/ 
 
 I
 
 >7 
 
 IVY LEAVES
 
 WELCOME, READERS, GOOD AND BAD: 
 IN THESE PAGES YOU MAY FIND 
 LOVING THOUGHTS TO SOOTHE THE MIND, 
 LONGINGS, HOPES, IVE ALL HAVE HAD. 
 IF THEIR WORTH BE AUGHT OR NOUGHT, 
 PLEASURE TO ONE HEART THEY BROUGHT.
 
 Jv^ Xcavc6 
 
 »Y 
 
 C. O. G. 
 
 COLLECTED 
 
 M D C C C X C
 
 {Prifited for Private Circulatmi)
 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 PACK 
 
 IVV LEAVES . . I 
 
 THE MORN 3 
 
 WIMBLEDON COMMON : 6.30 A.M 5 
 
 A FRIENDSHIP 7 
 
 THE SONG OF THE GRASS . ■ 9 
 
 THE HAREBELL . . . . . . . . lO 
 
 THE SEED OF GRASS. II 
 
 IN THE FOREST 14 
 
 A BIRD'S SONG 16 
 
 TO THE PRIMROSE. . . . . . . .18 
 
 THE BOY AND THE BIRD 19 
 
 THE LARK 20 
 
 F.A.NCY'S ECHOES 23 
 
 THE NEW-MOWN HAY . 27 
 
 A SPARROW'S SONG . . . . . . . . 29 
 
 LITTLE BIRD, SAY 3I 
 
 s«i8iy
 
 vi Ivy Leaves 
 
 PASS 
 
 AN INFANT'S GRAVE. *..,... 33 
 'AND WITH NO LANGUAGE BUT A CRY' . . .35 
 
 A SACRIFICE 36 
 
 THE LEAF AND THE BROOK . , ... . .39 
 
 THE sea-gull's SONG 44 
 
 A MESSAGE 47 
 
 TO A LARK SINGING IN OCTOBER 48 
 
 SPRING TIME 50 
 
 A THOUGHT : HADLEY WOOD 52 
 
 TO A PAINTED WILD-ROSE 54 
 
 AUTUMN LEAVES 55 
 
 TO A CAGED LARK 57 
 
 SONNET 59 
 
 FROZEN TO DEATH 60 
 
 PRIDE 63 
 
 DEATH . 65 
 
 THE NEW LIFE \. . . 66 
 
 TO ADA, AFTER HER ILLNESS 67 
 
 OLD AND NEW YEAR. . . . • . . . 6g 
 
 TO OUR FATHER 7I 
 
 TO OUR MOTHER 72 
 
 A REVERIE 11 
 
 ON A PORTRAIT OF MISS . . . ... 75
 
 Contents vii 
 
 PAGE 
 
 MANHATTAN BEACH 76 
 
 A ROMANCE IN REAL LIFE 78 
 
 THE LOOKING-GLASS . . . . , . .85 
 
 IN MEMORY OF E. \V. SEARING . . . . . 86 
 
 EPITAPH ON PALK, THE 'WEIGHER' . . . .87 
 
 SLEEP . 88 
 
 TO W. C. P., ON HIS MARRIAGE 92 
 
 •what WENT YE OUT FOR TO SEE?' . . . . 96 
 
 A LAMENT 99 
 
 'TO ALL WHO LOVE THE LIGHT, THE LIGHT HAS COME' \0\ 
 SONNET OCCASIONED BY A PASSAGE IN A LETTER 
 
 FROM EMERSON TO CARLYLE . . . . I02 
 MIDDAY REST IO3
 
 5v^ Xeaves 
 
 The leaves of spring soon fade and die 
 
 When autumn winds blow fierce and strong ; 
 
 The world rolls on with smile and sigh, 
 And time is fleeting fast along. 
 
 What boots it that we vainly strive 
 To hold the joys of summer time ? 
 
 They pass, though seed and fruit survive, 
 Undying tokens of their prime. 
 
 My little life and work must end 
 
 Like leaves that autumn sweeps away ; 
 
 But these best thoughts of mine I send 
 Into the world — and this I pray : 
 
 ^i 
 
 B
 
 Ivy Leaves 
 
 Let them not perish in the blast 
 
 That withers words of tongue and pen ; 
 
 Like IVY LEAVES may they hold fast, 
 Green, fresh, and pure,— beloved of men.
 
 THE MORN 
 
 There's nought that I love like the morn, early morn. 
 When the dawn's first faint streaks through the night- 
 clouds have torn, 
 When the light gently breaks as the new day is born ; — 
 Yes— the hour that is sweetest is morn, early morn. 
 
 They may boast of the joys that fair women bestow 
 With their soft silken hands and their kisses so sweet ; 
 
 They may vaunt the delights of the wine's ruddy glow, 
 But with dawn's blushing charms there arc none to 
 compete. 
 
 Other joys may suffice for the sluggard and fool 
 
 Who waste half their lives at their board or in bed ; 
 
 For me, I will follow the Mussulman's rule, 
 
 And at rise of the sun bend in worship my head.
 
 4 The Morn 
 
 Reawaked are the t\Yittering birds on the trees, 
 And they sing to the flowers newly waken'd from sleep 
 
 By the rustle of leaves in the freshening breeze, 
 When the angels of morn o'er the universe sweep. 
 
 'Tis morn that brings thoughts that are pure as the dew, 
 That opens our hearts to what Nature can teach, 
 
 To our spirits lethargic gives courage anew ; 
 And to man's little mind God appears within reach. 
 
 There's nought that I love like the morn, early morn, 
 ^V'hen the dawn's crimson streaks through the night- 
 clouds have torn, 
 And the light gently breaks as the new day is born ; 
 Yes, the hour I love most is the morn — early morn.
 
 WIMBLEDON COMMON 
 
 6.30 A.M. 
 
 Ah ! little robin, so gay and so free, 
 
 Whom I watch as you hop from the green bough 
 there, 
 And peck in the grass for your breakfast, I see ; 
 
 Kind Nature supplies you with bountiful fare. 
 
 But Poverty's dens in the city hard by 
 
 Are crowded with pallid-faced little ones dear, 
 
 Who wake at morn with a hungry sigh. 
 
 And but live to starve, without food or cheer. 
 
 Fate ! cruel Fate ! thus you order our ways : 
 
 But your laws must be wrong, so it seems to me ; 
 
 O for the dear old fairy-book fays, 
 
 And those poor little children gay robins should be !
 
 6 Wiinbledon Common 
 
 Silence, my Muse ! you must hold your peace ; 
 
 The earth has plenty and somewhat to spare ; 
 And if selfishness, sin, and vice were to cease, 
 
 The starved little children would all have their share.
 
 A FRIENDSHIP 
 
 One morn a sparrow settled upon my window-sill 
 
 And chirp'd to me a greeting, as the sun rose o'er the 
 
 hill ; 
 He look'd to right, he look'd to left, with timid glance 
 
 and shy : 
 But loving friends we soon became, that little bird and I. 
 
 What was it caused our friendship, that join'd our 
 hearts like one ? 
 
 — He loved the fields, he loved the flowers, the hill-tops, 
 and the sun ; 
 
 He loved to sit in quiet nooks and watch the streamlet 
 flow ; 
 
 He loved to hide behind the hedge and hear the west- 
 wind blow.
 
 8 A Friendship 
 
 Sometimes to to^vn he flutter'cl, amidst the smoke and 
 
 din, 
 And heard from httle London birds sad tales of want 
 
 and sin ; 
 But yet he loved in narrow streets the children's play to 
 
 see, 
 Spite of their faces grimed with dirt and pinch'd with 
 
 poverty. 
 
 'Twas oft his wont with outspread wings, thro' aery space 
 
 to fly, 
 Above the fields, above the town, regarding from on high. 
 One song was his, and only one, but he felt its burden 
 
 true; 
 That he was small, the world was small, and God was 
 
 great, he knew. 
 
 We hold no speech together ; he has no voice to tell 
 Of all he sees and hears each day ; but yet I know full 
 
 well, 
 By thoughts that pass between us, all that he fain would 
 
 say, 
 Could he hold converse with me just in this simple way.
 
 THE SONG OF THE GRASS 
 
 A BLADE of grass am I, 
 
 That look towards the sky ; 
 
 My strength I gain in sun and rain, 
 
 And feel no danger nigh. 
 
 Some men for power cry, 
 
 For knowledge others sigh ; 
 
 But guess who can the Maker's plan, 
 
 However hard he try. 
 
 I ask no questions why, 
 
 In Nature's law ne'er pry. 
 
 I live ; I grow ; and feel I know 
 
 Enough to satisfy. 
 
 And some day, by-and-by, 
 Like all things low and high 
 That God has made. I too shall fade 
 And wither up and die.
 
 10 
 
 THE HAREBELL 
 
 The clash of music loud and strong, 
 
 Of festal march or joyous song, 
 
 Makes heart's blood beat with spirit new 
 
 To noble thoughts and actions true. 
 
 But yet I love that gentler strain, 
 
 A harmony with soft refrain, 
 
 Like angel's whisper in our ear, 
 
 ' A still small voice,' yet faintly clear. 
 
 In fields where flowers bedeck the ground, 
 
 Where may and hyacinth abound, 
 
 Where roses blush their lives away. 
 
 And woodbine blossoms day by day ; — 
 
 Midst all this wealth of perfume rare 
 
 The slender-shafted harebell there 
 
 Above its tangled grassy bed 
 
 Hangs down its tender fairy head. 
 
 Both music's tone and flower denote 
 In Nature's song the same sweet note.
 
 II 
 
 THE SEED OF GRASS 
 
 A LITTLE seed of grass was blown about 
 The busiest thoroughfare of London town, 
 And Nature sent the rain and sunshine down 
 
 To make its heart long for the world without. 
 
 At last, by chance, as near a wall it lay, 
 Half-hidden in a little dusty heap, 
 Its soul was stirr'd ; it waked as if from sleep, 
 
 And then a tender stalk saw light of day. 
 
 Fair Goddess of the fields, teach us to know 
 Why in the city's gloom this seed should grow ? 
 
 ' Though here, alone amidst an angry strife, 
 But short the existence it can hope to lead, 
 Though small appear its worth or use indeed, 
 
 Yet full of purpose is its tender life.*
 
 /■ 
 
 12 The Seed of Grass 
 
 Cheer'd by the sunshine, moisten'd by the dew, 
 This little spear of grass, with hope and pride, 
 The base surroundings of its life defied, 
 
 And, spite the smoky atmosphere, it grew. 
 
 Ten thousand toilers pass'd, with hasty tread. 
 Close to that dusty heap beside the wall. 
 Intent on their own business, each and all : 
 
 Except just one^ who chanced to turn his head 
 
 And smile that in the city he should find 
 That slender shaft of green, which to his mind 
 
 Brought happy memories of the country side, 
 The trees, the birds, the music of the rill. 
 The tinkle of the sheep-bell on the hill, 
 
 The sight of meadows stretching far and wide. 
 
 Even as a star that comes within our sight. 
 Emerging from a sudden rift of cloud, 
 Whilst all around the storm-fiend cries aloud 
 
 And shakes the earth with terror in the night :
 
 The Seed of Grass i 
 
 Even so, mcthinks, so bright and yet so brief, 
 This blade of grass its life ephemeral led ; 
 Amidst the noise and dirt a light it shed, 
 
 Till Death in kindness brought it sweet relief. 
 
 And now the life of this small seed is done, 
 What honour in the great world hath it won ? 
 
 Of Nature's plan it was a tiny part, 
 
 A sunbeam of the sun that ever shines. 
 
 An angel's smile that cheer'd a human heart, 
 The source and inspiration of these lines. 
 
 J
 
 H 
 
 IN THE FOREST 
 
 Where the bracken springs up quickest, 
 
 There am I. 
 Where the leafy boughs are thickest, 
 
 There am I. 
 Where the birds are ever flying, 
 And the whispering zephyrs sighing, 
 
 There am I — there am I. 
 
 Where the Hmpid streamlet bubbles, 
 
 There am I. 
 With a song that lulls our troubles, 
 
 There am I. 
 Where fair Nature reigns in quiet, 
 Far from city noise and riot. 
 
 There am I — there am I.
 
 In the Forest 15 
 
 Where no evil thoughts can enter, 
 
 There am I. 
 Safe away from every tempter, 
 
 There am I. 
 Keep me pure, O God, I pray thee, 
 Through my life, or let me lay me 
 
 Down and die— down and die.
 
 i6 
 
 A BIRD'S SONG . 
 
 As I fly, 
 
 The yellow primrose bids you pluck, 
 The little lambkin kneels to suck : 
 New life is born, for Spring is nigh, 
 
 As I fly — as I fly. 
 
 As I fly, 
 
 The roses bloom, the passions glow, 
 And man and maiden whisper low : 
 ' Ah ! love is sweet,' they say, and sigh, 
 As I fly~as I fly. 
 
 As I fly, 
 
 The reapers reap the golden grain, 
 And homeward creaks the loaded wain : 
 The sun sinks red in the western sky, 
 As I fly— as I fly.
 
 A Bird's Song 17 
 
 As I fly, 
 
 The biting north-wind sweeps the earth ; 
 All Nature shrinks and waits new birth : 
 To live again we all must die. 
 
 So say I — as I fly. 
 
 D
 
 i8 
 
 TO THE PRIMROSE 
 
 Sweet tender flower of Spring- 
 Whose perfume seems to ding 
 Unto my sense like sound 
 Of music — once more round 
 Thy fresh and pregnant root 
 The little blossoms shoot 
 Upward towards the sun, 
 And opening one by one, 
 Send their souls' breath above, 
 Incense of praise and love.
 
 19 
 
 THE BOY AND THE BIRD 
 One of them shall 7iot fall on the ground without your Father.^ 
 
 A BOY held fast a timid fluttering bird, 
 Caught unawares : I begg'd him let it go, 
 Or give it me : to both he answer'd, No. 
 ' Well, sell it, then ? ' was next my cautious word. 
 
 Whereon, the price agreed, I took with glee 
 The trembling bird into my tender care, 
 
 But fail'd to find the slender promised fee 
 To pay his captor ransom then and there. 
 
 To give too much were wrong, so now in doubt- 
 Not to encourage greed nor seem unfair — 
 I handed back the prisoner to his fate. 
 Not long in hesitation did I wait : 
 
 The l)ird got free : I chcck'd my joyous shout, 
 Awed by the sudden thought sublimely grand — 
 ' What Power rclax'd the muscles of that hand ? '
 
 20 
 
 THE LARK 
 
 Ah ! happy lark, had I thy wings to fly 
 
 Above the earth and all its turmoil drear, — 
 Where passions rage, and hope gives way to fear, 
 
 Where tenderest hearts are first to break and die, — 
 Had I thy wings, sweet bird, o'er meadows green 
 
 I'd watch the daisies and the violets grow, 
 
 And midst the clouds, by human eyes unseen, . 
 
 W^ould mock at all the struggling crowd below. 
 My soul would be at rest, and once again 
 
 Rejoice in consciousness of power and worth. 
 
 Scorning the sins and shadows of the earth. 
 The bitter seeds that grow to mortal pain. 
 
 — A pleasant dream ! yet better here to stay 
 
 A fid labour out our lives from day to day.
 
 The Lark 21 
 
 II 
 
 Ah ! happy lark, had I thy skill to sing, 
 Unbosoming my soul in wildest glee, 
 And pouring out my life in harmony 
 
 That o'er the world in joyousness should ring, 
 Then would I live content through sunny days, 
 
 Whilst earthly claims no longer could annoy ; 
 The world should see me not, yet hear my lays. 
 
 And every heart should welcome them with joy. 
 The scent of may, wild hyacinth and rose. 
 
 Would still be mine, to make my heart rejoice, 
 
 And be distill'd to music in my voice 
 
 For listening souls that should forget their woes. 
 
 — A pleasant dream ! yet better here remain 
 
 And labour bravely^ even though in vain.
 
 2 2 The Lark 
 
 III 
 
 Ah ! happy lark, even when thy Hfe has flown, 
 
 I envy thee thy soHtary grave. 
 
 To some sequester'd dell or leafy cave, 
 Far from the haunts of men, — some place unknown — 
 
 My task all finish'd, thither would I creep, 
 'Midst autumn leaves to watch the setting sun, 
 
 And when the night should close, then fall asleep, 
 To dream of rest and peace by labour won. 
 
 Nought should disturb me from that slumber sweet, 
 No tears of grief should e'er be shed for me ; 
 Though, like thine own, my simple song might be 
 
 Dear to some pair of lovers on a seat. 
 — A pleasant dream ! but better we withstood, 
 And died to advance the noble and the good.
 
 23 
 
 
 FANCY'S ECHOES 
 
 When leaves are freshest and the scent of spring 
 Clings to the woods, 't is passing sweet to rest 
 And hear the fledgling robins in their nest 
 
 Begin to twitter ere they learn to sing. 
 
 AVhile she who brought them forth sits fond beside, 
 
 Maternal pleasure not unmix'd with pride. 
 
 A kindred scene as sweet my eyes have vievv'd 
 
 To which it bears a near similitude. 
 
 A babe that to its mother's breast lies close 
 And wakes to wonder what its life can be, 
 But finding food and warmth just smiles a wee, 
 
 Then coos itself again to soft repose. 
 
 Howe'er the voice of birds or babe you name, 
 
 Those voices echo through my heart the same.
 
 24 Fancy s Echoes 
 
 II 
 
 Roaming the fields one balmy day in June 
 I heard the skylark, poised in heavenliest blue ; 
 Far oif at first, close and more close it drew, 
 
 As, bounding to the earth, its joyous tune 
 Like rippling water sounded, flowing clear 
 Down the hillside, with dripping fern-leaves near. 
 
 Before the sound died off, two happy boys 
 
 Rush'd by me heedless, and I heard the noise 
 Of merry laughter echo down the hill 
 
 In accents loud at first, then faintlier heard : 
 'Tis there ! 'tis there ! and now at last 'tis still. 
 
 What is the fancy linking boys and bird? 
 
 Their voices are alike — I scarce can tell 
 
 If mine be all man's heart, or bird's as well.
 
 Fancy s Echoes 25 
 
 III 
 
 The summer-time is full : the woodlands show 
 
 Their deepest shade, with spreading boughs o'er- 
 
 grown ; 
 There warbles still the nightingale alone 
 Her love-lay to the twilight, soft and low. 
 Secure from sight she sits, the leaves among, 
 Unconscious of the maid who hears her song : — 
 ' Ah ! cease, fond bird, ah ! cease thy plaintive cry, 
 My heart, like thine, is full with many a sigh. 
 
 Hast thou a lover too, whose kisses sweet 
 Upon thy lips have seal'd thee his for aye? 
 
 When will he come again my heart to greet 
 With loving words and promise of his stay ? ' 
 The woods are still, and bird and maid at rest, 
 The same sad longing aches in either breast. 
 
 E
 
 26 Fancy s Echoes 
 
 IV 
 
 ' Fierce blows the winter wind ; and not less chill 
 Nor bitter is the sense to have lived in vain, 
 To have squander'd time that cannot come again, 
 
 To have lost our youth's bright hopes and steadfast 
 will.' 
 So mused and moan'd a wealthy man whose wide 
 Acres were fenced and wall'd on every side. 
 
 But slimy worms are fattening there below ; 
 
 On yonder leafless tree sits perch'd a crow, 
 Black-feather'd and morose, like any mute, 
 
 Who cannot speak, but utters now and then. 
 
 Echoing the mournful thoughts of man and brute, 
 
 With croaking caw, his dolorous ' amen.' 
 
 And hurrying from your presence, man and bird, 
 
 The moans and croaks seem one that I have heard.
 
 27 
 
 THE NE JF-MO WN HA Y 
 
 Oh ! sing of the new- mown hay ! 
 
 Now the reapers reap all day, 
 And the sun shines out, 
 And the children shout : — 
 
 ' O joy for the new-mown hay ! ' 
 
 Oh ! look at the new-mown hay. 
 With the boys and girls there at play ; 
 They dance and they run, 
 They are mad with their fun, 
 With, joy for the new-mown hay. 
 
 As the scent of the new-mown hay 
 
 Is wafted across your way, 
 How it clears the mind, 
 Leaves all thought behind 
 
 But joy fur the new-mown hay.
 
 28 The New -mown Hay 
 
 They scatter the new-mown hay, 
 These maidens and youths, alway ; 
 And their bright eyes meet 
 With a smile as sweet 
 And pure as the new-mown hay. 
 
 As they carry the new-mown hay 
 The sun sinks westward away ; 
 
 And the cuckoo calls 
 
 Till the evening falls 
 All still as the new-mown hay. 
 
 Then joy for the new -mown hay ! 
 In death there is life, they say. 
 
 Cease to weep or sigh ; 
 
 We but live to die : 
 Sing joy for the new-mown hay !
 
 29 
 
 A SFAJ^ROW'S SONG 
 
 I SANG 'midst forest leaves one day, 
 
 Too-wee-it. 
 And watch'd the trembling shadows play, 
 
 Too- wee -it. 
 With pensive look and downcast eye 
 A rueful man walk'd slowly by. 
 
 Too-wee-it, too-wee-it. 
 
 He thought none else could be in view, 
 
 Too-wee-it. 
 For slowly from his breast he drew, 
 
 Too-wee-it. 
 A small white paper wrapt with care 
 That held a lock of lady's hair. 
 
 Too-wee-it, too-wee-it.
 
 30 A Spai'7^ozds SG7ig 
 
 The sun casts shade where'er we go, 
 
 Too-wee-it. 
 Together rose and nightshade grow, 
 
 Too-wee-it. 
 Love may be false as well as true ; 
 It may bring joy, and sorrow too. 
 
 Too-wee-it, too-wee-it. 
 
 His lips were to that token press'd. 
 
 Too-wee-it. 
 And by his face his thoughts I guess'd, 
 
 Too-wee-it. 
 ' Though parted by a stern decree. 
 Our love shall true and constant be.' 
 
 Too-wee-it, too-wee-it. 
 
 They say that man is noble, great. 
 
 Too-wee-it. 
 And therefore sorrow seems his fate, 
 
 Too-wee-it. 
 I envy not his life, I vow. 
 More joy I find on yonder bough. 
 
 Too-wee-it, too-wee-it.
 
 31 
 
 LITTLE BIRD, SAY 
 
 Why in the spring do we rejoice 
 
 When leaves shoot and the lark's sweet voice 
 
 Rings from the sunny sky all day ? 
 
 Little bird, say — little bird, say. 
 
 What sets our hearts with love aglow, 
 Or makes us weep at others' woe, 
 Or promptly Pity's call obey ? 
 
 IJttle bird, say — little bird, say. 
 
 Why do we tremble at their roar 
 When breakers lash the ocean's shore, 
 And lightnings dart like fiends at play ? 
 
 Little bird, say — little bird, say.
 
 32 Little Bii^d, Say 
 
 How is it we can fancy well 
 
 The difference betwixt heaven and hell 
 
 In drunkards' rage and children's play ? 
 
 Little bird, say — little bird, say. 
 
 Meeting we smile, at parting sigh, 
 In joy we are born, 'midst sorrow die. 
 Why is it so ? come, tell me, pray. 
 
 Little bird, say — little bird, say. 
 
 THE bird's answer 
 
 What can a little birdie know 
 
 Of things that puzzle wise men so ? 
 
 Would you learn from me, some truth we see 
 
 In life, wherever we go. 
 
 We feel it surely must be true 
 
 Whate'er experience brings to view 
 
 Is some small part of the world's great heart" 
 
 That lives and throbs all through. 
 
 Leaves of a giant spreading tree. 
 Waves of a mighty endless sea, 
 Each swells the whole of the mystic soul 
 That works through Eternity.
 
 33 
 
 AN INFANT'S GRA VE 
 
 Tell me, sweet floweret, come tell me true 
 Why in this sorrowful spot you grew ? 
 How came you to spring in so sad a place ? 
 Some dainty garden your beauty should grace. 
 Was it for sin that your bloom was shed 
 In repentance among the graves of the dead ? 
 Was it in love that you here were placed 
 Far from temptation and thoughts unchaste ? 
 Sadly your blossom looks up to the sky : 
 What is the reason ? come, tell me why ? 
 
 A soft breeze stirr'd that little blue-bell, 
 And out of its heart a dewdrop fell. 
 
 ' Listen, O mortal, to what I say : 
 Repeat to the children my story, I pray.
 
 34 ^^ Infant's Grave 
 
 First pledge of the love betwixt husband and wife, 
 
 A sweet little babe was given to life ; 
 
 'Twas the year's glad springtide, when all was gay \ 
 
 And words of thanksgiving were utter'd that day. 
 
 But, alas ! for fond hopes, ere a month had pass'd, 
 
 'I'he dear little infant had breathed its last ; 
 
 And with many a sigh and many a tear 
 
 They buried the tiny sweet angel here. 
 
 So I grew up — and the reason why 
 
 Is to teach little children they soon may die.' 
 
 I mused for a moment ; then, half in play, 
 I pluck'd the flower and I walk'd away.
 
 35 
 
 'AND WITH NO LANGUAGE BUT A CRY' 
 
 Clear shone the stars, the night was still, , ;. 
 
 As homeward walking o'er the hill 
 
 And through the fields, where fast asleep : 
 
 The lambs lay warm against the sheep, 
 
 I stopp'd to gaze upon the sky 
 
 And watch the stars, until a sigh 
 
 Broke from my heart, — a silent prayer 
 
 Acknowledging a Power there, 
 
 Above my little life. Around 
 
 All Nature slept : there came no sound 
 
 Throughout the stillness of the night. 
 
 But as I wonder'd at the sight, 
 
 A lamb cried out in plaintive tone 
 
 A sigh to heaven so like my own. 
 
 My hidden thought, that found no word, 
 
 In that poor bleating cry was heard.
 
 ■^ 
 
 6 
 
 A SACRIFICE 
 
 One day I wander'd o'er the hills alone, 
 So weary was my soul, and I had grown 
 So tired of all the unrest of the town. 
 
 The quiet sheep were browsing up and down, 
 I saw through sunny air the blithe birds fly, 
 And from the height I watch'd the arc of sky 
 Dip down and join the sea. The summer breeze 
 Just bent the grass, through which the humming bees 
 Pursued their busy way. With pure delight 
 My heart was full. So peaceful was the sight, 
 I could but think of one sweet loving face. 
 One voice that haunts me still in every place, 
 One heart that clings to mine, my dearest one. 
 My guiding star, until my life be done. 
 
 So, as I walk'd, I gather'd, here and there, 
 Sweet honeysuckle with its fragrance rare, 
 Heedless of hands scratch'd in the thorny hedge ; 
 Each bloom I gather'd was a separate pledge
 
 A Sacrifice 2)7 
 
 And earnest of my love : ' such blossoms live 
 
 For those whose hearts beat true, that they may give 
 
 Some token to the loved one.' So I thought, 
 
 As with the scented bunch I gladly sought, 
 
 All weary as I was, my homeward way, 
 
 Which through a quiet little village lay 
 
 Nestled amongst the trees, so modest, shy, 
 
 It hid itself from careless passers-by ; 
 
 Like some sweet hedgerow bloom that often grows 
 
 Alone, beneath a bank where no one knows. 
 
 A quaint old rustic church stood on a mound, 
 
 With cottages that cluster'd all around, 
 
 In which dull folk a tame existence led. 
 
 And in the churchyard lay when they were dead. 
 
 The crimson sun was sinking in the west 
 As in the wooden porch I sat to rest 
 And watch the twilight grow. Ah ! sweetest time 
 Of all the day, which fosters thoughts sublime, 
 And brings the welcome boon, so oft denied, 
 A glimpse of our weak nature's better side. 
 
 What thoughts were mine, it boots not here to tell ; 
 Intent on these I sat until the bell, 
 Calling to vespers, roused me to the sense 
 The time for rest had pass'd, and I must hence ;
 
 38 .A Sacrifice 
 
 Unless I hasten'd back, the evening shade 
 
 Would turn to darkness and my flowers would fade. 
 
 But ere I started on my road, some whim 
 
 Moved me to enter, and behold the dim 
 
 Interior of the church. With gentle touch 
 
 The oaken door fell back ; and I was much 
 
 Abash'd and awed, as in the aisle I stood 
 
 And felt that in God's presence there I could 
 
 Bow down and pray, but that I did not know 
 
 What words to utter all my thoughts to show. 
 
 But wishing still to leave some token there 
 
 Of reverence and of thanks, in silent prayer. 
 
 Upon the altar quietly I laid ' ■■ '. ■- ■ 
 
 I\Iy bunch of bloom ; an offering only made 
 
 By robbing from my love her flowery prize 
 
 And giving it to God for sacrifice. ; .. . *. 
 
 O'er all the church an incense sweet was shed, 
 
 Whjlst I, with thoughtful face and quiet tread, 
 
 Stepp'd back once more into the country lane, 
 
 To make my way across the hills again. 
 
 The sun had set : in heaven the moon was high ; 
 
 And stars came peeping from the darkening sky. 
 
 Studland.
 
 39 
 
 THE LEAF AND THE BROOK 
 
 PRELUDE 
 
 Far distant from the busy haunts of man, 
 From greed and sorrow, kist and fell disease, 
 
 Through grassy meadow-fields a brooklet ran 
 
 Whose banks were shelter'd by o'ershadowing trees. 
 
 The tender leaves were born and quickly grew, 
 Nurtured with gentle rain and summer sun ; 
 
 From bough to bough the feather'd songsters flew, 
 At each song's close a fresh song was begun. 
 
 And joyfully the brooklet babbled on 
 
 With never-ending music through the fields, 
 
 Of rest impatient, anxious to be gone 
 
 And learn the secret lore the future yields.
 
 40 The Leaf and the Brook 
 
 Yet in this paradise I heard with pain 
 The voice of doubt and pining discontent ; 
 
 My Ustening spirit caught the sad refrain, 
 And here in simple rhymes is what it meant. 
 
 THE LEAF {speaks) 
 
 Just a little leaf am I, 
 Hanging on the tree, 
 
 Growing here I know not why ; 
 What is life to me ? 
 
 Every day the sun goes round 
 And the clouds roll by ; 
 
 But my life is fix'd and bound 
 Till I drop and die. 
 
 / 
 
 StreamJet, streamlet, whilst you flow, 
 
 Ah ! what joy for you ; 
 Every minute, as you go, 
 
 Seeing something new.
 
 Tke Leaf and the Brook 41 
 
 Here I hang disconsolate, 
 
 Bitter is my cry ; 
 Cursed, cursed is my fate : 
 
 Life is but a lie. 
 
 THE BROOK {speaks) 
 
 Downward, downward, who knows whither ? 
 
 Threatening banks on either hand, 
 Shall I grow to be a river, 
 
 Or be swallow'd up in sand ? 
 
 Summer suns my moisture killing. 
 Lapping all my life away, 
 
 Frost and snow in winter chilling : 
 Such my life from day to day. 
 
 Happy leaf, above me growing, 
 Viewing all the country wide ; 
 
 Nought 1 sec in all my flowing 
 Save dull banks on either side.
 
 42 The Leaf and the Brook 
 
 Fruitless is my toil and weary 
 Do I grow of constant strife ; 
 
 Longing soon to end this dreary, 
 Useless and uncertain life. 
 
 A MAN {speaks) ■ 
 
 Sweet are the fields to a weary one, 
 
 Him who is sad ; 
 Sweet are the songs of birds in the sun, 
 
 Making him glad. 
 
 Sweet is the sound of the leaves to hear, 
 
 Rustling above ; 
 Sweet is the voice of the brooklet clear, - 
 
 Sweeter than love. 
 
 All that we suffer, however unkind. 
 Nature will cure. 
 
 Healing the sick in body and mind, 
 Making them pure.
 
 -J 
 
 The Leaf and the Brook 43 
 
 Such is the song of a thankful man, 
 
 Nature, to thee ; 
 Yielding what grateful worship he can, 
 
 Bending the knee. 
 
 THE EPILOGUE 
 
 But nothing of all this the great world knew. 
 The streamlet babbled on, the leaflet grew, 
 The merry birds still caroll'd out their glee, 
 And all went joyously and peacefully. 
 At length the tiny leaf, all sere and brown, 
 Into the streamlet's course fell fluttering down. 
 And if you would its further history know, 
 The streamlet bore it on its downward flow, 
 Till life and life were mingled. On they pass'd. 
 And Ocean wide received them both at last. 
 Rich were the furrow'd fields on either hand. 
 And great men lived and labour'd on the land ; 
 Praising the God who made both great and small, 
 And saw that all was good, and bless'd it all.
 
 44 
 
 THE SEA-GULL'S SONG 
 
 O'er the ripple of waves on a rocky shore 
 I drowsily fly with the summer breeze. 
 By the cliffs so steep in the caves I peep, 
 
 Where the ledges for nests I am free to explore 
 ■ ' ■ At my ease. 
 
 And so peaceful and calm is the sea below, 
 
 That the bleat of the sheep I can hear on the hill, 
 And the brown sea-weed on the rocks I heed 
 
 As it moves when the tide takes it to and fro 
 : : At its will. ^ -- 
 
 On my pinions strong o'er the cliffs I soar, 
 And plaintively call for the storm to wake ; 
 For dear to me is an angry sea, 
 
 When the dash of the waves makes a clamorous roar 
 As they break.
 
 The Sea-gttWs Song 45 
 
 For, rage as it maj', there is nought can stay 
 The force of my wings or my spirit set free : 
 Quiet times may please little birds on trees ; 
 
 But I joy in the storms and the wrecks far away 
 Out at sea. 
 
 When the landsmen pray and old mariners frown, 
 And captains who never knew fear look grave, 
 I laugh aloud from the thunder-cloud 
 
 As the lightnings flash and the ships go down 
 In the wave. 
 
 ENVOY 
 
 Ah ! wondrous bird,— and still more wondrous thought ! 
 What makes thy wings so strong, thy breast so 
 white ? 
 Why love the storm and rocks with danger fraught ? 
 When strong men quake, why shriek with strange 
 delight ?
 
 46 - The Sea-gull s So7ig 
 
 No answer to these questions can we hear : 
 
 But while man's puny mind such thoughts appal, 
 
 We know that far above our craven fear, — 
 
 Above the storms and wrecks, — one God rules all. 
 
 [On listening to a sea-gull's song it appears to have only two 
 notes — the one quite a plaintive soft note, like a cry of pain ; the 
 other almost like a human laugh.]
 
 47 
 
 A MESSAGE 
 
 These blossoms diffuse their rich perfume around, 
 As an incense of thanks to their Maker above, 
 
 A ' Come-let-us-exult ' ' that His mercies abound, — 
 The psalm of their life, full of praise and of love. 
 
 So I to my dearest, in thankfulness, send 
 A song of pure joy as a breath from my soul ; 
 
 My life's little bloom, from beginning to end, 
 Is due but to her and her heart's sweet control. 
 
 ' Venite extiltemus.
 
 48 
 
 TO A LARK SINGING IN OCTOBER 
 
 Fond foolish bird, that singest still on high 
 While yellow autumn leaves are falling fast, 
 Hast thou forgotten summer-time is past. 
 
 And dreary winter days are drawing nigh ? 
 
 Art thou deceived because the sun shines bright, 
 And autumn air is crisp and clear like spring ? 
 
 What joyous thought has made thy heart so light ? 
 A dirge of sorrow rather should'st thou sing. 
 
 Indeed, methinks, I catch a sadden'd tone 
 Marring at times thy joyous minstrelsy, 
 As if a cloud eclipsed thy perfect glee, 
 
 And forced thee to a doubt thou daresl not own.
 
 To a Lark Singing in October 49 
 
 Sing on, sing on ! pour out thy rapturous song ! 
 
 Such joy on earth is all too rarely met ; 
 To soothe our life thy truest note prolong, 
 
 And cheer our disappointment and regret. 
 
 The spring and summer gone, our time misspent, 
 Seeking to solve the riddle of our fate. 
 Now autumn comes and finds us all too late : 
 
 To mock us in our anguish art thou sent ? 
 
 Nay ! as I listen to the inspiring voice 
 
 My heart responds and thrills again with hope : 
 Let others waste their lives in thought, and grope 
 
 For barren knowledge, — Work I make my choice ! 
 
 ' Toil on ; be patient ' (thus I hear thee say), 
 
 ' And spring-time ceases never : ' — though the chill 
 
 Of winter and of death approach our way, 
 
 Yet faith and hope shall cheer us onward still. 
 
 H
 
 50 
 
 SPUING TIME 
 
 The daisies' tender lids are closed at last, 
 The birds are carolling their evening lay ; 
 
 Behind the hill the sun is sinking fast, 
 
 The solemn night-clouds soon will cancel day. 
 
 Down the hillside 'tis time I hasten home, 
 Between the hedgerows smelling sweet of may 
 
 And through the meadows where young lovers roam, 
 And where the skylark pours his life away. 
 
 Another spring with all its hopes is here, 
 And all the joy of coming summer life ; 
 
 While, with regrets but vain, another year 
 Closes its sins, its weaknesses, its strife.
 
 spring Time 51 
 
 Howe'er remembrance of the past may fade, 
 And recollection of the path we trod, 
 
 Yet record on the ' iron leaf ' is made 
 As year by year we advance to meet our God. 
 
 Egkam, May 23, 1885.
 
 52 
 
 A THOUGHT 
 (hadley wood) 
 
 If alone you e'er have been 
 As you lay upon the green 
 
 At your ease ; 
 When the sun the leaves peep'd thro', 
 And you caught a glimpse of blue 
 
 Through the trees ; 
 
 And you heard the sweet birds sing 
 To the Sun, their God and King, 
 
 Lord of Day ! 
 Came no sad thought then — not one ? 
 Like a cloud across the sun, 
 
 As you lay ? 
 
 No sad thought of summers bright 
 That will give the earth delight 
 As of old,
 
 A Tiionght c'l 
 
 When you lie beneath the ground, 
 Hidden far from sight or sound, 
 Dead and cold ? 
 
 From your soul cast out that load, 
 And make light the weary road 
 
 To be trod. 
 Let your flesh fail, if it will. 
 But your soul can nothing kill : 
 
 That is God.
 
 54 
 
 \ 
 
 TO A PAINTED WILD- ROSE 
 
 (ON A stationer's ALMANACK) •■ 
 
 Sweet simple flower, even pictured as thou art 
 And senseless, only drawn to make believe. 
 Though knowing thee a sham, I fain would leave 
 
 A kiss upon thy petals ere we part. 
 
 Chill blows the winter wind : no flower lives 
 
 That may compare with this poor painted thing 
 Which brings fresh gladness to my heart and gives 
 
 New hope and promise of the coming spring. 
 He who design'd and pictured thee, perhaps 
 
 Unknown to fame and poor, — yet when he dies. 
 
 Should I outlive him, there'll be one to prize 
 His broken palette and his book of scraps ; 
 
 And should our souls in heaven's azure meet 
 
 Thanks shall be his for this rose-drawing sweet.
 
 00 
 
 A UTUMN LEA VES 
 
 As I saunter on the road 
 And the leaves of autumn fall, 
 
 Fluttering down, 
 
 Sere and brown, 
 The dead Summer's funeral pall, 
 
 Ah ! what many-colour'd thoughts 
 Chase each other through my brain,- 
 
 Bright and glad, 
 
 Black and sad. 
 Like a change from sun to rain. 
 
 What are we but leaves like these. 
 Growing on the tree of Time ? 
 Gay we shoot 
 With flower and fruit, 
 Till we reach our summer prime.
 
 56 A^Utmin Leaves 
 
 Autumn comes and turns us grave 
 Winter time and Death are nigh : 
 
 Life must stop : 
 
 So we drop 
 To the ground and fade and die.
 
 57 
 
 TO A CAGED LARK 
 
 Cv a market-place in London, in the thickest of the 
 
 throng 
 Of the men who labour ever, did I hear the tender song 
 Of a skylark, sweetly singing in a cage beside the wall, 
 Just above the rush of toilers heeding not her voice at all. 
 As I listen'd much I wonder'd such a happy heart to find 
 Midst the dirt and gloom of London, in a cruel cage 
 
 confined. 
 ' Canst thou see the blue sky arching, and the glorious 
 
 bright sunshine ? 
 Hast thou scent of may and woodbine ? is the scent of 
 
 wild-rose thine ? 
 What can give thee joy so perfect, make thee, captive 
 
 bird, so gay ? 
 Not the singers, but the toilers, find a welcome here 
 
 to-day. 
 
 I
 
 58 To a Caged Lark 
 
 Yet I love thee, happy songster, thank thee from a 
 heart like thine : 
 
 May the world not quell thy spirit more than it can con- 
 quer mine. 
 
 Toiling in the murky city is my lot : you ask me why ? 
 
 'Faith, I know not ; we must labour, one and all, or else 
 we die. 
 
 But at times I share thy nature \ fuller hopes my soul 
 requires ; 
 
 So I sing, as thou dost, uttering all my innermost desires. 
 
 Few can raise our tenderest feelings, though so many 
 press our hands, 
 
 And of those that hear my sighing well if one but under- 
 stands. • 
 
 But there's nought can still the singing that from earnest 
 souls is born : 
 
 What can crush our hopes and longings for a purer, 
 brighter morn ? 
 
 Something in us whispers : " Patience ! Life is but a 
 prison drear : 
 
 Death will loose thy bars, and mounting thou shall sing 
 in freedom clear." '
 
 59 
 
 SONNET 
 
 All day with clouds the skies are overcast, 
 Whilst wintry winds continually blow ; 
 Fair Nature hides her face : deep lies the snow 
 
 Bared are the trees by many a stormy blast. 
 
 But when at eventide the sun goes down, 
 The western sky glows red : a fiery heat 
 Seems in the world's great soul again to beat. 
 
 A smile of summer lightens winter's frown 
 
 That gives a gladsome earnest of the spring, 
 
 When flowers will bloom again and birds will sing. 
 
 So when in life thou fall'st on gloomy days, 
 And heart to heart seems weary and a-cold, 
 Ah ! cease thy doubts ; be satisfied, consoled ; 
 
 The love that once beats true is sure always.
 
 6o 
 
 r 
 
 FROZEN TO DEATH 
 
 The wintry earth was wrapt in frost and snow. 
 Through wither'd branches did the chill blasts blow 
 
 Each dreary day. 
 Upon the whiten'd ground (ah ! sad to see !) 
 A 'little birdjiad fallen from the tree, 
 
 And dead it lay\ 
 
 Its tender frame was wasted, and its beak 
 Seem'd open'd wide, as if it fain would speak 
 
 And beg for food. 
 7 tix^ ' Thy life is over, and thy lingering pain ; hci- u^-t 
 
 Thy feather'd friends will call to thee in vain 
 
 Through field and wood. 
 
 Mute is the voice we welcomed in the spring ; 
 Stiff are thy limbs — no more upon the wing 
 
 Thou'lt gaily fly. 

 
 Frozen to Death 6i 
 
 The summer sun will gladden not thy sight ; 
 For in the cold, cold earth, forgotten quite, 
 Thou now must lie. 
 
 ' Yet, ah ! not quite ; for surely even now 
 Thy fond mate lingers on some lonely bough 
 
 And grieyes for thee ; 
 Nor quite forgotten in thy darksome grave 
 By some who once rejoiced to hear thy stave : 
 
 Ungrateful we ! 
 
 ' How often hast thou cheer'd us with thy song 
 On summer evenings as we walk'd along. 
 
 With sadness fraught ! 
 Thou gav^t us joy ; but we — when winter came — 
 We left thee here to starve (ah ! cruel shame I) 
 
 Without a thougfibN 
 
 ■'Cs- 
 
 ' So died poor Chatterton of cold neglect, 
 
 So with contempt the soul of Keats was wTCck'd ; 
 
 Nor these alone : 
 Full many a toiler who has ask'd for bread 
 The world, with callous harden'd heart, instead 
 
 Gave him a stone>s
 
 62 Frozen to Death 
 
 ' Yet be consoled ; for, think not, little bird, 
 Ah ! think not that the songs we often heard 
 
 Were sung in vain ; 
 Thy spirit nevermore from us departs, 
 The tender voice that sank into our hearts 
 
 Will there remaift,^ qt, j.aa>^ 
 
 ' Not without tears I lay thee in thy bed ; 
 We all are poorer now that thou art dead. 
 
 Thy singing done. 
 In fancy still thy simple songs we hear, 
 And still our hearts will hold thy memory dear 
 
 Till we are gone/
 
 63 
 
 PRIDE 
 
 ' The topmost leaf on a tall, tall tree, 
 Above the world, all must bow to me 
 Save the birds and clouds, save the sun and sky : 
 I have none for a peer, such a king am 1 ! 
 
 ' The first leaf kiss'd by the morning sun, 
 And when evening comes, and his course is run, 
 The last he quits as he sinks to rest 
 In glory of gold and red in the west. 
 
 ' The gentlest zephyr that e'er can blow, 
 ihat is felt by no one far down below. 
 Will go to my heart, whilst all envy me. 
 On the topmost twig of this tall, tall tree. 
 
 ' For years upon years has this tall tree grown. 
 Cold winters have chill'd, summer suns have shone, 
 Till now, as the fruit of the long, long past, 
 On the topmost point I am here at last.
 
 64 Pride 
 
 ' To me all look up ; but I only look down : 
 I am lord of them all, and I wear the crown ; 
 There is pride amongst men, but what can it be 
 To mine at the top of this tall, tall tree ? ' 
 
 To rest from his song there came a bird 
 AVho had nought of this boast vainglorious heard ; 
 He snapt off the leaf and away did he fly, 
 Tlien dropt it to earth to fade and to die.
 
 65 
 
 DEATH 
 
 I LOOK on a skull : ^ it grins at me : 
 
 I laugh at it back again : 
 Old scarecrow, Death, I will let you see 
 
 I scorn both you and your pain. 
 
 Come when you will, you ugly shade, 
 Tear off my flesh — you may — 
 
 Something within quite otherwise made 
 Will scorch and scare you away. 
 
 Terror of cowards and slaves you are, 
 
 Holding but fools in thrall ; 
 The body is but the chain or bar 
 
 Of our house — the soul is all. 
 
 ' York Road, Lambeth, at a surgical inbtrumcnl-makcr's. 
 
 K
 
 66 
 
 THE NEW LIFE 
 
 Sorrow and weeping fiU'd the house 
 
 Wherein the dead man lay 
 Whom none on earth again could rouse 
 
 His soul had flown away. 
 
 But in the heavens, serene and clear, 
 
 What did the angels say 
 With holy shout, we all shall hear ? 
 
 — ' A child is born to-day.'
 
 67 
 
 TO ADA, AFTER HER ILLNESS 
 
 With every joy and scarce a sorrow 
 In youth's abandon'd thoughtless hours, 
 We gambol on in sun and showers, 
 
 Heedless and careless of to-morrow. 
 
 But ere the unheeded morrow dawns again 
 Pale Sickness flings us on a bed of pain, 
 And leads our minds, thus quieted, away, 
 Far, far away from the world's frivolous shows, 
 And bids us glance with awe and deep dismay 
 Across that darkling stream which silent flows 
 'Twixt this life and the next ; 
 There do we stand, perplex'd 
 As to our future fate, and humbly pray 
 That health our wasted frame may soon restore 
 To friends and sunshine and the world once more. 
 But ah ! if Death should hurry us away !
 
 68 To Ada, after her Illness 
 
 And when at last pale Sickness disappears 
 And we arise restored from where we lay, 
 
 God grant our vows not vanish with our fears, 
 But help us keep them till our dying day.
 
 69 
 
 OLD AND NEW YEAR 
 
 'Tis Christmas time : the dear Old Year, 
 All old and gray, is dying fast ; 
 
 He lies upon his wintry bier, 
 His weary life will soon be past. 
 
 A youngling, brisk and quick of pace, 
 Comes bounding over dale and hill ; 
 
 Whose lustrous eyes and glowing face 
 Proclaim new Peace and old Good-will. 
 
 Then join, both young and old, with me ; 
 
 Say farewell to the dying Year ; 
 Whate'er our faults and errors be. 
 
 Does not a deathbed set them clear ? ' 
 
 • De mortuis nil nisi bonum.
 
 yo Old and New Year 
 
 With hope and faith then in the right 
 We'll hail the infant New Year in, 
 
 And cleanse our lives and make them bright 
 And strive to shield our souls from sin.
 
 71 
 
 TO OUR FATHER 
 
 Dear white-hair'd Father, who with constant cart- 
 Hast toil'd for wife and offspring till thy mind 
 Is now so fix'd in labour as to find 
 
 Nor peace, nor rest, nor happiness elsewhere, — 
 
 Thy children greet thee, — bow before thy face 
 In love and honour, looking to thee still 
 (A father and a friend through good and ill) 
 
 For help in all their troubles or disgrace. 
 
 Bear up thy brave old heart, let not thine eyes 
 
 Be over-dimm'd with grief ; look forward yet • 
 And show thy spirit one that never dies, 
 
 Nor yields, unsoothed by hope, to vain regret. 
 Take comfort in thine age— thy faith hold fast, 
 That we may see a noble end at last.
 
 TO OUR MOTHER 
 
 Ah ! Mother, dear, though thou art left alone 
 Of all thy children scatter'd and dispersed, 
 Can they forget the tender love that nursed 
 
 And cherish'd each of them in times long gone ? 
 
 Spared each and all to say these words to thee 
 With thankful hearts we face the future years : 
 
 Though age have brought thee sorrow, let us see 
 A sweet and patient smile behind thy tears. 
 
 Have we been wayward, broken from thy tie, 
 
 And shaped our thoughts and lives in our own way ? 
 We meet our trials too from day to day 
 
 And look to thee for love to bear them by. 
 Still let us share together joy and pain : 
 The joy is sweet : no sorrow comes in vain.
 
 12, 
 
 
 A REVERIE 
 
 As on the lonely heath I roam 
 
 And watch the silver moonbeams play, 
 My fancies wander far away 
 
 To my lost childhood's happy home. 
 
 The rosy morning of my life 
 
 Has disappear'd, and far around 
 Fierce storms of doubt and grief abound 
 
 Which lead me into endless strife. 
 
 Across the Jtwon the clouds are fly mg fast : 
 Though Time be brief Eter?iity will last. 
 
 My boyhood's spirit wild has turn'd 
 
 To courage of a manlier kind ; 
 
 And struggling through the dark I find 
 A purer Ught, though hardlier earn'd. 
 
 L
 
 74 ^ Reverie 
 
 My mother's smile, my father's frown, 
 Has ceased to guide me or control ; 
 No strength is given unto my soul 
 
 Save what from heaven is sent me down. 
 
 Across the moon the clouds are flying fast : 
 Though Time be brief Eternity will last. 
 
 From youth, through manhood, on to age, 
 Our little lives so quickly flow, 
 We hardly guess, we cannot know, 
 
 The cause for which the strife we wage. 
 
 We fight as in a foreign land, 
 
 And when we feel our fate is rough 
 We watch the stars, and say : ' Enough 1 
 
 Our lives are in our Master's hand.' 
 
 Across the moon the clouds are flying fast : 
 Though Time be brief Eternity ivill last.
 
 -! 
 
 75 
 
 ON A PORTRAIT OF MISS 
 
 This picture faithful to the life and sweet 
 
 Is hardly mine by right, who have no claim 
 
 Save that by accident I heard your name 
 
 And caught your smile when once we chanced to meet. 
 
 But yet your gentle words and loving deeds, 
 
 Borne on the wings of Fame, so far made bold 
 
 That I, to keep their record clear, must needs 
 
 Crave something of yourself to have and hold. 
 
 Now, at each fresh report of your sweet ways, 
 
 Your face, so truly limn'd, will bring to me 
 
 A closer pleasure, in the sympathy 
 
 Of hearts that long for good and noble days, 
 
 And through my life your influence will endure 
 
 And help to make it better and more pure.
 
 76 
 
 MANHATTAN BEACH 
 
 Here wandering by the sad sea's strand, 
 From home and loved ones far away, 
 
 I watch the foam blown o'er the sand, 
 The rolling pebbles, and the spray. 
 
 The sea-bird's shriek comes on the wind 
 The roaring breakers shake the shore, 
 
 Eager some hapless foe to find 
 
 On whom their utmost rage to pour. 
 
 Whilst out afar upon the ships, 
 
 Brave sailors stand, with eyes so clear 
 
 And knitted brows and close-press'd lips, 
 To meet their fate without a fear.
 
 Manhattan Beach 77 
 
 And yet methinks I hear the cry 
 
 Of wild despair, the piteous moan, 
 Of some who know that they must die, 
 
 And leave their wives and children lone. 
 
 Ye angry waves which fiercely toss, 
 Repress awhile your rage and roar, 
 
 And bear me on your breast across 
 To loved ones and to home once more.
 
 78 
 
 A ROMANCE IN REAL LIFE 
 
 In the dull city, on a garret floor, 
 Lived an old man, in earth's possessions poor ; 
 Quite white his hair was, and his eyes were dim ; 
 All worldly pleasures were as nought to him. 
 His children scatter'd, and his dear wife gone, 
 Silent and sad he rested all alone ; 
 Oft of the past would speak with tearful eye 
 To tell you that true love can never die ; 
 Fond memory holds it still in joy or pain, 
 Knowing beyond 'twill flourish once again. 
 He had read old books ; had travell'd wide and far ; 
 Abroad been shipwreck'd, wounded in the war ; 
 He had loved and lost ; and now that all was past 
 Waited in peace the call of death at last.
 
 A Romance in Real Life 79 
 
 Oft would he take his fiddle from its shelf, 
 
 To play again the tunes all to himself 
 
 He had heard or learnt in the old bygone days, 
 
 Old marches, love-songs, ditties, roundelays, 
 
 Till in a dream he fancied that he moved 
 
 In scenes of youth with those that once he loved. 
 
 Ere rose the sun he earlier rose from bed, 
 
 Brew'd his own tea, and cut his crust of bread, 
 
 And soon as e'er his frugal meal was done. 
 
 Would fling his window up, in rain or sun. 
 
 To throw to hungry sparrows, waiting there, 
 
 The crumbs he had broken up with loving care. 
 
 'Tis said his pets when no one else was near 
 
 Fed from his hand or lips, nor thought of fear ; 
 
 Answer'd his call, and he for hours would play 
 
 On his old fiddle to entice their stay. 
 
 Friends he had none ; though often on his walk 
 
 By riverside at morn, you saw him talk 
 
 With sailors ; pausing to regard the tide 
 
 Bear down great ships to countries far and wide : 
 
 As his soul drifted calmly to that sea 
 
 Where Time flows onward to Eternity.
 
 8d A Romance in Real Life 
 
 A thrush's song, heard on a winter's day, 
 Brightens our hearts and chases gloom away ; 
 Through dungeon-bars a transitory gleam 
 Of sunshine that into his cell may beam, 
 Gives to a prisoner hope and joyous thought 
 Of liberty regain'd : such joy was brought 
 To the sad heart of the old lonely man, 
 Giving him fresh life as love only can. 
 
 In the same dwelling, in a room below, 
 There lived a widow and her child ; and so 
 As fellow-lodgers oft it chanced they met : 
 The child, a fair-hair'd girl, became his pet ; 
 Pleased when she visited his cheerless room, 
 Her voice and footstep chasing all his gloom, 
 Even as the great black clouds of pitchy night 
 Are changed to red and gold in morning's light. 
 Just in her teens, with frank and innocent glee. 
 Each morn with gentle tap she came to see 
 What help he needed in his room, and when 
 Her work was done, he would reward her then 
 And play some favourite tune, to pass the time, 
 Or beg her stay to hear a fairy rhyme
 
 A Romance in Real Life 8i 
 
 Or thrilling sea-tale, how in storm and roar 
 
 Of waves, he shipwreck'd on a distant shore. 
 
 Thus 'twixt the old man and the maiden rose 
 
 A feeling tenderer than mere friendship knows ; 
 
 The girl's heart open'd with delight, and found 
 
 The sunshine of affection all around, 
 
 Giving her such new joy as a bloom in spring 
 
 Feels in the sun when first the sweet birds sing, 
 
 And bursts in flower, unconscious of its worth. 
 
 Beauty and perfume that enrich the earth. 
 
 So the sad heart of the old man was cheer'd 
 
 Again with joy that long had disappear "d. 
 
 As when in autumn time, the roses past, 
 
 We think all gone, we have pluck'd the very last, 
 
 Yet, by good hap, if we another find 
 
 Love it the more for bringing to our mind 
 
 The joy we had when in the summer sun 
 
 We gather'd myriads where there rests but one. 
 
 Thus the days glided, and the young girl grew, 
 And loved the old man and loved his sparrows too : 
 To him she came for counsel, and would tell 
 Her hopes, her secrets ; for she knew right well 
 
 M
 
 82 A Romance in Real Life 
 
 His heart was true as lieart of man can be, 
 And rich with boundless wealth of sympathy. 
 
 Alas for joys that are but earthly born, 
 If we o'erprize them, we are doom'd to mourn. 
 And so it chanced that, as the years roll'd on. 
 The maid was courted and her heart was won. 
 A worthy youth besought her as his wife, 
 And gave new promise to her future life. 
 The girl came blushing to the old man's side 
 To whisper the glad news with glowing pride, 
 And boast of plans for happy days to come, 
 With him as cherish'd inmate of their home. 
 But the old man sadly smiled and kiss'd her cheek, 
 Stroked her soft hair, but not a word could speak. 
 So full his tender heart ; as well he knew 
 To show his pain would make her sorrow too. 
 He check'd his tears, although his heart was sad. 
 And with his blessing strove to make her glad. 
 Yet, brooding o'er it as he sat alone, 
 And felt his life's last little light was gone, 
 'Twas more than his o'erburden'd heart could bear, 
 And like a child he sobb'd in his despair.
 
 A Romance in Real Life 8^ 
 
 J 
 
 But full of her new joy the maiden took 
 Small notice of the melancholy look 
 That deepen'd on him as the day drew on 
 When she and her betroth'd should be made one. 
 But the tunes chosen had a sadder air, 
 He fed his sparrows with a tenderer care ; 
 Though now upon his wonted morning walk 
 He stay'd no more to listen or to talk. 
 To her alone he spoke, to her would grant 
 With smile or kiss her every little want, 
 Till soon the day dawn'd when the old man heard, 
 With breaking heart, pronounced the solemn word 
 That bound the lovers fast as man and wife ; 
 Though robbing him of all most dear in life. 
 
 The marriage-bells rang with a merry tone, 
 As tattling neighbours, who for years had known 
 The old man and the maiden, whispering, said : 
 ' 'Twas best for all now that the maid was wed.' 
 And, best or worst, let whoso will decide ; 
 For ere a month the weary old man died. 
 
 Once in each week, through all the year, they say,
 
 84 A Romance in Real Life 
 
 A woman, seen by children at their play, 
 
 Brings to his grave a basketful of bread 
 
 To feed the sparrows in the boughs o'erhead ; 
 
 They know her footstep well, and gather round 
 
 To pick the crumbs she strews upon the ground, 
 
 Singing a tune at times in sad soft strain 
 
 As on her homeward way she walks again.
 
 85 
 
 
 THE LOOKING-GLASS 
 
 (A GIFT) 
 
 I AM sent as a spy from a lover to see 
 What virtue or vice may be mirror'd in me ; 
 So be careful, fair lady, you never disgrace 
 My crystalline clearness by showing your face 
 Distorted by anger or redden'd with strife. 
 Let the sunshine of youth and the beauty of life 
 Illumine those features, that form debonair ; 
 Such looks to reflect was my mission, I swear.
 
 86 
 
 EDMOND WILLIAM SEARING 
 
 (died NOVEMBER 30, 1887, AGED 38) 
 
 A NOBLE toiler early finds his rest : 
 
 Amidst his work poor Searing heard the call : 
 His ardent spirit is number'd with the blest. 
 
 Yet, with full hearts and eyes whence hot tears fall. 
 ^\'hat can we say to assuage our grief and pain ? 
 
 Deep though our sorrow, words are fruitless now, 
 Nor can our anguish win him back again : 
 
 The will of God is done, and we must bow. 
 Although no soldier, bartering life for food, 
 
 Nor priest nor prophet, vow'd to loftiest work, 
 Yet his be honour, his be high renown ; 
 
 For 'midst his own hard toil he did not shirk 
 To labour ceaselessly for others' good : ' 
 
 Our conscience crowns him with the hero's crown. 
 
 ' As Secretary to the Borough Hop Trade Mutual Aid Friendly 
 .'Society.
 
 ^7 
 
 EPITAPH ON PALK 
 
 An honest * weigher ' lies beneath this sod, 
 ' Stripp'd for examination ' by his God. 
 
 [The duty of a weigher of hops is to strip the cloth from the 
 bale, which enables him to thoroughly examine the goods. ]
 
 88 
 
 SLEEP 
 
 The evening deepens, and with tenderest care 
 The mother Hfts her infant to her breast 
 To suckle and to soothe it off to rest 
 
 With gentle kisses on its silken hair. 
 
 The tiny lips press close, her bosom heaves 
 
 With joy and pride that mothers only know ; 
 She feels each gentle pressure she receives 
 
 And murmurs out her love-song, soft and low : — 
 ' Now close thy weary eyes, my babe, and sleep 
 
 Dream, if thou canst, how dear thou art to me, 
 
 Whilst I will pray that angels watch by thee 
 And every danger from thy presence keep.' 
 
 Sleep on, sleep on : S7veet is our rest at flight : 
 
 And sweet to wa/.-en i7i the morning light.
 
 Sleep 89 
 
 5 «. 
 
 n 
 
 Another kiss upon thy lips, dear heart ; 
 
 Then we must sleep : not that our love is less, 
 
 Nor that we wish no longer to caress 
 And careless of each other lie apart. 
 
 Our hearts still burn with love unsatisfied ; 
 The touch of hands still thrills ; our spirit tries 
 
 In vain to conquer sleep and cast aside 
 The drowsiness that closes down our eyes. 
 
 'Tis useless, love : so lay thy tired head 
 Upon my breast and say ' good-night ' again ; 
 The stars are watching, and sweet peace will reign 
 
 Around the shadows of our marriage-bed. 
 Sleep on, sleep on : sweet is our rest at night: 
 And sweet to wakett in the fnorntJtg light. 
 
 N
 
 90 Sleep 
 
 HI 
 
 The steady toiler, whose whole life is sold 
 
 To daily work, does he not need repose ? 
 
 Ask him when slowly to his home he goes 
 At eventide, with spirits dull and cold. 
 
 His task well done, what further need has he. 
 Ere he retires in thankfulness, than this : 
 
 A frugal meal, a word of sympathy 
 From loving helpmate, and his children's kiss ? 
 
 So let him rest in peace his weary head, 
 An honest soldier in this world of strife ; 
 Forgive his simple-minded views of life : 
 
 He labours well, and earns his daily bread. 
 Sleep on, sleep oti : sweet is our rest at night: 
 And szveet to waken in the morni?ig light.
 
 Sleep 9 1 
 
 IV 
 
 Calm eventide of Life, sublimely grand ! 
 
 When Time is ebbing fast, and each new day 
 May be the last ere we are call'd away 
 
 To take our journey to the distant land. 
 The old man watches at his garden gate 
 
 And sees across the hills the setting sun ; 
 
 His is that peace by labour nobly won : 
 Till his change come he patiently can wait. 
 
 The night-time closes round : his day is past : 
 He sinks to rest full of old memories dear, 
 Content to leave this world of shadows here 
 
 And reach with joy Eternity at last. 
 
 Sleep on, sleep on: sweel is our rest at night : 
 
 And sweet to wake?i in t/ie jnorning light.
 
 92 
 
 TO IF. C. P., ON HIS MARRIAGE 
 
 A JEU D'ESPRIT, after SPENSER 
 
 Up now, Melpomene, the mournfulst Muse of nine, 
 Such cause of mourning never hadst afore, 
 Up woful Thoughts, and up my ruful Rime, 
 Matter of Mirth now shalt thou have no more : 
 For gone he is that Mirth thee made of yore ; 
 
 Willyum our love, alas ! is led 
 
 Unto the marriage-bed. 
 O bitter Curse ! 
 
 Let streaming tears be poured out in store, 
 O careful Verse ! 
 
 Brothers that by your books and solitude abide, 
 Wail ye this woful Waste of Nature's AVark ; 
 Wail we the Wight whose Presence was our Pride, 
 Wail we the Wight whose Absence is our Cark,
 
 To W. C. P., on his Marriage 93 
 
 His eyen are dimm'd with Woman's doings dark, 
 His ears are charm'd by talken light, 
 Now does he dwell in deadly Night. 
 O bitter Curse ! 
 Break we our Pipes and Cups our woe to mark, 
 O careful Verse ! 
 
 Why do we longer live (ah ! why live we so long ?) 
 
 Whose joyful days are all shut up in woe. 
 
 The merriest Wight our hopeful Band among 
 
 Has left us quite, and we alone y-go : 
 
 The healthie 'sing-song' now we'll have no mo. 
 
 The ' goaks ' that Willyum made we fain would praise. 
 
 But into weeping turn our wanton ways. 
 
 O bitter Curse ! 
 Now is time to die : nay, time was long ago ; 
 
 O careful Verse ! 
 
 But, maugre Fate and Love's malicious spight, 
 And Marriage-vows and fiery Woman's force. 
 He hath his ways y-broke that loved the Night 
 In which he ran the vicious youthes Course.
 
 94 To W. C. P., on his Marriage 
 
 Why weep then, brothers, so without remorse ? 
 Willyum, we'll thee no more lament ; 
 Thou art not gone, but into joy y-hent. 
 Joyful Reverse ! 
 Cease now, my Muse, now cease thy Sorrow's source, 
 O joyful Verse ! 
 
 Why wail we then ? why weary we the Gods with Plaints 
 
 As if some Evil were to him betight ? 
 
 He is a Husband now, praise be to Saints, 
 
 That whylom was a gay and naughty Wight, 
 
 He'll soon be ' Father ' hight. 
 I see the happy Man, I see, 
 With Children twain on either knee. 
 O happy Nurse ! 
 
 Might we all be like thee (O that we might !) 
 O joyful Verse ! 
 
 Willyum is gone afore (whose turn shall be the next ?) 
 There lives he with the cheerful Wife in bliss. 
 There drinks he Nectar with Ambrosia mixt 
 And Joys enjoys that single Men do miss.
 
 To W. C. P., on his Marriage 95 
 
 The honour now of moral Men he is 
 
 That whylom was our Bande's Pride, 
 While he with Celibacie did abide. 
 Happy Reverse ! 
 Cease now, my Song, my Woe now wasted is, 
 O joyful Verse !
 
 'WHAT WENT YE OUT FOR TO SEE?' 
 
 Down the wet street 
 I look from my window ; 
 I see a crowd coming, 
 What is it coming, that people all run there to meet ? 
 
 Now they come near. 
 What noise from the people! 
 The people all running ! 
 See now, — the policemen, the stretcher, and what the 
 men bear. 
 
 Strapp'd on and bound 
 And quiet, unconscious 
 Of all that is passing, 
 A woman all drunk and dishevell'd it is they have found.
 
 -! 
 
 * What went ye out for to see f 97 
 
 Shoeless her feet, 
 Her head cover'd over, 
 Her dress torn and dirty, 
 And t/ii's is the sight that the people are running to 
 meet ! 
 
 What do they think ? 
 Whilst they rush and halloo, 
 And laugh as they follow. 
 Are their thoughts of the sin and the suffering begotten 
 by drink ? 
 
 Avert not your eyes, 
 'Tis a sight full of sorrow! 
 It teaches a lesson — 
 All misery and sin we should pity, but never despise I 
 
 Chance put us in 
 This world with good favours 
 Of school and right teaching. 
 Our life might have been as this woman's— the victim 
 of gin! 
 
 o
 
 98 ' What went ye out for to see ? ' 
 
 Rich men and proud, 
 Fair women so thoughtless, 
 Look here, and remember 
 This same might have been your mother, hooted hence 
 by the crowd.
 
 99 
 
 A LAMENT 
 
 Where art thou gone, sweet Spirit of Poesy ? 
 
 Why hast thou left me solitary here 
 
 Amongst .the rocks and shoals, when with thy help 
 
 O'er many a wave I battled ? Even at first, 
 
 Long years ago, when hope and strong desire 
 
 Quicken'd my heart to joy with fluttering pride, 
 
 Didst thou not make me brave, and hold my soul 
 
 From sinking in the slough of youthful sins ? 
 
 Didst thou not lead me forth to country fields, 
 
 And set the birds a-singing in the air, 
 
 And show me hedgerows where the violets grew ? 
 
 Then when perforce I bound myself to toil 
 
 For gold and honour in the city's roar, 
 
 Didst thou not give me books to cheer me on 
 
 And make a ncble purpose for my life?
 
 lOo A Lament 
 
 So when I loved, thou madest my love so fair, 
 Like some sweet angel walking on the earth, 
 That when I claim'd her mine, it seem'd but right 
 My life should be divine and sanctified. 
 
 Thus have I struggled on, 'midst hope and fear 
 And strong desire to act a worthy part, 
 Till now my life seems fix'd and riveted 
 In worldly things, and duty fills the place 
 Within my heart which years ago brimm'd o'er 
 With fancies bred of poesy and books. 
 
 Ah ! give me back, sweet Muse, those idle thoughts. 
 Restore to me the power to see the world 
 Beneath my feet, and all my aims above ; 
 Give me but once again the eye to see, 
 The ear to hear, the simple heart to know, 
 The beauties of the fields, the trees, the clouds; 
 Then would I be content Lo leave tne world, 
 And in some leafy solitude to die.
 
 -I 
 
 lOI 
 
 'TO ALL WHO LOVE THE LLGHT, THE 
 LLGHT HAS COME' 
 
 The opening light of day, in cool clear air, 
 
 And sky that pulsates with a crimson glow. 
 
 A rosebud eager all its charms to show, 
 
 Just breaking into bloom of passion rare. 
 
 The infant's smile, by fond eyes watch'd for long ; 
 
 Or maiden's blush when first her gentle heart 
 
 Is touch'd by fire of love, intense and strong. 
 
 The soul's resolve to bear the nobler part 
 
 And give to life a purer grander view. 
 
 The soften'd radiance, tender twinkling gleam 
 
 Of evening star that early sheds its beam. 
 
 The deathbed smile that kindles hopes anew 
 
 As the soul mounts towards her higher home. 
 
 ' To all who love the light, the light has come.'
 
 I02 
 
 SONNET 
 
 OCCASIONED BY A PASSAGE IN A LETTER FROM 
 EMERSON TO CARLYLE ' 
 
 The world is full of fever'd toil and strain ; 
 
 * No time ! no time ! ' is our continual cry ; 
 
 We know the day comes soon when we must die : 
 
 So restless, panting, work with might and main 
 
 For pleasure, riches, power or renown. 
 
 Each has his goal : each has his life to lead : 
 
 'Tis well we aim not for too high a crown, 
 
 Lest failure leave us like a broken reed. 
 
 Our great ideals spurn'd, or left alone. 
 
 Like fetter'd angels, doom'd to bondage fast, 
 
 We look at them and sigh, until at last 
 
 The evening darkens : day will soon be gone. 
 
 But, far above, the stars gleam down and say : 
 
 'There's time enough : work slowly on thy way.' 
 
 ' Concord, July l, 1842. {Correspondence of Carlyle and 
 Emerson, ii. 3.)
 
 I03 
 
 MIDI) A Y REST 
 
 I climb'd the rocks in wind and sun and rain, 
 Until I gain'd the hill-top, hot and faint ; 
 And sat upon a stone with motto quaint, 
 ' Rest and be thankful,' graven deep and plain. 
 
 Half of my journey past and left behind, 
 To greet the welcome breeze I turn me round, 
 And scan the sloping paths that downward wind 
 Which I must tread, ere home and peace be found. 
 
 Thankful I pause, my day of life half done ; 
 'Tis only for a moment, then again 
 In onward fight my soul must strive and strain 
 To end her task ere setting of the sun. 
 
 Adieu, dear resting-place, farewell, farewell ! 
 Who can the dangers of the path foretell? 
 
 Between Swanage and Stttdland.
 
 PRINTED BY 
 
 SPOTTISWOODE AND CO., NE'.V STREET SQUARE 
 
 LONDON 
 
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