THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES mifjtx SCATTERED LEAFLETS. / SCATTERED LEAFLETS. BY WILLIAM JOHN STEWART, EXETER COLLEGE, OXFORD. Blame ivherc yon must, be candid where yon can. And be each critic tlic good-natured man. (loLUSMITH. LONDON: WHITTAKER & CO. LIVERPOOL : ADAM HOLDEN. 1873- TO MY MOTHER AND SISTERS, TO WHOSE LOVE THESE VERSES ARE INDEBTED FOR THEIR HIGHEST, I'ERHAPS THEIR ONLY, VALUE. 942461 CONTENTS. Page Charlemagne, seeing the Northmen's fleet off the shores of France . . . . . . . . . . i Margaret, Queen of Henry VI., hearing of the Murder of her Son, Prince Edward .. i6 On the Opening of the Suez Canal . . . . 27 Sculpture . . . . . . . . . . . . 34 The Serenade . . . . . . . . . . 44 The Ocean Sprite.. .. .. .. .. 47 The Two Leaflets . . . . . . . . 50 The Wild Huntsman 53 Serenade . . . . . . . . . . . . 56 Evening Whispers.. .. .. .. .. 58 Ripples . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 60 Serenade . . . . . . . . . . . • 61 H.M.S. "Captain," lost at Sea, September, 1870 62 Two Gifts . . . . . . . . . . . . 65 vi. Contents. Page "One Swallow maketh not a Summer" .. .. 67 Old Love 68 "Only a 'Yes' would she say" .. .. .. 70 A Song . . . . . . . . . . . . 71 A Farewell - • . . ... . . 72 " Gloria Tibi, Domine ! " . . . . . . 74 A Study 76 Juliet 77 Knowledge . . . . • . • ■ • - ■ . 78 The Soul of Love . . . . • . ■ • 79 To C. J. G., with a Fan 81 To I. H. P., with some flowers .. 83 The Golden Pathway . . . . . . . . . . 85 Serenade . . . . . . . . . . 86 The Stream of Life . . . . . . . . . . 87 Twilight . . . . . . . . . . . . 92 A Fragment . . - . . . . . . . . 93 Ismene . . . . . . . . . . . . 95 Translations . . . . . . . . . . . . 109 CHARLEMAGNE Seeing the Northmen's Fleet off the shores of France. Stat sua cuiqu: dies ; breve et irreparabilc tempus Omnibus est vit' " Which tempted you to leave your ice-bound shore, " And deluge sunnier lands with streams of gore. " And here, while still I see your dark keels ride, " Like some fell sea-bird, on our southern tide, " (Nor rashly bold, but resolute my mind,) " Myself with solemn oath and vow I bind " Never again (so Heaven helping me !), " Fair Isabel, my lady-love, to see, " Till my stout brand, not all unskilled in strife, " Has thrice bereft a Viking son of life." '& He spake, and straight, in token of his vow, Raised high his spear in turn against each prow, Then seaward through the air the weapon hurled. While, as it sunk, the blue wave o'er it curled ; 'Twas but a moment that the eye could trace Its headlong plunge on ocean's restless face ; The waters closed above, and onward bore The waves unbroken to the pebbly shore. " My liege, behold the omen," cried the youth, " Let the dark future prove its prescient truth ; " Thus perish all that dare oppose thy might, " Saxon or Norman, or whatever hight ; Charlemagne. 1 1 •' So may beneath thy power 's resistless wave " Each foeman find a soon forgotten grave ! " He ceased, and straight his comrades raised on high Each his bare falchion 'gainst the noonday sky, And, emulous to aid their sovereign, swore To drive the Norseman from the Gallic shore ; Their deep devotion touched the monarch's heart, And to his eyes the tears unbidden start : — " Warriors and friends," he answered, " I receive " With pride and love the fealty ye give; " Long as from heaven I draw this vital breath, " Deep gratitude is mine, mine unto death ; " And when, in some new world beyond the tomb, " Beyond this dark earth's misery and gloom, " My spirit finds a rest, it still shall love " Its guardian wings to spread my land above. " But thou, brave boy, in youth's impetuous prime, " With brow unfurrowed by the foot of time, " Seek not in war the noblest path to fame, " Nor let it lure thee with a specious name. " Unless at duty's call, the pageant spurn, " By worthier deeds more lasting honours earn. 12 Charlemagne. ■a' " The patriot rather bids all conflict cease, " And prizes victory as it leads to peace. " 'Tis hard, my son, for eager youth to curb " The ardent passions which its breast disturb ; " 'Tis hard to see the substance in the dream, "Or clear the future from hope 's treacherous gleam. " A few years passed, and in the sombre hue " Of stern reality thou all shalt view, " And learn how worthless is the world's renown, " How fading its least perishable crown. " But yesternight, when slumber's soothing spell, " While deep in thought, upon mine eyelids fell, " A vision hovered round me in my dreams " Of some strange scene, which yet before me seems " In the unfathomable, dark To-come, " (From most concealed, though dimly read by some) ; " Methought again I found myself at Rome, " Kneeling beneath Saint Peter's lofty dome; " No gold-embroidered mantle clothed me now, " No regal diadem bedecked my brow, Charlemag7ie. 13 " A Roman senator's, the rank I bore, " And the Patrician's flowing garb I wore. " Once more the old Cathedral walls resound " With the applause of crowds that circle round ; " Ten thousand voices loud extol my fame, " Ten thousand thousand echoes give my name ; " From all the evils which their state assail, " Saviour, deliverer, me they gladly hail ; " But while I knelt, methought, from off his throne, " By me secured in battles dearly won, " The Holy Father rose ; and while I sought " His sacred blessing upon all I wrought, " Sudden he raised above my bended head " The empire's golden crown, and thus he said : " ' Hail, Charles Augustus, crowned of God, all hail, " ' Long mayst thou live, in battle never fail ! ' " Then from that vast array arose the cry — " ' Hail, Charles Augustus, crowned of God most high, " ' Emperor of Rome, long life and victory ! ' " I woke, but still the shouts, now dim, now clear, " In ever eddying echoes reached mine ear ; 1 4 Char km ague. " My heart beat quicker, buoyed with brighter hope, " My courage longed with worthy foes to cope, — '* A hope, alas, too soon delusive shown, " While courage totters on its inmost throne." He spake, and gloom once more his face o'erspread, Till the sage Alcuin, rebuking, said : — " Let not thy heart with gloomy cares be filled, " The future must be, as high heaven hath willed ; " Strive not, vain toil ! to scan its mystic page, " Let present duties present thoughts engage ; " To-day is man's, child of the fleeting hour, " Heaven holds to-morrow in its sovereign power." " Wisest of sages," Charlemagne replied, ** Ever with words of counsel at my side ; " Fitly hast thou mine errors past reproved, " Behold, henceforth, my doubts and fears re- moved. " At once, my lords, to council let us haste, " Thoughts without actions, but the present waste; * ' How best we may defend our royal state " From Viking's sword, we will deliberate." Charkmagfie. 15 He ceased, and, turning, sought the royal tent, Thither his Hegemen, too, their footsteps bent ; Rejoicing to behold so quickly past, The gloom that had their prince's mind o'ercast. So when the summer clouds the sun obscure, And genial showers refresh the arid moor ; Soon as they vanish, lo ! with brighter beams The azure canopy of heaven gleams ; Thus the dark frown has fled the monarch's brow, And hope and courage animate him now ; His cheerfulness regained, new life imparts, And breathes fresh courage in his liegemen's hearts. i6 MARGARET, QUEEN OF HENRY VI., Hearing of the Murder of her So?i, Prince Edward. Within a convent's walls, that erst were built Perchance by some rich penitent, whose guilt Weighed heavy on his soul, there lay a queen, The fairest, noblest, England e'er had seen, Margaret of Anjou, whose regal brow Had proudly worn the diadem, but now, Her throne usurped by traitors, faithless, base To their liege lord, alas, no resting place, Save with these holy maids, for her is found. A queen, yet not a queen ; dashed to the ground Her fondest hopes, her husband captive ta'en. And her brave boy, her noble Edward, slain. Oh, who shall soothe her misery, who impart Comfort to that grief-stricken one, whose heart Throbs with a mother's love, a queen's despair? No ray of hope can gild the darkness there. Margaret, Queen of Henry VI. 17 Still, while she thinks of that loved one, whose breath Was her own life, she scarce believes that death On that dear face has laid his ruthless hand. " And dared they," she exclaims, " that murderous band " Of foul assassins, noble but in name, " Slay their liege prince ? Glorious, forsooth, the fame " 'Tis theirs to win, for knightly prowess done ! " There in cold blood, three warriors 'gainst one, " And he a stripling ! Would I had been there " To hear thee answer, with undaunted air, " * I come, my father's sceptre to regain, " ' And here mine own inheritance obtain.' " Ah noble boy ! there spoke Plantagenet, " There gleamed the spirit of thy race, though yet " But few years nurtured ; would such noble fire, " Might for short space still animate thy sire ; " Soon would I laugh these traitor lords to scorn, " And York's proud triumph to dishonour turn ; " Then Henry's sceptre should the realm control, " While Margaret's spirit should inspire his soul. 1 8 Margaret^ Queen of Henry VI. " Such were the visions I had nursed for thee, " Less real, mine Edward, then the phantasy " Of some poor maniac's dream. " Hast thou in sleep " Marked such an one writhe with emotions deep, " Till starting up he sought to seize somewhere " The vision-form, but unsubstantial air " Alone responded to his eager grasp, " Which fain the phantom to his heart would clasp ? " Foiled by the shadow, mark his wild despair, " His passion-tears, and learn how hard to bear " The ruin e'en of dream-engendered hopes ; *' But harder still when man with mortal copes, ** His rights usurped, realities destroyed, " And every joy with disappointment cloyed. " The red rose hath but gained a deeper dye, " The white, a paler hue ; now draweth nigh " Just retribution, but though tardily " Vengeance may come, yet sure of foot is she, " Unflinching as she tracks the step of guilt. '* Tremble, ye traitors, for the blood ye spilt, — Margaret y Queen of Henry VI. 19 " The blood of youth, the blood of England's heir, " Your lawful prince, to whom ye fealty sware ; — " The bonds ignored of honour, duty, kin, " Nor innocence, nor courage, e'en could win " A moment's mercy. Murderers, beware, " If heaven e'er hear a childless mother's prayer, " Lest such a fate your blood-stained lives befal, " And turn your ill-earned triumph to the gall " Of deepest bitterness, and bid you drain " To its last dregs, till not a drop remain " Still unrequited, that dire cup of woe, " Which from your hands with royal blood doth flow. " A bitter draught, I ween ; but were it filled " With amaranth and wormwood, tlirice distilled, " It were but little of this bitterness " Which fills my cup, nor knows from man redress. " Sweet were the waters of that Sea of Death " Compared to this ; would that far down beneath " Its leaden waters I might sink to rest ! " Rest, do I say ? Nay, though by death opprest " My body moulder in corruption foul, " My spirit still should walk, like midnight ghoul, 20 Margaret, Queen of Henry VI. " And with these bitter memories should whet " Its appetite for vengeance, firmly set " Against all mercy ; mercy they denied, " When youth and virtue claimed it, though the pride " Of brave Plantagenet refused to plead " For pardon, when forsooth the treacherous deed " Of his disloyal kinsmen should have bade " Their coward knees to tremble, and, dismayed, " At Edward's feet for mercy prostrate sue, " If mercy to such rebels e'er were due. " Did not the son but image forth the sire, " The prince the king, though diverse thoughts inspire " My husband and my child ? " Ah, Henry, now " Too late, I see the graces that endow " Thy patient mind, thine uncomplaining soul ; " I see the pity that bade torrents roll " From eyes that wept thy country's pangs to see, " And yet I chid thee, nor felt sympathy, " Which miglit have cheered whene'er thy spirit failed, " And at th' impending fate with terror quailed. Margaret^ Queen of Henry VI. 21 " Terror ! not for thyself, but for thy realm, " For whose sake thou hadst yielded up the helm " (Had I not stayed thee) of the government ; " To sacrifice thy power, right well content, " As on the altar of thy country's weal " Thou aye didst offer self, so thou mightst heal, " If Heaven willed, thy realm, with discord rife, " And calm the ocean of tumultuous strife. " Oh now to me the sympathy extend, " Which I withheld from thee ; let pity blend " With pardon for my heartlessness ; the queen " Now to the mother yields, and anguish keen " Tortures my heart ; my burden is too sore " For me to bear alone ; at love, life's core, " There gnaws a secret worm, and, though so fair " The outside seemeth, in the canker's lair, " Like Sodom's fruit, see but the mouldering dust " Of shattered passions, hopes decayed, and trust " That breeds distrust. " But stay, what means this plaint? " Hath Margaret recreant turned, and caught the taint " Of pale-faced cowardice? Doth her courage fail ? " Can thus the misery of one day avail 22 Margaret^ Qtieen of Henry VI. " To quench the spirit that undaunted bore " The agony of years, nor sought before " To share its burden ? Nay, my lord, alone " Thy Margaret will suffer and atone " By pangs unshared, untold, for errors past. " Hast thou not marked, before the tempest's blast, " How bends the willow, while the sturdy oak, " With ceaseless challenge, doth the storm pro- ^ voke ; *' Till some wild hurricane accepts the gage, " And, thundering forth with long imprisoned rage, " O'ercomes the forest monarch ; he, uptorn " From deepest root, with crashing din is borne " Headlong ; but not alone, for in his train " Ruin to earth his neighbour trees, that fain, " With puny effort, would have checked his growth, " And one destruction overwhelms them both ? " If I must fall, so let me meet my fate ; " The blast that shakes the throne or soon or late Margaret, Qtieen cf Henry VI. 23 " Will luirl to ruin all who near it nursed " Unlawful hope, or envy's brood accursed \ " Or, by the flame of wild ambition fired, " To wield the royal prerogative aspired. " So let me fall, avenged, amid my foes, " The blood-stained bear to death the paUid rose. " My fretting spirit longs to burst the chain " Of woman's weakness, fettered thus, in vain " The passions of a man perturb my breast, " And wake ambition, but to be represt ; " From our first parent still descends the ban, " And womanhood must paralyze the man." " The sun that rose upon my bridal morn " In peaceful beauty, downward now is borne " To set in seas of blood ; then all was light, " And gladsome as the Spring's return, and bright ; " Now sombre night my joyous youth beclouds, " And Winter's funeral pall its corse enshrouds. " True was the omen (had I read it right, " Nay, had I read at all, but o'er my sight " There fell a wilful blindness) when tlie waves, " As an ill burden, which some vengeance craves, 24 Margaret^ Queen of Henry VI. " Twice drove me back upon the Gallic shore, " As though the elements would fain restore, " If so it might, the maiden to her home, " The daughter to her sire. Fate bade me come, " Nor mark the omen ; but 'twere better far " The waves had closed around me, ere, of war " And misery the harbinger, I found " A husband and a home on Enghsh ground. " Ah, fair Anjou, would that mine eyes once more '* Might gaze upon thy beauty, as of yore, " When, in the blithesome glee of childhood's hours, " I wandered 'midst thy streams, thy woods, thy flowers, " And learned to love that humble floweret gem, " Whose name I bear, whose meekness should condemn " Those hopes ambitious, which maturer years " Bring with their wishes, shatter with their fears. " Sweet flower, I loved thee then, and as liiy choice " Of emblem marked thee, so did I rejoice Margaret^ Queen of Henry VI. 25 " In youth and innocence ; that token fair, " The throngs of princely knights and warriors bare, *' Who at my nuptials held high tournament ; " When, freed the while from cares of govern- ment, " My sire beloved in pomp and pageantry " His soul delighted, courtly prince was he, " And wedded to the days of chivalry. " But years have come and passed away since then, " With joys and sorrows laden ; times and men " Methinks have changed ; war hath supplanted peace, " And hatred love ; and ever still increase " Rebelhon's lava streams, whose fires outleap " From Passion's crater ; onward yet they creep, " Blasting alike, in their devouring path, " The princely palace and the humble hearth ; " The scathing tide hastes with resistless flood, " And, hissing, sinks beneath a sea of blood. " Thus have I lost a husband and a son, " Yet each the crown of martyrdom hath won ; 26 Margaret, Queen of Henry VI. " One fought for justice, and for justice died ; " The other, v/ith a gentler art, hath tried ** To charm the tempest, ere its vengeance fall." She ceased ; and tears bedimmed the eyes of all. 27 ON THE OPENING OF THE SUEZ CANAL. Footprints on sand, steps on the ocean wave, Such is man's life, from childhood to the grave ; Creation's lord, he holds a boundless sway, But like creation must he yet obey The all-prevailing power, that bids him yield His all, his life ; in vain he tries to shield, What most he prizes, from the bitter curse, Which history's pages ever still rehearse ; Of quick decay in all are sown the seeds. And death to birth, and birth to death succeeds . Yet 'mid these changes, with destruction fraught, In his untutored mind is born the thought, Whene'er his eyes throughout her kingdom range, That Nature changeth not as men do change. Thus by a wondering superstition awed, He worships Nature as his god and lord ; 28 On the Opening of the Suez Canal. A blind obedience to her power he pays, And 'neath her guidance direads Hfe's tortuous maze. His daily wants he cares but to supply, To-day he feasts, to-morrow he must die ; To evil powers he deems himself the slave. Nor dares the influence malign to brave. But 'tis decreed it be not always'so ; Within his breast there lurks a hidden foe. Destined ere long its presence to declare, And bid him in a higher life to share. Reason, long dormant, or in Passion's thrall. Asserts her power to triumph over all ; Long is the contest, bitter is the strife, Defeat is death, and Victory is life. The waves of discord all around him roll, And Passion's hurricane sweeps o'er his soul, Struggling for life, the life that bids him rise Above the brute, the life that bids him prize The new discovered treasure of the mind. Which he that seeketh in the end shall find. In weary vigils, lest the foe surprise, When long expected sleep o'ercomes his eyes. On the Opcnifig of the Suez Ca?iat. 29 In the rude shock of Passion's legion host, When even hope he deems is well nigh lost, Where shafts fly thickest in the battle's moil,' Where hand to hand in deadly struggle toil, The powers of Nature and the rights of man, There shall he learn life's dark mysterious plan. Thrice happy he who conquers in the fight, Freedom is his ; he hath regained the light ! In fiery furnace hath his gold been tried, And from its native dross been purified. Such is the law of life ; by it alone The many find their centre in the one ; The warring elements at length find rest, And reason throned is sovereign in the breast. By each and all the battle must be fought, By each and all his own deliverance wrought ; Here friend for friend, alas ! can nought avail. But, self-relying, we succeed or fail. For victory we must our all forsake, Great is the issue, great must be the stake ; On Freedom's altar lay we all we prize, 'Twere but a poor and scanty sacrifice. With victory there dawns a brighter sky. The blinding mists of superstition fly ; 30 On the Opening of the Suez Canal. The soul, that erst had deemed this world too wide To grasp, now fain seeks other worlds beside, And longs to free itself from out the thrall Of that gross tenement, so late its all. But if night cometh, and its closing hours Bring but defeat, what fate, alas, is ours ! To strive, with instinct fraught with mortal pain, For what we long, but may not hope, to gain, The mocking dreams of phantom worlds to chase, Such is the burden of the conquered race. 'Twere better far that such had ne'er been born, Or born, had perished e'en in childhood's morn ; 'Twere better ne'er to hear of Paradise, Than lose it as it gleams before our eyes. Full oft, like Icarus, as told of yore. On waxen wings poor puny mortals soar. And striving wildly to attain the light, Fall backward, blinded, into blackest night. But man was never made to dwell alone. And soon his days of solitude are gone ; The family, the tribe, the nation rise, And usher in the hour of sacrifice. 'Tis tlms that History's page is richly stored With strife and war, with tales of fire and sword ; On the Opening of the Suez Canal. 31 Rapine and conquest hence derive their birth, And revel over the devoted earth. Ah, could thy sands but tell to men their tale, Suez, my pen to paint the past would fail. How many a host, in panoply of war. Has crossed thine arid wastes, to bear afar The gleaming banner and the glittering sword, 'Mid wealthy nation or barbaric horde. How proudly beat each heart, how bright each eye Sparkled with hope, resolved to do or die ; All else, intruders in the world they deemed, All lands, the earth, for them created seemed ; Dominion wide, for such they wildly longed, And gladly round the royal banners thronged ; Master or slave, the choice before them lay, Conquerors or conquered in the fray. Trembling, their foes in wild suspense await The trumpet's war-note, presaging their fate. But where is now proud Egypt's ancient might ; Where are her warriors, panting for the fight ? Where is the glittering spear, the chieftain's car. The war-horse, scenting battle from afar ? 32 On the Openmg of the Suez Canal. They are no more, their brief bright morn has fled, And left them numbered with the mighty dead. Above them swept the whirlwind of the Past, And hid them 'neath its sand-beladen blast. As when across the desert's scorching plains, While death-like stillness in the ether reigns, The wild simoom sends forth its blasting breath. And dooms the luckless traveller to death ; While o'er his corpse it heaps the shifting sand, A nameless tombstone in a foreign land. Thus once again 'tis Nature reigns supreme. And tells how fondly luckless mortals dream. But from these ages past hath there not sprung Conquests and triumphs worthier to be sung ? Is it that nations have, alas, been born Only to perish in their early morn ? Nay, each has had its duty to fulfil. And bow its prowess to a higher will. Nations have clashed, but from their ruins rise Temples right worthy of the sacrifice ; Freedom and life are thus to man bequeathed. And o'er the discord Peace hath gently breathed. On the Opening of the Suez Canal. 33 Within the man another self is bom, His breast no more by angry conflict torn ; He bows no longer to blind fate's decrees, He owns within the power that conquers these. The despot Nature hath become the slave, And Freedom's cradle is the tyrant's grave ; And man is now endowed with dauntless will. Reason most subtle, most consummate skill ; Earth, fire, air, water, all his wisdom tames, And over Nature soon an empire claims. Suez, 'tis thus thy barren plains are won, 'Tis thus thy history is once more begun ; The reign of Nature now is well nigh past, Her mighty sceptre in the dust is cast. Hail, gladly hail, calm Reason's peaceful rule, Essayed and proved in Nature's rigorous school. Though thou no more shalt glittering armies see. Nor hear thy deserts ring with victory, Suez, thy name resounds from pole to pole. Where'er the tide of commerce chance to roll ; For thou, that erst ledst armies to the fray. Art now become of peace the prosperous way. Thine arid sands, no more the scene of war, Bear in their midst proud navies brought from far. c 34 SCULPTURE. Child of the Muses, heavenly Sculpture, hail ! Thine aid impart, without thee, I should fail, With mortal tongue, unaided, to declare The triumphs of thy skill and genius rare. Nursed by the Muses in some sacred spot, Some whispering grove, or some umbrageous grot, Thy mind with beauteous forms the sisters store, And teach thy spirit over man to soar, And forms divine of majesty and grace With iron pen on marble rock to trace. But barbarous men not yet thy power had known. When Earth sent forth that wondrous race of stone ; Thy full perfection not at once was gained, But slowly, surely, steadily attained. Perchance some hunter, in the mid-day sun, When yet but half his course that orb had run, Sculpture. 35 When shade is sweet beneath the embowered trees, When doubly longed for is the absent breeze, When, as a mirror, the refulgent lake Spreads its blue surface, which no ripples break, Wearied with hunting, by the mossy edge, Where grow the towering reed and humbler sedge. Laid down to rest, and viewed around at ease The placid lake and the reflected trees ; When lo ! another form its surface bears, Like to his own, the garb the image wears. He moves — it moves; he stops — it stops there too ; The hunter wonders at this image new ; He leaves the lake, revolving in his mind The mocking figure he has left behind. His home regained, he seeks to imitate. In plastic clay, the form he saw of late. But this, when made, alas ! not long remains, Too rude a touch, and fruitless all his pains. But as he muses by the ruined heaps, A thought inspires him, and with joy he leaps, Seizes a mass of shapeless rough-hewn rock, And strives with blunted tool to shape the block ; 36 Sculpture. He perseveres ; at length, though rough and rude, The stubborn marble is with form endued ; Such was perchance man's first uncouth essay, The pioneer to lead the new-found way. From small beginnings often thus have sprung The noblest sciences by poets sung. As sages tell, the light of some fair star, When years have past, while journeying from far. Reaches our earth, and in the vault of night The star beams forth its distant-shining light. Just so, 'tis said, in days long passed away. First on mankind dawned painting's earliest ray. 'Twas evening, and beside a rustic home, From mansions far and monarch's gilded dome, Two lovers sat, while eve descended fast ; And now the twilight's shadowy hour was past. And in the crystal ether o'er their head The mighty stars their mystic dances led ; Within the lovers turned, and cheered the gloom With oil-fed flame, which lighted up the room. There, as they sat, upon the cottage wall, The maiden sees her lover's shadow fall ; Sculpture. 37 She rises quickly, and with ready art Traces the form engraven on her heart, And thus secures, for many a lonely day. Her loved one's presence, e'en when far away. 'Twas thus from small beginnings sculpture rose, As from some tiny fount a river flows. At first, beneath the sculptor's timid hand, The form uncouth with stiffened limbs would stand ; Nor action had the frame, nor soul the face. As yet devoid of symmetry and grace. At length some artist leaves the beaten way. On sculpture dawns a brighter, happier day. The limbs are firm, the nerves and muscles braced. With life-like vigour is each feature graced ; * O'ercome with awe, the sculptor on his knee Bends to the form, and owns its dignity. The bounds transgressed that long had trammelled art. The face is now responsive to the heart ; And able sculptors rise, and Hellas sees A Myron, Phidias, and Praxiteles. 38 Sculpture. Ay ! mark that youthful, lithe, athletic form, That seems to want nought but the life-blood warm To make it live ; e'en now methinks it starts, As from th' unerring hand the discus parts. Cleaves the thin air, and at th' appointed mark Falls to the ground, and not in vain. But hark ! Methought those marble lips sent forth a cry. For triumph won, and well-earned victory ; Those eyes, they seemed to watch, with eager gaze, The discus as it cleaves its airy ways ; He lives ; but no, 'tis fancy on the youth Bestows the semblance, but withholds the truth. 'Tis marble still ; but sure some heavenly power Hath thus transformed him, e'en in victory's hour. As poets sing, proud Niobe of yore, Proud of the sons and daughters that she bore. Was by Apollo's ruthless hand bereft Of all her children, one alone was left. But while heart-broken she laments the fate Of the loved progeny she had of late, A freezing chill creeps o'er her, and her heart Ceases the life-blood through her veins to dart ; Sculpture. 39 Transformed to stone, an everlasting sign To future ages of the ^vrath divine. Behold yon godlike form upon his throne, Seated in glorious majesty, alone ; Mighty Olympus trembles at his nod. And countless races own him sovereign god. Behold the soaring eagle at his side. Fit emblem of his power and empire wide ; Behold the thunders, grasped in his right hand, That fulmine over the rebellious land ; What conscious might upon the face appears Of Jove, the Thunderer, whom old Greece reveres ! And now another form attracts the eye, Of wondrous grace, of beauteous symmetry ; 'Tis Venus, goddess of ten thousand charms, Averse to toil, averse to war's alarms. Those eyes, which seem to beam forth heavenly love, Such as is felt in some Elysian grove ; Those dimpled cheeks, those lips of lovely mould. Which every tender heart enraptured hold ; 40 Sculpture. Proclaim her Venus, queen of Paphos' isle, Mistress of every heart, of every wile. Such as Pygmalion (that sculptor stern, Who yet thy charms, O goddess, had to learn) Beheld thee in his midnight solitude, Formed by his hand, with heavenly grace endued. He from this world and all its joys had flown. And found a solace in the graven stone. A beauteous form, adorned with every grace That e'er was visible in human race. His hands had fashioned ; vanquished by its charms. He folds the breathless statue in his arms, And he, who never knelt to maid before, A senseless block of marble doth adore. And, like some devot at a holy shrine, His prayer addresses to the powers divine : " O grant, ye gods, life to this senseless stone, " Grant it, this boon I ask, and this alone." Lo ! heaven hath heard his prayer, the marble lives. New loveliness the kindling spirit gives ; Those lips now move, so motionless before. And forth their stream of living accents pour. Sculpture. 41 While the blest sculptor clasps the beauteous prize, That stands, alive, and blushing, 'fore his eyes. What may this group of sculptured anguish mean? Rage, terror, madness, pictured here are seen ; Its deadly folds around their struggling limbs A serpent winds, their eyes the death-mist dims. Note the wild agony of death displayed, As round each form another coil is laid ; Each hand is clenched in life-despairing grasp. Each bosom heaves one last-expiring gasp ; Despair and horror, both have played their part. And still, at length, is each tormented heart. Enough, though myriad forms before me rise, And strength and beauty meet my wondering eyes \ Here dread Apollo bends his direful bow, There lies the Dacian gladiator low ; Here fair Diana holds the stag at bay. And Mercury to Hades leads the way ; And other forms, their names, alas, unknown. Unknown their forms, save for the graven stone. 42 Sculpture. But though we sing the works of Greece and Rome, Forget we not our lovely island home ; Nor, while we gaze on ancient sculpture rare, Think that with it no other can compare. Shall Chantrey's glory sink in Lethe's stream ? Shall Flaxman's fame be fleeting as a dream ? Ah, no ! our patriot hearts at once exclaim, Proud of our country, jealous for her fame ; Nor would we cease, till we our tribute pay Of sad regret for two just passed away : Gibson, thy chisel lies untouched, alone, And Spence no longer animates the stone ; Two sculptors rare, whose works each eye engage. This in the prime of life, that, hoar with age ; And busy Liverpool may boast 'twas she Raised these great sculptors from obscurity. Farewell, my muse, farewell, thou wondrous art, Long mayst thou captive hold th' enraptured heart, Sculpture. 43 Far o'er the world extend thy gentle rule, Add joy to joy, and soothe each mourning soul, As we behold thee on the stone pourtray The forms of loved ones, torn by death away. 1867. 44 THE SERENADE. Lines suggested by a picture of three Arragonese maidens liste7iing to a serenade. Ah ! who may gaze upon that lovely three, Rendered immortal by the painter's art, And turn aside unmoved ? I do not claim To share the stoic's pride, or stern essay, With deadened feelings and a heart all chilled By long restraint, to look upon a form Of loveliness without one fond desire. Nay ! for as beauty bids my conscious mind Pay her due homage, so a scene of woe Can touch some hidden spring within my heart. And thus methinks I find a recompense In sympathy. In some such mood I gazed On these three maidens, and beheld on each The Serenade. 45 Fair countenance the history of her love In breathing characters ; and thus I mused : — The radiant eye, the smile now here, now there, Dimpling that lovely cheek, the restless hand, So fitful, sporting by those gates of pearl, All bespeak her, for whom those strains possess Some hidden charm, some secret spring of joy. Which none but she may know ; for what save love, And the sweet consciousness that one she loves. Ay one by whom she is beloved, is nigh, Could kindle on that girlish countenance A smile so womanly ? Again, mine eye Rests on that other stately form, but here No childish love I mark, nor love just born A few brief hours or days. No ! in those eyes So calm, so pensive in their majesty, (And yet a majesty wherein there dwells A deep, deep fount of tenderness) I trace The love of years, but still a love that seeks Its full completion ; for her loved one toils 46 The Serejiade. In distant lands upon the martial plain, To earn the \ictor's laurel, and return To lay it down untarnished at the feet Of her, in whom sadness and happiness Now blend in strange accord, the while she hears, Absent in thought, her sister's serenade. Again, I turn my gaze upon the last Of the fair maidens ; on her countenance I read the story of a heart as yet Untouched by love. Oh happy, happy maid ! Ay, happy ! for thy bosom hath not kno^vn Love's bitterness ; ay, happy ! for the sweets Of love are still for thee to taste, though late. Farewell, farewell ! one spirit rules your fate : One spirit — but, as yet, of triple form : Love — but love past, love present, love to come. 47 THE OCEAN SPRITE. Who would not be an Ocean Sprite, Over the restless billows' foam, Unrestrained afar to roam, And trip o'er the main with a step so light ? I am a gleesome Ocean Sprite, With step so light, I love to roam, O'er the ocean foam, Hither and thither, and make my home, W^here the surges break On some iron-bound shore. Where crested each billow with snow-white flake Scatters its vengeance with sullenest roar. In merry glee, Unshackled and free, I sport and rejoice in my liberty ; 48 The Ocean Sprite. With wildest shriek, And fantastic freak, I flee o'er the ocean from all that seek, Never to find, For far behind I leave all pursuers, as swift as the wind. I love to hear the distant moan. Presage of the storm, As I sit and muse on my watery throne. And watch the billows' form. I hate the Zephyr's gentle breeze, That scarce disturbs the aspen trees ; I hate the ocean's calm expanse, AVhen un flecked by the stormy sea-courser's prance ; But I love, I love the wild, wild wind. Reckless and blind, And madly I rave 'Mid the ocean wave, As it tosseth some gallant ship to and fro, Powerless to combat its merciless foe. And often I join in the swelUng dirge Of the sea-surge, The Ocea?i Sprite. 49 When it bears on its breast, Calmly at rest, The pallid form of some maiden fair, Of life bereft. Who parents, lovers, and all hath left For the Ocean monsters' lair. Come hither each sprite 'Tis our revel to-night ! Shall we sport on the shore 'Mid its cavernous roar, Or roam o'er the ocean, or on the v^^ind soar? See the steeds prancing, Foaming and dancing, For none may curb, Where the winds disturb ; Speed ye then hither, each swift-pinioned sprite. Hold we our wild sea revel to-night, Sport and frolic ye, while ye may. For the tempest ceases at break of day. 50 THE TWO LEAFLETS. An Allegory. Adown two rivTilets, Born on the mountain slopes, Two leaflets bright were borne along, Buoyed by the fairest hopes. Swiftly the stream flowed on, 'Twas all one life of joy ; And merrily they floated by, Their mirth knew no alloy. And soon the streamlets met In one large swelling tide, VN^hich on its rippling waters bore These leaflets side by side. The Tii'O Leaflets. 51 Oh ! joyous was their hfe Of happiness and peace, Blest by their loving intercourse ; But ah ! how soon to cease ! For down the stream there came A cruel stormy blast, And parted with relentless breath The leaflets, as it passed. Ah then in silent grief They floated, but apart ; And each now felt how dear had grown The other to its heart. Sadly they floated on Apart, but yet in sight ; Now tossed upon the wavelet's crest, Now hid by blackest night. And still they shall be borne Through many a rapid's roar. Ere in the placid lake they meet, And meet to part no more. 52 The Two Leaflets. Glad will that meeting then To each lone leaflet be, And side by side once more they'll float In sweet tranquillity. And though the stormy winds Sweep o'er the placid mere, Those leaflets bound by closest ties, Shall feel no cause for fear. Thus through a life of joy They float unto the strand. Where storms are hushed, and smiles the sun Upon a happier land. 53 THE WILD HUNTSMAN. Deep silence in the forest reigns, And welcome slumber still enchains The weary frames of men ; And far and wide no sound is heard, Save where the cool night-wind hath stirred Some leaf-strewn mountain glen. It is the hour when spirits love 'Mid well-remembered haunts to rove, And tread the earth again. How strangely still all nature seems, Like the dark phantoms of our dreams Which silently flit to and fro, Mysterious shadows fraught with woe. Or if with bliss, bliss none may know, None for his own obtain. But hark ! what sound the stillness breaks, And the wood's slumbering echo wakes 54 The Wild Huntsman. With strange unearthly blast ? Why starts the peasant in his bed ? What fills that sturdy heart with dread, Fearless in dangers past ? What makes his children e'en in sleep Still closer to each other creep ? 'Tis the Wild Huntsman winds his horn, Whose echo on the breeze is borne O'er mountain, river, hill, and dale. Bidding the stoutest courage quail. Now through the dark and pathless shades Of the wild forest's inmost glades The awful blast resounds ; And ere its echo dies away, Is heard the deep and distant bay Of the Wild Hunter's hounds ! Through brush and tangled brake they speed. For they are none of mortal breed ; And none can check their rapid course, Save he who rides behind ; And none outstrip them, man or horse, Though fleeter than the wind. The Wild Huntsman. 55 Nearer they come, and louder now Bursts forth the angry bay, And crackling brush and shattered bough Herald their onward way. Nearer they come, — the listening ear, With strange and unaccustomed fear, Catches their panting breath, While ever and anon resound, Above the bayings of the hound. The blasts by that dark rider wound. Fell harbingers of death. Onward they haste, for ere the sun Arise, their weird hunt must be run — And daylight fast pursues — Else for each star that still may gild The brightening vault, so Heaven hath willed, A night's chase they must lose. Nearer they come, they 're here, they 're past ! Swifter than e'en the whirlwind's blast, The weirdlike train is gone. Nor ever has a mortal eye. So swift that Huntsman sweepeth by. E'er traced the form of one. 56 SERENADE. The moonbeams are streaming On mountains and river, The dewdrops are gleaming In sheen as they quiver ; While Zephyrs sweep lightly The gem-bedecked crest « Of flowerets clad brightly, Then leave them at rest ; Angels attend thee, From evil defend thee ; Sleep on, beloved one, dream fondly of me. Each moonbeam is bearing From regions above A sweet seraph, wearing The fair garb of Love ; Serenade. 5 7 Each Zephyr is breathing What words fail to say, In dreams it is wreathing Hope's garlands so gay ; Love to defend thee, Hope to attend thee ; Sleep on, beloved one, dream fondly of me. Soon shall the morning New carols awake. To welcome the dawning From tree or from brake ; Each bud now disclosing The closely-veiled bed. Whence, but lately reposing, Its fairy has fled : Nature now calls thee From sleep that enthralls thee ; Awake, mv beloved one, awake unto me. 58 EVENING WHISPERS. Ere dark night her cold wind frees, Sweetly wafts a gentle breeze, Softer whispers through the trees, At stilly eve. Sweeter than the roundelay Of the birds at break of day, Sounds the nightingale's sad lay At stilly eve. Sweeter peal the village bells, When afar their chorus swells, Echoing the day's farewells At stilly eve. Sweeter too the thoughts that twine Hearts and hands, to build a shrine Worthy for thee, Love divine. At stilly eve. Evening Whispers. 59 Sweeter memories of home, Cherished still where'er we roam, In the lonely twilight come, At stilly eve. 6o RIPPLES. Rippling flows the rivulet To join the briny ocean, Sweetly, lightly echoing The merry heart's emotion. Rippling speeds the sun's adieu, Kissing calm the billow, Gently soothing it to rest On its ocean pillow. Rippling streamlet, rippHng ray. Each by turn entranceth ; Thus mirth and quiet mingled, each The other's bliss enhanceth. 6 1 A SERENADE. My lady sleeps ! Ye breezes, Onward, but gently, fly. And as ye pass caress her, And breathe a lullaby. My lady sleeps ! Ye moonbeams , Bear down your angel train, To guard her well and truly. Until she wake again. My lady sleeps ! Ye kisses, I breathe as light as air. Her ruby lips touch softly, And leave love's tribute there. 62 H. M. S. "CAPTAIN," Lost at Sea, September, 1870. God rest the brave, Who 'neath the Atlantic wave Have sunk to their last home ! Not theirs the glory of the soldier's death, (Jn battle-plain to breathe their latest breath, The while to heaven's dome Uprise their comrades' shouts of victory. Nor theirs the victor's wreath, Circling the hero's brow with laurel shade, The while triumphantly The applauding throng escort their new-found god. Nor theirs to breathe Hfe's last farewell 'Mid loving friends, and then be laid Beneath their country's sod ; H. M. S. " Captainr 63 While o'er them wave, in fragrant bloom, The native flowerets of their village home, Watered with memory's tears. On ocean's field, where the embattled winds, In fierce array, Flung the foam-crested billows back In blinding spray. They met their fate ; With one fell swoop and swift attack A dashing wave upreared its crest, And they were gone, Nor left a trace on Ocean's heaving breast. The tempest blast their parting knell, The gurgling waters their farewell. Their winding-sheet the cold dark wave, Their gallant ship her liegemen's grave ; The ocean's tangled weed their wreath. Its cold embrace their last in death, Their requiem the surge's roar. Or sea-bird's scream on Gallic shore. Britain, though well thy tears may flow For that one night's disastrous woe, 64 H. M. S. " Captaiftr Though all thy sons may claim a tear, Though all to thee were proudly dear, Yet, if a greater share were due To one among that gallant crew. Thou might'st re-weep thy tears of grief For him, that fated vessel's chief. Bravest was he where all were brave, , Nor cared his life alone to save ; To duty true, ay, though the price Of duty was life's sacrifice. Gallant Burgoyne, a nation mourns ; But thus she gratefully adorns Thy memory with the noblest praise Thou e'er hadst wished for, in the days Of youth's fond dreams (since higher meed Than this ne'er followed mortal deed) ; From every lip these accents fall, " Faithful, he died at duty's call." Peace to their souls, so died they all ! 65 TWO GIFTS. I GAVE my love a snowdrop Upon a bright spring mom, Emblem of that affection pure Within me bom ; " 'Tis passing fair, and whispereth," said she, " The promise of the time that is to be." I gave my love a crimson rose Upon a summer eve, Emblem of love, I vowed should ne'er My bosom leave ; " Mine own," she said, " methinks this flower doth say, " The Present now is thine, live thy To-day." E 66 Two Gifts, The snowdrop and the rose, A wintry night and drear, Emblem of shattered hope and love Lay on a bier ; " Lie there," said I, " for since the Past is o'er, " The Present and the Future come no more." 67 "ONE SWALLOW MAKETH NOT A SUMMER." Did she give a tender glance When thy tongue refused to speak ? Let it not thy bliss enhance, Nor for further glances seek ; One such look from maiden's eye Is no pledge of constancy. Did she call thee fond or dear, Sitting dreamily alone ? Drive the echo from thine ear, Be not tricked by one sweet tone ; One such whisper does not prove That she gives thee all her love. Did she heave a deep-drawn sigh When thou bad'st a sad farewell ? Did a tear drop dim her eye ? Yield not to that potent spell ; One such tear or lingering sigh Mean not she will love for aye. 68 OLD LOVE. Time is fleeting, And even to-day The men we are meeting Are passing away ; Away from the pain and the pleasure, Away from the bustle and strife, Away from the toil and the leisure Of this soul -wearying life. Leaves are falling Yellow and sere, Buds are drooping In the spring of the year ; But the heart that has loved unrequited, Still beats with a passionate throb, And the bosom where love 's bud fell blighted, Still heaves with its undying sob. Old Love. 69 Yet hope bids us cherish The love of the past, Perchance it may flourish Again at the last ; It may bud ere the spring-tide is over, It may blossom ere summer has fled ; And the last glow of autumn discover The fruits of the love we deemed dead. 70 " ONLY A ' YES ' WOULD SHE SAY. Will she hear me when I whisper Love 's still new, though oft-told tale ? Will a faithful heart's confession, Though in faltering words, prevail ? When her hand to mine I press, Will she, will she answer " Yes '' ? Cease my heart, what means this doubting, Canst not read my fair aright? Say what means this smile of welcome, Eyes that beam with joyous light ? Canst not tell me, canst not guess, Whether she will answer " Yes " ? Say what means this flush, o'erspreading Cheeks, which like twin roses bloom ? Say why thus a quickened footstep Comes to meet me 'cross the room ? Doubts, avaunt ye ! One caress Tells me she has answered " Yes ! " 71 A SONG. Wreathe ye the hours with garlands gay, Banish all darksome care away, Tune the merry lyre of song, Weave the dance in mazy throng ; Light-hearted mirthfulness who shall rue ? " Chanter toujours est une grande vertu." Where is the man oppressed with grief? Soon shall he find with us relief ; Though the sky be dark to-day. The morrow drives the clouds away ; Cheerfully then your hopes renew, " Chanter toujours est une grande vertu." And thus whatever fate betide, — Whether our bark in haven ride, Whether the ocean's darkling wave Threatens it ■with a cheerless grave, — Still to our motto behold us true, " Chanter toujours est une grande vertu." 72 A FAREWELL. Never a word is spoken, Never a whisper heard, Never a sigh to tell her How his heart is stirred. Silently meeting, Formally greeting, Better they never Had met at all, Or meeting, had parted for ever ! Only a gentle pressure Whilst hand is clasping hand ; Only the pulse's quiver While face to face they stand : Silently parting. Though one is smarting. Dreading to sever The last wild clasp Of the hands, ere they part for ever. A Farewell. 73 Only a cold horizon, Beyond a loveless sea ; Only a lonely sailor, Who from himself would flee. Silently longing To 'scape the thronging, In love's vain vision Of phantom hopes — Hopes laughing in cruel derision. But yet a coast line ever Looms o'er the watery waste, And the weary sailor rejoiceth To welcome land at last. Silently praying. Prayerfully saying, "Oh, for the haven " Where broods the dove, " And farewell to the restless raven ! " 74 " GLORIA TIBI, DOMINEl" I STOOD on an Alpine pass As the sun went down, And the sky grew dark With an angry fro\vn ; Each icy mass and each snowy peak Seemed with a threatening voice to speak ; While in the twilight dim, Arose the fathers' evening hymn, " Miserere Domine." But hark ! a thunder-peal On yonder height ; Wildly my heart beats With sudden fright ; Destruction to deal o'er valley and plain, The avalanche hastens with death in its train ; Yet, through the startled air Ascends the fathers' vesper prayer — " Nos conserva, Domine." " Gloria Tibi, Domine I'" 75 The morning rose once more On that Alpine scene, And I looked where the pathway Of death had been ; But the icy mass lay shattered, turned back By an unseen hand in its downward track ; And with the sun's first rays Arose the fathers' morning hymn of praise, " Gloria tibi, Domine!" 76 A STUDY. I LOVE to lie and watch thy face, Its ever changing smile, And with my fond imaginings The passing hour beguile. I love to note the rippling waves Of laughter, as they chase Each other, all untiringly, Across thy sunny face. What though thy lips no word disclose, No glance thine eyes bestow, To lay me down, and watch thee here, For me were bliss enow ! 77 JULIET. We trod the heath together, We rambled side by side, Then all was summer weather, We vowed love should abide ; I shall mind, though thou forget, Fickle, thoughtless Juliet ! We mused in autumn twilight, We whispered dreamy things ; But in the flickering firelight Love plumed for flight his wings ; I shall mind, though thou forget, Faithless charmer, Juliet ! When winter's blast descended, It chilled the words once said, Our loves no more were blended. The bird of passage fled ; I shall mind, though thou forget, Fickle, thoughtless Juliet ! 78 KNOWLEDGE. What is knowledge, canst thou say, Feeble denizen of clay ? Can thy puny searchings find Glimpse of light within thy mind ? Thougli im.bued with ancient lore. Skilled in sages' thought of yore , Art thou wiser aught than they ? Has the dawn become the day ? Will the sun of knowledge rise Ever in these gloomy skies ? Must we still grope blindly on, For the yet ungrasp^d One ? While for knowledge thus the zest Groweth ever with the quest ; Playthings in Fate's cruel hand. Must we ever build on sand ? 79 THE SOUL OF LOVE. The evening breeze is through the casement blowing, Laden with fragrance wafted from afar ; The summer twilight, ever darker growing, Unveil's in heaven's vault the evening star. Without is deepening silence, all unbroken, Save by some nightingale's melodious lay ; Nature doth Harmony and Peace betoken, Inviting men to rest from toils of day. The dreamy languor of this witching hour Soothes the world's turmoil as with magic power. But as I lie upon a couch reclining, Another charm hath bound me with its spell, To whose sweet influence itself resigning My soul would fain the strife of passion quell ; 8o The Soul of Love. Since she, for whom alone it Hves, doth waken The hidden chords from instrumental strings, And thus, my soul, a willing captive taken. In love's Elysium folds its weary wings ; A captive, but in slavery still free, Free to devote a life-long love to thee. Obedient to the touch of subtle fingers A wealth of harmony is outpoured, While every chord in rippling echo lingers With store of soul-inspiring language dowered ; For Music is the soul of Love, and, blended In one concerted harmony, they raise Man's spirit more to what his God intended, Whose name is Love, whom songs of angels praise ; Through heaven, through earth, resounds this anthem grand. Whose chords are struck by one wise Master-hand. 8i TO C. J. G., With a Fan. Hasten, tribute of devotion, Speed thee to my lady fair, Nor forget the task I bid thee, Nor the message thou dost bear. When her cheek is flushed and burnincr. Then a grateful cool supply, Like the summer Zephyr playing O'er a bed where roses lie. If with pain, distress, and anguish Wildly throbs her fevered brow, Summon thine attendant breezes, And thy cooling aid bestow. F 82 To C. J. G. But with every breath re-echo What I whisper now to thee — " Maiden, whereso'er thou bidest, " Ever may'st thou happy be." Happy fan, such be thy mission, Speed thee onward on thy way ; T/iou shalt tell her, gently whispering What / may not, dare not say. 83 TO I. H. P., IViV^ some Pansies and Rose-buds. Accept, I pray, fair lady mine, A few sweet simple flowers, But lately from the garden plucked. Fresh with the summer showers. They boast not foliage superb, Nor strange and varied dyes ; But still, methought the simplest flowers Were sweetest in thine eyes. I am not skilled to understand The language of the flowers, But yet, the sight of these doth wake Imaginative powers. 84 To I. H. P. Thus in the early-budding rose The future's promise see, Oh may that promise thornless bloom, And blossom long for thee ! The Pansies sj:)eak of pleasant thoughts, Of sunny summer days, The beacons bright that mark the past In life's strange trackless maze. The future and the past combined Thus in these flowers behold, Bright hopes, sv^eet memories, from which Our present joys we mould. And though life's day perchance contain A few sad mournful hours. Remember that the flowerets bloom The brighter for the showers. *C)' As when the storm is o'er, the flower Welcomes the beaming sun. So will life's triumphs dearer be The harder they are won. 85 THE GOLDEN PATHWAY. A LITTLE boy played by the ocean strand, As the sun sank down in the west, And a pathway of golden lustre shed O'er the ocean's now tranquil breast. A boat lay at hand on the ebbing tide, And the boy, in his innocent glee, Leaped aboard, and tossing his bright curls, said, " I Avill follow the path o'er the sea." The night came on, and a hurricane roared. And the morning broke cold and gray ; And the boat by the fishermen was found, Still tossed on the waves of the bay. The child in it lay, but the laughing smile Lit those features no longer now ; Yet methought the last gleam of the evening sun Still shone on his passionless brow. 86 A SERENADE. Sleep, sleep, my lady, sleep Happy be thy slumber, Angels their watches keep Around thee without number. Sleep, sleep, my lady, sleep ; Visions bright attend thee ! Sweetly dream ; thy lover's prayers From evil shall defend thee. Sleep, sleep, my lady, sleep ; Soon shall break the morning. Then, then, awake my fair, More lovely than the dawning ! 87 THE STREAM OF LIFE. Brother, art thou weary With the toil of Hfe ? Is thy future dreary Full of pain and strife ? Look not down life's river Where it thicker flows, Where its wavelets shiver As the cold wind blows. Wildly on it rushes, All its clearness gone. Stones and rocks it crushes As it rolleth on ; Till its way it loseth In the future dark, Where thine eye refuseth Further aught to mark. 88 TJie Stream of Life. Brother, nay, despair not, Turn thee to the past ; For the future care not, It must come at last; Look thou to the mountains, Whence the streamlet hies, Where its limpid fountains From the hill-side rise. Upwards cast thy glances, Where the past gleams bright, Where each wavelet dances In new-born delight ; Mark the radiant glory On its birth which shines, Where the mountains hoary Glitter through the pines. Then take heart, and boldly Face life's future course, Though the wind blow coldly, Though the stream roar hoarse ; The Stream of Life. 89 Think that those wlio loved thee In thine early home, Watching now above thee, Bid thee onward come. This be thy endeavour To be pure again, As the new-born river, Free from earthly stain ; Clad in this proof-armour. Boldly onward go, Purity, the charmer. Shall disarm each foe. But remember, brother. When thou 'rt safe to land, Thou may'st aid another, Struggling to the strand ; Let not safety cherish Selfish thoughts and cares, Turn thou ere he perish. At thy brother's prayers. go The Stream of Life. When thy toil is over, His may have begun, Clouds his course may cover, Thou hast reached the sun ; Turn then to the toiler In his dark despair, Save him, ere the spoiler Drag him to his lair. Thus shalt thou gain treasure Of a brother's love. Thus shalt taste the pleasure Of the pure above ; In the crown of merit. Brightest shine the leaves Which a grateful spirit For the victor weaves. The past forget not, brother, How its source was pure, How perchance another Saved thee from sin's lure ; The Stream of Life. 91 The past forget not, brother, How its toil was thine, If thou aid another, Rest is more divine. Life is onward moving For better or for worse, And each hour is proving A blessing or a curse ; Up, then, and be doing This thy rule confessed. Sloth is but undoing, Toil alone brings rest. 92 TWJ LIGHT. I LOVE the hour when the morning sky Is flecked wdth a crimson cloud, And the birds above carol joyously, As earth casts aside her shroud. I love the hour when the noon-tide ray Bids us welcome the forest shade, Where the streamlet's rippling fountains flow, And a breeze wafteth through the glade. But far more than all, I love that hour When the day and the evening meet ; To love it lendeth some magic power. As I sit at my darling's feet. As I watch the flickering firelight play O'er that wealth of golden hair. And feel, though never a word we say. That the heart which loves me is there. 93 A FRAGMENT. Words may oft be false and perjured, Smiles be treacherous, lips untrue, Hearts be fickle and unstable, Love be of chameleon hue ; But the eyes will never be Servants of hypocrisy. ISMENE. Argument. ISMENE, a Messenian Maiden, falls in love with her count! y's hero, Aristomenes, and follows him in one ot his incursions into Laconia. He is captured by the Spartans, but is enabled to escape by the aid of Ismene, and, having collected his band, succeeds in routing the enemy. 97 Scene I. Messenian War Song. Gather, gather, brave Messenians, See our banners now unfurled ; Once more, 'gainst our ancient foemen, Be your threats of vengeance hurled. Hark, the bard's clear notes are ringing Loud above the din of war, And his soul-inspiring poean Frights the hostile ranks afar. Sons of heroes, teach the Spartan Ye are heroes, like your sires ; Teach the proud, oppressing tyrant Freedom still your courage fires. [Etiter Aristomenes.] Messenians. Loud the shout of welcome raise, Hail, all hail ! Hymn we now our chieftain's praise, Hail, thrice hail ! 98 Ismene. Keen his eagle eye Glitters from afar, As in night's dark vault Gleams the northern star. Proudly doth Messene Claim him as her own, Bravest of the heroes Greece hath ever known. Tremble, Spartan tyrant ; Ere the close of day The lion shall seize his victim. The eagle rend his prey. Aristomenes. We have no time to-day To waste in shout or song, Our country, to redeem her, needs The arm, and not the tongue. Ismene. Then follow, comrades tried, But silently advance ; Let each grasp firm his falchion keen, Or poise the quivering lance. Hereafter bards shall tell, To swell Messene's pride, How nobly all her children fought, How nobly for her died. Hers is the air ye breathed When first ye drew your breath ; Then let that air be still as pure. That takes your last in death. \_Exeunt.'\ 99 loo Ismene. Scene II. — Interior of a Tetnple. Priests of Ares. Warrior Ares, hear us, Hear us, we beseech thee ! Priestesses of Aphrodite. Gold-zoned Aphrodite, Hear thy servants' prayer ! Priests. God of war and battle's moil, When in strife the warriors toil. Grant our hosts their foes to spoil, Hear us, mighty Ares ! Priestesses. Foam-sprung goddess, who dost dwell In this temple, guard them well ; Baleful auguries dispel, Hear us. Aphrodite ! Ismene. loi Priests. God of battles, grant that they, Home returning from the fray. Lead with them a noble prey. Hear us, mighty Ares ! Priestesses. Love's fair goddess, let thine arm Shield our heroes from all harm ; When beset with wars alarm, Hear us. Aphrodite ! Both. So shall we our homage pay, Wreathe thy shrine with garlands gay, And a hundred victims slay, To thee, O Ares mighty ! To thee, O Aphrodite ! {Enter Ismene.] I02 Ismene. ISMENE. I have dreamed, I have dreamed in the visions of night, Of the joys of Elysian plains ; I have danced, I have danced in the bright sun- light, I have wept at sweet Philomel's strains. I have mourned, when some floweret hath withered and died. On which I had lavished my care ; I have felt my heart throb with a maidenly pride, When they said, " She is fair, she is fair." But no vision of night, and no wild mirth of day, Nor that homage to maidens so sweet. Ere roused in this bosom, then cold as the clay, The passions that in it now beat. But with sunshine comes cloud, and with pleasure comes pain. And chill fear hath o'ertaken my heart ; For he, who for aye in this bosom shall reign, Must soon to the battle depart. Isniene. 103 Though lie know not how dear to this heart he hath grown, May this love shield my hero from harm; AikI the passion-breathed prayers of a maiden unknown 'Mid dangers be ever his charm ! Priest. Maiden, in this temple kneeling, At fair Aphrodite's shrine, Pouring out thine inmost feeHng In our mistress' ear divine ; Rise, I bid thee, Haste away, After night Cometh day. Chorus. Maiden, bid adieu to sorrow, Hope's fair promise gilds the morrow. 1 04 Is7ne?ie. Priest. Maiden, here thy love disclosing, Though to him 'tis all unknown, Fear thou not of ever losing This sweet floweret, newly grown ; Hope shall cheer thee With its ray. Love shall drive Fear away. Chorus. Maiden, bid adieu to sorrow, Hope's fair promise gilds the morrow. ISMENE. Words of comfort, gently breathing. Friends, ye have dispelled my fear ; Doubt's dark mist no more is wreathing Love's fair plains ; the dawn is here. From this shrine I haste away, With the dawn Hath come the day. Ismene. 105 Chorus. Maiden, then, adieu to sorrow, May hope cheer each fresh to-morrow. {,Exeunt, io6 Ismene. Scene. III. — Interior of Ismene's Cottas.e. Aristomenes. Maiden, say those words again, Lest mine ears interpret wrong, Wildly through my throbbing brain Fond imaginings now throng. Though my life to thee I owe, I am here thy suppliant yet, Maiden, whisper " It is so," Though it but increase my debt. Ismene. Noble hero, know Ismene Watched thee through the battle's strife, For the love she bears Messene, For this sought to save thy life. Deem the words were lightly spoken. Which still echo in thine ears ; All a patriot's love betoken. Who her land alone reveres. Ismene. 107 Aristomenes. Thoughts that in thy bosom rise, Maiden, deem not thus to hide. Love's interpreters, thine eyes. All concealment have denied ; To my land thou didst restore What I perilled willingly, This one gift I still implore, Maiden, give thy heart to me. Ismene. Ah, my lord, kind heaven granted Speedy answer to my prayer ; And, though dire forebodings haunted. Heaven did their fulfilment spare. What she gave to loved Messene Came from favouring grace divine. What thou seekest from Ismene, Her love, is already thine. \_Exmnt.'\ 1 08 Ismene. Scene IV. — Interior of a Banquet HaU. Messenian Song of Triumph. Victory, the shout upraise, Loud repeat the song of praise, Till the mountains answer make, And the echoing forests shake. Lo ! the sun, that rose in blood, Sets now in a crimson flood, Casting forth a lurid glow On the battle-plain below. Humbled is the Spartan pride, On the field her best have died. Shattered lie her vaunted powers. Liberty again is ours. Pass the festal goblet round, Be its brim with laurel crowned, Wreathe the sword with myrtle bough. Bind with bay the victor's brow. Translations. Ill From the French of Alfred de Mtisset. My neighbour's window blind Is gently rising • She's going for a walk, no doubt, Is my surmising. The window opens ; how my heart Is palpitating ! The darling ! ah, she wants to see If I am waiting. 'Tis all a dream, my neighbour loves Some idiot, for certain ; 'Tis but the evening breeze that lifts The corner of the curtain. 112 Translations. II. When we lose, by sad mischance, Hope gleaming brightly. Mirth sparkling lightly, Say what shall dispel the cloud ? Beauty sweetly smiling. Music soft beguiling. Stronger, ay, than armed men, Stronger, ay, than duty, Is the smile of Beauty ; Sweeter than the sounds of earth Is the echo of a song We have loved in days long gone. 7rans/afiofis 'J3 III. Just as when the flower of spring In the wood is opening, And the early breeze the while Waketh up a wondrous smile. Then the stem, so fresh, so Irail, Feels the tender bud unveil, And to the bosom of the ground Trembles with a joy profound ; So when my lady, fair and bright, Parts her lips of ruby red, And with a song lifts up her eyes, In the harmony and light. Deep entranced my soul hath fled, With trembling joy to seek the skies. H 1 1 4 Tra?isiatiofis. From the French of Theophile Gautier. I. ABSENCE. Return, my love, for, like the flower When night hath hid the sun the while, So my life's bud is closed each hour, It feeleth not thy sunny smile. Far, far asunder are our hearts : Our lips, alas ! can share no kiss ; Cruel the fate, which ne'er imparts To our desires the longed-for bliss. Hence, hence, across the spreading downs, Hence, past the villages and towns. O'er mountain and through vale, I fain would hasten to the land Which keeps my fair, nor slacken hand Till horses' speed should fail. Translations. r i 5 And like my soul, ah ! would that 1, O'er all that intervenes, might fly With swift, unerring flight, — O'er furrowed field and rough ravine, O'er mountains clad in purple sheen, O'er hills with \'erdure bright. My thoughts must leave me far behind ; But thou, my soul, like wounded dove, ITnerringly thy way shall find Unto the dwelling of my love. And there, within her throat divine, (That throat, the treasure of a king, No ermine down so soft, so fine,) Descend, and this thy message bring : " Right well thou knowest he doth count " The days of absence ! Oh, my dove, " Thy white wings spread, to heaven mount, " And seek the old nest of our love." ii6 Translations. II. In a forest, bare and blighted, There remaineth on a bough fust one soUtary song-bird, And one leaf, forgotten now. In my heart so, too, remaineth Just one love its song to outpour ; But the wind of autumn drowneth This last songster in its roar. Gone the bird, the leaflet fallen, Love is dead, 'tis winter now ; O'er my tomb, sweet song-bird, carol, When the green leaf decks the bough. Translations. \ 1 7 III. Men are cruel, darling, They say, with mocking sneer, A watch within thee beateth, And not a heart, my dear. Yet, thy bosom heaveth, Like the billowy sea ; In thy pulse there beateth Youthful energy. Men are cruel, darling ; Thine eyes are dead, they say, And move in one fixed orbit, One cold, mechanic way. Yet a glittering teardrop Trembles in thine eye. Like a pearly dewdrop From the azure sky. ii8 Translations. Men are cruel, darling, They say thou hast no mind, And their rhymes they bring thee Are Greek to thee, they find. Yet on thy lips so rosy, As on some bud the bee, A smile is ever playing In sweet variety. 'Tis that thou lovest me, dear. And that thou lov'st them not ; Leave me, and then they'll say, dear, " What heart and wit she's got : " Translations, 1 1 9 IV. From my bosom, white as snow, A rose fell in the stream below. Alas ! I know not how to save The flower, wet with the brooklet's wave. With the current on it goes. Ah, ray sweet, my brilliant rose. Didst thou fall from foolish fears ? To water thee I had my tears. 4 1 niS DOOli IS Ly^t-. >-'" "•■ date stamped bslow. 10M-1 1-50(2555) 470 reMINCTON RAND - 20 PR 5499 S853S