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LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OP 
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LAYS 
 
 LYRICAL AND LEGENDARY, 
 
 BALLADS 
 
 AND 
 
 PARAPHRASES. 
 
 LORD TEIGNMOUTH. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 E. MOXON, SON & CO., DOVER STREET. 
 
 1869. 
 
LOAN STACK 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 SWIFT AND CO., REGENT PRESS, KING STREET, 
 
 REGENT STREET, W. 
 
PR 
 m4iaJ 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 Of the following Poems, composed on 
 various occasions during many years, and 
 subsequently revised, some have already 
 appeared in print. 
 
 Langton Hall, Northallerton. 
 Dec. 6th, i86g. 
 
 939 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 1. To TwiUGHT ........ I 
 
 2. True and False Philosophy ..... 3 
 
 3. The Frogs. A Penseroso for Wordsworth's Allegro, 
 
 The Daffodils : ♦* I wandered lonely as a cloud." . 7 
 
 4. Lines written for a Sale of Useful and Ornamental 
 
 Work in behalf of an Infant School, at Sidmouth, 
 1828 10 
 
 5. The Menai Bridge 16 
 
 6. Historical Fragment 19 
 
 7. On leaving Tallantire Hall, Cumberland, Nov. 1849 . 40 
 
 8. On THE Papal Aggression, 1851 47 
 
 9. The Two Giants. Legend Versified on the occasion 
 
 OF THE Annual Meeting of the Archaeological 
 Institute of Great Britain and Ireland, held aT 
 Bristol in 1851 59 
 
 10. The Robin , . 65 
 
 11. Stanzas addressed to a Friend who had adopted tuk 
 
 metre in which they are written in a volume or 
 poems just published ...... 67 
 
VI • CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 12. Impromptu AT Langton (1854) 69 
 
 13. The Drakes of Kiplin ....... 69 
 
 14. On Visiting the Ruins of Heidelberg by Moonlight, Oct. 
 
 2ND, 1857, in company WITH THE HoN. C. J. ShORE . 72 
 
 15. The Little Bombardier . . . . . .83 
 
 16. The Centenary of the Bell 87 
 
 17. The Bells of Ouseley 98 
 
 18. On seeing a Silver Salver which had been presented 
 
 to Sir Robert H. Inglis by the Grillon Club, 
 AND by him bequeathed TO SiR Thomas D. Acland, 
 handed round the dinner table, at Killerton, 
 Nov. I 6th, 1864 IC7 
 
 19. On seeing a Bright Ray settle on the Forehead of 
 
 Chantrey*s dead Infant at Killerton, Sir T. D. 
 Acland's, Nov. I 6th, 1864 108 
 
 20. Composed for the Ladies' Album, at Eden Hall, 
 
 Cumberland . . . . . . .109 
 
 21. On hearing a distinguished Diplomatist observe that 
 
 the success of our Abyssinian Expedition had 
 excited much jealousy abroad . . . .112 
 
 22. The Three Sisters 113 
 
 NORTH RIDING BALLADS. 
 
 23. The Tiger Lily 119 
 
 24. Northallerton's Lament . . . . . .123 
 
 25. Yellow Fever 126 
 
 26. The Old Roadster . . . . . . . 130 
 
CONTENTS. VII 
 
 PAGE 
 
 27. Church and State : Lines suggested by a Visit, in 
 
 COMPANY WITH THE ArCHDEACON OF RICHMOND AND 
 
 A Reverend Friend, to the Ancient Seat and 
 Sepulchre of the Marmions, at West Tanfield, 
 Oct., 1868 145 
 
 PARAPHRASES. 
 
 28. Sophocles, " Electra " '. . 150 
 
 29. Virgil, Georgics, IV. ver. 453 150 
 
 30. Horace, Book II. Ode I oTH 155 
 
 31. Habakkuk. Chap. ni. 156 
 
I. 
 
 TO TWILIGHT. 
 1814. 
 
 ERRATA, 
 
 Page 55, line 11, read *• speeds "ybr "sped. 
 
 „ 70, „ 17, read " pranks '*ybr "freaks." 
 
 „ IC3, „ 15, read "ancestry "/or "ancestors.' 
 
 „ 112, „ 5, read "hdiys"' for "days. 
 
 ,, 137, „ II, read "heads" ybr "leads.' 
 
 Sweet as the breeze *mid Afric's summer glow ; 
 Sweet to the man, whose weary task is done, 
 Who with the sun his daily course has run. 
 Whom social greetings welcome to the board 
 His toils supply, the couch his fields afford ; 
 While conscience broods not on the day misspent, 
 And o'er his closing eye-lids breathes content. 
 
I. 
 
 TO TWILIGHT. 
 1814. 
 
 The charms of Solitude, — the slumbering lake, — 
 
 The melody of water, breeze and brake, — 
 
 The shepherd's homeward steps, — the sheepfold's 
 
 bell,— 
 Light's parting ray, and Nature's mute farewell, 
 Are thine, loved Twilight ; — sweet the lonely 
 
 scene, 
 Calm as religion, as content serene ; 
 Scene of reflection, to the toil-worn brow 
 Sweet as the breeze ^mid Afric's summer glow ; 
 Sweet to the man, whose weary task is done. 
 Who with the sun his daily course has run, 
 Whom social greetings welcome to the board 
 His toils supply, the couch his fields afford ; 
 While conscience broods not on the day misspent, 
 And o'er his closing eye-lids breathes content. 
 
 B 
 
2 TO TWILIGHT. 
 
 But the poor wanderer as thy shades advance, 
 As lingers yet the day, — hope's parting glance, 
 Hastes to the vale, — frown dark'ning woods 
 
 around ; 
 Hastes to the hill, yet hills the prospect bound, 
 Till clduds o'er clouds, o'er shadows shadows roll. 
 And light's last gleam has faded on the soul : 
 Houseless and friendless on the dewy soil 
 He spreads his shivering limbs, and rests from toil. 
 
 Twilight of life, thy deepening shades impart 
 A solemn influence to the dying heart. 
 Say, wearied pilgrim of the troubled day, 
 Say, ere life's fleeting visions roll away, 
 Did noon-day toil thy feverish brow bedew. 
 Have cares been many, and have joys been few ? 
 When morning smiled, and hope was on the 
 
 wing, 
 Did sage reflection o'er thy bosom spring ? 
 And did'st thou check thy joys, thy follies leave 
 To muse on passing hours and toil for eve ? 
 Then pilgrim rest, the cpuch thy youth has spread 
 Shall soothe thy tott'ring limbs, thine aching head: 
 Rest, rest, in hope till on thy sleep shall break 
 A brighter day, and heav'n shall bid thee wake. 
 But ah when age knows not reflection's pow'r 
 Till fades the day, till Twilight's awful hour, 
 
TRUE AND FALSE PHILOSOPHY. 3 
 
 From scene to scene when thoughtless youth has 
 
 roved, 
 And man still hates the scenes that youth had loved, 
 Flies from his home, and changeful Fortune's 
 
 child 
 Unsated roams, from clime to clime beguiled, 
 When on each devious path alike by youth 
 Or manhood trodden beams the light of truth, 
 While lingers thought on joys he may not share, 
 In that dread hour, he owns, of dark despair. 
 Had youth reflected, manhood toiled and wept, 
 Twilight had whispered peace, and age had slept. 
 But the last fainting ray of hope has fled, 
 And waits his doom the unrepenting dead. 
 
 II. 
 
 TRUE AND FALSE PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 When man, by native wisdom taught, 
 Deems this vain world a thing of nought, 
 And all its pleasure, pomp and power 
 The fleeting visions of an hour. 
 With scorn he sees the giddy crowd 
 Or madly weep, or laugh aloud. 
 In secret anguish doomed to drain 
 His cup of pleasure or of pain. 
 
 B 2 
 
TRUE AND FALSE PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 For him the day no joyaunce brings, 
 
 It doth but gild Time's hastening wings, 
 
 And as in mockery bestow 
 
 Its splendour on a world of woe. 
 
 For him the night oblivion woos 
 
 In vain, since Death her form pursues ; 
 
 The image of his lost repose 
 
 Appals him ere his eyelids close. 
 
 To man a foe he treads awhile 
 His lonely path, by heavenly smile 
 Uncheered : self-sated then he flies 
 To Nature's genial sympathies : 
 Borne by the fury of his mind 
 Where rolls the wave, or wafts the wind. 
 Like wandering spirit of the air, 
 He seeks the converse of despair. 
 
 Ah, whither, captive, dost thou roam ? 
 Has life no haven, man no home ? 
 And dost thou think thy torturer fell, 
 Who dooms thee to his native hell, 
 And still thy faltering steps doth urge 
 Q'er howling waste and foaming surge, 
 Shall lead thee to some still retreat. 
 For seraphs' high communion meet ? 
 
TRUE AND FALSE PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 And wilt thou nurse thine inborn guest, 
 
 The hidden vulture of thy breast, 
 
 With stupor fierce or joy accurst 
 
 Cling to the chains thou canst not burst, 
 
 Or fainting sue with penance vain 
 
 The phantom-idols of thy brain ? 
 
 E'en now beneath thee yawns the grave, — 
 
 They fly, those gods who cannot save. 
 
 Yet hark, amid the thunder's sound 
 That rolls athwart the gulf profound, 
 A still small voice that whispers peace, 
 That bids thy toil, thy warfare cease, 
 And tells thee of a beacon-light 
 That mocks the day, dispels the night : 
 The light within thy bosom glows. 
 From thence the living lustre flows. 
 
 And oh, how chang'd those scenes, of late 
 
 To thy dim eyes so desolate ! 
 
 How bright those hills once wrapt in gloom, 
 
 How fair those vales' renascent bloom : 
 
 Those transient forms, that mock'd the view 
 
 When clad in folly's tinsel hue, 
 
 In new and borrow'd lustre shine, — 
 
 ** The hand that made them is Divine." 
 
TRUE AND FALSE PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 All Nature feels the sweet control, 
 In festal pomp the seasons roll ; 
 The star of morning smiles serene, 
 And day with rapture crowns the scene ; 
 The eve more calm delight inspires, 
 Night wakes devotion's holier fires ; 
 The soul responsive hears their voice. 
 And joyous bids the world rejoice. 
 
 The lamp of heaven shall never die. 
 For hands unseen its light supply : 
 The passing suns may shade its beam. 
 But cannot quench the living stream ; 
 The clouds and midnight damps obscure : 
 It glows yet more intensely pure. 
 And shall its shattered rays renew, 
 Though winds assail or storms subdue. 
 
 And when in browner Twilight fade 
 Life's waning gleams and lengthening shade, 
 And Death, enrobed in pall of night. 
 Tears the faint landscape from thy sight ; 
 The star that ruled thy morning prime 
 Shall cheer the eve of parting time, 
 In glory deepening gloom array, 
 Nor set but in immortal day. 
 
( 7 ) 
 
 III. 
 THE FROGS. 
 
 A Penseroso for Wordsworth's Allegro j 
 " The Daffodils." 
 
 * I wander'd lonely as a cloud." 
 
 Lonely as marsh light of the brake 
 I roam'd with dank mist choking, 
 
 Where, spawn unblest of a stagnant lake, 
 Ten thousand frogs lay croaking. 
 
 And 'twas a rueful sight to see 
 
 How throbbed each straining throat 
 
 Of that belated company 
 Amid the sedge afloat : 
 
 As 'twere the wailing of the daughters 
 
 Of some amphibious fay, 
 Who sang amid those slimy waters 
 
 The dirge of the dying day: 
 
THE FROGS. 
 
 Or as if when the scorching wind 
 Had dried the boundless flood, 
 
 Some spirits accurst had tarried behind^ 
 And groan'd from their grave of mud. 
 
 The moon was up, but the morass 
 
 No sweet reflection gave, 
 For tangled weeds and clotted grass 
 
 Did o'er its surface wave. 
 
 The shades broke in, and twitter'd by 
 
 The bat on his noiseless wing, 
 And the frogs they croaked more horribly 
 
 Than I have power to sing. 
 
 The night-jar too wheeled round and round. 
 
 And shrilly shrieked anon ; — 
 I shook as 'twere Tartarean ground 
 
 That I did tread upon. 
 
 Chilly and damp the breeze it blew, 
 
 And my skin turned icy cold, 
 And methought at last it slimy grew, 
 
 And shrivelly to behold. 
 
 And rang with louder peals the fen 
 Than it ever rang before : 
 
THE FROGS. 
 
 I gave one croak myself, and then 
 Fled that ill-fated shore. 
 
 But, oh, how chastening was that thrill 
 
 Of soul-subduing fear ; 
 The fen's harsh discord vibrates still 
 
 In wisdom's inward ear. 
 
 When buoyant on the gales of mom 
 
 I taste too free a joy. 
 Forgetful that I was not born 
 
 To mirth without alloy ; 
 
 Or sportive on the fumes of tea, 
 And skimming o'er its stream, 
 
 My spirits catch a transient glee 
 To speed the labouring theme. 
 
 My fancy to that loathsome lake 
 With putrid air half choking. 
 
 Its solitary path doth take. 
 And with the frogs sits croaking. 
 
( 10 ) 
 
 IV. 
 LINES. 
 
 WRITTEN FOR A SALE OF USEFUL AND ORNAMENTAL 
 
 WORK IN BEHALF OF AN INFANT SCHOOL AT 
 
 SIDMOUTH. 1828. 
 
 A SALE, a sale ! come rich and poor, 
 
 Your grateful offerings bring ; 
 We've spread forth many a shining lure 
 
 Might tempt an Eastern king. 
 
 A sale, a sale ! come, gentles, come, 
 
 And quit each soft retreat, 
 Nor let the cares or joys of home 
 
 Divert your willing feet. 
 
 From Sid's bright vale, from Paccomb long 
 
 Famed seat of ancient lore ; 
 From Salcomb, where the Muses' song 
 
 Blends with the ocean's roar ; 
 
LINES. 11 
 
 From the green glades and shady dells, 
 
 Where silent Otter flows; 
 Where Bicton o'er the landscape swells, 
 
 And wealth and power repose; 
 
 From Exe, on whose dark rolling tide 
 
 Majestic navies float, 
 And lordly pomp and churchman's pride 
 
 Frown lofty and remote ; 
 
 From Dawlish, on whose shingly strand 
 
 Slumbers the whisp'ring wave. 
 And nymphs from many a distant land 
 
 Their flowing tresses lave ; 
 
 From Teign's lov'd haunts, where ever gleams 
 
 The morning's earliest ray. 
 And linger long the latest beams 
 
 Of slow declining day; 
 
 From Babycomb's huge marble pile. 
 
 From Tor's encircling coast, 
 Come, gentles, come, of Britain's Isle, 
 
 The brightest gems we boast. 
 
 The livelong day, the shortening eve 
 Our task we still pursued ; 
 
12 LINES. 
 
 Still busy fancy did conceive, 
 And still our toil renew'd. 
 
 Here garments proof 'gainst wear and tear, 
 May at cheap rate be bought ; 
 
 Here scarfs of finest gossamer 
 Our curious hands have wrought. 
 
 For generations yet unborn 
 
 We've woven soft attire ; 
 These caps a princess might adorn, 
 
 And bid a court admire. 
 
 A gown behold, like fruitful ground 
 With spangling dew-drops wet, 
 
 These flounces add like pales around 
 A young plantation set. 
 
 These ribbons, if you'll purchase, — Time 
 Hath not impair'd their hue, — 
 
 Not Scotland's hills in Autumn's prime 
 Shall wave with bells so blue. 
 
 Then let this shawl your graceful shape 
 With love-knots true entwine. 
 
 Its folds the vine's festoons shall ape, 
 Or amorous eglantine. 
 
LINES. 13 
 
 Last round your head this bonnet bind, 
 
 Within its vast embrace 
 The rays shall gather, and the wind 
 
 Forget its wanton race. 
 
 When mirror'd in Sid's lucid tide 
 
 Its yellow radiance spreads 
 The dandelions in their pride 
 
 Shall hide their humbled heads : 
 
 And insect quires their bowers forsake, 
 
 To blend a roundelay 
 With the sweet warblings of the brake. 
 
 To greet thee Queen of May. 
 
 See here what variegated stores 
 
 In sparkling medley strown 
 Shine like the mine's collected ores 
 
 From Chili's mountain throne. 
 
 Work-bags and boxes, furnished all 
 
 With implements complete. 
 Of mouldings various, great and small. 
 
 With Tunbridge wares compete : 
 
 Watch-chains and purses, brooches, pins. 
 Rosettes of gorgeous hues, 
 
14 LINES. 
 
 And New-year's gifts in Russian skins 
 Their perfumes rich diffuse. 
 
 And pray yon bright parterre behold, 
 
 Its flowers of matchless dye, 
 And woven on a ground of gold 
 
 A scene of Arcady. 
 
 Upon your wintry hearth spread out 
 
 Its tints new lustre yield. 
 And the cricket there shall frisk about 
 
 Like his brethren of the field. 
 
 A footstool such as this were meet 
 
 For Papal foot, when bare 
 It doth the sacred college greet 
 
 With courtesy sweet and rare. 
 
 From hearts benign these treasures flowed : 
 
 From Avarice' sordid heap 
 They filtered not : Love toiling sowed, 
 
 Let Love the harvest reap. 
 
 No grovelling thought in masquerade 
 Prompts us your wealth to share, 
 
 'Tis infancy demands your aid 
 And claims our fostering care : 
 
LINES. 15 
 
 To summon from the strife and din 
 
 Of life's tumultuous chase, 
 Ere yet inured to woe and sin, 
 
 Chilhood's untutor'd race. 
 
 For lo, on tottering limbs they run 
 
 Each glittering prize to grasp, 
 Untaught the headlong steep to shun, 
 
 Or fly th' envenom'd asp. 
 
 Too early trained in passion's school. 
 
 By wrath and hate impelled. 
 They nurse for rapine and misrule 
 
 Their spirits yet unquelled. 
 
 And born to lisp in Nature's quire 
 
 Of praise th' adoring theme 
 And tune the seraph's hallowed lyre, 
 
 Their Maker's name blaspheme. 
 
 For such poor nurslings of despair 
 
 Your generous aid we crave, 
 Ere yawn for those whom Christ would spare 
 
 The unrelenting grave. 
 
 Though moth and rust these gauds destroy, 
 
 And fruitless seem our toil. 
 The seeds we sow shall spring in joy, 
 
 Since heavenly is the soil. 
 
( i6 ) 
 
 THE MENAI BRIDGE. 
 
 1828. 
 
 Hail, matchless monument of trophied Time, 
 Of skill divine to short lived mortals giv'n. 
 That, poised on wings aerial, mountest sublime, 
 Spanning yon channel broad, the pathless Heav'n : 
 As if when man, of Eden reft, had striven 
 With chaos stern and dread, some wizard hand 
 Had bound the rocky coasts asunder riven 
 By ocean's warring waves with magic wand. 
 Linking yon lonely isle for aye to fairyland. 
 
 How frail its pendent tracery appears. 
 When ebbs day's glory in the western sky ! 
 Such spectral fabric sportive fancy rears. 
 Weaving with light's last rays of many a dye 
 Its shadowy web, that mocks the gazer's eye, 
 While to and fro, a fitful pageant, gleam 
 Along its line such forms as seers descry. 
 Where rolls on Hebrid isles th' Atlantic stream, 
 Hovering, while twilight fades, around the 
 waning beam. 
 
THE MENAI BRIDGE. I7 
 
 Their phantom speed how noiseless: the sea blast 
 Is still, but when it heaves the surge below, 
 And dimly thro' the gloom yon girdle vast 
 Looms, as by tempests rent Heav'n's glittering bow, 
 Then, pilgrim, strange delight thy soul shall know 
 To scale its dizzy height, when the winds sweep 
 Its massive chains, and lightnings round thee 
 
 glow. 
 And the loud thunder peals from steep to steep. 
 And answers from afar the hoarse resounding deep. 
 
 And haply, as when mightier spells of yore 
 The welkin shook, upon thine ear may thrill 
 The harp's wild tones ; for oft on Arvon's shore, 
 Or Mona's cavern'd rocks, or mystic hill, 
 'Tis said its mournful echoes linger still. 
 And will no daring hand awake again 
 Its slumbering chords, albeit could nought instil 
 Of patriot ardour* thine avenging strain, 
 Granta's majestic bard, of Albion's later reign ? 
 
 Yes, hark, as in old Cambria's storied days, 
 Hall of renown, dread shrine, and fabled tow'r, 
 And mountain vocal with triumphant lays, 
 And haven, stately town, and lordly bower; 
 
 • Taken by poetic license from a past Welsh point of view. 
 
 C 
 
l8 THE MENAI BRIDGE. 
 
 While hands, that ne'er had soil'd a crimsoned 
 
 dower, 
 For conquering science' brow the wreath entwine, 
 And cliffs that owned not Rome's usurping power. 
 Or Norman Edward's, Telford, welcome thine : — 
 All hail thy bloodless boon, and Tudor's royal line ! 
 
 Yet, Telford, thou wert born in low degree. 
 Nor kings their homage to thy cradle brought : 
 Thine was the soul's innate nobility. 
 In patience nurtured, and by suffering taught. 
 The head that fashioned, and the hand that 
 
 wrought, 
 The heart that loved the right, and spurned the 
 
 wrong, 
 The steadfast will, th' indomitable thought. 
 The gentle sway, the faith* that nerves the 
 
 strong : — 
 Why lacks thine high emprize the meed of death- 
 less song ? 
 
 * See Smiles's ♦' Lives of Engineers," Vol. II. p. 458. 
 
( 19 ) 
 
 VI. 
 
 HISTORICAL FRAGMENT. 
 
 1828.^= 
 
 Hail ! matchless, monument of trophied time, 
 Of skill divine to short lived mortals giv'n. 
 
 That o'er the Menai's strait exaltest sublime 
 Thy stately pile and climbest the pathless 
 Heaven ! 
 
 The links, how ponderous of thy massive chain. 
 Yet seeming light as wrought by fairy's hand 
 
 Or as if he of Cambria's ancient reign 
 
 Had bound the rocky coasts with magic wand. 
 
 * Composed during a pedestrian tour in Wales, which accounts 
 for the historical events referred to being regarded from a past Wel«h 
 point of view. The partial remodelling of the opening stanzas of 
 the *' Menai Bridge" in the following lines arose from a with to 
 adapt the metre to a plan more extensive than that origlnaUy 
 proposed. 
 
20 HISTORICAL FRAGMENT. 
 
 How frail thy pendent tracery appears, 
 
 When in the western sky day's splendours ebb ; 
 
 Such airy fabric sportive fancy rears 
 Weaving with light's last rays her shadowy web. 
 
 The passing forms along thy line that float 
 
 Of car or steed the untutored wight might deem 
 
 Such spectres as amazed in isles remote 
 The pilgrim views beneath the waning beam. 
 
 In vain thy bulwarks, as prevails the blast, 
 Beats the pent ocean heaving to and fro : 
 
 Unmoved amid the shock thy girdle vast 
 Spans the wild surge that idly chafes below. 
 
 And Mona's wondering sons no more may boast 
 Freedom's loved sanctuary and holiest shrine ; 
 
 The cliffs that mocked th' imperial Roman's boast, 
 Or the stern Norman's, Telford, stoop to thine. 
 
 Rolls to and fro the briny stream along 
 From sea to sea, or mirror'd as a lake. 
 
 Or straitened as a torrent fierce and strong, 
 Whose murmurs hoarse the caverned echoes 
 wake. 
 
HISTORICAL FRAGMENT. 21 
 
 What varied scenes the winding shores adorn 
 Of sloping lawn, dark wood, or craggy steep, 
 
 While glance from mountain tops the beams of morn 
 On isles far-shadowed, and the boundless deep. 
 
 Nor spread unpeopled solitudes around, 
 
 Nor hills untrodden, nor unmeasured waves ; 
 
 Man's spirit moves o'er all the scene unbound, 
 Nor tyrants rage, nor crouch submissive slaves. 
 
 Ev'n where round giant Snowdon's towering head 
 Trails the grey mist and raves the wintry wind, 
 
 The hardy shepherd owns his lowly shed, 
 And flocks a sweet, tho' scanty, pasture find. 
 
 While from dark nook and soft sequestered dale 
 The peaceful hamlet's jocund voices rise ; 
 
 And o'er Llanberris' lake or Ogwen's vale 
 
 Frown time-worn turrets from the murky skies. 
 
 Where gathering breakers of the treacherous shoal, 
 And shrieking sea-mews warn the venturous bark, 
 
 Rugged and scathed, as from the deep some knoll 
 By storms upheaved, Carnarvon's ramparts mark. 
 
 Of strange vicissitudes still sadly tell ^ 
 
 Those solemn tow'rs ; of conquests dearly won. 
 
22 HISTORICAL FRAGMENT. 
 
 Of victory's shouts and sorrow's answering knell, 
 The sire triumphant, and the murdered son. 
 
 Nor less, where Northward yon bluff headland rears 
 Its shadowy cliffs o'er Conway's foaming flood, 
 
 Points the dim Spectre of forgotten years 
 To sands and billows dyed with patriot blood. 
 
 Seek, pilgrim, as I've sought, yon roofless halls. 
 Where sullen homage own'd the Norman sway, 
 
 When the storm's lurid blaze enwraps those walls, 
 Whence flash'd of old from shields and spears 
 the day, 
 
 And thunders rock the tottering tow'rs, alone 
 To list of ages past the mournful dirge 
 
 Of howling winds imprisoned, to the moan 
 Responsive of hill blast and distant surge. 
 
 And as thy footfall's echoes in the gate. 
 
 Now mute to clang of arms and captive's chain, 
 
 Sound as the knell of conquest's crimsoned state, 
 Ambition's hope and glory's triumph vain, 
 
 Turn sadden'd, while thy day dreams fade anew, 
 From storied pageantry of weal or woe 
 
HISTORICAL FRAGMENT. 23 
 
 Where tow'rs for ever brightening on the view 
 Unsunned arise and living waters flow. 
 
 But themes sublime by seraph quires be sung; 
 
 Whither, too daring Muse, aspires thy flight ? 
 To such may Cambria's harp be ever strung, 
 
 And on her bards descend celestial light. 
 
 Deep in yon bay, whose wood-crowned turrets bend 
 O'er the broad beach, to seamen tempest-tost 
 
 A haven dear, Beaumaris' walls extend. 
 Bright gem of fabled Mona's dreary coast. 
 
 Where on the horizon's verge the billows roll. 
 See smiling Commerce greet her welcome sails 
 
 From the scorched tropics bound or frozen Pole, 
 From Greenland's snows or India's torrid gales. 
 
 Blithely they haste in Britain's lap to pour 
 Of tributary realms the well-earned spoil ; 
 
 Realms which ne'er saw Rome's conquering eagles 
 soar, 
 Or Venice' dreaded lion flout the soil. 
 
 Again to earth's remotest shores they roam, 
 And trackless seas and starless skies defy. 
 
±4 HISTORICAL FRAGMENT. 
 
 Where the tusked walrus guards her icy dome, 
 And midnight howlings bode the tempest nigh. 
 
 Go daring barks, with keels resistless still 
 
 Thro' storm and darkness plough th' unfathomed 
 deep, 
 
 Triumphant Britain's destinies fulfil. 
 
 And bid her banner wave, her thunder sleep. 
 
 Fair Ocean Queen, in arts and arms supreme. 
 Loved of the free, the beauteous and the brave. 
 
 Throned on thine isles, who see'st thy pennon 
 stream, 
 Where'er the breezes waft or rolls the wave ; 
 
 Exulting in thy wide imperial sway. 
 
 As if thy brow by deathless wreaths were bound, 
 Thy power pervading as the solar ray. 
 
 Yet stable as the rocks that gird thee round ; 
 
 Forgetful that but yester-eve beheld 
 
 Embattled nations leagued against thy life ; 
 
 While hope awhile her trembling ray withheld 
 From that dark hour of agonizing strife. 
 
 When dauntless still from thine unerring bow, 
 On many a sea renowned and many a plain, 
 
HISTORICAL FRAGMENT. 25 
 
 Thou spedst the shaft that laid Gaul's despot low, 
 And Europe, bursting from her broken chain. 
 
 Hailed while she saw thy meteor standard furled, 
 Thy milder beam's bland influence, and from far 
 
 Columbia owned thee of a rescued world 
 The Cynosure, and Freedom's morning star; 
 
 And that, ere dawn the fated morrow's morn, 
 Some monstrous birth of Time's portentous 
 womb 
 
 May mark thee for his prey by factions torn, 
 And nations rise to ratify thy doom. 
 
 For Empire, restless as the fleeting cloud 
 That wings from hill to hill its heavenward way, 
 
 Here roams reluctant guest, while vainly proud 
 Of homage brief man woos her fickle stay. 
 
 Of realms to ruin by her smile betrayed 
 What mournful phantoms swell the shadowy 
 train — 
 
 Who lordly once like thee the sceptre swayed, 
 And launch'd their fleets victorious on the main : 
 
 Great Nineveh, whose pride high heaven defied 
 And blasted fell : and Babylon no more 
 
26 HISTORICAL FRAGMENT. 
 
 Her stars invoking : drooping side by side 
 The sister queens of Syria's palmy shore : 
 
 E^yptj oppressor stern, by heav'n abhorred, 
 And Persia ev'n for glory clad with shame : 
 
 And mighty Macedon, whose conquering sword 
 On Asia flashed like heav'n's own shaft of flame : 
 
 Majestic Rome, who in her vast embrace 
 Gathered all nations and decreed their doom. 
 
 And from her teeming womb a motley race 
 Of kingdoms towering in the twilight gloom : 
 
 And thence emerging other States, who still 
 Instinct with youth, or renovated might, 
 
 Or shorn of ancient strength, the Almighty will 
 Fulfilling hasten to the shades of night. 
 
 Lettered on shifting sands their names, be thine 
 
 On rock of adamant for ever sure 
 Fair Britain, graven, while, hymned on harps divine, 
 
 Deeds wrought in faith may angel hosts allure 
 
 To lead thy van of battle where afar 
 
 O'er ocean, isle or realms of old renown, 
 
 Or yet unsung, thy sons, in bloodless war 
 
 Still conquering, greet th' incorruptible crown. 
 
HISTORICAL FRAGMENT. 27 
 
 To mortal ken how few, to faith's keen eye 
 Each rears the banner of a host unseen, 
 
 Innumerous as the stars that gem the sky, 
 Or sands that glitter in the solar sheen ; 
 
 On earth still militant, till He of life 
 
 And light eternal Lord shall from his throne 
 
 The usurper hurl, bid nations cease from strife, 
 And from the sated grave redeem his own. 
 
 He comes ! along thy wild and wave-wom steep, 
 Britain, by seers foretold, what glory streams ! 
 
 Thy watchmen not in vain their vigils keep, 
 The Sun is risen, they hail his orient beams ; 
 
 The Sun of Righteousness, whose dawning ray 
 Pierced the dark mists that wrapped thee, from 
 the gloom 
 
 Chasing hell's sullen brood where rife they lay, 
 With ruthless carnage glutted: meet their doom. 
 
 Dread Mona, land of woe, dark Druid isle, 
 Idolatry's stern nurse, disclose thy slain, 
 
 Whose hell-devoted life-blood steeped the soil, 
 Where yon grey stones bestrew the heathery plain . 
 
28 HISTORICAL FRAGMENT. 
 
 In pillared pomp, concentric once they rose,. 
 
 A rugged roofless pile, a temple rude : 
 High in the midst thy priest with oak-wreathed 
 brow 
 
 And snowy vest in holy frenzy stood. 
 
 With many a mystic rite and muttered prayer 
 
 He spread the sacrifice, the victim bound, 
 Then grasped the knife with arm for slaughter 
 bare ; 
 Groans rent the air and human blood flow'd 
 round. 
 
 O vain atonement, foulest deadliest deed 
 By demon hate devised, by heav'n accurst. 
 
 Long on thy fathers and their fated seed 
 Of wrath divine the fiery tempest burst. 
 
 War yoked his furious steeds, and scoured the plain, 
 O'erthrew the altars, and the forest felled : 
 
 But Albion soon amidst his conqu'ring train 
 A form of meekest, lowliest mien beheld. 
 
 'Twas earthly, and a simple garb she wore. 
 Yet all celestial was her heavenward look. 
 
 Her fair right hand a wand of myrtle bore, 
 Her left devoutly pressed the sacred book : 
 
HISTORICAL FRAGMENT. 29 
 
 And Still she spoke of peace in accents mild, 
 Of ceasing discord and triumphant love, 
 
 Of God to pardoned sinners reconciled, 
 And joys unfading in the realms above. 
 
 The stalwart chief leaned listening from his car. 
 And bade his serried ranks the tidings hear, 
 
 And monarchs radiant from victorious war. 
 Approved her wisdom, gentle tho' severe. 
 
 Down iron cheeks the tear of pity stole, 
 Victors and vanquished one true God adored, 
 
 Of equal laws obeyed the just control, 
 And Alfred bowed the knee. or grasped the sword. 
 
 Then Albion free, and great and glorious rose, 
 Conquered, yet conquering still her sceptre reared, 
 
 Her Norman monarchs crushed her stubborn foes, 
 Knelt at her shrines, her ancient laws revered. 
 
 On Cambria's hills the beacon blaze of war ! 
 
 It gleams on wizard stream and mystic vale, 
 On hallowed homes, and fanes revered afar. 
 
 While tracks th' invader's march the voice of 
 wail. 
 
30 HISTORICAL FRAGMENT. 
 
 On Arvon's shores his glittering ranks behold, 
 Avail nor fierce despair nor suppliant charms ; 
 
 The Saxon wins thee as thy seers foretold, 
 Land of the free-born, to his conquering arms. 
 
 And on the mound where late sublime they stood 
 In strife's last hour amid thy rallying bands, 
 
 While Menai's surging eddies drank their blood, 
 And corses rife strewed Mona's golden sands, 
 
 A glorious choir in flowing robes arrayed, 
 
 Their hoar locks streaming to the troubled wind. 
 
 Reckless of volleying shaft or quivering blade. 
 Spurning the yoke; to gory death resigned, 
 
 While still they hymned, in descant wild and high, 
 Till ebbing life's last gasp dear freedom's name, 
 
 And dying 'mid celestial minstrelsy 
 
 Soared heavenward in the martyr's car of flame, 
 
 There of thy bards the mangled relics lay. 
 
 Nor unavenged ; — where Snowdon rears serene 
 
 His mountain throne, 'tis said in bright array 
 Dire harbingers of woe their forms were seen ; 
 
 And on the monarch's ear, while homeward wound 
 His trophied host around the mountain's base. 
 
HISTORICAL FRAGMENT. 3I 
 
 O'er flood and fell, above, beneath, around, 
 Pealed the loud doom of Edward's fated race. 
 
 In vain of mustering bands arose the clang, 
 The servile shout that hailed triumphant wrong : 
 
 In vain thro' Ryddlan's hall at midnight rang 
 The revel high and blazed the festal throng : 
 
 In vain all radiant from her stately towers 
 On valour's deeds approving Beauty smiled, 
 
 Or soft retired in Clwidd's blooming bow'rs 
 War's stern resolve with love's delights beguiled; 
 
 The curse still urged, and time hath sealed its doom, 
 And still its echoes shall thy chords prolong. 
 
 The curse which sleeps not in the silent tomb. 
 The curse immortal of avenging song, 
 
 Granta's majestic bard ! The prophet's car. 
 The azure fields of light and steeds of fire 
 
 Were thine : thy course I follow from afar. 
 
 While wakes no meaner theme my feebler lyre. 
 
 Mona I sing and Tudor's royal line I 
 
 O'er grim oppression's woes and grinding chains 
 Say, Cambria, shall thy sons for ever pine. 
 
 Nor wake thy silent harp's forgotten strains ? 
 
32 HISTORICAL FRAGMENT. 
 
 Lo ! on thy mountains of tyrannic sway, 
 No trophies hoar the mantling mists enfold : 
 
 It blazed and vanished like the meteor's ray, 
 While tower their summits proudly as of old : 
 
 As when 'mid tempest's howl and torrent's roar, 
 Wandering and wild, their guide the western sun, 
 
 From ravening wolf, rude elk, and brindled boar. 
 Their stormy holds thy sires primeval won, 
 
 And from their rugged battlements defied 
 The bold Phoenician, while in long array 
 
 His galleys bounded blithely o'er the tide 
 
 From " waves that rock the cradle of the day : " 
 
 Or when from that dread Spirit shrank the eye. 
 Whose glance from Ind to Lusitania's strand 
 
 Flashed, as ill-omen'd from the sultry sky 
 On guilty nations Sirion's flaming brand : 
 
 Spirit of freedom spurning man's control. 
 
 Whose converse high thy prophet bards inspired. 
 
 From earthborn care and passion purged the soul, 
 And with the love of deathless glory fired. 
 
 Till of immortal essence they partook, 
 Of harmony insphered and mystic power. 
 
HISTORICAL FRAGMENT. 33 
 
 And bowed by Modred's spells the mountains shook, 
 And ocean own'd the might of dark Glendow'r ; 
 
 And to enraptured strains thine harp was 
 strung, 
 Ere yet thy bards Llewellyn mourn'd in vain, 
 Nor mute the chords, and vocal was the tongue 
 That lulled the winds and hushed the stormy 
 main ; 
 
 Vocal no more, save where on lonely hill 
 At night's calm noon, aerial minstrelsy 
 
 Around the sod sepulchral lingers still ; 
 Or when, as of old time, the warrior cry 
 
 Told Albion that thy Tudor*s call awoke 
 The spirit of thy sons, and from afar 
 
 Rush'd forth their bands, by vengeance fired, and 
 broke 
 Full on her sheep-clad plains the blast of war. 
 
 In vain usurping York his might withstood. 
 Bulwarks high towered and Bosworth*s stern 
 array, 
 
 And Albion sheathed her sword with kindred blood 
 Yet red, and blessed her British Tudor's sway. 
 
 Ev'n as when severed from the shattered side 
 Of Alp or Apennine some craggy knoll 
 
 D 
 
34 HISTORICAL FRAGMENT. 
 
 O'erwhelms the vale, in desolation wide 
 
 Rocks piled on rocks and mingled forests roll : 
 
 From hill to hill upheaved a rampart towers, 
 And chafes the torrent pent and swoll'n, by rills 
 
 Innumerous fed and snows and frequent show'rs, 
 Till the vast chasm the growing burthen fills. 
 
 Hamlets deep-fathomed lie, the voices hushed, 
 And notes of joy that hail'd the blooming morn, 
 
 And fitful din of cataracts that gushed 
 
 From steep to steep, as if since Time was born 
 
 Lonely and dark and deep that lake had slept, 
 And save when ruffled by the wolf's gaunt brood. 
 
 Or cygnet's plash, or by the wild wind swept. 
 All motionless as Death's unaltered mood. 
 
 When hark from the abyss, as if by throes 
 Convulsive Earth were rent, a sullen roar ! 
 
 The cloven mound the surging tide o'erflows ; 
 A moment smiles the landscape, and no more ; 
 
 To the far hills the flocks in dire dismay 
 
 Fly, while forlorn and reft the weeping swain 
 
 Seeks, where rank sedge and miry reed betray 
 The watery waste, his sire's loved cot in vain. 
 
HISTORICAL FRAGMENT. 35 
 
 But Spring hath waved her brooding wings anew, 
 Homesteads arise and fanes their turrets rear, 
 
 Fresh verdure glitters in the morning dew, 
 And ampler harvests crown the exulting year. 
 
 Cradled in woe, a virgin queen is born, — 
 
 In her pale cheek care blights the opening rose : 
 
 Avaunt ye clouds that blacken o'er her morn, 
 The noon-day splendour of her realm disclose ! 
 
 To Wisdom's voice a willing ear she bends. 
 And Justice lifts aloft her golden scales, 
 
 And Faith's pure incense from her shrines ascends, 
 While haughty Rome her empire lost bewails. 
 
 See jocund Peace lead .on the laughing hours, 
 And smiling Plenty cheer the lab'ring swain ; 
 
 The joyous Muse repairs her broken bow'rs. 
 And hark on Avon's banks th' immortal strain ! 
 
 Eliza's fame shall bards unborn resound. 
 And tell how fared the huge Armada's pride. 
 
 How Raleigh grasped the sword in myrtle bound. 
 And Sidney sweetly sang and nobly died. 
 
 D 2 
 
36 HISTORICAL FRAGMENT. 
 
 But oh what star malign its lustre flings 
 To blight the promise of that glorious hour ; 
 
 What spectres wan of slain or vanquished kings, 
 And queens discrowned in shadowy distance 
 lower ! 
 
 Ill-fated line, could blood for crimes atone, 
 
 Dark Flodden had appeased Heav'n's vengeful 
 ire, 
 
 And Mary loath no more in chains to groan 
 Had blessed the axe that bade the curse expire. 
 
 The sword that o'er the sire suspended gleams 
 Upon the son's devoted head shall fall : 
 
 Lo, on the block a monarch's life-blood streams, 
 And mad Sedition hails th' usurper's throne. 
 
 To vengeance cries the son and fires the war : 
 On Worcester's fated field he turns the rein, 
 
 And roams a helpless fugitive afar 
 
 To mourn his trampled crown and nobles slain. 
 
 But destined yet a happier lot to prove, 
 Dash from thy lips the chalice of despair : 
 
 A late-repentant people's tardy love 
 
 Recalls thee to a throne of thorny care : 
 
 And o'er the stones, but yesterday bedew'd 
 By thy sire's murder, rolls thy car elate. 
 
HISTORICAL FRAGMENT. 37 
 
 And with foul rapine gorged, Rebellion's brood 
 Their surfeit loathe, and hail thy royal state. 
 i 
 
 Now glorious is the task that waits thee, child 
 Of sad vicissitudes and countless wrongs ; 
 
 Be not by fortune's treacherous smiles beguiled ; 
 To thee the patriot's sterner part belongs. 
 
 In the fierce furnace of affliction tried, 
 
 And constant found, behold a faithful band, 
 
 Friends of thy sire, brave Ormond, generous Hyde, 
 And Monk, 'mid factions dauntless, round thee 
 stand, 
 
 A nation's crime a monarch must forgive, 
 Heav'n can alone a nation's forfeit claim ; 
 
 Restore thine exiles, bid thy captives live, 
 And cherish loyalty's undying flame ; 
 
 Thy tott'ring throne, that rests on Freedom's base. 
 From secret plots, from hostile arms defend ; 
 
 So shall thy brows unfading laurels grace. 
 And to thy prayers shall Heav'n propitious bend. 
 
 But lighter cares thy reckless thoughts employ ; 
 
 On wanton Pleasure's flowery lap reclined 
 Thou deemest thy sceptre but a glitt'ring toy, 
 
 And yieldest to Folly's transports all thy mind. 
 
38 HISTORICAL FRAGMENT. 
 
 'Mid silken dalliance, mirth, and revel loud, 
 Scorning the wisdom learnt in sorrow's school, 
 
 Of jesters, parasites, and knaves a crowd • 
 
 Usurp thy courts, thy fickle counsels rule, 
 
 And bid thee truckle to a tyrant's throne. 
 
 And still while bartering, slave of lawless will. 
 
 Thy country's ancient honour and thine own. 
 E'en to the brim the cup of rapture fill. 
 
 But ah ! thy days are numbered : Heav'n has sped 
 The fatal shaft that lays thy glory low : 
 
 For thee, tho' slumbering 'mid the mighty dead, 
 No unbought lay shall rise, nor tear shall flow. 
 
 And lo amid the recreant troops that press 
 To greet thy brother's kingly step, are seen 
 
 The Furies of thine house, with false caress. 
 And flatt'ring speech, and meek insidious mien^ 
 
 And as the serpent's subtle art beguiles 
 Th' unwary deer in covert closely laid, 
 
 The deadly coil the victim of his wiles 
 
 Enfolds, and piteous moanings fill the glade. 
 
 O'er all his pomp a with'ring glance they cast ; 
 Its maddening poison rankles in his heart, 
 
HISTORICAL FRAGMENT. 39 
 
 His laurels droop as in th' autumnal blast, 
 
 The angel guardians of his throne depart. 
 
 t 
 
 Frantic he riots in misrule, defies 
 
 His gathering people, and mistrusts his God, 
 And long his lineage, tho' his realm he flies. 
 
 Shall rue the dire offence and chastening rod. 
 
 O'er Scotia's hills brave Nassau's banner waves. 
 O'er Erin's fens, and Albion's citied plain, 
 
 Hushed the wild howl on Aughrim's reeking 
 graves, 
 And Boyne no more runs purple to the main. 
 
 Yet ere Rebellion folds her crimson'd wings, 
 
 Majestically calm, like Rome of old 
 When Gaul was at her gates, a band of kings, 
 
 The patriot senators, their names enrolled 
 
 In England's brightest heraldry, debate, 
 Or by the light illumed of ancient lore 
 
 The deep foundations of the shattered state. 
 Rude structure of their Saxon sires, explore, 
 
 Its growing symmetry devoutly scan, 
 Redeem from slow decay or wasting war, 
 
40 ON LEAVING TALLANTIRE HALL. 
 
 And mould anew its time-cemented plan, 
 
 Whence Freedom's glorious fabric sprang, from 
 far 
 
 Dimly by seers descried,— like some vast rock 
 That spectral looms beyond the misty sea, 
 
 Long looked for refuge from the tempest's shock. 
 Achievement of the brave and dwelling of the 
 free. 
 
 VII. 
 
 ON LEAVING TALLANTIRE HALL, 
 CUMBERLAND. 
 
 Nov. 1849. 
 
 Four moons have past since first I heard 
 Thy timid greeting, gentle bird, 
 
 In sultry noon reposing, 
 Where girds yon moat thy dwelling rude, 
 Thine island home, amid thy brood 
 
 In peace maternal dozing. 
 
ON LEAVING TALLANTIRE HALL. 4I 
 
 111 fares thy shattered tenement 
 By ruthless sea-gales sorely rent, 
 
 While sweeps the autumnal blast 
 The sere leaves, where they wove on high 
 Their ample arching canopy, 
 
 In whirling eddies past. 
 
 And like vicissitude thy lot 
 
 Hath prov'd, albeit thou know'st it not. 
 
 While on thy sedgy waters. 
 Or wonted knoll thou sit'st alone 
 Meekly, like monumental stone, 
 
 Bereft of sons and daughters. 
 
 I ask not what their fate hath been, 
 Since first thou led'st thy nestlings green 
 
 Exulting from the shore, 
 Full soon, in snow-white plumes array'd. 
 Awhile in sunshine or in shade 
 
 To sport, and be no more. 
 
 I ask not, but thy woes impart 
 A passing sadness to my heart, 
 
 In sooth tinfelt by thee. 
 While sympathetic bands entwine 
 My summer's transient joys with thine, 
 
 Who once partook thy glee. 
 
42 ON LEAVING TALLANTIRE HALL. 
 
 For thine was no unshared domain, 
 Nor for thy sake alone soft rain 
 
 Distilled, nor suns shone bright, 
 Nor broad planes spread their tangled shade, 
 Nor waters welled, nor breezes played, 
 
 Nor streamed the mists of night. 
 
 No ! there, as on enchanted ground. 
 Mine imps too joyous pastime found. 
 
 In the insect's glittering wing, 
 Or opening flow'ret gemmed with dew. 
 Beholding Heav'n's own magic hue, 
 
 And life's eternal spring. 
 
 Light hearts were theirs from morn till eve 
 To chase the darting fly, or weave 
 
 The daisies' withering wreath. 
 Or mark their fairy frigate brave 
 The menace of the mimic wave. 
 
 And toils that lurk'd beneath. 
 
 At first, low-cowering in thy nest, 
 Thou luredst thy nestlings to thy breast, 
 
 Till soon familiar grown. 
 Thou viewedst with calm unshrinking eye 
 The giddy rout come rushing by, 
 
 Nor trembledst for thine own. 
 
ON LEAVING TALLANTIRE HALL. 43 
 
 The past*with thee is gone for ever ; 
 Oblivion's soothing balm can sever 
 
 The links which nought avail, 
 Unlike the ties which to his kind 
 By fears man's heav'n-taught instinct bind> 
 
 Or hopes that never fail. 
 
 Thy joys and griefs alike have fled, 
 Thou reckest not of thy once lov'd dead, 
 
 Nor of thy coming doom ; 
 But man recalls, and not in vain. 
 The number'd hours he meets again 
 
 Awaking from the tomb. 
 
 None miss their reckoning: Time's rude surge 
 Waves following waves incessant urge, 
 
 Nor fails the advancing tide, 
 That wafts, not whelms, — by faith subdued, — 
 Tho' deep, and turbid, and bestrewed 
 
 With wreck of human pride ; 
 
 That wafts, not whelms man's fragile bark, 
 Tho' darkly loom the past, and dark 
 
 The stream, till, hush'd its roar. 
 With present past and future blend, . 
 A sea of glory without end, 
 
 When Time shall be no more. 
 
44 ON LEAVING TALLANTIRE HALL. 
 
 Be our brief portion joy or woe, *' 
 We may not tarry here below, 
 
 But of Eternity 
 Frail denizens reclaim the past, 
 Cling to the present, and forecast 
 
 The future's destiny. 
 
 The child, tho' bent on present folly, 
 No votary crazed of melancholy. 
 
 The past in thought renews, 
 Or else, in frolic or in tears, 
 Thro' vistas bright of future years 
 
 Its phantom self pursues. 
 
 Or haply if in Life's still eve 
 
 To scenes beloved in youth we cleave, 
 
 Where in th' empurpled haze 
 On groves ancestral, storied streams, 
 Lone fane, or haunted turret beams 
 
 The light of other days. 
 
 Embodying shadows as we roam, 
 Peopling a visionary home, 
 
 Content the fight to shun, 
 Voices long silent chide our stay, 
 And echoes answer, ** Come away, 
 
 The triumph is not won." 
 
ON LEAVING TALLANTIRE HALL. 45 
 
 For sooner in her rifled nest 
 
 The bird shall find her wonted rest, 
 
 And heedless bask, the while 
 From the low beach the tide recedes, 
 The shoal amid the drifted weeds 
 
 Than shall such dreams beguile. 
 
 Chafed by the present's fretting thrall, 
 Let wealth oppress or pleasure pall. 
 
 Or thwart malignant star 
 Each high emprize, as faint we cope 
 With gathering ills, or bravely hope, 
 
 Still gleams the goal from far. 
 
 And they who spurn a deathless aim 
 Can crave proud obsequies, a name 
 
 Upborne on fleeting breath, 
 And ask, — such vaunts their scoffs belie, — 
 " O grave, where is thy victory ! 
 
 And where thy sting, O death ? '* 
 
 A moment lost to sight, her wave 
 The sea-bird mounts anew : the grave 
 
 So yields her slain to life. 
 Grim Death, thy thousand years of sway 
 To Him are but as yesterday, 
 
 Who bids thee cease from strife. 
 
46 ON LEAVING TALLANTIRE HALL. 
 
 Prescient while procreant moved sublime 
 God's Spirit o'er the deep : could Time 
 
 Unfold the vast design, 
 Or Heav'n's unfathomed mercy span, 
 His being God forego, or man 
 
 His attributes Divine ? 
 
 * 
 The hosannahs of Creation's morn 
 
 The glory hymn'd of years unborn, 
 
 Redemption's Jubilee ; 
 The twilight o'er Death's vale that steals 
 The day-spring from on high reveals, 
 
 As memory's shadows flee. 
 
 On the parched heath the blighted flow'r, 
 That wastes the fragrance of an hour, 
 
 Gives Spring no promise vain, 
 And what is childhood but the bloom 
 Of seedling nurtur'd in the tomb ? 
 
 Its incense breathes again. 
 
 And as its fount unseen the ray, 
 
 So childhood's joys their source betray : 
 
 We bid not reason prove 
 Truth which the sage may fail to teach. 
 Nor bard's all-searching vision reach. 
 
 Faith whispers *^ God is love." 
 
( 47 ) 
 
 VIII. 
 
 ON THE PAPAL AGGRESSION. 
 1851. 
 
 There's nothing new beneath the sun, — 
 
 In aye-revolving cycle run 
 
 Man's hope, and fear, and joy, and sorrow, — 
 
 Night's spectres fly the brightening morrow, 
 
 Or if Day hide his kingly form, 
 
 Brief revel holds the fleeting storm. 
 
 Then let Heav'n's blasts their orgies wake, 
 
 'Till kings like quiv'ring aspens shake, 
 
 And falling stars and heaving ocean 
 
 Portend the last foretold commotion, 
 
 I'll mount where sounds the din like roar 
 
 Of waves on a far distant shore. 
 
 And purg'd from earth-born mists my ken, 
 
 While to and fro the tribes of men 
 
 Are swept as autumn leaves, may scan 
 
 Of Providence the unerring plan. 
 
48 ON THE PAPAL AGGRESSION. 
 
 Faith shall arouse my slumb'ring lyre. 
 And tho' no lofty theme inspire, 
 Britain, to venturous bard his meed 
 Vouchsafe, and to my strain give heed. 
 Nor take, where none is meant, offence, 
 If allegory veil my sense, 
 Since forms uncouth may truth convey, • 
 And wisdom prompt a sportive lay, 
 And prescience, while of legend old 
 She feigns to speak, her lore unfold. 
 Then listen, while in homely verse 
 A tale of Albion I rehearse. 
 
 In Westminster's imperial town, 
 London's twin sister in renown, 
 Where senates, arbiters of fate, 
 Decree, while realms the issue wait ; 
 Where Justice lifts aloft her scales 
 Unswayed by Faction's fickle gales ; 
 Where yet unspoiled, a princely dow'r 
 Gladdens fair Learning's hallowed bow'r ; 
 Where from the Minster daily rise 
 Her Church's holy litanies, 
 And, as to check the suppliant's pride, 
 Sit Death and Glory side by side, 
 The votive wreath with cypress twine, 
 And sceptered pomp in dust enshrine : 
 
ON THE PAPAL AGGRESSION. 49 
 
 City whose generous warmth invites 
 
 Guests of all shapes, and tongues, and rites, 
 
 While man and beast confiding share 
 
 Of equal laws the fostering care, 
 
 There dwelt and roam'd, to few unknown. 
 
 The native'"'' of another zone. 
 
 Her sluggish gait and shaggy vest 
 
 Belied the soul that fired her breast. 
 
 Nor fang her snout betrayed, nor claw 
 
 The terrors of her downy paw. 
 
 And as to gaze on mystic might 
 
 Unawed instils sublime delight, 
 
 When fear scarce felt just crisps the skin, 
 
 Nor owns its spell the heart within, 
 
 The vilest of the motley rout. 
 
 That scann'd the monster round about, 
 
 In straining eye and tingling finger 
 
 Might feel the fascination linger 
 
 That lures th' unwary victim on 
 
 'Till, sense enchained, and reason gone, 
 
 And flutt'ring pulse, and parting breath. 
 
 Confess the wizard grasp of death. 
 
 Of foreign guise was hef who led 
 The brute, while to her solemn tread 
 
 * Romanism. f Cardinal Wiseman. 
 
 E . 
 
50 ON THE PAPAL AGGRESSION. 
 
 A loud tambour responsive drew 
 
 The gathering crowd, whose wonder grew 
 
 To mark bedizened squires bestride 
 
 With courtly air her bushy hide, 
 
 Or as she sat on haunch elate, 
 
 In mimicry of regal state, 
 
 On her behalf obsequious claim 
 
 A tribute not of empty fame. 
 
 But many a morn's enlivening beam 
 
 Had waked the sons of smoke and steam 
 
 In square, and street, and alley dense, 
 
 Dark haunts of sin and pestil'fence, 
 
 While *mid the swarming hosts 'twere vain 
 
 To seek old Bruin and her train. 
 
 Nor sharp alarum, buzz or shout. 
 
 Nor shriek, nor rush, nor rabble rout 
 
 Told England, as in bygone days. 
 
 The bear invok'd the city's gaze. 
 
 Meanwhile full soon strange murmurs spread ; 
 
 'Twas whisper'd she was sick or dead. 
 
 Or that infuriate from the bite 
 
 Of treacherous foe or rabid spite. 
 
 Her guards canine had spurn'd her sway, 
 
 And sore beleaguered still she lay.* 
 
 * Romanism besieged by the French in her own capital. 
 
ON THE PAPAL AGGRESSION. 5I 
 
 A pause the onset reinforces, 
 
 As sapient Verulam discourses, 
 
 And so deemed Bruin, versed as he 
 
 In tangled lore of sophistry. 
 
 And hark ! ere yet November's sun 
 
 Had donned his wintry mantle dun, 
 
 The drum's deep tones proclaim again 
 
 That Bruin seeks her ancient reign. 
 
 Forth from her labyrinth she comes, 
 
 Of courts, and alleys, lanes, and slums, '^^ 
 
 Where 'neath the Minster's hallow'd shade 
 
 In loathsome den her lair is laid, 
 
 And where within the Abbey gate, 
 
 To lore prebendal dedicate, 
 
 And discipline scholastic famed 
 
 For many a rebel stripling tamed,f 
 
 The close its ample bounds expands, 
 
 Erect in regal port she stands. J 
 
 Goodly and gallant is her trim, 
 
 With scarlet hose enwrapped each limb, 
 
 Her brows with scarlet scull-cap bound : 
 
 Around her shoulders deftly wound 
 
 * So described by Cardinal Wiseman, 
 t Westminster School. 
 
 X Cardinal Wiseman issued his first Manifesto from West- 
 minster. 
 
 E 2 
 
52 ON THE PAPAL AGGRESSION. 
 
 A Spanish mantle * floats in air, 
 
 Her sturdy paws a sceptre bear, 
 
 While, robed in scarlet, nimbly wait 
 
 Her roguish ministers of state. 
 
 And of her princely pedigree 
 
 All conscious, and in mimicry 
 
 Of arts maternal, frisks behind 
 
 A Cub,t the daintiest of his kind. 
 
 To celebrate the glorious birth 
 
 Old Bruin woos the city's mirth, 
 
 And in the fair succession hails 
 
 A dynasty that never fails, 
 
 'Till bears once more shall rule these nations, 
 
 As auspicate twin constellations, 
 
 Whose light of old their roamings led 
 
 When forests shook beneath their tread, 
 
 And shall when Britain's royal dow'r 
 
 Melts in the gripe of Ursine pow'r. 
 
 Now minstrels chaunt your paeans high, 
 
 Let instrumental harmony J 
 
 Blend its loud tones of fife and drum, 
 
 Flute or bassoon's soul-stirring hum, 
 
 * Cardinal Wiseman by birth a Spaniard, 
 t Anglo- Romanism. 
 
 I Allusion to the prodigality of instruments, including the 
 martial fife and drum, employed in the Romish ceremonial. 
 
ON THE PAPAL AGGRESSION. 53 
 
 Or castanets whose merry din 
 Ushers the festal triumph in. 
 Where choral bands the dance entwine 
 Before proud Seville's stateliest shrine.* 
 O Heav'n, from heathenish rites profane, 
 From Superstition's gilded chain, 
 From Spanish arts defend and wiles, 
 As erst from Spanish might our isles ! 
 
 And marveird much in sooth the crowd. 
 Now murmuring low, now shouting loud. 
 As memory, while the descant grew, 
 Unrolled in dark historic view 
 The days when Bruin reigned alone, 
 And brooked no sister near her throne. 
 Hark ! from the Minster sounds the alarm. 
 Her watchment bid her liegemen arm. 
 Lest rebel rage the shrine invade, 
 Where meekly sought the Royal maid 
 In faith the living source whence springs 
 The might of realms or sway of kings, 
 All pure from its celestial birth 
 Untainted by the stains of earth. 
 
 * Scene actually exhibited at the high altars of the Cathedral of 
 Seville, and censured at Rome by the Pope. 
 
 + The first address in opposition to the Wiseman Manifesto 
 Proceeded from the Prebendaries of Westminster. 
 
54 ON THE PAPAL AGGRESSION. 
 
 And had not reason's dim eclipse 
 Thy vision quenched, and sealed thy lips, 
 Pealed had thy tocsin, nor in vain, 
 Warden* of yon sepulchral fane. 
 To v^hose high charge in custody 
 Was giv'n of kings and statesmen old, 
 Sages and priests, and warriors bold, 
 And bards renown'd the honour'd dust, 
 A grateful nation's hallow'd trust. 
 
 Now parts apace the eager throng. 
 
 The gay procession moves along. 
 
 And thro' the archway rolls the tide 
 
 Of life, and hope, and swelling pride. 
 
 The minstrels first in order due 
 
 March forth, while banners flaunt the view : 
 
 Next Bruin treads with solemn pace. 
 
 The Cub her gesture apes with grace. 
 
 Her rear the liv'ried lacqueys fence 
 
 From insult or impertinence : 
 
 The docile dogs come limping after. 
 
 Oh ! for an hour of Sidney'sf laughter ! 
 
 No merry limner skill'd as he 
 
 To paint such Ursine pageantry. 
 
 * Dr. Buckland, Dean of "Westminster. 
 •f Rev. Sidney Smith. 
 
ON THE PAPAL AGGRESSION. 55 
 
 Oh for thy glance, swift falcon,* keen 
 As his, which scatheless and unseen 
 Could pierce like heaven's own bolt its prey. 
 Say hast thou fled, or shunnest the day 
 Where moping owlets fold the wing, 
 And vampires to their victims cling? 
 Or doth Enchantment's deadly spell 
 Its willing captive trammel well, 
 'Till cease to gall the mystic chain ? 
 One swoop had rent its links in twain, 
 And scatter'd Bruin and her train. f 
 
 On sped the tumult, mutters loud 
 The thunder of the maddening crowd : 
 Dies on the ear the Minster's chime, 
 While in its knell all vainly Time 
 Bids fame from aisles and cloisters grey 
 Strange welcome to a shroud of clay. 
 On speeds the tumult, mark ye now 
 Yon statue : by the lofty brow, 
 
 * H.B. 
 
 f It is worthy of note that Cardinal Wiseman deferred his 
 Manifesto till just after the death of Sidney Smith and the dis- 
 appearance of H. B., the two most redoubtable satirists of the 
 age. It was surmised that apprehension of collision with the 
 Romish Hierarchy caused H. B.'s timely retreat. 
 
56 ON THE i>APAL AGGRESSION. 
 
 And eagle glance 'tis his,* the form 
 Aye seen triumphant in the storm, 
 Still pointing 'mid the welkin's war 
 Where faintly glimmer'd Bruin's star. 
 Long may its light benignant shine 
 On high-souled Canning's lordly line. 
 
 On speeds the tumult ; softly tread, 
 And chaunt a requiem for the dead. 
 Ye minstrels, and your uproar cease, 
 Britons, and bid his spirit peace 
 Ere yet yon stately hall t be past 
 Where throbb'd its patriot ardour last : 
 Spirit of him whose voice of pow'r 
 Still ruled the tempest's darkest hour, 
 'Till day, refulgent from the gloom, 
 . Beamed but to gild the victor's tomb. 
 
 Nor shun the dark presage awhile 
 That broods o'er yonder storied pile, j 
 Where as a lamb to slaughter led 
 The martyred sire of monarchs bled, 
 Who ever blessed the hallowed star 
 In exile while they roam'd afar ? 
 
 * Rt. Hon. George Canning, a foremost champion of the political 
 emancipation of the Roman Catholics. 
 
 f House of Sir Robert Peel, another distinguished supporter of 
 the same cause. t Whitehall. 
 
ON THE PAPAL AGGRESSION. , 57 
 
 The tumult gathers : cease from woe, 
 And bend your steps in homage low, 
 Where weaves, unseen by garish day, 
 Her tangled web imperial sway.* 
 Grows as it feeds the lust of power ; 
 So brightens as it bends the flower, 
 That to the sun its incense brings, 
 When morning shakes her dewy wings. 
 Avaunt the spectres wan of death, 
 Give bold ambition's trumpet breath ; 
 Time, farewell to thy winters hoary, 
 Hail summers on a sea of glory. 
 
 The minstrels stole a witching measure 
 
 From an arch-magician's f treasure. 
 
 Of his subtle skill in token, 
 
 Who, as Ulster's sagej has spoken, 
 
 ** Whate'er he did in gramarye 
 
 Had ever done maliciously," 
 
 Whose spell bade Scotia's wither'd bays 
 
 Bloom fresh as in forgotten days, 
 
 While yet her mountains stern and wild 
 
 Meet pastime found for ursine child, 
 
 * Downing Street. f. Walter Scott. 
 
 I Rev. Dr. Cook, of the Presbyterian Synod of Ulster, who 
 attributed the supposed revival of Popery in Great Britain prin- 
 cipally to Walter Scott's writings. 
 
5^ ON THE PAPAL AGGRESSION. 
 
 Unpruned her spreading forests grow, 
 Chiefs doff the breech and bend the bow, 
 With crafty fox for scanty food 
 To cope once more, or gaunt wolf's brood, 
 'Till wily Bruin's conquering race 
 Regain their ancient dwelling place. 
 'Twas thus the exulting descant rang, 
 Responsive thus the minstrels sang. 
 
 Of all the culs de sac so rare, 
 
 Form'd for a statesman's dwelling. 
 
 In London far beyond compare, 
 Is Downing Street excelling.* 
 
 * " Of all the palaces so fair. 
 
 Formed for a Royal dwelling. 
 
 In Scodand far beyond compare, 
 
 Linlithgow is excelling."- — 
 
 Scott's Marmion. 
 
 Downing Street is roused by the uproar. The officials look 
 awe-struck from the windows. The Premier, Lord John Russell, 
 follows the general impulse. Less moved by the arrogant defiance 
 of Bruin than by the freaks of the Cub reminding him of former 
 vexatious contentions, and perhaps perceiving an opportunity of 
 adding to his stock of political capital, in a luckless hour convulses 
 the nation by his famous Manifesto, called the '* Durham Letter." 
 
 Pledged to follow its anathemas by legislation, he employs Par- 
 liament during an entire session in framing and amending an Act, 
 which fell, as was foreseen, dead from its birth, securing no other 
 purpose than that of a warning against any future attempt to 
 substitute ^ro/e J ^J for statutes. 
 
( 59 ) 
 
 IX. 
 
 THE TWO GIANTS, 
 
 LEGEND VERSIFIED,* ON THE OCCASION OF THE 
 ANNUAL MEETING OF THE ARCHAEOLOGICAL 
 INSTITUTE OF GREAT BRITAIN AND IRELAND, 
 HELD AT BRISTOL IN 185I. 
 
 DEDICATED TO THE PRESIDENT, J. S. HARFORD, ESQ. 
 
 Of days renown'd of old I sing, 
 When Pen,t thy storied steep 
 
 Saw, faithless to her native spring, 
 Sweet Avon seek the deep. 
 
 * The legend runs thus. Two giants, Vincent and Gorham, 
 contended for the Avon. The former retained possession, while 
 the latter sought consolation for his defeat in the repose of his 
 arm-chair, which is still pointed out in the romantic glen of BlaUe 
 Castle, the refreshment of a stream in which he bathed his feet, 
 and the occasional excitement of an aerial excursion in company 
 with the Storm King. 
 
 f Penpole, a well-known promontory at the junction of the 
 Avon and Severn. 
 
6o THE TWO GIANTS. 
 
 'Sooth maidens ever love to roam, 
 
 And fragile is the spell 
 That binds their fickle hearts to home, — 
 
 As roguish bards know well, 
 
 And deftly skill'd, when toils enclose 
 
 The unwary victim round, 
 On Love's light wings to chase the foes. 
 
 And clear th' enchanted ground. 
 
 So bright and buoyant, as when first 
 
 She sparkled into life, 
 Fared Avon forth ; when sudden burst 
 
 The thunder-cloud of strife. 
 
 For, as from dark primeval shade 
 
 Emerging, she pursued 
 Her course, where giants twain survey'd 
 
 The realms their might subdued. 
 
 Each from his castle-crag descried 
 
 The nymph with longing eyes, 
 And emulous with hasty stride 
 
 Rushed forth to grasp the prize. 
 
 Groaned Ocean from its depths, — Earth shook,- 
 Heaven lowered in storms above. 
 
 While from each fierce conflicting look 
 Flashed flames of wounded love. 
 
THE TWO GIANTS. 6l 
 
 Ye mountains of the Western sun, 
 
 If vocal, as of old, 
 'Twere yours to tell thro' ether dun 
 
 How rocks in tempest roll'd ; — 
 
 Her 'wilder'd waves in dire affright 
 
 How the virgin stream withdrew, 
 While to the rescue kindly Night 
 
 On ebon pinions flew ; — 
 
 And sought each chief his lonesome rest. 
 
 While Avon, far away, 
 On Severn's softly heaving breast, 
 
 In peaceful slumbers lay. 
 
 But soon to greet the victor,-— Fame 
 
 Oft wins the coyest fair, — 
 On Ocean's flood elate she came, 
 
 Where from his rocky lair 
 
 Now hoar with years, on tow'r and town, 
 
 On mead or woodland bow'r, 
 In glory's prime looks Vincent down, 
 
 His bride's imperial dow'r, — 
 
 While daily greet his gladden'd view, 
 
 In many a clime unfurled. 
 The sails that waft her tribute due. 
 
 The trophies of a world. 
 
62 THE TWO GIANTS. 
 
 And passing fair her banks ascend, 
 
 As on her bridal morn : — 
 Mark when with spring's bright verdure blend 
 
 Dark yew and whitening thorn 
 
 Soft mellowing tints, where beetling brow, 
 
 Knoll or ravine, prolong 
 Their sinuous course, or valley low, 
 
 Where lingers yet the song 
 
 Of gifted bards ; vain Nature's grace 
 
 When Sacrilege, sad sign 
 Of days degenerate, would efface 
 
 Each lineament Divine.* 
 
 Yet limits bound proud Man's control ; 
 
 Despite his boastings vain, 
 Shall Vincent stand, and Avon roll 
 
 Unfettered to the main. 
 
 But luckless Valour claims its bays, 
 
 Where luU'd the mournful wind 
 The vanquish'd lord of rocky Blaise 
 
 In his moss-grown chair reclin'd. 
 
 * The rock scenery of the Avon has been much disfigured by 
 the quarrying. 
 
THE TWO GIANTS. 63 
 
 Soft showers, while rugged Gorham slept, 
 
 Bedew'd his feverish brow, 
 To cool his limbs the forests wept, 
 
 And streams began to flow. 
 
 And foremost from her silvan nook 
 
 Came forth the chief to greet 
 The naiad of a limpid brook, 
 
 That murmured at his feet. 
 
 And destined was that lovely form 
 
 The warrior's soul to cheer, 
 While vernal airs, or Winter's storm 
 
 Prevail'd, or autumn sere : 
 
 But sultry Summer's scorching noon 
 
 Her viewless footsteps fled. 
 Nor e'en the glimpses of the moon 
 
 Reveal'd her unknown bed. 
 
 But now the glen eternal Spring 
 
 Hath clad in living green, 
 The feather'd warblers fold the wing 
 
 Beneath the forest screen : 
 
 And lo — where erst, when the dog-star's beam 
 Had pierc'd the shrivelling brake, 
 
64 THE TWO GIANTS. 
 
 Shrank from the wither'd fern the stream,- 
 The heav'n-reflecting lake."^ 
 
 Gaunt Gorham, when in musing mood 
 
 He woos the bliss of ease, 
 Deep mirror'd in the unruffled flood 
 
 His own grim visage sees : 
 
 Or when he soars on the winds away, 
 By the Storm-King's lures beguiled. 
 
 The blackening waves his freaks betray, 
 And share the frolic wild. 
 
 So learn, gay youth, that wedded love,-— 
 Such moral points my tale, — 
 
 In pride of pow'r may constant prove. 
 Or in life's sequester'd vale. 
 
 And ye on Durdham's breezy plain 
 Who brush the morning dew, 
 
 Or hail Day's farewell from the main, 
 Or Gallia's mountains blue ; 
 
 And mark that none the soil to till, 
 Where raged the unearthly fray, 
 
 Hath dared, nor mason's puny skill 
 To shape the mouldering clay ; — 
 
 * Formed by the late Mr. Harford, who planted the bare part 
 of the glen with evergreens and other trees. 
 
THE ROBIN. 65 
 
 Save where to guard a hallow'd fount 
 Whence Mendip's streams distil, 
 
 Upheaves yon solitary mount,* 
 Heav'n shield its banks from ill ; — 
 
 Rashly deem not 'twas vainly told 
 By Heaven's unerring pen 
 
 There were giants in the days of old 
 To mock the pride of men, 
 
 X. 
 
 THE ROBIN. 
 
 (Langton on Swale. Nov. 1851.) 
 
 As lone I wander'd yestere'en. 
 
 Where sweeps the rushing Swale 
 By sunny Langton's copse-wood screen 
 
 From Richmond's rocky dale, 
 
 Redeeming haply, as I hew'd 
 
 My toilsome path from thrall, 
 Some sapling monarch of the wood, 
 
 Broad plane, or poplar tall, 
 
 • A reservoir for the supply of the town, by water brought from 
 the Mendip hills, the only encroachment on the Down permitted. 
 
66 THE ROBIN. 
 
 I paused where struggled into light 
 
 A holly, to behold 
 Its glistening leaves and berries bright 
 
 The spiry shrub unfold, 
 
 When sudden wing'd his hasty way, 
 
 As mischief to avert, 
 And perched upon its topmost spray 
 
 A robin plump and pert. 
 
 And in his sharp inquiring eye 
 And beating breast, methought 
 
 I shrewdly guessed the reason why 
 My steadfast gaze he sought. 
 
 Yes, little bird, I'll spare thy nest ; 
 
 Go sing the winter long. 
 While other warblers seek their rest, 
 
 Thy never-failing song. 
 
 Its carols shall my sloth reprove, 
 While thro' the circling year 
 
 The tribute of thy constant love 
 Shall greet thy Maker's ear, 
 
 And reason to thine instinct turn. 
 
 In thy rejoicing strain 
 Love that may gladden bliss to learn, 
 
 Or soothe the pang of pain. 
 
( 67 ) 
 
 XL 
 
 STANZAS 
 
 ADDRESSED TO A FRIEND WHO HAD ADOPTED THE 
 METRE IN WHICH THEY ARE WRITTEN IN A 
 VOLUME OF POEMS JUST PUBLISHED. 
 
 Nov., 1853. 
 
 I SPORT with my rhymes 
 
 As a cat at times 
 With a mouse whom she holds by invisible chain; 
 
 Tho* he scamper away, 
 
 Her destined prey, 
 He must rue the sure gripe of her clutches again : 
 
 Or like some poor fool 
 
 Of a stripling at school, 
 Who breaks in a fit of vagary his bounds, 
 
 Where'er he may roam 
 
 He must needs come home, 
 Like a knave dogg'd by bailiffs or quarry by hounds : 
 
 F 2 
 
68 STANZAS. 
 
 Or like truant ship, 
 
 That seems to slip 
 From her moorings aloof from the wave-beaten 
 shore, 
 
 Tho' she drift on the tide, 
 
 *Tis but to abide 
 On her shadow as stiff and as still as before : 
 
 Or as planet forth cast, 
 
 In his orbit vast 
 To revolve, and revolving for ever to run ; 
 
 Tho' he fain would war 
 
 With each distant star, 
 He must bide as he circles the course of the sun. 
 
 How blest he who hears 
 
 The music of spheres. 
 To haunt with the blind bard its sources sublime, 
 
 Whose ears no more tingle 
 
 With the ne'er-failing jingle, 
 Which mocks as it woos the sad echoes of time. 
 
( 69 ) 
 
 XII. 
 IMPROMPTU AT LANGTON. 
 
 1854. 
 
 Why am I thus bereft and lone, 
 Where are my joyous children gone ? 
 Oh may no ill their paths betide, 
 O God their steps in mercy guide ! 
 Beneath thy sheltering wings, O take 
 And shield them for a Saviour's sake ! 
 A Father's blessing on them rest, 
 Yea, bless them, and they shall be blest! 
 
 XIII. 
 
 THE DRAKES OF KIPLIN. 
 
 On seeing a flock of these unmated birds on 
 
 THE WATER OF KiPLIN HaLL, THE RESIDENCE 
 
 OF THE Countess of Tyrconnel.* 
 
 1856. 
 Of all the fledg'd sages of brooks, rivers, lakes. 
 Or of fens, wolds, or surf-beaten shore, 
 
 * Now the property of the Hon. Captain Carpenter, R.N. 
 
70 THE DRAKES OF KIPLIN. 
 
 None have prattled so well as the brave Kiplin 
 drakes 
 Since the days of good lEsop of yore. 
 
 Then hark to their strains which could silence the 
 song 
 
 Of the bird in the brake and the frog in the pool. 
 While Swale thro' his withies crept slowly along, 
 
 As when ice-bound he lists to the carols of Yule. 
 
 Hark, hark 1 tho' the old Attic warblers are still 
 And the sweet swans of Mincio their death-notes 
 have sung, 
 Other web-footed minstrels are tuning the bill ; 
 Hark, hark ! did such wisdom e'er flow from 
 the tongue ? 
 
 *' Quack, quack ! let the mad world go round, 
 What boots it to us drakes of Kiplin, 
 
 As we bask on the bank, or the waves as we 
 bound 
 In the wake of our gambols are rippling ? 
 
 Quack, quack ! let them wed as they please, 
 To their mates of like feather a cooing. 
 
 Catch the Kiplin drakes at such freaks as these, 
 Old Charon shall first go a wooing. 
 
THE DRAKES OF KIPLIN. 7I 
 
 Quack, quack ! let them boast of their broods, 
 The nursing old fools and their prattle, 
 
 Enough for us drakes is the mirth of our floods^ 
 And the wild stormy winds as they rattle. 
 
 Quack, quack! when the winter Sets in. 
 
 Let them go where they will with the swallow : 
 
 Oh joy to be rid of their horrible din. 
 We drakes are too knowing to follow. 
 
 Quack, quack ! in vain do ye cozen, 
 
 Sleek ducks of dark Hornby's still waters :* 
 
 We guess the grim Duke can wring necks by the 
 dozen. 
 Away with you, ye and your daughters. 
 
 Quack, quack I 'spite the long-snouted ranger, 
 Whom Milbank's routf ne'er could o'ertake. 
 
 We'll gallantly roam as we list, fear of danger 
 Ne'er ruffles the plume of a drake. 
 
 Quack, quack 1 tho' from soft downy slumbers 
 
 We wake to miss one or another ; 
 Avails it to us, since we reck not of numbers. 
 
 To rue the queer fate of a brother ? 
 
 * The late Duke of Leeds had a decoy on a small lake at Hornby 
 Castle, and was expert as executioner. 
 
 f The hounds of Mr. Mark Milbank, of Thorp Perrow. 
 
72 ON VISITING THE 
 
 Quack, quack ! let the cook's grisly fingers 
 For the prize with sly Reynard contend, 
 
 Be ours without stint life's delight while it lingers, 
 No matter how soon it may end." 
 
 5^ a^ ^ ^^ *t^ 
 
 Now skill'd in the maxims of life's narrow span, 
 
 Proud Stoic and Libertine tippHng, 
 Say whence the rude wisdom untutor'd by man 
 
 Of the jolly old Drakes of Kiplin ? 
 
 '* Quack, quack !" to your nostrums is all their reply, 
 Dull grey-beard and addle-brained stripling, 
 
 ** In the mirth of our sires as we've lived we will 
 die," 
 Quoth the jolly old drakes of Kiplin. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 ON VISITING THE RUINS OF HEIDELBERG BY MOON- 
 LIGHT, OCT. 2, 1857, IN COMPANY WITH THE 
 HON. C. J. SHORE. 
 
 Silent we gazed ; the scene was passing fair ; — 
 No other eye save the full-orbed moon's was there. 
 As o'er the woodland she looked coldly down 
 On Neckar's stream, and vine-clad hills, and old 
 imperial town. 
 
RUINS OF HEIDELBERG. 75 
 
 Yet Heidelberg, thy hills of laughing vine, 
 Thy wide champaign, and Neckar's silvery line, 
 Or lost or glimmering in the dim expanse. 
 In vain beguil'd us where we stood in speechless 
 trance. 
 
 Above, the star-lit canopy of heav'n, — 
 Beneath the mould'ring pavement, — round us riv'n, 
 Tottering or fall'n, yet beauteous in decay. 
 And glorious as in its prime the Castle's ruins 
 grey. 
 
 O'er arch and portal, niche and pediment. 
 Terrace and tow'r, with shade inwoven blent 
 Of foliage dank, the mellowing lustre gleamed ; 
 Like some bright vision of the past the gorgeous 
 fabric seemed. 
 
 Yet of the past forsaken. Backward roll 
 Ye ages, and reveal historic scroll, 
 And quaint heraldic banner tales of death : — 
 Avails the unknown dead the clarion's thrilling 
 breath, 
 
 Low chant or lofty paean ? On the hill 
 Mute were the echoes, and the grove was still, 
 And from the roofless hall the bird of night 
 As weary of her watch had wing'd her sullen 
 flight. 
 
74 ON VISITING THE 
 
 While hush'd the winds, whose moan when leaves 
 
 are sere 
 Hath hymned the dirge of the departing year, 
 And 'mid its orisons the night dews wept, 
 Oft since yon crumbling tow'rs destruction's besom 
 
 swept. 
 
 A birthright dire the death-feud of our race 
 
 Hath proved since proud man marr'd Creation's 
 
 face. 
 Type of his fall, majestic tho' of pow'r 
 Bereft, as still were thine for aye imperial dow'r, 
 
 Fortress, thou frownest o'er battle-fields, whose 
 
 slain 
 Sought thee a fated guerdon, but in vain, 
 Victors and vanquished phantoms of a dream ; — 
 Where glared the fitful pageant, sleeps the still 
 
 moonbeam. 
 
 Where rest the brave, or wastes the storied pile 
 When cheers the day's bright ray we pause 
 
 awhile. 
 But when the moonlit sward we softly tread 
 We linger as we muse and commune with the 
 
 dead. 
 
RUINS OF HEIDELBERG. 75 
 
 They come, — no gibbering denizens of night 
 Lured by the glimpses of Heav'n's mystic light, — 
 With converse high to nerve us for the strife, 
 That waits us ere as they we quit this coil of life. 
 
 Nor fade those moonlit tow'rs from memory's view 
 Like some false mirage of. the melting dew: 
 We marvel and are gone, but of an hour 
 May own till life's last throb the heav'n-appointed 
 pow'r. 
 
 And at night's solemn noon, when slumbers fail, 
 I'll to thy silent courts, o'er Neckar's vale 
 Where ruled the Palatine, in thought repair. 
 Like some unbodied sprite who once had dwelling 
 there. 
 
 Time-worn, and scathed by storm and strife, as 
 
 one 
 Whose work in other days was nobly done, 
 Thou for thyself hast earn'd from friends and foes 
 Respite from lawless rage, a sanctuary of repose ; 
 
 Whose bounds no spoiler's hands save Time's 
 
 shall dare 
 Assail, a rock which Time's rude flood shall spare, 
 While round thee, citadel of ages, rave 
 The warring winds in vain, and wreck-engulfing 
 
 wave. 
 
76 ON VISITING THE 
 
 Peace in whose bosom stirring memories dwell, 
 Not death-like as the stillness of the cell, 
 Is thine : to such the storm-tost spirit clings 
 As to her ark the dove, and plumes her weary 
 wings. , 
 
 By distance tempered soothes the din of life, 
 With music sweet the tempest's moan is rife, 
 Or the vex'd ocean's melancholy roar, 
 While in some rock-bound bay our shatter'd bark 
 we moor ; 
 
 Nor less Time's far spent echoes, tho' to rest 
 They woo not, nor may stay Heav'n's bidden 
 
 guest : 
 The stranded wrecks that in the surf decay 
 The seaman mourns aloof and plies his homeward 
 
 way. 
 
 Vainly our tribute on the cairn we cast, 
 
 Or weep in dreams a visionary past. 
 
 Or with the patriot sigh, or pensive swain 
 
 O'er nation's passing prime, or elegy's sad strain. 
 
 Bury the dead their dead : to nobler strife 
 Than tasks oblivion's worm awakes the life 
 Redeemed of glorious spirits as they throng 
 To swell the pomp and prove the high behest of 
 song. 
 
RUINS OF HEIDELBERG. 77 
 
 And Heidelberg, albeit thine harp unstrung 
 The wild wind sweep, yet Poesy is young, 
 As when up Pindus' steep she led the Nine, 
 Or " lured to brighter worlds " the prophet bard 
 divine : 
 
 Or when thine ancient lays, in hall or bow'r, 
 Beguiled the lone or cheered the festal hour, 
 Lays of the Niebelungen loved of old 
 In convent, court, and camp, and many a mountain 
 hold: 
 
 Where'er ice-cradled rivers wound their way 
 Thro' reedy swamps, or forests 'reft of day, 
 Wilds of the brindled boar, or antlered stag. 
 Or where o'er terraced vineyards towered the 
 castled crag. 
 
 Or as when, 'mid rude warfare's ceaseless clang, 
 To robber-chiefs thy wand'ring minstrels sang 
 Of love and chivalry and valour mild. 
 And Christ's own Church that shrove her own 
 repentant child ; 
 
 Of sorceries dire, and beauty's gentle spell. 
 And visions bright that beam'd on sainted cell, 
 And cloister'd charity, whose open door 
 Welcom'd the pilgrim lorn, nor spurned the sup- 
 pliant poor. 
 
78 ON VISITING THE 
 
 Yet Heidelberg, of steel-clad chieftains queen, 
 And mitred lords, thine ancient tow'rs have seen, — 
 What time dread Cluny's seer the doom foretold, — 
 What tyrants scourged the realm and wolves 
 devoured the fold; 
 
 'Till rose the champion of the Crucified : 
 111 a monk's cowl his fiery soul belied, 
 Foremost in thought or act the rage to dare 
 Of sceptered priests, and fiends of Hell and upper 
 air. 
 
 And Poesy had marked him for her own, 
 Ere yet the Church his erring zeal had known, 
 Or heav'n-taught truth inspired, in forest deep. 
 Or star-lit cell, while wont his vigils lone to keep. 
 
 And while by faith he foiled the Tempter's pow'r, 
 Or veil'd in light, or in the darker hour, 
 His rugged native speech he tuned to praise : 
 Nor loves his Fatherland alone his hallow'd lays : 
 
 O'er Swedish Vasa's dust, at evensong, 
 I've heard Upsala's snow-girt aisles prolong,"^' 
 And bannered hosts, as erst on Lutzen's plain. 
 O'er far Sclavonia waft the old triumphant strain ; 
 
 * The occasion alluded to was the celebration (i 831) in Upsala 
 Cathedral of the 1 000th anniversary of the introduction of Chris- 
 tianity, and of the 300th of that of the Reformation, into Sweden. 
 
RUINS OF HEIDELBERG. fg 
 
 Triumphant : yet what ceaseless wail of woe 
 For thrice ten years proclaimed, while, foe to foe. 
 Brothers, and sires, and sons embattled stood, 
 The faith triumphant still, albeit baptized in blood. 
 
 Thus nations learn to suffer and to shun, 
 And sons to achieve the work their sires begun, 
 Since bright examples to all times belong, 
 And but to warn and prove hath Heav'n allow'd 
 the wrong. 
 
 Else vain the Swede's emprize, the spirit calm, 
 The hero's falchion and the martyr's palm. 
 And Heav'n to vain remorse his foeman doomed, 
 As on his quailing glance the rifled city loomed. 
 
 Else, why to Poesy to shape the unknown. 
 Shadowed by myth, or symbolized by stone, 
 The subtle skill, the holy mission given, 
 To trace on shifting sands the footprints sure of 
 heav'n. 
 
 In no part of that kingdom was the ceremonial more solemnly 
 observed than in the Metropolitan Church, under the auspices of 
 the Archbishop. Most imposing was the effect of the singing 
 Luther's Hymn by the congregation, consisting of 4000 persons, 
 as the light streamed over the building from the brilliantly illu- 
 minated tomb of Gustavus Vasa. 
 
8o ON VISITING THE 
 
 As on the pathless deep or viewless wind ? 
 Or whence the light in deathless song enshrined, 
 That beams on the rough path her sons have trod, 
 And leads, or fain would lead, their pilgrim steps 
 to God : 
 
 Light of the life in Biirger's pulse could thrill, 
 Or in brave Korner's death notes linger still, 
 Or gentle Schiller's sweet-toned strains inspire, 
 Or the wild wayward might of Goethe's wizard 
 lyre ? 
 
 Light that, where howls thro* old lona's fane 
 The blast, or sweeps the Marathonian plain, 
 No earthly flame, shall unextinguished burn, 
 Where saints or heroes strove, to live or die we 
 learn : 
 
 Or glimmers yet in Melrose' moonlit aisle, 
 Tho' knavish gramarye no more beguile. 
 And Dryburgh's shades the minstrel's dust embower 
 Who wove each wonderous spell. Magician of his 
 hour ? 
 
 And German Poesy, long wont to roam. 
 Hath found once more beneath thy skies a home. 
 Renown'd in story flow to song unknown 
 Thy Danube forest-girt, or arrowy Rhone, 
 
RUINS OF HEIDELBERG. 8l 
 
 Or *' wide and winding Rhine ?" By Iser's wave 
 Chaunts not the bard the requiem of the brave ? 
 Are mute in Weimar's halls the strains for ear 
 Of seraph meet or fiend, which monarchs loved to 
 hear ? 
 
 Delights thee Freedom ? seek the land of Tell : 
 Or Power ? its path the wolf hath tracked full well 
 From Hapsburg's keep, or Hohenzollern's height, 
 Where Prussia's eagle fledged his pinion for his 
 flight. 
 
 Or where grim Wallenstein a world defied : 
 Or patriot ardour ? Lo where drooped the pride 
 Of conqu'ring Gaul, or waned on Adria's flood 
 The crescent, while thy youth the Moslem's might 
 withstood : 
 
 Or guileless faith ? go mourn the hapless maid 
 
 Victim of hellish arts, or, where betrayed, 
 
 A living corse amid the wondering dead, 
 
 His long repining love the spectre horseman led. 
 
 And guards yon towers no visionary band ? 
 Vandal, withhold thy sacrilegious hand. 
 Nor tempt the wrath of liegemen skill'd a shield 
 Of pure ethereal mould and sword of flame to 
 wield. 
 
 G 
 
82 ON VISITING THE RUINS OF HEIDELBERG. 
 
 Now farewell Heidelberg, once more farewell ; 
 Of joys and sorrows past those accents tell, 
 For I have trod thy grass-grown courts before. 
 And those who sought my side shall tread those 
 courts no more. 
 
 Yes, twice ten years twice told have winged their 
 
 flight 
 Since here I mused with one''' in young delight, 
 With whom in cloistered walk or linden bower 
 By Granta's silent stream I shared the studious 
 
 hour. 
 
 Or breasted Alpine height, or met the day 
 On old lagune, or legendary bay. 
 Of art revived surveyed the halcyon reign. 
 Or dreamed of ancient Greece on Poestum's 
 pillared plain. 
 
 Friend of my youth, when age had snowed his 
 
 brow. 
 Near Granta's silent stream we laid him low, 
 Beside the fan^ his pious skill had reared. 
 Amid the weeping flock his sainted presence 
 
 cheered : 
 
 * The late Rev. Harvey James Sperling, of Lattenbury Hill, 
 Rector of Papworth St. Agnes, in Huntingdonshire. 
 
THE LITTLE BOMBARDIER. 83 
 
 Heir of the fair demesne that spread around, 
 In him lord, pastor, father, friend they found ; 
 While from his lips and life persuasion flowed. 
 And in his daily walk they marked their heaven- 
 ward road. 
 
 A sister, too, now numbered with the blest, 
 With me those towers, that bode not lasting rest, 
 Beheld in youthful bloom. Ah ! with my line 
 A tributary wreath let fond remembrance twine. 
 
 XIV. 
 THE LITTLE BOMBARDIER. 
 
 On the 30th July, i860, the Bristol Volunteer Artillery practised 
 firing from a couple of 1 8 pounders at a mark placed in the Severn 
 opposite the mouth of the Avon, causing no slight alarm to the 
 juvenile portion of the spectators. 
 
 Napoleon calls the world to arms : 
 
 To a martial strain give ear : 
 I sing of war and its alarms, 
 
 And of a little Bombardier. 
 
 'Twas a rampart rude on a grass-grown beach ; 
 
 Hard by the pilots' steer 
 Where guards yon phare the narrowing reach : 
 
 The little Bombardier ; 
 
 G 2 
 
84 THE LITTLE BOMBARDIER. 
 
 Bristowe's famed channel, whence of old 
 
 On either hemisphere 
 Her argosies pour'd forth her gold : 
 
 The little Bombardier ; 
 
 And princely Canynge launched his fleet, 
 
 A Churchman skill'd to rear 
 A shrine for the Holy Virgin* meet : 
 
 The little Bombardier. 
 
 On Portice-head a storm cloud lowered, 
 And Cambria's mountains drear, 
 
 On Pen's sweet uplands half-embowered. 
 The little Bombardier ; 
 
 And slumbering Avon's bed of mud. 
 
 And not a ray to cheer 
 The dismal isle, the doleful flood : 
 
 The little Bombardier : 
 
 Where once the caitifl''s pennon hung, 
 
 Who slew Sir John Goodyear, 
 And where his limbs all blackening swung f: 
 
 The little Bombardier. 
 
 * Church of St. Mary Redcliff. 
 
 t The ship's officer employed by Captain Goodyear, R.N., to 
 strangle his brother. Sir John, whom the Captain and some of his 
 crew had in broad day dragged from a house in College Green, 
 
THE LITTLE BOMBARDIER. 85 
 
 The guns are primed and shotted too, 
 
 And brave the martial gear 
 Of gunners clad in red and blue : 
 
 The little Bombardier. 
 
 Now marksman, steady be thine aim, 
 
 Remember, Volunteer, 
 The guerdon of thy skill is fame : 
 
 The little Bombardier. 
 
 Bang, bang, whiz, whiz, see, see the splash ! 
 
 Alas ! what do we here ? 
 Oh dear ! how could we be so rash ? 
 
 The little Bombardier. 
 
 Stop, stop your ears, and close your eyes, 
 
 The children die of fear ; 
 Papa can't hear their piercing cries : 
 
 The little Bombardier. 
 
 Harness the horse : he'll restive prove, 
 
 We'll walk then to the rear : 
 What perils wait on those we love ! 
 
 The little Bombardier. 
 
 Bristol to a boat in the Avon, and conveyed on board his frigate 
 anchored at the mouth of the river. He and his principal paid the 
 penalty of their crime at Bristol, and his bones hung for about a 
 century in chains on the above-mentioned island appropriated to 
 such purposes. The "State Trials" contain a full account of this 
 horrible affair. 
 
86 THE LITTLE BOMBARDIER. 
 
 All safe, the driver mounts his box : 
 
 '*The way, ye gentles, clear." 
 Vanish the river, isle, and rocks : 
 
 The little Bombardier. 
 
 Turns out, as on a gala day, 
 
 The merry town of Shire — 
 Hampton, for v^ho v^ould not be gay 
 
 For the little Bombardier ? 
 
 Steeds in King's Weston Park are prancing. 
 
 And troops of children dear. 
 And men and maids are deftly dancing : 
 
 The little Bombardier ? 
 
 And cricket wakes the drowsy down : 
 
 Bring lots of bread arid beer. 
 And greet with chimes old Bristowe town : 
 
 The little Bombardier. 
 
 Long live the Major to command, 
 
 And every staunch compeer, 
 To shield from harm our glorious land. 
 
 And the little Bombardier : 
 
 And our striplings bold, and the heir of Stoke, 
 
 And recruits of many a year. 
 To slay a foe, or crack a joke 
 
 With the little Bombardier, 
 
THE CENTENARY OF THE BELL. 87 
 
 And drink, when he is stiff and cold, 
 
 To the memory of the Seer, 
 Who your luck foretold, while he sang of old 
 
 Of the little Bombardier. 
 
 And welcome any of his line 
 
 To Bristowe's loyal cheer. 
 And the minstrel's wreath shall deck the shrine 
 
 Of the little Bombardier. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 THE CENTENARY OF THE BELL. 
 
 Langton. — 1861. 
 
 The peaceful Sabbath's noon had past, 
 And the dim sunbeam faded fast 
 
 Of a mid-winter's day, 
 Where, toiling through a waste of snow, 
 Dark Swale was scarcely seen to flow 
 
 In the gloomy twilight grey. 
 
 And as to bless the hallowed flood, 
 Memorial of twin martyrs' blood. 
 
 Stood Langton's lonely fane ; 
 While heaved around the sacred sod. 
 As when its mounds the Saxon trod, 
 
 And the Norman, and the Dane. 
 
88 THE CENTENARY OF THE BELL. 
 
 By twice four hundred summers seared, 
 And scathing winters' frosts hath reared 
 
 Its arch yon portal quaint ; 
 Nor vainly are the walls bedeck'd 
 By skill of earlier architect, 
 
 And zeal of elder Saint. 
 
 And as of old from bended knee 
 Now rose the solemn litany 
 
 Of priest and people there ; 
 While saddened was the suppliant throng, 
 As blended with the evensong 
 
 A brief but heartfelt pray'r. 
 
 It asked of heav'n a child's sweet life, 
 Few words and faint, while spoke the strife 
 
 Of faith with boding fear. 
 Deep utterance of a parent's soul 
 And of the church's love, while stole 
 
 Down many a cheek the fear. 
 
 The vacant seat betokened well, 
 The sick one claimed as by a spell 
 
 Her mother's joyless smile ; 
 The sisters twain sat side by side, 
 Methought the third might ne'er abide 
 
 Within that holv aisle. 
 
THE CENTENARY OF THE BELL. 89 
 
 And as our homeward steps we wound 
 Where by the snowdrift's pall fast bound 
 
 The lowly tombstones lay, 
 Methought ere on our path again 
 A Sabbath dawned, a funeral train 
 
 Might blacken all the way. 
 
 And as with anguish from the grave 
 We turned to Him who died to save, 
 
 He seem'd to seek His own, 
 A seraph purged from soil of earth 
 To hymn redeemed her second birth 
 
 With angels round the throne. 
 
 But ere the hours on hastening wing 
 Welcomed that Sabbath morn, while Spring 
 
 Had doffed her wintry shroud, 
 And wreathed her brow each early flower, 
 And vocal at her call were bower, 
 
 And brake and fleecy cloud, 
 
 Hope smiled again where the sick child lay, 
 And on the eve of the holy day 
 
 Around was heard the din 
 Of gathering footsteps, voices rife, 
 And revelry of healthful life, 
 
 And festal cheer within. 
 
go THE CENTENARY OF THE BELL. 
 
 And down th' accustomed alley green, 
 The churchway path, ere noon were seen, 
 
 Filing in order due, 
 Fair village maidens side by side, 
 A bridegroom and his destined bride, 
 
 And friends and kindred few. 
 
 The warbling woods gave merry cheer, 
 
 And the voice of the bell was sharp and clear, 
 
 As rose the white-robed priest ; 
 And the sisters sat where they sat before, 
 But none the garb of mourning wore, 
 
 For the sound of woe had ceased. 
 
 While a bashful pair stood hand in hand, 
 And the priest he knit the holy band. 
 
 And spirits were light and free, 
 For the prayer had been heard of many a heart. 
 And the angel of death had stayed his dart, 
 
 And welcome the bridal glee. 
 
 And thou fulfill'st thy mission well, 
 
 'Twixt earth and heav'n, time-hallowed bell. 
 
 Thy fitting dwelling place ; 
 Where thou thine hundred years hast swung, 
 And spoken, tho' with speechless tongue. 
 
 To man's unheeding race. 
 
THE CENTENARY OF THE BELL. 9I 
 
 At morn, at noon, at dead of night 
 We've heard thee chide the lingering light, 
 
 Startle the lab'ring swain, 
 Or from thy windy watch-tower scare 
 The owlet that had nestled there 
 
 As in death's unvexed domain. 
 
 Man would forecast his destiny : 
 Sworn herald of eternity, 
 
 Thou own'st not his control : 
 Be joy or grief our portion giv'n. 
 It comes in its own time from heav'n 
 
 Thy message to the soul. 
 
 To universal man addrest. 
 An echo finds in every breast 
 
 The greeting of our doom ; 
 Now soft as April's balmy shower, 
 Now rude as blast that rends the tower, 
 
 Or trump that bursts the tomb. 
 
 The infant born in Christ anew, 
 
 And ** glistening with baptismal dew,'* 
 
 Unconscious hears thy call, 
 Which bids him, liegeman of the Cross, 
 Anon by gain-transcending loss, 
 
 And freedom's welcome thrall. 
 
92 THE CENTENARY OF THE BELL. 
 
 By links of love we may not sever, 
 
 Which, heav'n-wrought, bind true souls for ever 
 
 Tho' dust to dust return ; 
 By tears which hopeful mourners shed, 
 And requiem of the sainted dead 
 
 The victor's crown to earn. 
 
 Our mutual woe and weal we share, 
 As thy deep death-notes ask our prayer, 
 
 Or chimes their vigils keep ; 
 We hear in thine the Church's voice, 
 And in the general joy rejoice, 
 
 Or weep with those that weep. 
 
 Then ask not why that knell, where lowers 
 A death-cloud on yon city's towers, 
 
 Thus early sounds and late ; 
 While awestruck peasants shrink aloof, 
 And scarce the clang of car or hoof 
 
 Is heard within her gate.* 
 
 And silent is her once-thronged mart, 
 And stand her denizens apart 
 Whispering of peril near. 
 
 * The incidents alluded to in this and the following stanzas 
 are chiefly supplied by the author's recollection of two visits to 
 Dumfries during the dreadful cholera of 1833. 
 
THE CENTENARY OF THE BELL. 93 
 
 Or wildly hurry to and fro 
 To soothe or fly the general woe, 
 Like panic-stricken deer. 
 
 And marks the lifted sash where lies 
 
 The corse unwatched, while streaming eyes 
 
 And wringing hands betray 
 The kindred in the desert street, 
 The glance that strains yet fears to meet 
 
 The death cart on its way. 
 
 A moment on the silence steals 
 The rumbling of the dreaded wheels, 
 
 A moment and 'tis past ; 
 And the ceaseless bell's deep undertone 
 Blends with loud sob or stifled groan, 
 
 Like the sough of the fitful blast. 
 
 And sadly up the church crowned brow 
 And thro' the graveyard's portal slow 
 
 The marshalled mourners file, 
 While grows beneath their faltering tread 
 Of the garnered harvest of the dead, 
 
 The still increasing pile. 
 
 Nor deem it strange the knell, that tolls 
 The farewell of departed souls 
 And doom of breathless clay, 
 
94 THE CENTENARY OF THE BELL. 
 
 Hath power to purge the spell-bound air 
 From noxious taint and e'en to scare 
 The foul fiend from his prey. 
 
 While prayer unbidden, as from dale 
 ^ And hill ascends the voice of wail, 
 
 Owns in His wrath the king 
 Of terrors as affrighted cower 
 The tenants of the leafy bower, 
 
 When the falcon's on the wing. 
 
 The ocean's roar, and thunder's peal, 
 
 And earthquake's throes Heav'n's voice reveal ; 
 
 And pestilence, O bell, 
 Tho' mute and stealthy in its round, 
 Utterance no less Divine hath found 
 
 In thy soul-piercing knell. 
 
 •Nor vainly to the Atlantic surge 
 Responsive rose a nation's dirge, 
 
 When autumn's leaf was sere, 
 And the tocsin the dread silence broke, 
 As if avenging angel spoke 
 
 To Albion's startled ear. 
 
 And wept in low or lordly home, 
 As swift-winged from the minster's dome 
 Woe on its errand sped, 
 
THE CENTENARY OF THE BELL. 95 
 
 Peasant and prince as in that night 
 When Egypt, smitten in her might, 
 Bewailed her first-born dead. 
 
 Of ancient kings first-born and heir, 
 We mourned thy blighted bridal fair, 
 
 And infant's early doom. 
 While in community of grief, 
 We sought from dark despair relief, 
 
 As we laid thee in the tomb ; 
 
 And in the knell that bade us share 
 Imperial grief. His call to prayer 
 
 We heard who paid the price 
 Of man's redemption, could atone 
 For guilt's inheritance, and own 
 
 A nation's sacrifice. 
 
 For scarce of winters twain the snows 
 Had blanched the field of vanquish'd foes 
 
 When Albion led the war : 
 Nor sign presaged, nor seer descried 
 The passing cloud awhile should hide 
 
 Her destiny's bright star. 
 
 None recked in fight or festal hour 
 Of bride discrowned or forfeit dower, 
 When Gaul's proud eagles fled, 
 
96 ' THE CENTENARY OF THE BELL. 
 
 While blood-begrimed stood victory, 
 Where bleached beneath th' inclement sky 
 Her yet unburied dead. 
 
 And who may tell, to battle clang 
 While peal on peal responsive rang. 
 
 If Albion homage due 
 Withheld from Him our hearts who steeled, 
 And to our foes the doom revealed 
 
 Of fated Waterloo ? 
 
 Let kings a nation's tribute claim ; 
 Tower'd cities sound the trump of fame 
 
 And loud hosannahs raise : 
 The lowly hamlet's simple tale. 
 Annals of Life's sequestered vale 
 
 Thy call to pray'r and praise 
 
 No less, thou ancient bell, shall task, 
 As thy solemn soothing strain we ask 
 
 Or spirit-stirring chime, 
 Our sires' loved birthright, boon of Heav'n, 
 To hallow the brief sorrows given. 
 
 Or fleeting joys of Time. 
 
 A hundred years — a fitful dream, 
 Thy past 'tis gone like yon swift stream 
 While yet it murmurs by ; 
 
THE CENTENARY OF THE BELL. 97 
 
 But Still we mourn not while thy voice 
 Bids us amid our tears rejoice, 
 Type of Eternity. 
 
 A hundred years to come, the morn 
 Of generations yet unborn, 
 
 And still with man may'st thou, 
 While 'neath the monumental stone 
 We sleep forgotten and unknown, 
 
 Plead prophet-tongued as now. 
 
 And tho' sweet bell,''' thy natal hour 
 When pealed the minster's stately tower, 
 
 None deemed thy hollow span, 
 Boast of the Northern craftsman's skill, 
 Responsive to the trump might thrill, 
 
 That speaks the doom of man, 
 
 Haply, when vanish as a scroll 
 
 The heavens, and each unbodied soul 
 
 Reclaims its mouldering clay. 
 Triumphant with night's last farewell. 
 The death tones of thy parting knell 
 
 May herald endless day. 
 
 Wrought at York by a celebrated beli-founder. 
 
( 98 ) 
 
 XVII. 
 
 THE BELLS OF OUSELEY. 
 
 1864. 
 
 On a charming spot on the right bank of the Thames, between 
 Runnymede close on one side, and Windsor on the other, 
 stands a much frequented public-house, bearing the sign of 
 ''The Bells of Ouseley." It is said to be of high antiquity. 
 A friend of mine, an old inhabitant of Windsor, informed me 
 that he believed there was a legend respecting the Bells, but 
 he was unable to discover it. A visit to the place in June, 
 1864, suggested the following lines. 
 
 From sunny meads where alders quiver, 
 
 From groves of stately lime, 
 Ouseley's bells, where winds yon river. 
 
 What means your ceaseless chime ? 
 
 Though light as wanton summer cloud. 
 
 Or bubble of the stream. 
 That mirrors every hue, the crowd 
 
 May spurn the poet's dream. 
 
 Mystic strains, o'er lea forsaken 
 While steal the shades of night. 
 
THE BELLS OF OUSELEY. 99 
 
 Memories as of yore awaken 
 Of unalloyed delight : 
 
 As when dawned the festal morning, 
 
 Such carols long ago 
 Rousing at the cock's shrill warning 
 
 The slumbering world below.'^ 
 
 When sire and stripling, man and maid, 
 
 In gallant trim would meet, 
 Where Mammon all his wealth displayed 
 
 Adown the well-thronged street : 
 
 In steel resplendent kings beprankt, 
 
 And queens in furbished gold ; 
 Bedizened maidens quaintly ranked 
 
 With red-cross warriors bold : 
 
 By halberd marked, and mace and chain, 
 
 Our city's lordly mayor, 
 And Noah and his motley train, 
 
 All mated pair and pair : 
 
 While soared on painted wings aloft 
 
 Ambition to the skies. 
 Or taught the breeze her skiff to waft 
 
 On far and free emprize ; 
 
 * Early Surrey recollections of an annual visit to the celebrated 
 Croydon Fair. 
 
 H 2 
 
DO THE BELLS OF OUSELEY. 
 
 Or urged in ever-circling maze 
 
 The flying courser's speed, 
 While sly old Punch allured to ways 
 
 That to the gallows lead ; 
 
 And jubilant her steadfast voice 
 The Church raised o'er the din, 
 
 Bidding the revellers who rejoice, 
 Rejoicing cease from sin. 
 
 Scarce heard, when thrills on high the lark, 
 
 Of bygone years the chime 
 Renews, as evening shades grow dark, 
 
 The fading hues of time. 
 
 Hills, where my truant boyhood roved. 
 
 Far o'er yon woodland rear 
 Their fir-crown'd heights : the fields beloved, 
 
 I hail, the lonely meer, 
 
 And mazy streams, 'mid warbling bowers 
 
 That wander at their will. 
 Where beams on ever-blooming flowers 
 
 A living lustre still ; 
 
 No more bedimmed by mists of earth. 
 
 Nor veiled by nightly gloom, 
 For the '' dewy " radiance *' of its birth 
 
 Is of the morning's womb." 
 
THE BELLS OF OUSELEY. H 
 
 Sweet as at night's still noon to seer, 
 When weave the stars their spells, 
 
 The mystic music of the sphere, 
 Your chime, unearthly bells. 
 
 Such the greeting I remember, 
 
 And the hour was bright and calm, 
 
 Tho' the winds of drear December 
 Chaunted their mournful psalm. 
 
 And old Skiddaw's head was hoary, 
 
 As cloud begirt he frowned 
 From his pinnacle of glory 
 
 On lone sepulchral ground. 
 
 On a wedded pair attended 
 
 By a young and fair array. 
 Some o'er whose dust we since have bended 
 
 And others far away ; 
 
 While death's sad emblems seemed to chide 
 
 Gay mirth and revel loud, 
 And bid of nuptial veil the bride 
 
 More fitly don the shroud. 
 
 But hallow'd are the links that bound us 
 
 In freer realms above, 
 Nor less the pledges that surround us 
 
 Of never dying love ; 
 
102 THE BELLS OF OUSELEY. 
 
 Of the Church's festal union, 
 And of each white robed guest. 
 
 Bridal banquet, and communion 
 Of happy saints at rest. 
 
 Yon bells, or does illusion vain 
 
 My dreaming sense beguile ? 
 I hear your old historic strain. 
 
 Your proud heroic chime I 
 
 E'en as in Albion's halcyon hour, 
 When throned in might serene 
 
 From booming fort and pealing tower 
 She welcom'd forth her Queen, 
 
 Scion of stalwart kings of old. 
 
 Weird lords of sea and plain, 
 Whose shadowy forms time's mists unfold, 
 
 To her ancestral fane ; 
 
 Fane renowned of martial story. 
 
 Revered of sainted life, 
 Proud sepulchral home of glory 
 
 And goal of kingly strife ; 
 
 Of such as nobly wrought and bled, 
 
 Or wooed or won the gem 
 That sparkles on her youthful head. 
 
 Her triune diadem. 
 
THE BELLS OF OUSELEY. IO3 
 
 Yet no boding note of sorrow 
 
 Blent sadly with the acclaim 
 Heralding a brightening morrow 
 
 Of aye enduring fame : 
 
 While the Church spake long and loudly 
 From twice ten thousand towers : 
 ** Maiden monarch deal not proudly 
 In this free land of ours : 
 
 *' On, though rough the path of duty, 
 To the victor's bright abode ; 
 Tarry not though health and beauty 
 May fail thee on the road. 
 
 *' Brave deeds beseem thy lineage high : 
 
 Not cradled the renown 
 Of thine emblazoned ancestors 
 In sea-girt tower and town, 
 
 *' But where lingers, mid the waving 
 
 Of legend-haunted woods, 
 Deathless fame, and 'mid the raving 
 Of Boreal winds and floods : 
 
 *' E'en where flagged Rome's ample pinion, 
 And still th' unsetting sun 
 From the Pagan's dark dominion 
 Beheld fresh trophies won. 
 
104 THE BELLS OF OUSELEY. 
 
 ^' Fair monarch, by th' eternal word 
 That wielded in the fight 
 Heroic Alfred's heav'n-wrought sword, 
 And holy Edward's might : 
 
 •* By the barons sworn of Runnymede 
 
 When Freedom held the pen, 
 (Nor deem where whispers now the reed 
 Yon bells were silent then) ; 
 
 " By the warriors mailed of Palestine, 
 
 And lowlier men of heart 
 Who disenthralled our captive shrine. 
 
 Nor shunned the martyrs* part ; 
 
 '' And by the dungeon, chain, and stake. 
 And by the torturing flame. 
 For Christ's and for thy people's sake 
 Abide thou still the same." 
 
 Yet none could reck of trouble near, 
 
 Nor seer the doom portend. 
 How in the winter of the year, 
 
 Ye bells, your chime should blend 
 
 With Nature's sympathetic groan. 
 As hymned the doleful blast. 
 
 And the swoll'n river's sullen moan 
 The dirge of glory past. 
 
THE BELLS OF OUSELEY. IO5 
 
 Responsive to the cannon's boom, 
 
 And minster's deep-toned knell, 
 As widowed to the silent tomb 
 
 A monarch bade farewell. 
 
 And weeps mute grief in Windsor's halls 
 
 Disconsolate her prince. 
 Nor clarion of her stately walls 
 
 Hath waked the echoes since.* 
 
 When cheers not hope the vale of sorrow 
 The gloom what phantoms haunt ! 
 
 But dawns on darkest night a morrow : 
 Ye grisly troops avaunt ! 
 
 And by thine oath, fair mourner, sworn 
 
 At famed St. Peter's shrine, 
 Thy marriage vows, and pledges borne 
 
 To Britain's royal line, 
 
 Thy wedded troth's unsullied light, 
 
 And lustre of his life, 
 Thy guide, liege Consort, stainless knight 
 
 And shield in toil and strife : 
 
 * June, 1864. 
 
I06 THE BELLS OF OUSELEY. 
 
 And by His patience, Man of Woes, 
 Whose sufferings purged our dross, 
 
 And by His might who wrung from foes 
 The triumph of His Cross, 
 
 Come forth as brightening from the gloom 
 
 The peerless star of eve, 
 Nor let the chill damp of the tomb 
 
 To lofty purpose cleave ; 
 
 Skilled in the chastened, hallowed lore 
 
 'Tis giv'n to grief to attain : 
 So dim eclipse shall veil no more 
 
 The glory of thy reign. 
 
 Ouseley's bells in joy and gladness 
 Still welcome be your chime, 
 
 Tho' scoffers hold our dreaming madness 
 As in the olden time. 
 
 Life has its dreams : in dreams may we 
 
 Our pastime find as they. 
 And snatch from myth's dark mystery 
 
 The moral of a lay. 
 
( 107 ) 
 
 XVIIL 
 ON SEEING A SILVER SALVER, 
 
 WHICH HAD BEEN PRESENTED TO SIR ROBERT H. 
 INGLIS BY THE GRILLON CLUB, AND BY HIM 
 BEQUEATHED TO SIR THOMAS D. ACLAND, HANDED 
 ROUND THE DINNER TABLE WELL LADEN WITH 
 CONSTANTIA, AT KILLERTON, NOV. i6tH, 1864.. 
 
 Convivial Inglis, on his salver bright 
 The old Constantia gives its tint aright. 
 Type of his spirit, genial, sweet, and strong, 
 And generous as the juice that tasks my song ; 
 And potent, too, to temper or inspire 
 The Christian's ardour and the patriot's fire, 
 '* The feast of reason and the flow of soul." 
 Fill, Grillon*s brothers, high the sparkling bowl 
 In saddened silence to his memory. 
 None braver, better, and more loved than he, 
 None readier at his country's call to dare, 
 Or at the board your social glee to share : 
 
io8 ON chantrey's dead infant. 
 
 Staunch statesman, steadfast friend, companion 
 
 boon, 
 By God and man approved, ah ! snatched from 
 
 earth too soon ! 
 
 XIX. 
 
 ON SEEING A BRIGHT RAY SETTLE ON THE FORE- 
 HEAD OF chantrey's DEAD INFANT, AT KILLER- 
 TON, SIR T. D. ACLAND's. NOV. i6tH, 1864. 
 
 The sun set fair on Killerton, 
 And on a niche full brightly shone 
 That sepulchred a sleeping one, 
 Relic of sorrows past and gone. 
 And seemed the brow it fell upon 
 To quicken, and the breathing stone 
 To utter, not the dying groan. 
 But the song of one before the throne, 
 Hymning His praise who died to atone 
 For such, and living claims His own ! 
 The sculptor's skill will heav'n disown ? 
 Ask of the parent's heart, for such its pow'r hath 
 known. - 
 
( 109 ) 
 
 XX. 
 
 COMPOSED FOR THE LADIES' ALBUM, AT EDEN 
 HALL, CUMBERLAND. 
 
 1. The character you most admire in history. 
 
 2. Your favourite character in fiction. 
 
 3. The character you most dislike in History. 
 
 4. The character you most dislike in fiction. 
 
 5. Your favourite author. 
 
 6. Your favourite flower. 
 
 7. Your favourite poet. 
 
 8. Your favourite composer 
 
 9. Your favourite name. 
 
 10. Your favourite artist. 
 
 11. Your favourite occupation. 
 
 12. The one you most dislike. 
 
 13. Your favourite dainty. 
 
 14. The virtue I most love. 
 
 15. The vice I most dislike. 
 
 16. Your favourite motto. 
 
 17. Your favourite pastime. 
 
 18. Your favourite fruit. 
 
 19. and 20. The fruit you most dislike. 
 21. Your favourite months. 
 
no COMPOSED FOR THE LADIES* ALBUM, 
 
 22. Your favourite accomplishment. 
 
 23. Your favourite periodical. 
 
 24. Your name and age. 
 
 25. Your residence and date. 
 
 1. O give me one brief hour of Wellington again, 
 
 2. Or crazed Lamancha's knight, of old chivalric 
 
 Spain, 
 
 3. But speak not of the Neros, I loathe th' 
 
 accursed name, 
 
 4. Or of Satanic Faust, lest blush the fiends for 
 
 shame, 
 
 5. He is my favourite author who suits my 
 
 changeful mood, 
 
 6. My favourite flower's the first blown primrose 
 
 of the wood, 
 
 7. My favourite poet who first lured me to the 
 
 skies, 
 
 8. But O there's no composer like a moping 
 
 owlet's eyes. 
 
 9. I love the name of Emily, and gave it to my 
 
 child. 
 
 10. At times I fancy Raphael, at times Salvator 
 
 wild. 
 
 11. How charming on a sunny sea of Poesy to float, 
 
AT EDEN HALL, CUMBERLAND. ^11 
 
 12. How horrid to be sea-sick in a vile o'er- 
 
 crowded boat ! 
 
 13. My favourite dainty is a luscious lollypop. 
 
 14. Of the virtues I love best there grows no 
 
 plenteous crop, 
 
 15. But the vices which I hate around like mush- 
 
 rooms spring : 
 
 16. Then O *^ be just and fear not," — a motto for 
 
 a king. 
 
 17. My favourite pastime is to thin a young plan- 
 
 tation, 
 
 18. My choicest fruit the apple when red as a car- 
 
 nation : 
 
 19. None turns my stomach sooner than the bitter 
 
 biting sloe ; 
 
 20. I know not that I have one, or I'd keep it for 
 
 my foe. 
 
 21. I love the early summer months of May and 
 
 leafy June, 
 
 22. And to hum dear " Auld lang syne," when the 
 
 birds are all in tune, 
 
 23. Or to con the Quarterly. My name go seek 
 
 on Teignmouth's shore. 
 
 24. On the shady side of seventy I dream of youth 
 
 no more : 
 
 25. At Langton Hall in '67. Don't vote my 
 
 rhymes a bore. 
 
( 112 ) 
 
 XXI. 
 
 ON HEARING A DISTINGUISHED DIPLOMATIST OB- 
 SERVE THAT THE SUCCESS OF OUR ABYSSINIAN 
 EXPEDITION HAD EXCITED MUCH JEALOUSY 
 ABROAD. MAY, 1868. 
 
 Now glory to the Lord of Hosts, and to England 
 
 honour due : 
 What God hath wrought by British hands let none 
 
 begrudging view. 
 Work waits on earnest will, nor lack brave deeds 
 
 renown enew. 
 Then up at duty's call. Stout Austria cease thy 
 
 griefs to rue ; 
 Nor Prussia while thy days are green for envy's 
 
 sake turn blue : 
 Piece, gallant men of stars and stripes, the seam 
 
 ye've rent in two; 
 And France a raid in Afric make, and a Duke of 
 
 Timbuctoo ; 
 Grim Russia dare, where England shrank, nor 
 
 Gallic eagles flew, 
 
THE THREE SISTERS. II3 
 
 The blood avenging of our slain, and the wrongs 
 
 of Wolff the true. 
 And let our wounded sailor Prince his world-wide 
 
 cruise renew, 
 And crave the benediction of the Bishop of 
 
 Honolulu. 
 Quoth England to her sister states, " In time 
 
 there's nothing new, 
 And oh in space, beloved compeers, there's room 
 
 for me and you." 
 
 XXII. 
 THE THREE SISTERS; 
 
 A WELSH LEGEND. 
 
 The following lines, suggested by the recollection of a legend 
 which the author met with many years ago in Wales, were 
 composed during a visit to that country this year, 1869. 
 
 Plinlimmon, king of mountains, 
 Three nymphs he claimed his own 
 
 Tended the hallowed fountains 
 That warbled round his throne. 
 
 I 
 
114 THE. THREE. SISTERS. 
 
 And;,he. thought they looked aweary. 
 And fain, on wandering wing, 
 
 Beyond his moorlands dreary 
 Would seek a brighter spring. 
 
 And he spake, albeit with sorrow 
 Full laden was his heart, 
 
 That, on the coming morrow, 
 For ever they might part : 
 
 And she, the earliest, shaking 
 From her flowing locks the dews, 
 
 As prize of her awaking 
 
 The goodliest lot might choose. 
 
 So while her sisters slumber 
 Nor dream of wealth or power, 
 
 Fair Severn's vigils number 
 Each slowly passing hour, 
 
 And the stars as they were fading 
 O'er Snowdon's radiant brow, 
 
 His stalwart limbs o'ershading 
 High hill and valley low. 
 
 But, grim and weather-beaten 
 The ancient giant stood. 
 
 Nought in his looks to sweeten 
 A maiden's changeful mood. 
 
•THE THREE SISTERS. II5 
 
 From Ocean darkly heaving, 
 
 And from the shadowy screen 
 She turns, which woods are weaving, 
 
 To the meadows' golden sheen. 
 
 In Apsley's gorge huge Wrekin 
 
 Beholds a torrent gleam, 
 Malvern from either beacon, 
 
 Mendip and distant Bream, 
 
 Mark on the exulting river 
 Where mirrored sunbeams dance. 
 
 And, as from giant's quiver, 
 Its arrowy currents glance, 
 
 And its tributary waters. 
 
 As forth they roll in pow'r : — 
 The haughtiest of Earth's daughters 
 
 Might covet such a dow'r. 
 
 Then rose old Ocean proudly 
 
 The welcome nymph to greet ; 
 His surges sounding loudly, 
 
 As when winds and waters meet. 
 
 And as when storms are brewing. 
 
 Her clamorous warning gave 
 The sea mew of his wooing, 
 
 As she heralded the wave, 
 
 I 2 
 
Il6 THE THREE SISTERS. 
 
 Whose ebb and flow for ever 
 Shall moons ordained renew; 
 
 That of that bridal never 
 May fail memorial due.* 
 
 But now, bereft and weeping, 
 Wye leaves her heathery bed, 
 
 To find, while she was sleeping. 
 Her sister loved had fled. 
 
 From her watch-tower high and holyf 
 She gazed with longing vain 
 
 O'er the moorland melancholy 
 That bounds the western main. 
 
 But she saw in distance hazy, 
 Where track'd the redd'ning sun 
 
 Her sister's footprints mazy. 
 
 That her course was not yet run. 
 
 So forth she nimbly bounded 
 To reach the distant shore ; 
 
 While caverned rocks resounded 
 To the cataract's sudden roar. 
 
 * The lunar influence on the bore of the Severn and other 
 rivers has been lately questioned. 
 + Plinlimmon, a holy mountain. 
 
THE THREE SISTERS. llj 
 
 Now softer tones are blending 
 
 With the music of her march, 
 Where, her toilsome path descending 
 
 The branching woods o'er-arch. 
 
 And now she fain would dally 
 
 Where spreads the champagne fair, 
 
 And whitens the broad valley 
 The blossom of the pear. 
 
 And now she lingers gladly 
 
 Where ampler pastures bloom ; 
 
 Alas ! to rue more sadly 
 
 The heedless loiterer's doom. 
 
 For though where cliffs are towering, 
 
 Like one she speeds along 
 Who sees the tempest lowering, 
 
 Or lists the siren's song, 
 
 Alas, till spell shall sever 
 
 The Ocean's inmost brine, 
 The sisters twain shall never 
 
 Their fond embrace entwine. 
 
 The sun had risen and brightly. 
 But blanched what dire despai^! 
 
 Young Isthwith's cheek, as lightly 
 She trod the mountain bare. 
 
Il8 THE THREE SISTERS. 
 
 So, through broken cloudland darting 
 
 Adown the dizzy steep, 
 Marisch anS moss disparting, 
 
 She rushes to the deep. 
 
 No pleasant nook embaying 
 The eddying brooklet heeds. 
 
 No fragrant bower delaying. 
 The headlong torrent speeds. 
 
 The vale she wins resistless ; 
 
 But, as to rue her haste, 
 Wanders forlorn and listless 
 
 O'er the rough shingly waste ; 
 
 Till, 'mid the wild commotion 
 Of the ever-seething wave. 
 
 In the restless depth of Ocean 
 She finds her lonely grave. 
 
 Traveller, thy name is Legion ; 
 
 From glaciers comest thou 
 Or Alpine or Norwegian, 
 
 Or from Etna's burning brow ? 
 
 Come, pay thine homage lowly. 
 Ere the blithe lark carol yet 
 
 Upon the summit holy. 
 Where sun and moon have met. 
 
THE TIGER LILY. IIQ 
 
 Drink of the hallow'd fountains 
 
 As they sparkle in their glee, 
 Drink to the king of mountains, 
 
 And to his daughters three. 
 
 NORTH-RIDING BALLADS. 
 
 XXIII. 
 THE TIGER LILY : 
 
 North-Riding Election. 
 July, 1865. 
 
 Hurrah for the Tiger Lily, 
 Which the gallant Wallace* wore ; 
 
 Hurrah ! the Derby dilly 
 Shall rule the realm no more. 
 
 *Twas on. a July morning 
 
 That of a coming fight 
 The trumpeters gave warning, 
 
 In motley armour dight. 
 
 •.The late Licut.-Ocn. Sir Maxwell Wallace. K.C.H 
 
I20 THE TIGER LILY. 
 
 And led Northallerton's stout van 
 
 A Chieftain, at his side 
 A heroine, like a stately swan 
 
 Upon the swelling tide. 
 
 Welcomed loud cheers, while banners wave, 
 
 Wallace of Waterloo, 
 And husky throats like welcome gave 
 
 To his loyal lady too. 
 
 They met the portly Vicar, 
 
 As he blandly strode along ; 
 And he spake, as his pace grew quicker, 
 
 " Now, Lady, for a song." 
 
 **And would'st thou have me cater," 
 
 She said, " for such as thee, 
 To the good cause a traitor 
 
 Of Yorkshire's liberty?"* 
 
 Grimly the *' Lion "f he look'd down. 
 From his palace of ale and gin, 
 
 While the landlord plied the thirsty town, 
 And his jovial guests within. 
 
 * Electioneering chaff. 
 
 f The old " Golden Lion." Conservative head-quarters. 
 
THE TIGER LILY. 121 
 
 Quoth Wallace wight, with angry scowl, 
 
 " Thy sires and mine were foes. 
 And if I hear thy wonted growl 
 
 I'll twist thy Royal nose."* 
 
 . The old *' Black Bull " f claimed homage due, 
 As he marked the matchless pair; 
 His eyeballs glared as they nearer drew, 
 And he tost his horns in air. 
 
 Then Wallace wight, with lowly bow, 
 
 *' If thou our cause befriend, 
 A Golden Calf, none such, I trow, 
 
 To Parliament we'll send.'* 
 
 God prosper long yon solemn tow'r, 
 
 As when proud Surrey's host X 
 Wound past in Scotland's darkest hour; 
 
 Be Church and State our boast. 
 
 But better suits yon mushroom spire 
 
 A creed of yesterday. 
 And those who would to power aspire 
 
 It boots not where they pray. 
 
 * Sir Maxwell was present as lineal representative of the 
 renowned Sir William Wallace, on the inauguration of the statue 
 of the great patriot in Scotland. 
 
 t Liberal head-quarters. 
 
 X To the battle of Floddcn. 
 
22 THE TIGER LILY.' 
 
 To lady fair and Stalwart knight "^ 
 
 A whisper came from far, . 
 ** Let not stern rule or modish rite . 
 
 Betray the chance of war." 
 
 /VChurch and Dissent,"' quoth Wallace brave,^ 
 
 *' To us are both alike, . 
 When ^our country's wrongs our service crave, 
 
 And for the right we strike." 
 
 But ah, corrupt Northallerton, 
 
 Deaf to the charmer's voice. 
 And the cheer of Scotland's valiant son, 
 
 Thou bid'st the foes rejoice. 
 
 Now hark, what shout of victory 
 
 Awakes the drowsy street ? 
 Hath Milbank won,* and can it be 
 
 That we the victor greet ? 
 
 Yes, ere shall hymn the minster's knell 
 
 The requiem of the day, 
 Shall freedom's scathless citadel 
 
 The yellow flag display. 
 
 Hurrah for Milbank ! blessings shower 
 . On him and those he led ; 
 Let Morritt seek his broken bower, 
 And Duncombe hide his head ! 
 
 * North Riding Election. 
 
Northallerton's lament. 123 
 
 Hurrah for the Tiger Lily, 
 
 Which the gallant Wallace wore ; 
 Hurrah ! the Derby dilly 
 
 Shall rule the realm no more. 
 
 XXIV. 
 NORTHALLERTON'S LAMENT : - 
 After the Election : 
 August, 1865. 
 
 They gave me parchments* for a dower. 
 
 But ah the rifled cot, 
 And town that owns the foeman*s power, 
 
 Are emblems of my lot. 
 
 Time was when 'mid the alders f rose, 
 That fringed my Sunnebecks* stream, 
 
 My fane J revered by friends and foes 
 Like fabric of a dream : 
 
 * Northallerton sent Members to Parliament In the 26th 
 Edward I. — Inghdew's History of Northallerton, 
 \ Whence Nortliallerton derives its name. — Ibid. 
 X Built by Paulinus, A.D. S^o.-'Ibid, 
 
124 Northallerton's lament. 
 
 When guileless innocence could frisk, 
 
 Nor lovers tell a tale 
 Of ceaseless feud, where winds the Wiske, 
 
 Or rolls the rushing Swale ; 
 
 When with my townsmen blent the throng 
 
 Of Mowbray's rustics gay 
 To ply the mart, or swell the song 
 
 Of sainted holiday ; 
 
 Or else in banded brotherhood, 
 
 By crosier'd chieftains led, 
 Round the Holy Standard bravely stood, 
 
 And for their country bled.''' 
 
 But they are gone, the good old times, 
 
 *' The gallant days of old," 
 To linger in the Church's chimes, 
 
 Or haunt the breezy wold. 
 
 And lo for love, where'er we meet, 
 
 Grim-visaged discord rife ; 
 In woodland path, or crowded street, 
 
 We boast our civic strife. 
 
 And civic strife hath lofty aim. 
 But few may reach its height. 
 
 While recreants claim the patriot's name 
 And glory of the fight ; 
 
 * At the battle of the Standard, fought in the neighbourhood ot 
 Northallerton. 
 
NORTHALLERTON S LAMENT. I25 
 
 Recreants who, when the conflict's o'er, 
 
 Still cherish ranc'rous hate, 
 And still of public wrongs, while sore 
 
 From paltry grievance, prate. 
 
 The honest tradesman these defraud, 
 
 And pastor of his due, 
 Because forsooth he wears a gaud 
 
 Of Yellow or of Blue. 
 
 These, skilled in party sophistry, 
 
 Can tempt, to catch his vote, 
 The ** rustic moralist " to ** lie 
 
 Most foully in his throat ;" 
 
 Or lure beguiled by false pretence 
 
 Their victim from his post, 
 Or drench in bestial drink his sense, 
 
 And of their knavery boast. 
 
 No more inspired by loyal trust, 
 These spurn their country's call, 
 
 Inglorious as their arms that rust 
 In mockery on the wall. 
 
 While orgies vile in God's own name 
 
 Profane His sanctuary, 
 And chimes the live-long night proclaim 
 
 Th' unhallowed revelry. 
 
126 YELLOW, FEVER. 
 
 And do we truth and reverence scorn 
 For which our sires have bled ? 
 
 Is there no Hving voice to warn, 
 Nor witness; of the dead ? 
 
 Oh give me honour's troth again, 
 The bonds that bind the free : 
 
 Are fetters that the soul enchain 
 The badge of Liberty ?. 
 
 . XXV. 
 YELLOW FEVER. 
 
 Northallerton Election Ballad. 
 May,. 1866. 
 
 parody on the celebrated song, "admiral 
 
 hosier's GHOST." 
 
 Scene,- — Captain ': Peirse's House in Northallerton , 
 on the announcement by telegram of the success of 
 the Petition . hy -. which' the Conservative Member 
 was unseated. 
 
 When the moon was brightly beaming 
 
 On Northallerton's old town, 
 At midnight with colours streaming 
 
 All triumphant we sat down ; 
 
YELLOW FEVER. I27 
 
 There while Johns, the -Welshman,. glorious 
 
 From the Tories' late defeat, 
 And his voters, now victorious, 
 
 Did their gallant leader greet ; 
 
 On a sudden, shrilly sounding, 
 
 The Teetotal Band was heard ; 
 Then each heart with fear confounding, 
 
 A sad troop of ghosts appeared : 
 In faded yellow liveries shrouded, 
 
 Which for winding sheets they wore, 
 And, with looks with sorrow clouded. 
 
 Frowning where they smiled before. 
 
 On them gleamed the moon's ^wan lustre ^;- 
 
 When the shade of :Wrightson* brave 
 His pale ranks was seen, to muster, 
 
 And the yellow, flag, to wave : 
 O'er the glimmering stones.he hied him 
 
 To the house within.the rai , 
 In Zetland Street, his. ghosts b.eside him, 
 
 And did in groans;the Welshman :hail. 
 
 Heed, O heed my fatal story ! 
 
 I am Wrightson's injured ghost ; 
 Ye who now have purchased glory 
 
 At this place where I was lost : 
 
 * In several Parliaments M.P. for Northallerton. 
 
128 YELLOW FEVER. 
 
 Though in Toryism's ruin 
 
 You now triumph free from fears ; 
 
 When you think of my undoing 
 You will mix your joy with tears. 
 
 See these mournful freemen reaping 
 
 Fruit of priceless votes they gave, 
 Whose wan cheeks are stained with weeping 
 
 These were honest tradesmen brave. 
 Mark those numbers pale and horrid, 
 
 Who were once my Voters bold ; 
 Lo ! each hangs his drooping forehead, 
 
 While his dismal tale is told. 
 
 I, by steadfast friends attended, 
 
 Did the Tory town affright ; 
 Corruption nothing then defended 
 
 But my orders not to fight. 
 O that in that fetid gutter 
 
 I had cast them with disdain, 
 And with joy I could not utter 
 
 Thrashed my ancient foes again ! 
 
 For toil feared I none, or danger, 
 But with trusty vet'rans had done 
 
 What thou, brave and happy stranger. 
 Hast achieved with Peirse alone. 
 
YELLOW FEVER. I29 
 
 Then Conservatism never 
 
 Had our foul dishonour seen, 
 Nor the links could treachery sever 
 
 Which my joy and pride had been. 
 
 Thus, like thee, my foes dismaying 
 
 I had struck, true Briton, home, 
 Though condemned for disobeying, 
 
 I had met a mar-plot's doom : 
 To have fall'n, my country crying, 
 
 ** He has play'd an English part," 
 Had been better far than dying 
 
 Of a grieved and broken heart. 
 
 Unrepining at thy glory. 
 
 Thy successful arms we hail ; 
 But remember my sad story. 
 
 And let Wrightson's wrongs prevail. 
 While in dull repose I languish, 
 
 Think what triumphs past in vain 
 This good town redeemed from anguish, 
 
 From the Tories' hated chain. 
 
 Hence, with all my train attending 
 
 From their foaming taps below, 
 Up the dear old street ascending 
 
 Here I feel my constant woe. 
 
130 THE OLD ROADSTER* 
 
 Here the well-known sign-posts viewing 
 We recall our shameful doom, 
 
 And our plaintive cries renewing 
 
 Wander through the midnight gloom. 
 
 Up and down the highway mourning 
 
 Shall we roam deprived of rest, 
 To Northallerton returning, 
 
 But denied our just request ? 
 After the proud foe subduing. 
 
 When your patriot friends you see. 
 Think of your old Member's ruin. 
 
 And give place, my friend, to me. 
 
 XXVI. 
 THE OLD ROADSTER : 
 
 OR, THE NORTH-RIDING OF YORKSHIRE IN THE 
 
 I9TH CENTURY. 
 
 A CHRISTMAS BALLAD, 1868. 
 
 The conflict lasting upwards of five years, which forms the 
 subject of the following Ballad, supplies one among many instances 
 of the deplorable consequences of the devolution of duty and of 
 responsibility by Ministers of State and Members of Parliament to 
 Courts of Quarter Sessions by what is called Permissive Legislation, 
 or in other words by no legislation at all. Exceptional circum- 
 stances may justify the procedure ; but as a system it has proved 
 
THE OLD ROADSTER. I3I 
 
 unconstitutional and degrading, and is not likely to survive the 
 severe ordeal to which it has been already subjected. 
 
 The Old Highway Act was repeatedly, but unsuccessfully 
 defended by Mr. Farsyde and other Magistrates, supported by a 
 large body of Ratepayers, at the Northallerton Quarter Sessions, 
 and on other public occasions. 
 
 It served moreover as a stalking horse to a third candidate, in the 
 person of Mr. Cay ley, at the late General Election, in defiance ot 
 a protest in a letter addressed by Mr. Farsyde to the Editor of the 
 "Yorkshire Gazette," dated Fylingdale, Whitby Strand, i8th 
 November, 1868, of which the following is an extract : "Has 
 there been any spontaneous, any felt demand for Mr. Cayley's 
 politics or his services ? Does he come forward as an original and 
 natural opponent of the new Highway Act ? Certainly not. 
 Col. Crompton, Captain Turton, and myself were its first, and 
 with others its final opponents. Mr.' Cayley asserts he is an 
 independent politician and farmer's friend. Electors, ask your- 
 selves what these words mean .•' Is Mr. Cayley more a friend to 
 the farmers, more independent in politics, than either Mr, Mil- 
 bank or Mr. Buncombe t Do not his words mean that he desires 
 to represent the Riding by an assumption of merit in connection 
 with the Highway Act to which he is not entitled .?" 
 
 Mr. Farsyde is entitled to tiie pre-eminence assigned to liim in the 
 following lines, not only by the merit thus justly claimed, but by the 
 energy and firmness which he has manifested during the protracted 
 warfare, and his steadfast protest against the turbulent threat* 
 and misdoings of unscrupulous or foolish partisans. 
 
 On Whitby's Strand, slow-paced and sad, 
 
 Sir Farsyde wends his way, 
 For ill hath fared the gallant pad 
 
 That bore him many a day. 
 
 K a 
 
132 THE OLD ROADSTER. 
 
 In brave antique heroic mould 
 
 Sir Farsyde's soul was cast, 
 He loved the rugged paths of old 
 
 The rude uncultured past : 
 
 The modern smooth highway he spurned, 
 
 The modish gait and prim ; 
 The devious track he chose, nor turned 
 
 Aside for perils grim. 
 
 And strange adventures he had sought, 
 And earned hard-won renown, 
 
 On Whitby's strand with Mulgrave fought, 
 And in many a leaguered town. 
 
 Around his banner mustered free 
 
 The hardy sons of toil, 
 Who sink the shaft, or plough the sea. 
 
 Or cleave the stubborn soil. 
 
 It dawns the day when each his fill 
 
 Might quaff, nor longer rue 
 Base serfdom, master of his will. 
 
 And of his neighbour's too. 
 
 For sage Sir Farsyde plainly saw, 
 And taught his followers rough, 
 
 If each unto himself were law, 
 There would be law enough ; 
 
THE OLD ROADSTER. I33 
 
 And SO found quick solution 
 
 Of mysteries of state, 
 While bloody revolution 
 
 He held in deadly hate. 
 
 Then thus he spake : " When first I drew 
 
 My falchion in the fight, 
 To heaven I vowed allegiance due. 
 
 And eke to sceptered right. 
 
 Each in his sphere, tho' sworn to obey. 
 
 May rule alternate, self 
 Concentering thus the sovereign sway, 
 
 The nation's power and pelf. 
 
 Each township self-contained may prove 
 
 The realm's epitome, 
 Submissive to the rule above, 
 
 Yet uncontrolled and free : 
 
 As when along the dear old tracks 
 
 Our rude forefathers trod 
 We jogged, unvexed by toll or tax, 
 
 To mart or house of God : 
 
 Days when no prying pestering snob 
 
 Could mar our festal cheer, 
 Nor ferret out each roguish job 
 
 To rustic magnate dear ; 
 
134 THE OLD ROADSTER. 
 
 And no harsh churl unheeding past 
 The poor man's outstretched hand, 
 
 Ere yet their baleful shadows cast 
 Bastiles across the land."* 
 
 With loud acclaim the chief they greeted 
 As he waved, on foundering nag, 
 
 Type of primeval roadster, seated, ' 
 The old bucolic flag. 
 
 For he gazed on Mowbray's pleasant vale, 
 Where wandering streams are blending. 
 
 Or winding Wiske, or rushing Swale 
 From uplands drear descending ; 
 
 And marked where aldersf still embower 
 
 The famed historic nook. 
 Where rears Northallerton its tower 
 
 O'er Sunnebeck's babbling brook. 
 
 And thither trooping warriors hie 
 All sheathed in glittering steel, 
 
 And friends and foes list merrily 
 The belfry's joyous peal. 
 
 * The able champion of Self Government, as exemplijfied in the 
 Old Highway Act, is here represented, by a poetic license, as the 
 exponent of the system in its more enlarged signification. 
 
 f Whence Northallerton derives its name. 
 
THE OLD ROADSTER. I35 
 
 And now the ranks are ordered, 
 
 And spears are set in rest, 
 And loudly shouting *' forward," 
 
 They're meeting crest to crest. 
 
 Clov'n helms and lances broken. 
 
 And many a steedless knight 
 And palfrey riderless betoken, 
 
 How fiercely fares the fight. 
 
 Where Johnstone, Thompson, and Straubenzee, 
 
 And noble Zetland ply 
 Their flashing blades, while mid the frenzy, 
 
 Brave " Buncombe " is the cry ; 
 
 Where Mulgrave stems the battle's tide, 
 
 And Gallwey fain would form 
 His shattered files, and dim descried 
 
 Young Worsley breasts the storm. 
 
 While he of Thornton hight le-Street, 
 
 Of Cathcart's martial clan, 
 Now seeks repose in still retreat, 
 
 Who once had led the van. 
 
 From smouldering stubble as the flame, 
 
 Or shaft from bended bow. 
 Sir Farsyde to the rescue came, 
 
 Nor conflict shunned the foe. 
 
136 THE OLD ROADSTER. 
 
 But soothing eve to festal cheer 
 Woos love — or — war-worn chief, 
 
 And home to generous hearts is dear, 
 So none chode parley brief ; 
 
 While heralds shout, *' A truce, a truce, 
 
 We part to meet again : 
 Hail foaming tap, the wine's rich juice. 
 
 The spirit-stirring strain 1" 
 
 And truce to glory's cheating dreams : 
 
 On divers errands bent, 
 To acres broad, or moors, or streams, 
 
 The sated warriors went. 
 
 On Whitby's strand Sir Farsyde strode. 
 On Fylingdale's sweet grass 
 
 Browsed peacefully the steed he rode 
 Like any humble ass. 
 
 But where can rest be found ? we ask. 
 And echo answers ^' Where?" 
 
 Again Sir Farsyde dons his casque. 
 And clamour rends the air. 
 
 He cries, ** the fight is still unfought. 
 
 The triumph is not won ; 
 Oh rally ! or we're set at nought, 
 
 Proud deeds may yet be done.'* 
 
THE OLD ROADSTER. I37 
 
 Once more by Sunnebeck's babbling brook, 
 
 And by the stately tower, 
 His way each eager chieftain took, 
 
 While pealed the longed for hour. 
 
 And many a valiant heart beat high ; 
 
 Their pennons who might number? 
 For they knew that desperate is the die 
 
 That wins the victor's slumber. 
 
 What champion leads the onset now ? 
 
 Johnstone of Hackness, bold 
 As when he leads the chase, I trow, 
 
 O'er Pickering's breezy wold : 
 
 While hostile Buncombe fires the war 
 
 And Milbank, brethren twain, 
 Who once were foes ; and each from far 
 
 Follows a goodly train. 
 
 Nor fails De Lisle in hour of need ; 
 
 From Penshurst's storied towers 
 Full armed he comes, — fame wings his speed — 
 
 And from Sidney's classic bow'rs. 
 
 Nor lack, though years his form have bent. 
 
 Bland Yeoman's counsels sage, 
 Nor as volcanic fire long pent 
 
 Dark Crompton's patriot rage. 
 
138 THE OLD ROADSTER. 
 
 Round Johnstone rallies many a knight : 
 
 Ne'er deaf to honour's call, 
 Foremost stout Zetland dares the fight, 
 
 Brave lord of Aske's high hall. 
 
 There sunny Langton's chief is seen ; — 
 
 He could tell many a tale 
 Of the dragon of his dell, I ween, 
 
 The fierce and foaming Swale : 
 
 Pulleine, whose studious leisure feeds 
 
 On quaint chivalric lore, 
 From Clifton's shades to match their deeds, 
 
 Who the Holy Standard bore. * 
 
 And lo ! may ne'er his banner droop. 
 
 The Lord of Bolton's lands 
 From Wensleydale, whence loyal Scrope 
 
 Led forth his archer bands. 
 
 Now *' onward " was the password clear. 
 
 And dire the battle's shock. 
 From whose broad shield glance sword and spear, 
 
 Like breakers from the rock ? 
 
 * Mr. Pulleine selected in good taste, as the subject of a testi- 
 monial presented to him by his brother magistrates on retiring 
 from the Chairmanship of Quarter Sessions, the Battle of the 
 Standard, an event from which Northallerton derives historical 
 celebrity. 
 
THE OLD ROADSTER. I39 
 
 'Tis Whitby's chief, alas no more 
 
 His train-bands stout to lead : 
 All honour to the brand he bore, 
 
 And to his foundering steed ; 
 
 And honour to his spirit true 
 
 To England's Queen and laws ; 
 ** No taunt deserved shall bid us rue 
 
 The people's righteous cause." * 
 
 On Whitby's strand Sir Farsyde strode. 
 
 On Fylingdale's sweet grass 
 Browsed peacefully the steed he rode 
 
 Like any humble ass. 
 
 But hark ! what sullen sounds from far 
 
 The drowsy echoes wake ? 
 A monarch calls the realm to war, 
 
 A nation's weal 's at stake. 
 
 O'er moor and mountain, dale and down 
 
 Musters each thane his clan, 
 Each shopman spruce the marshalled town, 
 
 And well-skilled artizan. 
 
 Feuds, as his ranks each leader fills, 
 
 Are hushed as when the stream 
 The tempest's roar, or thunder stills 
 
 The clamorous seafowrs scream. 
 
140 THE OLD ROADSTER. 
 
 Twin battle cries the realm divide, 
 
 Round banners twin apace 
 Gather the hosts, in severance wide. 
 
 Stern foemen, face to face. 
 
 Sir Farsyde spake, while his heart beat high, 
 
 And his palfrey answering neighed : 
 ** Alas ! ill suits such revelry 
 * Thy shanks, my foundering jade." 
 
 Not thus Sir Cayley, " If my pluck," 
 
 Aside he spake, " in need 
 Fail not, in sooth I'll try my luck 
 
 With this same gallant steed." 
 
 Then to his seat, his helm with blue 
 
 And yellow plumage gay, 
 He vaulted, and a blast he blew 
 
 To summon his array. 
 
 Cheers greeted him as on he rode, 
 
 And the memory of his sire, * 
 And cheers the palfrey he bestrode, 
 
 Tho' quenched his wonted fire. 
 
 During many years M.P, for the North Riding. 
 
THE OLD ROADSTER. I4I 
 
 In party-coloured pomp displayed 
 
 He saw each line extend 
 Beneath the hallowed Minster's shade, 
 
 While shouts the welkin rend. 
 
 What bosom thrills not when, all barred 
 
 And bannered for the fight, 
 Lists in York's spacious Castle yard 
 
 Are thronged with ladies bright ; 
 
 Where red-cross knights, renowned of eld. 
 
 Where mighty Wentworth* strove, 
 And Helmsley's chief f the stirrup held, 
 
 When lightened from above 
 
 His helm, and in Heaven's armoury wrought 
 
 His scathless panoply, 
 Young Wilberforce triumphant fought 
 
 That Afric might be free ; 
 
 • Earl of Strafford, afterwards beheaded, contested the County 
 of York in an election which produced stormy proceedings in Parlia- 
 ment. 
 
 f First Lord Feversham, grandfather of the present Earl. 
 Chairman of the celebrated Committee which ensured Wilber- 
 force's election. 
 
142 THE OLD ROADSTER. 
 
 And wond'rous Brougham* of fame's sweet 
 draught 
 
 Drank deeply, and when hoar 
 His brows, on tottering limbs here quaffed 
 
 The nectared bliss once more. 
 
 Now hark the trump ! from yon dread keep 
 The martial notes rebound ; , 
 
 Ouse wafts responsive to the deep 
 And hill to hill the sound. 
 
 Straight challenged to their saddle spring 
 
 Two knights in tourney tried, 
 And brooking parlance brief the ring 
 
 Two well matched champions ride. 
 
 But who is he on sorry brute 
 
 Who fain the course would run, 
 His followers bannerless and mute 
 
 For password they have none ? 
 
 '* Give place," the heralds cry, " he bears 
 
 A Cayley's honoured name, 
 Tho' motley be the suit he wears 
 
 And he unknown to fame." 
 
 * Elected M. P. for Yorkshire. He was enthusiastically received 
 on re-visiting the scene of his principal public triumph as President 
 of the Social Science Congress in 1864. 
 
THE OLD ROADSTER. I43 
 
 ** Now Stalwart chieftains, ere ye close," 
 
 Sir Cayley spake, " in fight 
 I dare ye, mutual friends or foes, 
 
 Your sole or banded might." 
 
 But whence that shout ? what errand wings 
 That horseman's breathless speed ? 
 
 Tidings of joy or grief he brings, 
 Ye heralds true give heed. 
 
 For, soon as good Sir Farsyde found 
 
 That purloined was his pad, 
 On Whitby's strand his way he wound 
 
 With slow paced step and sad ; 
 
 Then urged the swift pursuit, as dogs 
 The bloodhound staunch his prey, 
 
 O'er hills and dales, and wolds and bogs. 
 The hue and cry away. 
 
 Quick is the hare's prophetic ear, 
 
 The shy deer snuffs the wind, 
 The brave Sir Cayley knew not fear, 
 
 Nor reckt of foes behind. 
 
 But as at bay the stricken hart, 
 
 Whose flank the life blood dyes, 
 The yelling pack, the quivering dart, 
 
 And foremost foe defies, 
 
144 '^HE OLD ROADSTER. 
 
 At honour's call Sir Cayley flew, 
 
 His steed so foundering lay : 
 Ah ! long the reckless knight shall rue 
 
 The riding of that day. 
 
 But trumpets peace proclaim aloud, 
 Wild shouts Sir Milbank greet, 
 
 And Buncombe's bands of triumph proud : 
 No more as foes they meet. 
 
 Lo cynosure of sparkling eyes, 
 Sir Buncombe 's victor crown'd : 
 
 Sir Milbank claims a second prize. 
 Sir Cayley 's no where found. 
 
 Till thus Sir Milbank : '' Thou thy fate 
 
 Beserv'st, but not thy steed ; 
 His wayworn force I'll renovate, 
 
 And eke repair his speed ; 
 
 And lieges he shall bear me well." 
 
 Alas who hath not found 
 That warranty a horse may sell 
 
 But cannot make him sound ?''' 
 
 * Mr. Milbank upon the hustings declared his intention of 
 resuscitating the Old Highway Act. Should he accomplish this 
 feat, he will deserve a burial where four roads meet at the expense 
 of the Ratepayers. 
 
CHURCH AND STATE. 145 
 
 On Whitby's strand Sir Farsyde strode, 
 
 On Fylingdale's sweet grass 
 Fares well the foundered steed he rode 
 
 Like any humble ass ! 
 
 XXVII. 
 CHURCH AND STATE. 
 
 LINES WRITTEN ON THE OCCASION OF A VISIT, IN 
 COMPANY WITH THE ARCHDEACON OF RICHMOND 
 AND ANOTHER REVEREND FRIEND, TO THE ANCIENT 
 SEAT AND SEPULCHRE OF THE MARMIONS AT WEST 
 TANFIELD, ON THE EURE. OCT. I3TH, 1868. 
 
 The sunny slopes of Wensleydale 
 Are fair, and Clifton's bowers :* 
 
 'Tis sweet to muse o'er Eure's bright vale 
 Where stately Tanfield towers : 
 
 Where from yon ivied portal tall 
 
 Their wide-spread realm below 
 The Marmions, lords of Tanfield Hall, 
 
 Surveyed in weal or woe : 
 
 * Clifton Castle on the Eurt. 
 
146 CHURCH AND STATE. 
 
 Or sepulchred, all mail-clad, each 
 
 His partner liege beside, 
 From marble lips unconscious teach 
 
 A moral none may chide. 
 
 But other greeting waits us near, 
 
 Where at his open door 
 The brave old pastor proffers cheer. 
 
 And bids us dream no more. 
 
 And now within his sanctum snug, 
 \ Where, in disorder rude, 
 
 Chairs, table, sofa, floor, and rug 
 With parchments lie bestrewed, 
 
 Nor might unhallowed brush profane 
 The honoured dust that there 
 
 Betokens well the lonely reign 
 That no sweet nymph might share, 
 
 Marshalled we sat, each willing guest, 
 While crowned the festal board. 
 
 Nor lacked wise saw nor frolic jest, 
 The good man's choicest hoard. 
 
 And paid each churchman homage due 
 A housewife staid and trim, 
 
 As foamed, for well her task she knew. 
 The champagne o'er its brim. 
 
CHURCH AND STATE. I47 
 
 The Archdeacon, while he smiled to see 
 
 Such reverence, nothing loath, 
 Outdid the sparkling draught in glee, 
 
 As he pledged us in his troth. 
 
 And pledged us, too, a priestly brother, 
 
 And a Warden grave and sober, 
 And we thought, as still we pledged each other. 
 
 Of the frost of chill October. 
 
 Then rose our venerable host, 
 
 And pledged us all around. 
 As 'twere some wan unshriven ghost 
 
 Had long-lost utterance found. 
 
 And we toasted the Marquis,* his patron, 
 And the Bishop and cloistered lore. 
 
 And we toasted the cheery old matron, 
 And we loved our Church the more. 
 
 And bound in staunch alliance, 
 
 As well fledged our spirits rose, 
 We vowed point-blank defiance 
 
 To our own and the Church's foes. 
 
 Ailesbury. 
 
 L a 
 
148 CHURCH AND STATE. 
 
 While quivered every muscle, 
 
 As we thought of fiendish Bright, 
 
 Sour Roebuck, crafty Russell, 
 And Gladstone, traitor wight. 
 
 And we wished, and 'twas no wonder, 
 
 For we had waxen bold, 
 He might be rent asunder 
 
 Like his prototype of old. 
 
 And then, 'mid wild commotion 
 Of the billow and the blast, 
 
 We tracked o'er Time's drear ocean 
 The dark historic past. 
 
 But soon to sages curious 
 Our dull task we consigned, 
 
 For we grew fast and furious, 
 And none would lag behind. 
 
 Lay now the sunbeam level. 
 And sprites at twilight roam, 
 
 So we thought to end our revel, 
 And wend our way towards home. 
 
 And we toasted our good pastor, 
 And we toasted Church and State, 
 
 And away we drove the faster 
 For we knew that we were late. 
 
CHURCH AND STATE. I49 
 
 And soon as, smiling grimly, 
 
 We spied, athwart the gloom, 
 O'er the dusky city dimly 
 
 The huge cathedral loom, 
 
 We praised the famous men of old, 
 
 And our fathers who begat us, 
 And the Church whose banners we'd unfold 
 
 Should the knavish Whigs be at us ; 
 
 And the solemn Convocation, 
 
 And Ripon's goodly See, 
 And the Bishop's Visitation, 
 
 Or Archdeacon's, as might be. 
 
 And should foes our vineyard trample. 
 
 In Tanfield's hall again. 
 Toasting high each bright example. 
 
 We'd seek no solace vain : 
 
 Or elsewhere, should have sealed stem fate 
 
 The hospitable door. 
 We'd duly chronicle the date. 
 
 And *< drink to one saint more." 
 
( I50 ) 
 
 PARAPHRASES. 
 
 [XXVIII. 
 SOPHOCLES' '' ELECTRA/' 
 
 And does this urn thy kindred dust enshrine. 
 Dear, lost Orestes, all that once was thine ? 
 Bright as a star I sped thee from this land : 
 Now, ashes moulder in my trembling hand. 
 Ah ! hadst thou died — ere rescued, but to prove 
 How vain a guardian's trust, a sister's love. 
 And on the day that sealed thy father's doom 
 Like honoured hadst thou shared his bloody tomb! 
 Alas ! from home and from my care exiled 
 Thou fall'st, lorn outcast, on some desert wild : 
 These hands for thee no votive goblet filled. 
 Nor on thy corse the balmy draught distilled ; 
 But of thy form beloved what yet remains, 
 By strangers hallowed, this small urn contains. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 VIRGIL : GEORGICS, IV., v. 453. 
 
 Thou rue'st — no dubious doom — the recompence 
 By heaven inflicted, of thy foul offence. 
 
VIRGIL — GEORGICS. I5I 
 
 A husband's wrong the deadly curse inspires, 
 And Orpheus at thine hands his bride requires. " 
 In vain, in vain, thy guilty steps she fled, 
 As, ere she reached the river's long-sought bed. 
 Close-coiled the grassy bank's fierce guardian eyed 
 His victim, and the stream her life-blood dyed. 
 
 And rose from lofty Rhodope the wail 
 
 Of Dryad quires who wept her fate, the tale 
 
 Of woe Pangaeum's crags and Geta far 
 
 Prolonging, and where sways the God of War 
 
 His Rhetian hills, and Orithyia lone. 
 
 And surging Hebrus' melancholy moan. 
 
 But Orpheus mourning paced the desert shore, 
 
 His lyre the burden of his anguish bore ; 
 
 And still to thee, loved spouse, its cords were 
 
 strung, 
 Ere the faint dawn its earliest lustre flung ; 
 And still to thee attuned its latest lay, 
 As died the light on western waves away. 
 
 Now unappalled, impelled by frenzied love, 
 He dares the gloomy horrors of the grove. 
 That hides from mortal ken th' infernal gate 
 Where Tienarus lowers, and Pluto's kingly state — 
 Regions unblessed, the Manes' dread abode. 
 Dominions of th' inexorable God. 
 
152 , VIRGIL — GEORGICS. 
 
 Moved by the lyre's sweet minstrelsy, around 
 The spectres wan of Erebus profound 
 Swarm, as the feathered myriads throng the wood, 
 When ev'ning wooes or swells the wintry flood, 
 Matrons and sires, and mighty heroes slain, 
 Virgins who sighed for earthly loves in vain. 
 And youths by hands parental to the pyre 
 Consigned ; while round the reedy shores, through 
 
 mire 
 And slimy sedge, Cocytus wanders slow. 
 And the loathed Stygian streams in nine-fold 
 
 circles flow. 
 
 Hell from beneath is roused : Death's sullen ear 
 Startles the unwonted sound : the Furies rear 
 Their serpent locks : mute at the gate of Death 
 Hell's three-mouthed watchdog holds his labouring 
 
 breath, 
 And bends, oblivious of immortal woes, 
 Ixion from his wheel in grim repose. 
 
 And scathless from the perils of the way 
 Now panted Orpheus on the verge of day ; 
 And still his steps, so Proserpine decreed, 
 Eurydice pursued with faithful speed : 
 When, oh ! what dire illusion mocks his sense- 
 Could Hell forgive, how venial the offence ! — 
 
VIRGIL — GEORGICS. I53 
 
 What Spell o'erpowers the lover's constant mind ! 
 
 He yields, and casts a wistful look behind. 
 
 In token of the forfeit, thunders shake 
 
 Thrice pealing from its depths th' Avernian lake : 
 
 While to her Orpheus thus the frenzied bride : 
 
 '* What madness blasts our rescued bliss?" she 
 
 cried, 
 ** Again I hear the Fates' resistless call, 
 And on my swimming eyes Death's slumbers fall; 
 The gathering shadows round their victim twine, 
 Ah ! meet my fond embrace, alas, no longer 
 
 thine !" 
 She spake, and, as a vapour melts in air, 
 Vanished, unconscious of his mute despair, 
 While fondly still he clasped the empty shade, 
 And many a sign of speechless anguish made : 
 And could no vows restore his twice-lost love, 
 Nor prayers the Gods, nor tears the Manes move ? 
 Ah, no ; the death-boat to the Stygian coast 
 E'en now hath borne the unreturning ghost. 
 
 Deep in the dark recesses of a cave, 
 
 Where rocks aerial frown o'er Strymon's wave, 
 
 For seven long months, as legends tell, his groan 
 
 Orpheus renewed, unpitied and alone ; 
 
 Till woods drew near enraptured as he sang, 
 
 And tigers owned the spell that soothed his pang. 
 
154 VIRGIL — GEORGICS. 
 
 In poplar shades unseen, till dawns the day, 
 Her unfledged brood, of some rude churl the prey. 
 So mourns the nightingale, while o'er the vale 
 Thrills the sad descant of her oft-told tale. 
 His grief no Hymeneal rites beguiled, 
 Nor Venus on the bard benignant smiled : 
 But where, 'mid hyperborean wastes afar, 
 On freezing Tanais gleams the northern star. 
 Or where on cold Ryphaeum's mountains drear 
 The sleety tempests chafe the wintry year, 
 A wanderer lone th' eternal snows he trod, 
 And rued the vain relentings of the God ; 
 Till, as he spurned their proffered love, inspired 
 By jealous rage, to slay the bard conspired 
 Cyconia's matrons. And his mangled limbs 
 Revealed, while pierced night's silent noon the 
 
 hymns 
 Of frantic Bacchanals, the deed of blood. 
 And while his severed head adown the flood 
 Of Hebrus, foaming o'er the CEagrian plain. 
 The whirling eddies tost, the wonted strain 
 Still lingered on his lips and faltering tongue, 
 As still the lost Eurydice he sung : 
 Eurydice his parting spirit sighed — 
 Eurydice the rocks and hollow shores replied. 
 
HORACE — ODE. I55 
 
 XXX. 
 
 HORACE. 
 
 Book 2nd. Ode ioth. 
 
 Shape well thy course, Licinius, why 
 
 Thus ever rashly tempt the deep, 
 Or when the storms appal thee, fly 
 
 Where vainly warns the threatening steep ? 
 
 Contentedly a humble lot, 
 
 Life's golden mean who fain would choose, 
 Nor grovelling penury's squalid cot, 
 
 Nor wealth's much envied grandeur rues. 
 
 Winds the tall pine assail, the tower 
 That's loftiest falls with heaviest shock, 
 
 And quivering owns the Thunderer's power 
 The blasted summit of the rock. 
 
 Mindful of change, the steadfast soul 
 Sorrows with hope, exults with fear; 
 
 Jove bids the winters onward roll, 
 Then vanish from the vernal year. 
 
 The ills, too, of the day shall end : 
 
 Apollo shall again inspire 
 The slumbering muse, nor always bend 
 
 The bow that bears his treasured ire. 
 
156 HABAKKUK. 
 
 Boldly the gathering storm await ; 
 
 Then shall thy readier hand restrain 
 The swelling sails, when happier Fate 
 
 Propitious lulls the boisterous main. 
 
 XXXI. 
 HABAKKUK. 
 
 Chapter 3RD. 
 
 I HEARD Thy voice, O God, with thrilling fear : 
 Lord of Eternity, while year to year 
 Succeeds, revive Thy work, Thy will declare, 
 In wrath remember mercy, Lord, and spare. 
 
 The Holy One from lofty Teman came; 
 
 And Paran bowed beneath His car of flame, 
 
 O'er Heaven's deep vault a flood of glory poured, 
 
 And Earth's hosannahs loud His name adored. 
 
 Invisible, in brightest beams arrayed, 
 
 While round His outstretched arm the lightnings 
 
 played, 
 In shrouded majesty th' Almighty rode. 
 And fire and pestilence before Him flowed. 
 He stood to mete the Earth : no eye might brook 
 His glance revealed : the nations fled, and shook 
 The everlasting hills : none else might span 
 The Infinite's unchanged and changeless plan. 
 
HABAKKUK. I57 
 
 In Cushan's tents is heard the voice of wail, 
 And guilty Midian's ancient bulwarks fail. 
 Why on the rivers burst Thy treasured wrath ? 
 Did vengeance urge Thee on Thy billowy path, 
 When horse and chariot clave the parting main ? 
 Nor was Thy bow unsheathed, or promise vain. 
 
 Forth rushed the rivers from the opening sod, 
 And mountains trembling owned a present God, 
 And flung the deluge in its boundless sweep 
 Its foam on high, and answered deep to deep ; 
 While sun and moon in either lessening sphere. 
 Shrank from Thine arrowy sheen and glittering 
 spear. 
 
 O'er land and sea triumphant, as the flail 
 Winnows the chaff, Thou bad'st the heathen quail, 
 And Thine anointed hail thy saving power, 
 When quivered to its base the smitten tower, 
 Nor refuge found their mightiest when Thy foes, 
 To oppress the poor, like whirlwind blast arose. 
 Triumphant was Thy step on land and sea, 
 Through the walled waves Thy chariots bounded free. 
 I heard the trampling of Thy steeds, confest 
 My lips the anguish of my lab'ring breast, 
 And my bones quaked, ah, lest, on that dread day, 
 Appalled I share Thy flying foes* dismay. 
 
158 HABAKKUK. 
 
 Albeit no vernal bloom the fig-tree bear, 
 Nor purple vintage crown the waning year, 
 No fruit the olive in its season yield, 
 Nor golden harvest load the teeming field, 
 The shepherd swain with weeping eye behold 
 The stall forsaken and the empty fold, 
 Yet in the Lord my God will I rejoice. 
 For His salvation raise my grateful voice. 
 And by His might restored my strength renew, 
 Fleet as the hart that drinks the morning dew. 
 
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