m >WM\ THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES HAVELOCK'S MARCH AND OTHER POEMS. BY GEEALD MASSE Y. LONDON : TRUBNER & CO., PATERNOSTER ROW. 18fil. The Author has re-cast and reprinted his Burns Brochure in this volume. He has also included some half-dozen pieces from "All the Year Round," and would here record his most cordial acknowledgments of the kindness and liberality of Mr, Charles Dickens. 8S5i64 CONTENTS. PROEM DEDICATORY TO LADY MARUN ALFORD NATIONAL. HAVELOCK S MARCH :— THE REVOLT . 11 THE AVENGERS . . 16 CAWNPORE ... . 25 THE RELIEF . 30 DEATH OF HAVELOCK . 39 THE NORSEMAN .... 48 OLD KING HAKE 52 GARIBALDI .... 59 SIR RICHARD GRENVILLE'S LAST FIGHT 64 SIR Robert's sailor son 70 THE ENGLISH OF IT . . 73 ONE OF garibaldi's JIEN 75 HUGH miller's GRAVE . 79 ROBERT BLAKE .... 85 THE OLD FLAG . . . . ' . 91 VI CONTENTS. PACE NELSON, AN OLD MAN-o'-WAfi's-MAN YARN . . .98 ENGLAND AND LOUIS NAPOLEON, MAY 1859 .107 THE SEA KINGS ....... 120 ROBIN BURNS . .125 THE FIGHTING TEMEEAIRE, TUGGED TO HER LAST BERTH 147 RIFLE VOLUNTEERS ...... 151 NAVAL VOLUNTEERS . . . . . .154 OUB NATIVE LAND ...... 157 A NATIONAL ANTHEM ...... IGl CHRISTIE'S POEMS. FOR Christie's sake hunt the squirrel my maid marian Christie's poor old gran the LEGEND OF LITTLE PEARL NEWS OF CHRISTIE FOR EVER OUR WHITE DOVE CHRISTIE'S PORTRAIT THE NEST OUR LITTLE CHILD WITH RADIANT EYES robin's SONG THE TWO ROSES . 165 170 173 181 185 189 190 191 197 200 201 203 205 CONTENTS. vii PAGE POOR MARGARET .... . 206 LULLABY ...... . 215 HOW THE FLOWERS CAME PROM EDEN . 217 ONE WHO WAS KIND TO CHRISTIE . 222 THE MAIDEN MARRIAGE .... . 225 A POET ...... . 227 L1#E AND DEATH .... . 229 POOR BIDDY ..... . 230 WHEN CHRISTIE COMES AGAIN . . 231 DOWN IN THE VILLAGE. A LETTER IN BLACK ...... FARMER Forrest's opinion of the broad-bottomed 239 ministry .... . 248 MY BONNY LADY . 252 ON A WEDDING-DAY . 256 MARRIAGE .... . 260 UNDER THE MISLETOE . . . . . 261 A VILLAGE COURTING . . 263 MY LOVE . . . . . . 266 AT EVENTIDE . . . . . . 268 PROEM D E D I C A T K Y TO LADY MARIAN^ ALFORD. LADY MARIAX. In her Ancestral tree's old smiling shade, Spencer and Milton sang, and Shakespeare played. I cannot prophesy immoi'tal fame, And endless honour for my lady's name Thro' my poor Verse; but it shall surely give All that it has, and long as it may live. ■ . She heard my children singing in the street, And smiled dcwn on them starry-clear and sweet, But halfway up in Heaven, and far from me, As Shakespeare's Juliet in her balcony; A golden Creature, all too rare to stay, With waving white hand she would pass away ! !Now I have seen her ; heard her voice To-day, And toucht her hand ; enricht my life for aye : The thought in sunbeams radiantly upsprings, To smile out in the saddest face of things. After the gloom is gone, the worst is passed, I know you, my good Fairy, found at last. 4 LADY MARIAN. Tho' poor, and grim to tears, our life miglit be, We had proud visions in our poverty ! My Princess too, witli darkly sparkling e'en, As I lay dreaming, over me would lean ; And now the silken clue of hidden power, Hath led me to her beauty in its boY»'^er. Lady ! Giorgione should have painted you With Hve warm flesh-tints golden thro' and tlu"o' ; The sun-soul making luminous its prison With sunken splendours, rarer than have risen ; Bird-peeps of brightness — da\^^l-dew — smiling fire- Full of all freshness as a spring- wood quire ; A glow and glory of impetuous blood ; Brave spirits that crowd all sail to take the flood Of large, abounding life, that in the sim Heaves flashing, with a frohc fringe of fun ; A happy wit ! creative genius proved In Pictures that Angehco would have loved : A stately soul : yet with a laugh that brings Echoes fi'om Girlhood's heaven as it rings ! And that fine spirit of motion's airy charm, Which hovers glancing round the flower of form : A lofty lady of a proud old race, Recklessly splendid in her gifts and grace. LADY MARIAN. 5 Yet, as the life of some tall, towery tree Climbs till atop it laughs exulting-ly With all its leaves, using its pride of place To look both earth and heaven full in the face ! Thus — up thro' bole and branch of wealth and blood. Breaks out her noble natui-al Womanhood. No fear of England's great old Houses when Such glorious women give us noble men, And sway the heart o' the people sovereignly As the Moon sways the heavings of the sea, To touch its darkness with her lovelier light, And mould to loftier shape its climbing might. Their foes may rave, but, far oft' is their fall. Whose glory is the heritage of all ! Who grew some gi'ain we long shaU save for seed ; Who man the gap for England in her need. All who love England think with holy pride Of all who for her like De Norman died. My Lady Marian, you are good, and true ; Most bountiful, and gracious as the dew : And glad Hearts — wing'd with Blessings — follow you Far as the Earth is green, or Heaven is blue ; But, dear my lady, there is work to do In England yet, and royal work for you. 6 LADT MAEIAN. Why leave your ovm free air, and Eng-lisli Home, For Paris — that Slave-Dancer — or for Rome r With all their lustres, dazzlingly displayed. They cannot match the sweetness of our shade ; Our leafier pathways cool with gladder green ; Our Hearts, whose heavings lift you up — our Queen. Much Mother's Milk wants sweetening with the Balms That you can bring ; much need of more than Alms ! In eyes wide open souls lie fast asleep ; With dayHght on the face hearts darkly weep ; Our world has many a ward where wounds and wails Cry for a thousand Florence Nightingales, I know that Knowledge thro' our Shire doth trail With slow illumination of a snail ! But still we dream of some bright better day, And wliile we sleep the great Dawn comes our way. Think How long God's love brooded over Earth Before she quickened for her noblest Birth ! Oh, they shall bless you down in pit and den, — Transforming slowly into Women and Men ; And smile, as leaves out-smile in first spring-hours, With livelier green, while fall the singing showers ; Or as the winter mosses round your trees Look up and smile at their good influences. LADY MARIAN. Your pardon, Lady, if my unskilled word, Like a bad player, should mistake the chord ! No churlish charge, no plea of parasite, Is mine ; but leal heart-service of a knight Wlio in old days had fought for you and bled ; Going to death as 'twere a bridal bed. Our lost "Maid Marian " bore your name, and she Yet works a very tender ministry ; And, somehow, when of her we sit and tliink Our hearts touch you by an invisible Hnk. Sacred to her, my sadder verses take ; And kindly think of them for Marian's sake. Room for my Sea- Kings too, your heart will make, From young Sir William Peel, to old King Hake. You have the spirit bom of the salt spray That snuffs the sea-breeze meadowy miles away ; The Norse blood running seaward round the world, That leaves the Saxon inland closely curled. You love our Heroes ! and you might have been In battle-need our Boadicea Queen ! And stood up to the fall majestic height In your war-chariot beckoning on the fight : A famous victory you would have wrought, Or with your heroes fallen as you fought. NATIONAL 11 HAVELOCK'S MARCH. The Revolt. Come hither my brave Soldier boy, and sit you by my side, To hear a tale, a fearful tale, a glorious tale of pride ; How Havelock vrith his handful, all so faithful, and so fpw. Held on in that far Indian land, to bear our England through [wrath ; Her pass of bloodiest peril, and her reddest sea of And strode like Paladins of old on their avenging path. Tho' clothes were drencht, and flesh was parcht, and bones were chilled with cold. The gallant hearts never g-ave up ; they never loosed their hold ; But fought right on, and triumphed! but eyes rained as we read How proudly every place was filled, with Kving and with dead. 12 havelock's march. The dark death-cii'cle narrowed round our little English band : The stillness of a brooding storm lay on the east- em land ; The false Sepoy stoopt lower for his spring, and, in his eye A bloody light was burning on them, as he glided by : Old Horrors rose, and leered at them, from out the tide of time, — The peering peaks of War's old world, whose brows were stained with crime ! The conscious Silence was but dumb, a cursed plot to hide ; The darkness only a mask of Death, ready to slip aside. Under the leafy palms they lay, and through their gay green crown. Our English saw no Storm roU up : no Fate swift flaming do^vn. At last it came. The Rebel drum was heard at dead of night : They dasht in dust the only torch that showed the face of Right ! Asrain the Devil clutches at his lost throne of the earth. And sends a people, smit with plague of madness, howHng forth. THE REVOLT. 13 As in a Demon's dream they swarm from horrible hiding nooks ; Red Murder stabs the air, and lights their way with bloody looks! Snuffing the smell of human blood, the cruel Moloch stands ; Hearing the cry of " KHl ! KHl ! KUl ! " and claps his gory hands. At dead of night, while England slept, the fearful vision came, She lookt, and with a dawn of hell the East was all a-flame. Stern tidings came to Havelock, of legions in revolt : " The traitors turn upon us, and the eaters of our salt. Subtle as death, and false as hell, and cruel as the grave, Have sworn to rend us by the root ; be quick, if ye would save ; The wild beasts bloody and obscene, mad-drunk with gore and lust. Have wreaked a horrible vengeance on our Eng'land rolled in dust." And such a withering wind doth blow, such fearful sounds it brings. The soul with shudders tries to shake oflP creeping thoughts and things ! 14 havelock's march. A vast invisible Terror twines its fingers in the hair, With one hand feeUng for the throat ; a hand that will not spare. They slew the gi'izzled Wanior, who to them had been so true ; The ruddj stripling with frank eyes of bonny English blue ; They slew the Maiden as she slept ; the ^lother great AAnth cluld ; The Babe, that snuled up in their face, they stabbed it as it smiled. The piteous, pleading, hoary hair, they draggled in red mire ; And mocked the dying as they dasht out, frantic from the fire, To fall upon their Tulwars, hacked to death; the bayonet Held up some child ; the devils danced around it writhing yet : Warm flesh, that kindled so with life, was torn, and slowly hewn, To daintiest morsels for the feast where death began too soon. Our English girls, whose sweet red blood went dan- cing on its way, A merry marriage-maker quick for its near wedding- day,— THE REVOLT. 15 All life awaiting for the breath of Love's sweet south to blow, And budding bridal roses ripe with secret balms should flow — They stripped them naked as they were born ; naked along the street, In their own blood they made them dip their delicate white feet ! With some last rag of shelter the poor helpless dar- ling tries To hide her from the cruel hell of those devouring eyes; Then, plucking at the skirts of Death, she prayer- fully doth cling, To hide her from the eyes that still gloat round her in a rins:. 16 havelock's march. The Avengers. " Now, Soldiers of our England, let yonr love arise in power ; [hour : For never yet Avas greater need than in tlais awfxJ To2:ether stand, like old true-hearts that never fear nor flinch ; With feet that have been shod for death, never to yield an inch. Our Empire is a Ship on fire, before a howling wind, With such a smoke of torment, as 'twould make high heaven blind ! Wild Ruin waves his flag of flame, and ye must spring on deck. And quench the fire in blood, and save our treasures from the vrreck." ilanj- a time has England thought she sent her bravest forth ; [worth. But never went more gallant men, of more heroic Hungiy and lean, thro' rain and mire, our war- wolves grimly go. On their long march, that shall not mete the red grave of the foe : THE AVENGERS. 17 Like winter trees stripped to their naked strength of heart and arm, That glory in their grimness as they tussle with the storm ! Only a handful few and stem, and few and stern their words ; Fierce meaning in their eyes that meet and strike out sparks like swords ! And there goes Havelock ! leading the Forlorn Hope of our land ; The quick heart spurring at their side ; the banner of their band : Kindled, but calm, along their ranks his steady eye doth run, [liis gun. As marksman seeks the death-Une down the level of Beneath the whitening snows of age his spirit ardours glow, As glow the fragrant fires of spring in flowers beneath the snow. Look in his grave and martial face, with God's dear pity toucht ; A saviour soul doth sanctify the sword his hand hath clutcht : [pi'^-y? A httle while his silent thoughts have gone within to And send a farewell of the heart to the dear ones far away. c 18 havelock's march. He pi'ays to God to light him tliro' the perilous darkness, when He grapples with the beasts of blood, and quells them in their den. And now his look is lifted in the light of some far goal ; His lips the Hving trumpet of a grey-haired seer's soul. On the housetops of Allahabad black, scowling brows were bent. In hate, and deep, still curses, on our heroes as they went To fight their hundred-days-long fight ; all true as their good steel. The Highlanders of Havelock, the FusUeers of Neil ! A falling firmament of rain the heavens were pouring do^^^l ; They heeded not the drowning heavens, nor yet the foeman's fro^vn : Forvs^ard they strained with heai'ts a-fire, and gallantly they toiled Till darkness fell upon them : then the Moon rose up and smiled. A httle thing ! and yet it seemed at such a time to come Just like a proud and mournful smile from the very heart of Home. THE AVENGEES. 19 That night they halted in a snipe-swamp ; hungry, cold, and drencht ; With hearts that kept the blitheness of brave men that never blencht. Thro' flooding nullah, slushy sand, onward they strode again. Ere Dawn, a winged glor}^, aht upon the bumisht rain, And mists up-gathered sullenly along the rear of flight. Slowly as beaten Bellooches might lounge from out the fight. Then heaven grew like inverted hell ; a blazing vault of fire ! The Sun pursuing pitiless, to bring the brain-sti^okes nigher ; With white heat blinding in their front, and burning down all day. Intently as the eyes of Death a-feeding on his prey. All the day long, and every day, with patience con- quering pain, Our good and gallant fellows with one purpose for- ward strain ; ■ For there is that within each heart nothing but death can stop ; They hurry on, and hurry on, and hurry till they drop ; 20 iiavelock's march. Tiying to save the remnant ; reach the leaguered place in time To grasp, with red-wet slaughtering hands, the workers of this crime. They think of all the dead that float adown the Ganges' waters : Those noble Englishmen of ours ; their gentle wives and daughters ! Of Fire and Madness broken loose, and doing deeds most pitiful ; And then of vengeance dealt out by the choaked and blackened city -full. They think of those poor things that cHmb each little eminence ; As, from the deluge of the dark, when day is going hence. The sheep will huddle up the hill, and gather there forlorn ; So gather they in this dread night, to wait the far-off mom. Or, crouching in the jungle, they lookup in Nature's face, To find she has no heart, for all her reptihnear grace ! Each leaf a sword, or prickly spear, or lifted jagged knife ! No shields of shelter like our leaves ; but threatening human life, THE AVENGERS. 21 Witli ominous gouts of blood ;- and there the roots go writhing round, [derground. Like curses coiled upon the spring, that rest not un- They find sure tokens all the day ! and starting from their dream At night, they hear the Pariah dogs that howl by Ganges stream, Knowing the waters bear their freight of corpses stiff and stark, [the dark ; Scenting the footfalls on the air, as Death comes down Only the Lotus with ripe hps,and arms caressing clings. The silence swarms with ghastly thoughts ; each sound with ghastly things. There, stands the plough i' the farrow; there the villagers have flown ! There, Fire ran dancing over roofs that underfoot went down ! There, Renaud hung his dangling dead, with but short time for shrift, He caught them on their way to hell, and gave them there a lift. They saw the first sight of their foe as the fourth dawn grew red ; Twenty miles to breakfast marched ; and had to fight instead. 22 HAVELOCK's aiAECH. The morning smiled on arms up-piled, and weary way-worn men, But soon the assembly sounded, and they sprung to arms again ; The heaviest hearts up-leaping light, as flames that tread on air. The Rebel line bore down as they had caught us unaware ; But Maude dasht forward with his guns, over the sandy mire, And little did they rehsh our bright rain of rifle fire : Quickly the onward way was ploughed, with heaps on either hand ; They broke the foe, then broke their fast, that daunt- less Uttle band. Again they felt our \\'ithering fire, by Pandoo Nuddee stream ; Again they feared the crashing charge, and fled the vengeful gleam : Small loss was his in battle when the Conqueror lookt around ; [wound. But many fell from weariness, and died without a Soft, whispering flowery secrets, came a low wind of the west That eve, like breath made balmy with the sweet love in the breast ; THE AVENGERS. , 23 Breathing its freshness thro' the groves of Mango and of Palm ; But the sweetest thing that wind could bring was slumber's holy balm, To bless them for the morrow, and give strength for them to cope With those ten thousand men that stood betwixt them and their hope. It must have been a glorious sight to see them as they went, With veteran valour steady ; sure of proud accom- pHshment, When Havelock bade his liue advance, and the Higrh- landers swept on ; Each one at heart a thousand ; a thousand men as one ; Linked in their beautiful proud line across the broken lands, Straight on ! they never paused to lift the weapon in their hands ; [cloud, Silent, compact and resolute, charged as a thunder- That burst, and wrapt the dead and hving in one smoky shroud; One volley of Defiance ! one wdld cheer ! and through the smoke. They flasht ! and all the battle into flying fragments broke. 24 havelock's march. When night came down they lay there, gashed all over, side by side, The grey old warrior, and the youth, his ^Mother's darling pride ! Rolled with the rebel in the dust, and grim in bloody death ; And over all the mist arose, dank as the graveyard's breath. But hght of heart we took the hill, and very proud that night Was Havelock of his hoble men, and Cawnpore was in sight. The men had neither food nor tent, but the red road was won : And very proud were they to hear their General's " Well done ; " Not knowing how their triumph-cheer had rung a fatal knell ; Or what that wondrous wretch had done who has no match in hell. 25 Cawnpore. Cawnpore was ghastly silent, as into it tliey stepped ; There stood the blackened Ruin that the brave old Soldier kept ! Where strained each ear for the English cheer, and stretcht the wan wide eyes, Thro' all that awful night to see the signal rocket rise ; No tramp, no cheer of Brothers near ; no distant cannon's boom ; Nothing but Death goes to and fro betwixt the glare and gloom. The livuig remnant try to hold their bit of blood- stained ground ; Dark gaps continual in their midst; the dead all lying round; And saddest corpses still are those that die and do not die ; With just a little glimmering light of life to show them by. Each drop of water cost a wound to fetch it from the well; The father heard his crying child and went, but surely fell. 26 havelock's march. They had drunk all their tears, and now dry agony drank their blood ; The sand was killing in their souls ; the wind a fiery flood ; [wold ! Oh, for one waft of heather-breath from off a Scottish One shower that makes our Enghsh leaves smile greener for its gold I Then life drops inward from the eyes ; turns upward with last prayer, To look for its dehverance ; the only way lies there ! And then triumphant Treachery made leap each trusting heart, Like some poor Bird called from the nest, up-poising for the dart. " Come, let us pray," their Chaplain said. No other boon was craved : No pleading word for mercy sued ; no face the white flag waved ; But all grasped hands and prayed, till peace their souls serenely filled ; Then like our noble Martyrs, there they stood up, and were killed. Only one saved ! He led our soldiers to the house of blood ; An eager, panting, cursing crew ! but stricken there they stood CAWNPOEE. 27 In silence that was breathlessness of vensfeance infinite ; A-many wept like women who were fiercest in the fight : There grew a look in human eyes as tho' a wild beast came Up in them at that scent of blood and glared de- vouring flame. AU the Babes and Women butchered ! all the dear ones dead ; The stoiy of their martyrdom in lines of awful red ! The blood-black floor, the clotted gore, fair tresses, fierce sword-dints ; Last message-scrawl upon the wall, and tiny finger- prints : Gathered in one were all strange sights of horror and despair, That make the vision blood-shot, freeze the life, or Hffc the hair. Faces to faces flasht hell-fire ! 0, but they felt 'twould take The very cup of God's own wrath, that terrible thirst to slake : For many a day " Cawnpore" was hissed, and, at its word of guilt, [the hilt. The slaying sword went merciless right, ruddy to ■IS havelock's march. There came a time we caught them, with a vast and whelming wave, And in their grand Secundcr Bagh, we made a bloody grave ! Once more the Highlanders pressed on with nervous, spring^' tread. And Peel was there with his big guns, and Campbell at their head : A spring of daring madness ! and thc}' leapt upon their prey [a day. Willi hungry hearts on (ury fed, for many and many For hours and hours, they slew, and slew, the devils in their den : " Ye ^v^caked youi* will on women weak, now try it with strong men." The blood that cried to heaven long in vapours from our slain. Fell hot and fast upon their heads in a rich ruddy rain. That day we made their delicate white marble glow and swim ; There rose a cry like hell from out a slaughter great and grim : And as they claspt their hands and sued for mercy where they fell, One last sure thrust was given for that red and ^\'rithing Well. CAW^PORE. 29 And there was joy in every heart, and light in every eye, To see the traitor hordes that fled, make a last stand to die! While from the big wide wounds, like snakes, the runlets crawled along And stole away ; the reptiles who had done the cruel wi'ong ! A terrible reprisal for each precious drop they spilled. Seventeen hundred coward killers there were bravely kUled. 30 havelock's march. The Relief. England's unseen, dead Sorrow doth a visible Angel rise ; The sword of justice in her hand ; Revenge looks thro' her eyes : Stem with the purpose in her soul right onward hastens she, Like one that bears the doom of worlds, with venge- ful majesty ; Sombre, superb, and terrible, before them still she goes ! And tho' they lessen day by day, they deal such echo- ing blows. That still dilating with success, still mightier grows that band, Till in the place of hundi-eds, ten thousand seem to stand. With arms that weary not at work, they bear our victor flag. To plant it high on hills of dead, a torn and bloody rag. THE RELIEF. 31 And Lucknow lies before them now, with all its pomp unrolled. ; Against the smiling sapphire, gleam her tops of lighted gold. Each royal wall is fretted all with frostwork and with fire, A glory of colours jewel-rich, that makes a splendour- pyre, As wave on wave the wonder breaks, the pointed flames burn higher ; [spire ; On dome of mosque and minaret, on pinnacle and Fairy creations, seen mid-air, that in their pleasaunce wait, Like winged creatures sitting just outside their heaven- gate. The City in its beauty Hes, with flowers about her feet ; Green fields, and goodly gardens, make so foul a thing seem sweet. The Trumpet rings out for the march with utterance golden-grand, A sound that shivers to the heart of Havelock's little band. And makes their spirits thrill as leaves are thrilled in some wild wind ; Hunger and heartache, weariness and wounds, all left behind. 32 havelock's march. Their sufferings all forgotten now, as in the ranks they form ; [storm. And every man in stature rose to wrestle vnih that All silent ! what was in their hearts could not be said in words ; With faces set for Lucknow, ground to sharpness, keen as swords ! A tightning twitch all over ! a grim glistening in the eye, " Forward !" and on their way they strode to dare, and do, and die. Hope whispers at the ear of some, that they shall meet again. And clasp their long-lost darlings, after all the toil and pain ; A-many know that they will sleep to-night among the slain ; And many a cheek will bloom no more for all the tearful rain : And some have only vengeance ; but to-day 'tis bitter sweet ; And there goes Havelock ! his aim too lofty for defeat ; With steady tramp the column treads, true as the firm heart's-beat ; Upon its headlong murderous march for that long fatal street. THE RELIEF. 33 All ready to win a soldier's gi'ave, or do the daring deed ! But not a man that fears to die for England in her need. The masked artillery raked the i-oad, and plongh'd them front and flank ; [rank ; Some gallant fellow every step was stricken from the But, as he staggered, in his place another sternly stepped ; And, j&i'ing fast as they could load, their onward way they kept. Now, give them the good bayonet ! with England's fiercest foes. Strong arm, cold steel will do it, in the wildest, bloodiest close : [ridge, Ajxd now their bayonets abreast go sparkling up the And with a thrilling cheer they take the guns, and clear the bridge. One good home-thrust ! and sm*ely, as the dead in doom are sure. They send them where the British cheer can trouble them no more. The fire is biting bitterly ; onward the battle rolls ; And Death is glaring at them, from ten thousand hiding holes ; D 34 havelock's march. Death stretches up from earth to heaven, spreading his darkness round ; Death piles the heaps of lielplessness face downward to the ground ; Death flames from deadly ambuscades, where all was still and dark ; Death swiftly speeds on wliizzing wings the bullets to their mark ; Death from the doors and windows, all around and overhead, Darts, with his cloven fiery tongues, incessant, quick, and red : Death everywhere. Death in all sounds, and, thro' the smoky seeth. Victory beckons at the end of long dark lanes of death. Another charge, another cheer, another battery won ! And in a whii-lwind of fierce fire the fight goes roar-. ing on. [fast. Into the very heart of hell, with comrades falling Thro' all that tempest terrible, the glorious remnant passed. No time to help a dear old friend : but Avhere the wounded fell. They knew it was all over, and they lookt a last farewell. THE RELIEF. 35 And dying eyes, slow setting in a cold and stony stare, Turned upward, see a map of murder scribbled on the air With crossing flames ; and others read their fiery fearful fate, ^ In dark, swart faces waiting for them, almost white with hate. O, proudly men will march to death, when Havelock leads them on : Thi'o' all the storm he sat his horse as he were cut in stone ! But now his look grows dark ; his eye lightens with quicker flash : " On, for the Residency, we must make a last brave dash." And on dasht Highlander and Sikh thro' a sea of fire and steel, On, with the lion of their streng-th, our first in glory, Niel ! It seemed the face of heaven grew black, so close it held its breath. Through all the glorious agony of that long march of death. [spread thy shield ! The round shot tears, the bullets rain ; God, out- Put forth thy red right arm, for them ! thy sword of sharpness vsield. 36 havelock's march. One wave breaks forward on the shore, and one falls helpless back : Again they club their wasted strength, to fight like " Hell-fire Jack." And^ still as fainter grows the fire of that intrepid band, [hand. Again they grasp the bayonet as 'twere Salvation's They leap the broad, deep trenches, rush thro' arch- ways streaming fire ; Every step some brave heart bursts, heaving deliver- ance nigher : " I'm hit," cries one, " you'll take me on your back, my comrade, I Should hke to see their bonny white faces once be- fore I die; My body may save you from the shot." His comi'ade bore him on : But, ere they reacht the Bailie Guard, the longing soul was gone. And now the Gateway was in sight ; the last grim moment came. One moment makes immortal ! dead or living, end- less fame ! [thrilled ; They heard the voice of fiery Niel, that like a trumpet " Push on my men, 'tis getting dark:" he sat where he was killed. THE RELIEF. " 37 Another frantic surge of life, and plunging o'er the bar, [of war. Right into harbour bursting goes their whirling wave And breaks in mighty thunders of reverberating cheers, . [tears. Then dances on in frolic foam of kisses, blessings. Stabbed by mistake, one native cries with the last breath be draws, " Welcome, my friends, never you mind, it's all for the good cause." How they had leaned and listened, as the battle sounded nigher ; How they had strained their eyes to see them coming crown'd with fire ! Till in the flashing street they heard them breathing bloody breath, And then the English faces came white from the clouds of death ; And iron grasp met tender clasp ; wan weeping- women fold Their dear Deliverers, down whose long rough beards the big tears rolled. Another such a meeting will not be on this side heaven ! The Httle wine they have hoarded, to the last drop shall be given 38 havelock's march. To those who, in their mortal need, fought on thro' fearful odds, Bled for them, reacht them, saved them, less like men than glorious gods. Death of Havelock. The Warrior may be ripe for rest, and laurelled with great deeds, But till their work be done, no rest for those whom God yet needs : Whether in rivers of ruin their onward way they tear, Or healing waters trembling with the beauty that they bear ; Blasting or blessing they must on : on, on, for ever on ! Divine unrest is in their breast, until their work be done. Nor is it all a pleasant path the sacred band must tread. With life a summer hohday, and death a do^^^ly bed ! They wear away with noble use, they drink the tearful cup ; And they miist bear the bitter cross who go with Christ to sup. Each day his face grew thinner, and sweeter, saint- Her grew The smiling soul that every day was burning keenlier through. 40 HAVELOCIi's MARCH. And liigher, each day higher, did the hfe-flamc heavenward ehmb, Like sad sweet sunshine up the wall, that for the sunset time Still watches ; and the signal that shall call it hence is given ; Even so his spirit kept the watch, till beckoned home to heaven. His work was done, his eyes A^•ith peace were soft and satisfied ; War-worn and wasted, in the arms of Victory he died. " Havelock 's dead," and darkness fell on every up- turned face ; The shadow of an Angel passing from its earthly place. They laid it low, the old grey head, not only grey with years ; It had been bowed in Sorrow's lap and silvered with her tears ; Our England may not crown it, with her heart too fall for speech ; The hand that draws into the dark, hath borne it beyond reach. The eyes of far-away heaven-blue, with such keen lustre lit, As they could pierce the dark of death, and, star-like, fathom it, DEATH OF HAVELOCK. 41 They may not s"vvim wdth sweetness as the happy Children run To welcome home the Reaper, when the weary day is done ! How would the tremulous radiance round the old man's mouth have smiled ; Our good grey-headed hero, with the heart of a little child. In grandest strength he fell, full-length ; and now our hero climbs To those who stood up in their day and spoke \vith. after times : There on the battlements of Heaven, they watch us, looking back To see the blessing flow for those who follow in their track. He smileth from his heaven now ; the Martyr with his palm ; [calm. The weary warrior's tired Hfe is crown'd with starr}' On many sailing thro' the storm another star shall shine, And they shall look vip thro' the night and conquer at the sis;n. In the red pass of peril, with a fame shall never dim. Died Havelock, the Good Soldier ; who would not die hke him? 42 havelock's makch. Honour to Hcnrj- Havelock ! tho' not of kingly blood, He wore the double royalty of being great and good. He rose and reacht the topmost height ; our Hero lowly bom: So from the lowly grass hath grown the proud em- battled Corn ! He rose up in our cruel need, and towering on he trod ; Bearing his brow to battle bold, as humbly to his God. He did his work nor thought of nations linging with his name, He walkt with Grod, and talkt with God, nor cared if following Fame [ground; Should find him toiling in the field, or sleeping under- Nor did he mind what resting-place, with heaven em- bracing round. ^Vlicn swarming hell had broken bounds, he showed us hoAv to stand With rootage Hke the Palm amidst the maddest whirl of sand ; Undaunted while the swarthy sfbrm around him swirled and swirled, A win diner sheet of all white life ! a wild Sahara world ! The drowning waves closed over him, lost to all human view, But, like an arrow straight from God, he cleft their twelve hosts through. DEATH OP HAVELOCK. 43 No swerving' as lie ^\'alkt along the rearing earth- quake ridge ; He made a way for Victory, his body was her bridge. Grrand in the mouths of men his fame along the cen- turies runs; Women shall read of his great deed and bear heroic sons. He leant a trusting hand on heaven, a gentle heart on home ; In secret he grew ready, ere the Judgment hour was come. In darkest days of duty he had seen God's goodness shown ; And now, in all his beauty sees the King upon his throne ! Some Angel-Mute had led him thro' his trial's thorny ways, Till, on a sudden, lo, he stood, full in the glory's blaze. Aloud, for all the world to hear, Grod called his ser- vant's name, And led him forth, where all might see, upon the heights of fame. His arch of life, suspended as it sprang, in heaven appears, Om* bow of promise o'er the storm, seen thro' re- joicing tears. 44 havelock's march. Joy to old England ! she has stuff for storm-sail and for stay, While she can breed such heroes, in her quiet, homely way: Such martial souls that go with grim, war-figured brows pulled do^vn. As men that are resolved to bear Death's heavy, iron crown. So long as she has sons like these, no foe shall make her bow, TVhUe Ocean washes her white feet ; Heaven kisses her fair brow. Her beauty high and starKke in its splendour, hath not fled ; Her bravery high and warlike is not vanisht, is not dead : War blows aAvay the ashes gray, and kindles at the core, Live sparkles of such sacred fire as glowed on Marston Moor. Thank God for all our heroes, who so wondrously have done ! [son : Thank God for men like Havelock, and mighty Xichol- Hodgeson, of Hodgeson's Horse, who slew the guiltiest ; noble Xiel ; And he o' the good Ship Shannon, our beloved Cap- tain Peel I ■ • l.—'.'.i.. If India's : ^ h single sa— :c:Lr ~;cl the wliole. One figiiter never wonld give in, thro' all his fearless part; One fortress *_ rer win; 'twas the true Tlie L:_ . Jix bursting Cloud, ^drich were B-- 5^- V . .i ziu'f-stT dear in the sterner H:i2iazid towers c': i . i : rarer starure ^ i: - - and strsi: r-- : ; ..^-z^-i _ :■ - -Z- _ :. when the tir: - and coM, And wo^ dirinelj in young reins ; hr rnor bovhood to the old- Behold he: -. 1 to field .n Victory's dKoioc ~Lt — . Till to its d^-^L. :ig to death. Rebellion backward reels. i6 hayelock's march. Her Martyrs are aveng'd ! ye raay search that In- dian land, And scarcely find a single soul of all the bloody band. We've many a nameless hero lying in his iinkno'wn gi-ave, Their life's gold fragment gleaming but a sunfleck on the wave. But rest you unknown, noble dead ! our living are one hand Of England's power ; but, with her dead she grasps into the land. In many a country they sleep crown' d, her conquer- in 2:. faithful dead ; They pave her path where shines her sun of empire overhead ; And where their blood has turned to bloom, our England's Rose is red : They circle in a glorious ring, with which the world is wed. [and sod. For us the flower of our race makes quick the sand And there, as here, amid our dead, we build our Church to God. Your Brother Willie, boy, was one of Havelock's Httle band : [Land. My Son ! my beautiful brave Son, Kes in that Indian DEATH OF HAVELOCK, 47 They buried laim by the way-side where he bowed him down to die, While Homeward in its eastern pomp the Triumph passed him by. And even yet mine eyes are wet, but 'tis with that proud tear A great grand feehng in its front doth Hke a jewel wear. I see him ! on liis forehead shines the conqueror's burning crest, And God's own cross of Victory is on his martial breast. I should have hked to have felt him near, when these old eyes are dim, But gave him to our England ; she had greater need of him. 48 . THE NORSEMAN. A SWARTHY strength, with face of light, As dark sword-iron is beaten bright : A brave frank look, with health a-glow, Bonny blue eyes and open brow ; His friend he welcomes heart-in-hand. But foot to foot his foe must stand ; A man who will face to his last breath The sternest facts of life and death : This is the daring Norseman. The wild wave-motion, weird and strange, Rocks in him : seaward he must range. For life is just a mighty lust To wear away with use, not rust. Though bitter wintry cold the storm, The fire within him keeps him warm. Kings quiver at his flag unfurled : The sea-king's master of the world : Conquering comes the Norseman. He hides, at heart of his rough life, A world of sweetness for the wife ; THE NORSEMAN. 49 From his mde breast a babe may press Soft milk of human tenderness, Make his eyes water, his heart dance, And sunrise in his countenance : In merry mood his ale he quaffs By firehght, and his jolly heart laughs ; The bhthe great-hearted Norseman. But when the battle-truxapet rings, His soul's a war-horse clad with wing's I He drinks delight in with the breath Of battle and the dust of death ! The axes redden, spring the sparks, Blood-radiant gro w the grey mail-sarks .- Such blows might batter, as they fell, Heaven's gates, or burst the booms of hell : So fights the fearless Norseman. o* The Norseman's King must stand up tall ; A head that could be seen o'er aU ; Mainmast of Battle ! when the plain Grew miry red with bloody rain ; And grip his weapon for the fight, Until his knuckles all grew white ! Their banner-staff he bears is best If double handful for the rest, When "follow me" cries the Noi'seman. 50 THE NORSEMAN. Valiant and true, as Sagas tell, The Norseman hated lies like hell ; Hardy from cradle to the grave, 'Twas their rehgion to be brave ; Great silent fighting men, whose words Were few, soon said, and out with swords ! One, saw his heart cut from his side, Liying—and smiled ; and smiling, died ! The unconquerable Norseman. They swam the flood, they strode in flame, Nor quailed when the Valkyrie came To kiss the chosen for her charms. With " Rest, my hero, in mine arms." Their spirits through a grim A^-ide wound, The Norse doorway to Heaven found. And borne upon the battle-blast, Into the Hall of Heroes passed : And there was crowned the Norseman. The Norseman wrestled with old Rome For Freedom in our island home : He taught us how to ride the sea, With hempen bridle, horse of tree. His spuit stood with Robin Hood, By Freedom in the merry green wood, THE NORSEMAN. 51 Wlien William riiled the Eno-lish land, Witli cniel heart and bloody hand ; For freedom fights the Norseman. Still in our race the Norse king reigns, His best blood beats along oni' veins ; With his old glory we can glow, And surely steam where he could row. Is danger stirring ? Up from sleep Our war-dog wakes, his watch to keep ; Stands with our banner over him, True as of old, and stern and g-rim ; Come on, you'll find the Norseman. When swords are gleaming you shall see The Norseman's face flash gloriously, With look that makes the foeman reel : His mirror from of old was steel. And still he wields, in battle's hour, That old Thor's hammer of Norse power ; Strikes with a desperate arm of might. And at the last tug turns the fight : For never yields the Norseman. 52 OLD KING HAKE. Got by the Sea on a rocky coast Was old King Hake ; ^\^le^e inner fire and outer frost Brave virtue make ! He was a liero in the old Blood-letting days ; An iron hero of Norse mould, And warring ways. He lived according to the light That lighted him ; Then strode into the eternal night, Resolved and gi-im. His grip was stern for free sword play, When men were mown ; His feet were roughshod for the day Of treading down. When angry, out the blood would start With old King Hake ; "Not sneak in dark caves of the heart, Where curls the snake, And secret Murder's hiss is heard Ere the deed be done. OLD KING HAKE, 53 He wove no web of wile and word ; He bore with none. When sharp witliin its sheath asleep Lay his good sword, He held it royal work to keep His kingly word. A man of valour, bloody and wild, In Viking need ; And yet of firehght feeling mild As honey-mead. Once in his youth, from farm to farna, Collecting scatt. He gathered gifts and welcomes warm ; And one night sat. With hearts all happy for his throne — Wishing no higher — Where peasant faces merrily shone Across the fire. Their Braga-bowl was handed round By one fair girl : The Sea- King lookt and thought, " I've found My hidden pearl." Her wavy hair was golden fair. With sunbeams curled ; Her eyes clear blue as heaven, and there Lay his new world. 54 OLD KING HAKE. He drank out of the mighty horn, Strong, stinging sttiff; Then wiped his mardy mouth unshorn With hand as rough, And Idssed her ; drew her to his side, With loving inien, SajHtng, " If you will make her a Bride, I'll make her a Queen." And round her waist she felt an arm, For in those days A waist could feel : 'twas Hthe and warm, And wore no stays'. " How many brave deeds have you done ? " She asked her wooer, Counting the arm's gold rings : they won One victory more. The blood of joy looked rich and red Out of his face ; And to his smihng strength he wed Her maiden grace. 'Twas thus King Hake struck royal root In homely ground ; And healthier buds with goodlier fruit i His branches crowned. But Hake could never bind at home His spirit free ; OLD KING HAKE. 55 It grew familiar with tlie foam Of m.any a sea ; A rare good blade whose way was rent In many a war, And wore no gem for ornament Bnt notch and scar. In day of battle and hour of strife, Cried Old King Hake : " Kings Hve for honour, not long life." Then would he break Right through their circle of shields, to reach Some chief of a race That never yielded ground, but each Died iu liis place. There the old Norseman towered tall Above the rest A head and shoulders, like King Saul ; They saw his crest Toss, where the war- wave reared, and rode O'er mounds of dead, And where the battle- dust was trod A miry red. For Odin, ia the glad wide blue Of heaven, would laugh With sunrise, and the ruddy dew Of slaughter quaff. 56 OLD KING HAKE. But, 'twas tlie grandest gallant show To see him sit, With his Long- Serpent all aglow, And steering it For the hot heart of fiercest fight. A grewsome shape ! The dragon-head rose, glancing bright. And all agape ; Over the calm blue sea it came Writliingly on, As half in sea, and half in flame, It swam, and shone. The surdit shields link scale to scale From stem to stem. Over the steersman's head the tail Doth twist and bum. With oars all moved at once, it makes Low hoverings ; Half walks the water, and half takes The air with wings. The war-horns bid the fight begin With death-grip good : King Hake goes at the foremost, in His Bare-Sark mood. A twelvemonth's taxes spent in spears Hurled in an hour ! OLD KING HAKE. 57 But in that host no spirit fears The hurthng shower. And long will many a mother and wife Wait, weary at home, Ere from that mortal murderous strife Their darlings come. Hake did not seek to softly die, With cliild and wife : He bore his head in death as high As iu his life. Grlittering in eye, and grim in hp, He bade them make Ready for sailing his War- Ship, That he, Kjng Hake, The many-wounded, gi'ey, and old, His day being done. He, the Norse warrior, brave and bold. Might die like one. And chanting some old battle-song, Tlnilling and weird. His soul vibrating, shook his long Majestic beard. The gilded battle-axe, still red. In his right hand ; With shield on arm, and helm on head, They helpt him stand, OLD KING HAKE. And girded him with his good sword ; And so attired, With his dead warriors all aboard, The ship he fired, And lay down with his heroes dead, On deck to die ; Still singing, drooped his grey old head, With face to sk5^ The wind blew seawards ; gloriously The death-pyre glowed ; On his last Viking voyage he Triumphing rode : Floating afar between the Isles, To his last home. Where open-armed Valhalla smiles, And bids him come. There, as a sinking sunset dies Down in the west, The fire went out ; the rude heart lies At rest — at rest. And sleeping in its ocean bed, That burial-place Most royal for the kingly dead 0' the old sea-race ! So the Norse noble of renown. With his stem pride. That flaming crown of death pulled down. And so he died. \ 69 GARIBALDI. He is the Helper that Italy wanted To free her from fetters and cerements quite : His is the great heart no dangers have daunted ; His is the true hand to finish the fight. Way, for a Man of the kingKest nature ! Scope, for a soul of the high Roman stature ! His great deeds have crown'd him ; His heroes are round him ; On, on Graribaldi, for Freedom and Right. To brave battle-music up goes the smoke-curtain ; A Country arises, aU one should he call : The sound of his trumpet is never uncertain ; He fights for his Cause till it conquer or faU. His chariot wheels do not spin without biting ; And far better pointed for Freedom's red writing — His Rifles and Guns — Than their pohtic pens ; Garibaldi, my Hero, best Man of them all. 60 GAEIBALDI. When he sail'd up our river, the frank hearty Seaman, We saw how an EngHsh soul smiled from his face : For Italy's saviour we knew it was the man, All hero, no matter what ^arb, or what place. And we prayed he might have one more grip that was glorious ! Prophesied he should be leader victorious Of Italy, free From the Alps to the sea ; Now breathless wc watch while he runs the great race. Fierce out of torment his fighters have risen, Shouting from hell where they tortured them dumb ; JNIaimed from old battle-fields, mad from the prison. Suddenly, strange as Cloud-armies, they come ; With mouths that can shut like the Eagle's beak clasping ; With hands that wiU grip like a bower-anchor grasping; The fljTng foe feels, When they're close at his heels, That Death and the Devil are bringing his doom. Not only Hving ! but dead men are fighting For him ! thus with few he can fight the great host; For each one they see an unseen foe is smiting ; Over each head an avenging white ghost ! GARIBALDI. 61 All the young Martyrs they murdered by moonhght ; All the dark deeds of blood done in the noonlight, Shall make their hearts reel With a shudder, and kneel To lay down their arms and give aU up for lost. They tell the wild tales of him, gathered together, Turn pale at his shadow in. midst of their speech ; For down he swoops on them, like hawk on the heather. Strikes home with sui'e aim, and up-soars beyond reach. Or he sweeps all before him with whii'ling blade reeking ; They fly helter-skelter, for shelter run shrieking. As waves wild and white. Driven mad with affright, Are dasht into foam as they hide up the beach. Watching o' nights in the cold, he remembers The homes of his love in their ashes laid low ; And hot in his heart Vengeance rakes up the embers, To warm her old hands at the wrathful red glow. He has had torn from him all that was nearest ; He has seen murdered his darlings the dearest ; With all this and more, To the heart's crimson core He kindles ! and all flashes out on the Foe. 62 GAEIBALDI. No Peace, Garibaldi, till Italy, stronger Shall sit with free nations, majestic, serene ; And meet them as lovers may meet when no longer The cold corse of one that was dead lies between. For this, God was with you when perils were round you; For this, the fire smote you not, floods have not drown 'd you ; Their Sword and their Shot, Have harmed you not, And your Purpose croucht long for its spring un- seen. On, with our British hearts all beating true to 3-ou ; All keeping time to the march of the brave ! I would to God we might cut our way thro' to you, Gallantly breasting the stormiest wave. Would the old Lion could leap in to greet you. Just as our free blood is leaping to meet you, Stand by your side In his terrible pride. Mighty to shield, as You're daring to save. Long was the night of her kneeling ; but surely Shall Italy rise to her queenhest height. Many a time has the battle gone sorely. To make the last triumph more signal and bright. GARIBALDI. 63 Her foes shall be swept from her path lite the stubble, For now is tlieir day of clown-treading and trouble ; God tires of old Rome ! Yenetia cries " Come." On, on Garibaldi, for Freedom and Right. 64 SIR RICHARD GREXVILLE'S LAST FIGHT. Our second Richard Lion-Heart, In days of great Queen Bess, He did this deed of righteous rage, And true old nobleness ; With wTath heroic that was nurst To bear the fieriest battle-burst ; When willing foes should wreak their worst. Signalled the English Admiral, " Weigh or cut Anchors." For A Spanish Fleet bore down in all The majesty of war, Athwart our tack for many a mile ; As there we lay off Florez Isle ; Our crews half sick ; all tired of toil. Eleven of our twelve ships escaped, — Sir Richard stood alone ! Though they were three-and-fifty-sail — A hundred men to one, The old Sea- Rover would not run. So long as he had man or gun ; But he could die when aU was done. SIR RICHARD GRENVILLE's LAST FIGHT. 65 " The Devil has broken loose, my lads, " In shape of Popish Spain; " And we must sink him in the sea, " Or hound him home again ; " N'ow you old Sea-dogs, show your paws! " Have at them tooth, and nail, and claws." And then his long, bright blade he draws. The deck was cleared, the Boatswain blew ; The grim sea-Hons stand. The death-fires Kt in every eye ; The burning match in hand : With mail of glorious intent All hearts were clad ; and in they went, A force that cut through where 'twas sent. " Push home, my hardy Pikemen ; For we play a desperate part ; To-day, my Gunners, let them feel The pulse of England's heart ! They shall remeraber long that we Once Kved ; and think how shamefully We shook them ! one to fifty- three." With face of one who cheerly goes To meet his doom that day, 66 SIR RICHARD GRENVILLE'S Sir Richard sprang upon liis foes ; The foremost gave him way ; His round shot smasht them thro' and thro' ; The great white sphnters fiercely flew; And madder grew his fighting few. They clasp the little Ship Revenge, As in the arms of fire ; They run aboard her, six at once ; Hearts beat and guns leap higher : Through bloody gaps the Boarders swam ; But still our English stay the storm ; The bulwark ia their breast is firm. Ship after Ship, like broken waves That wash up on a rock. Those mighty gallfeons fall back foiled, And shattered from the shock. With fire she answers all theii' blows ; Again, again in pieces strows The burning girdle of her foes. Tlirough all the night the great white storm Of worlds in silence rolled ; Siiius Avith his sapphire sparkle ; Mars in ruddy gold : LAST FIGHT. %*1 Heaven lookt, with stillness terrible, Down on a fi^ht most fierce and fell ; A Sea transfigured iato hell. ' Some know not they are wounded - Till 'tis sHppery where they stand ; Some with their own good blood make fast The pike stafi* to their hand : Wild faces glow through lurid night, With sweat of spirit sliining bright : Only the dead on deck turn white. At daybreak the flame-picture fades, In blackness and in blood ; There ! after fifteen hours of fight, The unconquered Sea- King stood. Defying all the power of Spaia : Fifteen Armadas hurled in vain ; And fifteen hundred foemen slaia. Around that httle Bark Revenge, The bafiled Spaniards ride At distance. Two of their good Ships Were sunken at her side ; The rest lie round her in a ring. As round the dying lion-king, The Dogs, afraid of his death-spring. 68 SIR RICHARD GEENVILLE'S Our pikes all broken ; powder spent ; Sails, masts to shreds were blown ; And with her dead and wounded crew The ship was going down ! Sir Richard's wounds were hot and deep ; Then cried he, with a proud, pale lip, " Ho Gunner, spht and sink the ship ; " Make ready, now my Mariners, " To go aloft with me ; " That nothing to the Spaniard " May remain of victory. " They cannot take us, nor we yield ; " So let us leave our battle field, " Under the shelter of God's shield." They had not heart to dare fulfil The stem commander's word : With bloody hands, and weeping eyes. They carried him aboard The Spaniard's Sliip ; and round him stand The wan'iors of his wasted band. Then said he, feeling death at hand, " Here die I, Richard Grenville, With a joyftd and quiet mind ; LAST FIGHT. 69 I reach a Soldier's end ; I leave A Soldier's fame beHiid ; Who for his Queen and Country fought, For Honour and Rehgion wi'ought, And died as a true Soldier ought." Earth never returned a worthier trust, For hand of Heaven to take. Since Arthur's sword, Excalibur, Was cast into the lake, And the King's grievous wounds were di'essed, And healed by weeping Queens who blessed. And bore him to a valley of rest. Old Heroes who could grandly do, As they could greatly dare ; A vesture, very glorious, Their shining spirits wear, Of noble deeds. God give us grace. That we may see such face to face. In our great day that comes apace. 70 SIR ROBERT'S SAILOR SOX. Our country hath no need to raise The ghosts of glories gone ; Such heroes dying in our days, Still hand the Hve torch on. Brave blood as bright a crimson gleams, StiU bums as goodly zeal ; The old heroic radiance beams In men like William Peel. With beautiful bravery clothed on. And such high moral grace, The flash of rare soul-armour shone Out of his noble face ! So mild in peace, so stem in war. He walkt our English way ; Just one of Shakespeare's Warriors for A weary working day. His Sailors loved him so on deck ; So cheery was his call, They leapt on land, and in his wake Followed him, guns and all. SIR Robert's sailor son. 71 For, as a battle-brand red-hot, His Spirit grew and glowed. When in his swift war-chariot The Avenger rose and rode. Sleep, Sailor Darling, true and brave, With our dead Soldiers sleep ! That so the land you hved to save. You shall have died to keep. You may have wished the dear Sea-blue To have folded round your breast ; But God had other work for you, And other place of rest. We might have reacht you with our wreath If living ; but laid low. You grow so grand ; and after death The deaniess deepens so ! To have gone so soon, so loved to have died, So young to wear that crown, We think. Yet with such thrills of pride As shake the last tears down. Our old Norse Fathers speak thro' you ; Speak with their strange sea-charm. That sets our hearts a-beating to The music of the storm. 72 SIR Robert's sailor son. There comes a Spirit froin the deep The salt Avind waves its -wings ; That rouses from our Inland sleep The blood of the old Sea Kings. God rest you, gallant William Peel, With those whom England leaves Scattered, while yet she plies her steel, But God gleans up in sheaves. We'll talk of you on land, a-board, Till Boys shall feel as Men, And forests of hands clutch at this Sword Death gives us back again. 75 ONE OF GARIBALDI'S MEN. A CRIPPLED Child, a weak wan Boy, He sat at Mother's side, — A widowed Mother's gentle joy, Her only wealth and pride : — One of those spirits, sweet and sad, That breathe with burthened breath, Are grave in life, but calmly glad Their faces smile in death. With a weird lustre in his look, Over his books he pored. Like one that, in a secret nook. Sharpens a patriot sword. The story of his country's wrongs Made his heart melt in tears ; The music of her olden songs Rang thrilling in his ears. Oft in his face, white as a corse. Brave soldier blood up-springs, '76 ONE OF garibaldi's men. Hot as the wamor leaps to liorse, When Battle's trumpet riugs ; With spirit afloat and blood a-flame, Where Freedom's banners wave, To wiB a name of glorious fame, Or fill a Soldier's grave. The leal heart of a loving Maid Ran over towards him, Longing Avith kisses to be stayed There at the ruddy brim ! But husht the yearning in her breast, !N"or murmur made nor moan ; And lookt as she had found the nest, But, lo ! the Bird was flown. Suddenly, Freedom's thunder-horn The graveyard stillness broke ;— It was the resurrection-morn, And Italy awoke ! He felt her majesty and strength Lift up his spirit too : To Manhood he had leapt at length, And almost stately grcAv. Then came, with all they had to give, Each kneeHng worshipper : ONE OF GAEIBALDl's MEN. 77 Aiid he, too, not worth much to live, But he could die for her. The Widow gave her only Child, Blessed him, and bade him win ; And outwardly her proud face smiled, While dropping tears within. The General lookt on this young life Held out in hands so small ! He could not, for the battle-strife, Take the poor Widow's all. " Poor Child !" he said, " rest you at home For the good Mother's sake ; We'll not forget you when we come." It made his old heart ache. 'Twas at the close of one great day. The Red Shirts raised their cheer, For Garibaldi came to say, " Well done !" One cried, " I'm here ! And wounded in the battle's brunt." " What ! hit behind, my child ? But brave men wear their wounds in front." And playfully he smUed. Again, at the Volturno's fight The boy led on his band ; 78 ONE OF GAEIBALDl's MEN. Uplifted there on Capua's height, He saw the Promised Land, As Pilgi'ims see their Mecca rise Over the desert's rim ; — He saw, — possessed it with his eyes ! Enough, enough for him. Proud of his Boys, the General rode Past faces all a-flame, And praised them ; and their spirits glowed As if from heaven he came. Then something caught his eye ; he reined His horse, stooped Uke a grand Old weather-beaten angel, stained With battle-smoke, and tanned ! With look more loud than cry or caU, One staggered from the rest : " I'm hit once more, my General, — And" — pointing to his breast, — " Tliis time — see ! — 'tis in the right place." His smile was strangely sweet : He lookt in Garibaldi's face. And feU dead at his feet ! HUGH miller's GRAVE. 79 HUGH MILLER'S GRAVE. Before the grim grave closes, let me drop My few poor flowers upon his Coffin lid ! I loved the man : his taking roughness too I Hked ; it was the Sword-hilt rough with gems. I loved him living, not with that late love Which asks for rootage in the dead man's grave. And must be writ in Marble to endure. To many he seemed stem, for he could guard His tongue with his good teeth : to some he showed Rough as the Holly's lower range of leaves, His prickly humour aU alive with spears : But if you, cHmbed to the serener height, You found a life in smooth and shining leaf, And crowned with calm, and lying nearer heaven. Low hes the grandest head in all Scotland. We'U miss him when there's noble work to do ! We'll miss him coming thro' the crowded street. Like plaided Shepherd from the Ross-shire Hills, Stalwart and iron-grey and weather-worn ; 80 HUGH miller's GRAVE. His tall head holding up a lonely lamp Of steadfast thought still burning in his eyes, Like some masthead-light lonely thro' the night ; His eyes, that rather dreamed than saw, deep-set In the brow's shadow, looking forward, fixed On something wliich we saw not, solemn, strange ! He was a Hero true as ever stept In the Foi'lom Hope of a warring world : And from opposing circumstance his palm Drew loftier stature, and a lustier strength. From the far dreamland height of youthful years He flung his gage out mid the trampling strife. And fought liis way to it with spirit that cut Like a scythed chariot, and took up his own. Once more Childe Roland to the dark tower came, SaAv bright forms beckon on the battlements, And stormed thro' fighting foes, true steel to steel ; Slow step by step he won liis winding way. And reached the top, and stood up Victor there ; And yet with most brave meekness it was done. His Hfe-tree fair of leaf, and rich in fruit ! We coiJd not see it mouldering at the heart. We knew not how in nights of pain he groped. And groped with bleeding feel do\vn the dark crypts Of consciousness, to find the buried sense ; When the faint flame of being flickeiing low, HUGH miller's grave. 81 Made fearful shadows spectral on the walls ; And beckoning terrors muttered in the dark ; Old misery-mongers moaned along the wind ; The lights burned blue as Death were breathing near, And dead hands seemed to reach and drag him down. The powers of Evil often have a hand With human Lots in the dim urn of Fate. The awful Dark flung over him a pall Of pain, hot hands of hell were on his eyes, And Devils drew him thro' the cold night- wind ; But while they held the helpless body bound, The spirit broke away. That rent was death ! The iron will wherewith he cleft his path From the stone- quarries to the heights of fame, Still strove for ft-eedom when the leap was death. Ay me, poor fellow ! would we had but known. And reacht him in that horror of great gloom, And caught his hand, and prayed that he would bid Us kindlier farewell : leave us when 'twas light ! But, never doubt God's Children find their home By dark as well as day. The life he lived. And not the death he died, was first in judgment. It is the writuig on the folded scroll Death sends, and not the seal, that God will judge. G 82 HUGH miller's grave. I love to tlrnxk: the Spirit of Cowper caught Hold of his poor weak vrandering hands in help, As at the dark door he in blindness gi'oped. How it would touch that tender soul to read The earthly memories written in his face ! Such memories as ope the gates of heaven : And he who soothed him with last words on earth Might whisper his first welcome in the heavens, And lead him thro' cool valleys green where grow The leaves of heahng by the river of Hfe, Where tears and travel-stains are wiped away, All troubled thoughts laid in ambrosial rest, And there is no more pain. Then as they bowed Before His throne who sitteth in the Heavens, Perchance the pleading Poet prayed that he Might sit beside him at th' eternal feast. The fancy flower-like from his cofl&n grew Even while I lookt. He lay as Death did seem Only a dream he might have dreamed before ; All peaceful as the face of Sabbath morn : The meekened witness of another world. That stem white stillness had a starry touch, As his last look had caught the first of heaven. The battle-armour of a soldier soul Lay battered, but stUl bright from many blows, Upon the field ; and such as few could wear. HUGH miller's GRAVE. 83 The ghosts of last year leaves, that last night rose And rustled in their spectral dance of death, Are laid and silent in a shroud of snow ! The day is dark above the long dark host ! The sad husht heavens seem choked, but cannot weep ! Many pale faces, many tristful eyes. With dumb looks pleading for the kindly raia That comes not when the heart can only cry "With unshed tears, close round his wintry grave ! The lonely men whose lives are still alight And shining when the tired toUers sleep. To whom Night brings the larger thoughts like Stars. I marvel if among them there is one Who shudders when men speak of such a death As if they named His — who has longed to pluck Death's cool hand down upon the burning brain But chokes the secret in his heart as thouch He crusht a hissing serpent in his hand. Lest it scream out, and his white face be known ! Ah ! come away, for sorrow is a child That needs no nursing ! And all seems so strange. One last look, and then home to feel and feel What we have lost ; and when ft-om the dark earth A spring-tide dawn of leaf-hght gHstens green, And Nature with her dewfall and her rain Gives to our grief the last calm tender touch, ,84 HUGH miller's grave. And makes the Heartsease grow from out his grave, In those sweet days when hearts are tenderest For those who never come back with the flowers, Upon some balmy Eve so beautiful We should not wonder if an Angel stood Suddenly at our side ; the silent march Of all the beauty culminating thus ! Then let us come, dear friend, and spend an hour — Wliile Nature kneeleth in all places lowly, God's blessing resting on a time so holy — At the communion table of His tomb. 85 ROBERT BLAKE. Our Happy Warrior ! of a race To whom are richly given Great glory and pectdiar grace, Because in league with Heaven : Not that the mortal course they trod Was free from briar and thorn ! Who wears the aiTow-mark of God, The wound must first have borne. So like a Sailor Saint was he. Our Sea- Bang ; grave and sweet In temper after victory, And cheerful in defeat. And men would leave their quiet home, To foUow in his wake. And fight in fire, or float in foam, For love of Robert Blake. Like that drum-head of Zisca's skin. Thrills his heroic name ; And how the salt-sea-sparkle in Us, flashes at his fame ! 86 ROBERT BLAKE. His Picture in our heart's best books Still keeps its pride of place, From which a lofty spirit looks With an unfading face ; _ A face as of an Angel who !Might live his Boyhood here ! And yet how deadly grand it grew When Wrong di'ew darkening near. All ridged and ready trencht for war, The fair frank brow was bent ; Then flasht, like sudden scimitar, The lion lineament. Behold him with his gallant bond, On leagured Lyme's red beach ; Shoulder to shoulder see them stand At Taunton in the breach ! Safe through the battle-shocks he went With sword-sweep stem and wide ; Strode the grim heaps as Death had lent Him his White Horse to ride. " Q-ive in ! our toils you cannot break ; The Lion is in the net ! Famine fights for us." " N'o," said Blake, " My boots I have not ate." EOBBET BLAKE. 87 He smiled across the bitter cup ; He gripped his good sword-heft ; " I should not dream of giving up While such a meal is left." Where trumpets blow, and streamers flow, Behold him calm and proud. Bear down upon his bravest foe ; A bursting thunder-cloud ! Foremost of all the host that strove To crowd Death's open door, In giant mood his way he clove ; The Man to go before ! And tho' the Battle-Hghtning blazed ; The thunders roar and roll ; He to Immortal Beauty raised A statue with his soul. And never did the Greeks of old Mirror in marble rare A Wrestler of so fine a mould ; An Athlete half so fair. Homeward the dying Sea-Eang tmnis From his last famous fight ; For England's dear green hills he yearns, And strains his fading sight : 88 EGBERT BLAKE. The old cliffs loom out dim and grand, The old War-ship glides on — With one last wave hfe tries to land, Falls seaward, and is gone. With that last leap to touch the coast, He passed iato his rest, And Blake's unwearjTng arms were crossed For ever on his breast ; And while our England waits and twines For him her latest wreath. His is a cro\\'n of stars that shines From out the dusk of death. For him no pleasant age of ease To wear what Youth could -sv-in ; For him no Children round his knees To get his harvest in. But with a soul serene he takes Whatever lot may come ; And such a life of labour makes A glorious going home. Famous old Trueheart, dead and gone, Long shall his glory grow ; He never turned his back upon A friend, nor face from foe. EGBERT BLAKE. 89 He made tliem fear old England's name Wherever it was heard ; He put her proudest foes to shame, And God smiled on his Sword. "With lofty courage, loftier love, He died for England's sake ; And mid our loftiest Hghts above, Shines our illustrious Blake ! — And shall shine ! Glory of the West, And Beacon for the seas ; While Britain bares her sailor breast To battle or to breeze. Till she forget her old sea-fame, Shall England honour him, And keep the grave-grass from his name Till her old eyes be dim. And long as free waves folding round, Brimful with blessing break, At heart she holds him, calm and crown'd. Immortal Robert Blake. Great Sailor on the seas of strife ; Victor by land and wave ; Brave liver of a gallant life ; Lord of a glorious grave 90 ROBERT BLAKE, Tme Soldier set on earthly lull As Sentinel of heaven ; A King who keeps his kingdom till The last award be given. 91 THE OLD FLAG. An Emperor babbled in his dreams, — Ne'er sleeps the secret in his soul, — " The Lion is old, and ready he seems To draw my Chai"iot to its goal." With awful light the Lion's eye Began to flame — subhme he stands ! With looks that make the Tyrant try To hide his bloody hands. Thank God, the advancing tide is met ! Thank God, the Old Flag 's flying yet. We love our native land and laws. And He would rather we did not ! We are Conspirators because We are in our little green grass plot ! But let him follow up his frown, Marshal his myriads for the blow ; Those who are doomed to drown must drown ; The rest we '11 take in tow ! 92 THE OLD FLAG. In Cherbourg's sight their gallows set Beside the Old Flag &jmg yet. Our Ghost of Greatness hath not fled At crowing of the Gallic Cock ; A foreign Despot's heel shall tread No print upon our English rock. Here Freedom by the Lion grand Sits safe, and Una-like doth hold Him gently with her gentle hand j And long as seas enfold, High on our topmost height firm-set, We 'U keep her Old Flag fljang yet. To Freedom we must aye be tnie ; Our England must be Freedom's home ; For sake of our dead Darlings who Went heavenward crowned with martyrdom. 'T was she who made us what we are, Tlironed on our sea-cliffs grey and grand ; Great image of majestic care; Fair Bride of Fatherland ! We do but pay the filial debt To keep her Old Flag flying yet. This little Isle is Freedom's Bark That rideth in a perilous path : THE OLD FLAG. Arotind us one wide sea of dark That beats and breaks in stormy wrath. The Despots drove poor Freedom forth, By bloody footprints trackt her road ; — And homeless, homeless, else on earth She takes to her sea-abode ! She turns on us her eyes tear-wet ; Ah, keep the Old Flag flying yet. Statesmen have drawn back meek and mute, Or pardon begged from bullying foes, Whene'er a Mihtary boot Was stampt upon retreating toes. They shrink to hear Him at our gates. This ominous thing of gloom and gore, Tho' Revolution for him waits At Danger's every door. But little do we heed his threat ! We keep the Old Flag flying yet. Over the praying peoples rolled The dark tide, and we helpt them not. Yet, on our lifted hands, behold. We cry, behold no bloody spot ! This famous people's heart is sound, It fights for all that bleed and smart ; We — banned above — meet underground. Meet in a touch of heart. 94 THE OLD FLAG. We cannot our old fame forget ; We keep the Old Flag flying yet. We havei a true and tender clasp For Freedom's friends where'er their home ; And for her foes as gi-im a grasp, No matter when or whence they come. We like that gay light-hearted France That into stormy splendour breaks, When its brave music for the dance Of Death the battle makes ; And foot to foot would proudly set To keep the Old Flag flying yet. But what is France ? this cruel Power That builds upon her martyred dead, Whose spirits thicken hour by hour The air about its doomed head ? This Death-in-Life throned on the grave. That in the darkness waits its prey ? Like Coral-workers neath the wave, It dies on reaching day. The Sun of France hath not thus set, But, keep the Old Flag flying yet. France, who hath stood erect and first, Will not lie latest in the dust : THE OLD FLAG. 95 Ere long her breath of scorn will burst This bubble blown of bloody lust. Quietly, quietly turns the tide, And when this shore lies black and bare, There shall be no more sea to hide The Wrecker's secrets there. Our lot is cast, our task is set, To keep the Old Flag flying yet. Save him ? this Burglar of the night Broke into Freedom's sacred shrines ! This Lie uncrowned whene'er the light Of merciless next morning shines ! This terror of a land strack dumb. Who fed the Furies with brave blood ! We cannot save him when they come For his. N^ot if we would. So slippery is the hand blood-wet ! Ah, keep the Old Flag flying yet. The Tyrant sometimes waxeth strong To drag a fate more fearful down : He veileth Justice who ere long Shall see Eternal Justice frown. The Kings of Crime from near and far Shall come to crown him with their crown Under the shadow of doom his Star Will redden, and go down. 96 THE OLD FLAG. And day shall dawn when it hath set, But, keep the Old Flag flying yet. Leaves fall, but lo ! the young buds peep ! Flowers die and still their seed shall bloom From death the quick young life "will leap When Spring goes by the \\-intry tomb. And tho' their graves are husht, in stem Heroic dream the dead men lie ! To God their still white faces turn : The murdered do not die. Will God the Martyrs' seed forget ? No. Keep the Old Flag flying yet. This triumph of the spoken word Is well, my England, but give heed ! The world leans on thee as a Sword For Freedom in her battle-need. Star of a thousand battles red. Be thou the Beacon of the Free ! Turn roxmd thy luminous side, and shed God's Hght o'er land and sea. Thro' floods, or flames, or bloody sweat, Keep thou the Old Flag flying yet. The splendid shiver of brave blood . Is thrilh'ng through our England now ! THE OLD FLAG. 97 She who so often hath withstood The Tyrants, Hffcs her brightened brow. G-od's jDrecious charge we proudly keep In circling arms of victory ; With Freedom we shall Hve, or sleep With our dear dead who are free. God forget us when we forget To keep the Old Flag flying yet. 1858. 98 NELSON. AN OLD MAN-O'-WAE'S-MAN YARN. Ay, ay, good neighbours, I have seen HiTn ! sure as God's my Hfe ; One of his chosen crew I've been ; Haven't I, old good wife ? God bless your dear eyes ! didn't you vow To marry me any weather, If I came back with limbs enow To keep my soul together. Brave as a Hon was our Nel, And gentle as a lamb : 'Tell you it warms my blood to tell The tale — gi-ey as I am — It makes the old life in me climb, It sets my soul a-swim ; I live twice over every time That I can talk of him. Our best beloved of all the brave That ever for freedom fought ; I i NELSON. 99 And all his wonders of the wave For fatherland were wrought ! He was the manner of man to show How victories may be won ; So swift, yon scarcely saw the blow ; Ton lookt — the deed was done. You should have seen him as he trod The deck, our joy, and pride ! You should have seen him, like a god Of storm, his war-horse ride ! You should have seen him as he stood Fighting for his good land, With all the iron of soul and blood Turned to a sword in hand. He sailed his ships for work ; he bore His sword for battle- wear ; His creed was " Best man to the fore !' And he was always there. Uji any peak of perU where There was but room for one : The only thing he did not dare Was any death to shun. The Nelson toiicli his men he taught, And his great stride to keep ; 100 NELSON. His faithful fellows round Mm fought Ten thousand heroes deep. With a red pride of life, and hot For him, their blood ran free ; They " minded not the showers of shot, No more than peas," said he. Napoleon saw our sea-king thwart His landing on our isle ; He gnashed his teeth, he gnawed his heart. At Nelson of the Nile, Who set his fleet in flames, to light The lion to his prey. And lead Destruction through the night Upon his dreadful way. Around the world he drove his game, And ran his glorious race ; Nor rested till he hunted them From ofi" the ocean's face ; Like that old war-dog who, tiU death. Clung to the vessel's side Till hands were lopped, and then with teeth He held on till he died. Oh, he could do the deeds that set Old fighters' hearts a-fire ; AN OLD MAN-O'-WAR'S-MAN YARN. 101 The edge of every spirit whet, And every arm inspire. Yet I have seen upon his face The tears that, as they roll. Show what a light of saintly grace May clothe a sailor's soul. And when our darling went to meet Trafalgar's Judgment-day, The people knelt down in the street To bless him on his way. He felt the country of his love Watching liim from afar ; It saw him through the battle move : His heaven was in that star. Magnificently glorious sight It was in that great da^vn ! Like one vast sapphire flashing light. The sea, just breathing, shone. Their ships, fresh painted, stood up tall And stately : ours were grim And weatherworn, but one and all In rare good fighting trim. Our spirits all were flying light, And into battle sped. 1U2 KELSON. Straining for it on wings of might, With feet of springy tread ; The battle light on every face ; Its fire in every eye ; Our sailor blood at swiftest pace To cat^h the victory nigh. His proudly- wasted face, wave-worn, Was loftily serene ; I felt the brave, bright spirit bum There, all too plainly seen ; As though the sword this time was drawn For ever from the sheath ; And when its work to-day was done. All would be dark in death. His deep eyes glowed hke lamps of night, Set in the porch of power ; The deed unborn was kindled bright Within them at that hour ! The purpose, welded at white heat. Cried like some visible Fate, " To-day, we must not merely beat : We must annihilate." He smiled to see the Frencliman show His reckoning for retreat, AN OLD MAN-O'-WAR'S-MAN YARN. lOB With Cadiz port on his lee-bow ; And held him then half-beat. They showed no colours, till we drew Them out to strike with there ! Old Victory, for a prize or two, Had flags enough to spare. Mast-high the famous signal ran ; Breathless we caught each word : " England expects that every man Will do his duty." Lord, You should have seen our faces ! heard Us cheering, row on row ; Like men before some furnace stirred To a fiery fearful glow ! Good Collingwood our lee-line led. And cut their centre through. " See how he goes in !" Nelson said, As liis first broadside flew. And near four hundred foemen fell. Up went another cheer. " Ah, what would Nelson give," said Coll, " But to be with us here ! " We grimly kept our vanward path ; Over us hummed their shot ; 104 NELSON, But, silently, we reined our ■wrath, Held on, and answered not, Till we could grip them face to face. And pound them for our own. Or hug them in a war embi^ace, Till they or we went down. How calm he was ! when first he felt The sharp edge of that fight. Cabined with God alone he knelt ; The prayer still lay in light Upon his face, that used to shine In battle — flash with life. As though the glorious blood ran wine. Dancing with that wild strife. " Fight for us, thou Almighty One ! Give victory once again ! And if I fall. Thy will be done. Amen, Amen, Amen I " With such a voice he bade good-by ; The moumfullest old smde wore : " Farewell ! God bless you, Blackwood, I Shall never see you more." And four hours after, he had done With winds and troubled foam. AN OLD MAN-O'-WAR'S-MAN YARN. 105 The Reaper was borne dead upon Oui' load of harvest home. Not till he knew the old flag flew Alone on all the deep ; Then said he, " Hardy, is that you ? Kiss me." And fell asleep. Well, 'twas his chosen death below The deck in triumph trod ; 'Tis well. A sailor's soul should go From his good ship to God. He wotdd have chosen death aboard, From all the crowns of rest ; And burial with the patriot sword Upon the victor's breast. " Not a great sinner." No, dear heart, God grant in our death-pain. We may have played as well our part, And feel as free from stain. We see the spots on such a star. Because it burned so bright ; But on the side next God they are All lost in greater Hght. And so he went upon his way, A higher deck to walk. 106 KELSON. Or sit in some eternal day, And of the old time talk With sailors old, who, on that coast, Welcome the homeward bound ; Where many a gallant soul we've lost. And Franklin will be found. Where amidst London's roar and moil That cross of peace upstands. Like mart}T with his heavenward smile. And flame-ht, lifted hands. There Hes the dai'k and mouldered dust ; But that magnanimous And mighty seaman's soul, I trust. Is h%'ing yet with us. 107 ENGLAN-D AND LOUIS NAPOLEON. Mat 1859. Majestic Mother ! Thine was not a brow To bend, and blindly take a tinsel Crown From hands like His. Thy glorious Sons have won More crowns than thou canst wear, tho' all the year A fresh one glistened daily. These are crowns Untarnishable by the breath of scorn ! And crowns that never can be melted down Ajid minted for the market. Thine was not A soul to wear the fetters that made fast His stolen throne to him, and gracefully To drape the imperial purple round, and hide The blood that splasht there, red till Judgment Day. He stole on France, deflowered her in the uight, Then tore her tongue out lest she told the tale : And Statesmen called him friend, and proudly held Our Banner over him, while moneyed worldlings, So pleased they knew not on which leg to stand, Went on their knees, and worshipt his success ; So prostrate in their souls, so prone in dust, They saw not how the feet were only clay, 108 ElfGLAJS^D AND LOUIS NAPOLEON, For all the golden Image ; — they forgot How meanest reptiles crawl up tallest towers. Our England is long-suffering, and slow Of judgment, lulled by seeming to the last. And they are busy dreaming their dark dreams, While she is sleeping sound in trustful peace. 'Tis well for thee, my Country, when the day Breaks, thou canst never match them in the dark ! Thine eyes are blind where Birds of night see best. But instinct, that Veiled Prophet of the Soul, Flashes up, startled from its seeing trance, As though God's hand had toucht it while we slept. There's some invisible danger drawing near, That hath not taken shape yet, but it comes. The still small voice cries "Wake, my Country, wake. And sleep no more while that Man's in the world. The treacherous dealer Avill deal treacherously ; The lawless. Power is still above all Law ! The Foe that cometh at the dead of night May find the Goodman slumbering with the arms Too rusted on the walls. Make the Sword sharp ! Watch warily, you lookers from the hill ! Arm every rampart, rock, and tower of Right, And arm the people : thus securely armed. We may sit safe and hold the hands of War In ours, he cannot strike us for the time. ENGLAJ!fD AXD LOUIS NAPOLEON. 109 Once more tlie war-wave surges gaily out From Paris with its gallant armaments, In music's pomp, and bannered pride, and dance Of life liglit-hearted, and light-headed crests. The Ghost of Buonaparte hath broken loose From hell this time ! ripe Scholar in its lore ! With Ruin's lighted torch half hidden in , The De\al's own dark lanthorn. We shall see The night-side of Napoleon, as he tracks His old earth foot-prints black with rusted blood. Alas ! poor Italy ! the Storm of War From its fire-mountain throne sweeps burning down, Its purple lava-mantle trails behind, Embracing all and blasting all its folds. A sea of soldiery breaks over her ; Her fair face darkens in the shadow of Swords ; Destruction drives his ploughshare thro' her soil, But will he turn her old lost Jewel to light ? Another crop of young heroic life Is ready for the Reaper ; it springs fast In such a land, so watered, with such blood. Poor fools ! this Despot turned Deliverer is A sneaking Cutpurse, not a Cutthroat grand. Like him that lifted up a Sword of fire, Whose flashes frightened nations ; and went forth 110 ENGLAND AND LOUIS NAPOLEON. A prairie-flame consuining men as grass : How dazzlingly his beacon-star, that danced From crown to crown, did shine above the lands He covered with his purple and liis pall ! He stormed the dizziest heights, and there he stood In sanguine glory ! Like a Battle- God Ruling the sti'ife with face of marble-calm ! The eyes of Heaven that look do\N'n on us with The earnestness of all eternity. Saw our old world turn blood-red mirroring Him ! Napoleon dilated till he filled The \'ision of France instead of Liberty. And such the glamour of Ins grandeur, She Knew not which Image crowned the Column lifted A heaven above her, in her love and worship. But this Man leads her eyeless, blind in blood. He bears a Burglar's Bludgeon, not a Sword : Great Oath-breaker, and not "World- Victor He. How far the tide may flood, how quick return With wreck and ruin, for its freightage home, We know not, nor how soon the nether pit May open and stem Nemesis rise up For vengeance infinitely terrible ! As in the grim Norse dream Loke lyeth bound Down at the heart o' the world, so Tyranny keeps ENGLAlfD AND LOUIS NAPOLEON. Ill A potent spirit fettered undergroTind, And o'er it hangs a Sei^pent horrible "With eyes thro' wliich all hell crowds up to see The poison-fire spit in that Spirit's face ; In straining waves it writhes along to squeeze Its soul of venom into every drop : And there sits Wife-like Patience at the side, Catching the poison till her cup will hold No more, and she must empty it. Ah, then the poison burns ! with one heart-heave That Spirit's bonds are burst ! an Earthquake's bom ! It is the Regnarok of Tyranny ! These Despots do but throw with loaded dice ; They lose or win with other will than theii\s ! A Goddess bHnd leads worshippers as bHnd. Henceforth we have no part in this man's lot, N"o faith in him ; he goes his way, we ours : If we were true to him we must be false To all our dearest deeds and noblest dreams ! We are no close-chained Mob for one to walk Over our heads, and kiss the feet that tread ! Our welding oneness binds up all om* wounds. And one heart and one breath make healing hfe. We trust in God, and mean to hold our own. We are not stainless ; there are wrongs on wrongs Crying for Right ! the patient heavens have lookt 112 ENGLAND AND LOUIS NAPOLEOK. On many a failing sadly ! England's Star Hath winkt on many a crime, and thro' the gloom Suffering still doggeth Sin, to strike at last. May God forgive us, we are apt to grow Unmindful of our blessings, and forget That this is England, and forget how He Hath wrought for England ; that the sacred Ark Rests on this Ararat ; we dare not face The world with that same faith we dare profess KJieeling to God. And so at times we need A hint from Heaven, and these are often stem. We tamper with God's silence till He speaks. May He forsake not England, but in need Look smilingly upon her ! We at least Will never run beside this Tyrant's car Of triumph, glorying in the dust we raise ! Our voice shall cry continually his fall, Tho' but a lonely trumpet in the night, And spare not him who plots against our land. O statesmen, ye who lead this noble land, May you prove wise and worthy ! Great good Men, With hearts that beat to high heroic measures, And strength still equal to the sternest time ; With faith to fight and patience to work on, Stni kno'wing these live longer than a Lie ! ENGLAND AND LOUIS NAPOLEON. 113 The pyramid of oui' power is not complete Untn it touches heaven for its crown ! And if the Bloody Star should turn this way Its red eye of destruction, fierce to see The pride and prowess of our might go down With England for funereal pyre ; then* give ' No quarter to the foes that strike at us ! Thro' fire and foam flash on them, and strike home ! Like lightnings of the Lord ! fuel the flames Of Battle with the Eevolution's wrecks That drift upon our shores. In Tyrant-land A young Dehverer Hes a-dream, and sees Such splendours in his visions only eyes When veiled can look on ! teU him the time 's come ! He ^viU arise and stretch his hand and snatch The Sword. It will be resurrection day ! The T;^Tant's fortresses and palaces Built with the Headsman's scafibld mU dissolve ; The piles of ghastly, gory heads shall turn To flaming-sworded Spirits ! the diy bones Win stir and rise up in a dance of life. You lovers of our England, do but look On this dear country over whose fair face God droopt a bridal veil of tender mist, That she might keep her beauty virginal, And he might see her thro' a softer gloiy : T 114 ENGLAND AND LOUIS NAPOLEON. So very meek and reverent doth she stand Within this shadow soft of Love Divine, More loveable, and not as brighter lands Whose bolder beauty stares up in heaven's face. Look on her now, this jewel of the world, Set in that mirriage-ring of circling sea ! She smiles upon her Image in its calm, Like some proud Ship that floateth in its shadow. And as a happy lover clasps his Bride, The fond Sea folds her round, and his brimmed life Runs ripphng to her inmost heart of hearts, Until it smms a- flood ^vith happiness ; And all the waters of her love leap back To liim exultant from a thousand hills. From his salt virtue comes her northern sweetness. How his rough kisses make her roses bloom ! Once in his roused -wTath he lifted up A mighty Armada in his arms, and dasht It into sea-drift at his Mistress' feet. And still he tlireatens with his voice of storms The plots of all Invaders ; stiU he keeps Eternal watch around. How proud in peace, The wild white horses rear and foam along And bring to her the harvests of the world ! How grand in war they bear her battle line In strength half-smiHng, perfect Power crowned With careless gTace, which seemeth to all eyes engla:^d and LOUIS napoleon. 115 The plume of Triumph nodding as it goes ; For visible victory sits upon her brow, And shines upon her sails. See where she sits Holding at heart her noble dead, and nursing Her living Children on the old brave vii'tue ! Wearing the rainy radiance of the morning, With silver sweetness swimming in her tears, Feeling the glory rippHng down from heaven With smiles from all her wild flowers, her green leaves, And nooks where old times live their shepherd ways. We cannot count her heroes who lay down In quiet graveyards when their work was done ; But mound on mound they rise all over the land To bar a Tyrant's path, and make his feet To stumble like the bhnd man among tombs. Her brave dead make our earth heroic dust : Their spirit glitters in oui' England's face And makes her shine, a Star in blackest night. Calm at her heart, and glory round her head. We think of all who fought, and who are now Immortals in the heaven of her love ; The Martyrs who have made of burning wrongs Their fiery chariot, and gone up to God ; The saintly Sorrows that now walk in white ; Till faces bloom like battle Banners flush t All over with most glorious memories. IIG ENGLAND AND LOUIS NAPOLEON. We are a cliosen People ; Freedom wears Our English Rose for her peciiHar crest, "SMioso dai^e touch it bleeds upon the thorn : It may be that the time will come again For one more desperate struggle to the death. The De\al's eye upon our England looks With snaky sparkle still. It may be they Will rouse the tamed Berserkir rage, and make The vein of M-rath throb livid on her brow, And wake the old Norse War-dog in her blood, Until she springs afloat upon the sea Like an Immortal white-winged on the air. The joy of s^viftness hghtning thro' her veins. Thrice hath our England swept the seas, and cleared Her ocean path, the highways of the world, And shaU again if Robbers lie in wait. She hath stood fast when towering nations poured In one wild wave their culminating power ! Thro' all that harvest-day of bloody death, They charged in vain, and dasht upon the edge Of her good sword, and fell, at Waterloo ! We kept the shamble slopes of Inkermann ! Thro' blood and fire and gloom of Indian War We swam the Red Sea, and rode out the storm ! So shall we hold our own dear land with all The old unvanquisht soul, and we shall see ENGLAND AND LOUIS NAPOLEON. 117 Their changing Empires shift like sand around The Island Rock, the footstool of the Lord, Where Freedom also lays her head, and rest In calm or storm the best hopes of a world. Ah, let the Peacemen preach, but let our Peace Be Right victorious, not triumphant Wrong ! Peace in her white robes, not white-livered Peace ! These pallid Peacemen are to true men what Our world might be without its iron ore ; But never may the grand old bravery die. No, no I we must not let the death-fires dance Along our heights with theii* funereal flames, As Hell had thrust up many red-hot tongues To get its lap of blood when earth is di-encht. Our green fields must not blush in blood for us ! We must not let them pluck the old land down To throne them in her seat ; they must not wear The Crown she raced for round the world and won. Our country has a name and fame might fiU The eyes of Hate and Envy with tame tears ; And they shall never lay her low while we Are true to her in heart and head and hand. And all who come in peace will find a home, And all who come in war a mouthful of Our dust in death, and Sea-beach for a grave. 118 EXGLAND AND LOUIS NAPOLEON. Great starry thoughts grow luminous in the dark ! The Bird of Hope goes singing overhead ! We cannot fear for England, we can die To do her bidding, but we cannot fear ; "We who have heard her thunder-roll of deeds Reverberating thro' the centuries ; By battle fire-light had the stories told ; We who have seen how pi-oudly she prepares For sacrifice, how radiantly her face Flasht when the Bugle blew its bloody sounds, And bloody weather fluttered her old Flag ; We who have seen her with the red heaps round I We who have kno^\Ti the mightiest powers dasht back Broken from her impregnable sea-walls ; We who have learned how in the darkest hour The greatest light breaks out, and in the time Of trial she reveals her noblest strength ; For we have felt her big heart beat in ours. Hail to thee. Mother of Nations ! mighty yet To strive and suffer, and give overthrow ! For all the powers of nature fight for thee. Spirits that sleep in glory shaU awake, Come down and drive thy Car of victory Over thine enemies' necks. ENGLAND AND LOUIS NAPOLEON. 119 Long will they wait Who privily lurk to stab thee when the night Shall cover all in darkness. Dear old Land, Thy shining glories are no Sunset gleams, But clouds that kindle round some great new Dawn. 120 THE SEA-KINGS. The Spaniard thought to wear our crown, Three hundred years ago ; And bend the head of Ens'land down To kiss the Pope's great toe ! And next the Dutchman swept the sea With besom top-mast high. Gone is their ocean sovereignty ; To-day, how low they lie ! And now the Frenchman's old wounds bui'n, Like devils in their pain ; They bode the weather of war will turn To a bath of bloody rain. Tingle and ring the ears of France, With sounds of battle hymns ; As on Ambition's dark, mad trance The bloody vision swims. Sons of the old Norse Sadors brave, We fiU their place to-day ; No wreath of foam upon the wave, To flash and pass away : THE SEA KINGS. 121 Our perilous prize we guard and keep, Till last relief God brings ; Then lie in calm majestic sleep, Along with the old Sea- Kings. Well may your proud eyes sparkle, ye Rough Sea- Kings young and old ; The salt sea-spirit laughs to see The Fi'enchman grown so bold ! Sword-bayonets, rifled cannon may The poor of heart alarm ; But pluck at last must win the day, With naked strength of arm. We are not beaten at a dash ; Not swiftly overthrown ; Let sliip with ship together lash, We know who must go down. No man in Gallic land will live To see us dispossessed ; When our Sun sets at sea, we give Our Glory to the West. Those old unconquerable waves. They mock at TjTanny ; And never can a land of slaves Be Ruler of the Sea. 122 THE SEA KINGS. But would you know their Empress, now Behold her ! where she smiles ; This diadem on Ocean's brow ; His Glory of the Isles. We've fed the Sea with English souls ; And every mounded wave To heaven bears witness, for it rolls Some English seaman's grave. Our rivers bear heroic dust For burial in that sea, "VVliich helps to keep our noble trust, And battles for the free. We cannot always down the path Of peace and dalliance tread ; Ofttimes the Chosen people hath To cHmb with footprints red : Our highest life with cross, and scorn, And tears, may yet be trod ; And England wear her crown of thorn, Whose Roses bloom in blood. We have immortal quarrel with The men who war with Right : We will not own him, kin or kith. Who fails us in this fight ! THE SEA-KINGS. 123 No room for liim on Englisli ground ; No bed in Ocean's breast, Who draws lier purj^le curtains round Unfathomable rest. If those old Greeks for Beauty wrought Their ten-years' daring deed, Shall it be said that less we fought. For Freedom in her need? No ! Fight till all the Brave lie dead, And grass grows on the mart ; But Freedom here shall rest her head, Upon old England's heart. Like some old Eagle on her nest, Up in her own high place, Our England sits with brooding breast. And looks with sharpened face ; She feels the Shadow of a Hand, But, ere it touch her brood. The Sea, that narrows round our land, Shall be a Moat of blood. Wave out, Old Bird ! or still brood on ! The}- shall not bring you low ; A thousand years have come and gone, A thousand more shall go, 124 THE SEA-KINGS. Our True Hearts still shall tread the deck ; Our Ships sail every Sea ; And ride like those who rein the neck Of rearing Tyranny. We've mounted many a Avindy wave ; We've weathered many storms ; Unshaken stiU can hear them rave, Safe in the eternal arms ! For, if the worst comes, every man We'll perish in our place ; And then the Frenchman — if he can — May lead the N^ew Sea Race. 125 ROBIN BURNS. A HUNDRED years ago this morn, He came to walk our human way ; And we would change the Crown of Thorn For healing leaves To-day. But we can only hang our wreath Upon the cold white marble's brow ; Tho' loud we speak, or low we breathe, We cannot reach him now. He loved us all ! he loved so much ! His heart of love the world could hold ; And now the whole wide world, with such A love, would round him fold. 'Tis long and late before it wakes So kindly, — yet a true world still ; It hath a heart so large, it takes A Century to fill. \'2{', ROBIX BURNS. II. Aye, tell the wondrous tale to-day, When songs are sung, and warm words said ; Tell how he wore the hodden gray, And won the oaten bread. With wintry welcome at the door, Did Kature greet him to his lot ; Our royal Minstrel of the Poor Hid in an old clay Cot. Tliere in the bonny Bairn-time dawn, He nestled at his Mother's knee, With such a face as might have draAvn The Angels down to see A rosy Innocent at prayer, — So pure and ready for the hand Of Her who is Guardian Spirit where Babes sleep in Silent Land. There young Love slily came to bring Rare balms that will bewitch the blood To dance, while happy spirits sing. With life in hey-day flood : ROBIN BURNS. 127 And there she found her darling Child, The robust Muse of sun-browned health, Who nurst him up into the wild Young heir of all her wealth. And there she rockt his infant thought Asleep with visions glorious, That hallow now the Poor Man's Cot For evermore to us. Disguised Angelic playmates are Those still ideal dreams of Youth, That draw it on to Greatness ; there We find them shaped in truth. Yes, there he learned the touch that thrills Right to the natural heart of things ; Struck rootasre down to where Life heals At the eternal springs. Before the lords of earth there stood A Man by Nature bom and bred, To show us on what simple food A hero may be fed. 128 EOBIX BURNS. No gifts of gold for him ; no crown Of Fortune waiting for his brow ! But wrestHng strength to earn his o^vn It shines in glory now ! ni. Wild music on lone shingly shores, — Wild winds that break in seas of sound Sad gloamings eerie on the moors ; The murdered Martyr's mound ; Wan awful Shadows, trailing like The great skirts of the hurrying Storm Bronzed purple thunder-Hghts that strike The woodlands wet and warm ; Meek glimpses of peculiar grace, Where Beauty lyeth, in undi'ess, Asleep in secret hiding place, Out in the wilderness : EOBIN BURNS. 129 Those glorious Sunsets, God's good-night, Is smiled thro' to our world, and felt ; All, all enrich his ear and sight,- — Thro' all his being melt. He rose up in a dawn of light That burst upon the olden day ; Many weird voices of the night In his music passed away ! He caught them, Witch and Warlock, ere They vanisht ; all the revelry Of wizard wonder, we must wear The mask of Sleep to see ! Droll Humours came for him to paint Their pictures ; straight his merry eye Had taken them, so queer and quaint, We laugh until we cry. 130 ROBIN BURNS. IV. He knew the sorrows of poor folk, He felt for all their patient pain ; And from his clouded soul he shook A music soft as rain. For them his eyes would brim with balm, Dark eyes, and flashing as the levin — Grew at a touch as sweet and calm As are the eyes of Heaven. So rich in sadness is his breast That tenderness, heaven-mirroring, fills ; As lies the soft blue lake at rest Among the rugged Hills. And quick as Mother's milk will rise At thrill of her Babe's touch, and strong ; It heaves his heart ; it floods his eyes ; It overflows his song. ROBIN BURNS. , 131 But none dare sneer, who see the tear In Robin Burns' honest eye ; With all the weakness, it comes clear From where the Thunders lie ! Such Ardours flash from out that dew. And quiver in that pearl of pain ; As thrills the Spirit of Lightning thro' A drop of tempest rain. In Life's low ways and starless night. The Poor so often have to creep Where Manhood may not walk full height, And this made Robin weep. Of all the Birds the Robin he Is darling of the gentle poor ; His nest is sacred ; he goes free By window or by door ; 132 EOBIN BURNS. His lot is lowly, and his wings Are only of the homely brown ; But in the rainy day he sings, When gayer friends have flown ; And hoarded up for us he brings In that brave breast of bonny red, A gathered glory of the springs And siunmers long long fled: Even so, all Birds of Song above, To which the poor man smiling turns. The darling of his listening love Is gentle Robin Bums. His summer soul our winter warms ; He makes a glory in our gloom ; His nest is safe from aU the storms For ever in our home. Yes, there is such a human glow Of hfe and love in Robin's breast; Its warmth can melt the winter snow In Poverty's cold nest. ROBIN BURNS. 133 VI. His ministers of Music win Their way where night is all so mirk, You scarce can see the Devil in That darkness at his work ! Or feel the face of friend from foes : But these song-spirits softly come ; And lo ! a hght of heaven glows Within the meanest home : On either side the hearth they glide, And take the empty seat of Care ; Immortal Presences that bide In blessed beauty there. They set us singuig at our work, And where no easing voice is found, Out smiles the music that may lurk In thoughts too fine for sound. 134 ROBIN BURNS. They weave some pictured tints that shine Luminous in life's cold grey woof; They make the vine of Patience twine About the barest roof. More sweet his songs to him who plods Shut up in smoky city prison, Than to the caged Lark cool sods Cut ere the sun be risen. The Soldier feels them as a spring Of heahng, mid the Indian sand : They gush from out his heart ; they bring Such news of the Old Land, Ah, how some old sweet cradle song The wayward wandering soul still brings Home ! Home again ; with ties as strong As Love's own leading-strings. We hug the Homestead, and more near The fresh and fonder tendrils twine, To make our clasp more close, for fear Our dear ones we may tine. ROBIN BURNS. 135 VII. When Hesper, thro' some shady nook, Sparkles on Lovers face to face, Where droopt lids shade a burning look With Beauty's shyer grace — And holy is the hour for love ; And all so silent comes the Night, Lest even a breath of faerie move That poise so feather light — Where two hearts weigh, to bhght or bless, Till swarming like a summer hive, The inner world of happiness With music grows aHve — There, as Life aches so, heart in heart, And hand in hand so fondly yearns, Love shakes his wings, and soars and sings Some song of Robin Bums. 136 EOBIX BURNS. VIII. Tliink how those Heroes, true till death, In Lucknow Hstened thro' the strife, And held, what seemed their latest breath They had to draw in life, To hear the old Scots' music dear Ask, down the battle pauses brief. As Havelock's men with fire and cheer Swept in to their relief — " Should auld acquaintance be forgot ? " Tlvro' flaming hell we come ! we come ! To keep that pledge, not given for nought. Around the hearth at home ! " We'll take a cup of kindness " here. For Scotland yet, and Auld Lang Syne ft Aye, tho' that cup be filled with dear Heart's blood instead of wine ! ROBIN BURNS. 137 ' And here's a hand my trusty fere ; " And then it seemed the dear old Land Did burst their tomb, the death-shroud tear, And clasp them with her hand. IX. How dearly Robin lo'ed the land That gave such gallant heroes birth ; Its wee blue bit of heaven, and Its dear green nook of earth ! And dearer is the purple heath ; The bonny broom of beamless gold ; And sweeter is the mellow breath Of Autumn on the wold ; Where he once lookt with glorious gaze. In all our way-side wanderings, Shy Beauty lifts her veil of haze. And smiles in common things : 138 ROBIN BURNS. The Daisy opes its eye at dawn, And straight from Nature's heart so true, The tear of Burns peeps sparkling ! an Immortal drop of dew ! With eyes a thought more tender we Look on all dumb and helpless things ; In his large love they stand, as he Had sheltered them with wings. Down by the singing bum we greet His voice of love and Hberty ; High on the bleak hill side we meet His spirit blithe and free : And on this land should Foe e'er tread, He will fight for it at our side ; Flame on our banners overhead ; In songs of victory ride. EOBIN BURNS. 139 A Hundred years ago To-day, This great and glorious Stranger came ; Men wondered as he went his way, A wild and wandering flame ! The fiercer fire of life confined. With higher wave 'twill heave and break ; And higher should the mountain mind Thrust up a starward peak ! But often is the kindling clay With its red lightnings rent and riven ; And Earth holds up a wreck to pray For the healing hand of Heaven. Round such a soul more sternly warred The powers that smite for Wrong and Right ; Till thunder-scathed, and battle-scarred, Death bore him from the fight. 140 ROBIN BURNS. But now we recognize in him One of the high and shining race ; All gone the mortal mists that dim The fair immortal face ! The splendour of a thousand suns Is shining ; and the tearful rain No more with passionate pathos runs ; And there is no more pain. The sorrow and suffering, soil of shame, All gone ; all far away have passed ; He sitteth in the heaven of fame, Quietly crowned at last. The prowling Ghoul hath left his grave ; Husht is the praying Pharisee ; His frailties fade, his virtues brave Live, work immortally. ROBm BURNS. 141 XI. Weep, weep, exulting tears that He, The lowly bom, the Peasant's son, Hath wrought for us imperishably ; A peerless place hath won ! And such a Crown to bind thy brow, Thy glorious Child hath gained for thee, Thou grey old nurse of Heroes ! Thou Proud Mother, Poverty ! Look up ! and let the big tears be Triumphant, toucht with sparks of pride ; Look up ! in His great glory we Are also glorified. Or weep the tear that Pity wrings, To think liis brightness he should dim ; Then 'tis the tear of sorrow brings Us nearer unto him. 142 EOBIN BURNS. 'Tis here we touch his garment ; here The poorest, or the frailest, earns The right to call him kinsman dear ; Our Brother, Robin Burns. In fires of suffering far more fair We forge the precious bond of love All ! Robin, if God hear our prayer, 'Tis all made well above. And you, who comforted His Poor In this world, have eternal home With those He comforteth. His Poor, Thro' all the world to come. Your Highland Mary went before, To plead for you in saintly sooth, Whom she remembered when you wore The pureness of your youth ! With those great Bards who Hve for aye, Your faults and failings aU forgiven. May there be festival to-day. And a great joy in heaven. EOBIN BURNS. 143 The truth, afar oflP, found at last ; The triumph rung impetuously, Tliro' all that Crystal Palace vast Of white Eternity. XII. Dear Robin, could you but return Once more, how changed it all would be ; The heart of this wide world doth yearn To take you welcomingly. Warm eyes would shine at windows ; quick Warm hands would clasp you at the door, Wliere oft they let you pass heart-sick, So heedlessly of yore. And they would have you wear the Crown, Who bade you bear the crushing cross ; Their glorious gain was all unknown Without the bitter loss. 144 ROBIN BURNS. The cup you carried was so filled ; The pressing crowd, so eager round, Dragged down your lifted arm, and spilled Such dear drops on the ground ! How we would comfort your distress ; Would see you smile as once you smiled ; And hold your hands in silentness ; Strong Man and Httle Child ! Your poor heart heaving like the waves' Of seas that moan for evermore, And try to creep into the caves Of Rest, but find no shore, — Poor heart, come rest thee from the strife ; Come rest thee, rest thee in the calm, We'd cry ; come bathe thy weary life In Love's immortal balm. ROBIN BURNS. 145 XIII. We cannot see your face, Robin ! Your flaslaing lip, your fearless brow We cannot bear your voice, Robin ! But you are witb us now. Altbo' the mortal face is dark Bebind tbe veS of spirit- wings ; You draw us up as Heaven tbe Lark, Wben its music in h im sings. With tender awe we feel you near ; You make our lifted faces shine ; You brim our cup with kindness here, Eor sake of Auld Lang Syne. We are one at heart as Britain's Sons, Because you join our clasping hands ; While one electric feeling runs Thro' all the EngHsh lands. 146 ROBIN BURNS. And near or far, where Britons band To-day, the leal and trne heart turns More fondly to the fatherland, For love of Robin Bums. 147 THE FIGHTING TEMERAIRE TUGGED TO HER LAST BERTH. It is a glorious tale to tell, When nights ai'e long and mirk, How well she fought our fight ; how well She did our England's work ; Our good ship Temeraire ; The fighting Temeraii-e ! She goeth to her last long home, Our grand old Temeraire. Bravely over the breezy blue. They went to do or die ; And proudly on herself she drew The Battle's burning eye ! Our good ship Temeraire ; The fighting Temeraire ! She goeth to her last long home. Our grand Old Temeraire. Round her the glory fell in flood. From Nelson's loving smile. When, raked with fire, she ran with blood, In England's hour of trial ! 148 THE FIGHTING TEMERAIRE Our good sMp Temeraire ; The fighting Temeraire ! She goeth to her last long home, Our grand old Temeraire. And when our darling of the sea Sank dying on his deck ; With her revenging thunders, she Struck down his foe — a Wreck ! Our good sliip Temeraire ; The fighting Temeraire ! She goeth to her last long home. Our ffrand old Temeraire. o' And when our victory stayed the rout. And Death had stilled the storm. How gallantly she led them out — Her prize on either arm ! Our good ship Temeraire ; The fighting Temeraire ! She goeth to her last long home, Om' grand old Temeraire. Her day now draweth to its close, With solemn sunset crowned ; To death her crested beauty bows ; The night is folding round, TUGGED TO HER LAST BERTH. 140 Oui' good ship Temeraire ; The fighting Temerau'e ! She goeth to her last long home, Our grand old Temeraire. No more th.e big heart in her breast, Will heave from wave to wave ; Weary and war-worn, ripe for rest. She glideth to her grave, Our good ship Temeraire ; The fighting Temeraire ! She goetb to her last long home. Our grand old Temeraire.. In her dumb pathos desolate As night among the dead ! Yet wearing an exceeding weight Of glory on her head. Our good ship Temeraire ; The fighting Temeraire ! She goeth to her last long home. Our grand old Temeraire. Good bye ! good bye ! Old Temeraire ; A sad, a proud good bye I The stalwart spirit that did wear Your sternness, shall not die. 150 THE FIGHTING TEMERAIRE, ETC. Our good ship Temeraii'e ; The fighting Temeraire ! She goeth to her last long home, Our grand old Temeraire. Thro' battle blast, and storm of shot, Your Banner we shall bear ; And fight for it, Kke those who fought Your guns, old Temeraire ! The fighting Temeraire ; The conquering Temeraire ; She goeth to her last long home, Our grand old Temeraire. 151 RIFLE VOLUNTEERS. You leal high hearts of England, The evil days are near, When we with steel in heart and hand, Must strike for all that's dear. And better to tread the bloodiest deck, Or fieriest field of fame, Than break the heart, and bow the neck, And sit in the shadow of shame. Let Despot, Death or Devil come, United here we stand : We'll safely guard our Island-Home, Or die for the dear old Land. O Volunteers of England, You'U hurry to her call ; And our good Ship shall sail the storm, With its merry mariners all. In words we need not waste our breath. But, be the Trumpet blown, 152 RIFLE VOLUNTEERS. And in tlie Battle's dance of death, We'll dance the bravest down. Let Despot, Death or De\'il come, United here we stand ; We'll safely guard our Island-Home, Or die for the dear old Land. Success to our dear England, Should dark days come again ; And may she rise up glorious As the rainbow after rain : A thousand memories warm us stiU, And, ere the old spirit dies, The purple of each wold and hill From our best blood shaU rise. Let Despot, Death or Devil come, United here we stand ; We'll safely guard our Island-Home, Or die for the dear old Land. God strike vnth our dear England ; And long may the old land be. The guiding glory of the world ; Home of the fair and free ! Old ocean on his silver shield Uplifts oui' Httle Isle, KIFLE VOLUNTEERS. 153 Unvaiiquislit still by flood or field, While the heavens in blessing smile. Let Despot, Death or Devil come. United here we stand ; We'll safely guard om- Island-Home, Or die for the dear old Land. 154 NAVAL VOLUNTEERS. Come, show your colours now, my Lads, That all the world may know The Boys are equal to their Dads, Whatever blast may blow. England, as Mistress of the Sea, Shall rule in boundless sovereignty. All Hands aboard ! our country calls On her seafaring folk ! In giving up our wooden "Walls, More need for Hearts of Oak ! Ensrland, as Mistress of the Sea, Shall rule in boundless sovereignty. Remember how that old Fire-Drake Did singe the Spaniard's beard ; And think how Raleigh, Nelson, Blake, Into their harbours steered ! England, as Mistress of the Sea, Shall rule in boundless sovereignty. NAVAL VOLUNTEERS. 155 Think how o' nights we cut them out ! 'Twas — many a time and oft— Silence ! — a rush — a tug — a shout ! — And the old flag flew aloft : England, as Mistress of the Sea, Shall rule in boundless sovereignty ! Be it one to seven — hell or heaven ! We've fought our decks red- wet ; Be it hell or heaven ! — one to seven ! We fear no foemen yet ! England, as Mistress of the Sea, Shall rule in boundless sovereignty ! That secret in the Sphinx's eyes Must have solution stern ; There is but one more throw o' the dice. And then 'twill be our turn ! England, as Mistress of the Sea, Shall rule in boundless sovereignty ! At every port-hole there shall flame The same fierce battle-face. All worthy of the old sea fame. All of the old sea race ! England, as Mistress of the Sea, Shall rule in boundless sovereignty ! 156 XAVAL VOLUNTEERS. Alone, aloft in her right hand She bears her flag unfurled ; One foot on sea and one on land, The bulwark of a world. England, as Mistress of the Sea, Shall rule in boundless sovereignty ! Oi OUR NATIVE LAND. This is oirr Mother Country ! The dearest Land, The rarest Land, Round which the sea keeps sentry, Or Ships are manned ; Or Ships are manned ; Notliing but Heaven above her ! And here's my hand, And here^s my hand. We are Brothers all who love her ! Our Native Land, Dear Native Land. Afar and near they hail her With greetings warm. With greetings tvarm. The famous old brave Sailer, That rode the storm. Aye, many a storm. 158 OUR NATIVE LAND. Who would not die to save her Shall bear the brand, The CoivarcVs brand. Onr love must never waver For Native Land, — Dear Native Land. No matter where our place is, We may go forth, We may go forth, And turn dead frozen faces, Home from the North ; Home from the North. Or sink, 'neath Orient heaven, In buiTiing sand. Waste, desert sand. Our lives shall still be given For Native Land, Bear Native Land. And long may such life nourish The old land on, This dear land on; And long, long may she flourish Wlien we are gone, — All dead and gone. OUR XATIVE LA^'D. 159 Long may tlie sea caress her, As great and grand, As great and grand. Thou God in Heaven bless her ! Our Native Land, Dear Native Land. Ofttimes the foe beheld us. All torn apart. All torn ai)art; Altho' a blow would weld us All one at heart, All one at heart. Now trust we in each other, A little band, A happy hajnd; The Cliildren of one Mother, Our Native Land, Bear Native Land ! Some new heroic story The world shall learn. The world shall learn, If we who keep her glory Are true and stern. All true and stern. 1C>0 OUR NATIVE LAND. Come wild and warring weailicr, We ready stand, All ready stand, To fight or fall together For Native Land, Dear Native Land ! 161 A NATIONAL ANTHEM. God bless our native Land, Grlorions, and grave, and grand ; God bless our Land ! God bless her noble face ; God bless her peerless race ; Great heart, and daring hand, God bless our Land. God love our Enghsh Land ; Make her for ever grand ; God love our Land ! Robe her with righteousness ; Crown her with gifts of grace ; Throne her at Thy right hand ; God love our Land. If secret foes should band To strike our dear old Land, God aid oui' Land ! M 162 A NATIONAL ANTHEM. Be Thou her strength and stay, God, in the battle-day ! Strew them ashore like sand ; God aid our Land. Few are we, Sword in hand ; All Sword in soul we stand, Around our Land ! And when her blood shall flow, Green make her glory grow, Lead her in triumph grand, Our leal old Land. Here pray we hand in hand, Tears in our eyelids stand ; God save our Land ! Thy Watch-tower on the Sea ; Venger of Right is she ; Long let old Fear-not stand, God save our Land ! CHRISTIE'S POEMS 165 FOR CHRISTIE'S SAKE. Upon us falls the shadow of Night, And darkened is our day ; My Love will greet the morning light, Four hundred miles away ; God love her ! borne so swift and far From hearts so Kke to break ; And God love all who are good to her ; For Christie's sake. I know whatever spot of ground, In any land, we tread — I know the eternal arms are round ; That Heaven is overhead ; And faith the mourning heart will heal ; But many fears will make, Our spirits faint, our fond hearts kneel, For Christie's sake. 166 FOR Christie's sake. Grood bye, dear ! be they kind to you, As tho' you were their ain ; My Daisy opens to the dew, But shuts against the rain ! Never will New Moon glad our eyes. But offerings we shall make, To old God Wish ! and prayers will rise, For Christie's sake. Four years ago we struck our tent ; O'er homeless Babes we yearned ; Our aU — three darlings — with us went, But only two returned ! Wliile life yet bleeds into her grave, Love ventures one more stake ; Hush ! hush ! poor hearts ! if big, be brave ; For Christie's sake. Like Crown to most ambitious brows. Was Christie to us given ; To make our Home a holy house. And nursery of Heaven. softer was her bed of rest Than lily's on the lake ; Peace filled so deep each billowy breast, For Christie's sake. FOR Christie's sake. 16> To music played by harps and hands Invisible, were we drawn O'er charmed seas, thro' fairy lands , Under a dearer dawn ; We entered our new world of love, With blessings in our wake ; And prospering heavens smiled above, For Christie's sake. We gazed with proud eyes luminous. On such a giffc of grace ; All heaven narrowed down to us. In one dear little face ! And many a pang we felt, dear Wife, With hurt of heart and ache, All shut within hke clasping knife, For Christie's sake. I would no tears might e'er run down Her patient face, beside Such happy pearls of heart as crown Young Mother — new-made Bride ; For 'tis a face that, looking up To passing Heaven, might make An Angel stop ; a blessing drop ; For Christie's sake. 168 FOR Christie's sake. If Love in that Cliild's heart of hers Should breathe, and break its calm, With trouble sweet as that which stirs The brooding buds of balm, — Listening at ear of peeping pearl ; Ghstening in eyes that shake Theu' sweet dew down ! God bless our Girl ! For Christie's sake. But Father ! if our Babe must mourn, Be merciful and kind ; And if our gentle Lamb be shorn, Attemper Thou the wind ! Over the deluge g-uide our Dove, And to thy bosom take With arm of love and sliield above ; For Christie's sake. We have had sorrows many and strange. Poor Christie ! when I'm gone. Some of my words will wierdly change If she read sadly on : Lightnings, from what was dark of old. With meanings strange will break. Of sorrows hid, or dimly told. For Christie's sake. FOR Christie's sake. 169 Wife ! we should still try hard to win, The best for our dear child ; And keep her resting place within, When all without grows wild. As on the winter graves the snow Falls softly, flake by flake, Our love should whitely clothe our woe ; For Christie's sake. For one will wake at midnight drear From out a dream of death, And find no dear head pillowed near ; No sound of peaceful breath ; May no weak wailing words arise, Wo bitter thoughts awake, To see the tears in Memory's eyes ; For Christie's sake. And There ! where many crownless Kings Of Earth a Crown shall wear ; The Martyrs who have borne the pangs Their palm at last shall bear ! When, with our Lily pure of sin Our heavenward way we take, Tliere may we walk with welcome in ; For Christie's sake. 170 J HUNT THE SQUIRREL. It was Atle of Vermeland, In winter used to go A hunting up in the Pine Forest, With snow-shoes, sledge, and bow. Soon liis sledge with the soft fine furs Was heapt up heavily ; Enough to warm old Winter with ; And a wealthy man was he. Just as he was going back home. He lookt up into a tree ; There sat a merry bro\vn Squirrel that seemed To say — " You can't shoot me ! " And it twinkled all over temptingly, To the tip of its tail acurl ; Its humour was arch as the look may be Of a would-be- wooed sweet Girl HUNT THE SQUIRREL. 171 Wlio makes the Lover follow lier, follow her, All his Hfe up-caught ! A-floating on, a-floating on, High in the heaven of thought. Atle he left his sledge and furs ! All day his arrows rung — Bun went leaping from bough to bough- Only himself they stung. He hunted far in the deep forest, Till died the last day-gleams ; Then laid him a- weary down to rest And hunted it thro' his dreams. All night long the snow fell fast And covered his snug fur-store ; Long, long did he strain his eyes ! He found it never more. Home came Atle of Vermeland ; No Squirrel ! no furs for the Mart ! Empty head brought empty hand ; Both — a very full heart. 172 HUNT THE SQUIRREL. Many a one hunts the Squirrel, In merry or moumfiil tmth ! Until the gathering snows of age, Cover the treasures of Youth. Deeper into the forest dark, The Squirrel will dance all day ; Till eyes grow bUnd and miss their mark ; And weaiy hearts lose their way. My Darling ! should you ever espy. This Squirrel up in the tree, "With a dancing Devil in its eye — Just let the Squirrel be. 173 MY MAID MARIAN. Spring comes witli violet eyes unveiled, Her fragrant Kps apart ! Ajid Earth smiles up as tho' she held Most honeyed thoughts at heart. But nevermore "will Spring arise Dancing in sparkles of her eyes. A gTacious wind low-breathing comes As from the fields of God ; The old lost Eden newly blooms From out the sunny sod. My buried joy stirs with the earth, And tries to sun its sweetness forth. The trees move in their slumbering, Dreaming of one that's near ! Put out their feelers for the Spring, To wake, and find her here ! My spirit on the threshold stands, And stretches out its waiting hands. 174 MY MAID MAEIAX. Then goeth from me in a stream Of yearning ; wave on wave Slides thro' the stillness of a dream, To little Marian's grave : For all the miracle of Spring My long lost child will never bring. Where blooms the golden crocus-burst, And Winter's tenderling, There lies our little Snowdrop ! first Of Flowers in our love's spring ! How all the year's young beauties blow About her there, I know, I know. The Blackbird ^vith his warble wet, The Thrush with reedy thrill. Open their hearts to Spring, and let The influence have its wiU ! Tho' all around the Spring hath smiled, She seems to have kissed where Hes my child. In purple shadow and golden shine Old Arthur's Seat is crowned ; Like shapes of SHence crystaUine The great white clouds sail round I The Dead at rest the long day thro' Lie calm against the pictured blue. MY MAID MARIAK. 175 Marian, my maid Marian, So strange it seems to me ! That you, the Household's darling one, So soon should cease to be. All, was it that our praying breath Might kindle heavenward fires of faith ? So much forgiven for your sake When bitter words were said, And little arms about the neck With blessings bowed the head ! So happy as we might have been, Our hearts more close with you between. Dear early Dew-drop ! such a gleam Of sun from heaven you drew. We little thought that smiling beam WotJd drink our precious dew ! But back to heaven our dew was kissed, We saw it pass in mournful mist. Our lowly home was lofty-crowned With three sweet budding girls ! Our sacred marriage-ring set round With darHng wee love-pearls ! One jewel from the ring is gone, One fills a grave in Warriston. 176 MY MAID MARIAN. We bore her beauty in our breast, As heaven bears the Dawn, We brooded over her dear nest. Still close and closer drawn. Hearts thrilled and listened, watched and tlirobbed And strayed not, — yet the nest was robbed ! " Stay yet a little while, Beloved ! " In vain our prayerful breath : Across heaven's hghted window moved The shadow of black Death. In vain our hands were stretcht to save ; There closed the gateways of the Grave ! Could my death-vision have darkened up In her sweet face, my child ; I scarce should see the bitter cup, I could have drank and smiled : Blessing her mth my last- wrung breath. Dear Angel in my dream of death. • Her memory is like music we Have heard some singer sing, That thrills Hfe thro', and echoingly Our hearts for ever ring ; We try it o'er and o'er again. But ne'er recall that wondrous strain. MY MAID MARIAN. 177 My proud heart like a river runs, Lying awake o' nights ; I see her with the shining Ones Upon the shining heights. And. a wee Angel-face will peep Down starlike thro' the veil of sleep. My yearnings try to get them wings And float me up afar, As ia the Dawn the sky-lark springs To reach some distant Star That all night long swam down to him In brightness, but at mom grew dim. She is a spirit of light that leavens The darkness where we wait ; And starlike opens in the heavens A little golden gate ! may we wake and find her near When work and sleep are over here ! No sweetness to this world of ours Is without purpose given. The fragrance that goes up from flowers May be their seed ia Heaven. We saw Heaven in her face, may we Her future face in Heaven see. 178 MY MAID MAKIAN. In some far spring of brighter bloom, More life, and ampler breath, My bud hath burst the folding gloom, A-flower from dusty death ! We wonder will she be much grown ? And how will her new name be known ? I saw her ribboned robe tliis mom, Mine own lost httle child ; Wee shoes her tiny feet had worn, And then my heart grew wild. We only trust our hearts to peep In on them when we want to weep. But hearts will break or eyes must weep. And so we bend above These treasures of old days that keep The fragrance of young love. The harvest-field tho' reapt and bare Hath yet a patient gleaner there. I never think of her sweet eyes In dusky death now dim, But waters of my heart will rise. And there they smile and swim. Forget-me-nots so blue, so dear, Swim in the waters of a tear. MY MAID MARIAN. 179 How often in the days gone by- She lifted her dear head, And stretcht wee arms for rae to Ke Down in her Httle bed. And cradled in my happy breast Was softly carried into rest. And now when life is sore oppressed And runs with weary wave, I long to lay me down and rest In Httle Marian's grave ; To smile as peaceful as she smiled — For I am now the nestling child. Immortal Love, a spirit of bliss And brightness, moves above, While here forever Sorrow is The shadow cast by Love, But love for her no sorrow will bring And no more tearful leaves-taking. No passing sorrows on their march Will leave sad foot-prints now, No troubles strain the tender arch Of that white baby brow. No cares to cloud, no tears that come To rob the cheek of pearly bloom. 180 MY MAID MAEIAN. All sweetest shapes that Beauty wears Are round about her drawn ; Auroral bloom, and vernal airs, And blessings of the dawn ; All loveliness that ne'er grows less ; Time cannot touch her tenderness. One sparkle of immortal light Our love for her shall shine In the dew-drop that nestles white At heart with gleam divine, But vanishes from Death's cold clasp, "When he the flower of life doth grasp. The patient calm that comes with years, Hath made us cease to fret ; Only at times in sudden tears Dumb hearts will quiver yet : And each one turns the face and tries To hi-de Who looks thro' parent eyes. 181 CHRISTIE'S POOR OLD GRAK No GREEN age, beautiful to see, Hath Poor Old Gran : No ripe life mellowed goldenly, Hath Poor Old Gran. One by one we have left her fold ; Her lonely hearth is gTOwing cold ; Faint is her smile as the primrose gold, Our Poor Old Gran. All ! whitened face, and -\vithered form Of Poor Old Gran ! Beaten and blancht in many a storm : Poor Old Gran ! She hath wept the bitter tears that sow The dark grave-violets in the snow, Where once the red young rose did glow ; Poor Old Gran ! 182 Christie's There 's few have Hved a harder lot ; Poor Old Gran ! But she toiled on and raurmured not ; Poor Old Gran ! For us she toiled on starvingly, And fought the wolf of poverty ; Upon her heart's blood suckled me, Our Poor Old Gran ! Her river of life hath roughly rolled ; Poor Old Gran ! A Wreck lies dark, its tale untold ; Poor Old Gran! Yet shall her old heart laugh with ye. My Birdsnest in the mouldering tree ! And soft in heaven her bed shall be ; Poor Old Gran ! The grip of Poverty is grim ; Poor Old Gran ! Lustres of lip and eye soon dim ; Poor Old Gran ! But thro' the frailty of her face There gleams a light of tender grace Or else I see thro' a tearful haze, Poor Old Gran ! POOR OLD GEAN. 183 You came in all our sorrowings, Poor Old Gran ! How your weakness hurried on wings, Poor Old Gran ! You stood at Bridal, Birth, and Bier : Our darlings dead and gone seem near When you are near, and make more dear Our Poor Old Gran I So come to our Cottage up the lane, Poor Old Gran ! Follow our fortune's harvest wain. Poor Old Gran ! We'll shelter you from wind and rain. Hunger you shall not know again. Plenty shall smile away your pain. Poor Old Gran ! And little laughing stars shall rise On Poor Old Gran ! In the clear heaven of Childhood's eyes. For Poor Old Gran ! Wee fingers, stroking her grey hair, Shall almost melt the hoarfrost there ; Wee lips shaU kiss away the care From Poor Old Gran ! 184 Christie's poor old gran. So come and sit beside our hearth, Poor Old Gran ! Come from the darkness and the dearth, Poor old Gran ! And you shall be our fireside guest, And weary heart and head shall rest ; And may your last days be your best, Poor Old Gran. 185 THE LEGEND OF LITTLE PEARL. " Poor little Pearl, good little pearl !" Sighed every kindly neighbour ; It was so sad to see a girl So tender, doomed to labom\ A wee bird fluttered from its nest Too soon, was that meek creature ; Just fit to rest in mother's breast, The darling of fond Nature. God shield poor Httle ones, where all Must help to be bread-bringers ! For once afoot, there's none too small To ply their tiny fingers. 186 THE LEGEND OF LITTLE PEARL. Poor Pearl, she had no time to play The merry game of childhood ; From da^vn to dark she worked all day, A-wooding in the wild wood. When others played, she stole apart In pale and shadowy quiet ; Too fall of care was her child-heart For laughter running riot. Hard lot for such a tender life, And miserable guerdon ; But like a womanly wee wife, She bravely bore her burden. One wintry day they wanted wood When need was at the sorest ; Poor Pearl, without a bit of food, Must up and to the forest. But there she sank down in the snow. All over numbed and aching : Poor little Pearl, she cried as though Her very heart was breaking. THE LEGEND OF LITTLE PEARL. 187 The blinding snow shut out the house From little Pearl so weary ; The lonesome wind among the boughs Moaned with its warnings eerie. To little Pearl a Cliild-Christ came, With footfall hght as fairy ; He took her hand, he called her name. The voice was sweet and airy. His gentle eyes filled tenderly With mystical wet brightness : " And would you like to come with me, And wear the robe of whiteness ?" He bore her bundle to the door. Gave her a flower when going : " My darling, I shall come once more, When the little bud is blowing." Home very wan came little Pearl, But on her face strange glory : They only thought, " What ails the girl ?" And laught to hear her story. 188 THE LEGEND OF LITTLE PEARL. Next morning mother sought her child, And clasped it to her bosom ; Poor Uttle Pearl, in death she smiled. And the rose was full in blossom. 189 NEWS OF CHRISTIE. We read your letters ; no word lost ; All, all is remembered ; And sometimes when there is no post, Once more are the old ones read ; Of all she did we love to hear ; And how the days have sped ; But to our listening hearts most dear Is something " Christie said." 190 FOR EVER. " Farewell, Sweet ! may you find a nest Of home in haven dearer ; And happier rest upon the breast Of truer love and nearer ; May favours fall, may blessings flow For you, may cares come never ! But kiss me. Dear, before you go, And then shake hands for ever." Her very heart within doth melt, And gathers, while she lingers, A weeping warmth, as tho' she felt A wee babe's feeling fingers : The minutes pass ; they do not part ; And vain was all endeavour, A touch had closed them heart to heart ; Their hands were claspt for ever. 191 OUR WHITE DOVE. A WHITE Dove out of heaven flew, White as the wliitest shape of Grace That nestles in the soft embrace Of heaven when skies are summer blue ; It came with dew-ch'op purity, On glad wings of the morning light ; And sank into our Life, so white A Vision ! sweetly, secretly ! Silently nestled our white Dove : , Babnily made our bosoms swim With still dehght, and overbrim ; The air it breathed was breath of love Oui' Dove had eyes of baby blue, Soft as the Speedwell's by the way, That looketh up as it would say, " Who kissed me while I slept, did you ? " 192 OUE WHITE DOVE. God love it ! but we took our Bird, And loved it well, and merry made ; We sang and danced around, or prayed In silence, wherein hearts are heard. It seemed to come from far green fields To meet us over life's rough sea, With leaf of promise from the tree In which a dearer nest it builds. As fondling Mother birds will pull The softest feathers from their breast. We gave our best to line the nest, And make it warm and beautiful ! We held it as the leaves of life In liidden silent service fold About a Rose's heart of gold, So jealous of all outer stiife I When holy sleep in soothing palms Pillowed the darling little head. How Ughtly moved we round the bed, And felt the silence fall in balms ! OUR WHITE DOVE. 193 But all we did or tried to do, Our flood of joy it never felt ; Only into our hearts would melt Still deeper those dove-eyes of blue. Quick with the spirit of field and wood, All other Birds would sing and sing Till hearts did ripple and homes did ring : Our white Dove only cooed and cooed — With every day some sweetness new, And night and day and day and night It was the voice of our delight. That gentle, low, endearing coo ! God I if we were to lose our child ! O, we must die, poor hearts would cry : She lookt on us so hushingly ; So mournfully to herself she smiled. One day she pined up in our face With a low cry we could not still ; A moaning we could never heal. For sleep in some more quiet place. 194 OCR WHITE DOVE. We could not help, and yet must see The little head droop wearily, The httle eyes shine eerily, My Dove ! what have they done to thee ? The look grew pleading in her eyes And mournful as the lonesome light That in a window bums all night. Asking for stillness, while one dies. The hand of Death so coldly clings. So strongly di'aws the weak life-wave Into his dark, vast, silent cave ; Our little Dove must use its wings ! And so it sought the dearer nest ; A Httle way across the sea It kept us winged company. Then sank into its leafier rest ; And left us long ago to feel A sadness in the sweetest words ; A broken heartstring mid the chords ; A tone more tremulous when we kneel. OUR WHITE DOVE. 195 But, dear my Christie, do not cry, Our White Dove left for you and me Such blessed promise as must be Perfected in the heavens high. The stars that shone in her dear eyes May be a little while withdrawn. To rise and lead the eternal dawn For us, up heaven in other skies. Our Bird of God but soars and sings : Oft when life's heaving wave 's at rest, She makes her mirror in my breast, I feel a winnowing of wings ; And meekly doth she minister Glad thoughts of comfort, thrills of pride ; She makes me feel that if I died Tliis moment I should go to her. Be good ! and you shall find her where No wind can shake the wee bird's nest ; No dreams can break the wee bird's rest ; No night, no pain, no parting there ! 19G OUK WHITE DOVE. No echoes of old storms gone by ! Earth's sorrows slumber peacefully ; The weary are at rest, for He Shall wipe the tears from every eye. 197 CHEISTIE'S PORTRAIT. Your tiny Picture makes me yeai-n ; We are so far apart, My Darling ! I can only turn And kiss you in my heart. A thousand tender tliouglits a-wing, Swarm in a summer clime, And hover round it, murmuring. Like bees at honey- time. Upon a little Grirl I look, "Whose pureness makes me sad ; I read as in a blessed book — I grow in secret glad ! It seems my darling comes to me With something I have lost. Over Life's tossed and troubled sea. On some celestial coast. That grave content, and touching grace, Bring tears into mine eyes ; She makes my heart a holy place, Where hymns and incense rise. 198 Christie's portrait. Such calm her gentle spirit brings, As — smiling overhead — White statued saints with peaceful wings, Shadow the sleeping dead. Meek as the wood anemone glints. To see if Heaven be blue. Is my pale flower with her sweet tints Of heaven shining thro' ? She will be poor, and never fret ; Sleep sound and lowly lie ; Will live her quiet hfe and let The great world-storm go by. Our Christie is no Rosy Grace, With beauty aU may see ; But I have never felt a face Grow half so dear to me ! No curling hair about her brows, Like many merry Girls ; Well ; straighter to my heart it goes ; And round it curls, and curls. I think of Her when spirit-bowed ; A glory fills the place ; Like sudden light on swords the proud Smile flashes in my face ! Christie's portrait. 199 And others see in passing by, But cannot understand, The vision shining in mine eye ; My strength of heart and hand. Dear love ! God keep her in his grasp ; Meek Maiden or brave Wife ; Till His good angels softly clasp Her closed book of Life : And this fair picture of the Sun, With Birthday blessings given, Shall fade before a glorious one Taken of her in heaven. 200 THE NEST. I BUILT my Nest by a pleasant stream, That glided on with a smile in its gleam, BrinsHLnj? me trold that was sumless ; Ah, me! but the floods came dro\vning one day, And swept my Nest with its wealth away ; I in the world was homeless ! I built my Nest in a gay green tree, And the summer of life went merrdy With us ! we were Birds of a feather ! But the leaves soon fell, and my pretty ones flew, And thro' my Nest the bitter winds blew ; 'Twas bare in the wildest weather. I built my Nest under Heaven's high eaves ; No rising of floods, no faUing of leaves, Can mock my heart's endeavour ; "Waters may wash, breezes may blow. In the bosom of Rest I shall smile, I shall know My Nest is safe for ever. 201 OUE LITTLE CHILD WITH RADIAXT EYES. With seeking hearts we still grope on, Where dropt our jewel in the dust ; The looking crowd have long since gone, And still we seek with lonely trust ; little Child mth radiant eyes ! Dark underneath the brightening sod, The sweetest hfe of aU our years Is crowded in ae gift to God. We stand outside the gate in tears ! little Child with radiant eyes ! In all our heart-ache we are drawn, TJnweeting, to your little grave ; There, on your heavenly shore of dawn, Breaks genther Sorrow's sobbing wave ; Httle Child with radiant eyes ! Heart-empty as the acorn-cup That only fills with wintry showers, The breaking cloud but brimmeth up With tears this pleading life of ours. Httle Child with radiant eyes ! 202 OUR LITTLE CHILD WITH RADIANT EYES. We tliink of you, our Angel kith, Till life grows light with starry leaven : We never forget you DarHng with The gold hair waving high in heaven ! Our little Child with radiant eyes ! Your wliite wings grown you will conquer Death ! You are coming through our dreams even now. With two blue peeps of heaven beneath The arching glory of your brow, Our little ChUd with radiant eyes ! We cannot pierce the dark, but oft You see us with looks of pitying balm ; A hint of heaven — a touch more soft Than kisses — aU the trouble is calm. little Child with radiant eyes ! Think of us wearied in the strife ; And when we sit by Sorrow's streams, Shake dowTi upon our drooping life The dew that brings immortal dreams. little Child with radiant eyes ! 203 ROBIN'S SONG. Sing, Robin Redbreast, Tho' you fill our hearts with pain ; Sing, bonny Robin, Tho' our tears fall like the rain For a Lamb far from the fold, In the wet and wintry mould ! For a Bird out in the cold, Bird alane ! Bird alane ! Sing, Robin Redbreast ! You are welcome to our door ; Sing, darling Robin, Merry Larks no longer soar. Autumn comes with feel of rain, Mournful odoui's, wail of pain ! There 's a Bird will come again Nevermore ! Nevermore ! Sing, Robin Redbreast ! For we love your song so brave, Tho' you mind us of a Robin Where the willows weep and wave ; 204 KOBIX'S SONG. To lier little grave it clings, Shakes the rain from its wet wings, And for all the sadness sings By Her grave, by Her grave. 205 THE TWO ROSES. Softly stept she over the lawn, In vesture light and free : A floating Angel might have drawn Her hair from heaven in a glory-dawn, And her voice rang silverly. Then up slie rose on her tiny tip-toes ; Her white hand catches, her fingers close ; You are tall and proud my dainty Rose ! But I have you now, said She. O so Hghtly over the lawn, Step for step went He ! Thinking how, from his hiding-place, The war of Roses in her face, Dear Love would laugh to see ! Two arms suddenly round her he throws ; Two mouths turning one way close ; You are tall and proud my dainty Rose ! But I have you now, said He. 206 POOR MARGARET. Poor Margaret's Avdndow is alight ; Poor Margaret sits alone ; Though long into the silent night, And far, the world is gone. She lives in shadow till her blood Grows bitter and blackened all ; Upon her head a mourning hood ; Upon her heart a pall. The stars come nightly out of heaven. Old darkness to beguile ; For her there is no healing given To their sweet spirit-smile. That honey-dew of sleep the skies In blessed balm let faU, Comes not to her poor tired eyes, Tho' it be sent for aU. POOR MARGARET. 207 At some dead flower, with fragrance faint, Her life opes like a book ; Some old sweet music makes its plaint, And, from the grave's dim nook, The buried bud of hopes laid low, Flowers in the night fall-blown ; And little things of Long- Ago Come back to her full-grown. Her heart is wandering in a whirl, An d she must seek the tomb Where lies her long-lost little girl. well with them for whom Love's Morning-Star comes round so fair As Evening- Star of Faith, Already up and shining, ere The dark of coming death. But, Margaret cannot reach a hand. Beyond the dark of death ; Her spirit swoons in that high land Where breathes no human breath ; She cannot look upon the gTave As one eternal shore ; From which a soul may take the wave, For heaven, to sail or soar. 208 POOR MARGARET. Across that Deep no sail unfurled, For her ; no wings put forth ; She tries to reach the other world By groping down through earth. 'T was there the child went underground ; They parted in that place ; And ever since, the Mother found The door shut in her face. Tho' many effacing springs have wrapped With green, the dark grave-bed ; 'Twas tliere, the breaking heartstrings snapped As she let down her dead : And there she gropes with wild heart yet. For years, and years, and years ; Poor Margaret ! there she will let Her sorrows loose in tears. All the young mother in her old voice Its waking moan will make ! A young aurora hght her eyes With radiance gone to wreck ! And then at dawn she will return, To her old self again ; Eyes dim and dry ; heart grey and dem ; And querulous in her pain. POOR MARGARET. 209 " We never loved each other much, I and my poor good-man ; But on the Child we lavisht such A love as overran All boundaries, loving her the more Because our love was pent ; Striving as two seas try to pour Their strength thro' one small rent. " For children come to still hnk hands, When souls have fallen apart ; And hide the rift, when either stands At distance heart from heart. So on our httle one we 'd look ; Press hands with fonder grasp ; As tho' we closed some holy book, Softly, with golden clasp. " And as the dark earth offers up Her Httle winterliag. The Crocus, pleading mth its cup Of hoarded gold, to bring Down all the grey heaven's golden shower Of spring to warm the sod ; So did we Hft the winsome flower That sprang from our dark clod. p 210 POOR MARGARET. " Our little Golden-heart, lier name ! And all things sweet and calm, And pure and fragrant round her came With gifts of bloom and balm. And there she grew, my queen of all, Golden, and saintly white ; Just as at Summer's smiling call The lily stands a-light. " To knee or nipple, grew the goal Of her wee stately walk ; The voice of my own silent soul Was her dear baby-talk ; Then dai-klingly she pined and failed ; And looking on our dead. The father wailed awhile and ailed, Turned to the wall and said — '" 'jTis darh and still, our house of life, The fire is hurning low ; Our pretty one is gone, atid Wife, ^Tis time for me to go : Oiir Golden-heart has gone to sleep ; She's happed in for tlie night ; And so to bed I 'II quietly creep. And sleep till morning light.'" POOE MARGARET. 211 Once more poor Margaret arose, And. passed into the night : Long shadows weird of tree and house Made ghosts i' the wan moonhght ! She passed into the churchyard, where The many glad life-waves That leapt of old, have stood still there, In green and grassy graves. " would my body were at rest Under this cool grave-sward : would my soul were with the Blest, That slumber in the Lord ! They sleep so sweetly undergTOund ; For Death hath shut the door, And all the world of sorrow and sound Can trouble them no more." A spirit-feel is in the place. That makes the poor heart gasp ; Her soul stands white up in her face For one warm human clasp ! Tonight she sees the grave astir ; And as in prayer she kneels. The mystery opens unto her : She for the fii'st time feels 212 POOR MARGARET. The spirit-world may be as near Her moving silent round, As are the dead that sleep a mere Short fathom underground ; And there be eyes that see the sight Of lorn ones wandering, vexed Thro' some long, sad, and shadowy night Betwixt this world and next. Doorways of fear, are eye and ear, Thro' which the wonders go ; And thro' the night with glow-worm light, The Church is all aglow ! Then comes a waft of Sabbath hymn ; She enters ; aU the air With faces fills divine and dim, The Blessed Dead are there. One came and bade poor Margaret sit, Seemed to her as it smiled, A great white Bird of God aht From the marble forest wild. " Look to the Altar !" there a speU Fixed her ; she saw up- start, A woman, Hke a soul in hell, 'T was her own Golden-heart. POOK MARGARET. 213 " It would have been thus, Mother dear, And so God took her, from All trials and temptations here. To his eternal home ; And you shall see her in a place Where death can never part." She lookt up in that Angel's face ; 'T was her own Golden-heart. The lofty music rose again From all those happy souls, Till all the windows thrilled, as when The organ thunder rolls ; And all her life is like a hght Weak weed the stream doth sway. Until it reaches the full-height ; Breaks, and is borne away. Her life stood still to Hsten to That music ! then a hand Took hers, and she was floated thi'ough A mystic border-land. 'T was Golden-heart ! from that eclipse She drew her into bhss ; Two spirits closed at dying lips, In one immortal kiss. 214 POOR MARGARET. Next day an early worshipper Was kneeling in the Aisle ; A statue of life that did not stir. But knelt on with a smile Upon the face that smiled with light, As tho', when left beliind, It smiled on with some glorious sight Long after the eyes were blind. 215 LULLABY. Softly sink in slumbers golden, Warm as nestled Birdlings lie ; Safe in Mother's arms enfolden, While I sing thy lullaby. Lullaby, lullaby, lullaby, lullaby, Sweet one, sleep to my Lullaby. Tho' the night may darken, darken, Light will Mother's slumbers lie ; Still my heart will hearken, hearken. Lest my wee thing wake and cry. Lullaby, hiUaby, lullaby, lullaby. Sweet one, sleep to my Lullaby. At thy garden gate of slumber. Stands my spirit tiptoe high, Filled wiih. yearnings without number. In thine inner heaven to fly. Lullaby, lullaby, lullaby, lullaby. Sweet one, sleep to my Lullaby. 216 LULLABY, In that world of mystic breathing, Spirit Sentinels, stand by ! Winnow, winnow, o'er my wee thing. Wings of Love that hover nigh. Lullaby, lullaby, lullaby, lullaby, Sweet one, sleep to my Ltdlaby. Sleep ! and drink the dew delicious ! Sleep ! till the morrow dawn is high ! Sleep wdth Mother near her precious. Wake ! with Mother waiting: nigh. Lullaby, lullaby, lullaby, lullaby. Sweet one, sleep to my Lullaby. 217 HOW THE FLOWERS CAME FROM EDEN. The Seraph faded into air ; The Snake glode underground; As on the last step of Heaven's stair, Poor exiled Eve lookt round. Heartless as Death, and bHnd as Doom, The heavens bowed with wrath : Where God, betwixt the glare and gloom, Stood in their backward path. The memories in each other's eyes. They cannot, dare not face ; Forlorn and vast the wide world lies ; They see no hiding place. Two mourners following the hearse Of joy, go slowly forth ; To see the shadow of their curse Fall lengthening over earth. 218 HOW THE FLOWERS Then did the Flowers of Eden grieve ; As tho' a low wind stirred, They softly prayed to follow Eve ; And God in Heaven heard. As when some erring Cliild may see, The Father's face no more ; A Mother's love sends secretly ; Her heart keeps open door ; So were the Flowers from Paradise, For missioned comfort sent ; All heaven in their sweet pitying eyes ! And where Eve trod they went. With dear drops of that gladness spOled In Eden, they came pearled ; Their cups with colours of Heaven filled, To pour thro' all the world. They kiss her feet ; embrace her knees ; About her dance and play ; They run before and cHmb the trees, To cheer her by the way. CASIE FROM EDEN. 219 On hills and moorlands golden fires Of gorse in beauty bum ; Into red roses break the briars ; A flower for every thorn. And ever since, their silent march, Goes glowing overground ; And under Ocean's azure arch ; In an immortal round. The wee white fairies of the snow, May cover them awhile ; But from their hiding-places, lo ! The fresh young Eden smile ! They come back with their fragrant news, By brook, and field, and fell ; They wake, and in a thousand hues. Their dream of beauty tell. They bring the distant deamess of That dewy Eden youth, Into the kindling nearness of Warm kisses on the mouth. 220 HOW THE FLOWERS Our thoughts are with their fancies freakt, And delicately drawn ; With them our gray of life is streakt, Divinely as the dawn. And aiUng souls come forth to see, How the sweet Flowers reveal The wax'ing skirts of Deity, Wliich at a touch can heal. Our dpng eyes their balm beseech ; Our dying fingers fold Their coolness, when we cannot reach The flower ; so dank the mould. Their roots like feeling fingers twine. About the lone grave-bed : Stai's of the gi'ound, they kindly shine, Thro' that long dark o' the Dead. Incense, pathetically sweet. Their little censers wave — Standing all night at head and feet Of our wee Sydney's grave. CAME FROM EDEN. 221 With mournfal fragrance to my heart, They pierce at times, until The tears up in mine eyes will start, With airs of heaven a-thrill. Still blooms with all its buried charms, That old lost land of ours ; Above its silent war of worms, A world laughs out in flowers. 000 ONE WHO WAS KIND TO CHRISTIE. God comfort you, my friend, God comfort yoa ! How mighty, how immeasurable your loss I can but dimly know ; yet I have learned That only the most precious die so soon. I can but stand \v4thout, and dare not thrust My hand betwixt the ctirtains of your grief ; I cannot reach you sitting in the dark Of that lone desert where the silence stuns, And sound of sobbing would be kind relief. But might I speak some word that, with a touch, Should make your cup of sorrow overbrim In tears that suck the sting from out the soul ! I too have felt the gloom that brings heaven near, The love whose kissings are all ujireturaed, And longed to lie do"WTi with the quiet dead And share their long sweet rest, I too have known This strain and crack of heart-strings — this wild whirl And wallow of sense in which the soul seems di'owned. ONE WHO WAS KIND TO CHRISTIE. 223 You are the husband of an angel : I Have two sweet Babes in bKss. We are very poor On earth, my Friend, but very rich in Heaven. Two years ago you comforted my loss : One year ago I sang your wedding song, And now She is not ! She who had only lookt On life thro' coloured windows of her dreams ! AU in the softest, sweetest breath of God The bud of her dear beauty seemed to have blown, Your one-year darling who but sprang, and died, And left the fragrance of her memory ; A blessed memory and a blessed hope ! She had the shy grace of a woodland flower ; In her Love veiled his look with timid wings ; And her eyes deepened with a sadness rich, As tho' the mountain-tops of heaven-toucht thought Made mirrored shadows in their lakes of Hght. Only a brief while did she wear the mask Of flesh that kept the fond immortal face Without a stain of earth or soil of time ; And now her Nun-Hke spirit takes the veil In Heaven's cloistral calm. Look up, my friend. And bravely bear the mantle of her pain, Which fell from her for you to wear for her ! 224 OJfE WHO WAS KIND TO CHRISTIE, Look up, my friend, and may one blessed glimpse Of all her glory touch your tears with light ! Only in heaven can the dark grow starry. Only in heaven comes the wished-for dawn. She liveth in the sight of Him that sees You also ; Ye are one still in God's eye That from his picture of the Universe Turns on us in whatever worlds we move. 22o THE MAIDEN JVIAERIAGE. She sat in her virgin bower Half sad with fancies sweet ; And wist not Love drew softly nigh, Till she nestled at his feet. " Arise, arise, thou fair Maiden ! And adieu, adieu, thou dear ; But meet me, meet me at the Kirk, In the May-time of the year." Up in her face of holy grace The startled splendour broke ; Her smile was as a dream of Heaven Fulfilled whene'er she spoke. She felt such bHss in her beauty, Such pleasure in her power, To richly clothe her perfect love For a peerless marriage dower. 226 THE MAIDEN MARRUGE. " Now kiss me, kiss me, Mother dear ; He calls me, I must go !" She went to the Kirk at tryste-time, In raiment like the snow. But he who claspt her there was Death ; And he hath led her where No voice is heard, there is no breath Upon the frosty air. 227 A POET. A VAGRANT Wild Flower sown by God, Out in the waste was born ; It sprang up as a Corn-flower In the golden fields of Corn : The Com aU strong and stately In its bearded bravery grew — Gathered the gold for harvest — Grew ripe, in sun and dew ; And when it bowed the head, — as Wind And Shaddw ran their race, As influences from Heaven Come to Earth, for playing place, — It seemed to look down on the Flower As in a snuling scorn, Poor thing ! you grow no grain for food, Or gamer, said the Corn. 228 A POET. The bonny Flower felt lonely ; Its look grew tearful sad, Till came a smile of sunshine And its beauty grew so glad ! Ah, bonny Flower ! it bloomed its best Contented with its place ; God's blessing fell upon it As it lookt up in his face. And there they grew together Till the Reapers white-wing'd came — All their Sickles shining ! All their faces were a-flame ; — The Com they reapt for earthly use, — But an Immortal fell in love With that Wild Flower, and wore it At the Harvest-home above. 229 LIFE A^B DEATH. This butterfly of human breath, Is followed fast and far by Death ; Some flower of life it settled on He clasps and crushes ; but, 't is gone ! 230 POOR BIDDY. Poor Biddy was peculiarly proud, And often passed along the public road Riding a Stick : she would have been a vntch In the old days, and wierdly filled her niche. The mocking Bairns would cry, as she would stalk, " Biddy, you might as well on two legs walk ;" And she would say, says she, the poor daftling ! " I might ! but for the grandeur of the thing." Alas, how many pitiful tricks we play Like Biddy, in less Natural kind o' way : And ride our stick, and have our fooHsh fling, Grod help us ! for the grandeur of the thing. 231 WHEN CHRISTIE COMES AGAIN. When the merry spring-tide Floods aU tlie land, Nature hath a Mother's heart- Gives with open hand. Flowers running up the lane Tell us May is near ; Christie wiU be coming then, Christie wiU be here. 0, the merry spring-tide. We'll be glad in sun or rain, In the merry, merry, merry days When Christie comes again. Pure is her meek nature. Clear as momiug dew ; We can see the Angel Almost shiniag through. To Earth's sweetest blessing She the best from Heaven did bring ; 232 WHEN CHRISTIE COMES AGAIN. Good Genius of our Love-Lamp ! Fine Spirit of the Ring ! 0, the merry spring-tide, We'll be glad in sun or rain, In the merry, merry, merry days When Christie comes asrain. All om- joys we'll tell her. But for her dear sake Not a word of sorrow, Lest her little heart should ache. She shall dance, and swing, and sing. Do as she hkes best j Only I must have her hand In ramble or in rest. O, the merry spring- tide, We'U be glad in sun or rain, In the merry, merry, merry days WTien Christie comes agrain. We'U romp in jewelled meadows. Hunt in dingles, cool with leaves. Where all night the Nightingale Melodiously grieves. In her cheek so tender. The shy and dainty rose WHEN CHRISTIE COMES AGAIN. 233 Shall gaily come for kisses To every wind that blows : 0, the merry spring- tide, We'll be glad in sun or rain, In the merry, merry, merry days Wlien Christie comes again. Hope will lay so many eggs In her little nest : Don't your heart run over, Christie, in your breast ? Ours will run to meet you. Often ere vou come ; Thinking how we'll greet you, Safe once more at home. 0, the merry spring-tide, We'll be glad in sun or rain. In the merry, meriy, merry days Wh.en Christie comes again. Oh, the joy in our house, Hearts dancing wild ; Christie will be coming soon. She's our darHno: child. Holy dew of Heaven, In each eyelid starts, 284 WHEN CHRISTIE COMES AGAIN. Feeling all her clearness, Dai'ling of all hearts. O, the merry spring-tide, We'll be glad in sun or rain, In the merry, merry, merry days When Christie comes again. Dreary was our winter. Come ! and all the place Shall breathe a summer sweetness, And wear a happy face. There will be a sun-smile On stem old Calliby, Tender as the spring-gold On our old oak-tree ! 0, the merry spring-tide. We'll be glad in sun or rain, In the merry, merry, merry days When Christie comes again. Jack, the Dog, will run before. First to reach the rail ; Jack, the Pony, whisk you home With long trotting tail ; We have had our struggles. Dear ! But couldn't part with Jack, WHEN CHRISTIE COMES AGAIN. 235 We shall all be waiting To welcome Christie back. 0, the merry spring-tide, We'U be glad in sun or rain, In the merry, merry, merry days When Christie comes again. Then blow, you winds, and shake up The sleeping flower-beds ! Make the violets wake up, The Daisies lift their heads ; The Lilacs float in fragrance. Dim-purple, saintly white, — And bring the bonny bauTi to us, The flower of our delight. O, the merry spring-tide, We'll be glad in sun or rain, In the merry, merry, merry days When Christie comes again. DOWN IN THE VILLAGE. 239 A LETTER IN BLACK. A FLOATING on tte fragrant flood Of summer, — fuller hour by hour, — With all the sweetness of the bud Crowned by the glory of the flower ; My spirits with the season flowed ; The air was all a breathing balm ; The lake so softly sapphu-e glowed ; The mountains lay in royal calm. Green leaves were lusty ; roses blusht For pleasure in the golden time ; The birds thro' all their feathers flusht For gladness of their marriage prime : Languid, among the lihes I threw Me down, for coolness, 'mid the sheen : Heaven — one large smile of brooding blue ; Earth — one large smile of basking green. 240 A LETTER IN BLACK. A ricli suspended sliower of gold Hung o'er me, my Laburnum-crown, You look up heavenward and, behold, It glows, and comes in glory down ! There, as my thoughts of greenness grew To fruitage of a leafy dream, — There, friend, your letter thrilled me through, And all the summer- day was dim. The world, so pleasant to the sight, So full of voices blithe and brave. And all her lamps of beauty ahght With life ! I had forgot the Grave : And there it opened at my feet, Revealing a familiar face Upturned, my whitened look to meet, And very patient in its place. My poor bereaven friend ! I know Not how to word it, but would bring A little solace for your woe, — A little love for comforting : And yet the best that I can say Will only help to sum your loss ; I can but look above, and pray God help my friend to bear his Cross. A LETTER IJT BLACK. 241 I have felt somethiiig of your smart, And lost the dearest thing e'er wound In love about a human heart : I, too, have life-roots londerground. From out my soul hath leapt a cry For help ! Nor God himself could save : And tears still run that nought will dry, Save Death's hand with the dust o' the grave. God knows, and we may some day know, These hidden secrets of his love ; But now the stillness stuns us so ; Darkly, as in a dream, we move. The glad life-pulses come and go. Over our head and at our feet ; Soft airs are sighing something low ; The flowers are saying something sweet ; And 'tis a merry world. The lark Is singing over the green corn ; Only the house and heart are dark, — Only the human world forlorn. There, in the bridal chamber, lies A dear bed-fellow aU in white ; That purple shadow under the eyes. Where star-fire swam in Hquid night. R 242 A LETTER IN BLACK. Sweet, slippery silver of her talk ; The music of her laugh so dear, Heard in home-ways, and wedded walk. For many and many a golden year ; The singing soul and shining face, Daisy-like glad hy roughest road ; Gone ! vnth. a thousand dearnesses That hid themselves for us and glowed. The waiting Angel, patient Wife, All thro' the battle at our side, That smiled her sweetness on our strife For gain, and it was sanctified ! When waves of trouble beat breast high And the heart sank, she poured a balm That stilled them ; and the saddest sky Made clear and starry with her calm. And when the world with harvest ripe In aU its golden fulness lay ; And God, it seemed, saw fit to wipe. Even on earth, all tears away ; The good true heart that bravely won, Must smile up in our face and fall ; And all our happy days are done. And this the end. And is this aU ? A LETTER IN BLACK. 243 The bloom of bliss, the secret glow, That clothed without, and inly curled. All gone, we are left shivering now, Naked to the wide open world ! A shrivelled, withered, world it is, And sad and miserably cold ; Where be its vaunted braveries ? 'Tis gray, and miserably old. Our joy was all a drunken dream ; This is the truth at waking ! we Are swept out rootless by the stream And current of calamity- — Out on some lone and shoreless sea Of soUtude so vast and deep. As 'twere a wrong Eternity, Where God is not, or gone to sleep. It seems as tho' our darling dead. Startled at Death's so sudden call, With falling hands and dear bowed head Had, like a flower-filled lap, let fall A hoard of treasures we have found Too late ! so slow doth wisdom come ! We for the first time look around Rememberino" this is not our home. 244 A LETTER IN BLACK. My friend, I see you with your cup Of tears and trembling — see you sit ; And long to help you drink it up, With useless longings infinite ! — Sit rocking the old mournful thought, That on the heart's-blood will be nurst, Unless the blessed tears be brought ; Unless the cloudy sorrows burst. The little ones are gone to rest, And for awhile they will not miss The Mother-wings above the nest : But dovm a dream they feel her kiss, And in their sleep will sometimes start. And toss wild arms for her caress. With moanings that miist thrill a heart In heaven with divine distress. And Sorrow on your threshold stands, The Dark Ladye in glooming pall : I see her take you by the hands ; I feel her shadow over all. Her's is no warm and tender clasp ; With silence solemn as the night's, And veiled face, and mighty grasp, She leads her Chosen up the heights : I A LETTER IN BLACK, 245 || The cloudy crags are cold and gray, You cannot scale them without scars : So many Martyrs by the way, Who never reacht her tower of stars, But there her beauty shall be seen, Her glittering face so proudly pure ; And all her majesty of mien ; And ail her guerdon shall be sure. Well. 'Tis not written, God will give To Ms Beloved only rest ! The hard life of the cross they live. They strive, and suffer, and are blest. The feet must bleed to reach their throne, The brow must bum before it bear One of the crowns that may be won, By workers for immortal wear. Dear friend, life beats tho' buried 'neath Its long black vault of night ! and see There trembles thro' this dark of death, StarKght of immortaHty ! And yet shall dawn the eternal day To kiss the eyes of them that sleep ; And He shall wipe all tears away From tired eyes of them that weep. 246 A LETTER IN BLACK. 'Tis something for tlie poor bereaven, In such a weary world of care, To think that we have friends in heaven ; Wlao helpt us liere, may aid us there. These yearnings for them set our arc Of beiag widening more and more, In circhng sweep thro' outer dark To day more perfect than before. So much was left unsaid, the soul Must live in other worlds to be ; On earth we cannot grasp the whole. For that Love has eternity. Love deep as death, and rich as rest ; Love that was love with all Love's misrht : Level to needs the lowliest ; Will not be less Love at full-height. Tho' earthly forms be far apart, Spirit to spirit may be nigher ; The music chord the same at heart, Tho' one should range an octave higher. Eyes watch us that we cannot see ; Lips warn us which we may not kiss ; They wait for us, and starrUy, Lean toward us from heaven's lattices. AN LETTER IN BLACK. 247 We cannot see them face to face, But love is nearness ; and they love Us yet, nor change, with change of place. In their more human -world above, Wliere love, once leal, hath never ceased. And dear eyes never lose their shine. And there shall be a marriage feast. Where Christ shall once more make the wine. 248 FARMER FORREST'S OPINION OF THE BROAD-BOTTOMED MINISTRY. 1859. Now tell me you who wink, or blmk, or tlimk, What good is a Broad bottom if we sink ? Not "WTiigs ! not Tories ! we want Enghsh souls Where-thro' there yet reverberates and rolls Some echo of old greatness ; good stout hands Must bear our Banner over seas and lands ! Our forms of freedom must not choke the breath, The outer mail be forged for umer death ! There is a wild hour coming for us, when We must aU weather it as Englishmen. We cannot leave the land for watch and ward To those who know not what a gem they guard ; Who bind us helpless for the Bird of Blood To swoop on ; who would have this famous flood Of English Freedom stagnate till it stink, Wlnle reptiles wriggle in their slimy drink, And frogs shaU reign in darkness ; croak all night And call the Stars false Prophets of the hght. FAEMER FORREST'S OPINION, ETC. 249 Our good ship may be driving on the rocks : We want a Compass, and not Weather-Cocks ! We have had leaders who strode forward all On fire to serve her at their Country's call ; They did not stoop, till blind, for place and pelf. Their whole life burned a sacrifice of self ! They faced the Spirit of the Storm and Strife, And with an upward smile laid down their life. But now our leaders are the coward and cold ; The Gnomes whose dayhght is a gleam of gold ; The Dwarfs who sun them in a Tyrant's smile; The Peacemen who would set our dear green Isle Spinning their Cotton till the judgment hour. With Ocean turning round for water-power. These pander to this Plunderer of the night ; Confased their Httle sense of Wrong and Right I And they would bow our England's dear head down Tmstfully iQ his lap to leave her crown ! See her sit weeping where her brave lie dead ; Blood on her raiment, ashes on her head, A Palmerston now crawls were Cromwell stood ; A Tyrant's Parasite, that hcks the blood From his red hand, an old eternal stain ! And takes, for Glory's sign, that brand of Cain ! 250 FARMER Forrest's opinion of the He is an Eve in innocence we know, But leans and listens to the Serpent so, We are no safer although well we weet The fruit of knowledge He will never eat. In Milton's patriot seat sits little John, Who to the muzzle loads his monster gun, And fires in air if it goes off at all. To find his o^vn lead on his o^\ti head fall, If he have any, for, since he who bled Upon a Tyrant's block once lost his head, To keep up the tradition Lord Jolin is Determined to be alivays losing his. And Gladstone aims at nothing, sure to hit, Or splits fine hairs till he have none to split. Who rides out from the ranks for challenge, he May toss the Sword and catch it gracefully. But must be able, when the onsets come. To drive with slaying hand his hilt heart-home. He is a Seer, but so many-eyed. He sees so many ways, from many a side. His eyes like horses in the old punishment Whereby all ways at once the doomed was rent, Draw to divide him, follow if he dare. He is to pieces pulled by either pair. BROAD-BOTTOMED MmiSTRY. 251 These be our Leaders now. Napoleon's Pal, Is head of England's power, and crowning all, To cool the blood, and soothe all sin to rest. The great castrated Quaker Interest Stands Eunuch at the Privy Chamber. Wake My England! ^//esethy sword and shield? they make A Ministry broad-bottomed without doubt, For better target when you kick them out. 252 MY BONNY LADY. Eve gave us her fair Daughters to restore The Eden that their Mother lost of yore ; They lead us thro' the Angel-guarded door, And where they smile it blooms for evermore. But dearest of Eve's Daughters dear is she ^Ylio makes an Eden in my Home for me ; My Bonmy Lady. No seeming beauty perilous to know, Like dream of ripeness on the sour sloe, But sweet to the true heart as summer fruit. And sound and strong to love's most secret root ; A soul made human by its kindling life ! A woman ripened to the perfect Wife ! My Bonny Lady. MY BONNY LADY. 253 She grows in graces as the flowers bloom ; Her robe of beauty woven in Heaven's loom ! She wears her jewels in her lips and eyes : Diamond sparks ! warm rubies ! pearls of price ! And see what shapely sweetness may be shown, Bright budding from a simple morning gown ! My Bonny Lady. Upon her dear brow is no band of care That binds the heavy burden souls must bear ; The dew of childhood's Heaven yet lingering lies Cool in the shadows of her morning eyes ; So may some spirit in its brightness wait With welcome at the beautiful heaven gate. My Bonny Lady. EyeHds once lifted with the kiss of Love, Droop tender after as the brooding dove ! Lips, when the soul of joy is tasted, will Hush its loud sound of laughter, and be still. Yet is she happy as the lark that sings, Winnowing out the music with his wings ; My Bonny Lady. 254 MY BONNY LADY. Lo, how she bows with soft and settled bliss, Over her babe in breathless tenderness ! Her image that my Lily bends above, To mingle One in my heart's sea of Love ! Thus hath she doubled love and Love's caress. With doubled blessing, doubled power to bless. My Bormy Lady. Her smile the sum of sweetness infinite ! Her neck a throne where many graces sit ! Like music of the soul her motion is. But none can know the inner sanctities ; Outside they stand in wonder, I alone Pass in to worship at the spirit-throne. My Bonny Lady. Behold her in religious lustre stand, Clothed all in white and fit for spiiit-land ! Her thankfol eyes upHft for angel food ; And you might worship her, so pure, so good ; For all shy beauty, all sweet shadowy grace, Breaks into brightness through my Lady's face ; My Bonny Lady. MY BONNT LADY. 255 I think of her, and mine eyes softly close Wliile all my heart with sweetness overflows ; Each breath it breathes in blessing sets astir Some gracious balm, and sweet as hidden myrrh. My Rest while toiling up the hiU of life ! A Halfway House to Heaven ! my noble Wife ! My Bonny Lady. 256 ON A WEDDING DAY. Thus, hand in hand, and heart in heart, Face nestling unto face. Forgotten things like Spirits start From many a hiding place ! There is no sound of Babe or Bird, And all the stillness seems Sweet as the music only heard Ado-wn the land of dreams. And if, because it is so proud. My heart Avill find a voice. And in its dear dream love aloud, And speak of sweet still joys. It is no genuine gift of God, But only goblin gold. That withers into dead leaves, should The secret tale be told. ON A WEDDING DAY. 257 Nine years ago you came to me, And nestled on my breast, A soft and winged mystery That settled here to rest ; And my heart rockt its Babe of bhss. And soothed its child of air, With something 'twixt a song and kiss, To keep it nestling there. At first I thought the fairy form Too spirit-soft and good To fiU my poor, low nest with warm And wifely womanhood. But such a cozy peep of home Did your dear eyes unfold ; And in their deep and dewy gloom What tales of love were told ! In dreamy curves your beauty droopt, As tendrils lean to twine. And very gTaciously they stoopt To bear their fruit, my Vine ! To bear such blessed fruit of love As tenderly increased Among the ripe vine-bunches of Your balmy-breathing breast. 258 ON A WEDDING DAT. We cannot boast to have bickered not Since you and I were wed ; We have not lived the smoothest lot, Nor found the do\vniest bed ! Time hath not passed o'er-head in stars, And underfoot in flowers, With wings that slept on fragrant airs Thi'o' all the happy hours. It is our way, more fate than fault, Love's cloudy fire to clear ; To find some virtue in the salt That sparkles in a tear ! Pray God it all come right at last, Pray God it so befall, That when our day of hfe is past The end may crown it all. Ah, Dear ! tho' lives may pull apart Down to the roots of love, One thought will bend us heart to heart, Till lips re-wed above ! One thought the knees of pride will bow Down to the grave-yard sod ; You are the Mother of Angels now ! We have two babes with God. ON A WEDDmG DAY. 259 Cling closer, closer, for their loss, Abont our darlings left, And let their memories grow like moss That healeth rent and rift ; — For his dear sake, our Soldier Boy, For whom we nightly plead That he may live for God, and die For England in her need : For her, who like a dancing boat Leaps o'er life's solemn waves. Our little Lightheart who can float And frolic over graves ; And Grace, who making music goes. As in some shady place A brooklet, prattHng to the boughs. Looks up with its bright face. Cling closer, closer, life to life. Cling closer, heart to heart ; The time will come, my own wed Wife, When you and I must part ! Let nothing break our band but Death, For in the worlds above 'Tis the breaker Death that soldereth Our ring of Wedded Love. 260 MARRIAGE. Two human Stars in passing are Attracted as thro' Heaven they float ; Sometimes they form a double Star, Sometimes they put each other out : And sometimes one and one make three. This world's most perfect trinity. 261 UNDER THE MISLETOE. "T was on a meiTy Christmas night, A many years ago, I saw my Love, with dancing sight, As she came over the snow. The Elvish Holly laught above ; A sweeter red below ! When first I met with my true love, Under the Misletoe Bongfli. ■"■Q-^ Bright-headed as the merry May Dawn She floated down the dance : I thought some angel must have gone Our human way by chance. I held my hands, and caught my bliss. Children, I '11 show you how ! And Earth toucht Heaven in a kiss, Under the Misletoe Bough. 262 UNDEB THE MISLETOE. Ere leaves were green we built our nest, The March winds whistled wild ; But in our lovd we were so blest Old Poverty he smiled. And Love the heart of Winter warmed ; Love blossomed 'neath the snow ; All faii-j-land in blessings swarmed, Under the Misletoe Bough. The storms of years have beat our Bark, That rocks at anchor now ; But She was smiling thro' the dark, My Angel at the prow. And brimming tides of love did bear Us over the rocks below ! To-night, all safe in harbour here, Under the Misletoe Bough. May you, Boys, win just such a Wife ; Come drink the toast in wine 1 An d you, Gii'ls, may you light a life As she hath brightened mine. Dear was the bonny Bride, and yet I 'm prouder of her now Than on the merry, merry night we met, Under the ^Misletoe Bough. 263 A VILLAGE COURTING. SHY and simple Village Gii'l, With daisy-drooping eyes ; Like light asleep within the pearl, Love in your young life lies. A hundred times in meadow and lane With careless hearts we walkt ; But we shall never meet again, And talk as we have taUct. All in a moment life was crost, In a fairy spell I'm bound ; Yet fear to tell you what I've lost. Or know what I have found. When last I met you, tearful-meek The emerald gloaming came ; Some veil fell from you, in your cheek The hve rose was aflame ! So distant and so dear you grew, More near, yet more estranged, 2()4 A VILLAGE COURTING. And at your parting touch I knew Hmv all the world was changed. All in a moment life was crost, In a fairy spell I'm bound ; Yet fear to tell you what I've lost, Or know what I have found. Your fairness haunts me all night long, I walk in a dream by day ; My silent heart breaks into song, And the prayerless kneels to pray. Ten times a day the hot tears start, For very pride of you : Would God you were safe at home in my heart, To rest the rough world through. All in a moment life was crost. In a fairy spell I'm bound ; Yet fear to tell you what I've lost. Or know what I have found. My heart I She comes by lane and stile. With glances shy and sweet ; Making the sunlight with her smile. And music with her feet. Ah ! could I clasp her in mine arm Until she named the hour A VILLAGE COURTING. 265 When life should move from charm to charm, And love from flower to flower ! All in a moment life was crost, In a fairy spell I'm bound ; Yet fear to tell her what I've lost, Or know what I have found. 266 MY LOYE. My Love is true and tender, Her eyes are rich with rest ; Her hair of dappled splendour, The colour I love best ; So sweet, so gay, so odorous warm, She nestles here, heart-high ; A bounteous aspect, beauteous form. But — just a wee bit sly. My love is no Hght Dreamer, A-floating with the foam ; But a brave life-sea swimmer. With footing found in Home. My Avinsome Wife, she's bright ^N-ithout, And beautiful within ; But — I would not say quite without The least wee touch of sia. MY LOVE. 267 My Love is not an Angel In one or two small things ; But just a wifely woman With other wants than wings. You have some Httle leaven Of earth, you darling dear ! If you were fit for Heaven, You might not nestle here. 268 AT EVENTIDE. 1 SIT beneath my shadowing Palm, All in the green o' the day at rest : And pictured in a sea of calm, The Past arises in my breast. The winter world takes leafy wing In that sweet April tide of ours ; And hidden Love lies Kstening, And nodding smile the bridal flowers. I sing, and shut mine eyes and dream I see her singing, my young Bride ! Who on a-sudden from Life's stream Rose Swan-like sAvimming at my side. God love her ! she was very fair. As in her eyes, to light my way, The Love- Star sprang and sparkled where The hidden Babe of Blessing lay. AT EVENTIDE. 269 With healing as of summer showers That only nestle down to bless : And silent ministry of flowers, That only breathe their tenderness ; She, softly as a starry scheme, ]\Iy charmed world hath circled round, Till life doth seem a pleasant dream The victor dreameth sitting crowned. Gone is the sunshine from her hair, That made her beauty needless bright, To tint a naany clouds of care, And make my tears to smile with hght. But so she lives that when the wind Of winter shreds the leaves, dear Wife ! Seed ripe for Heaven Death may find On the poor vidthered stem of life. THE END. T. RICHiRDS, 37, GREiT QLEEX STREET. '/' This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. 10M-11-50i2955'470 reminbton rand inc. 20 T'^^. LITERARY TTTMTVERblTY OF CALIFORNIA m . L'aF sey - h9Sh :.:7h Havelock's march ,''^, REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 00 376 286 PR M7h WtSTLEYSAC w (|.'-!i II id II ■im\ M ivmut^