THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 
 LEISUE.E HOTJllS.
 
 jiliiii!!! 
 
 'i||^' 7^,. 
 
 M 
 
 ''iiii 'l:i
 
 LEISUEE HOUES; 
 
 COLLECTION OF POEMS, 
 
 JOHN ISACKE. 
 
 " Oh deem not in this worldly strife, 
 An idle art the Poet brings ; 
 Let high Philosophy control, 
 And sages calm the stream of life, 
 'Tis he refines its fountain springs. 
 The nobler passions of the soul." 
 
 T. Cajipbell. 
 
 STROXJr) : 
 PKINTED BY J. ELLIOTT, 
 
 HIGH STREET, 
 1859.
 
 J. ELLIOTT, STROUL WATER PRINTING-OFFICE.
 
 M/N. 
 PREFACE. FR 
 
 0:0 ^ 
 
 The illustrious Coleridge has somewhere said, 
 while remarking on the pleasure derived from his 
 pen, that " independently of profit or fame, Poetry- 
 had heen to him its own exceeding gi-eat reward." 
 And the late Hugh Miller has expressed himself in a 
 somewhat similar manner.* May I then, having ex- 
 perienced something of this feeling, he allowed 
 humhly to follow in the distance and say, that the 
 writing of verses has been to me a peculiar source of 
 gratification during my hours of leisure, and having 
 written a number of pieces on various subjects, I 
 was induced to send many of them for insertion in the 
 iN'ewspapers of the Neighbourhood; and it is now 
 by the solicitations of some friends who, wishing to 
 preserve them, requested me to collect these lowly 
 efforts of a self-taught muse, consequently I must 
 beg other readers not severely to criticise these, the 
 pleasurable productions of my " Leisui-e Hours." 
 
 J. I. 
 Cemetery Lodge, Dec., 1858. 
 
 * "The pleasure which I enjoy in composing verse is 
 quite independent of other men's opinions, and I expect to 
 feel as happy as ever in the amusement, even though 
 assured that others would find no pleasure in reading what 
 I found so much in writing." 

 
 CONTENTS 
 
 c--1S='«G=*i^^^Q^^- 
 
 The Acorn 
 
 5 
 
 Lines to the Wild Hyacinth 
 
 8 
 
 The Snow-flake and the CMld 
 
 9 
 
 The Village Bells are sounding 
 
 10 
 
 Lines to a Snowdrop 
 
 12 
 
 Stanzas— to a Friend ... 
 
 13 
 
 The Storm 
 
 ... 15 
 
 Song of the Stormy Petrel 
 
 17 
 
 The Violets 
 
 18 
 
 The Pilgrim ... 
 
 19 
 
 The Mariner's Grave 
 
 ... 23 
 
 To a Jet Fountain 
 
 23 
 
 Lines to a Butterfly 
 
 ... 25 
 
 Lines on the Premature Death of the Aut 
 
 hor of 
 
 Endj-mion 
 
 26 
 
 Lament of the Captive Nightingale 
 
 29 
 
 Stanzas to 
 
 30 
 
 To the Cuckoo 
 
 32 
 
 Stanzas 
 
 33 
 
 Lines to a Fugitive Butterfly 
 
 35
 
 stanzas to a Sky Lark 
 
 36 
 
 Lines, Lamenting the Felling of "Hazle Wood" 
 
 38 
 
 Lines on a May Morrdng 
 
 40 
 
 Sonnet to an Owl 
 
 41 
 
 To the Swallow ... 
 
 42 
 
 Stanzas 
 
 43 
 
 Afar in the Forest 
 
 44 
 
 Stanzas 
 
 45 
 
 The Slave's Dream 
 
 46 
 
 The Idiot Boy 
 
 48 
 
 Elijah ... 
 
 49 
 
 Lines to the English Fire Fly 
 
 52 
 
 To 
 
 53 
 
 To the Owl ... 
 
 54 
 
 To the same 
 
 55 
 
 A Fable 
 
 56 
 
 To the Daisy 
 
 59 
 
 Liaes written on a Summer's Morning 
 
 61 
 
 Our Early Days ... 
 
 63 
 
 Sonnet 
 
 64 
 
 Happy Land 
 
 65 
 
 Lassie Smile Again 
 
 66 
 
 Lucinda's Dream, or the Double Vision 
 
 68 
 
 Stanzas to Spring 
 
 72 
 
 In Memoriam 
 
 73 
 
 The Evening Hour 
 
 75 
 
 Song ... 
 
 76 
 
 Stanzas 
 
 77 
 
 The Sunbeam 
 
 79 
 
 The Viper 
 
 80 
 
 The Summer Storm 
 
 82 
 
 The Old Village Church 
 
 84 
 
 The Spot for a Grave 
 
 85
 
 m 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 To the Cuckoo ... ... ... 87 
 
 AVoodlands of Frome ... ... ... 89 
 
 Stanzas to a Lady Gathering "Wild Flowers ... 90 
 
 The Mother at her Infant's Grave ... ... 92 
 
 To the Bramble ... ... ... 93 
 
 Sonnet ... ... ... ... 96 
 
 The Hollow Tree ... ... ... 97 
 
 Stanzas ... ... ... ... 98 
 
 A Legend of the Golden Valley ... ... 100 
 
 The Yonng Florists ... ... ... 107 
 
 Contrition, written to Laura ... ... 108 
 
 Impromptu Lines to Autumn ... ... 110 
 
 Stanzas ... ... ... ... Ill 
 
 The Last Farewell ... ... ... 112 
 
 The Dispute ... ... ... 114 
 
 The FaU of the Leaf ... ... ... 115 
 
 Lines suggested by Tiewing the Roman Pavement, 
 
 at Woodchester ... ... ... 116 
 
 Eetrospection ... ... ... ... 118 
 
 Sonnet ... ... ... ... 120 
 
 Farewell to Rural Joys ... ... ... 121 
 
 Companions of my Early Days ... ... 122 
 
 Oh ! Plant not the WiUow ... ... ... 124 
 
 Lines to the Blue Throated Warbler ... 125 
 
 Lines ... ... ... ... 126 
 
 The Rustic Cot ... ... ... 127 
 
 Sonnet ... ... ... ... 128 
 
 The Cricket on the Hearth ... ... 129 
 
 Morning ... ... ... ... 131 
 
 The Moralist's Dream, or Sunshine and Shower 132 
 
 Stanzas ... ... ... ... 136 
 
 Burial of Alaric ... ... ... 138 
 
 Lines ... ... ... ... ... 140
 
 IV 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 Recollections of Clifton ... ... 140 
 
 Stanzas, written in November ... ... 143 
 
 Hebrew Melody (or Lament) ... ... 145 
 
 Virtue dismissing Courtesy ; or the Mask Unveiled 146 
 
 The Seasons .., ... ... ... 146 
 
 Legendary Lines ... ... ... 148 
 
 To the Redbreast in December ... ... 153 
 
 Epistle to a Friend ... ... ... 154 
 
 Farewell to the Fading Year ... , ... 158
 
 LEISUEE HOUES, 
 
 THE ACORN. 
 
 "The creation of a thousand forests lies in an acorn." — 
 
 Emersox, 
 
 §OME ages remote in the flight of time, — 
 'Twas a long, long while ago, — 
 There was a poor and a lonely clime. 
 With a sterile soil below : 
 A barren spot, a most dreary waste, 
 
 And'a desolate scene to view, 
 "Where the howling wind the storm cloud cha.sod, 
 As over the land it flew. 
 
 No flowret e'er had deign' d to bloom, 
 
 No shrub its leaves display' d. 
 To give to the insect world a home, 
 
 Or cast o'er the land a shade ; 
 But for ages and ages it had lain 
 
 A desert and lifeless scene, 
 "Where the water-floods were ponr'd in vain. 
 
 And verdure never had been.
 
 6 
 
 At lengtli it befell that a straggling bird, 
 
 Or a squirrel (be that as it may) 
 But which for certain was never heard, 
 
 Came wandering that way ; 
 And as it cross' d the desolate spot, 
 
 An acorn by chance let fall, 
 Which soon in the soil began to rot, 
 
 1^'ast aided by tempest and squall. 
 
 And the rain it beat, and the wind it blew, 
 
 And the seasons rolled around. 
 When behold a shoot it upwards threw, 
 
 And a rootlet into the ground ; 
 The sun shed o'er it a genial ray, 
 
 Its leaves grew fresh and free, 
 And ere many seasons had faded away. 
 
 It flourished a sapling tree. 
 
 Old Time pass'd by in his onward flight. 
 
 And stopped for a moment to gaze, — 
 For on tliat spot 'twas a novel sight, 
 
 To witness its branching sprays ; 
 Full many a time he had pass'd before, 
 
 In his way over valley and plain, 
 But then it was only a barren moor, — 
 
 So he blessed it and vanished again. 
 
 And the shoots grew up and the roots went down, 
 
 And the leaflets to expand. 
 Till a tree it became, and its shadows brown. 
 
 Extended far over the land ; 
 Its foliage beautiful, rich, and fair. 
 
 Lent to the desert a grace, 
 While wihl birds flew to its branches rare, 
 
 As a shelter and nesting place.
 
 The seasous Hew by, and the circlmg yeara 
 
 Rolled ou as in ancient time ; 
 A few revolutions of planets and spheres 
 
 Beheld it iu all its prime ; 
 No tempest had reft it, it felt no decay, 
 
 Ko blasting by lightning's stroke ; 
 Till a century passed by and it flourished away, 
 
 A thriving and sturdy oak. 
 
 It spread forth its arms, it courted the breeze, 
 
 And Old Time came to see it again, 
 TVTien he witness' d a forest of rising trees, 
 
 Around it adorning the plain ; 
 For at full of the leaf when its acorns it shed. 
 
 They too had found root in the ground, 
 And clustering near him, as saplings were spread, 
 
 And were growing in beauty around. 
 
 So Old Time took his flight as he'd done before. 
 
 And hasted him over the plain, 
 Determined to stay a full century or more 
 
 Before he returned there again ; 
 And when he came back from his hundred year's clia.-c, 
 
 What a different scene he descried I — 
 Instead of a barren and desolate place, 
 
 'Twas a forest in beauty and pride. 
 
 ■^H^;=¥^ 
 
 B 2
 
 LINES TO THE WILD HYACINTH. 
 
 fHE rigours of winter are past, 
 And spring's happy season has come, 
 The buds they are opening fast, 
 And the wild bees cheerily hum. 
 Gentle Nature, unwearied and true, 
 
 Bids Flora rejoice in the dell. 
 Where again with delight do I view 
 My lovely, my bonny blue bell. 
 
 How pleased, in a season like this, 
 
 Will the fancy with flowers entwine, 
 Eecalling past moments of bliss, 
 
 Ere the feelings began to repine. 
 And again as I wander around 
 
 On the picture delighted to dwell. 
 What scenes of enjoyment are found 
 
 As I look on the bonny blue bell. 
 
 When a child I delighted to stray 
 
 Enrapt the wild flowers among, 
 As the lambkin so blithe and so gay, 
 
 Wherever a blossom was hung. 
 I gathered the kingcup and craisey, 
 
 Wake-robin, — but none could excel, 
 Whether violet, orchis, or daisy, 
 
 The charms of my bonny blue bell. 
 
 'Twa? the joy of my earliest days, 
 
 When spring's early blossoms were few, 
 
 To wander the copse's wild maze 
 And gather the hyacinth blue.
 
 A handful was reckoned a prize, 
 And garnished our flower-vase well, 
 
 And still it delighteth mine eyes 
 To gaze on my bonny blue bell. 
 
 Many petals are scatter' d around, 
 
 And many old flowers I view, 
 But amongst them not one can be found, 
 
 To equal the hyacinth blue. 
 The dingle with beauty is spread, 
 
 "Where forms I so familiar tell, 
 But though their rich odours are shed. 
 
 There's none like my bonny blue bell. 
 
 There's a charm in retracing our youth, 
 
 (Tho' sadly we look on the past,) 
 Ere the season of sunshine and truth 
 
 Had the blight-cloud of sorrow o'ercast. 
 And the sight of this gay little flower 
 
 Which gladdens so freely the dell. 
 Brings back the delights of the hour, 
 
 When I sought for my bonny blue bell. 
 
 THE SXOW-FLAKE AND THE CHILD. 
 
 ^^HE snow was descending 
 Mfh] ^^ house-top and green, 
 ^^^And quietly blending 
 With feathers the scene. 
 As a child at the casement 
 Looked forth with delight, 
 And cried in amazement — 
 " Oh ! beautiful sight ! "
 
 10 
 
 The snow-flake it drifted 
 
 Again and again, 
 
 As the wind veered or shifted 
 
 'Twixt cranny and pane, 
 
 Till a gust brought some under 
 
 The eaves to the sill ; 
 
 The child stood in wonder, 
 
 And gazed on it still. 
 
 The servant now eyeing 
 
 The flakes in dismay. 
 
 With a napkin came flying 
 
 To wipe them away ; 
 
 The child cried "thej^re treasures, 
 
 " Oh spare such pure things, 
 
 " They are fast falling feathers 
 
 " From angels' wings ! " 
 
 THE VILLAGE BELLS AEE SOUNDING. 
 
 fllE village bells are sounding their music sweet 
 and clear, 
 ~ What pleasant strains of harmony salute tlie 
 list'ning car, 
 Vv'hilethe echo of their voices is wafted with the breeze 
 As softly as the murm'ring wave of summer's gentle 
 
 How soothingly the symphony is borne along the vale, 
 As the undulating cadences come rising on the gale, 
 Now swelling into rapture — now dying far away, 
 Delightful as the glowing tint of summer's fading ray.
 
 11 
 
 It spreads upon the broad expanse like ocean's rolling 
 wave, 
 
 Or the sound of distant waterfalls, or echo through 
 a cave ; 
 
 It mingles with the gentle sigh which comes at even- 
 tide, 
 
 "When stir the waving forest boughs that rustle far 
 and wide. 
 
 Like the sound of choral voices its music rolls along, 
 As the soft reverberations is heard in the woods 
 
 among, 
 And sweet as dulcet strains of seraph minstrelsy- 
 Sent down to cheer the dying ere death shall set 
 
 them free. 
 
 The breath of summer flowers may yield a sweet 
 
 perfume, 
 And load the zephyT's wings which haste the season's 
 
 bloom ; 
 Yet these have no delights which charm the list'ning 
 
 ear, 
 ; mu 
 
 and clear. 
 
 Thus when the gentle murmur, the softly thrilling 
 
 chime. 
 Is heard to wake an echo at that sweet and pleasant 
 
 time ; 
 May we in transport listen as the soothing cadence 
 
 s^vells, 
 Feeling grateful for the music of the " Merry 
 
 Village Bells."
 
 12 
 
 LINES TO A SNOWDROP. 
 
 (C^LOWRET of spring, this saddened heart ihou 
 e K) cheerest, 
 
 <2^ While the gay smiles of nature yet are dead ; 
 From the cold bank thou deignst to peep, nor fearest 
 
 The nipping blast that hovers o'er thy head ; 
 
 Pleas' d I survey thee as I near thee tread; 
 I learn from thee that springtime is returning ; 
 Thou seem'st to say nature will lose her mourning 
 
 And soon the gloom of winter will have fled. 
 
 Thou lovely flower, foreteller of the spring, 
 
 E're yet the sun the hoary snow can chase, 
 Thy silvery head is rais'd and seem'st to bring 
 
 Reanimation to the winged race. 
 
 For soon the awakened bee doth greet the place 
 Which thou doth choose to show thy lovely form ; 
 He comes regardless of the flying storm, 
 
 Again thy long lost beauties to retrace. 
 
 Then welcome to my sight thou lovely flower, 
 
 Since thou cans't tell me joy doth yet remain, 
 I'll gazing on thee spend the sunny hour, 
 
 And turn from lurid scenes that render pain ; 
 
 For thou dost bid stern winter cease to reign. 
 At sight of thee the songster tries his throat. 
 Salutes the morn, and pours his welcome note 
 
 To cheer tlie woods and smilino- hills ag-ain. 
 
 W^^^^J
 
 13 
 
 STANZAS— TO A FRIEND. 
 
 " Look not mournfully into the past, wisely improve the 
 present, and go forth with a manly heart to meet the 
 shadowy future."— Longfellow. 
 
 fO the past, look not mournfully, 
 AVith cold and vain regret, 
 Nor think witli saddened feeling 
 Thy brightest hopes are set. 
 Throw oif "that dull despondency, 
 
 Look up, be wise, be gay, 
 The lowering cloud may shade the morn. 
 But bright may be the day. 
 
 Hope, as a glorious beacon shines, 
 
 To light us through our gloom, 
 Nor leaves us when we reach at last. 
 
 The borders of the tomb ; 
 Hope bears us like a buoyant barque. 
 
 Through every surging wave, 
 And fills our path with radiance, 
 
 From the cradle to the grave. 
 
 To the faint and weary pilgrim, 
 
 'Tis a sun that never sets, 
 It chases all his heavy cares. 
 
 His sori'owp and regrets ; 
 To the weak and wayworn traveller, 
 
 A rock to hold him fast, 
 A shelter and a safe defence. 
 
 From hurricane and blast.
 
 14 
 
 Hope ! what is life without thee, 
 
 But a bleak and barren waste, 
 A field without a flower, where 
 
 No radient hues are traced ? 
 But with thee all is sunshine, 
 
 With its ros'y tinted beams. 
 Diffusing light and gladness, 
 
 In our doings and oiu: dreams. 
 
 Then play again thy joyous part, 
 
 And lift thy brow on high, 
 Go forth with manly feelings, 
 
 Work out thy destiny ; 
 Rejoicing with a firm belief, 
 
 That guardian angels wait 
 To help thee througli thy onward course, 
 
 And watch thy future fate. 
 
 Go forth ; for lo the present, 
 
 Hath its rainbow color' d zones, 
 And the Avorld is one A^ast temple, 
 
 Where the mountains are its thrones ; 
 Go forth, attempt tlie highest, 
 
 And thy future lot shall be 
 Above the little cai-es of earth. 
 
 And their despondency. 
 
 Go forth with manly courage. 
 
 To bear, to do, and hope, 
 And heaven itself shall help tliee, 
 
 And keep thy courage up ; 
 Until thou reach the topmast height 
 
 To which thy heart aspire, 
 And gain at lengtli the victory. 
 
 Thy ovv^n great soul's desire.
 
 15 
 
 THE STOEM. 
 
 '* The murky night is gathering fast, 
 
 Loud roars the rude inconstant blast."— Burns. 
 
 f' 'lERCE blew the breeze from the ocean, 
 . The billows were lashing the strand, 
 , The waves in disorder and wildest commotion, 
 Secm'd swiftly approaching the land. 
 The mariner's art was assailed, 
 
 Little use was the helm or the oar, 
 All efforts of steerage or anchorage fail'd, 
 
 And warn'd tlieni to keep from the shore ; 
 It Avarn'd them at large on the ocean to ride, 
 'Till the wind should be hush'd and the storm should 
 subside. 
 
 And then came the lightning's flash, 
 
 Engendering awe and dismay. 
 The thunder pcal'd loud, and the billowy dash 
 
 Spread o'er ocean a snowy white spray. 
 From the heavens impetuous pour'd 
 
 The rain from its depots on high, 
 ^Y!r!le anon the loud tiiundcr tremendously roar'd, 
 
 Eebounding its Avay through the sky ; 
 The sea-fowl that flutter' d amid the dark air, 
 Ptctreating with fear — echoed shrieks of despair I 
 
 The elements all were at war. 
 
 The ocean, the wind, and the skies, 
 Displaying a scene of both grandeur and awe,
 
 16 
 
 The ton-ents that fell from the rocks 
 
 Rush'd headlong again to the main, 
 While the sea birds that flew to their caverns in flocks, 
 
 Were at intervals heard to complain ; 
 The heaven's dark frown spread a gloom o'er the 
 
 scene. 
 While the quick vivid bolt play'd each cranny between. 
 
 At length it began to decay, 
 
 Eude Boreas did gradually cease, 
 And the thunder's loud peal gently dying away. 
 
 Made room for night's mantle of peace ; 
 The torrents no longer were heard, 
 
 The waves gently sunk to a calm, 
 The evening grew still, nor the scream of a bird 
 
 Was sounding its note of alarm ; 
 All nature began to assume its fair form, 
 And smile at the rage of the pitiless storm. 
 
 Then slow from her blue Eastern seat, 
 
 Gentle Luna majestic arose, 
 Diffusing her glories serenely and sweet, 
 
 And charming earth's scen-es to repose ; 
 From her visage each vapour had fled, 
 
 Each cloud was chased off" at her sight, 
 And the clear blue expanse of the heaven o'erhead, 
 
 Besprinkled with stars, glitter' d bright ; 
 A calm now prevailed o'er sea and o'er land, 
 And the whole was a scene, lovely, awful, and grand. 
 
 -St-
 
 17 
 
 SONG OF THE STOllMY TETREL. 
 
 " A thousand miles from land are we 
 
 Tossed about on the stormy sea." — Barry Cornwall. 
 
 fANY a mile and many a league 
 Are "we from our rocky home ; 
 And many a wild and bold intrigue, 
 AVe play o'er the noisy foam. 
 Our joy is amid the billow'y waves, 
 
 Our sorrow is when they sleep ; 
 Swiftly we fly where the tempest raves, 
 And sport o'er the tremulous deep. 
 
 Should the mariner curse us, what care we. 
 
 Because we forbode a storm ; 
 Or call us the chickens of mother Carey. 
 
 AVe fear not their menacing harm ; 
 But when the sun smiles with a genial ray, 
 
 'Tis then that we feel fear, 
 For we starve while serenity holds her sway, 
 And the waters are calm and clear. 
 
 Our food we find in the rustling surge, 
 
 That's raised 'neath an angry sky, 
 "When thunders roar, and tempests urge 
 
 The billows to mountains high — 
 'Tis then we find our chief delight 
 
 To flutter amid the spray, 
 When the elements dismal to human sight, 
 
 Spread terror and dii-e dismay. 
 
 'Tis then above old ocean's bed. 
 Our pinions we briskly ply.
 
 18 
 
 When all the bright prospects of nature are fled, 
 
 And the mariner heaves a sig'h ; 
 Wlien liis vessel upon the waves is toss'd, 
 
 While tlie world is wrapt in gloom, 
 When he gives himself up, a creatiu-e lost, 
 
 And expects a watery tomb. 
 
 THE VIOLETS. 
 
 " Pansies, lilies, king-cups, daisies, 
 Let them live upon their praises ; 
 Long as there's a sun that sets, 
 
 Primroses will have their glory. 
 Long as there are Violets, 
 
 They will have a place in story." 
 
 Wordsworth. 
 
 ITIIIN the dell there grows a simple flower, 
 :jJ|[|jj)\The lovely unassuming violet ; 
 o^^-^ilark well the lowly station v.'hich she holds, 
 Too meek to mingle with the gay parterre. 
 With modest pride her purple bloom unfolds 
 Her gentle beauties to the orb of day, 
 And with the pilewort lightens up the dell 
 To catch the notice of the passer's eye ; 
 No flaunting petal rich with gaudy hues, 
 And showy ostentation gaily dress' d; 
 But soft ethereal sapphire thits prevail, 
 Pure as the azure sky on which she smiles. 
 Mark too her sister,* she of silvery hue ; 
 Her snowy bloom unfolds to court the breeze, 
 • White Violet.
 
 19 
 
 Child of the Spring '. No peerless maidens neck, 
 Or alabaster from the purest mine, 
 Equals the satin liisti'e exquisite 
 Of that frail form now springing into view. 
 Herself immaculate as loveliest flower 
 That ever blushed, or bloom' d in paradise ; 
 See her fair colour mingling with the green 
 Of tufted moss, or verdure newly sprung, 
 Invites the wand' ring bee with merry hum, 
 Which in its joyous pastime wends its way 
 In airy flight to revel in the dell. 
 While her bright petals trembling in the breeze, 
 Send their rich odours through the ambient air; 
 And ■with the sweetest perfume scents tlie gale. 
 When lo ! to her the gentle primrose bends, 
 With looks complaisant on her spotless hue. 
 And with the genial zephyr worships her. 
 
 THE PILGEIM. 
 
 "I have seen the world — I have crossed the sea, 
 But alas ! 'tis no lonj^cr a world for me ; 
 Though nature is fair in her silent hours, 
 And 'tis pieasant to stand in her moonlit bowers ; 
 Yet changes have crossed her like wintry ciouds. 
 • ***.** 
 
 Now 'tis a d-welling of tumult and care, 
 Sin has possessed it— Ambition is there ; 
 Why should I wander o'er land and sea ? 
 This earth is no longer a world for me ! " 
 
 Pegg's Spirits Waxdesings. 
 
 tN old man sate upon the grass, his staff lay by 
 his side, 
 c> >/ He stretch'd his withered hands to heaven, and 
 sofdy thus he sigh'd :
 
 20 
 
 " A pilgrim in this desert world, I now have 
 
 ceased to roam, 
 ''Father of good, of life, and light, guide me 
 
 safely home. 
 
 " Full eighty summers on the earth a wanderer have 
 
 I been, 
 " And many strange vicissitudes these searching eyes 
 
 have seen ; 
 " Mid ups and downs a fearful host, my own sad lot 
 
 was cast, 
 *' But wonders stranger still than mine, I've witness' d 
 
 as I pass'd. 
 
 " I've gazed upon the spacious world to mark its 
 
 mighty plan, 
 " I've travell'd over many lands to search the heart 
 
 of man ; 
 *' And in a thousand instances miworthy of his name, 
 " The lion in his den was found, more gentle than 
 
 the same. 
 
 "The vast eternal mountains, the ever blooming 
 
 flowers, 
 '^ And woodlands spread around the scene, with soft 
 
 Elysian bowers. 
 " But even there ambitious man usm-ps the place of 
 
 right, 
 *' Opposing strangely nature's laws to shew his pigmy 
 
 might. 
 
 " He sways his staff of power o'er the humble and 
 
 the weak, 
 " And crushes to the very dust, the sorrowful and 
 
 meek.
 
 21 
 
 *' The child of ruthless poverty is here to him a prey, 
 " But where will stand the monarch when the 
 ' mountains melt away ? ' 
 
 " This heart has sicken' d at the sight on Afric's 
 
 burning sand, 
 " As it mark'd the wretch in agony torn from his 
 
 native land ; 
 " With piercing shrieks enough to make the stoutest 
 
 bosom bleed, 
 " Oh ! when will the avenging arm repay the horrid 
 
 deed ? 
 
 "And trembling have I listen'd to the cannon's 
 
 dreadful roar, 
 " And shud'ring mark'd the ensanguin'd plain 
 
 bespread with human gore, 
 " Wliere heaps on heaps, a fearful host, lay scatter' d 
 
 far and wide, 
 " To please a mighty Conqueror, — ambition his sole 
 
 guide. 
 
 " Father of mercies, turn aside these mournful 
 
 thoughts, I pray, 
 " My pilgrimage is nearly done, and short will be 
 
 my stay ; 
 " And tho' the evils I have seen were cruel to be 
 
 borne, 
 " I feel assured 'twas ne'er decreed that ' man was 
 
 made to mom-n.' 
 
 " The world was all too beautiful, when time at 
 
 first began, 
 " For any evil to be made, except by sinful man , 
 
 c
 
 22 
 
 *' And ! that soon the time may come the spacious 
 world around, 
 
 " AVhen naught hut love and happiness shall every- 
 where be found. 
 
 *' When naught but love and happiness in every 
 
 realm and clime, 
 *' Shall make one grand millennium throughout the 
 
 scenes of Time ; 
 " And bring with their beatitudes once more the 
 
 golden reign, 
 ** To make this fau- and beauteous earth a paradise 
 
 again." 
 
 The old man ceased, he droop' d his head, and tears 
 
 bedimm'd his eye, 
 As lie raised his wither' d limbs and gave another 
 
 inward sigh ; 
 He clench' d his staff and tottering went — but 'twas 
 
 not all in vain, 
 Tho' I may never more behold that hoary head again. 
 
 Yes, I have learn' t from him to feel, thanks for my 
 
 lowly state. 
 And bless the hand that shelter' d me from many a 
 
 worldling's fate ; 
 And I can see in bright hope's eye a better world 
 
 above, 
 "Where weary pilgrims rest from care, in one eternal 
 
 love. 
 
 -^m^Km^
 
 23 
 THE MARINEIl'S GRAVE. 
 
 J^^AR away in the depths of the wide rolling ocean, 
 pfcFar far 'neath the crest of the tremulous wave ; 
 i^ While billows were rolling in wildest commotion, 
 They sunk his remains in the Mariner's Grave. 
 
 Away from his cot and his friends so endearing, 
 Away from the sound of the church-going bell ; 
 No kindred to pity — no eye with a tear in, 
 And wild waves alone rang his funeral knell. 
 
 They carelessly huddled his gravesheet around him, 
 And jestingly spoke o'er the slumb'ring dead ; 
 No polish'd oak coffin, or needlework bound him, 
 As ocean received him to rest in her bed. 
 
 Yet calm is that form 'neath the wild rolling billow. 
 Around him the flexible sea-weed may wave 
 As quiet he rests, with a rock for his pillow. 
 And sleeps his last sleep in the Mariner's Grave. 
 
 TO A JET FOUNTAIN. 
 
 ^^OW sweet are the streams of a fountain at play, 
 e/P^As it rises and falls with its diamond spray; 
 ^^It glitters aloft and is swayed by the breeze, 
 Like streamings of light through a forest of trees. 
 Around it it flings a bright halo of pearls. 
 As the silvery jets in the sunbeam unfurls, 
 And no emerald, ruby, or jeni of the east 
 For the eye of the gazer prepares such a feast. 
 
 c 2
 
 24 
 
 A softening radiance empurples the air, 
 
 As if a bright rainbow enlivened it there, 
 
 Shedding beauty and health on the foliage bright, 
 
 As it scatters around like a shower of light. 
 
 In colours resplendent each dewdrop is seen, 
 
 Enveloping all in a dazzling sheen, 
 
 Translucent as sether and pure as the ray 
 
 That breaks on the world from the portals of day. 
 
 Oh lovely it is, to stand and behold 
 
 Such a mingling of azure and purple and gold 
 
 As fires the scene when the rays of the morn 
 
 In orient lustre the fountain adorn. 
 
 Breathing music as soft and as sweet in the ears, 
 
 As the voices that sound from celestial spheres, 
 
 Giving hues from the plumes of the peacock to vie 
 
 With the gems of Golconda or tints of the sky. 
 
 Such grandeur, such beauty, there is in the stream. 
 
 As it catches the light of each radiant beam. 
 
 That no grotto of ocean or pearl of the wave 
 
 Can equal the scene where its bright waters lave. 
 
 A mist of fine vapours it spreadeth around. 
 
 Encircling all as it falls to the ground. 
 
 Or bounding and flying like stardrops aloft. 
 
 Then quickly descending, as sweet and as soft. 
 
 Long, long could we gaze on the dazzling sight, 
 
 Enra])tured with transports and thrilled with delight, 
 
 As the bright sparkling gems go dancing on high, 
 
 To mingle with tints of the goldspangled sky. 
 
 Like a shower of meteors they fall on the scene, 
 
 In azuie and purple, and amber and green ; 
 
 And no single object, in valley or mountain 
 
 Outrivals the flow of the beautiful fountaiu. 
 
 t-^^^^O^^iC^XC^-^s^-j
 
 ^ 
 
 25 
 
 LINES TO A BUTTERFLY. 
 
 " Lo ! the bright train their ratlient wings unfold, 
 With silver fringed and freckled o'er with gold, 
 On the gay bosom of some fragrant flower, 
 They idly flutt'ring live their little hour." 
 
 Mrs. Barbauld. 
 
 J^ND art thou again on thy wandering wing, 
 I^Emblem of loveliness, child of the spring, 
 Thy splendours once more we behold ; 
 When the flowers are blossoming, then thou art seen, 
 Flitting about in thy dazzling sheen, 
 Bedizened T^-itli silver and gold. 
 
 Emblem of happiness, how has each hue 
 Of the rainbow-dyes been lavished on you, 
 
 To sport 'neath a cloudless sky, 
 While thy fairy movements call to mind, 
 Those early delights we were wont to find, 
 
 As we chased thee in summers gone by. 
 
 When revelry held o'er our spirits its sway, 
 And gladly we welcomed Hyperion's ray, 
 
 As he peeped from his mansions above ; 
 Then did we follow AWth eager delight, 
 The gay giddy maze which attended thy flight, 
 
 As it chanced near our pathway to rove. 
 
 And again, at thy sight we are wafted back 
 
 To the flowery scenes where we follow'd thy track. 
 
 Through the coppice and over the lea. 
 Where the daisies and buttercups gladden the green, 
 On that self-same spot again art thou seen, 
 
 As light, and as fresh, and as free.
 
 26 
 
 Blest child of the sunbeam, how happy and gay 
 Doth thy little portion of time pass away, 
 
 "Without any cares to alloy ; 
 As thy wild evolutions enliven the bower, 
 Flitting aloft o'er each opening flower, 
 
 Thy business all sunshine and joy. 
 
 Then sport little radiant ; being of light, 
 
 On the wide lap of nature prolong thy gay flight, 
 
 "While summer is brightest in bloom ; 
 Make use of those elegant wings while you may, 
 But remember, the very first ^vintry day, 
 
 Will at once put a seal to thy doom. 
 
 Enjoy while you may thy fond festive hour. 
 Drink nectar from every scent-bearing flower 
 
 That opens its petals to light. 
 And may man in his lot, learn a lesson of thee, 
 Light hearted to live, and contented to be, 
 
 "While time's rapid wings take their flight. 
 
 LINES ON THE PREMATUEE DEATH OF 
 THE AUTHOR OF ENDYMION, 
 
 " To some lone spirits that proudly sing 
 Their youth away and die." 
 
 Sleep and roETRY. 
 
 ^AOOll Keats is gone — "oh weep for Adonais," 
 yjll^Voep, for the bard has ceased, the dulcet strain 
 J^p- "Which echoed sounds like "music of the spheres," 
 Hath ceased to ilow; rocks, hills, and grassy vales, 
 And oceans flowing with tumultuous roar, 
 Have bounded joyous to his golden lyre.
 
 27 
 
 Pearl grottos, diamond caves, and sylvan dells. 
 With rainbow zones, and sapphire tinted skies, 
 Breatliing Elysian gales at every tonch, 
 Were woven in one texture by his hand. 
 Endymion, and Hyperion, Night and Morn, 
 Witii the pale moon, and heaven's starry host, 
 Bowed to the sympliony wliich led the way, 
 When his hand touched the chord; the universe. 
 Earth, Heaven, and Pandemonium heard tlie song. 
 While winged Dryad, Faun, Nymph, Sylph, and 
 
 Fairy, 
 With all the sylvan band of deities, 
 In concert sang to his mellifluous harp. 
 But " Adonais is gone ; " no more that voice 
 In s}Ten chant by hill or rocky stream. 
 Will call old Neptune from the sounding wave ; 
 No more the Triton with his winding horn 
 Will wake an echo in his tuneless ear. 
 Or chanting warblers, 'mid Ambrosial bowers, 
 Witli bee and merry cricket sounding near. 
 Making the morning gladsome with their song. 
 Cause him again to weep. He slumbers still. 
 Silent and sadly in an early grave, 
 Sent thither by foul slander's venomed tongue; 
 He passed, but much unlike the morning cloud, 
 Whose evanescent pencillings evade 
 Willi tints ephemeral the lasting gaze, 
 Wliich he for ages yet unborn will bear. 
 " Tlie poetry of earth will never die," 
 Wbile soft Endymion lives ; a glory bright 
 As ever glistened from seraphic wings. 
 And shed a dazzling lustre o'er the scene, 
 Adorns the radiant atmosphere, where shine, 
 lu beatific vision bright and clear,
 
 28 
 
 The glowing splendour of that brilliant strain ; 
 
 A fountain soft, calm, deep and beautiful 
 
 As ever issued from the sacred Nine 
 
 Doth it contain, its numbers round and full, 
 
 And lasting as the adamantine caves 
 
 Of which its palaces and fairy halls, 
 
 And grottos incommunicate are built. 
 
 A sweet enchantment glows on every page, 
 
 Which leads the feelings on through fields of bliss, 
 
 Till the liu'ed senses wake in ecstacics ; 
 
 So exquisitely beautiful and fine 
 
 Are the soft airs which tlirill the very soul. 
 
 Yet he is gone ; tho' mountain-land and flood — 
 
 Like bulwarks to his spirit's buoyant flight — 
 
 Delighted him ; tho' hurricane and storm 
 
 He looked undaunted on ; he could not brook 
 
 *' The iron slander of a passing age." 
 
 Oh ! would th.at idle calumny and scorn 
 
 "Were banished fi-om our land ; that all the ills 
 
 "Which patient merit of the unworthy takes," 
 
 Were no more known in this bright world of oiii's ! 
 
 When that cold " inhumanity to man," 
 
 Shall cease to ford the stream which now prevails, 
 
 And turn its dagger to a pruning hook — 
 
 Then may the poet live, — his noble end 
 
 For which he fills on earth his humble sphere, 
 
 Will then be fully known ; his sun be briglit. 
 
 And glory shed a lustre o'er his brow. 
 
 Lasting as is bright lieaven's imperial throne ; 
 
 The world will be an Eden — and mankind 
 
 Will dwell once more in paradise regained.
 
 29 
 
 LAMENT OF THE CAPTIVE NIGHTINGALE. 
 
 " Thy home is the wood on the echoing hUl, 
 
 And soft as the south wind the branches among 
 Thy plaintive lament goes floating along." 
 
 Minstrelsy of the Woods. 
 
 /j\^H ! give me back my forest glade, 
 J\\\ ') With beds of summer tlowers — 
 ^^^' My smig retreat, my leafy shade, 
 
 Amid ambrosial bowers. 
 AMiere rills of murmuring waters flow. 
 
 So cool and pleasantly ; 
 Oh ! give me back my favourite bough, 
 And set my pinions free. 
 
 Oh ! break the enWous door, — my song 
 
 Brooks not this wiry cell, 
 But give me back the woods, and strong 
 
 My sweetest notes shall swell ; 
 The echoes of a sylvan shade 
 
 Are far more dear to me ; 
 Oh ! give me back my leafy glade, 
 
 And set my pinions free. 
 
 Once I enjoyed the evening breeze, 
 
 And told my plaintive tale, 
 While sitting on the list'ning trees. 
 
 Beneath the moonbeams pale ; 
 But now I pine in liuman hands, 
 
 As sad, as sad can be. 
 Oh ! give me back my forest lands. 
 
 And set my pinions free.
 
 30 
 
 No wild airs play around the hall, 
 
 Or music of the wave, 
 I cannot hear the waterfall, 
 
 Which eclioed throus^h the cave ; 
 No, I am bound an abject slave, 
 
 From love and liberty. 
 Give me the gifts fond nature gave, 
 
 And once more set me free. 
 
 Then would T sing my thrilling song, 
 
 With all my lively powers. 
 Through the gi'oen woods my strain prolong. 
 
 And wake the sleeping hours ; 
 The fairy dells with rapture till 
 
 Witli my best minstrelsy. 
 Till stream, wood, valley, rock, and hill, 
 
 Should hear that I was free. 
 
 STANZAS TO- 
 
 "The present joys of life we doubly taste 
 By looking back 'with joy upon the past." 
 
 Mart. Epio. xxii:. 
 
 ONG years have rolled o'er us since last in the 
 'CjP^ grove 
 
 '^^We pleasantly rambled together. 
 When we carelessly held a discourse upon love, 
 Tlu^n on woods and the beautiful weather. 
 Tlie sun was just sinking his beams in tlic west, 
 And we on the old stile reclining; 
 While mountain and forest seemed raising their crest, 
 To catch the last rays of his shining.
 
 31 
 
 The gay little squirrel 'mid boughs overhead, 
 
 Hopped about in bis coverts of green ; 
 
 And the blackbird's alarm-note, as swiftly he fled, 
 
 Gave a charm to tliat beautiful scene. 
 
 The last busy caw of the rooks up aloft. 
 
 Their evening orisons were sending ; 
 
 And the streamlet it murmured so sweetly and soft. 
 
 Where the sunlight with shadow was blending. 
 
 The fond reminiscence of that lovely scene. 
 
 Unsullied by sorrow or tears ; 
 
 Where we wandered in friendship, so calm and serene, 
 
 That spot to my memory endears. 
 
 As lightly I glance o'er the dark sylvan glen. 
 
 With its green mossy tufts in the way ; 
 
 I seem to live over those hours again, 
 
 The delights of a happier day. 
 
 For oft did we cherish in fondness and pride, 
 
 Tliose snatclies of rest from the crowd ; 
 
 And meet in the dingle at evening-tide, 
 
 Far aloof from the gay and the proud ; 
 
 The seat of our joy — a secpiestered retreat. 
 
 Alone in a green mossy bower, 
 
 "VMiere we with ourselves held communion so sweet, 
 
 Beguiling the lingering hour. 
 
 And you — when reflection shall carry you back. 
 To the once hallowed scenes that are o'er, 
 Must joyously o\\m that the pleasantest track 
 AVe e'er paced, was in rambles of yore. 
 Oh I memory, brightest of blessings that clings 
 To our souls (thougli on earth we now sever) 
 Still shed o'er our being the glow of thy wings, 
 And that will be transport for ever.
 
 32 
 
 TO THE CUCKOO. 
 
 " Sweet bird, thy bower is ever green, 
 
 Thy sky is ever clear, 
 Thou hast no sorrow in thy note. 
 
 Or Winter in thy year."— Brucb. 
 
 ^Il^ IRD of ever welcome wing, 
 fll|S Hcruld of a happy time, 
 e^ Joy and gladness dost thou bring 
 To our clime. 
 
 Chasing sadness far away, 
 
 As thy well-known cry is heard, 
 Ringing through the coppice gay, 
 
 Lovely bird. 
 
 Bringing early recollections, 
 
 Fresh to memory again, 
 Of the past and its affections. 
 
 With the strain, — 
 
 When in childhood's years we listened 
 
 To the coming of thy voice. 
 Making, where the landscape glistened 
 All rejoice. 
 
 Oh that lieart is cold and dreary 
 Who cannot rejoice with thee, 
 As elate thou singest cheery 
 
 On some tree.
 
 33 
 
 Or sequestered mid tlie bo-wors 
 Of some lone secluded dell, 
 "Where the lovlicr^t of (lowers 
 
 Deign to dwell. 
 
 Sending forth their luscious breathing- 
 Through the ever-pleasing sh^lc, ^ 
 Where the tender woodbines wreathing 
 Scent the glade. 
 
 Calling up the year's best glory 
 
 Where thou gaily deign'st to sing. 
 Changing scenes late drear and hoary 
 Into Spring. 
 
 Glowing scenes of revelry 
 Fill the redolented air," 
 When amid the scene we see 
 
 Thou art there. 
 
 Bird of Spring, Avhat joy thou bringest, 
 
 Sounds and sights benignly grand, 
 As in raptured notes thou singest 
 
 O'er our land. 
 
 STANZAS. 
 
 -the forest oak which shades 
 
 The sultry troops in many a toilsome march. 
 Once an unheeded acorn lay." 
 
 ^^HERE stands in the valley an ancient oak, 
 ^|j|),Whose spreading branches the woodman's stroke 
 ^^ Has never vet deign' d to sever ;
 
 34 
 
 Thougli centuries liave past in Time's swift tide, 
 Since the first little sprout of its umbrage wide, 
 Still majestic it grows by the green hill side, 
 With its glories as brilliant as ever. 
 
 The squirrel has revelled its verdure among, 
 And the keg|rel has nestled its callowing young, 
 
 Secure in a cradle of green ; 
 "While its old sturdy limbs bore the hurricane blast, 
 As in madness the whirlwind was hurrying past. 
 Yet firm and unshaken it still stands as fast. 
 
 And as fair as it ever has been. 
 
 From amid its wild branches the throstle's loud song 
 Has wafted the evening breezes along. 
 
 In music, rich, flomng, and free ; 
 While the youths of the village — a light-hearted band 
 'Neath its emerald branches have taken their stand, 
 To tell their light stories, or dance hand in hand, 
 
 And make it their trysting tree. 
 
 Oh ! long may it flourish a sturdy old oak. 
 And the raven aloft from its pinnacles croak, 
 
 As, adorning the valley, it stands 
 A shelter to fly to, in tempest and storm — 
 A shade when the sunbeams are brilliant and warm, 
 And may no lightning's blast its beauty deform, 
 
 Till crushed by Time's conquering hands.
 
 35 
 LINES TO A FUGITIVE BUTTERFLY. 
 
 " Child of the sun I pursue thy rapturous flight,"— Rogers. 
 
 Go, haste thee, little wanderer, of the bright and 
 
 sunny hotu's. 
 Go, seek thy luscious paradise of rainbow-tinted 
 
 flowers ; 
 Enjoy the sweets their odours jield, their painted 
 
 petals clip, 
 And from each round nectarium the honey' d nectar sip. 
 
 Far, far o'er Flora's wide domain extend thy waving 
 
 wing, 
 And greet in joyous ecstacy the wild bees wandering; 
 Give dalliance to the roseate scenes where fragrant 
 
 breezes play, 
 And while thy short-lived summer lasts enjoy thy 
 
 little day. 
 
 "We would not stay thy gay career and seal thy early 
 
 doom, 
 Because thine inadvertent wings have led thee from 
 
 thy home ; 
 No ; motmt aloft in ambient air ; thy pearly wings 
 
 unfold, 
 And seek once more the flo-uT'y scenes of amethyst 
 
 and gold. 
 
 Go, haste thee, little wanderer, of summer's happy 
 
 hours, 
 And mingle with thy kindred throng amid the 
 
 bloominiT bowers :
 
 36 
 
 On wings of pleasure soar aloft, — and soar exultingly, 
 That o'er the beauteous scenes of eartli once more 
 thou roamest free. 
 
 For what is life, with all its charms, without its 
 
 liberty, 
 If kept an abject slave, tho' in a palace it may be ; 
 Yes, dearer are the joys that spring, in earth, or sea, 
 
 or air, 
 If we only feel that freedom's wing is waving gently 
 
 there. 
 
 Then go, frolic in the fairy dells that skirt the 
 
 mountains vast, 
 Until the reign of summer time with all its joys are 
 
 past ; 
 And when the radiant scenes are fled, and earth no 
 
 more is blest. 
 Creep gently in some roseleaf bed and fold thy wings 
 
 to rest. 
 
 STANZAS TO THE SKY LARK. 
 
 " The evening lark is soaring still." 
 
 ^r^IIE sun down the west is slowly descending 
 I\m)j, And gilding each cloud as he fades from the 
 ^^ sight. 
 
 While the scenes of the landscape in harmony 
 blending, 
 Are lending their hues to the shadows of night ;
 
 37 
 
 But his beams they still lini^er on streamlet and 
 fountain, 
 
 And glisten around where the bright waters flow ; 
 While aloft from his covert the lavrock is mounting, 
 
 And pom'ing his strains in the valley below ; 
 And cheering the scenes of fair nature to rest, 
 As he issues his song to the sun in the west. 
 
 The cattle around in the pastures are grazing, 
 
 The dews of the valley rise heavy and chill, 
 And the song of the lark with more vigour is raising, 
 
 As the hum of the -sdllage grows silent and still : 
 His shrill notes re-echo the woodlands around him, 
 
 As gaily he soars in the aether so high ; 
 And conscious he seems that true pleasures surround 
 him, 
 
 While he whistles his song in the clear summer 
 sky, — 
 As he pours forth his strain to his mate on her nest, 
 And watches the last crimson rays of the west. 
 
 How oft have I listened as silently roaming, 
 
 A\Tien scarcely a warble was heard from the trees. 
 When the breath of sweet flora was spread through 
 the gloaming, 
 
 And the song of the skylark swell' d loud on the 
 breeze ; 
 When his melody floating o'er mountain and dingle. 
 
 Awakened the stillness that slimiber d around, 
 And faintly the voice of the cricket would mingle, 
 
 Like fairy notes -wild in its musical soimd ; 
 While his rapturous song gave to evening a zest, 
 A? he sung his last strains to the light of the west.
 
 38 
 
 LINES LAMENTING THE FELLING OF 
 "HAZLE WOOD." 
 
 fLAS ! and is it verified 
 That thou art doom'd to go ! 
 The axe unto thy root is laid, 
 And loud resounds the blow ; 
 'Tis not Old Time, -with ruthless hand, 
 
 That spreads his wand around, 
 But hands of ever active man, 
 Doth raze thee to the ground. 
 
 Too late I hear a voice that cries, 
 
 Pray "woodman spare the trees," 
 AVhich threw their cooling shade around, 
 
 And trembled with the breeze. 
 And where are now thy tangled brakes, 
 
 Or winding alleys green ? 
 I scarce can recognise the spot. 
 
 So alter' d is the scene. 
 
 Oft have I roved beneath thy shade. 
 
 To cull the flow' ret rare, 
 Or pluck the woodland strawberry. 
 
 Which grew in clusters there ; 
 When scenes of love or solitude. 
 
 Or friendship play'd their part, 
 And fill'd with glowing ecstacies 
 
 This young aspiring heart.
 
 39 
 
 Methinks I see thee standing yet, 
 
 While feather" d songsters pour 
 Their warbling notes amid thy glades, 
 
 As once they did of yore. 
 But 'tis in fancy's eye alone 
 
 That thou again art seen, 
 In all thy pride and majesty, 
 
 And waxing foliage green. 
 
 But, as an old famUiar friend, 
 
 I gaze upon thee now. 
 Although thy trunks lie prostrate round, 
 
 And stripped of every bough : 
 For fond endearing thoughts arise, 
 
 Which hover o'er thee yet, 
 And hint they cannot leave thee 
 
 But with feelings of regret. 
 
 I own it is a weakness at 
 
 Such trifles to repine, 
 When our feelings ought to rest on things 
 
 More worthy and divine ; 
 Yet as I stand and silent gaze, 
 
 I scarce refrain from tears. 
 To mark such desolation where 
 
 I roved in early years. 
 
 r> 2
 
 40 
 
 LINES ON A MAY MORNING. 
 
 " There's perfume upon every wind, 
 
 Music in everj^ tree, 
 Dews for the mountain-loving flower, 
 
 Sweets for the sucking hee." 
 
 ^A EDECK'D with gay flowerets the spring-time 
 dJIjS is here, 
 
 S>^ The voice of the Cuckoo is sounding afar ; 
 The humming Bee revels both distant and near, 
 And nothing is seen the fair landscape to mar. 
 
 How clear is the stream as it wanders along, 
 Or leaps o'er its pebbles in glittering spray ; 
 
 The woods are all joyous, the birds in full song, 
 And the whole land rejoices 'neath sunbeams 
 of May. 
 
 And blithesome we feel while the chorus is ringing, 
 So fresh from its thraldom of winterly gloom ; 
 
 As we peep in the woods where the branches are 
 swinging, 
 Enjoy the fresh breezes and scent the perfume. 
 
 High in air fly the Rooks with a busy caw, caw, 
 Now joyously wheeling, now turning again ; 
 
 Or striving to pillage a stick or a straw, 
 
 To replenish the waste of their ancient domain. 
 
 And the redbreasted Robin who late left our dwelling, 
 Takes u]) his abode in the coverts of green. 
 
 To whistle his note where the blossoms are swelling 
 And sweetly enliven the pastoral scene.
 
 41 
 
 And the stream-loving Swallow is swift on the wing, 
 Shooting by like an an-ow from Indian arm ; 
 
 While notes from the Thrush cause the valley to ring, 
 And the Woodpecker's tapping complete the wild 
 charm. 
 
 And blithe is the Lark, and bright is the scene, 
 And briskly the Lambkins are sporting away ; 
 
 'Tis May-day around us and Flora, the Queen, 
 Is dancing in glee to her own merry May. 
 
 SONNET TO AN OWL. 
 
 §ING on strange bird, who dweUest in the 
 Of fir trees dark, or midst the boughs of yew 
 Sing on, that to mine ear may be conveyed 
 Thine ever pleasing notes, ttj whit tu whoo, 
 Which oft have echoed the lone valley through. 
 As silently I've paused to hear the sound, 
 Spreading like music o'er enchanted ground, 
 
 Or distant cadences o'er waters blue ; 
 At tAvilight's hour of calm, when all was stiU, 
 Save the lone nightingale \vith music shrill. 
 Who from her favourite branch amid the glade. 
 
 Would sweetly blend her varied notes with you : 
 Then sing away, and oft at evening shade, 
 May I walk forth to hear tu whit tu whoo. 
 
 •^^s^g^i^S^
 
 42 
 
 TO THE SWALLOW. 
 
 " No sorrow loads their breast, or swells their ej'^e." 
 
 Jagg. 
 
 HEN the grass is young and tender, 
 \When the bud is fresh and green, 
 When kind Nature strives to render 
 Bright and beautiful the scene ; 
 Then thou comest blithesome swallow, 
 Flitting by on rapid wing. 
 And the cuckoo notes they follow, 
 Blending with the charms of Spring. 
 
 When the sun with glowing powers 
 Wakes to life the insect world. 
 And the myriad-blooming flowers 
 Have their beauteous tints unfurled ; 
 Then thou sportest in full vigour. 
 Dashing by with arrowy wing ; 
 Thy shining plumage, graceful figure. 
 Adding to the charms of Spring. 
 
 When the merry skylark soaring, 
 Upward takes his morning flight, 
 And his shrilly notes outpouring, 
 Fills the region with delight ; 
 Then to make the charm still brighter, 
 Thou dost add thy glossy wing. 
 Making all light hearts still lighter. 
 In the joyous scenes of Spring.
 
 43 
 
 Yet how short, thou strange new comer, 
 Is thy visit to our land ; 
 For soon the fleeting smiles of Summer 
 Haste thee back to Aft-ic's strand. 
 Where nature from her bounty 's throwing 
 Scenes of pleasure for thy wing. — 
 And thus thy days 'mid beauty glowing, 
 Pass like one perpetual Spring. 
 
 STAIs^ZAS. 
 
 " The time of the singing of birds is come, 
 
 And the voice of the (cuckoo) is heard in our land." 
 
 fTREW the path with flowers, 
 And let not now pale son-ow's withering breath 
 Invade the pro^-ince of those sacred hours, 
 "With feelings worse than death. 
 
 The bee is on the wing ; 
 
 Amid the grass the golden wild flowers wave ; 
 Nature rejoices in the smile of spring, 
 
 Fresh from a "Winter's grave. 
 
 Myriad hearts beat high ; 
 
 Around, above, we hear the murmuring hum 
 Of joy and gladness 'neath a laughing sky, 
 
 That sunny Spring has come. 
 
 Then strew the road with flowers. 
 
 And let not sorrow with her withering breath 
 Invade the province of those hallowed hours, 
 
 "With feelings worse than death.
 
 44 
 
 AFAR IN THE FOREST. 
 
 tFAR in the forest I love to stray, — 
 Where the wild birds warble their woodland lay 
 'Midst scenes of the deepest solitude ; 
 Where scarcely a foot has been known t'intrude ; 
 Where the snake may bask with his speckled crest, 
 And the raven croak from her high-built nest, 
 And swift from the brake the coney bound, 
 To sport without fear on its native ground. 
 
 Afar in the forest I love to stray, — 
 Where the wild flowers bloom on the pathless way, 
 And far o'er the woodland blend their sweets 
 To fiU with perfume those sequester' d retreats ; 
 Where the ivy aloft round the oak doth cling. 
 And the wild bee wanders on restless wing, 
 And the butterfly flutters from flower to flower, 
 To enjoy the delights of the sunny hour. 
 
 Afar in the forest I love to stray, — 
 
 When the sun has shed his departing ray, 
 
 And the owl from her mantling bower doth peep, 
 
 And the badger and fox from their coverts creep ; 
 
 When the dews from the lake bespread the green, 
 
 And hang like a cloud o'er the sylvan scene, 
 
 And Luna rides in her concave height, 
 
 To shed o'er the foliage her trembling light. 
 
 Dear scenes of romance, with rapture I hail 
 The pleasures that linger in memory's tale. 
 Which flll the heart with feelings bland 
 To mingle their charms with your hallowed land ; 
 Your brambles envelop' d in dewdrop's tears 
 Still tell me a tale of departed years ; 
 And your sunny glades recall the time 
 When infancy dawn'd in its early prime.
 
 45 
 
 STANZAS. 
 
 " Sweet is the breath of morn, her rising sweet, 
 With charm of earliest birds." — Milton. 
 
 fHE morning breeze is floating sweetly, 
 Wafting zephrys through the vale ; 
 The ivy tendrils twining neatly, 
 Round the rustic garden pale ; 
 The soaring lark rehearsing loudly, 
 
 Thrilling plcasiu-e from above ; 
 While woods and forests waving proudly, 
 Are fill'd Avith scenes of joy and love. 
 
 How blest in such a morn as this. 
 
 Must feel the hcai-t to wander fi-ee. 
 Where nature pours her raptiu-ed bliss, 
 
 Spreading far as eye can see ; 
 A glowing thrill of sweet devotion 
 
 Fills the soul with feelings bland ; 
 As we watch with fond emotion 
 
 Pleasui-e walking through the land. 
 
 Sparkling scenes are spread before us, 
 
 Brilliant in the morning beam ; 
 Gentle fountains sound a chorus, 
 
 Lovely as an angel's dream. 
 Oh ! how blest, how pure and brightly, 
 
 Now appears the radiant scene, 
 As our spirits, bounding lightly. 
 
 Drink their f:!! of joys serene.
 
 46 
 
 Branches intertwined in union, 
 
 Form a pleasant forest shade ; 
 Choristers in sweet communion, 
 
 Charm the valley and the glade ; 
 Thousand beds of fragrant flowers 
 
 Waft their incense to tlie skies, 
 From the rich and roseate bowers, 
 
 In this land of Paradise. 
 
 How beautiful His hand benignly 
 
 Spreads the landscape to the view ; 
 AYho made the blade to glitter finely, 
 
 Hung with drops of pearly dew. 
 Oh ! what pure, what hallowed feeling, 
 
 Fraught with ecstacy divine. 
 Fill each heart, whilst humbly kneeling, 
 
 At the God of Nature's shrine. 
 
 THE SLAVE'S DREAM. 
 
 " The wretch that works and weeps without relief, 
 Has one that notices his silent grief."— Cowper. 
 
 fHAD a dream, a happy dream, I dream' t of 
 freedom's home ; 
 A lovely pure elysian scene, where freemen 
 loved to roam ; 
 Where Britain's radiant goddess struck the harp's 
 
 melodious string. 
 And sweet enchanting liberty, around me sccm'd 
 to ring ;
 
 47 
 
 Methought in ecstacy I found this land across the 
 
 wave, 
 I shouted, danced, and leap'd for joy, — I was no 
 
 more a Slave ! 
 
 Fair garlands trimm'd, in rich array, hung round the 
 
 festive scene, 
 And Heaven's azure arch above look'd peaceful and 
 
 serene ; 
 A land of love, of life, and light, this Island seem'd 
 
 to me, 
 A pure untainted Paradise, where every heart was free. 
 Oh ! how the bursting tears of joy my ebon cheek 
 
 did lave, 
 I cried, I stamp' d, I danced in glee, — I was no more 
 
 a Slave ! 
 
 The quiet calm benignant look, the laughing lovelit eye 
 That beam'd around this happy land of love and 
 
 liberty, 
 Methought were dearer to the heart, than India's 
 
 richest gems 
 That shine with so much lustre on theii- princely 
 
 diadems ; 
 I hid my face, I sobb'd aloud, I bless' d the rolling 
 
 wave, 
 "Which wafted me, and made me free, — I was no 
 
 more a Slave! 
 
 I thought no more of bitter toil, which makes the 
 
 mfllions mourn, 
 Who from their sunny free-born homes, by savage 
 
 whites are torn, 
 For I had found the seat of bliss, my joyous heart 
 
 beat high,
 
 48 
 
 And every sadden' d feeling from this bosom scem'd 
 
 to fly ; 
 A rapture fill' d my very soul, fresh tears again I gave, 
 Crack, crack, I heard a whip, I woke, — and found 
 
 myself a Slave ! 
 
 I trembling from my pallet crept, the visions of my 
 
 brain 
 Seem'd like a soft reality, in memory's golden chain ; 
 I dropt a bitter burning tear, — he heeded not my sigh, 
 But turn'd on my imploring looks, a cold averted eye ; 
 So I am doom'd to toil and sweat, in vain I stamp or 
 
 rave, 
 Oh ! Freedom, how I sigh for thee ! but — I am still 
 
 a Slave ! 
 
 THE IDIOT BOY. 
 
 fAR from the scenes of joyous mirth. 
 He wanders forth forlorn ; 
 A friendless outcast from his birth, 
 Held up to laugh and scorn ; 
 No sorrows can disturb his mind. 
 
 No worldly charms decoy ; 
 
 By either undisturbed we find 
 
 The wandering Idiot Boy. 
 
 His life is like an empty dream 
 
 On time's resistless wave, 
 He passes as some gliding stream. 
 
 From childhood to the grave ;
 
 49 
 
 Yet hap'ly with that vacant stare, 
 
 He feels an inward joy, 
 Wliich many a genius fain would share, 
 
 "With that poor Idiot Boy. 
 
 No friendly hand to guide his ways 
 
 Through life's tempestuous lot ; 
 Ijeft in a desert world, he strays 
 
 Unheeded and forgot : 
 Yet still no rankling cares molest, 
 
 Few thoughts his mind employ ; 
 But calm and tranquil heaves the breast 
 
 Of that poor Idiot hoy. 
 
 The solitary fields to pace, 
 
 To him is pure delight ; 
 Or -svith the neighbouring children chase, 
 
 The di'owsy chafer's tiight. 
 Then do not -with thy loots deride, 
 
 Or say he feels no joy ; 
 And in thy hasty greeting chide. 
 
 The wandering Idiot Boy. 
 
 ELIJAH. 
 
 WTiat doest thou here, Elijah? "—1 Kings, xix. 9, 
 
 €^ LIJAH stood in the wilderness, 
 
 Jfjll^ln a sad and a pensive case, 
 ^=^=^He folded his hands in deep distress, 
 Alone in that lonely place ;
 
 50 
 
 The bitterest pangs came over his soul, 
 And the bitterest tears he shed, 
 As into the cavern he silently stole, 
 From the night-dews to shelter his head. 
 
 Elijah pray'd in the wilderness. 
 
 He pray'd for his daily bread; 
 
 And his prayers were heard, — in his deep distress, 
 
 A table before him was spread ; 
 
 An angel was sent due comfort to give, 
 
 When he fancied all comfort had flown. 
 
 That the prophet, he longer yet longer might live, 
 
 Tho' left in the desert alone. 
 
 A cheerful meal each opening morn. 
 
 Was prepared for the holy seer. 
 
 Of viands by minist'ring ravens borne, 
 
 His desolate spirit to cheer. 
 
 And duly at eve came the birds with their load. 
 
 As the sun down the western ran ; 
 
 And his drink was the rippling stream that flow'd 
 
 By the feet of the holy man. 
 
 He gazed on the Heavens, he gazed upon Earth, 
 
 Where the clouds their dark shadows threw ; 
 
 He thought on his kindred, he thought on his birth, 
 
 And patient his chasten' d soul grew ; 
 
 And often with joy from his lonely cave, 
 
 Did the good old Prophet arise. 
 
 To bless the good hand for the blessings he gave. 
 
 With tears in his grateful eyes. 
 
 So he silently waited from day to day. 
 
 In his lonely — his desert state ; 
 
 Till the hand he relied on should point the way 
 
 To a brighter and better fate.
 
 51 
 
 At length the kind message saluted his ear, 
 
 And bade him no longer delay, 
 
 But depart from the desert with faith and with cheer, 
 
 And the Lord would direct his way. 
 
 So Elijah arose from Lis dreary retreat, 
 
 For the brook was beginning to dry, 
 
 And the sun darted down its scorching heat, 
 
 From a bright and a burning sky — 
 
 As he journeyed he met with a widow whose tale 
 
 Was so sad that she scarcely could live ; 
 
 She told how her meal had begun to fail, 
 
 And her oil was too scanty to give — 
 
 That her only son was nigh unto death, 
 
 And for him she hourly wept. 
 
 And still to delay his departing breath 
 
 The last of her oil she kept. — 
 
 Then the good old Prophet knelt and pray'd, 
 
 That her hopes might yet revive, 
 
 That the waste of her meal might yet be stay'd, 
 
 And her son might be kept alive. 
 
 So he dwelt with that widow, his miracles ^vTought— 
 
 And health was restored again, 
 
 The sky became clouded, the earth with its drought, 
 
 "Was drenched with a plenteous rain — 
 
 The barrel ne'er fail'd, the meal kept good, 
 
 And the cruse of oil it still ran. 
 
 Till the widow rejoiced with health and food, 
 
 By the prayers of that holy man. 
 
 Oh ! would like Elijah, when sore distress'd 
 Instead of repining and grief,
 
 52 
 
 "We flew to that Hand for succour and rest, 
 
 Where alone we can find a relief. 
 
 Tlien onwards and upwai-ds our spirits would go 
 
 Ascending on wings sublime ; — 
 
 Till we look'd with composure on troubles below 
 
 And triumph' d o'er sorrows of Time. 
 
 LINES TO THE ENGLISH FIRE FLY.* 
 
 (Chrisis Ignita.) 
 
 fHAVE gazed on the fair one, bewitching to 
 sight — 
 On the dew of the rosebud that hung from 
 the tree — 
 On the crown of a kingdom, with diamonds bright — ■ 
 But none in their splendour can equal with thee. 
 
 The pearls of the ocean are fair to behold, 
 
 And bright is the crest of the humming bii'd's plume ; 
 
 But none can compare to the crimson and gold. 
 Or the emerald tints which thy vesture assume. 
 
 Like a burnished carbuncle thy corset appears ; 
 
 Like a gem in a flame is thy facetted eye ; 
 All fretted and knotted in glistening tears, 
 
 And cast in the matrix of beauty's own die. 
 
 Oh ! how dost thou rival thy friends on the wing. 
 Like a gem or a spark from Golconda's fair clime, 
 
 * This insect and its allied species, known by the name of 
 Goldtail, are seldom seen except in hot sunny weather.
 
 53 
 
 As, aloft with thy brilliants, from earth thou dost 
 spring, 
 And flutter thy wings in the sun's golden prime, — 
 
 Reflecting each hue of the rainbow or cave, 
 As thy dazzling movements play over the green ; 
 
 Like a sprite or a fairy such graces they have, 
 So light and so quickly as scarce to be seen. 
 
 Yet in spite of thy beauty, and spite of thy pride. 
 How quickly thy butterfly season is o'er ; 
 
 For long ere the bloom of one summer has hied, 
 Thou foldest thy wings, and thy race is no more. 
 
 TO 
 
 5'H ! who would be a butterfly, 
 Vijjj And lounge away his hours, 
 Sporting beneath a sunny sky, 
 And playing with the flowers ? 
 From morn till noon, from noon till night, 
 
 While useful hands are wanting ; 
 To find on earth no more delight 
 Than laziness and flaunting r 
 
 Nay, fi-om all idleness and pride. 
 
 To noble hearts degrading. 
 Turn, turn thy wandering tTioughts aside, 
 
 For honors'never fadiua:.
 
 54 
 
 Those careless habits never bring 
 
 The inward satisfactions, 
 Like those which naturally spring 
 
 From doing useful actions. 
 
 The busy ant which toils aU day, 
 
 The humming restless bee, 
 Who from their task will never stray, 
 
 A lesson gives to thee ; 
 Then work while yet the day is bright, 
 
 And health with vigour flows, 
 Delay it not, for soon the night, 
 
 Upon thy work may close. 
 
 TO THE OWL. 
 
 HAT time the lark is on the wing, 
 
 And busy rooks begin to caw, 
 ■'When notes of cricket cease to ring, 
 And dawning day begins to draw ; 
 Up, and away, to the old church tower. 
 Stern as a druid, and clothed in gray ; 
 Nodding and winking at each sunny hour. 
 Life's busy round dost thou doze away, dream av/ay. 
 Life's busy round dost thou dream away. 
 
 When dragon-flies are sporting seen 
 
 With their coats of burnish' d gold, 
 Or the beetle on the green,
 
 55 
 
 Up, and away, in the old church tower, 
 Silent as night 'neatli her mantle of gray. 
 
 Scorning to look upon one sunny hour, 
 Life's busy round dost thou doze away, dream away, 
 Life's busy round dost thou dream away. 
 
 TO THE SAME. 
 
 *' The owl at midnight 
 
 Hooting, laughing, in the forest." 
 
 Longfellow's IIiawhatua. 
 
 "When the day begins to fade. 
 
 And Hesper shineth bright and clear, 
 
 When the dews bespread the blade, 
 And fairy footsteps come so near ; 
 
 Flying low aw^ay dost thou go, 
 
 Along with, the rearmouse, over the glen, 
 
 Tu whit ! tu whoo ! then a loud hoo oo ! 
 AVho like thou so frolicsome then. 
 Who like thou so frolicsome then. 
 
 When the cock is in the shed, 
 And the swallow seeks the barn, 
 
 When the otter from his bed. 
 Prowls around the silent tarn ; 
 
 Away, away, after the day, 
 
 Flying with echo through glade and glen, 
 
 Ha ha ! tu whoo ! tu Avhit ! hoo oo ! 
 Who in their revels so frolicsome thei:, 
 Who in their revels so frolicsome then. 
 
 E 2
 
 56 
 
 A FABLE. 
 
 " Let wiser heads for science claim degrees, 
 Be mine an humbler task, the young to please." 
 Old Rhyme, 
 
 (^prWhich bloomed in its native boAver, 
 cv^ V Lightly and gaily, 
 He sported it daily, 
 And clung to his favotuite flower. 
 
 An emmet that lived at its stem, 
 "Where the ramified rootlets entwined, 
 
 Took a great deal of pains 
 
 To gather some grains, 
 Of wheat, and what else he could find. 
 
 The butterfly, haughty and vain. 
 Made use of his dazzling wing ; 
 
 Laughed much at the labour 
 
 Of his humble neighbour. 
 And called him a poor slavish thing. 
 
 But the emmet undaunted and brave. 
 Still worked 'mid the grass and the weeds, 
 
 Till he'd heap'd up a store, 
 
 A fall handful or more. 
 Of all sorts of beautifal seeds. 
 
 The butterfly car'd for it not ; 
 
 He still clung to his favourite flower, 
 
 Flirting about. 
 
 As the sunshine peeped out, 
 In revehy passing each hour.
 
 57 
 
 The emmet he laboured still more, 
 Now carrying sticks to his cell, 
 
 Till he'd made a large moimd, 
 
 Both lofty and round, 
 Which he brought from all parts of the doll. 
 
 At length, the decline of the year, 
 In sadness came hastening on ; 
 
 Already a shower 
 
 Had spoilt the frail flower, 
 And the butterfly's strength was nigh gone. 
 
 But the emmet as lively as ever, 
 
 Still round his own precincts would roam ; 
 
 Till he'd gathered a bed 
 
 Of the roseleaves dead, 
 "Which fell from the butterfly's home. 
 
 The butterfly sighed when he saw 
 What havoc a shower had made ; 
 
 He fluttered around, 
 
 But no flow' ret was found, 
 Though he sought it all over tlie glade. 
 
 The emmet still followed his task, 
 Regardless of tempest or breeze ; 
 
 Running frequent and quick, 
 
 After leaflet or stick, 
 As they fell from the frost-bitten trees. 
 
 But the butteifl\''s doom was sealed, 
 For the very next withering blast 
 
 Laid him dead on the ground, 
 
 Bv the side of the mound.
 
 58 
 
 The emmet came forth at the dawn, 
 And was taking his usual round. 
 
 When behold in his way 
 
 Lay the butterfly gay, 
 With Ms plumy wings stretched on the ground. 
 
 Its gay little revels were over, 
 Its short lived summer was done ; 
 
 No more could it spring 
 
 With its dazzling wing, 
 And sport in the warmth of the sun. 
 
 The emmet now leaped on his prize, 
 As it lay in his pathway that morn ; 
 
 Cries he, " what a feast 
 
 I will make of this beast. 
 Who laughed all my labour to scorn ; 
 
 " I have got him at last safe and sound, 
 He neither can flutter nor sneer ; 
 
 On his winglets so fine 
 
 All my neighbours shall dine, 
 He will make us good wintry cheer." 
 
 Then tugging with all his might. 
 Straightway to his cell he descended ; 
 
 Where the revels kept high, 
 
 Till old Winter flew bv, 
 Thus the life of the Butterflv ended. 
 
 Moral. 
 
 Now you that in pleasures abound, 
 And think they will never be over.
 
 59 
 
 Who ]ook with mucli scorn, 
 On the poor and forlorn, 
 Think, think on this gay little rover. 
 
 Your morning of life may look fair ; 
 
 The rose and the myrtle may bloom ; 
 But time hurries past, 
 "With its M-ithering blast, 
 
 And may very soon settle thy doom. 
 
 Then go to the ant and be wise ; 
 
 Learn a lesson, as Solomon said, 
 While the bloom on thy cheek 
 Health and vigour bespeak, 
 
 And joys o'er thy being are shed. 
 
 TO THE DAISY. 
 
 " Embroiderers of the carpet earth, 
 That stud the velvet sod." — Clare. 
 
 j> *^pWAS in that pleasant vernal time, 
 J\P),] "^^'iien sunshine followed April showers, 
 ^^'^When Spring was clad in all its prime, 
 I gazed upon the queen of flowers. 
 
 I thought the carpet 'neath the feet 
 ( )f kings, or blush of summer rose, 
 
 Coidd scarcely yield a scene so sweet 
 As thy fair form and tints disclose.
 
 60 
 
 Thus as I still and silent stood, 
 Beside an humble gipsy dwelling, 
 
 And thou around in myriads strew' d, 
 I thought his pleasure most excelling. 
 
 His children irolick'd o'er thy head, 
 In pleasant pastime free and hearty ; 
 
 His pony roll'd upon thy bed, 
 AU joyous as a wedding party. 
 
 And when I saw thee studding o'er 
 The level of the rich man's green, 
 
 Like stars upon an emerald floor, 
 With joy I gazed upon the scene. 
 
 Or, wlien upon the grassy bank, 
 With varied insects round thee playing, 
 
 Mid violet fair or crasey rank. 
 
 Their changeful attitudes displaying. 
 
 Still thou art brightest of the train, 
 
 Of all the flowers that flock thee round, 
 
 Wbether thou deign' st to spot the plain, 
 Or decorate the monarch's ground. 
 
 The silvery meekness of thy look 
 Has such a sweet attractive power, 
 
 That Avhere'er I gaze in nature's book, 
 I view with joy my simple flower.
 
 61 
 
 LINES WRITTEN ON A SUMMER'S 
 MORNING. 
 
 *' I see the distant woods and fields of com, 
 And ocean gleaming in the light of morn." 
 Mackat. 
 
 fHE morning breaks both fresh and fair, the 
 orient tinted sky 
 Proclaims a day of brilliancy, of warmth, and 
 melody ; 
 Both right and left upon the land, the fields of 
 
 waving corn 
 Are spread between the thickets, the landscape 
 to adorn. 
 
 The feathered tribe on gladsome wing, now take 
 
 their morning flight. 
 And through the dewy aether, sing their matins to 
 
 the light ; 
 The numerous herbs that strew the ground, with 
 
 odours fill the gale ; 
 The barking of the shepherd's dog is heard throughout 
 
 the vale. 
 
 And now the busy maid is seen, with milk-pail at 
 
 her side, 
 To trip along the meadows green and greet the dairy's 
 
 pride, 
 While sol's resplendent beams chase the dews of 
 
 morn away, 
 Anil with his power make every flower look still more 
 
 fresh and o-av.
 
 62 
 
 And is there still a heart that feels no joy at oliarms 
 
 like these ? 
 Can Nature's self bring no relief their gloomy breasts 
 
 to please ? 
 Ah no, I fear, that many a year is past by some along, 
 Who waste the morn, nor care to hear the lark's 
 
 melodious song. 
 
 To them the giddy dance or play is all the joy they 
 
 seek, 
 In folly's maze from day to day, no rest from week 
 
 to week : 
 Thus, heedlessly, on ruin's brink, they pass each 
 
 fleeting hour. 
 Nor seek a solitude to think, or Nature's God 
 
 adore. 
 
 But I have still a heart that feels elated with the 
 
 scene. 
 Where noble trees right nobly stand, and flowers 
 
 stud the green ; 
 Where rais'd aloft with music soft, the warblers fill 
 
 the sky ; 
 And, near one's feet, through meadows sweet, the 
 
 brook runs murmuring by. 
 
 Oft have I gazed upon the land, where Severn's 
 winding stream 
 
 Eolls forth her silvery tide, beneath the sun's re- 
 splendent beam, 
 
 Till, fiU'd with admiration, my thoughts I've rais'd 
 above. 
 
 To Him who is sole cause of all, in gratitude and 
 love.
 
 63 
 OUR EARLY DAYS. 
 
 JiUR early days, our early days — it is a pleasant 
 ""•'1 theme, 
 
 That lingers in fond memory's depths, like some 
 enchanting dream ; 
 Again that bright and happy time, with fresh delight 
 
 is seen. 
 When we chased tlie painted butterfly across the 
 village green. 
 
 Our early days, our early days — with beams of life 
 and light. 
 
 How brilliantly was each fond scene enclosed in 
 haloes bright ; 
 
 Free and unfettered as the wind, our thoughts and 
 actions ran, 
 
 Ere reason sage had found us, or the world pro- 
 claim' d us man. 
 
 Our early days, our early days — how did each rolling 
 
 year, 
 Laden with many spoils, to us all golden did appear, 
 How did each young expanding thought with coming 
 
 pleasure blend. 
 And tell us in our reveries, such days would never 
 
 end ! 
 
 Our early days, our early days — when of our actions 
 
 proud, 
 We seem'd to liv^ in transports, with a sky without 
 
 a cloud. 
 And tho' old time, the present scenes with shadow 
 
 hath o'ercast, 
 "We look for future blessings from reflections of the 
 
 past.
 
 64 
 
 Our early days, our early days — thy thoughts I still 
 
 hold dear. 
 For tho' thy distance now seem great, thy plcasui-es 
 
 still seem near, 
 And like some high wrought fancied scene, with 
 
 beauty's flow' rets twined, 
 Their pleasant reminiscences oft crowd upon the mind. 
 
 Our early days, our early days — with blessings not 
 
 a few, 
 I would not lose thy memory, for the riches of Peru ; 
 It brings a charm which glads my heart whene'er the 
 
 thoughts we raise, 
 "Which carries us to former times — our joyous early 
 
 days. 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 " 'Tis night and the landscape is lovely no more." 
 
 Beattie. 
 
 fHE night, stern Empress of the sable shades 
 In solemn darkness reigns upon the scene, 
 Where late the sunbeams lit the opening glades 
 Warming the beauties of its verdant sheen 
 In tints resplendent, as the golden hours 
 On wings of pleasure floated o'er the laud, 
 Filling with gladness all its laughing bowers 
 Ere the stern ruler waved her ebon wand. — 
 But now, she sits upon her cloudy throne 
 And sways the sceptre o'er a sleeping world, 
 Woods, Hills, and Valleys, all she calls her own, 
 While her dark banner waves on high unfurl' d. 
 But soon her reign will cease — Aurora's rays 
 Banish the night and bring again the glowing days.
 
 65 
 
 HAPPY LAND. 
 
 "Happy is England ! I could be content 
 
 To see no other verdure tlian its own ; 
 
 To feel no other breezes than are blown 
 
 Through its tall woods, with high romances blent," 
 
 Keats. 
 
 g^APPY Land— I love tliee still, 
 
 qJjk) Tho' storm and tempest hover o'er thee ; 
 
 t'^'^To me such scenes are far from ill, 
 
 Despite them all I still adore thee. 
 The proudest spot that can be found, 
 
 Of earth's parterre the richest flower, 
 Thou shed'st benignant beams around, 
 
 AYhich cheer in sunshine or in shower. 
 
 Happy Land — as o'er thy face 
 
 My mental eye is sweetly glancing. 
 Thy loved beatitudes I trace. 
 
 In all their signal bliss advancing. 
 The slave's refuge, the free man's home, 
 
 Where liberty's unshackled treasure. 
 Hail thy glad sons, where'er they roam. 
 
 To mingle with their scenes of pleasure. 
 
 Happy Land — in all thy pride, 
 
 Majestic 'mid the waving ocean. 
 While billows wash thy chalky side, ' 
 
 And roll around in Avild commotion ; 
 Firm in thyself, thou heedest not, 
 
 The swelling waves' tumultuous roar, 
 But calm and tranquil stands each spot. 
 
 Which smiles upon thy blissful shore.
 
 66 
 
 Ha])py Land — if far from home 
 
 By fortune I am led to wander, 
 Far from thy peaceful haimts to roam, 
 
 And o'er some foreign scene to ponder ; 
 My rising thoughts will turn to thee. 
 
 And view again each feature grand, 
 The brightest jewel still to me, 
 
 I hold my native Happy Laud. 
 
 LASSIE SMILE AGAIN. 
 
 TO M 
 
 HY, lassie, why so dull to-day, 
 \What makes that heart so sad, I say, 
 What e\il omen has been here 
 To chase the smile and cause a tear ? 
 The roses from thy cheek have fled. 
 And a pale coldness reigns instead. 
 Then say what is it gives thee pain ? 
 Come, quickly tell and smile again ! 
 
 Alas ! no smile that visage wears, 
 No rosy blush nor joy appears, 
 I'hose sable locks now hide the face 
 Where late they curl'd with such a grace ; 
 And dull and languid is that eye 
 Which used the diamond to outvie ; 
 What is it then those charms have ta'en ? 
 Come, quickly tell, and smile again ;
 
 Is it because time flies away, 
 And for no mortal power will stay ? 
 'Tis true the day will soon be o'er, 
 And the same day return no more ; 
 But then another soon will come 
 When Natm-e's charms again will bloom ; 
 Then from those gloomy looks refrain, 
 Come, cheer thy heart and smile again. 
 
 The sliades of night will soon surroimd, 
 No flow'ret bloom upon the ground ; 
 The sun will sink behind the hill, 
 The dews of eve be damp and chill ; 
 The linnet too will leave the thorn, 
 But will return again at morn. 
 And then resume its wonted strain ; 
 So dry those tears and smile again. 
 
 AVhat ! not a smile, not even now. 
 Come say what caused that sullen brow ; 
 Sure, sure, those moments you forget 
 "WTien ne'er without a smile we met; 
 "When rosy smiles were wont to iill 
 Between each joke the interval; 
 Come, come ! while hope doth yet remain. 
 Cheer up those looks and smile again. 
 
 Oh, no ! that visage seems to say 
 Those smiles had wings and flew away ; 
 Thy head hangs down, thy voice is mute, 
 Which used to cheer me as the lute ; 
 So for the present I'll depart. 
 And let Time mend that broken heart ; 
 And when to-morrow glads the plain 
 I'll hope to sec thee smile again.
 
 68 
 
 LUCINDA'S DREAM, 
 
 OR, THE DOUBLE VISION. 
 
 -^ ^^WAS in the beauteous month of May, 
 (Tjll) When fields were green and flowers were gay ; 
 ^^^^When roses bloom' d mid brier and thorn, 
 And chanting birds awoke the morn ; 
 Asleep before the rising beam. 
 The young Lucinda dream' d a dream. 
 She thought a castle's ancient pile, 
 Where peace and plentij deign' d to smile, 
 Before her stood, in all its pride, 
 With villas spread on either side ; 
 AVhere fountains play'd amid the green. 
 To fill with joy the lovely scene ; 
 And bowers luxuriant were there, 
 Loading the rich ambrosial air 
 With odoriferous perfume, 
 As zephyrs fann'd the sparkling bloom ; 
 Which wafted forth their luscious sweets. 
 To bless those paradise retreats. 
 In admiration lost awhile, 
 To view the venerable pile, 
 Lucinda stood, as mute and still 
 As statute on its pinnacle ; 
 When lo, a form divinely fair, 
 With floating vest, and angel air. 
 And looks Avhich never dream of sorrow, 
 Approach' d, and seem'd to say good morrow; 
 The Enchantress wav'd her lily hand, 
 Lucinda, ready at command,
 
 r>9 
 
 Obey'd, and hasten'd to her guide, \ 
 
 The massy doors tlew open wide, / 
 
 Then clos'd again on either side ) 
 
 By hands invisible, the sound 
 
 Re-echo' d as the portals bound. 
 
 The marble lialls they pace along, 
 
 Mid scenes of reveliy and song, 
 
 And frescoes hung in phantacies, 
 
 Which vied in splendour with the skies, 
 
 When sol retiring to rest, 
 
 Gilds with his beams the radiant west. 
 
 The winding staircase they ascend, 
 
 Where gleaming light and shadow blend, 
 
 And pass by (sumptuously array' d) 
 
 The halls where sprightly music pla/d, 
 
 Till reach' d at length the castle's height, 
 
 Elysium burst upon the sight : 
 
 Far spreading o'er the lovely scene, 
 
 A view of happiness was seen ; 
 
 Fond pleasure danced with lord and hind. 
 
 Led by their queen, sweet peace of mind ; 
 
 While birds of every hue of wing 
 
 Deign' d their merry songs to sing ; 
 
 " Warbling their native wood notes wild," 
 
 Far as the lovely landscape smil'd. 
 
 Lucinda gazed in extacies, 
 
 To mark the globing splendours rise, 
 
 From wood and valley, hill and stream, 
 
 Beneath Aurora's gayest beam ; 
 
 Till lost in wrapt astonishment. 
 
 She gave her swelling feelings vent. 
 
 '• Oh what a lovely place," fhe cried, 
 
 *' For erring mortals to reside.
 
 70 
 
 Without a care to cross the breast, 
 'Mongst all those happy beings blest ; 
 Sure, sure amid the landscape fair, 
 The land of Paradise lies there." 
 
 The fair enchantress then began, 
 *' Oh think not this the lot of man, 
 Without a groan, without a storm, 
 The lovely picture to deform ; 
 Tho' silent I have been till now, 
 And niark'd the bright extatic glow 
 Which rose upon thy countenance. 
 While scenes of beauty charm' d thy sense 
 I say tho' music fill thine ears, 
 One half this world's a vale of tears, 
 Those have not judgment to decide, 
 Who only see the brightest side. 
 Behold the scene on yonder plain, 
 Where ivar and desolation reign. 
 Then say if mortals have no woes, 
 To mar their dream of blest repose." 
 
 At this Lucinda cast her eyes 
 Beyond the bound of paradise. 
 When suddenly the view was changed, 
 In vain her eager vision ranged 
 For lovely scenes ; the skies let fall 
 A mist, which floated like a pall, 
 Then gather' d in one mighty cloud, 
 And wrapt Elysium in a shroud. 
 
 She turned "tov,^ards her lovely guide, 
 But she had vanish' d from her side — 
 The thunders roU'd, the fire-brands flash, 
 The war-like engines loudly crash. 
 And scenes of death and dark despair, 
 Like spectres stalking througli the air,
 
 71 
 
 Were seen to glide as meteors fast, 
 Sailing athwart the murky blast. 
 Still on the castle's utmost licight, \ 
 Lucinda stood in wild atJVight, / 
 
 And gazed with horror on the sight. ) 
 As the broad phalanx spread the land, 
 Like shipwrecks scatter'd o'er the strand, 
 Anon the gleaming clash of arms, 
 Seem'd thundering' forth its dire alarms 
 "With tenfold rage, re-doubling, strong 
 The furious war-shout floats along, 
 Echoing through the lofty halls. 
 As it approach' d the castle walls. 
 Dread was the scene, the demon wail 
 Made fair Lucinda' s heart to quail 
 As it rush'd forth, a mighty tide, 
 Foul devastation spreading wide. 
 
 Once more the furies rais'd a cry, 
 Ee-echoing through the vaulted sky ; 
 And firebrands, like lightning hurl'd, 
 Were darting o'er a ruin'd world, 
 While horrid skrieks around them spread. 
 Enough to wake tiie sleeping dead. 
 A demon spirit moved along. 
 And seem'd to head the phrensied throng ; 
 When suddenly they near'd the place, 
 The castle tottered to its base ; 
 Lucinda, starting, gave a scream. 
 And woke — behold 'twas all a dream. 
 The sun was shining bright above. 
 The birds were singing songs of love, 
 And merry May in all its prime, 
 Was shedding ihe sweets of that lovely time. 
 
 r 2
 
 72 
 
 STANZAS TO SPEING. 
 
 ^5HERE is joy in tlie Eartli, there is beauty 
 m)j]| before us, 
 
 ^=^^^ Spread round and about in a thousand bright 
 
 ways ; 
 The voices of gladness in nature's grand chorus, 
 
 Are sending to Heaven their paeans of praise. 
 The hum of the bee, the twit twit of the swallow, 
 
 As swiftly she sl^iras over meadows and lake, 
 AVhile butterfly beauties in harmony follow, 
 
 And deck in rare splendour the bower and brake. 
 
 How rich are the flowers ! wild harebells and daisies, 
 
 Are studded profusely all over the scene ; 
 While the slender enemone mingled with craisies, 
 
 Expand their frail blossoms like stars on the green. 
 The lark high in aether, on tow'ring pinions, 
 
 Ere scarcely the sun to the flowers gives birth. 
 Is spreading sweet music o'er Flora's dominions. 
 
 And adding fresh charms to the beauty of Eartli. 
 
 "Wild harmony gathers like music o'er waters. 
 
 So rich, so delightful o'er mountain and glen ; 
 That mortals might fancy 'tis Heaven's fair daughters, 
 
 Rehearsing their strains to the children of men ; 
 So varied the sound, so enchanting and thrilling, 
 
 The cadence symphonious that falls on the ear ; 
 That one gentle iflow Earth and Heaven is fllling, 
 
 And crowning with glory the Spring of the year.
 
 IN MKMORIAM. 
 
 "Thus where'er I turn my eye, 
 
 Back upon the days gone by, 
 
 Saddening thoughts of friends come o'er mc, 
 
 Friends who closed their course before me." 
 
 Longfellow's Hyi'euiox. 
 
 fAREWELL to thee, friend of my youth, 
 The guide of my earlier years, 
 _ To hear thou art gone, aud'to find it the truth. 
 Brings feelings of sorrow, and tears ; 
 Recollections of days that are past, 
 
 And gloomy reflections which rise, 
 Rush into the soul like a with' ring blast. 
 And sadden the heart as it flies. 
 
 Farewell — thou art gone to the grave, 
 
 The church-yard has claim' d thee its guest, 
 Thy sorrows are past, and life's troublesome wave 
 
 With thee has now sunk to its rest : 
 E'en the valley, where often thy strains 
 
 Have echoed to mountain and rill. 
 Like a slumb'ring talisman quiet remains, 
 
 Since the voice of the sleeper is still. 
 
 Farewell — since no more we shall wander 
 
 In bliss o'er those flowery plains, • 
 No more in ecstatic enjoyments to ponder, 
 
 'Mid the mazes where poesy reigns. 
 Yet their fond reminiscences still 
 
 I hail with a sacred delight. 
 And, in sadness, lament that thy talents and skill 
 
 For ever are hid from my sight.
 
 74 
 
 Farewell — but thy memory ever 
 
 Will glow in ray mind with delight, 
 The scenes of our once endeared friendship will never 
 
 Be mentally hid from my sight. 
 The turmoils of earth may surround me, 
 
 The billows of ocean may roll, 
 But that mutual tie of affection which bound me, 
 
 Still dwells in the innermost soul. 
 
 Farewell— since the chain is now broken 
 
 Which bound us so pleasant on earth, 
 But the acts thou hast done, and the words thou hast 
 spoken. 
 
 Will often to sorrow give birth. 
 The remembrance of joys shared below. 
 
 Will appear when thy works I shall view. 
 And cause the sad tear of affection to flow. 
 
 Those raptures of bliss to bedew. 
 
 But farewell — may thy spirit that's fled, 
 
 Be bless' d in a happier clime, 
 Where sorrow's ne'er known, and tears are not shed, 
 
 In eternity, same as in time. 
 May that region where now thou art soai'ing. 
 
 Be one of transcendent delight ; 
 And thy spirit, for ever its beauties exploring, 
 
 Be o'erwhelmed in the transport so bright.
 
 75 
 
 THE EVENING HOUR. 
 
 " Oft on some evening, sunny, soft, and still, 
 The muse shall lead thee to the beech-crowned hill 
 To spend at ease the cool refreshing hour. 
 
 Till all the fading picture fail the sight." 
 
 Gilbert "White. 
 
 ^jj^HE evening clouds are floating by, 
 (w^i) ^° calm, so sweet, so silently ; 
 
 ''^^^^^Throwing theii- shade Avhere scarce a breath 
 
 Disturbs the down upon the heath ; 
 
 Peeping from the mould'ring wall, 
 
 The cricket chirps his merry call ; 
 
 And all things have their magic power, 
 
 In such a lovely evening hour. 
 
 Far in the glen, welcome bird, 
 The throstle's piping notes are heard ; 
 WhUe the lark ascending high, 
 Pours his wild music in the sky. 
 Reposing in the past^ires green, 
 The ruminating herds are seen ; 
 And all things have a magic power, 
 To consecrate the evening hour. 
 
 The silvery moth with downy plume, 
 Is sporting where the flow'rets bloom, 
 Playing round the blossoms fair, 
 Whose grateful fragrance fill the air. 
 Upon the lake where lilies float, 
 The gnat-fly leaves his tiny boat ; 
 And all things have their magic power, 
 To consecrate the evening hour.
 
 76 
 
 How beautiful, how soft and balm, 
 Flows forth the breath of evening calm ; 
 While Hesper, like a gem on high, 
 Peeps from his portal in the sky. 
 The sun receding sinks to rest, 
 Envelop' d in a crimson vest ; 
 And sheds with its elysian power, 
 Eadiance on the evening hour. 
 
 Around the watery margin spread, 
 The bulrush lifts its massive head ; 
 And willows hang their pendent sprays, 
 As if to catch the lingering rays. 
 While the soft murmur of the stream, 
 Glancing 'neath the fading beam ; 
 Gives with all its magic power, 
 Blessings to the evening hour. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 f*^EET me in the valley glen, 
 1 1 When hyacinths are springing, 
 ^When pale primroses bloom, and when 
 The merry lark is singing ; 
 When cuckoo's-raeat* looks fresh and sweet. 
 And purple violets glisten ; 
 Come forth and rove in hawthorn grove. 
 And I'll be there to listen. 
 
 * Wood Sorrel.
 
 77 
 
 Meet me in the valley glen, 
 
 When Spring's enchanting season, 
 
 Awakes the drowsy sons of men, 
 
 To pleasure and to reason ; 
 
 When all is gay like smiling May, 
 
 And humming-bees are flying. 
 
 Come forth and rove in hawthorn grove, 
 
 And hear the turtle sighing. 
 
 Or meet me in the valley glen, 
 When Luna's light is gleaming, 
 While fays and fairies dance, and when 
 The drowsy world is dreaming ; 
 The owl shall sing our evening hymn. 
 He waiteth there before us ; 
 Then haste away, without delay, 
 Let's join the merry chorus. 
 
 STANZAS. 
 
 " I think, as soft and sad I tread 
 Above the venerable dead, 
 Time was like me they life possest, 
 And time will be wheii I shall rest." 
 
 rARNELI., 
 
 ^;W?^HO does not love at daylight's close 
 dj^r|i^ To wander in a churchyard green ; 
 (5^-^ To linger where the dead repose, 
 And meditate upon the scene ; 
 While life beats fresh and thought^ aie free, 
 To commune with eternitx ?
 
 To mufie o'er life's last cold retreat, 
 Our ancestors ! "where now are they ? 
 The very turf beneath our feet 
 We feel is animated clay ; 
 And death to all the passing crowd 
 Will give at least an earthly shroud, 
 
 Vain are our struggles to elude, 
 With health or youth for our excuse ; 
 For death's cold footsteps will intrude, 
 And scorn to sign for us a truce ; 
 Yea, oft-times when we feel secure, 
 " The monster waiteth at the door." 
 
 Those hillocks spread beneath the eye, 
 O'er which the thoughtless children play, 
 Contain such forms as you, or I, 
 Who lived, and moved, and had their day ; 
 And you and I, where now we tread, 
 Like them must have our narrow bed. 
 
 A few more smiling suns may roll, 
 To fill our hearts with life and light, 
 Ere the departure of the soul 
 To other worlds shall take its flight ; 
 But soon or late the last decree 
 Will join us to eternity. 
 
 Oh ! may the last, the final hour, 
 Be one of joy, and not of dread ; 
 When this great king of mighty power. 
 Upon our threshold deigns to tread ; 
 That we with our expiring breath, 
 May triumph in the hoiu- of death.
 
 79 
 
 THE SUNBEAM. 
 
 J I SAW it in the Morning, 
 p In orient lustre glowing, 
 When brilliant clouds upon the scene 
 Their golden tints were throwing ; 
 And when upon the landscape, 
 The mighty tempest lowers, 
 It peeped in glowing splendour forth, 
 Between the fertile showers. 
 
 I saw it in the Evening, 
 
 When all was calm and still, 
 And pleasantly the lingering rays 
 
 Fell faintly o'er the hill ; 
 The little gnat-fly found it, 
 
 And sported o'er the green. 
 While all around harmonious 
 
 Vv^as peaceful and serene. 
 
 I saw it in the Eainbow 
 
 That spreads across the sky. 
 When brilliantly its coloured rays 
 
 Reflected from on high ; 
 Wlien on a cloudy pillow. 
 
 Its glories seemed to rest. 
 As resplendently it caught each beam 
 
 That issued from the West. 
 
 I saw it in the Dewdrop 
 
 That sparkles on the thorn, 
 When first Sol's glowing radiance 
 
 Empurpled o'er the morn;
 
 80 
 
 In many coloured diamonds 
 
 It hung upon each blade, 
 And threw its luscious richness 
 
 (J'er every opening glade. 
 
 I saw it in the Waterfall 
 
 That rushes from on high, 
 When dashing from the hollow rocks, 
 
 The spray came floating by ; 
 Like brilliants shed in showers, 
 
 They glistened all around, 
 And then in quiet peacefulness 
 
 Sank gently to the ground. 
 
 And I saw it in the Eiver 
 That winds its course along. 
 
 As exquisitely beautiful, 
 It fell the whirls among ; 
 
 Yes ! with a gentle ripple, 
 I saw the Sun's bright beam, 
 
 In purple, gold, and violet, 
 
 Reflected on the stream. 
 
 THE YIPEH, 
 
 (A circumstance which happened in the Valley 
 of Horns.) 
 
 ^ EQUESTER'D in a shady nook, 
 j^ While sunbeams round were glowing ; 
 ^f^ We sat us down to read a book. 
 
 While pleasantly the murmuring brook, 
 Was throng'h the meadow flowing.
 
 81 
 
 Our dog went rambling tlirough the glade, 
 
 Making witli leaves a rustle ; 
 When suddenly his course was stayed, 
 As something 'neath a bramble shade, 
 
 Seem'd in a miglity bustle. 
 
 "NVe hasted from our grassy seat, 
 
 Through violets and daisies ; 
 To witness if we could, the feat. 
 Of this same thing in its retreat, 
 
 Amid the bramble mazes. 
 
 When there, behold a Viper's stare I 
 
 With eyes all wildly flashing, 
 Peer'd fiercely from his rooty lair. 
 With menaces that seem'd to dare, 
 
 And tail the branches lashing. 
 
 And staunch he kept the dog at bay, 
 
 With lion-heart in danger ; 
 Determin'd not to be a prey, 
 At least, not in an easy way, 
 
 To any woodland ranger. 
 
 But there, with jaws both gaping wide ; 
 
 And forked tongue displaying ; 
 His strange intruder thus he eyed, 
 And swell'd in wrathful coils his pride, 
 
 As we stood by surveying. 
 
 At length a sturdy stick we sought. 
 
 And fix'd it o'er his throttle ; 
 By this means we the reptile caught, 
 Kiird him. then home his carca^^e brought, 
 
 And placed it in a bottle.
 
 82 
 
 THE SUMMER STORM. 
 
 Amid the heavens 
 
 Falsely serene, deep in a cloudy speck 
 Compress'd, the mighty tempest brooding dwells.' 
 Physical Geography. 
 
 ^jpHE sky above was a fairy sky, 
 Mmji '^^^ ^^^ laudscape a fairy scene, 
 *^^^*i=^And the forest leaves as they danced on high 
 
 Were glittering bright and green. 
 And the stream below with its murmuring flow. 
 
 Brought thoughts of our pleasant hours ; 
 When the sparkling earth seem'd flll'dwith mirth, 
 
 As we revel' d in spring-tide bowers. 
 
 The wild-brier issued a fragrant smell, 
 
 And loaded the perfumed gale ; 
 The blackbird sang in the fairy dell 
 
 His often repeated tale. 
 And the evening clouds, with their amber shrouds 
 
 A golden sunset- throwing, 
 From their throne in the west spread a brilliant vest, 
 
 O'er the scenes beneath them glowing. 
 
 All was beautiful, all was still, 
 
 And silent as silent could be ; 
 Save the blackbird's note, or the murmuring rill. 
 
 And the leaflet on the tree. 
 When tlic herald of light, with his fiery might, 
 
 Sank suddenly down in the ocean. 
 And the gath'riug clouds assembled in crowds, 
 
 Willi a rapid and whirling commotion.
 
 8;5 
 
 Tlip day-liglit Hed from the magic scone, 
 
 And nature stood aghast ; 
 The blackbird flew to some cave I ween, 
 
 As the whirlwind approached him fast. 
 A few drops of rain on the bending grain, 
 
 And the leaves began to rattle ; 
 Then a rumbling sound went spreading around, 
 
 Like the noise of some mighty battle. 
 
 The blackest shades o'er the heavens spread, 
 
 And the Adnd it howl'd tremendous, 
 The thunder in peals roll'd overhead, 
 
 And shook the forests stupendous ; 
 While at every crash, the lightning's flash, 
 
 Displaying its mighty powers. 
 Threw a gleam of light more than sunshine bright, 
 
 la the depths of the forest bowers. 
 
 Long was the combat and loud the storm, 
 
 Which over the landscape beat ; 
 And sadly it banish' d or changed the form 
 
 Of much that was bright and sweet. 
 Wlien the next rising sun its journey begim. 
 
 And peep'd from its Eastern station, 
 Half the leaves and the flowers, in hedgerow and 
 bowers, 
 
 Lay scatter' d in desolation.
 
 84 
 
 THE OLD VILLAGE CHURCH. 
 
 II 
 
 ^'FT I gaze on that calm quiet spot 
 Ij) With feelings of hallow'd delight, 
 ^ Where the noise of the world is forgot, 
 And its follies are hid from the sight ; 
 While its mould' ring form I survey, 
 As round its blest precincts I stroll. 
 It appears like a heavenly ray. 
 And sheds a new light on the soul ; 
 Its graveyard all planted around, 
 With willow, and cypress, and hirch, 
 Give a soft sacred air to the ground 
 That encloses the Old Village Church. 
 
 When the peal of its organ I hear. 
 
 As calmly the praises arise. 
 
 It comes like a charm on the ear. 
 
 And raises our thoughts to the skies ; 
 
 It warns us at once to awake. 
 
 And for our Great Master prepare — 
 
 The road to His kingdom to take. 
 
 For the time of eternity's near ; 
 
 Or when 'mid its tombstones I wend, 
 
 The mould' ring records to search, 
 
 W^hat thoughts of divinity blend. 
 
 With the scenes of the Old Village Church. 
 
 Or, when at its altar we kneel 
 
 The sweet Ebcne/.er to raise. 
 
 Oh ! where is the heart that don't feel 
 
 The emotion of gratitude's prai&e r
 
 85 
 
 When the small voice of conscience is heard, 
 
 To warn us from enl to fly, 
 
 While the preacher proclaims tlie glad word 
 
 Which leads us to hlessings on high. 
 
 With fervour how oft has he pray'd, 
 
 That the scoffer the scriptures might search, 
 
 And no longer his being degrade. 
 
 Or revile at the Old Village Church. 
 
 THE SPOT FOR A GEAYE. 
 
 " Althoug-h corruption may our frame consume, 
 The immortal spirit in the skies may bloom." 
 
 Horace Smith. 
 
 *' Beauty immortal awakes from the tomb." 
 
 Beattie. 
 
 GIVE me a grave where the simbeams shine, 
 Dra-^ang sweets from the brier and rose ; 
 ^May the fliirest of flow' rets gently entwine, 
 O'er the mound where my relics repose. 
 Where song birds shall flutter on restless wing, 
 
 And carol their sti'ains o'er my head ; 
 Aye, loudest and sweetest the robin shall sing 
 A requiem over the dead. 
 
 0, give me a grave where butterfly wings. 
 
 Are plying in numerous swanns ; 
 Where emblems of beauty and beautiful things 
 
 Aie displaying their heavenly forms.
 
 86 
 
 Where the landscape smiles, and the sky above 
 
 With its clouds of amber and gold, 
 Sheds its hallowing beams of light and love, 
 
 O'er my pillow so dreary and cold. 
 
 0, give me a grave that is calm and serene, 
 
 With naught to offend the sight ; 
 Where over the turf the daisied scene, 
 
 Spreads its delicate blossoms so bright. 
 Where the waud'ring bee like an elfen sprite, 
 
 With its fairy-like gems array' d. 
 Disporting may frolic in plaj'ful delight, 
 
 Where lowly this body is laid. 
 
 0, give me a grave where over my tomb 
 
 No yew-tree sways gloomy and cold ; 
 But scatter fresh flowers of brightest bloom, 
 
 Like th' half-civilized pagans of old. 
 May the scidptures around be light and gay, 
 
 And a scene of rejoicing and love, 
 Be spread when the spirit has hasted away, 
 
 To bask in the regions above. 
 
 0, give me a grave where pale CjTithia's smile, 
 
 As she looks from her staiTy throne ; 
 When day has receded, may lighten the while 
 
 With that soft silver radiance her own. 
 And the twinkling stars like diamonds bright, 
 
 Their hallowing influence shed ; 
 Making soothingly sweet, the still visions of night, 
 
 When silently sleepeth the dead. 
 
 0, give me a grave where the mourner may come, 
 
 And gaze on it without despair ; 
 And say when I'm resting there lifeless and dumb 
 
 This frees us from "sorrow and care."
 
 87 
 
 Nay, while we have breath 'neath a hand so benign, 
 May our faith such assiu-ance assume, 
 
 As to feel that at death, there's a spirit divine. 
 Which fears not the opening tomb. 
 
 Oh ! why should we fear while on earth we stay. 
 
 To enter our darksome abode ? 
 To the christian it is but the passage — the way — 
 
 That leads to our heavenly road. 
 We are travellers here, but the barrier pass'd, 
 
 We enter on regions all bright, 
 Like pilgrims press on and arrive at the last, 
 
 To dwell with the ang-els of light. 
 
 TO THE CUCKOO. 
 
 " Cuckoo, shall I call the Bird, 
 Or but a wand'ring voice" 
 
 WOEESWORTH. 
 
 r^ UCKOO, I can hear thy voice 
 
 \T^ So pleasantly the hour beguiling, 
 ^^^ Amid the scene thou dost rejoice, 
 With all around thee sweetly smiling ; 
 The lark on waving wings upborne 
 Twin partner of thy festive pleasure, 
 Triumphantly awakes the morn, 
 With thrilling notes of rapid measure. 
 
 G 2
 
 S8 
 
 From sunny skies of Africa, 
 Thou now hast winged a season's flight, 
 To make with us a summer's stay, 
 And with its varied charms unite ; 
 And fresh must be the shady bower, 
 AVhere thou dost deign to sit and sing ; 
 Bedeck' d with many a perfiim'd flower. 
 For thee to plume thy dainty wing. 
 
 A wanderer from Land to Land, 
 Thou Avingest forth thy airy Avay ; 
 "Where Flora decks the pleasant strand. 
 And Nightingales pour forth their lay. 
 There on the level pastures green, 
 Or, in some shady grove profound. 
 Thy solitary form is seen, 
 Or Cuckoo notes to sweetly sound. 
 
 A life of sunsliine and of joy. 
 Sweet Bird we find thee always spending : 
 And long ere wintry storms annoy. 
 Thou back to fairer Climes art Avending, 
 The howling gale thy wings defy. 
 The tempest storm thou dost not fear, 
 Thou livest 'ncath a brilliant sky. 
 For thine is Summer all the year.
 
 89 
 
 WOODLANDS OF FROME. 
 
 " Spring still makes spring in the mind 
 When sixty years are told ; 
 Love wakes anew the throbbing heart, 
 And we are never old." 
 
 Emekson'. 
 
 fOW s-^veet were the hours, when, laden -svith 
 gladness, 
 Each moment flew by on the wings of delight ; 
 When our thoughts wandered free from all 
 sorrow and sadness, 
 And carelessly revelled in sunshine and light : 
 How sweet were the meadows where oft we have 
 rambled 
 While gay scented flowers were brightest in bloom ; 
 As light o'er the daisies we danced and we gambol'd 
 Or roved hand in hand round the woodlands of 
 Frome. 
 
 The lark in the heavens sang never so gaily, 
 
 As when iu those halcyon hours we met, 
 When nearer and dearer oiu- transports grew daily. 
 
 In hope 'twas a sunshine that never would set, 
 Methinks I still hear the low voice of the fountain, 
 
 As it gurgled so soft in the dark leafy gloom, 
 Or catch through the branches a glimpse of the 
 mountain, 
 
 While sweetly we roved through the woodlands of 
 Frome.
 
 90 
 
 Those visions of joy I shall ever rememlier, — 
 
 The soft woodland echo, — the willow- wren's thrill; 
 And it matters not now, if 'tis May or Decemher, 
 
 They dwell in this breast and are dear to me still. 
 The gold-clouded sunset, the landscape adorning, 
 
 Empurples the scene, and past splendours relume ; 
 And I hold it a treasure — night, noontide, or morn- 
 ning, 
 
 To wander in thought through the woodlands of 
 Frome. 
 
 Then hail, fondest memory ! nothing seems dearer 
 
 Than scenes of the past as they rise into view ; 
 "When such radiant \dsions come nearer and nearer, 
 
 To mingle with childhood, with friendship, and you. 
 Oh ! how would I hasten, once more to live over 
 
 Such moments of bliss, and their rapture resume ; 
 To be once again a fond corn-tier, a lover. 
 
 And wander in glee through the woodlands of 
 Frome. 
 
 STANZAS TO A LADY GATHERING WILD 
 FLOWERS. 
 
 ©[UH ! why hast thou gather'd those delicate 
 ^'•^■^ flowers. 
 
 Those earth-born gems of the sod. 
 Which bloom' d so resplendent 'mid sunshine and 
 showers 
 And sprung where the fairies have trod ?
 
 91 
 
 Long, long, have they bent to the pitiless breeze, 
 Or smiled 'neath the sunbeams so bright. 
 
 On the upland unsbaded by sheltering trees 
 Have they bath'd in the fountain of light. 
 
 Regardless alike of the wind or the storm, 
 
 Long, long, have they studded the plain 
 "Where, pure as the zeph}T, each elegant form 
 
 Has attracted the butterfly train ; 
 But their beauties are fading, their redolent sweet, 
 
 No more will the honey-bee prize. 
 For he wanders abroad fresher flowers to greet, 
 
 And wide o'er the landscape he flies. 
 
 Then, why hast thou gather' d those delicate flowers. 
 
 Which lately were blooming so gay. 
 Since torn from their verdure a very few hours 
 
 Will waft all their glories away ? 
 Thy fingers at once, like a wint'ry blast, 
 
 ^STipt them down as the stems thou did'st sever, 
 Then gazed on the prize a few moments to last, 
 
 And gone are their beauties for ever. 
 
 Oh ! be not so rash, as they bloom in the way 
 
 To heedlessly snatch them in haste, 
 But let each rich flower its petals display, 
 
 As it spreads with such beauty and taste ; 
 Perhaps, thou ^-ilt say, they were "blushing unseen," 
 
 As they studded the emerald sod ; 
 No, believe me, fair lady, each one on the green 
 
 Is preserved by its maker — God.
 
 92 
 
 THE MOTHER AT HER INFANT'S GRAVE. 
 
 " thou in whom 
 
 Some bright spirit lived ; and did 
 That decaying robe consume 
 Wliich its lustre faintly hid. 
 Here its ashes find a tomb ; 
 I'jut beneath this pyramid 
 Thou art not. If a thing divine 
 Like thee cr n die ;— thy funeral shrine 
 Is thy father's grief and mine." 
 
 Shelley. 
 
 ^ LEEP on mysterious being of our sighs, 
 ,Mn Without a pang enjoy thy silent rest, 
 '^^Till the last trump shall warn the dead to rise 
 And take their flight to regions in the skies 
 To share above, the triumphs of the blest. 
 
 Like a frail flower nipped within its birth, 
 Tender and green, — we saw thee fade away, 
 No more to mingle with the scenes of earth ; 
 Soon hast thou filled the measure of thy mirtli. 
 To rest within this narrow bed of clay. 
 
 IMuch we deplore thy loss, whose very name 
 Tiike incense breathes on memory's balmy wings ; 
 Source of our joy, our happiness and aim, 
 To watch thy dawn, and raise that tender frame. 
 Around whose corse our last affection clings. 
 
 Much we deplore thee, yet why is it so ? 
 
 Man is a fragile b(!ing of a breath. 
 
 Whose thorny road of ignorance and woe, 
 
 Fills the strange cycle of his fate below 
 
 With sighs and tears, which quickly cud in denth.
 
 93 
 
 Tlicii sleep sweet babe, thy sorrows arc all past ; 
 I'^roin eartli tby risen sun lias early set. 
 Tliough like a flower nipped by withering blast, 
 Thine infant destiny so soon is cast, 
 In the next world wc hope to meet thee yet. 
 
 And there enjoy with the angelic throng 
 The radiant glories of that hallowed sphere, 
 Wlicre neither sin nor sickness do belong, 
 But mingle all in one celestial song, 
 "WTicu we have left the scenes of sorrow here. 
 
 TO THE BRAMBLE. 
 
 "Thy fruit fiiUwell eacli schoolboy knows 
 T\'il(l Bramble of the Brake." — Elliott. 
 
 g|\^GAIN I gaze upon thy shape, "Wild Bramble 
 
 M of the Brake," 
 
 ^^And many a pleasant feeling doth thy mazes 
 
 now awake, 
 Of mossy grove, or sunny glade, and scenes fresh 
 
 blossoming, 
 "WTien the spirits bounding high proclaim' d that life 
 
 was in its spring. 
 
 Methinks the little wood- wren's chant still tinkles 
 
 on mine ear, 
 "With many a thrill of melody as musical and clear, 
 An when in boyhood's happy days, I spent the sunny 
 
 hours. 
 Is gleaning from thy tangled brakes the varied ferns 
 
 and flowers.
 
 94 
 
 The dove aloft with sad coo, coo, sent forth its plain- 
 tive note, 
 
 Responsive to the sweeter sound of many a feather' d 
 throat ; 
 
 "Which scatter' d life and gladness, through the high 
 and verdant glade, 
 
 As pleasantly amid the trees the trembling sunbeams 
 play'd. 
 
 And insects with their painted wings around thy 
 
 blossoms bright, 
 Were searching for the nectar there, and sporting with 
 
 delight ; 
 Like waving bands of fairy forms in yellow, gold, 
 
 and green, 
 "Which seem'd to fill the very air and animate the 
 
 scene. 
 
 The genial coppice softly breath' d in one continual 
 
 glow. 
 With life, and light, and beauty, around, above, 
 
 below. 
 As sweetly spread thy petals out before the blaze of 
 
 day, 
 Not gardens of an Eastern clime could look more 
 
 bright and gay. 
 
 And memory o'er that pleasant time her glance will 
 
 often fling. 
 And with it, fond endearments and associations 
 
 bring ; 
 Which fill the heart with rapture, while such visions 
 
 sweet remain. 
 That we in silent ecstacy live o'er that time again.
 
 95 
 
 But Autumn's suns are waning fast, and tho' the 
 
 scene is changed, 
 Since o'er thy tangled mazes with a youthful heart 
 
 we ranged; 
 A secret pleasure fills us as upon thee now we gaze, 
 Much calmer and serene than those we felt in earlier 
 
 days. 
 
 The leaves are falling round thee now, all wither* d, 
 
 red, and sear, 
 Tho' thine as bright as ever with their glossy green 
 
 appear ; 
 But the snow-white blossom on thy spray no^ longer 
 
 can we view. 
 They now are tm-n'd to burnish' d studs of quite 
 
 another hue. 
 
 And children in their pastime with a light and joy- 
 ous air. 
 
 Are gathering those ebon studs to taste the dainty 
 fare ; 
 
 How gaily do they frisk about, alert with fun and 
 glee. 
 
 Not angels are more happy than such creatures seem 
 to be. 
 
 But the chilling winds of winter soon will chase 
 
 thy sweets away. 
 And tempests o'er thy wither'd boughs will bear a 
 
 ruthless sway ; 
 The storm-cloud in its fiiry burst, and o'er the ruins 
 
 beat. 
 Or unfold its fleecy robe of snow to be the winding 
 
 sheet.
 
 96 
 
 Sad tlionglit, to think tliat sucli a scene, which now 
 
 in beauty lies, 
 Eesplendently beneath the beam of Autumn's mellow 
 
 skies, 
 "Will soon be laid all prostrate round, nor noise of 
 
 birds or bees, 
 Send forth a chant or symphony, amid the leafless 
 
 trees. 
 
 Yet let us not in sad lament bewail the fearful doom, 
 For soon another sun will shine, another Spring wiU 
 
 bloom ; 
 The God of Nature o'er the land again bright 
 
 blessings shed. 
 And life, and light, and beauty, then resuscitate the 
 
 dead. 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 *' The meek-eyed morn appears." 
 ^rf!5HE morning breaks, rich streaks of amber 
 
 ^="■^^3^ Across the heavens in orient lustre rise ; 
 The sun ascends his pathway in the skies. 
 While hills and valleys gladden at the sight ; 
 With many a cheerful sound the wood resounds. 
 From warbling choristers who chant a lay. 
 At early dawn more lively and more gay, 
 Than when the busy hum of turmoil sounds 
 Its dullness on the ear, — soft dimpling rills, 
 Now glitter in the sunbeams bright and clear, 
 The pearly dewdrops on the sprays appear ; 
 While pleasure dancing on a thousand hills. 
 At nature's feast, rejoices on each side, 
 As the bright sun spreads forth his circle wide.
 
 97 
 
 THE HOLLOW TREE.* 
 
 •' Time was when thou wert chieftain of the woods ; 
 And time has made thee, what thou art— a cave." 
 
 COWPER. 
 
 fHEEE is a tree hard by a neighbouring wood, 
 Where the sleek magpie builds her airy nest, 
 And chatters to the passenger who wends 
 Unconsciously beneath the sombre shade, 
 Held sacred by the bird. There, on a knoll 
 One hundred paces from the greenwood side, 
 It stretches forth its gnarled bouglis to heaven, 
 As if in haste to catch the sunny ray, 
 Or brave the fury of the passing storm ; 
 And to the distant eye it looks as fair — 
 Clothed in the garb of its green canopy 
 And waving nobly in the genial breeze — 
 As any of its felloAvs ; but draw nigh. 
 Test, if you can, whence all these branches spring 
 And soon the liidden secret is revealed ; 
 Like many things which glitter on the earth, 
 Lovely it seems and "foir to look upon," 
 As erst it did some generations back ; 
 But draw the verdant mantle as a mask, 
 And soon the eye perceives a gnarled shell 
 Moiddered and rotten to its very core. 
 This aged tree, gigantic in its ruin. 
 Stretching its withered limbs far o'er the land, 
 Perchance was held some centuries ago, 
 
 * The splendid remains of a tree of this kind may 
 still be seen standinar in the farmyard of Mr. AkUidge, 
 at the Jjlad, near Stroud.
 
 98 
 
 Ere it -vras pierced by subtle woodpecker, 
 
 As monarch of the forest ; aye, mayhap 
 
 The trysting tree which many a youthful maid 
 
 Sought in the pride of blushing loveliness, 
 
 And marked the rude cut letters ; but the tale 
 
 "Which time now tells shows plainly to us all 
 
 The mutability of things beneath the sun. 
 
 The letters which our ancestors beheld 
 
 Now long since hid by root of creeping moss, 
 
 Or changed to hieroglj^jhics none can read, 
 
 May hold the selfsame place ; but where are they 
 
 Who sought them ? long since passed away from earth. 
 
 Now a mere hollow trunk, it stands alone, 
 
 A remnant of what has been, thickly spread 
 
 A pile of bark and branches — waiting now 
 
 For some rude blast or raging hurricane 
 
 To sweep it from the earth, where soon to dust 
 
 Its mouldering relics will but feed the winds, 
 
 As they disperse its atoms o'er the world ; 
 
 And tlie same spot where it for ages stood 
 
 Discard it, ('tis the universal law) 
 
 To know no more for ever where it grew. 
 
 STANZAS. 
 
 " See the fading many coloured woods 
 Shade deep'ning over shade, the country round 
 Imbrown ; a crowded umbrage dusk and dun 
 Of every hue." Thompson. 
 
 fHE soft winds of Summer are flying away, 
 Like the hart on the mountain when chased 
 ~ by the foe ; 
 
 And the curlclouds of Autumn hang misty and grey ; 
 Spreading sadness and silence wherever they go.
 
 99 
 
 The forests are tipt with bright amber and gold, 
 Where late they were dressed in their richest array ; 
 
 The grass-covered mountain lies barren and cold, 
 And the last blushing flower is nigh gone to decay. 
 
 The robin scarce twitters, the skylark is mute ; 
 
 The swallow departed is not to be found ; 
 A change has come over both mortal and brute, 
 
 As in reverie dreamlike he gazes around. 
 
 Like an Indian summer a haziness spreads, 
 Its giant-like wings over coppice and glade ; 
 
 WTiile the mountains afar hide their towering heada, 
 And sink like the rest in the slumb'ring shade. 
 
 Yet, the bright sunny side we shall witness again, 
 As Time in his flight wheels his chariot along ; 
 The flowers be studded on mountain and plain. 
 
 The Spring with its blossoms, new scenes will 
 impart, 
 
 And redolent beauty again -svill appear ; 
 Bringing sunshine and joy for the eye and the heart ; 
 
 Of those who may witness the next coming year. 
 
 Fear not then the present, throw off" your despair, 
 Behind the dark cloud lies the " mansion of 
 light"— 
 The fmure T\-ill meet you, for that have a care, 
 And oui- pathway though clouded again will be 
 bright. 
 
 *€5^^^^^
 
 100 
 
 A LEGEND OF THE GOLDEN VALLEY. 
 
 yea, a deeper import 
 
 Lurks in the legend told our infant years, 
 Than lies ixpon the truth we live to learn." 
 
 Coleridge. 
 
 M\\ 
 
 'HERE is a Yale ; a fine romantic vale, 
 AYinding along in many a devious bend 
 ^*=^^^Between its native ramparts, rocky hills 
 Which froAvn in awful gi-andeur o'er the dale, 
 And chronicled in books of ancient love, 
 With the enchanting name of Golden Yalley. 
 There the snn lingers with his parting rays. 
 Lighting the verdm-e of the mossy woods ; 
 Where the green tendril of the eglantine 
 Like a fond mother stretches forth its arms 
 A sheltering screen for many a happy nest ; 
 A crystal streamlet like a glassy zone 
 Adorns the middle of that lovely vale, 
 Fed by the springs from many a deep ravine. 
 Or from its mighty source " Old Father Thames," 
 AYliich after gliding many winding miles 
 Through darkest caverns, tunnels, and green dells, 
 Breaks out in splendour o'er the cheering scene. 
 
 A little liigher on a grassy knoll 
 Stands what we always love to doat upon. 
 High-pinnacled the gray old Yillage Church, 
 With many shatter' d relics strewn around, 
 Wliich the all conquering fingers of Old Time 
 Has mark'd as victims of oblivion. 
 Soon to be cast aiioat on Lethe's stream ;
 
 101 
 
 Iligh titles have nigh vanish' d at his touch, 
 And quickly will to mould' ring dust return, 
 Never again to be remember' d here ; 
 In the calm centre of its graveyard, stand 
 Four aged YEWS, whose intertwining arms, 
 (Like lovers after absence when they meet 
 Embracing with a soft and fond delight), 
 O'er-canopy the gravel' d path below, 
 Spreading their ancient branches far and wide 
 A shelter from the sunshine or the storm. 
 Thither the aged matron will repair, 
 "When the calm summer's eve is soft aiid balm ; 
 To ponder o'er in contemplation's hour 
 The blest remains of fiiend or relative, 
 Which slumber there unconscious as the sod 
 That covers o'er their cold and rotting bones. 
 
 And should a passing stranger turn that way, 
 To watch tired Phcebus fading in the west, 
 And dwell enrapt at the enamom-'d scene, 
 The ancient legend is brought forth again ; 
 About a youth who dwelt upon these hills, 
 And " whistled as he went for want of thought," 
 As happy and as harmless as the dove. 
 Till his ear caught, one summer's afternoon, 
 The voice of some wild fugitive, who told 
 Of battles and the way to endless fame, 
 How Heroes with their deeds of arms had spread 
 Their conquering triumphs over other lands. 
 And gained renovN-n with all its golden charms. 
 The youth he listen' d with intensest ear, 
 And mark'd the glories of the stranger's tale, 
 Such as he had not heard or dreamt before ; 
 His youthfid blood ran swiftlv through his veins,
 
 102 
 
 In ■warmer flow whilst eagerly he listen' d 
 To hear ahout the cannon's thund'ring sound, 
 Of standards waving from the fortress top, 
 And flashing swords high gleaming in the light. 
 Like meteors dancing in the shades of even. 
 
 The youth was stricken, he could not withstand 
 The suhtle wiles of this mad fugitive. 
 But like the hart for liberty that pants, 
 Resolved at once to leave his fleecy flocks, 
 No more to till in peace his native soil. 
 Or, mock the skylark in its early song. 
 But off with valiant heroes he would go 
 Seek the proud laurel wreath, and get his name 
 Engraven on the tablets of renown. 
 
 In vain remonstrance with its soothing voice 
 Flow'd from the bosom of maternal love, 
 Or weeping maidens, with an artless tale, 
 In tenderness clung round that sturdy form, 
 (Fast growing into manhood hale and strong) 
 Could wean him from his warlike destiny. 
 The bright success of battle was his theme. 
 It haunted him in visions of the night 
 And broke the quiet stillness of his slumber ; 
 Ilestless and changed he wander' d o'er the scene 
 The happiest of his days, but now alas ! 
 Determined to ascend the steps of fame 
 His day dreams were of glory and renown. 
 
 At length the morn of his departure came. 
 The sun was up with ruddy glow, the birds 
 Were singing sweetly in the beechen woods. 
 And all seem'd merry in that happy vale, 
 Save the sad friends of this ill-fated youth. 
 Who spread a gloom which lasted for a time. 
 And checked the floAving of their wonted joy.
 
 103 
 
 He went, he hasted, to the fields of fight. 
 Ho shouted when he saw the banners wave, 
 And turn'd a human butcher all for glory ; 
 Warriors they flatter' d Avith a serpent's charm, 
 Comrades rejoiced to mark his manly frame, 
 And all things wore that supernatural glow 
 For which in secret he so oft had sighed. 
 Time pass'd along, he cross' d the stormy seas, 
 Dreamt about fame upon the heaving waves. 
 And fought with lion-heart in foreign lauds. 
 He saw towns sack'd, and villages destroy' d. 
 The flag in shreads by " bullet and by breeze," 
 Bars, bolts, and bastions scatter' d to the wind. 
 And war's destruction in its direst forms. 
 Full many a mighty stronghold crush' d and spoil' d 
 Beneath the feet of hostile war was left 
 To moulder into ruin desolate ; 
 The seasons roll'd along, his natal place, 
 "With all the beauties of its rural charms 
 Had nearly vanish' d from his memory, 
 Till after many years of wand' ring spent 
 "With warlike might " in battle and the storm," 
 His spirit sank within him, and he cried, 
 As calm reflection settled o'er his soul. 
 And he began to weaken day by day : 
 
 *' Is this the thing that men call fame and glory r 
 For this did I forsake the verdant glade, 
 \Yhen peace and pleasure spread their gentle wings 
 "While I a ploughboy whistled o'er the land? 
 For this did I forbid the rising tear, 
 The secret sighs of friend and relative, 
 "Wlio strove to turn my hasty steps aside ? 
 The distaff throv,-u away, the eye too dim 
 H 2
 
 104 
 
 On my behalf to follow at its task, 
 Through the impetuous current of my veins ? 
 My comrades, many generous and brave, 
 Have fighting fell and died in foreign lands, 
 And now lie rotting for the vulture's ken, 
 Who scents afar the blood-stain' d fields of fight, 
 Rejoices at a banquet of the dead. 
 And triumphs o'er the sanguinary plain. 
 And I too soon must follow, soon must drink 
 Life's bitter cup unheeded and unsought, 
 No more to struggle with its billowy waves 
 Like a lost wreck upon a stormy sea." 
 
 His plume hung trembling o'er his wither' d brow 
 Like to the date-leaf in its languishment. 
 When the hot sun pours forth a burning ray, 
 Then as the ivy clings around the oak, 
 His thoughts returning to his distant land 
 Entwined themselves around his native vale. 
 He thought upon beloved friends afar. 
 Of paper boats upon the silent stream. 
 The garlands of wild flowers he had woven 
 While wand' ring in the sunlit glens of home, 
 And all the happy hours he had pass'd 
 While infancy was playing its career ; 
 
 The captain of the troop had mark' d the change, 
 And sought to learn the mystery of its cause ; 
 In vain the clash of arms, or sound of drum 
 Could brighten up his features as of yore 
 To face the rampart with a steady aim. 
 The flattery of fame liad pass'd away. 
 And his red blood which once ran high to hear. 
 Now curdled at the name of victory ; 
 No more to wield the sword with giant grasp,. 
 And glory in the devastating slaughter,
 
 105 
 
 His inward thoughts were heavy, as one day 
 Wrapt in his deep, soliloquys, he sigh'd : 
 
 " Oh could I sec my native land once more, 
 Back would I flee and die at home at last, 
 My peaceful vale should close my earthly scene, 
 And throstles sing a requiem o'er my grave ! " 
 
 His captain heard the sigh, the plaintive moan 
 Sunk deep into his heart, for tho' a man 
 Bx'ought up to actions of a warlike kind. 
 Yet he had finer feelings which would melt 
 In sympathetic tears at tales of woe ; 
 He raised the soldier, now grown weak and wan, 
 (Tho' prematurely, not through length of years) 
 Ordered a faithful record of his wants. 
 And gave him forth a free and full discharge. 
 Thus did our hero with a sunken brow 
 Forego the joys of visionary fame, 
 Once more return to see his native land, 
 His lion-spirit temper' d to a lamb. 
 
 The joyous beams of summer had nigh fled, 
 And Autumn's yellow leaf come waning on, 
 As he approach' d with feeble step and slow, 
 The narrow confines of his Golden Valley, 
 Alas ! to him how changed ; the merry hum 
 Which cheer' d his youthful frame in days gone by 
 Now filled him with a sad despondency, 
 His heart grew sick, and fainted when he saw. 
 Like a dim dream the church's gilded vane 
 Burst on the vision of his aching sight ; 
 He rallied, and in weakness reach' d the spot. 
 And heard, or thought he heard, the preacher's 
 
 voice 
 Again proclaim the sentence he had learned 
 That " man is born to trouble," down he sank
 
 106 
 
 O'erpower'd with the tumult of his brain, 
 
 His eyes roll'd dizzy o'er the fading scene 
 
 "Where once he mark'd with joy the self-same snn 
 
 End its bright glories in the ruddy west. 
 
 Some childi'en flock' d around him, but he found 
 
 He Avas a stranger in his native home ; 
 
 Enquiries were vain, none knew his sires, 
 
 But wond'ring stood to mark his wasted form ; 
 
 The playmates of his youthful days had fled, 
 
 Since he had shared the rustic sports among them 
 
 The scene had changed, and his despairing sires 
 
 Had pass'd the portals to eternity, — 
 
 Long had they lain within the hallow' d ground, 
 
 And he was resting on their quiet graves 
 
 Too soon to slumber with them ; these four YEWS 
 
 Where he had frolick'd oft in infant years 
 
 Now formed his winding sheet ; for down he lay, 
 
 While death, like a soft opiate o'er him stole, 
 
 And led his spirit to the realms of peace. 
 
 Thus would the matron or the aged man, 
 Eelate in tender strain the woes of him 
 Who calmly sleeps beneath these aged trees. 
 The valley still remains lovely as then, 
 And peaceful as the slumbers of a dove, 
 Save when the thunder of a modern train 
 With giant steam-breath shakes the wond'ring earth, 
 And wakes an echo in its golden dells. 
 
 The Golden Valley of Sapperton, near Stroud, is 
 admired by most travellers for the picturesque beauty of 
 its scenery, and the touching legend connected with it 
 gives an additional interest to the scene.
 
 107 
 
 THE YOUNG FLOEISTS. 
 
 5'NE evening as two children were 
 
 Wandering round tlieir gay parteiTe, 
 Spending as they were wont the hours 
 Among their shrubs and favorite flowers, 
 Viewing and Lauding all the best, 
 "WTien one the other thus address' d : 
 " Well now suppose we make a rule 
 When we have leisure from our school, 
 As all our flowers want much attending. 
 Our time among them to be spending ; 
 And each one keep his separate sort. 
 To weed and trim them as he ought : 
 So now at once your choice you make, 
 Say, which department you will take." 
 " Well," said the younger, " I dont care 
 Which of the sorts shaLL be my share,'' 
 So viewing all the garden round, 
 And pacing o'er the gravel' d ground ; 
 A bed of pansies fill'd the middle. 
 Cried he " I'll mind my love-and-idle." 
 " Well," said the other, "if you do, 
 I'll look after my tulijis too." 
 When just as they had said the word, 
 The parent, who had overheard 
 AVhat these two yoimgsters were about. 
 In accents gentle thus spoke out : 
 " Then I suppose by what I hear, 
 You'll spoil fruit garden and parterre ; 
 For the two-lip minder I presume 
 Will take both apple pear and plumb —
 
 108 
 
 Nay, I suppose he means to eat 
 
 Of every dainty he can get ; 
 
 Therefore, if that is his pursuit, 
 
 He soon will rid us of our fruit. 
 
 And the other, I think I heard him say, 
 
 Will lore and idle his time away ; ' 
 
 So that the flowers will soon be dead, 
 
 And Weeds will fill their place instead. 
 
 " No, no ! " exclaimed the younger brother, 
 
 " Why surely you mistake us mother : 
 
 The two-lips are the favorite flowers, 
 
 O'er wliich he means to spend his hours ; 
 
 While lovc-and-idle, just the same, 
 
 Is but a different floweret's name." "■ 
 
 *' Indeed," she cried, " why then I say 
 
 Pray go to work, and work all day ; 
 
 If that's the case I've nought to fear, 
 
 So go and tend your gay parterre." 
 
 CONTEITION, WRITTEN TO LAURA. 
 
 tH how shall I in future years 
 Enjoy the cherish' d vow. 
 Nay look upon these falling tears, 
 And breathe forgiveness now : 
 I meant not to destroy your rest. 
 
 Or spoil love's hallow'd charm ; 
 The deed I thought was for the best, 
 Remote from any harm.
 
 109 
 
 I only breath' d a simple strain 
 
 Which love had taught to me, 
 Unconscious of its bringing pain 
 
 Or injury to thee ; 
 And for an en-or I have made, 
 
 My plighted vows you spurn. 
 My penitence you sore upbraid, 
 
 And from my pleadings turn. 
 
 But stay that frown, be not so rash, 
 
 For wrong o'ertakes us all, 
 And let not passion like thy sash, 
 
 Thy troubled breast enthral ; 
 It is a weakness in thy sex, 
 
 At trifles to enrage. 
 And if but once we chance to vex, 
 
 Naught will your care assuage. 
 
 Thus I, who meant not to disturb 
 
 That placid breast of thine, 
 Because I spoke nor knew my curb, 
 
 You deem it quite a crime ; 
 But heed not now that simple strain, 
 
 Its folly cast aside. 
 Let's blend our kisses once again 
 
 And love shall be our guide.
 
 110 
 
 IMPEOMPTU LINES TO AUTUMN. 
 
 * * autumn, nodding o'er the yellow plain, 
 Comes jovial on." 
 
 Thomson. 
 
 ©V^GAIN the sombre tints disclose 
 ^w' The fast declining year ; 
 •^ V The drooping lily and the rose 
 ^Yith wither' d looks appear. 
 Brown Autumn spreads our flowery beds, 
 
 In wild destruction riven ; 
 And the chilling breeze sweeps through the trees, 
 
 By showering tempests driven. 
 
 The robin leaves his forest home, 
 
 His happy summer's seat, 
 And round our humble dwelling comes, 
 
 Our welcome smiles to meet. 
 The cuckoo's voice no more can please. 
 
 Since he has ta'en his flight ; 
 And the scenes once fair, by storms laid bare, 
 
 No longer yield delight. 
 
 Yet there are charms in Autumn scenes 
 
 "Which very few deny : 
 The landscape with its varied greens ; 
 
 The brilliant painted sky. 
 With streaks of gold rich tints unfold. 
 
 In colours bright and clear ; 
 While dew-di-ops lend their hues to blend, 
 
 The prettiest in the year.
 
 Ill 
 
 Then whisper not, as Autumn fades 
 
 Upon the mountains hare, 
 'No beauties now possess her glades, 
 
 Or fond attractions there ; 
 Behold each day in rich array, 
 
 The changing scene's a treat, 
 ^VTiile leaves around bestrew the ground, 
 
 A cai-pet for your feet. 
 
 STANZAS. 
 
 ^^OW solemn and how pleasantly the pealing 
 
 SJTy Sabbath-chimes, 
 
 6v% Elate the humble Christian in those blest 
 
 and hallow' d times ; 
 When his worldly cares are ended and he seeks 
 
 refi-eshing rest, 
 To pour forth his "night and morning vows" and 
 
 mingle with the blest. 
 
 Their silver sounding voice proclaims the appointed 
 
 hour for prayer, 
 When many a bow'd and weary heart disburdens all 
 
 its care ; 
 Vie mark the human coimtenance more placid at 
 
 such times, 
 And e'en nature seems more cheerful 'neath the 
 
 merry sounding chimes. 
 
 What sweet reverberations fill the cool and cheering 
 
 breeze, 
 As it rolls firom pointed spire soft as wave of summer 
 
 seas :
 
 112 
 
 Its gentle undulations come so musical and grand, 
 In motion like to fields of corn by playful zephyrs 
 fann'd. 
 
 Then if to earthly mortals such delightful sounds 
 
 are given, 
 Oh ! what will be the glories if perchance we meet 
 
 in Heaven ! 
 And list enrapt with seraphs to the music of the 
 
 spheres. 
 Throughout a vast eternity of never-ending years. 
 
 THE LAST FAREWELL. 
 
 ^ ^ gg'AREWELL ! " I hear that bitter sound, 
 tj alt lingers on mine ear, 
 ^c^ And rouses up those tender thoughts 
 That hurry forth a tear. 
 How many kindred sympathies, 
 Around that word still dwell ; 
 It almost drives us to despair 
 To hear the last ^^ Farewell." 
 
 " Farewell ! " — it strikes upon the mind, 
 
 Like a rude and with' ring blast, 
 
 And crushes all our future hopes, 
 
 Or saddens what has past ; 
 
 It breathes a shudder through the veins. 
 
 Which those alone can tell 
 
 Who sadly have responded to 
 
 The parting word — " Farewell."
 
 113 
 
 *' Farewell ! " she cried, in accent wild, 
 
 As " Orphan of the Storm," 
 
 "When last "wdth sad and tearful eye 
 
 I saw that angel form. 
 
 Farewell ! to foreign climes I go — 
 
 In other lands to dwell, 
 
 And bid my old companions dear 
 
 Along — and — ^^ Last Fareu-ell." 
 
 " Farewell ! " we ne'er may meet again 
 
 On this terrestrial scene. 
 
 Soon will the stormy billows roll 
 
 Om- panting hearts between ; 
 
 I go where Fate has driven me, 
 
 Submissive to her spell, 
 
 And bid my kindred — friends or foes, 
 
 "With aching heart — ^^ Farewell." 
 
 " Farewell ! " I hear it echo still 
 
 Amid my moments bright. 
 
 Or when repose and silence bring 
 
 The visions of the Night ; 
 
 At every turn, at every step, 
 
 'Tis like a passing knell. 
 
 And breaks ray inward peace to hear 
 
 That plaintive sound — " Farewell. " 

 
 114 
 
 THE DISPUTE. 
 
 ^"WAS in the Autumn of the year, 
 When forest leaves looked red and sear, 
 Or severed from their native trees, 
 Seem'd animated by the breeze, 
 Which swept them off from bush or spray, 
 And spread them rustling on the way ; — 
 
 At such a time, each with a load, 
 Six travellers upon the road 
 Were jogging merrily along, 
 And chaunting forth a rustic song ; 
 When near a hedge-row, as they passed, 
 Unscathed by hurricane or blast, 
 A climbing plant* had spread the row. 
 And covered it like mantling snow, — 
 Presenting to the passing sight, 
 A hedge bedeck' d with feathers white. 
 The travellers stood to view the same, 
 When each pronounced a different name, 
 And straightway fell into dispute, 
 About its blossom and its fruit. 
 One said though it ne'er bore a flower, 
 'Twas always called the Virgin's Bower. 
 Another said that he had heard 
 The people call it Old Man's Beard. 
 The third remembered when a child. 
 It then was called Clematis Wild. 
 The fourth, not wishing to annoy, 
 Assured them 'twas the Traveller's Joy. 
 
 * Clcmaiis Vitalba.
 
 115 
 
 The fifth the others overhauled, 
 And said it was the Bindirith called. 
 "While the sixth said 'twas all a lie, 
 For it was Common Honesty ; 
 So what with wrangling and disputing 
 About its blossoming and shooting, 
 They all agreed, both great and small, 
 It had no real name at all. 
 
 THE FALL OF THE LEAF. 
 
 ^ ^^IS the fall of the leaf, what a beautiful sight, 
 (h^ To the poet or painter it \-ieldeth delight, 
 '^^^^^sfc^As the foliage in showers is swept from the 
 trees 
 By the quivering breath of the eddying breeze. 
 Kow mounted .^loft how majestic they lly, 
 Thick as snowflakes that whirl 'neath a wintry sky ; 
 Now bending to earth, quick as thought they are 
 
 seen 
 Descending in myriads to carpet the gi-een. 
 
 How changed are the scenes of each dingle and 
 
 glade ! 
 With what beautiful tints are the forests arrayed, 
 As nature is silently spreading her wand. 
 To mingle such beauty all over the land. 
 The foliage in various colours is spread 
 In yellow, and purple, and amber, and red. 
 So rich and resplendent the woodlands appear, 
 They rival in grandeur the rest of the year.
 
 116 
 
 But the flowers are vanisMng fast frora tlie eye, 
 Like the leaves of the forest they wither and die, 
 And the breast of the mountain lies barren and bare, 
 Where lately with perfume they loaded the air. 
 A breeze from the north has passed over the scene, 
 Sweeping blossom and bud from the emerald green ; 
 So fragile and brief are the flowers which bloom. 
 And find in the breath of the tempest a tomb. 
 
 Yet all are not gone ; in the vale we descry 
 A few that still smile beneath Autumn's gay sky, 
 Giving richness and zest to the meadows there spread, 
 When the rest of their tribes from the mountains 
 
 have fled. 
 So let us enjoy the fair scenes which remain. 
 E'er vrinter makes desolate valley and plain ; 
 Delighting to rove in a season so brief, 
 And witness in transport the fall of the leaf. 
 
 LINES SUGGESTED BY VIEWING THE 
 EOMAN PAVEMENT AT WOODCHESTEB. 
 
 &A EHOLD what wonders now delight our eyes, 
 dJjfjS As here we view the scenes of ancient days, 
 ^>^ Presenting forms which fill us with surprise. 
 
 As with fond curiosity we gaze ; 
 The pile is razed, but spite of spoil's bereavement, 
 Time has still spared the Tesselated Pavement.
 
 117 
 
 How- have thy figures stood the lapse of ages, 
 Buried in mould' ring rubbish, damp, aud mute, 
 
 Yet here we see old Orpheus* still eugages 
 To touch the lyre and charm the savage brute ; 
 
 \Yhile names of Claudius Ca?sar, and of Titus, 
 
 Associated with thee, still excite us. 
 
 Perchance upon tliis venerable floor. 
 
 With dance and song they join'd the festive romid, 
 Terhaps the homd deeds they plan'd of yore, 
 
 These stones have oft been witness to the sound ; 
 And could they but cry out, a tale would bring, 
 "Which Orpheus himself would fail to sing. 
 
 But here thou art in colours bright as ever, 
 
 Tho' heroes which once lived have pass'd away, 
 
 Still thou remain'st to shesv they were as clever 
 In works of art, as in our later day ; 
 
 Yet as we strive to read thine ancient history, 
 
 One half we find is still involved in mystery. 
 
 Empires have moulder' d, states been lost aud won, 
 Since thy proud mouarchs trod this fairy scene, 
 
 'Thy columns too and monuments are gone. 
 Thy floor alone can tell us what has been ; 
 
 We gaze through thee at centiu-ies gone by, 
 
 -And mark at once thine earthly destiny. 
 
 Oh I would some spirit hov'ring near the spot, 
 Eehcarse in flowing strains the by-gone story, 
 
 IHow warriors moved, what sacrilege was -^Tought, 
 To gain an empty name of fame and glory ; 
 
 IBut no, these relics, scrolls, crests, figiu-es all, 
 
 Soon will oblivion close within its pall. 
 
 * The representation of Orpheus surrounded by a circle 
 jf animals, with several other figures, is still visible in 
 this splendid relic of ancient art.
 
 118 
 
 EETEOSPECTION. 
 
 " To weep afresh a long since cancellM woe, 
 And moan the expense of many a vanish'd sight." 
 Shakespeak.k's Sonnets. 
 
 §AY has departed, I with melancholy 
 Sat brooding with the owlet scenes of night, 
 Invoking by-past hours (which some call folly), 
 And calling up full " many a vanish'd sight." 
 
 Years have departed, aye and many years, 
 
 AVhich have in memory's chambers lain asleep ; 
 
 Now rise before me with their smiles and tears, 
 And cause again tbose wakeful lids to weep. 
 
 But this is pleasant weeping, as I gaze 
 
 My inward feelings through them will rejoice ; 
 As the long vista of departed days 
 Comes rising with a slow and solemn voice. 
 
 The canvass spreads, and childhood's infant pleasm'es 
 In flowery groups stand out in bold relief; 
 
 AVhile scenes arouud them which the dim eye 
 measures, 
 Like to the swallows' flight pass'd off" as brief. 
 
 Garlands are there, but stems and wither' d roses 
 Protrude their rankling thorns amid the scene ; 
 
 Tho' here and there fond memory discloses. 
 Like stars in twilight, tufts of living green. 
 
 And sparkling fountains in the distance gleam. 
 Invoking many a ray of by-gone glory ; 
 
 When paper boats went gliding on the stream, 
 Tho' now the distance makes it dim and hoary.
 
 119 
 
 Still they are there, and sports of kindred natures, 
 Rise in the scene as amber clouds at dawn, 
 
 Presenting to the mind the varied features 
 Which most have witness'd in life's happy mom. 
 
 And most have found as brief to fade and vanish, 
 Ere their young hearts could grapple with the 
 prize ; 
 
 Too eager in piu-suit the charm they banish, 
 As wint'ry storms the glory of the skies. 
 
 But tho' such sights and sounds have nearly faded, 
 There is a mellow radiance left behind. 
 
 Which seems like some great painting to have shaded 
 In soften' d tints its richness on the mind. 
 
 And further on the youth as student muses, 
 Racking his brains with academic lore ; 
 
 'First Plato, or old Homer next he chooses. 
 And reads with lip on finger as of yore. 
 
 QBut Homer long has lain upon the shelf, 
 
 With many a singing bard of " Greece and Eorae/* 
 
 'Since their achievements proved to us a delph. 
 Of never-failing charms to cheer our home. 
 
 And. many a tale of Odin's runic rhyme 
 Sung to the winds, still lingers on the ear • 
 
 Tho' they are nigh forgotten since the time 
 They in their brightest glory did appear, 
 
 tFor years have changed the Spring's excited feelings, 
 To mellow Autumn's cool and sober tone ; 
 
 Since on the ear fond fables, — new revealings. 
 Burst with a glowing splendour all their own.
 
 120 
 
 But far from moping sadness at the cliange, 
 Well pleased I now behold the village green 
 
 When we in early days were wont to range, 
 Or frolic in full many a festive scene. 
 
 And knowing well that all around decays, "" 
 Or changes with the years its primal story ; 
 
 I linger oft to bless our early days, 
 And live again in boyhood youthful glory. 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 ON LIBERATING A CAPTIVE BIRD. 
 
 " The fetters break, unbind the chain, 
 And give him to the skies again." 
 
 Minstrelsy of the Woods, 
 
 ,0 where the hills are tipped with morning 
 
 ) gold — 
 
 Go where the beds of flowers richest bloom — 
 Go where the woods their glossy leaves unfold, 
 Or where the acacia lends its sweet perfume. 
 And then again thy wonted notes resume. 
 Then pretty warbler of the plaintive strain, 
 May freedom's wing release thee from thy doom, 
 Ne'er to be bound in slavery again. 
 And when amid thine own elysian bowers. 
 While summer sunbeams warm the scenes around, 
 Melodious still may thy sweet voice be found. 
 As pleasure listens to the laughing hours. 
 Spreading the mellow cadence soft and sweet, 
 Where'er thy wings have found a safe retreat.
 
 121 
 
 FAREWELL TO RURAL JOYS. 
 
 fAREWELL ye -wild romantic seats, 
 Ye rustic joys farewell, 
 But oft of your beloved retreats, 
 Fond memory shall tell ; 
 Oft shall her pleasing tender strain, 
 Revive this breast the' fraught with pain. 
 
 Farewell each fond endearing scene, 
 
 Each gay and giddy sport, 
 No more to dances on the green 
 
 Again shall I resort — 
 Y^'e valued joys that once were mine, 
 To other hearts I now resign. 
 
 No more along the flowery dell 
 My wandering feet shall stray, 
 
 Ko more these gazing eyes shall dwell 
 On woodland scenes so gay ; 
 
 Scenes that once pleas' d me to explore, 
 
 Perchance I shall behold no more. 
 
 No more again at evening's close, 
 
 I wander o'er the hill, 
 Or seek the crystal brook that flows, 
 
 To turn yon distant wheel ; 
 But soft remembrance oft shall tell, 
 Of joys that I have bid farewell,
 
 122 
 
 Ko more for me the rising sun, 
 Shall gild the verdant plain, 
 
 No more I tread as I have done. 
 The dew blade o'er again ; 
 
 The sun perhaps the dews may chase, 
 
 "When I am banished from the place. 
 
 The gloaming too may spread her veil, 
 
 Upon the landscape gay, 
 Or PhUomela tell her tale. 
 
 When I am far away ; 
 Others perhaps these joys may see, 
 But now no more they live for me. 
 
 COMPANIONS OF MY EAELY DAYS. 
 
 EOMP ANIONS of my early days, a long, a last 
 adieu, 
 How frequent has the secret thought gone forth 
 to follow you, 
 As pensively I've ranged the fields where we were 
 
 wont to roam, 
 Ere the world's engaging scenes usurp' d the charms 
 of early home. 
 
 Companions of my early days, where are ye scattered 
 
 now ? 
 Like swallows o'er this little earth in varied ways, 
 
 I trow, 
 And some, perchance, beneath its crust have found 
 
 a narrow bed ; 
 I've wept o'er such, but "tears will not resuscitate 
 
 the dead."
 
 123 
 
 Companions of my early days, how many a rolling- 
 year 
 
 Has glided by in silence since we held communion 
 dear ! 
 
 How many a trembling orison has followed in your 
 flight, 
 
 Since ■svith a tearfid countenance you gave the last 
 "good night." 
 
 Companions of my early days, if in your de\-ious 
 
 ways, 
 '^^hile "travelling through life's wilderness, with 
 
 many a winding maze, 
 Your lot should not be happiness, without its share 
 
 of grief. 
 Oh, harbour not despondency : Hope lives to give 
 
 relief. 
 
 And if upon your destiny fond Fortune's favours 
 shine, 
 
 And round about your lofty brow her flowery gar- 
 lands twine. 
 
 Remember 'tis no flow'ret that lives without decay. 
 
 The loveliest and the fairest must quickly fade away. 
 
 Then companions of my early days, lost friends of 
 
 youth and love, 
 If 'tis not paradise below, there still is one above ; 
 And if we ne'er on earth should meet again such 
 
 bliss to share, 
 We'll live in hope that happy land will find our 
 
 meeting there.
 
 124 
 
 OH! PLAXT NOT THE WILLOW! 
 
 ...^.''H ! plant not the Willow-tree over my grave, 
 \\\\\jj Nor let the dark Cypress, its sad branches wave '. 
 -^ For why should such emblems of mourning still 
 last, 
 When the sorrowing days of our mourning are past ? 
 The myrtle, the lily, things sacred and blest, 
 Should be placed o'er the spot where we slumber at 
 rest. 
 
 The pink and the rose o'er our relics may rise, 
 Light and pure as the soul that's gone up to the skies, 
 Things of heavenly hue should breathe from the 
 
 ground, 
 From emblems of holiness scattered around ; 
 But plant not the Willow-tree over my grave, 
 Nor let the dark Cypress its sad branches wave ! 
 
 In some calm hallow' d spot lay me quietly down, 
 And sigh not one word about fame or reno^vn ; 
 Let the sunbeams play light o'er the green turfy bed, 
 And the daisy and violet spring round the dead ; 
 But plant not the Willow-tree over my grave. 
 Nor let the dark Cypress its sad branches wave ! 
 
 For why should we grieve when the spirit has flown, 
 And gone to that heavenly land of its own. 
 Amid regions of blessedness ever to dwell, 
 And bid to its sickness and sorrows farewell ? 
 Oh ! plant not the Willow-tree over my grave, 
 Nor the gloom-spreading Cypress its branches to wave !
 
 125 
 
 LINES TO THE BLUE THROATED 
 WAEBLER, 
 
 Which tvas shot some time since in this Country. 
 
 f^ HAT drove thee thon gay little stranger 
 n *i So far from thine own coral strand ; 
 ^From the spicy plantations a ranger. 
 To seek this ungenial land ? 
 Did the Indian's arrow alarm thee, 
 
 Wlien swift from the bow it had flown ; 
 Or were there no warblers to cliarm thee, 
 "With nightingale notes like thine own ? 
 
 From the lofty magnolia bending 
 
 So gracefully, why didst thon roam ? 
 Where the humming bird's plumage is blending, 
 
 Its charms, with their pride and perfume ? 
 No ! the flower-bell's cup thou didst heed not, 
 
 Its fragrance was left to the wind. 
 Upon its pure nectar you fed not, 
 
 But left all its beauties behind. 
 
 From a land so luxuriantly prime, 
 
 Thy folly has led thee to roam, 
 And hasten thy wings from a clime. 
 
 Where citron and orange trees bloom. 
 And Oh ! tho' too late 'tis I tell thee. 
 
 And grieve at thy leaving such flowers, 
 No mischief might e'er have befell thee 
 
 Hadst thou dwelt in thine own native bowers.
 
 126 
 
 LINES. 
 
 fWANDER'D at eve near the ivy-clad ruin, 
 When winds whistled mournfully by ; 
 And something unearthly appear'd in the sound, 
 As nightfall came on and the breeze murmur' d 
 round, 
 Then seem'd in the distance to die. 
 
 The bat flitted by with his rustling wing, 
 
 And chased the dull beetle in flight ; 
 From her covert above the roused magpie or daw 
 Shriek' d out like some demon, a hollow caw, caw ! 
 
 Spreading terror to darkness and night. 
 
 Fair Hesper alone for a moment was seen. 
 
 Then hid by a cloud in the sky, 
 "When auou all again was a horrible blank. 
 And spirits of evil seem'd playing their prank. 
 
 As through lattice the wind whistled by. 
 
 Long and loud did the echo still dwell on the ear. 
 
 And Xature herself stand aghast ; 
 Ere that hurricane sound through the branches 
 
 would cease. 
 Or whistle itself into stillness and peace, 
 
 And die on the wings of the blast. 
 
 At length like a child with a temper untamed, 
 
 Its fits were beginning to close ; 
 It howl'd and it whistled, it sobb'd and it sigh'd, 
 It raved and it murmur' d, it shriek' d and it cried. 
 
 Then quietly sunk to repose.
 
 127 
 
 And thus did I think as I silently tura'd, 
 And homeward went wending my way ; 
 How much like the breeze is the picture of life, 
 We've joy and we've sorrow, we've peace and we've 
 strife, 
 To fill up our life's little day. 
 
 THE EUSTIC COT. 
 
 " He looks abroad into the varied field 
 Of nature, and tho' poor perhaps, compared 
 With those -^vhose mansions glitter in his sight 
 Calls the delightful survey all his own."CowPEK. 
 
 i'H think not pleasure dwells alone 
 h) In marbled halls of dazzling light, 
 That happiness is only knoAvn 
 Amid the beautiful and bright ; 
 Or when the festive board around. 
 
 The sparkling wit and wine increase, 
 
 That there, and only there she's found. 
 
 To fill the heart with joy and peace. 
 
 Oh think not pleasm-e dwells alone, 
 
 "Where wealth and plenty's on the wing; 
 That from the ore we call our own. 
 
 Our sole true happiness must spring. 
 The glittering dust too oft we find 
 
 Turns out to be but base alloy, 
 Flies from our clutches like the wind. 
 
 And does at once oiu: peace destroy. 
 
 But oft within the lowly cot, 
 
 Removed from titles and from gold, 
 
 "Where wealth and splendour are forgot, 
 'Tis there true pleasure we behold.
 
 128 
 
 Their dazzling halls — the forest glade, 
 Where wild birds form the orchestry, 
 
 And hearts in sunshine, or in shade, 
 Buoyant and bounding, fresh and free. 
 
 Unsullied in its native wild, 
 
 It there leaps forth in health and joy, 
 By no false promises beguiled, 
 
 Its inborn freedom to destroy. 
 The mind majestic and serene, 
 
 Can notes of pm-e devotion raise ; 
 And with a calm and steady mien, 
 
 Pour forth its tributary praise, 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 fXKK ! 'tis the echo of the village bell : 
 In solemn strains it vibrates on the ear ; 
 Methinks it sounds like the departing knell 
 Of some frail wanderer, who has bid farewell 
 And left behind this narrow, earthly sphere. 
 For regions more delightful, where no tear 
 Has ever dropt from bright angelic eyes, — 
 But where, in cloudless majesty, the skies 
 Are ever beautiful, bright, calm, and clear 
 As Heaven's fount itself; where warm and near, 
 In beatific shade, the sunbeams rise, 
 Illumining this blissful paradise. 
 Oh ! may some angel, with a gentle hand, 
 Guide me through death to this fair stranger land.
 
 129 
 
 THE CRICKET ON THE HEARTH. 
 
 " Happy insect Tvhat can be, 
 In happiness compar'd to thee." 
 
 Cowley. 
 
 ^?5H0IJ merry little minstrel sprite, thou cricket 
 Im^jj on the'liearth, 
 ^^^isl^Wliose life is one pure roundelay of music and 
 
 of mirth ; 
 How gaily by our fireside while winds blow loud 
 
 and high, 
 Thou makest glad the evening and singest lullaby ; 
 Thou chasest tedious thoughts away, all gloom thou 
 
 dost suspend, 
 And right welcome do we hail thee, as our little 
 
 winter friend. 
 
 Thou heedest not the tempest storm that rides upon 
 the blast, 
 
 Thy little throne is always warm, fix'd in the chim- 
 ney fast. 
 
 The fire like an Indian sun makes summer time for 
 thee, 
 
 And the fervour of its ruby flame calls forth thy 
 minstrelsy ; 
 
 We listen to its choral sound — that sharp and 
 piercing cry, 
 
 Fills all our hearts with gladness as thou singest 
 lullaby.
 
 130 
 
 Tlie birds may whistle in the wood, the dove may 
 
 perch on high, 
 And send her gentle cooings forth beneath a sunny 
 
 sky; 
 AVhile leaves are seen all fresh and green, and flowers 
 
 bright and fair, 
 Are sending forth their odours sweet to scent the 
 
 balmy air ; 
 And summer gay in rich aiTay, bids pleasure on the 
 
 wing. 
 Elate the hearts of all who hear her gentle 
 
 murmuring. 
 
 But thou art still our constant friend when these are 
 
 hunied by. 
 And winter howls around our home with many a 
 
 dreary sigh ; 
 When leaves which fiU'd the forests green and 
 
 danced in simbeams bright, 
 Lay sapless on the frozen sod a cold and cheerless 
 
 sight. 
 Then, then we doubly hail thee friend, thou sprightly 
 
 little thing, 
 Who canst fill our hearts with joy, and tm-n Old 
 
 Winter into Spring. 
 
 Oh would that all who hear that voice a lesson from 
 it caught, 
 
 Who tho' lowly in its station has not one despond- 
 ing thought ; 
 
 But passes all its live-long hours as blithesome and 
 as gay. 
 
 As if the seasons ever bloom'd in one perennial May;
 
 131 
 
 Then welcome to our fireside thou merry little sprite, 
 Again Avith crumbs thy seat we'll fill beside the 
 embers bright. 
 
 There's music in the gurgling wave, there's music in 
 
 the wind, 
 As it whistles through the branches bare, yet leaves 
 
 no trace behind ; 
 But the music of thy merry note that chirrups wild 
 
 and free, 
 Surpassing all such echoes, has a richer chami for me ; 
 Then sing thou merry minstrel sprite and cheer the 
 
 wintry tale, 
 Till the gladsome chimes of summer times come 
 
 rising on the gale.* 
 
 MOENING. 
 
 ^5HE radiant flashes of morning are breaking, 
 Kmn And darkness receding away ; 
 "^^^The spirit of life, light, and beauty awaking 
 Before the great monarch of day. 
 
 Rich amber and gold through the heavens are 
 spreading, 
 And throwino- their tints from on hisrh, 
 
 * England our old enemy is renowned for many such 
 associations. I lately met with an ingenious and pains- 
 taking friend of mine' who had spent many years in that 
 country, and he related to me among other peculiarities of 
 its inhabitants, their fondness for a little insect called a 
 Cricket, which hides itself in creA-ices in their hearths and 
 sings merrUy in the mghUime.—JIont(ii(/ne^ii£s^ui/s, 1580.
 
 132 
 
 So splendid, that poets have termed it a wedding, — 
 The " bridal of earth and of sky." 
 
 So pure, so serene, so rich, so enchanting, 
 
 Earth seems on a morning like this. 
 That all must rejoice where little is wanting 
 
 To make it an Eden of bliss. 
 
 The bee and the bird, the forest and flowers. 
 
 Uniting at once can rejoice — ■ 
 Then why should not man share the bliss of such 
 hours, 
 
 And mix with the paan his voice ? 
 
 THE MORALIST'S DREAM, OR SUNSHINE 
 AND SHOWER. 
 
 iii 
 
 fETHOUGHT 'twas morn, fresh rising from 
 the east, 
 
 ■Sol's orient blushes spread the etherial blue, 
 Man, beast, and bird, with joy arose to feast 
 On Nature's charms, luxuriant to each view, 
 WhUe spreading wider as the light increased, 
 The scene superb displayed its brilliant hue 
 Of hills and valleys, ocean, rocks, and beach, 
 Spread like a map far as the eye could reach. 
 
 And now methought a rocky steep I cross' d 
 To gaze upon this sublunary show, 
 And there secm'd not an angry breeze that toss'd 
 The waving billows of the lake below ;
 
 133 
 
 But all in calm tranquillity Tvere lost 
 The dashing surges and tlie furious tiow, 
 ^\Tiich oft' before I'd witness' d with much fear, 
 Their angry threats of death or danger near. 
 
 And novs^ inspired by Sol's genial ray, 
 Each songster pour'd his elevated sound, 
 And flowers their adoration seem'd to pay. 
 By wafting sweet their redolence around, 
 Which gentle zepliyrs cauglit and bore away 
 So soft, the blade scarce trembled on the ground, 
 Making so pure and sweet the morning's birth, 
 That it appeared for once a heaven on earth. 
 
 In truth it was an earthly paradise, 
 
 Without one particle of "hated gloom 
 
 To mark around the wings of Halcyon rise ; 
 
 And every blossom in its purest bloom. 
 
 Spreading its exhalations to the skies, 
 
 As if the earth had not sufficient room 
 
 To hold the splendour of so bright a morning, 
 
 As seem'd just then fair Natui'e's lap adorning. 
 
 Thus the first hour of day was so serene, 
 I thought that clouds would never overshade 
 To mar the brightness of so fair a scene. 
 Itself immacultite, where pleasure play'd 
 AVith brigln Aurora, Nature's golden queen, 
 Spreading like gossamer o'er hill and glade, 
 Beams radiant, which illumined earth's recesses, 
 And rocks and caves display 'd their sparry dresses 
 
 Such was the scene, but 'tv\-as of short duration. 
 For soon some rolling clouds o'ersprcad the sky, 
 J
 
 134 
 
 Throwing tlieir shadows as an intimation, 
 That soon they meant to spoil earth's majesty, 
 By showering down their torrents o'er each station; 
 Which seem'd in Elysian transport to outvie 
 Each other in their splendours and perfumes, 
 More beautiful than e'eu the peacock's plumes, 
 
 Majestically grand on wings sublime, 
 Onward and slow the moving columns roll'd, 
 Shading the verdant foliage in its prime, 
 With varied hues of ebon, snow, and gold, 
 Sailing like sorrows o'er a sunny clime, 
 Wliere all below is lovely to behold. 
 Till beams resplendent change to clouds of gloom. 
 And spoil the beauteous Eden in its bloom. 
 
 And so it proved, as awfully they spread, 
 The brilliant landscape changed to dark despair ; 
 The opening floweret droopt its pendant head, 
 E're scarce the first round drop had found it there. 
 Or the rose trembled in its thorny bed, 
 AVith the first blast that shook the liquid air. 
 Which spread its terrors witli a reckless hand. 
 As the swift whirlwind hurtled o'er the land. 
 
 And thus I thought, as silently and still 
 
 I watched with sad amaze the storm descend. 
 
 How much like human life, of good and ill, 
 
 Of calm and tempest in one scene will blend : 
 
 First extatic joy our bosoms fill. 
 
 And then a storm those extaoies will rend, 
 
 Wliicli conies upon us like some foul intrusion. 
 
 And mingles joys and sorrows in confusion.
 
 135 
 
 "When hearts are young, then gaiety and mirth 
 Attend the rosy hours in their round ; 
 And gloAving thoughts expanding from their birth, 
 Then peace and joy and happiness arc found; 
 But e're we've time to estimate their worth. 
 Some undi-eam't gloom or sadness will surround, 
 Casting a shade that damps oiir very nature, 
 And throws a dubious veil upon each feature. 
 
 And such is man, the being of a day. 
 Made up of joy and grief, of calm and shower, 
 E're scarce he brings his actions into play, 
 Kipt in his bud he withers like a flower ; 
 And oft his energetic springs decay. 
 Long e're his soul gains its meridian power, 
 So fi-ail and short lived are his pleasures here, 
 A breath can waft him to another sphere. 
 
 And moralizing thus, I thought the storm 
 Assumed a deeper cast of ruefid sorrow, 
 Like midnight shades, the landscape to defonn, 
 Spreading its blackened brows with tenfold horror, 
 "With looks which banish' d all things bright or warm. 
 Such as old Satan* once was seen to borrow. 
 But while I thus was musing on the theme, 
 Behold I woke and found it was a dream. 
 
 " *Iimnortal wrath sat on his rueful face, 
 And where he look'd, a gloom pervaded space." 
 
 BYEO>f. 
 
 J 2
 
 136 
 
 STANZAS. 
 
 ' Oh, go thou to the forest where the spoils of autumn lie. 
 
 College Ode. 
 
 C\^ GAIN is Old Winter approaching, 
 q.<\ With withering looks so severe, 
 cv^v How soft are his footsteps encroaching, 
 
 To fill up the fast fading year ! 
 The fields are no longer inviting, 
 The voice of the songster is still. 
 E'en now, while these lines are inditing, 
 The v,-ind whistles shriUy and chill. 
 
 The leaves of the forest are lying 
 In uumherless heaps on the sod, 
 The flowers around us are dying. 
 Where pleasure so lately hath trod ; 
 A change like the sunlight when fading, 
 Has gently crept over the scene. 
 And the gloaming of v>'inter is shading 
 The path where its heauty hath been. 
 
 The foliage, the birds, and the flowers, 
 Which charmed both the ear and the eye, 
 While raptm-c enlivened the hours, 
 We hid for a season good bye ; 
 And 5>terner than rulers of nations. 
 The Frost King with terrible sway, 
 Will pour out his icy oblations. 
 To sparkle and choke up the way.
 
 137 
 
 Yet Tvhy should ^'c fear that oblation ? 
 The hoiu-s of gloom ta-III be few, 
 And shortly a resuscitation, 
 Again -will bright splendours renew ; 
 The redolent sweets will be springing, 
 In beauty so brilliant and grand, 
 The birds will again be all singing, 
 And pleasures walk over the land. 
 
 And Winter, though listless and hoary, 
 
 Or lifeless as many may deem, 
 
 Hath stiU many traces of glory, 
 
 As brilliant as Summer's gay beam ; 
 
 The rime-branch, the snow-covered mountains. 
 
 Presenting a landscape of bliss. 
 
 The icicles fringing the fountains, 
 
 Say, what can be equal to this ? 
 
 The seasons have each their own pleasure. 
 For those who will taste of their charms, 
 As nature fills up the grand measure, 
 And spreads forth her beautiful arms ; 
 The Spring with its bright blossoms glowing, 
 The Summer, when dew-drops appear, 
 And Autumn's rich tints geutly flowing, 
 'While Winter fills up the round year.
 
 138 
 
 BURIAL OF ALARIC. 
 
 '^H, where is the grave of Alaric the fierce, 
 The high tassel' d despot, oh where is his grave ? 
 The spot where he slumbera the eye cannot 
 
 pierce, 
 Or find the remains of ambition's proud slave. 
 
 Beneath the cold stream they have laid him to rest, 
 Sad and deep in the midst of its miry bed ; 
 
 With no stone for a tablet, or turf for his breast, 
 But the wild roar of waters to dash o'er his head. 
 
 The sun fails to warm the cold spot where he sleepeth, 
 He swayeth no sceptre of valour or fame ; 
 
 E'en the flowers are banish' d, no wild rootlet creepeth 
 A short-lived memorial to mark but his name. 
 
 And where are the spoils of his mighty achievement .^ 
 His laurel-wreath faded, his diadem gone ; 
 
 The trophies all fled like a sorry bereavement ; 
 With scarce a memento to linger upon. 
 
 Oh, sigh not for wealth, 'tis a bubble that passes ; 
 
 Oh, sigh not for fame, 'tis a meteor that flies. 
 The casketed treasure ambition amasses, 
 
 Will fade from the grasp, as the flower that dies. 
 
 Like the breeze on the mountain his deeds have past 
 over ; 
 Like the breath of the tempest his projects l^ve 
 fled.
 
 139 
 
 He has pass'd from the earth without means to 
 discover, 
 A shadowy trace where he resteth his head. 
 
 Ilis reign soon was o'er, and its glory departed, 
 Like the tints of the rainbow ephemeral each hue, 
 
 "Which gild "svith resplendence the cloud it has 
 thwarted, 
 Then vanish in mist — merely pearls made of dew. 
 
 Then flow Busentiniis, let his name be forgotten, 
 With all the dark deeds he committed below ; 
 
 And tho' lost is the spot where his relics are rotten, 
 O'er his grave may the stream of oblivion gtill 
 flow.* 
 
 * The ferocious character of the harbarians was display'd 
 in the funeral of a Hero, whose valor and fortune they 
 celebrated with mournful applause. By the labour of a 
 captive multitude, they forcibly diverted the course of the 
 Busentiinis, a small river that Vaters the walls of Consen- 
 tia, the royal sepulchre adorned with the splendid spoils 
 and trophies of Rome was constructed in the vacant bed, 
 the waters were then restored to their natural channel, 
 and the secret spot where the remains of Alaric had been 
 deposited, was for ever concealed by the inhuman massacre 
 of the prisoners who had been employ'd to execute the 
 work. — Gibbon's Decline and Fall, oh. xxxi. 

 
 140 
 
 LINES. 
 
 fj) ELIGION has its golden hours, 
 {^ Its calm deli,^hts, its sacred strings, 
 ^ It carries on its balmy wings, 
 The incense of celestial flowers. 
 It calms the heart, allays the fears, 
 And gives the troubled conscience rest, 
 Brings peace and sunsliine to the breast, 
 Instead of sighs, and grief, and tears. 
 
 Eeligion 'tis the greatest joy 
 That is below to mortals given, 
 A sacred boon, a gift from heaven ; 
 
 A sea of bliss witliout alloy. 
 
 Oh ! may we all this joy partake, 
 And bathe within this blissful sea, 
 "Whose waves fill up eternity ; 
 
 A never ending heaven to make. 
 
 "RECOLLECTIONS OF CLIFTON. 
 
 " Many a year is in its grave, 
 Since I ci-oss'd this restless wave ; 
 Yet the sunbeams bright as ever, 
 Shine on ruin, rock, and river." 
 
 Longfellow's Hyperion. 
 
 fANY a year has past away. 
 Since I wander'd liere of yore ; 
 j\Iany a licart then light and gay, 
 Companions of my earlier day, 
 I now shall see no more.
 
 141 
 
 Many a year lias ta'en its fli^^ht 
 Upon the wings of ancient time ; 
 Since we wander d witli delight, 
 To gaze upon the beauteous sight, 
 And up the mountain climb. 
 
 The rugged rocks hold still their place, 
 In verdant beauty richly crown' d ; 
 But where is now the smiling face, 
 Which beam'd with such peculiar grace, 
 When last we rambled round ? 
 
 The river rolls beneath the beam 
 
 Of Sol's invigoratiDg ray ; 
 
 And bright and beauteous is the gleam 
 
 Eeflcctcd from its silver stream, 
 
 As in our younger day. 
 
 But other thoughts creep o'er us now, 
 Our beating hearts grow sear and tame. 
 For time has shaded many a brow, 
 Which gazed upon thee years ago, 
 Tho' thou art still the same. 
 
 Companions are like swallows gone. 
 Diverging far and wide away ; 
 Who shared with us life's glowing mom 
 When on the wings of transport borne ; 
 But where ! ah where are they ? 
 
 Aye, some we own have bid farewell 
 To all thy hills and valleys green. 
 By fate's imalterable spell, 
 In other lands have gone to dwell. 
 And change their earthly scene,
 
 142 
 
 And others in the bed of death, 
 Have calmly laid them down to sleep, 
 No more to smell thy perfum'd breath. 
 Or wander o'er the pleasant heath, 
 Or down thy zigzag creep. 
 
 For destiny of hnman life, 
 None ever yet on Earth could trace ; 
 Or change the everllowing strife, 
 (Naught but an angel staid the knife,) 
 In holy Abraham's case. 
 
 And thus despite of all our fears, 
 A guardian hand is o'er us spread, 
 Which silently the spirit cheers. 
 Dispels the gloom and dries our tears. 
 When hope has nearly fled. 
 
 The Sun it smiles as bright to day. 
 As when we first beheld its light ; 
 The woods are green, the flowers as gay, 
 And Nature dress' d in rich array, 
 Still please the ravished sight. 
 
 Chihben are sporting on the green, 
 As gay as we Avere wont to be, 
 How animating is the scene, — 
 But let a few years intervene. 
 And banished is their glee. 
 
 The changes of a few short years, 
 The pleasing visions thus destroy ; 
 So strange, so mystic it appears. 
 It brings the eye suffused with tears. 
 Instead of smiling joy.
 
 143 
 
 Then let us seek not, doubt or fear, 
 For those we own are truly blest, 
 "Who patiently their course "will steer, 
 The few short years they journey here ; 
 Then wait " the promised rest." 
 
 STANZAS WRITTEN IN N0VE:MBER. 
 
 " As tints fall down upon October leaves, 
 Brilliant and many hued yet touched with sadness ; 
 So are the summer fancies of my mind, 
 Chequer'd with thoughts more wintry." 
 
 fHE smiling scenes have nearly fled from 
 Autumn's yellow plain, 
 And hoary "Winter waiting stands to take his 
 wonted reign ; 
 The leafless branches lift their heads beneath a 
 
 sullen sky. 
 While through them with asaddcu'd voice, the wind 
 howls mournfully. 
 
 How changed, alas, seems each fond scene, from 
 
 Summer's happy time, 
 When harvest field" and forest dell smiled in its 
 
 golden prime ; 
 \\lien merry notes in transport raised, re-echoed 
 
 through the glade, 
 And purling streams which flowed so soft, such 
 
 pleasant music made.
 
 144 
 
 The Flowers too that bloom'd around, bright stars 
 
 that deck'd the Earth, 
 Which from a gracious hand benign received their 
 
 lovely birth, 
 Have now resigned their beauteous forms, their 
 
 colours bright and gay. 
 And with the rest of Summer's scenes have withered 
 
 to decay. 
 
 No murmuring bee is on the wing, the streams to 
 torrents swell, 
 
 And wash in heaps the seary leaf that gathers in 
 the dell ; 
 
 The birds are mute, and scarce a sound which we 
 were wont to hear, 
 
 Now brings a chord to raise a charm upon the rav- 
 ished ear. 
 
 The Sun whene'er he deigns to peep, puts on a slant- 
 ing ray. 
 
 And issues forth a sickly glare to light the leafless 
 spray ; 
 
 While cold and cheerless all around the shorten' d 
 days appear, 
 
 As ancient time is meteing out the round and varied 
 year. 
 
 A world of vast vicissitudes, a wond'rous world of 
 
 change, 
 To mortal man this seems alas ! but is not life as 
 
 strange ? 
 A few more months, the earth will ?mile, beneath its 
 
 summer skies, 
 A few more years at most, and man, immortal then 
 
 will rise.
 
 145 
 
 HEBREW MELODY— (OR LAMENT). 
 
 " Babylon, the glory of kingdoms, the beauty of the 
 Chaldees' excellency — wild beasts of the desert shall lie 
 thei-e ; and their houses shall be full of doleful creatures ; 
 and owls shall dwell there and satyrs shall dance there." — 
 Isaiah xiit. 
 
 ©U DAUGHTER of Israel, pad and forlorn, 
 ^K. Near the wreck of fair Babylon wander' d ; 
 ^■^Slie sigh'd o'er the place where her sires were 
 
 born. 
 As over its ruins she ponder' d. 
 " Oh where have they banish' d ray race !" she cried, 
 *' The city lies waste and forsaken ; 
 And ages have roll'd in Time's sTN-ift tide 
 Since the last of its musical cadences died 
 "Which of yore did its spirit awaken. 
 
 I weep for the past, but my weeping is vain, 
 For the harp and the willows have fallen, 
 And scarcely a vestige is left to remain 
 Where the owl or the bittern is calling. 
 A wild -^-ind moans o'er the desolate place. 
 Like a dirge on the slumb'ring hours. 
 Where once in the scene smiled many a face, 
 Of the daughters and sons of ' mine ancient race,' 
 Who rejoiced in their turrets and towers." 
 
 '^^^Mm^
 
 146 
 
 VIETUE DISMISSING COURTESY; OH 
 THE MASK UNVEILED. 
 
 ©A^WAY foul monster, haste away, 
 ^¥LAiid hide thy face from beauteous day, 
 
 <^^Go seek some foul unhallowed dell, 
 
 Some horrid cave, or dismal cell ; 
 
 And never let again these eyes 
 
 Eehold thee, with thy hateful lies. 
 
 Thou that pretend' st to be so kind ! 
 
 And said tliou had'st a virtuous mind, 
 
 Thou that wast so sincere and civil, 
 
 I think thou art a demi-devil. 
 
 Deceitful wretch, I do detest thee. 
 
 Go haste and in some cavern rest thee ; 
 
 Seek out thy kindred fiends fell, 
 
 And with foul monsters learn to dwell. 
 
 And never from thy sable den, 
 
 AValk forth in sunny beams again. 
 
 THE SEASONS. 
 
 Tour seasons fill the measure of the year."— Keats. 
 
 (<^^HE rolling year revolves around, 
 frjfk How fast the seasons fly ; 
 'tWoid winged Time with scarce a sound 
 Is swiftly passing by.
 
 147 
 
 Four quarters fill tlie annual ring, 
 ( )f all our hope or fears ; 
 And Summer, Autumn, "Winter, Spring, 
 Compose our fleeting years. 
 
 And first is Spring, a joyous time. 
 
 In Nature's glories drest ; 
 
 When health and beauty in her prime, 
 
 Is courted and caressed ; 
 
 The laughing hours fresh and free. 
 
 On wings of pleasure fly ; 
 
 The world seems youth and jollity. 
 
 Beneath a laughing sky. 
 
 And then comes Summer, bright and gay, 
 "\Mth splendours rich and grand ; 
 The sun sends forth a warmer ray, 
 To fill the fruitfid land. 
 Around in rich profusion strowu. 
 Flowers and fruits are seen, 
 Spreading the glories of her throne, 
 Far o'er the smiling green. 
 
 Then Autumn, with its golden stores. 
 
 Flies rapidly away ; 
 
 The luscious draught Pomona pours. 
 
 Soon withers to decay. 
 
 The drooping verdure from the trees, 
 
 In valley, wood, or plain, 
 
 Nipt by the Tempest's cliiUy breeze, 
 
 Eetm'n to earth again. 
 
 And last of all stern Winter's breath. 
 Ends the revolving year : 
 Beneath his sway a scene of death, 
 On all around appear.
 
 148 
 
 The glory of the passing sun, 
 Flies swiftly from the sight, 
 The scene is changed, the race is run, 
 And Nature sinks in night. 
 
 And such is all that man can hoast, 
 
 A season frail and brief ; 
 
 Sporting a fe^y short years at most, 
 
 Then like the fading leaf. 
 
 Old Wiuter comes with angry frown, 
 
 O'ertakes him at a breath, 
 
 Spreads his cold liand and lays him down, 
 
 "When life is closed in death. 
 
 LEGENDAEY LINES, 
 
 Written after viewing Minster Lovell. 
 
 " On came the foe like swarming bees, 
 Or leaves upon the Summer trees, 
 As torrents swell'd by mountain rain, 
 They scoured the valley, swept the plam." 
 Deakin's Valley of Vision. 
 
 ^^HE landscape smiles, the skies are bright, 
 rr)|) Sweet odours fill the balmy air, 
 ^^si^ Shedding a clam and soft delight 
 Where all is fresh and fair. 
 
 The lark is warbling overhead, 
 Tlie busy rooks are on the wing; 
 
 While varied flowers around are sproad, 
 To paint the gorgeous Spring. %
 
 149 
 
 Such is the scene we now behold, 
 How changed from that of days of yore, 
 
 "When scenes of war and rapine roll'd 
 Their sanguinary gore. 
 
 Yon mould'ring relic stands to tell, 
 Of what has been in days gone by ; 
 
 "We learn what feats and frays befell, 
 From its past history. 
 
 "What deeds of chivalry went forth, 
 Upon the campaign country round ; 
 
 And charged the foe from east to north, 
 To tempt not near its ground. 
 
 Lord Lovell once its inmate dwelt, 
 Staunch, in its massy walls secure ; 
 
 "Where neither pain nor want was felt 
 "Within its ample door. 
 
 Its halls were hung with armour bright, 
 
 To menace all intruding foes ; 
 "Where many a lord and warlike knight, 
 
 Practised exchange of blows. 
 
 In deeds of war their chief delight. 
 The lances they were seen to wield ; 
 
 And like fierce combatants in fight, 
 Make ready for the field. 
 
 Preparing thus for deeds of arms. 
 
 Their gay sham-fights and merry hum, 
 
 "Were oft practised in case alarms. 
 Should say the foe was come.
 
 150 
 
 Thus years roU'd on in merry plight, 
 With wine and revelry and song ; 
 
 Secure within the castle tight, 
 They dream' d not of wrong. 
 
 But all was to their hearts' content, 
 They reveled, feasted, lived away 
 
 On viands which Pomona sent, 
 To cheer man's little day. 
 
 Thus was it seen, when lo ! a sound 
 Was echoed through his wide domain, 
 
 That spies were watching o'er the ground, 
 The foe was on the plain. 
 
 Already had their sound heen heard, 
 Their glittering helmets dimly seen ; 
 
 With plumes like branches zephyr stirr'd, 
 Advancing o'er the green. 
 
 Lord Lovell call'd his valiant men. 
 To meet the foe like heroes bold, 
 
 To fight and shew them there and then, 
 He held a safe stronghold. 
 
 With warlike might he led the way. 
 With cuirass bright and massy shield ; 
 
 Calling on all to brave the day, 
 And drive them from the field. 
 
 But shortlived was his bravery, 
 Soon over was his flaunting boast ; 
 
 He turned all death-like pale to see, 
 The fast advancing host.
 
 151 
 
 Like leaves in autumn they appear' d, 
 So numerous the marshall'd train ; 
 
 He slipp'd aside and back he veer'd, 
 In fear of being slain. 
 
 His knights all gallant met the foe, 
 Engaged in combat fierce and brave \ 
 
 Returning two-fold blow for blow, 
 Nor any quarter gave. 
 
 The lances like to meteors bright, 
 Flash' d tremulous in sunbeams glare ; 
 
 Loud was the shouting, dread the fight, 
 But no Lord Lovell there. 
 
 At length, the focmen press' d full sore, 
 Turn'd hastily their shields and fled; 
 
 Leaving behind a scene. of gore, 
 The dying and the dead. 
 
 The gallant knights that still remain' d, 
 Now chased them like fierce bii'ds of prey, 
 
 Then back return' d, the fight was gain'd, 
 And glorious was the day. 
 
 Lord Lovell now was shouted for. 
 
 For Lovell's bones they search'd the plain, 
 Turning the wounded o'er and o'er. 
 
 Fearing their Lord was slain. 
 
 No helmet bright, or sabre dark, 
 
 Lay on the sanguinary field. 
 By which their longing eyes could mark, 
 
 The weapon he did wield. 
 
 H 2
 
 152 
 
 The searcli was made in brier and brake, 
 Full thorough all the country round ; 
 
 And dragg'd in haste the crystal lake, 
 But no Lord Lovell found. 
 
 Thus was he lost, and years roll'd on. 
 And messages to distant strands 
 
 "Were sent, in hopes that he had gone 
 To dwell in foreign lands. 
 
 But all in vain, no tidings came 
 Of Lovell or his helmet bright; 
 
 All, all had vanish' d, and his name 
 "Was nigh forgotten quite. 
 
 When, years gone by, in's mansion vast 
 Some curious eye in searching found 
 
 A trap-door lock'd and bolted fast, 
 In vault deep underground. 
 
 The lock was broken, when behold ! 
 
 A skeleton in armour dress' d, 
 Lay like a slumb'ring knight of old, 
 
 It wore Lord Lovell' s crest. 
 
 For to this secret cold recess. 
 
 His Lordship had for safety hied : 
 
 Forgot his key (as now we guess). 
 And like Gine\Ta* died. 
 
 Yonder the inould'ring ruin stands 
 Still frowning o'er the chequer'd scene ; 
 
 Still dwelt on by the village bands, 
 A tale of what has been. 
 
 * See Kogers's Italy.
 
 153 
 
 TO THE REDBREAST, IN DECEMBER. 
 
 " Unheard in summer's flaring ray 
 Pour forth thy notes sweet singer." 
 
 CuKisTiAN Year. 
 
 ^I^OW is it that thy cheerful voice 
 bJjk) Is heard to cheer the wintry hours ? 
 ^^ Alone thou seemest to rejoice 
 When earth has lost her beds of flowers ; 
 While cold and cheerless feels the air, 
 As breezes pass Avith fitful moan, 
 Thou seudest forth thy song alone. 
 Amid the garden bare. 
 
 The leaves which late in forests green 
 Hung o'er thy safe sequester' d nest. 
 Are now all banish' d from the scene 
 Since thou wert there a summer guest ; 
 And dreary is that sacred spot 
 Where lately smiled the sunny hours. 
 But now 'tis changed, — the roseate bowers 
 By warbler is forgot. 
 
 Yet thine is true philosophy, 
 To make the best of every day ; 
 And as the season hurries by. 
 In wintry gloom or sunlight gay, 
 In garden bare, or bushy grove, 
 Thy song we hear, or form descry, 
 Spending so gay and cheerfully 
 A life of song and love. 
 
 Then health be with thee, gentle sprite, 
 Who com'st to cheer the wintry hour,
 
 154 
 
 "WTio help'st to make the scene more bright 
 When " tempest storm begins to lorn* ; " 
 May no rude hand thy form assail, 
 As pleasantly on leafless spray, 
 Thou sendest forth a roundelay. 
 E'en in the sleety gale. 
 
 EPISTLE TO A FEIEND. 
 
 " What transport to retrace our boyish days, 
 Our easy bliss, -when each thing joy supplied, 
 The woods, the mountains, and the" warbling maze 
 Of the wild brooks." 
 
 (fV?p OMPANION of my rural wanderings, 
 
 \^=^ At thought of these the airy muse now sings, 
 
 '*^^ Pleased with the past to travel o'er again 
 
 The woodland green, the valley, and the plain. 
 Pleasant it is to dwell on some rich scene. 
 Where all is fair, fresh, beautiful, and green ; 
 AVhere sunlit clouds their golden shadows throw 
 In tints resplendant o'er the scene below. 
 When half in shade the distant hills emerge, 
 Mingling their summits with the horizon's verge ; 
 Such are the scenes we often have enjoyed, 
 And with their beauties never yet were cloy'd. 
 Or in romance, the rugged steep to scramble, 
 Onward through brush-Avood, brier, bush, and bramble, 
 Or next in turn to search the quarry o'er, 
 And mark the different strata which it bore; 
 Searcliing for ammonites, or cirri cmi'd, 
 The tide-left relics of a former world. 
 And as in conversation o'er the green,
 
 155 
 
 What " glimpses into cloudland" have we seen; 
 When the light mist encii-cled all below, 
 Like waves of silver floating to and fro, 
 Till wafted by the breeze its light wings spread, 
 Their giant pinions o'er the mountain head. 
 And resting, caught reflected rainbow dyes. 
 Which spread its brilliant lustre in the skies ; 
 And we have linger' d on the mountain brow, 
 Where Keats once stood, to view the vale below ; 
 Endymion Keats ; who in his early prime 
 Sunk to his grave, long, long before his time. 
 Dislionor'd Keats, few have been served much worse, 
 Who pined and sunk beneath a critic's curse. 
 Would that he'd had a nerve of steel like Byron, 
 To turn and lash them with a rod of iron ; 
 Yet on, my muse with brighter things would rest, 
 Poor Keats is gone, long be his memory blest, 
 And since he's gone the very nations round, 
 Own the imfairness of so deep a wound. 
 Oft have we loiter' d in the verdant glade, 
 Where beach and ivy lent their welcome shade, 
 When summer suns threw their intensest beams. 
 On all around, grove, garden glade, and streams ; 
 Wnere with some books an ample feast we made, 
 Without a sound our province to invade. 
 Save the loud thrusii or mellow blackbird's notes, 
 Whose voices mingling with the stream which floats 
 Adown that lovely glen, made still more sweet 
 The bliss that crown'd our paradise retreat. 
 Oft have the hours in pleasure roll'd along, 
 Cheei-'d by the gentle breeze, the brook, tlie song. 
 Which murmur' d by on pinions soft and balm. 
 As Evening lent her dewy shadows calm. 
 Fled from the world to scenes the muses love
 
 156 
 
 In friendship, peace, and solitude to rove. 
 These are the charms which call our fancy back, 
 Delighted yet again their scenes to track ; 
 Calm, clear, and beautiful as Cynthia's face, 
 Such hours with two-fold pleasure we retrace. 
 Aye, many a scene still lingers on the mind, 
 In memory's labyrinthine bowers entwined. 
 Which leave a charm that will not fade away, 
 For many a bright and many a live-long day ; 
 Or when beneath the sun's declining beam, 
 We launch' d our boat upon the rippling stream, 
 When Evening lent the faii-est of her charms. 
 To cheer the May-fly in its summer swarms ; 
 How have we danced upon its silvery tide. 
 And mark'd with joy the circles spreading wide, 
 While in our flight we staid not to retrace. 
 The liills and woods reflected on its face ; 
 But as we pass'd its banks where inlets lay, 
 To each one gave the name of some new bay. 
 Or new discover'd cove, as fancy's wing. 
 In her young flights of wild imagining 
 Pourtrayed them to our senses as we sped. 
 In extacies along its glassy bed. 
 Such were the hours we cannot yet forget, 
 Tho' since that time dull wintry suns have set. 
 With many a thick and many a lurid gleam. 
 Upon the ripple of that floating stream ; 
 Yet they are dear, — the very name is sweet 
 To think that we again in thought can meet, 
 Recount with joy the pleasant hours o'er, 
 Tho' we perchance may see the like no more. 
 Or when the sombre tints of Autumn closing. 
 The Summer scenes, where loveliness reposing 
 Was sinking into slumber, we have strayed
 
 157 
 
 To mark the changes of the beauteous glade, 
 While the autumnal sun his beams would throw 
 In fiery flame upon the chequer'd show, 
 Making the limpid waters to appear 
 Like the red flood of some less friendly sphere ; 
 And the huge trees beneath the crimson gleams, 
 Threw their protracted shadows in the streams. 
 And we have seen Old Winter with chill breath. 
 Leave his cold footsteps on the desert licath, 
 While snow-clad mountains glisten' d in the rear, 
 To fill the measure of the circling year. 
 Oh ! there are links which make life doubly dear. 
 When friend with friend, and heart with heart can 
 
 cheer 
 Each other in his worldly wanderings, 
 As o'er life's page with magic hand it flings 
 The balm of sunshine o'er its fading bowers. 
 To renovate again its happiest hours. 
 Such are my thoughts as with the muses' eye. 
 Again I gaze on scenes since hurried by, 
 Or calmly wait the future which may be 
 Of joy or sorrow yet unknown to me. 
 Fai-ewell young friend, wherever you may roam. 
 In this wide world to seek a happy home, 
 Or in your rural wanderings o'er again, 
 Should list enrapt to hear the wild birds' strain, 
 Tho' far by distance sever' d, this lone heart, 
 In real greetings no more bears its part ; 
 Think of the one who pens these lines to thee, 
 In fancy roam again tlu-ough flowery scenes with me.
 
 158 
 
 FAREWELL TO THE FADING YEAR. 
 
 fAREWELL Old Year, tho' thoughts that are 
 dear, 
 Still linger around thy flight ; 
 And we heave the sigh as thou hurriest by, 
 
 To join with eternity's night. 
 Since thy reign begun we have had much fun. 
 
 And pleasantly sail'd, I ween, 
 On the moving tide of thy changes wide, 
 
 Or danced o'er thy verdant green ; 
 A few stormy days have cross' d our ways, 
 
 And darken' d the reigning sun. 
 Yet the joys we have found as we pass'd our round, 
 "We own have been " ten to one." 
 
 And march in majestic array, 
 And thy light beams spread o'er the mountain head. 
 
 To usher the New Year's day ; 
 Then a few fleecy clouds just melted their shrouds. 
 
 Dissolving in genial rain. 
 To freshen the flowers with early showers, 
 
 The same that we hope for again ; 
 Rejoicing the earth as it quicken' d to birth, 
 
 The numerous seeds wliich lie 
 In their clay-cold cells of the forests and dells, 
 
 Awaiting a warmer sky. 
 
 And then came Spring with its joyous wing, 
 
 Clad in an emerald sheen, 
 And the odours it spread from its pastoral bed, 
 
 "Were witness' d all over the green ;
 
 159 
 
 All nature was gay, park, paddock, and spray, 
 
 "Were dress' d in their richest attire, 
 And many a sound did the woodlands resound, 
 
 Flowing; forth from the fcather'd choir. 
 Making gladsome the heart that shared in its part, 
 
 The blessings which Nature had stored, 
 As a banqueting feast for her cliildren at least, 
 
 Who partook of her plentiful board. 
 
 Then summer flew by 'neath a laughing sky, 
 
 Shedding radiant lustre around. 
 From her sunlit car as she spread it afar, 
 
 Wherever a blossom was found ; 
 Making merry and light with her warmest might, 
 
 The numerous beings she eye'd. 
 As over their head her pinions she spread, 
 
 And their rainbow reflections dyed ; 
 Bidding each to rejoice at the sound of her voice, 
 
 As it echoed o'er mountain and glen, 
 And filling the earth with music and nurth, 
 
 As long as she held her reign. 
 
 Then Autumnal forms with their mists and storms^ 
 
 Came brooding over the land, 
 Changing the hues of the numerous views 
 
 Into pictures sublimely grand. 
 While the splendid dyes of the vermiel skies, 
 
 Were lively and bright to behold, 
 Like a moving ocean in changeful commotion, 
 
 Eolling its billows of gold ; 
 And the glittering thorn each opening morn 
 
 With the cr}-stal dewdrops impearl'd, 
 Shed a brilliant glow on the scenes below, 
 
 Like rays of a fairy world.
 
 160 
 
 And here at last is Old Winter fast, 
 
 Bound in his icy chain, 
 The leaping rills of the sloping hills. 
 
 In his giassy fetters remain ; 
 The birds are dumb, not a wild bee's hum 
 
 Is heard in the lonely vale, 
 Or a leaflet green on the trees is seen, 
 
 To dance in the rising gale ; 
 A change has come o'er the pleasures of yore, 
 
 And driven its smiles away. 
 And the king of the north comes trampling forth, 
 
 To rule with a fearful sway. 
 
 Farewell, then Old Year, with a joyous career. 
 
 May the next in succession abound, 
 Bringing simshine and mirth for the children of earth,. 
 
 To gladden life's mystical round ; 
 And may gratitude's praise from our voices raise. 
 
 As it scatters its blessings around. 
 Spreading lasting delight for the heart and the sight 
 
 As far as its circle is found. 
 Thus a cheerful good-bye to thy fleeting we cry, 
 
 And look for the last ebbing wave 
 As it fades from the sight in the regions of night, 
 
 For ever to rest in its grave ! 
 
 
 J. Elliott, Printer, Stroud.
 
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