Richly with the bloom of love : My sweet tree, that, o'er me bending, Shines with all her smiling charms; Or, against the storm impending, Shields me with her trembling arms. Where is Ellen 1 Where is Ellen 1 Eor the merry Spring is here ; Trees are blooming, birds are pluming. One by one the flow'rs appear. One by one the flow'rs are peeping Smilingly to greet the Sun ; Ah, their smiles but mock my weeping, Flow'rs like Ellen there are none ! Nay, a garden she, where nested Lies each flow'r the bee has sipp'd ; Violet-eyed, and lily-breasted, Jasmine-brow'd, and rosy-lipp'd. Where is Ellen ] Where is Ellen 1 For the merry Spring is here ; Trees are blooming, birds are pluming, One by one the flow'rs appear. How I hate the stream that glances, Sun-bedeck'd, thro' yonder cove ! How I hate the breeze that dances, Full of joy, from grove to grove ! WHERE IS ELLEN '? 93 For the stream that gay meanders, And the breeze that sweeps my brow, Only echoes, as it wanders, " Ellen, Ellen, where art thou 1 " Where is Ellen ? where is Ellen ? For the merry Sjmng is here ; Trees are blooming, birds are pluming, One by one the flow'rs appear. 94 i stay'd with her the latest. I STAY'D WITH HER THE LATEST. I stay'd -with lier the latest, That thence she might infer, Whose pleasure was the greatest Of all who talk'd with her. I wish she would discover The secret which my heart, Were I ten times her lover, Conld never dare impart. She moves so far above me, In her own sphere of light, That she could only love me, As bright Stars love the Night.- To clothe it with a splendour It had not of its own ; And well approved to render What else no fame had known. - Yet would she knew 1 love her ! Tho' void of charms I be ; Sheer Pity, then, might move her To shed her ravs on me. THY VERT FROWNS EXCEL THE SMILES OF OTHERS. 95 THY VERY FROWNS EXCEL THE SMILES OF OTHERS. Thy very frowns excel the smiles of others ; Yet, oh, too cruel ! frown not thou on me : For though thy heart is doom'd to be another's, Yet must my own pant evermore for thee. I ask thee not the love for which I pine ; I ask thee only still to suffer mine. At others' woes thy bosom still grows tender, Still breathes compassion, and still heaves the sigh ; At others' steps those eyes of matchless splendour Still shine a smiling welcome ; and must I, Must I alone from them be banish'd far, Because their smiles to me more precious are f Oh, I will never wound thy soul, believe me, By breathing in thine ears those vows again ; Far more than love's own anguish would it grieve me, To know I gave that gentle bosom pain ! Yet would I die, once more that smile to see, Which only, while I live, is life to me. 96 the eye's tiie uigh road to the heart. THE EYE'S THE HIGH BOAD TO THE HEART. The Eye's the high road to the heart, But all who list thy lay Must own that thou, sweet Girl ! hast art To lead a shorter way. And I had seen full many a Maid As fair in form as thou ; And swore I would not be betray'd By Beauty anyhow. But though I coldly closed my eyes To sight-entrancing charms ; Yet thou hast taken by surprise This heart with other arms. Yes ! thou, with arms I did not fear, Hast play'd the victor's part, And enter'd subtly by the ear, And pierced the captive heart. THE BACHELORS. 97 THE BACHELORS. AlE. — Le Petit Tambour. Oh, a Bachelor, a Bachelor, How happy he must be ; A -welcome guest at ev'ry feast, What a hicky dog is he ! Whate'er he earns to spend he learns, For home he has no care ; The young and merry Bachelor, His home is everywhere. Chorus. Oh, a Bachelor, a Bachelor, How happy he must be; A welcome guest at ev'ry feast, "What a lucky dog is he ! Oh, a Bachelor, a Bachelor, A butterfly he roves ; Sees all the sights, stays out at nights, And kisses whom he loves. To ball and rout invited out, A beau to ev'iy belle, The pleasures of a Bachelor No tongue can ever tell. Chorus — Oh, a Bachelor, &c. Spoken. — But stay, there is another side to the picture. One story is always good, they say, until another is told. H 98 THE BACHELORS. 'Ike first part of this verse very much slower.) Oh, an old Bachelor, an old Bachelor, When Age with -wrinkled face Comes creeping o'er him by degrees, With slow yet steady pace ; Where are the set that once he met, An evening hour to pass 1 Why, some are fled, and some are wed, And some are gone to grass. Chorus. Then an old Bachelor, an old Bachelor, What a luckless dog is he ; When, all alone, he learns to groan For one to make his tea ! Oh, an old Bachelor, an old Bachelor, With age comes all his shame ; No cozy wife to bless his life, No child to bear his name ; No welcome knows where'er he goes, And has no place of rest ; {Spoken. — It serves him right, the old brute, why didn't he get married?) In coffin hurl'd, he leaves the world, Unblessing and unblest. Chorus. Then an old Bachelor, an old Bachelor, How wretched he must be; No wife to cheer, no children dear, What a luckless old dog is he ! THREE WERE THE GRACES 99 THREE WERE THE GRACES. Three were the Graces, yet I trace Such peerless charms in thee. Methinks thee born another Grace To grace the other three. But 'tis not Beauty binds so strong Its fetters round my heart ; For Beauty, fair as flow'rs, ere long Will, frail as flow'rs, depart. But, oh ! thy face's wonders rare Of rarer wonders tell ; And speak a mind divinely fair, Where choicest treasures dwell. In yon sweet stream that brightly flows The mirror'd skies we trace ; So brightly, sweetly, Ellen shows All Heaven in her face. H 2 100 LIKE FOAM THAT SHUNS THE SHELVING SHORE. LIKE FOAM THAT SHUNS THE SHELVING SHORE. Like foam that slams the shelving shore, And slides back to the sea ; And like a firefly, flitting o'er The flow'rets of the lea. And like a fleecy fleck that skims Athwart the mellow'd moon ; And like a swallow swift that swims The swooning air of noon. And like the little flossy flakes, That float adown the breeze ; And like the little breeze that shakes No dewdrop from the trees. So lightly o'er the flow'rs you fly, You fairy little thing ! They lift their little heads, and cry, " It was the step of Spring." PHYLLIS ! DOST THOU LOVE ME 1 101 PHYLLIS ! DOST THOU LOVE ME ? Phyllis ! dost thou love me 1 For I swear to thee, By those skies above me, Thou art all to me. They may cease to smile upon thee, They may hurl their tempests on thee; But more faithful I than they, Love thee now and love thee aye ! Phyllis ! dost thou love me ? Time all beauty mars ; Yet, if thou wilt prove me, Tho' the dimpling stars, Which the dark'ning skies restore thee, Fail to shed their splendours o'er thee : Yet more faithful I than they, Love thee now and lov r e thee aye ! Phyllis ! dost thou love me 1 By yon Queen of Night, Thou shalt still approve me Changeless in thy sight. Oft her placid face is clouded, Hoodwink'd to thy gaze and shrouded j But more faithful I than she, ISow and ever dote on thee ! 102 EVENSONG. EVENSONG. Oh ! it is very pleasant Thro' these long gi'oves to stray; With thee, my dear Love ! present, And the great world far away. When the Vesper lamps are sparkling On the Altar of the Night ; And the dome of Heav'n shines darkling With their ' dim religious light ! ' The rows of pines and larches Their shadows o'er us wave ; And we walk, as through the arches Of some grand Cathedral's nave. And, while our footsteps wander Through the aisles of sombre sheen, Our hearts in silence ponder On the stillness of the scene : And we feel its calmness stealing O'er the bosom's restless tide ; Till we find our passions kneeling Before the Crucified. A FEW LITTLE LOYE LYRICS. TO REBECCA. ] 05 TO REBECCA. Yes ! I am caught ! niy vanquisli'd breast To Venus bends, and bath no rest : I pour the impassion'd sigh. Ye Heav'ns ! what throbs rny bosom move, Responsive to the glance of love, That fires Rebecca's eye ! Her face as Parian marble bright, Too pure, too dazzling for the sight, Her sweet good-nature tells : The shining Maid my bosom warms ; Oh ! how her sweet coquetting charms ! My bosom heaves — it swells. She comes ! she rushes in my veins ; She enters there, and there she reigns : Ah, see ! a thousand rays From that fair face their lustre dart — Her palace I, her throne my heart — Resistless is her gaze. Sweet Maid ! I'm thine — henceforth I sing No more heroic deeds — the string Forgets its wonted strain : For love alone the lyre is strung ; Love melts, love trembles on my tongue, And burns in ev'ry vein. 106 TO REBECCA. For thee, and thee alone, I live, Content to die, so thou sui'vive ; My life is knit to thine : Nay, as for dying, I would brave A thousand deaths thy life to save- Rebecca ! — art thou mine ? ROSA. 107 ROSA. Her breath is as a balmy gale, When late a gently-falling show'r Has pass'd upon the fragrant vale, And freshen'd ev'ry drooping flow'r. Diana moves, whene'er she walks, And trips her Thracian nymphs among 'Tis Circe sings, whene'er she talks, But who can imitate her song ? The bird, that up to Heav'n's gate goes, Exulting in his soaring flight ; 'Till all his little heart o'erflows, In one wild deluge of delight : Oh ! not e'en he, tho' high above, In bluest Heav'n, he tune his throat, Can match the singing of my Love — For peerless is my Rosa's note. The roses blossom in her cheek, Softer than those that grace the dale ; Her brow is white as Alpine peak, Or bashful lily of the vale. 10S ROSA. Upon that brow her t roses flow, When winnow'd gently by the breeze, As dance upon the passive snow The shadows of the neighbouring trees. Whene'er her tempting lips I view, Her ripe lips pouting daintily, What sweet emotions thrill me through ! To kiss them, oh ! what luxury. — O, rosy, rosy ambuscade, Whence Cupid, arm'd with ivory darts, By Laughter roused, shoots forth display'd. And captures unsuspecting hearts ! — Soft was the hand she press'd in mine, As mulberry leaves reduced to silk ; White as green grass, when lowing kine Have changed it into frothing milk. I saw the peaceful Evening Star Smile blessings on me from above : Her soft blue eye was kinder far, And look'd me sweetly into love. Oh ! she shall smile my care away — The Star ascendant at my birth Shall shine into my wedding day, And make a very Heav'n of Earth. THE LOVER'S WINTER. 109 THE LOVER'S WINTER. The wintry snows are falling fast, And cold the piercing north winds blow ; I cannot feel the bitter blast, I care not for the freezing snow : Eor warm is Rosa's heart divine, And loving Rosa's heart is mine ! They tell me that the tempest lours, That dark and dreary is the sky ; Yet bright and cloudless are my hours, Sunshine and joy are ever nigh : Bright as the sun doth Rosa shine, And, radiant Rosa, thou art mine ! The wild waves roar around the rocks, And wrestle with the madd'ning wind, Which still their foaming frenzy mocks ; Yet sweetest calm is all I find : In Rosa peace and love combine, And, gentle Rosa, thou art mine ! The tuneful quire no music send, No Philomel her love deplores ; Instead of love, the winds contend ; In place of song, the tempest roars : But Rosa's note is passing fine, And Rosa's sweet-toned voice is mine ! 110 THE LOVER'S WINTER. It is a dismal winter morn, And every charm of Nature sleeps ; The woodlands sigh, of beauty shorn, The winds complain, the lorn heav'n weeps; Yet all the charms of May are thine, And, charming Rosa, thou art mine ! 'tis true she broke her faith to me. Ill 'TIS TRUE SHE BROKE HER FAITH TO ME. 'Tis true she broke lier faith to me, 'Tis true she used me very ill : I know not what her thoughts may be, I only know I love her still. 'Tis true she strove with utmost zeal To wake this heart to passion's thrill : Yet do I no resentment feel, I only feel I love her still. With lips that seem'd too fair to err, She vow'd no time her love would kill Yet can I think no ill of her, I only think I love her still. And I vow'd ever to be true, And even now that vow fulfil : For, 'though she may have vow'd anew, / only vow I love her still. They tell me that another's breast Pillows that head, and ever will : I do not sigh that she is blest, I only sigh I love her still. 112 'tis true she broke her faith to me. Ami when they ask me, wherefore I Find all things fail my love to chill : I cannot say the reason why, I only say I love her still. Oh, is it not exceeding strange, That nothing, nothing, has the skill To alter love 1 I know not change ; I only know I love her still ! FRAILTY. 113 FRAILTY. Frail as the sand before the tide ; As morning dew-drops fickle ; Inconstant as the streams that glide, And down the mountains trickle. E'en so is Julia — yet my love Still urges on to wooing : Resist I cannot, tho' twill prove, I know, mine own undoing. Thus Eve, although she knew the tree Of knowledge death, if cherish'd, Could not resist the luxury : Tasted, and tasting perish'd. 114 THE FOUR-LEAVED SHAMROCK. THE FOUR-LEAVED SHAMROCK. Oh ! had I but the fourfold leaf Which hidden valleys grow, That banishes the pow'r of grief, Commanding joy to glow. There should not be in Mary's eye The prospect of a tear ; Nor wrinkling Age her forehead nigh Proclaim another year. The blossom, as in native groves, Should nourish, bed superb ! Upon her bosom, where the Loves No trouble should disturb. There never enter thought of care, There countless roses shine, A thousand pleasures I'd prepare, The four-leaved Shamrock mine. Mary, my pleasure and my woe, What bliss were mine to feel, The pangs thy scorn has made me know, Thy charms have pow'r to heal ! The magic plant upon thy breast, Mine own should cease to pine, Love's doubts and fears be all at rest, The four-leaved Shamrock mine. love's eve. 1 L5 LOVE'S EYE. Smiled all around the flow'ring grove : Smiled all the eyes of Night above, On heav'n's aerial throne : And all things smiled, or should have smiled ; But I, by fairer charms beguiled, Beheld my Love alone. All blooming was the blossom new To Spring, in pearly drops of dew, To limpid moonlight shewn : And all things bloom'd, or should have bloom'd ; But I, to Mary bound and doom'd, Beheld my Love alone. O ! he that hath a roving eye To worldly charms, when she is nigh, Who calls his heart her own, Loves not, or loves untrue, unkind ; For Love's eye opes, since he is blind, For her he loves alone. 1 2 11 THE FAREWELL. THE FAEEWELL. I said, " Adieu," yet linger' d still With those three maidens at my side ; Oh ! who, that ever felt the thrill Of woman's touch at eventide, Can wonder that those fingers fair Had pow'r to hold me spell-bound there 1 As easy 'twere to tear away From out a budding rose the thorn ; Or draw at once the night from day, Without an intervening morn : As all at once draw me away From speaking eyes that falter, " Stay." Yet I must fly at length ; for, Oh ! That horrid tyrant, Dut}% calls, And tears me rudely hence, to go To musty books and college walls; And leave the smiles of maidens three For thy stern frown, Philosophy ! THE FAREWELL. 117 Yet when much study tries the brain, Aud wandering thoughts disturb my rest, Love will recall those smiles again ; And still will shine within this breast The semblance of those faces three, There stei^eotyped by Memory. IIS FAR AND NEAR. FAR AND NEAE. Fortune of mine, thou worldly star, Capricious, prithee, cease ! — When I would Peace proclaim, not War.. Why shouldst thou war with Peace 1 Where I do love, there I would kneel, Thou for whom I seek, Feel that I love, love that I feel, Although we dare not speak ! She loves, yet dares not love repeat, Oh, agony refined ! — We meet to love, and love to meet, And part, in all but mind. She lives my peasant world above, Thence all my love descries ; Mourns that I seek a starry love, Yet cannot reach the skies. A FEW LITTLE EPIGRAMS. TO FANNY. 121 TO FANNY. When I to dust from whence I came, And you are left alone ; And I am but a little name Upon a little stone. Then, Fanny, when the tear shall start From eyes so false and fair, Thou'lt know how like that stone thou art, Cut deep by letters there ! 122 ON BEING ASKED WHY ROSALINDA BYAM HAD NEVER FALLEN IN LOVE. ON BEING ASKED WHY ROSALINDA BYAM HAD NEVER FALLEN IN LOVE. So hard a heart (I'll stake my life upon it), So hard a heart does Rosalinda own, That Love, who emptied all his quiver on it, Broke every arrow on a breast of stone. HOMEOPATHIC DOCTOR'S SOX AT BREAKFAST. 123 THE HOMEOPATHIC DOCTOR'S SON AT BREAKFAST. " Spread me bread and butter, Pa Breakfast to begin." "Yes," said Pa, but, fearing Ma, Spread the butter thin. Then, with look quite horrified, Disappointed Dick Thus unto his parent cried — " Ho -me ! O—Pa /—thick I " 124 OX A CERTAIN WELL-KNOWN STATUE. ON A CERTAIN WELL-KNOWN STATUE. Said Dick to Bob—" Why near the sky Is Nelson placed so wondrous high ]" Said Bob to Dick — " He lost an eye : And so you see 'twas proper quite To put him almost out of sight." its;: sweet lips. 125 HER SWEET LIPS. Her smile so bright, that, oh ! me thought A Seraph beam'd on me ; Her kiss so sweet, that, honey-fraught I felt her lips to be. What wonder that her lips were sweet, Who did on Manna feed : Manna, we know, is Angels' meat, And she is one indeed ! 126 THE CHRISTIAN EPIGRAM. THE CHRISTIAN EPIGRAM. There is but oue rhyme for the Saviour ; Only one that seems good— behaviour. A FEW LITTLE SCATTERLINGS. A LEGEND OF BLACKHEATH. 129 A LEGEND OF BLACKHEATH. " WJio's dat knocking at de door." — Nigger Song. 'Twas a night most dark and dreary ; Eight fair maids sat very weary, Sat beside the dying ember Of a fire in cold December, Sat, themselves alone, all quivering, Shaking, quaking, sad, and shivering ; For the master (cruel hearted) Had to scenes of joy departed; For when Christmas comes with holly Blackheath bucks grow very jolly. But these maids were in a rum way, For they greatly fear'd lest some way, Pa not being near to right them, Somebody would come and fright them. Suddenly there came a tapping, As of some one rapping, rapping, Rapping, and not in a mild way, On the door, but in a wild way. Then together closer clung they, And with terror held their tongue they ; And then, looking at each other, Toss'd the salts to one another. Salts on women act like magic, 'Specially when deeds are tragic ; K 130 A LEGEND OF BLACKHEATH. And these maids, their sniffing over, Quickly felt themselves recover; But when just about to mutter That they ' did'nt care a butter- Fly,' the door the knocker thrice strikes, And they tumble down in " high-strikes." As sometimes, when eve was waking, I have seen a storm-cloud breaking; Breaking with its death-like shadow Over garden, over meadow ; And the rain has quick descended, And with rain the wind has blended, Ev'ry minute louder blowing, Ev'ry minute stronger growing, Till at last its voice of thunder Seem'd to tear the hills asunder, Ravishing the summer bowers, Layiug prostrate all the flowers ; Not a rose can stand its sally, Not a lily in the valley, All bright flowers that women cherish Hang their drooping heads and perish. So each maiden at the the thunder, Which near rent the door asunder, Hung her head (the little silly !) Like a drooping water-lily. But there's nothing, Man, that thine is, But at last must have its " finis." Fits and faints, and dreams and dozes; Eten " liisrh-strikes " have their closes. A LEGEND OF BLACKHEATH. 131 And these maids, who had been jumping, And against the sofa bumping, Bumping one against the other, Till they nigh kill'd one another, Soon grew all serene and steady, When they heard that tea was ready. Oh ! when woman's fancy pricks her, Mix a bowl of this elixir ; Soon 'twill calm her wild pulsations — Potentest of all potations ! But the door would still keep knocking, While the ladies shouted " shocking ! " And consulted how to quiet Him who kick'd up such a riot. Mary said, " Oh, what a bore, now — Who's that knocking at the door, now ? " Answer came, in nigger Hno-o. "Is that you, Sam? No, 'taint by jingo ; Pass the shovel and the hoe now ;" " Is that you, Sam ? No, 'taint me, Joe, now !" Then she cried unto her Ma dear — ■ What, alas ! may come to Pa, dear ! He, perhaps, as home he trotted, Has been plunder'd and garotted ; For methinks there is a. rabble Waiting outside him to grabble." Then, Mamma, a rattle sprung she, Bells, too, full a dozen rung she. Yet still louder grew the knocking, While the neighbours all came flocking. k 2 O' 132 A LEGEND OF BLACKIIEATII. Some with night-caps, some without them, Some with blankets thrown about them : And they found a string was hanging To the knocker, which kept banging ; And they found the string conducted O'er a wall on high constructed : And they found the wall surrounded Some fair garden, where abounded Onions, cabbages, and " taters," Toads and frogs, and alligators ; And they found the string most surely Round a rock was tied securely ; And the rising generation Pull'd the string on that occasion. THE HUMAN TOUCHSTONE. 133 THE HUMAN TOUCHSTONE. The breeze we hear, but cannot see ; The sun we see, but cannot hear ; All things to dull humanity So darkly through a glass appear. And yet the deaf man knows full well "When the glad breeze is fleeting by; And he whose eyes are closed can tell When the warm sun lights up the sky. Eor He who made the deaf and blind, Lest He should wound them overmuch, Hath in His tender love assign'd To both alike the sense of touch. And though the sun one cannot see, Nor e'en the breeze the other hear ; Yet both can feel their potency, And by this sense they know them near The deaf man by the breeze that steals With balmy pinion o'er his brow ; The blind man by the joy he feels, When senial suns their warmth bestow. 134 THE nUMAN TOUCHSTONE. And when the Scoffer says to me, " Where is the God you say you fear ? His presence you can never see ; His voice, you know, you never hear !" I answer, " In this world below, Our senses all are veil'd in gloom ; We only know we nothing know, And more than this should not presume. My eyes are blind, I cannot see ; My ears are deaf, I cannot hear ; And yet I know that God must be, For in my heart I feel Him near." THE HUMAN SHIP. 135 THE HUMAN SHIP. When once the human bark is cast Adrift, O stream of Time ! on thee, She must sail onward to the vast, Vast ocean of Eternity. Eor though thy waters shallow seem, Yet is the rapid current strong ; And man adown the eddying stream Is hurried by the tide aloug. And every breath that man inhales Is but the sighing of the breeze, W Inch wafts his bark, while on he sails To reach the deep eternal seas ! 136 THE HUMAN CLOCK. THE HUMAN CLOCK. Oh, what a fragile thing am I, Whose frame can scarce a member show, That long will weariness defy, Or slumber's soft embrace forego ! "a*- The weary eyes anon must close, The weary brain anon must sleep ; The heart alone seeks no repose, And can unceasing vigil keep — The human clock's essential spring, "Whose motion tires not, night nor day ; Unwinding slow with every swing The chain that keeps the wheels in play !- Yet doubt I if my di-eam be right : For does indeed this heart of mine, Unwearied both by day and night, Keep vigil like the Eye Divine ! Nay ! rather is the moment's pause, Before and after every beat, A little Sabbath, whence she draws Repose for future labour meet. She gives one beat, but gives not twain, Till she has knock'd at Heaven's door, And ask'd, if she may beat again, Or if she now must beat no more. THE HUMAN FLEDGLING. 137 THE HUMAN FLEDGLING. This frame, of all the ills possess'd With which the human kind are cursed, What is it]— Nothing but the nest In which the unfiedg'd soul is nursed. Awhile, when yet but newly hatch'd, In senseless rest the nursling lay ; W hile over it the Mother watch'd, With brooding bosom, all the day. And even at the present hour A nestling still this soul is found ; And still as yet without the pow'r To quit her nest upon the ground. But when cold Spring gives Summer birth, Fledged she will plume her wings to fly ; Leave her dark nest on this dark earth ; Soar out of sight, and sing on high. 138 TIin HUMAN' EMMET. THE HUMAN EMMET. The glittering flies that fan the flow'rs, With silken wings, when day is warm — The worms that light the vesper bow'rs — For human eyes have many a chai'm. And harmless they as pleasing are, No hurt at all to man they bring : Nay ! 'tis an insect meaner far, The tiny Ant, that bears a sting. And mark this, man of station low ! Who thinkest thy bane must be small; And only they who make a show Have influence for ill at all : The splendid Fly that paints the air, The golden worm that Vesper brings, Are both as innocent as fair : It is the tiny Ant that stings. THE HUMAN DROPLET. 139 THE HUMAN DKOPLET. We are (for Scripture teaches thus) As water spilt upon the ground ; And, oh ! there cannot be for us, Methinks, a fitter emblem found. For water spilt on earth, we know, Must, heav'n-attracted, seek the sky ; Or, earth-conducted, sink below, In endless night — and so must I. 140 THE HUMAN WONDER. THE HUMAN WONDER. Of all the wondrous tilings in man, Tho' many woud'rous things there be, I know of none more wond'rous than His individuality. For, oh ! methinks it passing strange, That this identity of mine Can never cease to be, nor change, Nor with another's self combine : That I, when graves are open thrown, Amid the throngs that hear the call, Must stand alone, tho' not alone, Among, and yet apart from, all : All, all, of every age and clime, Begotten since Creation's morn, With those now in the womb of Time, The generations yet unborn. THE HUMAN MYSTERY. 141 THE HUMAN MYSTERY. 'Tis but a pebble, nothing more, And thousand others like it lie, Before me, on the dappled shore, Yet is it full of mystery. 'Tis but a pebble, yet it may Have help'd to build the mouldering tow'r Of yon tall Castle old and gray, And served to shelter wealth and pow'r : And rung full often with the cries Of orphan' d Child and widow'd Wife ; And echo'd back the low replies Of Maidens plighting love for life. Or, may be, that it help'd to raise The Chapel's crumbling walls, and long Echo'd each day the pray'r and praise Of Matins and of Evensong. ■»■ It may be so, I cannot tell ; But howsoever it may be, Yet this at least I know full well, And 'tis a solemn thought to me 142 THE HUMAN MYSTERY. When o'er this Heav'n-wrought* frame of mine As many hundred years have roll'd, As o'er the Castle and the Shrine, That crown yon hill with ruins old ; There will be left to mock the touch Of cank'ring Time, when I am dust, (Great God, 'tis strange !) not e'en as much As this small pebble. I will trust. * Job, x., 8. THE HUMAN SELF-SURVIVOR. 143 THE HUMAN SELF -SUE VI VOE. How many a man (sad, sad, to tell) Follows himself to his own grave ; And makes his own heart knoll the knell Of every passion pure and brave : The knell of all the better light, Wherewith his early youth began ; The passing bell that tells the flight Of all the true life of the man ! For man is dead when dead to truth, Tho' for awhile, the slave of pelf, He cumber still the ground forsooth, The sad survivor of himself ! 144 THE HUMAN IMMORTAL. THE HUMAN IMMORTAL. All things that here below have birth, (So Nature's changeless laws ordain,) Before they vanish from the earth, Can reproduce themselves again. The flow'r, what time her blossoms fade, Throws the same seed her parent threw ; Which, falling on the genial glade, Begets the selfsame flow'r anew. The brute begets a i-ising race, That all their j>arent's features claim ; Grow much like him in form and face, And in their senses quite the same. But one thing an exception makes : That wondrous dow'r, the human mind, When from this earth her flight she takes, Can leave no second self behind. And whence the reason none can claim The mind that used his sire's to be'l (For no two minds were e'er the same, In all the human family.) THE nUMAN IMMORTAL. 145 Oh, is it not a proof confess'd, That she was not desicrn'd for death ; Faints never with the faintiag breast, Dies never with the dying breath : And, therefore, needs no second birth, Since she herself can never die ; r>ut only quits the transient earth, To live on everlastingly ! 146 THE HUMAN SOLITAIRE. THE HUMAN SOLITAIRE. I sometimes walk amid the crowd, And seem the last of all my race ; Eor all are naught to me. A cloud Hallos o'er me which no smile can chase. .-> It is the burthen of my life ; It gathers in the sunniest skies ; Grows darkling with its stormy strife ; And breaks in show'rs from brimming eyes. It comes between me and the light Which Heav'n would shed upon my way ; And dashes with the shades of night The ruddy fount of struggling day. It looms far off, when I would see The promise of a brighter noon ; Its louring freight would threaten me, E'en in the month of rosy June. They walk together, arm in arm ; They seem to share each other's woes; And in the world to find a charm Can give the troubled breast repose. THE HUMAN SOLITAIRE. 147 While on I wander, sorrow-bow'd, Still lonely in the world's embrace ; I sometimes walk amid the crowd, And seem the last of all my race. Descend, Thou Spirit of my God ! None else can chase my gloom away : O, long I smart beneath Thy rod ; 0, wilt Thou hide thy face for ayel Wouldst Thou but smile from out the cloud; No matter, could I see Thy face, Tho' oft I walk amid the crowd, And seem the last of all my race ! t 2 148 THE HUMAN FATHER DIVINE. THE HUMAN FATHER LIVINE. I stood upon the ocean strand ; The sea behind me lash'd the shore, The mountains rose on either hand, And plains and valleys stretch'd before. I stood enwrapt in silent thought, For the erand scenes that held me there Their image on my bosom wrought, And these my inward musings were. " Amid these valleys stretching wide, Amid these billows rolling high, And mountains huge on either side, Oh, what a puny thing am I ! A leaf among the forest trees, A shell the rocking billows nurse, An insect dancing in the breeze, An atom in the universe ! " But while I felt in heart distress'd, And wonder'd why my frame so small, A heav'nly whisper thrill'd my breast, — " Thv Father's band has made them all ! — TIIE HUMAN FATHER DIVINE. 149 " Thy Father's hand yon mountains spread, And thou His sacred offspring art ; He counts the hairs upon thy head, He feels the throbbings of thy heart." Oh, blessed thought, I am not then A shell the rocking billows nurse, A leaf within the forest glen, An atom in the universe ! The plains may stretch their bosoms wide, The ocean roll his billows high ; Huge mountains swell on either side, But greater far than all am I. For, lo ! I am the son of God, And He will still my Father be, "When Earth is shaken by his nod, And Mountains roll unto the sea. And when methinks I nothing seem, And bow in agony of heart, I fall back on this blessed theme — " My Father who in Heaven art !" 150 THE HUMAN MOTHER'S ANGEL BABE. THE HUMAN MOTHER'S ANGEL BABE. Alas ! while prison'd here below, Our glimpse of Heav'n is very small ; And he who paints it best must owe To his own fancy nearly all. Yet this we know (for thus declare Christ's own unerring lips) of Heaven ; " The Saints do neither marry there, Nor are, like us, in marriage given." But who would fancy Heav'n complete, If tbere no little children be ? Would He who said in tones so sweet, " Let little children come to Me !" Yet children dear to human eyes Their birth to Angels cannot owe ; Nor to the Saints who throng the skies, And, Angel-like, no marriage know. When, therefore, blessed Saints above Need children for their holy mirth ; God sends the Angels in his love, To take them from the babes of earth. THE HUMAN MOTHER'S AE GEL BABE. 151 Then, Mother ! smile as erst you smiled, Nor at your seeming loss repine ; The Angels sought Earth's loveliest child, And fix'd (how could they else 1) on thine. Oh i bow then to your Father's will, And, happy in your favour'd lot, Say to your troubled breast, " Be still," And to your brimming eyes, " Weep not !" 1-52 THE HUMAN FUTURE TELESCOrED. THE HUMAN FUTURE TELESCOPED. The Bee her cell, the Bird her nest, Builds as she huilt an age ago; Time no improvement can suggest, They know in full whate'er they know. And when a thousand years shall close, Their wont will be the same as now; The Bee will rifle still the rose, The Bird still twitter on the bough. And yet poor Man knows but in part, And labours daily to know more ; And, slave to Science and to Art, Unlearns what he has learnt before. And are the many Brutes we meet, Which end their life as they began, And have their knowledge all complete, More gifted than imperfect Man 1 Nay ! rather, in what seems to be The weakness of the human kind, If comprehended rightly, we The symptom of its greatness find : A token that the glass, which so Obscures the vision of our race, Shall broken be, that we may know, And look on all things face to face. THE HUMAN SOUL'S NAP. 153 THE HUMAN SOUL'S NAP. I walk'd too far the other day, And had a joyful eve in sight ; For with some kindred spirits gay I meant to pass the Christmas night. But, pantiug with a thirst for rest, I to my lonely chamber crept ; Where, yielding to the weary breast, I laid me down awhile and slept. And when I woke, I rose restored, My senses all from languor free, And hasten'd to the festive board, And spent the night in social glee. And why should not the death we fear Be but the slumber of the soul. Which, way-worn with her journey here, Needs sleep to make her vigour whole 1 That she, who loathed this weary way, May wake at length from languor free, And fitted to enjoy for aye The pleasures of eternity ! 154 TI1E human soul's counterpart. THE HUMAN" SOUL'S COUNTERPART. While now I look within this glass, And there my face reflected see, What scenes before my vision pass, How many thoughts arise in me ! "This is the face which God design'd For me, before the worlds were known ; He made the millions of mankind, Yet gave this face to me alone. This is the face that, yet unborn, An embryo in the darkness lay; Till, early one St. Matthew's morn, It broke upon the light of day. This is the face that since has grown As God design' d that it should grow ; And by this face I now am known, By all my comrades here below. This is the face by which those dear And sainted ones remember me, Who once on Earth dwelt with me here, But now dwell, dearest Lord ! with Thee. THE HUMAN SOUL'S COUNTERPART. 155 This is the face Heav'n gave to be The soul's viceroy, through earth's career ; 'Tis by these eyes that she must see, 'Tis by these ears that she must hear. This is the face that gives to all The reflex of the heart within ; Displaying now some virtue small, The mirror now of every sin. This is the face, whose eai's have heard, "Whose mouth confess'd, that Christ is good ; Whose eyes have read his holy word, Whose lips have drunk his holy blood. This is the face, whose ears have heard The mouth the idle word repeat ; Whose eyes have often lust preferr'd, Whose lips have often breathed deceit. This is the vexy face that must, When Death no more has pow'r to bind, Arise from out the pregnant dust, To meet the Judge of all mankind. And, oh, this very, very face, Must lie for ever cursed in hell ; Or, through God's all prevailing grace, With Angel, Saint, and Jesu dwell ! " 1.56 THE HUMAN SOUL'S CHART. THE HUMAN SOUL'S CHART. The seaman knows not whence the cause His needle takes a polar course ; Knows nothing of magnetic laws, Knows nothing of electric force : Knows not who first those laws display' d, Or first the pow'r of forces traced ; Nor who his little compass made The pilot of the watery waste. But this he knows, rude though he be, That, howsoe'er the billows sweep, Yet by this little needle he Can safely thread the seamless deep. He knows that only this can track A safe way through the trackless foam ; That only this can give him back His family, his friends, his home. And thus the humble Christian knows His Scriptures were design'd to be The only pilot to disclose His safe way through a trackless sea. THE HUMAN SOUL'S CHART. 157 He knows not (may be, cares not) whence The proofs that have established them ; Knows not the force of evidence, Knows not the laws of theorem. He only knows — nor need know more — That if he would escape from death, From drowning ere he reach the shore, And making shipwreck of his faith : That, if he would the rocks avoid, And pass the quicksands safely by, On which so many are destroy 'd, Who madly on themselves rely : To that far off and peaceful clime, Those Scriptures chart and guide must be, His compass o'er the sea of Time, His Pilot to Eternity. And, knowing only this, yet blest In making use of what he knows, In safety o'er the troubled breast Of this world's raging sea he goes : Until at length his voyage ends In that sweet haven far away, Where are his family, his friends, His home, and endless holyday. 158 THE HUMAN' SOUL'S HEAVEN. THE HUMAN SOUL'S HEAVEN. "When the soul, wrapt in some rare strain Of Music, thrills with strangest bliss, O, whence the sweet ethereal chain That holds her bound in spell like this ? Ah ! smile not at conceit in me, Who think 'tis Heav'n that thralls her so : For, say, has Heav'n a property, Her daughter Music cannot show 1 ? Heav'n is all harmony ; and she, Sweet Music, in this world of strife, Alone is only harmony ; It is her nature, and her life. Heav'n is all purity ; and she, Like Heav'n's clear river, purely flows ; Unless to words she wedded be, She never any baseness knows. All of one speech is pure-lipp'd Heav'n ; And Music, which from Heav'n has sprung, With the same Alphabet of seven Speaks to all men of ev'ry tongue. THE HUMAN SOUL'S HEAVEN. 159 And Heav'n eternal is ; and she, We know, dear Music, was before The Earth was made, and still will be, When Earth itself shall be no more. The Angels, from their thrones of gold, When Earth's determin'd site was known, March'd forth with Music to behold The laying of the corner stone.* And, when the Earth shall cease to be, And all her other pleasures die, Sweet Music ! thou alone shalt flee With man transplanted to the sky. * See Job, xxxviii., 6, 7. 1G0 SArrno. SAPPHO. Come, list to me, ye lovers all, And I will tell a tale of woe ; And ne'er may you such sorrow know As I shall here recall. The dove is Venus-loved, they say, And, though she may be fond and true,, Yet changing is her pinion's hue Beneath the solar ray. And Venus' nature, like her dove's, Is changeful, for she does not save The young, the beautiful, the brave, But ruins whom she loves. Leucadia's steep may this declare, For never loved a warmer maid, Than she whom Venus first betray 'd, And then let perish there. Aloft its craggy top it rears, While far beneath the Ocean flows, More brackish with the Maiden's woes Than Nature's briny tears. SAPPHO. 161 And Fables say, not so of yore, But that a labouring people rent Its Isthmus from the Continent, And made its sea-girt shore. B' And bound thus by attachment strong, Yet sever'd, was the Maiden fair, Of swimming eye, and floating hair, The Maiden of my song. o - The Lesbian hxte was sweet to hear ; There might not be a feast complete, Tho' crown'd with flow'rs and daintiest meat, Unless its strings were near. 'b k But who the deftliest touch'd the soul, And wedded thought to strings correct ; That nicest ears coxdd not detect An error in the whole '? 'Twas Sappho ! who, in verse renown'd, With newer feelings taught the heart To tremble to her measure's art, And drew applause aixmnd. And yet her soft lute's syren tone, Tho' many thousands press'd to hear, Of all that heard, a single ear Would please herself alone. 31 162 SAITIIO. 'Twas Phaon's ! unto him her eyes A sun of love for ever rose ; For him the lyre the sweetest flows, The echo of her sighs. Oh, merry was the Lesbian isle ! For Phaon took the proffer'd love ; And Sappho, pleased to please him, strove All sorrows to beguile. And men and maidens loved the tone, The ear enticing heartfelt strain, Which, making Sappho's passion plain, Interpreted their own. Why falls upon her hand the tear ] And whei-efore is that white hand still, As chords nnsmitten, and her will No more inclined to cheer 1 Ah, Phaon, thou the cause of ill ! Thy hand averted stays her own, 'Till sudden palsy o'er it thrown, 'Tis statue-like and still. Oh, what the gifts the Heav'ns impart, To tune the lyre, or turn the verse, When with the blessing comes the curse To lack a prudent heart ! SAPPHO. 163 Thus hapless Sappho lived to find Her fame a load of misery, The order of her verse to be Disorder to her mind. When dark the heart through love unpaid, Nor mind nor lyre can pierce the gloom ; Leucadia's wave must be her tomb ; She felt it, and obey'd. Gone, gone, her form beneath the wave ; But fame shall still with Sappho dwell, Who loved " not wisely but too well," And hallow'd be her grave. The Lesbian maids shall thither come, And, when the foam is rippling near, Believe their Sappho's songs they hear, Renew'd beyond her tomb. And thee, Leucadia ! famous made, Venus, who from the Ocean rose, Shall honour as the end of woes To her whom she betray' d. And Lesbians, when their bards declare Whence honour'd most the Muses nine, Shall show Leucadia's hallow'd shrine, And say—" The tenth sleeps there !" v 2 164 TO A STREAMLET. TO A STEEAMLET. Wander, gentle Sti'eamlet ! wander, Ever onward to the sea ; While upon thy bank I ponder How my life resembles thee. Smoothly on my life is flowing, Ever onward, like thy wave ; Thou art to the Ocean going, I am going to the grave. Lovely meadows skirt thy waters, Crown'd with flow'rets sweet and gay ; All as fair as Beauty's daughters, All, alas ! as frail as they. But thou fiowest on unheeding, Turning neither left nor right ; On thy journey ever speeding, Proof against the charms of sight. Thus may I, when woman's beauty, Wealth or pleasure, would beguile, Ever keep the path of duty, Scorning ev'ry worldly wile. TO A STREAMLET. 165 On thy breast reflected brightly Glistens many a heav'nly ray ; From the starry beacons nightly, From the glorious sun by clay. May my bosom thus be lighted By thy beams, Great God of love ! And, when most she seems benighted, Draw down radiance from above. Wander, limpid Streamlet ! wander, Ever onward to the sea ; While upon thy bank I ponder How my life resembles thee. On thou flowest j but not only When the Sun is shining bright : Still thy way thou wendest lonely, In the darkest shades of Night. Ay, and whether shadows bind thee, Or thy course is bright with day, Patient Streamlet ! still T find thee Making music all the way. Oh ! and to this bosom weary Of the race scarce yet begun, When her prospect looks most dreary, And most clouded seems her sun > 166 TO A STREAMLET. Then I hear thee, little River ! Saying in thy ceaseless flow : "" Go your way, contented ever, And make music as you go." Wander, lovely Streamlet ! wander, Ever onward to the sea ; While upon thy bank I ponder How I should resemble thee. EFITAPH. 161 EPITAPH, FOR MY LITTLE DOG BOZ. My little Boz lies here below, Who went the way all flesh must go ; He who delighted on my knee Hath slumber'd oft so tranquilly, Now sleeps beneath this earthy floor, To wake again — Ah, nevermore ! For dogs, no deathless soul have they To wait re-union with its clay ; But lie forgotten in the ground, In everlasting slumber bound. Then sleep thou on : for there will be Pull many a one shall envy thee. For when the trumpet, sounding loud, Shall rouse the sleeping human crowd ; Many a man will wake to shame, Who spurn'd a Saviour's gracious name ; And, doom'd in endless flames to roll, Wish he were Boz, and had no soul. 168 the christian's heart. THE CHRISTIAN'S HEART. My heart is as the needle true, That doth its pole in Jesu see ; For, life's unchanging changes through, Dear Lord ! it turns to Thee. My heart is as a sunflower gay, Which knows Thy smile its sun to be. And turns from this dark earth away, To fix its look on Thee. My heart a young bird is, and Thou The nest to which it loves to flee ; For, when the storm is loud, oh, how- It fluttering flies to Thee ! The Rose of Sharon, Thousand I, The hungry little honey Bee, Who love within Thy breast to lie, And draw sweet food from Thee. My heart is as a joyous lyre, And Thou the Master of the ke}% Awaking all its secret fire, In praise of only Thee. THE CHPJSTIAn's HEART 169 My heart, as yon sun-seeking bird, Whose treble soar'd from lowliest lea, Bright Sun of Righteousness ! is heard Rising in songs to Thee. The gentle dew of Herinon, Thou ; My heart, Cicada, blithe and free, That, dancing o'er the mountain's brow, Sips heav'nly draughts from Thee. A golden bowl this heart of mine, And when it empty seems to be, O Thou, who art its Chosen Vine, I fill it full from Thee ! 170 A SONNET. A SONNET. The Bee3, when call'd to life in flow'iy May, Tho' food in growing plenty round they see, Begin at once with careful industry, To hoard up treasure for the wintry day. Yet, in the midst of all things sweet and gay, When buds are rife on ev'ry herb and tree, Whence learns the prudent, anxious, little Bee, That Winter's hand will sweep the flow'rs away. 'Tis instinct, planted by the All-wise Pow'r, Which to her breast the calm forewarning gave, That Death one day would scatter ev'ry flow'r. More blindly, then, than Insects, they behave, Who, seeing death around them ev'ry hour, Provide not for the winter of the grave ! HEAVEN. 171 HEAVEN. Beyond these chilling winds and gloomy skies, Beyond Death's cloudy portal, There is a land where Beauty never dies, And Love becomes immortal. A land whose light is never dimm'd by shade, Whose fields are ever vernal ; Where nothing that we prize can ever fade, And blossoms are eternal. We may not know how sweet the balmy air, How bright and fair its flowers ; We may not hear the songs that echo there Through those enchanted bowers. The city's shining tow'rs we may not see With our dim earthly vision ; For Death, the silent warder, keeps the key, That opes those gates Elysian. But sometimes, when adown the western sky The fiery sunset lingers, Its golden gates swing inward noiselessly, Unlock'd by unseen fingers. 172 HEAVEN. And while they stand, a moment, half ajar, Gleams from the inner glory Stream brightly through the azure vault afar, And half reveal the story. O land unknown ! land of love divine ! Father, all wise, eternal ! Guide, guide, these wandering way-worn feet of mine Into those pastures vernal. LINES. 173 LINES. A buxom gale came stealing o'er The many-pebbled strand ; And, as it blithely left the shore, Gently the billows famrd. Awhile it sported with the serge, And dallied with the tide ; And, kissing oft its babbling verge, Display'd an amorous pride. At length the shades of night to veil The horizon round begun nd troubled grew the swe Beneath the setting sun. And troubled grew the swelling gale Anon it roars, anon it raves : While mocks the rolling main, And wrathful scorn the boisterous waves, Raging with wild disdain. Man is that gale, blithesome and gay, Who with the world's tide sports ; And, while still lasts Life's sunny day, Its peaceful ebbing courts. 174 LINES. " But, when Life sheds her evening shade, The world is reft of halm : Her peace, her mocking pleasures fade, And rough succeeds to calm. Man ruin'd raves — the path he trod, The world has nought to woo ; When he, about to meet his God, Has everything to rue. THE BEREAVED MOTHER. 175 THE BEREAVED MOTHER. " Sad Mother, why the frequent tear Bedewing thus thine eyes ?" "Alas!" she answer'd, "buried here "My little William lies." " What ! weepest that thy boy is gone Where sorrows are forgot ?" "No, 'tis for this I weep alone, That I can see him not." " Patience, sad Mother, and again Thou shalt thy William see ; And I have had a dream that fain I would relate to thee ! " A Shepherd, in the evening shade, Sought o'er the mountain cold A sheep that with her lamb had stray'd Far from the bleating fold. a " And first he forced her from behind, And then persuasion show'd ; But still the wayward sheep declined To take the homeward road. 176 THE BEREAVED MOTHER. But when from out its fleecy nest The little lamb he drew, And carried it within hia breast, The mother follow'd too." I told my dream, and fled away ; — Dear Lord of love and might ! Do Thou teach her, for whom I pray, To read that dream aright ! MYSELF. 177 MYSELF. Oh ! sure, I was not born to die, And quit this earthly scene, Unnoted, as though wretched I On Earth had never been ; E'en like the Brutes that pass away, And leave no vestige of their stay. A living death this life I lead, Since health and peace have fled ; And, if I ever live indeed, 'Twill be when I am dead : Tho' now I die, mine be it then To live within the hearts of men ! I cannot think this mind was meant To perish with the frame, That holds her often from her bent, "When she would follow fame : Clogging her eager wings with clay, When she would soar with speed away. No ! for I sometimes feel her wake, And scorn as an offence The course the body loves to take Of selfish indolence : Longing to make my name sublime, And bear it to the end of Time. N 178 MYSELF. The Brutes, that only live aud die, To man their substance give ; But lower e'en than they am I, If mine it be to live A mere encumbrance to my kind ; Then die, and leave no trace behind. Ah, me ! I know not what I sing, For why should Peace be dead 1 The soul may soar on loftiest wing, Though Health itself has fled. The body can but clog the mind, The soul need never lag behind. Then rise, my soul ! in faith arise, To Christ, the Prince of Peace, And He will meet thee in the skies, And make thy troubles cease : Or, at the least, vouchsafe thee pow'r To grapple with the trying hour. And what can matter earthly fame To one who cannot die ; But whose imperishable name Is written in the sky ; Written, where only record stands, By God's own everlasting hands ! Yet, while I bide in suffring here, Be but His grace supplied, And I may make my vex'd career A lesson to the tried : And leave behind some precious fruit, Nor perish like the soulless Brute. Ytjle-tide, 18G0. NIGHT. 179 NIGHT. Haste thee, gentle Night ! and bring Stilly slumber on thy wing ; For, when drowsy mortals sleep, I would pleasing vigil keep, And enjoy, where'er I go, Charms that only thou canst show. First the Moon, whose tender beams Chase thy shades with silver gleams ; Spotless white its tranquil ray, As a soul that wings her way, When, released from grief and pain, And the body's dragging chain, She unsullied seeks the sky, In her Saviour's breast to lie. And the Stars I love to see That so oft bespangle thee, When the bright Heav'ns, like a book, Gemm'd with golden letters, look ; In whose pages we may see What is time astrology ; There may read how God descries, With ten thousand, thousand, eyes, Ev'ry phase of earthly plan, Ev'ry bent of changing man ; And, since no two beings here Have from Fate the same career, n 2 180 NIGHT. That our Great God has an eye For each sep'rate destiny. Then what sounds absorb mine ear, While I linger still to hear Philomel, with song elate, Thy sweet poet-laureate, Whose rich music floods the gale, And the eddies of the vale : Emblem of the Holy Sprite, Nestling in our breasts of night ; Till their passions wild and strong Overflow with heav'nly song ! But still more I love to hear Blest Cicada chirrup near ; See her feed on food divine, Fruitful heaven's dewy wine ; Live a life of happy trance, Nothing do but sing and dance ! For, methinks, if God so bless Insect small with happiness, He unmindful cannot be Of His tender love to me ; But for me must have some spot, Where all sorrows are forgot, In a world eternal, where, (Everlasting summer there !) Like this happy little thing, I shall always dance and sing. TWO PERSONS. 181 TWO PERSONS. Two persons once dwelt herey A minstrel and a lord ; The one kept famous cheer, The other touch'd a chord, And lived on humble fare, Cheerful, and looking spare. But both have pass'd away- Long since, and ivy clings Around the ruin gray Of former revellings : And few inquire "who lived, "Where nothing has survived. But in the minstrel's cot A lowly man lives on ; And strangers love the spot, And ever and anon Exclaim, with joyful tongue, " 'Twas here the Poet sung." Great houses pass away, Their owners live and die ; The Poet's cheerful lay Is fresh eternally : And peasants sing it now, While labouring at the plough. 182 TWO FERSONS. Then in this simple rhyme One simple lesson see ; 'Tho' strong things yield to Time, Yet one from death is free ; The Bard, immortal grown, Had soul, and soul alone. TO 31 Y MARY. 183 TO MY MARY. Surely Mary's natal day Should demand a little lay, From the little Bard who sings Of the charms of little things. « Little Birds," and " Little Flow'rs," -' Little Girls " employ his hours ; Claiming, for the joy they give, In a little song to live. Why, then, is the lyre unstrung, When my Mary should be sung ? O, my dearest, it were vain, You to sing in any strain ! Thoughts might come and thoughts might go, All my bosom overflow In ideas bright and new, Yet they could not compass you. Who can sing of perfect love 1 'Tis the theme of Saints above, Which they never can exhaust : Tho' the present, and the past, And the future age they claim, Yet their theme is still the same. 184 A SONNET. A SONNET. Why is the Night so still 1 To heav'n ascend From many a town the shouts of revelry ; And, haply, warring hosts* the welkin rend "With noise of violence, on land and sea. In many a happy home of innocent glee The merry tones of child and parent blend ; And from the hearth of many a family Goes up the death- wail for the treasured friend. And yet the Night is very, very still ! The Stars shine softly with their saffron light ; The Moon smiles sweetly on the answering hill. No Zephyr's wing is ruffled in its flight ; And not a sound comes near my window-sill ; Oh ! why art thou so tranquil, careless Night 1 * This sonnet was -written during the Crimean war. WEEP NOT. 185 WEEP NOT. (ADDRESSED TO ELLEN, ON THE DEATH OF HER FATHER, AFTER A LONG AND PAINFUL ILLNESS.) Weep not ! weep not ! the worldly weep, When friends from Earth are taken ; But we, whom Christ vouchsafes to keep, Can never be forsaken. The friends we lose but go before, A little earlier wafted o'er, To climes where sorrows sleep. There are they ours, on that glad shore, Where love grows ever more and more Unfathomably deep. Weep not ! we follow on apace ; Each moment brings us nearer To him who waits for our embrace In realms himself makes dearer. To live was loss, to die is gain, To him, to us, for we would fain Behold his pleasant face ; Where, smiling with the Seraph train, It bears no more the marks of pain, But shines with Angel grace. 186 woman's love. WOMAN'S LOVE. The stars disclose No brightness till the Heav'n is darkling : The blushing rose Smiles fairest when with dew-drops sparkling The leafy grove Looks gayest when the leaves are dying : And woman's love, When gloom, and tears, and death defying, Like star, and tree, and rose, The brightest shows ! SUN AND MOON. 187 SUN AND MOON. Beautiful orb of light ! Ever full, ever bright ! Never dimiuish'd iu grand flaming flood. In thee I'm taught to see Types of the Deity, Perfect in fulness of glory and good. Beautiful light ! Tender in might ! Joy to my sight. And thou, the lesser light ! Oft. in the stilly night, Beauteous, but pale, like a lily on high — Type of man's destiny, In thee I'm taught to see, As in a mirror hung up in the sky. Lily of light ! Moralist bright ! Teaching by night. Yes, such is man, Waning and wan, Doom'd, like the Moon, through his changes to go : Like her on high, Rising to die — Dying to rise in more glorious glow. Languages high, Books in the sky, Visible destiny there we espy. 188 BY THE SEA. BY THE SEA. The tremulous shadow of the sea ! Against its ground Of silvery light, rock, hill and tree, Still as a picture, clear and free, With varying outline mark the coast for miles around. Ha ! like a kind hand on my brow Conies this fresh breeze, Cooling its dull and feverish glow ; While through my being seems to flow The breath of a new life — the healing of the seas. Goodbye to pain and care ; I take Mine ease to-day ; Here, where these sunny waters break, And ripples this glad breeze, I shake All burthens from the heart, all weary thoughts away. I draw a freer breath — I seem Like all I see — Waves in the sun — the white-wing'd gleam Of sea-birds in the slanting beam — And far off sails that flit before the south wind free. BY THE SEA. 1S9 What heed I of the dusty land, And noisy town ? I see the mighty deep expand From its white line of glimmering sand, To where the blue of Heav'n, on bluer waves, shuts down. In listless quietude of mind I yield to all, The change of cloud, and wave, and wind, And passive on the flood reclined, I wander with the waves, and with them rise and fall. 190 A SO NNET. SONNET. A heart to wastiug grief a hopeless prey, A body rack'd with unremitting pain, A mind distemper'd, and a weary brain, All these had been the burthen of the day. But when kind Night resumed her tranquil reign, And I a-bed in ruthless anguish lay, Came gentlest Sleep and chased my woes away. While dreams the sweetest follow'd in her train. I trod a land whex^e troubles are unknown — A land of life where only sorrows die, Where the heart dances, pulsed with joy alone, And tears are wiped for ever from the eye. Why fear we then the hour of parting breath 1 If Sleep can give such bliss, why should not Death ! TO MY MOTHER. 191 TO MY MOTHER. Tho' clouds have gather'd overhead, And roses cease to shine Around the path that thou must tread, O, darling Mother mine ! Forget not, Winter still has charms Wherewith to sooth the soul's alarms. For when abroad is only gloom, And raging tempest's ire, Content within the curtain'd room, We light the cheerful fire ; And with a smiling face defy The threatening of the frowning sky. Then since thy sun has ceased to glow, Let not the bright fire die ; For to thy darken'd bosom, know, Thy fond son would supply The fuel that supports the flame, Which now thy wintry days may claim. 192 LINES. LINES. I wonder if in Heav'n above The soul will change of purpose know ; Or whether then we still shall love The same pursuits we lov'd below. I wonder whether I shall still Love rhyming as I love it now ; Or if her wise Creator will With other tastes my soul endow. It may be that this soul shall learn — This soul that gave abortive birth To lays, which, all who hear them, spurn, And justly spurn, as nothing worth — It may be that this soul shall learn, Heav'n-taught, a strain sublimely high, To which the Saints an ear shall turn, Enraptured, while they throng the sky. Nay, may be that she then shall sing Songs to which God will deign an ear j While Heav'n's eternal echoes ring With the same voice so feeble here. Ah me ! I very idle seem In penning such a rhyme as this ; And yet, Great God, I cannot dream How Heav'n could yield me greater bliss ! LIST OF SUBSCRIBERS T<> BY PETER SPENSER, B.A. No. of Copies in Mo. CI. Adams, Rev. E. C, m.a. . . Fellow of Worcester College, Oxford 1 Ainsworth, W.Harrison.Esq. Author of " Windsor Cas- tle," $c. Brighton 1 Alderton, Charles, Esq. . 70, George-street, Hastings 1 Alderton, Edward, Esq. . . Ditto ditto , I Alford, Very Rev. H., D.n. Dean of Canterbury 1 1 Ambler, T. B., Esq. . . Cadogan Estate Office, Chelsea 1 Atherstone, Edwin, Esq. Author of " Israelin Egypt," 8$c. 1 Bailey, Philip J., Esq. . . Author of " Festus," §rc, %c. 1 Ealdry, J. D. Esq 2, Oakley-square, Chelsea. . 2 Banks, Mrs 2, Castle-street, Dover ... 1 Barker, Miss Clapham Common, s 1 Batcheller, The Misses . . King's Arms Library, Dover Bateman, Mrs 7, Albion-terrace, Folkestone 1 Beer, The Misses 2, St. James'-street, Dover 1 Bellamy, Rev. J. W., d.d. LateHeadMasterofMerchant » Taylors' School, Sellindge Vicarage, Ashford, Kent . . 2 2 Belsey, Miss Liverpool-terrace, Dover . . 1 Bennett, Mrs Brooks Cottage, Folkestone 1 Biron, Rev. H. B.A Merstham, near Ashford, Kent 1 Blakesley, The Misses .. 5, Dorset-ter.,Clapham-road 1 Blunt, Rev. A. H., b.a. . . The Rectory, St. Andrews, * Holborn 1 Blunt, Rev. Frederick L. 88, Oakley-street, Chelsea. . 1 Bolton, Mr King-street, Dover 1 Borland, Mrs 27, Newington-pl. Kcnnington 1 1 Boys, Rev. E. G., m.a. . . Vicar of River, near Dover 1 2 No of Copfe9 Ml Mo. CI Bradbury, S. II., Esq. . . Author of " Leoline," fy. S$c, 16, Nelson-street, Leicester Brockman, Ralph, Esq. . . Sandgate-road, Folkestone. . Brown, Edward, Esq Sea Tree House Brown, Rowland, Esq. . . Author of " Songs of Early Sprint/." Brown, Mrs. Rowland Bryant, Mrs Market-street, Favcrsham . . Bubb, Mrs. Benjamin.. .. Southficld Villa, Cheltenham 1 Bubb, Mrs 5, Lansdowne-villas, Cheltenham Bubb, W. H., Esq. . . 47,Lansdowne-cres., Cheltenham Bullock, Mrs 26, Newington-pl. Kennington 15 Bulwer, W. L., Esq 24, Portman-equare, w Burks, James, Esq 9, Milman's-row, Chelsea . . Byrne, Mrs. W. Pitt .... Montague -st., 1'ortnian-sq. I Canning, Mrs Claremont, Shrewsbury .... 2 Chamney, Rev. R. M.,m.a. Watton, Herts Chamney, Mrs 22, Yietoria-ter., Folkestone Champness, Miss The Vicarage, Newent, near Gloucester 1 Charles, T., Esq 51, Brompton-row,Brompton Charles, W., Esq Tachbrook-street, s.w. .. Chittenden, Mrs. ... . . 2, Wellington-place, Dover Churchward, J. G., Esq. Kearaney Abbey, near Dover 1 Churchward, Miss Kearsney Manor Court, near Dover . . 1 Clark, John, Esq Grove House. Folkestone . . Clark, Mrs GroveEndHouse.Folkestone Cleaver, Rev.Euseby, m.a. St. Barnabas College, Pimlico Colechin, Miss . . Lyncombo Villa, St. John's Hill, s.w 1 Coleman, Mrs. Henry .... 3, Cambridge-terrace, Dover 1 Collett, Mrs 1, Europa-place, Battersca. . Constable, J. Esq., m.b. . . York House, West-square, Lambeth 1 Coutts, Miss Burdett .... 1 , Stratton-street, w 1 3 No. of Copies in Mo. CI. Cox, Thomas, Esq Author of "Melancholy," §c., Longfleet, Poole, Dorset . . 1 Cramp, Miss 14, Liverpool-ter., Ramsgate 1 Cramp, Miss Sandwich, Kent 1 Curteis, Mrs. E. B Thorncy Hall, near Newark, Notts 1 Davies, Rev. R. H., m.a. Incumbent of Old St. Luke's, Chelsea 1 Day, Thomas, Esq 23, The Grove, Hammersmith 2 2 Deane, Mrs. Henry .... Clapham Common 2 Dickson, Mrs Authoress of "A Posy of Stray Wildlings," #c, Rosedale, Richmond 1 Donovan, Dr. C Professor of Phrenology, 111, Strand • 1 Dover Museum and Philosophical Institution 1 Duncombe, Rev. E., m.a. Rector of Barthomley, near Crewe 5 Durham, Joseph, Esq., P.s.A , 21, Devonshire-street, Portland- square I Duval, P. S., Esq Dalston Rise, Hackney .... 1 1 Eastes, Silvester, Esq. .. 19, London-st., Folkestone. . 1 Eaton, Mrs 27, Margaretta-ter., Chelsea 1 Ellice, Mrs "Woodville Hall, near Dover 1 \ Elwin, Rev. G. S., m.a. . . Dover-street, Folkestone . . 1 Etough, Rev. D. O., m.a. The Rectory, Ballinamore, Leitrim 1 Fagg, Miss Court-street, Faversham . . I Finnis, Steriker, Esq .... The Elms, Hongham, near near Dover 1 Fowlis, Captain .... 5, Dunsford-villas, Wandsworth 1 Froysell, Thos., Esq Iron Cross, Leominster .... 1 Fry, H. A., Esq 47, Frederick-st., Edgbaston, Birmingham 2 Fry, Herbert, Esq Hon. Sec. of the Arundel Club 1 Fyfe, W. Wallace, Esq. . . Author of " Summer Life on Land and Water,'" " Christ- mas," Ac., Charminster ... . 6 No. of Copies in Mo. C" German, Captain 63, Inverness-terrace, Ken- sington . Gill, J. 13., Esq., m.d. ... 5, Norman -ten ace, Dover . . Gillman, Rev. J., m.a. . . 6, Wimbledon Park-road, Wandsworth Goddard, Rev. T. W., m.a. 9, Lawn-road, Haverstock Hill, n.w Goding, Major Barham Wood, Elmstree, Herts 1 Gough, The Viscountess. . Booterstown, Dublin Gould, A., Esq Chichester Park-villas ... Gray, Miss Laura British Museum, w.c 1 Green, Rev. Andrew, m.a. St. Paul's, Oxford Grcenhill, Frederick, Esq. 46, Lincoln's InnFields, w.c. 2 Greetham, T., Esq 68, Lincoln's Inn Fields, w.c. Hare, Mrs 14, Charlotte-street, Pimlico Hare, Miss Amelia Ditto ditto Harris, Miss 19, Crowhurst-road, Brixton 1 Harris, John, Esq Author of " Wandering Cries," <5jc,