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 MAY FLOWERS. 
 
 LINES ON THE DEAF AND DUMB. 
 
 BY CHARLES SWAIN, 
 Author of " The Mind," " Dramatic Cfca^iters," English Melodies, &r. 
 
 Though ears be deaf, and tongues be mute, 
 Yet, thanks to human help and care, 
 
 The mind's immortal seeds take root; — 
 
 Hearts speak, though words be wanting there. 
 
 Yes, hearts can lift their praise on high ; 
 
 The silent language of the soul 
 Can take its flight beyond the sky, 
 
 Where everlasting anthems roll ! 
 
 The clouds that gather o'er the mind. 
 Dissolve before instruction's ray ; — 
 
 No longer thought need wander blind, 
 Nor deaf, nor dumb, in darkness stray. 
 
 Oh ! blessed light, that lifts the veil 
 
 From deprivation's bitter state. 
 From griefs that poverty assail. 
 
 And ills that on misfortune wait.
 
 6 
 
 MAT FLOWEKS. 
 
 His hand, whicli saving mercy shed 
 Where'er aflBietion's power had birth, 
 
 That hand will consecrate the head 
 That doth the Saviour's work on earth. 
 
 Then onward in the work of God, 
 
 Let every Christian soul recall 
 The steps that Christ himself hath trod 
 
 Are lessons to the lives of all ! 
 
 Though ears be deaf, and tongues be mute. 
 Yet, thanks to human help and care, 
 
 The mind's immortal seeds take root ; — 
 
 Hearts speak, though words be wanting there. 
 
 THE FOUNTAINS. 
 
 BY DAVID HOLT. 
 
 Moss-MANTLED fountains, in the moonlight flashing, 
 
 Your silver waters sparkle evermore. 
 High-springing into ether, and then dashing 
 
 With murmurous music 'gainst your marble floor. 
 Moss-mantled fountains, fancy takes 
 Her key-note from your liquid voices, 
 And thought within her silent chamber wakes. 
 And at your music pensively rejoices, 
 Listening delighted to your liquid voices.
 
 MAT FLOWERS. 
 
 In this deep midnight so intense and solemn, 
 
 All nature a mysterious aspect Mears; 
 White sleeps the moonlight on the fallen column, 
 On the stone balustrade, and broad stone stairs, 
 That lead from the high terrace walk 
 To shaded garden plots below, 
 "NMiich echoed once to lovers' gentle talk, 
 As they with linked souls paced to and fro 
 On nights like this, in the far long ago. 
 
 And ye, moss-mantled fountains, to their talking 
 Made answering music with most sweet accord, 
 Whilst evermore amid their happy walking. 
 The silver beams of yon fair moon were pour'd 
 In such an overflowing stream. 
 O'er everything around, that even 
 "We well may think the midnight earth would seem 
 To their glad eyes as pure and bright as Heaven, 
 "Without one tinge of sin or sorrow's leaven. 
 
 These lovers liv'd their term of mortal years. 
 
 And died in peace ; these fountains still flow on, 
 Unchanged this garden's gracious bloom appears. 
 As brightly shines yon moon as then it shone. 
 The busy brain of him who plann'd 
 These fountains has resigned its trust 
 Long vanish'd years ago, and the skill'd hand 
 That with nice care and in proportions just 
 Wrought them, has long been moulder'd into dust.
 
 8 
 
 MAY FLOWEES. 
 
 Fountains ! how many voices have been hushed — 
 
 Voices the sweetest and most lov'd, since first 
 Your silver waters from their birth-place gush'd, 
 And to the light of day in music burst. 
 With the same murmur as of yore, 
 Moss-mantled fountains, ye play on. 
 And evermore against your marble floor 
 Dash with as silvery and as sweet a tone. 
 'Tis we, not you, that grieve for what is gone. 
 
 FLOWERS. 
 
 BY NER GARDINEE. 
 
 When I stray forth in nature's face 
 And view each bud and lovely flow'r 
 
 That springs beside the path I trace, 
 I need no farther seek thy pow'r ; 
 
 They say, Oh God ! to man's weak pride, 
 
 " He who made these, form'd all beside." 
 
 My soul ! how beautiful they are ! 
 
 And like thy better deeds arise 
 Their grateful fragrance on the air, 
 
 As'thine" ascends into the skies 
 And tells with mightiest words of pow'r, 
 " He breath'd the soul, who form'd the flower ! "
 
 MAY FLOWERS. 
 
 GOOD ADVICE, 
 r. Y chari.es swatn. 
 
 Who receives advice with kindness ? 
 
 Marks its simple, plain, intent ! 
 Who, discarding selfish blindness, 
 
 Taketh counsel as 'twas meant r 
 Ah, too often, what was merely 
 
 Urged to caution or improve, 
 Touches vanity too nearly , 
 
 Hurts our feeling — pride — self love. 
 
 Surely, hearts of wiser feeling. 
 
 Should be glad to find a friend 
 Any hint or thought revealing, 
 
 Form'd to wani, instruct, amend : 
 Courtly phi-ase and folse pretences. 
 
 Outward smile and servile show, 
 May indeed avoid offences ; — 
 
 Friends a higher office know ! 
 
 What, though other lips may pander 
 
 To each weakness of our youth, 
 Better to receive with candour, 
 
 Honest, open, manly truth : — 
 Take then truth without resistance, 
 
 Use it, and its worth discern ; 
 To the last day of existence 
 
 All have something yet to learn. 
 
 B
 
 10 MAT FLOWERS. 
 
 HYMN. 
 
 BY CHARLES SWAIN. 
 
 Above tlie cloudy gates of heaven 
 
 Thy starry altar stands ; 
 A guiding light to nations given, 
 
 A beacon to all lands : 
 We hear a voice thy power declare 
 
 From mount, and vale, and sea ; 
 And lift our trembling lips in prayer. 
 
 Eternal God, to thee ! 
 Too close our hearts on earth we set. 
 
 Too oft thy laws we break ; 
 But hear us. Lord, in mercy yet, 
 
 And spare for Jesu's sake. 
 
 Sublime in majesty and power 
 
 Thy spirit dwells on high, 
 Yet bends unto the meanest flower 
 
 That blossoms 'neath the sky : 
 Thus all that live in thee may trust, 
 
 For all that live must know 
 To thee the mountains are but dust, 
 
 The highest are but low : 
 And they, who dwell within thy sight, 
 
 With ceaseless love should pray 
 That thou, O Lord, wilt lead aright 
 
 The feet that go astray.
 
 MAY FLOWERS. H 
 
 A GIRL IN PRAYER. 
 
 SUGGESTED BY A STATUE BY PATRICK MAC DO"WELL, 
 
 ESQ.,B.A. 
 
 BY ALARIC A. WATTS. 
 
 What has earth to show more fair 
 Than yon sinless cliild in prayer ? 
 With imploring hands and eyes, 
 Lifted upwards to the skies ; 
 Of her Father, throned in Heaven, 
 Asking but to be forgiven 
 For the trespasses she may 
 Have committed through the day, 
 And imploring of His might. 
 Safeguard for another night ! 
 She would seem some seraph bright 
 From the realms of endless light, 
 On a gracious mission sent. 
 To bid erring souls repent ; 
 To Salvation point the way, 
 And instruct them how to pray ; 
 Who, her work of mercy done. 
 Hath " forgot herself to stone !"
 
 12 MAY FLOWERS. 
 
 Dreamer, cheek these fancies wild, 
 'Tis a simple, guileless child, 
 Bearing in her form and face 
 Something of an angel's grace, 
 And without a stain of earth 
 Save the ban of mortal birth ; 
 Waiting but for wings to soar 
 And be seen on earth no more. 
 Silently your homage pay. 
 Lest her thoughts you lead astray ! 
 Let her pray ! let her pray ! 
 
 Her's is not the impassioned prayer 
 That can exorcise despair ; 
 Wrung from guilt that fain would win 
 Pardon for long years of sin ; 
 When the burthen of its care 
 Hath become too great to bear ! 
 Nor the sad, encumbered breath 
 Murmured from the bed of death, 
 From the sickness of the soul 
 To be once again " made whole !" 
 Or a respite from his fate. 
 Seeking, it may be, too late ! 
 Her's is not the prayer of grief. 
 Looking Heaven-ward for relief. 
 To some bright, peculiar sphere 
 For the peace denied it here :
 
 MAT FLOWERS. 13 
 
 She is happy as a bird, 
 Innocent in thought and word, 
 And her prayers to Heaven above 
 Are but notes of praise and love ! 
 
 Let her pray ! A time may come 
 (Who may shun the common doom !) 
 "N\Tien within her gentle breast 
 Grief may hide "uneasy guest;" 
 Hope deferred, inflict its smart ; 
 Love lie heavy at her heart ; 
 And the sordid cares of life 
 Stir her young, sweet thoughts to strife ! 
 Then how sweet 'twill be to know, 
 She hath hived a balm for woe, 
 And hath treasure stored away. 
 Moth nor rust can e'er decay ; 
 Nor, secm-ed by such a seal, 
 Ruthless thieves break through and steal. 
 That the fervent prayers that rise, 
 Now, meet incense, to the skies. 
 May return in grateful dew. 
 Fertilising life anew ; 
 And restore its blighted scene 
 To one bright, perennial green ! 
 
 Let her pray ! A watchful eye, 
 And a cunning hand arc nigh,
 
 14 MAY FLOWERS. 
 
 To perpetuate every grace 
 In her bearing, form and face, 
 And transmit to future years 
 (Fruitful theme of smiles and tears) 
 Something that may show how fair 
 Is a sinless child in prayer ! 
 
 Lo ! 'tis done ! But as I gaze, 
 Half I lose the power to praise ; 
 For my thoughts I fear to tell. 
 Lest my breath should break the spell, 
 And disturb the vision fair 
 KneeHng all so life-like there! 
 But, as loth I turn away, 
 Still I cannot choose but say, 
 Let her pray ! Let her pray ! 
 
 DOST THOU REMEMBER? 
 
 BY NER GARDINER. 
 
 DosT thou remember, in our early time, 
 
 When fruits and flowers were springing o'er the earth, 
 How oft, the lofty hedge banks we would climb 
 
 To seek the hidden bird's nest in our mirth ? 
 And if, perchance, some little frighten'd thing 
 Sprung from its hiding-place on fluttering wing, 
 How would we pry about the shaded spot 
 To find its straw built home, its moss lin'd cot.
 
 MAY FLOWERS. 15 
 
 "What seek we now, that time has lent us yews ? 
 
 Alas ! alas I the eagle nest of care, 
 Which through ambition's leafless thorns appears 
 
 Expos'd, though distant ; guarded by despair ; 
 Unhappy he, whose chance has been to gain 
 Power unexpected, freighted full with pain, 
 And reached the fatal height, where hope must cease, 
 Seek we below the dove-like nest of peace. 
 
 THE RIVER.^^ 
 
 BY DAVID BUXTON, F.R.S.L. 
 I. 
 
 It springs, it springs. — 
 Softly and gently the rivulet springs, — 
 (For thus on the world God ever flings 
 Our greatest blessings !) In calm and quiet, 
 Far from all thoughts and sounds of riot. 
 The streamlet gushes forth into day. 
 And gladly starts on its errand away. 
 As if eager to seek — though it fails to find — 
 A fairer spot than it leaves behind : 
 
 • This description of the River Thames, from its rise near Cheltenham 
 (verse I.), in its progress past Oxford, Eton, Windsor, &c. (verse II.), and 
 through London (verse III.), to the sea, was suggested by the following 
 passage in Lavid Copperfield (p. 412) : — " It comes from country places, 
 where there was once no harm in it; and it creeps through the dismal 
 streets defiled and miserable, and it goes away, like my life, to a great sea."
 
 16 
 
 MAY FLOWERS. 
 
 For there from the dark green bough is heard 
 The happy chant of the fearless bird : 
 And a thousand wild-flowers gem the ground, 
 And beauty is everywhere beaming around, 
 And the world below, and the heaven above. 
 Seem vocal with praises, and gushing with love, 
 And each to the other in unison sings, 
 Where softly and gently the rivulet springs. 
 
 II. 
 
 It flows, it flows. — 
 Gladly and merrily on it flows. 
 Bearing gladness wherever it goes ; 
 Turning and wandering far and wide. 
 While the blessing of plenty grows up by its side : 
 Now stealing along by the homes of men. 
 Then leaping away to the woodland again, 
 Creeping, anon, with a low deep dirge. 
 Through the quiet fields to the churchyard verge ; 
 Swift through the forest, hidden from sight. 
 Broad in the meadows, glowing in light. 
 Clearly and turbidly, swiftly and slow, 
 Past homes of comfort and haunts of woe. 
 And quaint old towers where the ivy crawls. 
 And the palace gate, and the prison walls : — 
 But heedless of all on its errand it goes, — 
 Gladly and merrily on it flows.
 
 >fAT FLOWERS. 17 
 
 HI. 
 
 It rolls, it rolls. — 
 Sadly and solemnly on it rolls, 
 
 Through the crowded streets -where the death-bell tolls, 
 "SMiere hope is fickle, and labour is scant. 
 And the poor man's life is perpetual want ; 
 Where, light of pocket and hea^y of heart, 
 He is bidden " Begone, thou hast here no part ; " 
 "\Miere the weak must bend before the strong, 
 And suffer deeply and suffer long, 
 To pause, perchance, oa its brink at night. 
 As the river sweeps on in its liquid flight. 
 To think how calmly they might rest 
 Beneath its ample kindly breast : 
 And, as in they plunge, — poor hapless souls ! 
 Sadly and solemnly on it rolls. 
 
 IV. 
 
 It ends, it ends. — 
 Grandly and awfully thus it ends — 
 With the endless waters of ocean it blends ; 
 Roaring and raging, and never at rest, 
 Bearing the wealth of the world on its breast. 
 And hiding below with unpitying hold, 
 Treasures more priceless than silver and gold, — 
 Tlie hopes of the widow, the hearts of the brave. 
 The thousands that perished whom nothing could save ;
 
 Some in the tempest, 'mid gloom and affright, 
 And some in the calm, when the skies were bright :- 
 Thus the proud stream, when the shore is past. 
 Leaps to its home in the ocean at last ; 
 Wide on the waters its billows it sends. 
 And grandly and awfully thus it ends. 
 
 We go, we go. — 
 From Spring to Sea like the River we go, 
 Through Plenty and Poverty, Grandeur and Woe, 
 From the happy nook where our life began, 
 To the busy scenes of the busy man ; 
 Through all that on earth is bright and fair. 
 Through the ills that corrupt, and the dangers that snare, 
 Hurrying on and spurning the shore. 
 And passing from sight to be seen no more, 
 But sailing away, like the mighty river 
 With outstretched arms, to the vast For Ever ; 
 And thus from our birth to eternity's flow. 
 From the Spring to the Sea like the River we go.
 
 MAT FLOWEES. JQ 
 
 A VOICE FOR THE DUMB. 
 
 Honour to those who lay "svith generous hand 
 Their welcome otferings on oiu* shrine of love ; 
 Long be their days and happy in our land, 
 And may the eternal glory from above 
 Guide and sustain them, as in other years. 
 The flame by night, and cloudy sign by day. 
 Guided great Israel's hosts and calmed their fears 
 As through the -svildemess they took their way. 
 
 'Tis for God's striken children that we plead ; 
 The deaf and voiceless sufferers of to-day 
 "With moistening eyes will bless you in their need, 
 For having light with love their cheerless way, 
 And in the coming centuries men wiU say, 
 " 'Tis ours to harvest from the golden seed 
 " Our fathers cast before us ; and, as they 
 " Lived for the future, let their noble deed 
 " Teach us to weep for woe, and heal the wounds 
 that bleed." 
 
 A A
 
 CHRISTMAS EVE. 
 
 BY THOMAS LETHEKBROW. 
 
 The voice of the singer is hushed in repose, 
 
 And the dance and the revel have fled like a dream, 
 
 For their life is the perfume exhaled by the rose ; 
 
 They are bubbles which burn on life's sunlighted stream. 
 
 But the calm of my chamber is precious and pure. 
 For the spirit of peace is omnipotent there, 
 
 And the joys which it brings me for ever endure 
 
 Through the daylight of pleasure, the twilight of care. 
 
 Here are books which I love : to the Germans of old. 
 When the light of their faith shone, a glory afar. 
 
 Every page in their sight was more precious than gold, 
 Was a vineyard in peace and a stronghold in war. 
 
 I read of the reaper, who sharpens his scythe 
 
 To the dirge which is sung by the red Autumn leaves. 
 
 And who mows day and night in the meadows so blithe, 
 Till again they're a-glow with the gold of their sheaves. 
 
 Unhasting, unresting, he plieth his trade 
 
 Where the roses lie thick o'er the pathways of care, 
 
 And the stroke of his scythe turns the sunlight to shade. 
 As he croons a wild song whose refrain is, " Beware ! " 
 
 Not the pride of the garden, that perfumes the gale. 
 Not the noble narcissus, that spangles the wild. 
 
 Nor the violet, hid in the depths of the vale. 
 
 Nor the saintly sword-lily no touch hath defiled.
 
 MAT FLOWERS. o^ 
 
 Not a herb, fruit, or flower, in the garden that grows, 
 Will this reaper of reapers in tenderness spare ; 
 
 Unhasting, unresting, for ever he mows, 
 
 As he croons his wild song with its burthen, " Beware ! " 
 
 Not all sad is the strain, for the minstrel exclaims, 
 " Rejoice and be glad, ! ye dew-laden flowers, 
 
 " Though the reaper of reapers to gather ye claims, 
 " Ye shall burgeon again in God's amaranth bowers." 
 
 " Not in vain have ye lived, not in vain do ye die, 
 
 " For your beauty hath hallowed earth's grave-rippled sod, 
 
 " And ye pass, in the pride of your pmity, by, 
 
 " From the garden of earth to the garden of God ! " 
 
 No ! not sad is the strain ; to my soul it is dear, 
 And its melodies mingle with those of the hour, 
 
 "\Miich are solemn and grand, for the vanishing year 
 Is a type of the fading and perishing flower ; 
 
 And they blend with the carols, which circle and die 
 In the depths of the blue, o'er the summits of snow, 
 
 "Where the violet, vermeil-tinct stars of the sky, 
 Seem to bum with a purer and holier glow. 
 
 I thou, who art Lord of the star and the flower. 
 And for whom the great reaper his mission pursues, 
 
 May we live in Thy love, may we lean on Thy power. 
 For we fall and exhale, like the flowers or the dews.
 
 The sea-belted globe bears the signet of death, 
 And the hieroglyph stars, in their syllabled fire, 
 
 Write — " the life upon earth is but vanishing breath, 
 " But the life of the soul is man's noblest desire ! " 
 
 BERTRAND DE BORN.* 
 FKOM THE GERMAN OF UHLAND. 
 
 There above, a heap of ruins. 
 Smokes the rock-built Autafort ; 
 Here below, its fettered master 
 Waits beside the king's tent door. 
 " Is it thou who spurred my children 
 " 'Gainst their king, and father's hand ? 
 " Thou, who with thy sword and ballads 
 " Led rebellion through the land ? 
 
 " Thou, who once didst boast audacious, 
 
 " That in action and in word, 
 
 " Thou didst need but half thy wisdom 
 
 " Didst thou strive with slave or lord ? 
 
 " Now thy half wit hath not saved thee, 
 
 " Summon all thy errant brains, 
 
 " That they build again thy castle, 
 
 " That they break thy shameful chains ! 
 
 * The troubadour knight who instigated Prince Henry, the favourite 
 eon of Henry Plantagenet, to take up arms against his father.
 
 MAY FLOWERS. 
 
 23 
 
 " Thou hast said it, king and master ! 
 
 " Here stands Bcrtrand de la Born, 
 
 " He, whose songs roused to rebellion 
 
 " Perigord and Ventadom — 
 
 " lie, whose loyal master found him 
 
 " As a rough thorn on his path ; 
 
 " Aye, and he, for whom king's children 
 
 " Braved a mighty father's wrath. 
 
 " In her husband's ducal palace 
 " Sat thy daughter proud and fair, 
 " When my trusty squire before her 
 " Sang a long-forgotten air — 
 " Sang his poet master's sorrow, 
 " And the love she once held dear, 
 " Till her shining bridal jewels 
 " Were bedropped with many a tear. 
 
 " From the olive's sleepy shadow 
 " Swift thy darling Henry sprung, 
 " When my stirring songs of battle 
 " In his sleeping ears I flung. 
 " Quick bestrode his fiery charger, 
 " In the van his flag I bore, 
 " Till he met the fatal arrow 
 " On the ramparts of Montfort.
 
 24 MAT FLOWEES. 
 
 " In my arms thy son lay bleeding, 
 
 " But 'twas not the cruel blow — 
 
 " 'Twas beneath thy curse to perish — 
 
 " Filled his dying hour with woe ; 
 
 " And he would have stretched his right hand 
 
 " To thee, over sea and plain ; 
 
 " But, alas ! thy hand was wanting, 
 
 " He could but clasp mine again. 
 
 " Then, like Autafort above us, 
 
 " Fell my spirit at that blow, 
 
 " With my darling prince it perished ; 
 
 " I am songless, witless, now ! 
 
 " 'Twas not hard my arm to pinion, 
 
 " For my scorning pride hath fled, 
 
 " And my voice's last endeavour 
 
 " Is this lament for the dead." 
 
 Then the king looked down in sadness — 
 
 " Thou didst lead my son astray, 
 
 " And my daughter's heart, Bertrand, 
 
 " And thou movest mine, to-day. 
 
 " Take my hand and take my pardon, 
 
 " Brave companion of the slain, 
 
 " For thy wondrous spirit — lordship, 
 
 " Sooth, thou didst not vaunt in vain !" 
 
 E. L.
 
 THE YOUNG COITAGERS. 
 
 BY CHARLES SWAIN. 
 (See Frontispiece). 
 
 I.. 
 
 The blue streams know them — and the birds 
 
 Have grown familiar to their voice ; 
 
 The echoes of the woods rejoice 
 In the glad music of their words I 
 
 Blithe creatures of the summer air, 
 Companions of the flower and bee ; 
 
 "Whose homeless feet find every -where 
 The free sweet rest of liberty : 
 My weaiT spirit leaps to see, 
 
 Their young forms in my wanderings ; 
 Lone seated by some ancient tree — 
 
 Or brook that through the valley sings 
 A pleasant melody. 
 
 II. 
 
 Their voice my heart to gladness stirs. 
 
 Amid its utter loneliness ; 
 
 And, half unconsciously, I bless 
 Tire yoimg, the moimtain cottagers I 
 True, they are poor — but He, whose power 
 
 Hath dressed the floweret of the vale, 
 Will not forget them in that hour 
 
 When tempest-winds prevail I 
 His eye — that rank nor wealth prefers. 
 
 But on earth's humblest children falls, 
 
 Bright as though born in palace-halls — 
 Will shield the mountain cottagers I
 
 2Q MAT FLOWEES. 
 
 HUNTING BALLAD. 
 
 At sunrise, on Saint Hubert's morn, 
 I started a spotted deer, 
 And followed him through bush and brier 
 Until the noon drew near. 
 
 And when we reached Saint Anton's well. 
 
 And he was still ahead, 
 
 I swore that he or I ere night 
 
 Should lie in the woodland dead. 
 
 With fearful eye and sinking limbs 
 He saw me follow fleet. 
 And plunged into the mountain stream 
 To seek his last retreat. 
 
 But scarce his foot had touched the shore. 
 Ere struck my trusty dart. 
 And on his bed of forest moss 
 He poured his bleeding heart. 
 
 I know not if some fairy elf. 
 Or woodland witch, or sprite, 
 Had loved the beast, and did on me 
 His cruel death requite,
 
 MAY fLOWEKS. 07 
 
 But tripping to the wator side 
 There came a blue-eyed maid, 
 With up-turned arms of ivory 
 And hail- like cjoldcn braid. 
 
 o^ 
 
 She stood — as stood the wounded deer — 
 With timorous eyes upraised, 
 And from them came a witched dart, 
 It struck, and burned, and blazed, 
 
 And like the wounded deer I fled, 
 But mom, or eve, or noon. 
 Her charmed image follows me 
 To deepest forest gloom. 
 
 And now my strong bow lies unbent, 
 I roam the forest over ; 
 I pant within the coolest glade, 
 And sigh in shadiest cover. 
 
 And I am flying all the day. 
 
 Am restless, wild, and worn ; 
 
 O, huntsmen, learn, by what befel 
 
 Upon St. Hubert's morn ! 
 
 E, L. 
 
 5, GroTS Street, Arilwick.
 
 28 
 
 MAY FLOWEES. 
 
 THE SUSPIRATIONS OF DODA 
 
 FKOM AN UNPUBLISHED ROMANCE. 
 
 Come back again, come back to me, 
 Come like a tired bird to thy nest ; 
 Is thy heart heaving like the sea ? 
 Come, I will lull it into rest. 
 
 Come back again, O would that we 
 Had never parted ; day by day 
 The old grief ever dwells with me 
 Lone lingering here, and thou away. 
 
 Come, for the earliest birds of spring 
 Are coming also ; wherefore stay ? 
 My heart is but a voiceless thing 
 Without thy presence, — come away. 
 
 No answer, and no echo ; all 
 Is sad and silent, and the pain 
 Haunts me for ever, as I call 
 Come back again, come back again. 
 
 A. B.
 
 MAT PLOAVEES. 09 
 
 VIOLETS. 
 
 Unchanged b}' time my thoughts will still be wendiug 
 Over the billows of life's surging sea, 
 Tireless the wings that bear my love to thee. 
 
 Unchanged by time my thoughts will still be wending, 
 
 The beacon that will guide them kuows no ending ; 
 
 Through sun and storm, whate'cr betides for me, 
 
 To thee, oh, lost one, are my love thoughts wending 
 
 Over the billows of life's surging sea. 
 
 A. n. 
 
 THE CLOUD BEFORE THE SUN. 
 
 BY EDWARD KIPPS. 
 
 Hast thou not watched the glorious orb of day 
 In noontide splendour holding on his way, 
 Dart from his quiver down his brightest gleams 
 As though rejoicing in his cheering beams ; 
 Hast thou not seen the little boasting cloud 
 Threaten to wrap the monarch in his shroud ; 
 Through the thin air with mad impatience glide, 
 And for a moment his eflfulgcnce hide ; 
 Pierced with an arrow quickly slink away, 
 Slain by the power he vainly thought to slay r 
 
 Hast thou not watched King Frost besiege the land, 
 Oppress the rivers with his icy hand, 
 Bind the soft bubbling brooks, whose music sweet 
 Hath channcd the hermit in his calm retreat.
 
 30 MAY FLOWERS. 
 
 Nip the young buds and blast tlie early flowers, 
 That sigh in vain for Flora's kindly showers ? 
 Hast thou not seen the^dastard tyrant flee 
 When Spring has come to set the captives free ; 
 And once again the murm'ring waters flow 
 And tell of liberty where'er they go ? 
 
 Hast thou not watched the man of honoured name, 
 
 In the meridian of his well-earned fame. 
 
 Conscious of duty with imdaunted brow. 
 
 Fearless and faithful to fulfil his vow, 
 
 Rescue the fatherless, defend ]_the right, 
 
 Against oppression foremost in the fight ? 
 
 Hast thou not seen malice and envy rise 
 
 To hide his glory, seeming to despise 
 
 The power of truth — till vanquished by his might, 
 
 Confounded and abashed they shun the light ? 
 
 Friends may be few, and enemies be strong. 
 The cause of justice be oppressed with wrong ; 
 Malice and bitter envy may conspire — 
 The wicked for a time have their desire ; 
 And yet despair not, cast not hope away. 
 Look forward to a fairer, brighter day ; 
 Of this be sure, whatever else may fail, 
 Triumphant, at the last, truth must prevail ; 
 Ai-med but with this, if enemies do come, 
 They vanish as the cloud before the sun.
 
 NATURE'S SWEETS. 
 
 BY BDWARD KIPPS. 
 
 'Tis sweet to walk at early dawn, 
 To quaff tlie treath of rosy morn, 
 To brush the dew-drops glist'ning bright 
 In that calm, early, holy light ; 
 To see the opening gates of day 
 Resplendent with the sun's array — 
 List to the matin songs of praise. 
 The joyous, artless, warbled lays. 
 
 Of meny birds. 
 
 'Tis sweet again, when Sol mounts high. 
 And from the azure cloudless sky 
 Pours brightly forth his ripening beams. 
 And drinketh dry the woodland streams 
 To seek the pleasing shade of trees. 
 The soft and cooling summer breeze, 
 That, from the balmy banks and bowers, 
 "Wafts the sweet odour of the flowers. 
 
 That breathe perfume. 
 
 And then 'tis sweet at dewy eve, 
 
 A\hen deep'ning shades the eye relieve ; 
 
 And when the busy din of day 
 
 Is hushed with Sol's departing ray ; 
 
 "When peace throughout all nature breathes, 
 
 And playful zephyrs stir the leaves 
 
 In converse meet, to pass away 
 
 ITie last few moments of the day 
 
 With those we love.
 
 THE MAY WIND. 
 
 TTROLESE BALLAD. 
 
 The May wind is blowing, the snow leaves the wood, 
 The violet lifts up its tiny blue hood, 
 And birds that have pined all the long winter's day 
 Sing loudly and gaily from thicket and spray. 
 
 When roses are blooming what heart can repine, 
 For the time of young roses is love's golden time, 
 The roses bloom freshly each year on the stem, 
 But love blooms once only and blooms not again. 
 
 Each year comes the spring time when winter's away, 
 The heart in thy bosom it knows but one May : 
 The swallows fly back from their far distant bourne. 
 But the dear ones who left thee will never return. 
 
 E. L. 
 Grove Street, Ardwick. 
 
 A CRADLE SONG 
 
 BY W. C. BENNETT. 
 
 Lullaby — ^lullaby, baby dear ! 
 Take thy rest without a fear. 
 Quiet sleep, for mother is here. 
 Ever wakeful, ever near — 
 Lullaby !
 
 MAY FLOWERS. 33 
 
 Lullably — lullaby ! gone is the light. 
 Yet let not darkness my baby fright, 
 Mother is with her amid the night. 
 Then softly sleep, my heart's delight — 
 Lullaby ! 
 
 May thy small dreams no ill things see ; 
 Kind heaven keep watch, my baby, o'er thee 
 Ivind angels bright thy guardians be. 
 And give thee smiling to-day and to me — 
 LuUaby ! 
 
 Sleep, sleep on ! thy rest is deep ; 
 But, ah ! what wild thoughts on me creep, 
 As by thy side my watch I keep 
 To think how like to death is sleep — 
 Lullaby ! 
 
 But God, our Father, will hear my prayer. 
 And have thee, dear one, in his care ; 
 Thee, little one, soft breathing there, 
 To me the Lord's dear love will spare — 
 Lullaby ! 
 
 Sleep on, sleep on ! till glad day break, 
 And with the sunshine gladly wake 
 Thy mother's day — how blest ! to make 
 Ilcr life— what joy ! through thy dear sake- 
 Lullaby ! 
 
 E
 
 34 MAY FLOWERS. 
 
 CONSTANCE : 
 
 THE FLOWER IN KIRKBT CHURCH YARD. 
 
 BY D. BUXTON, F.K.S.L. 
 
 Beside the rustic church-yard wall. 
 Hard by the ancient house of prayer ; 
 
 Where none but sacred shadows fall, 
 A little child lies there. 
 
 One fragrant blossom blooms above. 
 One guileless heart is still below, 
 
 All breathes of beauty and of love, 
 No sign, no note of woe. 
 
 The busy town's unceasing roar. 
 In faintest echoes comes not here, 
 
 The sea breeze whispers of the shore 
 Where still her name is dear. 
 
 This fragile flower shows fair above. 
 That blighted bud is laid beneath, 
 
 Crown'd by the symbol of that love 
 Which takes the sting from death. 
 
 Fit emblem and memorial meet, 
 That graceful rose-bud, of the child, 
 
 As fair, as simple, and as sweet, 
 As fresh and undefiled.
 
 MAY FLOWERS. 35 
 
 For though it blooms so fair to-day, 
 We know it ne'er will fully bloom ; 
 
 Too soon 'twill shrink and fade away, 
 Like her within the tomb. 
 
 Just smiling by the church-yard wall 
 Its day of bcautious life, and then 
 
 Like her to perish and to fall, 
 Yea, and to rise again. 
 
 Life's duty done, in such a spot 
 As this be mine to lay my head, 
 
 Where thou, still loved and unforgot. 
 Art numbered with the dead. 
 
 THE DEAD ROSES. 
 
 Once ye were fresh with beauty, blooming flowers. 
 
 Tokens of love round which I fondly clung 
 
 When hopes were radiant, and when life was young. 
 
 Once ye were fresh with beauty, fairest flowers, 
 Bom of the summer winds and sunlight hours ; 
 But she has faded first, who o'er you hung, 
 When ye were bathed in beauty, oh, ye flowers, 
 Tokens of love round which I fondly clung. 
 
 A. B.
 
 SQ MAY FLOWERS. 
 
 FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 BY FRANCIS BENNOCK. 
 
 Hast thou a friend ? O hold him fast, 
 
 Fling not his hand away, 
 Thou of a treasure art possess' d 
 
 Thou' It find not every day. 
 O let no hasty word or look 
 Erase his name from memory's book. 
 
 A friend ! To man the noblest gift 
 
 That heaven has in its power; 
 More strong than death, and yet, most strange. 
 
 More frail than feeblest flower, 
 For that which braved the storm severe 
 May yet be blighted by a sneer. 
 
 He may have errors, who has not ? 
 
 Who dares perfection claim ? 
 God gave thy friend some worthy parts, 
 
 Fix all thy heart on them. 
 His errors rightly drawn, I ween 
 His faults in shade will scarce be seen. 
 
 If thou would' st keep thy friend thine own, 
 
 Be open, be sincere ; 
 What thou unto thyself art known, 
 
 Such to thy friend appear ; 
 'Twixt him and thee have no disguise. 
 In this true friendship's secret lies.
 
 MAY FLOWERS. 37 
 
 Thou hast a friend ! hold him fast, 
 
 Fling not his hand away, 
 Thou of a treasure art possessed 
 
 That's found not every day. 
 let no hasty word or look 
 Blot thy friend's name from thy heart's book. 
 
 ST. DAVID'S HEAD, SOUTH WALES. 
 
 A SONNET, CONTEIBUTED BY MARTO F. TUPPER, AUTHOR OF 
 "PROVERBIAL PHILOSOPHY." 
 
 People these wilds ! The sea-king, just ashore, 
 Is carap'd upon that black and craggy steep. 
 And, while his rude bark rocks upon the deep. 
 
 Glares vulture-like the victim region o'er : 
 And the barbarian tribe is soon astir. 
 
 And celts and swords are gilt with rival gore. 
 And Druids three, like Moses Aaron and Hur, 
 
 Beside the cromleck, with bare arms uprear'd^ 
 Stand on Cam Llyddi ; where the logan stone, 
 
 And serpent avenues, and circles wierd 
 
 Are red with blood. — Two thousand years are gone, 
 
 And here our happier feet those tracks explore. 
 Only to hunt for ferns and crystals now 
 That wave or glitter on St. David's brow.
 
 38 MAY FLOWERS. 
 
 SONNET 
 
 TO THE DEAF-MUTES AT OLD TKAFFOKD ASYLtTM. 
 BY JOHN CAMERON. 
 
 I. 
 
 Ye cannot hear — can hear, oh, nevermore. 
 
 The song of birds, nor winds, nor prattling rill. 
 
 Nor ocean bounding the eternal will 
 
 In deep-voiced thunder on his trembling shore : 
 
 Affection's voice glad-gushing from the core 
 
 Of a fond mother's heart ye may not hear ; 
 
 But oh, ye orphans of the hearing ear. 
 
 Had God for you no special gifts in store ? 
 
 What light-quick divination in the eye ! 
 
 How swift the appliant fingers to denote 
 
 The power which Cadmus from Phenicia brought 
 
 To inform the world with truths that cannot die, 
 
 So can ye utter forth the best of thought, 
 
 So interchange communion pure and high. 
 
 II. 
 And in the hushed dominions where ye dwell 
 In depths of heart-felt silence never stirred. 
 What vital promptings of the eternal word ! 
 What still small voices in yoiir silent cell !
 
 MAY FLOWERS. 39 
 
 The peace of your calm kingdom can ice tell ? 
 We, whose all -eagle ears stand open wide 
 To the loud roar of life's tumultuous tide, 
 As some great bay to ocean's stormy swell ? 
 Ours is the kingdom of the hearing car ; 
 The tongue's dominion ours ; yet richer far 
 Ye, haply in the silent kingdom are 
 Than we too swift to speak, too quick to hear, 
 Divorced by sense from the diviner sphere, 
 That higher world where God is sim and star. 
 
 III. 
 
 Rich are we by our " sovereignty of ear;" 
 But are ye poor denied its regal scope ? 
 Yours is not less the radiant world of hope ; 
 Nor the world which faith beholds in vision clear 
 Glad tidings from your being's inmost sphere ; 
 Apocalyptic voices in the shrine 
 Of intuition ; words of power divine 
 Only the couchant inwaid ear can hear. 
 Denied one seyise, — haply one power the more 
 Has been vouchsafed your silence to rejoice ; 
 The ear that deaf to life's tumultuous mart, 
 A listening hears far-off the solemn roar 
 Of the great sea of being, and the voice 
 Of the eternal Father in the heart.
 
 40 MAY FLOWERS. 
 
 THE TWIN MUTES: 
 
 TAUGHT AND UNTAUGHT. 
 
 BY ME8. ALEXANDER. "C. F. A." 
 
 Authoress of "The Child's Christian Year," &c. 
 
 Where the thorn grows by a ruined abbey, 
 In a valley of our grey north land, 
 Sits a lonely woman 'mid the gravestones, 
 Rocking to and fro with clasped hand. 
 
 Two rough stones, micarven and unletter'd, 
 Stand to guard that double-mounded grave. 
 Darkly brown in the untrodden churchyard, 
 Where the starflowers, and the harebells wave. 
 
 " Ah, my grief is not extreme, O strangers ! 
 Many a mother mourns a buried child ; 
 Many a hearth that's silent in the Autumn, 
 Was not voiceless when the Summer smiled. 
 
 " But our sorrows are of different texture. 
 Thro' the black there runs a silver thread ; 
 Griefs there are susceptible of comfort, 
 Tears not salt above the happy dead. 
 
 " Tender joy amid her wildest anguish 
 Hath the mother, — waiting in the calm 
 Of the death-hush by her angel's cradle, 
 When she thinketh of the crown and palm.
 
 MAY FLO^VEES. 4^ 
 
 " And tlie ear that ached with the long tension, 
 When the eye gave weary sorrow scope, 
 Hears at night the voices of the dying 
 Breathe again their last low words of hope. 
 
 " In mine ear there are no voices ringing, 
 One pale smile is all that memory holds. 
 Smile that flickeis like a streak at sunset, 
 That a night of gloomy cloud enfolds. 
 
 " On that mountain, stranger ! where the heather 
 Casts a tint of purple and dull red, 
 And a darker streak along the meadow 
 Shows from far the torrent's rocky bed : — 
 
 " Where that broken line of larch and alders 
 To one roof a scanty shelter yield, 
 And the furze hedge, like a golden girdle. 
 Clasps one narrow cultivated field. — 
 
 " Lies minehomestead : — in that whitewashed dwelling, 
 Joys and pains, and sorrows have I known, 
 Looked on the dear faces of my children. 
 Seen their smiles, and heard their dying moan. 
 
 " Five times had I heard the birth-cry feeble 
 In those walls, like music in mine ear ; 
 Five times, and no son's voice on my bosom 
 Cried the crv that mothers love to hear.
 
 " But the sixth time, — more of pain and wailing, 
 More of pleasure after long alarms ; 
 For a boy was in the double blessing, 
 Son and daughter slept within mine arms. 
 
 " Ah, what rapture was it all the Summer, 
 Sitting underneath the alder tree. 
 While the breeze came freely up the mountain. 
 And my twin babes smiled upon my knee ! 
 
 " Piped the thrush on many a cloudy evening, 
 Poising on the larch-top overhead ; 
 Cried the brown-bird from the heather near us. 
 And the torrent warbled in its bed. 
 
 " But the twain upon my bosom lying 
 Were as dead to voice of bird or man, 
 As the stone that under those blue waters. 
 Heard no rippling music as they ran. 
 
 " Silence, silence, in the hearts that bounded 
 With each passionate pulse of love or hate ; 
 No articulate language or expression, 
 When the soul rush'd to its prison gate. 
 
 " Only sometimes through their bars of azure. 
 The wild eyes with glances keen and fond, 
 Told some secret of that unsearched nature. 
 Of the unfathom'd depth that lay beyond.
 
 MAT FLOWERS. 43 
 
 " Came the lady to our lonely mountain, 
 Pleaded gently with her lips of rose, 
 Pleaded with her eyes as blue as heaven. 
 Spake of endless joys and endless woes. 
 
 " Told me art had bridged that gulf of silence, 
 That the delicate finger-language drew 
 From the deaf-mute's heart its secret strivings. 
 Gave him back the truths that others knew. 
 
 " And she prayed me by all Christian duty, 
 And she urged me when I wept and strove ; 
 For the place was far, — my son was precious, 
 And I loved him with a cruel love. 
 
 " Love ! ah no, sweet love is true and tender. 
 Self-forgetting, flinging at the feet 
 Of the beloved one all her own emotions : — 
 For my thought such name were all unmeet. 
 
 " So I gave the girl, and to my bosom 
 Hugged the boy in his long soundless night, 
 Gave the life of an immortal spirit 
 For the bareness of a short delight. 
 
 " Years came, years went, he grew up on this mountain, 
 A strange creature, passionate, wild, and strong ; 
 Untaught, savage, wanting, like the savage, 
 Natural vent for rapture or for wrong.
 
 44 
 
 MAY FLOWEKS. 
 
 " He was smitten : — when the furze in April 
 To the wind that cometh from the East, 
 Shakes like gold bells all its hardy blossoms, 
 The death-arrow struck into his breast. 
 
 •' And she too — like that strange wire that vibrates 
 Thousand miles along, to the same strain — 
 His twin sister, through her similar nature. 
 In her far home, felt the same sharp pain. 
 
 " And she came to die beside the hearthstone. 
 Where we watched him withering day by day; 
 On her wan cheek the same burning hectic. 
 In her eye the same ethereal ray. 
 
 " But she came back gentle, patient, tutored. 
 Climbing noble heights of self control, 
 On her brow the conscious calm of knowledge, 
 And the Christian's comfort in her soul. 
 
 " Ah, mine heart ! how throbb'd it with reproaches, 
 When the weak wan fingers met to pray. 
 When the eyes look'd sweetly up to heaven. 
 While my poor boy laugh'd, and turn'd away. 
 
 " Thus they died — athwart the red leaves falling, 
 Rush'd the first cold winds of Autumn time, 
 When the ears that never heard theii- howling 
 Open'd to some great Eternal chime.
 
 MAT FLOWERS. 45 
 
 " She Tvent first — the Angel on the threshold 
 Saw upon her face the look divine, 
 Saw her tracing with her dying finger, 
 On my hand, her dear Redeemer's sign. 
 
 " And he took her : — softly, without motion 
 Dropp'd down gently the small finger's tip. 
 And I look'd in her dear eyes and closed them, 
 With the smile still lingering on her lip. 
 
 " But the boy — he felt the darkness gather. 
 As the angel's dusky wing drew near, 
 In his eyes there was a cruel question, 
 As he look'd up in his doubt and fear. 
 
 " On his dying face the shadow darken'd. 
 He rose up and clung unto my side, 
 I had lost him, but I could not save him, 
 And the shade grew darker as he died." 
 
 Faban Rectory, Londonderry. 
 
 FORE-WARNINGS. 
 
 The summer sun shone warm and bright, 
 
 The birds sung in the trees, 
 And golden com. waved to and fro 
 
 Before the scented breeze.
 
 46 MAT FLOWEKS. 
 
 My little boy played beside the stream, 
 
 His childish carols singing — 
 " Oh mother, mother ! come to me, 
 
 I hear God's joy-bells ringing !" 
 
 " My child, 'tis only the tender leaves 
 In the scented breezes dancing, — 
 
 The heave and swell of the golden sheaves 
 In the warm bright sunbeams glancing." 
 
 I wander' d far in the lonely wood, 
 When sere leaves dropp'd around ; 
 
 My little boy shrank with a childish dread 
 From a sad unearthly sound. 
 
 He clasp'd me closer and closer still, 
 And the air grew damp and chilling ; 
 
 " Oh mother, mother ! I may not stay, 
 I hear God's death-bells ringing !" 
 
 " My child, 'tis only the wither'd leaves 
 On the cold and damp ground lying, — 
 
 'Tis only the wail of the western breeze 
 For its leafy playmates sighing." 
 
 That night I heard in the lonely hours, 
 
 A sound of angels singing ; 
 My little boy plays with fadeless flowers. 
 
 And hears God's joy-bells ringing ! 
 
 F. H.
 
 MAT FLOWERS. 47 
 
 THE SOLDIER'S GRAVE* 
 
 BY THE KEY. E. D. JACKSON, B.C.L. 
 
 Would YOU kno^Y where suns most brifrht 
 
 EYer seem to me to shine, 
 Where the stars with most delight 
 
 Shed their tears of loYe divine ? 
 Would YOU know whore earth is foirest. 
 
 Pendent trees most graceful wave, 
 Dews are sweetest, flowers are rarest ? 
 
 'Tis aboYO the soldier's grave. 
 
 Would you know where forms of light 
 
 Most rejoice to sit and sing, 
 Charming all the ear of night 
 
 With their fond imagining ? 
 Softly rise at daylight's close 
 
 Strains that earth and air enslave, 
 Harmonies that make repose 
 
 All around the soldier's grave. 
 
 Would you know beneath the skies 
 
 Spot that England calls the best, 
 Where, with yearning thoughts and eyes, 
 
 Most her spirit loves to rest ? 
 Mark I 'tis where yon modest sod 
 
 Laps her patriot children brave. 
 They are sleeping there with God, — 
 
 Sacred is the soldier's grave. 
 
 •These words are set to music by B. Hime, and the copyright presented 
 to the Deaf and Dumb School. The Song is published by Messrs. Hime 
 and Addisok, St. Ann's Sijuare, for sale at the Bazaar in Aid of the Funds, 
 at the same time as this collection of Poetry. W. Staujeji.
 
 48 MAT FLOWERS. 
 
 ODE TO AMABELLE. 
 
 A LYRIC. 
 
 Alas, my gentle Amabelle 
 Now why art thou so gay, 
 
 I do declare 
 
 Thy silken hair 
 Is an enchantment, wilt thou tell 
 Who will be Queen of the May ? 
 
 Now, wherefore didst thou twist thine hair 
 In this fantastic fashion ? 
 
 'Twas not thyself. 
 
 But some young elf 
 Whilst thou unconscious in his lair 
 Didst sleep and dream of Sappho's passion. 
 
 Or didst thou at the moonlit hour 
 Hoodwipk'd dance in fairy's ring ? 
 
 Thy locks so gay, 
 
 Curled up by fay, 
 I fear have gained a magic power 
 That to thy breast will sighing bring. 
 
 I half believe thou hast been straying 
 To find some magic berries 
 
 To stain thine hair 
 
 So silken fair, 
 And so the satyrs have been playing 
 Their tricks, and dyed thy cheeks with cherries.
 
 MAY FLOWERS. 49 
 
 Upon my soul, this very knot 
 Of hair is magic twisted. 
 
 Queen Mab, I swear, 
 
 Has touched thine hair. 
 Thou hast been straying in her grot, 
 A\'ith fairy folks enlisted. 
 
 Or hast thou, dear one, seen the fauns ? 
 With old Silenus sported ? 
 
 What hast thou done. 
 
 In glee and fun? 
 Flaunted with Bacchus on the lawns 
 Where Venus, Adon com-ted ? 
 
 Or have the sylphs and brownies blest 
 Thy steps in woodland straying ? 
 
 Sweet Amabelle, 
 
 My Amabelle, 
 Come, tell me all — do not jest — 
 About to-morrow's mayiug. 
 
 Alas ! my gentle Amabelle 
 Now why art thou so gay ? 
 
 I do declare 
 
 Thy silken hair 
 Is an enchantment, wilt thou tell 
 Who—" I shall be Queen of the May." 
 
 From the Ujjpcblibhed Papkrs ok Thho. TuottNYCEorr.
 
 CANZONET. 
 
 " And Joy, whose hand is evej on his lip 
 Bidding adieu" 
 
 O TELL me not of haj^py days 
 
 When we together walked, 
 
 When you crop't slyly sprigs of bays 
 
 To crown me as I talked 
 
 Of genius and those spirits bright 
 
 Whose fancies make half life's delight. 
 
 Remind me not of sunny hours 
 
 That we in blisses past 
 
 Beneath the rose and woodbine bowers, 
 
 Such raptures never last ; 
 
 They fade too soon and die away 
 
 As gorgeous sunsets melt to gray. 
 
 You were unkind in leaving me, 
 You caused my bosom pain. 
 And all my days past drearily 
 'Till you came back again ; 
 And now, alas ! I find your eye 
 Has lost its light and ecstacy. 
 
 'Tis strange you change so soon and grow 
 Into the mood that changes bring 
 Creating me a world of woe — 
 You thoughtless — you inconstant thing. 
 Your love I've vainly sought to cherish, 
 But find your tenderest passions perish. 
 
 From the Unpublished Papers of Theo. Thornycroft.
 
 5[AT FLOWERS. 51 
 
 ODE TO THE CLOUDS. 
 
 Clouds ! wondrous cloud.s — what are ye ! 
 
 Seraphic genii of the air ? 
 Sure, 'tis a blessedness to bo 
 
 Like ye so beautiful and fair. 
 
 Ye move along like seraphim 
 
 Sweet ministers of destiny, 
 A happy train of cherubim 
 
 Going some Pai'adise to see. 
 
 Self-locomotive airy things, 
 
 Bright children of the Universe, 
 
 Sailing on downy dappled wings — 
 To me your histories rehearse. 
 
 I want to know how ye are made ? 
 
 How ye came from high heaven — 
 Why ye look bright and why ye fade ? 
 
 And join and are asunder riven. 
 
 Sometimes ye seem as white silver — 
 And stand in naked tinith to view — 
 
 Anon, ye from each other pilfer, 
 And pile up pillars to the blue. 
 
 Erst ye were crimson, tinged with dun, 
 
 And laid in true procession ; 
 Now ye do seem in frolic — fun — 
 
 And move in mimical derision.
 
 53 MAY FLOWERS. 
 
 I cannot comprehend your ways ! 
 
 Clouds — ye are now a mighty heap 
 Of gloomy black and endless maze — 
 
 Where things unlovely seem to sleep. 
 
 Your movements now ai'e full of ire 
 
 With visage dark like things in wrath — 
 
 Ay ! now ye flash revengeful fire 
 And give the rolling thunders birth. 
 
 what a world of wonders ye 
 Disclose to frail, reflecting man: 
 
 1 would your secret mysteries see, 
 
 Your holiest sanctuaries scan. 
 
 I've watched ye oft in winter days 
 Rise from the north with dismal brow 
 
 To dim day's chill yet cheerful rays, 
 
 Rays, which make earth so gladsome now. 
 
 O'er yonder hills majestic ye 
 
 Do ride the whirlwind and the blast, 
 
 And shake the forest furiously 
 
 While hail and rain around ye cast. 
 
 Oft I have watched the orb of night 
 Sublimely riding through the air ; 
 
 Adoring, watched, with rapt delight 
 When ye were fleecy, light, and fair.
 
 MAY FLOA\'ERS. 53 
 
 I ever loved your changing forms, 
 Ye symbol what my life has been ; 
 
 To nature passive — calms or storms 
 Untranquil oft — yet oft serene. 
 
 Now every form of cloud is fled — 
 So may my heart be as the heaven, 
 
 All peace — Great God, O shield my head — 
 Father ! to thee, my soul is given. 
 
 From the Unpublished Papees of Theo. Thorntcrokt. 
 
 " THE PLACE THAT KNOWS US NOW SHALL KNOW 
 US NO MORE FOll EVER." 
 
 Thou art fading away like a delicate rose 
 
 AVhen blighted untimely, by cold winds and frost, 
 
 And the hues of thy loveliness soon will repose 
 In the grave, but thy virtue can never be lost. 
 
 That lives like thy spirit in essence divine — 
 
 Which shall triumph untarnished o'er death and decay; 
 Thou wilt go to the regions where souls ne'er repine. 
 But rejoice in the splendour of unending day. 
 
 Then, fear not, sweet maid, from this frail life to part, 
 Remember — dear souls whom we loved arc gone there 
 
 \Vc have mourned their departure with sorrow of heart 
 And now thou art going their glory to share.
 
 54 
 
 MAY FLOWERS. 
 
 ForgQt not — friends living have now double grief 
 To darken the days of their mortal career, 
 
 And soon my sad spirit will find its relief, 
 
 And follow thy pathway and leave all things here. 
 
 In the graveyard commingling our ashes shall rest, 
 Our frailties and follies shall rest 'neath the sod, 
 
 While our souls clothed in beauty for evermore blest, 
 Shall live all immortal midst the glories of God. 
 
 She is gone to the grave — and the gulph- dream is past — 
 And the splendour she hoped is her heritage now — 
 
 But over my spirit thick darkness is cast, 
 
 And despair hangs its gloom, like a cloud, on my brow. 
 
 From the Unpublished Papers of Theo. Thorntcroft.
 
 INDEX 
 
 PA OS 
 
 Lines on tbe Deaf and Dumb. By Charles Swain 5 
 
 The Foantains. By David Holt 6 
 
 Flowers. By Ner Gardiner 8 
 
 Good Advice. By Charles Swain 9 
 
 Hymn. By Charles Swain 10 
 
 A Girl in Prayer. Suggested by a Statue, by Patrick Mac. Dowell, II.A. 
 
 By Alaric A. VTatU 11 
 
 Dost thou remember. By Ner Gardiner 14 
 
 The River. By D. Buxton, F.R.S.L 15 
 
 A Voice for the Dumb. By A. A I'J 
 
 Christmas Eve. By ITiomas Letherbrow 20 
 
 Bertrand de Bom. From the German of Uhland. By E. L 22 
 
 The Young Cottagers. By Charles Swain. (Illustrated.) 25 
 
 The SuBplratlons of Doda. From an unpublished Romance. By A. B 28 
 
 Violets. By A. B 29 
 
 The Cloud before the Sun. By E. Kipps. 
 
 29
 
 INDEX. 
 
 PASE 
 
 Nature's Sweets. By E. Kipps 31 
 
 The May Wind. By E. L 32 
 
 A Cradle Song. By W. C. Bennett 32 
 
 Constance : The Flower ia Kirkby Church-yard. By D. Buxton, F.R.S.L 31 
 
 The Dead Eoses. By A. B 35 
 
 Friendship. By Francis Bennock 36 
 
 St. David's Head, South Wales. By Martin F. Tapper, Author of " Proverbial 
 
 Philosophy" 37 
 
 Sonnet to the Deaf Mutes at Old Trafford Asylum. By John Cameron 38 
 
 The Twin Mutes, taught and untaught. By Mrs. Alexander 40 
 
 Fore-warninga. By F. H 45 
 
 The Soldier's Grave. By Eev. E. D. Jackson, B.C.L 47 
 
 Ode to Amabelle. By Theo. Thornycroft 48 
 
 Canzonet. By Theo. Thornycroft 50 
 
 Ode to the Clouds. By Theo. Thornycroft 51 
 
 "The Place that knows us now shall know us no more for ever." By Theo. 
 
 Thornycroft 53 
 
 THOS. SOWLEK AND SONS, ST. ANN'S SQUARE, M4NCHESTEE.
 
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