SHOET POEMS. LOS i" 1 ^ : Oil 1:1 l:T AND IUVIN<. rOH, PBIS I - i JOB W PR +599 V5G9AH SHOET POEMS, BY KENELM HENRY DIGBY, ESQ. Sctonb <36bition. LONDON: BURNS, LAMBERT, AND OATES, 17 AND 18, POKTMAN STKEET, PORTMAN SQUAKK. AND 63, PATERNOSTER ROW. 1866. [Sold for the poor tinted by the Oonferena St. Vincent of Paul ] CONTENTS. PAGE Sunset .......... 1 Epistles from Paris 2. 8. 18. 24 All-Hallows Eve at Paris 29 All Souls 34 We are leaving ........ 41 The Remedy for Human Sadness . . . . .43 The Marriage at Cana in Galilee . . . . .72 Ireland 77 Love after Death ........ 83 Too Late 84 The Club 85 The Despondent Cured 91 Poesy versus Prose ....... 95 The Past 103 Early Life 110 Solitude 117 The Pedlar 118 Spring .......... 123 VI I OUT] S Cmiiiiih.ii People's Virtues To .Man Primrose Hill I (Vo Beauties , Pouliguen Woman . To .lane Man A Survivor The I Ise of Mishaps The I-"\\ 1\ < Ihscure An I. An Are si In a Valentine Perron . tins In Memorials TheC!hurch . Huh Week . The Complain! of Nature John < terald . The sleeting of the \\ The PL asures of Authorship i I The Osier Bank Kensington < lardens I. • tions . Moments of Joj - ill House ty . I r \..i: L29 135 L39 1 ! I 1 lit l.-.t lf.i 168 172 IM' 191 L96 L99 21 1 1 207 308. CONTEXTS. Vll PAGE The Bird in a Cage ....... 414 Spanish Maidens ........ 419 Interrogation of the Blessed ...... 422 Nature versus Thought ....... 425 A Midsummer Meeting ....... 428 The Lover's Harbour of Refuge 432 An Author's Reply 439 The Beauty of Life 442 Convalescence ........ 459 Wind on a Summer's Morning ..... 469 La Bretesche ......... 472 The Church of Pouliguen 474 The Cure de St. Molph 476 Apology for the Heart 481 POEMS. SUNSET. Westward, as the sun went down Through clouds of radiant gold, I turned from the busy town To think of days of old. How bright, how calm the roseate air, Transforming mists from clay ; Oh, how the fancy flies up there To feel eternal day ! If floating vapours thus can be So gorgeous and so grand, What must it prove for those who see The scene where angels stand ? What must it prove for those we knew On earth so fond and dear, Translated now to have the view Of all that glory near ? B EPISTLES I BOM PARIS. Methinks I see them there on high, Ajb art will Bhow the Bail To cheer the fading tear-wont or him whose courage taints. links I Bee thee, eaoh one bright, Thy leading passion crown'd; The heart, the ear, the touch, the siylit , < ' mtent where all is found. How Bhort is life ! a dream its joy ! But what i> that to me, If faith its Btrength and sense cniploy To lead me there t" the Oh, Christ ! the earth grows lone and cold ; < »ur faults we have to rue ; \ : . if our fancies may be told, Our hearts for Thee are true EPISTLES FROM PARIS. ro m ii i -I'M ir d'esobioitt, with \ swallow on ■I in « <<\ ik, i aow Pi i \<>\ i: 1 ' ' my, are always so Lillts \ bition at l.i -' has inflamed a poor Bwell l . j, l \..u some i •■■ hereby he may be tire of a high victory. EPISTLES FKOM PAEIS. 3 Entre nous, just for fun, take kindly what's low ; Address'd to a French ear, it will not sound so ; Besides, I remember when with us in town, To pick up our prime words you'd search up and down ; The quaintest new phrases you seem'd to enjoy, To learn them you listen'd to any poor boy. If pedants object to what's homely and sweet, At least you took pleasure in " Hoiv's your poor feet?" "Why, Menage to Balzac used often to say, Alone as we are now, I think we both may Commit faults in grammar and speak as the free ; So precedents grave we can cite, as you see, While not showirig aught but " gaminerie" mere, With freedom and fun as now soon shall appear. Well, so much for preface ; I cough and begin, Determined the fame of a Horace to win. Then now, all ye gentles, I pray you sit breathless To listen to lines that I'm sure will prove deathless ; For he who has just slept on Drachenfels' height Must prove, I'm persuaded, a child of great might To light up your spirits and make you feel jolly, And banish all dull-eyed and base melancholy. Epistles in verse with high beauties oft shine ; Those of Shelley, I know, are graver than mine. What would you ? From Frenchmen the phrase I must borrow ; A snap for your beauties so pale with their sorrow, Imagined and self-made, with mystical phrase, Which readers like me only fill with amaze. b 2 I EPISTLES FROM PABIB. Bui what have I really at this time bo Bay? Why, nothing, save wishes for every d That you and all yours may still have the sure Which you know so well i" dole out with measure. B il come lei me your fine ears shock, And give your worship cause to mock, By sudd, n jumps to lines with l'< I Which, for the nonce, I think more meet. 1 have in alliums landscapes bright, To be submitted to your Bighl : Which means a double pair of e\ A feature to cause no Burprise. I cannot Bend them through the air. Although directed to the I I annol semi them ly my bird : i 1 1 only ehirru|is what he's heard. Bui still the news of them may u r ". And merrihj salute you These now are all that 1 can Bend '1'.. my sine, n\ kind-hearted friend, Whose talk, whose music, and whose dance Have made as three in love with Prance. To both this swallow bears my gre< tinu r , Until there 1"- a happy meeting. For flying Bouth 'tisjusl the season ; h tor thai course he has a reason Thai 'a quite aparl from cold anil ram, lur friendship to sustain. EPISTLES FEOM PARIS. 5 And were it north he had to fly, He ought to he content to die. But Pouliguen in every sort Must prove for him a happy port. Go then, my bird, and in your bill Bear what I've written with this quill. Friends, if in aught I have offended, When we next meet it shall be mended, So far at least as I have power From cruel thorns to free a bower, Which always should be bright as May, Though it were on a winter's day. From Germany now that my heels are quite free, I own there was much both to hear and to see, As we sped to the Baths, which natives call " Bad," Which to many indeed prove fatal and sad. The Khine it was gloomy, the air was quite brown With smoke of long pipes, and not that of a town ; Still, do not suppose that I saw without joy Those scenes which delighted me so as a bov, Those grim feudal towers, on rocks perch'd so high, Which seem'd still to frown on us as we pass'd by. Ehrenfels, Eheinstein, Falkenburg, and the rest, With Staleck and Sonneck and Gutenfels' nest, And Rhindiebach, Schonberg,withBolandseck famed, Ehrenbreitstein from which my own books were first named ; And Godesberg, Drachenfels, — do you want more ? I still in reserve have a plentiful store. I. EPISTLES FBOM PAB1B. Would you view a scene sylvan of old ruins gray? 1. : me lead yon thro' fields where few will now stray. 'Tie Efeisterbach's cloister bo beauteous and old, Where Caesar's wild Legends qo longer are told. Mr. Tourist, I pray you while reading, to note, 1 Bpeak not of him who his Gaulish wars wrote. Still keep to your Dampfschiff, ne'er trouble your hi ad ; For both of tl C »ars so famous are dead. But 1 own 1 was shock'd to find on the Bpot Sow totally our of them was now forgot. For a G-asthaus itself il might be a thing, If his name could be made through these woods to ring : But thi re they kept drinking and smoking about, Only laughing at Caesar, each like a lout, When hearing me ask if none knew of the name Whirh alone on thai valley conferr'd such a Game. Oh, south, if you want me to tell mj whole mind, In Germany interest of all sorts you find, So pray don't conclude that I want your true t. 1 For tli' : that I have to pass on with haste. I se falcon-like knights in the ages of yore Save left of wild legends a curious Btore, Whioh M" BfediaBvalist e'er will disdain, So render me justice and do not complain ; ! .' I Vbght, Hugo, others, but let me proceed; Of grand Tourists' language ['vc Burely no need. From cold of the weather I luffer'd defeat Through having no stockings to pul on m\ feet : EPISTLES FROM PARIS. 7 For when you keep walking on every day, At last and at length they quite vanish away. But so 'tis with much that we value and prize, The manner of parting creates great surprise ; You say, they will last ; they will never be done ; But soon, lo and behold, you find them clean gone. With coat fit for summer, and rents in my shirt, No soles to my Bluchers, to keep out the dirt ; Quite smart in appearance, though ragged within, No hard job it was for the weather to win.. So all through this want, as I said, of whole hose, The mischief was greater than you might suppose. But now that the sneezes and shivers are o'er, I hope for a warmer though duskier shore. Yet ah ! what of harm in all the cold air, If one can remember the mirth of the fair ? But birds can fly over and hope soon to see And enjoy what now is not granted to me. But, swallow, remember my wishes to bear To those who still truthful and earnest are there, That they may see years which are peaceful and bright, With nothing to grieve or to weary their sight ; Serener and clearer each day to the last, Till all that can trouble be banish'd and past, With nothing remaining below or above But the way'to that realm where living is love. 8 EPISTLES FIIOM PARIS. TO THE SAME, FROM PARIS. D'EsoRiiiw dear, I got your letti r, And consequently felt much better; But plainly I was very ill, Call it the grippe or what you will. However now the worst is past, And so 1 run or walk as fast \ 9 when of old both yon and 1 Kan through the vales and mountains high ; Through Montmorency took our way, On D'Enghien's lake bad Buch rare play, Canter' d through woods, with all the iti'W That in dear Bailly's Bchool we knew. But since you still are pleased to That DOW and tlnn yon like niy Way ( ii sending \ on a merry song, Such as to friendship does belong, I sit me dou n in hi-avmly fields \ : ing as inspiral ion yields, A power from the Champs Elys! To tell you all I know from hearsay; if I hav.- become a poet, I swear it i to yOU 1 0W6 it. I I • firsi and foremost I prem What need nol fill you with Burpr That 1 find miz'd with good some ill, and enough this page bo till. EPISTLES PEOM PAEIS. 9 For all the world seems here combined, Some flaw, some spot, some stain to find In every one that I admired, Till with their tales I'm fairly tired. I swear that I do not invent, But only to the truth give vent. With arms across upon their breast, Pure fame-destruction is their rest ; From heights of a conceited mind They look down on the human kind. Then some would all men have agree With their own party theory. Like amateurs of tulips rare, None others will they even spare ; Though beauteous to the common eye, Yet all their merit these deny ; So tread upon their worthless head ! Yes, trample on them all ! is said. But this one you will not exclude ? They care not if you think them rude ; They're all indulgence, but still there They can't except it at your prayer. You praise its colours and its grace ; Their foot has left of it no trace. Here thus is one I love and know ; Another finds him but so-so. I speak of those I thought were friends ; Aye, but I hear all that depends Upon my own interpretation Of what implies such reputation. 10 EIM-I U 9 FBOM PAJBJ8. The fact, I hear, is thai they're E Smelt to 1"' such by every n Then 1 extol some honesl youth ; Fes, bul I'm warned of the "truth*' That he is subject to a spell Of something far too had to tell. "When-, they ask me, is the hardship When you Cut with all such friendship? I speak cil' authors. Frenchmen too, Who 1 - wish were known to yon ! I mean the men then:-. Ives, as well As their Loved writings whicb I spell. All nonsense ! animal-, mere brutes : Fri jndship with Buch men never suri And it' 1 '\e seen them on the sly, I n 1 must old friends wish good-bye. proo i' I am not of t heir Bort, Since to rs 1 resort. I praise their wit, their depth, their Btyle; Their fellow-countrymen revile Their hooks, their persons, and their name, For no tru . but all the Bame. That some are evil I admit ; Bui even here I II t ry to hit The medium jusl 'twirl all admiring, \ 1 branding all I for firing. I ' oiU8, u hat BOe'( r J on say, I. . . beaul ies that will . v. r b1 Ami 't 1- 1 1 . >1 \. I ipp I • ] i.iii alwaj - to your to - EPISTLES FROM PAEIS. 11 I've ever thought that we should use The very things we most ahuse, Just as Doctors give us poison For certain ends they can rely on, And name it too quite fearlessly, A lesson both for you and me. But here men flame up with blue fire If even beauties you admire, Where the object is not best And hideous spots defile the rest. I wish they could be cool and just, And not their fervour always trust. In England to be this we try ; With us in this I wish they'd vie, For 'tis not tenderness of faith That makes them fulminate such scathe, 'Tis want of equity iu mind That will not gold with refuse find. But once upon this road intent, On still worse issues they are bent. For where their authors are polite, These critics still will snarl and bite. A shade of difference suffices To call forth all their stern devices ; They shake their head, they toss their chin, They hint thei'e's somewhat wrong within, Although it be men grave and holy And to the Church devoted wholly. Some think, that praise is want of wit ; So faults they find in all that's writ : 12 EPISTLES FBOM PAIUS. They think that showing what's to blame AVill constitute it self a name. I say it without flattery, Give me the court, not pedantry ; For no one rohs you there of thoughi ; You're there by contrasts better taught. I know when all must be admired That sometimes even I gei tired. But still I must despise and hate This endless passion for debate, To give it but the gentlest name When used all authors to defame, — These ways which seem in other nations Like those denounced to the Galatdans, When Paul advised them all to walk With no vain gloiy in their talk; Not provoking one another With envy brotherhood to smother; I Jut when observing an? fault To be still gentle in their thought, With a sue.-, and courteous spirit To instruct, not heed demerit, Rememb'ring that no man can be From all temptal ion ever iv, e ; Concluding with thai noble word Which makes their harshn absurd. Thus " lend a band to all and each, And you fulfil what Chrisl did teaoh. I !• each ii nothing, though be thinks That he's the man w ho never BU EPISTLES EKOM PAEIS. 13 Deceiving then his own vain mind, Unjust to others and unkind." Right curious is it thus to see How fresh is Christianity ! Thus armed, to obtusest view, Against all faults both old and new, To-day as useful for each man As when its great course first began ; Adapted to Parisians here To change their anger to a tear. But put we off to other season What here's thought neither rhyme nor reason. Of course there's cause to feel displeasure When they simply use their measure. Alas ! when into hearts we pry, We always some defect can spy : That none are perfect is confess'd, That evil must still stain the best. When all our passions have been spilt, There's no one doubtless free from guilt. Though still with Swift I sometimes think, Just when I feel my courage sink, 'Tis with religion as with love, — Dissembling first, they later prove Really, what you've ne'er expected, Fit to be by all respected. But give me her or else " the feller " Who of your faults is not the teller. Avaunt the wretch who spatters so The dirt on all I love and know. 11 BPI8TJ Bfi l BOH l'\KIS. 'Tis true, in this I plead for - Who am a silly, sorry elf. 1 know both you and yours defy The keenest, sharpest scrutiny; But still vim will agree with me, And rather what is pleasant see In those of whom you read or hear, Who to your mind must Mill be dear. Then too, again, 1 must coni There's here excessive love of dress. In London, dearest of ;ill towns, Eves take you more than Bhowv gowns. For eves with us have nothing stern, From which plain fact there's much to learn In truth, a certain beauty reigns That can dispense with all these pains. [ts common people are Less knowing Than there where mischief's ev< t sewing. A dash of childhood in the low Shows they will not imperious grow. Y"U mark an innocence of fa And mind of which that is the trace, Comparative, of course, I mean, ! ;• r.nilt i enough arc plainly seen. • if you let me tell mj mind, Its very stones to me seem kind. I this little fond digres i m t he fashion of our nation ; Although I know with you are found What here we prize on British ground. EPISTLES FEOM PARIS. 15 At Pouliguen I learn'd to see What dearest always is to me — That gaiety and truth express'd Are hetter far than all the rest. Oh ! give me music, fancy bright, For that is what exceeds the might Of all this show and all this glitter, Of which the end is often bitter. But now to come to lower things, And still tell what my censure brings. There's an aping of the English ; It meets you in the very dish. The mustard yellow, greens a Veau, I cannot bear to find it so. No Englishman at least should dare To revolutionize your fare. Pride too begins to wear a face That used not to be in your race. For France was graceful, ever free, And loved your true egalite. I hate exclusiveness — that air So doubly hideous in the fair. I hate whatever is not mild, And such as can delight the child ; And I prefer to laugh and romp Far from the haunts of all this pomp. Methinks, moreover, I can see What comes much nearer too to me, That social ease and seats diminish, If nothing else were said to perish. 1G EPI8TLBB FBOM PARIS. I swear I walk about this town And find do bench to sit me down, Suoli as of old at every turn You found when your poor feet did l>urn. But now half's said I had to say, The rest you'll hear another day ; For I am not so dull a fool, Of Anglo-mania such a tool, As not to find your Paris still A theme for the most noble quill To sjH'iid itself in warmest praU ( M' what thf spirit ever raises To such a rapt ore of delight A- must atrance the dullest wight Who ever thought to wield a quill A osi lul purpose bo fulfil Bright • - i t \- , where a life of ea STou pass, \\ ith nothing to duplet Where life 18 Sweet and death is well, As blessed ends bo ofl a tell ; When- happiness is n eded not, It' only you can see t he spot ; A of greal Athens we are told That all men used to iaj of old : City b\ ill \\ ishing to pn • n e A medium ju>t, and never Bwerve From what is gOO 1, polite, and 1: Though all it cannot make agree ; When erring, Btill v. ith honest will, boWS of good and ill. EPISTLES EROM PAEIS. 17 Inhaling knowledge with the air Of what to know, it does not dare To make profession absolute, Though what is false it can refute. A town ignoring all constraint, Of servitude without a taint, Where each can solitary be, Or find with ease society. Just as he likes, it's far off wide, Or, when he wishes, at his side. To-day a hermit all alone, To-morrow quite a dandy grown ; "While all that can inspire talk Is found within a morning's walk. A town with wisdom of its own, Which gives to industry a tone Of ease, and grace, and jollity, Proclaiming each one truly free ; Rapid and ready teaching man Aye to be happy when he can ; So finding in an hour of sun Enough to please when all is done. Sainte Beuve has said the same in prose, As each who reads his " Mondays " knows. But I, who find it strictly true, Direct it wing'd with verse to you. Adieu, my sweet and dearest friends, And take what now your poet sends ; In one sense "your," to be exact, Since such you made me is the fact : c L8 i.I' >M PAS •■ Attempts at doggrel," though the name, When all things have their proper fame, And " by a late beginner " t But, then, who Bet me _r< >iiiL-r "^ You. rude ;m-till attracted by a potenl Bpell. Shall 1, then, meril blame when I agree With what was thoughl by English ohivalr No ; hut our country aver will rejoice W n it hears truth, though from an humble vi Friends and all love t he French al last ; l ind enmities are past. Tip 1, and now I mu : r I I brood or ileep before a sea-coal fire. ! I the evening of thai day Wh uds the ir.m Wl EPISTLES EE03I PASIS. 23 Your carriage sent some eighteen weary miles ; Your letter, from your coachman's hand with smiles, To greet our coming, which you call'd a hoon ? We tried our hest, assisted by the moon, To read the missive, herald of your grace. But this is all inherent in your race ; Keeping up customs, gentle, noble, kind, That show the courteous and the polish'd mind. Can I forget the beacon lit with fire, To cheer our eyes when now we had come nigher ? The drive through portals opening at last, When all the perils of the night were past ? Can I forget that meeting on the stairs, When rushing down them D'Esgrigny repairs To grasp our hands, with words the sweetest, best, Excusing young ones Midnight sent to rest ? No, my true friend, my schoolmate, and my brother, But you, like myself, had learn'd to play the lover. Well, as I said already, all is past ! Sweet days like these for me could never last. The summer gone, the autumn bids adieu ; In mind alone are Pouliguen and you. Hope bids me think of other future days, But gratitude demands meanwhile these lays. I saw, I heard, I mark'd, and I admired What to see, hear, and mark, one's never tired. You gave the key-note when we reach'd your ground ; To you the praise, if aught of sweet be found In^these poor chants, that seek to please the ear While sounding what to all men should be dear. 24 EriSTLES FROM PABZ8. To AMBROSE ITIII.LIITS I>E LTSLE, Esq of garexdon PABX. — from faris. I>i I/Isi.i:, my diar. you need he told, Though you may think me over hold, That, when a friend we bear in mind, To write to him is only kind. When one is absent far away. There Bhould be somewhat still to say; 5Tou must not silence fchus prolong; At least I'll break it with a song, And send you something i f my scrawl, Which most calligraphy appal. Fir>t I had writ a single l\ Bui then, the tad is, as you That i wrv word quite right to BpeU I w hat 1 never learned well. M\ lasi was grave enough t.> v< Tl. ir ) ou <>f the gentler Bex. I ad \ ou now & one Bimple fun, \\ Ith ii" .'1' al \'. it too finely spun. N ',.: m 1 • on my bro I rear; ['ve ti" conceits to make you stan ; Hut to write i 1 bave taken, In hopes your Ldleship to waken. EPISTLES FROM PAEIS. 25 I fancy 'tis the only time That I have bored you with my rhyme. Though now if laugh' d at for my pains, Why, this is what Reviews sustains. Songsters like me should be quite dear To satirists both far and near ; To those who love to mock and criticize, And prove us all to be not over wise. Here, then, is one for such a claw, A thrush for you, for it a daw. Well, but now gravely let me see What I have got to say to thee ; Yes, got ; 'tis short, but what of that ? To lips like mine it comes so pat. Then first and foremost we have here A crowd of friends both old and dear. In fact, society demands So many visits at our hands ; So many cards, so many notes, To people on whom Mary dotes ; So many charming rendezvouses Which must be kept whate'er one chooses, That I begin to think it best To deem the whole a very pest, To kill the time, that gift so high, The loss of which should make us sigh. In London, people never think Of others when their spirits sink. They know you live from year to year, And never call to show you clear 2G EPISTLES FROM VXV. That they would comfort your poor heart, Ami Borne sliort passing joy impart. Of coursi- this provt s their solid Ben . Which deems politeness mere pretei A waste of time not meant for fo But to be spent in sterner schools. In gaining int'rest, high connexions; To all things else there are objections. But here are folks of other hue, Who never have enough of you. • 1 >ine with me," or " Conn' to t And " Jolly comrades let us be," Is what we hear from day to day ; For t bis is the Parisian v With people in whose veins does ih Crusaders' bl Win. to do otl r yield In glory both of courts and field. I said our friends wi re old and tried; Hut still it must not be denied Thai some of them are yei but new, Although 'tis clear I true. The long and short of all this stnll' 1 • hat of friends we've here enough, While London offers you a r -ain-t t he weather pi f. - ! how di t ;i!it and how cold Are some t ; .:• I ! . 1 1 w 1 here of old ! Bow little like thi - • French Who cannot let \ OU OUl of -i'-, r ht, EPISTLES FEOM PARIS. 27 As if they thought that you must be Their friend for all eternity ! Well, to descend to lower things, And at mere trifles have some flings ; For trifles mere are what relate To that conceived within our pate About ourselves and projects wise, When each to mould the future tries. We hope to be in London town, However spirits may sink down, When thrice November sees the world About the sun in circle whirl'd. Here we must stop to keep the day When Christians for the dead do pray. Alas ! ourselves with mem'ries fond Might even here almost despond, If there were not at times in sight A faith, and hope, and custom bright, To banish all the dreary leaven Which keeps off thoughts of joy in heaven. So, when the Church has set us free, We mean to use our liberty, And fly back to our English home, No more, at least this year, to roam. But meanwhile I suppose you'll write To make the matter now all right. Though, if you do not seem inclined, Still I'll believe you true and kind. So do not bother much yourself ; Of old I know you, idle elf, 28 EriSTLES FROM PAKIS. Bleep in your "Ions;" and unknown "cliff." All tight! I'll only take a whiff Ami feel quite merry with the smoke, "Without a thought you to provoke. I immend me, then, to one ami all That cheer your old ancestral hall, And pray accept my Baucy lolly, Meant hut to cure my melancholy. The thought of friends is always bright, However far they're out of sight. J knew not whi d I first began, Whether, like Pomponius' man, I should writ.- quite rusticatim, Or touch subjects urbanitim. I had, like clowns. B0m6 truth to tell ; What's "city-like" you low not well. 1 I ' \ .1 1 a\ • tri d tO he Polite and yet bold-spoken, fi You'll laugh at rhyrn » these, s i Bhow them not to critics, please. Though what care I F they suit my vein: 1. all good-natured folks complain, Pretend to sigh, uplift their Ami murmur out their kind Burprise. 1 -rani I t'.-.-l n. >t quH a so great A - C . who disdain'd to 1 Those wl f him would vilely prate; ^ • . point, the same as lie 1 not much heeding calumny ; 'l tter i hey should me d< lame ; They'll have to spar ■> hex name. ALL-HALLOWS EVE AT PAKIS. 29 ALL-HALLOWS EVE AT PARIS. The year declining, once again comes round The day when joy and sorrow both are found. All-Hallows Eve should call us to the wood, Where mental charms are felt and understood. In woods great poets, since began their race, Had visions which no time can e'er efface ; As when through waving branches gliding stole Women, of whom old Dante saw the soul. With beauty trees and paths continue clad ; Though somewhat in the air a little sad Whispers of what the winter will unfold, Of things besides too plaintive to be told. Woods late in autumn have a mystic tone That seems inexplicable heard alone. To fields, and groves, and fading leaves each day Imparts anew a sign of their decay. From depths untrodden, hidden from your eyes, Issues a sound to fill you with surprise. Diy branches, falling leaves, and other things That seem to live and dread what winter brings, Do form a hind of plaintive lamentation, And raise a solemn, fearful admiration. Sighs, too, and groans, as if from voice unknown, Create a rumour to which minds are prone 30 AIiL-HALLOWS EVE AT l'VltlS. To Listen with a secret shuddering fear, Ajs it' it threaten'd something coming near To grieve the eyi - and sadden lively hearts, Though still sublime are thoughts thai it imparts Strange deaden'd echoes pass through forests old, And all perceive thai something's to be told To raise our hearts above contracted span, And visions high communicate to man. To-morrow, and t! calm and still Musi yield to crowds thai all the churches 611. The choirs soli mn and the grave-yards oigh "Will chant glad hymns and prompl the wonted sigh. well, as yet, while feeling all alone. Some chords to touch thai raise a mingled tone Of hope and Badness as 1" tits the time, Apt to respond to harmoni is of rhyme. And first, how joyous is the coming day Thai tells of those to heaven pass'd away ! Oh ! what B thought, that those so known and dear Have found their all, and ceased to shed a tear! Jane and L< titia, Fanny and <>m- hoy. With God are now, where lasting is thej Where nothing changes, nothing bright, Though all is wondi r through exo is of Light. The grandmother, whose wisdom and whose care Porm'd th in for bliss before they were aware, I to greet 1 hem wi1 h that holy love Which bl( receive from i hose aboi hi too, 1 by Rene floats through air, Soaring with angel irighl and fair. ALL-HALLOWS EYE AT PARIS. 31 Ob, what a thought ! that those who this earth trod Are now for ever safe, enjoying God ! And then, to think of that great glorious throng Which to all ages of the world belong ; That pass'd through life like fires from on high, Directing man to joys that never die ! All that once troubled felt by them no more ; In action rest, their science to adore ! But now the past with other thoughts comes back ; The hymn will cease, the altar put on black. Oh ! there's a thought that must be so express'd, 'Tis that we wish for all eternal rest ! The vespers of the dead will then be sung ; The solemn, deep-toned bells will then be rung ; With crowds we'll take the now frequented way, And over graves and tombs behold them pray. Oh ! the cold hardness of that darksome mind, That what is needless here can only find ! For life will have in memory a store Of those who loved, yet wanted mercy more ; Since love itself with sick and feeble winsr Can scarcely reach the heights where angels sing, Unless its sweet plumes drawn from what repairs Our nature's frailty, needed not our prayers. If prayer, then, 's wanted for the brave and dear, Think you that others have no cause for fear ? And so we ask the mercy from on high Needed by all men when they come to die. Then let me sing of youths, the pride and boast Of holy mothers, loving them the most ; 132 ALL-HALLOWS ETE AT PARTS. The first to think what's noble, and to dare ; Tin' first to will the praises of the fair ; Children in heart, though in their stature men; Pleasing to saints, a theme for poet's pen. With lips quite fresh from life's enchanting taste, They prompl our prayers, and seem to l>id us haste. How many others, prudent, aged, and wise, "Who yet had failings thai could more aurpri So few are those id whom no eye iletects What to our judgment even seem defects, That must impede their flight to what they view'd Alone, perhaps, with cold solicitude. Visions, again, that tender souls will quell, Are those of Borne who loved, alas ! too well, of sprightly creatures yearning for the sky, i I ill prepared to lay them down to di Ensnared, benetted in the wore! of toils That life embitters, Bpirit even soils ; Wishing to gain some port without laments, Safe from the snare that pleases and torments; Fairy-like, Bylphic, bright as opening day, \\ wishing still to Leave and pass away, A - if n0 hope Of happiness Were here ; A ii ( a fell the worst thai tb ly could fear. They pass, the] leaves world of mourning friends : Their part is play'd on earth, their drama ends. Oh! with what deptb the solemn bell will sou ml. RftAftlling the- who are no longer found, Where once I h w Like lilies of the field, Thai charm and i \-r\ grace oould yield! ALL-HALLOWS EYE AT PAEIS. 33 Nature itself attests the need of prayer. Behold their grave ; its truest object, there. Thus, amidst scenes that speak of death and woe, A poet finds that sweet pale flowers grow. The yarn is mingled of our human tale, With tints of brightness and a neutral pale. Graves even bid us never to despond Like those whose memories are only fond ; And so are seen in one connected view The mystic visions each year must renew — Unceasing glory, victory secure, A blissful hope though wants may still endure, Aid from the highest mansion of the blest, Prayers for those needing still the wish'd-for rest. Thus are conjoin'd in threefold mystic file Those who remain upon this earth awhile, And those unseen who leave the mortal shore, Their final state secure, for evermore. The one remain for action, and still free To mould, as if their own, eternity ; The others parted, but to meet ngain When vanish'd will be every earthly stain. But shades are rising to the branches high, Though rosy splendour tints the evening sky. Lonely straying, glad while feeling sorrow, Prepares the mind for what will come to-morrow. Churches and tombs, with faith, will never tire, Yet woods have somewhat thus that can inspire. This old plain chant of oaks and falling leaves From thoughts too deep the mind sometimes relieves, D 9 J ALL SOULS. Chases dull stagnant vapours from the soul ; And, Lost in tiling unwhoL some, fchenoe they roll. Tin- Church alludes to trees and foliage bright While singing lessons lor this very night ; The leaves are dancing to a plaintive Bong, Which can tin- high solemnity proloa '1'- nature thus religion calls the mind. And in the whole an emblem bids it find, Which Bmiles on man while pointing to the sky, Where is no withering like leaves, to die. ALL SOULS. There's a race that we love, though it think- soar Above truths that it held to in aires ofyore. We deem it pretension; and we judge from its a Let us single but one out of numberless hi I .line l t., the circle which doubts or deni Thai a prayer can he needed when any one d :i showing this error extending as wide lie nation renouncing the primitive side i he day of the dead, it was once lure well known , but then all Bucb fancies ha\ hence long since flown. jion reformed is now tar too . lemand of our time such a fond sacrifice ALL SOULS. 35 For suppressing the custom, this way is the first ; But then who can feel certain that it is the worst ? Although heads remain firm, one quickly discovers That hearts pretty nearly agree with the others. 'Tis the day of the dead, and it comes once a year, But sooth few are now found to attend to it here. For some are too busy, aye with too much in hand, To suppose that a moment they have at command. And there's always some pressure on that very day, Which must keep both the busy and idle away ; Our profession, affairs, visits — these are supreme — And to think of suspending them, merely a dream. 'Tis the day of the dead, and it comes with the cold, With the fall of the leaf and the soft drench' d black mould ; The long damp waving grass and the tall dripping trees Would do quite as much hurt as the wild wintry breeze. 'Tis the day of the dead, and long has it gone by ; Medievalists only can like thus to sigh : If you will talk and have us both pray and so feel, 'Tis in warm and gay churches we should all of us kneel. d 2 36 ATT, S('l I For what ran one place be now more than another, Unless superstition your reason will smother? These old customs romantic and certainly wild Belong to the vulgar tar too often beguiled. 'Tia the day of the dead — 'tis the day of the Prii !»■■ let them then observe it with other dull feast "Tis all bosh, be assured, lad, till noon we must sleep ; I. • some muffs and our Bisters go pray and go weep T - ; he day ofthe dead, but then whal would they say Who might hear that through graves thus we too would Btraj ? Jfou and [, my good friend, must now be" like othi How. \t v thus any one talks on ami bothers. the day of the dead but yet no l;t> at bell sounds To invite us in thought from our brief earthly bound Through tin- streets one runs hastening, another one All for business or pleasure ; in brief no one pra; oh' England, that oncewerl believing and holy, So it. . too from Pagan-like dull melancholy, \ quick to attend to religion's great \" Invi bo mourn or gladly rejo i ALL SOULS. 37 Just behold thy graves now left so lonely ever I With the tears of fond memory on them never ! So deserted by all their surviving best friends : And you'll see at least here where thy long boast- ing ends. But the scene changes now to a different shore, Where religion exists as in ages of yore, Where no one pretends that men are not clever, The true and the false to distinguish and sever. 'Tis the day of the dead, and it comes once a year : , The crowds are now moving, none ashamed to appear. So the busiest men all engaged in their trade Leave their shops and their ledgers, and thoughtful are made. The statesman, the senator, the great and the small, View the spot loved by each one, and kneeling down fall, Yet at home much to do ! constant work for their head ! But now all is forgotten excepting the dead. Then the maiden so pale, and the old pensive sire, With the youth for the day free, in deep black attire, The widow, the orphan, and the sempstress so shy, Gently pass to the spot where their loved ones still lie. 88 AIL SOULS. The little one grasping, and with such a tight hold, The frock of sweet sissy, who herself s not too bold; Though all walk on in order like relatives dear, By their looks even charity letting appear. Then some strew their pale flowers, and some light the lamp, Unlocking in silence the cold monument damp, And Borne kneel like mute statues, and others stray on, Ami all love to linger, and thence none will he i:one. There is woodbine that flourishes best o'er a grave; Bach alley, death's violets — Pervenche -will pave; Poet's Actions of worms all engender'd below field to wreaths <>t' immortals which friends will bestow. the day of the dead ; it comes blight or coines ild, Hut all are not nervous like 30X06 timid and old ; The sloj.es amid flowers, and the hi^h stirring bre Have enchantment for him who both feels and who the tortuous path and the dark cypress spin If will follow half plea ed, e'en, and he will admire ; The tombs Bhining graceful, or the green m d— oli, how all of these lift up his hear! onto God! ALL SOULS. 39 The day of the dead — to our old faith we owe it ; Both dear to the Christian and dear to the poet. Our fathers they taught us on the graves thus to stray, Although still in the churches each morning we pray. And the men of our age with their courage so high, Have yet time thus, and hearts too, to breathe a soft sigh. And let no one suppose we are sorrowful made By wandering so thoughtful through this peaceful shade. "lis the day of the dead, and the day of each home, While recalling each household, wherever we roam ; 'Tis the day of our fathers, of sons, and of brothers, The day of our sisters so fond, and of mothers. 'Tis the day for the young, for the old, and for all, And which needs not of priests the particular call. Thus domestic, ancestral, the day has its claims Still on every being who human remains. See whole families walk in the groups as they pass. Do they weep for a brother, a boy, or a lass ? Do they think of a mother, a sister, or bride ? Oh, then mark with what pains will they seek tears to hide ! 40 ALL SOULS. And when dow fresh processions are Been to arrive, What a sympathy mows all the rest who survive! During eight days, from morning till evening 'tis so, \ i all raise ap to Heaven the hearts from below. "I'is the day of the dead, and here no one is found To take his way reckless to s different ground; It is known, and respected, and honour'd here still, By all those who have even the faintest weak will Thus to follow the customs so closely allied With tin- faith of the Church that is elsewhere denied ; For tie- worst and most thoughtless, the wildest here then Will rememb r that they tOO are mortal and men. I the day of the dead audit is not gonehy, As in nation.- BO vain that will proudly denj Tie' deep, old, and true faith that can make so airne. True religion most pure with all humanity. the day of the dead, do you hear the strange 1,H> Bark ' it lolls thus all day, through the night too Well : guards are there mounted to keep the long wa Such va-t multitudes hasten to weep and to pray. WE ABE LEAVING. 41 then France, sprightly France, still so faithful and true To defend what thy fathers all believed in and knew, With soft hearts that are warm, and aye kindled with light, The same that dispell'd once the old sad Pagan night, Now behold thy deck'd graves thus from year unto year, So bedew'd and refresh'd with the poor grateful tear, Thus frequented at times as the sweetest of fields, And see there what good fruits now thy old faith still yields. Thou art praised for thy science, thy art, and thy grace, For the courage so high that belongs to thy race, But when all is admired, and all has been said, There is nothing surpasses thy love for the dead. WE AEE LEAVING. Why wears your face that pensive air ? Have future days no hope for you ? What is the sorrow ? what the care That makes you droop to outward view ? 12 wr, aijf. lea.1 I can no Bpecia] reason wi To justify gucb alter'd tone, But that 1 '.v we must leai The word itself is grief alone. We Leave — then we shall cease to 'What pleased, what p] -till our i Thin is not thai enough to he A grief for our mortality? no, the feeling is absurd : We Leave, hut no1 thai which is true ; l ;■ often, Mary, we have heard That all i.- seen with inward view. In mind then nothing will be li I There all that pleased us --till can !■■ ( )t' nothing arc we e'er 1» i Since with the mental >\ le then, prepare, we oannoi Btay ; Ilw your heart so, ( ) pray never : Km- with ourselves we take away That which no space from us can THE EEMEDT FOE HUMAN SADNESS. 43 THE REMEDY FOR HUMAN SADNESS. On human sadness clever men now write 1 ; Their very title fills one with affright. The thing exists, of course, there's no denying ; How else explain this dull continued sighing, From hearing which there's no man who can fly, While clad in garb of our mortality ? But why not write, or better, why not sing, To show us how the mind can gain a wing Wherewith to soar above these vapours vain, Which cause our race to murmur and complain ? Since nothing sweeter can he understood, For minds and hearts that seek their real good. Horace himself, as Julius Janin shows 2 , In many poems does hut thus expose The ' De Officiis,' that matchless page, The highest flight of wisdom in a sage, Though critics, proud and shallow, had the face To say of Cicero they find no trace In all the songs of that most gracious bard ; Then surely, surely it is rather hard To blame me now for uttering in song What to far higher wisdom does belong ? 1 La tristesse humaine. 2 La Poesie et FEloquence a Rome au Temps des Cesars. 11 THE BEMED1 FOB UUM.V5 SADNESS. Deep Jbubert likes philosophy when bred Not to inaivli always as a quadruped ; i wing'd, In' Bays, and singing it must be, If e'er it would address itself to me. Many to poetry by truth Have pass'd, And some by ] try t<> truth at 1: To banish grief is bappy to be made, Whether without or with the Muses' aid: Though here in Booth I'd Bend the Nine a-packing, As feeling sure we do not need their hacking; Vi>ui- Bolemn poets Deed must them invi Unless prepared Parnassus to provoke. Bui with such prayers it' we were to begin, Tip' nam.' of pedants «v should justly win: However, hating needless innovation, As fitting only some wild savage nation. 'Tis beet, perhaps, of what is old though vain V first not quite so rudely to complain. I wish these Muses had not CrOBS'd my mind; Here, in good truth, 1 would not you ahould find A forward, saury, barbarous affront, \ if to vex had alwaj a been my wonl . Peace be With 1 hem ; I only say ailieu. And turn at once to what is simply true. But lovely too and able to ins]. ir.' Tin- softest, oobl( -' tones from ] t's lyre, Sublime yet cordial, holy yet quite free Prom what can startle j humanity - 'hat the Bong, while raising up the heart To heights empyreal, will be found in part THE REMEDY FOE HTJHAJN' SADITESS. 45 Playful and lightsome, such as fits the gay When only bent on a bright holiday. Ah ! why should truths that aye concern us most Be always deck'd out grave, like those who boast Of what the outside covering displays, While proving only their own pedant ways ? Give me the man or woman who likes best The purely good, however it be dress'd ; Give me the heart that rises to the skies At sounds which such dull gravity defies. The twinkling feet, the sprightly song can raise Their soul to give the great Creator praise. But now to come to where we first began, And show the cure for sadness unto man. Sadness assails him from his early days ; Sadness still hides in all that he surveys ; Sadness awaits the young, the strong, the old, Sadness, alas ! too bitter to be told. Then who denies to list a simple lay That to escape its poison shows the way ? Way proved infallible, and therefore best, To yield for all men happiness and rest, Means to defy the worst, most fatal sting That joy to misery can ever bring — A moral medicine, as when French Ducis, Sent to Deleyre his own great remedy. Oh ! let us hear the secret we desire To quell the anguish of this inward fire Which long no mortal strength can e'er sustain, While rendering life so wretched and so vain. 1)6 Tin: BBMXDT FOK in vD.ness. I potent charm which can dissolve the shade That follows brightness, and that life has made So little like what first it must have been, Consists in Love, but that of course J mean, Which, being infinite, must have for end Him on whom all his creatures loved depend. Four letters thus, or as in Latin thn Express the whole of this great mystery. Now would you mark how this is always tr> Then follow me and raise your mind l" view Our human life in all its tiBSUe long, S.i varied, changeful as in poet's song From tin' first figures that the weh unfolds, To the last colour that the r\v behol Childh 1 and youth responsive t.. tl Which teaches mortals ever to rejoice, Have yet their momenta when the sprightly spirit ^ side to the dark thill gloom that we inherit From those who first embitter'd all thej That to uphold His creatures God emplo; Intending them for bliss even here below, I there above still greater to bestow. Surprised, afflicted at the novel thought, Both feel they have not what their hearts have tght — a joy unchanging, fruitful as their year Untroubled transport, passion without G The depl h of this experience first no tongue, heart can tell : from must then be THE KEMEDY EOE HUMAN SADNESS. 47 Alone the secret of their inward woes, The cure for which is what we now propose. Yes ; even here, amidst this first assay Of human sadness, bright is the glad way To chase the clouds that darken all the mind ; And that in loving God they're sure to find. Such love once lighted in the youthful heart, Sweetness of heaven can, must, and does impart. The sadness vague which sought no aid from tears Has vanish'd with their wildness and their fears. A joy sublime, a goodness, and a thrill Of bliss unfelt till now, their natures fill. The dull and silent lad that was before, Now grieves and moans and frets and sighs no more. Then later as the latent sap expands In blossoms, fruits, and each thing that commands Th' admiring love of those who can respect All that of mind and goodness is th' effect, Poetry, art, and love itself, the soul Of what is good and great, without control, Conjure up shadows from a dark abyss To shade and darken all the promised bliss. Imagination feels this sadness more, Recalling ever what it can't restore. Great genius, says Lamartine, is great grief, Where can it turn to find its true relief? Alas ! we need not here employ our lyre To sing the melancholy some admire, Of poets, artists, lovers, left alone, Without the love of God to give a tone 48 Tin: ki.mkdy fou human sadness. To that which by itself can only show Hew genius and great thoughts must till with woe The hearts of those who love not above all Him at v. ; t true glory l>iw mature, Sue! n i man need endi e follies of an idle mind. And learns in action happiness to find ' THE BEMEDY FOE HUMAN SAJXSTESS. 49 See him then, godless, launch'd upon the sea, Where wealth and fame are sought with industry, Slave of ambition, glory, grandeur, trade, Mark how completely wretched life is made. That power has charms, none surely can deny ; But follow statesmen through their regions high, And see how sadness slily can await To glide in quietly and mar their state. Not all is sunshine on this lofty way, See unideal, envied Castlereagh Grasping at death, and that by his own hand, While England's greatness he could still command. Councils of state and diplomatic skill With true contentment hearts can never fill. See in more recent times, how statesmen hope To root out faith, and heed not King or Pope, Heed neither Him on whom all councils wait, Nor Christian nations, which they seem to hate. While Popes and laws the minister defies, The head grows giddy and the creature dies. Sadness, while each on other lays the blame, Proves the conclusion of the strife and shame. But take your instance from the best of days, When with some real good the int'rest stays. From Parliaments at times the heart will shrink To look for youth's fine visions, and to think. Still the result is sadness ; at the best There is a want of something to give rest To that which always seeks a higher good Than what by policy is understood. E 50 Tin: REMEDY FOB II UMAX SADNESS. T Badness which a public lit'' 1 lias brought fields when of what wo owe to (loil is thought. The schemes, the motives, and the whole great plan. To oiould the future for the good of man, Will then be changed for what ran be combined With Love of God and love of human kind. Then instant joy ami peace will till bhe bree -tat. -Hum glory and the man find r. I. .. dow, to war.-, and battles, and alarms. Where Icings and generals find boasted chan I iugh even there the tears of X oan Proclaim what'.- wanting to bhe hero-man. Eesj tears and inward Borrow more profound In every generous Boil will then 1"' found ; Whole armies perish, victory is gain'd, Bui ' jhock'd bouI lias need bn 1"' sustain'd I;. - mething more bhan nations can bestow, When with a patriot's 1 all bosoms glow. The '-\ that's wibness'd carnage on bhe field, The deadly horrors bhal fierc passions yield, Will turn at times with anguish and dismay . in that Where joy divine d< fi - all other might, And i i orld where all bhat is is right. I gloom has fled— the bitterness is past — I . hut rnan 1" 1 1 ! at last ; And " bis tin love, are in bh< No onsorbing w ith man's cruelby. 'I'h. r warriors mingle with bhe strain \ of those who gain THE REMEDY FOB HUilAN SADNESS. 51 By loving God the joy of lasting rest — The peace, the hliss of. heaven in the breast. Then, what has life professional to show, But disappointments ever, sometimes woe? Sadness attending the protracted suit ; Where anger rankles, charity is mute ; Sadness, when malady all skill defies, The treatment right, though still the patient dies. Let but the love of God inflame the mind, The school grows wiser and the lawyer kind ; Physicians then have faitli their minds to raise, Like other men, for all events to praise Him on whose will each circumstance must wait To change or modify of man the fate. Sciolists talk, anatomize in vain, Dupuytren finds in death Ins greatest gain. Then counsel, judges, all who must resort To chambers, juries, and the inns of court, Find that if peace the world tin is still denies, Its sweet reward the love of God supplies. The noble advocate, to whom repair Men of all classes, will be Berryer — And he, confiding in a higher power, Escapes from sadness in each bitter hour. Content, resign'd, still stedfast, firm, and bold, Free, while a nation lets itself be sold, From sadness, as from consciousness of wrong Deliver'd thus, to truth it will belong To yield that none are happier than he, Although besieged by human misery. e2 52 THE EEMT.DY FOTJ IHMW 8ADFE8S. But there remains for man the tangled wood Where world and gain aldne are understood. Through wretched wastes the thirsty sou] will fly Vainly some fancied treasure to descry. What Miss in riches, banquets, Bports, and halls, Wlnrc body triumphs and the spirit folic [n i pomp and thrift and prodigals reply, Oh, wretched this! this Booth is misery! Such is the Badness of the world bo vain. Though tongues are still thelasrl thai will complain ; The jaded eye, the dead <>r wilher'd heart Unconscious will betray the lurking smart. When all outside assurance Beems to wear. While -till within is nothing but despair; Nothing hnt fretful passions raging still Without a hope, a purpose, or a will, It mind's inactive Badness will ensue, Ami this the man of pleasure finds most trn II bodj Dot inspired by the BOul Will sink to weariness pasl all control. Whereas the soul can seldom wearied be, Such vital force has its activity. \ i though! you needed only the L, r p>ss earth ; four bou] the while has fell a total dearth ; It needs to Boar upon the wings of thought I pheres where nothing without God is sought ; You held thai passion gratified was all, The French word ennui besl depicts your fall. J even here such hitter conl rasl b pi The in' am to t< ach at times the way to Ioti THE BEMEDY FOB, HUiTAF SADNESS. 53 That love which makes man with himself agree. Where ceaseless motion must for ever he, To win him back thus sordid and unbless'd To where the flesh and spirit find their rest. Then all this sadness vague and so perplex'd, When hopeless seems the cure to conscience vex'd, Will yield at length and wholly pass away, And bright and cloudless leave each happy day. Is this the man or woman once so dull, Of every bosom grief each day so full ; Restless, complaining, vex'd at each slight chance ; Tired of the splendour, pleasure, even dance ; So tired of time, of life, of what can come, Of present, past, in public or at home • Dead to all sense of beauty in the sky, In earth, or art, or in the human eye ? Yes ; but the love of God now moulds the whole ; Their flesh exults and winged is the soul To rise above the mists that weigh'd them down, And shaped all forms to a perpetual frown. Sprightly and gay they prove the great success Of that first law which here I would express ; How without love — the love of God supreme — Life is at best a wild and feverish dream ; Sad, purposeless, and altogether void Of that which nature gave to be enjoy'd. But now perhaps in grave philosophy Some will pretend there lies a remedy For all the sorrows that we have survey'd ; And so a great mistake they'll say we've made. 64 THE KEMEDT FOR IIIMAX SADNESS. Alas ! in this so little is there tru That here again fresh sadness comet in view. In fact, to that of courts, of wars, of halls. Mi;-: now be added (and the thought appall I The sadness of philosophers profound, Where talents, science, and deep views abound. Philosophy, if true, can yield relief — A cure of mind and heart for every L r rief. Hut then the wisdom that men say they loi 1- nothing but the God who reigns aboi 1 own I cannot relish much the phrase, Invented thru to strike you with amaze. Of what avail this pomp, with all this ft Which never speaks like any our of ns P B rides, in point of fact, with all this fame The mass of sages reap an empty name. Bow i >ft do Germans all good sense defy, s. king the rest of men to mystify ! Borne Frenchmen too with brains bewilder'd long, llav their translators to conceal what's wrong, To pass their nonsense bi nei th English And gain a prestige for what's mere pretem But this philosophy, bo high in tone, Pret mta a Badness fatal of its own. llts of scienoe (they avow as much), ie grief of mind and heart can never boui And without faitb in things of spirit, a'- Badness for Its name can only merit. N' rvous, dejed h men grope their wa \Y;' and doubt the live-long day. THE EEMEDY FOR HUMAN SADNESS. 55 And who can wonder, when their empty pride Ends in conclusions others must deride, As the vain jargon of a sophist's hrain, That of all winds the fury must sustain ? Whether you seek in England, Prussia, France, Those whose grave names j^ou eagerly advance, When seeking from some changeful, haughty nod, The peace and wisdom you could gain from God, From human thoughts a lonely heart to sever, May he task easy ; to cure sadness never. The mind must dwindle when its only food Is empty phrases seldom understood, Of which the sense (and this they oft avow) Once known unto themselves, is hidden now. " When this was writ the meaning was well known To me and God, hut now I freely own God only knows its meaning, but now I To find the sense can my own self defy." So said the greatest of the German sages ! You'll find it thus on his " immortal pages ;" But how can gladsome cheerful thoughts arise, From mists which can at best but cause surprise ? A sadden'd heart, a downcast cloudy mind, Are the chief issues on this path you find. Conscience thus wounded by the phrases high Of those whose wisdom only brings a sigh, Will sometimes to the love of God repair, And find both truth and its contentment there. And after all, what false and wasted breath, To talk of difficulties clouding faith ! 5G Tin: remedy for humaU sadness. On mysteries divine one loves to muse, Bui those of nature you would never choose To look into, or deep upon them ponder : 'Ti> agony alone they cause, not wonder. That for Your food the harmless beast most perish I< quite enough for feasts to Bpoil your relish. Custom of course will still come oil' the winner, But the great mystery of all's your dinner. Would you then learn philosophy to tree From the sail weight of thoughtful misery? Let Malebranche, Bossuet, or Schlegel Btand For proof, which <\i-ry one can understand, That not by nature's cold and nickering light Sadness can yield to what's removed from Bight. B • that by hearing what's reveal'd from high, We ,,;i " obtain its surest remedy. In | then true Bag - Bhow you, as they can, The God so personal andjoin'd to man. That in Hi- love, BO warm, the ,-eeivt ll Pot adding bliss to what the wisest prise, For joining constant exi rcise of thought With all the gladness that was ever Bought ! I j those who Btudied pleasure as their end, And on its prevalence made good depend. now o'er Boenes of life fresh shad end, \ i st ill 1 1/ appointed path j ou wind. Which each year -addn- and more lonely gro \ nature makes it dravi Ing to it- cl v. t rospect - may be the v.m Of these great changes incident to man. THE EEMEDT FOE HUMAJS" SADTTESS. 57 For mem'ry then becomes a kind of tomb, Around which rests a deep and constant gloom, Nourish'd by shadows of the pleasure past, Of those too whom it grieves us to outlast. Gone are the friends who were so kind and true ; There's no one left to stand or care for you. Stop, hasty pilgrim through the dreary wood ; Your words will change when all is understood As thoughts and facts require it to be, In view to this stage of mortality. True, your condition outwardly is sad, Fit to bewilder, and to drive you mad, If the sure remedy be still denied, Which in the love of Heaven is supplied. But when you think of God the past returns ; With hope and gratitude the bosom burns. For all that once existed liveth still, And live supremely happy ever will In Him, unless some treason and some hate Should thwart His plans, and self-induce a fate Opposed to nature as it first began, And still subversive of designs for man. Then sadness to a taste for deathless things Must yield when hearts and minds have gain'd those wings Which soar above vicissitudes and change, And through eternal ages find their range. But then the solitude around you grown ! No one who truly love for you can own ! ">^ THE REMEDY FOR HTTMAS svDNKSS. Sole in tin' world however you may fore, No heart to gladden or with grief t<> ran'! witless creature, wanting in the glow Which man's high nature should itself bestow! Friendless! alone! when ever at your side on proclaims that as through systems wide Stays the greal common while still bosom-friend, Who ran to planets and to you attend I "Bombast," you cry, mere fancy, a decoy, But no true Bource of real human joy : Nay, but a fact most positive and clear, If nnly ceason and your heart you hear. True, the sublimity of such a thought Beeme to deny what i- in practice Bought, When you complain of wanting a sweet friend, Anl all you hear is, on your God depend. But groundless is mistrusting of this view, Which comes alone from thought! in you. Man is himself sublime, mysterious too. The thought that shuts this out cannot be true. God, in things made, Beems present to the < And can indeed a true friend's place gupj I' uly mind its government maintains, And acts on sense which it in fact Bustains. Lovi ind wIktc lias l«>\e been Bhown [f not in cadi thing that you i hi iik your own, When Gk>d gave what you loved and bo admired, The feeling grant d and the taste inspired P In presence, then, of Him to whom you owe All that you loved and in your mena'ry Know, THE REMEDY FOR HUiTAN SADNESS. 59 Of Him, the stripling's and the grown man's friend, Of Him so loving, faithful to the end, Who never will His creature frail forsake, Who seeks that it of heaven too should partake ; Who, when it falls, still raises it anew, When withers, yields it His reviving dew ; Who, to crown all, permits himself to he Malign'd hy grave men's gloomy calumny ; And all because He loves you to the last, Intent to save, and to forgive the past — In presence, thus, of Him who once for you The pains of death, of bitter torment knew, Left, like yourself, alone, unknown, despised ; Like you, perhaps, bereft of what is prized Above all worlds, exemption from the pain Which human guilt has caused you to sustain, Can you be sad, or seek another food To cheer and animate such solitude ? Each day we love our friends, though out of sight ; Then why distrust of God your thought so bright ? It comforts you to think of those you know ; Then let your sense of God be even so. And, if His arms encircle you around, Then youth and early ties and friends are found. In presence such your sole remaining fear Is lest your loved ones are too daily near To see not evil in your nature sown Which only God can cancel and disown. For now a sense of sadness in the mind Is where no good within yourself you find. GO THE REMEDY FOR lll\l\N S\I'M.S8. Alas! what stagnant vapours settle there, Nothing that's ilid, little even Pair: Though far too sacred is Buch special ground, A can.' divine for tliis we know was found. love divine will lead us to admin' What may be Bounded on my humble lyre. For love suggests thai Bomehow there may be A tiling that pleases God in you and me. We trust thai what is delicate is pure, Of what's unselfish we can feel quite sun'. There are lighl graces which will often try To please a stranger even passing by. Then gleet of self and courage bold, To practise virtu.-- thai can not be told, A wish, a fancy, an interior act Which with Omniscience may outweigh a fad ; There may be still within the lightest heart A taint resemblance to an angel's part ; Jn short, when mosl we feel our inward wants, There may hi' what descends from angels' haunts; [nterior feelings thai proud men despise, Our God who loves us may e'en deign to prize ; The love reciprocal that this musl cause, Dispels that grief the mind from musing draws. We love the Being, loving what we f« I. i bright contentment o'er the mind will steal ; Far from creating confidence insane, Ofeverj good iu man the blight and bane, I '. it ju-t infusing Becrel . quiel joy, The childlike fervour of a maid or be THE KEHEDT EOB HUMAN SADXESS. 61 Who finds in love a solace for all woe That mere self-hatred would induce to grow ; And so this love divine by slow degrees To more good leads, while it from sadness frees The tender, delicate, unknown desire Virtues more solid may in time inspire : Believing them agreeable to Him, Sadness first yields to what was deem'd a whim. And thus the love of God will ever be A balm, a joy, a glorious mystery. But now of things less subtle I must sing, And show how love of God can heal each sting. So then in scenery you took delight, In change of seasons, spring and summer bright, Autumn and winter. Now you know not why The charms have faded for your ear and eye. Nothing is quite like what it was of yore, When each new day transported you the more. Ah ! well, the mystery is soon explain'd ; It is, you know, that we were not ordain'd To dwell for ever with the tilings that fade. For brighter, higher pleasures we were made. So when this weariness of earth and sky Begins to njake you taste new misery, The cure is still the same, 'tis love divine That makes the face of nature ever shine. Flowers and trees, plains, brooks, and mountains high, With all the beauty that they can supply, G2 T11K 1M.MI HY FOIt HUMAN sM'M'.sS. Will gain fresh charms when they are all butt y'd As by 11 iin whom you love, intended, made To yield enjoyment for the little span That h( re on earth is granted unto man. Air:iii» vague Badness flies, and all is Been Ennobled when consider'd as a mean To raise the heart oppress'd with want and thirst To fields where all is lovely as at first, Though end! ss ages roll for ever by, And all things Bhore in immortality. B .t there is yet a Badness in this stage Of life 'gainst wliich we .-till should battle \\ Historic lore and letters 'u r in to weary. Sublime perchano , but botli aliki dreary 'I bos whos • minds are permanently tired Of whai m youth was fresh and much admired both be studied long as men end Bui for yourself, in honest truth you're buj ( )f bol h yuu' . 6 P ad ami heard by tar too mneh 'I'm he amused by any moving touch Of authors, who perhaps, if truth were known, Would now be glad their writings to disown. The trade musl live, and boys be kept t" honks, l ' for 3 our part it is not v. lilt Buch ho< ^ i feel that hear:- \ h n wearied like your own I be uplifted when they're pros! pa »wn. Of whai avail to know the deeds and da Of men and t liii \ ond Whai curious to r t .\ omplish'd facts which, whether old or new. THE REMEDY FOB HUMAN SADNESS. 63 Can never change the course of human things, Or heal the sadness which such study brings ? In letters, too, the mind at last discovers, To view the whole with other eyes than lovers'. Excess, had taste, and faults of every kind Are thought to justify a tired mind. So sadness and disgust at length ensue, And what is best appears no longer true. But if the love of God inflame the breast, How far removed from all fastidious rest Becomes the scholar, aged and skill'd to pry Into the past with ceaseless scrutiny ! Each page of history some good supplies For thought that's fruitful and that never dies ; The truth or error, beauty or defect, Seem all combined to yield a great effect In proving what is told us from above, That nought is worth but charity or love. Still letters take, of centuries the boast, Whether the bright or sad attract you most ; What are these volumes to an aged eye, Written in times that are so long gone by, Of which, perhaps, the first edition sold, Was out of print ere it was three days old ? — What, but pale monuments of other days, That sadden him who thoughtfully surveys Even the beauties of the spirit great, Which strike, or kindle, or quite captivate ? Which proves how bootless and how vain to try By talents, eloquence, or genius high, G'i Tin: BSMEST roii lllMW BADNESS. To realize a true and lasting good When fame alone is by it understood. "What gain to authors, all this grace and wit — Sweetness of Burke, the force of Fox or Pitt, Richardson, Fielding!- -let's not sing of tin take the recent authors that most please — Byron and Wordsworth, Scott once dear to all — How quickly fading does their mem'ry fall! Fortune of books ! I hear a critic cry 1 , A", rsal il tasti . decreed bo booh to die ! When I re-read the pages, wither'd now, Of authors with " immortal" on their brow, Inscribed by those who deem'd them such i, r reat things, — Basnage, Leclerc, of literature hi' Sorbriere, Bouhier, ami the sceptic Bayle, — I'm Bad to think how Little must avail The labours long of those who qow are dead, When of each author all that can he said 1 thai no Longer it is worth men's while, Unless mere curious Leisure to beguile, To take him from tin' >lnlf on whieh he lies, A ;iit In' Common pit for all t hat dies, 1. i, undistinguish'd, by worms eaten, rotten. Buried in Libraries when- all's forgotten. Spirit- of hook-, just as their bodies, musl ( )f manj ant bow E "el urn to dust . Bo it will prove for yOU \\ it h all t he noi For countless volume* that the trade employs, : dnte-Beare. THE KEMEDY FOE HUMAN SADNESS. 65 Sought from their birth with such an eager rage That crowds press in to catch the boasted page. A day will come, much sooner than you think, For all now passes quickly as a wink, When the great current over which you glide, Of interest, will be on another side. Your books, like vessels wreck' d and cast away, Will be left dry, and never find the way To pass again upon the billows high Of tides ne'er refluent, howe'er you sigh. Letters present each day abandon' d shores Which youth will scorn, while thoughtful age deplores. Who will survive ? who will one day be read ? Who prove immortal 'midst these hosts of dead ? Funereal honours, praise a day or two, Such is the fate reserved for me and you ! And even when the fame is wide and long, Of what avail these eulogies for song ? Letters in brief have thus a solemn voice Which says lament now rather than rejoice. Sevigne, Sterne, sweet Gay, and countless more, The pride of nations in the days of yore, The gentle, gracious, learned, and the gay Have to grave readers only this to say : " We wrote, we sung, on earth we left a name, But who can tell if here extends the fame So won, so valued, but for us so short, When call'd away with spirits to consort? " Well, for this sadness, still so deep, though calm, There is but one, and that a sovereign balm. F GG Till REMEDY FOR HUMAN SADNESS. To God the past as present is in riewj Through love you live in God P 'tis so wit 1 > you. While loving God you think no more of death; That love revives all these who once drew breath ; You view them living, only gladden'd more Bj \ erae and prose, of which the former store May have wing'd souls to join thrin there ahove Where Bhakspean nius hears the naiue of Ion ! '. a ihiw methinks by Borne 'twill be replied, All this seems clear, and cannol 1"' denied ; Only cif what avail this sage devi If men can't always follow the advice ? rely it must plainly he oonfess'd That tl inted cure, howe'er express'd, I. '. oiid the ken or reach of mosi Who canM love < J< «d whatever yon may boast. Cannol ' And why? This leads Ufl to the end ; I ball 1 bri( f; an ear attentive lend. ^ tnfess i hat what you say ia true ■, There are who never can enjoy this view ; I use clearly we can now desorj . And to misl ake it all men we defy. nol in i he anoienl bc) 1, Wisdom ;' and charity its rule ; re men mosi grave, and stern ami (did. and yet DOl SB of For much i- alter'd, passing through their brain, Whnh m truth itself a certain stain. T1IE REMEDY FOE HUMAN SADNESS. 67 Take but an instance recent of their way : That Shakspeare could love God you must not say. He a true Christian ! He a believer still ! This to suggest is to offend their will : For God, they think, is ever quite beyond The hearts of all of whom you can be fond. In fact, they think it shocking to the good If His great name should e'er be understood As having been adored by such a man, Let Rio try to argue if he can. With them, great genius, love, and words most clear Can only for him justify their fear ; Though fear is not the word they should have used, "lis rather hate, through thought of God abused, Which makes them only a mere outcast see In one so dear to all humanity. Of natures dull that only can inflame, Where they can spy some vice or spot of shame, Timid, distrustful of whate'er is bright, Like him in tales yclept of gloomy sight, Impatient, passionless, unless they see Some prospect of man's future misery, With thoughts that savour of some hidden ire, Seeking contentment in a penal fire, All first-rate men, 'tis said, to give "retreats " Where hideous terror each one only meets, By faith unsanction'd, point-blank 'gainst the letter, 'Gainst all the thoughts of love that make men better, F 2 6S Tin; REMEDY FOB HlMW BADNEB8. Pitiless, reckless, heedless of all bond But that t<> which their own gloom will respond, Their object possibly to scare Borne child, And with fanaticism cruel, wild, To make it scoro each dearesl human lie. And mother, father, Bister, all defy, While still of old forms Bubjeci to the nod, Nut openly to change th" incarnate <;till profess, These 'lark, s.id prophets Beek with all their mi To keep God's goodness out of human Bight. city that '.- infinite, they Baj . Will come to try us at the judgment-day ; Inventing thus a language of their own 1 ]i the corn down, with the cockle sown. I own they terrify, discourage me; A ' tim I fancy truth it all must he. Y'-t, i> it Bin to think that God 18 good, When mercy infinite is understood: ('an it he wrong to dwell on attributes Eteveal'd, and Buch as reason ne'er dispu! [hey sometimes dwell upon a Bingle letter, Th'- more detach'd, so much then the hitter: And with that fragment armed the) '\'^'y All who i heir dreadful principles denj . Oh, shame! oh, horror! oh. the fatal end. Such lore, Mich force, Mich eloquence to Bpend! \ fin hurricanes which Bwepi the sky I lad 1» n the Godhead when tiny had pass'd bj T ■I' THE REMEDY FOE HUMAN SADNESS. 69 As if they never heard the still faint voice Which bids men hope, he grateful, and rejoice, Beneath that standard, lifted up on high, Causing low frailty itself to die With love ecstatic, solely still intent On that great love through which the blood was spent, That saves alike the wretched and the just, In which alike they both must solely trust ! When thoughts of God are thus insanely changed By men whose feet through dreary wastes have ranged, Without a gleam, whichever way they turn, To show us love and cause the heart to burn, We grant the cure for sadness is denied, Unless consisting in their gloomy pride ; And then it must prove worse than the disease, Boast as they may, or say whate'er they please. But this is human madness to invoke, Men to subdue, to injure and provoke. 'Tis said, when speaking to the poor and bad, The style of teaching must be rough and sad. But human hearts are delicate and fine, The vulgar have the same as yours and mine ; And what to us seems strain'd and too severe, Will hardly teach the lowest to revere. I think you err, despising thus the low, You may amuse, but not convert them so. For pamper' d rich men keep your words of flame, 'Tis they who can't be moved by love or shame. 70 TITE BEHEST Tom titmw BAMre8S. But outcasts and tin- lowly in their sin. By love, unless mere drunkards, you can win. Of cour- fear is needful for us all. But not what Bolely, simply must appal. Moreover too, these gloomy views are ran-. Ami few can owe 1" them their own despair ; But when such Looks and rhapsodies will low, The best resource is to take np some flower, And trace in form and colours that great Blind Which is almighty and yet still all-kind. 'Tis asel trering your grave men's wit ; Beti r upon Borne cowslip-bans, to sit. And rad he Si li s, or others of that type. Who the pure mirror of your mind can wipe From the dark stains that sterner men have left, from teaching love amerced v berefll ; < 'i- hear but ]■*.'■ 1 — when they sing as men. And mark their dei peel thoughts expounded then. • God is good, bow do yon surely know ': By marking what <>n y<>w He did bestow. As made by Him, if goodness dwells in you, Q Iness must be within the Maker's view, I v that it you did invent. And th< n to Bedlam you may bood be sent. I. - nat lire must and ever will. The proof d( monstrative i I ill, t Ho too lo 1 u hat I Ee WOuld impart. To human croat hen He made their h< li : ther tone from po< i *s K re, Whiob can is you the love of God inspire. THE REMEDY FOR HUMAK SADKESS. 71 For having made you why be grateful still To God who only used his sovereign will ? Nay ; but a thought it cost Him. Then adore, Gratitude with love demands no more. He thought of you. Is that no little debt To make you what is infinite forget ? No ; feel all the greatness of the mighty love, And glow like Seraphs in their choirs above. Our faith knows more ; but here I only sing Of what you reach with merely nature's wing. So that this love divine can never be Beyond the reach of human misery. Cease let the song ; our end accomplish'd here, — A noble end, though weakly served, I fear. To trace our human sadness to its cause, On each distinct division briefly pause, To show at all times when we breathe the sigh A sure and potent remedy is nigh, In strict conformity with nature's plan, Sublime, angelic, yet befitting man, Common to all while singular for each, Mysterious attributes to guide and teach, Admitting that at first we ought to fear The great Creator, to whom all hearts are dear, But showing that by love, and love alone, Our nature gains its true congenial tone, Escapes the sadness that obscures the light, Induces visions ever fair and bright — / _ 2 Tin: m vnRiAGE \r < \na in r; vi.n i r. This to achieve while moderate and true Was the Bweet lliu r ht Imposed on us for you. The wing was feeble, but the purpose high : While rising thus — 'twere happiness to die! THE MAklMAci: AT (ANA IN GALILEE. ( I M 1 I \ I 1 I > PBOM \ POEM i:V 0. M\'k\V, WD A BMOB Bl i in: 1:1 \ . in B] i:i Dl Bl BO, B BABD IN Tin: i:\\ \ki \\ < ii LP] i . ) 'In ebb's a mother, a true one, what can : ter P Biysti riously granted though nol within view, Than one that's mere earthly to Bave us far meeter, Por tenderness jusi Buch as once we all knew. Natural, cheerful, Loving, enduring, I'nskill'd to refuse the leasi boon thai we ask, Remaining, sustaining, [mploring, prevailing, l lerve us her pleasure, her Belf-imposed task. There's a mother, a dear one blessed for ever, ire for u> here in this world <>f woe ; Watching as softly with ceaseless i adeavour That (im.1 ini'_rhi upon us His favour 1" itow, Like a Bower, like a tower, Christ's mother, our mother, THE MARRIAGE AT CANA IN GALILEE. 73 Mother of all who adore her great Son ; Most clement, most potent, Most faithful, most skilful To keep us in safety till heaven be won. That mother, her nature we do not invent ; Like her office reveal'd, it all has been told, And we know that to pray for us she's ever bent ; We gather it too from her conduct of old, Complying, entreating, Tenderly, motherly, Interceding for all who needed some aid ; Amiable, wonderful, Diffident, confident, And sure to obtain, when for aught she has pray'd. In Cana the banquet of marriage is spread ; These friends — they are humble, and nameless, and poor. But who that has once that sweet, simple tale read, Will not love the kind, homely, unknown, and obscure ? So hearty, so jolly, Respectful and grateful, Intent to give pleasure, and comfort, and ease, Anxiously, nervously, Toiling so, smiling so, To serve, and to help, and to cherish, and please. Our mother, invited alone with her Son, (St. Joseph her spouse was no longer in life,) Soon perceived, like a woman, ere feasting was done She must pity that soft and pretty young wife. 71 TIIE II IMMAl.r. AT (ANA IX CAI.ITM.. 1 1 ■. perplexing, the wine failing, Tin i '■'> no more, at the door, After all the long labour, watching, and oare, One so l>asl i fill too ! S D ]>Ut out tOO ! A disgrace most untoward, onheard-of, bo rarel Man-, our mother, never proud like the v. Who still o'er all human wants boast they can soar, Her tenderness small things will never despi Or those who this incident needs must deplore. Sensible, powerful, Considerate, delicate, Still feeling for dear ours of whom they were gui Quietly, secretly, I teckoning, whispering, An art of true kindness and love Bhe Buggest Eternally chosen not yet come the hour To the world by Himself Hi- Godhead to show, But His goodness she know.- is great as Bis power; On servant- alone Bhe would counsel bestow. Amazing, surpassing ! S arce credible, t bough visible ' The will of < hnnipotenoe yields to her i j I at ing merely, hint ing merely, With looks only, Bmiles only, The great Hat is utter'd yielding heaven surprise. Can be bent then, and changed theu,eaohdayandhour, The will that's eternal, the Godhead's decr< Since Mary had once too this questionless power, The same she caa still do for you and for d THE MABRIAGE AT CANA IK GALILEE. 75 Hastening, delaying, Achieving, preventing, The things that we long for, or anxiously fear, Maternal, supernal, Pleading, beseeching, Indulgent and gracious she ever is near. If unask'd she obtain'd then, thus premature, A clear self-showing forth for the world to view, The first, too, for that by the Magi though sure, And that by the Father, to others were due, What think you ? what say you ? What great things, what small things, $ Will she not gain, when we pray and aspire, Considering, remembering, At her feet singing sweet, With all the devotion that love can inspire ? For think you that since she's removed from our eyes Her power has yielded to time and to death ? That crown'd with a glory that darkens the skies, She feels no more pity for those who draw breath ? Forgetful, neglectful, Not seeing, not heeding, The wants of poor mortals adoring her Son ? One like us, only thus, Past away, till the day That judgment pronounces and heaven is won ? Oh, man ! misbelieving though Christian in name, Be not a mere heathen philosopher proud, With thoughts of the Deity still now the same As sages who boasted of wisdom so loud. 7G THE MARRIAGE AT CANA IN GA1.H Thou - • bou believest, Thou feelest, thou teach* A vague recognition (and praise it we can) Of somewhat, you know not, Ahove us, ali. nit us, But not the faith yielding redemption for man. The Christ and our Mary in thought Wfl can't sever So long as we follow our reason for guide; Believe Him God while still man too — this is what never \ ou ran do with logic while Bhe is denied, A availing, prevailing, ] I is mother, our mother, To h us on this wild tempestuous &h oh ! yield then, confess then, I k>1 h grateful and faithful, That Bhe is a mother for as evermore. < >h, woman! tliat name still the fondest and h. That from our poor mortal lips 6V6T can fall, [f of mankind we love and cherish the r< to thee we owe brother! d, friendship, all. " For His mother, there's no other I,\ ing prone, quite alone. I. • me kiss Him." a woman exclaims in song; \\ PV6 them, we tOO love them ; \\ e would shroud them, we would kiss them, i sake of their mother, to whom the] belong. IRELAND. 77 There's a mother, and one, to whom we've seen kneel The mother, the wife, and the daughter so pure. They are gone, fled from us, but now how we feel, That their faith was divine and their confidence sure, While simply and truly, Imploring and trusting Still her whom each loved as so long known and best, Like a child, ever mild, The fondest, the sweetest, — Before whom they kneel now in glory and rest ! IRELAND. " Now Eastward, ho ! " a poet cried of yore, But " Stepping westward " pleased our Wordsworth more. The sun descending through a gorgeous sky Will soothe the heart and fascinate the eye. Emblem of man, sinking to rise again, While watching it we seem to hear a strain Plaintive yet hopeful, hearts from time to sever, Harmonious echoes, rolling on for ever. Thoughts, too, are waken'd by that glorious light ; We think of frientls, of countries out of sight ; . We seek to join them both in one sweet song Which can that pensive transport yet prolong 7^ inr.i..vxn. While memory unfolds her fondest scroll, Recalling each thing that makes up the whole. Holy ami tender, fairest of the fair, Westward I look'd and knew thai it was these Thy sportive childhood play'd and first drew breath, Elsewhere to grow and triumph over death. Oh, .Jane! bo fervent, stedfasi in thy creed, As if of nothing else thou badst a need ! And yet, bo beauteous, bright, like any flower, •' t hy office was to deck a l">v. Who can recall and Erin's iale not - A chi -• :i spot to bring forth saints like thee? [aland of saints! far through that western sky The hearl when wounded oft to thee will fly! For thou dost thus uphold thy ancient fame, And the great privilege of faith proclaim. Thus, what all love, thy image can convey A vision gracious in a human way — Vision, as here, of faith not left alone, Abstract, pedantic, void of the warm tone Which charity imparts to person.- r< :i 1 , Living on earth as if they were ideal ; So that, at once, in thee we have in mind Truth, and the fairest, best of human kind. B ' mark each point, ami think of Erin's train Of light with which Bhe Fancy can sustain. And lir-t when in historic page you i A thoughtful Look on ages Long since past, IRELAOT). 79 You trace, as on walls made by Flandrin, story, Processions long of saints and pontiffs hoary, Of virgins bright, the theme of holy song, Which even can to chivalry belong ; Schools to which fiock'd the youth of every clime ; Retreats of peace amidst the wars and crime That render' d Europe in those middle days A chequer' d scene to grieve him who surveys The whole, so dark while spotted thick as there With light, of which much later it was bare. And mark, when here ferocious acts abound, No odious tastes permitted have been found ; No bull-fights, cock-fights, as in grander Spain, Which leave still on her annals such a stain. Here crime was lawless, branded, and confess'd, Never in garb of local custom dress'd. Eead the Four Masters — there are blood and fire, But no foul-sanction'd sports to raise your ire. The evil and the good distinguish' d, known ; No compromise that conscience will disown. Then when the storm of angry error broke, Let loose by those who lived without a yoke, We see a country bleeding, stript, defied, Yet boasting that its children lived and died True to religion, faith's sworn chivalry, Arm'd with what Heaven calls its panoply. A little later, and the milder sway Of times less cruel then prepared the way For once more seeing Church and Cross arise, To fill the foes of both with sad surprise, 80 IBBLA3TD. Presenting, when the age la moulded so, A curious fad observed in high and low — To faith submitting best of mortal kind, Rejecting it — less pleasing to the mind Than those in nations whom they vainly ape, Appearing then in questionable shape, — I mean a puzzle to the very men Whose foolish honours are their object then : While her collective spirit is the Bame A- thai which first had merited her name; Injure herself, yet if you take the part Of those who stand for faith, you win her heart. J Jut imiw behold her struggling to arise. And risen too in some sense to our < \ Once more grave pontiffs now her altars throng; The new-raisi ■ en hose who to oppose her faith st ill mean. .Men that to Paul and John you can compare I ' - quite unnoticed, unrewarded there, • by the people whom they teach and feed, Bui by the race which heresy can breed. Oh, word transparent, Bhowing thus a spol Not found "ii all who Catholic arc not ! . hile the world hears of pedant ic fame, Alone within the nook survives their nami . Admired, respected, handed down with love, on immortal scrolls enroll'd above. N'.w othi r vistas through the cloudi I Bhowing bo* poor and Common men can he IEELA1STD. 81 Humble and kind, affectionate and brave, Intent in secret their own souls to save. You tell of crime, of outrages to law ; Portraits of wild and savage men you draw. But while the cause you studiously conceal, There are far other pictures that reveal A race of men despised, insulted, view'd As if in days of slavery renew'd, And yet resign'd, and patient, faithful still, Meekly to bear whate'er their Maker's will Permits at times for reasons that defy The clear discernment of mere nature's eye. Of nations what a mystery is fate, While facts, as here, are plain beyond debate ! Why should an ancient race be doom'd by force To have a new-made creed, of doubts the source ? Reject they will what would mahgn the old ; All that occurs might then have been foretold. For laws unjust and view'd with stern despite, WiU have results to baffle strongest might. E'en now a few indignant at their fate Madly give scope to treachery and hate, To folly too, for what is more insane, Than of past crimes thus bootless to complain ? To nourish thoughts that Eome would have denied When Livy, Tully were her honest pride — Who never wish'd that Padua's fair name, Arpinum's either should engross their fame. As if it were not grandeur to belong To the vast empire that will live in song G S'J IRELAND. When Celtic tires fade and pass away. Bi fore the radiance of the Christian sway ! Which leaves all races free fco love their shore, It. tluir own loving, they love anion more. But while such symptoms of 8 narrow >oul Appear in tew contrasted with the whole, The vast majority contented bear The ills which poor men have' to sutler there. Sprightly ami L r ay, while grateful from the heart For the least kindness richer men impart, We see these patients practising a gra That would adorn the gentlest of our raee ; Quick to appn the c ul, Revering those who passions musl control, The lir-t to honour virtue in the great, The la.-t to murmur or excite debate ; Ready lor action, Bcience, art. a- any, — [n things of " progi till surpassing man] . Content with what false Bcience so disdains, Submissive to the laws thai G-od ordains. Island of saints, Mill constant, still allied To the greal truths opposed to human pride ; Island of ruins, towers, cloister Whence palmer Icings with pontifl did Btraj To Rome and Si.ui. or to kindle lire Which amidsl later darkness can inspire I • -iat in fondest memory and Bong Thy pr lory fearlessly prolong — Th; floal ing in ll. .'■ • i'l all sjiirit n LOVE AFTEE DEATH. 83 Ancient, yet never past as years gone by, But rising gloriously in eastern sky, As oft as finding in the setting light A symbol of thy grandeur in that night Of ages, when thy fame from sea to sea Extended as a blissful mystery. For, grandeur, nations, kingdoms, have their day, But Faith like thine will never pass away. LOVE AFTER DEATH. " Love after death," the Spanish poet sung. Who can its depth from silent thinking sever ? From hearts may sighs, from eyes may tears be wrung, But tell what 'tis in words — ah me ! no, never. Can words describe the faint, quick-passing shade Which darkens all that fancy loves to paint ? Can they pourtray what nature has been made When brightest thoughts must have that name- less taint ? A spot may bring back incidents of old, The mental eye may see each trivial thing That caused a love which never could be told — But the strange want itself you cannot sing. The horse, the boat, the gate, the path, the stile, May for an instant conjure up the dead, Your memory fresh, but serving to beguile With what can never be with music said. a 2 84 TOO LATE. But no fond traces of a happy day. Left in the Becret chamber of your heart, Can chase the mystic spirit that will stay. And never more from that recess depart. That moves below whatever mind can scan, Profoundly dwelling Bilent and alone, The grief, the madness, yet the joy of man. When in his deep, mysterious bosom grown It i- uot that the past is all for him, Or that he Beeks to tell the reason why Hi- whole remaining tastts arc but a whim. "Tis that do more is left, except to die TOO LATE. 'I'm ki.'s Qothing that I so much hate \ once i" be for aught too late. The very thought long time before Impels me to sit near the door. And sun lv here is nothing strange ' Just let youreyea moment range, Ami Bee the trouble and dismay When yon are late on any day. These railway stations — only think 1 1 DO train waits for you to w ink. \ i then the running helter Bkelt< r ' Like hunted rata that find do sh< THE CLUB. 85 Much better to be ready there, However foolish folk may stare To see you waiting such a while, As if you would your life beguile. Well, let them stare and idly prate ; To be too late I deadly hate. Ah, then ! I hope this boyish taste No silly limits will e'er waste. 'Tis little to be late for trains ; But to be late for what sustains The summon'd spirit call'd away, Upon our last and final day — Oh ! that indeed were folly quite, With all gone wrong and nothing right. THE CLUB. With pitchforks drive out nature if you will ; Back through some cranny you will find her still. The process on myself had been applied, Till it was thought that duly had been dyed My mind with what the progress of our age In knowledge true requireth at each stage Of human life when civilized indeed, Without the burden of a social creed. To seek old friends is now a foolish act, Deem'd silly, out of date, and that's a fact. SG THE CLUB. However, after all my pains, T found M v heart to a late comrade still was bound. 8 I resolved, quite warm with youthful gl To pop in at the Square just him to • But "not at home" 1 heard, ah! there's the rub, Forsooth he was departed to his club. There you can find him, Baid the porter tall. Waving me outwards from the lofty halL Well ; it was but a step, bo that was nice, A true palazzo saw me in a trice ; The outside fair, with marble columns long, While what lay inwards wonder Would prolong. M\ ancient friend invite, 1 me within I '• iber London's rather thin), So \\< could visit sanctuaries vast Win i-e nothing savour'd greatly of the p Though you saw book-rooms, others where they Bmoke, is that it might provoke Aie-w the Persian, who Beems there outdone, In what of Epicures the favour won ; ; i carpets, brasses, lights above all. chaii That with pure wonder you might Bee the hairs they gaze all that fills the vulgar with amaze. I rs I must return. Sooth each might he j our children's chivalry, A bed, a house, a very tow brength, Where, if your dandy coidd not -Intel, -th, THE CLTJB. 87 He finds himself encased, so soft and well, That I believe no tongue could ever tell All the true comfort floating through his skin, Or all the dreamings that are of its kin. For, type complete of what convention loves, Of what the world especially approves, The adept worthy here of most respect, Is one whom sentiment can ne'er affect. Experienced in position rich and grand, Assurance constant fully to command, Without much brain, tho' speaking loud with "aws," With jest which smiles from others never draws, With some slight tincture of what chemists know, With knowledge scanty, all but mere so-so ; Law, politics, and things statistical, Geology, and science physical, Liberal, classical, and philanthropist, Uncommon sharp, and rank materialist, Of members best ; his father's own best son, Unbearable to me — his portrait's done, Not by myself ; the task would me appal, 'Tis Charles Nodier has painted all. Other things peerless lay on every side, But this great theme for me is far too wide. Brief, I saw all, though you I need not tire, And at each sight 'twas thought I must admire : Though while at first unable to say why, Nothing quite pleased or satisfied my eye ; Sadden'd I felt and somehow cpiite downcast For days together after it was past. ^s TIIE CLUB. But now that I review the whole in mind, The cause of this effect 1 dearly find. And what that is I shall proceed fco show: Pray your attention deep and kind bestow. Now foremost then, the wiah to 1"' complete, ta an Idea that I believe can meet With little favour where there dwells a soul That feels the want which nothing can control, I tf something nobler than is ever view'd, Where men pretend that faults arc all eschewM. To mend your club you thought 'twas not in fate, And that's the thought precisely which 1 hate. \ wante acknowledged here, perhaps no In-art That any feels, or could to toiiLrucs impart The humble words of artists in their flight, Aspiring still to what is out of sight, When to each work in the imperfect tern They add their names, ;i- conquer'd by the sense ( m man's unequal power, impotent jive expn ssion to their high intent. 5 are complete, your task is finish'd all, I. • ' I here —me VOU but appal. But there ie something more than this abidi The Btranger tells yon all, he nothing hides. what provision here has still 1 n made ward offal] that "comfort " would invade. Though admirable many think' it may. \ • • miserable is n hat others - enthroned I o* n t bat here you find, mbol that can -.peak to mind P THE CLUB. 89 How can the visions of a lofty soul Find entrance through this vaunted costly whole? Where each part indicates the latent thought That beyond matter nothing should be sought. Avaunt your comforts, all for ease and pride, As if the lot of nature were defied ; I look on all sides, tracing if I can The sure effects of genius in a man, Who, with a spirit lofty and inspired, Will scoff at objects by the fool admired, — The body left with only what it needs, The mind provided with what fancy feeds, Proof that 'tis spirit which still dwells supreme As deeming things material but a dream ; I look in vain ; on tables all I see Is but light trash from railway library, Supplied by men, word-merchants of old Quintilian call'd them, spreading to be sold Their goods, as butchers hang up all their meat, Display'd in markets open to the street. Grave books on shelves we see as in their nest, But not an arm is raised to break their rest. For wealth prodigious sometimes will pretend That even sages can find nought to mend In its own temple raised up thus on high Both heaven and earth to outrage and defy. But what you see is only empty show ; A moment's glance will prove it to be so ; In short, pretence, and I fear little more Than to deceive the strangers at the door, 90 TITE CLUB. Whom, when like me they're lei bo have a peep, Instinct soon tells that souls are here asleep. So wlun in silence humbly they withdraw, A sickly dream is what they think they Baw. Oh! what a contrast then the cheerful home Where women sprightly, Boul-inspired, roam; Where mind ami heart and fancy ever & Find truth in fairy tales, thai you and me Inflame with truth's own precious, noble lire, Such as can Nodier's charming page inspire Statistics, blue-books, Parliament reports Here find no entrance to the happy ports Of genius, love, ami heart- supremely hi Where joys find joys, or wounded spirits rest. 1. • liidi men enjoy their boasted Btai . I. • •• comfort," '■ i :-< ." i reside at their debate, Lei clubs still reign, and enemies defy; I ,1- bo dislike them are both VOU and I ; I. ' its of candidate-, he up for y< ars, Before a chance for anj one appears. But give me \ and let me constant wait Where dwells uo pomp from artificial Btate. I I mine resources from a happy breast, Wher I Can loiter, read, and write, and rest. dive rne for " circle*' in some lowly str The humble room where those 1 love I n , > . give me broken chairs, the modesi fire, The fair and good 'tis all that I admu THE DESPONDENT CTJEEP. 91 THE DESPONDENT CURED. A certain stranger whom we need not name, Though, if we did so, quite unknown to fame, Finding himself desponding, rather low, To use the common term, which you well know, In fact almost bewilder'd at the thought That each day only new afflictions brought, That no more friends on earth were left to him, That life's once sparkling cup was to the brim Now fill'd with sorrows, vague and ceaseless fear, Even when cause distinct did not appear, So felt his nature bent beneath the grief That any change would prove for him relief. Having no hermit in the woods to meet, From whom, as in old times, some counsel sweet Could be obtain'd to calm his anxious breast, And yield to troubled spirits some brief rest, He thought he'd commune with himself one day — And suddenly it seem'd as if a ray Of former brightness shone — and reach'd his heart, To life to reconcile him, and impart A tone serener to his wounded sprite Chasing the anger which, as sole delight, He had been cherishing too long of late. To criticize at least, if not to hate, 92 mi; i>i:spoxde>~t cured. All who in some relation with him stood, All that occurr'd though little understood, Had been the task with which he (lid employ His too great leisure- -judge how far from joy Bfusi this unhappy wight have been the while With Buch dull thoughts his Badness to beguile! What was the change which now came o'er his mi: lh- Bought to judge himself, and then' to find Tl ause of all the trouble which perplex'd His sense, ami which his heart ami nature vc\M. Por first, if friends seem'd careless, almosl cold, Was it their fault if, form'd of BUCh a mould. They were unskill'd, it look'd, <>ft t inns to show The love that others could more plain bestow P What, if compared with BOme whom unci' he knew. Their nature har.-h appearM, and QOt quite true To that idea! charming, hriudit, and fair, W.i-, there not still some virtue to compare To th< • graces thai he loved so well, If only all their thoughts and acta they tell p Bui K it IS with some ; they'd rather die. Than thai their goodness you .should e'er descry. \ ! yet, in truth, their actions often speak More than professions, which seem somewhat weak. he who will not BOe that they are kind, I '• ■• engrOBS'd with others is his mind, T he who .its in thinking all Bhould he The same as others uniformil v. THE DESPONDENT CURED. 93 Besides, the dead are gone and pass'd away ; The type you've seen, the cast will never stay. Those left have faults, but even in them still Abide all the germs of an honest will. That want of sympathy and sweet consent Of minds, expressing more than language meant, Which, uncongenial, coarse, and dull appear' d — Ah ! if the whole were seen, it might be fear'd In his own critical suspicious turn Lay the true cause that made his nature burn With secret fire as if he's always wrong'd, And that the fault to others still belong'd. Why did he look with jealous prying eyes, All that he heard and witness'd to despise ? What were these faults which he so loved to scan But common failings incident to man ? Had others nothing to observe in him ? No crossness, melancholy dull, or whim, Which might account for their displeasing tone, When to himself he made his bitter moan ? Then why, like Alceste, must he now detest Those who in him cannot find all their rest, Cannot, at twenty, find a desert bliss, Though from their side they were not him to miss ? While you are nervous, seeking Poet's light, 'Tis your poor warling that is in the right. If even boys seem'd glad to be awav, No longer ever with himself to stay, Was that a fault surprising at their age, To make him mope, or pine with secret rage ? !»! THE DESPONDENT CURED. So in a moment all seem'd well again, Leaving him oheer'd, cmable fco complain, The boy affectionate, the new friend fond, A- when he had noi learned fco despond. Love and fche Bunshine of a happy hour Eeign'd as in early 'lavs fco cheer bis bower. Once more successful, gaining what ho sought, All from ascribing fco himself the fault. Band all that know him, gracious Beems their tone, Merely from finding faults had been his own. Hut fortune, as of old the Pagans said, Had caused him grief, still Oiling him with dread ( >f future evils, losses, want el' means To meet the 1 i - 1 of grief thai intervenes B twees bright days of youth and manhood's power, i the declining years when clouds will lour, I. tfcing loose storms to strip the aged fcr An emblem of man's instability. We!' igain fch of his displeasure of this life without measure. The fault was not in things that fcouch'd his pride, Bui in the Belnsh love with which were dyed 1! erring thoughts, so anxiously diffused, :it one- what here has been refu Bj Qeavcn'e <■■■■ n goo In -. wishing to imparl Orthj of the human h Than evi r could he found in this p vale, \\ i t ausl (low, and richest blessings fail The culpril h< u t I self-confess'd, And th more Ins spirit found POESY VEESUS PEOSE. 95 Oh, happy moment, truly wondrous cure, That might through endless ages still endure, The fault acknowledged, felt to be his own, No blame on circumstance, or others thrown, And the result a calm contented soul, Pleased with each part and ravish'd with the whole ! POESY versus PEOSE. Cold was the gloom upon the way, No object pleased the sight Of one who still had long to stray, A lonely sadden'd wight. The air itself that used to cheer, Though darkness came apace, Shed now no beauty far or near That he could view or trace ; The river, dale, or ruin old That once had such a charm, Had now no legend to be told ; All seem'd to chill or harm ; His fancy torpid, dead his heart, No hopes, no fancy bright That could a distant streak impart To that dim, inward night. Onward without a thought he sped, For even thoughts had ceased ; 9G POEST VERSUS MOSE. As if within him all were dead, Never to be released From the 'lull, sullen, helpless mood In which he found his soul, With bitterness for only food So long as life should mil. When hark! he hear- a sweet, faint BOUnd And spies a lonely lad, Who, Btretch'd upon a castle mound Beneath its ruins sad. Supplied an object to the eye While, like a youngster bent . BegardL -- of the tower high, To play his instrument, Thinking of aothing but his 1 Playing w ith all his heart. Bui playing for himself alone. A a if a child of art, Emitt ing music Bweet as love On Bummer's eve so fair, S ming to float through clouds abov< So brighl with radiance there. What sudden change ! Hon can it I Magicians with their lore ? The dull despairing wretch- -yes, hi 1 hi now through splendoin - This Bute \\ ith gent le liquid tone W.ls all i he magic used ; ! loi that gloom so pathless grown, •ugh heart and mind diffused, POESY VERSUS PEOSE. 97 Pass'd like a morning vapour low, That hid a glorious view, Leaving instead a sunny glow With all things bright anew. " Player of flute let me be named," Said one of Homer's men, " When you would have me pleased and famed," Such was a Poet then. Yet Poets, great proprietors, Have treasures vast and old, Which dread no hardy rioters, In times of trouble bold. Their mines are in the running stream, The meadows yield them rents ; Their patrimony is a dream, The willows are their tents. They're lords of rays and perfumes rare, All colours are their own ; They can command the earth and air, Make all things yield a tone. For them the echoes of the grove, The flower that decks the ground, The wind that with the branches strove When all grew dark around, The dew that sparkles on the rose, The lark that sings on high, Whatever sweetly blooming grows, Whatever soothes a sigh. O blissful, sweet, divinest song, How great thy hidden might, H OS POESY TEHSUS PROSi To thee our praises mus1 belong As yielding joy and lighl Bright road aparl that Leads above, AikI penetrates the as Which youth will follow with its love, The aage too when he di< ks Socrates by Heaven taught, When warned to apply To Poesy where ahould !"■ sought The way in bliss fco die ! < ) foob ' ( I grave men falsely wis Thai thee would chase away, Who think that nothing we should prise Bui what repels thy ray. niiit Priests aiv all induced To do i beir office there ' No holiness in Bound or -nrlit . No Bymbol in the fire ; The tapers, altar- may be bright, Bui all i- done for hire ! The Priest, like others, all tor Belf, The Poel bul a fool, 'I'll'- i>iif intenl alone on pelf, tool. i \ iiw it on anot In r side, 'lake life in all il> t rains. Where through thai ram_ r <' bo varied wide I • \ on not mark t hese stain POESY VERSUS PKOSE. 101 A pretty world they now have made, With all this sense and prose ! Love, honour, goodness, all does fade. As every body knows. Love, honour high, yes, each forgotten, By young men, selfish, base, Something hollow, and also rotten, Such is the dismal trace Of real error stamp'd as truth, Which leads from right to wrong, While Poets ever lead our youth From wrong to right by song. Call error what the Poet sings, Of course you ever may, But, all divine, it gives us wings To reach Truth's brightest day. And the eternal Poet too, Whom Joubert dares to name, Deceives us, as illusions do Which merit not His blame. For 'tis to guide us they are given, To save and not mislead, While if to knowledge false you're driven, From you worst ills proceed. The positive you love to boast, Bests on opinion still, Dogmatic, new, destructive most, Form truth it never will. Yet now these sophists will suppose That we must all agree L02 poesy tehsus PROS1 Iii chasing poetry for prose, To banish mystery. But school of malediction, no, Thy hard sharp sense we scorn, That becomes those who impious grow, Not man of woman born. Thou monster, reason to confound, Apocrypha] and stale, Tli\ tracks empoison all the ground, Thy breath makes Sowers pale, on to boast of clear good » o Anatomize, di i\ , Look to your coffers, count your pern e With base unlustrous eye. But think not, spectre, silly, dull, While working like a mole, Thou canst the grandeur high annul ( >f those who see the whole. 1 1 aven has granted twofold Bra To pulverize thy plan — The poet's grace ami. what is higher, The privilege of man — That faith wit h its mysterious \ ten Beyond t he world we see, M i k i 1 1 lt tic- BOngS of ] t» true Through all eternitj . THE PAST. 103 THE PAST. Some grave men mourn or seem to grieve When things of old they needs must leave All uncertain, and doom'd to perish, However highly they may cherish Names that in point of fact no soul Can care for much in part or whole. Let Niehuhr triumph, Livy fade, Unhappy I shall not he made. Let verbal conquests come to he The sole theme of our minstrelsy ; But let there live in Mem'ry's hall What critics like these can't appal, — The homely, cherish' d, private store On which at times we love to pore, Of little things in times gone byf Of anecdotes that raise a sigh, Domestic legends, children's tales, Of which the interest never fails. Then let me sing of Tom the brave. Who would not from oblivion save That youth, the eldest of the seven, Who when together brought down heav'n 104 THE PAST. To make their home a scene of joy That might the delfest pen employ — To show huw gladness reigns around Where children Buch as these are found, To tell of things from day to day That beautify the human way, \ i then to start the struggling tears When all this vision disappears? Here old St. Germain's forest grand, And it- green allej a dow expand. The i •< >n v and the rides along Mighl furnish matter for the song. Adventures thicken every day, While through each glade he Bhowsthe way Thru let me sing of Mary Anne, Who 'htill you 1 i 1 1 « 1 That which affects and interests most; Whatever you may say and boast, "Tis not of empires of old That some will wish the years were told. It is of early, happy daj B, It is of childh 1's sprightly plays, — It is of these to you so dear, That you would tell, to drop a tear : There is the Livy now for you — And there is both the past and true. Lei fates of monarchies be known. Their grandeur we, too, freely own ; Lei Mein'rx 's dim m\ sterious hall Presenl their rise, and growth, and fall ; Bui let there he a elialllher tOO For what more moves both me and you , in which is kept for tender hearts That which a deathless peace imparl - The thoughl of tlmse no Longer here. Whose Image fadeth year by year, ( mce Like a part of your own being, And now each day still farther fleeing ; \ ad Leaving only for your b1 aj .i t that which cannot pass away — THE PAST. 109 The shadows in your mental eye Of those you know can never die, Whose lives, though short, were rightly spent, Who, leaving earth, to heaven went. There in that vague and silent store Where nought distinct is figured more, 'Midst years and chances all roll'd by, 'Midst thoughts of mirth that yield a sigh, You find a help, a hope, a power, To guard you in your final hour. For what will seem this mortal span So little consonant with man — Its hopes, its evils, or its end, When elsewhere kind heaven may intend To finish for you that which seems, And grant realities for dreams — That life which nothing more can sever From those you love, to last for ever, That guiltless state in heaven blest, Where ransom yields the joyful rest, Where the forgiven, happy, free, Reap bliss and immortality ? L10 EARLY LIFE. EARLY LIFE. A(. \ix we Bing of humble fchinga ; We cannol rise on high ; Let others flap their Bpacious wings And BOai t ltr< »ult1 i upper sky. For tar above us is all glory ; Close to tic ground we skim. shing at fragments of a story. A- it' impell'd by whim. of childhood first, of boy] 1 next, We'll chirrup for a while, With traits of later youth annex'd, Thai sorrow can beguil — Experience all, do Bettled plan — \,, tale to -tir tin- mind — Bui still things common unto man, Which every where you find. Childhood with ii nly gleams Leaves traces lair and brighl ; 1 think from heaven are the beai Which then entrance the Bight. Thai resting in tin- twilighl L r l"<>m 'I i hear a brother's lint e, Thai circle in the little n i Whi n hearts are never muto EAELT LIFE. Ill Those grand old pictures on the wall, Which tell of ancient days, Sacred, heroic, noble all, That charm him and amaze ; Those groves and gardens wall'd around Where first he can descry- More beauty than on earth is found, And yet will watch the sky — As if still distant was the place Where he can beauty see, Where past all walls he yet may trace A scene of mystery, Then the small lake with stony shore, Where mimic rocks can stand, When of rough flints he has a store, And piles them with his hand : These are the things that made him glad ; Of which the thought will last, When heart and mind alike are sad, And all such toys are past. Thus child of gardens, fruits, and flowers, Brought up 'midst fragrance sweet, Left wild at dawn and evening hours With shrubs as friends to meet, Entranced in nature's brightest glee, He knew that mother's voice ; Untaught, her beauty he can see, Though thoughtless can rejoice. But boyhood now comes back to view, With its rich stores of thought, 1 L2 i:aiu.y i.i: Which fancy ev< r « ill renew, Though neither call'd nor sou-lit. That rolling at a mother's feet, ( )r riding on a knee, When a loved guest allows the treat To yield the boy fresh glee ; That care for father though so old, That deep respect and love. These are the traits that may be told With uothing to reprove. But dow the fancy wild and Btrong - ks to create and chanj By art that once did scarce belong To landscape-gardener's rang So paths through fields, and hills of claj With tops of craggy form, Are cut and piled up every di With ii" one to inform. The paths are for the harness'd hound, The bills to please the Bight ; A projt ct fresh is daily found To j ield Borne new delight ; Ami all the while bis playmates dear r labour born ; II, sees through rags their grace appear To .-hun them be would scorn. And then the ruin'd chapel nigh, That speake of other daj EAELT LIFE. 113 Through ivy he will climb on high, And feel a vague amaze : For well he knows the boys his friends Profess that ancient creed, And nought he thinks can make amends For spurning what they need. And then within a nurse's press A wondrous thing he spied — A crucifix, o'er which a dress Was hung, its form to hide. So here of secrets is a store, All is not whole and sound ; It makes him only thirst the more For what is later found. Now books engross him day and night, Not such as patience try, But stories of the red-cross knight, And eke from Faery- Land that our fancy can inspire, Though the details untrue, While kindling a bright secret fire, Which our wise fathers knew. Nor can I tell with what a rage " Evenings at Home " are read, And Mrs. Trimmer's homely page, With which he goes to bed ; " Sandford and Merton," Gay's sweet tales, With cuts so fair to see, Wild Robinson, that never fails, " Arabian Nights " at tea. 11-1 i.\i;i.Y i.irr. Such lb the food at life's first Btage ( )n which he feeds bis mind, While bread and bntter 'twixt each page Leave traces where to find The part Lad tasted overnight, I >n which his eyes had pored, While conning incidents bo bright With which those books are stored. Bui years roll on — the boy is grown Some five feel tall at leasl . The blades Bpring up from what is sown For 3 "Mt h'a bI ill richer feast , Thru school-days follow <>n the Bhor Where Father Thames Bupreme I ' j ever on poetic To nourish youth's bright dream. The -i udv hot . and darksome too, I a not without its charm, I Infolding visions, noble, new, To ward off what might harm. A master kind, his daughters fair, I I is schoolmates free and gay, The row at i vening — all is there, To lill up each Bweet day. Those islands, groves, and Long hot wall That oevi r Beem to tire; Those riv< r weeds, with bending -tall can he thm admire. I I il licre no « ight can alwaj 'I Il .■!• he is sent ; EAELT LIFE. 115 To Cambridge, I can only say, With heavy heart he went. The first months sad, the place so strange ! Before a year is past, He glories in its wider range, And wish'd it aye to last. The world quite new, then first he can Enjoy the pleasures high, That indicate the growing man, Who thinks he ne'er can sigh. And yet while lofty classic page, With Euclid's pleasant fruit, Inflames him with a passion's rage To grasp whate'er can suit The dignity of young men grown, Well-booted ' and such swells, In secret he has yet to own The boy that still impels His course through fens and places waste, The ride to landmarks far ; As when the lad would seek with haste To watch the evening star, With innocence to make dames smile, Who ask'd, why stroll alone ? By saying that he chose the stile, Merely to hear the tone Of nightingale, that simple bird, Who loved like him to stray, 1 This term occurs at least twenty times in the Iliad. i2 1 It; I \K1.Y LIFE. When nothing else the branches stirr'tl From dusK to break of day. Bui college lit'-' itself musl end ; Abroad he now musl speed. Through chances still liis life to Bpend, With nothing much i< heed ; ^ el -till the Bcenes of early joy II' • fancy-bound, At tini. b the Belf-same giddy boy With other pleasures found. \ . me ' those honej -suckle bow< Thai sweel white hush of May ' I musl n<>t siiiLT of later hours. When with a friend he'd stray. Oh, life! how sunt, of hope how full, II...'. brighl thy fleeting dreams, When the swift wherry he will pull Beneath the summer I" ams ' < raz ng "M u 1 1 : 1 1 his fancy paints • life's ideal prize, Words fail him. and his passion faints While speaking w it h the <\ . j, Bui cease t be sn earth he felt no other stay. But solitude to master all. Now all you Lovers true and kind. Some pity show to passion's thrall ; Oh, think what is the sinking mind. Where solitude la lord of all ! THE PEDLAE. Till \ sal 111 the hall in much thick twilight gloom, The wind made a Bound could be heard through the room ; Twaa a wild and wet night. They lat by the i And hearken'd. Bach gust '•till leem'd to ris< higher. THE PEDLAR. 119 " I wish," said a stranger, while poking the ashes, " You'd tell us that tale, which so mightily clashes With new-fangled notions about what is true, — Of the Pedlar, I mean, which once you well knew." " Yes ; tell us that tale ! " cried out loud some young voices ; But an old one that hears them by no means rejoices : With a frown and a wink he sought to subdue The incautious new friend of that juvenile crew ; But effort was vain, and remonstrance too late, 'Twas not deem'd a question t'admit of debate. The other to whom the request had been made, Just smiled, and saw clear that the debt must be paid. 'Twas idle to think of refusing them now ; He regretted, look'd thoughtful, and made a bow. " Well, sooth," he began, then, " the tale it is old ; By your grandfather, child, to me it was told ; But still that the substance, though strange, is all true, Is what he, surnamed good, maintain'd that he knew." The casements they rattled as the blasts grew much higher, The chairs made a sound as all drew round the fire ; The young ones, so anxious, now look'd at each other, The old man seem'd wishing bis anger to smother ; But no one regarded him, or seemed to care, While on the narrator each hearer would stare. 120 tiii: pedlab. Well, rince you compel me, fche tale is not long, I will not your wonder two minutes prolong. To Lanndenstown and to the halls of Baldare A pedlar would conn' oftentimes with his ware: \(t visitor loved more in around By servants, who always in his pack had found The different niceties, precious to each, Let who would 'gainst love-tokens go on to preach. Bui lo and behold, now Borne months had slipp'd by, The pedlar he came nol to ask them to buy. — .lust pause here a moment to join in their wonder, — I pass "ii id matters on which you may ponder. me children from school coming hack rather lat .i\t parents and masfe r occasion'd debate. P ay, what is the reason, my lassie and lad, That late you come hack, and appear Bomewhat sad P The path by the thicket is surety not long, ii why do you absi nee so strangely prolong? ' 'The wood path is short, and we know it right Well, tve came round about, it truth we must tell. Von know the old cottage that Btands there alone; Oh! there lies the cause of what makes all this moan Some three weeks ago, as we pass'd by the door, W. saw whal determined ns never no more through that thicket, though shorter the way. D • bo take it again, we all pray. I since the whole secret now must be told, !. •. there the Pedlar bo old, THE PEDLAR. 121 Who smiled, and said, " Children, proceed on to school, Be kind and be good, and attentive to rule." His looks were so awful, and haggard, and pale, We durst not to you even tell the dread tale.' The parents they laugh'd ; and the cottage they knew; But as for the Pedlar, they said, ' It ain't true ! For untenanted long that cottage had been, There was not so much as a cat to be seen.' Well, children are easily silenced through shame : The wood still they shunn'd, but yet no one would name The Pedlar ; but other things shortly befell, Which their elders were forced to whisper and tell. Colonel Wolf was the lord of that lonesome wood, In which the said cottage untenanted stood. At length some one came to be tenant at will, And but for what happen'd he might be so still. But something did happen, the very first night, Which caused him to yield it up all in a fright. The peasants then laugh'd, and another was found To hire the cottage, and with it some ground. But soon to the landlord he made his complaint ; His hair stood on end ; he felt himself faint ; Not for the Colonel and his coach and six Would he ever himself in that tenement fix. The first night he tried to dismiss all his fear, Though he felt that something most dreadful was near; 122 Tin: pbdlab. 15ui three nights of terror were too much for him — Set it down as his madness, folly, or whim — But never another nigh! under thai roof Would he Beek for other additional proof, That longer in that place he could nol remain, Let master or agenl look bluff and complain. The Interested Colonel determined to try Sum.- practical, thorough-paced, great remedy ; Ho order'd the cottage, bo old and decay'd, To be new-roord, new-floor'd, respectable made; When, lo! a> the workmen took up the old Boor, Six inches beneath it. and quite near the door, — I repeat, -i\ inches below, nol more deep, The spot where the tenants attempted to Bleep, They Pound the poor Pedlar, besmear'd in his gore, .vn by the buckle on his neck that he wore. A little while later some Btrangers with packs Were found tu he Belling Borne lew of his knack Seized, tried, ami convicted, they own'd all their guilt, I I .u for these gewgaws his*blood they had spilt. So yon see how by children and poor men bold Conclusion was brought that tft, the thicket now bo green, When- at each trunk Borne flower new is Been. Hark to the thrush that chants from hough to hough, Even brown nightingale sits Binging now. The stain'd rocks also fascinate the eye, While over all the pure and glorious >k\ Invi' still, however wild, and fond To think -.1' what lies farther and beyond. J t, after all, interrogate a breast, Ami bear a Becret honestly confess'd. There's something more than what the eye can - what allied with Nature's mystery. Ii is for mental want- you would provide, While casl ing errant looks on every ride ; I r what avail- the Bense of all these charms, [fyour bne heart be emptj as your am Of what avail to hear the birds rejoii 11" to your ear there oomes no tender \< '■ Soft and yet merry, musical in tone, ponsive to your ov< Baj • otauban, straying through the wood, (Nodier only could pourtray his mood,) \v. nswi r for as, and convince you Boon, Th • boon. Unlustrou evening aki hing t bem do other < \ •. |. |h n • the glorious \ i< While turning still from time to lame on you. SPEING. 125 Why do some places draw you to them still ? 'Tis not the charm of street, or wood, or hill, But that some hope or memory you trace Connected with a sweet and thoughtful face, Which makes an anxious solitary mind Expect in spots like these his all to find, — I mean that all which Nature can bestow, And needs for its completion here below. 'Tis with that hope he feels his thoughts to burn, When only seeming free to take a turn Through scenes, however pleasant to the sight, Which of themselves could never so delight ; Though here, I know not how, but it is so, This landscape beauty causes love to grow : As if some fairy caused alliance bright Between heart-love and scenes that please the sight. And hence its right source, also we surmise, Springing up too from morn and evening skies. The blue so delicate, the glow so pure, Have a connexion constant, close, and sure, With what needs hope in prospect for the day, Or sweet contentment when 'tis pass'd away. The violet, I know, will scent the air, Even without the presence of the fair ; The daisies still will sparkle at your feet, Though other two your own are not to meet ; But all this beauty, all this charming view, Will still prove spiritless and lost for you, Unless there's one congenial to your soul, With whom you gaze to wonder at the whole. 126 SPRING. Her smiles bo gentle, and her eyes so blue, ^i i know from first her nature must be true ; 1 1 r ■• bo delicate, I . so small, Once that you hear it at her feel you fall; Her memory enhances music's ti Making its pathos and its sweets your own ; As if your secret had inspired all, And to no others such things can befall. Ti- she who yields a charm to each sweet hour, Whose presence sole would constitute a bower, Though amidst naked plains you take your way. And feel the rigour of a winter's day. What will it make of 90 bright as this, Where no enchantment of tin' earth you mi S bh, all this beauty, when the Spring is hi Another Eden will to you appear, 1. .w ing \ ou i j, rapt in mystic joy, When t" delight another you employ All that remains to you of figured Bpeech, Which with your eves and lips and Bmiles C8J9 teaeli That soft devoted friend who strays with you, How with a lover's heart you all things view. That sinking sun, that sweet pale evening star. e you in bliss that once you thought so far l.' ' I to 3 our nature still denied, \\ ith to sit so by your side. v, with another, while you feel the Sprin With 1 1 hills, and flowers you can Bing •I' II iin, who made and gave them all ; i from your breast will pass the heavj pall. SPRING. 127 Oh, truths divine ! oh, goodness shown to man, While yet an exile in the mortal span ! While heauty thus encompasses you round, More than the beautiful for sight is found. Oh, happy lovers ! constant, warm, and true ! How can I fitly praise or sing of you ? Yours are the joys that flow from soul to soul, Beyond what all mere reason can control, The reflex seen, and watch'd in other's eyes, To fill responsive bosoms with surprise, Each beauty multiplied a thousandfold, More than can ever yet be thought or told. Yours are the joys that spring from courage high, When to defend another you defy All that can threaten loveliness and peace, From which before you would have sought release. Of her you love you feel yourself the stay, The champion sworn in old high knightly way ; That will suffice to make your bosom swell With grandeur, such as tongues can never tell ; Yours will be youthful, pure, and noble thought, With secrets to cause pride, what's more, that ought : For hearts united must still secret be, Bound to each other with some mystery. The world may know what's open to the eyes, But they know what its scrutiny defies ; Secrets, no doubt, that int'rest them alone ; But such to Nature give a joyful tone, Yielding a soft and humorous delight In all that comes, in any form, in sight, L28 BPBQTG Making their manni re gentle, ddbonnai Themselves the pride and idols of the fair. Declaim, frown, grumble then whoever will, Oh, love, t" thee belong our praises still ' To Bing at ease of thy sweet private bliss, but Little with an age, like tl Of tunnels, steam-engines, and placing money Jew-like, and of hearts quite stony. Of drainage, and of palaces to hold All that of nations ran be bought and sold : \\ ben upon iron rails as hard men fly, I ^reaming of love a- little as to die. A cheque or balance i> by tar more Than greening knees the ] rimroses to m count \ our guinea oy, Than tin- fi Is thai The wind may warble, and thi stars s!. 1 • -Id thai I be night divij Unhappy victim of the sophist's plan, i'o Lower all the dignity of man ! Methinka with all thy clevernee - I Bee Some heart-moved Biirabeau apply to thee The words with which, hi ring o'er. I [e darted down, and the ignoble I l i larnave, who now trembled at hi- \" While ev< n impious b< ai i re did rejoi • i: iid, with an indignant frown, oor i breaten'd victim cower'd down. avaunt ' speechless and conquer'd he, — No touch of the divine i> found in tie COMMON people's vietues. 129 Oh, love ! at thee let such men scorn and rail, Nathless thy power with us will never fail. I see them mute- struck, vanquish' cl by a song, Which tells of what to thee must still belong; And sooth amidst these cohorts proud and stern, Some have soft hearts, that after thee will yearn. To these I sing, still youthful in their mind ; Tender, devout, so manly, being kind. When these approve, I all the world defy ; Our hearts above them, soar beyond the sky, Where love like theirs, coeval with their breath, Sings, smiles, and reigns triumphant over death ! COMMON" PEOPLE'S VIRTUES. God bless you, our Laureate Poet ! you have war- bled a simple song, — Of the dear quiet graces I envy, that to commonest people belong ; The grandmother, so well you paint her, I think that her too I have known, Myself all caress'd and esteem'd by her, as one for some reason her own. The mother and sister, and wife of the poor youth — he is no man at all, Who to oblige her would not strive, and to defend her not fall ; K 130 COMMON PEOP] b's \ n;ri i 9. Who would not his blood like the water be content to pour out on the ground, For hearts like theirs, sweei and so tender, which still in the people are found. God help you, proud mortal, and haughty! forgive you l'or those silly airs, When led by Borne chance or dull motive to mount up Borne poor humble stairs, — Those Btately airs, foolish and awkward, as it' truly \ .mi would condescend, Instead, like a man, of your feeling a mere simple and 1 --t true friend. come now I in Itself the thing which we like bo to prai Sum.' iln» 11 little pictures will Bhow you, how charm- ing are ever Buch waj '• "1'is Harry, grandmother, that's come here" (1 only want now \ on to Bee How homely and even righl pleasant >me sprigs of all ol ' Harry, come in, and sil down there; here is grand- mamma with me at last : To j London, dear bouI, she wants now ; 'tisfortj long years thai are p Sim :> our own ] r native cottage, tho hy iiu : • he place is bo far ; all til. , still to keep her there, Bhe ever 'v har. COMMON PEOPLE'S VIRTUES. 131 " I thought to her hed she'd gone long while, at least had lain down for a nap ; But, bless her sweet old heart, 'twas only to put on her new pretty cap ! Dear grandmother, please, will you show us that print you so very much prize, — The head of our Saviour, which always used of old to content so your eyes ? " Harry will know how to paint it, and make it still fairer to see, •■"■■ You see all these pictures around you ; you know who 'twas gave them to me." Thus where could you find more true duty, more gratitude fond for the old, Than in Georgie, so handsome and free too, though she says that for others she's cold ? Now St. Mary's cottage next opens, I know not indeed why so call'd ; The garden has ten feet to boast of, an arbour, and what's more, 'tis wall'd. Two young sisters are here with a brother often from time to time ; And the three with domestic affection show how love and all graces can chime ; While all on their work or their chance perhaps must for a living depend, As having no great wealth to reckon on, or much ready money to spend. k 2 1I-52 comm<»\ people's VIlMi Alice is all for her funny tricks, but Harriet is far more di Tom lias a strange pensive air with him, as if for a young studenl meet : A quiet, and handsome, and brave lad, and in town quite a Inn thoughtful youth, Whose words, with his accent and ryes too, denoted his constant truth. In Alice yon had wit join'd with Bense, and everj sweet darling gra< Sprightliness, arch tricks, and mirth to light up her fairy face. She could ride with you over the hills; fur ever 1 think she Could w alk ; She could row, above all she could Bing; and nothing like her talk. So lull of droll Bayings and Blang, s.i full of exube- rant gli l!ut of course above all 'twas her Binging, that could entrance both \ on and me, — Tin' M • Bough, Ocean's Shells, above all, Poor old Nelly 111;, I never hear these Bung at present, hut the i flow hot from my • what is the use of complaining? 1 ask now my own heart for om ' nd the brightest pass quickest ; — they and lo now thei ai common people's vietues. 133 But stop now, I must not forget here, her pity for all that were sad ; Though hardly of her I can speak still, without feeling like some one half mad. A boy with his leg freshly cut off was deputed to call at her door, To get some relief from another, who knew that his fate she'd deplore ; She gave what was left for him kindly, she bade him come into her hall, She burst into tears when she heard him, she added from her little all. So she gave what the rich seldom think of, she gave him her pitying woe ; I need not go on with the fond tale, it all now is past long ago. Then Harriet, Alice loved her so right well, so different yet in her ways ! She goes to her wedding a bride's-maid : as if only for that day Death stays. She felt sick, but nothing could stop her, she went all so pretty in white, There, at that marriage so wished for, was closed all her earthly delight. Oh, to think of the joy and the anguish ! and to think that it all now is past, But such is our life, say the people, and there's nothing that's fair that can last. ]'■',[ common people's \ I I.U'ES. Hut Harriet so wise and so prudent, you End her now here ;i blest mother ; Hut though of her baby enamour'd, keep thinking Bhe will of that other. Tlnii Charlie, tin' husband Bhe dotes on, how con- stant mid loving is he, Those who don't find your common men's virtue, are only resolved not to - But Tom, oli. that young Loving brother! so bound up with Alice in heart . Shall we leave him without one return? from him, too. for ever to part f llov. fondly they play'd when together, how she would ] Mil 1 him about ! Lilt him, and tease him, ami taunt him, ami pinch him un1 il he cried out. where you will through the city, while looking on all whom you meet , Where do you find bo much Lnnoo oce, or where an . cpression bo sw< 1 wish while her picture I painted, that 1 had -aid far more of him ; To her he was food lor all hours; she made him emble her whim. iding up tor the truth that he loved best, he'd leave her with tears in his e_\ h no other reason.- remaining, to his poor beloved fiddle he tl TO MAET. 135 But all that she said was through fun ; for the same truth she loved quite as well, So now she would kiss him and hug him, and all this most lovingly tell. I think I have said quite enough of my theme to feel now pretty sure ; So if you want pictures of goodness, go seek them in dwellings obscure. The manly and humble united, the girl with ex- quisite grace, The brother so kind and so gentle, his soul all with- out on his face — I knew them when once all were happy, but one has departed and fled ; That's sufficient to make us all thoughtful, and pray for her till we are dead. And sometimes I fancy you blame me, for telling a tale that's so old, But it's much if I only convince you that we all are of one self-same mould. TO MARY. I know a child of nature and of grace, I will not, Mary, name her to your face, Though truth is bold, and it is truth I say, Blush, or accuse me as you think you may 13G TO IfABT. Of flattery vile, from which my soul is free, While fixing thus a piercing eye on fchei Mary, thou child, don't quarrel with in;. BOng, Thai word, at least, must to thee still beloi And " child." you know, in these our w iser daj », No praise, do title to i steem conveys. Vmi ask for verses suit) d to you] A> if, forsooth, I were Bome light-fool paj Well, then, no retrospects for your young years . For, who would wish to sir renew'd your tea Lei me then sing of what is bright and fair; Revert to pasi things now I should not dar I [eroic, just . impetuous and true. Of course 'tis clear 1 am not meaning you — Vou are the opposites ; — well, be it so ; — But Bome an- such you fancy or you know; Then when these gifts perspicuous abound, Believe me, tin- road of honour has been found. Life is a battle; meet it and be strong: Such is tin- first [.art of this simple' Bong. Vou'll 1p bj of people bold and free of Bpeeoh, And all the while 'ti> weakness thai they t. . Quite singular how rational tiny grow Whene'er of any n^ble act thej know. I • Laugh down first impressions is their wai I' or ooble deeds and fancies never pay. Slaves of the great, resolved t . • shun offer 3 for every meanness \\ it h pretence, Ariu'd with sophisms to -mother all the fire i I and actions would in • TO MAET. 137 Adepts to mock at chivalry and song, Skill' d to defend and countenance a wrong, Lions in voice, but hares to fly away, While girls like you so resolutely stay, Intent as you on duty to the last, Reading the present ever in the past ; While braggarts cower, justify, excuse, And holy moderation's name abuse. When such examples come within your sight, You'll deem, perhaps, that I was in the right For praising that which foremost was in view, AVhen I consider'd what is found in you. Of tender heart, as soft as it is brave, Not you, of course, I mean, for I must save My ears from fresh taunts darted with new fire, That indicate almost a real ire, But where there's evidence in any wight, That such a nature lurks in what is bright, The way lies open for the truest glory That ever yet was heard in song or story, To raise the soul above the brilliant skies, Filling with tears the rapt, admiring eyes Of all who can appreciate what's best, And feel in goodness is the surest rest. Let science boast, and magnify the man Who its true conquests or pretended can Pursue and realize with lasting fame, That which can then immortalize his name ; But let it know that Love still higher flies Than he who can measure worlds in the skies. L38 i" \r\Ttv. Sublime enjoyment Bcience can impart. But all is nothing to a woman's heart. V -. all is untiling in regard to bl Which your cool knowing onea bo often mi ( >t' love our words can ne'er express the joy, Ami 'tis tlir heart alone we must employ To feel the Bweetness of that heavenly dew Reserved for all who thus resemble you. The truth escapes me ! bl well,Inever! lint from the cause yourself you cannot sever. Still to proceed, ami others have in view ; I lnoiv graces that for BOme arc li I observant . quick, and piercir To judge <>t' characters through all disgui But what is Btrange, ami seldom tints combined, ! withal a lair construction, kind. 1'ut upon word- and actions that might 1"' A tli. in. for anger and eke calumny. I see ( and this I ou n 1 love the best ) Freedom for all, ami innocence at rest, ' at vain strife with others, right or wtoiil:. But chei rful, hopeful, turning all to Bong. \ thought of evil Lurking in the mind. No wish our Liberty to crush and Kind ; gloomy cert no pedant ic \\ hine, < »f inward murkineas a Likely siu r " ; wish to hinder or curtail our flight, I [owever I may he out of Bight , A i'i. of umiles, that like your Bunbeama fall l i Dourish, purify, ami gladden all. PEIMEOSE HILL. 139 Well, I have clone, and ill, you would have said it, Done for myself, and forfeited all credit ; No doubt the girls are always in the right, Intention with them ever is so bright ! You little thought when asking in a hurry For my light verse, that you I meant to flurry ; You thought all open, without danger near, To make you scamper off, or vain appear : So you see now, remember it well then, Really, in truth, there is no trusting men. But come, since thus my song has been received, There is another, if I may be believed ; Your song, so sweet, so potent, and so clear, That to forgive me it will bring all near, With which, O Mary, fly this ambuscade ! And then contented we shall all be made. PRIMROSE HILL. Sweet Primrose Hill, and summer's eve, Of both I mean to sing ! Come, scornful airs I prithee leave, And list a tiny thing Of love, and youth, and holidays, Of sunshine, and of flowers, Of common people's homely ways, Cross hedges, and through bowers. I Id PBIMBOSE Mil. I.. Parnassus, Moni Blanc, Snowdon'a bop, Lei others Beek such heights ; Within a mile or two I Btop, And breathe the Bummer nights. first and fori ii. "-t for the name, Already here's a doubt ; For Bhakspeare would usurp the fame, And Primrose quite cut out. Ye\ both are Bweet, 1 do declare, Both lit a poet's >>>wj; ; To change the Brsl I hardly dare, Which did of "M belong To the steep hill we have in view, Thai rises like a mound, Though Shakspeare's name, however new, Would dignify the ground. Bui why Bhould they no1 both agrei ( )ur Bhakspeare is a Bower ; While primrose and our poet's tree ( lombine to make our bower. Bless us ' how our spirits rise, I low we love the summer sk I I run, and how we amble, The I -ill gambol ' PEIMEOSE HILL. 141 What can be a fairer sight, When the sun is shining bright, Than crowds upon a holiday, All hither come to frisk and play ? Let us follow, come along, Hearts beat quickly, as the song. Then first upon the grass we lay, The air perfumed with new-mown hay, Which wafted to us from the west, Invited us to stop and rest, To watch the children with their kite, Controlling its eccentric flight. But somehow where we stand or he, Is never what most charms the eye ; Always beyond, and farther still It seems ; and thither fly we will. So on we jog, through fields enclosed, The farthest, fairest still supposed ; The heights we reach of Hampstead range, And there, arrived, by way of change, We hire horses, haste away, For long in no spot can we stay. So Highgate, Finchley, soon are pass'd, Through Hendon and the Hyde at last ; ] 12 rimiTMsr hill. She before, and he behind, Speeding raster than the wind. Only time to cast a glance On its water's sweet expat But now completed is our ride, The hired skirt is laid aside ; Fresh as the lark, and quite as gay, We take our nearest homeward way. Through fields, now white, and pink, and blue, From gowns of each and every hue. I »!i, how the children laugh and run ! You'd think the lete was but begun. ( me family you'd think it all, Both boys and u r irls. and young men tall; With mod hers, aunts, and joll Their eyes all lit with kindly tin < )nee more upon our classic hill, The v.;i\ Be< ma barr'd for each, until 1 1 •■ joins t be circle, for the ring, In which I Bee no monsi rous thing. ^ - For how can days he bet ter closed, In! supposed, Thin, ing friendly token • h tie lips, though nothing spoken ? PEIMEOSE HILL. 143 But now in sooth the spirits flag, And all do long for home ; While after us our lears we dragr. So far we had to roam. Then eastward, southward, westward, ho ! We scatter through the park, Trailing, hauling, hasting, tired so ; It now has grown quite dark. Oh, scenes so sweet, of union free ! Oh, human faces dear ! What more charming can there be To witness and to hear ? While some despise as but too real The joy of fields and streets, To Poet 'tis a life ideal When loving those he meets — Ideal of a heavenly kind To meet each other so, To make serene the heart and mind, And all fair graces grow. Then what are your exclusive haunts But paddocks for the sick ? What are your vain and silly taunts But their dull owner's trick ? Ill l HE TWO BEAUTIES. By river's banks, the path along To me is grander far, For leading Buch a happy throng I ti neath the evening star. For painted roof give me the Bky, For Balons, 1 he gay -' n et, For vouchers, a contented >■■. I ' ir friends, the first you meet. Bui nor talk the night away ; Besides, we all are tired ; Heaven send us Buch another day, ;ii to 1"' admu II ,n we be here Bitting still, attending to what'.- said : I ie, Alice, I [arriet, Tom, and Will, J i all Bhould be in 1" d. THE T\V(» BEAUTIES. \ CONTll W n \ r difference in human kind ! for a moment let your mind l: inl two only t v. I'll sketch them. Here they are for yon THE TWO BEAUTIES. 145 Then softly sweet beyond the tone That other music e'er could own, A voice you hear within the door, And, though you never knew much more, To you the point would be quite clear That some true type of love was near. Advancing then you meet the fairy, Her looks, her words, her steps quite airy; Her face from first will please you well, Though what there's in it you can't tell, — In no part faultless the material, In each some touch of the ethereal. There's nothing pompous, dull, and proud, Which emptiness within can shroud ; But there's that moulding by a heart Which peerless beauty can impart ; A something arch and childlike too ; Nothing put on for you to view. But what with face, and " Well, I never ! " Already you are caught for ever ; Just so, for ever ! question none. Ere I could wink you're lost and won. I, who had known her then so long, Will now to paint her sing my song. Sprightly and full of girlish fun, Her sense before the day is done You learn to estimate, and see In her a theme for minstrelsy. 1 t6 THE TWO B] U TIES. At firsi you thought her only witty; But soon you find her Cull of pity, Tender and loving, and yet brai [f yon from chagrin she can sav< So unaffected, arch, and free, Quite readj any i hing to be Either tc» fascinate or serve Those wIhi from nature never swerve ; Mirthful, and playful when you're near. Sure when you leave to slied a tear; Sure to lie with yOU tO the ];i-t . And then a look of anguish cast, That hums ami that consumes yOUT heart. ugh only for a month you part. For i « ith a high disdain ; .\ 71 rse of |" reons to complain ; T >o Lnnocenl to face the world, Though through it from her childhood whirl'd. When wrong'd, Bhe deeply feels the smart, Though laughter may unhidden start. -, and e;,-\ , ever kind, I or all she shows a Bweet, dear mind ; Keen to admire \\ hat is bed , And overlooking all the rest ; The last to Bee a faull in you ; I ndulgenl and forgiving i In all detect Ing somel hing >« Though only sauntering In the street, She tcach< - you to use your ej > An . ime \ irt ue to Burpi THE TWO BEAUTIES. 147 You who before had pass'd them all Unmoved by either great or small. Thoughtful, and nervous, full of fears, When of the world's ill deeds she hears, Young as she is, her thought still flies To what awaits her when she dies. She feels that secret inward fire "Which sweetest natures will inspire ; Of heart too tender in its mould For living where so much is cold, She yearns for that bright tranquil shore Where disappointment stings no more. Sparkling, and beauteous, like a star, She ever shines to you from far. You leave her without dreaming fears ; The moment come — she disappears. But now the other has to sit ; You know at first I promised it. But, bless me ! what a voice is there ! The very dog flies down the stair. What rustling of the pompous gown ! She enters smiling, half a frown. I place my brushes on the table ; To paint just now I am not able. Madam (or Miss, or what you will, That she's no woman I think still), To you I beg to w T ish good day ; For hence in truth I must away. l 2 I 1(8 TIIK TWO BEAUT] And if you want your picture 'lone, Some other artist can be won. From top to fcoe to pain! you well : Such pictures too arc sure to Bell. For nothing's prized upon the whole Bui \\ ha1 can live w ithout a soul, Witliout a heart to stir up thought Of silly things that are not liou^ht. I ii you thai artist's sure to find Wni • ' - the world and its whole mind Of course we cannot change our nati And you are fair in outward feature. I would no woman ever vex, Hut those you speak to doubl your i And after all. whate'er I think on. "Tis something else \ our w ill on; And doubtless you discharge an end For which I think you cannot mend. Really ton we should not mock The>e tempers causing Buch a she,, k They have their use, like oth< r things ; They serve fco clip t.„> wanton pent ance alwaj a b well, in mercy for some sinner. Of heaven now through them a winner, Tn torture him whose gold they ohi i Thai finallj he may not perish. I n t ru! h. no "in- Bhould wish you ill, ad that you fulfil. i r things : ~| n wings i J-- brintrs. J POTTLIGTJEK. 149 Of course the painter snould be stinted ; This mission need not broad be hinted ; Nor yet exactly put that face on Which shows your task in the creation. Unlike yourself look if you can ; But to paint you I'm not the man. POULIGUEK I enow a lonely wood of pines ; "Pis sweet in summer there * To listen how the west wind whines Through tops in dulcet air. Some children flying from the heat Will thither often roam ; Some fair ones too j^ou're sure to meet ; 'Tis but a step from home. With books or toys they all are found For study or for play ; They sit or roll upon the ground Throughout the live-long day. A priest walks by ; 'tis Breton soil, He prays and passes soon ; Escaped from city's loud turmoil, The silence is a boon. L50 poi i .1..1 i:x. ' lis Breton ground: thai is fco say. No danger lurketh there. I [e sits or saunters on his way. And sings his noontide prayer. Oh, charm of nature, quiet, blest, To innocence bo dear ! Where hearl and mind can find tlndr n And no enchantment fear. This wood bo wild and straggling apread, Aii'l standing near the beach, With Bea-fowl Boaring overhead, ( "an thus a lesson teach. For here, you knew, with faith around, ( hi all tlic paths you Bee, No disaccord of 1 1 1 « » i ■_- 1 1 1 i- found [f you in"'- also free. 'I'll.- wood is holy, sat'.-, ami pure : Those meeting you disown All thoughts of which you can 1"- >nn- Tin s would mislead your own. fancy free, like Bkiea serene, !m auty in thr Bower, i find no dark mi-t intervene w • ':. crel blighting po? POULIGUEN. 151 But there you are, and no bird meeter To warble and rejoice ; Each new thought than the last still sweeter, Approved by inward voice. Pavilions cheerful line the shore ; The sea rolls warm and clear ; Of faults and sorrows now no more You think, nor magic fear. In sight is Evens, island lair Of sea-birds great and small ; Approach — they darken all the air That seem'd grim natives tall. The cormorants, they stand in file Upon the sandy heights ; A stranger's eye they can beguile ; Their very stature frights. The pines they reach the sunny plain ; The salt hills quaint and white, Like a vast camp spread from the main, Surprise your charmed sight. There files of half-wild, savage nags, On various zig-zag roads, Bestrid by boys and empty bags Fast gallop back for loads, 152 POTJXIGTJBK. Or heavy-laden, pace it Blow, While all the ground does glitter B • en the pond ignant, though For health it's all the fitter. Beyond, on hills bo clear and blue, Gu6rand's vasl old walls lour ; Westward ga i . view, Willi ! ' high tower There stands the chapel, roofless, grey, Where Kerbouchard bo bold Kir.-t 1 1 1 • t upon his homeward way. The maid 1 ' £ Prom his embraces torn, \\ iiilr he in England did prolong A captive's fate f< rlorn. l{ut Cri That wind bo bine and wide, calling Vernel to appear, To paint its Bparkling t ide, • \. \-\ form so bright, \ picl ur< Bque and gladsomi U] POTJLIGITEN. 153 When fishermen, with saints for guides \ Receive you with such glee, Whose boat-race yearly still provides True Breton sport to see. Another wood some note demands, Where, hid from public road, The once gay Lesnerac still stands, Of owls the grim abode. The grass-grown court you cross with dread, Such solitude now reigns ! What woes once here ! if all were said ", But no one now complains. Now back with our kind cheerful host We speed our homeward way, A roof like his aye pleases most, Through whate'er woods we stray. 'Tis night ; the rockets fly through air, O'er crowds to see the fete Of Louis, and Louisa fair, May blessings be her fate ! But what Louisa ? do you ask, Her name I give to you, Although it finishes my task, And proves it needless too. 1 All this from life. 2 Here dwelt Mdlle. de Sesmaisons. 154 WOMAK, Praise Pouliguen another day, And your descriptions span- ; It alwaj b is enough fco Bay The D'Esgrignys are there. WOMAN. The song is woman ! Oh, the bright, Bweet aim ' What human lips will breathe a thought of blame P ng of woman, man's intense delight, When all within him is si rene ami bright. At In. up- a queen in cottages or halls. In church a saint with whom one kneeling falls In woods a nymph dispensing joy ami g] At work a fairy full of mystery. My harp is harsh, my voire, and all the i I round ~\ mphonious on a theme so hi touch with careless finger its poor strings, A \ ision >t ill before our ej es it brinj 1 i imething clad with stars ami Bummer liu r ht. he t In- heart ami el. vat e t he sprite ; Though as I -im_ r . each theme. 1 fear ami think. Will always far below it- Lev< 1 sink. B • woman can our weakness all supply, \ - . i key-note by her first heaved sigh. think me cold," she says, "let me be tried," Such is her answer when she is belied. WOMAN. 155 Then see her sprightly, arch, unskill'd to blame, When heard, enchantment, and when seen the same. Yes ; true enchantment to transform a soul, And make it feel the grandeur of the whole; Comprising that divine sweet mystery, When nature unlike man wills her to be : Wills, with an art that she will still employ, Declining what would mar and taint her joy ; As when from politics each woman flies, Knowing a year so spent her beauty dies '. Her slights too with her silence, seeming cold, Are all but veils for love that can't be told. Then what expressive greetings when you meet, The accent laid to sound so softly sweet, When now tho' three months absence scarce are past, Her first sole words emphatic are " At last !" With smiles as if you had just come from Troy, After some ten long years to light up joy. These are the traits that sink into the mind, Proving her ever gentle, faithful, kind. Let her contest and baffle all my will, I love, I dote on, I proclaim her still Entitled to succeed and to prevail, Though argument and logic her should fail. For let her soar or seek whate'er she will, Her truest glory's to be woman still. But eyes of woman can divine a soul, A stranger passes, and they know the whole. 1 A. Karr. Les femiaes L56 WOMAK. What are tin - v then when tum'd upon a friend? They Deed do words their potency to spend. Thou creature, gentle, mirthful, and half wild, - wise, so prudent, and yet still a child ! This thinu r or that you want ? Well, he it so! Were it my death you ask. 1 - \ oot 1 only, silly, want a locket bright." Then it is beauty that attracts your siirht ; And what bespeaks a finer, fairer soul Than such a taste all passions to control? For here at least in England are hut few, Who like French upstarts lace alone would view, hanging what is pretty for the di listinguish'd they should oot app Of course 1 know that often you admire Things that you Bee, and will our pat ience t b Some boyish hat, tipt with a tiny wing S irlet or white, heel'd 1 ts, or pn ttj thing Like \iw. The poplars may show rugged to the eye, Within, her youth to her is ever nigh "1'is said in books thai sometimes do her wrong, Her heart is young and Bweet as po Unselfish, uoble, Btrong, and ever kind. A guardian A mr-d true in her you find, Still prompting others to Bubdue their hi Like Josephine, bo meek, compassionate. Though life's sweet dawn do longer lights her I lining not the Less her runner grace, The arch, the deep considerate you find, The nameless oharms of the female mind. Oh, base the wretch who turns thy age I i j And in thy bosom, Woman, Peels not bl« I • what life happy, kind, contented, here Where thou with love respected art Dot near? Attentive creature, thoughtful, ever kin She hopes to guide, and to exalt our mind. Untaught she does it ; for succeed she will, Though Bilent at our side Bhe Bits so still, Her tissues sewing with a hasty stitch, Most innocent and Eair, and yet a witch; what but magic is that mystic Bpell Which makes us think her silence ever well, Her want of words a spring, a tide of joy, When clevi r Bpeech from others would annoj F Woman though <>ni of sight, do less you find, 1 I r minds can Lead to love all human kind. i't but love what Bhe bears in her heart . And so she can the love of each impart WOMAN. 159 Passing, you see no man, or boy, or lad, For whom some woman would not be right sad, If aught of ill should take him by surprise, And so you look on each with woman's eyes. A manly temper with a woman's soul, In these of Nature's good you have the whole. Let Greece and Rome acknowledge here their part, Their poets hardly knew the woman's heart ; Though here and there they praise a noble deed, To see the whole, 'tis other eyes they need. Be ours those eyes, ever to survey The tender shades which they do not pourtray. Of her when singing in the simplest way, We could for ever still find what to say, And rightly too, for if with this sweet love Our bosoms burn, the blessed there above Smiling, look down, and cannot but approve. Sweet woman's nature ever is the same, Though forms may vary even with their name. Sweet in the old regime preserving grace, Sweet in the new which needs not that displace. Sevigne, Luxembourg, and countless more, Can show that sweetness in the days of yore. Montagu, flower of De Noailles bright, Can represent it amidst terror's might 2 . While those now freed from ancient etiquette, Gracious and truthful still each day are met. 2 Marquise de Montagu, Paris, 1SG5. Chez Dentu. } I CO WOU w Proving the system of " do rule" " what harm F " The force of nature cannot yet disarm Thai woman's oature, not \>> be j>ut down, However on it times maj Beem to frown ; Always beginning, let what happen will, The joy of man, bis ovi n good angel .-till ; Divining ever what is for the best, Inspiring ordi r even in the rest ; B fore whose owners each day more and more, tic truth can open all it - Btore. For h ' rain'd by form and rule, • the less worthy of the ancient Bchool. being less :i mere house-plant at home, Not harder to End lovely when we roam. Trad icial rules may die, l>ut. W an ' thou all changes may'st d Thy little - ace all transcend, Win n peaceful life is our acknowledged end. ( >li, what in this world bo cold ' While b1 at mj Bteries are often told, Between i nly all t hi se wonders knovt a, When thou wilt call me graciously thine own \ i i ' ' for in all things i am t bine, I've nothing wholly that I know of mine. no own, this moment and for i ver (■ Througl ountl . hidden from <>ur view ; I : i ue 1"\ e mu I ever but ; nothing can be ever pa M I docile t" thy nod ! II thoe also are with God. WOMAN. 161 And this, besides, the East proclaims to you — " If woman's pleased, then so is Heaven too." Accordant thus with nature's wondrous law, May nothing from thy love me ever draw ! By men deceived, forgotten, angry made, By thee, woman ! never yet betray'd. And yet within thy power I often lay, But trust in thee, of safety is the way : For me thy weakness was true strength of soul, For thee occasion show'd thou couldst control All thought of interest separate from mine, Therefore till death still hear that I am thine. To me from early youth thus faithful, true, All that I loved, still love, and ever knew Has only verified the ancient rule He who neglects thee is, in brief, a fool. What must he be who dares to scorn and slight Thy innocence, thy mission, and thy light ; Like those who true theology abuse, And to malign thy influence will choose ? But thou canst pity those then sunk so low, Though wonder only others could bestow. Woman, thy holy heart will no one blame, By instinct taught to soar above such shame. But when of stupid madness thus we hear, Thy matchless graces then will most appear. Through life I sought thy favour and thy praise, To love thee still on earth my spirit stays ; Not with a view to compromise a heart, By causing any one to share a part M 1G2 WOMAX. Again with one that's destined to have sorrow, To-day as yesterday, the same to-morrow ; Hut to feed fondly on thai mental charm Which Pate itself in some way can disarm. woman, tar ami eT6T far from me I!.- the bad wish to draw my griefs on t! 1. • mine he dreams, a distant memory far. For that alone can Berve m star. When thoughtless, thy deep heart can move us more Than all cold rules from wisdom's vaunted ston When prudent, thy light so sparkling and sure Can teach 08 joys that ever will endure. Thee would I serve with faithful, honest breath ; Thine would I he in anguish ami in death. Who calls this fanciful, extreme, absurd P Has lie not seen, and mark'd, and even heard, That to love, cherish, and to worship tie Is to 1"' manly, happy, hold, and free p Thou art mysterious, gay, and yet profound; In thee a nameless L, r ,,od will still he found. Why should such thoughts 1"' counted wild and rch through the universe and all it> range, Nought you will hear hut this one oonstant tone, l iod tor man to he alone ; t hough mo\ ing in a throi It'i. • cont rasl -to himself belong. \\ •.man, those cont rasl i thou canst well supply, ! all jewels to thj partner* WOMAJST. 163 Openly gladsome, furtively when grave, Affecting fears, without pretension brave, Yes, more than man with his loud-vaunted might So apt to keep his virtues all in sight, Let pedants criticize, pourtray, despise, Identify with folly what is wise — Let gloomy fanatics esteem thy name A term reproachful, and betray no shame ; As when, to crown the grossness of their sect, In Him who used it they would scorn detect. Woman, let others paint thee as they will, Thou canst afford to laugh and mark them still. Thou art great Shakspeare's hero without peer ; Methinks in silence thou may'st others hear. Woman ! oh, grant me thy approving smile, Nothing then ever will my heart beguile ; Not the vile taunts of sophists in their school, Not the base maxims of the world's proud rule ; The doubts of sceptics will seem groundless, vain ; Thy silent looks will faith itself sustain. The heartless counsels of the coward hollow Will seem a thing to curse, and not to follow. Woman ! but promise me a silent tear, Nothing on earth I tremble at and fear ; For only let me feel thy loving breath, Sweet is my life, and happy is my death. M 2 1 1 '• 1 TO .' \m: U w:y T(» JAM-; MARY. (AN TMITVTMN 01 BHEU BY.) i;i mi:mi:i:k thee, fair spirit ' \ . - ' though all else fade That on earth did merit Glorious to 1»- made! Like the bright type we honour when it is thy Bhade. Daughter, wit'.', and mother, Gracious in each pari ! Who his grief can smother Thai once knew thy heart. Like a blest angel win-'. I, that y>\ could aye imparl P In life when first begun, No child more fair I Ami when thy ran' was run, Few to compare to thee, nbining leaven and earth, divine humanity ' < )!' home what love BO pUM I W li.it strength ,,i" put. nt mind ' What courage to endure ! What grace so ready, kind ' What rare opp rtuei in thee w find ' TO JA3HE MAET. 165 With thy contentment true No restless wants can be, With thy faith shown to view, No weakness can agree ; Whate'er is soft and strong — we find it all in thee. Soaring or at rest, The unseen world is thine ; From what is last and best Thy light does ever shine. Would it may still reach others, and even kindle mine ! To see thy placid smile In vain we look each day ; This darkness may beguile, Our visions fade away. Oh ! mem'ry be our strength, and thou with us wilt stay. Better than all meanings Of most tuneful men, Better than all gleanings By immortal pen, Thy looks to mortals wandering would be even then. In the long night of ages Each great soul does shine ; But where on earth are pages Fit to show forth thine, When thou didst kindle spirits, as once thou guidedst mine ? 106 to .' \m: m \ky. No bird amidst the flowers, No prudent honey-bee, More gay fco charm khe bowers, Or sweetness yield to me, Than thou, so timid, wise, and still so fair to sec. Like a sprite deputed To protect thy child. A guardian angel suited To recall the wild, Thou didst pass through life, a star for us beguiled, Like a woman only, Thinking each day higher, Up like the lark so Lonely, Teaching to aspire Those who watch'd thee mounting bo tl, still nigher. Cheerful, still just at hand. Bo meek, so gentle, free, All hearts thou oouldst command, Diffusing Inward glee While teaching souls to love in tender mystery. In sunshine Like a flower That hli.u B in summer air, In shades of woe s power i :i1 ing 1 leaven where Thou didst both heal and charm all that was unded then TO JANE MART. 167 The schools of sages grave, Most dulcet strains of song, With all that man can save From inward sense of wrong, Still needed thy sweet looks their movement to prolong, Teaching old or youthful What is most sure and best, Simple, grand, and truthful, And like thy humble breast, The way to Heaven's glory, man's eternal rest. When hearts on music's wing Are borne to the skies, When solemn choirs sing, More high thy speaking eyes Did raise us often then what's earthly to despise. Bright are the visions Of thy higher sphere, Beyond our best decisions, For enjoyment near ; We only feel assured thou hast no more to fear. Fled from this orb of sorrow, Thy place 'midst stars above, We know not where to borrow Words to express our love For thee, by faith exalted, soaring there above. A SVRVITOH. A SURVIVOR. Win \ the n< - 1 >'~ forsaken, It- feathers grow damp and cold ; When the tree's heart's taken. It fades, whether young or old; When the mountain is dry. The brooks will no longer flow ; When Bhe you Loved must die. The joy of your home ends so. A- the bird's bread in Bpring K- pi warm its mansion of clay, \- the trunk with gnarl'd ring Had Leaves on a Bummer's day. \ blue hills fed the stream Which ran through the merry fields, United Life's a dream Thai Miss and perfection \ Leld*. When thai dream is over, tep each da) you sink Though hope seems to hover, Pi rhapa to return, you think But downwards, Lower still bo a clime of wo Struggling on vainly till all a mere blank below. A STTEVIVOK. 160 Then no one likes to see A house deserted and lone, As if each fear'd to be The same with happiness flown. And young folk want a fold, And sigh for a less dark lot, And even they grow cold ; The past then is soon forgot, All the rapture and fun, All counsels sweet, and the friends That cheer'd so like the sun, While work with hope never ends. Then things round you perish : They fade and drop one by one ; There's none them to cherish, So somehow they all are gone. No light step and airy Is heard any more on stairs, No bright sylphan faiiy To rooms overhead repairs ; The garden once admired, Ere its enchantment was fled, Seems never to be tired Crying the words, She is dead. No thought that won't weary, No hand left to trim the flowers ; Solitude's so dreary, Where once you so loved the bowers ! 170 a sriivivon. The stillness will there be A- if in a dungeon cell, Thy friends left will blame thee; In feci thou dost nothing well. Perhaps but little Bpace l: mains for thee still to five, Time hastens on apai What then bast thou more to give, Unless it be Borne tone Prom the depths of nature wrung, Like a bell beard to moan More Bad than was ever Bung ? Sonm disappear in youth, Some flourish yet through their prime, Ami Borne st niggle forsooth Till they grow weary of time, let still do oot complain : No Borrow baa not it- good, No anguish is quite vain. Though this is by few understood. Blinded, the bird sings bi The happy bo little learn ! When all's gone, thou canst n Ami raj - from above discern. Life for mi "1 ' Then why be free tV.nn sorrow P \\ :ih grief we are less bad ; Enough ! Life has a morrow. A SUBVIVOB. 171 While already relief From this anguish deep and dry — This all-consuming grief, When no tears attend the sigh — Can to this life belong, Although not from trees and flowers ; 'Tis from the holy song Heard soft in the Vesper hours. There with, the simple flock, At the sound you seem to soar ; As if was struck the rock, Fast, hot, the tears flow once more. music and thy power ! What thought could never achieve In the sweetest bower, This gloom thou canst there relieve ; With the stream of your tears Thus all the sweet past returns ; Each loved one then appears ; Your heart with drought no more burns. It only feels the glow Descending from Heaven's love, With what its wings bestow To waft you on there above. I 72 TI1E USE 01 WISH LPS. THE USE OF MISHAPS. A ci:i:r\i\ swell, who loved liis own dear ea Anxious himself and others too to pl< Enjoy'd the comforts of a Christmas home, And little cared for those who hungry roam. Prom time to time some few he would relieve, Just that Christian he himself might believe. Nothing seem'd wanting to his happy state; Dame Fortune on his nod appear'd to wait. What was there not to please the taste and edghl ? I sting by day, and music every night. Pn sente of game in larders piled on high; And all things absenl thai could raise ;i sigh. When, 1"! a Bervant in thai happy hall Feels sick one evening. This has stopp'd it all. He who of life neglects the joys and mirth, Beneath Borne wondrous star has had his birth. 1 ing, of course, bul in a human waj , Let ol Bolemn look, and \\ iser saj , I love the Bprightly, gamesome, full of gl That is the comrade and the friend for me. Oh yea! how sweel of life each little pleasure ! When, like Jules Janin, you Bubmil to measure] The little- joys of friendship and of fun, The little pl< asure of a Bummer's sun, THE USE OF MISHAPS. 173 The little joy of a bright holiday, The springtide pleasures of the month of May, The winter comfort of a cheerful home, Whether within the house or out you roam, The social circle round the blazing fire, The hearing songs of which you never tire ; In short, the joys of private, happy men, Contented, pleased with all things ! aye, but then ! Yes, there's a " but" to qualify the whole, And keep alive to watchfulness your soul ; For all this pleasure ever is exposed To sudden ruin more than is supposed. Therefore permit me now another view To take of life, and what is needful too. My gay, and hearty, jolly, pleasant friend, Just now I sing with cpiite another end. Chances, misfortunes, call them what you will, May come to startle and to grieve you still. To blame you for basking when the sun did shine May be the task of others, but not mine. The Roman poet set himself to show The vanity of wishes here below. I follow not that frothy, gloomy wake, But I will try to view, and for your sake, Some passes of our life untoward, dark, And their advantages attentive mark. I would not have you cast down like the sad ; Such tempers end in driving people mad ; But I will sing a little song quite wise, Which from my throat may cause you some surprise. 1 71 Tin: i BE 01 Misn LPS. \ •!• for fchia purpose need I lead you through More than one pat b ndeney to view ; For what is true of one is true of all ; \- 1 by this method we shall less appal People who cannot like too long to hear Of what most naturally causes fear. I'll take this case which many may have known ; The good resulting 1 am Bure you'll own. So to return unto our swell at ease, With nothing he thought near him to displea A rvant thus, I -aid, was taken ill ; But this was no great matter said some still. The others thought 'twas only a had cold; . said the doctor, let the truth In' told ; urlet fever, a decided cs I' ivide -Hue chloride, bad air all to chai 1 tell you now, the cast- is most decided ; I. • • against infection be pro\ ided. 'Twas evening, just as dinner was prepared, That the news came which every bosom scared The do, • .lute though kind, good man, 'IV; and COmforl all he can. I , >t.i!ld> the hideous fact . I h knows not where to turn, or how to act ik up, make bundles, hasten, quick dispex V) uld you behold us sicken? perhaps wi loqui i. needed for the noni All are quite ready to depart at on THE USE OF MISHAPS. 175 Some are already fled upon the sly ; Others, arriving, turn their backs and fly. The quickest heels will now proclaim the winner ; The daintiest guest is off before the dinner. For self there's no one fears ; 'tis all for others. You know we all are such true Christian brothers ! Friendship for you obliges them to fly. How could they feel for you were they to die ? Thucydides, the Florentine, De Foe, Only just those around you seem to show. Now all things grow confounded and get wrong, A mortal crime becomes this harmless song. Though here I grant there is a compensation Which somewhat qualifies the lamentation. Your laughing at them without blame can please ; It gives them right to hate you at their ease ; And so a little jollity 'midst sorrow Prepares for you, at once to-day, to-morrow, And for much longer than I like to say, The loss of friends, — such is the price you pay. Yet none I blame ; I only want to laugh ; Your real satirist is worse by half ; Affecting to be one I own I am. But what great harm when it is all a sham ? You who will with me laugh, whate'er you say, Would be prepared to act the self-same way. I wonder should I imitate you too ? Oh no ! myself not knowing, say I. True, This thought of mine is most unfortunate ; Most apt to cause a vain internal state. L76 Tin: USE OF Misn \PS. I pass it all by ; it can concern Done. Digressing thus, the Bong will ne'er be done. Thus, he who boasted of his happy home, Has now, like others, through the streets to roam, Cold, with no more prospect oftheji which so long his measures he employs. An hour Bufficed to strip him of bis friends, A servanl ailing, and bis comforl en I 'tis not only he has lost a home : Like the » »lt 1 wandering Jew, he hits to roam, lli- dearest friends, because he still will Btay Where others all are gone, and flown away, Abhor his presence, 'gainst him shut their door; No ex immunication dire could more ilude him from the aoble and the good, From all Bociet] as understood. The poor friend, had he BtUl one, would laugh long, Invite him in. and ass for a new Bong, Would scorn the needless terror of the n An I Bay what God wills ever is the b Bu1 this forsaken wight had now no more One who for him would have an open door. So uow, from living with his grander frien He finds where ceremonious kindness ends. They fear t" Bee him even in the Btreet ; I j hum and haw, and look both shock'd and a* i annot, though to wish good day, I I pread contagion on i be way. In vam tin- doctor says ih' \ need not fear; i ' • bi ir face if but of him they bear. THE USE OF MISHAPS. 177 Pass, and begone ! they say with secret breath ; The rich fear thought more than the lowly death. Now let us mark how things will oft disclose Some purpose far beyond what we suppose ; Some strange coincidence, as people say, Though that it's more, a few esteem it may. This poor rich swell, now left without a shed, In perfect ease to screen his selfish head, Cross, angry, nervous, quarrelsome, and sad, As if a little touch'd, if not stark-mad, In order not to feel quite in the lurch, When Sunday came resolved to go to church ; He could not hope to pray, you well may think, But he opined his spirits could not sink Much lower ; and besides, where could he go r So, through mere habit, he arranged it so. His custom this, you see, for not so bad As some, he always consolation had, Finding himself with others thus employ'd, Where charms of music also are enjoy'd ; He goes accordingly to Warwick-street, Where aids from faith you're always sure to meet ; And so it proved for this bewilder'd wight ; To tell the whole, I'll sing with all my might. The Gospel for the mass of that same day Told how a great man travell'd far to pray N L78 tiii: rsi: of lOBB vrs. Our Lord tiO run' his poor sick servant boy, And \\'\< almighty graces fco employ. The preacher, from the sister isle, a man To make you think of great St. Columban, Possess'd that Look, thai action, simple, grand, Which over human passions lias command. He praised thai rich man for his charity, And ahow'd how Pew like him would grieve fco - \ Bervant sick, or with his person try For him fco gain a likely remedy . He said, detachmenl in the rich exceeded E'( a resignatioii in the poor, who Deeded ; He -aid the consequence of constant i \ • I coi ifort would infallibly displeat Heaven ; for that consists in hearts "i' stone, 1 1 : and insensible to poor men's moan. Seated a1 ease, with every comfort round. Men are so thoughtless, if not cruel found! 1 fear for i hem, he said. I dread t heir end. When all upon themselves and pride they Bpend. Would they might put on paper with a pen be figures too, he said, were all down then In other tablets) what they vainly paid that which them but fond and worldly ma lie ended, what for them is 1 ng that contrives to spoil their 1 1. what poverty ha- e\ ^ id humour, perfect comfort never : ild yield to what must grieve their ej e hope without a saorific THE USE OF MISHAPS. 179 He ceased ; and though, with truth, it's not asserted That any man was on the spot converted, Still, on more hearts perhaps than I could tell The simple words like dew from heaven fell. Their rest is broken, comfort all is fled ; There is the sacrifice, of which 'twas said, Without it all is dark, and full of fear, By means of it, the peace of heaven near. True, that the sacrifice has been extorted, But perhaps designs have not been thwarted : The hearts exulted, though the tongues were mute, Leaving to others words that them would suit. Glory to God on high, they cry, for all The chances, woes, that mortal man befall ! Glory to Him for all the grief He sends, With which He still our rude frail nature mends. In truth, whatever words or thoughts we borrow, The best and brightest things we owe to sorrow. To grief we owe a care and love for others, To grief exemption from the ease that smothers All the pure, finer feelings of the heart, All that to minds can poesy impart. You'll laugh, perhaps, to hear my lame conclusion. When I allude to such a wild effusion, And say to grief we owe of life this view, To grief the songs we now submit to you. N 2 THE LOWLY OBSCT1M ]'nw tell me which you like the best, — Our high life, or the common rest Of men and women, undistinguiah'd, With all ambition vain extinguished ? I : fore 1 answer, tell to me, Which would you rather hear and * A thrash, all brown, bo Bweei to Bing, Or jay, with gorgeous colour'd wingf A pigeon, with its modest green, hawk, that is but Beldom Been r A red-breast, with its eye thai talks. ()r Lone Mark crow, that solemn stall, A nightingale, that all esteem, < >>■ pea sk, with its airs and Boream ? . llow, liking any roof, agpie, keeping tar aloof: pleased wit h poor thatch'd eaves battering that deceivi Which pleases best, and ever 1"hl;. rugh all this I must m>t prolong, l iparrow \\ Lth its merry tone, < )r raven dull, a croaker grown P n linn< t d< ar to lads and last that in pride Burps » THE LOWLY OBSCURE. 181 Strutting and gobbling, nothing mild, Witb twists and turns, to scare the child ? Then look at flowers, — which are best ? For which would you give up the rest ? Chrysanthemum, so stiff and stark, Or violet sweet, though in the dark ? Tall showy poppies, causing sleep, Or even death, to make you weep ? Fair roses, to no clime unknown, Or bulb eccentric, rarest grown ? Hedge roses wild, so sweet and coy, Clad in brown leaves, like corduroy ? Or the same flower, grafted high, On straight, tall sticks, that grace defy ? Bright daisies, cowslips in the field, Which all can such sweet pleasure yield, Or some long stalks, scentless, silly, Like your flaming orange lily ? Then if your choice agrees with mine, You can my answer soon divine, Kept to be utter'd in a song, Through fear we should be tax'd with wrong. I like the people ; and pray why ? Because they feel the same as I. I cannot say I've lived with kings, But give me ways of these poor things ! Where there is nothing harsh and prickly, While all the time affected sickly. You like what's manly, honest, true ? Well, they will feel and speak like you. IvJ THE LOWLY OBSCURE. J i bate all heroes with Ducis? Like you they would not seem hut he. \ I hate false gravity ami i^loom ? V .ii'll liko their merry little room. 'i , fear the Deed of costly dowers? I poor discard them, like the flowi Who Leave their children earth and son, The 'lew thai falls, and all is done i .V idle fear-, enough for all, An 1 vet that fortune is no1 small. ^ ou Like of gracefulness t be tact ? With them you'll find it, 'tis a foot. Y'.w like intensity in 1"\ Then keep to them. I>oii"t look ab Whence chivalry has Long been banish'd Where all its visions Long are ranish'd. There are exceptions to all re I ; ,1 no one always thinks of tools. Who eaimot jusl dist [notions trace, ( >i judge of character from face. course we know in station bigh A i simple lo\ BS which never (lie ; I ' ' ic courtships, Buch as found With Lowly youth we Bee around ; The name of sweetheart may be rare, I '• .• 1 1nn the thing itself is there. And instai I full well know, i • . e, al t imes, it can be so ; bener, methinks Bomehow, I d ore a Btiff and formal bow, THE LOWLY OBSCURE. 183 A project, interest, a mere spirit, Or something we do not inherit, Brought about by silly training, Ever what is good restraining. Soft beauty may be there with grace, But there is what can that deface, A coldness and a want of nature Benumbing every act and feature, Reserve uncall'd for, love to smother — Trace of a proud and worldly mother, In France who vainly thinks to shame Those who, we own, are much to blame, By calling them the hah', no more, Of what she will herself adore ; Though half of that which wounds the soul Is surely better than the whole. But leaving now what soars and stalks, Back we must fly to lowly walks. You like the sound of human voice : When natural it can rejoice, And make you lightsome as the day As you pass lonely on your way. Then listen to the merry sounds, Half-song, with which the street abounds. 'Tis work-lads answering each other, And vying with some unknown brother, Shouting and piping, whistling still, As you all know they ever will, Now here, now there, unseen but heard Near you, or distant like a bird, 184 TIIK LOWLY 0B» IRE. Ami making all 1 1 1 • • town so gay Though it be not a holiday. V' - : give me the gay lower BOtt, \ 1 let me with them still consort ! The I within your " rough," With warm heart, by do means tough, [f you will onl\ treat him right, Not look like hhn "of gloomy sight." But take them altogether now ; My friends they are, I musl avow. I will not sing of women lair : Where can von find them if not thereP I will not Bing of courage high ; I low well they Bhow it aone deny. But this 1 cannot pass in silence, 1 >r atter without stern defiance I >l' those who think the merit small When your attention I would call ae great trait of those you know < Mils as ignorant and low. They are not sophists in their mind ; That they are poets you will find, Their likes and their dislikes the same \ tho« of all who bear that name. \l;i- ' my friend, there's not a year thout fresh cause for fear T! hall lose some ol her ray and lights the Poet's way, :. that is new, things dear to me and you THE LOWLY OBSCURE. 185 From inoss upon the thatch-roof d cot, To — stop, I only ask What not ? Tet all the while in dwellings low Abide the feelings and the glow Which keep alive the bard's true fire While causing hearts to mount still higher. I know that times are better now In some things that we don't avow ; I know that prejudice of race Has left no very deadly trace, But only a faint honest sense Of what is true without pretence. I know that odious horrid pride, Which would two lovers true divide, Is hardly known in life around Where the true human measure's found. Convention is not all in all ; The high can sometimes court the small. Ferocities in times of old Are only now in stories told. Mere feudal and patrician ways Will yield, while what is human stays ; Though pride and prejudice still grow Where gardeners would not have it so. For honour false, prolific seed, Is what some natures ever need. Tet still we are not quite so free From what is hated deep by me ; And higher circles still retain Some thoughts which made them once so vain. L86 Tin: LOWXT OBScrm:. Frequent the Balons of tin- great, And praisi d is what von deadly hate ; Deep Bcorn'd, or doubted, or ignored, Blalign'd, or laugh'd at, <>r deplored, 1- all the Becrei tender thought Which Fancy to your bosom brought. Lei humble dwellings ope tin' door, And there, as if in days of yore, Vun find quite an Homeric grace, The Muses u ith you face to fa< - b tali s, Buch phrases, and rach mirth which simplicity gives birth. They still may want the outward charm, With which the Poet words can arm, Winn sending them with brightest dart To reach and kindle every heart ; But there below is all the fire Which genius true will most admire; There you find hid the real Btufif, Though onperceived by foppish muff, To feed and nourish all the things That make your common mortals kings. And pray, do you prefer, I ask, The Sophist's, sceptic's, rich man'- ta>k billing, checking, doubting still, 1 1 eying, smothering as thej * ill, Contracting, freezing, analyzing, With jargon that is quite surprising, All that in common In-art- i- sweet . All that for ]>•" 1 rv is Hi' THE LOWLY OBSCURE. 187 The poor will hate, you'll say they're wrong, What all must execrate in song. They hate all silly pompous airs, The rudeness which surpasses bears ; The stiffness, hardness, and the cold, Which makes the young look like the old ; But to be brief, whate'er it be, " Workhouse," or menials proud to see, Or aught else that offends their sight, Their fancy, feeling always right, In secret they and I are brothers, Though pray don't tell it loud to others. But now proceed we to survey The beauties of this lowly way. What tben is fairer than their youth, In all whose eyes you see their truth ? Or what more apt to make you pause, Though admiration it ne'er draws, Than to see young men so contented, Privations constant, not resented ? Nothing but gay good-humour'd chaff, Or some new song to make you laugh. When Sunday comes, so smart to see, So full of sprightliness and glee : What contrast greater can you find, Than age with such a placid mind, With face of not mere dignity, But stamp'd with a divinity, I ^ s THE LOWLY OBS( I UK. Such as man's countenance can Bhow To vulgar greatness far below, Ami the dull, cross, and grumbling sires, Whom others' pleasure always ti Fa< • - alone can t .11 the r Proclaiming who are truly bli I The low, in this, are like the Bowers, That they dislike the gloom which lours; Ami though your memory you rack. You never found a dower Mack. A 1 rap is property— no n You think that you j ire, J!ut 'tis the store ou, Lnd keeps true riches from your view. I ' — issing little, you arc fri The earl h and Bky your property ; Bui when you would engross it all, Your own enjoyment is but Bmall. Bi Bides, this path has Fancy's light, Which make.- it pleasing in OUT Blghl : There's something in it I think higher Than roads to which the rich a-|'iiv ; 1' teems, though level « ith the Bod, To lead men nearesi unto < tod. I ' • . I grant, are qo< display'd, i rather Bhelter'd in the Bhad< into t hem it' thus you'll pry, 11 come to think the same as 1 ; Bui with the thought don'1 run away, who praise this humble w THE LOWLY OBSCURE. 189 Are safe to hate, and even scorn, Those to a higher station born : No, for their heads they do not trouble With what appears an empty bubble. The world is wide, — there's space for all, For proud and lowly, great and small ; They like the homely, and the free, But merit in the great they see With high contentment, admiration, As something glorious for their nation. And even what some rich despise, Finds an excuse before their eyes ; 'Tis foolish, that is past debate, But downright vice alone they hate. They have a tact to see and know What may beneath a surface grow ; And if there be a germ of good, By them 'tis felt and understood. They like the violet in the shade, But envious they are not made By the gaudy, pompous colours, That suit your rich exclusive bowers. Though they so love the primrose pale, They can admire the peacock's tail ; And though they dwell in humble hut, They watch with smiles the turkey's strut. Chrysanthemum may stand and stare, And they will also think it fair ; They cannot rival such attire, But still they can it well admire : 190 THE lowly onsiTui:. So when we praise fche common mast We wage no war with other class There find we men, and women too, Live like fche flow'rets in your view. No daisy, with its simple frock, The piony is heard to mock ; N violet, fragrant in fche shade, Will Beek i" be a Bunflower made. "Tia true thai Ee who decks fche sky, The charm of blue will oft deny. To flowers chiefly "l" tin' field Thai tone cell stial Be will yield ; A- it' on blossoms even low II would His choicest grace bestow But although clad lil<<' heaven thus, Th. \ wear blue humbly without fri While gardens have fcheir red and yellow, 'I'., which Borne think there is no fallow. Well, thus each beauty has it- haunts," But never do we hear keen taunts Directed at Borne neighhour flower ; And never see we petals lour, 1; i ■; -. fche garden, not fche field, \- | r seen oi lit''- can j ield. 'Tis thus that we too ought to Th>- coiii rasta of humanity . In field or garden all Bhould be Lik.- on ' Loving family. ■ot h to judge by class, not man. SI. - but for a narrow span. AN" ELEGY. 191 The lowly, if transplanted high, Might stiff and haughty all defy ; The great, if lowly they were made, Might catch the perfume of the shade. Concluding, then, sweet nature's law Observed by the obscure I saw , And so my love expansive ran, To hail and greet the common man : No taste more harmless or more true, I wish it heartily to you ! AN ELEGY, WRITTEN AFTER THE FUNERAL OF CARDINAL WISE MA TV, FIRST ARCHBISHOP OF WESTMINSTER. 'Tis done, and issue from St. Mary's aisle The pensive crowds whose looks bespeak a sigh ; Tall black-draped horses paw the ground the while, Such as attend the mighty when they die. Within was heard the solemn requiem mass For a great Prince and glorious Pontiff's soul, And the long file of mitred Fathers pass, Clad in their copes and bright embroider' d stole. Entranced were many with that potent song ; The thrill still felt ahnost suspended breath ; Nothing more grand or tearful could belong To human greatness when laid low by death. 192 ii.i >.v. The walls with Borne heraldic blazons hong, The scarlet hat thai on the coffin lay, The absolutions chanted, lour times sung, Proclaim'd the Prince who now had past AWAY. Prince of the church and Bb.epb.erd of the dock Kings sent their envoys, to Buch grandeur due, While Bymbols pointing to the mystic Rock Told of the twofold greatness in your view. J • if alone this pageantry were found. - ime might have thought these honours oould be vain. \ igust, but yielding never certain ground Their hop >uls departed to Bustain. Hut more than pageantry was granted here, More than the hallow'd rites for those who M re than the tribute of a grateful tear, M re than the homage of all grandeur h I lo ' a mult itude awaits jou in>\\ . from all ranks drawn, though most oflowdegr To whom in ' with your heart you how. When on their foreheads all their bouIs jrou - Silent, respectful, pressing through the sir.. Ti mbled crowds that line the way emotions unlike all deceit b, Which are the homage that the worldly pay. . Bhowing each a mind [mpress'd with reverence and awe and lov< — I i such a \ ision find P l' might be thought reserved for heaven abovi AST ELEGY. 193 Oh ! England, noble, glorious land and free, Aye, spurning those who knowingly act wrong. Thy holy, great, and ancient heart I see, And will proclaim it with a simple song. The pomp of riches and the proofs of power Like a slight dream now pass and disappear ; A higher theme must haunt you from this hour, To God and angels showing London dear. How few the proud, indifferent, and vain Compared with youth of labour thus imbued ! On frigid regions they inflict a stain, But are not found in this vast multitude. Greatness is not when kings give titles grand. Nor yet when pontiffs chant the holy prayer. Tis when the people simply understand That they have found the stamp of goodness there. And then, reciprocally gifts so high Act on the crowd that watches to admire ; To all thus drawn who then approach them nigh, They yield a light communicating fire. Thus slowly passing, kindling as it moves The souls of those who catch what it reveals, The long procession light unearthly proves, Which over minds that will receive it steals. Lo a great Priest ! methinks I hear the cry, lie-echoed from the long and close-press'd rows Of thousands now enabled to descry The mystic truth that instinct can disclose. o 194 AN II I For instinct, conscience, common 1 omely Benae Can effect wonders more than man conceiv* When wearied with the triumphs of preteni Be Bees how often each high gift d Bui now the city's lingering suburbs ceae i .a breathe of fields and new-plough'd soil the air j The Budden change is felt like a release 1 i - .in what your nature's freshness did impair; Y ou see 1 srdure with a landscape v And st ill the file <>|' grandeur rolls along ; The tombs you reach, the chosei - last, And hark ' again, a burei of holy Bong! The Bhades of night began to rise around ; In deep'ning L r l""Mi the vale took leave of day ; Unnumber'd tapers shone upon the ground, Where the lost vesture of that spirit lay. Evening's Bofi breeze appear'd not to disturb Their burning thus ; the crowd tancekept, satch the words would each the other curb, While Borne respoi me in Becrel w< I tended through the air nterrupt that i profound ; ^ . only heard far off the voice of prayer Which '11' d at v\ all ed to more distal I nd. of course dispel most mem'ries old ; Diet them have the pov v the impression can be i old, Hi m nil it b chanted at that hour. AN AEEEST. 195 Hence let's away, and with the crowd retire, In silence hast'ning from the hallow'd ground ; 'Tis memory that henceforth can inspire Those who to glory true the way have found. AN AREEST. My pal, hast been in prison ? Nay, don't stare ; Offence not meant : the question is quite fair. But were you ever march'd along the street, Grazed on, and pointed at by those you meet ? Well, I have been ; you need not ask how long ; For that might spoil the interest of my song Just at the outset, when I want attention To every item I shall have to mention. It was in summer ; an Ausonian sky Shed its soft tints on many a palace high. Bologna was the scene of my sad fate. But do not ask, for I've forgot the date : I only know the times were rather troubled, And those who travell'd found their perils doubled. Two short hours only had we enter' d there, Gazing on all things ancient, and yet fair, As we roll'd on through streets and garden bowers, Longing to see the famous leaning towers. I felt an anxious, quite ecstatic joy ; For sketching would that evening whole employ. o 2 L96 AJS' aim; i.st. My friends, I left them resting in the Inn — Forth 1 Lone Ballied, labours to begin. Come i" tl j, Intending to pass through, I hasten'd, whistling, to obtain :i view of thf old towers, Been from paths without, When, 1"! I heard a grim and surly shout. I 1 stop, there ! " cried an old and angrj i \ soldier rushing at me left no choice : So heeds must I approach the aged sin 1 . Already darting at me Looks of ire. " Four passpor! ' Show it instantly, young man: Then, forwards, pass ; and hasten a>< you can." "Passport! t've none." "Whal ho, there! guard, al... ••' Down flew three Germans,— a^ when harmless dove v • icts the notice of some cruel hawk. Here for the presenl ended was my walk. •■ Ami sn yon thought to Leave, unnoticed, 6 Cried the old guardian, Looking fierce at me. I Laugh'd aloud, of innocence quite buzc; I Little thoughl whal 1 should soon endure. I I mans, \ on know, are never in a hurrj ; So the old man (which < I i » 1 me Bomewhai flurry | I', j-au quite slowly, with deliberation, To write aboul me, asking me my nation. I cetch'd him as he wrote, which vex'd him more ; • o Fury he forbore I • I i • ni!\ caughl a mou ii him much to A>~ AE11EST. 197 Besides, when vengeance is quite safe and sure, A little more you always can endure : So lie went on to write, and look'd quite cool ; To do his duty was his only rule. Then with a seal, as large as half a plate, He stamp'd the paper, which contain'd my fate. Handing it to the soldiers, bade them march ; Ere I could wink we had repass'd the arch : One walk'd behind, the others at each side. I thought I'd talk to them ; they told me 'bide To speak anon when brought before the judge ; So mute and guarded thus I had to trudge. The streets were long, and fully throng' d that day ; Some fair ones seem'd my story all to say : Pity, I swear, was beaming from their eyes ; The men indifferent, yet show'd surprise. For some would whisper, stop, and again look To see beneath my arm a sketching-book, While all the ladies really look'd sad, As if they thought I could not be quite bad ; The distance was so great, I had full space To make my observations on each face. But always thus our fate begins and ends, Known or unknown, women are our friends. At length, arrived at some grim, solemn pile, We pass'd through many doors, to rest awhile Within a dark vault, where I found a store Of captives like myself, endanger'd more : For some were sobbing loud, and others dumb. Beyond, in further halls, I heard a hum L98 US &SBE8T 01 --niii'. loud vuirr-. asking questions fell, While others plaintive Beem'd the whole to tell, Which had consign'd them to this darkness thick. I then began to feel a little sick. I only think ! Suppose there be done wrong, hould my capth ity prolo What a quick contrast from the beams of. lav. be engulTd where toads alone would stay ' \- Length Borne li_ r ht stream'd down l'rom over- bead, I i m audience-chamber, whither each was led. Be heard before me an aged prisoner musl ; II wrung his bands, and Beem'd not muoh to tn The polish'd men, who Beem'd bo very cool, While judging all things bj their German rule. The silly wretch was then led far from me; l t ime had now enabled me to Somewhat within that formidable gloom, Enough to give your fancy more of room. Bui then roup - my turn, when the tragic ends I or all 1 heard was how to make amends Instant to me for their Bubaltern's error: The thing being now deprived of all its ten ! the officials, in whose keeping lay :t . taken from as t hal Bame d A ,i:i. p'd old Bologna's gate ; So to be i it once was i lien my I It Lifficult to jest and mi \' mple ini . v. lien never near, IN A VALENTINE. 199 To him who hears of them in such a song ; "| But let him know an hour appeareth long, > To those whose things are going rather wrong ; J 'Tis well but for a moment to have known What's felt by others, when unheard they moan. IN A VALENTINE, WITH A LANDSCAPE. Within a wood and circled by thick shade You see a nook, I know not how long made, By clearing branches twined above the spot Letting the sun shine on the grassy plot, Beneath a rock where fond young people meet To have a little chat, and feel how sweet It is to hear the birds there ever singing, With busy bees their way to blue-bells winging, And nothing to endanger though 'twere dark, And Snap that's an alarmist, 'gins to bark. But why go on ? The whole is drawn above, Its name half taken from their own theme — Love. The picture needs no verses, as you trace The shelter'd beauties of the tranquil place, The bench, the rock, the sweet wild flowers round — You seem to breathe the fragrant air from ground Perfumed with violets, bushes white with May, Where even daisies somewhat have to say, _'imi i\- \ \ \i i:\ i i\i While still in silem-e some will rather sit, aring much like others to show wit. I 900th 1 think at times. 1 know not why. Enough of speech is furnish'd by the sky. What study like it': Only look Qp there. How much to soothe and to instruct the fair! V sylphs 1 point not in the regions high, As ii yon could their form therein descry; thrown 'midst gnomes > these demons ofthe earth. Who to all teasing or worse thoughts give birth, I do maintain, the sky without mi-take S in- to shine lovely, chiefly for Love's Bake \\ hat grace reflected in that floating cloud, II little in accordance with the proud, \\ io for themselves their grandeur would display Ami grateful homage to ao other pay 1 Ami yet for all this eloquence, though mute. Some gentle air with words perhaps might suit The lark that sings io merrily above, I thrush beside as, silence would reprove, [f constant, amidst all this pleasantra v. ih ..ut on.- fancy in poetic dress*. Then let me Bing, though what's unheard I prai Condemning thus the musie of my lays. Skies tl i charm, and sao instruct as well, But light-hung Leaves have also things to telL I irth itsi If, each day n fresh'd w ith dew, t he Lessons t hat we early knev . Then see 1 1»<- tl. tarry at your I ui I..- more humhlr and more iw< i IN A VALENTINE. 201 Each, though so fair, is modest, and as coy, As any damsel breathing simple joy. The odorous winds that fan your temples there, Surpass all perfume that the haughty wear. I grant that thorns bristle in the shade, But life itself is sweet with sorrows made. Who can imbibe the brightness of this hour If nothing dark had ever cross'd his bower ? So that in all things present to us here We have an emblem showing contrasts near. The skies themselves are often overcast, — Ah, well-a-day ! how often in the past Have most true lovers learn'd to taste some sorrow, Wept, but hoped still, and trusted in the morrow ! But present joys, and this is felt by all, Are more augmented when a darksome pall Is thrown aside to let us love and smile, Strong, yet heart-yielding, tender without guile. You know the line upon a certain rose, " As without thorns it without fragrance grows 1 ." You love the wall-flowers that perfume the ground, Well, 'tis in broken ruins they are found. How strange to catch these notes of sadness here, The birds rejoicing and such beauty near ! But thus it is with life in all its charm, And plaintive tones when heard do no one harm. Well, let us look in silence, and admire ; Eeauty like this the mind can never tire. 1 Vict. Hugo. IN A \ M.l.M INK. At morn how pure the pale and distant blue, Showing that love slumhl ever still be oew ! At noon how warm, how bright, and cheerful all, Thi sun shining on the great and small ! A 1 ' cending through those golden miari It seems but veiling brightness that exists, liting those i" < h)d and nature true Who b -. coldness, treachery, ne'er knew- — Who feel the depth mysterious of that Will [mmense, almighty, and yet placid still. Then later, when that light of fading gn Thi day's last envoy, leaves no object seen I 1 ' actly, though the moon so crescent pale Wil! it' to hear the lover's tale, Whisper'd through foliage Mack, and with a sound Like music close to us on fairy ground — ( )h ! then the earth, by those who f< el, is spurn'd While eyes are only on each other turn'd ; And then that star so bright in evening Bki to bliss and love t bat never dies. Like ants, our are in the For love 'tis there that we and they must ily, ring below the earth and all its toil, Whose int would our love's wings only soil. When love is over we may justly righ, thm like them in clouds we sink and < I i • • - Well, these are words that slmn the public i I '• ' re thej lips, and lingering rod dew upon the Qowi ' n'd upon leaves within these bowers. IN" A VALENTINE. 203 Let love, pure love, be bliss that's call'd ideal, I'll bring you proof that it is also real. For eyes and lips can stop the flight of time, As if eternal were their present clime. Is aught more positive than that effect ? And this result you always may expect. What is the hour ? A day already fled ! You see the truth then only has been said. When joys are with us, time has pass'd away, 'lis only grief that causes it to stay. Keep up your pecker, then, to use the phrase Which suits so well these sprightly, spring-tide days. Let joys and frolic haunt our humble bowers, And life no more will then be mark'd by hours. Already 'tis eternity we feel ; What else could Time's own end itself reveal ? But love alone can such bright joys impart : Let love, that drop divine, then tinge your heart, Love for him left to sit beside you near, Love for those gone, for whom you hide a tear. The heart is wider than what meets your view, Nothing for it is gone, or past, or new ; It is elastic ; so it may be bent ; When it expands no more its life is spent. In one vast whole its fond affections grow. Though all was given, still you can bestow That love, whose centre, infinitely high, Descends, to fill us, even ere we die, To pass aAvay from limits that confined The vast expansive graces of the mind, -I»l l'K.KK MIA. And Boar above, immortal lovers free, Of each, of all, throughout eternity ! ilut now, most likely, (what 1 own lb dear,) Reproof like this that follows 1 shall hear, — Enough; come, cease, 1 hate such misty strains; They Bound to me like Borne one that complains. Whit tedious BtufFis all thy Valentine, Which oth ps might no doubt think vastly fine. id gracious me ! Indeed, it's grown quite lnt<\ How could you bo go on to Bing and prat Well, if you catch me here again, I think My Bpirits surely to my Bhoee will sink. i night, my plaintive, artful, bird-like friend ; I thought your chirping never was t<> end. Still, don'1 look Bad : you know my constant way? Homewards, alone, you yet may cheerful stray. One -"1" Bhort at parting hear from me, Measure nut love by what you bear and **•!■ ■. Others of songs and praise may have a Btore ; With less professions 1 '-an love tine more. I i.imiai; \. i: \ i: \ ' What BWeel music in that nann- ! 1 1 . .-■ and it - cast le, \\ it h il - ancient fame ' t here, I have no words i" - >\ . ;i_' idealized thai on't go on and bother ;" For here his whole phrase would be just I a\ Abruptly exclaiming, "Stop that dirty row." Hark (iriin. Froebel, Wagner, Blasche, Molescl and Krau- With Biedermann — ain't it like crows with their eav. And when you hear Comte aping Germans in French, [i our lad's vulgar phrase yon cannot retrench ; For if Feuerbach is but " a row " and a noU Liit re. Lanfrey, and Kenan splash "dirt" that annoys : And "dirt " in low spirits, the worst kind of all, • ..n \ ou or on \ ours it should fall. ; w hat low and contemptible thinkii Their only replj is significant winking. we're of t he many, hut they're of the few . what the) BUSpectl d, Or all the while Knew. To what a low st.nw our minds must belong, W hen thinking Buch things to comprise in a boi Mere ignorance gross must for us have \ eharn Sine,- for it tl, il'd we don all our am ntifj ing, ignorantified, irant can't be deni< d ANTI-LUCEETIUS. 211 The vulgar alone could thus jest and complain ! And this is sufficient to prove us but vain. For nothing more vulgar to their sadden'd eyes Than merriment taking them so by surprise, While they try to convince us all others are wrong But those to whom proudly they wish to belong. All language too used since the world first began. Has now to be changed for the civilized man ; He proscribes all the words that each one well knows, From which he must purge all your verses and prose ; Or words he may leave you like dust for your eyes, To hinder your seeing where sophism lies ; While his thoughts intermediate and deeply conceal'd, Undermine the whole structure you think reveal'd. But stript of that comment devised by his brain, The true plain honest sentence he deems to be vain. So the commonest phrase the world used all o'er, Will for him have no meaning or true justice more. What is truth ? What is error ? What is God, or the soul ? Respond with mankind, and he laughs at the whole. Nay when words are employ'd as long sanction'd by use, He says we've no reasons, but Only abuse. Now Englishmen even are caught in the snares Of those who call wisest just him who most dares. If read they must now all to youth that is told, They'll cry " outworn creeds, myths, and dogmas old." p 2 212 wi i-i.n i(i:ni - 1 1' at Muiuhheim with doctors they pan hut an hour, T - vulgar to like the Pope's temporal power. For how could they be so distinguish'd and clever, [f to see more than others they did nut endeavour? A- for censuring aught by Letter Encyclic, D p delicate thinkers they say it must make sirk. For what would become of the nations if they Had not liberty all things with freedom to Bay \ Ami though what's condemn'd may ho false an. I absurd, T- they quite alone who've a right to he heard. Then a- for decisions on points of belief, They think it quite novel ami feel a relief. " Full of grace," said the angel in Scripture as found ; •' Immaculate" argues what's new and unsound. Perhaps it was wrong from Borne first to Bever, lint now is the Pope become far worse than ever. I' -kills not what Coimeils determined of old, \ "U iun>t judge by what now in bookshops is sold ; Anonymous writings to new Reviews Bent, Are more t'> the point than decisions of Trent. In brief, things now said by unauthorized fools, For eternal disunion are found the best tools. Thi Pagans thought Christians St. Peter adored; Thej would n<>t Bay we such an idol implored, Who will D0< admit that hi- \..iee ihould he heard. \N hen from evil material men should he deteir'd. 1 ' nch upon polil an abu l( nt, palpable to the obtu ANTI-LUCKETIUS. 213 St. Paul was a Tory respecting the king ; Successors of Peter repeat the same thing. But all this is grasping at more than belongs To the Church, Avhich thick darkness and error pro- longs— Intolerance — Persecute ! all that we hate, And that Home likes them both is now past debate. They start from a rule to which good men agree, And then they say, Rome contradicts us, you see. Explanations are scouted as merely pretence, For what they seek chiefly is ground of offence. With feelings like these how can faith long remain, "When pride the poor head makes so troubled and vain? Then what too in fact are these wonderful books ? They can't live with others ; and ugly that looks. If to Hegel and such plants you give up the ground, For Bossuet, Leibnitz, no room can be found. When Scherer and critics of that class you choose, Then Malebranche, and Pascal, and Butler you lose, Who all held of reason the formula chief, From which at no moment they'd give you relief; That all at the same time and in the same sense, Relation existing the same, no pretence Can justly be found to affirm and deny The same thing, however intently you pry. But good gracious me ! only think of the choice, Which makes your ears closed to the great ancient voice ! •_'] I an i i-r.i I i:; rn - D lemma mod Bad, for which few are prepared Who for reason's own sake would its organs have spared. It' new in Borne grand, lovely garden's bftghl pale. Some new-comer deem'd all its Bweel roses b! Its violets, wall-flowers, and stately old yew; I' hese were neglected for exotics new. All novel but vapid, so colourless, weak, Such a gardener, I believe, there's no one wonld k. We should sa\ he did all to please Ins own will; old wholesome beauties— we'd cling to them still. in the far brighter garden of son' II tndards we only prize more as time rolls. And when we find sciolists turn oil' their e\ From what taste delights in, we feel no Burprise. The beans are in Bower, I pray yon to note. So be on your guard when on such m< n you'd .1 llways some \^w are detected and found Who know not the value of rioh, fruitful ground, isely in this way the Sophists now ad ; trong, joyful genius, they have not the tact. < >ur old worthies all were t'.i-t sound asleep ; Bince w ; be dawn peep, l Wordswi it 1 1 himself was ini olved in the ni Oh! if he lived now. what would be his fright P hi copin crcucit." ANTI-LTJCRETIUS. 215 For each year now hastens the brightness of day ; All things of the past must soon fly away. Our solid, grave writers besides they ignore, Such as guided wise men in ages of yore, Such as satisfied heads both clear and profound, And not like the dandies in these regions found ; A Will o' the Wisp they just take for a star, And, sinking and floundering, follow it far, Thus wandering over the marsh and the waste, Now up to their necks quite, then running in haste, Heedless of blunders, knowing only the fear Lest on roads used by neighbours they once should appear ; Though when thej have follow'd up all their new rules, Common sense will but style them strange, clever fools. For what greater folly can ever be shown, Than wisdom of ages to doubt or disown? To take all for granted, whatever you say, Such now is the new nineteenth century way, Pretending that science has shiver'd the base Of religion, which formerly cheer'd our whole race. That the men of past times were happy, serene, Is what to deny, sooth, they do not now mean. But that both we can't follow, true logic and them, Is what they suggest by significant " hem." Yes, they could have peace, they had hope, at their death, But this is beyond those who now here draw breath. 216 \nti LTTCBETIUS. Then Borne talk of an advent essentia] deem'd now, Their thoughts half ezpress'd by a darksome Unit brow ; To hear these you'd think all their hopes most lis there, As if all the past was quite worn out and bare. Whilst those more advanced on this sceptical way Think useless all efforts to find a sure stay ; Thus taking for granted an error quite pure, When supposing that faith is mi Longer bo sure, Thai man is no Longer the same as "fold, And that truth of the soul remains to he told ; That Austin and Ambrose, and all the whole school < )f Bag b, in their time quite err'd in their rule ; And that those who acknowledge this fact, though Bad, the -'le Living men not Btupid or mail. Oh then what grOSS ignorance all thifl displays l tin- ii i in< 1 of a Bcholar who all time surveys, Well knowing that surfaces, bowe'er thej change, Atl'eet ni-1 of principles moral the range ; That mankind are qow, as in days of St. l'atd, D pendent on faith for their wisdom and all ; That, though girdles of iron encompass the earth, • whether in, ii choose n;n InesS Or mirth, f Living fur them is t lie same \ when it appear'd so unknowing and tame, Ind t • -ill one thing which i- constant and sure, 1 Lorn, which aye must endure! AISTI-LUCKETITTS. 217 But all this to sophists is obsolete stuff, Their will is decided, and that seems enough. Like moths, on they fly in their foolish career, Till death yields his touch, and they all disappear. When writers like these some for sages select, True faith from them then we've no ria;ht to expect ; Though keeping a middle way still through the hog, Not wishing, like Germans, to go the whole hog. Then others, and many, are of coarse, harder clay, Who keep clear of all mists and take a hroad way. Deep selfishness reigning in their minds supreme, They scarcely then care much what other men deem Their pleasures and habits, their tastes or their whim, Provided their own scorn flows up to the brim. Now such men must doubt, it is ever their way ; — That nothing is certain is all they will say. If of talents amerced, they grossly will think Their safest way ever is downwards to sink To the level of beasts below, in the chain Which connects all that form the animal reign. The gorilla, they're told now, is of their kin ; They chuckle to hear it, and care not a pin. If high goods of nature to them have been given, To different measures of course they are driven ; Then they would show a Voltairian complexion, Then satire and wit are what they would live on. 1.1 S AM 1-1 1 • I To G-r ice and to Rome others loudly appeal, Not knowing of either, perhaps, a great deal. To I' is they think thai we Christians did owe that we prize much, and all that we know. A- for < !atholic realms both of old and to-day, They hi I 1 them inferior in every way. what would they think, pray, or what language borr Just if in " The Times " it was Btated to-morrow That in some Popish land, of which they com- plain, Suppose Prance, or Bavaria, Portugal, Spain, A Scipio real was now drawing breath, And OD BUCh a day had put coolly to death, \ through harsh, cruel laws calling Bchism a | because all deem'd youth to be purest and I i yen young maidens and seven young men, While nil thought success was assured to them then? i what they might thins then, or what they might - Wi i innoi determine, so quick is their v Fair quest ion, and Bcorn to pause When they feel that towards faith an argum w dra most logical to wise men most clear — in renown Christians have not to tear; i pedantry, arm'd with lour or i i \ - • names. nr_rr.it ■ful. forget - and defames. ANTI-IXCRETirS. 219 And pray what is pedantry blinding them then, But pride in a new form misleading the men ? But now this old learning is not much esteem'd ; By many too Christian by half being deem'd. There's too much of agreement with all the new law For them from such writings contentment to draw. So to science quite pure these sages will turn, And with high ardent zeal, their heads will soon burn To find out, explain, or invent some great things In physics which leave in the conscience no stings. They put up high shelves, and they fill them too all With classified specimens both great and small ; Preadamite sticks, and perhaps older stones, Or antediluvian though still doubtful bones, Or pottery pick'd up from under the Nile, With conclusions to make all keener men smile. With essence divine they seek fellowship now, To be alchemized, free quite of space, is their vow. The freaks of dull sadness to them seem sublime, Engulf 'd all the deeper while thinking they climb. Identity, that is their doctrinal way ; That different things are the same they all say. There's no contradiction in logic for them ; Metaphysics show nought derived from a stem Of causes ; for causeless effects in succession Are all they admit of with endless digression. To regulate Nature's sublime wondrous play, They think that no personal master need stay. / 220 an i i-i i ii;i:i ii 9. Though wheels within wheels are combined and pre* Though a jerk could disjoint, stop all in a trice, Prevent planets moving in orbs of their own, spoil equilibriums impossible grown ; Envelope the earth with the vast ocean's tide, Or swallow up mankind all through rents in its side, They think tin' machine Belf-created could last, Eternal, aa still from eternity past. i leaving mechanics for tiling still more strange, Through morals, like simpletons, onwards they range. Neither evil nor good, nor falsehood nor truth, Nfor God nor the soul would they Leave to a youth, Unless it he something that's quite abstract grown, In nature's soul believing, hut noi in their own. Sin-h sages, say poets, arc noi 6VI D men ; 1 >" yon ass with Lamartine what arc they then? \1 re beings apart ami to contradict made, Expressly to form intellectual shade. Whereby the brigb.1 visions of light may appear torious contrasted with such darkness near. Though God made them noi the thought is absurd, But the meaning of this di ji rvi - to 1"- heard •. For 1" God he would Bend them to gain a new ht, le deploring their present mysterious night. iff at the silly vain men, all tie- more Bages they think themselves then. ANTI-LUCRETJUS. 221 So they form collections, each in his way, Still asking themselves what the Christians will say? When all this vast treasury then has been bought, Great Moses they're quite sure to find was in fault. They think it was meant he should tell us the whole Contain'd in the Infinite, God's endless scroll, When first His infinity rose and began, And not what's confined to the finite and man. As if Infinite God could have had a beginning, As if by such thoughts a true fame they were winning, As if infinite past, the future as well It were possible thus to express and to tell ! So when some new traces are brought to their view Of things left untold, they deem all is untrue, All that he tells us when commission'd so hiffh. The needful instruction alone to supply. They rave and they finger and make such a pother, Urging and blaming and praising each other, While thinking, (so shallow are all their poor heads,) That all this is what the wise Christian most dreads. They think that of course he resembles themselves, And must give up his faith at sight of their shelves. Thus sillier, shallower, grown every day, While scorning and shunning the safe common way, All common sense truly they then contradict, And from phrases outlandish must meaning be pick'd, While handling, and lab'ling, and sorting each day, Their minerals, skeletons, all their last stay ; And how can a heart thus renounced and despised Believe truths of the soul by humanity prized ? 222 an pi-] By the " civilized " for 1 know well the word, Which is used in a new Bense, and rather absurd ; "civilized" all are in one point agreed, They need not one faith or particular creed. Bui what are these clever and civilized men? Or what weighl is due to their cavilling thi on wish to know how the " civilized " 1 aak'd to their circles and see how they dine. To have things decorous and all their own v, 'I o I asl all alone Leaving nothing t" Bay, While - find what will conduce to their eae With no one in right hut their • ]>]< -a-.'. ]> what they maintain with no end ofezpei Bui for all ; 1.;.' i , 1 >eliver me them ir wonder will cease when pedantic old sinni Ope depths where no heart lies at th' end of their dinm i Low cringing to rich nun. ami Singing at God Some sign of their doubts by a word or a ikhI; S;ill Leering ami sneering with Laughter to d blush that steals over some younger gu face i, though in order still courteous to be, '■■ inwardly puzzled far more than you bi l i\ mind I nil' I ■• ) ihilosi ipher apt and enough. rum, so far from the fair, While all t degra lea man is th. r A^n-LrcEETirs. 223 For harlots and prodigals out of the street Would disdain what you must there swallow with meat. Compared with these sceptics quite pure are the low, For whom by this contrast affection will grow. Sheer nonsense, some tell you, 'tis rash to provoke* The bachelors old ; but to me a mere joke Appears their whole type of progressive perfection Taken for granted, without any mention, As if the true mark of all right English stuff Were something that's arrogant, dull, coarse, and rough. However that point may be settled by you, That faith here can't nourish is what we all knew, So doubts now adopted by men this way wise, Have no right prescriptive to cause you surprise. The last class remaining, the least I believe, Is that which with love even seeks to deceive, Though no one could fancy this way was their own, With looks, airs, and manners that Love must disown. But so it is with them, hard, ill-looking, vile, Still trusting in hideousness some to beguile, Or rather made confident, knowing that gold Can aye work more wonders than ever were told. Epicurus for these beauties opens his sty ; When religion they doubt, you need scarcely ask why. If you throw pearls before them, they cover with mire The things which humanity loves to admire. 224 wti-1 r< ;:i in •<. They indicate also, what le may write, That cruelty, baseness, may nut be finite, Thai endless may be the duration of woe For those who resolved to be mix'd with them - Though they catch words from ethical science high, To scout what do wise man will dare to deny. How strange this agreemenl on different ground ! With pedants and Bophists these foul droves are found. Those others had still Left the natural light Which could, if well used, have directed them right There was dignity too in Bcience, though vain. To compensate for that which the heart can sustain; Bui now we find baseness that revels in mire. Without one aoble fancy, or one good desii With something the Stagyrite thought onthewholc 1 ..; argued a totally different bouI From that which 1" LongB to our poor human race. In which even he can I tivinity trac< The Belfish in essence, into nse, and quite pure, Leavi - nothing beside it to act and endure ; While cowards with sly and inveterate tricks, I only their conscience thai now never pricks Mean, stingy, exacting, and feeling no Bting menting some poor little mite of a thing, For chance will cause sometimes to cling to in 1 \ soft, prettj tendril thai near it bas grown Mor nl Nic, \. 7. -OTI-LT7CEETIUS. 225 Such wise men I think then in reality, Pure monsters may be in their morality. All harden'd to commonest feelings thus made, Their first or their last step is, woman betray' d. When that is effected, there's nothing then left ; Of God and of all sense of truth they're bereft. Then clown to the depths of thick darkness, though slow, They glide irresistibly, sinking below The longest deep plummets that men ever cast, Till from visible spheres they're sever'd and past. Oh heaven ! to think thus that such a dark fate Should impend over any in this mortal state ! That man once created to reisrn as a kiner Should sink to become such a vile, abject thing ! So nameless, so monstrous, so clear an exception To all else that's visible in the creation ! While having no object, no hope, and no end, But thus in vacuity restless to spend A life so right wondrous and partly divine, Which aye, through eternity, glorious should shine ; T ow even while mortal almost like a god, Idle all things on earth seem to wait on his nod ; ) death alone subjected, and that even still, is Maker's high purpose that he might fulfil, ij passing away hence from this world to soar Where he'll see what he b'lieved in, and there can adore. But thus it must be ; and experience each day Reveals how some will take this fathomless way. 226 a\ n-i.ri.il i i n 9. And where is the wonder that such tiling arc dead To truths that could fire the heart and the head ? So the heartless and proud with Bophists thus fall, And leave a short lesson that's needful to all. For who can be sate on the Bea of these days, Whm each with no compass Btill follows his ways; I nt OB all studies hut those which relate To duties of men in their present brief Btate \ As if mental culture were Bheer waste of time. Unless with some interests of earth it can chime. Trust interests of science to men without thought, 1 >■> yon think that the end will he what VOU 80Ughtf Can merchants succeed without notions of trade? Without some due training can soldiers be made? Sow can men retain faith in things of the BOul, [f On hearts, studies, deeds, it can have no control? Then why should you wonder if some will deny Tie- doctrines from which ever constant they ih I I'.' ware of the atmosphere breathed by you then. Pronounced by them wholesome, beware of the men ; Their numbers can yield you hut little excut Unless you're untaught or densely obtuse: Though infidels busy and handed you B< neV( r h;h faith more nctoiioUS and five. Golden dawn never gleam'd in the east more bright, Thau hopes now arise to the Christian's si u dit. h tit iish the good from the had in these tixm ich he the fruit of these dee] .- ] iiillder'd rhj m IN MEMORIAM. The day is fine, the scene around is bright, Through gardens, woods, and sloping fields I stray ; But an old haunted temple is in sight ; And now to that I take my lonely way. Let sunshine light up all with cheerful glow ; Let trees and flowers cheer each careless eye ; That temple has its visions to bestow ; To which the wounded heart will often fly. 'Tis memory's palace, solemn and august ; Within we find the beings that we love ; No falling here to ruin and to dust, With shades immortal of what fives above. Soft gleams of light here pass before the eyes ! Sweetness and peace ! on earth no other such ! Deception ? No, 'tis truth that does surprise, Seen, felt, accessible as if to touch ! For not to error is it ever given, Without an effort or an act of will, To fancy thus a glimpse of what's in heaven, Merely obtain'd by its own presence still. Q2 •Jl'S in Mi:\im:i jjj. Contentment so complete, profoundly calm, Denotes the absence of man's self-deceit ; The unseen world only Bheds Bucb balm, Mysteriously ami without danger Bweet. I enter; silence reigns, yet with a crowd ; The last fled thither comes to meet me first. 1 see her not enwrapp'd with ghastly Bhroud, But as she lived ; — and forth my hot tears hurst. By pity only mortals here are good 1 : Some pity enters ever into love ; Compassion for ourselves is understood ; Yes, i vc-n when we love great God above. I!ut here was youtb that paas'd through Borrows long, By grief itself too snapp'd off ere its prime: Shall pity uot I"- beard in this taint song, Though all her woes have pass'd away with time F I e her in the wondrous eye of mind, <)ur joy, our pride, as if still one of us, So tender, delicate, so gracious. Kind, Mysterious beauty compassing her thus, — II1 known, No need the least of efforts to employ, '1'" feel that happiness in thee is bo* n. That velvet siit'tiicss nf the hriu'htest (lower, That thirst In live I"! - ever, and here ]|ii\V, Thai perfume Of a t rue uncart lily boWOT, 'I hat constant L r Inese without wish or vow. still finding in thy God, thy life, thy bn All that which music never can intone, The presence here of an immortal r< Through perfe< t love, the universe thine own. I>' MEMOBIAM. 231 A home's last link to heaven ! such wert thou ! A girl ruling, and cherishing us all ! Oh ! tender sanctities, where are ye now ? Oh ! home once precious, thou hast seen a fall ! Who bids me leave this hall within the mind ? Who says let life resume its wonted way ? Well, lead me forth ; I yield and quite resign'd ; But yet not see her still, I never may. Shall I sing on ? For feelings when profound Invoke a veil to screen the inmost soul, Delight in silence, not in vocal sound, Though angel's music o'er the bruised heart stole. And yet I needs must tell of what I see, The vision that still haunts this mind on earth, A flower's beauty — rarest harmony A scent of Eden where we drew our birth. Memory's fragrance, perfume of the past, Sweets of melancholy, life's autumn flower ; Yes : these with life below will ever last ; A distant odour from Elysian bower. In those eternal gardens shall we meet ? No mortal breath can say yes without pride ; But here she walks through emanations sweet In minds of those once charmed at her side. 232 IN Ml MOEl VM. <) true Lamartine, thou hast saif flowers, her sweet, quiet seat ; The moon and stars Bhe Loved and studied so — While musing on bhem her yon raptured m rhere are, the Roman poet Baid, who gaze <»n the great orba of Heaven without fear': Hera was a calm and Bilent deep amaze : When Looking at them now methinks Bhe's near. 1 Sunt • 1 1 1 i fbrmidine nulla ipectenl ! IN MEMOEIAM. 233 And what a presence in the starry night ! She saw them thus, enraptured with the view, No longer she is now within your sight, But all the wonder that you feel she knew. Then leave the casement at sweet music's call ; Within 'tis she who gives the ruling tone ; When deepest harmony entrances all, The first place there unquestion'd is her own. The tissue quaint, emhroider'd with such care, Places her seated working by your side ; In churches too — oh, yes, above all there With you she stays and each day will abide ! Graces themselves bring back her person fond, The bright, the innocent, the noble mind, The spirit dauntless, never to despond, In these herself, as living still, you find. When thoughtless vanity wears out the night, When tedious prattle wearies, tortures me, Oh then I think of what is beyond sight, Oh then, Lsetitia, thy great sense I see ! Sense of the homely virtues and the true, Woman's true influence so wise, so holy, That sheds on all things Heaven's bless'd dew, Dispelling grief and loathed melancholy. •_':;] IN MlMtUM \\I. Winn holy customs all are laid aside — When witless Btrangera their own Polly show, oli then 1 Bee how reason musl deride Tim things thou fledst Gram when with us below ! And thus it is that poets are so true, When, singing stages of the bouI above, They Bay, as if thyself they once well knew, To comprehend ia higher than to love. If lilt's afflictions gro\« and press around, [f daily cares withdraw the mind from pea Tis then I think ofwhal thou musi have found The instant that from time thon hadst release. B des, too, while on earth what was thyjoyf Ethereal, tender, far beyond our ken ; With smiles, Bweet words, like others thou wouldst 1 1 iy ; But thou didst soar a BOraph <\vn t lull. I lain would Bing of thee to mortals here, Ami bid them mark thy Bpiril thai has pass'd, 'Twould make them angels if they Baw thee near ; Their 1" -t resolves would then for ever last. But 1 OU art now encircled wilh a b'gW Thai baffles sense and leaves a blank around: Only my lyre responds beyond our sight, d hear! not to be found. THE CHTTKCH. 235 Harsh all the music of our earthly sphere, Those sounds on which she fed her sense of love, When distant, faint in thought she will appear, Lost in such brightness, its whole reign above ! All burning words distinct are here but cold ; 'Tis only silence holy I would hear ; Wouldst thou a soul's mysterious leaves unfold ? The glow within would simply disappear. Yes, vain are words to open what I see ; It will fade shrinking from the outward sense ; 'Tis not for tongues to chant the mystery, Words, songs, and music, all are but pretence. THE CHURCH. (imitated fkom a poem by c. mackat.) Theee's a home, a true home, where is peace for the mind, Though distracted and wounded, to which it can When the storm is rising, with no shelter to find, And nothing seems left us but to lie down and die, Peacefullest, cheerfullest, Mystical, natural, '230 TIIE CHURCH. Hi<, r h on a rock placed, Berene above waves, Safe ever, lost never, Thy home, my home, Cull, sinking mortals, Bhe helps and she aai There's a home, a sweet home, which some fly from with joy ; Then a moment's forgetfulness shuts her from view ; For they thought it sufficient bo play with Borne toy ; But the night came, and back to her shelter they flew. Serenest, secui Spotless, daunt le Some of the strong, of the weak and the frail, Watch'd over, bless'd over, Thy home, my home, \ isail'd by the demons, but angels prevail. < )li ' poor man was not meant like a brute beast to roam, With n.p divine presence t<> enlighten liis way ; Though now banish'd from Eden, he still had i llnllli-, Where great God and Eis angels for ever would Merciful, \\ lerful, Near to him, close to him, THE CIITJKCH. 237 Like fire to bathe the desert with light, Piercing, revealing, Directing, denoting, Cheering and guiding through this world's night. » The ark and the pillar, the temple and Levites, All the faint first traditions, with many still left, Are to yield when thick darkness the world invites To pass on to that brightness of which it's bereft. Unearthly, heavenly, Burning and shining, Lit up for all men, and ever in view ; Unshrouded, undoubted, Most plainly, most clearly, The same as the oldest kindled anew. Oh ! why should a Presence though real be doubted, So conformable thus to the first divine plan ? Or why should our faith by weak reason be scouted For believing a truth so important for man ? So biblical, literal, So needful, so fruitful In* the sweet virtues that nature must love ? Heroic, angelic, Fulfilling, completing, Graces that wing us for realms above ? 238 Tin: rumen. Let <>ur praises 1"' full and Bonorous with j<>v ; Lei bright forms <4' beauty Bhow transports of mind, All your strength, all your daring for ever em- ploy, To extol such a Shepherd bo careful and&nd, Cherishing, nourishu A- of old, we are told, All those who follow to pastures of i T< nding them, feeding them, I [is gueste too, Hi- heirs too, [ntended hereafter for a hat is Ix There's a home lil<>' our own, but Lasting for ever, Where all those whom we loved here each day we can find, Half on earth, half in heaven, from which noughl can n vet The true hearts which affection will fondly still bind. Domestic, though mystic ; The dearest, the Bweetest, Where loved ones departed still haunt, and remain, r\ it ching, admiring, Pitying, and shielding here who of life's bitter sorrow com- plain. HOLT WEEK. 239 There's a home, a safe home, an Eden more lasting Far than that from which Adam was exiled of old — The Church through which mortals are ever still hasting To pass on to the region where God they behold ; While below, even so, In silence, endurance, He's veil'd and exposed for us to adore ; Abiding, providing, So steady, so ready To waft us to glory, life evermore. HOLY WEEK. Yes, all is true ; we live unseen in soul, Not in material tissues which but serve To cause the outward frame in part or whole, Never completely from the will to swerve. To soul we owe whatever's most intense — That which invisible, delights and grieves ; The body, a mere instrument of sense, Each man who thinks to live by it, deceives. But say, what proof is here so striking, new, To cause this cry spontaneous from the heart ? It is the week just past that we review, The Holy Week that must this sense impart. 240 noi.v wiru Within a chapel old and lowly here '. When' French confessors, exiles, found their all, The rites and visions that did now appear, Turr from some minds a dark and sadden'd pall. Pall which Mind custom, sprung from passions vain, Had led them t<> endure without a thought, Though mind dethroned, all is disorder, pain, Whatever ends may he design'd ami sought. 'Tis tin- great week that can its reign restore, sway our passions even bind, When God in spirit men with love adore, And echoes "I' t he past immortal find ! And oh ! if mind I'm- moments irains Buch strength, ( >n some like ns so purposeli bs and vain, How must it rule o'er others whose life's length It dedical power to sustain ! We hut like vagrants come to Bee tin- last ; They i ver followed to the Mount or Bhore ; To them familiar all the gracious past, How mut they love, and weep, and wonder more! oothing new to them His presence mild ; 'I'll.- poor they COUrted and tiny .saw Him there; They found Him with the frail one or the child, \\ hile with themsi Ives to rich men He'd repair. < »n lake's blue wav< -. or on the verdant Bod, They join'd Him teaching the] 'common mass; How must they burn when here they follow God, \\ hen now with Him to Calvary they ] ' Kin Portmsn iqtuura. HOLT WEEK. 241 Lo the Procession ! youths with palms raised high, Now usher in the mystic solemn feast. But triumph short ! for soon is heard the sigh, The Passion chanted, so this joy has ceased. But thus all joy to sorrow quickly yields, Procession first, and then the Passion too ; 'Tis only elsewhere in the blissful fields, That we the latter ever can eschew. The wave recedes ; the mental plain is dry, But a recurring tide flows now with might, The mind concentrated in purpose high, To suffer with the just in sable night. Tenebrae, darkness, such the ancient word For the great moments mental which begin. When Prophets' lamentations will be heard, And mind will ponder what can high Heaven win. Then mind transports us with a real power ; The common scenes of English life are past ; We yield to the impressions of the hour, And think the feeling must for ever last. Where stand we ? say ! on Sion's holy hill, Or in the garden where the olive pale Casts its blue shade amidst the twilight still. And red gleams linger o'er the sadden'd vale. Tones never heard but now, sad, solemn, slow, Short melodies at intervals most sweet, Soft rapt words murmur'd half suppress'd by woe, Such the means used and for the great end meet, 242 HOLY av r IK. To raise ap visions grave with mystic calm, Preparing you for what is to succeed, When on the morrow is dispensed the balm Of which the human spirit aye lias need. Oh, innocence restored ! oh, peace of heart ! Oh, wondrous union with the source of life ! Which raises man n uew'd in .'Very part, Above the vain world and its vainest strife! Already is rekindled in the mind A 1 i -_r 1 1 1 of youth fresh, Bparkling, rich, and bright, A - :.-<• of beauty Bhowing itself kind, To dwell with rapture "ii what meets the ilt. But hush, my bouI, that Bense must now be still ; Keep thy BOW Secret, elsewhere let it huill, Sporting with nature, as youth ever will ; To ' transports we must now return. [n gorg stments the great M. ass is sui t he last gift of II im about to di For last joy organs peal, while hells are rung, The rest is sil ive the holy sigh. Vexilla Regis, but a Bigh that chant ! Altai- are stript ; Of love it is the hour, 1 ' ish'd and kiss'd diow then how hearts can pant Wi. h'd by charity to feel its pow HOLT WEEK. 243 'Tis evening ; Tenebrse and prayer again Draw the crowds mourning where deep sorrows dwell ; Of stone the breasts that do not love the strain Of such complaints and those who heed them well. The morning dawns so sad for human good, The Passion almost seen, then chanted, follows, The crowd bows down to kiss the sacred wood, And all from hoar antiquity it borrows. It prays and kneels for men of each estate — Kings, pontiifs, pilgrims, heretics and all, Pagans and Jews ; there's no one for whose fate The inward tears do not with fervour fall. Oh, let those prayers and sighs be ever heard ! Then all men breathing we shall truly love ; Heed not when passion dictates words absurd, And you will live like angels there above. Beneath the Cross three hours of agony, Behold men rapt with ardency of mind, All fill'd with pity, wonder, melancholy, At the great price to save our human kind. The silent eve has fill'd the church anew, To hear the Passion preach'd as only can Compose that other Christ, the Cross in view, Who joins with faith the heart o ransom'd man. E 2 24 I v WEEK. TenebrsB follows, and all tli«-n is . Bui nh. how boob is Heaven's joj foresees ! Pale death hears trembling, " Triumph nevermore." Faith rises, though still Bhades will intervene. 'Tis niLrlit, a fervent chosen few remain, 1 lo! the Virgin Mother joins them then'; The Stabal Mater, thai mysterious strain, Then Boftly rises with the tearful prayer. That old, thai wondrous, mosi pathetic son Thai kneeling, feeling, weeping, thoughtful crowd, Produce impressions thai will all belong To tl ' - sma mortality musl shroud. The holy Sabbath dawns, we kneel ti> light — The liirlit of Chris! symbolically Bhown; The angel trumpei Bounds with swelling might, The Paschal taper bears the plaintive tone < m Prophi t>' voi< i b mingled with a prayer ; -t rate, the li">t <>l Heaven is iinplon '1 ; - all withdrawn, the Mass commences th< And tin n foreseen i- ( Ihrisi adored. The evening come, Regina Cobu' Bung, Thrills of deep rapture close the hopeful day. morning dawns, hark ! bells in peals are run II.-' to the tomb, who can an instant staj F b Domi d now indeed ' uld n<>t detain 1 lim long ; H ed; I ' 11, and glorious be our Bong. HOLT WEEK. 245 Oh, sons and daughters of the human race, Invited thus to pour forth grateful hearts, Behold the hands, the feet, the side, and trace The source which everlasting life imparts! Hence all your doubts, incredulous ne'er be ; My Lord, my God, let this be your reply ; Exult at sight of immortality ; Finish'd is all, that you may never die. Such is the order that the mind surveys — From first to last an action as if seen ; While of sweet private things it still conveys A sense, as if by stealth that comes between. For life thus five whole days, all breathed with others, Produces love and friendship that is real, So felt as if indeed we all were brothers, Left not with shadows and yet still ideal. A mental neighbourhood has always charms. To cherish thoughts in common that are high, To prize the same thing, fly the same that harms, Together in some beauteous port to lie — This quite alone can constitute a bond That years of absence hardly can dissolve. How much more each of others will grow fond When secret love for them is pure resctve ! Faces familiar grown surround us there ; The women holy, with an air so kind, Parents who mourn, bow'd down so long in prayer, With youths and maidens ; thoughtful all you find. 246 HOLT WEEK. Then servants ancient with their masters kneeling ; Young mistresses and handmaidens though gay, With all one mind, one deep true tone of feeling, To their loved Lord true homages to pay. We seem of each to know the inmost heart; Tlnse lads so tall yet lately acolyi \' the least want observed will quickly start To serve the Priests and do whate'er the rit Require, as if still children at command. Bow truly they have loved th< '■'• cch prii then. Since, ancommiasion'd, Bitting each bo grand, What mere boys did, they now will do SS men. I own I love simplicity, thus found Within this chapi I, of greal means berefl . Methinka it hallows more the Bacred ground, When to spontaneous action aught is left. Then there is holiness to mark so near In many, deep atteni ton Been In all ; sand ity j on drop s tear, I hide Ji, ainlring <>n the ground you fall. t> wondrous privilege, thou mystic fold! W thin thee souls are seen by outward ej I,' phi. with thoughts that never can DO told, I wit h a know |i • Qding to the tk HOLT WEEK. 247 Elsewhere 'tis mind that must the body serve, Affected chiefly by what strikes the sight, But here enfranchised, scorning thus to swerve, It shows in action all its depth and might. Then love's true charity divine is now The element you breathe to feed your mind ; If ever to see others be your vow, These are the days you'd pass with human kind. Alas ! for Christians wishing then to fly From cities where they mingle with the crowd, Seeking the wilds of nature, no one nigh ! In them I fear you simply see the proud. In a great common joy why wish to be Alone in parks or by the sea-girt shore ? Alone what would be immortality ? A torturing sad penalty, no more. Be ours the Easter Day in crowded street, The seeing, touching beings that we love ; He is risen ! to each stranger that we meet, We then would say as angels may above. But all is finish' d and the vision past ; So thus is felt the life of higher being ; Oh that this peace and love might ever last, While yet by faith we live still darkly seeing ! But sorrow is the lot of men below ; We wept the mystic grief of God made man ; We grieved for days of grief that could bestow More peace than triumphs even ever can, _ Is H0L1 w i r.K. Those days etly calm with such old sorrow, We gri< \' thai they have quickly pass'd away ; Alas! the joy succeeding has its morrow, Will it continue thus ourselves to Bway? For fearful we anticipate the pow< r, Of all the that glue the wings of mind. Remain with us, Lord, this evening hour, And to thy heart our natures eve]- bind. How clear the life of thought in such a fold, Fed round our Lord in sorrow and in joy, All feeling, thinking, as. we have been told, His Hts1 discipL s « 1 i « 1 their time employ ! .-. mourning, as if each the gard< ^t. Pn ssing then round to follow Him to death. Then all absorb'd, t.> ponder as they ought, Ami hope for constancy to latesl breath ! Ih.w sweet to feel that joy, angelic, high, \ i Magdalen before the tomb ! When fled Like night was i verj tear and sigh, I ic rapture in their room ! 1 1 v. it li Mary and St. John, the pasi in one vast blaze of light, i lite immortal granted to each one v. .mil joy .-till soothe, enrapture sight ' • • I he wi ak« st now »> near ' at the frail one's call ; lie will appear, i bid her then announce it unto all. THE COMPLAINT OF NATTTKE. 219 What intervals of life can you compare With these intelligence tjius freely grants ? Oh why then later should they be so rare, Since ever for them even nature pants ? How sweet to live with men who so a°rree, How sweet to contemplate our Saviour kind, How sweet it is to love them cordially, How sweet to follow both our heart and mind ! " Mane nobiscum," we too humbly cry, 'Tis late, and shades on all sides now descend. Remain with us on earth until we die ; And then will peaceful transport be our end. THE COMPLAINT OF NATURE. The wail of Nature has been heard of old ', But all its wrongs have never yet been told. Besides, increasing with the roll of years, The whole great sum in no past age appears. Though thwarted, outraged, sold, forsaken quite, No one seems pain'd when she has not her right. And yet when Nature's injured, it is men Who are themselves afflicted, injured, then. The very child who just begins to feel, The youth, the maid, the aged, might appeal 1 Alanus de Insulis, De planctu naturae. 250 THE COMPLAINT OP ETATT/BE. To Nature from the blind or unjust band, Who for a thousand motives her command Oppose, elude, misrepresent, defy, Borne even fancying thai Heaven's i Looks on approvingly, while others Maim' That which ifview'd aright Bhould cause do Bhame. Shudder not, Muses, at a theme so vast, \< if a glance at all I mean to cast. I seek but to unload a heavy beart, Lamenting of these wrongs a random part, Buch as have sometimes cut me to the brain, Leaving on brightest thoughts a certain stain ; As if, bewilder*d by conflicting voici Nothing was left untroubled that rejoia Those who view Nature as the heavenly plan n< lnl first, wh( n ' !'••! created Man. While wandering thus we find here but a spring fielding light bubbles, of which first I'll Bing. Then later, when the Btreamlet grows in might, Mufh graver consequences come in sight. But all is ooxious rising thus to till The scenes of life with many forms of ill. For that which weakens or corrupts the soil, What 71 C grows upon it ran hut Bpoil. 1 Nature is the ground on which we rai The flowers and fruits that yield the d Iful praise To H im who \ ind will require the whole l grow harmonious with the human soul u i k not Nat ure from II is will to bi ver, Bui ■■• both conjoin'd in beauty ever. THE COMPLAINT OF NATCEE. 251 For beauty is what both will still create, Effacing all that can inspire dull hate In minds that love the true, the fair, the good, When nought is alter'd or misunderstood. Nature at first, then, gently will complain, That some behold in her but one dark stain, Defiling every form and colour bright, Till all becomes a hideous moral night. So that e'en progress loudly is defied, As if to wish for it were simply pride. And some comprise within their sternest ban, Those who deem war not natural to man. As if it should be left to those who spurn All Christian faith to hate fell Mars' return, To mourn that war, or victory, or death, Should still be deem'd the noblest cry of breath ; That charms of Nature in her happy rest Should seldom be esteem' d what's wisest, best ; That glory, with Chimseras old and new, Should still be ever ready to renew The dismal tragedies of private woe, Which from the public follies often grow ; That, when one might have drunk at fountains clear, Or thought, or loved, with all bright flowers near, Or listen'd to the lark while true hearts meet, To kill our brother should be held more sweet. Nature laments when men both grave and wise, These words of poets, though their foes, despise. 252 Till: COMPLAINT OF 8A.TUEB. A- if, b Btate is fall in so, The of lasting peace can never grow. In brief, she mourns her sad and hapless fa1 . When truth is made to minister to hi When doctrines supernaturally known Ar used to rob her <>f what is her own. She thinks herself dismantled and defaced, Bui ii"t with every primal charm effaced. He must be poorly gifted, if noi blind, Who cannot these in plenteous measure find. The smiling child, the damsel and the boj Who is not j l asi d with thesi ijoy The workmanship Divine on every side, Presented through the world bo far and wide 'l l if alone what Nature gives IS Left, Unnoticed, of r« gard it is bereft. Pond Xatuiv spreads her feast each day and hour. Inviting us to joj within her bov But \'. ho comes to it from the busy crowd ': Some haw no taste, and others are too proud, While Bophiste come to pry and to disci \\'i ,• b ii qi . oft perverted, only know Thinking to find in insects and in flowers Excuse for had men in their vilest hooj Although at fi iteous and august, attend with grateful wonder good men must. Proud ing rich prize ho Nature in her plants defii Pi iducing out of season flowers, fruits, Or dressing even them in foreign Buits, THE COMPLAINT OF NATTJEE. 253 Thus staining roses black or blue their aim, As if insensible to poet's blame. For Nature has her harmonies most sweet, And these by your inventions you defeat ; Since fruits or flowers in season not their own Cease to complete her graduated tone. But follies such as these she deigns not view, Her march majestic she will still renew. Then what a banquet for the human eye Are the pure tints of an unnoticed sky ! Nature complains, that few an instant spare To feast their minds with her great beauty there ; That men find time for law, for gain so proud, But not for marking how she gilds the cloud. She mourns obduracy like this to see, Extending e'en to smother charity. Those on whom fortune smiles may be caress'd, But what is thought of others roughly dress'd ? Few eyes, alas ! discover beauty there ! The poor are neither fine, nor bright, nor fair. Nature revolts at such unequal praise, At what she thinks unjust and partial ways ; Nor will she be content until you find There's much to praise in all of human kind. Then Nature loves the moderate and free, Her simple unadulterated glee. Nature complains, when sports and recreations Are made as serious as affairs of nations. To climb, to run, to row, can please her heart, But not when moderation finds no part ; 254 l III: COMPLAINT OE WITHE. When you can neither swim, nor ride, nor walk, Unless bo furnish Bubject for men's talk ; When Bcience medical must first be gain'd, To Bhow how all your force can be sustain'd. All this Lb :ut ItiLT quite athwart her will, Which scrks by pastime freedom ever still, Intending play to be mere youthful frolic, And not a thing for pedants scientific. A merry round requireth no display, A- Lf aesthetics only were tin- way. Spurt with the muscles needs no calculation Of human force conjoin' d with ponderation. A youth might row or jump the Live-long day. Though science were not all he had to Bay. Dynamics, equilibrium- all that To common ears will still Bound rather Hat. The fact, yon Bee, i-. Nature is bo nice She feels the fault of Least things In a trice. 'I'ln-.- are, I grant, hut Light and childish thing She comes to glance at what her anger hrinu r< - The wanton wrongs of creatures wrought by men! What can yield vent for her abhorrence then ? ^ i wound her BOUl t Leeply lor a Bigh, When cruelty to t h «e Bhe can descry . "Spanish ideas" these Borne will now defend, GLautier's reasons will not .Nature bend; And Nature, through the Vatican, one,' Bpoke, \ gainst beast-tormentors both invoke. I; .• England too with battues and tin- chat render pensive Nature's I THE COMPLAINT OP NATURE. 255 And poets often echo but her wail, When angry made to see the sport prevail, The hunter coming with his fatal shot, Where all was love if there he had been not : Though evil strange and still more hateful lies, Where epicures her heart can more surprise. Oh, cursed spot upon the human mind ! Perhaps the meanest crime of all our kind, Religion own'd and practised such an art As shows for beasts and birds a want of heart ! It makes one doubt the whole of what's within, Men acquiescing with no sense of sin. But all too odious this for Nature's wail, And graver interests needs must now prevail. Dame Nature has her rights, though duties all, Yet some would these resist, and e'en enthral, Seeming to think there must be in their charm A secret evil to mislead and harm. But why confound a passion with a fault ? To do this surely wise men never ought. Passion as fire is needed to impel Our human nature to achieve what's well. And if at times it creeps o'er fetid mire, It much more often rises to aspire At somewhat that is far above this earth, Although you think that there it had its birth. Suspected, stigmatized by men who rave, Nature complains that she is made a slave ; That all her gifts for purposes of good Seem snares and gins that ought to be withstood ; L'.'ili 'I ill. ( OMPLAJH i 01 RATI i.'l , That love itself so holy and divine Should never be permitted once to shine, Where there is any wish to gain the prize Which crowns the martyr when the hero di Thai all iim-t show a mere sombre sour Leai Where the ] r heart lias the least hope of heaven. arc there wrongs of which she won't complain, Though here from hinting one she can't refrain. For Nature, Boft, and delicate, and shy. To sense "I' poetry comes often nigh ; And "ti> a hurt inflicted <>n her heart, When she is lured to play another part. For Borne things Nature would si ill ask retreat. And not i.. have them shown along the - A little teli'h l- ni\ ' 11. She thinks; nor would she always loudly tell Exactly each thing for the public view. When her great ends her children would pursue, jhe thinks half barbarous might borrow From her a hint, and cause no BOCial BOITi But still she's silent ; anger she won't show ; Enough, the Banction'd order will- it bo. Still the:,'- a i,, it her Bource of grief allied To what >!ie mourns in bU< nee when defied. if in j( n from her bright \\ ill. I ii things of death we contravene her still. i ast itutions, all are framed • in a t hing to he most blamed ; • hide, ,u . forms we all approve of then, ami purely trouble men. THE COMPLAINT OF NATURE. 257 Whereas poor Nature now restored by God Would cast but flowers upon the hallow'd sod ; Denoting that she views our passage hence As real good, and that without pretence ; Bidding us leave as we first enter' d here, Without blind passion, or regret, or fear ; Reminding us that to the whole belongs This passage as a final part of songs. " A part of life," a sage once did it call, Not a false movement to disturb it all. If Joubert would interpret for her thus, To mark her sorrow may be pardon'd us. For griefs like these she lifts her eyes above ; Her cries are kept for those of outraged love. For oh ! what errors haunt the deepest mind, When it will prove unnatural, unkind, Dogmatic, fierce, like Pharisees of old, Forgetting lessons we have all been told ! From what dark source do men such notions draw ? So unlike what is found in that New Law Which makes the love of God and one another The badge and mark by which to know a brother Knit with us truly in those secret bonds, With which man never boasts and ne'er desponds. 'Tis from resisting Nature even here, And her great voice of feeling, though so clear. For what one feels is sooth what God bestows 2 , And therefore much more sure than what one knows. 2 Lamar tine. 258 Uli. COMPLAIKT "I ETi rum For mark, our reasonings are made by man ; Only from God gain sentiment we can. Four sentimenl is reas'ning ready made, Which leaves yonr logic often In the shade. 'Tis man who thinks ; l>ut it is Nature feels, An. I God mad.' Nature, as all truth lvy.-als. Nature heard God before man ever Bpoke, Fel men their reasoning 'gainst her t' \ < >unLr. simple da\ -. At follies Link'd with her in childlike 1"\<- ; l!ut what Bhe loathes and never will approi Ai Learned, artificial, made Of false men, boping for them to 1"' paid. She owns with him that truth has much less charmi When with reflection chosen, yielding arms tin- discursive facull ies of man. Who loves to argue alw aj b a- he can. Ideas, feelings, all .if calculation, Must form for her apart a doubtful nation. Bhe yields the ignorant abundanl light, W bicl !w ,i\ s would exclude from sight. She loud complains that nun bo proud and Btero !i. what Bhe taught, to unlearn; THE COMPLAINT OF NATURE. 259 Their end of study being to know less Than those who studies never made express. Thus will she wander from the special grief, For which in sweet affections is relief. For sooth, though never, never yet beguiled, In rules of rhetoric she's still a child. Nature, in fine, agrees with that great page, Which only can our thirst for truth assuage. See all the vistas of the Book Divine, 'Tis love and tenderness that there will shine. God gives more freedom than some chairs allow ; And that's a truth but little heeded now, When moral phrases, professorial, cold, Adapted neither for the young nor old, Are thought to lay down and to teach the whole Of what should guide men, heedless of the soul, Which may or may not suffer all the while, For aught some care, indulging this false style, More suited to a Pagan stoic sage, Than to the wisdom of a Christian age. But now th' infecting stream is found to glide With darker vapours and a fuller tide. Nature complains of what we grieve to mention, Of wrongs inflicted through a false religion. 'Twas much, through sternness of cold worldly pride. To hem her in, curtail'd on every side. 'Tis worse to brand her with an impious fame, And say that it is Heaven which casts the blame. s 2 260 Tin. COMPLAIKT Or V\ [TEE. To 1"' unnatural through pride ia bad, But to be s.i through creeds, is far more sad. r For then we spread a veil before the light, Whose blissful rays would keep all nature bright; And bo create distaste and wild aversion, For thai which glad hearts all should love and live <>n. Nothing comes straight from our Creator's hand But what is useful, hopeful, gracious, bland. II | ; •- the flower with which nothing vies; Hi gives it scent as if t<> cause Burprj T si lb our thirst. He make the water cool, In each thing Beeming to adopl the rule, To give to all that lives what yields it pleasure, While form'd in Beason to submit 1<> measure. What kindness in the .Maker of that fruit, Which must the palate and the Beason suit ! What skill in blending colours for the ground, such as in the sky are ever found ! for music, to uplift the soul on w in .ills that harmony should he in strin In vibratory mov< ments of the air, H no more, and all i.- Bweetnesa there. In Nature thus we mark the constant plan, lid the art and cheer the thoughts of man : _\ el all this is rudely push'd aside '•, intent 1 1 division wide I I I . • : oyment of 1 bis Nat are pure w hat is hoped for ever may endure. rn of pn Bent gifts the store 1 ild prove thai we di •• rv< d hi n aftej moi TIIE COMPLAINT OF NATURE. 261 Of course at times 'tis well men should deny Themselves, and cherish some great holy sigh. And Nature even never would complain, When there were motives minds thus to sustain By some high acts of intellectual force ; But what she mourns for is when men divorce, By law too general applied to all, The bond uniting, even since the fall, The sweet and wholesome pleasures of this earth And the great duties of celestial birth. 'Tis then she's wrong'd and feels herself defied, Not by religion, but by human pride. Opposed to teachers thus so cold and stern, Let us her secrets wise with love discern. Instructed thus, our part is still to try To cheer, not heighten human misery. The bird in spring that sings upon the bough Was meant to yield us pleasure even now. Tbe primrose pale, the sweet soft verdant gra-s-, Are offer'd freely unto all who pass. There with a friend reclining for a rest, Fair loving eyes might please a spirit blest. While still these raptures of a moment's glee, 'Tis heaven grants, intending them for thee ! Then Nature smiles, and think not angels scorn, They know that you were once of woman born. But now of other wrongs she will complain ; We here must soar to catch a higher strain. jcl 1 Tin. i oiCTLAnrr 01 \ \ pttei She is nnt what herself at first Bhe knew; Thai Bhe is fallen is what Bhe feels but true She loathes the sophists who her ills conceal, \ I to her sickly self make sole appeal. There are who hold all impulses are good, When Nature fallen is cot understood. They call her rights what then are her own wrong This error reigns in Bohools, in books, in Bonj And then to every Bide though mi a may turn. \ ture their pr ad their thoughts will spurn. Oh, call not natural the base and vile, Thai pi If and others \\ ill beguile ! Whatever Bcoffs and Bpecious words you find, There lies the false and true Satanic mind. Nature alone, withoul her white-robed friend, Religion named, will have a bitter end. i think thai one is good without the other, I- the true vital spark in man to Bmother. Religion without Nature is a ghoul, Thai in dim vaults will Bometimes glare and prowl. Nature godless, lefl without a light, From heaven strays and vanishes from siu r lit. Blinded, corrupted phantom of the brain, And mosi of this] r Nature will complain, l know , alone Bhe never lia> been I •. ii presence normally berefl , I I she « -■ . 1 1 1 < 1 nol rejoii I quite unheard were her « '■ THE COMPLAINT OF NATURE. 263 When fallen, banish' d, driven out on earth, Amidst those wastes that feel the moral dearth, Say, how could she he happy or exist, If at her side her sole true friend were miss'd ? For who loves Nature, call it what you will, But the great Being who sustains it still, Surveying in its wishes and its thirst His own great plan intended from the first ? Then well may Nature utter bitter cries When any mortal such great truth denies. This is the wrong that grieves her chief of all, When proud false sages will ignore her fall. Once more to lower things we take our way, And a wide field of grief for her survey. For now the evil will still more expand, Till with its plague it covers all the land. For what with censures boundless and unjust, And praises showing blind excessive trust, True Nature seems on all sides now betray'd, A scarecrow first, and then a sham word made. Banish' d from life on one or other ground, Her voice unheard, her presence never found, Where she is then most needed to supply Of flesh and spirit the deficiency ; The first, without her, lawless, blind, and vile, The latter but a phantom to beguile. The grief of Nature is the grief of all, Whom false religion and base lust appal ! Let Nature still throughout the world be near, Then neither will create a ground of fear. 264 CHE COMPLAIB l ! 0] STAT1 BE. Religion, pure from the fanatic's fire, With all the sweets thai g Inese can inspire, The simple, manly, generous, and 6 i Apposed to all that " liberal '" would be In name alone, while narrow, selfish, low, With nothing but pretension that ran grow, Such soon would be the consequences then, Of seeing Nature on the paths of men. Bui mark with me minutely in detail, How without Nature all bright things must fail v. hat becomes of ever} human state, When a divorce like this is mail' its fat* Order, disorder, civil life and arms, bliss or shows inert ase of harms. War without Nature loses chivalry, Begets a name, like sum,', of infamy. Law grows inhuman, pagan, and unjust. Bend to it even God and g Iness must. \ : too itself looks spectral, dull and cold, Thinking to seize what never can be told, 1 1 laming even beauty as a blot, And wild abstractions, nothing real, < \ if alone what's bloodless to the eye i purest cril icism now defy, \ of infancy in Art ^ i all that skill instructed should impart Though be of Fii soli, the blessed man, ; itv unted Nat ore in his ban. THE COMPLAINT OF NATTTEE. 265 He painted minds ; his bodies merely show The want of what more skill can now bestow On men who wish to imitate the pure, Without neglecting other things as sure ; Though now some artists, when they try to please, From system banish Nature and all ease. Nature too mourns that states of life the best Can seldom find their dignity confess'd. What can be nobler than the painter's art, Which such exalted visions can impart ? What is more gentle, lofty, and refined, Than to be occupied with what you find Smiling in landscape, fair in human faces, Showing in form and colour all the graces Which tend to humanize the noble soul, And to great beauty's law subject the whole ? Yet if you'll hear a lisp that means aggression, Art cannot be a liberal profession ! We're told that artists are not found to show What education first-rate will bestow, Such as great lawyers have at their command, When in high circles they familiar stand. Perhaps they mean the art of idle prattle, Of worldly ladies, uttering tittle-tattle ; Yes, they are wanting in the power to sneer Away sweet visions or the starting tear. Art in their drawing-rooms should never stay, When men will talk and all thought fling away. All this I understand, and laugh the while ; But I am shock'd when people grave beguile, 266 rni: COMPLAINT or N \ n i;k. Taking for granted when for fame they start They have a rierhl to scorn and cry down Art. Bui all this flows from one r graves! metaphysic ; if the bar, or any i»t her station, Were nobler in a wise man's estimation Than the sweet study to presenl the sight With Nature in her loveliness or might, ( >r Bhow in colours t«i the ravishM eye TIh- w;i_v men Boar to immortalil To feel the beauty of a landscape fair, I • i be tranquil as the Bummer air. Such taste inflames and purifies the mind, Making it noble, innocent, and kind. \ rnel like a mad youth on the beach, When firsl the ocean can bis pencil teach, R listing all the efforts of his guide I i him from the rock where he would bide Until be painted all that glorious Bight, Of Marseille heedless, ami the' coming night. Th( a Bpiril and a genial fire l - win all hearts anil gentle thoughts inspire. • with Stanfield, Claude, Patell, W : . until othi ps who show this as will. THE COMPLAINT OF KATEEE. 267 To paint like Leslie light of setting suns, Is not the part of him who madly runs Through the dull thickets of a worldly way, While heedful only of what's sure to pay. Think you when man or woman are Art's end, Elsewhere true greatness must its pupils send ? When Hogarth shows us vice at every stage, He yields to neither poet nor to sage That ever learned tenderly to scan The fond sad frailties of deluded man. Mark his rake's vacant yet expressive face ; You learn a lesson time can ne'er efface. He shows you Folly's end, no feeling near ; You shudder awe-struck, but you drop a tear. Shall Art he still consider'd as below What funds, or lands, or titles can bestow ? Then Shakspeare too would be beneath the squire, Peer, Knight, or M.P., all whom we admire, His station not acknowledged in May Fair, But people wondering, how he could get there. Will Nature weep or laugh at such conceits ? Mere scornful silence best her feeling meets. Then sweet calm scenes of life, though homely, low. When shown by Art, can nobleness bestow. Le Nam, two brothers, painters of the poor, Have left a name that ever will endure. They sung the life of peasants without guile, Word not too lyric to describe their style ; And all who, like them, choose to paint the low, Heedless of what the mighty can bestow, 268 i in: COMPLIUTI! 01 \ \ i n:r. Mustj says their critic, love them from the heart*; And Bay what grandeur does not that imparl To feel the beauty of the human fac . Is with intensesi glow to love our race; To paint like Raphael, is to feel and love In Bome degree as angels there above. For what's the end of Art upon the whole ? 'Tis beauty Been but with the eyi a of bouL Then when the artist Bhows us what is grand i tory old, our hearts are al command. While, highest flight of all, and quite divine, Is when on canvas he makes glory Bhine. To paint like Berber! from the Bacred page, Is with its foes heroic war to wage ; Divinely too, not killing, but like breath, I .rive thrin life and triumph over death. 1 impare the works of other men, 1 pity him who will not answer then In strict accordance with what Nature cr W hen those despising Art ahe loud defii Proclaiming too with statesmen deepest, best, That Art in Bocial balance stands the test ; Bmce human life no greater treasure knows, Than what this " superfluity" bestows. Ah well, a day there was, though now gone by, n Nature for this .-an-' had not t>> Bigh. A king would stoop to pick up from the ground The artist's pencil, with his courtiers round. bamp Floury, Lea fren Li Sain, T1IE COMPLAINT OP NATUBE. 2G9 In royal carriage, which while far he meets, Vernet the painter enters Paris streets. Till stars and orders shone upon the hreast Of Spanish artists kings had not then rest. No state or dignity in all the land Had higher honours ever at command. True faith gives way, and Nature then departs With all clue honour for the noblest arts. 'Tis not that men from pedant bonds have burst, By prizing Nature's paintings always first, Seeing God's master-pieces clay by day, Though only Ruysdael, Van der Does will pay ; But that the sense of colour and of Hues Is lost where sordid profit only shines. So now we must respond to Nature's wail, Where briefs, reports, and blue-books will prevail, When beauty, goodness, and all sacred truth Are term'd the idle talk of dreaming youth. Then too the graver men to whom we owe Recover'd health are treated even so. To aid the sick by dearly purchased skill, Is not deem'd half so glorious as to kill. What, glorious ! nonsense ! they are e'en despised, Although they give us what is chiefly prized, Sharing with God in man's ingratitude, When obligation basely we elude. How can such groundless prejudices reign, And Nature not revolt and loud complain ? But all this while the social life of each, Left without Nature, can this lesson teach, 1270 tiii; coMPLATin 01 noire. Ri -( choing of Nature the long wail, When all her gifts t<> man □ to foil. To social life, to those gay Boenea I torn, With love of Which most harmless bosoms burn. For what mor manl with kind and fair, Than thus for friends quite freely to repair, To taste the Bweets of common conversation, Such as adorneth every polish'd nation? To meet the stranger or familiar guest, Who \\ill not speed at times on Buch a quesl ? Alas' the end is sure to prove most vain Wherever Nature feels she should complain. The world ! Booiety ! oh here 3 ou'U - I n lii tie things of man 1 he \ anity, The world and Nature arc -till bitter fo \- very one thai feels and sees well knows. The lights may burn and doors 1"' open'd wide The trinkets, dresses, glitter on each side. nd of company the rooms to fill, Bui all is -till' and awkward, lonelj still. No ease, do freedom, nothing hearty, warm. While with acquaintances the house may swarm • be "t her, pour'd as froi mould, Alike monotonous and formal, cold. No character in <>ne unlike the other, individuality \ ou smut her. i I jolly t hat ! for those who would l variety in grave and THE COMPLAINT OP NATUHE. 271 But what is worse — as if insane were all — No ease at feast, or music, or the ball ; A form— a tasteless waste of time or strength, The dull reception wears out all its length, Till wearied, full of envy, perhaps hate, The jaded crowd withdraw in wonted state. Poor Nature you have banish'd. Be content, This is what follows when she's elsewhere sent. This is what follows when you rash exceed, And make exceptions for all youth a need. Because for caverns some have no vocation, These must become the " fastest " of the nation ! Because retreat protracted rather tires, They must indulge extravagant desires ; No simple, noble, honest virtues left, Of all such manners these must be bereft ! To deserts some would drive you, it is said ; Then your new worldliness be on their head. How should not Nature raise an angry voice, When some pretend they have no other choice ? Is there no medium between silent dells And the loud vortex where mad fashion swells; Unbending' wills which feelings all disown, Or dissipation boundless, reckless grown ? Because in truth for your poor humble part, You've no vocation for the stony heart, Must you crush Nature in another style, And do exactly what the wise revile ? Fashion is Nature — part of social truth, By providence inspired in our youth. 272 Till; Ci'Ml'I AIM OP NA!i BE. For how would industry itself be curb'd, li'that gay reign were not each year disturb'd? All dresses would be ancestral and old, Nothing be made, for nothing could be sold. These changes, therefore, to a thoughtful mind Bespeak the will of Nature, ever kind. But fashion . that prevenl the course < If Bocial bond ling all resource, Are your inventions, graceless, jealous minds, In whom her deadly foes poor Nature fii Unlike the great of old, of whom "ti> said, T ir woman's type bore pitcher on her head, Stiff creatures all of jewels and oflai Blind 1" tli'- contours of a lovely i'.i Thinking all lines of beauty Bhould be hid, And trying of sweet Nature to get rid; I ' s to all just equality, and wort To man himself, iliin_ r s meriting liis curse • Nature, how tin m often art defied, And all the beauty of thy ways denied! I .in sweei religion exiled first, and then I in homes ami all domestic lit'' of men ! Ilui it was Baid when she is sen! elsewhere, 'I'le Be dismal consequences follow there. . then answer, is she ever found, \\ it hiii MIM MM u[ \ \Tl kb. No affectation there — no Larking pride, Nature's sweel beauties all to veil ami hide; True, she may Buffer ; but, sages stern, How much from Nature, love, and faith to 1. am ! No murmurs, vague regrets, or fear of death, Content and cheerful to their latest breath. \ suicidal murders here ensue — Those Cato-like conclusions are for yon ' Dear Nature, gracious, sweet, indulgenl mother, Oh, take me, clasp me, and with kis~ a smother! Open, <> friend obscure, thy humble door, I find what's >. >uu r lit . in overflowing Btore. For truth, and love, and u r mess without show, Are what your lowly dwelling can bestow. The smile, the words bo frank, the laugh, the jest, The arch rejoinder from the happy breast, The bold expression of an honest heart, Which can restrain, and modesty impart These are the jewels that will glitter here, i 'HL r h only L r la-s and copper may appear. Religion, ei.n-rii-n.-e, and the common sense Ofthose whose lives are all without pretenc Embrace poor Nature here, and will remain ; Jfou ii. ver more will find her to emu] 'lain. Friend, now believe, let ranks be what they may, Hei win-re happiness and g Iness st ■>} \ let us end u it hunt excluding clai •m this bright type of life which all Burj THE COMPLAINT OF NATURE. 275 That which shows Nature left with truth and God, Docile and free, submissive to His nod, O marriage blest and holy, past all thought, Where Faith and Nature are together brought ! There hand in hand these two will haunt a bower, Which proves 'gainst all our foes of strength a tower. For do your best, and Nature is still strong To 'venge her just cause when you do her wrong. See in the reign of plants, whate'er you boast, How you are but her servants at the most. If in her sense you labour, all is well, She aids, rewards, and will her secrets tell ; But if, capricious, with your system vain You try to thwart her — she will not complain : No, she is sovereign, absolute, as God, Chimeras she disperses with a nod : If you deceive her, or disdain her rules, Sterility will crown the work of fools. Nor is it only gardens feel her sway ; The world knows much of her mysterious way : Man she confounds when most his might is yreat. While foolish sophists think it all is fate. See how she plays with you in outward form, While needing but a flood, a night, a storm 4 . When Nature plays a part, then man is small, Cassar or Pompey, fleets or armies all ! A fall of rain and cannon come too late, Some explain by this Napoleon's fate. 4 Ste. Beuve. T 2 127C tiii: COMPLAFH i 0] H LI I EQ September, on an eve past long af Saw rising waves and heard a tempest blovi Thai wind by night, upon its second day -. Reversed the whole order of the world's Bwaj T - bo in morals. Li t but Nature cry, No force "li earth but yon ran then defy; While Deeding but a look, a siu r n, a breath, i . vanquish power and to Bmile at death. So when Religion is with her allied, Adieu all Bcheminge with their 1 1 1 i _r 1 1 1 and pride. them united ! What a mystic pair, Daunt • soft, in every feature fair ! There's bouI with all its native dignity ; There's flesh and blood with immortality There's earth transform'd, lit up with beams of love, There's heaven's brightness shining from above man for ever noble, ever young, Heroic more than ever yet was Bung. union such as this produces youth, The world its stage: the air it breathes, the truth. o Paradise regain'd ! while here below With you, with me, < > friend, may it be Then we shall wander and shall sporl with ease, With nothing wrong to injure or displeaf Life the enjoj menl of ;i creature pure, 1 1 ath but it- pass to bliss that will endure Where human nature .-its enthroned above, i v, nli the endless love L688. JOHN GERALD. 277 JOHN GERALD. John Gerald, holy truant boy, Alas ! how soon thou fled'st away, Enticing with thee all our joy ; At least we thought so, and did say, When first with us we saw thee not, As if all others were forgot. Eight summers thou didst stay on earth, Without one fault that we could see; An angel, spotless from thy birth, Didst thou appear and prove to me. I think thou fleddest while a child, Through fear thy youth might be beguiled. For thou didst love me all too well, And that alone had proved a snare ; For careless ways would cast a spell To wound thy spirit pure and rare ; And so thou didst expand thy wing, And leave me here to mourn and sing &• Come, I will now recall thee here, And think that thou art with us still ; Methinks I see thee playing near, And wishing ever to fulfil 27^ JOHB i.ii:\l.l> Wha1 thou dost owe fco God and othera, Father, mother, Bisters, broth Friends, and strangers, and all yon know, For thou didsl love the human race, A 1 1. 1 wouldst a Bmile or gifl bestow, < )n all <>t' whom you Baw tin- face : Unless, by instinct taught, you fear'd Where pride in any one appear'd. 'I'll. hi wvrt ;i proof, 'i)ii.n the whole, ( >f what Tertullian said >o bold, That Christian i> the human sou] By nature, whether young or "Id. A i 1 s.i instinctively our law Prad ised ami loved in thee we saw. JTes, Ear beyond our ^.>m_ r s each grace, That, dew-like, first fell on tin- Mount, I!..- left t.i I..- adored a i race, Bright flowing limpid tV<>m thy fount. No -aint in cloister ever bred Would alter w hal by thee i- said, .-.1 t.... with all thy strength W'liil.- age ashamed could onlj Bay, N'.i years prolong'd t<. anj lengl 1> A t ruer worship e'i r could paj , 1 I !i..v. u hal rans.. m'. 1 man ..m 1" Wh< bi al bee for immortalit JOHN liEEALD. 279 Yet, or rather therefore believe, No child you ever saw is more Eeplete with what can ne'er deceive — , The gifts which even men adore ; Those gifts of body and of soul, Which make one grand composite whole. For, chivalrous as noblest men, Thy heart was high, thy courage strong, And penetrating was thy ken To spurn whate'er is base and wrong. Thou wouldst have proved a good true knight, For God and justice aye to fight. But why now make thy spirit sad, Alluding thus to war's sad field? Heaven-inspired thou wert, a lad For all the sweets that love can yield. Bathed in that ocean thou didst float, O'er waves on which the angels dote. So tastes refined, while yet a child, Were thine in abundant measure ; Music and painting, manner mild, Poesy, beauty, thou didst treasure ; The eye, the ear, the hand, all made, Later to cast some in the shade. But who could paint that blissful mirth, That arch, responsive cordial style, 280 JOIl\ Q] i:\i.d. Which we mighl Bay had from thy birth So served to charm us and beguile, When thou n a wild quest for the fountain of youth, und at ci •■'< ral t ruth i THE MEETING OF THE WATS. 285 Baffled and fretted you follow your way, And lost still the more the farther you stray, Demanding perhaps from men lost as well, If they the right road can point out and tell. From thicket to thicket you turn your eyes, And still every where some obstruction lies, To favour the evil and check the good, Which both by your mind are well understood. As if they ought not to baffle our skill, If only means could be found with a will To favour the flower and push back the weed To the depths that agree with its pestilent seed. But still, wanting clues, you lost even hope, Trying your way through the darkness to grope, While thorns or branches around you would bend, As if in a cage your course were to end. See these long roads by which hither we came ; To each there belongs some historic name, Persons denoting, or else conditions, To which each past age has made additions. While all these old highways entitled so, To that one bright centre are found to go. And then not alone are there vistas wide, But dark by-paths that the centre will hide, 286 Till MEETING OE Mil WAYS When any one chooses a deserl wild, I. :i\ iiiLT tti" mads where he's never beguiled, Through our life now. like- the forest as will. Aii' main roads in number more khan we toll, With by-ways in plenty, on which who Bpe< Finals roots that will trip him, ami tangled weeds , Tlir by-paths made by men's foolish desire, Whose lost errant steps will Boon or late tire. Tlir main ways you "\\<- to the wise old will Which, heeding wants common, provides them still To each of these great lines lor every eye A name we eaii give for all who j. ass by. Juflt a- each of US has hi- m'.ii Special \o.-at LOB, Some well-known public or private station. To follow thr course that's mark'd out Tor him By birth or duty, or even his whim. As highways or paths they all may 1» g( When as means of passing beyond understood . I hit he who should take t hen i lor end of the w a \ . Simply tor ever must feel ^ astraj 1 all the while there Lies in bis view, Through each fresh vista appearing anew, \ lit re that 'a i mon to all and each, \\ huh those who are guided can easily reach, THE MEETING OF THE "WATS. 287 Where they will find what so long has been sought By those whose feelings respond to your thought, That somewhere there must be a fresh clear spring, Of what is most perfect for every thing That mankind has studied or still will follow, From which not to draw strength will lead to sorrow. Then what is that fountain ? you now will ask ; 'Tis like calling out " question " Nature's task — Not of necessity hostile to song, Since to the Muses did ever belong The forests so deep and the fountains clear, And the vistas through which can oft appear Their bright sparkling wave and the verdure sweet, For our singing on high themes always meet. To the head of the stream where Naiads play, The Muses at least will not bar the way. My friend then, I say, this fountain is light, Descending mysterious on every wight Who lives in the pale of the one true fold That shelters men now as in days of old. The old well-known faith is the source for all, For the wise and simple, the great and small, To draw thence refreshment for each long way That they would wend on or only survey. 2^s in. iiBETnra of tse ways. It sounds* or murmurs where'er we stroll; Beneath the tall trees its echoes roll, Till by instinct at times many are Led To follow its voice to the crystal head. li glides or filters, pure virginal stream, Through channels mysterious oft as a dream ; From it there issues medicinal breath, I; iviving what Beem'd but to droop to death. Arrived at the Bource the wilderness glows With a beauty that there majestic gro^ i - shaded by branches it makes to bend, Where at Last all our thirst can find its end. I [ere i> the true c< nt re of life's wild wood, As if some great pillar bad Long th< re stood, .M \ si ica! focus denoting repoc And yet from which constantly motion grows. lint that which, Immoveable, moves the rest, Of all motive powers is sweetest, best like that which God imparts t.> the world ; Alone this presents it> titles unfurl'd. For rest such as tin-, which can all things move. M i clearly it - ow n divinity prove. I I ;• hi ar me, I pray, in minute detail, i ii condition will tell it - tale THE MEETING OP THE WATS. 2S9 Mark first, then, how sunheams are shedding round Beauty and fragrance on brightest deck'd ground ; For violets, learn, are always most sweet, When you surprise thern sly hiding from heat. No dark shades yet in the forest are spread ; At skirts of a wood there's nothing to dread. So here we begin our mystical flight, By keeping the first steps of man in sight. Say, then, you follow the road of the child ; Where old faith rules home, its manners are mild, So free from every bad noxious leaven, That thoughts, looks, and tastes all bespeak heaven. You pass to the green way that's named from youth, And there it will feed on congenial truth. There blooms what's pleasing to God and to man ; Think what is fairer than this if you can. Exceptions, of course, I know you may cite ; The rose may show canker — the blossom blight ; But say in candour, is partial the song, On what to Catholic children belong, Ascribing to smallest, and to the tall, What more or less can be traced in them all, A certain angelic, mystical air, Such as cannot on earth be found elsewhere ? u 290 Tin: mi:i:ti>'0 of tiii. WAYS, But, doubtless, of genuine things I sing, Not of mere neutrals, apl all doubts t<> bring, Jiais that arc willing to creep or to fly, According as tin • v assent or deny. Just as yet, however, no contrasts draw. "Tis enough it' each tells us what he saw. Still skirting tin- forest will booii appear Tin- castle or home that's more lowly near. Paths now in many directions are found, That with clues t.> the centre still abound. The road of the family first you take; 1 1' t his thru through beds "i c - - you'd make, It must receive manners, its air, ami mould, From what made so happy tin- homes of old. It. says a poet, there's rapture in dream Happiness flows not from what only s^ms. I - from realit \ a- when you - I n families tender life's primal tree ; But that noble trunk requires a ground Where waters of faith keep lit'' all around. \\ iiliciut them it withers, beginning on high, \' length lowest branches follow ami die. I I * icitj s pat h keeps to t his mad, worn b) feet that beside it strode. THE MEETING OP THE WATS. 291 What vistas and signals are here in view, If old mediaeval records we knew ! Or even, if looking round us we see, How loving, loyal, some servants can be ! While others abandon'd to meteor gleams, Would lead us to think that these were mere dreams. Henchmen, abigails, show all this quite clear, And on their own track the truth must appear. But families have their traditions old, And to faith you're guided when these are told. For either the glory is solid, true, Or else they are blots they keep in their view. With saints then for ancestors, no one tries To palm off for gold what glitters to eyes ; While blots only prove the error of those Who yesterday's folly old truth suppose. Where you can trace genealogy high, The old Christian faith you needs must pass And wilful, wanton, methinks he must be, Who sources for nobles would elsewhere see. Heralds, too, know that their science is vain, If the old faith be not there to explain What lies in its symbols so quaint and high. Which men left without it cannot descry. u 2 292 rill. MEETING 01 Tin: w\TS. Then free hospitality, noble and true, Points to the centre from roads you pursue. "l'i- elsewhere often mere want of a guest, To yield to souk- epicure needful zest ; Or, what is -till worse, Borne pompous display, The wise question's r, " What will they Baj ? " Bui taste the A.postle Beeks to impart, B lunty all springing from faith and the heart, Saving for motive religion so pure, Knowing that this too is meant to endure — Flow- Bole from the fountain that bakes it> rise, Where ev< i elfish passion dies. So manners belonging to hull ami board, To b (uses with all things lor loved quests Btored, A I-.- iM-vrr so perfect, so Bimply Bound, Aj v, Inn the Bame old faith has till'd the ground. Then a'_'ain yielding a path to the great, Who with delicate feelings crown their state, \ , -1.1 is -'11 through Borne rocks most grand, That Beem the forest to have at command. here full of perils we Know the way, I ii when mi the gain'd summit you Btay. Ill anding web o'er the ground, be false ones, the falls profound THE MEETIKG OF THE WATS. 293 For honour, stem of the family tree, However in praising it most men agree, Will never yield fruit so wholesome and fair, When all you can show is how much you dare, And unless there hangs on it mystic fire, Which the old lamp can maintain and inspire. But now your steps lead through a darker wood — The growing perils of life understood ; For mothers and children have here to part ; 'Tis elsewhere men will instruction impart. Pale students, too, pass by the verdant way, You know from what places they hither stray ; So home you must leave, and repair to schools, And faith you soon find supplies the best rules To ward off all that would poison and bind The energies pure of nature and mind. Next we come to a road from travellers named ; For farther still rove some who would be famed. 'Tis distance they seek, all lands to explore ; No longer on books scholastic they'll pore ; They'll pass o'er the seas and learn to scan Whatever can interest the modern man. So now like a bird you will take your flight To countries that lie far beyond your sight ; •J'.M ill I : MEETTHG of Tin: w\ts. i et 1 . too, you find thai faith La the guide Which best can direct through the world so wide, [mparting an object, an aid, and will, The best, the Burest, most rational still. Km-, absent that guide, how interest is 1 In spots where by chance you find yourself toss'd ; How every motive will shortly fail, While hatred of rest will only prevail! I pray by what magic canst find the means To wiiil,' all thy Bteps, whate'er interveni have even w ishes places I l . faith not more dear than t" poetry? i >h. what a contrast lias Palestine Been, Some bo exalted and others bo mean, Volney, Brown, Niebuhr, Mariti, Vanzow — Chateaubriand, believing, led by bis vow An Englishman Bquire, of little faith type, Maj visit Elome, but 'tis all to shoot snipe; liim Peter and Paul in vain lie there, He L r '" ■- protesting, indeed, not for prayer. I n Paris, bo fruitful in faith, < >nlv those hat tng all divinity : 'I h • v, hat journals told them before, U'd, thej wish now to Bee no mori THE MEETING OF THE WAY3. 295 As when through a gap some one sheep has pass'd, The rest will all follow down to the last. Then elsewhere, though interests can't he so deep, If faith be not burning, genius will sleep. Centrifugal travellers keep their way, So where they should halt they never will stay, And where they should hasten with speed of fire, 'Tis there above all that they never tire. Now rural impressions give names to roads, Where those who love Nature seek their abodes. Oh, what peace, what vistas of truth are here, Whene'er to the centre your steps draw near ! Would you delight in woods, mountains, and fields ? Embellish'd are all by what Faith still yields, Raising up structures the old and new, Shedding more beauty on all that you view. Are you for hearing the hounds and the horn ? You think of St. Hubert in old times born, You think of the Huntsman fierce and so wild, Contrast him with others, holy and mild. The hunter's road, therefore, is not bereft Of footsteps to guide you upon it left, When you ponder the crimes of cruel men, And contrast them with those who suffer'd then. •JOG Tni: Mirnxr, of TnF. WATS. The one, examples of load defiance, The other, of centra] Boft reliance: For thus, once for all yon will find it here, What's u r 1 to the centre approaches near; While every form thai dismay l> sure .-till bo take a differenl way. Bui lo! a fresh road now before us li Through charms producing each momenl surpr The vistas bo blue, the glens and the bIoj With sylvan delighl can nourish our ho] Thai Bomewhat, though distanl and still unknown, ( >f good pad all thoughl will soon be i>nr own. The road takes its name from those who know besl When' is the fountain of t rue mental resl , Fur here we come to the title of poi t [nscrihi-d in tin- lmv, n shade, and we know it. Thai this chequer'd way to our faith musl lead, Prom which the true masters never recede, All fed as they musl be by what is true, Howe'er empoisoned the game they pursui ; a Dryden ami Bhakspeare, Pope, and tin- rest, Who Btand still the first, can clearly ^ ith < !hau< i r, Massinger, Shirley, ami more, vhom we in England have plenteous store. THE MEETING OF THE WATS. 297 Pope's faults protrude upon many a page, But them you trace to the mind of the age. Your only surprise is how he was free So oft from its sceptic philosophy. And when with deep faith he expands his wings, Oh, most it is then that he nobly sings. To Dryden himself the same words apply, Explaining the cause of his misery ; While Shakspeare's peerless and Catholic song Has only faults that to Nature belong — Nature that we at least cannot but love, Not soaring always like angels above. In poets who dream a different creed, Or no creed at all, I must beg you heed, That what makes them true bards is not no belief, But the fire from which they oft seek relief. Briefly, in Pagan or modern times, There can be no poet whose verse ne'er chimes With truth of religion, truth of the soul, However he hopes t'escape from the whole. Homer, Euripides, Sophocles too, iEschylus, as in our school-days we knew, Virgil and Horace, sweet Ovid as well, Exemplify all this and plainly tell. 298 nn. mi i riMi m- tiii \y \ys. A ml a.s in those old times, bo it is still, When view things distinctly and rightly you will, M uses in all t inn - are ever 80 shy 'I'd favour opponents who faith deny. For faith had the Gentiles, at least in part. ad which A.postles themselves impart ; 'I'm our centre still those beautii - belong, Which have mad.' immortal their noblest Bong. So if Byron and Wordsworth, Shelley and Scott Were poets inspired, it clearly was not That they contradicted the light from high, lint that to it thej bo often oame nigh. When near it. to all men pleasing the more, When far, Leaving Btanzas all must deplore : While ever most free from Btain of di feet, When Bhowing no trace of any false Bed Sophistic, religious, or a mere whim. Which bright central truth could pervert and dim. Hut now yi looming a strange dark rook, With dim ghost-like forms that scare and shock ' Oh, bark to the moans and the dank of chains, I '• "Ll what deep horror around as reigi Phantoms that beckon I see you tremble, l ' like themselves you t n to dissemble THE MEETETO OE THE WATS. 299 Yet you seem riveted, bound to the spot, As if further search for truth were forgot. Eornance thus attracts you with mighty spell, Though why or on what ground no one can tell, Till you come to the faith which shines as a star, To guide your poor feet from Thessaly far, By showing you where lies the safe true end, For which men their genius so often will spend, When wanting the clue to lead them still right, 'Midst spectres and sorcerers dim in night, — Which still consists in the old Christian creed, Where false foolish miracles you won't need. From paths strewn with novels I see you turn, And needing no guidance to bid you spurn The ways of an age that bends down so low, Where nought more fragrant or lovely can grow. And yet I ne'er doubt this hollow bare field Could now a centripetal light still yield. But mark far distant is Dickens's fire, Which much that's glorious and true can inspire. But now other thoughts will our minds employ, As we come to the road that's named from joy. For here we have proof it leads like the rest, To where gladness finds food the liveliest, best. 300 mi: MEETING OF THE u\b There is no other Bprightly and bland, But thai which implies how you understand l!\ joy the pleasure that's always combined N\ it 1 1 truth and sweet goodness deep in the mind. "To his own conscience the nearest of men " Proves to 1"- always the merriest then : Expression but borrow'd, I pray vmi n I Though knowing before I can only quote. Clear brightness and joy of truth are alii .V eding the certain which* sadness defi< Sadness arises from doubts in the mind, Not knowing whether the way it can find. needs an element grave in the cup, [f surface that Bparkles yon would till up ; ler and discipline, Catholic ways — Where all these are found, it frolics and stays; But ro,,t out these germs in whole <>r in part. And no more amusement will please your hear! ; Though eyes yon may close, a Bpectre will stand. Telling you joys yo i have not at command. 'In 1m amuse yourself each day and hour, l: ttor didl Badness your life will devour. Man \m amnsable only s.. long & irmonious, a flight and song. THE MEETING OP THE WAYS. 301 Behold the strong contrasts. Who are most gay ? Who can enjoy best a bright holiday ? Those who press on to the centre in view, Or those who its vistas will not pursue ? All the dull arts that the latter employ, Seem aim'd but to chill or put out your joy ; What are e'en fair ones with tempers uncheck'd, But witches from whom you cannot expect Any thing better than pent-in wild fire, Fearing to lose aught if you they should tire ? Joy with the innocent only is found, And innocence tends straight to holiest ground. If joy be the object you seek to gain, " Here we are all," as the song saith, " again Expression most happy — study each word, Classical, clear, and by no means absurd. j» But men are such pedants now, every day We must stand on our guard where'er we stray. Well, now branches off a fresh fragrant road, Where piety popular has abode. Just cast your eyes upwards ; that ancient tree Yields guidance immediate that all can see. For there, high on its trunk so vast and hoary, Stands the image that shines through Christian story ; :}(>2 TUT. MEBTIKG OF Tin. u\Y8. 'Tis tin' figure of Mary, to which bo* Those who pass to the centre humbly now. Will you - 1 ill thread darkness ami Leave it ti And cry out 'gainst thraldom, without a prayer f Alas! thai the poor Bhould ever be free Prom the sweet blissful bonds that here you The chapletj bent kn ■■-, the Low-murmur'd sigh, With hearts corresponding — all these arc nigh. [f such von admire and .-till would retain, It is the old faith that them will maintain ; 1 1 [sh it. ami you find to your trouble, That what you think solid is hut a bubble. For nation- unbelieving thai cover pray, Haw sometimes a sudden and awkward way Of kicking off rich men, the great and wise, With the old social ties, which each deni While tor the people there can he no love, Where they think never of Heaven above; < >r where they think proudly with lace demu Like some I need name not, fanatics pure. Now v.,- come to a road from churches call'd, in which some will turn as it appall'.l ; Aic I \ t . these pile-, hoary, why he bo cold, \ hi what • ilemn ami old r THE MEETING OP THE WATS. 303 But no one, I believe, is quite so obtuse As not to discern what is their true use. No altar is wanted, no aisles, no fire, If wanting be faith that still can inspire The persons who would, as in days of yore, Employ them, while finding yet somewhat more, To make them revere that tender strong will To which we owe things so beautiful still — Constructions breathing the lofty and kind, Both apt and congenial for each good mind, Heeding the poorest man coming to prayer, As well as the kinar who kneels with him there. *& But churches are beacons to guide with fire, And statesmen themselves profess to admire Publicity, worship, and high visions seen, With customs of life sidereal between. Bells, music, chants, incense, and days of fast, All these things they say should never be past- Thoroughly wise, as important as old, Their useful effects could never be told. These are more needful to men and to states, Than all our reforms and all our debates. Religion is fire ; but hid with a screen, Animal, sensual shades intervene. :;o| i in. mi i.i DTG "i i mi: w \ts. And what then hi -comes of the Christian light, Which in Catholic churches Bhines so bright? J -. Joubert may Boar with a poet's wing, But his grave flight points to the centra] spring. The artist*- road now leads us along, No theme much fitter for music and song; While beauty in colour, proportion, lines, Points plain to the centre where each still shin< That .ant be found at a different sourer. Though to countless far spring Alas ' for the student of hideous thin Who hies him to other and distant sprin Of forms unlovely, waywardly fond, 'I". aching beholders to fall and despond : What raises Art if it 1"- not the fire, Moulding the Bcen< a that rise higher and higher ,; Where faith with true wisdom guides the akill'd hand, Leaving three realms at the painter's command? As when the artist of words Bhow'd us clear, How goodness and pride will one day appear. 13 dcs, of our lif ich of the ->•• d II ii Art will still want Borne sure constant means i raise up t he mind, Spells with which faith v. ill grow always entwined THE MEETING OF THE WATS. 305 For Art is like Nature — and to succeed, Each more than Nature will certainly need. The child even, sporting free in his play, Will need from above some halo or ray, Under the influence of the white three, Faith first, and Hope too, and blest Charity ; While scenes of story require still more A light from truths which old Christians adore. But Art includes music with its great might, And ears, too, will need what's wanted by sight ; Oh, path of musicians ! how mystic, high Are the sky-clad visions thou passest by ! Divine thy science, it dwells in the soul, Others show parts, thou commandest the whole ; Kossini, lead on ! still compose and dare, To Heaven thou speedest — thy art is there. For death thou wilt find but a change of ground, Where thy conceptions with glory are found. What can by music teach mortals to steal Tones from above, heights of bliss to reveal, If it be not that faith, so pure and high, To shout the great triumph or prompt the sigh Of mortals then thinking as seraphs think, When their mind soars aloft or spirits will sink ? x ;JOG mm. MEETING OF THE WAYS. L.-t Palestrina ami still older Bong Of the great Gregory, through ages long, Direct austere hearts to the central view. While Mozart ami Haydn, and others new, Convince the musicians who must excel, Thai of these of this centre each must tell. Music, when winging the bou! thus to By, Directs to thoughts that throw open the >ky. Descending from thence t>> dwell with the fold jessing true faith the -aim- a- of old. Bui m>\\ to fresh tracks OUT Bteps we will turn. < >n one of which hearts that are hot oft burn. Bee then that green glade lonesome through flow* rs, Named yon perceive from Love's fragrant how. i Where jessamine bright, ami hyacinth pale, Ami delicate lily, named from the vale, Invite nil fair creatures from early spring, Their tributes of beauty ami love t" bring; Cm faith have admittance, aught to do here, Where, gravity 'lull, all Lovers must fear? Quick, hold back the boughs, oh, let her ent< r, < »f t rue love below she i- t he cent r< — I is faith thai makes maidens .-"ft a- heaven, man from Leavi 11. THE MEETING OE THE WATS. 307 No love where woman no worship has high From Him who breathes constant the mystic sigh : No true love where man is amerced of fire That lights the soul which can goodness desire. Love without God is mere selfishness, lust ; In that let no one that's human e'er trust. With God his links not wishing to sever, 'Tis charm past thought to last with him ever. Faith is diminishing, some now will say ; If so, on this earth will love longer stay ? For answer just mark the proud one and jilt, Or else he who woos her steep'd in worse guilt. Oh, if Nature were left alone and pure, Love by itself might remain and endure. But, faith now departing, her place soon fills With love's bitter foes, antagonist ills ; So that in brief if the latter you choose, You run a great risk the former to lose. Leaving this solitude, here is a way On which some companions right joyous stray, The road of friends named, cold after the last, Though somehow 'tis left with marks of the past ; For love on this causeway right oft will steal, And for both states the good clearly reveal. x 2 308 Tin: MEETING OF THE WAYB. " Friend" is n. synonym for Lover used, Fearing the latter word too much abused. ily the person who likes friendship's name II . for safe guidance direction the same. I know thai for greeting many hear friend, Wi pa the while fly to opposite end From thai which true faith still holds to the Bighl Of those who boast of their own friendship's might. i from Bystem fear not to leave -j fold, must, whate'er they weavi . . passions thai much deceive. J • they who from Bjstem fear not to leave The old true G J '.e subjed to p Trust, where tlie.se principles live not in man, I- what no heart that's experienced e'er can. The Lighl of the World dispels Buch trust hen. T - interest or passion, or mere pretence ; For under this lighl none Pagans can be, A- facte can soon prove, though with mystery. Pagans in vice yon may be as of yore, Bui I agans in virtue, no, never more. I ' endship exist b in full many a breasrl Thai -till wants the earnesl ofperfecl rest > yel there is wanting, 1 Know nol why, Whit 1 1 1 1 1 « .it in faith ean alone BUpplj , That something which makes of a friend a brother, I ' bond that a ean never smother, THE MEETING OF THE WATS. 309 Not like the friendships of sophists so sure, Which to their deaths could never endure. From strangers the road will next take its name, And here at least none will merit much blame, When saying their interest and their true goal Lie in the faith which makes so wide the soul, That it will reckon all men its brothers, Loving dear friends, yet strangers as others. Stranger and enemy once meant the same ; The noblest of old were steep'd in this shame. 'Twas faith that from such notions gave release, Of courtesy making a world and peace, So far as faith ruled the nations of old, As in all true ancient stories is told. What means this new word, now shouted so loud, Wherever faith ceases to guide the crowd — Nationality, sooth, which claims to be The privilege glorious of all lands free ? It means relapse to the old Pagan will, With each to the other race most hostile still. Then believe me, stranger, wouldst find a home Through whatever lands you will pass and roam, Look to the faith which united once all, And from that centre no nations e'er call. 310 rill' MEETING <>r Til! WATS. Now we descend to less lofty pase Ami named from those forming common clae 'I'" what do these owe their dignity, love. Save to the faith which from God comes above f 1 i rod sorvey tin' i.M fate of poor man. And then, bold, deny this fad if you can. Lo, now, a change in tin' trees of the wo \ growing here but for use understood. Commerce and industry close at our Bide, The fields of life active thus open wide ; In OUT times attractive with magio might, The steps (if all mortals they now invite. On all tie-- exist wants, aye, ami still must, 1 i sure principle thai men ran trust. \' 1 where can they find this Bafe steady rule. R ecting that of the Catholic school ? Which some will yet follow, Beeing nut n Winner .-till even all their hi I ts. Encouragement, justice, and a great end, These on the old faith will ever attend. w •■ citii - of ltalv old, Florence and Venice, \\ it h < tanos bold ; I. I. ndon, too, speak with Whittington vi x ; ' " Whit. Boi apt to surprise THE MEETING OP TIIE WATS. 311 Hear Paris, then, in her records of trade, See too still how prosperous all these were made, Proclaiming at least that faith can inspire The very same virtues merchants admire. Who, sad, when like him that poets descrihe, They sit, seem destined to sit with their tribe, Ever unhappy 1 , will see a light rise That can even there charm their careworn eyes. From workmen a paved way will now take name ; The centre you find is for them the same. To what did free labour owe beginning ? To faith in all work as Heaven winning. To what owes it still its true dignity, Its calm, patient, active, and great mystery ? To faith which can in a carpenter see Our Lord a poor 'prentice in Galilee. Cancel that faith, and the slave will return, With impotent rage his bosom will burn. I know that our workmen forget this truth, But there is the centre for lab'rihg youth. And truly I believe both the old and young Have dim twilight thoughts may never be sung, Inherited still from ages of old, Though plainly by few this ever is told. 1 " Sedet seternuruque sedebit infelix." I I 2 Tin: Mi'i.Tixi; OP Tin: WAT& Now we arrive at direction more sure, When baking the road that's named from the poor. Oh, ye poor, by the world bo fear'd and Boorn'd, What demon was by bis master Buborn'd To veil the great faith which made each poor thing Once honour'd and Berved as if 'twere a king, Representing in person, abject, low, God who can life evi rlasting bestow? The road passes buildings hoary with age, Picturesque, mediaeval, quaint, and sage, Vasl Bpacious halls, porches, works of high art, Whatever can ease and solace impart; Chapels so solemn and gardens bo fair, [mages holy all smiling round there, Attendants themaelvi s, true saints, they're bo kind, Dfinist'ring angels— all this here you find, Once founded by Princes in 'lays of yore, l:, Pontiffs or Abbots, or what's still moi I; me who hail risen through labours Long, Who knew all the woes that to men belong. Then pa uH bi r, 1 1" casi le 1 - bigh borne < )tl' belter t" i r men who roam. I in the rich man'- gate the wretched one turns, with love, and his bosom burns. THE MEETING OE THE WATS. 313 Delicate feelings are stamp' d on his face, For he has been used to look face to face On those who are taught to treat him so well, As in the high books which old manners tell. And now when he's wearied with toilsome way, He knows where to stop and where he can stay. Sometimes to weddings invited as guest, But always cnute sure of a placid rest. Hospitals, manners so kind, oh now speak ; Where is the centre for poor men to seek ? D'Esgrigny ! of thee I never shall tire, Nor of thy " rod" that's to keep off the fire Of heaven from blasting thy mirthful hall, Open to friends and to strangers and all — Conductor so old, so mystic and sure, Consisting in lodging the homeless poor. The beggar with thee has room at command, Cherish'd and fed by thy fair daughter's hand. Compare this with " Unions " cruel and stern ; Henceforth the centre for poor men discern, And bow to the faith which such thoughts sustains. While elsewhere the poor man so scorn'd complains. Now on trees at your side you see hung chains, Though the murmuring wind alone complains. 314 Till: MEETING OF in i: WAY8. A road through them here can hardly be fsra Time lias its vestiges nearly effaced; Still, though untrodden, a \ i -t a appears, Once form'd by cruelty, wreck'd hopes, t> For once o'er tliis moss-grown way pass'd all Some who should live now in bard's highest song; For captives and Blavea were once here in Bight, Directing to faith and its old bless'd light, Founding the orders with which hist'ry rin§ The glory of saints, of ci1 When to emancipate, ransom, and sa Tortures and death all the holy would brave. Forgotten all now, bui faith -lands supreme, To realize what lias long pass'd a dream, \nd serve for old signals still to proclaim That slav'ry had for it- centre the same, Like statin- antique, once serving for guide, \\ hose fingers immoveable, as you ride, A 11 . r thousands of years direct your face To road* that n r liave left a trace. lo! whal straight avenues, spacious, grand, W '1 lead from ili way where now "<• stand! \\ hat . . boes through darkness on every Bide, ith the tall trunk- with t'>)> branches ivide! THE MEETIXG OF THE WATS. 315 Magistrates, warriors, kings here in view, As on their three roads our steps we pursue, Direct as before to the one great spring Of justice and chivalry, still to bring To truest perfection the social state On which there is now such fruitless debate. For kingly rule by our faith guided right, Was not the vile sway of brute force and might. But freedom, Parliament, popular voice, We owe to the Catholic ancient choice ; Outraged, ensnared, and kept sometimes from view, Still somehow breaking; forth ever anew. *& I know there are thickets, vision to hide, Grown here of old time and still at your side ; But cruel, intolerant, tyrant things You never can trace up to central springs. Of fountains of freedom, love is source, But elsewhere old time had often recourse. A progress, true progress towards Christian light, Would keep things hideous for ever from sight. And think you that faith would retain their sway, Casting obstructions to bar still the way ? Faith knows of progress ; 'tis them to restrain ; Banish them truly ; she'll never complain. 316 TIIE MEETING OF Till: WAYS. What arc ymir laws. left w it limit that sure lighl Things that are looming in old Pagan night. War, left without the true knightly sweet grace, Can only disgust, and goodness eiUu Wanting the gleams which might still best atone For borrora that cause the desolate moan Of realms discouraged, reduced to a man, For cure of the woes that nothing i Lse can Remove from nations, desperate driven, All from rejecting counsels of Heaven. Let them have faith, to its fountains repair; Chivalry, just if.', and freedom arc there. J}ut who now approaches, intent on hook, Placid, and happy, and holy his look r Now peaceful charms descend on the wood, The road of the Priests being understood. O'er lawns of Asphodel realized here, Bright things transformed Beem now to be near; For fable itself always glows with more light, When heralds of truth hold a glass to Bight. I. " those win. revile them conic forth and r '1 heir hatred each .sound mind fills with Burpriai What would they substitute? these strange men \ ain. I it by laws or by force th< . - tin THE MEETING OF THE WATS. 317 The fabric so vast of the human state, Leaving all truth subject still to debate ? To be decided by states or by each, Who of his own some crude fancy would teach ? Thoughtless, ungrateful, or insensate man, It is not for thee to reverse the plan Of Him whose envoys, commission'd so high, About our stray steps should ever be nigh ; Teaching, sustaining, and catching their tone From Him above all, with nought of their own. You say, " This mission they never fulfill' d." Hist'ry denies this, howe'er you've will'd. No ; that great office has never yet fail'd ; Man has corrupted, but truth has prevail'd. The Church, with its organized system vast, Through the long ages that since Christ have pass'd, Directs true sages to that Credo old, Half of whose benefits never were told, Even when man, ever thoughtful, surveys Its contest protracted,' yielding his praise. Abruptly we merge on a dark old road Where still heathen learning has its abode. Here we find men to pagans returning, Thinking to find there some light yet burning, Tin. mi: n\.. or 1 11 r ways. To satisfy thirst for true wisdom high, As if in fche writings so long gone by Could be found a different centre for those Who faith obsolete uow madly sup]" Vain all such fancies, nowhere can be found Vistas to truth over more spurious ground. For first, an agreement mosl strange appears Iii them with whal 'i- both hopes and fears. Traditions primeval come bach to view. Proving all in our faith ancient, though new ; gleams thus concentrated oow L r i\e light, Dispersed, they Bhow'd only how dark was night In ages long prim- to the great rise Of truth now reveal'd clear to mortal eyi But then disaccordance is no less Bhown, The greatness of which human pride musl own. What things! Bcarce credible when they are read! What foul and dark spots through heaut v there spread ! Christian, one moment - a page ere we turn. With Bhame, horror-struck, for mankind we burn. v I if from the books we look to the men, Wha1 words for our Bad disappointment t hen ' Their wants and their merits alike are guide re the flow of the christian tide THE MEETING OF THE WATS. 319 Will waft to the port that for all men's best, Where Pagans themselves from the first found rest. Historians recall'd by the name found next Have the same counsel for some who're perplex'd. How many through ages now long since past Will look for some light that can guide and last ! History yields it both steady and sure, Disclosing the Church and its long course pure. Yes, pure, supernatural, sun-like light, Bursting through clouds, while itself is so bright, Surrounded with vapours — night if you will, But glorious, unearthly, clear ever still. Beligion depends on facts to be known By gath'ring what is in past story shown. Hist'ry, in consequence, drawn from pure wells, Main facts of old Catholicity tells. Unbroken the chain — Protesting all new, Such are the views on the path you pursue. Then, too, what surely oft kindles the spirit, How glorious a past does the old faith inherit ! The names alone sound with a tone so errand. You might think all minds they had at command. Direction is even supplied by men Who these great facts will recount to you then. 320 Tin. MirnvG of tiii: ways. Rash and fanciful inexact pag Show coruscations as each whim ragi But the attentive and cautions fair pen Points to the centre still guiding wise men, Feeling, like Fleury, in action repose — Great proof thai calmly and surely he knows . All thai is grand, by his moderate hand Showing how ] - he had at command. We sai Albert, we pass like thy knight of old, '.M blins and monsters, though ool bo hold. There are ill forms which can terrify mosl However at times men loudly may boast. So vice has it- \i.-ta- Mill open va>t. Through which many frighten'd ones civ now pass'd ; I would not at this turn lead yon to think, That at each in>tant your spirit should sink. 'C Qrasshoppers lighl thai will sing on the way. An ool fell dragons, whatever some Bui though we would soothe all absurd alarm, w hat i- .-nre to harm. THE MEETING OP THE WATS. 321 The conscience of man is not always dead, However sophistic may be the head : Kemorse and the aspect of crimes that fright Have guided some oft to the distant light Whence demons and bad men will fly away, Fearing to catch of that brightness a ray. The devil's denied on roads from him call'd, While others will believe in his might, appall'd, Without seeing cloven feet piercing shoes, Or aught that old Fancy to paint would choose ; For teeth still are visible far from false, Though looks are not true as he leads the waltz In fact, when they see him in bad men vile, From the centre no one can then beguile Those who adhere to the knowledge of man. Still ever the same since this state bearan. -c-' Besides, past all doubt, in the darkest breast, Innocence often will seem what is best : Nostalgies sublime, an instinct of home, Revisit at times those who farthest roam. 'Midst ominous clouds will pierce a bright ray, That will gleam on the sure and central way ; Perhaps not even through Virtue's own bower Shines it a moment with equal power. T 322 THE MEETING OF THE WAYS. Now to those thus ensnared the wild road turns — Victims of folly, for whom pity barns. Alas! for the tender one, Lonely, cold! Ala- ! for tlir prodigal, Beeming bold ! In the one, what depths since the fatal day, Winn, a child, from bex borne constrain'd to stray ' For constraint of some kind, and believe it well, Was the cause of her flight, when truth she'll tell Oh, ponder it, ponder it, harshness stern, Thai yon from her fall may a lesson learn! In the other, what pains of heart and son] Since he follow'd passions without control! No rhetoric this- I Bing what 1 know ; In aearly all cases t is even so. oh whither, through wastes thai are lone and drear. ("an they wander now without grief and fear? To 1 he < Ihurch which opens it- peaceful fold For those with more faults than ever were told. There n»u is their centre ; and so proceed Those who Borne lasting return Deed, Such is the guidance to fountains in view, Furnish'd by those who their lives ilm.s renew Bu1 deeper, yes, deeper the dark spreads round, i i,. road of the proud one found. THE MEETING OP THE WATS. 323 He passes like sound of the winter's breath, Himself an image of dulness and death — The forest before though solemn yet fair, Shows nothing but monsters around him there. Yet his state, his ways, his thoughts, and his face, Direct to a lovely and happy place — Where humbleness ever so sweet, profound, Can cast its bright spell on all that lies round. Pride has three tracks that are strictly its own, Seen in itself, in divisions wide sown ; At last in the sand where nought is believed, And men will think all but themselves deceived. Methinks of the first we need say no more, Stretching on, lonesome and sad as of yore. But force uprooting, dispersing like storms, On its next blown path destroys and deforms What the old faith once bestow'd on our race, Leaving alone with it misconstrued trace. Yet contradictions, perversions most plain, Can ways force for some their faith to sustain. For truth is so simple, so grand, and fair, That many the centre know can't be there : Besides, when truths are not wholly denied, A break or a vista can be descried t 2 '.V21 the HBXTnrci OP tiu: ways. By some who will try to make well agree Parts which disjointed and wrested they - All choosing of dogmas, call'd what you will. I bul relapse to antiquity stilL te a poei who lefl this sentence just, And that here is a vista, grant you must. The third of pride's tracks crosses -and uneven, Leads through dry wilds, and refresh'd not from 1 [eaven. Fix'd to deny, and believe nothing at all, 1. . the lad depths where Pride's legions will fall — I would not be rude, still Less harsh, unkind, \ to pity the wand'rings of each mind. I would not 1m- passionate, uncivil, \ . though again we should meei the devil Bui still, it is hard to be <;ihn and cool, eting a sophist like Solomon's fool. Who, forsooth, thinketh in his little brain That he <'an all laws of the world explain — ing bis fancies in vellum hound. All mysteries now pun' nonsense are found. Speculate, wonder, and doubt as you will. :ii.it i> common should ever guide still . \nd he who ! • ! his natural Light I top when we've said, an odd wighl THE MEETING OF THE WATS. 825 What strange inconceivable startling tones Issue from some of these dry musty bones ! Sidonius of old said plain of such men — " Impudence only remains with them then." These critics, misnamed by the French, have nests Of sophists like adders, of Nature pests. Why use expressions to insult so nigh ? Because, stung by sophists, souls wither, die. Age grows insensate, youth ceases to feel, We need not proceed much more to reveal. Rest assured, youngling, there's no one I cheat, When calling the gloom on this track complete — The ground buried deep under fallen leaves, Strewn by the force that the whirlwind weaves, The depths with dry branches all mouldering fill'd, The trunks without sap by the virus kill'd. And why should we fawn on the things that strive Of all future hopes ourselves to deprive ? That bid us no longer look to the sky, To see beyond clouds, to God's glory nigh, Those dear ones on earth whom we loved so well, That only by tears our love we can tell ? Avaunt then weak, maudlin, and sham appeal, When thieves from widows and orphans they steal. 326 Tin: Miinvi, 01 Tin: ways. 1 c widow'd and orphans we are below, When you Leave us deprived of all but woe. Minds quite devoted to doubt and deny To fountains of truth find it hard to fly. I yet, I repeat it. to point out the way, Common sense has placed signals Btill as we stray; For theories spun out to bridge o'er chasms, Still threatening those whose own thought 611s with spasms, To reason alone arc wild and absurd — Nothing more Billy can ever be heard; S offing at mysteries, and yet the first To conjure up wonders for which they thirsl Religion effacing, in all true Ben And t hen insist ing on one of pretence ; A.ping of Christians the customs and rhV Adapted to truth- their principle blights. Tip". Bay we should something adore and can; Ami since God exists cot, let'a worship man — Man ii< .1 existing exoept in the typ< — And dow for this wisdom the world is ripe! I; • ing whal a cannot disprove, l ring on nonsense their thought and their lovi l lit aking such pains to be bu1 b B( it . • think t he things that arc i,,,i • THE MEETE5TG OP THE WATS. 327 Proclaiming their thoughts to be deep and good, In a jargon by no one understood ; Still crowning with thorns things beauteous and true, To mangle, disfigure, hide them from view ; Casting their science like nets upon youth, With barbarous phrases concealing truth ; Though straining so recklessly, all their wit But ends in resources like "Devil's Bit." For what mankind adores, and ever will, They seek, as through spite, to snap off and kill : This is what yields to minds somewhat more sound Direction to roads o'er rational ground. For who can bike to feel himself sinking ? Though Hegel and Comte say it's his thinking — 'Tis darkness they give us, 'tis nougbt, 'tis death, Reason can henceforth dispense with their breath. And turn to the centre, showing true light, Guiding from these men's tempestuous night ; For tempests attend this darkness ere long, That ought to dictate a palinode song. What are the fruits of the Infidel's tree ? Peace, union, love, and pure humanity ? Nay, you but jest, my fine confident guide ; See what's behind you, or close at your side. 328 Tin; suiting of tiii: WAYS, War- and dissensioii, hate and confusion, These are fruits of your bc< ptic'a delusion; always quite ripe or Been from the first, But Booner or later likely to burst Prom sprigs that Beem'd promising beauties new, Such as the world war- destined to ?iewj Developing things thai were long conceal'd By as till fuller reveal'd. Nothing more easy than promises fair; And here all we Bee is how much Borne dare. Bui are we to turn from Faith, Bope, and Love, Prom life illumined from Heaven above, 'I'ii rest in shades of what looks like the tree Thai brought first to Bden man's misery P Religious fanatics in every a_r<- Would neutralize what we find at tliis sta^e; I know it. With war in heart or OH tongue, in to disprove what here has been sung, wliu will confound this pe-i [lent lire •li the light central thai love will inspire P A] othed wolves, all others may he. Bu1 the old white-robed are the guides (< what's had; And what can he worse than SadneM of man. . to Nat Jay if you can THE MEETING OP THE WATS. 329 The life of the vulgar is one long wail — A vague and deaf murmur, the same old tale ; Life in the sensitive is but a cry ; And life in the poet, a tuneful sigh 2 . The nut has its worm within the fair shell, So sadness within wild man's heart will dwell. Whence does the vale that's call'd from such sorrow, Direction for men when wand'ring borrow ? From the plain fact, that the remedy lies In the old faith from which each lost one flies. He talks of its gloom ; he may talk ever, But gladness from faith no man can sever. There's something besides in Catholic rite, Quite wondrous for cheering the downcast sprite ; It sheds a new light upon every thing, And of soft broken hearts repairs the wing. Distinctions each week, the Mass of each day, Variety causes whate'er some say ; While life, stript of this, monotonous grown, Hears amidst pleasures an undefined moan. Compare the persons and follow them home, You will see your centre, and no more roam. Now from misfortunes the path owes its rise, That this too leads there, need cause no surprise. 2 Lamartine. Tin: mii i WO "i l in: ww -. Calamity softens a Btony proud heart, Therefore the unction of faith can impart. He wImi is down-struck with nature alone, 'I'n no useful end seems to turn his groan. Besides, he seeks those who give what In- wants, 1 ofort a- \ ielded in Catholic haunt The common of martyrs yon see them pae Their only reeonrce is to cry, als I r what can tiny knew of suffering here g provided to modify fear Of all that futurity, dart ami stern. Waiting those who from grief could nothing learn? While those at tin- centre feel that mere woe Can a bright prospeei lure ever bestow, that there can he no road much more sun-. It' hut by stooping these clues you procure. In forests themselves you musi have perceived I low often tin- wildness can he relieved in the form, tl loin-, and ground ; : -•■ to., in life as we pass 'tis found. Coming to highways where wisdom presid <)n which still guidance more formal abides; For wisdom that'- false directs to the true, Placing a contrast most striking in view. THE MEETING OF THE WATS. 331 But pray how distinguish and make a choice ? Simply from judging by Nature's own voice ; For what responds to the words from the Mount, It now feels must flow from the central fount. In vain you limit the object of man, Placing chief good in his brief mortal span ; In vain from the sophists you catch your tone, Nature will you and your notions disown. For Nature will seek still the spaces vast Through which Joubert sported, and flew, and pass'd, Open, and flooded with oceans of light, Where joy will compensate for dazzled sight, An atom in radiance that cheers his soul, Though nothing distinct is seen or in whole. Man with true joy will expand those bright wings Of which that philosopher sweetly sings, From brightness to brightness wheeling to soar, Till in death is light that lasts evermore. If here all time wisdom be rest in light, That of the Catholic must be in sight. There is effulgence in which souls can fly, Never to doubt, or to falter, or sigh, Space, true, which no mortal eyes can e'er scan, But the joy, and life, and last end of man. 332 tii nx<; or Tin: WAYS Thus floating through life-feeding, lustrous air, He - es but that which is wondrous and fair, While instinct proclaims he lias found the way To wing hie flight later to endless day. ' ready at call, like falcon on high, A.1 the first Bignal that he can descry, He follows the fhis master's will, Ami lights meek on the hand, a Bervant still. There i 1 n how faith honours the v. tnsull f reason how loud defii How boundless the Bcope "t" its mental range, How deep, how pacific, to nothing Btrang \ ' milate ami make its own Whate'er of useful around it has grown, Xot a- an afterthought, dy ami constrain'd, Hut true to principle always maintain'd ; How it can take up ami perfect the things Which - i- ace as t titrates unwilling brings ; In brief, how, embracing all truth ami good, i future is not e'en yet understood. The Bible itself has a i rack to name, Where the direction is always the same. ' the text, when the centre's hid, Shows those who best USe it ami ever did THE MEETING OF THE WATS. 333 To whom does it point for comments the best ? To Catholic writers from whom the rest Do nought but borrow, concealing their theft From those who are of its sense bereft. Besides, than its spirit, and letter, and text, No better signal for those who're perplex'd. Let them mark what a contrast shows the book, According to which of these ways they look. Speeding to faith, which first gave it to man, How truly divine its limitless span ! Recede from that light, and a text remains Which every folly that's human sustains. Wild rovers see in the Bible but things Which arm their minds with sharp cruel stings, Wars and revolt, men predestined to fall, Calvin foreshadow'd, and inhuman all; While those who pursue it with central light, Show a great contrast most glorious and bright — Sweet words of " good news " upon every page, Still suited to minds at every stage ; Ways patriarchal, most simple and mild, To edify age, enrapture the child ; Wa}'s that the faith too can ever inspire, All that the wisest will love and admire. 33 1 Till'. Ml i: II \i. HI' Till. WATS. Tlir key in the Bible onlj is round At yonder bright fountain in centra] ground. Contemplative* then give Dame to a way Which leads to true faith in the darkest daj For Bome &om life's troubles always Beek rest In thinking of matters gravest ami 1 And tin' deeper nun think, wishing tor peace, The surer from error they find release. Gravity, rising from Bource that is pure, Will make each path not merely bright, hut suit , For l>riu r ht aess conducts to the source of light, \ 1 central truth then must be within Bight. Avenues named here from virtues divine I to whi re faith will most gloriously shine. What means distinction in virtue, which all Must 1"' divine as its phaa hi re yon rail? True, > •_■!•« >w . When this with its beauty ami force is seen, Tin' root must be riew'd ami cherish'd, 1 ween. i Btory, with what's seen each day, • foi eptii with res job I o jaj ; I h our judgments are subject to chang Their »ph< bters the moral rang* THE MEETING OF THE WATS. 335 Though, not as in regions of science, here Cause for revision may often appear ; Though starting afresh sometimes may be well, In order with time the strict truth to tell, There still are, I believe, says a cautious man 3 , Who seeks with exactness all things to scan, Conclusions acquired and fix'd to find, Even where questions are all of this kind, Yes, demonstrations which no time can spoil, And from which no mind can justly recoil, To no change subject, like sciences pure, But such as must still for ever endure. The science of morals, understood well, And justly applied, has facts then to tell, Definitive judgments that nought can change, As in mathematics and their strict range. And such irreversible things are when Some virtues divine are ascribed to men. Sanctity Catholic, seen in the saints, Age after age free from all worldly taints — Moral result, and confined to that pale Where passions in masks will never prevail — 'Tis clear as the sunlight in summer sky, That this exceeds Nature, can never die. 3 Ste. Beuve. 336 Tin: MEETING 01 Tin: w LI Then follow its fibres beneath the ground, Ami the central tree is sure to be found ; While all that creeps near it ends hut in dust, Like fruit of tin' Dead Sea no one can trust. "i • mark how this road now sharply will turn. To shut out the true ami with false light hum ; For gloomy ascetics murmur all day, Pretending t . » faU you homage pay, When what i> human you cherish in heart, Ami would, where it's due, affection impart. They teach you u> feel a deep love for none, N iy that in this way Heaven 18 won. "i i never OOUld think how greal i- their zeal. The\ tell you, least trifles can sin reveal : That In' who despises rant and grimace I la- marks of t i, demon Btamp'd on his fai I j spoiling of all 1 1 1 i i . u r - the highest . b leaving due limit- n< ver at r< Knt icing ih'- rich t<> them to resort, Ami preaching retreat while living at Court, sharp and vindictive, ami full ol intrigui Win!.' In, mi. 1 t,, each other with Becrei leagn 1 'i : iit \ mii can't .-. 6 the old faith with blest charity . THE MEETING OF THE WATS. 337 But smiles of true saints, with free easy air, Can soon make amends, and damage repair ; Whate'er fanatics and stoics may say, Letting light stream on you wholesome and gay ; Still thinking the best of all whom they see, No matter what all their failings may be, And Heaven's own cause not aping to serve By teaching from honour and right to swerve ; Content with the fervour that faith inspires, Not daring to offer up other fires. O Priests of sweet France, your portraits are here, Thou dear Curate of Molphe, I see thee near — The gayest, freest, the wisest of men — The world adores thy holiness then. These are the safe guides who point out the road, Still riding in light as they ever rode. With Mariane's eyes and those of Dorine, To laugh at th' others we hold it no sin ; Though when we but hear their words counted sage, We own that we inwardly burn with rage. Natural, humanized virtue once more On its own road will faith central restore ; Showing that all things to true hearts most dear From Catholic faith have nothing to fear. z 388 tin: mi i n\ ' tin: ways. For this prescribes and will ever pronounce, Whate'er some ignorant zealots announce, Thai they renew The life that is true, of goodness the goal, Bes1 L r ii't of Heaven — the life ofthe soul. So if of virtue's reward we would Bpeak, It is from tl Id faith you all must seek i Hope constant, Bteady, true gladness of heart, Sure of the rest when from life you depart II' ad books of sages from firs! to the Is I ^ ou find thus by faith thai all are Burpass'd, B ither thai nothing deserves in our scroll M • • in, but what thus k< eps life In the soul. THE MEETING OP THE WATS. 339 At this point we come to shades of retreat, Where is found always the shy cloister'd seat ; For old and new Pagans have been inclined Under some name to seek rest for their mind, Avoiding all observation of men, Hoping perfection to realize then. Solitude too, without superstition, Seems a great object some hearts are set on. Pythagoras, shall I cite him who knew Where the deepest perceptions often grew ? Who his gravest disciples always told To seek the wild desert where echoes roll'd. Tusculum, Tibur, Salone, can say How worshippers solitude can repay ; 'Tis nature that sends men upon this road, Where genius so thoughtful has often strode. What are the vistas for all thus disposed To see the great centre which is proposed ? These vistas are wide, romantic, and old, In numbers exceeding what can be told. First, central truth provides what is best For all who are seeking religious rest. Of hermits and monks, and their hoary piles, We might sing and beguile our weary miles. z 2 340 Tin: \im:ti>'0 of Tin: ways. I>ut thus much should always rest in your mind, For these in the old faith best mis men find. Again, through the darkness of trees so tall, Au echo is call'd up that might appal Hark tu the Bolemn and not distant bell, Tolling at times with a deep fitful swell! Shortly before us will rise the grey spin With cloisters thai every artist admires, While' the old legend or story, though new, Enhancing the interest of all you view, Will prove what beneficent things and great An i-nd the Long course of this mystic Btate. I wisdom and prudence of rule most old, Above all results which no one, though bold, ('an question or rob of well-earn'd glory, ii'd to true deeds as found in story, M ist form an avenue, noble, wide, With scenery solemn on every side. Which lead- tu tin- centre in Christian E&omi < m" all Mnit by the counsels only home. I or what do ravings monastic proclaim r That . Isewhere these virtues end but in Bhame . While stedfast and clinging to Peter's chair, \\ ii.it ail men should honour will be found there THE MEETING OF THE WATS. 341 Diffusing more peace through the world around, With learning such as in each age is found ; Tilling the earth too and making it yield What grew not before in garden or field, Furnishing great men, sagacious and strong, To shelter the weak from harshness and wrong, Freeing the serfs and employing the youth, Keeping society docile to truth, Raising the poor and redeeming the slaves, Teaching the truth which enlightens and saves — Results such as these can still show us plain That here was no sloth to make men complain, No state Asiatic, dreamy and fond, Such as with others creates the sole bond — Can aid us to guess or find out the way Where what is perfect of this kind will stay. Their enemies too, their true type once known, Easily guide by a way of their own ; For what yields hatred in minds temper'd so, Must be what's right. Let them ever shout, No. But now through the wood we nearly have pass'd Evening sheds gleams, and the end comes at last ; Streaks of bright glory illumine the sky, As if to denote the centre is nigh. ::r_' thi: miitim, 01 tiii: w ws. The trees have now real ; the winds die away, It i> that we have not farther to stray: Advancing through life, the road of old age Yields for all passing a Bure-guided Btage. For now there are shades which specially wait To mar and to cloud all this wearied state — And when it is found the old faith can chase Vices and phantoms that age will defi Light will not fail to stream on the centre, \- when in childhood the wood we enter; V lasi friend, life becomes then A hymn of affection overflowing for men ; With love and tenderness it can't explain, [tjoys t'"i- th.ir gladness, !_ r rieves tor their pain ; In love with their comelineS8, age can't tire. While watching their manners, all to admire. No disenchantment spreads now over all. Such a- yars left to Nature will befall, While dinging to lite with Btrange insane fears, The closer as each fund tie disappears. Faith on our life here below sheds a charm, And yet it can ward off from age this harm, By keeping joys of the future in Bight, And even on earth diffusing their light. i m t hi- final hop.- a\ e -i ill in reserve, of the present can't cause it to swerve. < »i a long course, to,,, it needs must he tired ; And then, with sole nrigh for heaven inspired, THE MEETING OP THE WATS. 345 It speeds to the centre, if not before, And so wanders, errs, and mistakes no more. The last road offers a guidance as well, When of death and of tombs it seems to tell. Now the funeral chant is heard to sound Through the shrubs and flowers that deck the ground. On one side alone the forest seems dark, Where fungi, mildew, and dark weeds you mark ; But yonder, where crosses rising are seen, The way is still hopeful with outward sheen ; For a broad vista, and gloriously bright, Here opens inviting to central light. So, my sensitive youth, at last you're led To hillocks where mortals must rest their head ; The plants of rich hues, and tall cypress spires, Bend to the zephyr which love then inspires. As if even graves can somehow reveal The hope which will o'er the softest heart steal ; Man is by nature so kneaded of earth, Whence in fair Eden his race had its birth, That do what he will to soar o'er that mould, It still yields him joys for which he's not cold: He loves its perfume when he tills the ground. What is a palace to the things there found ? :\ 10 i in. mi i 1 1 v ( ; or lin. w ws. Its plants, its fruits, its Bweel flowers or grass, All dark interiors will ever surpass : For poor wearied limbs to Hi' in that breast, Though immortal, tin' thoughl ran yield him rest. So tar we 0WI1 that our instinct can guide, Though mi direct signals stand by our side; But where arc vistas that Lead thee from here To the truth central? They open at fear Which nature alone has ever of death. Thinking of sighs and of short thick-drawn breath And then gees how faith can work a great change, And even in death through heaven's light range. For the central fountain of life stands high, And no great mortal fears to that come nigh. Are there earthquakes in Alps? Virgil says, No; Such trembling belongs to the mind that's low. Friend, have you Been a dear loved maiden part, i us and Mary inscribed in her heart P I iv. it . I saw a daughter thus leave i Henceforth no changes on earth can deceive, < >r blind my eyes to the mystical chain Which raises such souls to a life again. i death is no winter that comes to tread i to strew the uan leaves cold on thy head. 317 THE MEETING OE THE WATS. 'Tis spring that arrives with softness of love, To waft thee to bloom for ever above. But looking near us, to what lies below, Anxious to reach the same centre you grow. For somehow, its beams can blend into one Death and the light by which heaven is won. Life and its change are mix'd in one glory, Both form one Drama — one sweet story. Then, too, death's adjuncts may even be view'd As cheerful, with all needless gloom eschew'd : For thus while gently and upwards you rise, To the last Humanity soothes your eyes. No stern flashes from fanatic's will, But love's softest beams will shine on you still ; With faith, you have guardians human and kind, Indulgent to weakness creeping on mind, Ready to hold up the cross to the eye, But tender to catch and pity the sigh, For heaven's bright glory angels to guide, For Nature that weeps but friends at your side. But still, once for all, whatever I sing Is a plain, ancient, well-understood thing, Never implying delusive fierce fire, Blazing to sublimate what we admire ; 348 Tin. mi:i:ting of tiie ways. Changing its form, and its spirit . and Bound, Raging to poison the wholesomest ground. The centra ia Faith, the pure and the old, And it- streams not such as sciolists hold Will pretend to draw from its holy Bpring, When still it is only themselves they bring. But nothing of this, in its new false course, Can 1"- traced to flow from the central Bource. The last aet finish'd, the spirit has fled ; Faith remains active to bury the dead, With rite that chases remaining las! fes While leaving to flow the fountain of tears. Then tombs and epitaphs need not deplore, When form'd by faith as in ages of yorej For Bee bow it Bhines through the vault or sod, To raise all hearts t<> the centre in God. 1 > Christ ' what impressions rise on the mind, When Catholic Bymbols on gravi a you And! ■- lKS II IP. I I ;liis did 1 1" »t suffice to quench bis tbii In summer heat and in the winter cold, At doors of libraries lie was the first To enter and distract the guardians old, Demanding t ". » I i . > ^ then but little read. Or quaint rare volumes buried tar on high . O'er which, with hand for cushion to his head. 1 le felt a rapture or he heaved a mltIi. Then to transcribe the gay or solemn pag He had his foolscap to his elbow near. On which he copied with a perfect rage, Of cold intense without a moment's fear. A foray vow'd, ('twas on the Pont Royal, Suggested suddenly, he knew Dot how.) At once resolving soon to make a trial. To join his fragments was his l>usine this 1 [oraoe only could invii . For all these dainties, as his times are old, Ami few can equal his artistic might. Well, hear the answers, now hut six or Beven : " Your charming volume came into my hand Some lew days past : I -liall he in heaven When a spare moment 1 have at command. " I keep it for the count ry and t lie field You know that here I'm always in a hurry ; Tin ' ! D taste uliat I am sure it \ Ields, I tut here is ever something me to flurr Wliai .an more flatter? Hut yet, not at ea 'I bi nee to another friend lie makes his way. N\ ho tells liim how- In- knows that it muti pies Though what i- in it y< I he cann< I THE PLEASURES OP AUTHORSHIP. 359 Another has it, thanks quite overflow ; But people tease him with such fond demands, Ask'd if he's read it. Needs must he say no. So at his side, uncut, the book still stands. Another would devour it, yes, quite all, The moment he received it, when behold ! To Paris on to-morrow there's a call, So the new book is read just as the old. Another, drawing in his breath, much fears, The age to Poets little is inclined. A book like this, he says, when it appears, A sale he's sure can hardly ever find. " I thank you greatly," still another cries, " Your lovely book is never left to me, I still demand it, but each thief denies ;" While on his shelf at rest you can it see. " Your book is here," says yet another friend, " Hem ! I regard it with intensest pleasure ; But a whole month at Hastings I must spend, Till my return, hem ! I lose your treasure." So one by one such hopes all fade away, The scribbling hero-poet may lament. What more ? 'Tis printed ! it remains to pay The bill portentous — and now all is spent. Yet still to a brave oarsman he will speed, One mirthful, somewhat slily, all his life ; Silent at first, he gravely fails at need — " The book not read, but handed to his wife." 3G0 THE PLEASURES 01 LUTHOSSHZP. A pause ensues, of course he means to say. At least she finds it worth Borne admiration: Alas! with BUCh hopes fed, 'tis vain to stay. The Bubject dropp'd, he talks aboni the nation. In time an old friend comes, a poel horn ; At once with smiles sinister he commences — Smiles that but ill conceal the inward scorn, Words to commend, but clearlj all pretenei Allow me to congratulate yon. friend, Becoming thus at last a child of song. of course on yon dors not depend ; r •!• that. 1 G or, youll have to wait too loi v last he finds Borne victim who has read it ; ■• Well, indeed, 3 es, but then \<>n know that pr Is what 1 best like; verses, to nrj wit, Ought to 1"- always first-rate, I suppoe Of course 1 do not mean yours don't excel; Pray whom had you in view in suoh a linei Ah. I perceive,— yon do not mean to tell." He's answer'd thus, while Polly will divine It is tin' cause h,- serves that makes them frOWU, And led against him such rankling displeasur Hi • i nkc he merits now a martj r's crown, When all their fury he will Beek to measure. <>h. Folly's balm for blows implanted well ! To think they prove his merit, not his shame; n the spectators only truth u ill tell. Inflicting on him their satiric blame, THE PLEASURES OF AUTHORSHIP. 361 Ironically crying, " What a store Of poet's genius in the public now !" Citing one line detach'd, and then no more, To prove that each must to their sentence bow. One says, " Mere echoes of some lyrics known ;" Another, " 'Tis not poetry, but prose." And yet an echo must retain a tone Of sound to which it an existence owes. Pray what in music greater pleasure yields, Than variations of a well-known air ? Then take a flower from an author's fields, Somehow 'tis new, though its known tints are there. Still they repeat, " You've not a notion rough Of verse ; it would be idle to prolong Our mention of such vapid, senseless stuff, It would be compliment to call it song." As if for knocks applied with open aim, One had a right their compliments to hear, As if one thought that they would confer fame, For wanting them to look at things too near. Such is at least our champion's quick reply, Quixotic-like, insensible to blows, When all men thought to see him gasp and die, Such the contentment Folly then bestows. 362 Till. PLEASURES OP \l llloKsilIP. Enchanters mere, he cries without a pause, Wind other issue could I e'er expect? Prostrate I am, but for a noble caus . I owe my fall to your great potent Beet." Still he would round his hobby ever pry, To seek Borne other cause of his defeat, .Inst as great Mavera casts a piercing eye Ovrr soinc founder' d charger's legs and feet. So other ground, he thinks, of grave offence, Lay in his use of plain familiar Bpeech. This Hi* y object to, he Bays, with pretence, The secret 1m ing he would g Iness reach, They Buffer others to tell ;ill bo plain, Nm phrase too Bimple if the Bense be bad, Of common words they never then complain, Searing of Juan and his wildness mad. But when the game Beems useful for the heart, BCere doggerel then is found, their gentlest word For each familiar line at which they start. Pronouncing all they hear to 1'" absurd. Now this he rails a wrong, fallacious measure ; Rejecl ing it , he praj b to be excused, t he same homely Btj le should si ill \ ield pleasure. Unless the judge's part 1"- Bore abused. Why, asks he, fancy, common weapons free, Sueli true poetic lances used i>;ivs thai Pope and Dryden, at a pinch, fan here ami there demonstrate this enough. True, unlike Virgil, he would not defame Things, lor lark of words to keep the measure; A- when poor Lupin " sad " he chose to name, For no just cause, but just for metre's pleasure. For reason such no truth would he forsake, So there's the sentence gone forth to the world ; Prom dreaming great things be is now awake. Ami from the pinnacle of bope quite burl'd. Y. t Polly -till has comfoii for bis breast, Since thus he thinks he can explain their rage; 1 n I heir |>o>it ion he'd be like the rest , Aiel hold to Bcorners the detested page. For what more natural can he conceive, Than stronu r e-t wishes to consign to shame Him who they think hut labours to deci The false to glorify, ami truth to blami JTei •>) li. our author'- folly WOUnd Through hi- wound's month 1 elf-love to blame Those scribes from whom he will receive a blow, meant with g 1 intention to reclaim. THE PLEASUBES OF AUTHORSHIP. 365 Unlike Oronte, and loving what's sincere, Perhaps he thinks that genius is less rough ; But truth, however told, must still be dear, No less when it inflicts on him rebuff. Yet, final pleasure ! he can turn his lance, And cool against all critics boldly ride ; " Then learn," he says, " that energy's advance Doth not scare him who can such shocks deride. For talent may to muscle owe a fall ; Without a soul, the critic follows trade, Heeding the market's praise as Syren's call, And taking only money current made. " We measure palaces along the ground ; From East to West, and North and South they lie ; For books you should another way have found, And placed your fines but upwards to the sky 1 . Construct as if all gusts of air must last, Deem genius what from earth alone you steal ; Dispraise all wisdom gather' d from the past, But from your judgments souls will yet appeal. " There are still diamonds rough and bars of gold, So more you need than your commercial scales. It is not merely traders' language bold, That stamps the metal where true taste pre- vails. 1 Joubert. :JGG THE PLEAS l!! is OF AUTHORSHIP. No delieaey ! Literature ends. 'i . u may have force and yel a certain art, Great nerve, and bile, and blood, as pride of! Bpends, liut, needed elsewhere, from these lists depart." Such the lasi pleasure for our prostrate knight, At least lie rode and fought the live-long daj : His arms all plain and venom'd with no spite, II- protesl he declares) and limps away. \.,- crest-fallen either; stalking from the field, He still has visions floating in the sky. His course, a failure, still may elsewhere yield What he deserves not when he comes to die. Bui Muses! cease the plaintive lyre, Alas, it is no1 tears poor authors Bee, Hut as if downright mirth it could inspire, In laughing at them all will now agree. I. laughter pea] : but -till they nothing tear, Undaunted confidence holds up their heart ; Aha-hM at leasl they never will appear, I '.it take the moral ere 1 now depart. Erasmus once In praise of Folly wrote ; All that he says is pleasanl and quite true; authors' silly ways he does no1 note, ring perhaps you'd say himself he drew < Emitting thus the chief and foremost thing, Tl etting Polly's choicest food, 1 i t be | > I : i \ of Lear \\ ithoul t he king, a silence half it g od. THE PLEASURES OF AUTHORSHIP. 367 For mark, from authors' folly what must flow ; No kind can ever more prolific be, Than this so harmless which is found to grow, Ceaseless, abundant, as you see in me. Others in peace may keep their folly's store, While he, elated with his own dear whim, Leaves them all tranquil and purloins no more The whims of others, folly pure for him. Others their follies will bring forth to light, Constraining all to view them on their way, An author's folly need afflict no sight, In fact he only shows it when you pay. Close but his book, or elsewhere turn your eyes-, At least his folly will not cost a tear ; With all who see him he can pass for wise, His worst offences cannot then appear. And all the while no greater mischief he Devises, works, effects throughout the land ; And what a great good this itself can be, You who reflect can clearly understand. One mar-plot less, one vain intriguing wretch, Changed to a harmless, self-contented wight, Just fancy, and your whole conception stretch, The good is positive to purblind sight. Then do for ever let such folly reign ; 'Tis like the useful bird in wood and field ; Your critics without souls, like boors, complain, But public service it will ever yield ; seheni: HOI its. Consuming noxious tilings thai would devour More than the blossoms or the Leaves on tr True pests removing from each private bower, At Leasi from one foe it such circles IV. SERENE EOURS. 'I'm. world is —no matter what ; let it spin, Bui Leave it an Instant and llv ; There evi r Le Bilence quite oear us to win, Where its humming we can defy ; In feelings alone finding ample defence Against all that assails our ears with pretence. The eagle can Boar to the blue mountain Bteep, The swan to Its Lslel can float, Tiny wren from its aesi on the branch can peep, And we can escape -in our boal ; While before and around we see what we love. Changing noises of earth for tones from abov < >n the Bhore reigns good humour in men ami b i • still there's such chaffing and play, Thai the rich English gifl which there each enjoys 1 n't prevail on t he .• wans t.i sta_\ . remain in the mock BghL of mine and thine, There are hour- in Bummer when tiny decline SEBENE HOUES. 369 We men, too, are bipeds that like the gay throng, Though, in truth, we are sometimes shy, And prefer to hear warbled a sweet little song, Quite contented with seeing pass by In the blue stream of barges, or lined on shore, Far off, those who nearer delight us no more. The lowly, I know it, have no cause to fly From the streets and the busy crowd, For nought that confronts their careless glad eye Will frighten or make them grow proud ; A step or a hand-basket yielding a seat, While sly they can chat with a gay comrade sweet. A pigeon, tame raven, a dog, or a cat, Proves a theme for frolic so gay ; While joyous or steady, on this thing or that, They could talk the whole live-long day. For having to keep up no cumbersome state, E'en at shop doors they think and can contemplate. But we, we, O ye Muses ! in station such That fills us with silly vain fears, Must nothing that's common be e'er seen to touch, To derogate in what appears — As stuck-up we saunter on through the rich train, Fellow-slaves yet inflicting mutual pain. For all pride will breed pride, and folly folly, Each striving to hit the right thing — B b 370 SBBSCTB HOXTBS. With Badness feeding our dull melancholy, Gluing fast tin- poor soul's sick wing Su as never to rise above circumstance, < >r train our heart gaily to Bing oi ;.■ '. lance. Let us Leave all the din, and .mi Let us speed to the limpid w On which there is rest for a momenl With nothing to dread or to In-.. No harsh disaccordanoe in aught thai With whatever we love so mysteriously. Hit ih'' Like the eagle, companionless, We speed all alone and dreary, For smh solitude L, r rini is both proud and 1 And we i 1 what cannot weary — The tones and the looks that iv\,;d a Boft heal . Which the Lost joys of Eden again impart. wans thai love mankind will thus rel 1 tut in pair- t o some rushy ] Of the wherries and touters and noise they tire And seek Borne green hiding-place cool, Sequester'd, all Bilent, translucid, \> t near. In which the bright tints of the Bkj will appear. I. ' n- dwell with the reeds when we cease to row, Live-long daj - I there could afford l watching the pace of the cows so alow \ t be ford. SERENE HOURS. 371 'Tis music to hear but the clear ripple pass Through cresses that bend to the feet of the lass. Oh ! what peace on the Thames, as we glide along By the islands and osiers green, Where the only sound heard is a faint soft song, And nothing but beauty is seen In the weeds of the bank and the water flowers, In the tall bending reeds, too, that make such bowers. i€ famed schools be honour'd, and college as well ; All right, when in both you are taught ; lut if you would have me a small secret tell, 'Tis the boat that's the place for thought : \s it floats down the stream or rests by the shore, ; ured, yet tranquil, you think all the more. \nd your thought in such moments no limit knows; Though the true, and the good, and fair, \xe still the distinctions the schoolman bestows, But thing:- undivided are there. For leisn^ deliver'd from all that deceives, A. mirror mysterious both raises and leaves. Now a, sense of the beautiful comes like spring ; Then the spirit of youth returns ; Of Nature in all her true features we sing, While the heart glad with pleasure burns, Feeling sure that joy was intended to flow As a tonic at times in this life below. b b 2 :i7li sehim; BOUBB. Then, too, as destructive of all that's ser Nature feels from vice it should tly. While from worldliness, too, bo lofty and mean, We recoil, although aoi knowing why. Unless that through instinct we know it must kill The germ of each coble and generous will. So when such is the tone of this peaceful hour, I - the whole human race we Love ; The brown boat or the hank is a lover's bower For all who are taughl Prom above To like those who pass just as dearesl broth An 1 to curse whatever this feeling sniothi r "6 TU then woman appears as from God's own hand, Created to bless and to guidi — To be merry, and holy, and sweet, and bland, And to sit just so by our side, I.' straining what Is nol both beauteous and good, A^ by Nature perceived, and so understood. Then, too, what like flowers we love from the heart I - common, free, daily for ea< h; And thinking of this will a charm impart, And the love of what's common teach — That taste which to real true genius belongs I . wis. loin of BOhools while the BWectni BB of BOngS. D ' ■. I i ! . in feeling's brighl ooblesl pure glow, mi ' un. SEBENE HOUES. 373 Of tolerance also, while with them will grow What can our loved country sustain — Sweet loyal contentment, and high ardent zeal For the peace and the good of the common weal. But tolerance here merits more than a word, So gentle, indulgent, and sweet, From whose lips no harsh epithet ever is heard, But pity that looks like deceit, As when Fenelon plain words would not employ For faults he ascribed to the long war of Troy. But mind reigns triumphantly, ruling us then, Yet humble, when questions too deep Would attempt to transgress the limits of men, By a wild path of danger steep. We turn from pedantry and men over wise, Though too narrow in view well to criticize. "O' Then 'tis now that we feel how shallow are those Who pretend they can all things know ; Omniscient, I think, they would have us suppose All those who have words to bestow ; As if always ignorance should not be found In those whose instruction is solid and sound, Instead of an ignorance haughty and loud, Of itself, too, quite unaware — Instead of a knowledge most fearfully proud, Which no doubt of itself can bear — b b 3 +- 37 I BBB3 83 HOI I Both often the offspring of modem Bchools, Where a Bcorn < «t* i>a>t timi sever rules. The Thames boasts of pupils who all this reverse, With ignorance ready to float) Hut aware < if it too, madejust the inverse With knowledge the while in their boat ; Of which they're unconscious while passing along, With joys that to old-fashion'd training beli Yet greedy of knowledge, with frank open tune. They love and \\ ill fondl) respect Those who they think mosl instruction nun. Ami from whom they true fruits expect, Still glowing with ardour for what may be best, But peaceful and leaving all others at n \ • tyrants imposing their tastes and loves On all who around them are then l'.ui of him who a different type approvi Judging ever impart Lai, fair, Reaping felicity calm, constant, and true, From what they know not, and from what the\ we knew. Oh, sports of gay youth on the sparkling stream. I I'.v. Berene 3 ou can make t he bouI, Thus causing dull pedants to pass like a dream < »r t he clouds thai from daw n \\ ill roll ; - of azure deep O'er si 1 glory that darkness sweep ' SERENE HOURS. 375 But if man is to feel a true happy rest, From some errors he must be clear, Imbued, too, with what is the brightest and best, And with no false religion near ; Whether it springs up from excess in what's right Or, in way more direct, from delusive light. For such piety, harsh, and gloomy, and stern, Would then soon put to flight each joy; And protesting 'gainst truth, you soon would discern How the weapons you must employ Are all more adapted for daily mad strife, Than for training and shielding a holy life. So while careless at ease thus, and feeling blest, Still you drift in your tiny boat, 'Tis to shores where is grown the balm of true rest, You will feel yourself drawn to float, Where the old rock of faith invites your poor feet, So crown'd then with what is both glorious and sweet. But now all the while, too, how distant and faint Die away harsh echoes that rend The hearts that abhor the dark, vile, cruel taint That oft needlessly pains a friend, By leaving the holy and sweet wisest line That will the true moderate always define. So bathed in the bliss of sweet Nature around, Where in each smallest thing that you see, 378 SBBXHl ttOl I The measure aye holding, just medium is found. Still strong, yet with Bofl mystery; Then the wrath of immoderate man appears But a poisonous fountain of orimes and tears. JTet, while all these soft holy affections ^row — Oh, there may be a bleeding heart ; And soiw tears may be ready to overflow, For tin' dearest of friends must part ' And death may have enter'd a sweet happy home, And Bent you, like me, thus to think and to roam. Ah will, then at last, if not ever before, X..u resign'd t<>". you feel your soul ; Th< re above, you well know that team flow no more, Where i> seen with Buohjoy the whole. All the griefs that afflicted you fled and past, M r ly -t i-] »s to tin- joy that will ever last. No sorrow our nature can ever assail, That yieldeth not also a Bpring Of feelings in which the sublime can prevail With high beauty our souls to \\inu r - Affliction, layi Joubert, joys will not destroy, [frightlj to u-.' it our thoughts we employ. Oh, plenitude 1 vision already oomplet 1 '• i be true faith to you 1 1ms given, What have you on earth now with terror to meet, When for you there remains but BeavenP SERENE HOURS. 377 To love the good God and the Father of all, And in mind at His feet with your hopes to fall. What exists that men grieving can wish for more, Than in love to hathe their fond hearts In that great deep love which can fully restore All that never again departs ? 'Tis a hymn that will rise from the sparkling stream, For time, with its changes, has pass'd like a dream. Oh, haven serenest, for thee now our praise, Though seeming for children and youth, That can thus the sad soul above earth's clouds raise, To soar high up to love and truth ! From us may these glorious broad wings nothing sever, Then true gladness and peace will be ours for ever. ON THE SAME SUBJECT, IMITATED FROM THE FRENCH. It is true, for an instant I leave All your great problems profound ; For these monsters silk reins you can weave, Your wheels need not touch the ground. ::7^ seimm: EOUBS. I alight from your high Griffin's car; To-morrow all shall be known ; No more mysteries thenceforth shall jar. Your strophes will them disown. Bui to-day the proud eagle may By, Ami Bee me here La the plain ; It is Twickenham, ool Egypl that's nigh, Nor shall you hear me complain. I am now for the swan and the wave, The lilies w hite on I he b1 ream. With bright June and all joys thai we rave. In smilee of midsummer's dream. Grim enigmas and horrors farewell, Portentous - the black, the blue, As, when scared, of a nightmare we tell, Alld fancy all may 1"- t rue Your deep questions, lugubrious, vast, That infinite darksome ab Speculal inns ignoring the pa I . Which ix.w mi 00 path We miss ; My long studies on convicts, their works, I tow to draw besl in :i Bieve, < mi t he schemes of t he Russians and Tuj I stop it all. Lei us live. SERENE HOURS. 379 1 adjourn things slily with winks ; I look at reports and scoff; And I say to the terrible sphinx, I speak to the rose — be off. But, sage Gravity, sigh not, I say ; For the green wood draws me so ! I must hear laughing to-day, Whatever gruff voice says 'No. With bright April, the Portress of Spring, I needs must now talk awhile, Would you have me your articles bring To her lodge, our time to beguile ? Must I gravely consult with the rose On highest matters of state ? Do you think that the wild bee knows How to solve cpiestions of fate ? Must I terrify elms and limes, The willows and osiers slight, With your problems that frighten The Times, O'er the nests of small birds bright ? Mix the darkest abyss with the shrub, Doubts with the hawthorn-tree, What ! and have me the flowers to snub ? No ; that's not a task for me ! 380 lllK 08EBB BAKE. I - ]!"" questions that patience will try, A^ Been by man in his gloom, Shall 1 call on tlit.- lark in the >ky To answer as in vour room? W'lnn the pretty maid passes along, Singing so blithe and BO u':>v. M .-• she give up her Bweel little Bong, To hearken to what you Bay Upon questions that never will end, ( Objections thai \ on think new, < >n reports all things human to mend, ( hi all 3 OU fancy untrue ? Prom good Bense, then, a hundred leagues off I Bhould be, it' w it h \ on t here ; At us both, then, forsooth she mighi scoff, Ami 1 can't her friendship Bpare. THE OSIEB BANK. Bene \ i b this willow's chequer'd Bhade The -' ream itself is Bomewhal >t aid ; 'The boat can res! along the' land, While needing but a gent le hand, Prom time to time, to catch a Bower When it would drift out from the bower THE OSIEE BANK. 3S1 Cool, with green branches over head, And fragrant more than can be said. The bank with weeds of every sort Enrich'd, invites you to its "port." For Fancy still must be employ'd, If what you see is well enjoy'd, And so " a port," you think and say, Receives you on the watery way; The rushes are a stately grove Of trees through which you wish to rove ; The muddy banks are cliffs on shore. Of sights like these you have a store — The quays, thus lined with what is pretty, Projecting roots have form'd a jetty, Beyond which eddying flows so strong The stream which erstwhile tired lon^ — Still you can see it cool and blue, So tempting while repelling you. Among the osiers straight and tall, Hop, perch, and sing the birdies small ; The ants, so busy on the grass, Give warning unto all who pass With naked legs prepared to bathe And try the sparkling rapid wave ; The minnows press, and dart, or stay, Just in their old accustom'd way ; Your fair companion cools her hand, Half fearful of the frog on land, That glares with restless staring eyes, From caves that cause her much surprise. 382 tiik osir.i; BAITK. IIi_ r li in the air above will sing The lark with its ontired wing : The thrush, the blackbird, warble near. They do bo sing! each little dear. White down i> wafted by the breeze (The rhyme is hackney'd) from the fan Of poplar, all whose leaves bo tremble, \- if they would their crime dissemble \ And v.hat that was, I need 1 1 < > t >ay To those who know the ancient lay. Low on the planks you Btretcb along, And your companion Bees do wrong. The gentle ripple smites the boat, And all combines to make you ,! • Upon the hour, the Bights, the Bounds, That float from those sequester'd grounds, Upon the eyes with yours thai How all i-- grace, Bublimity, All Bweetness, beauty, wisdom, love, Coni' rr'd on you bj God above. Not bing on earl h can t ben com] With all that's fell by such a pair. What bold free figures do they use, Doing and Baying as they eh' . Their lip-dew even call'd to speak, Whi ii words alone are fell hut weak. I 'lul.t t hat 1 love ': The quick reply Addresses both the ear and eye i \ :. •• r wetted, quickly dried, Then quite across the neck spplii d, THE OSIER BANK. 383 While to denote you are her pet, You're ask'cl at first to see the wet, Then it is said, and now the dry, So pray cut this, if now I lie. All stunn'd by such an action free, The whole is like a mystery, A trick of love, symbolic sign, To say that "you alone are mine." Let critics laugh ; they're far from us With all their pedantry and fuss, Calling out for poetic diction, For on words their hearts are set on. But what care we for rules and laws, For all these literary saws ? Enough for us to feel and sing, Admiring still each tiny thing. Enough ! nay, for we need much more — Of deepest thoughts we want a store. We think of others left at home, When to the river we would roam ; We praise their talk, their ways, their looks, Which teach us more than many books ; We think of some who now are dead, And love them more than can be said To unseen worlds though fled away, With us somehow they seem to stay, And follow too where'er we stray. We think how gracious, kind, and good, Were those who once so near us stood — ■-} 384 Tin. osn b r\ v -u. Alas! we well may say BO near, Ami then in mind we think a tear. We think of joys together past, Of griefs that to the end would last, Of music tliat they play'd <>r sung, I if words familiar to their tongue, Of stare they Loved to oame and show. ( >f all that once pass'd long ago. But Bunshine, youth with wannest heart, To every thing can joy impart. I I it friends in life or deal h we - A - heirs of immortality ; And then will Bound the grandesl tone That human bosoms ever own, For then ws hush the plaintive Bigh, And lift our hearts to ' tod on high, \ml t hi n k it happiness to die. No words are Bpoken, bul the speech Of souls is heard where all thoughts reach ; The fair one and t he other feeling What is too deep for tongue revealing. S.. thus they bw< etly take their red . As if inspired both and blesi ; Though 700 mighl think them oul for play, Like ol hers on a holiday. Bui i Lents such as t hese are gone »re t heir w.,r; h you 1 hink upon ; I • md t his life they lasl , \\ bit b r ' ill all are Bpeedin ' } THE OSIER BANK. 8S5 Let go the flower ! to the stream ! Once there, all this will seem a dream. Harbour of refuge, sweetest port, To which each spring I would resort, With grateful hearts we say adieu ! Thinking on what we gain'd from you. For such a moment can suffice To heal the wounds of stupid vice, With love to make the heart o'erflow, And every grace within it grow. To love mankind we must have leisure, Laugh if you will — a day of pleasure ; And to love God — that charm calm, That fragrant, healing, holy balm, These birds, these weeds, these osier bowers, These insects, and these sparkling flowers, These blue and white and tiny spots, Though all are but forget-me-nots, As if to tell your sweet fond friend That love like yours can never end — This look from a responsive heart, All can that best of gifts impart. But come, pray let me take the oars, No human spirit always soars. e c 386 EENBINQTOB OAKDBFB KENSINGTON GrABDENS. Off to the park, to the drive, to the row, All right, just s<>. Let it be ; But grief, though no tears may 1"' Been t" flow, Will Bometimee steal over me, Thinking of days once so gamesome with fun, When, children, you loved the shelter, Through Bhades, down slopes, 'midst the rushes to run, Speeding on bo helter-skelter. The Bunny grass, and the sweel Bilent grove W.mi oothing more thai can please, When chatting or marking onward you n<\ ( )r frolicking at yum- ease. These Bpots picturesque, Bequester'd, and fair, Are full of ideal charm ; All thai is wild and romantic seems there, [f your eyes and ears you arm, . doI to hear, the world around, : wii h noise in the park ; Ami then what you dream of is tu be found, W lul.- y N.it urc you mark. KENSINGTON GARDENS. 387 On the drive are chariots open and shut, Amazons frowning so bold, Dames who consent on their own feet to strut, And young men just like the old. But here, within stone-throw, Nature you see, You hear her melodies sweet ; 'Tis here that will come the joyous and free, Whose playthings are voice and feet. Innocent sports of the fifteen years old, Shades sacred with foliage deep, 'Tis Liberty reigns here, hearty and bold, While all sad dull passions sleep. Oh, freshness of laughter, and joy so pure, When Nature alone is sought, When genuine mirth she loves to allure With charms that cannot be bought ! 'Tis solitude's school, under Heaven's blue, Where birds that sing on the tree, Suffice to bring Nature's great Lord to view, And prove His presence to me. Let splendours of life pass yonder with sound, Low company here I seek, I mean with the daisies, on verdant ground, Ever so sprightly and meek. c c 2 388 KENsiN'irroN <;.\i:ni:xs. \'.. varnish or jewels will dazzle here, filoss is the velvet for all, The seat is on brandies that droop so near, N climber need dread a fall. \ crowd I too love- a street is a home, But only when owning toil ; when, reclining, the proud ones will main. I nt. ait all nature to spoil. 'Tis said by the wise that life is a dream, : do; t h world is real ; While Fancy elsewhere makes common thinu r - Beem Invested with beauty ideal. What i> more real in one sense than pride, 'The poison which blights the il"\\' r, Infecting tin' world <>n every side, \ \ Lsible tainting power F While II- .1 1.. I- seen i- the dew that falls. Ri fn shing the thirsty ground ; \nl when it is absent . see \\ hat befalls The 'try parched-up grass around. i Fancy, Bweetesl companion for youth, Thou fairy with magic wand, Though unseen, like dew, thou canst open truth. \ ad cheer us when we despond, KENSINGTON GARDENS. 389 Thou fliest the halls of the foolish proud, Preferring a hollow tree ; Thou hatest the haughty and pompous crowd ; So thou art comrade for me. Then into the hollow tree let us all creep, And hark to the thrush that sings ; Like wrens let us hop to its branch and peep, And mark all the quiet things That glide and that twitter, or lie still at rest, On blades, on motes that you see, Created, surpassing in beauty, best, Fraught for observers with glee. Let others keep far with their airs and tone ; I seek not them to provoke ; But we, for the nonce Hamadryades grown, Refuse to quit our old oak. Still let them roll and show equipage grand, 'Tis sadness they try to cure ; But while sweet Fancy is at our command, We have joys that will endure. Childhood! blest childhood, oh stay with us then, Remain, that we may be free ; Mere children in heart, though women or men, Children in sorrow and glee. 390 Kl N -I N«. I (IN Q \IM>I\S. hike children to brush away Belfish cares, hike them lo live by the heart, Never desponding, however time wears, To feel maturity's dart : Thai dart all so t'.-at hcr'd with brightest things, hik<' the name alone of friend, < >r of love thai lias only sharpest stings, < )r of joy with time t,, end. Wit li hopes of long happiness here belovi , < )f connexions thoughl bo sure A life of prosperity to bestow . The fancies of youth to cure. o childhood, come bach then with gentle wing, Thai we may yet once more feel The joy thai will have no sad hitter sting, Mai ing I ears do\* d fi ah unt life's cares and it- dari brooding thought, \ - if aughl was worl li a t ear, Which centres alone where the world is sought, And all it- phantoms appear. around as, visions fair, That once bo smiled mi our youth, Then we shall triumph, however \\' dare up the real \'<f feeling left in orowds alone, To fret your heart and make your moan. The world is both most Bly and cruel, For malice always finding fuel ; SinistrouB, like an evil star, pleasure Beems to be to mar The projects of poor Billy man. Still Beeking gladness while he can ; For yout h, indifferent and oold, While keeping laughter for the old, I crush and pulverize their hope, Who never wish'd it to provoke. I ti ides, it tangles cat ore round, And leaves nought easy, plain, or sound ; ilful Love it wlf t o Wl may wish or d loye's vexations. 393 But say that absence need not be Between the two wbo so agree ; Yet there will come the wants and grief From which for days there's no relief. 'Tis troubles, cares, and nothing sure, To promise bliss that will endure. Of what avail the present hour, If something for the next will lour ? We cannot smile the day away, If tributes to dull care we pay. What skills it to see roses growing, When some grief is still o'erflowing ? The laughter lasteth never long, For something interrupts the song ; No longer playful, even free, It is quite sad for all to see How much disquietude can reign Where things appear' d so smooth and plain. The morning did not seem to lour, And yet we're caught ere vesper hour ; For tempests come, and not foretold, But unannounced to young and old. Alas ! 'tis for a moment's span, That Love itself will stay with man. I fear he sometimes verifies What to disprove our wit defies. The ancient poets call him little, We need not change these words a tittle ; It is an urchin without thought, With trinkets often he is bought. 39 1 i "\ e'b \ i \ \ i CONS. He'll stay with you while you can show That something's left you can bestow ; Bui when you talk of cares and trouble, He vanishes in air, a bubble : Or else he'll chide ami take his leave, With Borne one else his webs to weave. 1 do not t hint him alu a\ - wrong, For that would shanm a poet's BOUg. I think the I'ault within you lies, When you affeel to feel surprise; For the poor chilil i< sensitive, Ami with your faults he cannot live ; So when th.-y prove loo greal lor him. He Leaves you. when you think it whim. Fob see him running from your door, I [owever him you may implore j lie spreads his wings ami flies away. No longer with you will he Btay. He wants, whatever you may think, Aii air that u ill not -pints sink ; 1 [< want - true u r oo'hies> j,, your br< A heart emit 'lit ill ami at n ' For wii In »ut leisure, dalliance kind, Nothing quite suits his sportive mind ; Ami Ending \ OU I he -erf of ear.-, Ik ' gone before 3 OU are aware. Then Bince we know our faults ton well, We C iimot u holly 1 1 u>1 hi- spell. So l,t us t real him a- a boy, b a far more Bteadj joy. love's vexations. 395 Seek a sure friend that will remain, And of our troubles not complain, Who, when we're sad and down in heart, Will have some pleasure to impart ; Docile and patient, constant ever, To leave us in our sorrows never. But where can such a love be found ? You need not look above, around, For Him with eyes you cannot see ; But He is close to you and me — The real, true, and constant Love, Who reigns with seraphs there above, Your sweet and truest friend to be Through ages of eternity. Yet think Him not too high, austere, To tolerate another near. Invisible Himself, He knows How innocence what's seen bestows ; And even Love, that urchin lad, Whom too I think not always bad, When He is with you, won't grow sad. So think they both can well agree In perfect, sweetest, harmony. I pray you, be not much surprised ; But Love may be too subtilized. If Love then comes, don't' close the door, He'll only feel delighted more To find thus with you Him who gave The means his tiny self to save 896 MOiTEN'TS OF J<^ . Prom all thai made him tly with fear, I. -t what he loathes to you were near. Tins true Friend wishes here to stay, Just in his old familiar waj ; Nor deem thai 1 [e is far too high i ii- wants onmention'd tn descry ; to feel for what is little, < >f which you Jar.' not breathe a tittle ; Too pure not to disdain ami hate What pleases in your present Btate. urd vain man. I te made your heart , Tin mi never, never from Him start ; 1 [e gave what you nei '1 never nam.', Since He too meant there should be sham.'; Ii.- meant you t < * be wise but merry, So all your fear is nonsense very. Love 11 im. and treal 1 1 im as a friend, Your love will thenceforth have no end : s. .ft Love will only frolic more, And I'm. I no cause to fly your >loor. MOMENTS OF JOY. I'iikui: are moments of joy one never forgets; Why no hard-headed, dull, plodding man can say, their light i^ a sun that for us never sets, Though the winter of lit'.' will rage on ai MOMENTS OF JOT. 397 Your boat has been pull'd to a green rushy shore, You sit on the bank with your friend at your side, Those minutes from memory pass never more, For you still enduring — tbey sleep but abide. Oh ! why did we rise up and bid them adieu ? We knew not how precious their presence that clay, Which nothing in time could restore and renew, While giddy we left them to ramble away. But charms had sunk down to the core of our heart, Their mystical sweetness must ever remain Imprinted, indelible, not to depart, Though all but themselves should prove sorrow and pain. It was not the flowers, the calm, or the rest, It was not the river so tranquil arid blue ; The magic came all from the sweet loving breast, That echoed responsive to all that you knew. Oh, what must be therefore the joy of that place Where souls that can love will be join'd evermore, Where present, celestial, will shine the dear face, And thenceforth you're call'd not to leave that bright shore ? 39S in i: 8W vi I. B0VB1 . Till: SMALL BOUSE. ( \\ tlHTATIOK.) Til E worldly may boast i >f their rich splendid hi That will lawn on tlinn while they're in right . I Jut you and 1. unknown. Perhaps -till are more prone To consort with the lovely and bright. ^i -. Annie, For, being unknown, Wnom so I'fw can own, All the apter are grown To consort uith tin- lovely and bright. The hall may he grand, With all t hings at command That can pamper and dress out dull ease; But the small cheerful bout With Bcarce room for a mou Can -till shelter, and bide too, and pies ^1 • -. Annie, smallest low roof That keeps pride all aloof ■ii \ ield ample proof, Thai can I THE SMALL HOUSE. 399 The rich may dilate On each thing with great state, And be purely correct in their speech ; But the merry and fond, Less confined by dull bond, Can your arch sprightly language best teach. Yes, Annie, The soft and the fond, Less fast bound by strict bond, Which makes pedants despond, Can the hearts of the cheerful best reach. Proud station enslaves, And no heart ever saves From constraint which right irksome must grow ; But the lowly are free To enjoy all the glee That our nature can feel and bestow. Yes, Annie, Like birds on the tree, In a nest none can see, Ever merry, believe me, We shall each day find proof it is so. The great have no leisure For the things of pure pleasure, Such as lovers think vistas of heaven ; But all those who don't want To seem grand and to flaunt, Are screen'd from each drop of that leaven. Till. BW LLI BOUSE. 3Te8, Annie, With no one to pry, So malicious and Bly, As if no one were by, We're merry each day of the seven. Some folk learn'd are wi So them none need advi For within they see nothing to mend ; Jiut with us while at home, ( )r when laughing we ream. On a priest we love always to tend. Yi s, Annie. we who feel wai I Care not snap de taunts, A lid. w hate\ er their vaunts. We welcome the priest as our friend. The house that is small ( 'an he Bwept quickly all, lint old Beelzi bub glides everj whi ; bat one v. ho know b v. ell All t In- marks of his spell, In . imetimes to as Bhould repair. \> -, Annie, K vigilant round ep all t he ground, 1. bits may he found the \*\\ \n( then elsewhere to fly, To find round as just what we would BEAUTY. In i; love of beauty on this earth M ighl everj instanl take its birth Prom t he Least mite we It only WO would ll arn to 1 face The moulding of each Lovely face In ran t\ harmony beaut r. 403 Oh, beauty is a glorious light ! Surpassing all the untold might Of human words or thought ; Like a bright envoy from the sky, Revealing what will never die, Though to our senses brought ; Mysterious beauty ever near, Which must to every eye appear, That opens with a soul ; A glimpse of what is found above, In regions of celestial love, Where spirits view the whole. Who sees the sun about to rise, With rosy tints that can surprise, As if unknown before ; The Loire then ready to receive The dazzling gleams that it will leave, 'Midst pale blue groves on shore ; Deep groves, as if on porcelain seen, With fairy castles still between, One tone of pale blue light, Until the bar of glory comes, Lighting up heights all crown'd with domes, The plain still grey with night — Who sees this, feels a force divine, That causes inwardly to shine D d 2 -10 1 BEAUTY. A radiance of brighl love ; It is not earth lie now surveys. Jt is not landscape wins his prau I [e feels himself above. Who Bees that water's tender shade, Those islands, groves of poplar, made To beautify the stream, Is as it' all were in bis mind, \ vision more than you can find, Excepting in a dream. Brighl early dawn! sweei evening sky! Lei the akill'd artist only try To imitate thy charm. Succeed he may, as far as art Can an ideal type imparl , And critic's sense disarm ; But the fri sh, Limpid, pure brighl glow Which makes as feel transported bo, 1 h merely has to own — The hills, the dopes, the sunlit white < If buildings thai can cheer the sighl \\ ill windows Minn thrown, The Bmilee from balconii b bo fair. The flowers thai embalm the BEAUTY. 405 The heart's impression strong, The distant and the near as well, That move us with such potent spell, Surpass all art and song. Then see the features and the tone Of colours art can never own As possible to reach, In all the beauteous human kind Displaying glories of the mind Which truth and goodness teach. Yet art has beauty. Who denies ? Though God's creation still defies The imitative skill Of man, replete with such a store, To make us love, admiring more, The power of His will. For He too wills that man should try Still even with Himself to vie, In art with Nature found — The terrace with its balustrade, The vases bright with flowers made, The garden's fairy ground, The marble steps, the parterre sheen, The lake and cascade seen between lilt; BEAUTY. The groves — that Eden's boast — Arc beauties that to art we trace, Which Nature's self would not efface, Winn she would triumph most. Thus beauty, howsoe'er derived, Of which no Bpot is quite deprived, Surrounds as like the air ; To every Bense revealing ^t ill An index of Our -Maker's will, To yield that essence lair. The grove or garden is a school Well furnish'd with effective rule To raise our hearts on high ; To charm, transport, and teach the glad, To comfort and console the sad, Sustain them when they sigh. What are the lips, the smiles, the eyi \ - if reflecting azure sk: Thai speak of love alone P No tongue, do arl can e'er disclose, \ evi rj feeling bosom knov< Th( DOWl r of their tune I o speak of what is found <>n high \ pardon'd mortals 'he. BEAUTY. 407 Eternally to reign : Their hopes to raise, their tears to check, When life on earth is but a wreck, And all is grief and pain. If blue hills, valleys, woods around, If towers, convents, decking ground That's Eden-like, so fair ; If slopes where circling forests grow, Can make Elysium here below, What must be beauty there ? If clouds themselves at day's decline Show Archipelagos where shine Isles than Greece more fair, Show mountains with their rocky range, Each rising with a form so strange, Or lost in purple air, What will it be to float above, Where all things breathe eternal love, 'Midst orbs of glorious light ; Where beauty triumphs unalloy'd, Where each rejoices, never cloy'd, And bliss is only sight ? Yes, all we see around us here, Demonstrates, with precision clear, 108 THE RULE OF II The Will that is Supreme, Which clothes with beauty what we sec- Like mirrors, showing what will be When life's no more a dream. Nay, how can language even scale The heights recall'd by flowers pale, A - man's intended clime ? Bright Beauty's voice is far more clear. To make all doubting disappear Thai they are ours in time. < > Beauty, prostrate hear our pro Thai we may be permitted there To see tine with our soul ; Thou art eternal and divine, B 3 ond all Bpace where plane! - Bhim . ( hreator of the whole. THE RULE OF LIFE. Fab from the haunts of busy, careful men, At leasl ere rails join' d places though! so then, Crownings range of slopes who-,- eerdanl Bheen The copse ol oak adorns while Bpread between, 'Midst fields and hedgerows through which winds a road Lonely and frown up to the abode THE ETTLE OF LIFE. 409 To which it leads, embosom'd as you see, A spot of fairest English scenery, There stands a truly venerable school, Where the old faith supplies its constant rule. Thither, when young, from Cambridge used to speed One who of gravest matters then took heed. No contrast greater could you ever find, Than that which here was offer' d to his mind. From haunts of men just moulding for the world, To mediaeval cloisters he felt whirl'd ; From places fraught with notions of the clay, He came to where antiquity would stay. And yet was there still a charm in the change, When backwards thus his thoughts began to range, So that in later life he often saw In his mind's eye the keepers of that law, There still observed, as if in days of yore, When men sought Heav'n and then but little more. With life's strong combats wearied, seeking rest, His thoughts reverted to those sages blest. Finding at last how vainly he had tried To win his objects, and how vainly vied With others, all intent to follow far The worldly wisdom as their guiding star, He seem'd once more to visit that old Hall Where the true wisdom could be learned, all. It seem'd to him as if to his complaints This answer came from one of those mild saints, — "Once more, my friend, within these walls our guest, I now have heard the object of your quest. 410 THE RULE OF LIFE. Well, it is true, you long have lost your way, While through the world you still would wildly stray ; But yet the cause of aU your grief is clear, And that from lips unworthy you Bhall hear. To find himself, and upwards still to rise, Was said of old to be the highest prize That man can gain, when wishing to he free And reap with bliss his immortality ; Bui words are only words, let sophists boast, Who blindly lead you when they promise most. We, too, ourselves would find and upwards r Who aeeks not this, his nature but defii s. Pot what is it. to find all else beside, And reap fresh triumphs thru' the w hole world wide ' We Sees no1 then their maxim- to deny. Saying still. Find yourself, and upwards fly. Hut what is solid, practical, we seek. Not what is shadowy and verbal, weak: Therefore we turn from the proud Pagan ps I ask short answers from the truer bs Who can disclose the means to that great end, Winch all to action and to facts will tend. I low can man find himself, and upwards soar r To tell this plainly would be somewhat more Than sounding phrases to amaze our ears, along chiefly vague mistrust and fears. I '• >' w hat ly heal hens, in t hose daj - of old, imagined, or at least not told, By Christian sag -. wiser in their Bohool, Wai taught and subjected to clean >t rule . THE RULE OE LIFE. 411 Not left a wild and visionary plan, But made a good accessible to man. To find yourself, and feel a perfect rest, Renounce yourself, they said, you'll have the best. They said, — to rise, men ever must descend, Since each step lower caused him to ascend. Such is their rule, and certes we can see That quite unfailing this must ever be. For what is it that darkens all our life But love of self, with its mean ceaseless strife ? Renounce your part, to glory in the whole, And then you find your true and mighty soul, Contented, happy, strong, and ever blest, Already reaping an eternal rest ; For then your heart and mind no longer brood On your own griefs, that melancholy food. If by self-losing you make others glad, There's nothing in that loss to make you sad ; For such is Nature's never-changing law, That no true bliss from selfishness you draw. Romantic, visionary, seems the act, But here the rule appeals to sternest fact ; Seek but yourself to find, yourself to please, And the result is fatal, — a disease Mortal, to baffle all the subtle skill That can be used to carry out your will. Why so, or how, we are not call'd to say ; But have it otherwise we never may. You seek yourself? No more may now be said ; Thick night will close o'er your devoted head — H2 tin: 1:1 i i: OP i.n i:. Nighl all portentous, sad and noxious, cold — In these few words the constanl issue's told. What skills it then to reason or delay, When these are facts, not worth thai sophists gay P He who neglects to try and prove the rule, Will find at hot tliat In- has been a Pool, Employ'd by Benseless phantoms of his brain To work, contrive, ami finish all in vain. Hut then to rise musl 1"' the aim of man ; Such it ha- 1 n Bince tirst his race began. Granted, indeed ; hut how i.> he to ri Here the great secrel will not few Burpric Bach step In- takes in true humility, Proves a step upwards to be high and five: From life around this fact yon cannot sever. — w rise to fall ; \\ e sink to rise for ever. Say if you will, 'tis glorious to aspir Bui vain proud nun can never ascend higher. Climb for a day they may, resembling apes, Appearing then in Bundry countless Bhapes, Bui even men their movements will deride, 1 1 crying all t heir littleness and pride ; S ier or later they will have a fall, Which will the wary and the just appal. Though even ifthej reach the utmost top, There, within sight, must all their fond hopes Btop. \ it on tongues of men t" Boar, I f fame he all t he end, ami nothing moref <>h, the .-mall height for wondrous glorious man. Winch reaches hut to this life's little span ' THE EULE OE LIFE. 413 Condensed a little ether or a space — That space a point — it is the world you trace ; And man to think that rising in his sphere, Is like a mite to shine and disappear ! When, sinking now, he might have pass'd the skies, And soar'd aloft with joy that never dies ! Be it then ours to take the downward way Which leads to summits of supernal day, Higher than all the stars that we can trace, Revolving ever in the wondrous space ; Higher than thought itself can upwards soar, To see all good and live for evermore." Thus spoke the sage with accent calm and kind, Such as denotes the firm capacious mind, Prepared by learning vast and manifold, Versed in new channels, as in wisdom old, The whole of life's experience to make known, The facts of which no hearer could disown. They parted ; and the stranger in his thought Still his accustom'd ways and habits sought ; But yet an echo linger'd in his heart Which caused him not despairing to depart. How smooth and easy the ascent thus shown ! What peace, no longer striving for his own ! Why, even Love the same rule will announce, And call on men their own selves to renounce, Rather than blight the opening flower fair, That sheds a perfume on the ambient air. •tit TITE MUD IN A CAGE. What though the rest of life but sad appears? At least, the future will awake lin rears. Sere we may -i:_ r h, and Palter, and despond, But elsewhere will be happy all the fond, Who gave up Belf, and triumph'd but to Bee How Borne they loved, they Left still happy, \'vcr. then let's humbly walk: let self retire, Inflamed we shall be with an inward fire, To purify what's sordid and what's vile, What can the best and noblest mind beguile, And to produce a force of wondrous might, Working beyond our feeble human Bight, To make the creature of a little day Vanish, while in its plan- will glorious slay A brighl soul mounting up on wings of 1"\<-. 'I'm find itself in < k>d on heights above, Where heroes, lovers, Baints, for ever soar. .V \. c to 1086, Or sink in BOITOW more. THE BIRD IN A CAGE 1 1 h.n in a cage of Bhining gold, Siill perching, Binging, arch and hold, I spied a gaj and pretty bird, The mgster ever heard. With grain ry kind supplied, With herbage all around it tit d, THE BIRD IN A CAGE. 415 With nothing that could yield it fear, But all that's rich and splendid near ; Without a task or any need, It only had to sing and feed. Adored, admired hy the fair Who tended on it ceaseless there — High praised, and shown to hosts of friends, While there a life of ease it spends — What hird more favour'd or more blest ? No other care but to be dress'd, No wants conceivable by you, If its true heart you never knew. But I, a stranger, seem'd to see In this bird's fate a mystery Which might a human tale unfold, If all we knew could all be told. Methought I read within its eyes, What yet to some would yield surprise, That it disliked its envied lot, And would have sought a humbler spot. Its twinkling eye, its head that turn'd, Seem'd to denote what inward burn'd ; And, to my joy, it seem'd to think That I could understand its wink, As if with me it would escape To homely thatch or thorny brake, While feeling want itself a treasure That still can minister to pleasure. As if it loved but Nature fond, And never wish'd or look'd beyond 1 L6 THE BDttD IN A CASS. The chequer'd life of pains and ■■arc With nought l'ut what it well can bear — For Nature, while she gives as grief, I [as her own aecrets of relief. Still, neither I nor bird said aught, While thus by Nature's instinct taught, But each had a masonic sign The heart of other to divine ; Ami what to sonic was ,mly sweet, Could my own Becrel wishes meet. For this bird's song was >till the same A- thai of others no! BO tame ; I • ing a- if in woods and fields, Where only Nature pleasure yields, While those who kept it were beguiled : Within its heart it still was wild, Ami all that charmed in its BOng, Was what t" no cage * A CAGE. Then you will see it Cull <>t' glee, ( 'ontented with its liberty ; Not hung \\]> high through fear of cat, With wither'd groundsel, ami all that — Not with such golden raya around, Such as iii palaces are found, Where even birds are thought to hate Whatever does not augur si a1 '-. I'.ui hopping cheerfully through mire \ - if while tree it could not t ire, 1 '. dabbled with the dew or rain. Bui never Beeming to complain. Ami think nut that your quondam pet For human grandeur fcrls regret, lour gilded rooms might make i' stare, But noise and heat it cannot bear ; It Loves the fields, tin' trees, the Bky, ( >h, l.t it hence away to fly ' Then it w ill still approach \ our door, And please ami entertain you more, Bui "ii,' amidsl tin' common throng That '-an delight you with its Bong, \<.1 all fact it ioUS, farnM 1>\ rote, Bui warbled from its simple throal ; While you yourself more pleased must be For putting off all cru< It \ , I ■!■ loving Nature onallied With arts that merelj aourish pride, I '•■ holding all as all was meant W h 'i into tlii. v.. .i'M .-nt . SPANISH MAIDENS. 419 So now, high people, cease to boast Of what, when, seen, should grieve you most — I mean the sprightly merry mood Of young things quite misunderstood, Obliged to borrow all from art, As if within they had no heart — Sweet natures, straiten'd and confined, Although intentions all were kind; But let all, as the common sort, Live free, and toil, and have their sport. For rules of life, and etiquette Too strict, are but a loathsome net To hamper and quite glue our wings, All lined with matter too that stings. Let's burst it all, and let them soar, And seek to capture birds no more. SPANISH MAIDENS. Two Spanish maidens, bright to see, In church were kneeling down ; I own it, — you may banter me, — First caught my eyes the gown. Each like the other, slash'd and pied, Quite foreign in the style ; But what, though strange, can't be denied, The maidens made me smile. E e 2 I I'll SPANISH MAIDEN- I r beauty join' d with such an air Of piety intense, Did somehow make all others there Seem made up of pretence. Their ancient lady knelt behind, \ 1 while Bhe mumbled prayers, Ever anon Bhe Beem'd to find 8 imething amiss, in hairs. In folds, iii ribbons, knots, or Aounc Which slic would tn- to change; On what was WTOUg she still WOuld pounce. And the defect arrange. The maidens never tnrn'd a head ; No doubl they knew her way. While nothing hut their prayers they said, 1 1 -tract them nothing may. Two pout ill'- ic-ver could have been More rapt with m\ si LC looks. I wish you only could have Been Their eyes bo on their books, I I and li\'d, all gravity, V t M-: ive glance to steal ; Tl, ,,'d to breathe authority i 1 deeply feel SPANISH MAIDENS. 421 We English look but Christian half, When offices are long. I scarcely could restrain a laugh, Amidst the solemn song ; For flabbergasted I was quite, To see with what true ease They bore them in the public sight, When the least fly would tease. No vague and vacant, senseless stare In them an eye e'er traces ; But poring industry was there, On those two angrel faces. ■&' What harmony was this, to find Such thoughts and beauty bright, The first to cheer, exalt your mind, The last to gladden sight ! No dull disdain of what belongs To womanhood in youth, As if what's pretty ever wrongs The cause of holy truth. And yet no want of what is high, No absence of a soul ; But knowledge that our God is nigh, To see and hear the whole. L22 INTEHROOATIO>* OF THE BLESSED. ( > Spain, of faith and hope the land, Ami blessed charity, Thy maidens thus can understand What's immortality. IXTKKROGATION OF THE BLESSED. Si-huts glorified and blest, Breathing now eternal n I - j % do ye regret the hours Spent in fond and earthly bowers, Willi a warm and constant friend, Ready for you life bo spend ? I toes memory of fleet ing joy Present transports now annoy ; Was it wrong, thai Bprightly way, When you Bmiled the live-long day P did those men Bpeab. i he truth, When they blamed your fervent youth, When they did afflict your age, Lingering wishes to b With words so stern of a doom N\ :iit in'_ r for you pasi the tomb, Though you fell your conscience clea Do i heir wisdom now appear P l 1 hat Bhort and Bporl Lye glee, \ n ■• - ; pain'd eternally INTEBEOGATION OF THE BLESSED. 423 Hark ! a peal of laughter long Interrupts the Angels' song. As if such notions, with their pride, They with you will there deride. True, they counted all your tears, All your sorrows, all your fears — True, they praised the courage high, Making you regard the sky, And they kiss'd the tears that fell, When of Precious Blood you'd tell. But not less they loved your soul For beholding truth in whole. Yes, they prized the lover's heart, Hopes and joys, its pains and smart — Prized that transport, though but short, Quiet pleasure, and that sport, Yielding to the gracious plan, Still to nourish all the man — All the reason and the mind, To be merry, too, and kind, All the faculties for love Lighting on him from above, All that wish to serve another, With no self that spark to smother — All the man, in brief, when high, He loves good that cannot die. Mirth, besides, was temper' d so As to leave you also woe : That cup for our poor lips, so sure Wrongs of mirth itself to cure, 12 I IN'TERROOATION OF THE BLESSED. Drink they saw you with the rest, Therefore are you now so blest. Ami pleasures had their thorns too, So their sweets you did not roe. Things they witness'd at your ride, Checking, counteracting pride, Causing you each thing to sec With unfeign'd humility ; JTou were train'd that cup to quail' When we only saw you laugh. Gay they saw you, bui the while Saw you als.» without guile, Glowing with interior fire, ( Ireal aeas, g Iness, to admire, Transports short, your struggles long> All was worthy of their BOng. Spiril - happy, now at rest, Ci ach us ever whal is best, With hearts grateful to sip pleasure, I in with discreetesi measure; Wit h deep u r rat it ode to 1"' M ived through our mortality, ing God amiilst the woes Which tn save ii- He bestows — To bai as in control, i to enjoy the whole. Then with thee in elu \\ • will sing eternal love, NATUBE VERSUS THOUGHT. 425 Where is joy without sorrow, And no fear of that to-morrow Of which thought was here so sore, There is wanted never more. NATURE VERSUS THOUGHT. On the summer's grass I lay, In a dream to feel and stay ; Birds were singing all around, Flowers near perfumed the ground ; Rest itself so passing sweet ! Earth and Heaven seem'd to meet. Motionless each leaf on high Painted seem'd on azure sky. Sunlit streaks and deeper green Cross' d the vistas that were seen Stretching on to other groves, Waiting him who farther roves. But the heat had kept at home Those who thither used to roam. In that Eden only I Seem'd its ardours to defy. So by me what's seldom sought, I was left alone with Thought. Thought at times, though very well, Oft has only grief to tell. b26 NATrin: VEiisrs tiiouoht. Thought is a companion pale, Loving best a pensive tale ; So perforce I had to bear What might start the secivt tear, List'ning what Bhe had to say In lur sad aecustomM way ; Some recalling, now no more, Bygone things in davs of yore ; For <>iir Thought preserves a trick To call visions rather thick — ( hrieving hearts, bedewing ej Taking mirth quite by surpri So while this one came and that, At my Bide she grimly sat ; Till 1 would not Longer stay, 1 1 earing all she had to say. For though often it is Bweet Parted loves again to meet, Though nought raises Bucb a strain \- when they're call'd back again, Nought to rapture is so near A - when thus t hey reappi ar, There arc moments when we dread '1 o think deeply of the dead. Thought COmes in through cranny small ; I ' er'd once, Bhe tills ap all. When at i i 1 1 i • we'd rather n I . Than ! a to the best . So Thought w ould cling to mi , And my sole companion be, NATUEE VEESTTS THOUGHT. 427 I left all the gardens fair, In the crowd to move and stare. Folly seem'd far sweeter food Than such thoughtful solitude. Nature thus provides a way, Saying merely, " Do not stay. I know times are when you feel ; But now hence and elsewhere steal. You are weak ; not always strong, To bear tenderness of song." Nature spoke, I heard her voice, Feeling that I had no choice. Thus she is for ever found With words human and yet sound. Kind and soft, she brings to man Solace that no mere art can ; No rule follows and no law, Causing him true peace to draw ; Somehow, with a nervous start, When she sees too moved the heart, Makes us rise and leave the spot Which for us is genial not ; Silences the thoughtful breast, And with magic wand gives rest, Leaving Humour in its stead To console a troubled head, By a whim, a fancy new, Changing what our dull thoughts drew. For to her belongs the art To refresh the wounded heart, 128 \ MinsrMMEIl MF.ETI2f&. So far as externa] things Can be cnred by what Bhe bri Then when Bhe has tried her best, Trae Religion does the rest. A MXDSTTMMEE MEETING. Ai timtiks of nature, some pretend, \ things on which the joys of all depend. "I besl n« >t to assenl or to deny. There's danger in the path, whate'er yon try. But of one instance harmless I will sing, And plumed with rays a sunny way I'll wing. l - truth is truth when hearts dissolve together, A- w( U as when each feels a needless tether. Let things congenial inert yon may be gone, "I Nature's wish they Bhould be thenceforth one. In this wise age our meaning is not clear, Sine- nought's elective but what's rather dear. Affinities at which our ears we prick, \- those unfolded by arithmei When pounds seek pounds, and hanks where for* tui i iw :l v. hat " hoert" wish to know. But 1 aunt, ye Bpectres grim and rile ' Of I ntle 1 must sing awhile. A MIDSUMMER MEETING. 429 In life, as in your book collections vast, For good and ill are meetings that will last. But here are leaves, though soil'd, on which you trace Some vital marks which time cannot efface, — Words that seem still to burst forth without art, Which can make thoughtful e'en the lightest heart. How many who through life as books will stroll, And never hear the echoes of that toll ! Who knows ? the dross of mankind then may be Struck by Love's hand to sound for charity. 'Tis certain that all int'rests can combine, Of Heaven and those of hearts — including thine. But hear some speak, who think they can discover How such attractions first create the Lover. " What silent transport dissipates my fears ! " (They say, the type of what he loves appears,) " Bright vision, contrast to all things I hate, Some dream commission' cl, and not sent by Fate." 'Tis thus that sympathetic thoughts are there, From trifles light as melodies in air. But souls transparent can absorb the light Which leaves all other objects in the night ; Then thinking to explain the sudden change, He lets his fancy o'er what's outward range, Portraying things in language of its own, As more expressive than the heart alone. " In thy kind, sprightly, sweet, and gracious face, All that on earth I love," saith he, " I trace; 'Tis palpable to sense from the first glance, Thy nature, golden, waits some happy chance 430 l mDSTTMlOBB MEETING. To lift thee from the mine of dross and earth, That thou to glorious form mayffl u r i\e a birth. Who could divine, as stray their wand'ring feet, The type they sigh for men should ever mi 1 1 - Things BO near as yet which want a name. Which can our best-loved fancies even shame — Beauty with goodness, arch and ever free. Sense and discretion with humility. No though! to cloud the mind, as with the vain. Who only what is earthly seek to gain; Bui Looks of innocence, — no aid from art, — An angel's form and still a woman's heart. Spirit, fair vision, yes Midsummer's dream, Such Love agrees with what is bliss supreme. I. • Eermas, little known, our witness be, Thai this combines with Christianity. At times man wanders lonely, without hop O'er earth onguided yet his way to grope. In June the sun Beems pale, no flowers fair, < >r beauty i eery field and garden hare. II. meets a heart like thine and all is light, Whate'er is Been is now lit op and bright ; He now has feelings once more to admire ; For with that force thou canst him then inspire ; And sooth perhaps Borne purpose now is meant ; There may unknown to us be deep intent ; For mortal imagine never can The arts ami Bhapes of goodm iwn to man I • ductive, new, i the distorted view A MIDSUMMER MEETING. 431 Nay, I must rather think it true and old, By life's experience often seen and told. Toinette thinks too with me when question'd so, — Pray what does that prove, I should like to know ? Poor Angehque, though young, was not deceived, When asking thus she the same answer helieved. The mind is sometimes stagger' d when it flies, The heart hut strengthen' d as that logic dies ; For circumstances may he ways divine To cause in it a mystic ray to shine, And what mere flesh and hlood should never hear, Will in the hall of souls hut true appear. Besides, results will sometimes seem to prove That angels' ways are also ways of love — Ways that appear to man unsanction'd, low, Yet sometimes kindling a pure lasting glow. The dew that falls upon the sand or rock May well that graceless barrenness still mock ; But when it sees the flower raise its head, It knows its mission was not vainly sped. Thou seest a heart revived by meeting thine, Let that suffice to make thy thoughts like mine. Thy image fell like dew upon the field, And love's the tribute which thou seest it yield. Later, who knows ? to show what may atone For noxious herbage in its nature sown ; For hearts like thine can nourish the pure love Which nought degrades but wings its way above, To glow serenely for an endless day, While planets sink and worlds must pass away." tS2 THE LOVEE'S n.VBBOUR OF l:i:n <,l THE LOVER'S IIAllliOUll <>F REFUGE of ports of refuge you may sing, To which in storms you steer; ] know a porl for mind's rent wing, When griefs for it are near. To save tin' lioily is no1 much, < )].l 1 Mat 1 1 saiil the BSJ l; marlring how OUT life IS BUCh, - I lull of grief ami Man i; _ht fearful is tin.' ocean m? Ami all may dread it well ; Y.-t arc there storms Ear worse to bravi It' what we feel we telL Will stormy Beas endanger, iViu r lit . *i 1 1 mil ore, ever grand, I la- pleasure for tin- human sL'lit. < >n wavi - "i- mi tin- land. True, deal I i mn when so near, ] ii full life sinking down ! "i • thousands unit it u it hout liar. I i ime it _\ ields a crovi a. THE LOVEIt's HARBOTJB OF REFCTGE. 433 Life has a wild and stormy beach, Ports safe and charter'd, grave, But them some cannot always reach, Such force is in the wave. So once, when blinded in the sea With lightning's fiercest store, Within a creek waves wafted me, All shelter'd by the shore. When mind can nothing tranquil think, When life is drear and dark, When spirits in its waters sink, Here's Hope's poor little spark. For hearts to perish ! there's the cry That fills the air with dread, When they have but a hollow sigh, And all within seems dead ! These are the waves men have to fear, When life, grave, tedious, vile, Is stripp'd of all that hope would rear, With strength but to beguile — 'Tis then that safety bids them hail The least-known port, though small, Lest cold despair should quite prevail, And darkness cover all. Ff 184 the lover's nArtnorit of refuge. Tis true, the rock of Honour stands, Of all the world in view — A glorious peak, which all commands, Whatever may ensue. Those cleaving to it, well I know, Mav laugh at fame ami fat.' : Beyond the reach of waves helow, They keep a kingly state. () ye oppress'd with mental far-. Fly to old Honour still, fly to it last when aughi appears To work or threaten ill. That Honour suits the hrave, is trie 1 1 i no time valour sta\ s Him who hia dangers would eschew By baseness, and betraj b. If horrid fears control your mind. Your cowardice's rock I- where true Honour makes you kind. And selfish passions mock, l told yoo in the sacred page, Wle Petei mighty voice ' \ Who ean hurt you, if your stage I ' i hat of I [onour's choii 1 I Bput. iii. L8 the lover's harbour oe reeuge. 435 All this is true, supremely high ; But still men's nature weak, When all is saved, will hreathe a sigh, And other shelter seek. For bruised and batter'd with the storm, Although they have still glory, They need a spot of peace, and warm, And ears to list their story. * They need a little port like mine, Quite shelter' d in a nook, Where nature is all grace and fine, Unmark'd in chart or book. The rock has saved their fame, their lives, Escape from ruin gain'd, But only Honour then survives, And scutcheon never stain'd. Pale, cold, and spray-wet, stark they lie, All stretch'd upon the stone ; They utter hut a fainting sigh, Life's waters hear their moan. Let friendly powers bear them thence, They need a calm repose, A welcome true without pretence — My port all this bestows. E f 2 136 1UK lover's harbour of refuge. Dragons and webs are here unknown, There's nothing to conceal ; O'er all there breathes a sweet kind tone, Which can your troubles heal. •Tis rest as in Elysium here, 'Tis absence of all wrong In mind, in heart, in speech, to fear. "Tis bw< etness like a Bong. Reviving at kind Nature'.- voice, They bless the guiding star Which Led them where they can rejoice. From life's cold tempests far. M v Port of Nervi, thou art Buch, Proud barques would deem thee poor ; .ii Eden thou derivest much, Though picturesque, yet bum ; Without were passions raging high, \ id making me their tool, Mere selfishness Kept gleaming bj , Unnerving to befool. *e Within is calm unheard of, bright, 'The beauty of the mind. Reflect* d in what meets the Bight, I . and the kind. THE LOVEE'S HAKBOUB OF REEUGE. 437 Without were mists, unwholesome, dark, A world to freeze the veins ; Phosphoric flashes, blinding spark, The wave itself sustains. Within, an atmosphere of love, A glow of early dawn, A garden crowning heights above, For fames bright a lawn. beauteous Port upon the tide Of life, beyond its rage, No spot through all the world so wide Could thus past griefs assuage. By art not forrn'd, screen'd, still, and deep, With graces to surprise, Where all loud winds for ever sleep, And nought with Nature vies. ■■&' With air so wholesome, keen, and bright, Diffusing health around, Where all that's pleasing to the sight And to the ear is found. For nightingale is not so sweet, Or blackbird on the tree, As are the accents used to greet When I seek rest in thee. 138 mi: i.oveb's harbour of refucu:. Oft elsewhere, wearied with a gloom That's colourless and sad. Where things, as if for Druids, loom Through mists grey, cold, and bad, We feel what's call'd "the Blue disease/' And pant tor azure clear, — I . blue above us thai can please, And blue in waters near. A QOStalgy of azure then. Dreams of Turquoise, Sapphire (1 sing what's writ by (iautier's pen), w . feel, we court, we Buffer. \,, foga obscure thy cheerful shore, Thy a/ure's ever brighl ; No skv A.U80nian tender more, ( >r fair with varied light. I t . . the refuge of a bread Like that which shelters, Baves, — \ peaceful quiet halcyon's nest , M idst worse than ocean's waves. ^ a childlike thing that floats, All lightsome, plaj ful, gay, Midst darkness on which the world dotes, Unseen amidst its Bpraj . an author's beply, &c. 439 With thee the past is but a dream Of wrecks and woes sustain'd ; With thee hope can be seen to gleam, The port we're bound for gain'd. For this is woman's mission high, To guide, restore, and save All those who were to ruin nigh, Upon life's stormy wave. AN AUTHOR'S REPLY, WHEN ACCUSED OF WRITING LIGHT VERSES. Youe verses, Friend, so far from wise, Occasion me, I own, surprise ; They're worthless and so light ! When I expected solid fruit, Such as more both our years would suit, And yield you prospects bright. Grave Monitor, you might attend To other matters you should mend, And pass these trifles by ; For can you not reflect and see How blossoms on each fruitful tree Give no one cause to sigh ? HO ww nmu's i;i n j , u inv £"( t blossoms merely, pink and white, Quite worthless seem and oertes light, While sprouting from the fcr Though no one ever then complains, Or calls them silly, loathsome stains; Then why bo harsh on me r T - true my fruit, if fruit it I 1 denotes a wild ancultun d ta B< refl of heavenly dew — Hut let not oin- ixr.ption prove The law for trees ordain'd above, In gardens old t rengtb emploi , i nsure nol the oldesl hark, When Bprouting from it you can mark ACCUSED OF WEITI^G LIGHT VEESES. 441 A blossom such as springs From youngest trees that by it grow, With each so eager to bestow Its gay and tender things. When frosts have nipp'd these frailties light, No fruit will later cheer your sight, To prove the tree is good ; Then breathe not ice upon my lines, Where only Nature ever shines, If rightly understood. If fruit alone be what you prize, Their lightness should not you surprise, Or fill you with despite ; For they are needful quite as much, As what with hands and lips you touch When all to you seems right. Since love, and joy, and honour high, Reflecting colours of the sky, If nipp'd within the soul, Will cause each man, in youth or age, To stand a grief for every sage Who contemplates the whole ; In vain you'll look for any fruit That will our human nature suit, 1 12 T1IE BEAUTY OF LIFE. In any of life's fields, — Abortions, sour and Bhrunk-up things, Of which no saint or poet she's. Are what his trunk then yields. Then let bright blossoms cheer each tree Which ever can bo well agree With fruit that's good for man ; Permit us still to sprout and sin_r. And yield each loving tiny thing, As long ;i> e'er we can. Since all thi> lightness is a pari Of that which makes a true great heart. In man when old or young, Lei blossoms with t beir colours fair I telight \ on long as life can wear ; And thus the truth is Bung. THE BEAUTY OF LIFE. Bwi i i glorioos orb, revolving amidst sp M ■. • rioua dwelling of the human race. I. ' thi mark t hy planetary waj . wond'ring tributes to thy Maker paj . Thy leatons varied to the common eye. While »cii oce loves their causei to desory, THE BEAUTY OF LIFE. 443 Thy hidden mines of wealth, thy min'ral vein, Thy secret marvels that our state sustain, With all the laws which to the whole belongs, Might kindle highest genius in its songs. Let others still employ their sweetest lyre To sing of beauty which can Art inspire — Thy fields, thy valleys, and thy winding streams, Thy sunsets, far surpassing all our dreams, Thy moors and hills irregularly grand, Thy placid lakes, whose waters wide expand, Thy purple plains, extending to the base Of Alps, whose rosy snow spreads far its trace, Those tracts of ice that blend into the sky, Our feet to baffle and transport our eye, Those blue gulfs of the sea on classic shore, Than wider oceans which astonish more, Those forests casting an historic shade On sites romantic by old knighthood made, Those gardens where the bloom of richest flowers Disclose the tricks of Nature in her bowers, The falling streamlet and the rushing brook, The rocks in which a hermit finds his nook. Let others then go on to sing of Art, Which to this Nature can fresh grace impart — The temples solemn, crowning rugged heights, The feudal tower which even now affrights, Cathedral arches with their glorious span, To prove what wonders can be wrought by man — And then, descending to most common things, The village sweet of which our Goldsmith sings ; I I l Tin: i-.r. vi'tv OF I in:. Or else the city, with its domes bo high, Producing wonder when you Bret descry That line of Old and vast ancestral art Where beats in millions the great human heart. Suburban beauty, bo wearing forms fair, With all the gracious workmanship that there Can show how man baa power to create Things not unworthy of a primal Btate. Let others thus describe the matchless whole Which can by sense of beauty man control. <> blesl abode, bo wondrous and bo fair, Showing in all we Bee the Godhead there, In forms and tints immediate from Bis hand, The human heart thou mak'st to understand The type of beauty, — revelation .-till Of God's great power and Bis glorious will. I!. it all this vision, though so Bweet and high, Aspiring genius Bometimes passes by, To sxo- on beauties of another kind, Which in the world of life we ever find. Thus Denys, the Carthusian, saw the whole, J • fix'd his gaze upon the grander bouL Be .i'a the beauty of what moves the ey But what excited more his deep surprise the interior beauty of our race, Of which some features I now wish to trace, 1 11 | ole order as we find it b1 ill. The docile index of it- Maker's will THE BEAUTY OP LIFE. 445 For though that will is oft renounced, defied, Submission mostly cannot be denied ; And, what I fain would have you still observe, 'Tis not in tales that men from it can swerve Unpunish'd ; while in histories you see The triumph oft of vile iniquity — Which shows the latent sentiments of man Approve what's right and have for vice their ban. So now, while owning there is evil, wrong, A brighter theme shall guide my timid song, Not to conceal, as if by magic strain, The fact of which all nature will complain, That we are fallen from our pristine state With lurking evil, which is past debate — But to show also in the midst of all, How beauty triumphs even o'er the fall ; Beauty still worthy of our love, amaze, Yea, perhaps, often of an angel's gaze. And what, no doubt, to some will sound more strange, With thoughts that only here below will range, 'Tis beauty, which to name as it deserves, An envied end of literature serves ; For only to describe it clearly well, Would form a book like an enchanter's spell. May the song yield of thoughts a plenteous store, To make us love our God and mankind more. Of men, their joys and griefs, their labours sad, Their hopes, fears, wishes, hating still the bad, Their goodness, tenderness, and courage great, Their quiet virtues in obscurest state — III'. THK BF.AUTT OF LTPB. To sing of these Til touch my simple lyre, And pray that only truth may it inspire. Ami first (if Joy, hehold a type is mar When "ii the Thames you Bee a barque appear With colour'd awning and with streamers gay, With crowds of youth to grace a Bummer's day. The music rolls harmonious to the land Where with surprise you fascinated stand ; Bound to the west, Bhe cuts her rapid way. While the melodious harps and cornets play; The gentle wave recedes before her prow, And wake Bhe Leaves I mark it even now, \ standing rapt in thoughl I Bee her glide, [mpell'd with b] d against the Bparkling tide. How many happy hearts must feel the glow That music \\itli such movemenl can bestow! How many bosoms there with love must hum, Who start with rapture and with hope return, Contracting bonds with virtuous resolve, Which nothing later ever will dissolve. Ma\ angels follow thai gay passing throng, Ami guard and guide them with thai mystic song Which, heard above, in silence of the heart, 1 i g Iness, bliss, and each true joy impart Thus, while a Bummer's morn doth cheer the eye, I d « ill with <>ut ward beaul Ies vie. \ • nshine and the tuneful groi Should charm the mind of him who early i THE BEAUTY OE LIFE. 4-17 His thoughts should wander to the happy groups Of those who flock to fields and woods in troops, Each with a heart enliven'd by the sun, By influence of beauty fairly won To correspond in tone with what is seen, With nothing darksome then to intervene. So that the flow'ry summer reigns as well In minds as in the scenes of which you tell. Around, above you, all in beauty share, Look then within, true loveliness is there. The words, " a Summer's Morning," seen in print, This whole wide world of loveliness can hint. Thought flies from landscape under dulcet air, To dwell with rapture on the good and fair, As if one feeling in a youthful breast Surpass'd spring, summer, sunshine, all the rest. But Grief will now await us with its shade, And show how beauteous mankind then is made. See then the mourning house all left alone, With nothing to disturb its quiet tone. Without, all smile beneath the cheerful sky, But there's a room in which the sick must he. O mother ! sister ! short is now my span, Oh, soon return, I'd see thee while I can ! The maiden thinks perhaps she'll pass away Before she views a coming summer's day. Tender and human, clinging yet to life, She thinks perhaps she might have been a wife ; 1 t8 Tin: i i \i i v of i. ii 1 . Enjoining all who love her nol to sigh, Willing to live, yet quite resign'd to die, 1 [oping to live, if God should will it so, So anxious not to cause another's woe; JliankiiiLT her God Bhe now is better muoh Than when of death Bhe thought Bhe felt the toueli. For each thing caring thai was once her pet, While gently wishing ethers Bhould no1 Bret, And li'it until thr last peroeiving clear Thai her flight hence was i ven new bo near. (Pencillings these of angels en pure whit''. Ami like their beauty in her Maker's Bight.) What tender love, what patience, ami what rest, 11. reafter, doubtless, hut already blesl ! Divinesl harmonies, unheard till then, Attesting beautii a -till reserved for men 1; yond this life, when- now through all around We see the features which in grief are found; And then the wee of sisters and of brothers i 1 pa— in Bilence all the thoughts ef mothei Wli.ii Badden'd hearts vet struggling '•. feel The hopes that true religion will reveal! Such grief is beauty, Beauty he its name, The fruit of sorrow truly to proclaim; I Borrow has its mansion ev< r near, thus th' extent of beauty will appear. w employ our t uneful i houghl - that it ever brought THE BEAUTY OF LIFE. 449 To those whose lives, devoted to it still, Obey the laws of the Almighty will. O Heaven ! who can stand and idle be, When the brave sons of labour he can see ? The ceaseless struggles of an honest breast, That flies from needed and desired rest — Acceptance cheerful of a daily pain, In order others better to maintain — The care to do what duty may command, However low the station where they stand — Contentment, gaiety, and ready will To use best strength with best acquired skill, With no dull envy for another's lot, Though all their own poor merits are forgot — These are true beauties spread the country o'er ; And men who think can hardly seek for more. Yet other forms and countless fill our life, For think of children, mothers, and the wife ! Descant, anatomize each smile, each sigh ; 'Tis beauty to enchant th' interior eye Of him who knows, in bosoms such as these, Let who will doubt, no selfishness he sees. Oh, with what purblind sight some men will creep, Pretending to be wise, and counted deep ! As if one glance within a woman's heart Would not transfix th^se follies like a dart, Piercing the shallow texture of their will, That seeks in goodness to find evil still. G g l.'il Tin: 1:1: wty OS tin Domestic love, in all relations dear. Has from the sophist's douht li" wound to fear; And where Oil earth, however far you roam. Cannot he found the sweet ami peaceful home? Where beauty inward forma true fragrant bowers, Surpassing all the Bheen <>f fairest flowers ; The roses, pinks, forget-me-nots are piled, For yon Bee youth and age, the brave ami mild. What tender tints of soft cerulean blue In those whose loves are ever constant, true; What blending of the white ami crimson pale In the soft maiden, if you knew her tale : What true and Loyal flowers of the sum Who Love at Lasl as when they first l>eu r um Though age has dimm'd the lustre of the Light Which, like it- emblem, has to Bel in eight ! ( >h. houses of the million ! there I Bee What Heaven -till calls her own blest charity. But Leave each home ami pa-- along tin' >t: The same interior beauty you will meet, l-'^r Bocial ties, by toil, by trade created, Show beauty, ami bj the form unabated l common, and exposed to each mind's e\ [s thai d yon must it deny P Tli'' docile 'prentice rising with the lark, V work while all around him -tdl i> dark, Wl t'ul, whistles on his Lonel] way, 1 find- in toil itself amusing play — THE BEAUTY OF LIEE. 451 The rough-clad men on whom our lives depend, In whose routine of service nought's to mend, Have these no beauty for the piercing ken Of those, by Heaven well taught, who feel as men ? I only glance at these sights as I sing, And bid you through them urge a constant wing ; For stop and listen, mark, and onwards fly, To you in every haunt of men they're nigh. The youth who hides his good deed as a fault, Who kindness and not self-praise ever thought ; The poor old mother spreading out her wares, And while she spreads them muttering her prayers, Arranging with such care her stock of fruit, So knowing how each lad and lass to suit, A basket and a nook her narrow tether, Still blessing God amidst the foulest weather ; The will of each to risk a life or limb, If any other can be saved by him, — What beauty can with acts like these compete, Though all beneath a rugged form you meet ? Then love itself — I sing it without fear, In beauty new will primitive appear At times in spots, a desert all around, Oasis true itself unalter'd found. The East despotic, and the West corrupt, Poetic manners yet exist unhurt. Unnumber'd instances might here be seen, If walls or ranks did never intervene. Society with scorn may pass all by, But there they are to an impartial eye, G g 2 152 Tin: r.r..vi rv 01 i.n i .. The great injustice of the world so cold Will not endure to hear these beauties tohl ; Refined depravity will e'er believe That all Buoh pictures serve but to deceive. Grave men, recoiling from its moral blight, Have neither hearts nor ear-, and still less eight ; But still Love's primitive and Bweetest flower I- found untainted in the lowly bower. You fly to regions oriental, wild, \ - it' there only could be found the child ; And all the while he rests his spangled win. B oeatb some roof of which no poet Bings. You court some hideous phantom of your mind, To what is true and beauteous proving blind, While there, some paces only from your door, The matchless artist shows his richest store. For there is beauty mental, though with And not to own it is but fond pretence. But dow still higher Fancy bids me soar. To witness beauty that Bhould move as more For mankind still must 1"- Burvey'd again, \ subject ever to religion's reign ; And her interior on them t urn. With love for them must nature even hum. I creature soft, so often wanton, wild, I latest breath in many things a child — l ' 1, ent iced, and want ing Bt< ady will, 1 unmix'd with any ill — THE BEAUTY OF LIFE. 453 Careless of self when heeding some false star, To follow brightness shining from afar — Yet wishing always what is right and fair, Unheeding mischief that still hirketh there — Has still the deep-fix'd wish within its soul, To love and worship Him who rules the whole. The fault committed by the girl or youth, Will never steel their heart against the truth ; They own their failings, think all others good, Their own hearts by themselves misunderstood. But one short word unlocks the fount of tears, And, mercy heard, the sinner disappears ; Pity they ask from others and from God, And bow in silent love before His nod — Their love intenser, knowing that they err'd Through weakness, hopes and hearts so soon deterr'd From virtue's hard and upward rugged steep, And, pouring out their souls in tears, they weep. Oh ! if their penitence such beauty be, What meets our view when holiness we see ? We often think that God is little served, But such a censure has not been deserved ; For, after all, a woman says, we own That man's most constant love to God is shown. And woman says it, whose quick piercing eyes No subtle secret of the heart defies. And she at least may say it fearless so, In whom true sanctity will chiefly grow. In fact, the world external this proclaims, By institutions, customs, works, and names. I". I Tin: l.r.w i v OE life. For Ilim in every town the palace stands, Which that whole complex boast of man commands ■. For Him high art creates those wondrous things Which it refuses to the pride of kings; T i painter and musician ever show They work for Him more than for aught below ; l Iliin the rarest jewels from the mine, For Him the marble and the purple shine. Man knows He needs not rich symbolic Btore, l!ut how could he Bhow deep intention more? A. cloak of wool Saint Martin's, nothing grand, - B iome a Bymbol of our Lord's command Obey'd, was soon transfigured by those alms, Never to 3 ield to any \ ictor's palms. In marble, granite, jasper, porphyry - , In cloth of gold wrought lull of mystery; While diamonds, pearls, purple, satin, all, deem'd but poor to decorate that pall. By nameless genius made a cherish'd theme, I I countless piles you see its radiance gleam. I I • Raphael, < toujon, and ( lellini bold, l'\ noblest works have all its Btory told; 1 1 Qvenuto oarved on banners hung, B Gtoujon sculptured, and by Raphael sung; While Hugo's pen, exhausting all the Btore . 1 in astonish more. Then mark the worship whioh with nature nes, K ; i dawn and evening rising to the sk t thrush and lark, < > heart, how they do I t heir praises 1 hey would bring. THE BEAUTY OF LIFE. 455 You are a poet ? yes ; so none deny, To laud the worship in the grove and sky ; But if you speak of churches and their choirs, That instant poetry or wisdom tires ; And yet 'tis there I'd send you to survey How beauteous mankind is on festal day. In France, what hours are spent in fervent prayer, What love, what homage, and what songs are there ! Let others speak of nations to them known — I sing as last impressions give me tone. True, some will only see the marble's glow, But the chief beauty — 'tis each breast can show. What concentration inwardly is found ! Unearthly air seems wafted all around. The family of God, so call'd in prayer ', The spell, the union, the enchantment's there. Familiam tuam ! Jesus, Mary, John, Disciples countless, doubts are fled and gone ! You see the faithful round you as you kneel, And down the thoughtful face a tear will steal. True beauty ! elsewhere love it when it's near, But own, adoring, it surpasses here ! Now still a wider theme we should unroll, And glance at what is witness'd in each soul Far off, left lonely — all in homes unknown, Where bloom the flowers but in the churches sown, Whence I must turn, for stay I may not dare, Though I confess my heart from youth was there. 1 21st Sund. after P. 166 i in: hi \i\\ OP in 1 1. Withdrawn then thus amidst the world's dull strife. Behold religion's beauty in each life. What portraits! by Angelico just mad.'? Nay, nor by Raphael— they are left in shade; < >h. 'tis the Blaster Artist paints it all ! Admiring, down and in deep Bilence hill ! Heaven ! what love to mankind then is due, When faith ami holiness in tlinii you vi u ' What love? I ask : 'tis not the love of man, God! 'tis more, though utter it who can ? Oh, where can liu r hi and colours n<>u he found, To paint what's seen each day on Buch a ground? Wil'e. mother, daughter of her tender heart . Oh ye<, the thought of thee ean all impart. I. titia beauteous, and thou peerless Jai <>h, each must aid me in this highest strain. I II thee each luVi-el m1|.' I | ., Tei ; \ . • all'! fl What here no poet's music ean reveal — The beauty of our race transformed bo, By matchless graces which in these will grow — That Bofi and tender love for all our rac In which a Beraph's ardour you ean trace — Thai ' and purifying noble ire, When ill would mar the L r I to which aspire Such hearts and minds with all their truth and might, i reach the Bource of Beautj beyond Bight — Thai docile yielding to the gracious plan, nn and perfect every breathing man — 1 b faith courageous in w hat's yet unseen, That scorn of what would basely intervene, THE BEATTTT OF LIFE. 457 That honest owning of soft nature still, Combined with such a great heroic will, That mild accordance with great duty's call, That wish to seek in God their utmost all, That view of each thing by the light of skies, Which open wider as the spirit flies — He who can think of these, nor beauty see, Remains indeed a mystery for me. And then that parting of the spirit there ! What sight of beauty can with this compare ? " Jesus and Mary, but can this be death ? " Such the last words of the poor struggling breath ! Another peaceful love for loved ones calls, The soul flies upward, and the body falls. Oh, wondrous food to human bosoms given, The room she dies in but the hall of heaven ! Go, search through all the things most beauteous, fair, To which the artist will with joy repair, And say what loveliness surpasses this, When the last act of life is but a kiss — A kiss for Christ, presented on the tree, A kiss for brothers, sisters, you and me ! Great God ! such beauty fills up all the store Of what is given here ; there's left no more For Fancy's self to dream or to portray, When God who gives her guides her on her way. And now let Science hold her wondrous scroll And show the laws by which the planets roll, 158 thi: be w i y <»r life. Fourself imagine floating through the sky 'Midst Buns all ii\M and stars revolving by — 'Midst cycles, orbs whose still unchanging way ('an tli.' Almighty power best display. Descending from these heights to earthly ground, Let arti^t> sing the beauties therein found, Let tin- whole complex variegated Bcene Of beauty exquisite in all that's Been, In forms and colours, changes, be Burvey'd, A- if the whole to charm were only made. : Btill above, beyond them all will Bhine These inward beauties from the Baud Divine, Imparted to its creatures from the ii Combining Godlike grace with human dust, And still to man vouchsafed, though in his fall, By 1 1 iin w i and can restore it all. But beauty such as this Bhould kindle love, Then why to blame bo constant and reprove! God saw man >unk in worse condition low, We need oot add what He would then bestow. Will von who see him with VOUT vision dim, Think to Bhow goodness when condemning himf l . • chargi - such as t bese be left to one WllO knOWS and wills when treason he has done. True brothers all below of softest mould, I '• him, and oot bj us, let sums be told ; I " DO man can, however he may fcrj . Mai-., up those books for other scrutiny. Enough, wit h inward <\ 68 of BOul II' : • '..-.. ii, ever in the whole. CONVALESCENCE. 459 Let love and tenderness for human kind Be the result of a deep thoughtful mind. Yes, faults and crimes exist as hideous spots, But even fair leaves and flowers have their blots. And often when to wrath you feel impell'd, The fancied blemish would be soon dispell'd, If piercing deeper in the hidden field You found the beauty in its veins conceal'd. When God indulges, how can vain man boast Of what should crush and terrify him most, The thought that he saw ugliness to scare When angels smiled on beauty even there ? But cease, my simple unregarded lyre, And end invoking some bright seraph's fire, To kindle for each one we see true love, And then our wings are free to mount above Where beauty in its essence pure is found, While songs of Heaven only cause the sound, Inviting all its glorious grace to see Through blissful ages of eternity. CONVALESCENCE, IN THE GAKDEN OF POULIGTJEN. Health wings the feet o'er hill and vale ; No bounds it stoops to know ; But list a short and simple tale, What sickness can bestow. t60 OOKTALBSCEKI When parting, it will leave :i friend is Convalescence known — A pale one, constant fco attend, For past grief to atone. < )!' Theagea the bridle rough Wise Plato praised of old, Deeming Bickness then enough To check from evil hold. But here we have a Bofter rein Of silk, though quite as Btrong, Uncertain movements to restrain, Ami all that Bounds like wrong. This pale friend opes a garden fair, A small space wall'd around ; Vuu breathe the sweel reviving air, ^ on feebly touch the ground. Oi more the sky! the sun! the breeze! No tongue can ever tell Your joy when weakness feels and si \\ hal none adore w hen well. \ ad here it is b tender sky That Italy mighl own, \n azure vault to charm the >y\ all b magic tone. CONVALESCENCE. 461 From plant to plant you make your way ; A station is each flower Where you feel delight to stay, Though changing still your bower. At one time roses close your side, Then grape pavilions light, And then with laurel } r ou abide, Or with geraniums bright. Queen Marguerites are ready there, Like troops of damsels gay, To welcome you with faces fair That smile the live-long day. Then would your eyes on green repose ? You have the dew-fed grass, With shades the Arbutus bestows, Inviting those who pass On paths exposed to breeze and sun Or sinuous 'midst " groves " Still fragrant when the day is done, And each one silent roves. For 'tis not only flowers bright That smile upon you here ; Sweet ruling Graces are in sight, And often they draw near. 162 COM LLE8CENCE. Companions of tin- human kind With airy fool steps greet Each blooming Bower, which, like their mind, Unveil'd is glowing Bweet. Then water from a fountain small Presents a blue n Where fairest faces of them all Might gaze in loveliu Ginerium'a knightly plumes there wave, I [ow tall and white tiny grow ! Which now our climates well can brave, Ami wand-like beaut ies show. What need have you o'er oceans wide To pass from t his small pale, Winn Btrangers such are at your Bide \\ it h each his nat ive tale 'i Queen Marguerite in China L, r r ,,-, A ad sunflower in Peru, Tulips, a/.alias, laurel-rose I \ a. I adia flew. 'The lost from Greece has wander' d here, I ' ■... ESurotas well -, 11 I 'ort ugal you needs must hear [f I: 11 d i-jour will tell. CONVALESCENCE. 463 Let ten feet now here count a league, As you will shift your seat, Sit down and travel — no fatigue. No spot that is not sweet. If you remark and study near Whatever meets your eye, Dimensions all will disappear, The small with great will vie. The grass is forest for the ant ; The moss its vast wild moor, With roads on which it has to pant, Intent on daily tour. Clad is each spot with beauty new, To charm your watchful eyes, At noon, at eve, 'tis not the view You saw when day did rise. With sixty tints in blue alone, Revolving earth casts shade, That changes with each colour's tone ; To vary all is made. The nameless tints you hoped to find Each time you feebly stray Back to the spots that charm 'd your mind, Are gone and pass'd away ; I'M COM \i i 91 i \< i Sucr led by another tunc. Still beauteouB, yielding joy, An emblem that we nothing own Which time will not destroy . Four journeys too 'midst flow'rets 1 .-miles B \ ive thai alter'd tone With which you once rode weary miles, E ich hour with its own. For here the moments al] are mark'd By some nevi change assign'd To plants and insects round you park'd, \u'l influencing mind. \ - 1 then, from levee of the flow 1 ly rule they open, <■! I. fcidon keeps earlj hours ', I Jut Vesper each one knows. S • a, every insect, everj colour, And every tint around, Enjoys its own especial hour When it is always found. Be* des, I bough lining walks al< i N i i : '. '• ' • are In i h -talk will be a t heme for Bong, \\ ith jproul ing man els near 1 Shuts :il tl CONVALESCENCE. 465 Showing how buds, unfolding, change, In Nature's wondrous way, As by exotics rare you range, Surprised from day to day. I knew not then Alphonso Karr, When thus my fancy flew, Like his, my voyage was not far 2 , My own results I drew. Here are precious stones that fly, And gems that fragrance pour — Your emeralds but please the eve, No jewels offer more. I cried, what startling things to see, In acts of insects strange ; Each fly a theme of mystery, Your thoughts to disarrange. In tiny quaint forms what a will ! Pursuing still their prey, A lion's heart, an eagle's bill, When driven oft away. Then, animals each other kill, While man alone can show How strange it is to have the will To be one's own great foe ! 2 " Voyage autour de mon Jardin." II h 166 COXVAI.I-m T.VCE. From dreams disquieting, so near, JTou torn, and half with dread ; I5ut Love in l>irds will reappear, To soothe a wand'ring head. Enough, 'tis goodness shows the most, Let thai suffice !'"!• end ; ( )f wit i • here's here a hosi , To prove thai God's a friend. Bui whai a Liberty you steal, Though here » » 1 • 1 i *_r > « I to Btaj ; ill thus fetter'd 1 appeal, BEow could they farther stray ? X.i boney-bee, devoid of can-, ( 'an Lead a Life more IV. e Than yours, although a captive there, And circumscribed you !»■. For books with Bunshine wing your mind To soar beyond all spare ; The frees! of t he human kind, Who can with \ ou keep pac I id to be shut in \\ it h walls, — Like K an-, I think them lair, — \ me wit h flowers . safe from calls, With Bhrubs, and Bun, and air. CONVALESCENCE. 467 De Sales would have the garden small, To savour of restraint ; A corner, little book — that's all, Where joy's without a taint. When bodies move more restlessly, Without restraint or bar, Our souls seem curb'd mysteriously, And cannot fly so far. The one or other must have here Confinement now and then — The mind, to be erratic mere — The body, to be men. Oh, what is it to traverse earth, Or sail from pole to pole, If of wing'd mind there be a dearth, While limbs know no control ? So here this law of art is taught, Regarding great and small, From little much can still be sought, But simply nought from all. And he who wishes all to see, Defeated of his aim, Sees nothing, thinking he can be Unlimited in fame. Hh2 168 CONY LLESCl NCE. Mysterious Nature here shows more Its marvels to your ey< s, Thau if you roved the wide world o'er, To seek Borne fresh surprise. Nay, what are walk-, knees supple, bold, With change of scene so dear, But labour that Beems stale and old, Coin) an d with what is here? ( )h, here we'd stroll for ever bj . And could a whole world find ; The thought that, Btrong again, we By, Makes health Beam quite unkind. \\ hat ! launch'd upon man's ocean wide, ( mce more bo resl Less grown, The old wild course o'er life's lull bide, With wrecks ami dangers Btrewn! - i . \ .11 bo ; recover'd health \\ ill all again require ; We real in ports like this h\ stealth, And life is meant to tire. Pouliguen, D'Esgrigny's home, W hat health llmu dost impart I'll praise thee whereeoe'er I roam ; Thou winnest each one's heart . WIND ON A SUMMER'S MORNING. 469 I pass in silence all the rest, I only speak of mine, Reviving with thy peace so blest, And henceforth ever thine. WIND ON A GREY SUMMER S MORNING, AFTER A LONG CONTINUANCE OP BRIGHT CALM WEATHER. Oh, sweet is the song of the maiden shy, And the chorus of voices fine, But the sound of wind, as it passes by, Somehow startles and seems divine, As it shakes the flower and bends the tree, Wild, sweeping on fretful, mysteriously. See how the shrub will now stoop at the sigh, And the flower bow down its head. And what if we heard it the grave-yard nigh, As if mourning over the dead, While it passes, casting its solemn spell, And whither or whence no mortal can tell ? Or what if we heard it some ruins near, Of tall palace or abbey grey, Neglected, so silent as to cause fear ? Oh, how much has it then to say, 170 wimi OK A BTTMMEB'B Mi'liMNO. \- il bends fche weed on the high rough wall, And you dread to traverse that roofless hall, Where fche Last trace of man attracts your eyes In a knocker, a hinge, a door, Bui in that form exciting surprise, Where life is seen no more. Hark ' through the split crannies of paintless oak, What a deep hollow voice has sigh'd and spoke! Oh yes ! there are Bounds thai Bpeak to fche soul. That can bring hark the ]>a>t and gone, And over which science has no control Wh<-n it- besi bas been Baid and done, Determining with precision its own, Wh:it can be effected by each new tunc. And Bucb is fche sigh of the wind that plays Through fche plants of a garden fair, With BUch wild, and fitful, and startling Way8, That you feel something Btrange is there, Which speaks of i he future. Bpeaks of fche paal , tells you how all things are speeding fa 1 • tin- stranger now in the air ersi bright, Thus murmuring words of his own, •w imblended \\ ill bring to light , Though hollow and grave be his tone, \ hout, a long sigh, or a burst thai dies, Wl i mere musical arl defies. WIND ON. A SUMMER'S MORNING. 471 * 'Tis a ditty, a soft, wild, ancient song, Full of hope, yet with sadness mix'd ; And such as to nature will still belong, When to nothing constant and fix'd, Though reaching still down to the depths of your soul, Summon'd to thought by its tragical toll. The garden itself, on this morning grey, Has now too its own voice to utter ; A tribute of some kind it needs must pay, So all is disorder and flutter, The marguerites, roses, gineriums, all, Low bending as if they would prostrate fall. Beds of convolvulus, tender and white, Are shuddering all in a crowd ; Lone, slender, fair things that stood such a height, Are no longer motionless, proud, — A beauteous bevy that runs here and there, Scatter'd their feathers, dishevell'd their hair. But though flowers fly and shrubs will bend At the voice of the fitful guest. They seem to cry out, " Who an ear will lend Now to him who denies us rest ? It is not for us, mere poor frighten'd flowers, To profit by what he would say in bowers. 172 LA DHIMTSi'Ili:. Let man then attend t<> the mystic sound, For to him it ran speak most clear, When bidding him look still ever around, Ami to mark what advances near. With steps all unheard, till flowers quiver; And ends are obtain' d the same as ever." LA BRKTF.srili:. wiUTiis \iiik a visrr 10 1111. KABQUIS OF \|M\ | \ 1 < . i . SIontaigu, noble, thou type of the great, In courage of soul hold thee on through time; And tu those who once witness thy antique Btate The pasl will return with glorious chime, When all that we love in ages ofold I a seen here in life as in Btory told. It is nut thy WOOds, as dark as the night, It Ls Dot thy eastle, s<> va-t and fair, \ iddenly bursts on the startled Bight, Showing drawbridge and water round it there. With towers and bastions SO grim and stern, True knightly old pile as you then discern. i • nut the splendour of board and ball, Thai fires the fancy and yields it food, of the mind discloses it all, W itb a rapid thrill that i- understood ; XA BRETESCHE. 473 No, sooth, for all this may be seen elsewhere, And no poet to sing it found to dare. But, 'tis ways of the Christian noble here, Of Joinville, St. Louis, in ages past, Oh, 'tis this that astonishes, seen so near, Conferring a glory ever to last, When men burn with love for the faith so grand, And feel their deep minds revive and expand. Oh, who without joy can see hearts so high, To nature still true, Homeric and pure, While yet soaring to dictates of saints so nigh, With deeds for eternal years to endure, When sung will be alms to the poor man's cot, And triumphs of conquerors be forgot ? Keligion ! thou mystic balm for the breast, How sweet here and vast is thy secret power ! When conferring on greatness on earth such rest As now reigns in this antique feudal tower, Where men wonder more at joy of a soul, Than at the high grandeur which stamps the whole ! For sweet is the piety old and true, Playful, that laughs with the gay and the young, Where nothing extreme or " put on " meets the view, What by no minstrels could ever be sung, Who abhor and revolt from all pretence, With keenness of soul and instinct of sense. 17 1 THE CHUBCH OF Pori.IMT.V. Chivalry! Honour! now hail to thy scat. I.i Bn tesche will point to thy constant pole, Like ;t star in the darkness, where nought we meel But what can mislead a benighted soul, Following meteors fitful to gleam, D isivc, fantastic, not what they seem. B member, remember the banner high, "i oung guest, which still floats <>n those walls so 1 'IVV - . ' Emblazoned with symbols that point to the sky, 'Midst the dark cold Bhades of thy worldly way. Remember, and let that flag be thy sun. But follow it constant, thy race Is won. AFTER HEABING A STRANGER'S IMPRESSIONS in i ii i. CHTJBCB OP POl i.n.i i \, win \ v 1-1 n n FOB rin. ii ftST i i mi: <>n ft] ,,.\ i i;im. rBOM \ LOTTO | | | .S| 3 Bbiohi Angels! Bay, are we deceived, When conscience feels itself relieved By list'ning to the heart Still, is it but another wile, d'a faint st ruggle to beguile, And rivets to imparl THE CHUBCH OF POULIGUEN. 475 Say, is it all delusion vain, Our fancy only to sustain, When prayer is silence still, Like his who thinks he nothing sought, But once, when anguish accents brought, To bend his Maker's will ? Though then his vocal prayer was heard, And a young child most dear preserved In answer to that prayer, Does this imply ungrateful wrong, And ways that to the lost belong ? Must all be tainted there ? Invited by the vesper bell, A stranger enter'd — shall he tell ? And heard the holy song ; The church was full, the strain was high, A tear then started to his eye ; He thought of former wrong. He thought how God is kind and good ; A thrill came o'er him as he stood, He sank upon the ground ; He thought how he had often fail'd, And yet A Will had still prevail' d, That there he should be found, Where looks conviction could create That none seen there were reprobate, 17G tiik ci ki: Dl sr. mi n. imi. Where all was fair and well — IIi> heart then ^lo'w'd with mystery, • My God," it cried, " I say to Thee, I'd love Thee, though in hell!" 'Twaa not a though! from Fancy first, It flash'd a Btrange spontaneous burst; He fell before be thought. Lei others only bear their own, Who feel all this with safer tone. And you will say they ought. Thus ever freely Bing or Bay The fleeting musings of each day, Without disguise <>r shame. The hypocrite is stupid, vile, if they're Bimple, withoui guile, < Mi, what is there to Maine ? THE CURfi DE ST. MOLPH. I'm if the holy, and joj ous, and free ; Then why should my strain 1"- bIowP \ merrier, bappier man I can't \ bolier you can't know. THE CUBE DE ST. MOLPH. 477 All the fields, they are wild with rocks brown and stern, The pine-woods are straggling there, The granite protruding is lined with tall fern ; Lonely crosses ask a prayer. Celtic in figure, though still far from his home, These crosses by him restored Show the pastoral care which makes him to roam, That God may be well adored. We come to a hollow with woods all around, A pond and a garden lawn, The house stands open, but its owner, not found, Has gone out since early dawn, To visit the poor in some cottage far off, Says a smiling aged crone, Who tells all our girls their bonnets to doff ; She echoes her master's tone. The shutters thrown back, and invited within ! The table shall soon be spread ; There's nothing she'd spare, though the world to win, And besides, what would be said By Monsieur le Cure, come back from his ride, If ever he should be told That aught in his house had been rudely denied To guests however so bold ? 17^ Tin: «ri:i'. DE BT. moi.imi. The grey-stain'd old house had Been far other ways, A hunting-lodge once it stood ; The Dukea of Bretagne, in those pad ancient days, ( !ame here to be near the \\ ood. Then an old rough round tower for staircase served ; In the rooms are books and toys, \ Shakspeare I see too, with much care preserved, I guess \\ liat i in -lit joys ! I 5m t now :ill is ready; Bit down here and dine; 1 [er we obey in a t rice ; Milk, marmalade, fruits, and the curate's best wine, Is it no! Bpicj and oil I hen 1 be liqueur ! oh now, where docs it stand ? S;iid the lady who knew well How all Becrel wishes he could understand, W< re he only here to tell. I've found it ; ['ve found it ; thewhole is aowdone; I ■> bottles produced -t and there : I trust, '•aid our .V stor, that we shall have gone When tli'' < 'mi - ' comes from praj '•nt half utter'd, when hark ' then ice That I hail no! heard till then ; I ' C ir6 himself! oh, now we rejoii But dumbfounded look'd the men, THE CURE DE ST. MOLPH. 479 For an instant — not more — for running in haste, The master rush'd in with glee, " It is not from this cupboard that you should taste ; Wait till what's better you see." Then he laugh'd and would shake us all by the hand ; The strangers soon felt at home ; No, never such welcome in any dear land You have wherever you roam. " You are English," he cried, "our saint is your own ; Your own is all that you see ; His name, I confess it, is Frenchified grown, But he came from Malmsbury." Then too he would give us his sweet choicest flowers, His chestnuts so large and brown ; Alas! in his absence we'd cull'd from his bowers, And shaken his glories down. " 'Tis so much the better," still laughing he cried, " Your carriage can hold yet more ;" It skills not refusing ; he won't be denied ; He thrusts them in at the door. And pray all the while mark what manners polite, What tact, and sense of degree ! The French priest has elbow'd the proudest-bred knight, His soul is all chivalry ! I^i) THE CURE DB ST. 1C0LFB. And now this is the saint who lives with the poor, Whose i in i' • too is all for others ; Whose frugal plain fare with his life will endure, The friend of children and mothers ; Whose whole life is a tissue i if arts divine, ( >f humanity the slave, Who knows not the use of the phrase " it is mine ;' Whose joy is to cheer ami save. Here is n.i artful foe to domestic bonds, While aiming at ends deem'd holy, To which nothing of high honour corresponds [ntrigue or fully wholly, Nor ignorance either; fur, never well taught, There are some who quite ignore The natural virtues which ought to be broughl 'I'm reliction's Bacred store. *o Bui a priesl to whom "great "' would ever apply, I d hi- w ise regard for each, At highesl -till aiming, while tending what's nigh, Tin' whole of < Joil'.s law to teach. <) bright Prance, "pleasant" land of hear! and the gun, I envy i by lov( - and skies ; Shall I add what more mj affection has won: !• is thai which never dii APOLOGY FOE THE HEABT. 481 Thy priesthood to which we all ever may fly, To this type constantly near, In joy to catch beams from a kind happy eye, In sorrow to wipe a tear ! Yes, I envy the smiles of thy vineyards bright, And thy fair Loire's blue waves — But here is what serves us beyond all that light, For it strengthens, guides, and saves. APOLOGY FOR THE HEART. On the voice to our childhood once so dear ! Oh the face that charm'd its eyes ! Alas ! now for neither we shed a tear, And the heart feels no surprise, As still we adhere like leaves to the tree, While so many branches left stripp'd we see. Those fallen but lately, we count them all, Our bloom fades to see them part ; The half of ourselves will drop as they fall, And sapless we seem at heart, Beholding them scatter'd, torn, so fair, Borne wildly by winds through the upper air. I i 482 APOLOGY FOR Tin: n i:\rt. But those who, in life's delicious sweet morn, Were snapp'd off close by our Bide, Those who first smiled on us as we were burn. In our thoughts do more abide ; Reserving tenderness all lor the last, A- if with no love for the former past. Tlir brother, the parents are flown away. Scarce remember'd sisters — so, Ami have we do tributes of love to pay, That long absence should make grow? While time has swept mi with its winds that kill E'en those that are Left entwined with as still? i and t<> yield them our heart-' depths are made. Though here they contract their folds, Time their impressions will seem tn Invade, Whatever may he t heir moulds. Grief, unlike transports, Bhould yield unto a Engraved, as was meant, on a fading paj bi lit ve not that memory, though it fail, I I died with the leaves t hat close ; There is a bright core that yet will prevail, And flower wit h stamps of t bose ; \\ hen luarts will expand \\>v 6V6T aOOVO, And bring h.e l. each blossom of form* c L< APOLOGY FOR THE HEART. 483 Accuse not the heart then with sad surprise, Though its radiance seems to fade, It only reserves for your future eyes Of the past each fondest shade. For freed from the cold of the mortal air, Unfolded, each trace from the first is there. THE END. UlLBERT AND KIV'UGTO.N, PRINTERS, ST. JOHN S SuUARE, EON DON. L 006 213 649 4 REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY AA 000 366 506 4