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 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 POEMS. 
 
 BY 
 
 HARRIET AND ROSE ACTON 
 
 LONDON- 
 PRINTED FOR THE AUTHORS, 
 
 BY JOSEPH ROGERSON, 24, NORFOLK-STREET., STRAND. 
 
 1846.
 
 
 TO 
 
 MISS CAMILLA TOULMIN, 
 
 AS A SIMPLE TRIBUTE OP THE HIGHEST ADMIRATION 
 OF HER TALENTS 
 
 AS AN AUTHORESS, 
 
 AND WARMEST ESTEEM 
 
 AS A FRIEND, 
 
 THESE POEMS ARE AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED BY 
 
 THE AUTHORS. 
 London, December, 1846. 
 
 8523.38
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 Page 
 
 The Two Flowers - - - 1 
 
 Peace - - - - 9 
 
 The Farewell of the Unloved - - - 10 
 
 The Sleeping Monitor - - - 13 
 
 The Poor Man's Prayer - - - 16 
 
 A Farewell to the Old Year - - 19 
 
 The Song of the Waves - - -21 
 
 To the Evening Star - - - 23 
 
 The Lay of the Gipsy - - - 24 
 
 Summer's last Lay - - -27 
 
 The Youth and the Withered Tree - - 30 
 
 The Day and Night of the Heart - - 34 
 
 The Power of doing Good - - - 35 
 
 To a Valued Preceptress - - 37 
 
 The Seasons - - - - 38 
 
 Tears of Bitterness - - - 41 
 
 The Child and the Sunbeam - 45
 
 VI CONTENTS. 
 
 Pfl org i 
 
 The Wandering Minstrel - - 47 
 
 The Sea King - . . - 49 
 
 A Farewell to Bishop's Itchington - - 51 
 
 The Old Grey Fountain - - .54 
 
 The Ivy and the Oak - - - 55 
 
 On my Sister's Portrait - - - 58 
 
 The Song of the Pearl-Diver - - 59 
 
 The Voice of the coming Year - - 6 1 
 
 The Tenth Plague of Egypt - - 63 
 
 On the Departure of some Relatives for Africa- - 71 
 
 The Try sting Tree - - . 72 
 
 The Song of December - - - 77 
 
 May Flowers - - - .79 
 
 Anna Boleyn's Farewell to the Princess Elizabeth, 
 
 on the Morning of her Execution - - SI 
 
 Visions of the Heart - . - 83 
 
 The Blind Man to his Child - - - 84 
 
 To a Friend of Childhood - - 8/ 
 
 The Holly - - . . 88 
 
 Spells - - - - 91 
 
 The Homeward Bound - - - 92 
 
 Homage to the Author of the Christmas Carol 95 
 
 On an Ancient Oak Room in Warwickshire - 97 
 
 Nairla - - - . _ 10 o 
 
 A Tribute to Campbell, the Poet - - 103
 
 CONTENTS. VII 
 
 Page. 
 On the Threatened Destruction of some Withered 
 
 Christmas Holly - 105 
 
 The Ancient Mirror - - - 107 
 
 The Old Covenanter - - - 1 1 1 
 
 A Birthday Tribute to an Early Friend - 113 
 Lines, on a Picture of " Uncas at his Watch-fire " - 115 
 
 To-morrow - - - - 117 
 
 The Irish Exile's Lament - - - 119 
 
 Lights and Shadows - - - 121 
 
 The Song of Old Time - - -123 
 
 The Snow-bound - - - 126 
 
 On a Picture of " Love's mislaid Quiver" - 129 
 
 The Song of the Sea-birds - - 131 
 
 Thou art not by my Side - • - 134 
 
 The Cry of Genius - - - 135 
 
 Lines, suggested by attending a Meeting for the 
 
 " Earlier Cessation of Labour" - - 138
 
 POEMS. 
 
 THE TWO FLOWERS. 
 
 PART FIRST. 
 
 There bloomed two lovely flowers 
 
 In a sweet and shady dell ; 
 Through the summer's balmy hours 
 
 They had graced its beauty well ; 
 The soft west wind breathed on them, 
 
 In the calm and stilly air ; 
 And the bright sun shone upon them, 
 
 As they grew in beauty there. 
 Oh ! happy were those flowers 
 
 In their home of love and light : 
 " What a merry life is ours ! " 
 
 Was their chorus day and night. 
 The leaves bent down to watch them 
 
 With a fond and holy care, 
 Lest some rude-hand might snatch them 
 
 From their home, so bright and fair.
 
 2 POEMS. 
 
 They had known no other dwelling 
 
 Half so sunny as their own, 
 Ere the spring's glad voice was telling, 
 
 They had hlossomed there alone. 
 Alone ! alone ! with nought to look 
 
 Upon their kingdom free ; 
 And their graceful stems with triumph shook, 
 
 As they sighed " How hlest are we!" 
 
 One morn when leaf and flower 
 
 Were beginning to unfold, 
 And that sweet and tranquil bower 
 
 Seemed bathed in rays of gold ; 
 A sound came stealing o'er them 
 
 Of joyous voices there, 
 And a party swept before them, 
 
 Of lords and ladies fair. 
 A moment ! and the stately throng 
 
 Have hied them far away, 
 With laughter as they passed along, 
 
 And tones and gestures gay. 
 A moment ! and the stern old trees 
 
 Were lonely left again, 
 To shake with anger in the breeze, 
 
 That aught disturbs their reign. 
 And the two fair flowers looked forth at last, 
 
 In wonder and in dread ; 
 They had liid them 'till the throng had passed, 
 
 In their thick and leafy bed.
 
 POEMS. 
 
 But now they watch'd the gallant train, 
 
 As it vanished from their sight, 
 'Till they longed to see it once again, 
 
 In its glittering beauty bright. 
 And they thought upon that band so gay, 
 
 'Till they loathed their silent dell : 
 And they sigh'd to think that they must stay 
 
 In the home once loved so well. 
 The bright sun cast his rays of gold 
 
 Upon that spot so fair, 
 But the flowers looked on reserved and cold, 
 
 And wept that they were there. 
 
 The evening dews were falling fast, 
 
 And naught had reached their ear, 
 When they heard a bugle's thrilling blast 
 
 Proclaim the party near. 
 On ! on they came with horse and hound, 
 
 And feathers waving high, 
 And the greenwood rang to their footstep's sound 
 
 As they swept the forest by. 
 " Will they depart and leave us here ?" 
 
 And the flowers gaz'd forth with dread ; 
 For the stately throng was drawing near, 
 
 But glanced not on their bed. 
 With snowy plumes and jewels bright, 
 
 And merry laugh and tone, 
 
 They have vanished like a beam of light, 
 
 And the flowers are left alone. 
 
 B 2
 
 POEMS. 
 
 No ! not alone — a lady fair 
 
 Has loitered in the dell, 
 To gather blossoms for her hair, 
 
 Of the graceful heather hell. 
 And he who lingers by her side, 
 
 To mark each smile and sigh, 
 Will call that gentle lady bride, 
 
 Ere the autumn passes by. 
 They have culled tbe bells so fresh and sweet, 
 
 When oh ! long looked-for chance ! 
 The flowers so fair and blooming- meet 
 
 The lady's laughing glance. 
 And she takes them from their home beneath 
 
 The leaves and dew-drops bright, 
 To lend their beauty to the wreath 
 
 Which binds her hair that night. 
 And the flowers ! the flowers, oh ! what said they, 
 
 To leave their shady bower, 
 And the quiet glen, to speed away 
 
 To the halls of wealth and power? 
 They shook their slender stems with glee, 
 
 And they waved their heads with pride, 
 When they thought that they should ever be 
 
 By that lovely lady's side. 
 And yet a sad and fond regret 
 
 Came o'er them at the last, 
 For the home they could not quite forget, 
 And the bright and happy past.
 
 toems. a 
 
 For their joyous life so calm and free, 
 
 For the leaves they loved so well, 
 For the waving grass, and stately tree, 
 
 Which graced the sunny dell — 
 They have wished to change their tranquil lot : 
 
 They must hear it as they may ; 
 They have looked their last on that sweet spot, 
 
 And the flowers are home away. 
 
 PART THE SECOND. 
 
 A strain comes sweeping, soft and clear, 
 
 Of music's measure light, 
 And steals upon the startled ear 
 
 Of the still and peaceful night. 
 And the moonbeams, as they softly fall 
 
 The waving trees between 
 Look in upon a stately hall, 
 
 And a gay and festive scene. 
 The first and fairest of the land, 
 
 Are gathered smiling there, 
 But the brightest of the joyous band 
 
 Is that gentle lady fair : 
 With naught amidst her clust'ring curls, 
 
 Save the flowers in beautv rare. 
 Oh ! lovelier far than gems or pearls, 
 
 Those blooming flowers were.
 
 POEMS. 
 
 And well Indeed might they be proud 
 
 Of the part they bore that night, 
 As they moved amidst the festal crowd, 
 
 Upon that lady bright. 
 As they grace the fair and polished brow 
 
 Of the glittering revel's queen, 
 They can have naught to sigh for now, 
 
 Beyond that brilliant scene. 
 And yet ! they were not happy quite, 
 
 A feeling new and strange 
 Passed over them with a chilling blight : 
 
 And again they wished for change. 
 Again they wished to be away, 
 
 Where they alone were fair ; 
 They had looked on flowers of hues more gay, 
 
 Since they had entered there. 
 And they thought that in their home serene 
 
 None had seemed fair save them, 
 And they were to that forest scene 
 
 As a rare and foreign gem. 
 But here swept by them every hour 
 
 Strange flowers of beauty bright ; 
 They were more prized in their greenwood bower 
 
 Than in those halls of light. 
 'Twas true that they were still most fair, 
 
 They had not lost their bloom, 
 But they drooped beneath the perfumed air 
 
 Which filled that gorgeous room.
 
 POEMS. 7 
 
 And they longed to feel the evening breeze 
 
 Steal o'er them, and they sighed 
 For their slighted home beneath the trees, 
 
 In the stately forest wide. 
 A still small voice first whispered then, 
 
 That they had happier been 
 In the leafy shades of the peaceful glen 
 
 Than in that brilliant scene. 
 And the flowers bent down their heads and wept, 
 
 For their hearts were full of woe, 
 When they thought how calmly they had slept 
 
 The moon's pale light below. 
 
 Dark night is giving place to day, 
 
 The morn begins to break, 
 And the lovely lady hastes away 
 
 Ere the sun's bright rays awake. 
 But the flowers that late had graced her brow 
 
 Are thrown neglected by ; 
 Their bloom is past, they are faded now, 
 
 They are left alone to die. 
 To die uncared for, far away 
 
 From their own sweet forest glen, 
 What visions of its life so gay, 
 
 Came rushing o'er them then ! 
 " Oh would ! oh would that we were there 
 
 In our home of beauty bright, 
 Near the leaves that watched us with such care, 
 
 And sheltered us each night.
 
 8 POEMS. 
 
 Where the tall trees shaded us all day, 
 
 'Till the sun's fierce heat was o'er, 
 And we are dying far away; 
 
 They will never see us more." 
 The flower's words were choked with woe, 
 
 For their hearts were breaking fast, 
 And their tears in hitter sorrow flow, 
 
 As they mourn their folly past. 
 As they think that had they ever been 
 
 Contented in their dell, 
 They might have graced its tranquil scene, 
 
 Where they were loved so well. 
 " Oh ! that we ne'er had from thee fled," 
 
 In agony they sighed, 
 And bowing down each drooping head, 
 
 The blighted flowers died ! 
 
 H. A.
 
 POEMS. 
 
 9 
 
 PEACE. 
 
 Oh ! hidden sojourner amid earth's shade, 
 So oft a stranger where its gifts are laid — 
 So wildly worshipp'd in thy distant sphere, 
 So lightly treasur'd in thy beauty near — 
 Flying the bosom where ambition reigns, 
 To thrill the life-blood of a peasant's veins — 
 To wreathe with flow'rs Toil's oft heart-galling 
 chains — 
 
 Whence art thou ? 
 
 To the lone captive, in his hour of death — 
 To the reft watcher of a parting breath — 
 When the heart's latest blessing is removed — 
 When we are taught to doubt where we have lov'd — 
 When we have sown our trust, and reap'd despair — 
 When we have gather 'd weeds from flowers fair — 
 When we have garner 'd, at the last, but care, 
 
 Why com'st thou ? 
 
 On the pure eyes that seek for thee thou break'st ; 
 To the high hearts that call on thee thou speak'st. 
 Where thou art stay'd by prayer from passing fast — 
 Where thou art held the first boon and the last —
 
 10 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 Planting the tree of Faith where had grown Fear — 
 Bringing Hope's smile to check Affliction's tear — 
 From that bright land whose skies are ever clear, 
 
 Thence art thou. 
 
 R. A. 
 
 THE FAREWELL OF THE UNLOVED. 
 
 Come nearer to my side, Mother, 
 
 There's a dimness in my eye, 
 There's a weight upon my heart, Mother, 
 
 I feel that I shall die. 
 But ere the hand of death, Mother, 
 
 Is laid upon my brow, 
 Come nearer to my side, Mother, 
 
 I've much to tell thee now. 
 I've been a slighted child, Mother, 
 
 Yet have I loved thee well, 
 And the prayers I've breathed for thee, Mother. 
 
 Are more than I can tell. 
 I've been a slighted child, Mother, 
 
 And fond and kindly word, 
 And tones that soothe the soul, Mother, 
 
 My ear hath never heard.
 
 POEMS. 
 
 11 
 
 I've prayed upon my knees, Mother, 
 
 In sorrow night and day, 
 That the coldness of thy heart, Mother, 
 
 Might sometime pass away. 
 I've prayed upon my knees, Mother, 
 
 That I might come to he, 
 As treasured and as dear, Mother, 
 
 As my sister is to thee. 
 But ah ! 'twas all in vain, Mother, 
 
 I strove thy will to do, 
 I would I had been fair, Mother, 
 
 That thou hadst loved me too. 
 I've laid upon my bed, Mother, 
 
 When others thought I slept ; 
 Through the long and weary night, Mother, 
 
 My lonely watch I've kept. 
 To hear thy well-known step, Mother. 
 
 And see thee fondly press 
 On my sister's sleeping brow, Mother, 
 
 A kiss of tenderness. 
 But ah ! no kiss was mine, Mother, 
 
 No blessing came to me, 
 I've wept till daylight dawned, Mother, 
 
 For I was nought to thee ! 
 Yet now so near my grave, Mother. 
 
 One wish my heart doth fill, 
 One pray'r upon my lip, Mother, 
 
 Doth hang unuttered still.
 
 12 
 
 POEiMS. 
 
 Soon must I bend to death, Mother, 
 
 Yet while I linger on, 
 Let the sunshine of thy love, Mother, 
 
 Be turned thy child upon. 
 For I could not seek my grave, Mother, 
 
 Without a parting word, 
 To tell me ere we part, Mother, 
 
 How thy slighted child has erred ! 
 Oh ! is it that thine eyes, Mother, 
 
 Are fondly bent on mine ? 
 Oh ! is it that my hand, Mother, 
 
 Is wildly clasped in thine ? 
 Oh ! is it that thy voice, Mother, 
 
 Falls kindly on mine ear ? 
 My heart will break with joy, Mother, 
 
 Those cherished tones to hear ! 
 Oh ! mourn not that I die, Mother, 
 
 That heart would sink with care, 
 If I should seek thy face, Mother, 
 
 And find a shadow there. 
 Thy treasured smiles of love, Mother, 
 
 Around me now have played ; 
 I fain would pass away, Mother, 
 
 Before those smiles can fade. 
 My eye is growing dim, Mother, 
 
 My heart is growing cold, 
 My life is ebbing fast, Mother, 
 
 My earthly days are told.
 
 POEMS. 
 
 13 
 
 Thus ! thus ! to hold thy hand, Mother, 
 
 Will still my latest pain — ■ 
 Smile on me ere I die, Mother, 
 
 Oh ! may we meet again ! 
 
 H. A. 
 
 THE SLEEPING MONITOR. 
 
 There lay a weary child 
 
 'Neath an old tree ; 
 In its sweet sleep it smiled, 
 
 How joyfully ! 
 Bright must its dreams have heen, 
 Couched in that sylvan scene 
 
 So peacefully. 
 
 One near that sheltered spot 
 
 Gloomily pass'd ; 
 Fortune around his lot 
 
 Rich gifts had cast ; 
 Yet did his heart declare 
 Peace from its sojourn there 
 
 Still hurried fast.
 
 14 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 Slowly his footsteps stray 
 
 By glade and hill, 
 Where the young sleeper lay 
 
 Slumbering still ; 
 Smiles on its eyelids rest, 
 As if its guileless breast 
 
 Cay visions fill. 
 
 Soft stole the stranger on, 
 
 Downward he bent ; 
 Long that smooth brow upon 
 
 Gazed he intent ; 
 " Oh ! that such rest were mine ! 
 And to my sleep like thine 
 
 Sweet dreams were sent." 
 
 Tears o'er his earnest gaze 
 
 Silently start ; 
 Thoughts of forgotten days 
 
 Steal round his heart ; 
 When with his day-dreams fair, 
 Like the child sleeping there, 
 
 Grief had no part. 
 
 All that the world calls great, 
 
 His might be styled ; 
 Glory and high estate 
 
 On him had smil'd ;
 
 POEMS. 15 
 
 Yet had he falsehood found, 
 And for its sleep profound 
 Envied that child. 
 
 Then came the yearning thought — 
 
 Would it be vain, 
 If he with fervour sought 
 
 Sweet peace to gain ? 
 How should he welcome rest 
 Back to his wearied breast 
 
 Gladly again ? 
 
 " Peace may once more be thine !" 
 
 Hope whispered low ; 
 But in thy bosom's shrine 
 
 Change must thou know. 
 Some to thee false have seem'd, 
 All hast thou worthless deem'd — 
 
 Ah, 'tis not so ! 
 
 " Scatter thou mercy's seed, 
 
 Wipe tears away, 
 Kind word and noble deed 
 
 Sow while you may : 
 Gladden the mourning one — 
 Joy, for such mercies done, 
 
 With thee shall stay."
 
 16 POEMS. 
 
 " Sweet one !" the stranger cried. 
 
 " Sleep in thy dell ; 
 Peace doth thy slumbers guide 
 
 As with a spell. 
 Holy thoughts woke by thee, 
 Never shall pass from me — 
 
 God guard thee well !" 
 
 H. A. 
 
 THE POOR MAN'S PRAYER. 
 
 There is a tale of fervent faith 
 
 Within that prayer so often said ; 
 And yet, so oft unheedingly — 
 " Each day give us our daily bread." 
 
 It stealeth forth from many a lip, 
 
 That's decked with smiles — perchance unheard 
 On ears that drink but sounds of joy, 
 
 It falleth as an empty word. 
 
 How shoxdd there be in lightsome hearts 
 
 A vision of their mirth's decay ? 
 How should the child of wealth have need 
 
 For " daily bread" to kneel and pray ?
 
 POEMS. 17 
 
 It is not these who kneel with faith, 
 To crave the food they must obtain ; 
 
 It is not faith to pray, and know 
 Each day must bring but joys again. 
 
 Go 'neath the poor man's cheerless roof, 
 
 Wliere Care's gaunt form hath gone before : 
 
 Where Want's chill breath is ever felt ; 
 Where Joy, if e'er it was, is o'er. 
 
 Look on young eyes which should be bright, 
 On drooping forms which should be proud : 
 
 On aged locks, by sorrow thinned, 
 
 By all the heart's stern anguish bowed. 
 
 Oh ! it is tliese who pray with faith, 
 
 For means to keep from sin and shame ; 
 
 Who crave for what a thousand deem, 
 In pride of wealth, an empty name ! 
 
 And shall no kindly hand be stretched, 
 
 In this, o\ir land of boasted worth, 
 To save, from ruin and disgrace, 
 
 Our fellow-pilgrims upon earth ? 
 
 Turn ! oh, ye high ones ! ye that share 
 The " common lot" with each of those, 
 
 Whose fate, so widely differing now, 
 Will be as yours when life shall close.
 
 18 POEMS. 
 
 Turn ! and the pity here ye shew 
 
 May win ye blessings, which shall cling 
 
 Around your memory on that day, 
 Far above every earthly thing. 
 
 Scorn not the poor ! The heart you crush 
 Can feel, as yours, a blighting word ; 
 
 And it may be, his prayer, before 
 
 Your own, for pardon, shall be heard ! 
 
 Oh ! ye should glory that your gold 
 Can lighten some lone hearts of pain ; 
 
 When many, that the world deems blest, 
 Are yearning for such peace in vain. 
 
 Have pity, then ! Be yours the hand 
 To turn destruction from its prey. 
 
 One mite from out your store can make 
 How many tears to pass away. 
 
 Oh ! answer ye the prayer that bursts 
 In anguish from the stricken heart, 
 
 And triumph that it is for man, 
 To say to misery, " Depart !" 
 
 And in the poor man's prayer, for you 
 A blessing shall ascend on high, 
 
 To soothe your chequered path on earth, 
 And win for you eternity. 
 
 R. A.
 
 POEMS. 19 
 
 A FAREWELL TO THE OLD YEAR. 
 
 Go ! Winter bears thee from us. Flowers, 
 
 That crowned thee once, are dead ; 
 And hopes, thy spring-time raised to us, 
 
 Have, with thy beauty, fled. 
 Yet we would shield thy fading form 
 
 From murmurs of regret ; 
 Though many a heart that yearned for thee 
 
 Thy sojourn must forget. 
 
 Pass on thy way ; thou leav'st a trace 
 
 Of other sorrows here : 
 Have we no griefs for wasted time ? 
 
 Sighs for a mis-spent year ? 
 Go ! thou must now give place to one 
 
 That hath not mark'd our care — 
 That cometh to restore to earth 
 
 Its robe of beauty rare — 
 
 To soothe the troubles sent by thee — 
 
 To calm the spirit wild — 
 
 To teach the task a cold world sets 
 
 Adversity's wan child. 
 
 c 2
 
 20 POEMS. 
 
 Some light and unwrung hearts may know 
 
 But joy while thou art here ; 
 And some may count the weary days 
 
 By Sorrow's blighting tear. 
 
 Thou hast pass'd by to humble us 
 
 By stern Affliction's hand — 
 To render desolate a place 
 
 In many a household band ; 
 Scattering misery around 
 
 On some once smiling spot, 
 While thou art linking friends, whose names 
 
 Were once remember 'd not. 
 
 Go ! the New Year will read to us 
 
 A yet unopened page ; 
 Perchance to sadden blooming youth — 
 
 Perchance to lighten ace. 
 'Tis meet that we should watch thee die 
 
 With feelings kindly yet : 
 We know not that a future hour 
 
 We woidd not fain forget. 
 
 's' 
 
 All, it is therefore Ave should mark 
 Witb fear thy form depart : 
 
 Time, in its changes, may but bring 
 A changed and care-worn heart ;
 
 TOEMS. 
 
 And, in remembrance of the smile, 
 
 We should forget the tear ; 
 Nor turn with slighting from the past 
 
 To greet the coming year. 
 
 R. A. 
 
 21 
 
 THE SONG OF THE WAVES. 
 
 When the sky is drear as night, 
 And the winds with fury roar, 
 We come in our giant might 
 To lash the trembling shore. 
 Ha ! ha ! we come from an ocean home, 
 
 With our snow-white crests of glancing foam ; 
 And ever our song, as we hurry along, 
 Is, " Hail to the rolling waves !" 
 
 We play with the stately bark, 
 
 When lull'd by the zephyr's breath ; 
 But beneath the tempest dark 
 Our touch is the clasp of death. 
 Ha ! ha ! we fly with a fearful cry, 
 
 Startling the clouds as we pass them by ; 
 And still is our song, as we whirl along, 
 " Hail to the foaming waves !"
 
 22 POEMS. 
 
 But oh ! when our rage is past, 
 
 We sorrow its work to see, 
 We list to the dying hlast, 
 And glory at peace to be. 
 Ha ! ha ! we glide to the bright earth's side, 
 And we kiss each bank, in its velvet pride ; 
 And gay is our song, as we steal along — 
 " Hail to the laughing waves !" 
 
 Coral, and weed, and shell, 
 
 From their fathomless caves we tear, 
 To bribe the land right well, 
 
 The might of our wrath to bear. 
 Ha ! ha ! they pine for the foaming brine, 
 
 And they say to the sand — " We are none of 
 thine ;" 
 And merry our song, as we sweep them along — 
 " Hail to the sparkling waves !" 
 
 Dark as the raven's wing, 
 
 Bright as the cloudless sky, 
 Sorrow and joy we bring, 
 
 As swift on our course we fly. 
 Ha ! ha ! we delight in the moonlit night, 
 
 To mirror the stars with their glances 
 bright ; 
 And changeless our song, as we dance along — 
 " Hail to the rippling waves."
 
 POEMS. 23 
 
 Let the earth in its pride rejoice, 
 And scoff at the ocean's bed ; 
 Yet ours is a mighty voice, 
 
 That thrilleth each heart with dread. 
 Ha ! ha ! we are free on the trackless sea ; 
 
 Merry, yet proud, our reign shall he ; 
 And still is our song, as we bound along, 
 All hail to the mighty waves ! 
 
 H. A. 
 
 TO THE EVENING STAR. 
 
 O'er me steals a vision bright : 
 
 Star of Eve ! I gaze on thee : 
 While beneath thy silver light 
 
 Faintly smiles the summer sea. 
 Mem'ry comes with gentle spell, 
 Sweetly in my heart to dwell, 
 Bringing back, with magic chain, 
 All I love to me again. 
 
 Friends afar on thee may gaze 
 Yearningly, as I do now, 
 
 Calling up departed days, 
 Haply with a saddened brow.
 
 24 POEMS. 
 
 Eyes that oft have dwelt on mine.. 
 Star of Eve ! behold thee shine : 
 Oh ! that each loved face could be 
 Mirror 'd in thine orb to me. 
 
 Paler grows each trembling ray ; 
 
 'Neath the sun thy glories die, 
 Fading, like my hopes, away, 
 
 In yon blue and distant sky. 
 Thoughts, that by thy welcome beam 
 Seem recalled as in a dream ; 
 And the joys thou bring'st to me, 
 Star of Eve ! they die with thee. 
 
 H. A. 
 
 THE LAY OF THE GIPSY. 
 
 List ye to me ! list ye to me ! 
 Do ye not envy my life, so free ? 
 Do ye not envy my boundless range, 
 From city to city, in varying change ? 
 All ye who are tied to your homes so tame, 
 Where each lagging moment is still the same, 
 Away with such bondage ! no life for me, 
 Save that which is led by the gipsy free.
 
 POEMS. 
 
 25 
 
 No riches I boast, no comforts I own, 
 Save those I procure by this strong arm alone. 
 A tent for my home, and the ground for my bed, 
 With the giant trees casting their shade o'er my head, 
 And the summer breeze sighing me softly to sleep — 
 Oh ! monarchs might envy my slumbers so deep. 
 'I am free of the world ! I can roam where I will — 
 Over mountain and sea, over valley and hill. 
 I enter unquestioned in palace and tower ; 
 To the flattered and high-born in beauty's bower, 
 I am welcome ; nay, more — I am needed to try 
 My skill in foretelling her destiny ;. 
 And she, to the world so disdainful and proud, 
 With terror and dread to the gipsy has bowed. 
 None dare to oppose me — the stoutest grows pale, 
 And the bravest will shrink, as he lists to the tale — 
 Of the curse I can breathe, of the power that I hold, 
 Of the spells that I weave round the stately and bold ; 
 And I, the wild son of the mountain and moor, 
 Can shake by my presence the rich and the poor. 
 Ye children of cities, your wealth I despise ; 
 And the titles and lands that so dearly ye prize. 
 Give me the blue sky, and the rich-tinted trees, 
 The soft summer air, and the fresh autumn breeze ; 
 Give me the bright picture of streamlet and fell, 
 The calm silver lake, and the deep forest dell. 
 Is there aught that can yield me, in castle or tower, 
 The pleasure I find in my lone greenwood bower ?
 
 26 POEMS. 
 
 Where I basic in the sun's golden lustre all day, 
 
 Or watch the pale moon as she glides on her way, 
 
 With none to molest me, no law save my own. 
 
 I am monarch and lord in the forest alone, 
 
 And I would not exchange one old tree from my 
 
 haunt 
 For a score of those gems which so proudly ye vaunt ; 
 I covet them not — I can look on as bright, 
 When the dew-droj)S are tinting the flowers with light, 
 Or the glow-worm is shining the fresh leaves between, 
 When the sunset has passed o'er the wild woodland 
 
 scene. 
 Have ye aught to bestow, 'midst the riches ye own, 
 Like the star-lighted roof of my free sylvan throne ? 
 Ye hare not, ye have not ; your treasures I spurn ! 
 From all that ye cherish so fondly I turn. 
 Let me live, let me die, 'midst the scenes that I love — 
 The bright earth beneath, and the blue sky above ; 
 The dance 'neath the moonlight, the feast in the dell, 
 The joyous excitement by forest and fell ; 
 The right to pass onward, unquestioned and free, 
 And the bold daring life of the Gipsy for me. 
 
 II. A.
 
 POEMS. 27 
 
 SUMMER'S LAST LAY. 
 
 The wild-bird hath told of the bright Summer's birth; 
 She hath come, bringing light to each creature of 
 
 earth : 
 Her glance hath been seeking in loneliest bowers 
 Her long-hidden treasures, the Winter-bound flowers, 
 And her breath hath passed o'er them, renewing their 
 
 bloom, 
 And raising them up from their withering tomb. 
 Children ! Earth's children ! she comes once again, 
 Searching round for content, and her search is in vain; 
 She hath sought but one heart free from anguish and 
 
 care, 
 And she finds where dwelt sunshine now bideth de- 
 spair. 
 Whence is your sorrow ? The world is the same ! 
 There is still hope's bright tide — still the pathway to 
 
 Fame- 
 Still the beacon of Faith. Then why bendeth the 
 
 heart ? 
 Why, amid all its joys, let contentment depart ? 
 Children ! why know ye not yet that, alone, 
 The true heart hath gladness and peace of its own ?
 
 28 POEMS. 
 
 Why know ye not yet, 'tis for you to be gay 
 
 When the world's tempests rise, when its joys pass 
 
 away ! 
 'Tis for you, in your path through its deserts, to find 
 Your clear stream within, in a right-thinking mind ! 
 List to her, there is delight in the smile 
 So radiant now, so long yearned for ere while ! 
 When the hand you have stretched has uplifted De- 
 spair, 
 And o'er its dark mantle cast Hope's garment fair ; 
 There is joy in remembrance of Gratitude's tear, 
 Of the sunlight you gave to the wilderness drear ; 
 Is't for you then to sorrow, when Peace doth but 
 
 rest 
 In slumber, awaiting the call to your breast ? 
 Oh ! scorn ye its blessing ? deride ye its might 
 To give day to your souls when around ye is night ? 
 List to her ! — Summer is passing away, 
 To cast, o'er a far-distant realm, her bright sway. 
 (Already the first trace of Autumn is seen ; 
 Ev'n now is his footstep more marked on the green.) 
 Yet leaves she with sorrow; fain, fain would she mark 
 The light she could kindle in each bosom dark ; 
 She gladly would yield ye her last parting sigh, 
 Did ye watch her depart with Hope's glistening eye, 
 And would ye do this ? Though she passeth away 
 In your Winter-chilled hearts, let the Summer's 
 warmth stay ;
 
 POEMS. 29 
 
 Let it melt the iced current of sympathy there, 
 And the sere things of Earth make ye look on as 
 
 fair ! 
 Let it aid you, by binding to yours the cold heart, 
 To make, by your sunshine, its dark clouds depart ; 
 Let it lead you, while basking in bliss of your own, 
 To feel 'tis not bliss, if you hold it alone. 
 Oh ! thus 'tis to mark Summer pass with a smile ; 
 Tho' each season changed with regretting, erewhile ; 
 'Tis thus to view calmly Time's step speed along, 
 And listen in peace to bright Summer's last song ; 
 You have gathered her gifts, and have scattered again 
 Where'er Summer's gifts have been yearned for in 
 
 vain, 
 And the blessing upon you is but that bright sun 
 Which, like Summer-warmth, cheers him whose 
 
 duty is done. 
 
 R. A.
 
 30 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 THE YOUTH AND THE WITHERED TREE. 
 
 There stood a youth hy a withered tree, 
 And he looked on its branches old ; 
 
 And he thought his heart could never he 
 So cheerless and so cold 
 
 As that withered tree. 
 
 So the young reason, so they say ; 
 Their feelings cannot pass away : 
 
 It was not strange 
 That he should think the open brow, 
 And the heart that beat so warmly now, 
 
 Could never change. 
 
 Years, stirring years, pass'd o'er his forni- 
 Sometinies of dark'ning clouds and storm, 
 
 Sometimes of joy ; 
 But his heart had hardened in that space, 
 And none in the haughty man could trace 
 
 The gentle boy. 
 
 He had won himself a lofty name, 
 And the garland of a warrior's fame 
 Was on his brow ;
 
 POEMS. 31 
 
 But the joyous soul, the open heart, 
 The thoughts with guile that had no part, 
 Where were they now ? 
 
 How changed that man so proudly cold, 
 From the gallant youth of hearing bold 
 
 In days of yore ! 
 Did ever pass that time long gone, 
 When he looked the withered tree upon, 
 
 His memory o'er ? 
 
 Aye ! and his brain with anguish burned, 
 And from the busy world he turned 
 
 In bitter scorn ; 
 When he would silently recall 
 The heart so prompt to feel for all, 
 
 He then had borne. 
 
 Years still rolled on, when one bright day, 
 Ere Autumn hues had pass'd away 
 
 For winter snow ; 
 When e'en the withered tree looked bright. 
 Beneath the rich and streaming lio-ht 
 
 Of the sunset's glow ; 
 
 There stood beside its leafless bough 
 An aged man, with furrowed brow 
 And silv'ry hair.
 
 32 POEMS. 
 
 Full many a year had o'er Mm pass'd, 
 Full many a flower had bloomed since last 
 He had been there. 
 
 With the bright and sunny smile of youth, 
 With bounding step and heart of truth, 
 
 He left it then : 
 A feeble man, by sickness bowed, 
 While whitened was the brow so proud, 
 
 He came again. 
 
 And mournfully he looked around 
 Upon the well-remembered ground 
 
 Of bygone years ; 
 He had turned him from the world at last ; 
 He had mourned his pride and errors past, 
 
 With bitter tears. 
 
 And now he came to look once more, 
 Ere yet his stay on earth was o'er, 
 
 Each spot upon ; 
 Where in his childhood he had played, 
 Where in his joyous glee he strayed, 
 
 In years long gone. 
 
 But dearer to his memory 
 Was that old and leafless withered tree 
 Than all beside ;
 
 POEMS. 33 
 
 For he thought upon the sunny time, 
 When he in all his youth's fresh prime, 
 Each change defied. 
 
 And his heart with yearning fondness turned 
 To those years when falsehood he had spurned, 
 
 With proud disdain ; 
 And he humhly knelt him down to pray 
 That the peace he felt in childhood's day 
 
 Might come again. 
 
 And granted was that chastened prayer, 
 Breathed forth in deep repentance there, 
 
 With bended knee ; 
 For gentle was his calm decay, 
 And they laid him, when he pass'd away, 
 
 'Neath the Withered Tree. 
 
 H. A.
 
 34 POEMS. 
 
 THE DAY AND NIGHT OF THE HEART. 
 
 (Words for Music.) 
 
 The human heart is as the Day ; 
 
 At its first dawn how bright, 
 Wrapped in a holy peacefulness 
 
 That bodeth not of Night. 
 
 a & 
 
 Oh ! it is happier at that hour, 
 'Mid its early hopes and fears, 
 
 When the beam of mirth can sweep away 
 The traces of its tears. 
 
 And it is ever left to us, 
 
 Our heart's first dawn to keep, 
 
 Ne'er in the evening of our life 
 In penitence to weep. 
 
 It is for us to choose between 
 A fierce and gentler light; 
 One which will deepen at the last, 
 
 The other fade to Night. 
 
 R. A.
 
 POEMS. 35 
 
 THE POWER OF DOING GOOD. 
 
 Why seek we ever happiness 
 
 Where least it loves to hide, 
 Shunning the daisy-spangled plain, 
 
 To climb the mountain side ? 
 Why strive to reach the stately bough 
 
 That waveth far on high, 
 And glance not on the velvet moss 
 
 That at our feet doth lie ? 
 
 There is a potent charm can give 
 
 The gem we yearn to clasp ; 
 Which brightly shines till nearly won, 
 
 Yet fades within our grasp. 
 Seek then that great yet simple charm, 
 
 So rarely understood ; 
 That wakes the soul to feelings warm — 
 
 The power of doing good. 
 
 And think not that to work its spells 
 
 'Tis wealth alone can lend 
 
 The thousand means that aid our hearts 
 
 The needy to befriend. 
 
 d2
 
 36 POEMS. 
 
 No ! the kind word, the friendship true. 
 
 That change doth never know ; 
 Though the cold breath of Poverty 
 
 Upon a friend may blow. 
 
 The ready hand stretched forth to raise 
 
 The crushed, yet erring one ; 
 The lips that dare to speak of wrong 
 
 When worth lies trampled on ; 
 These, tho' but slight their pow'r appears, 
 
 Peace to the soul may bring, 
 And heal a wound when gold could give 
 
 No balm to suffering. 
 
 And since such humble deeds may call 
 
 A blessing on our path, 
 Why seek we still where happiness 
 
 Its dwelling never hath ? 
 Let us not reach the stately bough 
 
 That waveth far on high, 
 But stoop to pluck the velvet moss 
 
 That at our feet doth lie. 
 
 H. A.
 
 POEMS. 37 
 
 TO A VALUED PRECEPTRESS. 
 
 Loved guide of our childhood thro' life's silver 
 waters, 
 Ere yet its calm ripples to billows could change ; 
 Ere yet we could picture the wild depths before us, 
 
 And bow to Fate's summons across them to range ; 
 'Tvvas thou wert the beacon-light warning from 
 danger, 
 And pointing the safe way by which thou hadst 
 passed 
 Thro' thy sea of troubles, thy blasts of affliction, 
 And rested at peace from their terrors at last ! 
 Faithful friend of our youth ! thine hath still been 
 the spirit 
 To cheer us whde stemming the treacherous wave; 
 When crushed in Fate's tempest thy hand hath up- 
 held us, 
 And raised the bright hopes which had else found 
 their grave. 
 And now should the dark cloud o'er-shadow our 
 passage, 
 Or Hope's sun illumine a future unknown, 
 We may turn to the same cheering smile to uphold us, 
 Or mourning may feel that Ave mourn not alone.
 
 38 POEMS. 
 
 Loved sharer and soother of joys and of sorrows, 
 In moments of gladness, in long hours of care, 
 Afar from thee e'er may life's wild tempests darken, 
 Thy sunshine ne'er fade to the gloom of despair : 
 With the dreams of my childhood, a fervent prayer 
 rises, 
 That o'er Trouble's waters Joy's shore may be 
 won ; 
 Together we have seen dark Night close around us, 
 Together may watch it give place to our sun. 
 
 R. A. 
 
 THE SEASONS. 
 
 Who cometh, who cometh, with footsteps light, 
 Calling up smiles to the woodlands bright, 
 Casting rich tints where a shadow hath been, 
 Clothing the fields in a mantle of green? 
 The snowdrop is smiling his coming to meet, 
 The violet springs from its hiding-place sweet ; 
 There's a glow on the earth, there's a glow in the 
 
 sty, 
 
 And the blossoms burst forth as his step passes by.
 
 POEMS. 39 
 
 Whence cometli, whence cometh, this stranger fair ? 
 
 Tell me, ye hirds of the balmy air ! 
 
 mortal ! this stranger is joyous Spring; 
 
 Soon shall the earth with his footsteps ring. 
 
 Who cometh, who cometh, with laugh and song, 
 Bearing rich fruits and b right flowers along? 
 The rose and the lily are twined on her brow, 
 Light is her step 'neath the dark forest bough ; 
 Swift at her presence the clouds pass away, 
 Bright glows the earth 'neath the sun's golden ray : 
 Soft sighs the breeze as she comes in her pride, 
 And panting, the kine seek the cool river side. 
 Whence cometh, whence cometh, this stranger 
 
 bright ? 
 Answer me, stars of the peaceful night ! 
 mortal ! 'tis Summer, who casteth her spell 
 Over forest and plain, over mountain and dell. 
 
 Who cometh, who cometh, with sober pace ? 
 Clusters of vine -leaves o'ershadow his face ; 
 Clasped in his hand are the thick sheaves of corn, 
 And the hunter's wild notes on his footsteps are 
 
 borne. 
 Lo ! as he cometh, the leaves fall and die, 
 And a deep yellow tint hath spread over the sky : 
 The poppies and corn-flow'rs wave high him to greet, 
 And the rich purple grape lays its stores at his feet.
 
 40 POEMS. 
 
 Whence cometh, whence conieth, this stranger gay ? 
 Speak, oh ! ye birds, ere he vanish away ! 
 mortal ! 'tis Autumn, who blithely hath come 
 To gladden the fields with his harvest home. 
 
 "Who cometh, who cometh, in mantle grey, 
 
 While the blossoms and leaves at his breath pass 
 
 away ? 
 The holly is twined in his thin, whitened hair ; 
 E'en, as he passes, the forests are bare. 
 Icicles hang from the garment he wears ; 
 Ivy is bound on the staff that he bears ; 
 East from his presence the startled birds fly, 
 And the chilling wind sweeps through the dark 
 
 cloudy sky. 
 Whence cometh, whence cometh, this stranger dread? 
 Say, oh ! ye leaves from the forest trees shed ! 
 mortal ! 'tis Winter : Ave fly from his blast. 
 Fare ye well, fare ye well ! 'till his sojourn be past. 
 
 H. A.
 
 POEMS. 41 
 
 TEARS OF BITTERNESS. 
 
 A father's tears were falling fast 
 On a young though faded brow ; 
 
 They were falling bitterly, for hope 
 Had passed for ever now. 
 
 Yet the 'reft parent bent the knee, 
 With prayers for mercy still, 
 
 Mingled with murmurs, that his child 
 Bent to a holier will. 
 
 But the hand of Death was on it, 
 And the fading breath was hushed ; 
 
 And the mourner of the sainted one 
 Lay, by that last blow, crushed. 
 
 He had so twined within his soul 
 That frail and withered flowV, 
 
 It seemed he could not tear it thence, 
 And live through that dark hour. 
 
 And truly was the angel-boy 
 Meet shrine for parent's love ; 
 
 He had had early visions 
 
 Of that happier realm above.
 
 42 POEMS. 
 
 And calmly, as his life had passed, 
 Passed forth his spirit bright ; 
 
 And the child awoke to rapture's day, 
 And the man to sorrow's night. 
 
 J B' 
 
 * * 
 
 Still seemed it as a dream, until 
 
 The grass grew o'er the dead, 
 And the flowers he had cherished 
 
 Waved gently o'er his head ; 
 
 For the father's heart still, still it clung 
 
 To the grave of all his joy : 
 The brilliant future of his hopes 
 
 Lay with his fair-haired boy. 
 
 And he thought the tears which ever dewed 
 
 That tomb of loveliness, 
 Had, far beyond all other tears, 
 
 Of a stern world's bitterness. 
 
 But years have passed ; and, passing, can 
 Bring balm to blighted hearts ; 
 
 And the parent's grief — like morning mists 
 Before the sun — departs.
 
 TOEMS. 
 
 43 
 
 He has started from his woe to feel 
 
 Again love's joys and fears, 
 And paused upon his lonely path 
 
 Through this dark vale of tears ; 
 
 To circle, with his time-chilled hopes, 
 
 Another spirit "bright ; 
 To welcome to his darkened soul 
 
 Once more a ray of light. 
 
 Aye, once again young footsteps ring 
 
 In the deserted halls ; 
 And the shadow of a fair young form 
 
 On each gloomy spot there falls. 
 
 More years have passed, and that laugh of mirth 
 
 Hath changed in its glad tone ; 
 In childhood's hour we must seek to list 
 
 To the careless laugh alone. 
 
 'Tis manhood : and that laugh hut wakes 
 
 In scorn of guiding age, 
 Mocking the hand that pointeth out 
 
 Fate's darkly- written page — 
 
 And then that parent stands hereft 
 
 Of the heart's peace and pride ; 
 Made desolate on earth hy one, 
 
 Best loved of all heside !
 
 44 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 Left to watch o'er the fallen shrine, 
 
 By Guilt's red hand laid low, 
 To pass alone again upon 
 
 His weary way of woe. 
 
 To see the young heart turned to sin, 
 The young brow seared by shame ; 
 
 To know that justice dares not breathe 
 The so-long-honoured name : 
 
 Left to lay all of hope within 
 A lone and guilt-made grave ; 
 
 W here e'en earth's blossoms droop, as o'er 
 A. felon form they wave. 
 
 It seemed as if he had but lived 
 
 And loved to learn of woe ; 
 How wild the doom which man would call 
 
 His happiness below ! 
 
 How oft the frowns on fortune's brow 
 
 May be its smiles — and care 
 May make so dark the soul at last, 
 
 That e'en past gloom seems fair ! 
 
 And how there may be solace found 
 
 For the 'reft heart's despair, 
 When it but mourns one passed to bliss — 
 
 One for this earth too fair.
 
 POEMS. 
 
 How there may be sad tears for such, 
 Which time's swift hand can dry ; 
 
 Unmingled with the bitter drops 
 Of hopeless misery ! 
 
 Tears which — the dark hour gone — will flow 
 
 Like the untroubled stream, 
 And gently cease, when that past grief 
 
 45 
 
 Is as a sadd'ning dream. 
 
 R. A. 
 
 THE CHILD AND THE SUNBEAM. 
 
 Linger still, oh sunbeam bright ! 
 With thy rich and gushing light, 
 Through the pleasant summer's day. 
 Sunbeam ! pass not thou away, 
 But within my lattice low, 
 Cast thy warm and sunny glow ; 
 Brighter seems the rose's crest 
 When thy smiles upon it rest. 
 Sunbeam ! I'm a timid child ; 
 Fearful tales of danger wild 
 Fill my breast when night comes on, 
 And thy golden ray is gone.
 
 4G 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 Wilt thou not, ah, then, remain, 
 Brightening my thoughts again ? 
 Much I love thy joyous ray — 
 Sunbeam, pass not yet away ! 
 
 Gentle child ! I'm call'd afar, 
 Higher than the gleaming star, 
 Distant realms to shine upon, 
 Ere my daily task is done. 
 O'er the mountain-tops I go, 
 Sparkling on the crusted snow, 
 And within the valley green 
 Cheeringly my light is seen. 
 The captive, in his prison cell, 
 Loves to meet my glance full well ; 
 For my coming seems to bring 
 Solace to his suffering;. 
 To the dying one I go, 
 With my soft and sunny glow, 
 And the bed of sickness light 
 With my smile of summer bright : 
 Peasant's cot and stately tower, 
 Rushing stream and greenwood bower, 
 All must greeted be by me 
 Ere, fair child, I look on thee. 
 
 Joyous sunbeam ! linger not ; 
 Haste thee to each distant spot.
 
 POEMS. 47 
 
 Others pine thy light to see, 
 Linger not, ah, then, with me ; 
 For my heart with grief would break, 
 Should they sorrow for thy sake ; 
 And to-morrow thou wilt come 
 Smiling- on my cottage home. 
 Dearly though I love thy ray, 
 Gladsome sunbeam, pass away ! 
 
 H. A. 
 
 THE WANDERING MINSTREL. 
 
 Oh ! ask no gayer measure 
 
 From the Wand 'ring Minstrel lone ; 
 Of lays of mirth and pleasure 
 
 Even memory is gone. 
 Ask ye for words of gladness 
 
 'Mid the mourner's bitter woe ? 
 Seek ye a tale of love from one 
 
 Whose hopes have been laid low ? 
 Kneel ye to call to earth again 
 
 The loved ones who are gone, 
 Ere ye ask a gayer measure 
 
 Of the Wand'ring Minstrel lone.
 
 48 POEMS. 
 
 As the soul-wearied pilgrim, 
 
 Through a world of ceaseless care, 
 Watches, at last, fate's low'ring clouds 
 
 Sweep by, without despair — 
 So is it with the stricken heart, 
 
 Whose dreams of joy are o'er ; 
 Through its drear path of life, deceived 
 
 By hope's mirage no more : 
 So is it with the heart ye seek 
 
 To gladden, as your own, 
 The sickening, unpitied heart 
 
 Of the Wand'ring Minstrel lone. 
 
 Woidd ye raise the fancied cup of bliss 
 
 To the pale and trembling lip, 
 And hid it dream it tastes the draught 
 
 It, waking, could not sip ? 
 Would ye ask for tones of gladness, 
 
 Whose echoes must be sighs ? 
 Would ye seek for sunny smiles of joy, 
 
 In wan and care-dimmed eyes ? 
 Then ask not lays of pleasure 
 
 Where their memory is gone ; 
 Ye can list no gayer measure 
 
 From the Wand'ring Minstrel lone. 
 
 R.
 
 toems. 49 
 
 THE SEA KING. 
 
 The Sea King am I, 
 
 On my shining- crystal throne ; 
 From the ocean to the sky, 
 
 All that greets me is my own. 
 
 The ships that o'er me sweep, 
 In their stateliness rejoice : 
 
 But they tremhle in the deep, 
 
 When they hear my mighty voice. 
 
 I wave my trident proud, 
 
 And the storms their wings unfold ; 
 And the waters make a shroud 
 
 For the reckless sailor hold. 
 
 The masts are rent in twain, 
 Pale death the hillow crowns ; 
 
 And the help of man is vain 
 
 When the dreaded Sea Kins; frowns. 
 
 a 
 
 Rich pearl and costly gem 
 At my feet unheeded lie ; 
 
 And my jewelled diadem 
 
 Woidd a mighty kingdom huy.
 
 50 POEMS. 
 
 And my treasures laugh to scorn 
 All that's fair the earth can shew ; 
 
 For a thousand storms have home 
 Countless riches down helow. 
 
 Give place, ye earth-born kings, 
 To my firm and lasting sway ; 
 
 For your crowns are fading things, 
 And your sceptres pass away : 
 
 But the golden sun has shone 
 Many ages o'er my head ; 
 
 And still I reign alone, 
 
 In my ocean kingdom dread. 
 
 Youth and beauty, strength and pride. 
 Palsied age, and childhood sleep, 
 
 Cold and silent, side by side, 
 In my hidden caverns deep. 
 
 The rushing ocean foam 
 
 Has sighed their passing knell ; 
 
 For the secrets of my home 
 Mortal lips may never tell. 
 
 Then quail, ye tilings of earth, 
 When I send my tempest forth ! 
 
 And tremble in your mirth, 
 
 When ye hear my stormy wrath !
 
 POEMS. 51 
 
 For the sun's resplendent light 
 
 In the heavens shall he o'er, 
 And the starry orbs of night 
 
 From on high shall shine no more ; 
 
 And a chaos once again 
 
 Must your world of beauty he, 
 Ere the Sea King cease to reign 
 
 In his ocean-kingdom free ! 
 
 H. A. 
 
 A FAREWELL TO BISHOPS ITCHINGTON. 
 (Warwickshire.) 
 
 Farewell ! sweet village, 'mid thy calm 
 And quiet beauty, fare thee well ! 
 
 Oft will a kindly thought of thee 
 Arise, within my heart to dwell ! 
 
 Earth's gayer pictures ask not thou ; 
 
 The robe, each meadow boasts its own, 
 
 Beseems it, in its nature, more 
 
 Than the wrought purple of a throne. 
 
 e 2
 
 52 POEMS. 
 
 Art thou not peaceful ? 'Tis a name 
 Unknown 'neath many a lordly dome ; 
 
 There are sad hearts in stately halls, 
 When smiles light up the cottage home ! 
 
 Sweet spot ! Thou art like that fair flower, 
 Whose heauties ever hidden lie ; 
 
 Couched in thy mossy bed, apart 
 
 From a vain world's all-searching eye. 
 
 Long he thy calm unbroken; long- 
 Passed o'er unseen by lightest care ; 
 
 Long may they lift thy cotter's latch, 
 And look upon contentment there. 
 
 Perchance the hand of time is raised 
 To scatter bitter sorrows here ; 
 
 E'en now may be stretched forth to crush 
 The vision-hopes, held all too dear. 
 
 But it hath not the power to quench 
 A sweet remembrance of past hours 
 
 Of peace and calm, tho' it may change 
 To withered weeds our path of flow'rs. 
 
 It hath no power to dim the thought, 
 Oft-rising — of a household band, 
 
 Whose kindly hearts have answered mine, 
 Whose cheering grasp hath met my hand.
 
 POEMS. 53 
 
 Oh ! scene of peace and beauty rare ! 
 
 Meet home art thou for those whose path 
 Leads them from that vain world, whose cares 
 
 Blight the few pleasures that it hath. 
 
 Peace be within thee ! Peace around 
 The hearts of truth thou shelt'rest now ; 
 
 And calm, like that which reigns o'er thee, 
 Be traced upon each peasant-brow. 
 
 Farewell ! Farewell ! One who hath now 
 
 But a bright memory left of thee, 
 Would fain possess a magic pow'r 
 
 To crown thee with prosperity. 
 
 To turn away the shaft of woe 
 
 From worth's proud home — each honest heart; 
 And bid the smile contentment brings 
 
 To guileless lips, no more depart. 
 
 R. A.
 
 54 POEMS. 
 
 THE OLD GREY FOUNTAIN. 
 
 The old grey fountain 'neath the lime, 
 
 Methinks I see it now ; 
 Its sparkling stream full many a time 
 
 Hath bathed my sunburnt brow ! 
 When in the sultry summer day 
 
 Through winding lane and glade, 
 While round the path the wheat-ears lay, 
 
 My youthful footsteps strayed. 
 
 The old grey fountain 'neath the lime ! 
 
 Those joyous days are o'er ; 
 I see it in its autumn prime 
 
 And prize it even more ; 
 For loved companions seem to stand 
 
 Its mossy front beside, 
 And mirrored is that kindred band 
 
 Within the crystal tide. 
 
 The old grey fountain 'neath the lime 
 E'en autumn's hours have passed, 
 
 Yet o'er its bank of scented thyme 
 Sweet memories are cast.
 
 POEMS. 
 
 The ivy round the stone that crept, 
 
 The willow bending nigh, 
 Which with its graceM branches swept 
 
 The stream that murmured by. 
 
 The old grey fountain 'neaththe lime, 
 
 Long may it scathless stand ; 
 Carved o'er and o'er with village rhyme 
 
 By many a rustic hand. 
 Still round its base the daisies gleam 
 
 Beneath the drooping bough, 
 As when a child within its stream 
 
 I plunged my sunburnt brow ! 
 
 55 
 
 THE IVY AND THE OAK. 
 
 There stood an oak, a gallant oak, 
 
 Within a forest proud, 
 And high above the woodman's stroke 
 
 Its leafy branches bowed ; 
 The lord amid the woodland scene 
 
 Of all that flourished near, 
 And round its trunk the ivy green 
 
 Had twined for many a year. 
 
 H. A.
 
 56 POEMS. 
 
 fondly did the ivy cling, 
 
 Around that stately tree, 
 And lovely in the budding spring 
 
 Its leaves were wont to he. 
 No storm its clasping stem could move 
 
 As round each branch it grew, 
 And oft the oak had said its love 
 
 Was with the ivy true. 
 
 But one sad day a nightingale, 
 
 From its woodbine scented glade, 
 And the roses of the sunny vale, 
 
 To the forest's shelter strayed ; 
 And chose the kingly oak so high 
 
 Its resting-place to make, 
 And the tree forgot the ivy nigh, 
 
 For the gifted stranger's sake. 
 
 the ivy wept both day and night, 
 
 Such altered love to know, 
 And scarcely seemed the sunbeams bright. 
 
 To its heart so choked with woe ; 
 But the faithless oak still prized the bird, 
 
 With its silv'ry notes so rare ; 
 And its melody the forest heard, 
 
 Through the balmy summer air.
 
 POEMS. 57 
 
 The steps of winter, silently, 
 
 Came stealing o'er the earth, 
 And the flowers hent them down to die, 
 
 And the leaves forgot their mirth ; 
 And the nightingale, without a look 
 
 Of gratitude or pain, 
 The high and stately oak forsook 
 
 For its woodbine home again. 
 
 Then the tree's proud heart with shame was torn, 
 
 So lightly prized to he ; 
 « And the woods around beheld with scorn 
 
 Its slighted majesty. 
 The glow-worms in their leafy bower 
 
 Laughed gleefully below, 
 And shook with mirth each forest flower, 
 
 Its lowered pride to know. 
 
 But though so long thrown coldly by, 
 
 The ivy nearer drew, 
 And o'er the drooping branches nigh 
 
 Its brightest leaves it threw ; 
 And never when the dewy spring 
 
 Came forth in beauty free, 
 Did the ivy e'er so firmly cling, 
 
 As round that humbled tree.
 
 58 POEMS. 
 
 And clearly for such trusting care 
 
 Did the oak its duty prove, 
 Nor turned again for aught more fair, 
 
 From its fond and ancient love ; 
 But proudly in the forest's shade 
 
 Stood long unchanged and true, 
 And when the stately oak decayed, 
 
 The ivy withered too ! 
 
 H. A. 
 
 ON MY SISTER'S PORTRAIT. 
 
 When coming years shall o'er us pass, 
 
 This picture I may gaze upon, 
 And there hehold, as in a glass, 
 
 The look you wore in days long gone. 
 Time may have dimmed the beaming eye, 
 
 And cast a shadow o'er thy brow ; 
 Tamed the light step that glideth by, 
 
 And paled the cheek so blooming now; 
 But oh ! my sister, may I feel 
 
 Thy love the same in good or ill, 
 And know those years each charm that steal, 
 
 Have left thy heart unchanging still. 
 
 II. A.
 
 POEMS. 
 
 59 
 
 THE SONG OF THE PEARL-DIVER. 
 
 Down — down where the shipwrecked lies low in his 
 grave, 
 
 With, o'er head, the wild chaunt of the hound-spurn- 
 ing wave ; 
 
 Where alone is my footstep 'mid coral and shell, 
 
 And jewels that lighten up beauty so well ; 
 
 Where kings dare not tread, 'mid the deep-hidden 
 gem, 
 
 I go, in my hoard seeking riches for them ! 
 
 Not for me the pale treasure — not mine is earth's 
 pride — 
 
 The diver's so hardly-earned fame — what beside ? 
 
 How much of the peace we must purchase with gold 
 
 Repays the poor man hours of anguish untold ? 
 
 Away, scenes of grandeur ! for me rise ye not ! 
 
 / have wealth, as ye pride ! wealth that perisheth 
 not. 
 
 Ye have fortune's warm friends, and to me it is given 
 
 To stand with my Maker, alone, before heaven ! 
 Oh ! ye mighty of earth ! 'neath your proud gilded 
 
 dome, 
 
 Read ye e'er of God's might, as in my gem-decked 
 
 home ?
 
 60 POEMS. 
 
 Count ye wealth as the evidence sole of his pow'r ? 
 
 There are traces more true in the Avild mountain- 
 flow'r. 
 
 It hath proof in the wave that, with foam-crested 
 head, 
 
 Bears the living ahove where lies scattered the dead ! 
 
 It hath proof in the gem I can hring from the grave 
 
 Of the child or the friend whom your wealth could 
 not save. 
 
 Wreath your brow, man of pride, with Fame's gold- 
 tinted flow'rs, 
 
 But beware lest they fade in Fate's oft-falling 
 show'rs ! 
 
 For me twines no laurel ! on me bends no eye, 
 
 Save that one which, 'mid danger, seems ever most 
 
 nigh ; 
 Ye have fortune's warm friends, and to me it is given 
 
 To stand with my Maker, alone, before heaven ' 
 
 R. A.
 
 POEMS. 61 
 
 THE VOICE OF THE COMING YEAR. 
 
 I lift the veil from my hidden form, 
 
 As I follow the year gone hy ; 
 Like the dying wail of a passing storni 
 
 It hath hreathed its farewell sigh ; 
 And now pile high the festive cheer, 
 And haste ye to welcome the Coming Year ! 
 
 Hail me with gladness, though many a brow 
 Will be bowed to the earth ere I vanish acain. 
 
 And the eyes that shall smile on my presence now, 
 May weep for the ill that I bear in my train : 
 
 Yet hope ! for ye know not what good may be near, 
 
 To lighten each heart in the Coming Year ! 
 
 Welcome me, ye who are pining to sleep 
 
 Where the blasts ye have felt in this life shall be 
 o'er, 
 Where the lov'd ones long lost, for whom sadly ye 
 weep, 
 May meet ye in bliss that shall darken no more. 
 Welcome me now — stay each sorrowing tear — 
 Ye may find your calm rest in the Coming Year!
 
 62 POEMS. 
 
 Hail me, fond parents ! who yearn to behold 
 Your bright opening buds into flowers expand ; 
 
 Ere the last parting knell of my course hath been 
 told, 
 What beauties may rise 'neath my fostering hand ; 
 
 And gazing with joy on the forms ye hold dear, 
 
 Ye may bless the proud work of the Coming Year ! 
 
 Perchance to the blighted in heart I may bring 
 A smile that shall lighten each care-wasted face — 
 
 Some bright, gleaming flashes of joy on my wing, 
 To blot out the vestige of misery's trace ; 
 
 Mistrust me not yet, ye may have naught to fear 
 
 In threading the maze of the Coming Year. 
 
 Then grudge not my welcome — bring holly so green, 
 To twine round my brow, when my presence ye 
 see ; 
 Let the memory sad of the ill that has been, 
 
 Be lost in the hope of the good that may be. 
 Prepare the gay dance and the glad festal cheer, 
 And haste ye to welcome the Coming Year. 
 
 II. A.
 
 POEMS. 63 
 
 THE TENTH PLAGUE OF EGYPT. 
 
 There were strange voices in the sea 
 Whispering mysteriously ; 
 And myriads of creatures came 
 Issuing thence, that hore no name. 
 A shadow was before the sun 
 Ere half his daily course was run ; 
 And faint and heavy seemed the air, 
 Wont to waft spicy odours there : 
 While Egypt lay beneath a ban, 
 Bringing their doom to beast aud man. 
 
 * * * i 
 
 The holy man had cried for aid, 
 And on his foes there had been laid 
 The mighty finger of God's power, 
 Throwing them prostrate in that hour. 
 The prophet had stretched forth his hand 
 To bring despair on that fair land : 
 The Tenth Plague had been cast around, 
 Felling the pagans to the ground.
 
 64 POEMS. 
 
 And desolate before the doom 
 
 Was palace proud and cottage home ; 
 
 And equal in the terror wdd 
 
 Was the poor slave with fortune's child. 
 
 * * * * 
 
 Amid the gloom that reigned as night, 
 When Egypt's sin had quenched its light, 
 Within his courts stood a proud chief, 
 Whose soul was dark in disbelief. 
 Death was around him : everywhere 
 Rose the hoarse wailing of Despair ; 
 Yet did that man's vain heart defy 
 Mankind's Avenger from on high ; 
 Tho' there had fall'n the deadly blow, 
 Laying his own heart's altars low. 
 Slaves to his presence rushed in dread, 
 To fall with untold mission dead ; 
 Beneath the terror of God's ban 
 They feared not then the wrath of man. 
 One mighty voice was ringing there, 
 And in that cry of deep despair 
 The Ruler knew his power gone ; 
 That in that hour he stood alone. 
 Pride's reign was over — and his eye 
 Glared forth its dark malignancy,
 
 POEMS. 65 
 
 As the last embers of a fire 
 When crushed, glearn out with fiercer ire. 
 But 'twas not thus the man gazed down 
 With quiv'ring lip and lessened frown 
 To where there lay his worshipp'd child 
 Motionless in the terror wild. 
 " My child ! my flower ! sure thine eye 
 Looks on Death's might too fearfully ! 
 Am I not scathless, and mine arm 
 Strong to save thee from touch of harm ? 
 There shall not pass a blight to thee 
 That brings not first its doom to me ! 
 Rise ! Thou hast yet the eagle's might ! 
 Thine eye hath still the Heaven's light ! 
 Thy father guards thee ! Dost thou still 
 Dream thou await'st another's will ?" 
 And as he spoke, a burning glow 
 Of passion swept across his brow. 
 The young girl's face was bathed in tears, 
 Wrung from her not by woman's fears : 
 Sobs were her answer, as she lay, 
 Her young life passing there away. 
 The damp chill lying on that brow 
 The father deemed so bright but now ; 
 The frail form quiv'ring at each breath, 
 Had warned her that she bent to death . 
 If she had trembled at that thought, 
 If at its coming it had brought
 
 66 POEMS. 
 
 A vision of the parent left 
 To be of earth's last tie bereft, 
 She did not sorrow that her eyes 
 Should close to gaze on Paradise. 
 There had been laid on her a hand 
 Leading her towards the better land. 
 Hers had not been her father's path, 
 And the deep grief the righteous hath 
 For others' sin, grew with her years, 
 Till had that path been traced with tears. 
 Oh ! agony undreamt to gaze 
 In the dark soul where faith's pure rays 
 Have never entered ! When that heart 
 So sinning, is of ours a part ! 
 Such misery was hers. Love's trust 
 She knew had been poured forth on dust ; 
 She knew the last left hope was o'er ; 
 For him no prayers would rise more. 
 And he was doomed, and she must die, 
 Knowing they part eternally. 
 'Twas as a holy fire was given, 
 To light her glaring eyes from Heaven, 
 As she read searchingly the brow, 
 Bent to her own in terror now. 
 " My father dost thou mark a hand, 
 Stretched over our devoted land, 
 Mocking the might of man to save 
 Those whom it draweth to the grave ?
 
 POEMS. 67 
 
 It hath heen laid upon thy child ! 
 
 Nay ' hend not to this anguish wild ! 
 
 A shelter from life's storms to me 
 
 Hath heen thy heart's idolatry ; 
 
 Tho' it hath not the power now 
 
 To ward the death-chill from my brow. 
 
 It needeth not that thou shouldst tell 
 
 How long thou'st loved me and how well ; 
 
 Thy child hath answered it to thee, 
 
 In her faith's deep intensity. 
 
 But, ere she dies, oh ! darest thou hear, 
 
 Thoughts that weigh down her soid with fear ? 
 
 Curse not thy child, if, at her tale 
 
 Of falsity, thy cheek grow pale ! 
 
 Father, she heard the holy man 
 
 Call on his enemies, God's ban ! 
 
 She heard him speak of one whose might 
 
 Had turned our country's day to night ; 
 
 Listened until, her senses dim 
 
 With awe, she knelt and worshipped him : 
 
 And then she prayed that she might die, 
 
 Confessing her apostacy ; 
 
 That pity for her early doom 
 
 Could in thy heart alone have room. 
 
 Thou couldst not listen and forgive 
 
 Thy child's deception did she live." 
 
 It was a fearful thing to see 
 
 The father's hitter agony ; 
 
 f2
 
 titi POEMS. 
 
 While his young daughter's words of prayer 
 
 Were mingled with his wild despair. 
 
 He stood there like the blasted tree, 
 
 Erect in former majesty ; 
 
 Tho' stripped of every leaf and flower, 
 
 In the dread whirlwind of that hour. 
 
 And then the passion of his grief 
 
 In his wild ravings found relief ; 
 
 Clasping his first-horn to his arm, 
 
 As it had might to shield from harm, 
 
 He hounded onwards with the form 
 
 Now withering in Death's fierce storm ; 
 
 Still on among the scattered dead 
 
 The frenzy-stricken parent fled. 
 
 Where in the wildly gleaming eye 
 
 Was then the ruler's majesty ? 
 
 The clenching hands, the gasping breath 
 
 Calling for mercy upon Death, 
 
 Told that the prophet's threat had past 
 
 Across his memory at last. 
 
 Onward — still on, with blinded gaze, 
 
 'Mid tears which since his childhood's days 
 
 Had never started, till his eye 
 
 Fell on his priests of prophecy. 
 
 To lay there the now pallid dead, 
 
 Gently as tho' life had not fled ; 
 
 And drag them, in his anguish wild, 
 
 To gaze upon his worshipped child,
 
 POEMS. 69 
 
 Were as the passing of a thought 
 
 To him whose madness had heen wrought. 
 
 " Her God hath called this Death ! Arise ! 
 
 Break ye the spell in which she lies ! 
 
 Say 'tis not this, for Egypt's pride, 
 
 For honour of your craft beside ; 
 
 Unsay the words she spoke — that we 
 
 Were parted for eternity ! 
 
 Give her to life again ! and prove 
 
 Her God less mighty than my love ! 
 
 Or in her creed I kneel and how 
 
 Among the dust of earth this brow ! 
 
 Proving, in mine idolatry, 
 
 That God is truth — man's might a he !" 
 
 Silent the ruler bent him down 
 
 Beside the dead in his renown, 
 
 And listened for the coming breath, 
 
 To say he looked not upon Death. 
 
 And then upon his reason's night 
 
 There seemed to break a sudden light. 
 
 Starting, he mutely gazed around, 
 
 As seeking for some yearned-for sound 
 
 Of life within that lonely room 
 
 To wake the sleeper from her tomb. 
 
 The glance of that distended eye 
 
 Was laden with a mystery 
 
 That to the watchers seemed to say, 
 
 Madness had lent its glaring ray.
 
 70 POEMS. 
 
 And as to one whose thought had fled, 
 
 They whispered him his child was dead. 
 
 There was no murmur when the word 
 
 So dreaded had at length heen heard. 
 
 And as they watched there came the thought 
 
 That the dread knowledge death had brought : 
 
 And fearfully they raised the form 
 
 There levelled in despair's fierce storm, 
 
 And gazed in wonder on the eye, 
 
 Fixed on the sleeper dreamily ; 
 
 Filled with the tears that had the pow'r 
 
 To quench the madness of that hour ; 
 
 And lighted by the holy rays 
 
 That had not shone since childhood's days. 
 
 With clasping hands and weakened voice, 
 
 Faltering with the word " Rejoice :" 
 
 Beside his gentle Saviour there, 
 
 Egypt's proud ruler knelt in prayer. 
 
 R. A.
 
 POEMS. 71 
 
 ON THE DEPARTURE OF SOME 
 RELATIVES FOR AFRICA. 
 
 Ye leave us, oh ! beloved ones, 
 
 In our anguish and our fear, 
 And vainly we shall listen 
 
 Each cherished tone to hear. 
 No face will smile upon us, 
 
 In all our sorrow lone, 
 For the silence of your household roof 
 
 Will tell us ye are gone. 
 
 No footsteps lightly ringing 
 
 Shall steal our senses o'er ; 
 The voices we so dearly loved 
 
 Must gladden us no more. 
 In vain each bright and smiling face 
 
 We yearn to gaze upon ; 
 For mem'ry to our aching hearts 
 
 Will whisper, " Ye are gone." 
 
 Ye seek a strange and distant land — 
 
 Another home afar ; 
 And, oh ! may peace with gentle ray, 
 
 Be still your guiding star.
 
 72 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 For mournfully, as in a dream, 
 
 The time will linger on, 
 And our thoughts will haunt that foreign home 
 
 When from us ye are gone ! 
 
 Ye leave us — oh ! beloved ones ; 
 
 But night and day our prayers 
 Will cling around the distant bark 
 
 Our pilgrim-band that bears. 
 
 And oh ! may ye, in brighter days, 
 
 When coming years have flown, 
 Return to those whose sun will set, 
 
 When from them ye are gone ! 
 
 H. A. 
 
 THE TRYSTING TREE. 
 
 'Neath the trysting tree, on a summer's day, 
 
 Sat a maiden young and fair ; 
 Bright was the glance of her laughing eye, 
 
 Dark was her braided hair : 
 And her downcast face look'd sweeter still, 
 When her lover hied him there.
 
 POEMS. 
 
 Pale was the youth, and sad his look, 
 And cold grew the maiden's heart, 
 
 When the dread words fell upon her ear, 
 ' « Beloved one, we must part ! 
 
 Oh that my sire thy worth would own, 
 All lovely as thou art ! " 
 
 Long wept the maiden hy his side, 
 
 At her daring love dismayed ; 
 For titles, and lands, and wealth had he, 
 
 And she was a village maid : 
 But her beauty bright his heart had won, 
 
 As she roved in the greenwood shade. 
 
 And now for a year, a weary year, 
 
 Oh ! that its length were o'er ! 
 He must hasten forth, at his sire's command, 
 
 To dwell on a distant shore ; 
 And a voice within the maiden's heart 
 
 Said, " He will return no more." 
 
 Bitter the parting, wild her grief ; 
 
 " Wilt thou be true ?" she sighed. 
 " I pledge thee my faith by my lofty name," 
 
 At her feet the youth replied ; 
 " When a year hath fled will I meet thee here, 
 
 And hail thee as my bride." 
 
 73
 
 74 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 " I will keep the tryst 'neath tills ancient tree," 
 
 The pallid maiden said, 
 As she weeping knelt on the grassy hank, 
 
 And bowed her lovely head. 
 ' When the year hath pass'd, 'neath the trysting tree 
 
 Shalt thou see me alive or dead !" 
 
 * 
 
 The year pass'd on, and the trysting tree 
 
 Was stripp'd of its mantle green, 
 And the autumn shadows dimly fell 
 
 Where the summer sun had been ; 
 But the maiden fair, with her eyes of light, 
 
 Was ne'er in the greenwood seen. 
 
 For ah ! in that year, that weary year, 
 
 Tidings of falsehood came, 
 That the youth had forgotten the solemn vow 
 
 He had sworn by his knightly name, 
 And had phghted his troth, at his sire's command. 
 
 To a lovely and high-born dame. 
 
 Pale grew the drooping maiden's cheek, 
 
 And paler it seemed each day ; 
 Her peace was gone, and the woods no more 
 
 Woke to her footsteps gay : 
 As the winter pass'd, and the spring stole on, 
 
 She wearily pined away.
 
 POEMS. 
 
 " And carry me forth," she dying said, 
 
 " Once more to the trysting tree, 
 Where its green leaves whisper o'er my head, 
 
 Let my parting moments he ; 
 I will keep the tryst that to him I pledged, 
 
 Though false hath he proved tome!" 
 
 They bore her there and her bloom return'd, 
 
 And her eyes grew wildly bright, 
 As the fitful gleam from a dying lamp 
 
 Doth warn of fading light : 
 And she pass'd away with a sad sweet smile, 
 
 Worn down by her spirit's blight. 
 
 The smile still played upon her cheek 
 
 As dews on rosebuds hang, 
 When through the leafy forest glades 
 
 A distant bugle ran, 
 And a graceful youth in joyful haste 
 
 From a panting courser sprang. 
 
 One glance upon the maiden pale, 
 
 Who slept the tree below, 
 And his bounding form seem'd turn'd to stone, 
 
 And his cheek grew white as snow. 
 " Oh God !" he cried, " what direful ill 
 
 Hath struck this crushing blow ?" 
 
 75
 
 76 
 
 TOEMS. 
 
 They told him that his broken vow 
 
 Had paled her youthful face : 
 " 'Tis false !" he cried, " what cruel tongue 
 
 Hath forged such slander base ? 
 Oh, father, in this evil deed 
 
 Thy vengeful hand I trace." 
 
 A yearning look, a long last kiss, 
 
 And the frenzied youth was gone ; 
 They mark'd his pallid cheek with dread, 
 
 As he madly hurried on, 
 Nor look'd he from that trying hour 
 
 His father's face upon. 
 
 The old man died, bowed down by grief 
 
 For the wrong that he had done, 
 And praying with his parting breath 
 
 To gaze upon his son, 
 Who came no more with a smile to bless 
 
 The long repentant one. 
 
 His castle proud to ruins fell, 
 
 Doom'd lonely e'er to be, 
 And nought was left of that ancient race 
 
 Save a tearful memory 
 Of the missing youth, and the maid who died 
 
 Beneath the trysting tree ! 
 
 H. A.
 
 POEMS. 77 
 
 THE SONG OF DECEMBER. 
 
 Sternly I come with my aspect drear, 
 
 For no beauty my presence hath, 
 Not a flower to twine round my temples sere, 
 
 And the snow-wreath clouds my path. 
 While the skeleton arms of the leafless trees 
 
 Wave high when my face they see, 
 And sad is the moan of the evening breeze, 
 
 As it whispers its tale to me ; 
 List to its cry as it steals o'er the plain, 
 " Chilling December comes hither again." 
 
 Wild sweep the clouds through the wintry sky, 
 
 When I come in my might so strong, 
 With a shivering sound does the wind rush by, 
 
 As it beareth my car along. 
 The rocking bark on the troubled sea 
 
 Bends down to my cutting blast, 
 And the mad waves lower their crests to me, 
 
 When my shadow is o'er them cast : 
 Hark to their voice as they dash o'er the main, 
 " Storm December, thou comest again."
 
 78 POEMS. 
 
 Yet rugged and stern though my nature seem, 
 
 I joy in the ringing laugh, 
 And the misletoe wakens hright thoughts I ween, 
 
 As it twines round my ancient staff ; 
 And hearts are glad as my end draws near, 
 
 For they cherish this truth right well, 
 That with smiles and glad voices and festal cheer, 
 
 They must ring out my parting knell. 
 And young lips chaunt 'mid the dance's chain, 
 " Merry December, we hail thee again." 
 
 When the yule log blazes in cot and hall, 
 
 With its ruddy and cheerful light, 
 When the holly-hough decks the pictured wall, 
 
 And blushes and smiles are bright, 
 Let my coming, ye earth-born, bring kindly aid 
 
 To those who your bounty need, 
 From the feast that to honour me well ye've made, 
 
 Cast some crumbs to the poor that plead ; 
 Let not their prayer for your pity be vain, 
 So shall they yearn for December again. 
 
 May care at my death from each bosom pass, 
 
 Nor leave on a brow its trace, 
 While the rich wine mantles in sparkling glass 
 
 'Mid many a joyous face, 
 As a parting song from the young and gay 
 
 Falls cheeringly sweet on my ear,
 
 POEMS. 79 
 
 List to my prayer ere I vanish away 
 
 To give place to the new-horn yearj 
 With spirit and lip as ye join in the strain, 
 " Long may ye welcome December again.'' 
 
 H. A. 
 
 MAY FLOWERS. 
 
 Oh ! sister, twine me young May flowers ! 
 
 Bright visions to recall, 
 Of the joyous time when my heart and step 
 
 Were lightest 'midst ye all. 
 Each bud will tell of the starry nights, 
 
 Ere the summer breeze had flown, 
 When the silver light of the moonbeams pale, 
 
 Through our woodbined lattice shone. 
 Mine eye hath lost its brightness now, 
 
 My cheek hath lost its bloom, 
 There's a warning voice within my heart, 
 
 That speaketh of the tomb ; 
 And tearful glances meet my own, 
 
 Lov'd tones are lost in sighs, 
 And I read my fate, oh ! sister mine ! 
 
 By gazing in thine eyes.
 
 80 toems. 
 
 A little, oli ! a little while ! 
 
 And I must leave ye all, 
 And the dark leaves swept by the autumn wind, 
 
 On my lowly grave will fall ; 
 Yet have I pined the op'ning buds 
 
 In their freshness bright to see, 
 And I've yearned to live till the summer came, 
 
 With its sweetest month to me. 
 Then, sister, twine me May flowers, 
 
 Remembrance fond to bring, 
 Of all I've loved and all I leave 
 
 In my early blighted spring : 
 And when again the breath of May 
 
 Steals forth o'er hill and dell, 
 Weep ye for her who passed away 
 
 Ere the summer blossoms fell ! 
 
 H. A.
 
 POEMS. 81 
 
 ANNA BOLEYN'S FAREWELL TO THE 
 PRINCESS ELIZABETH, ON THE MORN- 
 ING OF HER EXECUTION. 
 
 Mine own ! my cherished one ! a breaking heart, 
 'Mid its last agonies, still clings to thee ! 
 
 Doomed from a mother's love so soon to part, 
 And bow thy young bright form to misery. 
 
 Thou little reck'st, mine infant, that one hour 
 Will leave thee friendless, desolate ; when thou 
 
 Wilt have no shelter from the storms which low'r 
 Above thy guiltless and unconscious brow ! 
 
 Thou wilt not have, ere long, my little one, 
 A mother's heart to shield as mine has done ; 
 
 Thou wilt be left unheeded and alone — 
 / shall be silent, and my race be run. 
 
 Yet thou art happy, for thou canst not know 
 That dark'ning clouds shall overcast thy sky ; 
 
 Thy fair young cheek is radiant with the glow 
 Of childhood's joy flung o'er thee from on high.
 
 82 POEMS. 
 
 Brightest ! most innocent ! Thy future fate 
 Is yet unwritten ! Thou hast yet to learn 
 
 That what thou deemest love may be hut hate — 
 That sunny smiles can change to frowns as stern. 
 
 Ah ! Fare thee well ! I feel no pangs, no fears, 
 Save for the helpless, injured one I leave ; 
 
 I can hut give thee now, my child, these tears, 
 Wrung from a heart too early taught to grieve ! 
 
 I have but reaped the doom my vain heart sowed : 
 / had no tears when Catherine bowed low 
 
 To pray for mercy, even as do I 
 
 Crave, in mine agony, such mercy now ! 
 
 Once more — Farewell ! my treasured one ; may He, 
 To whose blest hand I trust thee, guide thy way 
 
 Through this wide world of woe and misery, 
 Casting around thy path an angel's ray ; 
 
 Granting a guiltless mother's parting prayer — 
 Not that the mockery of power be thine, 
 
 But that thy heart may be untouched by care, 
 Ever unconscious of a fate like mine ! 
 
 R. A.
 
 POEMS. 83 
 
 VISIONS OF THE HEART. 
 
 (Song) 
 
 There's a vision in ray heart 
 
 Of a h rightly- smiling spot — 
 A lowly home of peace, 
 
 By care remembered not ; 
 There's a memory of scorn 
 
 For that spring-time sweet of life, 
 And a bitter yearning then 
 
 For the world's wild scenes of strife. 
 
 There's a scene before me now 
 
 Of heavenly delight — 
 A ray, 'mid gathering gloom, 
 
 Of pure undying light ; 
 'Tis but that cottage-home, 
 
 Whose peace now seems to tell 
 From me 'tis gone for aye, 
 
 And whispers, " Fare thee well!" 
 
 R. A. 
 
 g 2
 
 84 POEMS. 
 
 THE BLIND MAN TO HIS CHILD. 
 
 My gentle child, my gleesome one, thy father's joy" 
 
 and pride, 
 Come rest thy bright and glowing form these aged 
 
 limbs beside : 
 I'm pining forthy silv'ry laugh; I want thy joyous tone, 
 For the softness of its melody can soothe this heart 
 
 alone. 
 Come nearer, sweet one ! touch me ; lay thine hand 
 
 upon my brow : 
 I've missed thy bounding step all day ; oh ! do not 
 
 leave me now. 
 Nay, nay, I did not mean to chide : full well, mine 
 
 own, I know 
 That thy light footsteps long to glide the sunny vales 
 
 below ; 
 I must not keep thee ever near, though lonely seems 
 
 the clay, 
 And mournfully the hours pass by, to me, when thou'rt 
 
 away; 
 For these sightless orbs can never greet the forms so 
 
 lov\l before, 
 And the joyous things of earth may meet their stricken 
 glance no more.
 
 POEMS. 85 
 
 And what have I to fill this heart, hut one long dream 
 
 of thee ? 
 In every thought thou hast thy part, for thou art all 
 
 to me ; 
 But oh ! my child, mine own, mine own, in agony I 
 
 how, 
 To think I ne'er may gaze upon thy bright and glad- 
 some brow, 
 To hear thy light step by my side, thy merry laugh 
 
 of glee, 
 And know that form of joyous pride is ever dai'k to 
 
 me. 
 Ah ! can"st thou wonder that mine ear dwells on thy 
 
 slightest tone ? 
 Ah ! can'st thou wonder that I hear its echo when 
 
 alone ? 
 Whilst thou art gaily singing 'midst thy birds and 
 
 flowers choice, 
 To me there is no music like the music of thy voice ; 
 And I love thee better when I think that thou hast 
 
 none but me 
 To guide thy life's frail bark along this wide world's 
 
 troubled sea, 
 No arm save mine to shield thy form with tenderness 
 
 and care, 
 Lest the rough breath of sorrow's storm should'st wave 
 
 thy sunny hair. 
 Aye ! we are linked together by a firm and holy tie, 
 Which nothing e'er shall sever 'till told in death I lie;
 
 86 POEMS. 
 
 Thou hast heen all in all to me, and I will guard thee 
 
 now, 
 So that a shade may never he upon that laughing 
 
 brow. 
 Then come, my own, my cherished one, the last lov'd 
 
 tie to earth, 
 Draw near, that I may listen to thy tones of gleeful 
 
 mirth ; 
 Sing me thy sainted mother's lays, that joy this heart 
 
 may fill, 
 And the sunny dreams of other days may rest upon 
 
 me still. 
 And when the clouds of evening come across yon 
 
 summer sea, 
 And night steals o'er the cottage home so lov'd by 
 
 thee and me, 
 Together kneeling side by side we'll breathe a fer- 
 vent prayer, 
 That God may guard the Blind old Man and bless 
 
 thy tender care. 
 
 H. A.
 
 POEMS. 87 
 
 TO A FRIEND OF CHILDHOOD. 
 
 It hath heen said, how, oft upon our path 
 
 There hursts a kindred spirit, to awake 
 
 The slumb'ring senses, light the eye, and give 
 
 The joyless heart a resting-place at last 
 
 For all its warm affections ; yet whose course 
 
 Is not with our's ; whose brightness does but glad 
 
 Each lonely spot, to make that spot more lone, 
 
 When it has passed away. 'Twas thus with us. 
 
 We twined our lightsome hearts with love's fresh 
 
 wreaths, 
 And cherished each young heart as young hearts can. 
 How should we dream of change ? and yet it came ; 
 We parted, and stern time brought, on his dark, 
 Dull wings, our meed of care; and on our souls 
 He cast his lights and shadows ; but he brought 
 No change of love for thee ! I loved thee best 
 When there was left but memory of thee here ! 
 Time hath passed by to rob us of some joys, 
 To cast a saddened shade upon each brow ; 
 But he hath scattered pleasures in his flight, 
 Hath lighted once again the eye with mirth ; 
 Hath given gladness to repay these pangs ; 
 Hath brought thee back to joy our hearts at last !
 
 88 POEMS. 
 
 And dearest, may his baud, as on lie flies, 
 Be gently laid on thy still laughing brow; 
 Sweeping no trace, save that of sorrow thence, 
 Leaving but lightly there its blighting touch, 
 Turning care from thee; and above all these, 
 Granting our love's fresh wreaths may yet bloom on, 
 Where they were twined in childhood's happy days, 
 Where they hove clung so trustingly erewbile, 
 Where they will cling till our life's sun hath set. 
 
 R. A. 
 
 THE HOLLY. 
 
 'Twas a holly all so lonely, 
 
 In a winter garden grew, 
 Never sunbeam on it resting 
 
 E 'en a passing brightness threw ; 
 Coldly sombre 'neath the gushing 
 
 Of the golden noonday light, 
 Dark and gloomy when 'twas shaded 
 
 By the coming hues of night.
 
 POEMS. 89 
 
 Crocus bright, and polyanthus, 
 
 From its presence shrank with dread, 
 As amid their dewy-blossoms 
 
 High it rear'd its chilling head ; 
 And the leaves that deck'd the border 
 
 Turn'd their graceful stems with fear 
 From the frosty breath and bearing 
 
 Of the prickly stranger near. 
 
 But it chanc'd, one bitter morning, 
 
 When the driving snow fell fast, 
 And each bud crouch'd low for shelter 
 
 From the keen and cutting blast, 
 That a pale and tender snow-drop, 
 
 Newly-risen from its birth, 
 Bow'd its head beneath the whirlwind 
 
 To the hard and frozen earth. 
 
 From the storm that swept the garden 
 
 Naught could sbield the fragile flower 
 When the holly, downward bending, 
 
 Lent its succour in that hour : 
 'Neath its boughs the snow-drop rested, 
 
 Safely shelter'd on tbe ground 
 From tbe wind that raged with fury, 
 
 And the snow that fell around.
 
 90 toems. 
 
 And the holly nestled o'er it 
 
 Through the weary winter's day, 
 Till the sky was bright and glowing, 
 
 And the storm had passed away. 
 There are some in Life's wide garden, 
 
 Who, with chilling look and tone, 
 'Mid the sweets that bloom around them 
 
 Seem to wander on alone. 
 
 Pause, oh mortals! ere ye judge them ; 
 
 For ye know not but may dwell 
 Kindly thought and noble feeling 
 
 Deep within their bosom's cell. 
 Like the holly, 'neath their coldness 
 
 There may lurk a vein of gold, 
 Which, when sought by helpless sorrow, 
 
 Priceless treasure shall unfold. 
 
 H.
 
 POEMS. 
 
 93 
 
 SPELLS. 
 
 Would ye spells round your home ? Oh ! the fairies; 
 have vanished 
 Who crossed o'er our threshold and stood hy our 
 hed ; 
 The child who then watched for their coming is sleep- 
 ing, 
 His golden locks paled to the snow-covered head. 
 Oh ! never hy hrooklet, in lone mossy hower, 
 'Neath the whispering trees, shall their ring he now 
 
 found ; 
 No more shall the peasant there pause in his singing, 
 To e;aze down in awe on the fay-hallowed ground. 
 
 Would ye ask of the daughters of magic to lighten 
 
 The hours of dull care which arise to ye now ? 
 Would ye give to their keeping your heart's choicest 
 blessings, 
 
 To be laid as a spell on each clearly -loved brow ? 
 Oh ! no, in your own souls lies holier magic, 
 
 And thence rise the spells which a mortal may cast 
 Round the homes of his brethren, to till them with 
 gladness, 
 
 And brighten each spot as in fairy-times past.
 
 92' roEMs. 
 
 Then ask ye not spells ! for 'tis given ye ever 
 
 To cast a bright light where a shadow hath been, 
 In the care-burdened soul of some sorrowing mortal, 
 
 That joy's hidden form may within it be seen. 
 'Oh ! the kind word hath pow'r to link spirits unto ye, 
 
 The firm trust hath magic to win for ye love ; 
 And there needeth no fairy-guard kept o'er your 
 household — 
 
 'Tis watched by an eye that is sleepless, above ! 
 
 R. A. 
 
 THE HOMEWARD BOUND 
 
 The homeward bound ! what an?dous hope 
 
 Within each bosom sleeps, 
 While the gallant ship, 'mid storm and sun, 
 
 Her way still proudly keeps. 
 0, for the first long-pray 'd for sight 
 
 Of the chalky cliffs, that tell 
 To the wand'rer's heart with wild delight, 
 
 Whore the absent lov'd ones dwell.
 
 POEMS. 93 
 
 'Neath an awning on the stately deck 
 
 A pallid girl doth lie, 
 Gazing upon the crested waves 
 
 That bear her home to die ; 
 And ever and anon she turns 
 
 Her glance across the main, 
 For a vestige of the home she yearns 
 
 To look upon again. 
 
 Home ! at that thought the faint rose steals 
 
 Once more across her cheek ; 
 And the light within her eyes shows forth 
 
 More joy than words could speak : 
 Sweet tones, from kindred voices, seem 
 
 To whisper in her ear, 
 Telling, as in a happy dream, 
 
 The bliss that draweth near. 
 
 " Speed thee, good ship ! oh, speed thee on!" 
 
 Is still her changeless cry, 
 While swift beneath the vessel's track 
 
 The glancing waters fly. 
 Onward, still onward, night and day, 
 
 Till, like a distant star, 
 The home so pin'd for when away 
 
 Gleams faintly from afar.
 
 94 POEMS. 
 
 Then fails the strength that bore her up 
 
 When now the goal seems won — 
 Fadeth the colour from her cheek 
 
 As clouds before the sun. 
 The eye doth lose its sunny gleam, 
 
 While closer smiles that shore 
 Whose shadow she was wont to deem 
 
 Would bring her health once more. 
 
 Onward ! still onward ! voices burst 
 
 Upon her list'ning ear ; 
 Her glance doth light on kindred forms, 
 
 With joyous greeting near : 
 And then — aye, then — the slender thread 
 
 That stays her trembling breath, 
 Breaks with such rapture, and her head 
 
 Bows to the touch of death ! 
 
 So is it with some earthly thing 
 
 For which our spirit yearns, 
 To which our heart through weary years 
 
 With changeless fondness turns. 
 Perchance our longing eyes may meet 
 
 The joy we prize so much, 
 And see the blessing at our feet 
 
 To crumble at the touch ! 
 
 11. A
 
 POEMS. 95 
 
 HOMAGE TO THE AUTHOR OF THE 
 CHRISTMAS CAROL. 
 
 There is a name, a magic name, 
 
 That bringeth visions bright, 
 And calleth lasting memories up, 
 
 With fire each eye to light. 
 
 Familiar as a household word, 
 
 Who loveth not its sound 
 Whene'er it comes, with smiles or tears, 
 
 Its spell to cast around ? 
 
 Steals there not ever o'er our souls, 
 
 Beneath its sway, a gleam 
 Of noble thoughts and stirring truths, 
 
 As 'twere a sunny dream ? 
 
 Whose, then, that name so widely known, 
 
 To which with pride we how ? 
 Whose, then, the mighty hand that strikes 
 
 A chord untouched till now ?
 
 96 POEMS. 
 
 Who, in the ever-varied page 
 
 Of trying woe or mirth, 
 Hath roused our hetter self to aid 
 
 The lowly ones of earth ? 
 
 Friend of the humble and the poor ! 
 
 Oh ! proud may England be, 
 'Mid princely wealth and high renown. 
 
 To boast of one like thee. 
 
 Ne'er shall the Christmas holly green 
 
 Our festal board entwine, 
 But 'twill recall, with deathless voice, 
 
 Each thrilling word of thine. 
 
 Ne'er shall we feel the winter blast, 
 Or hear the tempest wild, 
 
 But thy remembrance will invoke 
 Our aid for Sorrow's child. 
 
 Pass, then, upon thy proud career, 
 Still wider fame to seek ; 
 
 Thy hand hath pointed out the tear 
 On Poverty's wan cheek. 
 
 Shine ever from thy lofty height, 
 
 As doth a brilliant star ; 
 Yet hast thou nobly sought and won 
 
 A brighter glory far.
 
 POEMS. 97 
 
 The erring and the hardened heart, 
 That, touched by thee, hath turned 
 
 To aid, in penitence and tears, 
 The misery it spurned. 
 
 The prayers and blessings of the poor, 
 
 That greet thee day by day, 
 These, these shall twine for thee a wreath 
 
 That fadeth not away. 
 
 H. A. 
 
 ON AN ANCIENT OAK ROOM IN WARWICK- 
 SHIRE, FORMERLY THE RESIDENCE OF 
 ROBERT, EARL OF LEICESTER. 
 
 Relic of ancient splendour, 
 
 Remnant of olden pride, 
 Spells rest thee round, lest aught of ill 
 
 Thy pillared walls betide. 
 
 Many an eye hath marked thee, 
 Now closed in death's long sleep ; 
 
 Gay hearts have ceased their laughter, 
 The sad have ceased to weep.
 
 98 POEMS. 
 
 All, all hath changed around thee, 
 
 But thou'rt unaltered yet ; 
 And long must time pass o'er thee 
 
 Ere thy heauty we forget. 
 
 Hast thou no gentle legend 
 Of courtly dame and knight, 
 
 Whose joyous voices, long since hushed, 
 Have filled thee with delight ? 
 
 Thou bearest on thy portal 
 
 The symbol of a name, 
 Whispered with strange misgiving ; 
 
 Deathless in crime-wrought fame. 
 
 Say, hath no gentle being 
 
 Passed o'er thy polished floor, 
 
 With sigh of bitter meaning, 
 Lip that would smile no more ? 
 
 Say, hath no weary watcher 
 Rested thy casement near ; 
 
 Marking the Leicester's absence, 
 By many a blighting tear ? 
 
 Surely thou canst not tell us, 
 Thou hast looked down at last, 
 
 On scenes as dark as story 
 
 Hath brought us from the past !
 
 poems. 99 
 
 For we would gaze around thee, 
 And picture hearts of mirth, 
 
 And fancy they are laid to sleep, 
 Watched hy their parent earth. 
 
 Rather than know thy fame to he 
 Such scene of terror wild ; 
 
 The tomh of ev'ry cherished hope 
 Raised hy earth's fairest child ! 
 
 Oh ! nohle spot ! Long o'er thee 
 
 Be cast a magic spell ! 
 Kind fairies tread thee lightly, 
 
 And guard thy beauty well ! 
 
 Still, still endure to gladden 
 The hearts within thee now, 
 
 And cast a gleam of pleasure 
 Upon thine owner's brow ! 
 
 Still be to them a relic 
 
 Of a calm and happy past ; 
 
 The brightness of its sunny hours, 
 Recalling to the last ! 
 
 R. A. 
 
 h2
 
 100 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 NAIRLA. 
 
 On the dark forest trees the dew lay sleeping ; 
 
 Sunset had tinged with gold each fleecy cloud, 
 When her lone watch an Indian girl was keeping. 
 
 Where a tall pine had cast its shadow proud. 
 
 Nairla, the stern Manhatta's lovely daughter, 
 Brightest and best amid thy dark-browed race, 
 
 Linger not still thus by the lake's blue water, 
 
 Else will they miss thee from the greenwood chase. 
 
 Oh ! she is not alone ! through wood and brake, 
 Parting the boughs that o'er his pathway fall, 
 
 An aged man his feeble way doth take, 
 And waves a welcome to the maiden's call. 
 
 Swift as a deer she flies his steps to meet, 
 And lead him 'neath the stately forest tree, 
 
 And then the maiden kneeling at his feet, 
 Bowed her young brow in bitter agony. 
 
 " Father," she cried, "look on these waving trees, 
 This silver lake. Is it not passing fair ? 
 
 Yet, oh ! my father, death is in the breeze. 
 That steals e'en now to play within thine hair.
 
 POEMS. 101 
 
 " Thou from thy distant land, with gentle speech 
 And patient look, hath wandered here alone, 
 
 The red man in his forest wild to teach, 
 And win him to a worship not his own. 
 
 " And thou hast taught me from thy holy book 
 Things that do make me scorn the life I've led : 
 
 His daughter's change Manhatta cannot brook, 
 Alas ' his wrath will fall upon thy head. 
 
 " They say thou hast bewitch'd me, turn'd my heart 
 From all it used to love in days of yore ; 
 
 That in their rites I cease to take a part, 
 
 And join them in their festive sports no more. 
 
 " And they will kill thee, father ! aye, this night ; 
 
 Perchance this hour ! Oh ! fly ere yet too late ! 
 See ! my canoe rides o'er the waters bright : 
 
 Swift shall it bear thee from thy cruel fate. 
 
 " Oh ! fare thee well ! thou must no longer stay." 
 But calmly did the missionary stand — 
 
 *' Weep not, my child : I will not flee away, 
 Though bonds and cruel torture be at hand !" 
 
 a 
 
 " Father, 'tis madness ! they are rushing on ! 
 
 Quick to the bark ere they can gain the spot. 
 Alas ! it is too late ! one hope hath gone. 
 
 They've tracked thee here, yet Nairla leaves thee not."
 
 102 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 Round the old man the Indian maiden clung, 
 Her dark locks twining with his snowy hair ; 
 
 Clasping, as in her sorrow wild she hung, 
 
 His feeble hands that joined in fervent prayer. 
 
 And onward ! onward ! came the band of death, 
 Swiftly, yet surely, like a mighty flood, 
 
 Trampling the flowers that seemed, with balmy 
 breath, 
 To stay their footsteps from the deed of blood. 
 
 Near, and yet nearer, till, with vengeful cry, 
 Manhatta marks his prey before him rise. 
 
 Through the still air the fatal arrows fly, 
 
 Then starts he back with horror and surprise. 
 
 He sees two victims wrapp'd in last embrace ; 
 
 His heart grows cold ! what form his eye doth 
 meet ? 
 Why does he dread to look upon the face 
 
 Of her who sleepeth in her beauty sweet ? 
 
 Lo ! with the blighted flower upon his breast, 
 
 The aged martyr in the forest lay. 
 The dart that gave his earthly spirit rest, 
 
 Hath call'd the Indian maiden's soul away.
 
 POEMS. 
 
 103 
 
 Pass wc, the frantic woe too late to save ; 
 
 The wailing dirge, the stricken chief's despair. 
 1 11 the far west there is a hallow'd grave, 
 
 Sheltered hy trees — Nairla is sleeping there ! 
 
 H. A. 
 
 A TRIBUTE TO CAMPBELL, THE POET. 
 
 [As the remains of Camphell were being lowered 
 into the grave, a Polish nobleman who attended 
 the funeral took a handful of earth which had 
 been brought from the tomb of Kosciusko, and 
 scattered it over the coffin of him who had so 
 warmly pourtrayed the wrongs and woes of Poland]. 
 
 There sweepeth through the abbey proud 
 
 A low and solemn sound ; 
 A mourning train in sorrow bowed, 
 
 The dead are gathered round ; 
 And sadly on the listening ear 
 The parting words come o'er the bier, 
 
 A mighty mind hath gone ! 
 
 The hiofh and learned of the land, 
 
 In honour to the dead, 
 Are mingled with the kindred band, 
 
 Wbo mourn the spirit fled.
 
 104 POEMS. 
 
 For he who cold in death doth lie, 
 Hath left a name that shall not die, 
 
 But still live proudly on. 
 
 And some are there whose hearts beat high 
 
 To feel how wide his fame ; 
 Compelled their native land to fly, 
 
 They venerate the name 
 Of him, the gifted son of song, 
 Who nobly felt their country's wrong, 
 
 And dared its friend to be ! 
 
 And forth stands one amidst the band, 
 
 A tribute of the brave, 
 To scatter, with a trembling hand, 
 
 Dust from a patriot's grave ; 
 The relics of a spirit bold, 
 Whose deeds the sons of Poland hold, 
 
 In hallowed memory. 
 
 And o'er the cold and senseless clay 
 
 The honoured shower fell, 
 And hearts beat warm as there it lay 
 
 Beneath a gushing spell ; 
 A passing gleam, a vision bright 
 Of courage high and deeds of might, 
 
 Swept on with magic breath.
 
 POEMS. 
 
 105 
 
 And who could seek a prouder spot, 
 
 On which that dust to shed, 
 O'er him, whose verse that dieth not, 
 
 Hath sung the mighty dead ? 
 The gifted poet sleepeth here, 
 The patriot's spirit hovers near, 
 
 A union still in death ! 
 
 H. A. 
 
 ON THE THREATENED DESTRUCTION OF 
 SOME WITHERED CHRISTMAS HOLLY. 
 
 Stay ! ere you doom the symbol of your mirth, 
 So lately cherished 'mid each joyous scene ; 
 
 Can it not be in memory verdant — yet 
 
 The drooping boughs no more be tinged with 
 
 green ? 
 
 'Twas but ere now each faded leaf was prized, 
 
 Was sought, where flow'rs of beauty were passed 
 by; 
 
 Oh ! if you cherished then have pity now ; 
 You cannot love and doom remorselessly.
 
 106 POEMS. 
 
 Think, like these houghs, how oft a noble heart 
 Hath been a toy in beauty's sunny day ; 
 
 And, like these, now neglected, hath been spurned, 
 When all that Time can change hath passed away. 
 
 Could you not weep at such sad tale, of what 
 Is but the fate of many a trusting heart ? 
 
 Then can you doom what hath been lovely too, 
 And view, with altered eye, each charm depart ? 
 
 No ! for you know not that your path will be 
 
 E'er crossed by those whom time will leave the 
 same ; 
 
 Within whose hearts its hand may not efface, 
 As years roll on, ev'n memory of your name ' 
 
 Oh ! spare then, as you would, in turn, be spared ! 
 
 Prize, as you would be prized, when all is past 
 That can attract the fickle smiles of those 
 
 Whom you may live to learn and 3corn at last ! 
 
 R. A.
 
 POEMS. 
 
 107 
 
 THE ANCIENT MIRROR. 
 
 There hung an ancient mirror 
 
 Within a stately hall, 
 And many a year had pass'd since first 
 
 It graced the pictured wall ; 
 And eyes that once with glances bright, 
 
 Had gazed its face upon, 
 Shone forth no more like stars of night, 
 
 Their light was quenched and gone. 
 
 Oh ! sadly yearned the mirror 
 
 For the graceful forms of yore, 
 That came with hooded hawk on wrist, 
 
 To gladden it no more. 
 Its princely home was desolate, 
 
 And passing to decay ; 
 While echoless beside the gate, 
 
 The Warder's bugle lay. 
 
 Yet once a lovely child there came, 
 Who laughed with joyous glee, 
 
 Within its wrought and gorgeous frame, 
 Her sunny face to see ;
 
 108 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 And ever when the summer days 
 Called forth each hue of light, 
 
 That fairy child stole in to gaze 
 Upon the mirror bright. 
 
 And theu she came no more ! and lone 
 
 The mirror seemed again ; 
 No bounding feet, no laughing tone, 
 
 Disturbed its still domain : 
 And year by year each lofty room 
 
 Was wrapped in shadows tall, 
 And silence reigned with mournful gloom 
 
 Within that stately hall. 
 
 Yet cheer thee, ancient mirror, 
 
 Thy absent lord has come, 
 Now years have pass'd, from distant lands 
 
 To a long forsaken home ; 
 And yearnings for thy glories gone, 
 
 Shall sadden thee no more ; 
 For his lovely child must wed with one 
 
 Whose wealth will all restore. 
 
 And soon the mirror from the wall 
 Looked down on beauty bright ; 
 
 And beaming eyes lit up the hall, 
 To grace the bridal night :
 
 POEMS. 109 
 
 And fairest in the dance's maze, 
 
 'Mid lord and queenly dame, 
 Shone forth the child of other days, 
 
 The same, yet not the same. 
 
 A shade was on her brow of snow, 
 
 A tear within her eye ; 
 Her cheek had lost its sunny glow, 
 
 Her Up had learned to sigh : 
 And sadly in the mirror old, 
 
 She gazed with mournful air ; 
 Alas ! her tearful glances told 
 
 A breaking heart was there. 
 
 And music soft, with dulcet strain, 
 
 Woke up each echo glad ; 
 And as it filled the hall again, 
 
 No heart save one was sad. 
 And dance and festal, far and wide, 
 
 Were kept the coming day ; 
 They recked not that the pallid bride 
 
 Was passing fast away. 
 
 Ay ! soon a change came o'er the scene, 
 
 Glad tones were heard no more ; 
 The rooms that filled with light had been, 
 
 Were cheerless as before :
 
 110 POEMS. 
 
 No flowers bright the mirror graced, 
 
 And beauty o'er it flung ; 
 But cypress dark each bud replaced, 
 
 And sadly round it hung. 
 
 And she was laid on dying bed, 
 
 Tbe ancient glass beneath, 
 Who late upon her graceful head 
 
 Had worn the bridal wreath ; 
 And on its face with failing look, 
 
 The mirror saw her gaze ; 
 As if a sad farewell she took 
 
 Of lov'd and bygone days. 
 
 And sunset filled that stately ball, 
 
 With all its glories bright, 
 And bathed the mirror on the wall 
 
 In gushing floods of light, 
 And lingered o'er the snowy brow 
 
 It softly fell upon ; 
 But the throbbing heart was silent now, 
 
 The pure bright spirit gone ! 
 
 H. A.
 
 POEMS 111 
 
 THE OLD COVENANTER 
 
 Frail crumbling monument ! existing yet 
 'Mid nature's ruins. Grey-grown in the strife 
 Of thy stern fortune's elements, and, it may he, 
 The last enduring pillar of a time-razed house, 
 Thou yet upstandest, hy thy scars, to tell 
 Tales of unholy warfare ! There are lines, 
 Deeper far traced hy sorrow's searing hand, 
 Than can the advent of old age bring on ; 
 And these were won thee, soldier, in thy fight, 
 For home, thy children, freedom, and thy faith ! 
 Life's fire is quenched, yet there is left a spark 
 In the sunk eye once strained to watch o'er these. 
 There is a ling'ring vision of a spot, 
 Passed o'er and blighted by war's fiery course ; 
 Once the fair home of gladness, now marked out alone 
 By the wild weeds of ruin ! Whilst thou dream 'st 
 Oppression, tyranny, but names unknown, 
 Unheard, as once, 'neath roofs that sheltered wo»th, 
 And in sweet fancy look'st on vanished joys, 
 Feeling their sunshine melt thy sorrow's snow, 
 There is reality's stern hand upraised 
 To wake thee from thy slumber. Sleep no more !
 
 112 POEMS. 
 
 Remembrance must return of those fair flow'rs 
 Torn from around thee in thy country's cause ; 
 And thou, poor martyr ! now, as tlwn thou didst, 
 Hold to thy heart the only shield can quench, 
 Can turn away from thee despair's fierce darts ! 
 Oh ! thou shoiddst gaze on it ev'n now, and find, 
 As 'twere of old, a chain for thy proud heart ; 
 Lest in these memories it rash to sin, 
 Hiding the brave man's wrongs in felon guilt : 
 Crushing thy virtue rather than thy foe r 
 Thus, in thine armour, down the shortened path 
 Of thine embittered years, pass on in peace ; 
 There is a time, tho' distant, shall arrive, 
 When kings and thou shalt stand where worth is rank ; 
 When every sob now grief-wrung from thy breast, 
 Shall tell thy tale, where truth is masked no more. 
 This be thy solace when thou look'st around, 
 Vainly for one yet left to clasp thine hand ; 
 This be thy solace — they have passed in faith 
 To where the right shall triumph ; where the soul, 
 Freed from its earthly fetters, shall arise to light, 
 Made the more glorious for its sorrows past 
 
 R. A.
 
 POEMS. 113 
 
 A BIRTHDAY TRIBUTE TO AN EARLY 
 FRIEND. 
 
 What changeful years have o'er me passed 
 
 Since first thy worth I knew ! 
 Since first my youthful spirit felt 
 
 Thy priceless friendship true : 
 I treasure in my bosom's shrine 
 The years that finked my fate with thine. 
 
 Time hath rolled on since those young days, 
 
 Fraught both with joy and woe ; 
 Smiles for the heart's fresh spring time bright ; 
 
 Tears for its hopes laid low.' 
 Yet 'mid our fortune, good and ill, 
 Thy love doth cling around us still. 
 
 To share those joys when pleasure smil'd, 
 
 To soothe the soul's distress ; 
 How can my feeble words pourtray 
 
 Thy care and tenderness ! 
 Thy heart so warm for kindly deed, 
 Thy ready hand in time of need.
 
 114 POEMS. 
 
 And now on this thy natal day, 
 
 Would that my wish could bring 
 Joy to thy heart, and keep thee free 
 
 From grief and suffering ; 
 Would that a spell-like pow'r were mine, 
 To realize each hope of thine. 
 
 No magic charm, alas! I own, 
 
 Thy path to shield from care ; 
 Yet all my warmest hopes could give 
 
 Dwells in my earnest prayer, 
 That bright each coming day may be 
 To thee, my youth's lov'd friend — to thee ! 
 
 H. A.
 
 POEMS. 115 
 
 LINES, 
 
 UNCAS A] 
 
 (From ' The last of the Mohicans.") 
 
 ON A PICTURE OF " UNCAS AT HIS WATCH-FIRE." 
 
 Starting from thy reverie, 
 
 Crouching as thou listeth there, 
 
 Trace we in thy noble form 
 
 Thy dauntless race — young Delaware ! 
 
 Were they sounds of Mingoe's tread, 
 Woke that stern expectant gaze ? 
 
 Calling to thine eye a light 
 
 Rivalling thy watch-fire's blaze. 
 
 Indian ! there is on thy brow, 
 Fiercest passion's deepest shade ; 
 
 Yet its trace can pass away, 
 
 And that eye's stern lustre fade. 
 
 Glaring with revenge's fire, 
 
 When the foe is at thy feet ; 
 
 Uncas ! 'Tis not lighted thus, 
 
 The pale-faced maiden's smile to meet. 
 
 i2
 
 116 POEMS. 
 
 Loveliest daughters of thy land 
 
 Deck in vain their forms, for thee ; 
 
 Thou art clinging to a hope 
 Doomed to hring thee misery ! 
 
 Revel in thy dear-hought joys ! 
 
 Deem the vision true as bright, 
 That the wonder-worshipped one 
 
 Ne'er will vanish from thy sight ! 
 
 Hope still on ! The heart is cold, 
 
 Its beatings o'er when hope is past ! 
 
 Trust, until the bitter truth 
 Burst upon thee at the last. 
 
 Then, a warrior as thou art, 
 
 Turn thy nature once again ! 
 Spurn remembrance of the past 
 
 As a vision wild and vain. 
 
 Tell thy Mingo foe, that grief 
 
 Left thee still a Delaware ! 
 Tho', should e'er thy heart be his, 
 
 He'd find the name of " Cora " there. 
 
 R. A.
 
 POEMS. 
 
 117 
 
 TO-MORROW. 
 
 There is mingled joy and sorrow 
 
 In that oft repeated word, 
 Yet when we say " To-morrow " 
 
 How lightly it is heard ! 
 
 Perchance, " To-morrow," on its wing 
 
 May trouble hear away, 
 Or to the sear'd in spirit hring 
 
 A faint, yet cheering ray. 
 
 Perchance, To-morrow's coming light 
 May tinge with health the cheek, 
 
 Watch 'd through the long and sleepless night 
 With grief no words could speak. 
 
 The poor man Dent with want and care, 
 
 No brighter beacon hath, 
 Than that To-morrow's advent fair 
 
 May smoothe his thorny path.
 
 118 POEMS. 
 
 And it is well for those whose hours 
 
 Pass as a sunny dream, 
 Who find no thorns among the flowers 
 
 That round their pathway gleam. 
 
 'Tis well for those so blest — so bright ! 
 
 To think, 'mid scenes of mirth, 
 To-morrow in its course may blight 
 
 All that they prize on earth. 
 
 Ere, then, the present passeth by, 
 
 Oh, child of fortune, cheer 
 The spirit bow'd by misery, 
 
 And dry the falling tear. 
 
 A joy that fade th not away 
 
 Thy future course shall steep ; 
 Sow the good seed with care to-day, 
 
 To-morrow shalt tbou reap. 
 
 H. A.
 
 POEMS. 119 
 
 THE IRISH EXILE'S LAMENT. 
 
 Erin ' the wild harp is hushed on thy mountains, 
 The sad wail of sorrow hath deadened its tone, 
 The hands that could strike on its bright chords are 
 withered, 
 And those that are fettered are left thee alone. 
 I Mi ! once smiling garden ! what blight hath passed 
 o'er thee, 
 To sweep the fair flowers of peace from thy soil ? 
 What spell hath been cast o'er the fate of thy chil- 
 dren, 
 To mingle with tears the hard fruit of their toil ? 
 Erin Mavourneen ! light laughter hath wakened 
 
 Around the same hearths that are desolate now ; 
 And they sleep not yet, who remember the halo 
 
 Flung down by contentment on each open brow. 
 But now is thy cabin-roof shelter no longer 
 
 From poverty's blasts, to the low-drooping head : 
 And the laughter that rang 'neath that roof, is now 
 echoed, 
 By the famine- wrung cry for the then ' ' daily 
 bread."
 
 120 POEMS- 
 
 Oh ! woe to the clay when that prayer denied it, 
 
 The long- open heart closed to hope's fervent trust; 
 And they lighted the fierce brand of crime, in their 
 darkness, 
 For ever to raze their proud worth, to the dust. 
 For ever? no ! Erin — thy ruins but seem such, 
 
 er-grown by the rank weeds of faction and woe ; 
 But tear them from round thee, and all thy lost glory 
 Will once more break forth from its fetters below. 
 All praise to the hands that are stretched forth to aid 
 thee 
 In wiping the blood-stain from off thy green land ; 
 And pity and scorn for the soul that in silence 
 Can look on thy children, a perishing band ! 
 And ye, Erin's sons ! quench the false flame that 
 lights ye 
 To deeds which 'twere better deep darkness should 
 hide ; 
 For e'en amid sorrow, the cheer of the conscience 
 
 Is worth to the true heart, the whole world beside. 
 Ah, trust ! and bright blessings will yet be above ye, 
 And joy, long unknown, may be traced on your 
 brow ; 
 And the cloud's " silver lining " may tell of the sun- 
 shine 
 To break through the gloom which encircles ye 
 
 now ! 
 
 R. A.
 
 FOEMS. 121 
 
 LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 'Tis beautiful by woodland green 
 
 To watch the dancing sunbeams play, 
 
 The drooping willow leaves between ; 
 While motionless on summer day, 
 
 Amid the rays that round them gleam, 
 
 The shadows sleep upon the stream. 
 
 Oh ! closely, wheresoe'er they be, 
 
 Those lisfhts and shades are still entwined; 
 
 For when the sunbeam's glance we see, 
 The shadow stealeth on behind, 
 
 And with its sombre hue doth lend 
 
 More beauty to its golden friend. 
 
 So is it with life's changing scene ; 
 
 Its present joy doth oft efface 
 The memory of what hath been, 
 
 Tho' on each care-worn brow the trace 
 Of sorrow's iron-hand may be 
 Written, alas ! how legibly !
 
 122 POEMS. 
 
 Aye, brighter for the passing shade, 
 The fleeting rays of pleasure seem, 
 
 Though hopes that round our heart had played 
 May shed no more their joyous gleam ; 
 
 Yet in the sun that shines at last, 
 
 We lose the shadow of the past. 
 
 And better far, tho' keen the dart, 
 
 That chequered thus our path should be ; 
 
 For well we know the human heart 
 Doth rust in long prosperity ; 
 
 But chastened by the shadow's night, 
 
 We learn to bless the sunbeam bright. 
 
 H. A.
 
 POEMS. 123 
 
 THE SONG OF OLD TIME. 
 
 Old Time is before ye ! — is passing away ! 
 
 He hath cast the dull shade of his wing o'er your 
 brow. 
 Ye note it not yet, but that shadow hath dimmed 
 
 The light of that joy which was beaming ere now ! 
 Do ye look upon age as a far-distant cloud 
 
 In your bright sky of life ? Do ye deem that the 
 tone, 
 Falling now like sweet music on listening ears, 
 
 Will then bear such silvery accents alone ? 
 Are ye young in earth's sorrows as childish in years ? 
 Have ye ne'er sown your friendship and watched it 
 decay ? 
 'Tis, therefore, ye cry, as 1 pass from your sight, 
 " Youth's flowers of hope, Time can ne'er sweep 
 away !" 
 .Smile on while ye may, 'neath the touch which will 
 blight 
 All too soon those fair flowers ye hold deathless 
 now. 
 The moment must come when your mirth will have 
 pass'd, 
 And the heart's bitter care may be traced on the 
 brow.
 
 124 POEMS. 
 
 Mistrust not your sunshine ! 'Twere better that youth 
 Should see not the tempest in each passing cloud ; 
 Possess ye faith's shelter to serve ye at need, 
 
 And in storms of Time's bringing ye shall not be 
 bowed. 
 And ye of earth's children whose tears track my path, 
 Whose summer hath passed ere its first fruits were 
 reared, 
 Whose winter of age hath closed in with despair, 
 When there is not left one to the lone heart 
 endeared ; 
 Tis meet ye should welcome with faltering tone 
 
 The stern guest who sojourneth but to destroy. 
 Perchance hath Time's coming been looked for with 
 hope, 
 And his touch but been marked by the blight of 
 your joy; 
 Yet would ye revile him ? In bearing away 
 
 Some loved flow'r from round ye, how oft hath 1 e 
 told 
 Of a yet fairer garden where still it might bloom, 
 
 And twine round your soul as it twined there of old ! 
 Oh ! there is the same golden sunlight for each, 
 Though Time may have darkened its lustre ere 
 while ; 
 There breathes not the heart that, 'mid misery's sighs, 
 Hath ne'er known the moment illumed by joy's 
 smile.
 
 POEMS. 125 
 
 But thorny life's pathway, or hordered with flowers, 
 It leads where earth's pleasures and pains must be 
 o'er ; 
 Age's tottering tread and the light step of youth, 
 
 Are passing there now to return never more ! 
 'Tis a land where love's blossoms ne'er bend to the 
 blight, 
 Where they grow for the lonely who find them not 
 here ; 
 Where the cold hand of Time cannot reach to destroy ; 
 
 His wing cannot darken its skies ever clear. 
 Though he planted ye sorrow, in tearing away 
 
 Your loved flow'rs from round ye, forget not he 
 told 
 Of a yet fairer garden where still they might bloom, 
 And twine round your soul as they twined there of 
 old! 
 
 R. A.
 
 126 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 THE SNOW-BOUND. 
 
 We were a merry party 
 
 That ten long years ago 
 Look'd forth with jest and ringing laugh, 
 
 Upon the falling snow. 
 Old Christmas, with his holly green, 
 
 That summon'd us to see > 
 How hlithe he made the dying year, 
 
 With feast and revelry. 
 
 Few cares had come upon us, 
 
 In those our spring-time days, 
 And smiling glances met our own, 
 
 Around the yule log's blaze ; 
 No marvel that each tone was glad, 
 
 And that each heart was light, 
 While deep the snow on hill and plain 
 
 Lay with its mantle white. 
 
 And high rose glee and laughter, 
 
 When days swept swiftly by, 
 And still the clouds of driving snow 
 
 Fell from the wintry sky.
 
 POEMS. 127 
 
 Right willing captives were we held 
 
 Within that cheerful home, 
 Like ladies fair and knights of old, 
 
 Beneath some fairy dome. 
 
 No foot could venture near us 
 
 In that our charmed bow'r ; 
 And many were the mirthful plans 
 
 To while away each hour ; 
 And though a month had fleeted by, 
 
 And snow-bound still were we, 
 We coidd not wish to break the chain 
 
 Of our captivity. 
 
 But when at length the Snow King 
 
 Did slowly loose his spell, 
 The friends so long that sojourned there 
 
 Full sadly sighed, " Farewell." 
 And yearningly we took our way, 
 
 On other scenes to gaze ; 
 Yet ever stole our mem'ry back 
 
 To those bright winter days. 
 
 That happy Christmas party, 
 
 How scattered now are all 
 The friendly group whose cheerful smiles 
 
 Lit up the pleasant hall !
 
 L28 poems. 
 
 Death, with his fatal dart, hath crept 
 
 Within that circle gay ; 
 And some whose hearts were lightest there, 
 
 Since then have pas's'd away. 
 
 But when the chimes of Christmas 
 
 Steal sweetly on the ear, 
 And eager hands are gladly stretched 
 
 To greet the coming year, 
 We think upon the merry time 
 
 We pass'd so long ago, 
 With that joyous band in the country hall, 
 
 Held captives by the snow. 
 
 H. A.
 
 POEMS. 129 
 
 ON A PICTURE OF "LOVE'S MISLAID 
 QUIVER." 
 
 Cupid ! o'er thy brow why steals 
 
 A shadow of bewilderment ? 
 Why thus droops thy weapon dread, 
 
 As if it mourned its power spent ? 
 
 Is it pity that thou feel'st 
 
 For some poor heart bow'd down by thee, 
 Whose fairest hopes thou hast but raised, 
 
 Blighted and crushed at last to be ? 
 
 Perhaps, though wanton be thy work, 
 Some gush of feeling may return ; 
 
 Compassion's light, so long put out, 
 May be re-lit, yet strong to burn. 
 
 Oh ! be it so ! Young Love, we crave 
 Thy clemency — thy justice now ! 
 
 Give back the peace thy spells have crushed, 
 To the once light, now aching brow !
 
 130 POEMS. 
 
 Yet hold, proud boy ! we fear thee not ! 
 
 We scorn thy arts of deathless might ! 
 We can defy thee as thou stand'st 
 
 Unarmed to enter on the fight ! 
 
 We fly from thee unscathed at last, 
 Ne'er thus to plead for peace again. 
 
 Oh ! thou wouldst he a beauteous thing, 
 Couldst thou but lose the power to pain ! 
 
 And there are many happy hearts, 
 'Tis pity thou shouldst sadden yet ; 
 
 Thou dost but give a passing joy, 
 
 That thy stern pangs they may forget. 
 
 For all thy arts and all thy wiles 
 
 Seek but to train, as 'twere a flower, 
 
 Some spirit bright through long, long years, 
 To blight it in a single hour. 
 
 Then seek'st thou pity that thy fate 
 Hath doomed thee powerless to roam. 
 
 Never in guileless hearts again, 
 To find and to betray a home ?
 
 POEMS. 131 
 
 No ! Though thy loss to thee may give 
 
 A moment's passing misery ; 
 Thy shaft were better never found, 
 
 Than there should rise another sigh ! 
 
 R. A. 
 
 THE SONG OF THE SEA-BIRDS. 
 
 Over the stilly waters, 
 
 Over the changing sea, 
 Where mortal hath never sought us, 
 
 Our sunny path shall be. 
 
 Long may the op'ning flowers, 
 That blossom o'er hill and plain, 
 
 Bloom on in their summer bowers 
 Ere we return again. 
 
 We will glance o'er the sparkling billow, 
 We will ride on the storm-clouds dark ; 
 
 Ere the mariner seeks his pillow, 
 We will look on his gallant bark. 
 
 K 2
 
 231 POEMS. 
 
 Over the lofty mountain, 
 
 Over the forest lone, 
 By the side of the gushing fountain, 
 
 We will go, ere the day he done. 
 
 Away ! to the troubled ocean, 
 
 Where the echoes of thunder roll ; 
 
 Where the waves, in their wild emotion, 
 Bring death to the shipwreck 'd soul : 
 
 Where the foam of the tempest dashes 
 O'er the lost, in their lone despair ; 
 
 And the glare of the lightning flashes — 
 Let our trackless path he there. 
 
 Then on ! to the gliding river, 
 
 And over the waving trees ; 
 Where the leaves and the blossoms quiver, 
 
 To the sigh of the ev'ning hreeze. 
 
 When the hell for the vesper pealing, 
 Is heard by the waters clear ; 
 
 And the sound of the night-wind stealing. 
 Comes over the list'ning ear. 
 
 Away ! ere the daylight closes, 
 
 Ere rises the evening star ; 
 Ere the sunset hath tinged the roses, 
 
 Away ! to our homes afar !
 
 POEMS. 133 
 
 Away ! over hall and tower ; 
 
 Away ! over hill and tree : 
 Away ! over leaf and flower, 
 
 To our home, by the changing sea. 
 
 And many of earth's proud mortals, 
 When they look on our passage bright 
 
 To the verge of the sky's blue portals, 
 May envy the Sea-bird's flight. 
 
 H. A.
 
 134 POEMS. 
 
 THOU ART NOT BY MY SIDE ! 
 (Written to a Melody.) 
 
 In the silent summer eve 
 
 Does my spirit yearn for thee, 
 When the soft wind faintly sighs 
 
 O'er the calm and silver sea ; 
 And each wave that steals along, 
 
 On its crest doth hear with pride, 
 Beauty meet for poets' song, 
 
 Yet thou art not by my side ! 
 
 : Mid the varied scenes of earth, 
 
 Festal hall or leafy dell, 
 As a cloudless vision sweet, 
 
 Doth thy mem'ry with me dwell ; 
 'Neath the sunny morning light, 
 
 Or at balmy eventide, 
 On my spirit falls a blight, 
 
 For thou art not by my side ! 
 
 H. A.
 
 POEMS. 135 
 
 THE CRY OF GENIUS. 
 
 Fetter me down — but my bounding form 
 Will burst from tbe pond'rous chain, 
 
 Which care and want can forge to check 
 The workings of the brain. 
 
 '6 K 
 
 Know ye my strength ? A heaven-born 
 
 And spanless thing am I ; 
 And the scorning of earth's mighty ones, 
 
 Genius can well defy ! 
 
 Hollow-cheeked poverty comes to lend 
 
 A link to those fetters brave, 
 Which are to drag down my panting form 
 
 To the confines of the grave ! 
 
 It comes in vain ! I shall find no grave ! 
 
 I do, and my deeds live on, 
 When the brain and the hand, and their reason and 
 might, 
 
 In the flight of time are gone !
 
 136 POEMS. 
 
 Remember ye when I stood beneath 
 
 The Scottish poet's roof ; 
 Where bright-eyed hope with drooping soul 
 
 Was lingering aloof ? 
 
 (Oh the shades of your bards bear ye witness that oft 
 
 More gallant my offspring be, 
 Born and nurtured in blasts of this life's fierce 
 storms, 
 
 Than reared amid luxury.) 
 
 'Twas for me to fling open the portal, closed 
 
 So long to fame's golden ray ; 
 And note as my work the gathering gloom 
 
 In the sunlight pass away. 
 
 'Twas mine to bring forth the Peasant-bard, 
 In a changeless home to dwell ; 
 
 In a nation's heart, where as years pass by, 
 They will cherish him right well ! 
 
 Ay ! and many a brow that was bent to earth, 
 
 Unknown, in your own fair land, 
 Has been raised and wreathed with the laurel-leaf, 
 
 Alone by this single hand !
 
 POEMS. 137 
 
 It hath power to bow down rank's gilded form 
 
 At the shrine of a mighty mind, 
 Tho' the wizard hand he a toil-cramped one, 
 
 And the wizard a nameless hind. 
 
 Then fetter me down ! hut I rise to burst 
 
 The links of the pond'rous chain, 
 Wliich care and want can forge to check 
 
 The working of the brain ! 
 
 What ! tho' more oft than in stately halls, 
 
 In the earth's dark spots I lie ; 
 The scorning of its mighty ones, 
 
 Genius can well defy ! 
 
 R. A.
 
 138 POEMS. 
 
 LINES, 
 Suggested by attending a meeting for the " Earlier 
 Cessation of Labour," at which the aid of the women 
 of England was earnestly invoked. 
 
 A thrilling cry, a mighty cry, 
 
 Is rushing through the land ; 
 It riseth with a growing strength 
 
 From a firm and earnest band. 
 Who can their true and just appeal, 
 
 Their many wrongs, withstand ? 
 
 To aid them on their thorny path, 
 
 They call on woman's heart ! 
 For in the stand they boldly make, 
 
 She well can bear her part, 
 And strive to shield the spirit crushed 
 
 From stern oppression's dart. 
 
 They ask her if the pallid cheek, 
 
 The dim and sunken eye, 
 The strong form bowed by lengthened toil, 
 
 Wake not her pitying sigh ? 
 Can she such crying evils mark, 
 
 Yet stand inactive by ?
 
 POEMS. 
 
 139 
 
 All, no ! be hers, in sympatic, 
 
 A willing ear to lend 
 To those who, working wearily, 
 
 'Neath many a trial bend, 
 And with a firm and noble zeal 
 
 Their truthful cause befriend. 
 
 Be hers the spirit prompt to aid 
 
 This long-enduring band, 
 Whose cry for justice rises up, 
 
 And rings throughout the land ; 
 And what shall then their bold appeal, 
 
 Their prayer, their wrongs, withstand ? 
 
 H. A. 
 
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 STEEL ENGRAVINGS, 
 
 PORTRAITS OF THE NOBILITY, &c. 
 
 Both the Metropolitan and Provincial press have declared 
 this the most deservedly popular of the Ladies' Magazines ; 
 and a reference to any recent number would be sufficient to es- 
 tablish its claims to the patronage it receives. It is the aim of 
 the Editress to render it a decidedly literary publication, conside- 
 rable space being devoted to notices of, and extracts from, new 
 works. Neither is music nor the world of art neglected ; while, 
 in her selection of original articles, a distinct purpose is main- 
 tained — that of combining information with amusement; and, 
 while eschewing the old world school of bygone romance, to 
 preserve a tone of refinement without effeminacy. Perhaps, 
 however, the names of a few of the contributors whose talent 
 enriches the pages of the New Monthly Belle Assemblee 
 with stories illustrative of history or of life, sketches of society, 
 essays, poetry, &c, will best establish the quality of its con- 
 tents. These are — 
 
 Mrs. Abdy 
 Miss Acton 
 Grace Aguilar 
 Capt. Bellew, Author of 
 " Memoirs of a Griffin." 
 W. G. J. Barker, Esq. 
 Mrs. V. Bartholomew 
 Calder Campbell 
 C. H. Hitchings, Esq. 
 Miss Leslie 
 
 The Hon. Julia Maynard 
 Miss G. Munro 
 Dt.R.SheltonMackenzie 
 
 N. MlCHELL 
 
 Miss Power 
 Mrs. Ponsonby 
 J. J. Reynolds 
 Anna Savage 
 Mrs. F. B. Scott 
 Miss A. J. Sparrow 
 Charles Swain- 
 Percy B. St. John 
 Mrs. Edward Thoma> 
 Camilla Toulmin 
 Mrs. White 
 Eliza Walker 
 Elizabeth Youatt 
 E. A. H. O., &c, &e. 
 
 When we consider the quantity of matter a number contains, 
 the exquisite engravings which are included, and the elaborate 
 plates and descriptions of the fashions, there can be no doubt 
 that this Magazine, published at eighteenpence, is the cheapest 
 as well as the best of its class. 
 
 Office. — 24, Norfolk-street, Strand, London. 
 May be had of all Booksellers.
 
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