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 THE LIBRARY 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES 

 
 Facts and Fancies. 
 
 By 
 
 Rosa J. Solomons. 
 
 Among a few hard Facts somefhntfry Fancies grciv, 
 And cast around those Facts a veil of tender hue. 
 
 Anon. 
 
 DUBLIN: 
 WILLIAM ' JfTGEE, 18 NASSAU STREET. 
 
 LONDON: SIMPKIN, MARSHALL &> CO. 
 l88 3 .
 
 GUNK AND CAMERON, rlUNTEKS, FLEET STREET, DUBLIN.
 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 ^ PAGE 
 
 Preface , . . . v ii 
 
 To the Reader . . viii 
 
 Social & General Subjects — 
 Sunshine . 
 
 Gratitude . 
 
 To the Mist 
 
 Silent Danger 
 
 To the Snow 
 
 A Firelight Fancy . 
 
 To Nature (A Summer Song) 
 
 The Sea Shore . 
 
 Two Blades of Grass . 
 
 Rushing Wind . 
 
 Autumn Tints . 
 
 Love and the Fairies . 
 
 The Travellers . 
 
 A Sleepless Night 
 
 Rejoicing (to T. Spencer 
 Wells) 
 
 Is Outward Silence Sign of 
 Calm? 
 
 Daydreams 
 
 In Shadowland . 
 
 Our Birthdays (to F.L.S.) 
 
 Only a Hand on the Door 
 
 1 
 2 
 
 3 
 4 
 4 
 5 
 5 
 (J 
 8 
 9 
 
 10 
 11 
 13 
 14 
 
 15 
 
 16 
 17 
 IS 
 19 
 20 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Social & General Subjects — 
 continued. 
 
 An Entreaty ... 21 
 
 My Hostess ... 22 
 
 Power of Speech . . 23 
 
 On the New Year . . 24 
 
 A Summer Sail ... 25 
 
 Shadows .... 26 
 
 Dead Leaves ... 27 
 
 Budding Leaves . . 28 
 
 A Debutante ... 30 
 
 Poor Willie ... 32 
 
 To Sir T. .Spencer Wells . 35 
 To the author of the "Epic 
 
 of Hades " . . .36 
 
 Rain 37 
 
 Vagrant Thoughts . . 39 
 
 The Magic of Music . . 40 
 
 Ruth, or the Gleaner . 41 
 
 Cain 43 
 
 Estella Frances ... 44 
 
 Thanks for a Birthday Card 45 
 
 To Felicia .... 46 
 
 Unfinished ... 47 
 
 922023
 
 IV 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAG i: 
 
 Love and Sentiment — 
 
 
 Local Scenes — continued. 
 
 Love 
 
 47 
 
 A Letter from Kingstown. 
 
 Love's Awakening . 
 
 4S 
 
 Bray Head 
 
 A Farewell 
 
 49 
 
 Bray Head in a Shower . 
 
 Hidden Thoughts 
 
 50 
 
 A Letter from Scarbro' 
 
 From an Absent Lover 
 
 51 
 
 Killiney . 
 
 A Greeting 
 
 51 
 
 A Scene on the Traunsee. 
 
 The Return 
 
 . 52 
 
 The Thames at Greenhithc 
 
 A Greeting to Ireland 
 
 53 
 
 
 March 21st, 1879 
 
 . 54 
 
 Serio-Comic Pieces — 
 
 Forget-me-not . 
 
 . 50 
 
 A Picnic . 
 
 Gage d' Armour . 
 
 . 50 
 
 Name and Fame 
 
 On Marriage 
 
 . 57 
 
 Kettledrum 
 
 Lines at a Wedding . 
 
 . 58 
 
 
 
 
 Examination Hour . 
 
 Dewdrops . 
 
 . 59 
 
 On a Forgotten Bet . 
 
 The Old Home . 
 
 . GO 
 
 Flies 
 
 To my Mother . 
 
 . 62 
 
 
 
 A Summer Bathe 
 
 A Reverie . 
 
 . G3 
 
 Strawberries and Cream . 
 
 May and December . 
 
 . 04 
 
 
 A Mother's Wish 
 
 . GO 
 
 Lines sent with a Mirror . 
 
 To my First-born 
 
 . GO 
 
 My Beggar Friend . 
 
 The Bird's Message . 
 
 . 07 
 
 For a Stamp Album . 
 
 A Lost Hope 
 
 . OS 
 
 " How's the Kid ?" . 
 
 Love's First Offering . 
 
 . 08 
 
 The Pillar Post . 
 
 Acrostic ... 
 
 . 09 
 
 On a Match Box 
 
 Fickle Fate 
 
 . 70 
 
 Baby and Pussy 
 Lines in an Album . 
 
 Local Scenes — 
 
 
 Moonshine 
 
 My Native Town 
 
 . 71 
 
 To "Dear Old Joe" . 
 
 Bow don Park . 
 
 73 
 
 
 An Evening Walk in Wick 
 
 . 
 
 To an Absent Friend 
 
 low 
 
 75 
 
 "Frisk" .
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Reprints, &c. — 
 
 The "Comet" . 
 
 The " Comet " in print . 
 
 Impromptu for the "Comet' 
 
 The Children's Plum Pud- 
 ding .... 
 
 Mistletoe .... 
 
 Spark from an old Comet . 
 
 The Maiden and the 
 Shower 
 
 Two Questions . 
 
 In Memoriam — 
 In Memoriam . 
 
 PAGE 
 
 PAGE 
 
 
 In Memoriam— continued. 
 
 
 117 
 
 The Memorial Lamp . 
 
 129 
 
 US 
 
 A Scene from Life . 
 
 130 
 
 120 
 
 In Commemoration . 
 
 131 
 
 121 
 123 
 
 Resignation 
 
 Lines to a Portrait . 
 
 132 
 133 
 
 124 
 
 The Heart . 
 
 134 
 
 
 To Memory 
 
 135 
 
 125 
 
 The Last Resting Place 
 
 . 133 
 
 120 
 
 Two Ivy Leaves 
 
 137 
 
 
 Light .... 
 
 . 13S 
 
 128 
 
 EriLOGUE 
 
 140
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 Facts and fancies mingle closely in minds where dreams and 
 duty live in daily communion, and many kindred minds have 
 liked the verses written by me at times when the dreamer was 
 stronger than the worker. 
 
 Slowly and shyly I first showed a hidden thought to a friend ; 
 more boldly, I gave to a narrow circle the records aud impressions 
 of facts they had shared with me. As my fancies grew, and as 
 the knot of kindly listeners grew, the wish was oftentimes ex- 
 pressed that other sympathetic spirits w T ould gladly share my 
 Winged Thoughts, if print made easy the reading. So with a 
 pang of reluctance I give to a larger public than hitherto, these 
 rhymes chosen from the many pieces which scenes and emotions 
 of recent years have evoked. 
 
 The classification has been slight : Sunshine begins and Sorrow 
 ends the book; while local sketches, re-prints from a magazine in 
 private circulation, and serio-comic verses swell its pages. 
 
 Many dear friends will smile to find old scenes re-called. 
 May the simple nature of my day-dreams enlist the sympathy 
 of the unknown friends to whom I now surrender my Poetic 
 " Facts and Fancies." 
 
 R. J. S. 
 
 Dublix, 1883.
 
 TO THE READER. 
 
 OX TrUXIKO OVER A NEW LEAF. 
 
 Turn over, curious one, another leaf, 
 
 A new and unknown tale may charm thine eyes ; 
 Cast back the old, with careless look and brief, 
 
 All eager as thou art for fresh surprise. 
 
 But who, with page still balanced in his hand, 
 Can guess, will joy or disappointment greet 1 ? 
 
 In hopeful youth we think but to command, 
 And find all smiling pleasures at our feet. 
 
 In age, we hover trembling on the brink 
 Of each new step Fate forces us to take ; 
 
 Hold back our feeble hand, the while we think 
 If unturn'd page our present calm will break. 
 
 A mind grown mellow 'neath the study lamp, 
 In love with authors who are oldest friends; 
 
 Regretful sees fresh hosts of books encamp, 
 A slow unwilling ear to new work lends. 
 
 How then expect this well-stored, satiate mind 
 To turn from known to unknown, e'en one leaf? 
 
 He dwells on hoarded store with mem'ry kind, 
 Rejects the scarce fledged thought as unbelief. 
 
 'Tis then to curious Youth I say again ; 
 
 Turn now the unturn'd leaves of my poor book ; 
 May I ne'er feel an author's vivid pain, 
 
 To see a change in your expectant look.
 
 Sunshine. 
 
 Flood me with your light, oh ! rajs, 
 Warm rne with new heat ; 
 
 Bring rne with the lengthening days 
 Hope, to make life sweet. 
 
 Coldly "Winter looked on me, 
 
 Cold and chill as grief; 
 Shuddering, I look back on thee, 
 
 Spring — wilt bring relief ? 
 
 So deep sunk 'neath Winter's pall 
 
 Lie our dearest, best ; 
 Struggling with our woe we fall, 
 
 Fain would be at rest. 
 
 Yet, much lives and thrives again, 
 
 Winter had enthralled; 
 Lengthening days and sunny rain, 
 
 New life have recalled. 
 
 Birds return to build their nest, 
 
 When the Winter's past ; 
 Hastening back from south and west, 
 
 Bringing Spring at last. 
 
 Carol, chii'p, and twittering cry, 
 
 Fill the balmy air ; 
 Aching heart still heaves a sigh — 
 
 Not yet strong to dare. 
 
 B
 
 Slowly as the crust of earth 
 
 Yields unto the rain ; 
 Heart we deem'd fast scaled from mirth, 
 
 Slowly opes again. 
 
 Pour your golden rays, oh ! sun, 
 
 On the grief- worn heart; 
 Bid us rise, bid work be done, 
 
 Ere we, too, depart. 
 
 Bathed in your warm floods of light, 
 
 Strengthen'd we arise ; 
 Strong to hope, and live, and fight, 
 
 Strong to banish sighs. 
 
 'O ™ "«■»""" «* - 
 
 Gratitude. 
 
 Now as I feel with deep delight 
 
 My hand grown strong to pen a line ; 
 
 I turn in grateful haste to write 
 
 Heart-feeling thanks from me and mine. 
 
 To whom these thanks, and wherefore they ? 
 
 A mildly curious stranger asks ; 
 For life, health, strength, to go my way, 
 
 Fulfilling life's all-various tasks. 
 
 And whom I owe these gifts restored, 
 Bight glad my hand the secret tells ; 
 
 'Tis, by the blessing of the Lord, 
 To wondrous skill of Spencer Wells.
 
 To the Mist. 
 
 Rise and leave us mists of Autumn, 
 
 Clothing hill and vale in grey ; 
 Blinding e'en the keen-eyed sportsman, 
 
 Leading men and flocks astray. 
 
 Raise one moment your dim curtain, 
 
 Veiling us from sea and sky ; 
 Small, too small, the space ye leave us, 
 
 '.Neath such mantle we must die. 
 
 Morning vapours do but glad us, 
 
 Harbingers of sunny days ; 
 Evenings clouded ne'er alarm us, 
 
 Sun-parch'd earth meets glad the haze. 
 
 But, we pray you, leave at sunrise, 
 
 Grassy slope and wooded height ; 
 Blindly we but guess the beauties 
 
 Ye hide jealous from our sight. 
 
 Memory now strives, but vainly, 
 Nature through her glass to paint ; 
 
 All her efforts serve but feebly — 
 Scenes of light and color — faint. 
 
 So, we pray you, misty phantoms, 
 Rise, give back the world to sight ; 
 
 Days thus wrapp'd in your embraces, 
 Bring the gloom — not rest — of night. 
 
 Scarboro'. 
 
 b2
 
 Silent Danger. 
 
 Calmly, smoothly, flows the sea, 
 Nearer to our laggard feet; 
 
 Heedless pace we lazily 
 
 Listening to its ripple sweet. 
 
 Till a wavelet reaches us, 
 
 Breaking suddenly the charm ; 
 Silent Danger creeps on thus — 
 Peace has fled before alarm. 
 
 -+- 
 
 To the Snow. 
 
 Welcome I sing to thee, Snow, bright and cold, 
 Fleecy and white as the young lambs in fold ; 
 Thou wilt lie softly in drift and in wreath, 
 Cold as thou seem'st, earth lies warm beneath— 
 Feathers fall lightly and fluttering to ground, 
 None fall so softly as thy flakes around ; 
 All that is dark, dim, with age or decay, 
 Hides 'neath thy mantle, shines new as the day. 
 Dulled is the sound of the labourers' tramp, 
 Children, bound schoolwards, their frozen feet stamp ;. 
 Homeward returning what snowballs will fly ! 
 Welcome, bright flakelets, fall thick from the sky.
 
 5 
 
 A Firelight Fancy. 
 
 Happy hour of waning day, 
 
 Call it never sad ; 
 As the light to dark gives way, 
 
 I grow bright and glad. 
 
 Gloomy look the heavy walls, 
 Still, there glitters gold ; 
 
 Shining where the firelight falls, 
 On the pictures old. 
 
 Darker, darker grows the room, 
 Still my heart is light — 
 
 Lighter as the deeper gloom 
 Melts to perfect night. 
 
 Beacon Hope of new joy born, 
 Cheers the midnight hours ; 
 
 Dying only when the Morn 
 Buries it in flowers ! 
 
 To Nature. 
 
 (a summer song.) 
 
 Nature ! not alone I see Thee, 
 Verdant, smiling in my face, 
 
 But I feel Thy presence round me, 
 Every sense enjoys Thy grace.
 
 6 
 
 How my spirits rise with gladness 
 When Thy beauties lie around, 
 
 E'en dull heart must lose its sadness, 
 When Thy flow'rets deck the ground. 
 
 Yes, yes, higher yet and higher, 
 When sweet perfumes fill the air. 
 
 Smiling, hounding, we aspire, 
 Joyous, far from ua all care ! 
 
 The Sea Shore. 
 
 Oh ! lead me down quick to sandy sea shore, 
 
 When languid and weary am I ; 
 The roll and the splash of waves as they roar, 
 
 Would rouse me when ready to die. 
 
 For as the sea breeze blows fresh on my cheek, 
 
 And briny the spray on my hair ; 
 I feel, if I live by the beach for a week, 
 
 As fresh as the breezes there. 
 
 I love the white clash of curling sea foam, 
 
 I love the wild song of the waves ; 
 They bring me back hours of childhood's old home, 
 
 With sweet and sad thoughts of its graves. 
 
 The shingle worn round, the musical shells, 
 (Our treasures, when children at play), 
 
 Though valueless now, their aspect yet tells, 
 Of happiness long as the day.
 
 My first aspirations of girlhood were fanned 
 By rough reckless wind on the heach ; 
 
 The far sailing boats, and fishermen tanned, 
 Roused thoughts of a world I would reach. 
 
 'e' 
 
 " Not always should we, with timid, set feet, 
 " Stand hovering there on the brink 
 
 " Of shores that divide, but ready and fleet, 
 " Sail out on life's ocean, or sink." 
 
 For girlhood yet dreams : to start is to win, 
 That every ship sails home again ; 
 
 Unknowing of those, whose lives but begin 
 Ere ending in shipwreck and pain. 
 
 Yet type of the future, that dim, purple line, 
 
 That bounds our horizon afar ; 
 Seems infinite, lovely, a treasure divine, 
 
 But far, far away, as a star ! 
 
 They're over, a girl's wild visions of bliss, 
 We've sailed and come weary again ; 
 
 And still that fair strand the ocean doth kiss, 
 Is refuge we fly to in pain. 
 
 "We sit there and dream, with new born delight, 
 Calm, soothed by the wash of the seas, 
 
 And be it 'neath sun, or fair, starry night, 
 Are hushed by the ever fresh breeze.
 
 8 
 
 Two Blades of Grass. 
 
 Two blades of grass peep out between the flags, 
 And wake a thought as verdant as their stem; 
 
 The wearied foot, that on the pavement lags, 
 More lightly treads, lest it should injure them. 
 
 How have the tender leaflets found their way 
 Between such hard and stony prison walls ] 
 
 How have they ever pierced to broad-eyed day, 
 Beset with danger that our strength appals 1 
 
 One little seed, borne hither by the wind, 
 
 Fell in a chink wdiere flags 'gainst flagstone rest ; 
 
 The soft rain pressed it, with intention kind, 
 Down deep till Earth gave refuge in her breast. 
 
 Not long content did seedling tranquil lie, 
 For sun shone hot on city pavement stone ; 
 
 Our nursling longed for one more glimpse of sky, 
 Feared in this murky grave to die alone. 
 
 Up, up, with gentle force from hour to hour, 
 
 "Let me pass through," to crushing weights, she cried ; 
 
 Her humble patience gave the needed power, 
 One April day once more she light espied. 
 
 Then, grateful for the glorious heat and sun, 
 She lifted two-fold blades in green array • 
 
 Refreshing many, ere the day was done, 
 With mem'ries of the meadows far away.
 
 9 
 
 Rushing Wind. 
 
 Bear me onward, rushing Wind, 
 
 Be not always so unkind, 
 
 Loud and boisterous, on you tear, 
 
 E'en as if you'd mock my prayer. 
 
 Must I stay, and hear you go 
 
 Rushing on with gust and blow ? 
 
 Twig and leaf and pebbly stone 
 
 Fly with yon, leave me alone. 
 
 Fain had these stayed in their place ; 
 
 No — you grant nor time, nor grace, 
 
 Sweep the dust and blinding sand 
 
 Onward, through the storm-swept land. 
 
 Young and earnest, quick and strong, 
 Fain were I, too, borne along, 
 Will not thus be left behind, 
 Take me with you, rushing wind — 
 Far beyond the quiet street, 
 Help and urge my hurrying feet; 
 Where you go, the world's awake, 
 Joy and grief both in your wake. 
 What care I if danger come 1 
 Sweet is peril's hour to some ; 
 Stagnant, I'll not live my life, 
 Rather rush where trouble's rife !
 
 io 
 
 " Boisterous, rough, and rude, your ways, 
 " Fit for harden'd manhood's days ; 
 "Youths must steel their strength at home, 
 " Ere with me abroad they roam." 
 
 This your answer, cruel Wind, 
 
 Leaving me alone, behind ? 
 
 Hush ! then hush your sullen roar, 
 
 I will list to you no more. 
 
 If you will not bear me forth 
 
 In your strong arms, South or North, 
 
 Leave me silent, sad, alone — 
 
 Cruel wind — away — begone ! 
 
 Autumn Tints. 
 
 TO J. L. J. 
 
 Do the Autumn tints depress thee, 
 Oh, mau ! mature and staid? 
 
 Does the growing cold oppress thee ? 
 Does the winter make afraid ] 
 
 Yet the Spring is oft too chilly, 
 Summer days too quickly pass; 
 
 While we seek the landscape hilly, 
 Many clouded sunbeams pass ! 
 
 Yes ! our Autumn may be golden, 
 May be gayer than our Spring ; 
 
 Even when we're guileless children, 
 'Tis brave heart gilds everything !
 
 11 
 Love and the Fairies. 
 
 Prelude. 
 
 The gloaming grey, the shady dell, 
 Are loved by elf and fairy ; 
 
 A tale of these and love I'll tell, 
 In verses light and airy. 
 
 My heroine, a tiny elf, 
 
 Was born 'neath moonbeams glancing ; 
 More fair than she e'en knew herself, 
 
 Her sylph-like form — entrancing. 
 
 She danced into the forest world 
 
 Upon a white-bell'd lily, 
 And lay within its green leaf curl'd, 
 
 Her dainty limbs were chilly ! 
 
 Then tempted by the glorious beams 
 Of silver moon-rays, streaming, — 
 
 Sighed softly : ah ! my robes, it seems, 
 Are gayer when they're gleaming. 
 
 Now swaying lightly with the breeze, 
 She munnured, " This is lonely, 
 
 " I dread the shadows of the trees, 
 " So all alone — one only !" 
 
 Forth sprang at this regretful speech, 
 
 A second tiny fairy — 
 Just nigh enough his hand to reach 
 
 Unto this creature airy.
 
 12 
 
 A golden crocus was his throne, 
 More bright, yet not so scented, 
 
 As her sweet lily bell, alone 
 The home of perfume tented. 
 
 A Zephyr passed and breathed a tune 
 
 Across the waving rushes; 
 They tripped it 'ncath the young, May moon, 
 
 Beside the lilac bushes. 
 
 But oh ! the witching, young, May moon, 
 
 On mortals, too, has power, 
 She drew two lovers' forth too soon 
 
 For fairy and for flower : 
 
 Two happy mortals trod the ground, 
 Their feet sweet odours pressing, 
 
 This mingled with the whispering sound 
 Of vows and love's caressing. 
 
 Low stooped my lord, where lily bell, 
 White in the moon was swaying, 
 
 " This flower," he cried "my love shall tell 
 " If I am ever straying !" 
 
 His lady laid it near her heart, 
 Then pluck'd the crocus golden ; 
 " Take this, my Treasure, ere we part, 
 " Pure love doth love embolden.'' — 
 
 With lovers' vows the fairies fled, 
 Their bliss, too brief, was over — 
 
 At least — when flowrets long are dead, 
 Who shall these elves discover 1
 
 13 
 
 The Travellers. 
 
 TO THE REV. PH. B. AND A.B. 
 
 Sailing this April night o'er Irish seas, 
 
 Borne from our coast by ever fresher breeze ; 
 
 Some eyes look back with softened, longing gaze, 
 
 Upon receding shores, on happy days ; 
 
 On sad and evil ones — when grief supreme 
 
 Fill'd aching hearts, without a hopeful gleam — 
 
 Those eyes that slowly fill with bitter tears, 
 
 Turn heavenward, with the burden of their fears — 
 
 See ! bright stars glitter in the glorious night, 
 
 And seem to turn the darkness into light ! 
 
 They show how far above us is the Power, 
 
 All-mighty in the gay, or saddest hour — 
 
 And, ere the morning dawn calls forth to prayer, 
 
 Fair Erin's isle has vanished into air. 
 
 The rocky coast of Wales new thoughts will bring 
 
 Unto those minds, as hopeful as the Spring — 
 
 When other hours have passed, will England greet 
 
 The Travellers, who to her have turned their feet. 
 
 May morning hopes, as cheerful as fair May, 
 Attend, and with our Travellers ever stay : 
 May sunshine, warm enough to melt all grief, 
 Pour down, and gladden — as a firm belief ; 
 And, even when the Autumn cometh round, 
 No sound of sighing fall upon the ground.
 
 14 
 
 Though dear ones stayed regretful on the strand, 
 Their best-helovcd close around them stand ; 
 Then sail fair ship, and bring those safe away, 
 Whose friendship we shall miss for many a day. 
 
 A Sleepless Night. 
 
 The anxious, hopeful heart, that fell asleep 
 
 With prayers and murmur'd longings for repose ; 
 
 Ah, me ! what restless moan, as moments creep, 
 Before the glimmering dawn to daylight grows. 
 
 For tho' he gains an hour of sleep betimes, 
 
 And rousing, hopes to gaze on morning's beam ; 
 
 He wakes, unhappy man, to midnight's chimes, 
 To nickering taper's pale, expiring gleam. 
 
 How few the moments pass'd, what hours to lie 
 On downy pillow, with a care-worn brain ; 
 
 While turning restlessly, he heaves a sigh, 
 Well knowing balmy sleep is sought in vain, 
 
 And who, save one whom care has oft opprest 
 
 With clinging consciousness, e'en through the night, 
 
 Can comprehend the final bliss of rest 
 
 That weighs down wearied eyelids with the light ? 
 
 Erewhile life's burden seemed too great to him, 
 Now restful moments sweep its load away ; 
 
 And brightly once more beams the eye grown dim, 
 In watching for the gladdening light of day.
 
 15 
 
 Rejoicing. 
 
 (to t. spencer wells) 
 
 Light and life are streaming 
 Through the sunny air ; 
 
 Joy renewed is beaming 
 Round me every where. 
 
 Swift my cares are flowing 
 Down the stream of night ; 
 
 Nought but joys are glowing 
 In the morning light. 
 
 'Tis my heart's glad beating, 
 Freed anew from care, 
 
 Sets my lips repeating 
 Thanksgiving and prayer. 
 
 Sorrow had invaded 
 All that lived in me; 
 
 Not alone, unaided, 
 Has it left me free. 
 
 No, there came a morning, 
 When a charmer's hand 
 
 Took, with skilled charming, 
 Pain, as at command. 
 
 Left me free, light-hearted. 
 Saying with glad voice, 
 
 " Pain and I are parted, 
 Now let us rejoice."
 
 16 
 
 Is Outward Silence Sign of Calm? 
 
 Is outward silence sign of calm, 
 And proof of utter peace within ? 
 
 Has labor always power to charm, 
 And "live the rest we toil to win ? 
 
 - 
 
 Not so indeed, for busy hands, 
 
 That swiftly thread and needle ply, 
 Are like some famed enchanter's wand : 
 
 They make our thoughts the faster fly- 
 Unseen, unheard, like magic skill 
 
 We weave in silence and alone : 
 The hands work swift, but swifter still, 
 
 We weave a web for Fancy's throne — 
 On dull, grey ground, the anxious thought 
 
 Is ever slow and careful spread ; 
 Then quickly, joyous, and unsought, 
 
 Come scarlet, blue, and golden thread ; 
 Thus on our life, which seemed so sad, 
 
 So full of gloom and heavy cares, 
 The brilliant hopes to make us glad 
 
 Fall in like gold thread, unawares ; 
 Like gold, we think to keep them bright, 
 
 Untarnished, brilliant, as they came ; 
 Alas ! too soon they vanish quite, 
 
 Fro we have time to give them name.
 
 17 
 
 A hasty -word, a ringing peal, 
 
 The reigning silence sudden break ; 
 We live again, we're made to feel 
 
 That dreams must fly — the world's awake. 
 And even those who love us well 
 
 May wrongly think our silence meant 
 To hide some grief we would not tell, 
 
 Or brooding calm of discontent ! 
 
 Day-dreams. 
 
 Smoothly silent let my path be, 
 Near me nought discordant grind ; 
 
 Gentle voices murmur softly, 
 Eyes to others' faults be blind. 
 
 Feet pace lightly on their journey, 
 
 Hearts in perfect union beat ; 
 Hand clasp hand with friendly parley, 
 
 Eyes with loving glances meet. 
 
 Let the armed use their valour 
 
 Strength and skill of each to test, 
 But for pastime — not for warfare — 
 
 Strong arm learn to wield its best. 
 
 Let Love's vows find lovers faithful, 
 
 Jealous jars be never known; 
 Friendship bear its patient heart-ful 
 
 Of the best seeds ever sown. 
 
 o
 
 18 
 
 Hie away ! then, sounds discordant, 
 Frowns and harsh words, far from here ; 
 
 Oh ! if but all grief and torment, 
 Could be banish'd from our sphere ! 
 
 From my day-dreams, shrill-toned voices 
 Cry, " come hither, idler, come," 
 
 Who in this sad world rejoices 
 Ere he's called by fife or drum? 
 
 Yes ! we must be up and doing, 
 Live and bear as best we may ; 
 
 Dreaming only is undoing, 
 
 Work — no day-dream — wins the day. 
 
 ♦ 
 
 In Shadowland. 
 
 Not one line written on the empty page 
 
 To testify the day is gone ! 
 And I with vaguely musing spirit here, 
 
 Am filled with thought— yet nought is done !- 
 
 Say—whu'll bring back the soon forgotten day ? 
 
 Who e'er remember work of mine 1 
 Child, friend, and beggar, each and all pass on, 
 
 S a yi U g_« u0 thanks for act of thine !" 
 
 Am I, then, always thus a listless thing, 
 
 Leaving no sign of hours that fly? 
 Or is it but this day I give to dreams 
 
 That I must dream, or else I die 1
 
 19 
 
 So 'tis indeed, leave rue this once alone 
 
 In blessed trance of idleness ; 
 With half closed eyes, and drooping, folded hands, 
 
 That work'd more if the mind work'd less. 
 
 Let speech within closed lips, sweet silence keep, 
 
 Until this lethargy it shakes ; 
 Then on the morrow tell where it kept watch, 
 
 In Shadowland when it awakes. 
 
 Our Birthdays. 
 
 TO F. L. S. 
 
 
 Our birthdays, as they come and go, 
 
 Bring back on memory's tidal flow 
 
 The rush of thoughts, and aims, and deeds, 
 
 "Which grew like fair or noxious weeds, 
 
 Since last year, at the self-same date, 
 
 We ponder'd on our fitful fate. 
 
 Some thoughts and aims are not fulfill'd, 
 
 Some w T ants we felt are not yet stiU'd ; 
 
 But many joys have fill'd the heart, 
 
 And soothed an ache, or deep-felt smart ; 
 
 Some acts of kinduess rare were shewn, 
 
 Good deeds to all the world unknown — 
 
 As acts of mercy we recall, 
 
 These cause a thankful tear to fall ; 
 
 We do the work that nearest lies, 
 
 Nor stay to wonder how time flies ; 
 
 But full of courage, come what may, 
 
 We live our life from day to day !
 
 20 
 
 " Only a Hand on the Door." 
 
 -0— ■ 
 
 " Only a face at the window," 
 
 Only a hand on the door ; 
 Easy to read the first picture, 
 
 More than the latter — far more. 
 
 Seeing of face not a feature, 
 Hearing nor voice, nor a sound ; 
 
 Given but sight of the fingers, 
 I know my visitors round. 
 
 Firstly, there lie on the doorway 
 Fingers thick, red-tipp'd and strong, 
 
 Telling of labour done daily 
 
 By maid who work'd for me long. 
 
 White, firm, and manly the fingei'S 
 Grasping now gently the door, 
 
 I know, although he yet lingers, 
 " Doctor's" still tread on the floor. 
 
 Joy, when a hand, small and rosy, 
 Chubby and dimpled appears ; 
 
 Darling Babe steps in so proudly 
 
 When he " dear mother's" voice hears. 
 
 Digits then, long, fair and taper, 
 
 Pink-tipt, with almond-shaped nails ; 
 
 These, clear as name writ on paper, 
 Tell of a friend who ne'er fails.
 
 21 
 
 Lastly, with heart gladly beating, 
 See a hand loved more and more; 
 
 Joyful to have his warm greeting, 
 I cease my gaze on the door. 
 
 An Entreaty. 
 
 Whistle not so loud, oh ! Wind, 
 
 I would be asleep ; 
 Sing a song, if thou art kind, 
 
 While I vigil keep. 
 
 Hush thy wail, and whisper low 
 
 Cradle song of peace ; 
 Rattle not the casement so, 
 
 Let thy murmurs cease. 
 
 Wander o'er the hills and downs, 
 
 Shake the growing grass, 
 Leave the chimneys of our towns, 
 
 Lest they fall, alas ! 
 
 Now they smoke and seem to groan 
 
 At thy wanton will ; 
 Blust'ring wind, pray hush thy moan, 
 
 Prithee, now be still ! 
 
 Sing me but a lullaby, 
 
 Soft, to sooth my mind ; 
 E-aby sleeps, and so would I — 
 
 Whistle not, Wind !
 
 22 
 
 My Hostess. 
 
 Words fall flattering from her lips, 
 
 Bringing joy to some ; 
 Smiling looks, fair finger tips 
 
 Greet all those who come. 
 
 Hostess fair, can nought more deep 
 
 Wake thy heart's desire ? 
 Can those eyes both smile and weep 1 
 
 Flash no fiercer fire 1 
 
 Mild, sweet-seeming, as thou art, 
 
 Hast thou kept so long, 
 Quite unwounded, maiden heart, 
 
 Loved, but in a song 1 
 
 Ah ! the deep flush mounts at last, 
 
 Words fall fast and low ; 
 Trembling hand, by hand held fast, 
 
 Eyes more deeply glow. 
 
 We may rise and turn away, 
 
 Lo ! reveal'd the spell : 
 Eyes thus meeting in one ray — 
 
 Full the tale they tell !
 
 23 
 
 Power of Speech: 
 
 Oh ! if the power of speech rose with the thought, 
 
 What charms into our daily life were brought ! 
 
 How brilliant, sound, how loving, and how true, 
 
 If words but render'd all we hope or rue ! 
 
 How man would quick interpret fellow man, 
 
 Not, seeking, guess a wish, as best he can — 
 
 Then love, which now divines, were not alone 
 
 In ravelling out the unknown from the known. 
 
 But each, with wondrous ease, would utter clear 
 
 The inspiration — hope- — the joy, the fear; 
 
 Not leaving us to think from stammering speech 
 
 Such words were used because the first in reach, 
 
 Or used, without the knowledge of their power, 
 
 In ignorance, — or hurry of the hour. 
 
 But genius only has the gift we prize ; 
 
 With each new thought fresh waves of speech arise, 
 
 These rolling, glittering, on the yellow sands, 
 
 Are carried hither, thither, to all lands, 
 
 Or drop as crystals on the silent air, 
 
 When thousands, hush'd, are listening as to prayer.
 
 24 
 
 On the New Year. 
 
 How softly the old year creeps from us, 
 
 How careless we let him go by ! 
 With dreams of a brighter one coming, 
 
 Untarnish'd by weeping or sigh. 
 
 Say, what art thou bringing, New Year ? 
 
 Is gladness our portion and joy 1 
 Or does thy dim curtain hide from us 
 
 Such griefs that our Faith would destroy 1 
 
 Ah, no ! happy youth is exclaiming, 
 This year will, nay, must be, the best, 
 
 The fairest since man was created, 
 
 Since fledgling first flew from its nest ! 
 
 While older men, sobered and saddened, 
 (And breathing a sigh unawares), 
 
 Say : they have still hope and good courage, 
 Still strength to forget former cares. 
 
 And what do our grandames and grandsires 
 Think, when they arouse them from sleep 1 
 
 Ah ! they love times bygone and present, 
 O'er passing and future days weep. 
 
 For fear with the Unknown is mingled, 
 When strength and high courage are gone ; 
 
 But in youth, we ever cry, " Onward," 
 Till left on life's journey alone !
 
 2S 
 
 A Summer Sail. 
 
 I sailed one morn on the calm summer sea, 
 
 And two of my best beloved were with me : 
 
 My three-year-old Son, first launched on the wave, 
 
 Half-smiling, half-fearing — now merry, then grave. 
 
 The Daughter, an infant, with shining eyes lay 
 
 On mother's arm happy, unconsciously gay. 
 
 The tiny waves scarce stirred the boat as we sate, 
 
 The boatman rowed silent, regardless as Fate ! 
 
 But, once fairly launched, my boy's spirits broke out, 
 
 And, ceasing to fear, he gave merry shout ; 
 
 Would grasp at the sea weeds that tangled did float, 
 
 "Would seize the bright sparkles that followed the boat, 
 
 Would fling himself headlong from stem or from stern, 
 
 What lessons of prudence he still had to learn ! 
 
 He push'd back the hands that held him safe down, 
 
 He bore all restraint with a deep, little frown ! 
 
 Is this, then, the future ? my mother's heart cried, 
 
 Will he always rebel when pleasure's denied ? 
 
 But, as I sit sadden'd, the child throws his arms 
 
 Bound " mother's " neck gaily, and soothes my alarms. 
 
 Oh ! may he thus ever with love cling to me, 
 
 When he is lauuch'd forth on life's perilous sea ! 
 
 The baby girl placid lies peaceful the while, 
 
 Desiring no more than " mother's " fond smile. 
 
 'Tis over — that hour on the calm summer sea — 
 
 My darlings are landed, all safe home with me.
 
 26 
 
 Shadows. 
 
 The wav'ring shadow, the fleeting day, 
 
 Beyond our grasp are both ; 
 The swift sun coursing with west'ring ray 
 
 Takes all, though we he loth. 
 
 Yea, loth when loving, but sometime glad, 
 
 When weary we, with grief; 
 For then the shadows creep slow and sad, 
 
 Like pain without relief. 
 
 Oh! fain, in moment of blissful joy, 
 
 Had we Time's dial stayed ; 
 But clouds low-lying have quick destroyed 
 
 The sunshine and the shade. 
 
 And as I'm gloomy, while you are gay, 
 'Tis well none have the power 
 
 By smile or sighing to lengthen day, 
 To bring back one short hour. 
 
 •■& 
 
 Then he who's learning without regret 
 
 To see the shadows wane, 
 To count his blessings, and woes forget, 
 
 Will not have lived in vain.
 
 27 
 
 Dead Leaves. 
 
 What comes rushing down the lane, 
 
 Furious now and fast 1 
 Dying past the window pane, 
 
 Borne before the blast 1 
 
 Ah ! the trees look sadly bared, 
 
 Gone their leafy veil ; 
 They would tell us if they dared, 
 
 Many a grievous tale. 
 
 How they first were pleased to feel 
 Fair winds round them play ; 
 
 Scarcely could their pride conceal, 
 Were so blithe and gay. 
 
 But they soon began to groan, 
 
 Soon they had enough ; 
 'Gan to creak, and sway, and moan, 
 
 Boreas grew so rough ! 
 
 Then, like tears the first leaves fell 
 Fluttering to the ground ; 
 
 Seeming thus their grief to tell, 
 With a sobbing sound.
 
 28 
 
 East and West winds laugli'd aloud, 
 
 Heedless of their pain, 
 Blew so fiercely, blew in crowd, 
 
 Oak leaves down the lane. 
 
 Beech and birch in wooded field, 
 
 Acorn, fir tree cone, 
 Bent and bow'd, all loth to yield 
 
 Till their last was gone. 
 
 Hence the rushing down the lane, 
 Onward still they sweep ; 
 
 All resisting murmurs vain, 
 Though they rustling weep. 
 
 Budding Leaves. 
 
 Since Autumn winds cast far the leaves, 
 
 Away from branch swept bare and groaning, 
 
 And snow fell thick — one glad perceives, 
 They cease from now to make dull moaning. 
 
 Have trees then ceased so soon to mourn 
 
 The leaves that clothed them in such beauty 1 
 
 Or do they once more Heav'nward turn, 
 To learn what now may be their duty 1
 
 29 
 
 No more the twigs, hard pinch'cl by frost, 
 Look grimly grey, all smiles forgetting ; 
 
 No more the heavy branches toss'd, 
 
 Sway here and there with endless fretting. 
 
 For, lo ! the verdant, quickening sap 
 Steals up from roots in gentle measure ; 
 
 Brings with it from fair Nature's lap 
 New life — which but to feel is pleasure. 
 
 Creeps upward, coursing as it goes 
 
 Through stem and bough that seem'd forsaken ; 
 Each sunbeam warmer, softer, glows 
 
 On buds that now to life awaken. 
 
 Yes, peeping shyly on the world, 
 
 Each sunrise sees them bolder growing; 
 
 Till leaflets budding are unfurl'd, 
 
 And every tree new verdure showing. 
 
 When first appear those leaflets pale, 
 Or blossoms with their creamy flowers ; 
 
 Dull eyes foresee not what thick veil 
 
 They'll draw betwixt yon Heav'n and ours. 
 
 But we'll rejoice that moaning wind, 
 Snow, icy blasts, may be forgotten ; 
 
 Rejoice that Spring is once more kind, 
 And, life' renew'd — new joy begotten.
 
 30 
 
 A Debutante. 
 
 TO MRS. EDMUND DWYER GRAY, 
 LADY MAYORESS, 1SS0. 
 
 Borne late last eve into the midst 
 
 Of one vast, smiling, glitt'ring throng, 
 
 The heart of one young maid at least 
 Beat high, as she moved slow along. 
 
 Lights shone on rosy cheeks, dark eyes, 
 The floor lay polish'd 'neath her feet ; 
 
 The music bade each dancer rise, 
 And tread it with a partner sweet. 
 
 Around — the elders she did note, 
 Like evergreen near flower bed ; 
 In broadcloth, satin, feather'd head, 
 
 Discussing party, country, vote. 
 
 The maid was strange to many there, 
 The voices, features, all unknown, 
 
 Though hundreds smiled, none greeted her, 
 And soon she, sadden'd, felt alone—
 
 31 
 
 She mutely question'd : what brought here 
 These dancers, talkers, to this hall 1 
 
 Who bade them with such dainty cheer, 
 Be welcome to this brilliant ball 1 
 
 Then looking, saw, on crimson chair, 
 
 (Beneath a lofty dais placed) 
 One fair, pale, dame, whose tranquil air 
 
 And charming smile, the gay scene graced. 
 
 And as my lonely maiden gazed, 
 Some sympathetic feeling stirr'd 
 
 That gracious hostess, who then raised 
 Her eyes, and moved as if she heard — 
 
 Heard that mute voice and came along, 
 With no regardless, cold disdain ; 
 
 But longing, as true hearts do long, 
 To soothe a loneliness like pain. 
 
 Soft words of greeting then she spoke, 
 
 As if the maid of old she knew, 
 Beneath that charm the smiles awoke ; 
 
 No more alone — the bright hours flew.
 
 32 
 
 Poor Willie. 
 
 No sturdy lad inspires my theme, 
 Whose legs and spirits both might seem 
 
 Impossible to break ; 
 Nor one of those good, studious boys, 
 Who find in books their only joys, 
 
 Yet ne'er have pain or ache. 
 
 Poor Willie has no strength for play, 
 Nor speech enough these words to say : 
 
 " I want or this or that ;" 
 His limbs refuse him manv a task 
 
 4/ 
 
 All think they have a right to ask 
 For marble, ball, or bat. 
 
 The mother thinks she cannot see 
 A child, so senseless, mute, as he, 
 
 Unlike her others are ; 
 So quite away from sport and noise, 
 Of laughing sisters, romping boys, 
 
 The parents send him far, 
 
 The father feeling keen the pain 
 Of finding endless efforts vain, 
 
 To make poor Willie learn, 
 Or even eat, as others do, 
 Or answer e'en a word or two, 
 
 (And smiles so hard to earn).
 
 S3 
 
 Yet Willie had a heart, as much 
 As others, if you could but touch 
 
 The one vibrating chord ; 
 His feeble limbs and half formed mind, 
 Would do their best, if you were kind, 
 
 And patient love had stored. 
 
 His looks, at first, might charm the eye, 
 So lovely — then, they made you sigh — 
 
 So vacant, though so fair ; 
 For what avail blue eyes, white skin, 
 High forehead, when you saw within 
 
 Small sense, or spirit there 1 
 
 Yet sent from home, this child has found 
 A haven, and a happy ground, 
 
 Wherein the mind so weak 
 Has met such love, it roused a spark 
 That hitherto was quench'd or dark, 
 
 Too faint its will to speak. 
 
 And one sweet word he's learnt to say, 
 Through patient teaching day by day, 
 
 To his new friend — Mamma ! 
 And listens with a smile of peace, 
 To footsteps as the sounds increase, 
 
 Approaching from afar. 
 
 a
 
 34 
 
 Long weeks he lay, with broken thigh, 
 In bed, yet scarcely uttered sigh, 
 
 With his new mother near ; — 
 Her gentle hand and ceaseless care 
 Oft smoothed his brow and tumbled hair, 
 
 And e'er had wit to cheer. 
 
 So strong poor Willie's new love grew, 
 His real mother he scarce knew, 
 
 Though often near she came ; 
 And when she beggd of him a kiss, 
 He turn'd — and threw his arms round this 
 
 True mother — not in name. 
 
 Mamma, mamma," he fondly cried, 
 And turn'd his poor dull face to hide, 
 
 Upon his new friend's breast ; 
 And those who stood around could tell 
 He loved the most who loved him well- 
 
 (Iu kisses 'twas exprest). 
 
 The stately dame has left him there — 
 Her offspring — in another's care, 
 
 Whose pity bears the strain ; 
 Poor Willie's faintest want she tends, 
 Her duty with true love she blends, 
 
 And thinks no labour vain.
 
 35 
 
 To Sir T. Spencer Wells, Bart., 
 
 President, College of Surgeons, 
 
 ON THE OCCASION OF HIS BEING MADE A BARONET "FOR HIS GREAT 
 
 "What is it that doth make a nation great ? 
 What spreads afar the glory of the State 1 
 Does "War alone, with honors -won by death, 
 W^hole armies slaughter'd with the cannon's breath ? 
 Are but those heroes who lead on their hosts 
 To storm great citadels — die at their posts? 
 If men grow strong to take each other's lives, 
 If this a people's fate — what then survives'? 
 
 No ! — Nations do not live by war alone, 
 
 Fair Art, deep Science, both uphold a Throne, 
 
 Bright winged Fancy decks the canvas walls, 
 
 Glad Harmony delighted ear enthralls — 
 
 And what deserves wise Science, who doth spoil 
 
 Her days and sleepless nights with patient toil % 
 
 She rears the great Physician, whose true aim 
 
 Is godlike, for on healing rests his Fame. 
 
 The mighty Surgeon, too, whose wondrous skill 
 
 Removes disease, revives the fainting will ; 
 
 And Rulers, knowing that a Nation grows 
 
 In greatness, with the strength to conquer foes, 
 
 d2
 
 36 
 
 Commend the best unto their Sovereign's grace, 
 "Who honors thus the saviours of their race : 
 
 " For his great service to humanity 
 
 " Extolled is Spencer Wells by Majesty ; 
 
 " Ennobled is the famous name he bears, 
 
 " A Baronet is he, and all his heirs !" 
 And thousand women saved from lingering death 
 Cry -with one healthy, grateful, full-voiced breath : 
 
 " Great honor here is done where honor's due, 
 
 " May long the healing Art, Sir Spencer, live in you !" 
 
 TO THE AUTHOR OF THE 
 
 "Er>ie of Hades. 
 
 Author 's name then iinhwicn. 
 
 Ah ! me, the magic beauty of thy verse ; 
 
 It lifts our hearts in solemn unison 
 
 Of peace and praise, unto the power that gave- 
 
 Oh ! gladness left by fluent melody, 
 
 Of thoughts in graceful words made eloquent ; 
 
 And poems, leaving on the mind such trace, 
 
 We, ending, rise and walk with cadenced step!
 
 37 
 
 Yes, out of this still summer time of ours 
 We live agaiu amid thy heroes, gods; 
 Aud Nature, glowing in thy heroines, 
 Makes us forget the smallness of our times. 
 The beauteous life, the sufferings divine, 
 The trials, raptures of that distant past, 
 Shine fair as precious picture on the wall 
 Before entranced eyes, that never tire. 
 
 What thanks, poet ! can thy readers give 1 
 What fit reward for this rare pleasure felt ? 
 If I but knew thy name, these timid words 
 Should, written, find their way to thy great heart ; 
 Unknowing thee, I write but for myself, 
 Till at some future day my children find 
 Their mother's happiness o'er thy sweet verse, 
 And reading, feel the joy thou gavest me. 
 
 Rain. 
 
 Merrily dance the big rain drops, 
 Gay plashing from the roof ; 
 
 Careless of wet the schoolboy stops- 
 Spirits are waterproof !
 
 38 
 
 Wearily horses slip and strain, 
 
 Strive hard to top the hill, 
 Weary the road before they gain 
 
 The Inn where they stand still. 
 
 Daintily trips the fair maid by, 
 Treads light from pool to pool ; 
 
 " Charmingly bright 'gainst darken'd sky," 
 So thinks the love-sick fool ! 
 
 Cheerily gleams the red fire light, 
 
 Athwart the window pane ; 
 Eagerly we, at welcome sight 
 
 Rejoice home's reach'd again. 
 
 Timidly peep the fresh, green blades 
 
 Of grass from out the earth ; 
 Busily delve the gardeners' spades, 
 
 Weary of drought and dearth. 
 
 Merrily dance then rain drops all, 
 Man, maid, and boy trip fast ; 
 
 Frowningly though we see rain fall, 
 We smile when showers are past.
 
 39 
 
 Vagrant Thoughts. 
 
 To vagrant mind a passing thought, 
 
 Fresh, unearn'd save by moment's idleness, 
 
 Is sweeter, with more pleasure fraught, 
 
 Than problem solved by hours of studiousness ! 
 
 Wild growing fruit, hap-hazard plucked 
 
 In distant wood's sweet, untrain'd loveliness, 
 
 Charms him the most where bees have suck'd 
 Their morning draught in joyous hastiness. 
 
 A breath of thyme waft from the fields 
 
 Sends swift the heart in upward thanksgiving ; 
 
 More sudden than where culture yields 
 
 Gay flow'ring beds 'neath gardener's fostering. 
 
 One silver gleam in lowering cloud 
 
 Will light for him a day of dreariness, 
 
 As meeting bright face in a crowd, 
 
 Whose glance dispelleth weight of weariness. 
 
 Each happy chance, each random gift, 
 
 The one pale star in Autumn's gloominess ; 
 
 These joys unsought, the spirit lift 
 In momentary flash of happiness !
 
 40 
 
 The Magic of Music. 
 
 Her fair, white fingers lightly touch the keys, 
 
 As soft as if caressing ; 
 The notes drawn forth are sweet, as when the breeze 
 
 Wafts hither odorous blessing. 
 
 ',->• 
 
 Then spake the maiden's soul, and breathed aloud, 
 
 (Its thought in music freeing) ; 
 She needed no admiring, thronging crowd 
 
 To call it into beinjx. 
 
 ■■&• 
 
 But sympathetic presence of those two 
 
 She loved so fanned emotion ; 
 As parting sunlight, with its deep'ning hue, 
 
 Encrimsons earth and ocean. 
 
 Her ivory fingers touch'd a magic chord, 
 This woke a thought long hidden ; 
 
 Ere echo died, it gave life to a word, 
 That else had been forbidden ! 
 
 The chord, the charm combining, lit a spark, 
 
 By harmony enkindled ; 
 The flame thus lighted never more grew dark, 
 
 To twilight never dwindled. 
 
 In melody unrivall'd yet by none 
 
 The maid's fair soul had spoken ; 
 Two lives, harmonious, thenceforth lived as one, 
 
 Their harmony unbroken !
 
 41 
 
 Ruth, or the Gleaner. 
 
 Birds are singing, upwards winging 
 Through the summer air ; 
 
 Joyous telling of their dwelling 
 Far from earthly care. 
 
 Seldom heeding in their speeding 
 
 "Workers in the fields ; 
 Little knowing of the sowing, 
 
 Only what it yields. 
 
 But if wanting were their chaunting 
 
 In the morning prime ; 
 'Mong the sowers and the mowers 
 
 Slow would pass the time. 
 
 From one dawning harvest morning, 
 
 Till the day had flown ; 
 Birds low flying hear soft sighing 
 
 One fair maid alone. 
 
 She is bending, never spending 
 
 Looks on those around ; 
 Works untiring, nought admiring 
 
 Save the golden ground.
 
 42 
 
 Quickly heaping from the reaping 
 
 Ears that scattered laid ; 
 E'en though sighing, all outvying, 
 
 Gleans the stranger maid. 
 
 As if reading what is needing 
 Lonesome heart to cheer ; 
 
 Birds their trilling carol thrilling 
 Pour upon her ear. 
 
 Now she's gleaning, of their meaning 
 Some faint shade of truth ; 
 
 Upwards glancing, smile entrancing 
 Lights the face of Ruth ! 
 
 Still where sowing and where mowing 
 
 Claim men's busy hands ; 
 irds their thrilling song! 
 In all times and lands. 
 
 Birds their thrilling songs are trilling- 
 
 Sad hearts light'ning, sad smiles bright'ning, 
 
 Comforters in truth ; 
 But ne'er meeting, seldom greeting 
 
 Maidens fair as Ruth !
 
 43 
 
 Cain. 
 
 
 
 Some darkly, brooding thought 
 O'ercast his face "with gloom ; 
 
 No heavenly aid he sought, 
 But hastened to his doom. 
 
 Dark envy shed a blight 
 
 On every passing deed ; 
 No day for him was bright, 
 
 Each flower for him — a weed. 
 
 From envy, hatred grew, 
 With rapid, giant stride ; 
 
 And ere its power he knew, 
 Stalk'd constant by his side. 
 
 The proud and stubborn heart 
 Lost peace, and sleep, and rest ; 
 
 He saw them all depart, 
 Remain'd alone, unblest. 
 
 He thought a Brother took 
 
 His share of joy away ; 
 The hand that passion shook, 
 
 "Was then upraised to slay. 
 
 The golden, setting sun, 
 Shone brightly all around, 
 
 "When murder first was done — 
 Blood stain'd the verdant ground.
 
 44 
 
 "Estella Frances." 
 
 "Wee creature with the dark, bright eyes, 
 Say now, what dost thou here 1 
 
 The world to thee one great surprise, 
 Thou stranger to our sphere. 
 
 Sweet darling, with soft, downy head, 
 
 Art thou a wandering star ] 
 Nay, lying placid on thy bed, 
 
 Thou wilt not wander far ! 
 
 The tiny hands already grasp 
 
 All coming in their reach ; 
 They firmly mother's finger clasp, 
 
 What doth this clinging teach 1 
 
 It teacheth us, the bright new sphere 
 
 Hath now on thee a claim ; 
 And thou already hold'st it dear, 
 
 No stranger — save in name. 
 
 Hold firmly with thy tiny hand, 
 
 Dear object of our care ; 
 To guide and help thee in the land, 
 
 Love meets thee everywhere.
 
 45 
 
 Find now fit names to call thee by, 
 First daughter, treasure-trove — 
 
 " Estella," starlike as thine eye, 
 And " Frances," frank as love. 
 
 Be wise as " Esther," Mother, Queen, 
 Be sweet as " Frances" gone — 
 
 Wise, fair, and good as they have been, 
 We'll love those two in one. 
 
 Thanks for a Birthday Card. 
 
 TO M. 0. W. 
 
 The thought was kind, 
 The giver, kinder still, 
 
 For to my mind 
 
 The deed's more than the will. 
 
 For oft the heart 
 
 Beats high on good intent, 
 While hands and feet 
 
 Ne'er act the part we meant. 
 
 Thank you then, dear, 
 
 For taxing heart and hand 
 
 To bless my year, 
 
 With best at your command.
 
 46 
 
 To Felicia. 
 
 I'm asked, with most entreating smile, 
 " To prove myself, for once a poet j" 
 
 Oh ! she who asks would pause a while, 
 Did she but know how hard to shew it ! 
 
 Too far afield my thoughts would range, 
 'Mid mountain tops, or clouds far flying ; 
 
 Would picture images too strange, 
 
 My mournful words would set her sighing. 
 
 AVliy thus distress Felicia's mind ? 
 
 Her very name forbids all sadness ; 
 Let her be gleesome as the wind, 
 
 The name be emblem true of gladness. 
 
 Then bid me not be first to write, 
 In stately strain a solemn measure, 
 
 But briefly here I'll bid Delight 
 Wait ever on Felicia's pleasure. 
 
 Unfinished ! 
 
 Unfinish'd lay one winter eve 
 A work of studied thought ; 
 
 But eager still 1 would not leave 
 Till found the end I sought.
 
 47 
 
 Yet this strange night my thoughts had gone, 
 
 My puzzled brain asleep ; 
 Though pearls lay ready, one by one, 
 
 They form'd but shapeless heap. 
 
 They miss'd the touch of charmer's wand, 
 
 My treasure house, its key, 
 Some wizard held the door — my hand, 
 
 Or held them closed for me. 
 
 " Who'll thank thee for unfinish'd thought ?" 
 
 Each angry reader cries, 
 " "Where fails the very point we sought, 
 " This work our hope belies !" 
 
 Ay ! they may well upbraid and groan, 
 When promised pearls and gold ; 
 
 Yet when the treasure should be shewn — 
 " The key is lost or sold P 
 
 Love. 
 
 Deep, as the waters of an Alpine lake; 
 
 Clear, as their depths unfathomed by a line ; 
 Sweet, as a draught to famished souls who slake 
 
 Their thirst, and find Thee stronger than old wine. 
 
 Love is a mirror, where that love is true, 
 Giving back beauty, as the lake the sky ; 
 
 Faithful reflector of each changing hue, 
 From tints ethereal to dark clouds that fly.
 
 48 
 
 Storms oft may ruffle surface of the lake, 
 Making white courses on its even hreast ; 
 
 Depths are unmoved — for no storms can shako 
 The waters of deep love from perfect rest ! 
 
 Love's Awakening. 
 
 A FRAGMENT. 
 
 The memory of deep-felt joy pervades, 
 Awakes my soul, ere yet the day is there ; 
 
 A thrill of passionate regret invades, 
 
 And banishes the joy that seem'd so fair ! 
 
 How can I utter all the thoughts I feel? 
 
 They stir my waking mind with wave on wave, 
 Uplifting me with joy no words reveal, 
 
 Then casting down, as gloomy as the grave. 
 
 As light and shade flit o'er my window pane, 
 So bitter-sweet the di earns that break my rest; 
 
 They fly afar, and then come back again, 
 
 To draw sad tears, and then to make me blest. 
 
 Oh ! loving soul, why art thou troubled so ? 
 
 Not thus in former times did'st thou awake ; 
 Not constant then, as tidal ebb and flow, 
 
 Did flush and blush o'ercome thee at daybreak !
 
 49 
 
 A Farewell. 
 
 Parting brings forth in full measure 
 Thoughts we never told as yet ; 
 
 Heart o'erflowing with emotion 
 Utters words we ne'er forget. 
 
 " May Heav'n bless you in my absence," 
 These the words that last I heard ; 
 
 This the farewell, tender, solemn, 
 Breathing hopes no longer shared. 
 
 Sorrow is not all unmingled, 
 
 When such blessing meets the ear ; 
 
 Sweet the echoes round me linger'd, 
 Ever to my mem'ry dear. 
 
 Henceforth, time and worlds may part us, 
 
 Each pursuing life alone; 
 With such blessing on our pathway, 
 
 We must banish idle moan. 
 
 Courage bid3 us bear our burden, 
 
 Hope looks forth with eager eye, 
 While the echo of that farewell 
 
 Lingering sweetly — checks the sigh. 
 
 E
 
 50 
 
 Hidden Thoughts. 
 
 The keystone of my thought lies hidden, 
 Deep buried in another's breast ; 
 
 It lies there tranquil and unchidden, 
 So safe the haven of its rest ! 
 
 J g» 
 
 My passing wish, my wants arising 
 From fleeting fancies of the day, 
 
 All these my friends deem too surprising, 
 Too light and frolicsome, they say. 
 
 Yet thousand leaves will flutter lightly 
 Above the deepest buried roots ; 
 
 A thousand sprays will glitter brightly 
 From bowery glen, where sapling shoots. 
 
 Ay, where are many roots enlacing 
 In silent peace the fertile ground ; 
 
 In maze too tangled for your tracing, 
 Go, search if my true thoughts be found. 
 
 No, neither on the earth nor ocean, 
 E'en though ye seek with patient mind 
 
 The secret of my heart's emotion, 
 Its depth and current will ye find. 
 
 I laid the keystone swift and prayerful, 
 In time and place unknown to all ; 
 
 Save him who holds the treasure careful, 
 Who yields it ne'er, save at my call !
 
 SI 
 
 From an Absent Lover. 
 
 Wait darling, wait, till I come to thee, 
 
 Patience and courage awhile ; 
 Live, with thy prayerful thought set on me, 
 
 Bear with thy burden and smile. 
 
 Let me not think thou art grieving so, 
 Dimming thine eyes with sad tears ; 
 
 Though my own heart is now sinking low, 
 Fain would I free thee from fears. 
 
 Well could I fight with adversity, 
 
 Bravely were I but alone ; 
 Though in the thought of thy love for me, 
 
 Grief and joy strangely seem one. 
 
 Canst thou but wait till I come to thee, 
 
 E'en tho' this parting be long ; 
 Free, darling, ever thy slave to be, 
 
 Hand in hand, we shall be strong. 
 + 
 
 A Greeting, 
 
 SENT WITH A LIKENESS. 
 
 Thy Love sends thee a greeting, 
 
 (For love is wondrous kind), 
 Ah ! soon w T e shall be meeting, 
 
 And Love its own Love find ! 
 Till then, look on the picture 
 
 Within this tiny case ; 
 And, scanning there each feature, 
 
 A happy future trace. e 2
 
 32 
 
 A Return. 
 
 Friends ! once more I feel the distance lessening 
 From the place where ye and I shall meet ; 
 
 Bear me on, ye laggard steeds, oh ! hasten, 
 Would that wings bore on your leaden feet. 
 
 Ah ! so long to me this journey seemeth, 
 
 Dragging slowly on, as with a chain ; 
 My impatient spirit bears me forward, 
 
 Hours before the day begins to wane. 
 
 Shall. I know ye still 1 or have the seasons, 
 
 Cruel changing all we see on earth, 
 Have these times since last we met in gladness 
 
 Killed the freshness of your hearts through dearth I 
 
 Do ye deem me now, dear friends, mistrustful, 
 Doubting thus if hearts were born to change ? 
 
 No — a thousand times, I cry — rejoicing : 
 
 Faithful hearts ne'er yet grew cold or strange ! 
 
 Whilst my mind the scene of meeting pictures, 
 Travelling fast and faster toward its goal ; 
 
 Doubts, hope, fears are each in turn assailing, 
 Now my heart, and now my anxious soul. 
 
 Now a sweet and happy thought o'ercomes me, 
 Radiant shoots, a star, across the night ; 
 
 Time is passing quicker, distance less'ning, 
 Soon, oh ! soon, our meeting, our delight !
 
 S3 
 
 A Greeting to Ireland. 
 
 With heart deep swayed by many a varied thought, 
 With step made light, because of joy within, 
 
 I leave the vessel as it reaches port, 
 
 And on this unknown coast new life begin. 
 
 Not wildly did the waves fling me on shore, 
 Not rough the force that led me o'er the sea ; 
 
 By soft wind brought that fluttered sail no more 
 Than summer's breeze, we rather seek than flee. 
 
 Thus favoured I, thus strong to quell the doubt 
 That tempest toss'd might well dread other pain ; 
 
 I clasped His hand, the sun shone bravely out, 
 The while my English feet new haven gain. 
 
 Has this warm heart then sudden grown so cold, 
 It feels no grief in leaving life-long home? 
 
 Can woman's heart so soon forget the old, 
 
 Without one pang in search of new joys roam ] 
 
 Ah ! not in this sweet hour regretful sigh 
 
 Can rise to check the heart's full gladd'ning beat ; 
 
 New floods of joy now light the glist'ning eye, 
 Now play with happy murmurs round my feet. 
 
 For heart, soul, mind, and hands of two made one, 
 No distant shore, no sea, no time divides ; 
 
 For love of country centres in that one, 
 Where our united love its new joy hides.
 
 54 
 
 No name of distant, past, or future home 
 Has power to stir the once so roving heart ; 
 
 Though strange stars shine, tho' raging billows foam, 
 Each lives henceforth but for its counterpart. 
 
 Receive rue then, Erin, on thy land, 
 
 I tranquil leave the home that nurtured me ; 
 
 Led hither and upborne by one strong hand, 
 I greet thee joyful — for my love loves thee ! 
 
 March 21st, 1S79. 
 
 When a friend can claim a verse, 
 Or for better, or for -worse, 
 Why should I delay to bring 
 To my Husband, Love, my King, 
 
 First fruits of my thought this year ? 
 
 "Yet it is not first," you say, 
 " Or of yeai*, or month, to-day" — 
 Yes, but kind, capricious Fate 
 Has so marked for me this date, 
 That 'twill ever be most dear. 
 
 When the buds began to show 
 On the long and dark hedgerow ; 
 With the promise of a time, 
 When all Nature, in her prime, 
 
 Would be blooming everywhere ;
 
 S5 
 
 My new happiness, as deep 
 As ere lay in wintry sleep, 
 Woke to birth, when last springtide 
 Smiling bade the country side, 
 
 Don her verdant garb most fair. 
 
 With the sun my Summer grew 
 More intense in heavenly hue ; 
 'Twas so foster'd by love's care, 
 That the Autumn found it there, 
 
 Still more full of strength and life. 
 
 Now the Winter's come and gone 
 Since the springtime made us one ; 
 While as that same day draws nigh, 
 I can ask without one sigh — 
 
 Lives there such a happy wife 1 
 
 Without fear of blast or gale, 
 Without one regretful wail, 
 
 Twelve full months have swiftly gone ; 
 So to Husband, Love, my King, 
 My rejoicing song I sing, 
 
 And entreat God's blessing on 
 Our happy house and home.
 
 36 
 
 Forget-me-Not 
 
 SONG. 
 o — 
 
 Oh ! wee flow'r, oh ! sweet flow'r, 
 
 Tell them thy name ; 
 Oh ! ne'er forgotten hour, 
 
 Sweet too thy claim. 
 
 Why should I dreaming lie 
 
 Thinking of both 1 
 Dreaming no love can die, 
 
 Broken no oath ? 
 
 Flow'ret, oh! treasure mine, 
 
 (Blest was that hour), 
 Faithful that tale of thine, 
 
 Undimm'd thy power. 
 
 On thy blue petal laid 
 
 (Sacred, that spot), 
 Oath where fond lover said — 
 
 Forget-me-not. 
 
 Gage d' Amour. 
 
 Of great treasure 
 Give small measure ; 
 Neither chatter 
 Lightly scatter, 
 Nor give careless 
 Words of love. 
 
 But endeavour, 
 If you're clever, 
 Some sweet token, 
 Though unspoken, 
 Thus to pass from 
 Hand to glove ! 
 ( Written on Miniature Paper.)
 
 57 
 
 On Marriage. 
 
 Sorrow speaks in measured tone, 
 Quickly prattles gladness ; 
 
 Lengthen'd lines befit alone 
 
 Heart bow'd down by sadness — 
 
 So to-day, when joyous theme 
 
 Sets my fancy flowing, 
 Lines should he like sunny beam ; 
 
 Glitt'ring, sparkling, glowing — 
 
 Who will lend me fairy pen 1 
 Give me speech as golden 
 
 As the Gods e'er gave to men, 
 Whom love did embolden ? 
 
 Is it Love then speaks to-day, 
 Newly-won, victorious ? 
 
 Dreaming life is ever gay, 
 Ever bright and glorious ? 
 
 Nay, when Love is newly born, 
 All joys seem enhanced; 
 
 But how soon 'tis left forlorn — 
 All life — disenchanted. 
 
 No such Love on truant wing, 
 But one growing stronger 
 
 Guides my hand and bids me sing, 
 As the years grow longer.
 
 58 
 
 Love that bears the daily strain, 
 Life with burdens frequent ; 
 
 Shares the joy and halves the pain, 
 Love being here all-potent. 
 
 Quick the hand and keen the eye, 
 When our love is nearest ; 
 
 Slow, and uncontent "we sigh, 
 When self loves self dearest. 
 
 See — tis wedded love I praise, 
 None will this disparage ; 
 
 When they count but happy days, 
 Of a happy marriage. 
 
 Lines at a Wedding. 
 
 TO B. S. J. AND I. J. 
 
 Two lives on one path have enter'd, 
 Two lives mingled into one ; 
 
 Thoughts hut on each other centred, 
 Lonely never, though alone. 
 
 Not in reckless mood, unheeding 
 
 Have these two join'd heart and soul ; 
 
 Hope and love, on knowledge feeding, 
 Guide them safely toward one goal.
 
 89 
 
 When two hearts thus blend together, 
 Doubling joys and light'ning care ; 
 
 Brave to meet e'en cloudy weather, 
 Deep the cup of bliss they share. 
 
 Loving friends around them pressing, 
 Breathe a whisper'd prayer the while ; 
 
 Pray their union prove a blessing, 
 Fortune on these loved ones smile. 
 
 Dew Drops. 
 
 (a song). 
 
 Glitt'ring lies a tear drop, 
 Dewing beauty's cheek ; 
 
 Stirs with soft emotion 
 Lover fond and weak. 
 
 Heavy fall the pearl drops 
 
 When alone is she ; 
 No one here to kiss them, 
 
 Far away is he. 
 
 Glitt'ring in the sunshine, 
 April's dew drops lie ; 
 
 Mother earth well loves them, 
 Smiles unto the sky.
 
 60 
 
 July storm sweeps o'er Her 
 (Like to passion's waves); 
 
 Still she never murmurs, 
 Rain Her fair breast craves. 
 
 Beauty steeped in sorrow, 
 Drooping 'neath her woes ; 
 
 Turning to her lover, 
 Tender-hearted grows. 
 
 Soften'd by the rain clouds, 
 Earth looks up again ; 
 
 Breathes in fragrant odours, 
 Thanks unto the rain. 
 
 The Old Home. 
 
 Full of mem'ries, ah ! so sweet, 
 Full of echoes still so dear ; 
 
 Echoes of young patt'ring feet, 
 Mem'ries both of smile and tear. 
 
 Must wc leave the dear old place, 
 Leave it in a stranger's hand ; 
 
 Tart from it with cheerful face, 
 E'en to those we should command 1
 
 61 
 
 Those who look at room and wall 
 With a cold and cautious mien ; 
 
 Point to crack, or crevice small, 
 Loving eye had never seen. 
 
 For to us, it seem'd indeed 
 Pei'fect, in its own old way ; 
 
 We to blemish gave no heed, 
 Love adorn'd it day by day 
 
 Though they made us offer kind : 
 " Once again to come and see ;" 
 
 We knew well we ne'er should find 
 Places as they used to be. 
 
 Friendly nooks, each with its hoard, 
 Must be clear'd for fear of harm ; 
 
 And a house they call restored 
 Loses all its ancient charm. 
 
 If there come at future day 
 
 Friends who now abroad must roam, 
 Finding us no more, they'll say : 
 
 "Ah ! this is no longer home." 
 
 For 'tis true that home is made 
 By the love of those around ; 
 
 All its nameless charms will fade, 
 When the loved no more are found.
 
 62 
 
 Farewell, then to house and street, 
 
 Rooms where we have laugh'd and sung ; 
 
 Echoes of departing feet, 
 
 Mem'ries which around them clung. 
 
 To my Mother. 
 
 (OX HER LAST BIRTHDAY'). 
 
 " I'm just longing for the morning !" 
 Cries a loving heart to-night — 
 
 " After darkness comes the dawning, 
 " After dawn the day is bright !" 
 
 " Wherefore sigh thus for the morrow, 
 " Oh ! dear maid, with look so sad '? 
 
 " When the day is rife with sorrow, 
 Should the night not see thee glad 1 " 
 
 "But the morrow must be brighter," 
 Says the eager, hopeful heart ; 
 
 " And my mother I'd delight her, 
 " If poor words may joy impart." 
 
 Mine to day shall be as tender 
 As will flow forth at command ; 
 
 Pray that spirits fair attend her, 
 Lead her, loving, by the hand.
 
 63 
 
 Bid the sun shine out more -warmly, 
 Bid the north wind cease to blow ; 
 
 Bid e'en Zephyr play more calmly 
 O'er the paths where she may go. 
 
 For to-morrow we shall greet her, 
 Utter loud the love we feel ; 
 
 On her Birthday joyful meet her, 
 All of grief and woe conceal. 
 
 Oh ! how many hearts are praying 
 For this mother dear and true ; 
 
 On her birthday they're but saying 
 "What they hope she always knew. 
 
 Chide then not, oh ! ye unknowing, 
 That I hoped for morning light ; 
 
 'Twas that love in words outflowing 
 Might a mother's heart delight. 
 
 A Reverie. 
 
 With hands that idly lay across her knee, 
 A look that dreaming asked what yet should be, 
 More on the unknown bent, than things that are 
 Pass'd from the half-closed eyes, then gazed afar. 
 
 The first fresh green of budding Spring lay calm, 
 "With promise of rich future scent and balm, 
 Arousing her to thoughts not yet grown old 
 Of young life budding from two lives half told,
 
 64 
 
 And bade her ask, will this new creature brincr 
 A blessing sweetly constant as the Spring 1 
 
 We question much, we hope, in hours of joy, 
 We question more, when doubts our hope destroy. 
 For, like the changeful wind, our wavering thought 
 Is now full withering — now with gladness fraught ; 
 Thus some pink blossoms change to fruit we see, 
 Some, stung by bitter wind, fall from the tree ; 
 Yet as the gardener shields his plants from harm, 
 From frost will shelter, give the air when calm ; 
 So bid the musing heart be watchful too, 
 Lest on the budding hopes fall noisome dew. 
 Let in the sun upon a dismal thought, 
 Or cast it far, as if with poison fraught ; 
 With earnest will dismiss the gloomy dream, 
 Live but to glory in a sunny beam. 
 
 Fear nought, then dreamer, but awake and live, 
 To earn the blessings that good work will give. 
 
 May and December. 
 
 (NEW veksiox.) 
 
 My blue-eyed darling, who first saw the light, 
 
 When May was putting forth her fragrant bloom ; 
 
 Thou'rt gazing now in wonder at the white 
 
 And brilliant snow, that lights December's gloom.
 
 65 
 
 Dost dream, sweetheart, of apple blossom pink, 
 That fell before thee -when but ten days old ] 
 
 Or of the May flowers dost thou ever think, 
 
 Strewn o'er thy cradle ere four weeks were told ? 
 
 Nay, better if those days bear no more trace 
 Than shows in tint of tender, roseate health, 
 
 And smiling memories, on that dear face, 
 
 Whose sunshine is thy Mother's pride and wealth. 
 
 For now my darling's eyes so strong are grown, 
 So eager for the sights that make his day ; 
 
 I need not fear the dazzling snowlight thrown, 
 From off the street, the roofs, the open way. 
 
 And as I've guarded thee from cold and wind, 
 So now, I pray, may'st never feel them more ; 
 
 Ay, may the rudest blast to thee be kind, 
 
 Ne'er pierce the love that shields thy warm heart's core. 
 
 For if thou can'st withstand a winter's day, 
 Cans' t bear — not suffer from a frosty morn, 
 
 Ah ! then I'll bless " the merry month of May," 
 The month so fragrant when my babe was born 
 
 F
 
 66 
 
 A Mother's Wish. 
 
 On fair childhood's head the roses 
 
 Should he strewn white, fresh, and pink; 
 
 That the fragrance of their hlossoins 
 Tinge his thoughts ere he can think. 
 
 Let the melodies be dulcet, 
 
 And your voices tuned to song ; 
 
 Even when a Mother, watchful, 
 Warns her darling of some wrong. 
 
 Then the first words that he utters — 
 Born of joy when he can speak — 
 
 Will be gay as smiles unbidden, 
 Flushing warm his damask cheek. 
 
 To My First-born. 
 
 My blue-eyed darling, how I love thee ! 
 
 Was ever mother's joy so great as mine 1 
 1 thank my God who gave me blessing, 
 
 And bliss so perfect, love almost divine.
 
 67 
 
 'Tis not a pleasure evanescent, 
 
 That lasts an hour — then leaves regretful heart ; 
 ISo, each sunrise renews my gladness, 
 
 Each day, my darling's charms new joy impart. 
 
 Within my arms he nestles calmly, 
 The little fingers interlaced in play ; 
 
 And, when he smiles, I watch him prayerful, 
 Imploring God such peace may last alway. 
 
 The Bird's Message. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 High o'er the mountains a little bird flew, 
 
 Where from 1 — where to 1 
 
 Nobody knew — 
 
 Only a lover and his maiden true. 
 
 Swiftly it carried the message of trust 
 
 Through storm and dust, 
 
 E'en as if just 
 
 Labour for lovers all wee birdies must. 
 
 As she received it her lips framed a kiss ; 
 
 Birdie sang : this 
 
 Is what those miss, 
 
 Who know not secret of fond lovers' bliss ! 
 
 p2
 
 68 
 
 A Lost Hope. 
 
 Within my heart a fond Hope grew, 
 Small, tender, fresh, and sweet ; 
 
 I tended it, while tears for dew 
 Fell ofttimes at my feet. 
 
 Alas ! a day came all too soon, 
 I deem'd the sapling strong ; 
 
 And left it in the sun at noon, 
 
 And cold, when nights grew long. 
 
 The sapling Hope, good care had saved, 
 Now wither'd, sank and fell ; 
 
 For missing all the love it craved, 
 My own hand rung its knell ! 
 
 Love's First Offering. 
 
 Three golden-eyed, wide open daisies 
 Brought hither by my bine-eyed boy ; 
 
 How sweet his triumph o'er the prizes 
 Cull'd from the sward to give me joy. 
 
 How fair to me his rose-flush'd greeting ; 
 
 " See, Mother, these I brought for yon ; 
 " Now put them, Mother, in your bouquet, 
 
 '•' But. keep them for your own self, do !"
 
 69 
 
 Yes, little daisies, love's first offering, 
 
 Fresh gather'd by my child's young hand,* 
 
 A Mother treasures your white petals, 
 Obeys with gladness love's demand. 
 
 Acrostic. 
 
 (for a birthday.) 
 
 Early days of cheerful Spring, 
 
 Sweet May-scented air; 
 
 To my mother bid me bring 
 
 Hopeful wish and prayer — 
 
 Eager, loving words abound, 
 
 Rise from every one. 
 
 June's fair flowers deck the ground, 
 
 As bright gems a throne ; 
 
 Cull we then the brightest flowers, 
 
 Offer all our best ; 
 
 Bid the sun illume her bowers, 
 
 Send her peace and rest. 
 
 * Four years old.
 
 70 
 
 Fickle Fate. 
 
 Bliss and grief do mingle strangely, 
 Fate, a maid so fickle, fair ; 
 
 Though she promise, it is falsely, 
 Trust no happiness to her. 
 
 Two lives meeting on their journey, 
 Parting then with wistful glance, 
 
 Ask with yearning, mute entreaty — 
 Will fate give again such chance ? 
 
 Live with steadfast hope enduring, 
 Planting deep the seed of trust ; 
 
 Though a sunless path pursuing, 
 Joy will come, for God is just !
 
 71 
 
 My Native Town. 
 
 " Home once again to the dear old haunts," 
 My heart and my voice sing out ; 
 Dwelling awhile, as in solemn chaunts, 
 Then rising with joyous shout. 
 
 Oh ! not for beauty of town and street, 
 
 Oh ! not for loveliness rare ; 
 'Tis my light heart guides my willing feet, 
 
 When I breathe my native air. 
 
 Narrow and small is the dear old town, 
 
 Yet, so familiar its ways, 
 Blindfold I'd stroll and safely pass down 
 
 Through its bustle on market days. 
 
 Yorkshire and Lincolnshire farmers come, 
 
 With homely figure and face ; 
 Thorough and hearty, (" plain spoken " some), 
 
 And all have an old-world grace. 
 
 The crossing sweeper looks just the same : 
 
 Dirty as ever before ! 
 His broom is of use because he's lame, 
 
 But sweeps no dust from the door !
 
 72 
 
 I pass through shops that I once thought grand, 
 How small they seem in my eyes ! 
 
 Or, hiding long in a distant land, 
 Did I magnify their size 1 
 
 Old servants come and say I am changed, 
 (While their love for me has not) ; 
 
 Though in countries fair and far I've ranged, 
 Love's roots grow in that same spot. 
 
 They speak to me of the hyegone times, 
 When Father — Mother — were here ; 
 
 And I — a child — with their hand in mine, 
 Tripp'd through the crowds without fear. 
 
 When a handshake here, or friendly smile, 
 Made the world seem sweet to me ; 
 
 While jests, as void of sting as of guile, 
 Made the time fly merrily. 
 
 My hest and dearest have long since gone, 
 
 I have lived to smile at pain ; 
 But as I come hack, all days seem one, 
 
 And I am a child again. 
 
 I gaze at familiar face and street, 
 
 Recalling gay times gone by, 
 Till a sad thought checks my eager feet — 
 
 The smile fades into a sigh.
 
 73 
 
 Bowclon Park. 
 
 (IX AUTUMN.) 
 
 A little weary with the night's unrest, 
 A little sad, by heavy thoughts opprest ; 
 Weighed down by mourners' heavy air of gloom, 
 By watching in the warm and still sick room, 
 She left the house and turn'd to brave the wind, 
 As hoping fresh'ning blast would rouse the mind ; 
 In long dark mantle, wrapp'd with careless grace, 
 She stept along the road with quickening pace ; 
 She scarcely turned a passing friend to greet, 
 But met the autumn wind with hurrying feet. 
 
 And now the Park is reach'd, where leafy trees 
 Defiant wave, toss'd by the rustling breeze, 
 She treads no more the stony path and bare, 
 For thick-strewn golden leaves fall everywhere. 
 They hide the pebbly stones and sterile sand, 
 They fill with perfume odorous all the land, 
 They quiet lie, that she may lightly crush, 
 They whirl around her feet with dizzy rush ; 
 The acorns in their glist'ning covers fall 
 With merry droppings from the oak trees tall ; 
 "While squirrels nimble bound from beech nut tree 
 Nigh heedless of the stranger in their glee ; 
 The soft-eyed deer, that crouch amidst the brake, 
 These mutely speaking things the spirit wake. 
 The fragrant air she breathes, acts like a spell, 
 The gloomy fancies of the brain dispel ;
 
 74 
 
 It bears away with airy murmurs now 
 
 Those heavy clouds that overcast her brow ; 
 
 Again she feels that one may live a life 
 
 With inward calm, though sorrows may be rife. 
 
 That healing Nature soothes with wondrous power, 
 
 If we but seek her in a sadden'd hour ; 
 
 In what fair sights and fragance she'll abound, 
 
 If we uplift our dull eyes from the ground, 
 
 And once uplifting to her gladdening view 
 
 Life seems again worth living for and new. 
 
 Altho' the earth we tread be common clay, 
 
 Altho' our Future seems, alas ! so grey, 
 
 Both bear within them seeds of happier years, 
 
 If we will only see them through our tears ; 
 
 For through thick leaves, or naked branch, our eyes, 
 
 In looking upward, may behold the skies !
 
 75 
 
 An Evening Walk in Wieklow. 
 
 TOM. E. S. 
 
 Fresh from the green hills that rise o'er the sea, 
 
 I walk'd at eventide, gaily with thee ; 
 
 Cool was the summer air, meadowlands sweet 
 
 Lay on each side of us, smiled 'neath our feet ; 
 
 Broad-eyed and golden, still glow'd the great sun, 
 
 Setting on mountain, his day's coui'se nigh run ; 
 
 Beam'd on us blandly, then hid 'neath a cloud, 
 
 Shading his farewell from gaze of the crowd ! 
 
 Down he sank gently, while we stepp'd apace, 
 
 Leaving the great hill dark, mourning his face. 
 
 Freshly the evening air wrapp'd us around, 
 
 Dim grew the flow'ry fields, dim grew the ground ; 
 
 Fast we paced homeward, all light-footed yet, 
 
 Full of the beauty we could not forget ; 
 
 Dust on our rapid feet lay thick and white, 
 
 Little we recked in the waninsr twilight. 
 
 Feasant and children, none greeted us more, 
 
 All had turn'd inward through lattice closed door ; 
 
 Faintly a church spire tall, thi-ough the gloom peer'd, 
 
 One by one singly the Bray lights appear'd ; 
 
 Not like the laggard, nor weary we crept, 
 
 Still fresh and briskly straight onward we stepp'd. 
 
 Now it is over, our walk o'er the hill, 
 
 Merry we enter our cottage grown still, 
 
 Ther? T rest thankful, my " Old Man" with me, 
 
 Fresh from the breeze of the hill on the sea !
 
 76 
 
 A Letter from Kingstown, 
 
 00. DUBLIN. 
 
 As I, dear Netta, first asked you 
 
 To write a rhyming verse or two 
 
 In form of letter, why should I 
 
 The ball from Kingstown first let fly? 
 
 But putting off with vain excuse 
 
 Makes of our precious time abuse ; 
 
 So now, without a long preamble, 
 
 Through Kingstown streets and pier we'll ramble. 
 
 But yet 'tis hard to give their plan, 
 
 For strange the freaks of Irishman! — 
 
 One long broad street, with some fine shops, 
 
 "Where cakes, meat, fruit, or fashion stops 
 
 You with the most inviting ware, 
 
 When health or humrer take the air. 
 
 Not too much choice distracts } - our mind, 
 
 The large, good shops are few, I find, 
 
 Too soon the shabby hut is seen, 
 
 With goods and children — not too clean ! 
 
 E'en hurried step past many such 
 
 Your sense of smell will keenly touch, 
 
 Till glorious overhanging trees 
 
 Cast on the road more fragrant breeze. 
 
 But I had promised you the town, 
 
 Not country sights, so follow down 
 
 An avenue, whose every floor, 
 
 Is let from attic to the door ;
 
 77 
 
 Where lodgers, with a gentle stare, 
 Sit, sniff the breeze, and dry their hair ! 
 "We'll leave them sitting, come with me, 
 Where harbour shelters from the sea 
 Yacht, steamer, yawl, and fishing boat, 
 That idly on its surface float. — 
 Yes, harbour bar is safe and deep ; 
 So large, the British fleet might sleep 
 Within its white and granite arms, 
 From shipwreck free, and vague alarms. — 
 Two brilliant lights at either end 
 Of piers guide mariners who bend 
 On outward, or on homeward course, 
 Or fog bell rings, as last resource. 
 At Carlisle Pier the steamers land ; 
 To right, see promenade and band. 
 On week days here we dress " so, so ;" 
 But Sunday is the time for show, 
 Then wear your toilettes, smartest, best, 
 'Tis thus we honour Day of Rest. 
 Fine clubs are built along the shore : 
 " St. George," "the Irish," and some more. 
 Enough of gossip, Netta dear, 
 We'll put a stop to rhyming here ; 
 Postpone what further we would say, 
 To future leisure — rainy day ! 
 Good-bye, dear girl, best love to those 
 Who loving think of Your Aunt Hose.
 
 78 
 
 Bray Head. 
 
 FROM MY WINDOW. 
 
 Before my window lies the hill of Bray, 
 
 Its base thick strewn with scented cocks of hay — 
 
 Higher the fir trees in tall stately form 
 
 Stand dark in shadow, tho' the sun grows warm ; 
 
 Boulders too bare of soil for root of tree, 
 
 Have deck'd themselves in raiment fair to see ; 
 
 Heather in pink and purple, yellow gorse, 
 
 Adorn the heights above the streamlet's course. 
 
 ■&' 
 
 The stream lies low among the bracken fern, 
 That we wet-footed seek its source to learn. 
 Summit of Headland, like an aged pate, 
 Bears with unfurnish'd brows the winds of Fate. 
 Verdure thus flies before the icy blast, 
 Or cow'ring, shelters, till the storm is past ; 
 Leaving the glories of the topmost height 
 Unclad, unfriended, in our dazzled sight. 
 
 Bray Head. 
 
 (in a shower.) 
 
 Would ye have skies of changeless hue, 
 One deep, unvarying, constant blue 1 
 Below a sea that gives again 
 One broad, unbroken, shiuing plain ?
 
 79 
 
 Or see a rift of fairy white 
 Fly fast before your eager sight % 
 Or sky now dash'd with sullen clouds, 
 Mass'd here, borne there, like angry crowds 1 
 While near them azure more intense 
 Relieves anew the charmed sense 1 
 For me — the chaugeless sea and sky 
 Bear down with pain the wearied eye ; 
 But give great clouds, white, grey and grim, 
 'Neath which the ocean's plain is dim ; 
 Responsive to each shade o'erhead, 
 Now emerald green, now dark as lead ; 
 Or bursting forth in roseate light 
 When sunshine greets with welcome bright. 
 : Whence came this love of change ?" ye say, 
 1 Unknown," ye deem " ere yesterday !" 
 Ah ! why 1 'twas then that sun, clouds, shower, 
 Brought forth with majesty of power, 
 Such glorious pictures to mine eyes, 
 Such splendour of the varying skies, 
 And this delight, new-born, I say 
 Had birth on yonder Hill of Bray. 
 I stood there, as in deep amaze, 
 With nought before enraptured gaze, 
 Save this great, heaven inspiring view, 
 That raised, then still'd, a passion new. 
 Go there, stand silent on the height, 
 Go, share with me a new delight ; 
 There rock, sea, skies, and distant sail 
 Grow black, grow fair, now glow, now pale ;
 
 so 
 
 And tell mo in some distant hour 
 If changeful skies have nut more power 
 To move the sluggard to the soul, 
 To stir his heart beyond control, 
 Far more than one unbroken view 
 Of deep, unvarying, constant blue. 
 
 A Letter from Scarbro'. 
 
 " For everything a time," said he, 
 
 The wisest of our race, 
 " A time to die, to laugh, to cry, 
 " For everything a place." 
 
 So I, pursuing this old saw, 
 
 Adapt it to my mood ; 
 Seek out, when fine, my nearest friends, 
 
 To absent ones — am rude. 
 
 But once let rain with steady fall, 
 
 Confine my legs at home ; 
 I sudden think of foreign friends, 
 
 Abroad let fancies roam. 
 
 So 3'ou, dear girl, to whom I write, 
 
 Already will have guess'd 
 That when my spirit reaches you, 
 
 My butly's forced to rest !
 
 81 
 
 And so I'll tell of Scarbro' Spa, 
 The music and the swells ; 
 
 The terraced paths, the sunny glare, 
 The toilettes and the " Wells " — 
 
 Some drink the nasty waters there, 
 Which once fiow'd freely down ; 
 
 They trickle now from marble mouth 
 At foot of lordly " Crown. 
 
 n * 
 
 Yet tastes the water none more sweet, 
 Although you change the spot ; 
 
 The leopard moves from place to place, 
 And yet he cbangeth not ! 
 
 Leave we then " Spa " aud flirting crowd, 
 
 And run upon the sand ; 
 There find we children, donkeys, rocks, 
 
 When waves recede from land. 
 
 A motley crew, a slippery walk, 
 (For seaweed coats the shore); 
 
 If chattering you forget the tide, 
 You'll rue it evermore. 
 
 For though you deem there's time enough, 
 That tide ne'er bides your time ; 
 
 The waves run up and kiss your feet 
 Almost too tired to climb. 
 
 * " Crown," one of the best hotels
 
 82 
 
 But climb you must, aud quickly too, 
 
 And help on stragglers weak ; 
 Or penny-a-liners theme will have 
 
 Of your sad fate to speak ! 
 
 Tull up, pull on, we're home at last, 
 Dine, dress, and sleep awhile ; 
 
 Then off to " Castle " or to " Mount," * 
 More bright hours to beguile. 
 
 "What glorious view we have from each, 
 
 Of valley, harboiu-, town ; 
 Go up, you'll thank me when you're there, 
 
 At least, when once you're down. 
 
 When evening comes, you think day done, 
 No, stranger, wrong for once ; 
 
 The " Spa " still claims you for her own, 
 Be willing, for the nonce. 
 
 There glitt'ring eyes, and twinkling lamps 
 
 And mystic ocean's roar 
 Bewitch the rolling tide of folks 
 
 Beside the sandy shore. 
 
 Now good bye, dear, I've written here 
 
 A sketch of Scarbro' ways; 
 If you come Northward by the train, 
 
 You'll spend some pleasant days. 
 
 * Oliver's Mount.
 
 83 
 
 Killiney. 
 
 A SOXG. 
 
 o 
 
 Sea and rock, weed and stone 
 
 Glitter in the rising sun ; 
 Wavelets play, I alone 
 
 Rise to greet the day begun. 
 
 Curling smoke, tiny boat, 
 
 Both seem hov'ring o'er the wave, 
 Both in space seem to float, 
 
 One is lost, the one we save. 
 
 On the hill, golden gorse 
 
 Blazes 'mid the boulders grey ; 
 
 Violets pale gently force 
 
 Their sweet flow'rets on the day. 
 
 Bright, more bright, grows the morn, 
 Pasture fields spread far and wide, 
 
 Green they smile, green the corn 
 Promise gives of harvest tide. 
 
 Men may build, birds may lay, 
 
 House and nest in plain and bower ; 
 
 Life is peace, love can say, 
 Here I reign in morning hour. 
 
 Who can view sea and plain 
 Brightening into perfect day, 
 
 Without hope we may gain 
 
 From such sight fair peace alway 1 
 
 g2
 
 84 
 
 * 
 
 A Scene on the Traunsee, 
 
 Into the depths of Traunsee's waters 
 
 The moon look'd oft and long ; 
 Over the lake fair Traunsee's daughters 
 
 Caroll'd their fishing song. 
 
 Answ'ring to their fresh, youthful voices, 
 
 The Traunsteinf echoes gave; 
 Lovely the moon on high rejoices 
 
 O'er lake and silver wave. 
 
 Softly the oars are dipping, flashing, 
 
 Throw sparkling crystal drops ; 
 Slowly the boat in ripples plashing 
 
 Glides faintly— now it stops. 
 
 Movement and sound have both departed, 
 
 In silence beauty reigns ; 
 Sudden the maidens grow soft-hearted, 
 
 And each her home regains. 
 
 Lovely the depths of Traunsee's waters, 
 
 And Traunstein's rugged height, 
 Vanish'd the boat and Traunsee's daughters,— 
 
 Why seems the scene less bright 1 
 
 • Lake in the Salzkammergut, Austria, 
 t Mountain rising ovor the lake.
 
 83 
 
 The Thames at Greenhithe. 
 
 How the shining river glistens 
 In the glowing summer morn ; 
 
 How delightedly one listens 
 To birds twitt'ring in the corn. 
 
 Both the river banks are fragrant 
 With the clover-scented grass ; 
 
 And with beds of thyme where vagrant 
 Is but seldom seen to pass. 
 
 There the brambles still grow thickly 
 
 On the top of chalky cliff ; 
 One were tempted to climb quickly, 
 
 But the quarried sides look stiff. 
 
 Yes, the chalk beds hold the Biver 
 In their white and shining arms ; 
 
 And a thousand leaves that quiver, 
 Increase thousandfold her charms . 
 
 Shading banks with fringed glory, 
 
 While the broad-eyed channel gleams ; 
 
 Justly praised in every story 
 As the loveliest of streams.
 
 86 
 
 Not too -wanton or too shallow 
 To bear burthens on her tide ; 
 
 Not like sacred stream we hallow — 
 One we love and use with pride. 
 
 Sec, there lie two warlike vessels,* 
 Built for grimy-visaged fight ; 
 
 But 'tis peace alone there wrestles 
 With her youths for love of right. 
 
 Up and down, rich-laden steamers, 
 Yachts and boats pass swiftly by ; 
 
 Their white sails and gaudy streamers, 
 Meet the long unwearied eye. 
 
 It was thus we saw the River, 
 Glist'ning, busy, gay, and blythe, 
 
 Watching long the leaves that quiver 
 On the slopes of sweet Greenhithe. 
 
 • II. M.S. Training Ships Chichester and Fortescuc.
 
 87 
 
 A Picnic. 
 
 Straight on our heads one August day 
 The sun pour'd down with fiery ray ; 
 But heat and fun and love of play, 
 All made our spirits rise. 
 
 "We closed the hampers with a strain, 
 We vow'd the fear of showers was rain, 
 We went in haste to catch the train, 
 And joy danced in all eyes. 
 
 Four couples form'd our party then : 
 Three girls, one matron, and four men, 
 Another youngster join'd us when 
 We reach'd the waterside. 
 
 But first a little omnibus 
 Was waiting on the road for us, 
 It was so small, we made a fuss 
 At getting all inside. 
 
 But oh ! the rumbling, jogging pace 
 Soon shook us roughly into place, 
 And laughing, grumbling at the space 
 We reach'd the river's banks. 
 
 There boats with oars, and boats with sails, 
 And fishing hooks for sprats or whales 
 Were offered us with such long tales, 
 But we " declined with thanks."
 
 88 
 
 The ladies then with pretty feet 
 Went scrambling each one to a seat, 
 With grace bewitching, 'twas most sweet 
 To see the fuss they made ! 
 
 She was a pretty sailing boat, 
 The craft our friends then set afloat, 
 And picnic baskets hid remote 
 In locker's darkest shade. 
 
 With what delight we left the shore, 
 And mid-stream down the river bore, 
 Such merry party ne'er before 
 Had sail'd along the Hull. 
 
 For lilies and for cress we try, 
 And snatch them with an eager cry, 
 Or hail the barges passing by, 
 That look so grim and dull. 
 
 Alas ! one member of our crew, 
 Fur stretching where the lilies grew, 
 Though boat before the wind now flew, 
 Stretch'd out too far and fell ! 
 
 "We startled ladies reach our hands, 
 Look anxious where he dripping stands, 
 But on the bank he quickly lands, 
 And runs till dry and well.
 
 89 
 
 For us, each little blade of grass, 
 The cows that graze on banks we pass, 
 The water clear as crystal glass, 
 All charm our merry hearts. 
 
 We lay the cress so fresh and green, 
 In bunches fit for any queen, 
 (Forget-me-not and thyme between), 
 And sing gay songs in parts. 
 
 Then comes the lock where goodwife lends 
 Cups, teapot, kettle, and e'en sends 
 A little lad who well nigh bends 
 Beneath a load of wood. 
 
 These in the boat are careful laid, 
 The wife in thanks and silver paid, 
 Near leafy trees a halt is made, 
 And we think all is srood ! 
 
 - ■ 
 
 Then stones are gather'd and laid round, 
 Upon a dry and grassy mound, 
 On these, the twigs we bought or found, 
 And matches light the pile. 
 
 The men, amid the stifling smoke 
 That threathens all around to choke, 
 Puff, bellow, light again and cloak 
 Their troubles 'neath a smile.
 
 90 
 
 One man now fills the kettle black, 
 And puts it on the fiery stack, 
 The ladies 'gin the food unpack, 
 What pleasure in the toil ! 
 
 We lay white cloth with proper care, 
 Bread, cakes, meat, fish, we quick prepare, 
 (For hunger's keen in freshening air), 
 And lo! the kettle boils. 
 
 How wonderful that running stream, 
 So soon should rise in curling steam, 
 How fragrant tea and coffee seem, 
 Fresh made from such a fire. 
 
 But so it is, and as these nine, 
 Lie, sit, or roll, in curved line 
 Around the cloth, well spread and fine, 
 There seems nought to desire. 
 
 Five times the little kettle's fill'd, 
 Till all the thirsty mouths are still'd, 
 And those who fed the fire, nigh grill'd, 
 Now T feed themselves instead. 
 
 'Mid merry jokes, we ladies ply 
 Our partners' plates with cake and pie ; 
 Until at last they laughing cry — 
 Hold, hold, enough, we're fed •
 
 91 
 
 "We pack the remnants of our feast, 
 Though some poor folk, the birds at least, 
 "Will thank the strangers from the East, 
 For being somewhat kind. 
 
 We quench the embers as they burn, 
 The boat's head slowly homeward turn, 
 And in the twilight grey return, 
 But oh ! how blows the wind ? 
 
 It heads our barque, and sends us back, 
 No use to turn and shift and tack, 
 It blows us fiercely from our track, 
 And tide against us, too ! 
 
 Our oarsmen take down sail at last, 
 Alone there stands the lofty mast, 
 They pull with steady stroke and fast, 
 A brave, hardworking crew. 
 
 We silent sit as hard they pull, 
 We wish we were once more in Hull ; 
 Our cup of troubles sure is full, 
 When down falls heavy rain. 
 
 We try to sing, though all is wet, 
 And try to make our friends forget 
 Their labours, for we hope as yet, 
 The train may still be there.
 
 92 
 
 Tis all in vain, we are too late, 
 It passes ere we reach the gate, 
 And only bless the lucky fate, 
 
 That sends us coach and pair. 
 
 In this we drive, in moonlight pale, 
 Beguile the time with ghostly tale ; 
 For spirits high will never fail 
 To love such mystic lore. 
 
 Enough, we spend as best we may, 
 This curious ending to our day, 
 And smiling to the last, we say — 
 Farewell at our own door. 
 
 Name and Fame. 
 
 A siuger once of rising fame, 
 
 All-eager yet to make a name, 
 
 Struck out a plan by which he thought 
 
 His name were best to all men taught — 
 
 For, not content to post great bills 
 
 Through squares and streets, on roads and hills, 
 
 With his fine name writ out in one 
 
 Fair pictured word, as all had done, 
 
 He bade the printer print in green, 
 
 Gigantic letters, plainly seen, 
 
 And stick each, singly, on a board, 
 
 As large as printer could afford ;
 
 93 
 
 He chose then trusty, stalwart men, 
 
 (Who, drawn in line just numbered ten), 
 
 He told them, plain as he could tell : 
 
 If they went straight, the world could spell 
 
 That name he wished the world to know, 
 
 But they must walk in Indian show — 
 
 They promised nought should tempt them turn 
 
 Prom that straight line, though shops should burn, 
 
 Though streams o'erflow'd, and cars upset, 
 
 No, not for street fight, would forget 
 
 To march in state the whole town through, 
 
 Till all good folks his great name knew ! 
 
 He paid them, saw S. I. M. S. — 
 
 (The boards concealed their shabby dress), — 
 
 Then B. E. A. V. E. S. go, 
 
 As sober as a Lord Mayor's show ! 
 
 Ah ! me, that I those men should meet 
 Some distance off, in quiet street ! 
 The two first letters, see, they stop 
 To treat each other to a drop — 
 The third and fourth march smoothly on, 
 But where are B. E. A. V. gone 1 
 They got mix'd up in idle crowd, 
 Who read the great green letters loud ; 
 But no one heeded, seemed to know 
 What meant this alphabetic show ! 
 While E. and S. think 'tis no harm 
 To pace together, arm in arm !
 
 94 
 
 Alas ! my friends, pray think yon how 
 The singer's name is thought of now J 
 Why, 'tis so treated by those ten, 
 (Who called themselves fair honest men), 
 That altho' we, who run, might read 
 Had they but given him his meed 
 Know not if those odd letters speak 
 Of nostrum strong, or sermon weak — 
 In idlesse, or with wanton will, 
 Those men the good intention kill ; 
 Destroy the Xame, by which he thought 
 His Fame before the world were brought. 
 
 My readers, see, the moral's plain : 
 Give not to many your good name ! 
 
 For dearest friends will gossip best, 
 Misjudge and tear it, e'en in jest, 
 Pull you in pieces from small spite. 
 Till they make black what erst was white, 
 And having worked all harm they can, 
 Forget they once loved such a man ! 
 
 Kettledrum. 
 
 I will sing glories of Kettledrum, 
 Quaint, tho' the word be, and cumbersome 
 
 If I succeed not 
 
 May my best tea-pot 
 Fall into pieces for spite !
 
 93 
 
 Help me, ye fairies, to overcome 
 Troubles of rhyming with Kettledrum ; 
 While the dear drink draws 
 Teach me your best laws, 
 How to make tea and rhyme right. 
 
 List then, ye lovers of Kettledrum, 
 Think not your advocate wearisome, 
 
 For it behoves you, 
 
 In this great cause to 
 Make them both clear, strong, and bright. 
 
 Here I beg to introduce 
 
 My own famous recipe, 
 Tell you all you want for use 
 
 Of a kettledrummer's tea : 
 
 Betty, bring the china cups, 
 
 "Worcester blue or Dresden rare, 
 
 Fit for connoisseur who sups 
 
 Pleasure from such porcelain fair. 
 
 Three arm-chairs round three-legg'd stand, 
 
 Glist'ning sugar in a bowl ; 
 Rich and yellow cream to hand, 
 
 'Broider'd napkin 'neath the whole. 
 
 Bid the singing kettle boil 
 
 By the fragrant spirit fed ; 
 Heat Sir Teapot, or you'll spoil 
 
 Leaves laid in a cold, damp bed.
 
 96 
 
 Now, warm waiting for the tea 
 Shines Sir Teapot at our feast, 
 
 Give him three-fourths good Bohea, 
 One-fourth Assam, at the least ; 
 
 While he snug 'neath " cosy" brews, 
 Gather from your present friends 
 
 Gossip, " bon-mots," social views, 
 Warming as tea-scent ascends. 
 
 In five minutes pour the stream, 
 Tawny-brown, from teapot's throat, 
 
 Hand the sugar, cake, and cream, 
 Give my recipe your vote ! 
 
 Now, my dear drinkers of kettledrum, 
 Have I been prosy or troublesome 1 
 Then come to my door, 
 Between five and four, 
 We'll have a most solemn tea fight ! 
 
 Examination Hour. 
 
 Shining through an open window, 
 On a sunny, down-bent head ; 
 
 See the sun, 
 
 His race half run 
 
 Warming maid and flower-bed.
 
 97 
 
 Sighing, now she lifts her tresses 
 
 From the close-ruled paper blue, 
 If I could 
 Do as I would, 
 
 I would be her champion true ! 
 
 Helping her through every puzzle 
 
 Sage professors have writ down ; 
 Make all light 
 In her sweet sight, 
 
 If I only risk'd a frown ! 
 
 But I am alas ! a teacher, 
 
 Bound by duty to this stool ; 
 By no sign, 
 By word nor line, 
 
 Dare I break the given rule. 
 
 So my sunny-hair'd, young student 
 May look questions with her eyes, 
 
 As a stone 
 
 Lies still — alone — 
 
 My cold look my heart belies ! 
 
 Passing are the sixty minutes, 
 
 Pass'd is now the too brief hour, — 
 
 Papers close 
 
 At will of those 
 
 Masters who are here in power. 
 
 H
 
 98 
 
 On a Forgotten Bet, 
 
 Last year when that great race was run 
 
 Twixt Cam. and Oxford crews, 
 You were the lucky man who won, 
 
 And I, poor thing, to lose. 
 With ready haste I paid my debt 
 
 When fortune smiled on you, 
 But this year surely you forget 
 
 That I won on " light blue." 
 Forgive the hint ; as once 'twas said — 
 
 " What's that 'tween me and thee V 
 One pair of gloves, if never paid, 
 
 Would " make no odds to me ! " 
 
 Flies. 
 
 A MIDSUMMER DREAM. 
 
 Busy, busy, buzzing flies, 
 One to chase the other tries, 
 Yet how soon diverted each, 
 Flying from the other's reach. 
 Faith, methinks, I vainly gaze, 
 Their wild flights my eyesight daze ; 
 See— I count but two— three — four — 
 Are there not a dozen more 1
 
 99 
 
 Or does their untiring wing 
 To ray sight this increase bring 1 
 Now I try to follow one 
 Crawling slowly all alone, 
 Stay, he's followed by his brother, 
 And his sweetheart and another ! 
 They but meet to dash away, 
 Which is my first fly, I pray ? 
 So engaged at doing nought, 
 (Save to rouse my idle thought); 
 Touching gilded frame and glass, 
 Dusty-footed as they pass, 
 Eousing house-wife's faint despair, 
 When she finds them everywhere. 
 Only I — who calmly lie 
 With my face turn'd to the sky — 
 Find at last they have some use, 
 (Though 'tis subject to abuse) : 
 Ceaseless buzz and brush of winsr 
 To my drowsy senses sing ; 
 Fain would I pursue my watch, 
 See blue-bottle that one catch — 
 All in vain — my eyelids close, 
 Sleep has caught me — I repose ! 
 
 h 2
 
 100 
 
 A Summer Bathe. 
 
 Who loves the sea 1 
 
 Come ye with me, 
 I will lead onward by rock and by sand ; 
 
 Leave ye the book, 
 
 Meadow and bi-ook, 
 Come where the shining sea kisses the strand. 
 
 o 
 
 " Toilsome the way," 
 
 Idle ones say, 
 Clinging like hermit to garden and seat ; 
 
 Useless, my friends, 
 
 Neptune attends, 
 Come, pay your homage in crowds at his feet. 
 
 Laggards beware ! 
 
 CO 
 
 Tho' now so fair, 
 Mighty his anger, and slow to appease, 
 
 Storms may arise, 
 
 Vain then your cries, 
 Calling to gods whom ye ne'er sought to please ! 
 
 Follow my call, 
 
 Heed lest you fall ; 
 (Pride may have many, humility 's spai-ed), 
 
 Soon your delight 
 
 Makes the feet light, 
 Soon, my enthusiast's ardour is shared.
 
 lOl 
 
 Here at the brink, 
 
 Silent we think 
 How many countries your rolling tide laves ; 
 
 Till on us grows, 
 
 How, no one knows, 
 Wild the desire to float on those waves. 
 
 Soon it is done, 
 
 Warm in the sun, 
 Basking we lie like the mermaids of yore, 
 
 Leaving to fate 
 
 Clothing and state, 
 With all the burdens we cast on the shore. 
 
 " Leader, we praise 
 
 " Thy wit and ways, 
 " Bringing us mortals to bathe in those tides ; 
 
 "Never again 
 
 " Wilt call in vain, 
 " Gladly we'll trust us, where'er Neptune rides ! " 
 
 Strawberries and Cream. 
 
 I pray you, friends, your thoughts attune 
 To song befitting month of June ; 
 And what more fit and worthy theme 
 Than praise of strawberries and cream 1 
 There lurk within this fragrant dish 
 All flavours one may love or wish ;
 
 102 
 
 Tis redolent of garden gay, 
 'Tis redolent of new mown hay ; 
 Its chasten'd colour soothes the eye, 
 Its taste excites a gentle sigh ; 
 That sigh reveals the gentle pain 
 We know in fearing ne'er again 
 Can we enjoy such creamy bliss, 
 So few the moments sweet as this ! 
 To friends, who live in colder climes, 
 Or revel 'neath the golden limes, 
 Where strawberries can never grow, 
 To those who must these joys forego, 
 Will I explain what loving care 
 Surrounds the dish that we prepare. 
 How from yon shelf is brought a bowl, 
 Just large enough to drown the whole 
 Of yonder heap so glowing red, 
 Fresh pull'd from sunny garden bed. 
 How dainty fingers pluck the green, 
 And leafy stems that grow between ; 
 Then strew thereon, as white as snow, 
 Fine glistening shower, above, below. 
 Like distant peak the mound appears 
 When setting sun just disappears ; 
 And, leaving, sheds a roseate hue 
 Upon the changing scene we view. 
 Again, like distant Alpine height, 
 Behold ! our hill is once more white, 
 For now we pour in softest stream, 
 Fair measure of our richest cream !
 
 103 
 
 Enough, 'tis done, our friends draw near 
 Without a single moment's fear, 
 That this great bowl, which once contain'd 
 Ruin punch that oft their senses drain'd, 
 Will now do aught but leave a taste 
 For pleasures that are pure and chaste. 
 So china plate is oft-times fill'd 
 Till all the longing wants are still'd ; 
 And empty bowl returns to grace 
 The shelf in old accustom'd place. 
 Then, well content, from board we rise, 
 And fervent bless our temperate skies ; 
 That 'neath their humid, tender glow, 
 Such fair, ambrosial fruit should grow ! 
 
 Lines Sent with a Mirror. 
 
 May this mirror ever be 
 Prophet of good things for thee ; 
 If thou hast of smiles no lack, 
 It will always give them back !
 
 104 
 
 My Beggar Friend. 
 
 Grey, straggling hair, unkempt, unshorn, 
 In clothes all colors, ragged, torn, 
 A face scarce wash'd since he was born, 
 Thus stands my beggar friend ! 
 
 Two legs he has, but one, alas ! 
 Is made of wood and stump'd with brass, 
 It makes strange holes upon the grass 
 "When he doth homeward wend. 
 
 A broom-stick serves with easy grace 
 To help to mend unequal pace, 
 And also serves bad boys to chase, 
 Who often mock my frieud. 
 
 How useful this old broom can be, 
 It acts in triple case you see, 
 Hits them, helps him, and sweeps for me 
 The street from end to end. 
 
 If fine, he smiles beneath the glare 
 That shines on holey hat and hair, 
 That lights each rent in coat thread-bare, 
 Yet warms my beggar friend. 
 
 In rain, his woes tempt forth the pence 
 "We had withheld, with this pretence : 
 " His ragged clothes gave us offence" 
 
 (Who 'neath our great -coat bend.)
 
 lOS 
 
 And why should I thus pass my time 
 In sketching forth in halting rhyme 
 A poor lame mortal past his prime, 
 My crossing sweeper friend? 
 
 Ah ! 'cause I hear he's fallen ill, 
 His flesh and game legs both lie still ; 
 No cure for one who pays no bill, 
 No nurse who can attend. 
 
 So if the picture of his woes 
 Has touch'd your pity, give like those 
 Who spare their mite, before he grows 
 A poor, lost, beggar friend ! 
 
 For a Stamp Album. 
 
 In peaceful row here monarchs stand : 
 At least croivn'd heads from every land, 
 But hands and feet and power to will 
 Are absent, hence they stand so still ! 
 Yet one such image of a king 
 Has power your written words to bring 
 From distant land or neighbouring state, 
 'Cross boundaries much discuss'd of late. 
 The boundary here is lightly cross'd 
 As page from hand to hand is toss'd ; 
 And e'en the charm of royal face 
 Is valued more for date than race —
 
 106 
 
 Though youth is charming, sums untold 
 
 Are paid for here, if stamps be old ; 
 
 Forgive then, friends, the strange array 
 
 Of profiles pink and brown, that stray 
 
 Across the page with blue between, 
 
 And queens with features mottled green I 
 
 For, thing of joy though beauty be, 
 
 We stamp collectors all agree 
 
 In finding joy in nothing fair 
 
 Save ugliness — if only rare ! — 
 
 How pleased are we if friends have gone 
 
 To live in arctic, torrid zone ; 
 
 Or in a land with stamps yet strange, 
 
 Beyond our fellow-gatherers' range. 
 
 Should you bring treasures to our store, 
 We'll thank you — then we'll ask for more ! 
 
 "How's the Kid?" 
 
 * 
 
 " And how's the kid? good Mrs. Mag," 
 
 (On hearing baby squall,) 
 The mother look'd, and stroked my nag, 
 
 Yet answer'd not at all. 
 
 " The child, I mean," and laugh'd it down, 
 
 "Say, how's thy little kid?" 
 She look'd at me with vexed frown, 
 
 And then she gravely chid — 
 
 • Founded on Fact.
 
 107 
 
 " His father's ne'er a Billy goat," 
 
 " Nor Nanny goat be I," 
 " Should'st thou thus call my pretty doat," 
 
 " I'll sit me down an' cry !" 
 
 " And if we be not that puir beast," 
 
 " Me child is sure no kid — " 
 I own'd my fault to her at least, 
 
 And did as I was bid ! 
 
 The Pillar Post. 
 
 Oh ! pillar post, I see thee here, 
 
 From out my sunny window clear, 
 
 And see the world within my street 
 
 Lay many treasures at thy feet, 
 
 Or rather, in thy hollow'd cell 
 
 Throw love, and law, and bills, pell-mell. 
 
 I watch thee early, watch thee late, 
 
 And wonder at the whims of fate, 
 
 That brings such varied persons there, 
 
 With glad, sad, anxious, careless air ; 
 
 I study from my quiet nook 
 
 Each creature, even as a book, 
 
 And all seem heroes of a play, 
 
 Or pantomime, for nought they say. 
 
 One throws his letter swiftly in, 
 
 Then hastes away as if from sin ; 
 
 A careless urchin drops a few
 
 108 
 
 Of "master's" bills, long overdue, 
 Just in the box, while whistling low, 
 Not caring if they fall below, 
 Or slip aside and quiet lie 
 Until pick'd up by passer-by. 
 A serving maid, with apron white, 
 Runs up as postman comes in sight ; 
 Her streaming ribbons, smiling face 
 Now mutely beg him wait a space, 
 Until she, breathless, sees him sweep 
 Her gather'd treasures in his heap. 
 Now this the pillar's mid-day meal, 
 But watch when evening shadows steal ; 
 How lovers give with tender hand 
 Their sweet words to a distant land. 
 Now doth a spinster hither wend, 
 Who peers all round my red-faced friend, 
 Reads every figure on his face, 
 Lest he her confidence disgrace ! 
 And dreads to trust within his maw 
 Her priceless words to man of law ; 
 I watch her give at last the prize 
 (Which falls before her aged eyes)^ 
 And turn regretful from the track 
 Half wishing she could get it back. 
 A child runs up with noisy glee, 
 So brimful of new pride is he, 
 His two short arms uplifted far 
 To post his first note to "Papa." 
 Then come the invitation notes,
 
 109 
 
 The begging circulars for votes : 
 
 Brought to the pillar by all kinds 
 
 Of careless, eager, simple minds ; 
 
 I see them all as they go by, 
 
 Unconscious of my watchful eye. 
 
 Then up the mail cart, red and bright, 
 
 Drives fast and furious into sight ; 
 
 The driver sits aloft in pride, 
 
 The postman jumps down from his side ; 
 
 Unlocks the bos, fills empty sack, 
 
 And in a trice mounts laden back. 
 
 I turn then from the gath'ring gloom, 
 
 To restful quiet of my room ; 
 
 And when bright memories are rife, 
 
 Smile o'er the posting stage of life. 
 
 On a Match Box. 
 
 A matchless bos I give you dear, 
 That in dark nights you need not fear 
 To be a sad and matchless man, 
 Devoid of e'en " a flash i' th' pan !" 
 Accept the gift, strike when you will, 
 I'll never fail the box to fill ; 
 That endless matches may give light 
 When you return each winter's night ; 
 And I ne'er see a darkling frown 
 Upon your forehead low'ring down —
 
 110 
 
 As you say ; " all bright things in life 
 " Come to you now from your dear wife," 
 And I am just a match for you, 
 I give this match box as your due — 
 May you find light and blessings dear, 
 And safety matches all the year ! 
 
 Baby and Pussy. 
 
 Pretty pussy sits and purrs 
 
 By the cosy fire, 
 Cleans with anxious pride her furs, 
 
 Never seems to tire ! 
 
 Pretty baby looks and smiles, 
 "Wonders — will she bite ? 
 
 Uses all his little wiles, 
 Pussy to invite. 
 
 She too, with her velvet paws, 
 Fain would have a game : 
 
 Close, I watch the hidden claws, 
 Lest they come to blame. 
 
 Paly creeps up, oh ! so near, 
 Half in doubt and dread; 
 
 Crows aloud in joy and fear, 
 Pats the furry head.
 
 Ill 
 
 Pussy hardly feels the touch, 
 
 Baby waxes bold, 
 Seizes her with eager clutch, 
 
 Frighten'd — I cry — hold! 
 
 Raise my tyrant from his prey, 
 
 Bid Miss Puss retire, 
 Ruffled, see, she takes her way 
 
 To the kitchen fire. 
 
 Lines in an Album. 
 
 TO G. M. M. 
 
 Blank the page before me lies, 
 Blank all thought within me dies; 
 Can I from such blankness give 
 Line or precept fit to live 1 
 If I draw the pen across, 
 If I give impatient toss 
 To this blankly, smiling book, 
 How will grey-eyed Gertrude look? 
 Will she not upbraiding ask : 
 
 " How I dare refuse the task, 
 
 " Dare this gilded album soil ; 
 
 " Offer as grim counterfoil 
 
 " Scratch and scrawl, when she commands 
 
 "Wit and art from other hands?"
 
 112 
 
 Tell me then oh ! whispering breeze, 
 Bring me swift across the seas 
 Radiant thoughts to please her ear, 
 Brilliant words to charm or cheer. 
 Say what can her wayward heart 
 Now delight? for fit and start 
 So assail in turn her mind, 
 Moments see her cruel — kind — 
 Why should friends her wish obey 
 When they find no words to say 1 
 So all cowards like poor me 
 Must to well-worn maxims flee, 
 End as ended sages old : 
 Silent tongue is worth much gold. 
 
 Gertrude looks with mute surprise — 
 Blank of thought the page here lies ! 
 
 Moonshine. 
 
 Merry maids, pensive girls, come out with me. 
 
 All of ye leave your embroidery loom, 
 Quickly come, loving lads, jolly and free, 
 
 Far from the still air of candle-lit room. 
 
 " Nay, into darkness we maids will not go, 
 
 " We are too shy to stir far out alone, 
 " From our fond mother's side tempt us not so, 
 
 " They had ne'er ventured thus, charmer, begone !"
 
 113 
 
 Oh ! you're mistaken, ye innocent girls, 
 
 Did not the moon shine in " Mother's" young days ? 
 Tempting the wearers of plaits and of curls, 
 
 Out in the gloaming to sing in her praise % 
 
 None can resist her, when, golden and fair, 
 Luna illumines the hay fields and lanes ; 
 
 Out must all young folks — out into the air, 
 Singing and laughing until her light wanes. 
 
 Thus did I tempt oft the young ones afar, 
 
 Spending the sweetness of calm summer eves ; 
 Out in the gloaming of moonshine and star 
 
 'Neath the bright shimmer of fairy-lit leaves- 
 Cares of the daytime, its work and its strain 
 
 Faded away 'neath the charm of the moon ; 
 Now it is winter with dark, dreary rain, 
 
 Fair, moonlit, summer nights, come again soon I 
 
 "To Dear Old Joe! 
 
 >> 
 
 Ages ago when the world was young, 
 You and I were children, you kuow ! 
 
 Years have pass'd on as songs that are sung, 
 Is it not so, my dear old Joe ? 
 
 You a young man when I was a chit, 
 (Awkward scrap of a girl you know), 
 
 Who help'd me on when weary a bit ] 
 Can I forget 'twas dear old Joe !
 
 114 
 
 Glancing above, I saw yon afar, 
 Working hard where wiseacres go ; 
 
 Eager I sought to leap every bar, 
 So as to reach that dear old Joe ! 
 
 Vainly I strove, my patience oft fail'd, 
 I could not till, harrow and sow ; 
 
 Though oft your words and counsel prevail'd, 
 Helping me on, you dear old Joe ! 
 
 Now you're a man of strength, in your prime, 
 Bound to best of good wives we know ; 
 
 Foremost among the men of your time, 
 Worthy, successful, dear old Joe ! 
 
 Live and enjoy all the birth-days won, 
 Smile — nay, sigh not — to see them go ; 
 
 Live and enjoy a life well begun, 
 Hip, hip, hurrah ! for dear old Joe ! 
 
 To an Absent Friend. 
 
 (S. N. E.) 
 
 If "absence makes the heart grow fonder," 
 Tou, friend, must now be fond of me ; 
 
 For I long o'er your absence ponder, 
 But your kind presence never see !
 
 113 
 
 I here am on the sofa lying, 
 
 While idle thought is busy still ; 
 
 And almost think you must be trying 
 If my good temper bears ill-will. 
 
 But yet you would not be so cruel, 
 
 For health might with my temper fall ; 
 
 And I be doom'd to water gruel, 
 
 When you were cross for nought at all. 
 
 Come hither soon — a glass of sherry 
 Shall welcome you — or cup of tea, 
 
 We'll drink it, till our hearts grow merry, 
 And we're as blythe as blythe can be ! 
 
 " Frisk." 
 
 Bright black eyes that almost speak, 
 Teeth like little precious pearls, 
 
 Voice alternate strong and weak, 
 Hair too smooth to hang in curls ! 
 
 'O 
 
 These some signs by which to find 
 Dear and long-tried friend of ours 
 
 If, thus far, he 's to your mind, 
 Hear his virtues and his powers : 
 
 I 2
 
 116 
 
 Though ho lists to every sound, 
 Knows by heart my bosom friend, 
 
 His discreet eyes seeks the ground, 
 When he ought not to attend ! 
 
 He'll give notice when a bore 
 
 Comes to break your noonday peace ; 
 
 Thrust a beggar from the door, 
 
 Who would steal the bones and grease. 
 
 Quick to greet his master home, 
 Kiss the hand that held the rod ; 
 
 Paxn to welcome friends who come, 
 Giving him a friendly nod. 
 
 Though for hours he will lie 
 
 When for silence you're inclined, 
 
 Leave him long alone — he'll die, 
 Such his love of human kind. 
 
 Birds, dogs, music — all loves he, 
 But ne'er struggles 'gainst his fate ; 
 
 He has one great enemy, 
 
 Cats he hates with awful hate ! 
 
 So, too near him cats must not 
 
 Come, for they would run great risk ; 
 
 Simple food, a sunny spot, 
 
 Make the happiness of " Frisk."
 
 117 
 
 "The Comet." 
 
 Well, now, what makes the people stare 1 
 
 A glitt'ring cornet, I declare ! 
 
 With bright gold head and sparkling tail, 
 
 Which seems through star-lit heavens to sail. 
 
 How came the gleaming stranger here J 
 
 From what remote, unheard-of sphere ? 
 
 Say, can we hope that she'll delight 
 
 Our curious eyes yet one more night ? 
 
 Or will the skies next evening show 
 
 But azure space where she did glow ? 
 
 Both young and old these questions ask, 
 
 And none are equal to the task 
 
 Of finding answer such as you 
 
 Can hope to find, or fit, or true. 
 
 Then turn the old from starry gaze, 
 
 And prose of former things and ways ; 
 
 But youthful heads fresh from the sight 
 
 Of silv'ry visions of delight, 
 
 Beyond their power to gaze at more, 
 
 Come back from fancy's magic shore; 
 
 And swift decide to imitate 
 
 The stranger that appeai-ed of late. 
 
 With sudden flash each hopes to try 
 
 And sparkle like a meteor sky ; 
 
 Their bright young heads for thought assail, 
 
 And bring out thence a glittering tale ! 
 
 The world shall wonder whence they came, 
 
 These strangers yet without a name ;
 
 118 
 
 And people "who ne'er step from home 
 Shall hope to see the meteors roam 
 In flashing track before their eyes 
 Each time with charming, new surprise. 
 'Tis said, 'tis done, the youthful write 
 Their thoughts in long or summer night ; 
 Astronomers may have their say, 
 And cry : " No Comet comes this way 
 " For ninety years, or more, or less, 
 " Our yearning, star-blind eyes to bless." 
 But lo ! within uncertain date 
 Our " Comet " comes again like fate ; 
 Yet, howsoe'er capricious she, 
 We welcome her with three times three ! 
 
 The "Comet" in Print 
 
 Our " Comet " once could scarcely rise 
 
 Above the school-room door ; 
 Indeed its early patrons wise 
 
 Scarce pick'd it from the floor ! 
 They read, perchance, with pitying look 
 
 The first, poor, simple tales ; 
 Then turn'd aside to serious book 
 
 As hard as nuts or nails. 
 But our gay " Comet " cracked its joke 
 
 And laugh'd within its sleeve ; 
 He laugh'd the best who lastly spoke : 
 
 " Our worth they shall perceive ;
 
 119 
 
 " We'll careful read and careful write, 
 
 " Let fancy have full play ; 
 " Sound sense and poetry indite, 
 
 " Be grave, or light, or gay. 
 " And this same ' Comet ' which appears 
 
 " Now greeted with a groan, 
 " Shall soon be welcom'd with loud cheers, 
 
 " Its absence makes them moan." 
 Though foud mammas alone now read, 
 
 And think it weakly stuff; 
 One single copy all they need, 
 
 Or two at most enough ; 
 The time will come when printing-press 
 
 Will be in great demand : 
 A thousand copies (more or less), 
 
 Subscribers will command ! 
 'Twill rise above the school-room door, 
 
 Beyond the square or town ; 
 So steady be the cry for more, 
 
 So wide spread our renown. 
 The little " Comet " seen by few, 
 
 And dim when first it rose, 
 Will rise on high to mortal view, 
 
 Each week more power disclose. 
 And friends look up, instead of down 
 
 And see it shine afar, 
 Then joyful leave their study brown 
 
 To greet the brilliant star !
 
 120 
 
 Impromptu. 
 
 (FOR THE "COMET.") 
 
 I sat one day so good and still, 
 
 Hard working for exam., 
 When Robin postman came and drove 
 
 Away all thoughts of cram. 
 
 For Betty brought a letter in, 
 Which quite upset my plan : 
 
 "Ten pages more to learn by heart, 
 " Nay, twenty, if I can." 
 
 Then words to seek, derive and quote, 
 
 Long pages too, to write ; 
 So much I'd quite resolved to do, 
 
 Before I slept that night. 
 
 When sailing past my dimming sight, 
 A bright star came in view, 
 
 I raised astonish'd, my dull eyes, 
 Threw off my glasses blue ! 
 
 And casting, for the hour aside, 
 My grammar, books, and pen, 
 
 I took the £i Comet" to my heart, 
 Thus greeting friends again. 
 
 The fairy tails shine, as of yore, 
 
 'Mid lines of wit and fun ; 
 I read, I smile, light-hearted now, 
 
 At riddle, joke, and pun.
 
 121 
 
 But what has Robin brought beside 1 
 
 Oh ! dear, an humble prayer, 
 That " Crow" and " Rosa" should combine 
 
 To send their usual share 
 
 Of stuff to make the " Comet" shine, 
 
 So beg my nieces dear, 
 Regardless of the dreadful fact : 
 
 Examination 's near ! 
 
 Well, well, Max Muller, Whitney, too, 
 
 Must patience have a while, 
 And science give poor art a chance, 
 
 To raise a feeble smile. 
 
 Alas ! dear friends, of " Comet" bright, 
 
 I have no art to-day ; 
 'Tis all in vain, wait till next mouth, 
 
 I then will have my sa}\ 
 
 Then freed from sense of peril near, 
 When danger's come and past ; 
 
 I'll try to make you say next month : 
 " Oh ! this is good at last !" 
 
 The Children's Plum Pudding. 
 
 One day some merxy children came, 
 All panting from their merry game, 
 To ask mamma what they should do 
 To pass December's dull day through.
 
 122 
 
 Mamma, scarce knowing what to say, 
 So long had they now been at play, 
 Cried, laughing, " Would you like to cook, 
 " To make plum pudding from a book 1" 
 " Oh ! yes," say they, " What fun 'twill be !" 
 And down they rush with store-room key. 
 Then serious May unlocks the door, 
 Where mother keeps her precious store 
 Of currants, sugars, candied peel, 
 All things in which good grocers deal. 
 Fair Nora brings the glist'ning scales, 
 But in her weighing seldom fails 
 To send the sugar toppling o'er, 
 And scatter raisins on the floor ! 
 Sweet Ethel reads with proper care 
 How Beeton bids the fruit prepare ; 
 Till cook at last forgets to frown, 
 And grimly hands her basins down ; 
 They chop and stone, and pick and beat, 
 The work is hard, but oh how sweet ! 
 The eggs are worst, they will slip through 
 Poor May's small hands, whate'er she do ; 
 She grows quite piteous, gives it up 
 When yolks and whites fall in one cup ; 
 And things seem in an awful fix, 
 For till they're beat they must not mix. 
 " Cheer up," cries cook, mamma won't scold, 
 " Try once again, be quick and bold : 
 " See here, I've brought the largest bowl, 
 " Now, take in turns to stir the whole."
 
 123 
 
 Ou tiptoe Nora wields the spoon, 
 (Her arms will ache this afternoon) ; 
 But never shall the pudding spoil 
 For want of cheerful, willing toil. 
 And- so 'tis really done at last, 
 The pudding basin tied up fast ; 
 The children see it disappear 
 In boiling water with a cheer, 
 They doff their aprons, wipe the trace 
 Of sugar'd crumbs from hands and face ; 
 Then rushing up the stairs they fly, 
 To tell mamma with happy sigh : 
 " The j oiliest way to pass an hour 
 " Is elbow deep in eggs and flour !" 
 
 Mistletoe. 
 
 (acrostic.) 
 
 Mislead me not, cries blushing Fan, 
 I must away, you naughty man ! 
 So strangely beats my flutt'ring heart, 
 Too young, I fear, to play the part 
 Learnt long ago by wiser maids. 
 Each wreath and berry hangs in place, 
 The dangerous leaves with airy grace 
 On blazing lamp hang much too near, 
 Ere others come — I fly you, dear !
 
 124 
 
 A Spark from an old " Comet." 
 
 A spark let fly from a western sky 
 
 Has pierced the London air ; 
 It burn'd to try, before it should die, 
 
 If memory still lived there. 
 
 It glow'd no more, as in days of yore, 
 
 In fair, meteoric rain ; 
 It ponder'd o'er what had gone before, 
 
 When it swell'd a " Comet's" train ! 
 
 But now, cried he, when my old friends see 
 
 My shining, glittering, spark ; 
 They'll look at me with such bright-eyed glee, 
 
 A diamond in the dark. 
 
 Can my one light not illumine night, 
 And dwell in men's thoughts by day 1 
 
 E'en small delight, my pains will requite, 
 My journey through mists repay. 
 
 Glitt'ring it fell, as my tales will tell, 
 Near the homes of ancient friends ; 
 
 If it shone well or proved but a sell — 
 Books say not, so here my work ends !
 
 125 
 
 The Maiden and the Shower. 
 
 " A maiden's life is like a flower," 
 The poets in their verses say ; 
 But I will prove it like a shower, 
 So bright, refreshing, and so gay — 
 
 " How can a shower be gay V you cry : 
 It oft has caused hot tears to fall ; 
 Ah ! life indeed were dull and dry, 
 If bounteous rain fell ne'er at all. 
 
 A maiden fair who comes and goes, 
 
 Surprising now, delighting oft, 
 Sheds round her fragrance like a rose, 
 
 Like show'r rains influence sweet and soft. 
 
 And though her fitful ways surprise — 
 Nay, tease — the older-headed folk ; 
 
 Ere they have time bid her be wise, 
 She's vanish'd — as they serious spoke ! 
 
 Yes, vanished, leaving on the mind, 
 
 (Nigh wither'd with long winter's frost) 
 
 A feeling gentler and more kind, 
 More tender to the youth they've lost. 
 
 Thus ground hard swept by chilly blast, 
 
 Or batter'd by the stony hail ; 
 Deep furrow'd where the plough has pass'd, 
 
 Where burning sun is no avail,
 
 126 
 
 Though old and stubborn it may seem, 
 Unfit to bring forth herb or flower; 
 
 Will yield at last to glancing beam, 
 To down-drip of an April shower. 
 
 Oh ! then how gay when disappear, 
 The maiden and the sudden rain ; 
 
 Kind deed, green leaf now both appear, 
 And we oft wish them back again ! 
 
 Two Questions. 
 
 Say, is a faint gleam of daylight not fairer 
 
 After a lingering, languishing night, 
 Brings it to eyesight long weary of darkness 
 
 Joy not intenser than floods of great light % 
 
 He who hath waited with prayerful entreaty 
 
 Through the slow moments of sickness in gloom, 
 
 Seeking long vainly to pierce the grey vapours 
 Veiling alike his sad mind and his room. 
 
 Panting for change, that a new sun arising, 
 Haply may bring to revive his small strength ; 
 
 How he rejoices with heart deeply grateful, 
 
 When the dawn glimmers through casement at length.
 
 127 
 
 Or let us ask when long weeks have pass'd onward, 
 Feeble he enters the great world once more ; 
 
 Bound and above him the sunshine is pouring, 
 Warming his heart to its innermost core. 
 
 Does he not then, in full gladness of spirit, 
 Joy in the present, forget what has been 1 
 
 Love the warm brightness of air, field, and ocean, 
 More than he loved the dawn's glimmering sheen 1
 
 128 
 
 In Memoriam. 
 
 How small, how vain, our daily thoughts appear 
 When we to death's grey image are brought near ! 
 Those eyes so lately answering back our own, 
 Must close to open in a world unknown ! 
 We lived and loved ne'er thinking of farewell, 
 Forgetting that for us might toll the knell — 
 So swiftly flew the hours together pass'd, 
 One pleasure chased another to the last. 
 But, ah ! the end draws near, we may not stay, 
 With hands entwined till the break of day : 
 Ere roseate light proclaims a new day born, 
 I, with my grief, alone, am left forlorn ! 
 " Great God, oh ! help, Thou only hast the power, 
 " To Thee alone I turn in woe-struck hour. 
 " Forgive the reckless tenor of my life, 
 "The vanities so pitiful, the strife — 
 " Thou, only Thou, cau'st hear my cry and save, 
 " We have no hope but Thee, beyond the grave ; 
 "And, welcome though to some be death's stern claim, 
 " We mourners weep with anguish still the same ; 
 " We vow, we pray, ay, desperate we cling 
 " To glimmering hopes upborne on feeble wing. 
 " Forgive past sin, not yet take back the soul 
 " We left so blind to wander toward its goal ; 
 "Let this heart's friend but live, our life shall be 
 " One constant prayer of gratitude to Thee !" 
 
 In vain, in vain ! I cry no more, oh God ! 
 Low lies my love who once so firmly trod — 
 One sigh — 'tis o'er — what now remains to me, 
 But faith in his soul's immortality !
 
 129 
 
 The Memorial Lamp. 
 
 A feeble lamp set on a pedestal 
 
 Sheds in a quiet room its flickering ray ; 
 
 This glimm'ring light illumes sad memories — 
 But who would throw on grief the glare of day ? 
 
 As each recurring year brings back the date 
 
 When grief was poignant, that may now be dim ; 
 
 We fondly, sadly, think of byegone loves, 
 Eesign'd that faint Memorial lamp we trim. 
 
 Twelve hours from sundown to the dawn of day 
 It gently burns, and through the night our eyes, 
 
 Unused to pale light, waken oft, or dream, 
 
 And from strange dreams to trim that lamp we rise. 
 
 Thus to the memory of dear ones gone, 
 
 Upon the anniversary of death, 
 Love's hand lights rev'rently yon mournful lamp, 
 
 Extinguished not more quick than human breath. 
 
 K
 
 130 
 
 A Scene from Life. 
 
 IN MEMORY OF " TOOR BESSIE," OBIT. 22/5/82. 
 
 A vision pass'd before me yesterday, 
 So typical of winter — summer — spring, 
 
 I will unfold it here, as best I may, 
 
 Before it flits on memory's half-spread wing. 
 
 The day was one when seasons are at fault, 
 
 We name it winter, yet warm spring was there ; 
 
 If that was winter, might we always halt, 
 Thus gladden'd by the clear and balmy air. 
 
 A carriage drove along the Park's smooth road, 
 Within — a couple, surely man and wife ; 
 
 An aged dame who bore of pain a load, 
 A little child just smiling into life. 
 
 This little one, with rosy cheek, blue eye 
 
 Laughs, claps its hands, and with unclouded brow 
 
 Eejoices over all things passing by : 
 
 From shepherd's dog to horse and grazing cow. 
 
 Youth, spring and happiness are all as one, 
 The breath of health pulsates in every vein 
 
 Yet near it, is the image of one gone 
 Into the wintry region of dull pain.
 
 131 
 
 Life seems too drear and feeble in that dame, 
 Whose wrinkled face serves not the pain to hide, 
 
 And nature scarce appears to us the same 
 When Past and Present sit thus side by side. 
 
 There, life departing shades the wither'd face, 
 And eyes already seeking heaven above, 
 
 Unlike the child, whose glowing looks and grace 
 Find here around him, all he wants to love. 
 
 The Father, Mother, in their summer prime, 
 Look sadly on the slowly dying Friend ; 
 
 Then stirr'd by their fond darling's oaroll'd chime 
 Greet life beginning, and forget the end. 
 
 In Commemoration. 
 
 The greatest joy comes after deepest grief, 
 No gladness so intense as when relief 
 From anguish dawns, to lift the weary soul 
 Above the darkness, where, beyond control, 
 It lay and fought so long for light. 
 
 Oh ! happy hour, when first the furrow'd brow 
 
 Relaxes from the tension felt till now ; 
 
 And sorrow, printed in the many signs, 
 
 Of close-drawn mouth, and in the deep set lines, 
 
 Gives way to heav nly-born delight. 
 
 k 2
 
 132 
 
 Resignation. 
 
 
 
 Some good seed falls upon unfertile ground, 
 While bad is sown upon the richest mound 
 
 That ever gardener till'd for fruit most rare ; 
 We, wond'ring sec ill weeds grow here apace, 
 And there no sign of planting can we trace, 
 
 And cry in bitterness : how vain our care ! 
 
 Be still, mortal, think not all success 
 The seed of each new harvesting will bless, 
 
 Not all you plant with anxious hope bear fruit ; 
 If God sees fit to bid a wildling grow 
 Among the tender-nurtur'd flow'rs below, 
 
 For some wise purpose, friend, it will take root. 
 
 A pious mother-heart may well-nigh break 
 When careful tended child its course doth take 
 
 Far from the cultured garden of its birth; 
 While parent living 'mid the veriest scum 
 Of low-born mankind, e'en the worst outcome, 
 
 Seems born to drag its offspring to the earth. 
 
 The last may yield herself in dumb amaze, 
 From out the mire her low-sunk head may raise 
 
 To see her child thrive fair as any flower ; 
 While saint-like parent can but give in pain 
 Deep prayer for resignation, when in vain 
 
 Her studied aim for good has lost its power.
 
 133 
 
 For this I deem it we must silent bow 
 
 Our heads submissive when we see nor know 
 
 Why seeds here thrive alternate good and ill ; 
 " Our Father " strengthens piety in one, 
 Brings forth rare beauty where there seemed none 
 
 And bids us love the mandates of His will. 
 
 Lines to a Portrait. 
 
 F. L. S. 
 
 Oh ! sweet face, with eyes far gazing 
 On a world now left behind ; 
 
 Smile not thus, dear love, I pray thee, 
 Tears my yearning senses blind. 
 
 Why, from out the circling framelet 
 
 Lookest thou so sad on me? 
 Let me for one moment fancy 
 
 Times are as they used to be. 
 
 Speak to me once more, my treasure, 
 Tell me thou art well again ; 
 
 Breathing, tell of joy and pleasure, 
 Love, tell me no more of pain. 
 
 Silent yet, oh ! cruel picture, 
 Must I look, then turn to weep 1 
 
 Prayers and tears bring me no answer — 
 Silent watch, alone, I keep !
 
 134 
 
 The Heart. 
 
 (in memoriam.) 
 
 The heart that beats but soft and low, 
 
 When life is first begun, 
 Throbs through our journey, quick or~slo\v r 
 
 Fierce, high, ere life is done. 
 
 When most unconscious of its beat, 
 
 Most healthy then its state ; 
 But woe ! if it outstrip our feet 
 
 Press'd on by cruel fate. 
 
 Yet have our childhood's, manhood's years 
 
 Pass'd calmly, without strife ; 
 Without slow, wearing streams of tears, 
 
 Then long may last our life. 
 
 In measured beat, till God shall send 
 Death's angel 'cross our path ; 
 
 Within our breast, until the end, 
 The heart safe shelter hath. 
 
 But grief wears out, e'en day by day, 
 By quick, uncertain throb ; 
 "For every sigh has power," they say, 
 Our warm heart's blood to rob."
 
 
 135 
 
 Till comes the awful mora, alas ! 
 
 When friends will sob and weep, 
 To find a heart thus worn to pass 
 
 From Life to Death's long sleep ! 
 
 To Memory. 
 
 Memory ! arise and help me, 
 
 Oh ! leave me not forlornly mute ; 
 The hopes I planted round thy temple, 
 Are they uptorn 1 they bear no fruit ! 
 
 Respond, fair Muse, when I invoke Thee, 
 Was time in youth spent all in vain 1 
 
 1 tended, nursed, and frequent sought Thee, 
 Devotee ardent at Thy fane. 
 
 Bring back the form, the voice, and features, 
 The tones and looks of dear ones lost ; 
 
 Let me one moment see my kindred, 
 
 And people space with those loved most.
 
 136 
 
 The Last Resting Place. 
 
 Sec, rising white and stately from the green 
 And level plains along the river side, 
 
 A fair and stately monument is seen, 
 
 To shew where earth our loved ones doth hide. 
 
 As pure, as white as marble to the eye, 
 As far above the tablets on the plain, 
 
 Were life and death of those loved Two who lie 
 Now join'd in bliss and far removed from pain. 
 
 The sweeping blast from icy, Northern seas, 
 
 Blows straight across from turbid river's mouth ; 
 
 How seldom feel we here a softer breeze, 
 
 Warm laden with sweet odours from the South. 
 
 And yet the spot is tranquil to my mind, 
 No gale disturbs the slumber of the Blest ; 
 
 We, standing there, may feel the blast unkind, 
 But know it ruffles ne'er a moment of their rest. 
 
 Too far removed, alas ! from earthly care, 
 
 The words record their lives, but they are gone ; 
 
 The stately monument that standeth there, 
 Is all that speaks to those left here alone !
 
 137 
 
 Two Ivy Leaves. 
 
 Oh! ivy leaves, what stony wall, 
 
 Or oak tree, did ye climb in infancy 1 
 
 Or did ye ne'er aspire at all, 
 
 But cluster'd low in meek humility'? 
 
 Did ye adorn the tottering height, 
 
 And pillars of a hall baronial ? 
 Thus hiding from the gazers' sight 
 
 Time's ravages on each memorial. 
 
 No, yon fine leaf and tender stem, 
 The minute blending of your tracery ; 
 
 Were far too small to shelter them, 
 Or mantle piles of towering masonry. 
 
 Low, low, upon unyielding sods 
 
 Ye sought among a thousand slenderer 
 
 Green, ivy leaves to deck brown clods 
 Of earth, too hard for flow'ret tenderer. 
 
 Ay, this your mission, tiny leaves, 
 
 (And mine, the gratitude expressionless), 
 
 Where barren earth nought else receives, 
 Ye clothe a sacred corner's nakedness. 
 
 And we who see beloved graves, 
 
 Thus shelter'd from the north wind boisterous ; 
 We bless the verdant growth that saves 
 
 Those tombs from trampling of the riotous.
 
 138 
 
 Light. 
 
 (to mourners.) 
 
 Turn to the Light, oh ! ye who silent brood, 
 
 In darkest corner, in a sombre mood ; 
 
 Let but the faintest ray of light illume 
 
 Yon darkness, where ye would your grief entomb ; 
 
 Why cower thus low, rejecting hope's fair gleam, 
 
 Refusing e'en the shadowy moonlit beam 1 
 
 While we draw life with every flowing breath, 
 We may not woo in darkness, living death. 
 The tiny babe, whose world is yet so new, 
 Turns grasping toward the brightest spot in view ; 
 Its wondering eyes will seek and seek again 
 The taper, lamp, or glimmering window pane. 
 Those children, ne'er so gleesome in their play 
 As when the sun sheds on them golden ray ; 
 They wake from sleep when they can feel him near, 
 While rainbows oft have chased away a tear ; 
 Unconscious they of what their elders prize : 
 Health, spirits, ruddy cheeks, and sparkling eyes ; 
 They drink all in with eager breath instinct, 
 Ere knowing how much light with life is link'd.
 
 139 
 
 "Why then refuse, ye mourning ones, to turn 
 To trim the lamp that cloth so dimly burn ? 
 Or trim it but in memory of the dead, 
 Forgetting sun, moon, stars yet shine o'erhead. 
 
 Go forth, inhale the balmy, sunny air, 
 
 'Twill swift disperse the heavy mists of care ; 
 
 With hope renew'd by effort of the will, 
 
 The languid pulse will quicken, hearts will thrill. 
 
 Refuse not Light, which makes the dry tree green 
 Brings forth new buds where wither'd stem was seen ; 
 All living things thus mutely own its power, 
 Seek Light for comfort in your darkest hour.
 
 140 
 
 Epilogue. 
 
 Farewell, my Friends ! here ends my pleasant task, 
 Here lie the passing fancy, hidden thought ; 
 
 Though " what avails this trivial show 1 ?" you ask, 
 " What lesson have thy flimsy verses taught?" 
 
 If ye a lesson, or a moral seek, 
 
 I say again — Farewell — close quick the book ; 
 Success escapes me, my poor muse is weak, 
 
 I bow beneath your cold, sarcastic look. 
 
 Oh ! mortal sin, I wrote not to your view, 
 Scenes, facts and fancies lay in tangled heap, 
 
 And high the many scribbled couplets grew, 
 Til) Order bade me fire the pile — or sweep. 
 
 " Preserve we here a record of old times," 
 My vanity implored, and I said " Yes !" 
 Took love, joy, sorrow, writ in varied rhymes, 
 And disregarding fame, sent all to press. 
 
 " Oh ! chaos," quoth the critic, " where thy charm? 
 AVe'll none of thee among the works of sense," — 
 Smile kind approval, Friends, where is the harm 1 
 "When I to higher praise make no pretence !
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 
 Los Angeles 
 
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