UC-NRLF 
 
 B 3 315 
 
 e inhtffaHmHlilitHu :-, - . 
 
from 
 
 - 1 hope as no unwelcome guest 
 
 At your \v;inn fireside, when the lamps are lighted, 
 To have my place reserved among the rest, 
 Nor stand as one unsought and uninvited. 
 
 LONGFELLOW. 
 
 Montreal: 
 
 PRINTED BY JOHN LOVELL, ST. NICHOLAS STREET. 
 1861. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Page. 
 
 A Ballad, , . . 9G 
 
 " Abide with us," 151 
 
 A Forest Legend, 87 
 
 A Happy New Year, 14 
 
 Alma, 109 
 
 A Peep at the Fairies, 132 
 
 A Summer Night, 143 
 
 Autumn, 49 
 
 A War Song, 107 
 
 Boscobel, 80 
 
 Christmas Carol, 53 
 
 Christmas Midnight Chimes, 7 
 
 Christmas Song, 52 
 
 Clarissa Harlowe, 117 
 
 Dead, 45 
 
 Echo Song, 142 
 
 England, 146 
 
 Evening, 127 
 
 Evening Hymn at Sea, 18 
 
 Evening Time, 39 
 
 " Ever with Thee," 153 
 
 Flowers, 32 
 
 Genius, 137 
 
 Home, 83 
 
 lanthe, 57 
 
 " I believe in the Communion of Saints," 158 
 
 Imogen,.. 104 
 
 Italy, 136 
 
 Joan of Arc, 65 
 
 Life s Pilgrims, 166 
 
 Lines to a Friend, Ill 
 
 May Blossoms, 16 
 
 Morning, 37 
 
 Night, 38 
 
 Night Musings, 165 
 
 728 
 
IV CONTENTS. 
 
 On some Violets, 124 
 
 Penelope, 100 
 
 Precious Hours, 47 
 
 Retrospection, 141 
 
 Seeking, 20 
 
 Song, 130 
 
 Song, 134 
 
 Spring, 17 
 
 Spring and Autumn, 40 
 
 Summer Hymn, 21 
 
 The Ballad Singer, 114 
 
 The Bracelet, 122 
 
 The Bridal, 36 
 
 The Day Dawn, 152 
 
 The Death of the Righteous, 156 
 
 The Dying Summer, 43 
 
 The Evening Walk, 2 Y 
 
 The Hearer of Prayer, 160 
 
 The Islanders Song of Home, 116 
 
 The Lamb is the Light thereof, 162 
 
 The Land of Rest, 33 
 
 The Last Ray of Sunlight, 48 
 
 The Meadow, 138 
 
 " The Night Cometh," 42 
 
 The Old Wife, 129 
 
 The Prince s Welcome, 120 
 
 The Renegade, , 119 
 
 The River, 23 
 
 The Roses, 19 
 
 The Second Advent, 50 
 
 The Siege, 102 
 
 The Sixteenth Psalm, 164 
 
 The Sleigh Ride, 13 
 
 The Song of the Sea, 30 
 
 The Star of the Magi, 11 
 
 The Vigil of the Shepherds, 9 
 
 To an Oriole, 25 
 
 " Touched with the feeling of our infirmities," 154 
 
 Visions, 35 
 
 Women s Rights, 1Q 6 
 
PART I. 
 
 And this our life, exempt from public haunt, 
 
 Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks ; 
 Sermons in stones, and good in everything. 
 
 As YOU LIKE IT. 
 
CHRISTMAS MIDNIGHT CHIMES. 
 
 Ring out, ring out, ye joyous bells, and make the hills resound. 
 Cast forth upon the waters dark, your glad exulting sound ; 
 Tell the good tidings far and wide, let all the people know 
 Christmas is come, the time of joy, of rest from care and woe. 
 
 Send loud your notes, where, round the hearth, the scattered 
 
 children meet, 
 
 And wait, as in the olden days, your earliest chime to greet ; 
 Re-echo through the brightened room, blend with each loving 
 
 tone, 
 Wake in each heart a joy as great, as pure as childhood s own 
 
8 LEAVES FROM THE 
 
 With softened distance-mellowed tone, fall on the listening ear 
 Of him, whom rolling seas divide from all he holds most dear ; 
 Let the loved voices of his home, come mingled with your peal, 
 Kind wishes for the Christmas time, prayers offered for his 
 weal. 
 
 Float round the sufferer s bed with yet a softer, holier swell ; 
 Repeat the tale of Love Divine, a Saviour s advent tell ; 
 Bid him remember, Who was born, that he might be forgiven, 
 Bid him look up from earthly pain, to peace and rest in heaven. 
 
 Oh bells, for me ye have a tone, an echo of the past, 
 Yet breathe it not to other hearts, a shade o er them to cast 
 How softly, musically sad ! how silver sweet and low ! 
 A sigh from the departing year, that sorroweth to go. 
 
BACKWOODS. 
 
 THE VIGIL OF THE SHEPHERDS. 
 
 O er Judah s quiet hills, from height to height 
 Drooped slowly down, the curtains of the night, 
 In matchless beauty, gemmed with stars of light. 
 
 Seated beneath the shadow of the rocks, 
 
 Their shelter from the heat or tempest s shocks, 
 
 A band of shepherds watched their slumbering flocks. 
 
 Deep stillness hung above them, such as reigns 
 In those calm hours, when night in silence wanes, 
 And men in deepest sleep lose joys and pains. 
 
 Till, turning to the glory of that sky, 
 Of Israel s royal bard the numbers high, 
 Broke from their lips at once in melody. 
 
 Then, loud and clear, they sang with glad acclaim, 
 " The heavens, Lord ! on high declare Thy fame, 
 The firmament extols Thy glorious name ! 
 
 Day speaketh of Thee to the coming day, 
 
 And night, whose countless orbs Thy word obey, 
 
 Doth to the following night Thy praise display/ 
 
10 LEAVES FROM THE 
 
 Thus ceased the song, and echo scarce was still, 
 
 When broke a sudden light upon the hill, 
 
 And fear shook every heart with trembling thrill. 
 
 > Silent as thought unheralded alone, 
 An angel stood, a glory round him shone ; 
 He spoke, and heavenly love inspired his tone. 
 
 "Fear not," he said, " let Earth rejoice and sing ; 
 To you, and all mankind glad news I bring ; 
 To-day, at length, is born your promised King. 
 
 Go, and in Bethlehem, in a manger laid, 
 
 Find Him, by whom both heaven and earth were made, 
 
 Emanuel, Prince of Peace, in flesh arrayed." 
 
 Then, with a flood of light, and burst of sound, 
 A thousand angel forms were seen around, 
 Angels, with beauty clad, with glory crowned. 
 
 " Glory to God on high !" aloud they sung, 
 Till heaven s blue arches with the anthem rung, 
 And, " Peace on earth!" re-echoed every tongue, 
 
 Lovelier than sunset hues on lake and hill, 
 Music and light grew fainter, lovelier, till 
 The stars shone out again, and all was still. 
 
BACKWOODS, It 
 
 Then each to each the shepherds, turning slow 
 From that bright vision, spake in accents low, 
 " What thing is this ? To Bethlehem let us go." 
 
 THE STAR OF THE MAGI. 
 
 In those blue skies afar, 
 I see a single solitary star, 
 
 Its radiant light 
 So far from earth, so calmly, purely bright. 
 
 And even so, I dream, 
 Fell on the wise men s eyes that mystic beam, 
 
 Which, from their home, 
 Led them, through Judah s destined land to roam. 
 
 Oft, as they journeyed on, 
 Their glance was raised to where serenely shone 
 
 That silent star, 
 Leading their steps so surely, though so far. 
 
 What thoughts, unknown before, 
 Stirred in those minds, so rich in earth s deep lore ! 
 
 What did they seek ? 
 A King s new-risen pomp ? an infant Saviour meek ! 
 
12 LEAVES FROM THE 
 
 And when the city spread 
 Its silent streets before them, in the dead, 
 
 Calm hush of night, 
 Above what palace roof shone that celestial light ? 
 
 Soon had the star its rest ; 
 Still beamed its glittering orb on heaven s pure breast. 
 
 But all its rays 
 Fell on a lowly spot, dim in that shadowy place. 
 
 They passed the humble door 
 They bent undoubting, gladly to adore, 
 
 The Virgin s Son ; 
 
 They knew the King they sought, they knew their jour 
 ney done. 
 
 Thou Star of Heavenly birth, 
 So guide us, wandering through the dark of earth, 
 
 Until we rest 
 Before Thy changeless throne, God for ever blest ! 
 
BACKWOODS. 18 
 
 THE SLEIGH RIDE. 
 
 O er the smooth and glittering snow, 
 Merrily, merrily off we go 
 Nature sleeps, and not a sound 
 Breaks the stillness all around, 
 While the horses feet keep time 
 To the sleigh bells tuneful chime. 
 
 Now we pass the village street, 
 Where the varying pathways meet ; 
 Now across the fields we fly, 
 Where the wild flowers buried lie ; 
 Buried, in their shroud of snow, 
 Till the summer breezes blow. 
 
 Now we gain the frozen stream, 
 Where the icy atoms gleam ; 
 Say, could they have brighter been 
 Were they gems to deck a queen ? 
 Who would deem that down below 
 Still the rapid waters flow ? 
 
14 LEAVES FROM THE 
 
 Here, the rocks rise tall and black, 
 asting shadows o er oar track ; 
 There, the golden sunbeams rest 
 On the mountain s sparkling breast ; 
 While above us, meets the eye, 
 lear and deep, the azure sky. 
 
 Now we take the homeward way, 
 Warned by the departing day ; 
 From the windows, o er the snow, 
 See the bright fires ruddy glow ; 
 Their mute welcome seems akin 
 To the faces bright within. 
 
 A HAPPY NEW YEAR. 
 
 A glad good morrow ! neighbour mine, 
 A good new year to thee ! 
 
 A year of life, and health and hope, 
 I pray that it may be. 
 
 Last year we held each other s hand, 
 The self-same wish had we, 
 
 And has it not been well fulfilled ? 
 Thank God ! it has to me. 
 
BACKWOODS. 15 
 
 We did not wish that we might have 
 
 A summer all the year, 
 That winter s storms and autumn s blasts 
 
 Might never hover near. 
 
 And though they came the rainy days, 
 
 Fierce storms, and bitter wind 
 They passed, and left our sky, perhaps, 
 
 More brightly blue behind. 
 
 So we will hope the opening year, 
 
 "Whose morning is so bright, 
 May have a smiling dawn to give, 
 
 For every stormy night. 
 
 And should Life s evening shadows close, 
 
 And Death s dark night draw near, 
 It shall but be the harbinger 
 
 Of Heaven s unclouded year. 
 
16 LEAVES FROM THE 
 
 MAY BLOSSOMS. 
 
 What gift shall we bring thee, sweet Queen of the May, 
 What flower from the fields shall we offer to-day ? 
 Shall we seek for the violet, new sprinkled with dew ? 
 Thy blue eyes will rival its loveliest hue. 
 
 Shall we steal from its spray the first rose that has given 
 Its delicate breath to the breezes of heaven ? 
 Those sun-tinted petals thy breast may enshrine, 
 Its bloom ancl its beauty are emblems of thine. 
 
 From grass-covered banks, where each breeze softly sighs, 
 We ll bring thee the harebell, that mirrors the skies, 
 So fragile and fair yet the tempest sweeps o er, 
 And though it may bend, it will smile as before. 
 
 And under green shadows, deep hid from the sun, 
 Where, hushed into silence, the streams softly run, 
 We ll seek the pure lilies, whose blossoms will shine 
 More lovely than pearls on those tresses of thine. 
 
 But, meadow and grove ! though ye yield from your store 
 Grace, beauty, and fragrance, ye cannot do more ; 
 They are fading, and autumn will bear them away, 
 But hers are the charms that can never decay. 
 
BACKWOODS. 17 
 
 SPRING. 
 
 I thought thou couldst not fail to wake, 
 Sweet Spring, an answering chord in me ; 
 
 I thought twas but my harp to take, 
 And I could win a song from thee. 
 
 Alas ! unworthy of thy smile, 
 
 Unworthy, must the minstrel be, 
 Whom even thou canst not beguile, 
 
 To whom thou bring st no melody. 
 
 Yet I have loved thee Can it be, 
 
 Time s ruthless hand has robbed my heart 
 
 Of all the warmth that welcomed thee ? 
 Of all the joy thou couldst impart ? 
 
 No ! but my thoughts so long have dwelt 
 
 On daily life s most sordid things, 
 That half thine influence is unfelt, 
 
 My harp is robbed of half its strings. 
 
 But bring, music-breathing air ! 
 
 One strain I loved in days gone by, 
 My sleeping muse shall wake more fair, 
 
 Responsive to its hallowed sigh. 
 
 B 
 
18 LEAVES FROM THE 
 
 EVENING HYMN AT SEA. 
 
 Oh, be Thou near us on the ocean s breast 
 The ship lies tranquil, as a child at rest : 
 If Thou a watch above our slumbers keep, 
 On the calm sea we may as calmly sleep. 
 
 Oh, be Thou near us ! if the storm should rise, 
 And dreadful lightnings fire the angry skies, 
 Mid tempest s rage, if Thou art near us still, ! 
 Our steadfast hearts shall fear no threatening ill. 
 
 Oh, be Thou near us ! if this silent wave 
 For one of us should be th appointed grave, 
 To Thee alone, the parting soul may cry, 
 And if Thou answer, who would fear to die ? 
 
 Oh, be Thou near us ! then whatever fate, 
 Fixed by Thy gracious hand, may us await. 
 Secure in Thee, our souls shall find repose, 
 And calm, untroubled sleep our eyelids close. 
 
BACKWOODS. 1! 
 
 THE ROSES. 
 
 Take these Roses ; they are fair, 
 
 And glittering jet with morning dew ; 
 They ll bloom unchanged through noonday s glare, 
 
 Nor lose their scent or hue. 
 They may lose the sparkling dew, 
 
 May want the freshness of the morn, 
 Yet, all the sunny hours through, 
 
 Thy breast they will adorn. 
 
 But, ere evening shadows close, 
 
 Cast those worthless flowers away ; 
 While the bloom is on the rose, 
 
 Ere sinks the god of day. 
 Here s another simpler flower 
 
 When night shall reign with silent sway, 
 This blossom, cherished till that hour, 
 
 Shall well thy care repay. 
 
 Like these flowers, the hearts that throng 
 
 Round thee in thy fair young day, 
 Some will share thy sunshine long, 
 
 At nightfall drop away. 
 
20 LEAVES FROM THE 
 
 Some there are, whose modest worth, 
 Scarcely known in daylight s glare, 
 
 Shall brighten all the darkening earth 
 In hours of pain and care. 
 
 SEEKING. 
 
 Why is this stupendous intelligence so retired and silent, while present 
 in all the scenes of the earth, and in all the paths and abodes of men ? 
 
 FOSTER. 
 
 Where dost Thou dwell, 
 Unknown, unseen, yet knowing, seeing all ? 
 We find Thee not in hermit s lonely cell, 
 
 Nor lofty palace hall. 
 
 No more at eve 
 
 Thy form is with us on the dusty road 7 
 The dead sleep on, though loving hearts may grieve ; 
 
 The suffering bear their load. 
 
 Night closes round 
 
 In the green forest aisles no leaf is stirred ; 
 So hushed, as if heaven s distant music sound 
 
 Might even here be heard. 
 
BACKWOODS. 21 
 
 Through all we see, 
 
 Up to the azure roof with stars inwrought, 
 Through all Earth s temple, do we look for Thee; 
 
 Alas ! we find Thee not. 
 
 Yet, Thou art near ; 
 
 Father ! forgive our weak and failing sight ; 
 Forgive, and make our darkness noonday clear 
 
 With Thy celestial light. 
 
 Thy love has given 
 
 Faith s telescope, wherewith to gaze on Thee ; 
 Aid us, that through it looking unto Heaven, 
 
 Thy glory we may see. 
 
 SUMMER HYMN. 
 
 Hark ! Earth begins her matin hymn ; 
 
 The wide expanse of hill and plain, 
 The river, and the mountain breeze 
 
 Uniting, swell the glad refrain ; 
 Day, throned upon the eastern heights, 
 
 From herb and flower, bids incense rise 
 To mingle in the azure heaven, 
 
 With Nature s wordless harmonies. 
 
22 LEAVES FROM THE 
 
 All things the insect world around, 
 
 The squirrels peeping from the shade, 
 The birds that warble on the boughs, 
 
 The herds amid the sunshine laid ; 
 All living things, and all beside, 
 
 Thy works, whate er their form may be, 
 Varied by Thy creating hand, 
 
 Are one, God, in praising Thee. 
 
 Nor, Father ! let thy latest born, 
 
 The chosen object of thy care, 
 Contemn the universal hymn 
 
 That nature raises everywhere. 
 For blessings of the opening year, 
 
 For spring and summer s sunny days, 
 And for the harvest s promised store 
 
 Accept, Lord, our grateful praise. 
 
BACKWOODS. 
 
 THE RIVER. 
 
 I stand upon the river s side, 
 And at my feet the rapid tide 
 
 Goes wandering onward ceaselessly ; 
 So clear, so bright its waters gleam, 
 That, mirrored in the crystal stream, 
 
 I see each neighbouring object lie. 
 
 Yon cottage with its mantling vine 
 And roses that around it twine, 
 
 Has its bright copy in the wave ; 
 Those trees, that by the margin grow, 
 Cast each its shadow down below, 
 
 As, bending o er, their boughs they lave. 
 
 And yet the current hurries on ; 
 Not here, it knows its journey done, 
 
 Though fair and sweet the scene may be, 
 Though darkling forests lie before, 
 And channelled rocks, and chasms hoar ; 
 
 Its rest is only in the sea. 
 
24 LEAVES FROM THE 
 
 But many another grassy mead 
 Shall greet it, in its onward speed, 
 
 And there the grateful stream shall pay, 
 With added freshness, every leaf, 
 Even, as here, its sojourn brief 
 
 Sheds brighter, fresher bloom to-day. 
 
 So mortals, by life s current strong, 
 Perchance unwilling, borne along, 
 
 May hear the river s wordless speech, 
 " Sunshine and summer days are thine, 
 They cheer thy way, but why repine 
 
 When storms their sterner lessons teach ? 
 
 And when, awhile, thy path may lead 
 Through soft and tranquil paths, take heed 
 
 The grateful stream is type of thee ; 
 The gifts to thee so freely given, 
 As freely render back to Heaven, 
 
 In works of love and charity." 
 
BACKWOODS. 25 
 
 TO AN ORIOLE. 
 
 SEEN MAY, 1861. 
 
 Why from thy southern home, 
 
 Why dost thou roam so far ? 
 Thou art too bright to come 
 
 Thus, like a wandering star, 
 
 To these cold shores of ours. 
 
 Oh, quickly spread thy wing, 
 
 Linger no longer here, 
 Haste, ere the night shall bring 
 
 Chill that thou couldst not bear, 
 
 Back to thy land of flowers ! 
 
 Haste ! though the charmed eye, 
 Rests on thy glowing plume, 
 
 Haste ! let me see thee fly ; 
 Seek st thou a living tomb ? 
 
 This is no place for thee ! 
 
26 LEAVES FROM THE 
 
 Lured by that splendour rare, 
 Soon may some thoughtless heart 
 
 Doom thee, bright bird, to bear 
 The prisoner s hopeless part 
 
 Fly, whilst thou yet are free ! 
 
 Back on thine airy way, 
 
 Vision of beauty ! go, 
 Till thy tired pinions stay, 
 
 Where thine own summers glow ! 
 
 There thou mayst fearless rest. 
 
 Bright visitant, farewell ! 
 
 Far in thy native bowers, 
 Thou mayst thy comrades tell, 
 
 Sad are the exile s hours ; 
 
 Home, home alone is blest ! 
 
BACKWOODS. 27 
 
 THE EVENING WALK. 
 
 Here, let us rest awhile ; this moss grown trunk 
 Makes a luxurious seat, a throne, if e er 
 Thrones are so free from care, as we may be 
 In this our rustic palace ; high overhead 
 The arching boughs, that hold our roof of leaves, 
 Mock man s laborious tracery, and show 
 A mightier Architect no windows throw, 
 Though stained with loveliest hues, a light so pure, 
 So cool, so chaste, as, through the fluttering screen, 
 Steals down upon the flowers, and lends them grace, 
 Down in yon hollow, hidden by the fern, 
 The noisy brook goes rushing on its way ; 
 The bee, unwearied by his day of toil, 
 Comes home rejoicing, with his fragrant load, 
 The woodpecker sends echoes through the wood ; 
 And timid squirrels, with their shining eyes, 
 Peep at us from among the withered leaves. 
 The bolder chitmonk sits upon a bough 
 And eyes us steadily his small, shrill bark 
 Startling the birds upon their lofty perch. 
 
28 LEAVES FKOM THE 
 
 Look at these flowers ; our English flowers are fair, 
 
 And their familiar faces stir our hearts, 
 
 But these are different ; See, this one has leaves 
 
 Like the white water-lily, fragile, pure 
 
 And shattered by a touch ; a crimson stain 
 
 Is on each petal, as some wounded heart 
 
 Had shed its lifeblood o er the snowy cup, 
 
 And dyed it thus for ever. Here is one 
 
 Alike in shape, but of a purple hue ; 
 
 And this might be a lily of the vale 
 
 Grown to gigantic size the shining leaves 
 
 Have lost in width, what they have gained in height. 
 
 But the flowers keep their semblance. I have seen 
 
 This plant before last year we found the roots, 
 
 But it was later, and the bloom was gone ; 
 
 Where the bells had been, scarlet berries hung, 
 
 Warm, glowing, in the shadows of the wood. 
 
 Here, are some yellow violets not like those 
 We used to love ; these have no sweet perfume, 
 And their pale hue looks strange, unnatural ; 
 And here, are white and blue, but all alike 
 Strange to our eyes, and speechless to our hearts. 
 
BACKWOODS. 29 
 
 I like this lilac-tinted flower that creeps 
 Close to the ground Titania might have wreathed 
 Its tiny blossoms in her hair ; and sweet, 
 Though faint, the odour that betrays its nook, 
 The only scented wild-flower we have found. 
 Here, are more fairy blossoms, white as snow, 
 Gleaming like stars, that, tempted by the flowers, 
 Wandering from yon blue heaven above us spread, 
 Were caught among the leaves. How exquisite 
 The form and veining of each silvery gem ! 
 
 How softly fades the twilight ! But the night, 
 Though lovely, must not find us lingering here. 
 The moon will gild the treetops, and the stars 
 Shine on the dewy flowers, and on our seat, 
 While we turn homeward with our gathered wealth ; 
 Our gleaming wealth of jewels richly wrought, 
 Gems eloquent to speak the Graver s praise. 
 
30 LEAVES FROM THE 
 
 THE SONG OF THE SEA. 
 
 List to their music, 
 Mournfully swelling 
 What is the tale, 
 That those waters are telling ? 
 Thou, who hast heard them, 
 By night and by day, 
 Answer those waves, 
 Canst thou tell what they say ? 
 
 Yes ! I will teach thee 
 The song that they sing 
 To the ship on the sea, 
 To the bird on the wing ; 
 Oft have I heard it 
 Mid darkness and storm, 
 Or caught its low voice 
 On the breath of the morn. 
 
BACKWOODS. 31 
 
 Short is their lesson 
 And easy to say, 
 This all they utter, 
 " Passing away !" 
 Each wave, as it rises 
 And dies on the shore, 
 Still repeats only 
 These words evermore. 
 
 Heed thou the warning; 
 
 Young though thou be, 
 
 The sun of to-morrow 
 
 May ne er rise for thee ; 
 
 And, though thou shouldst linger 
 
 For many a day, 
 
 Yet hopes, joys, affections, 
 
 Are passing away. 
 
32 LEAVES FROM THE 
 
 FLOWERS. 
 
 Oh, bring me, bring me flowers, from my own dear land again, 
 I feel as if their well-known scents would charm away my pain, 
 Their forms would bring me back the dreams of childhood s 
 
 happy days, 
 Like visions of the night, lit up by fancy s sparkling rays. 
 
 Oh, let me feel the perfume of the violet in the air, 
 
 And clasp within my weary hand the primrose pale and fair, 
 
 The mayflower s gorgeous leaves of gold, that decked our 
 
 youthful queen, 
 The sorrel s snowy petals, hid among its leaves of green. 
 
 Bring me the dark blue hyacinth, that studded all the grass, 
 Where we, beneath the elm trees shade, the joyous hours 
 
 would pass ; "^ 
 
 The roses, that around our bower, their thousand blossoms shed, 
 Or mingled with the stately boughs, that arched it overhead. 
 
 Oh, let me wreathe once more the flowers,! ever loved the best, 
 The gay and fragrant hawthorn, in its springtide beauty drest ; 
 The brilliant pansies flowers of thought like thoughts that 
 
 quickly die, 
 The fragile harebell, ringing forth its fairy melody. 
 
BACKWOODS. 33 
 
 My eyes grow dim with unshed tears, the tears of vain regret, 
 Oh, flowers of home, in many a dream, your bright forms 
 
 haunt me yet, 
 
 But never, never more amid your beauties may I stand, 
 Or lay ye on my heart again, gems of my fatherland ! 
 
 THE LAND OP REST. 
 
 Where art thou, land of rest ? 
 
 Oft, amid evening skies, 
 Rich outlines, as of dwellings blest, 
 
 Before my vision rise, 
 But ah ! they fade as night draws on, 
 They fade; they pale, as sinks the sun- 
 When morning beams are bright, 
 
 The distant mountain slopes, 
 All bathed in soft and tender light, 
 
 Seem fair as youth s fond hopes ; 
 But noon must steal their brave array, 
 And leave them cold, and stern, and grey. 
 
34 LEAVES FROM THE 
 
 Oh, distant, yet beloved, 
 Art thou, that seem st so fair ; 
 
 Nought but a poet s fancy vain, 
 A phantom of the air ? 
 
 Never to bless the longing sight, 
 
 With all thy fulness of delight ? 
 
 What though, in passing dream, 
 The weary tread thy shore, 
 
 Bathe in thy rivers tranquil stream, 
 And learn thy sacred lore, 
 
 Day calls them back, to meet again 
 
 Their daily toil, their daily pain. 
 
BACKWOODS. 
 
 VISIONS. 
 
 I have dreamt of a home in a changeless clime, 
 
 Where nought that we loved was the spoil of Time ; 
 
 Where the summer breezes gentle wings 
 
 Brought to our dwelling all lovely things ; 
 
 And life was bliss on that happy shore 
 
 I ve dreamt; but I see the bright vision no more. 
 
 I dream no more of a golden age, 
 
 I have learned a lesson from life s dark page ; 
 
 Flowers may bud, and bloom, and die ; 
 
 Storms may darken the summer sky ; 
 
 But not in skies, or in withering flowers, 
 
 Is the saddest change ; for that change is ours 
 
 Day by day, as our life glides past, 
 Something must leave us that graced the last ; 
 Some rose of hope, from its stem is shed ; 
 Some bud of fancy, falls pale and dead ; 
 Till nought is left r but the scentless bloom 
 That memory plants by affection s tomb. 
 
86 LEAVES FROM THE 
 
 THE BRIDAL. 
 
 Weave the garlands bright and gay, 
 
 For the bride, to-morrow ; 
 Raise the festal arches high, 
 For the bride, to-morrow ; 
 Deck the church with laurel boughs, 
 Seek the myrtle, where it grows, 
 Lilies, for the sunny brows 
 Round the bride, to-morrow. 
 
 See ! they fade, the flowers ye bring, 
 
 For the bride, to-morrow ; 
 Little fragrance they shall fling, 
 
 Round the bride, to-morrow ; 
 Oast them forth, and bring, instead, 
 Yew, that mourneth for the dead, 
 Twine dark ivy overhead, 
 
 For the bride, to-morrow- 
 Useless all your care shall be, 
 
 For the bride, to-morrow ; 
 He, the bridegroom that hath wooed, 
 
 Stays not for to-morrow ; 
 
BACKWOODS. 37 
 
 Neath his kiss, her lips grow pale, 
 And her fluttering pulses fail, 
 Loud and deep shall be the wail, 
 Round her grave, to-morrow. . 
 
 MORNING. 
 
 Morning ! whose earliest, purest ray, 
 
 Sheds beauty on the distant hills, 
 And whose light winds the treetops sway 
 
 Above the newly wakened rills, 
 Many a bright floweret opens to thy smile, 
 And thy sweet spells, from sleep, all living things beguile, 
 
 Delightful hour ! the first, the best, 
 
 The brightest, in glad summer s train, 
 When man, refreshed by peaceful rest, 
 
 Blithely resumes his toil again ; 
 Hope s angel smiles through all thy beauties shine, 
 And all her charms, sweet morning hour, are thine. 
 
38 LEAVES FROM THE 
 
 NIGHT. 
 
 Oh, loveliest hour of all that bless 
 Earth with their passing loveliness, 
 Calm night ! when, sinks in deep repose, 
 Each care, each toil, that daylight knows ; 
 To me, than summer s noonday glare, 
 More dear thou art, more sweetly fair. 
 
 Canst thou be all of earth, when, oft 
 Upon the heart, thine influence soft 
 Falls, as, from heaven, a healing shower, 
 So strangely deep its soothing power ? 
 And must thy beauty pass away, 
 Thy softness yield to lasting day ? 
 
 Yes ! night, thy reign must soon be o er ; 
 Thy calm shall soothe the heart no more ; 
 Thy task fulfilled, thy mission done, 
 When Earth, its latest course, has run, 
 No need for night ; no need for rest, 
 When Heaven s own glory fills the breast. 
 
BACKWOODS. 
 
 EVENING TIME. 
 
 " At evening time there shall be light." 
 
 Yes, when old age shall come 
 And night s dark shades obscure the path, 
 
 Whereon we re travelling home ; 
 When, wildered by the gathering gloom, 
 
 Appalling fears arise, 
 The first pure gleams of heavenly light, 
 
 Shall brighten all the skies. 
 
 " At evening time there shall be light." 
 
 If sorrow s hand should bear 
 Cold on our hearts, and draw her shroud 
 
 O er what we hold most dear ; 
 Though sunshine, with each charm it brings, 
 
 May seem forever fled ; 
 Light, from Heaven s own celestial springs, 
 
 Shall rest upon our head. 
 
 " At evening time there shall be light." 
 
 Oh ! promise ever sweet 
 To those, who tread an unknown way, 
 
 With faint and faltering feet ; 
 
40 LEAVES FKOM THE 
 
 They need not fear the coming hours, 
 
 When sunset shall be past, 
 Since One, who knows that pathway well, 
 
 Has promised light at last. 
 
 SPRING AND AUTUMN. 
 
 A little dust to overweep." 
 
 MBS. BBOWNING, 
 
 Utterly, utterly out of our life, 
 Already, each trace of his life is gone j 
 
 Only, sometimes, in the quiet eve, 
 We stand, with a sigh, by the sculptured stone, 
 
 Which tells us the form we used to greet, 
 
 Dust amid dust, lies low at our feet. 
 
 Bright came the spring with sun and shower, 
 The wood paths smiled in their vernal green ; 
 
 To-day we have trodden the emerald grass, 
 And wandered beneath the leafy screen ; 
 
 He welcomed the summer s early bloom ; 
 
 Now, it can only brighten his tomb. 
 
BACKWOODS. 41 
 
 Sigh, leaves, on your rustling boughs , 
 Even amid your smiling, sigh ! 
 
 Did he not love your changeful charms ? 
 Yet, mid them all, he lay down to die. 
 
 Ye, in beauty, survive to-day, 
 
 A little while, ere ye pass away 
 
 The snow will come, and, with silvery veil, 
 Wrap the earth for its winter s rest ; 
 
 Before the flowers of the spring awake, 
 We, like him, may sleep on its breast ; 
 
 Time will each beauty of spring restore > 
 
 Only life s flowers return no more. 
 
42 LEAVES FROM THE 
 
 THE NIGHT COMETH. 
 
 Work ! for the night is coining ; 
 
 Work ! through the morning hours ; 
 Work ! while the dew is sparkling ; 
 
 Work ! mid the springing flowers ; 
 Work ! while the day grows brighter, 
 
 Under the glowing sun ; 
 Work ! for the night is coming, 
 
 Night when man s work is done. 
 
 Work ! for the night is coming ; 
 
 Work ! through the sunny noon, 
 Fill the bright hours with labour ; 
 
 Rest cometh sure and soon. 
 Give to each flying minute 
 
 Something to keep in store ; 
 Work ! for the night is coming ; 
 
 Night when man works no more. 
 
BACKWOODS. 43 
 
 Work ! for the night is coming ; 
 
 Under the sunset skies, 
 While their bright tints are glowing, 
 
 Work, for the daylight flies. 
 Work ! till the last beam fadeth, 
 
 Fadeth to shine no more ; 
 Work ! while the night is darkening,- 
 
 Night, when man s work is o er. 
 
 THE DYING SUMMER. 
 
 Gently, sadly, the summer is dying 
 
 Under the shivering, trembling boughs, 
 With a low soft moan, the breeze is flying ; 
 The breeze, that was once so fresh and sweet, 
 Is passing as swift as Time s hurrying feet, 
 And where the withered roses are lying, 
 The beautiful summer is surely dying. 
 
 Gently, sadly, the waves are sighing, 
 
 The leaves are mourning that they must fall ; 
 And the plaintive waters keep replying, 
 
44 LEAVES FROM THE 
 
 They miss the light that has decked them long ;. 
 They have caught the last bird s farewell song ; 
 And lowly they murmur, from day to day, 
 u The beautiful summer is passing away." 
 
 Gently, sadly, the moon reclining 
 
 High on her throne of azure and gold, 
 With wan clear light, o er the world is shining ; 
 Wherever she turns there are teardrops shed, 
 They will gleam, till the chilly morn is breaking, 
 And the flowers with their last pale smiles are waking. 
 
 Wildly, sadly, the night winds swelling, 
 Chants a measure wierd and strange, 
 Hark ! of the coming storm he is telling, 
 And the trembling life, that was almost gone,. 
 Flickers and shrinks at the dreaded tone, 
 And scarcely lingers where, lowly lying, 
 The tender and beautiful summer is dying. 
 
BACKWOODS. 4/> 
 
 DEAD. 
 
 To live in hearts we leave behind 
 Is not to die ! 
 
 CAMPBELL. 
 
 Dead ? no ! thou rt living yet 
 For while fond memory holds thee thus, 
 And love, we give not to the dead, 
 
 Is thine, thou still art one of us ; 
 Not dead, till we forget. 
 
 Living, but far away ; 
 Distance divides our hearts from thee 
 But Time shall bring thee here again, 
 
 And brighter than all dreams, shall be 
 That one glad meeting day. 
 
 Alas ! not so, thou rt dead ! 
 For it was sadly dear to me 
 To think thy spirit might be near ; 
 
 From Earth s restraining-bands set free, 
 Yet here, by memory led. 
 
46 LEAVES FROM THE 
 
 " Sweet could our hearts be known 
 Now, by some keener sympathy." 
 Such my first thoughts when thou wert gon( 
 
 But soon the fancy ceased to be, 
 We felt thy soul was flown. 
 
 Dead ? no ! thou rt living yet 
 Distant, but we shall meet again, 
 And heart be read by faithful heart, 
 
 When love more closely draws his chain, 
 Round friends forever met. 
 
BACKWOODS. 47 
 
 PRECIOUS HOURS. 
 
 Treasure the hour of joy 
 
 Welcome each draught of bliss, each golden dream ; 
 Find, if thou canst, beside life s bitter stream, 
 
 Pleasures without alloy ; 
 But ever let thy heart s deep homage be, 
 Amid thy gladness, His, who gave it thee. 
 
 Treasure the time of grief 
 Weep if thou wilt, but in that darker day 
 The humbled spirit sweetly learns to say, 
 
 " God giveth glad relief." 
 And sorrow dearer far than joy shall be, 
 If it but bring thy God more near to thee. 
 
 Treasure the hour of prayer 
 There, seek from God food for thy hungry soul, 
 Full, and rich store ; no scant, penurious dole 
 
 Shall ever meet thee there. 
 Put by earth s sparkling cup of false delight, 
 And drink from Heaven s own chalice, life and light. 
 
48 LEAVES FROM THE 
 
 THE LAST RAY OF SUNLIGHT. 
 
 The last ray of sunlight ! It gleams on the mountain, 
 
 It gilds the dark pines in the valley below, 
 It blesses the flowers ere they sink to their slumbers, 
 
 And the crystal brook catches its fugitive glow ; 
 Never more lovely the sun s noontide glory, 
 
 Never more lovely the first blush of morn, 
 Nor moonbeams, oft honoured in song and in story, 
 
 Nor bright gleaming star in the still midnight born. 
 
 Hast thou e er found a flower, whose frail stem has been broken, 
 
 A fair blossom cast on the cold ground to die, 
 Its petals yet stainless, though life hath departed, 
 
 Still smiling and bright, though its pride hath gone by ? 
 Oh, like the smile and the perfume that lingers 
 
 Decking the rude couch, where lowly it lies, 
 Latest defying the work of Time s fingers, 
 
 Is the last ray of sunshine that brightens the skies. 
 
 The last ray of sunlight ! It tells of the hours 
 Gone from us forever and joined to the past, 
 
 And bids us remember the joys and the sorrows, 
 Like sunshine and clouds, o er our journeyings cast, 
 
BACKWOODS. 49 
 
 While in its brightness a promise is given, 
 
 Hopeful and dear, of a dawning to come, 
 And it beams on the heart, whose strong ties have been riven, 
 
 Like the welcoming light from the traveller s home. 
 
 AUTUMN. 
 
 Oh, tell me not of Autumn s charms, 
 The last sad beauties of the year ; 
 
 Praise not the colouring of the leaf, 
 That is so dead and sere. 
 
 Give me the sunny hours of Spring, 
 Or Summer s rich, luxuriant store ; 
 
 The opening bud, the blooming flower 
 That springs to life once more. 
 
 The stormy winds are whistling shrill 
 Among the branches in the wood, 
 
 And wrestling with the giant trees 
 That many a storm withstood. 
 
 They tear the creepers from the wall, 
 They lay our garden treasures low, 
 
 And bear a thousand lovely things 
 Far from us, as they go. 
 
50 LEAVES FROM THE 
 
 I shudder to my inmost heart, 
 To hear the bitter blast sweep by, 
 
 And think of frail and shivering forms 
 Beneath this wintry sky ; 
 
 Of childhood and of helpless age, 
 That begs its bread from door to door 
 
 Amid this Autumn s tempest s rage ; 
 God shield the homeless poor ! 
 
 THE SECOND ADVENT. 
 
 In the hush of the silent midnight 
 Shall the cry of His coming be ? 
 
 When the day of the Lord s appearing 
 Shall flash over earth and sea ? 
 
 Shall it be at the morn s awaking, 
 And the beams of the golden sun 
 
 Grow pale and be quenched for ever, 
 When his journey is just begun ? 
 
 We know not, we guess not, the hour ; 
 
 But we know that the time must be, 
 When earth, with its clouds and shadows, 
 
 Will shrink, and tremble, and flee ; 
 
BACKWOODS. 51 
 
 Will shrink to its deepest centre, 
 
 And render before His throne, 
 The jewels the Lord will gather, 
 
 The gems that He calls his own. 
 
 Then, bright in Heaven s noonday splendour, 
 
 And robed like the dazzling snow, 
 The saints to their many mansions, 
 
 The chosen and blest, shall go. 
 
 And songs of angelic gladness 
 
 Be borne on celestial air 
 To welcome the mighty gathering, 
 
 The throng, that shall enter there. 
 
 And, oh ! in that awful parting, 
 
 That day of unchanging doom, 
 When earth shall give up her millions, 
 
 And empty her every tomb, 
 
 May we find in the Judge, a Saviour, 
 
 A friend, whom we know and love, 
 And be bidden by Him to enter 
 
 The courts of His house above. 
 
52 LEAVES FROM THE 
 
 CHRISTMAS SONG. 
 
 Go, bring me boughs of holly 
 
 To deck the walls to-night, 
 Choose where the leaves are glossy, 
 
 And the scarlet berries bright ; 
 And bring the trailing ivy 
 
 That by the oak doth grow, 
 And a bonny branch of the Christmas Tree, 
 
 The charmed mistletoe. 
 
 The holly by the windows 
 
 Our sentinel shall be, 
 And the changeless ivy symbol 
 
 Our love and unity ; 
 Nor the flowers we prize be wanting, 
 
 But high above their glow 
 We ll hang the branch of the magic tree, 
 
 The charmed mistletoe. 
 
 We gladly greet the holly, 
 
 All thorny though it be, 
 And the dark and glossy ivy 
 
 Will grace our revelry ; 
 But many a bright eye sparkles, 
 
 And many a cheek doth glow, 
 Beneath the spell of the magic tree, 
 
 The charmed mistletoe. 
 
BACKWOODS. 
 
 CHRISTMAS CAROL. 
 
 Two children singing in the street 
 With plaintive voices, low and sweet, 
 A simple strain, so soft and clear, 
 That many a passer stayed to hear, 
 And smiled or sighed to note their rhyme 
 In honour of the Christmas time. 
 
 " We are wanderers, wanderers ever, 
 
 No friends, no home have we, 
 We sleep beside the river, 
 
 Or neath the spreading tree ; 
 We have no kindred faces 
 
 Our winter days to cheer, 
 Yet, we wish you a merry Christmas, 
 
 And a prosperous New Year ! 
 
 We see, through many a window, 
 
 The gleaming firelight shine, 
 Shine on us, poor and friendless, 
 
 Yet why should we repine ? 
 We know that He who seeth 
 
 The poor, our cry will hear, 
 So we wish you a merry Christmas, 
 
 And a prosperous New Year !" 
 
PART II. 
 
 " Thus while I ape the measure wild 
 Of tales that charmed me, yet a child, 
 Rude though they be, still with the chime 
 
 Return the thoughts of early time, 
 And feelings roused in life s first day 
 Glow in the line and prompt the lay." 
 
 SCOTT. 
 
IANTHE. 
 
 " lanthe, golden haired ! 
 Bright Hebe, in the glory and the bloom 
 Of her immortal youth, was not more fair 
 Than thou, loveliest ! when the slender boughs 
 Bent o er thee, with their light leaves to caress 
 Thy long bright tresses when upon the hill 
 Thy song resounded, and the joyous birds 
 Stopped their sweet warblings, but to learn of thee. 
 The river, when thy white and glancing feet 
 Pressed its smooth pebbles, played around thy form 
 In brighter eddies, with a munnuring song, 
 Such as young mothers sing above their babes, 
 But now, we miss thee on the mountain slopes, 
 And in the hamlets, and beside the stream ; 
 Fairest and best beloved ! return, return !" 
 
58 LEAVES FROM THE 
 
 So sang they in the valleys where they dwelt, 
 The white-browed daughters of that sunny isle, 
 And Echo sadly gave the burden back, 
 Echo alone and sighed, " Return, return !" 
 But never more, beside the forest shade, 
 Or rocky beach, at evening s calmest hour, 
 They railed thy form, lanthe, brightest maid, 
 Or caught the silvery murmurs of thy song. 
 
 Twas in a year long past, when summer days 
 
 Had waned in cloudless glory to the prime 
 
 Of vintage and luxuriant harvest fields, 
 
 When darkly o er the heavens swept up the clouds 
 
 Hiding the sunlight, and, for many days, 
 
 Shrouding the isle in darkness. All around 
 
 The great sea-billows raised their foam-white crests 
 
 And dashed them on the beach with angry roar, 
 
 While the tall trees, upon the swelling hills, 
 
 Bent with strange gusts and howling savage winds. 
 
BACKWOODS. ."> . 
 
 The islesmen in wild terror sought the grove 
 
 Where holiest rites were done, and brought with them 
 
 Their costliest sacrifice and choicest gifts 
 
 To win the gods to mercy. All day long 
 
 The priest stood by the altar offering up 
 
 (It seemed so) vain prayers, vainer sacrifice, 
 
 Till suddenly at eve, on the fourth day, 
 
 There fell a blackness o er the worshippers, 
 
 Darker than dark, and held them chained with awe ; 
 
 Then through the cloud a voice, but what it said 
 
 None, not those nearest to the altar, heard 
 
 Save the priest only, and he answered low 
 
 With deep obeisance. Then the horror passed, 
 
 And light, such as there was before, returned. 
 
 From close beside the altar spoke the priest 
 
 u Friends, seek your homes to-night ; be sure of this, 
 
 The anger of the gods is not for nought, 
 
 Yet are they merciful Even now, behold, 
 
 The sky grows clearer. At to-morrow s dawn 
 
 Assemble here once more, then will I tell 
 
 Heaven s high behest, and see that ye obey." 
 
60 LEAVES FROM THE 
 
 Away into the vallies, sore amazed, 
 Passed the long train of people, and the night 
 Sunk down in calm and stillness, save that yet 
 The angry roaring waters rose and fell, 
 Boiling and surging round the beaten shore. 
 
 Morn came in glory, while the piled up clouds 
 
 In the far west yet spoke of danger near, 
 
 Forbidding fear to slumber and with morn 
 
 Came to the temple, all the anxious throng, 
 
 Came with his stately step and flowing robe, 
 
 The venerable priest. Amid a hush 
 
 So deep they heard the stirring of the leaves, 
 
 He spoke to those around " Friends, countrymen ! 
 
 Consider what is dearest, what is best, 
 
 Of all our fair isle s treasures. Ask your hearts, 
 
 What holds the largest portion of their love ? 
 
 And seek ye thus a stainless sacrifice, 
 
 For such the gods demand. Well know we all 
 
 We have too much forgotten in our wealth 
 
 The ever gracious givers, and have held 
 
BACKWOODS. 61 
 
 Our wives, our children and whatever else 
 We call our own, too much as being such ; 
 Wherefore the gods are angry, and command 
 Ere night return, we cast from yonder rock, 
 Into those fiercest waves, a gift of price 
 No less than is our eyes most treasured light, 
 Our hopes best stay, our ages comforter, 
 Thus only, losing one, the best of all, 
 Can other lives of us and ours be saved, 
 Devoted else and doomed, with this our isle." 
 
 He ceased, and silence reigned, while glance met glance 
 
 In speechless questioning, and mothers strained 
 
 Their infants to their breasts, and fathers turned 
 
 To look into their fair young daughters eyes 
 
 In trembling apprehension what would be 
 
 Next moment ; but next moment, every eye 
 
 Was turned on one, who stood there pale and calm, 
 
 lanthe, daughter of the aged priest, 
 
 The fairest of the daughters of the isle. 
 
62 LEAVES FROM THE 
 
 Then passed a sudden shudder through the crowd ; 
 " Not thee, not thee, lanthe," from each heart 
 Burst with a sudden anguish, but she stilled, 
 With one mute gesture, all the throng,- and spoke : 
 
 " father ! friends beloved ! if any be 
 Most fit to die in such a cause, tis I : 
 Thou knowest, Father, I have ever led 
 A simple innocent life, nor once have failed 
 To bring my daily offering to the gods 
 With prayers and due observance, from a child ; 
 Nor need I, friends, with gratitude repeat 
 How ye have ever blessed my glad, short life 
 With wealth of many hearts. I know full well 
 Ye will remember me with gentle thoughts, 
 And, best, will cheer my Father s lonely age 
 For his lanthe s sake." She paused, and then 
 Turned to her sire and knelt, and prayed him bless 
 His child s resolve. He, who had meanwhile stood 
 Rigid as marble statue, and as pale, 
 
BACKWOODS. 
 
 Forced back with effort stern the agony 
 
 That gathered at his heart. He laid his hand 
 
 Untrembling on the locks of clustered gold 
 
 That hid his child s sweet face, and said, " Tis well :- 
 
 Well, dear lanthe, hast thou said and now 
 
 Thy Father gives thee, gladly, from his arms, 
 
 As thou hast given thyself." 
 
 Then, there arose 
 
 A sound of bitter weeping, and a wail 
 Of hopeless sorrow from the morn till noon, 
 And then a speechless awe. The eve drew on, 
 And sunset, when the dark and troubled sea 
 Must swallow up the jewel of the isle. 
 
 At last the hour was come. Upon the rock, 
 
 White robed and crowned with flowers, lanthe stood ; 
 
 Pale, with a glowing lustre in her eyes 
 
 Undimmed by fear or weeping. By her side, 
 
 Her father, wholly calm, except that still 
 
 His longing, loving gaze would follow her, 
 
 And tell the sickening anguish of his soul ; 
 
64 LEAVES FROM THE 
 
 But yet he faltered not, and, as the sun 
 
 Went slowly downward to the glittering sea, 
 
 Glittering at rest far distant, slowly dropped 
 
 His eyes one moment on the billows near, 
 
 Then bade the maidens clustered round, commence 
 
 Their dedicating hymn. The strain arose 
 
 Softly and tremulous, then sunk again, 
 
 And rose once more, and would have quickly ceased 
 
 In tears and bursting sobs, but that one voice 
 
 Rose clear, and full, and sweet, and led them on ; 
 
 Thine, bright lanthe ! Then the prayer was said, 
 
 And, mid an instant s pause of breathless pain, 
 
 She sprang, as springs the sea bird, from the height, 
 
 And the dark waters hid her evermore. 
 
BACKWOODS. t ,.-") 
 
 JOAN OF ARC. 
 
 PART FIRST. 
 
 A wild hillside beneath the winds of March 
 With scattered sheep upon the tufted grass, 
 And here and there a tree, grotesque and lone, 
 Strong limbed, but stunted, like a sturdy dwarf 
 Misshapen, leafless. Overhead the clouds 
 Travelled with varying motion from the east ; 
 Hurried, yet sullen ; lagging on the breeze. 
 
 Up the rough path, that wound among the furze, 
 Slowly, with serious eyes that looked before, 
 (Her soul not seeing what their vision saw,) 
 With steps that knew the path too well to stray, 
 Moving, as habit, not as thought, ordained, 
 Came, through the chilly eve, a girl s slight form ; 
 It was not till she gained the rounded brow, 
 Where east and north and south the hill sloped down 
 And showed the winding valley far below, 
 She turned and looked. Down there beneath her feet, 
 And sheltered by the huge arms of the hills, 
 Like a small nest amid the sturdy boughs 
 
 E 
 
66 LEAVES FROM THE 
 
 Whose well-tried strength defies the wildest storm, 
 The pleasant village, with its humble spire, 
 Lay calm and tranquil ; and the little streams, 
 Fed from the sunless caverns of the rocks, 
 Joining their slender threads of silver, ran 
 Through meadows, where a strip of level ground 
 Was bright with springing grass. A lovely scene 
 To stranger eyes, to hers twas more, twas home ! 
 There, as she stood and looked, a sudden gust 
 Came right across the valley, bitter cold, 
 She drew her mantle closer round her breast 
 And faced it boldly, while a vivid glow 
 Began to kindle in her soft, dark eye, 
 Gleamed like a beacon through a summer night, 
 Lighting her pallid cheek and thoughtful brow, 
 Till, with a sigh of smothered passion, broke, 
 From quivering lips " Would I could die to save, 
 To save thee, my country ! but I fear" 
 So, with drooped eyes, she turned away and went 
 To seek her scattered flock and bring them home. 
 
BACKWOODS. 67 
 
 Clear from the village belfry rang the bell ; 
 The gathered flocks, from mountain pastures led, 
 Were safely housed, and up the stony street 
 Came the small throng of evening worshippers. 
 Among them, with an old man by her side, 
 Came the pale shepherd girl, the dark-eyed Joan, 
 Of whom men said, she saw strange sights, and heard 
 Voices that others hear not. On they passed. 
 Soon rose the music of the evening prayer 
 Artlessly sweet, and floated to the skies 
 With sprinkled incense, on the darkening air. 
 
 The prayers were ended. Over each bowed head 
 The priest had poured his blessing ; all were gone 
 But Joan, who yet before St. Catherine s shrine 
 Was kneeling, lost in prayer. Her fingers held 
 Her half told rosary, now all forgot, 
 Forgot the oft said words her eager thoughts 
 Shaped themselves into fervid life and knocked 
 At heaven s high gate for entrance. By and by, 
 Her cheeks aglow, her frame with ardour thrilled, 
 
68 LEAVES FROM THE 
 
 She saw a dawning light break from the crown 
 That bound the saint s fair brow, and down it stole, 
 Enveloping the figure in a haze 
 Of golden splendour, while the sweet face wore 
 A heavenly smile, and from the carvM lips 
 A soft voice uttered, " Joan, be strong of heart, 
 Take courage to fulfil thy own deep wish, 
 For thine it is to save thy native land." 
 
 Faded the smile, while yet the gazer bent 
 Her tear suffused eyes upon its beam- 
 Slowly the light died out, and nought was left 
 But her enraptured fancy echoing yet, 
 " Joan, it is thine to save thy native land." 
 Listening to this dear echo, long she knelt, 
 Till, through her dazzling dream, she faintly heard 
 A step upon the creaking belfry stair, 
 And the first note of curfew broke the spell. 
 
BACKWOODS. 6 
 
 Beneath the shadow of her father s roof 
 
 Joan passed and laid her down, but hours flew by 
 
 Ere sleep s soft pinions fanned her heated brain, 
 
 And when, at length, she slept, sweet dreams again 
 
 Repeated the sweet vision of the eve 
 
 But not for long her slumber or her bliss. 
 
 When after midnight, scarce two hours were flown 
 
 Wild through the silence rang a fearful cry, 
 
 i lieii, swiftly following, shrieks, and oaths, and screams, 
 
 The tramp of horses, and the trumpet s blast, 
 
 While women shrieked, " They come ! the spoilers come !" 
 
 And fled with wailing babes out through the night. 
 
 Happy were they who saved in that dread hour 
 Their lives and those they loved, although they stood 
 With Joan and that small household on the hill, 
 And watched the wreathing flames extend their arms 
 Till every dwelling shared the fell embrace, 
 A fearful sight the sky glowed overhead, 
 And tenfold darker seemed th abyss of night 
 Around those blazing walls, those ruined homes. 
 
70 LEAVES FROM THE 
 
 Darkly amid the glare, the old church tower 
 Showed the sad people that the house of God 
 Stood scatheless mid the wreck, but, oh ! the cry 
 With they which marked the first red flame that twined 
 About the carving of the sacred door, 
 And, quickly spreading, mounted to the roof. 
 
 Kneeling upon the turf, with streaming hair, 
 With eyes of horror, and tight clasping hands, 
 Joan watched the burning rafters till they fell 
 And darkened the full glare of lurid light ; 
 Then rose, and turning from the village, flung 
 Her arms about a young tree standing near 
 And hid her face upon them, while her heart 
 Cried out in her, " O God, deliver France !" 
 And made an answer to herself, and said, 
 " He will deliver us a time will come, 
 7s coming quickly, to avenge our wrongs." 
 
BACKWOODS. 71 
 
 PART SECOND. 
 
 Now many days had passed since that dread time, 
 When midnight violence disturbed the night 
 To scatter death and ruin all around. 
 Back to their desolated homes again 
 The villagers had wandered from the hills 
 And desert places of their sudden flight. 
 Joan with her father came, and helped to raise 
 Some wretched shelter from the cold and storm, 
 Where they might light their household fires again. 
 
 Darker and deeper since that awful hour, 
 Through days of misery when her heart was wrung 
 With sights and sounds of suffering, grew her thoughts. 
 Now ceaselessly she heard a voice that cried, 
 " Go forth, ordained of heaven, to save thy land !" 
 Strange visions visited her broken sleep, 
 And once, St. Catherine stood beside her bed 
 Divinely beautiful, in robes of light, 
 With grave, unsmiling brightness in her eyes. 
 Thus spoke she " Wherefore dost thou linger here ? 
 
72 LEAVES FROM THE 
 
 Thy country calls for thee, the promised maid, 
 
 Appointed by high Heaven to rescue France. 
 
 Rise, seek the King, for even now his mind 
 
 Is sore oppressed with evil. Tell him all 
 
 And bid him greet the future as his friend, 
 
 For thou shalt stand beside him when the crown 
 
 Circles his brow in peace. Yet, if he need 
 
 Proof of thy mission, bid him quickly send 
 
 To where the holy fane of Firebois lifts 
 
 Its hoary head, and in a coffer old, 
 
 Dusty with age, and half by rust consumed, 
 
 There they shall find an ancient sword blade, marked 
 
 With three rude crosses. Let them bring it thee, 
 
 For by that weapon, and our Lady s help, 
 
 Thou shall recover France." So Joan awoke. 
 
 From thenceforth all her mind was set in her 
 
 To leave her village and her aged sire, 
 
 Travelling to seek the King : and weeks passed by 
 
 Slowly as years, until she found a time, 
 
 And, after many prayers and vigils kept, 
 
 Set forth upon her mission from her home. 
 
BACKWOODS. 73 
 
 PART THIRD. 
 
 a high day in Rheims the sunlit streets 
 Wore flooded full with life, and up and down 
 Rang the gay clangour of the burnished arms. 
 Pennons and scarfs and feathers waved in air, 
 And all of regal, all of martial state, 
 That France could muster, glittered round her King 
 For, now, the coronation oath was said, 
 And, now, the golden circlet, rich with gems, 
 With hallowing prayers, was placed upon his head. 
 Forth from the crowd uprose a joyous cry, 
 a Long live King Charles the Seventh ! " uprose and swelled, 
 Over the swaying multitude around. 
 
 Bright through its space the vast cathedral gleamed 
 \Vith arms, with beauty clothed in rich attire 
 With priests in gorgeous vestments, mixed with men 
 In many a battle scarred but near the King, 
 White robed above her glimmering suit of mail, 
 Holding a snowy banner in her hand, 
 
74 LEAVES FROM THE 
 
 And girded with her still victorious sword, 
 
 Stood the heroic maid, the prop of France. 
 
 Could this be she the simple country girl, 
 
 Who watched her father s flock upon the hill 
 
 Or knelt among the village worshippers ? 
 
 Had not this splendour changed her ? for she stood, 
 
 Honoured among the nobles of the land, 
 
 Deliverer of her country in its need. 
 
 No ! in the mournful paleness of her brow, 
 
 The strange, sad beauty of her clear brown eyes, 
 
 And firm, sweet mouth, still looked there forth the soul, 
 
 Once wrung with anguish for her country s woes, 
 
 And now, far looking onward to her own. 
 
 When all the rites were done, she slowly turned, 
 Kneeling before the King, and humbly spoke 
 " My liege, my work is done when first I came 
 From my wild mountain home, and dared to stand, 
 I, a poor village girl, amid your court, 
 And promise boldly (what is now performed) 
 
BACKWOODS. 75 
 
 That this glad day should come, and through my help, 
 
 I but obeyed a loftier will than mine, 
 
 Inspired of Heaven to serve my country s need ; 
 
 But now that need is past my work is done 
 
 Now let me go, back to my father s cot, 
 
 Back to my brother s dwelling to my home !" 
 
 " Nay," said the King, " not so, we need thee still ; 
 Thou, who hast led our troops to victory, 
 Shalt lead them yet, we cannot part with thee ; 
 But meet it is, on such a day as this, 
 That we, such honour as a sovereign may, 
 So poor as we are, should bestow on thee, 
 Henceforth we make thee noble through all time ; 
 Thou, and thy brothers, and thy aged sire, 
 And every one descended of thy line 
 And, when our budding fortunes shall permit 
 Fit revenue to prop thy rank shall be 
 Added to honours. Wilt thou leave us now ? 
 Well, then, if state and wealth can move thee not, 
 Listen, maiden ! to thy country s voice, 
 
76 LEAVES FROM THE 
 
 Still do the rude invaders tread her g plains, 
 
 Still many a cruel deed of hideous war 
 
 Lays her fair dwellings waste. Return not yet ! 
 
 She cries to thee, and Heaven will aid thee still. 
 
 He ceased. Before her sad and troubled eyes 
 
 What varying visions floated ! but at last 
 
 She said " I will not go," and sealed her doom. 
 
 PART FOURTH. 
 
 Another city, and another scene 
 
 An ancient city, o er whose pointed roofs 
 
 And many towers, perchance, the heavens were dark 
 
 With angry clouds and storms perchance, the sun 
 
 Smiled in his brightness what was it to her ? 
 
 She only knew it was her day to die ! 
 
 Through the barred windows, when the earliest dawn 
 
 Crept to her prison chamber, she was there 
 
 Kneeling before her little crucifix 
 
 Praying, until the murmured prayer was lost 
 
 In a wild rush of memory. Back they came 
 
 Her peaceful days of childhood floated back 
 
 Her village home, the hillside, and the breeze, 
 
BACKWOODS. 77 
 
 And, strangely clear, the ringing of the bell. 
 Then, she was kneeling at St. Catherine s shrine, 
 Hearing again the silver tones that said, 
 " To thee is given to save thy native land." 
 And fancy bore her on from field to field, 
 From day to day of glory, till the last, 
 That highest hour of triumph, when she stood 
 Beside, while hoary prelates crowned the King. 
 Thence onward still, and still through victory, 
 But now no more she foremost others came 
 And entered on her labours and her place. 
 And worse than all the voices that had cheered 
 The fearless faith in Heaven s high guidance failed, 
 Doubts clustered round her, doubts of her own self 
 Tracking her footsteps darkly, till the night 
 Of blackest mis ry when she knew herself 
 A prisoner, and deserted. " Woe to those," 
 She cried aloud in bitterness, " who place 
 Their trust in princes ! Was there not a knight 
 In all the noble army of the King 
 Could lift his arm for me, who saved the crown ?" 
 Then weeping passionate tears, began again 
 
78 LEAVES FROM THE 
 
 Her broken prayers. So wore the early hours, 
 
 Till, by and by, her cruel jailers came, 
 
 And yet more cruel priests, who, with Christ s name 
 
 Upon their impious lips, could torture her, 
 
 That wretched woman, in her agony ; 
 
 For now, no more sustained by lofty hopes, 
 
 Her spirit turned in anguish on itself, 
 
 Making wild conflict in her troubled breast, 
 
 Till at the last, when they had wrought their will, 
 
 And she, to save herself, with trembling hand 
 
 Had signed the dread confession of her crime, 
 
 Branding her memory with the double guilt 
 
 Of witchcraft, and denial of her faith, 
 
 They left her for a while, and in that hour 
 
 Peace came upon her soul and she was calm, 
 
 Looking for death as for a welcome guest. 
 
 At length they led her forth. Amid a crowd 
 
 Of thousands, as in other days, she moved ; 
 
 Then, all was acclamation where she came, 
 
 Now, a dread silence reigned. The stake was reared 
 
 Amidst the open square, that all might see ; 
 
BACKWOODS. 79 
 
 And many another goodly sight was there : 
 Princes and priests, rich-robed and gay with gems, 
 Knights in bright armour, and no lack of men, 
 Such as seemed human, come to look on her. 
 They bound her fast she, scarce alive to thought, 
 Seeing them heap the faggots round her form, 
 Seeing the cruel faces of the throng, 
 No pity anywhere grew cold as ice, 
 And shivered while she looked, not knowing why ; 
 So, in a trance of horror wrapped, she stood, 
 They deeming that she listened, while a monk 
 Told all her grievous sins aloud, and showed 
 In the great audience of the people there, 
 Her guilt and her confession. When he ceased 
 The fire was brought, and soon the kindled pile 
 Flaming around her, with rude shock called back 
 Each power of suffering. Then she wildly shrieked, 
 And, holding up her cherished crucifix, 
 Called upon Him, whose sacred form it bore, 
 Her last, sole refuge, for His pity then. 
 So the flame swept above her guiltless head, 
 And, with His name upon her lips, she died. 
 
80 LEAVES EEOM THE 
 
 BOSCOBEL. 
 
 Half hidden in the circle of thy woods 
 Thou standest yet, unchanged and beautiful, 
 Thrice honoured relic of a famous time ! 
 On History s page thou livest, but far more 
 In hearts that having loved thee, love thee still, 
 And keep thy smile in memory. On thy sward 
 The ever varying shadows dance and play, 
 And on thy grassy mound the daisies spring 
 New yearly, yet the same the very flowers 
 Are blooming in thy quaint parterres that bloomed 
 Two hundred years ago. 
 
 I scarce can think 
 
 It was not yesterday the wanderer came 
 That homeless wanderer that uncrowned King 
 Who, in his perilous and desperate plight, 
 Swayed England s loyal hearts with deeper power 
 Than when he held the sceptre that he came 
 Seeking thy shades for safety. Then, all day, 
 The ceaseless summer rain that drenched thy boughs 
 
BACKWOODS. S1 
 
 Seemed weeping for the kingdom s downfall He, 
 Meanwhile, must make his royal couch and throne 
 Beneath thy dripping leaves. Weary, oppressed, 
 Heartsick, and sad, by disappointment chilled 
 More than by wet or hunger, he must watch 
 The long hours through, nor dare to venture forth 
 Lest death be lingering near 
 
 Yet was he not 
 
 Deserted there were noble hearts and true 
 Watching and labouring for their outcast King, 
 And, not the least among those honoured men, 
 Thy faithful band of brothers still their name 
 Shall be the synonyme of gallant truth, 
 Unsullied honour, stainless loyalty. 
 Alas ! that he to whom such faith was given 
 Proved so unworthy ! that the promise bright, 
 He gave in danger and distress, should be 
 Like the white hoar frost on the morning grass, 
 And, when the sun of happier fortune rose, 
 Vanished in air. But that is nought to thee ; 
 Thou, in thy leafy covert, art a shrine 
 
 p 
 
82 LEAVES FROM THE 
 
 Sacred to noblest virtues. Be thou still, 
 
 Time honoured spot ! as sweet and fair as now ; 
 
 No sacrilegious hand be ever raised 
 
 To mar with modern change thy ancient grace, 
 
 But be thou still, in tranquil beauty calm, 
 
 An ark of quiet mid life s changing scene ; 
 
 And still, to generations yet unborn, 
 
 Repeat, in music, thy romantic tale. 
 
 Such scenes as thine, on England s verdant plains, 
 
 Make up her greatest charm, and dower her with 
 
 Matchless associations for in her, 
 
 And in her hallowed shrines of bygone days, 
 
 We need not say, " Alas ! for liberty !" 
 
 But liberty still lives, and, while we bless 
 
 With reverent love the good men of the past, 
 
 We proudly add, " Their spirit fires their sons, 
 
 And England s virtues, like her sturdy oaks, 
 
 Unhurt by age or storms, perennial spring." 
 
BACKWOODS. 83 
 
 HOME. 
 
 Oh, but one hour of solitude, to trace 
 Each well-known path, each childish hiding place ! 
 Oh, but once more to see thee, and to know 
 Full liberty for farewell tears to flow ! 
 
 What stranger faces gather round thy board ? 
 What infant voices sound where ours were heard ? 
 The flowers we planted, are they living yet ? 
 Or passed their fragrance ere we could forget ? 
 Some altered things in thee, I know full well, 
 But others, who that loved thee less, could tell ? 
 Changes but slight, yet growing day by day 
 That steal insidiously thy charms away. 
 So years, that pass o er some beloved face, 
 The looks we loved, the smiles, may all efface, 
 May leave the outline as it was before, 
 Yet bid the loveliness return no more. 
 Oh, is it thus with thee ? the trees are felled, 
 The trees, where twittering birds their counsels held. 
 But is the grass, where flickering shadows lay, 
 Still with the old familiar blossoms gay ? 
 
84 LEAVES FROM THE 
 
 Ah ! in dreams of thee, that stir my heart, 
 
 In vain I seek to see thee as thou art ; 
 
 In memory s dwelling thou art painted fair, 
 
 And not a single change can enter there. 
 
 Thy different aspects, worn in many years, 
 
 All dear, all sanctified by smiles or tears, 
 
 Embalmed and treasured when their life was fled 
 
 Immutable, as actions of the dead, 
 
 Dwell with me still, unalterably mine, 
 
 And fill, with incense of pure thoughts, their shrine. 
 
 Tis strange, how in this arduous race of life, 
 Howe er engrossing be the toil and strife, 
 Howe er uncertain, wearisome and long, 
 Whatever rivals round our pathway throng, 
 Or when the goal approaches, and our eyes 
 Greet, bright, and almost won, the wished-for prize, 
 Still, half regretful, turn our thoughts again 
 To homes we left that glittering prize to gain, 
 Fondly recalling fireside pleasures fled, 
 And joys, o er which long years a glory shed. 
 
BACKWOODS. 85 
 
 And if past days look bright when fortune smiles 
 Or proud ambition spreads her tempting wiles, 
 How fan* they seem, when, baffled and distressed, 
 All that we ask is quietness and rest. 
 
 The traveller, journeying from the setting sun, 
 Turns to look back ere yet his toil is done, 
 And sees the hills, so steep and hard to climb, 
 All bathed in floods of rosy glory shine ; 
 He sees the grassy slope, the sunny hue, 
 While distance hides the rocky path from view ; 
 Forgets each dangerous step, each fatal snare, 
 And dreams that peace, alone, holds empire there. 
 
 So, could capricious wishes sway our life, 
 How oft from scenes with many a trouble rife, 
 Should we return to childhood s by-gone hours. 
 To find the roses vanished from the bowers ! 
 To find that fancy, memory, love, had given 
 One half the charms that decked our ideal heaven ; 
 To find that childhood hath its cares and fears, 
 Sad at the tune, as those of after years ; 
 
86 LEAVES FROM THE 
 
 i 
 
 And learn, too late, that all man s hours below, 
 Alike are chequered by the shades of woe. 
 Yet may we draw from nature s copious store 
 Of beauty, one similitude the more 
 As the lone traveller when day is done, 
 And glowing clouds no more reflect the sun, 
 Sees from the distant ether o er his head 
 One lovely star its silvery brightness shed, 
 And by and by the night that round him drew 
 So dark a veil is lit with splendours new, 
 That to his softened eyes seem scarce less fair 
 Than are the charms that daylight wont to wear, 
 So o er the quiet days when life no more 
 Yields joy or pain so keen as those of yore, 
 A gentler light floats down upon our way 
 From stars unseen amid the beams of day. 
 
BACKWOODS. 87 
 
 A FOREST LEGEND. 
 
 Pleasant it was, when woods were green 
 
 And winds were soft and low, 
 To lie amid some sylvan scene, 
 Where, the long arching boughs between, 
 Shadows soft, and sunlight sheen, 
 
 Alternate come and go. 
 
 LONGFELLOW. 
 
 It was a summer morning, 
 
 When dew lay on the flowers, 
 And birds sent up their joyous hymns 
 
 From all the sylvan bowers, 
 I sat beneath an aged oak 
 Whose spreading boughs the sunbeams broke 
 
 And cast them at my feet 
 In shattered fragments, bright and sheen, 
 That glittered on the mossy green, 
 Like splendid tints in prisms seen 
 
 Where transient glories meet. 
 
88 LEAVES FROM THE 
 
 Clear mirror of the sky s deep blue, 
 
 A stream went murmuring by, 
 And, where the grass luxuriant grew, 
 
 It trickled dreamily ; 
 And while its waters seemed to rest 
 On the wide mead s enamelled breast, 
 
 The voices of the wood 
 Brought elfin music to my ears ; 
 They seemed to sing of bygone years, 
 
 And giant trees, that stood 
 Unaltered by the march of Time, 
 Through surly Winter s frost and rime, 
 
 And Summer s gentlest mood, 
 Joined their deep notes to swell the strain, 
 And waved their branches o er the plain. 
 
 The words they sang I cannot tell, 
 The fitful measure rose and fell, 
 Each fall and cadence, tone and swell, 
 Mysteriously sweet, 
 
BACKWOODS. 89 
 
 Until the sun crept up unseen, 
 And noon beams fell upon the green 
 
 That spread around my seat ; 
 Then, sleep came o er me, like a cloud, 
 And wrapped me in her silver shroud ; 
 
 When, to my slumbering ear, 
 A soft low voice the stillness broke, 
 And, as some finer sense awoke, 
 Sleeping, I heard each word it spoke, 
 
 All measured sweet and clear : 
 
 " A thousand times the sun has called 
 
 The young leaves from the tree ; 
 A thousand times at winter s touch 
 
 I ve watched their verdure flee ; 
 A thousand shoots to life have sprung, 
 A thousand birds their carols sung 
 
 And filled the woods with sound ; 
 Succeeding years roll slowly by, 
 The bright flowers blossom, fade and die, 
 Change is on all things, yet am I 
 
 In changeless durance bound. 
 
90 LEAVES FROM THE 
 
 When first I woke, as from a dream 
 
 How balmy seemed the air ! 
 Forest and greensward, sky and stream, 
 
 How exquisitely fair ! 
 I loved the spot, the fragile stem, 
 Entrusted to my care, 
 I tended it with loving hand, 
 I watched each infant bud expand, 
 
 Each tender leaf appear, 
 And still, as day by day it grew, 
 I gathered morning s choicest dew, 
 And wooed the freshest breeze that blew 
 
 To scatter perfume here. 
 
 So time passed on, the slender stem 
 
 Became a stately tree, 
 Whose branches, vigorous and green, 
 
 Looked far o er dale and lea ; 
 Yon idle brook that creeps along, 
 Flowed then, a current wide and strong, 
 
 Oft in whose shining face 
 
BACKWOODS. Hi 
 
 The boar s fierce eyes reflected glowed, 
 Or antlered deer his beauty showed, 
 Bent o er the waters as it flowed 
 In still unconscious grace. 
 
 No human voice had e er disturbed 
 
 The calm that reigned around, 
 The shyest birds forgot to fear 
 
 On this untrodden ground ; 
 The squirrel leaped from tree to tree, 
 The fieldmouse ran, the labouring bee 
 Here garnered up his store ; 
 The doves cooed softly to their young, 
 The nightingale her ditty sung, 
 The firefly s gleams all night were flung 
 
 Trees, flowers, and streamlet o er. 
 
 One day, strange sounds were in the wood, 
 
 Strange sounds unheard till now, 
 The tread of horses, joyous tones, 
 
 And laughter, clear and low ; 
 
92 LEAVES FROM THE 
 
 A group emerging from the shade 
 Passed lightly down the open glade, 
 
 And paused beside the stream, 
 While nodding plumes waved in the air, 
 And sunbeams glanced on jewels fair, 
 Or on bright locks of waving hair 
 
 Cast many a golden gleam. 
 
 Brave steeds with goodly trappings gay, 
 
 And men of gallant mien, 
 And dames, whose mettled palfreys moved 
 
 Obedient to the rein ; 
 It was a lovely sight to see, 
 And pleasant were the sounds of glee 
 
 That floated on the air ; 
 They lingered here till dewy eve, 
 And e en departing, seemed to grieve 
 A spot so beautiful to leave, 
 
 Where all things were so fair. 
 
BACKWOODS. 
 
 Silence, again, and loneliness 
 
 Stole o er the shadowy wood, 
 The shy deer s footsteps pressed the sward, 
 
 Where those bright danies had stood. 
 Oh, were the hush unbroken still ! 
 Unknowing then, of pain or ill 
 
 My life had passed away ; 
 Then, racking care, unbidden guest, 
 Had never filled my hapless breast, 
 Unknown had been this sad unrest, 
 
 That mocks me day by day. 
 
 How did the seasons pass ? I know 
 
 Their changes oft went by. 
 I see them like the fleecy clouds 
 
 In morning skies that lie ; 
 A while, before the sun appears 
 To dry the golden may-flower s tears, 
 
 All glorious they shine ; 
 But soon, before his glowing light, 
 They pale and vanish from the sight, 
 Or robed, as erst, in tintless white, 
 
 Lose all their hues divine. 
 
94 LEAVES FROM THE 
 
 Enough they passed, a sudden change 
 
 Came with one budding spring ; 
 A bright, undreamed of, glowing life 
 
 Bathed every senseless thing ; 
 Brightened the sunlight, and more fair 
 Painted each blossom, filled the air 
 
 With many a varying strain ; 
 Woodsongs the quivering leaves that thrill, 
 Chords that the hush of midnight fill, 
 Tones from the falling of the rill, 
 
 The dropping of the rain. 
 
 Those summer days ! those summer nights ! 
 
 Not like the years before ; 
 As long as thought and life remains, 
 
 I ll dream them o er and o er. 
 Too soon, the autumn breeze swept by 
 And darkened all my sunny sky ; 
 
 Too soon, that transient light 
 Passed, like those northern gleams that throw, 
 
 When all the hills are white with snow, 
 O er earth and sky their rainbow glow, 
 
 Yet fade and leave it night. 
 
BACKWOODS. 95 
 
 No more within my narrow bounds, 
 
 As I have dwelt, I dwell ; 
 No change comes o er the dreary life 
 
 That once I loved so well, 
 Awake, sleeper ! for I hear, 
 From yonder covert, sweet and clear, 
 
 The nightingale s first lay ; 
 Go ! and all spirits fair and bright 
 Keep thee in peace by day and night ; 
 As thou dost tell the tale aright, 
 
 Which thou hast heard to-day. 
 
96 LEAVES FROM THE 
 
 A BALLAD. 
 
 " Mother ! open the door, 
 
 The wind blows chilly and bleak ; 
 Mother ! open the door, 
 
 For I m growing faint and weak." 
 Up she rose from the fire, 
 
 Kose up from her lonely watch, 
 Quickly she went to the door, 
 
 And quickly lifted the latch. 
 
 Out she looked on the night, 
 
 The wind blew bitter and shrill, 
 But nothing there could she see, 
 
 And the voice she had heard was still ; 
 Back, with a heavy sigh, 
 
 She went to her fireside seat, 
 But the voice was there once more, 
 
 And the sound of childish feet. 
 
BACKWOODS. 97 
 
 She leaned her over the bed, 
 
 Her lips were parched and blue, 
 The eyes of the dying were open wide 
 
 And she saw that he heard it too. 
 His eyes were open wide 
 
 With a ghastly look of dread, 
 And, when she had watched him a moment s space, 
 
 She turned away from, the dead ! 
 
 She opened the door again 
 
 And looked out through the tempest wild, 
 And she thought she saw, at the forest side, 
 
 The form of a little child. 
 With a cry of anguish and fear, 
 
 She rushed to where it stood, 
 But its garments were gleaming farther on 
 
 In the darkness of the wood. 
 
 Still, she followed it fast, 
 
 And still, it flitted before, 
 Until she thought her weary limbs 
 
 Would bear her on no more ; 
 
98 LEAVES FROM THE 
 
 Still, as the night wore on, 
 
 She followed the flying shade, 
 Till she came to an old stone carvM cross, 
 
 And there knelt down and prayed. 
 
 There, with a breaking heart, 
 
 She prayed to be cleansed within ; 
 That her mind might be freed from its deadly chain. 
 
 And her soul be washed from sin. 
 She prayed till the light was faint 
 
 In the east, when a slumber stole 
 Over her weary senses, 
 
 Soothing her guilty soul. 
 
 The trees were dripping above her, 
 
 The skies were stormy and wild, 
 But she saw nought in her slumber, 
 
 Save the form of a little child. 
 The child stood close beside her, 
 
 And spoke in accents low. 
 Not like the tones of terror. 
 
 That haunted her, hours ago. 
 
BACKWOODS. <! 
 
 " Mother, here in the forest 
 
 You left me to starve and die, 
 And here, where my bones are bleaching, 
 
 Your lifeless corpse must lie ; 
 But now, the gates of Heaven 
 
 May open to let you in, 
 For true and hearty repentance 
 
 Has washed away your sin." 
 
 Up rose the sun in his glory 
 
 And lighted the forest glade, 
 And shone on the old stone cross, 
 
 Where the woman s form was laid ; 
 The grass grew high around her 
 
 Heavy with dew and rain, 
 But she lay wrapped in a slumber 
 
 That never knew waking again. 
 
100 LEAVES FROM THE 
 
 PENELOPE. 
 
 The palace halls were hushed, where late the voice 
 Of boisterous feasting through their columns rung. 
 
 Silence, without, her viewless wing did poise, 
 And Night on high her starry banner hung : 
 Upon the meadow slopes the waves were flung 
 
 With slumberous murmur, as they rose and fell ; 
 And drowsily, from shadowy groves among, 
 
 Came now and then, to mingle with their swell, 
 Faint sounds, that seemed of neighboring flocks and herds to 
 tell. 
 
 One chamber there, with kindly step and slow, 
 
 Sleep entered not through all the lonely night ; 
 But hour by hour, the torch s ruddy glow, 
 
 O er a wife s vigil, shed its dusky light. 
 
 Not yet, by time was bowed her stately height, 
 Nor harshly touched her queenly brow by care, 
 
 Yet wept she for the years of past delight 
 And dreaded sorrows, that she yet must bear, 
 While rose, with tears, to Heaven, her oft repeated prayer. 
 
BACKWOODS. 101 
 
 " Dread King of Ocean ! on thy wild domain 
 
 See st thou my wanderer s bark, too long delayed ? 
 Upon some treacherous rocks doth it remain ? 
 
 Or hath it near some pleasant isle been stayed ? 
 Pity, oh pity thou, my heart s long pain 
 And yield him to his home, in peace again. 
 
 And thou, whom all the worshipped gods above 
 He most has honoured, deign to be his guide ! 
 
 Goddess serene ! restore him to my love, 
 And o er his varying fortunes still preside ; 
 
 Oh, guard him till, his weary wanderings o er, 
 
 Again I greet him on his native shore. 
 
 And, since my years must pass without his care, 
 Who wont to shield me from each breath of ill, 
 
 Let thy benignant spirit hover hear, 
 And keep my heart and life unsullied still ; 
 
 Hard is my task to hold the trust he gave, 
 
 But thou, in each distress, canst guide and save." 
 
102 LEAVES FROM THE 
 
 Her accents ceased, her bowed head drooping low. 
 
 Overmastered by the flood of love and grief; 
 No longer could her thoughts in language flow, 
 
 But heavy tears fell fast, a sad relief ; 
 
 Before her heart s clear vision rose the Chief 
 As when she saw him last in manhood s prime, 
 
 So lifelike for one moment, bright and brief, 
 She smiled, but no ! he trod a distant clime, 
 And she must weep alone, and chide the lingering time. 
 
 THE SIEGE. 
 
 There was of old a maiden citadel, 
 
 And for it two great powers contested long ; 
 Humility besieged so legends tell, 
 
 But Pride still held the inner fortress strong ; 
 Humility had gamed the outer wall, 
 And hung his banners there, but that was all. 
 
BACKWOODS. 103 
 
 But after a long time, a stranger came 
 To the besieger s camp, and promised aid. 
 
 His name was Love, a strategist of fame, 
 And many were the conquests he had made ; 
 
 He travelled in a low and simple guise, 
 
 And Pride might well such power as his despise. 
 
 Love went to work with mining tools, and sought 
 A passage through the living rock below ; 
 
 Day after day, and hour by hour, he wrought 
 With hopeful progress still, albeit slow ; 
 
 At length he found a low, unguarded cave, 
 
 That to the inner fortress entrance gave. 
 
 Then he and that great chief, Humility, 
 
 Together entered by the secret way ; 
 And Pride, who dreamt not of defeat so nigh, 
 
 Fled from his high command in sore dismay ; 
 So peace was made within ; but from that hour 
 Humility and Love held equal power. 
 
104 LEAVES FROM THE 
 
 IMOGEN. 
 
 "Ere I could tell him 
 
 How I would think on him at certain hours 
 Such thoughts, and such." 
 
 CYMBELINE. 
 
 Fall gently, gently, shades of night! 
 
 Rise up, sweet moon, o er hill and dale, 
 And shed from yonder tree-crowned height 
 
 Your silver radiance, pure and pale. 
 
 Blow on, soft breeze, and bear away 
 The idle words that pain my ear ; 
 
 The jarring voices of the day, 
 A little while, I need not hear. 
 
 Now all is still the fresh, calm air 
 Brings me the fragrant souls of flowers ; 
 
 Ah ! would, my love, that it could bear, 
 At least, a messenger from ours. 
 
BACKWOODS. 105 
 
 Vain fancy ! yet I need but sleep 
 
 And straight behold thee in my dream, 
 Pictured on memory s mirror deep, 
 
 Clear as the heavens on Severn s stream. 
 
 For when cold Reason yields her reign, 
 And outward sense lies dead and still, 
 
 Love opes the portals of the brain, 
 And ushers in the guest he will. 
 
 Good night, dear love, thou too mayst hail 
 The breathing of these zephyrs light ; 
 
 Oh, fly to greet him, gentle gale, 
 And whisper low. Good night good night ! 
 
106 LEAVES FROM THE 
 
 WOMEN S RIGHTS. 
 
 You cannot rob us of the rights we cherish, 
 
 Nor turn our thoughts away 
 From the bright picture of a "Woman s Mission " 
 
 Our hearts pourtray. 
 
 We claim to dwell, in quiet and seclusion, 
 
 Beneath the household roof, 
 From the great world s harsh strife, and jarring voices, 
 
 To stand aloof ; 
 
 Not in a dreamy and inane abstraction 
 
 To sleep our life away, 
 But, gathering up the brightness of home sunshine, 
 
 To deck our way. 
 
 As humble plants by country hedgerows growing, 
 
 That treasure up the rain, 
 And yield in odours, ere the day s declining, 
 
 The gift again ; 
 
 So let us, unobtrusive and unnoticed, 
 
 But happy none the less, 
 Be privileged to fill the air around us 
 
 With happiness ; 
 
BACKWOODS. 107 
 
 To live, unknown beyond the cherished circle 
 
 Which we can bless and aid ; 
 To die, and not a heart that does not love us 
 
 Know where we re laid. 
 
 A WAR SONG. 
 
 Loud peals the trumpet through the land, o er city and o er 
 
 plain, 
 
 And wakes each echo of the hills again, and yet again ! 
 A thousand dauntless hearts arise, a thousand voices blend 
 From far and near with one accord, a glad response to send. 
 
 4< We come, as erst our fathers came, and He whose mighty 
 
 power 
 
 Was with them, shall protect our arms in battle s fearful hour ; 
 The stainless honour they bequeathed unsullied shall remain, 
 And in His might, the cause of Right our good swords shall 
 
 maintain." 
 
 Arise ! Lord of Hosts, arise ! our strength and helper be ; 
 Go forth before our armies and give them victory ; 
 So shall they to their native land return with glory crowned, 
 And through old England s borders fair Thy praises shall 
 resound. 
 
108 LEAVES FROM THE 
 
 Alas ! a darker shadow falls upon our spirits now ; 
 Grief swells in many a heart to-day and sits on many a brow ; 
 The mother, by her lonely hearth, prays for her children dear, 
 The maiden weeps within her bower in anguish and in fear. 
 
 Of all the loving and the loved who part from us to-day, 
 We know that some are marked for Death, his earliest noblest 
 
 prey; 
 
 But who can read the fatal sign ? what quick perception trace 
 The growing shadow of the tomb on some familiar face ? 
 
 Away with such desponding thoughts ! our parting words 
 
 should be 
 Such as may echo through their hearts when flushed with 
 
 victory, 
 
 Such as, if memory brings them back in peril or in pain 
 Gleams from the sacred light of home, their power may still 
 
 retain. 
 
BACKWOODS. 109 
 
 ALMA. 
 
 There comes a murmur o er the sea of mingled joy and woe, 
 From where, Alma ! stained with blood, thy rapid waters 
 
 flow ; 
 The shout of triumph blends with sobs of anguish, stern and 
 
 deep, 
 Yet love and pride have mighty power to comfort those who 
 
 weep. 
 
 And we, who, wand ring far from home, in distant lands abide, 
 Forget not those who on thy banks have nobly fought and died ; 
 The hope and flower of each fair land together, foes no more, 
 Brothers in death lie side by side, upon thy fated shore. 
 
 The laurels, planted hi our hearts and watered by our tears, 
 Shall live to mark their honoured graves through many 
 
 passing years ; 
 
 And though the land in darkness lie their resting place around, 
 Yet, where they sleep the brave and free is consecrated 
 
 ground. 
 
110 LEAVES FROM THE 
 
 Rejoice, England ! mid thy tears, rejoice to hear it told 
 How well thy sons maintained the fame their fathers won of old ; 
 To show the world that Peace may shed her blessings o er 
 
 the land, 
 Nor weaken one courageous heart, nor rear one feeble hand. 
 
 And thou, fair France ! e en by the bier where sleeps thy 
 
 gallant chief, 
 
 Let joy and exultation find a place amid thy grief; 
 Nobly he fills a soldier s grave, although not in the strife, 
 But worn by sickness long endured, he yielded up his life. 
 
 Oh, may the memory of the hearts grown cold by Alma s 
 
 shore, 
 
 Draw closer yet the bands of love between us evermore ; 
 England and France, together joined, resistless in the fight, 
 May conquer still for those oppressed, may still defend the 
 
 right. 
 
BACKWOODS. Ill 
 
 LINES TO A FRIEND. 
 
 MARCH, 1859. 
 
 I would have had you sec to-day, my friend, 
 
 How beauteously our Canada can vie 
 
 With our still dearer England, in the charm 
 
 Of sky and lake and river. Here no fields, 
 
 Here, in this western wilderness afar, 
 
 With soft rich verdure, rest the grateful eye, 
 
 But, on a day like this, we think no more 
 
 Of what would please us, but of what does please. 
 
 The sky was cloudless ; of that loveliest blue 
 Not dark, but like the bright forget-me-not, 
 That jewel of the hedgerows with a clear, 
 Soft, pure transparence, the best gift of spring. 
 And then our river ! oft, I love to watch 
 Its dancing, rippling waters, and to-day 
 They had an added dower of loveliness. 
 All over its bright surface, deeply blue, 
 Glittered and sparkled with a thousand rays, 
 Gems, coronals, and chains of broken ice. 
 
112 LEAVES FROM THE 
 
 I could have dreamt, the genii of the lamp 
 Had heaped the waters with the costly freight 
 Of jewels, for Aladdin s matchless pile. 
 Long stood I on the shore, and could not tear 
 My feasted eyes from such a lovely scene, 
 Till the clear waters gan be tinged with gold, 
 And, slowly, slowly, westward sank the sun. 
 
 Then what a glory crested every wave ! 
 
 And every gem, that shone and gleamed before, 
 
 Shot forth a million sparks of coloured flame, 
 
 Crimson and green and blue. Beyond, the pines, 
 
 Far off, against th horizon, let the light 
 
 Break through them in long, level rays, and showed 
 
 Like a dark network on the glowing sky. 
 
 High in the heavens some clouds I know not whence 
 
 They came, for just before there was not one 
 
 Majestically floated, robed in hues 
 
 Of matchless beauty. Those that highest lay 
 
 Were tinted with that pure and delicate green 
 
 You ve seen on pearl-like sea shells, with an edge 
 
 Of softly shaded rose. A lower tier, 
 
BACKWOODS. 118 
 
 In rich resplendent gold and purple, shone, 
 And all above, around, below, the hue 
 Of the clear ether gradually changed 
 From loveliest azure, to the deepest tints 
 Of glowing crimson. 
 
 Ah ! but what avail 
 
 My feeble words to tell what never yet 
 The highest genius called to perfect life 
 Upon his canvas ? Yet tis not in vain 
 That I have tried to reproduce for thee 
 The scene I loved to look on not in vain. 
 For writing thus, I, in my thought, have heard 
 Again the voice that spoke from stream and sky 
 Silently eloquent, and said, " Behold 
 The glory of God s footstool ! What must be 
 The brightness of His throne ? To Him then raise 
 Thy wonder and thy worship evermore." 
 
 ii 
 
114 LEAVES PROM THE 
 
 THE BALLAD SINGER. 
 
 It was a street, where still, from morn till eve, 
 Flowed on the living tide with ceaseless swell ; 
 A thousand different faces passed it by, 
 A thousand different footsteps trod its stones, 
 But, ever as they came, they seemed to bear 
 On wrinkled brows and in their restless eyes, 
 The seal that stamps the votaries of wealth. 
 
 So passed they daily it had been as strange 
 To see, amid that dry and trodden way, 
 A rose tree in luxuriant wealth of bloom, 
 As there to meet a face, untouched by care. 
 One day, the busiest passers caught a sound 
 Unwonted there" What is it ? " " Oh ! pass on," 
 Tis but a ballad singer." Yet that voice 
 Clearly harmonious, heard above the din, 
 As though those silver notes were all too pure 
 To mix with baser sounds, had some strange charm, 
 And stayed some hasty steps Twas thus she sung : 
 
BACKWOODS. 115 
 
 I am blind, and the light is gone, 
 
 Forever, is gone from me, 
 I dwell in the city alone, 
 I wander its pathways of stone, 
 
 Yet ever I seem to see 
 
 A beautiful home, w r here the sun shines bright, 
 All rich in the beauty of verdure and light. 
 
 There s a tree by the garden gate 
 
 "Where the birds sing all day long, 
 And a seat, where they often wait 
 When the tranquil eve grows late 
 
 For the nightingale s lovelier song, 
 And beyond, a meadow slopes gently away, 
 Where they hear the laugh of the children at play. 
 
 There peeps from the windows bright 
 
 A spirit of heartfelt joy, 
 And winter and summer, and day and night, 
 It blesses the household with calm delight, 
 
 And pleasures that never cloy ; 
 Tis the pure home love that hallows the spot, 
 And sheds its light o er that peaceful cot. 
 
116 LEAVES FROM THE 
 
 THE ISLANDER S SONG OF HOME. 
 
 Oh, give me back my home ! 
 
 Brightly may shine 
 The land to which we roam 
 
 It is not mine. 
 
 Give me the hills again ! 
 
 The glorious hills, 
 Whose fragrant breath the soul 
 
 With rapture fills. 
 
 Give me the sounding sea ! 
 
 Its hollow roar, 
 Dear beyond words to me, 
 
 Give me once more. 
 
 I wake amid the night, 
 
 All is so still ; 
 Oh ! could its murmured voice 
 
 The silence fill! 
 
 Or dreaming, I behold 
 The tall ships glide, 
 
 With white and tapering masts, 
 O er the blue tide. 
 
BACKWOODS. 117 
 
 These are the sights I see 
 
 Where er I roam ; 
 Nought has such charms for me 
 
 Give me my home ! 
 
 CLARISSA HARLOWE. 
 
 A SMALL PICTURE, BY LANDSEEE, IN THE VEENON COLLECTION. 
 
 Last seen in old England s sunlight, how well I recall it still, 
 With the sense of a present pleasure, responding to memory s 
 
 thrill; 
 
 Yet, tis but a simple picture, a sordid and squalid room, 
 Enclosing a single jewel, a girl in her girlhood s bloom ; 
 
 Not in the pride of beauty, decked with joy s radiance fair, 
 But worn by a thousand terrors, bending in humble prayer ; 
 The flaring light by the chimney, the bed that no form has prest, 
 Tell of her lonely watching, through the long hours of rest. 
 
118 LEAVES FROM THE 
 
 Perhaps, in the dark, dark midnight, there came but the voice 
 
 of fear, 
 
 Whispering of deadly peril, none but betrayers near : 
 How the chill hours crept o er her, helpless, deceived, alone, 
 None but her own heart witnessed, none but herself have known. 
 
 None ? Ere the first pale sunbeam shone through the dusty 
 
 pane, 
 
 Faith, with returning brightness, rose in her soul again ; 
 Deep is the calm that follows when the loud storm is past 
 After the night of anguish, Hope s daystar smiles at last. 
 
 Over the golden tresses, loosed from their shining bands, 
 Over the kneeling figure, over the clasping hands, 
 Over the sweet face downcast, over the patient brow, 
 Day s earliest light and purest pours through the casement 
 now. 
 
 Thus, after years of absence, vivid, and pure and bright, 
 She, in some hour of dreaming, rises before my sight ; 
 Thus Art, with magic pencil, sketching a vision fair, 
 Preaches of faith and patience, faith that can quell despair. 
 
BACKWOODS. lit* 
 
 THE RENEGADE. 
 
 " He has thrown by his helmet and cross-handled sword, 
 
 Renouncing his knighthood, denying his lord." 
 
 SCOTT. 
 
 Ye bid me to the worship of my fathers to return ; 
 Ye bid me from my side each sign of Moslem power to spurn ; 
 But even should I kneel no more before each gorgeous shrine, 
 The faith, the trust of childhood, can never more be mine. 
 
 Can ye give me back th untainted heart, the spirit free from 
 
 guile ? 
 
 The sleep that fell so gently, that parted with a smile ? 
 No ! sooner could the grave give up the friends, whose holy 
 
 tears 
 Might wash, from my polluted soul, th apostacy of years. 
 
 Once, I could kneel in simple faith, and breathe a heartfelt 
 
 prayer ; 
 But now, my heart is steeled and cold, nought holy dwelleth 
 
 there ; 
 
 I may look back with longing gaze, but never may retrace 
 The fatal steps that part from me each Christian name and 
 
 race. 
 
120 LEAVES FROM THE 
 
 Torment me, then, no longer, for fain would I forget 
 
 The broken links, whose traces have power to pain me yet ; 
 
 For me the wine-cup and the sword ! for me war s crimson 
 
 state ! 
 To offer other joys than these, thou com st too late, too late ! 
 
 THE PRINCE S WELCOME. 
 
 Swift as the lightning s vivid flash 
 
 The welcome tidings come, 
 Forging another link to bind 
 
 Ours to our fathers home. 
 
 Far spreading o er our Western World, 
 
 O er forest, lake, and hill, 
 " The Prince ! at length the Prince is come ! 
 
 Thus runs the message still. 
 
 From those far-stretching wave-worn coasts, 
 
 Where ocean billows roar, 
 To where St. Lawrence gathered floods 
 
 Their mighty torrents pour ; 
 
 Where, o er the bright encircling wave, 
 Quebec s proud fortress stands, 
 
 And twines with mem ries of the past 
 The present s glowing strands ; 
 
BACKWOODS. 121 
 
 Where Commerce marks her favoured isle, 
 And where, from side to side, 
 
 Marvel of man s creative skill, 
 The bridge o erspans the tide ; 
 
 Thence, by Ontario s broad expanse, 
 
 The magic signal flies ; 
 And, with a welcome deep and true, 
 
 The nation s heart replies. 
 
 The new-born cities of the West 
 
 Are stirred with joyful haste, 
 For o er the forest and the plain 
 
 The joyful news has passed; 
 
 To this far realm, where Huron s flood, 
 
 Still bears the bark canoe, 
 And still the hardy settler toils 
 
 Primeval forests through. 
 
 Hark ! where it comes the waiting crowds 
 Break forth with glad acclaim, 
 
 That blends with his, the empire s hope, 
 His mother s honoured name. 
 
122 LEAVES FROM THE 
 
 u For Her dear sake, to whom each heart 
 
 In loyal faith bows down ; 
 For Her, who wears her people s love, 
 
 Best jewel of her crown ; 
 
 For Her, our pride of womanhood, 
 
 A thousand hearts as one, 
 In this Her western empire, bid 
 
 Glad welcome to Her son ! " 
 
 THE BRACELET. 
 
 Before a straw-thatched cottage, 
 
 Upon the white sea shore, 
 A woman with her busy wheel 
 
 Sat spinning by the door ; 
 The sun went down upon the sea, 
 
 And shone with ruddy glow, 
 While the woman, to her humming wheel, 
 Sang dreamily and low : 
 
 " Oh, thus the busy world goes round, 
 
 Or joy or sorrow bringing ; 
 And those it raises up to-day, 
 To-morrow, downward flinging." 
 
BACKWOODS. 121 
 
 All day the waves had murmured low 
 
 Scarce stirred by summer breeze, 
 And now the tide came rolling up 
 
 The wealth of distant seas ; 
 It brought, upon its gathering foam, 
 
 Some waif that gem-like shone, 
 The woman heeded not, but still 
 Went softly singing on : 
 
 Oh, thus the busy world goes round, 
 
 Or joy or sorrow bringing ; 
 And those it raises up to-day, 
 To-morrow, downward flinging. 
 
 But now, a level line of light 
 
 Shone broadly o er the land, 
 And struck a thousand sparkles out 
 
 From something on the sand ; 
 A jewelled clasp, a slender band, 
 
 That might have decked, erewhile, 
 A lovely lady s arm, and gleamed 
 Less lovely than her smile : 
 
 But thus the busy world goes round, 
 
 Or joy or sorrow bringing ; 
 And those it raises up to-day, 
 To-morrow, downward flinging. 
 
124 LEAVES FROM THE 
 
 The woman checked her busy wheel, 
 
 And ceased her murmured song, 
 To glance a moment out to sea, 
 
 The rolling waves along, 
 Until the jewel caught her eye ; 
 She raised it from the ground, 
 And softly rose her song again 
 Above the treasure found : 
 
 Oh, thus the busy world goes round, 
 
 Or joy or sorrow bringing ; 
 And those it raises up to-day, 
 To-morrow, downward flinging. 
 
 ON SOME VIOLETS. 
 
 RECEIVED FROM ENGLAND, MARCH 1855. 
 
 The sunny hours of summer 
 
 More brilliant flowers may bring, 
 
 Their many coloured blossoms 
 O er all the land may spring ; 
 
 The pure and stately lily, 
 
 The bright imperial rose, 
 May bloom, yet pass unheeded by, 
 
 Ere winter s storm-wind blows ; 
 
BACKWOODS. 1 2.) 
 
 But ye, fair faded flowers, 
 
 Your day of beauty o er, 
 Shall still be prized and cherished 
 
 As dearly as before. 
 
 A thousand pleasant memories, 
 
 A thousand thoughts of home, 
 From hidden corners of the heart, 
 
 At your sweet summons come ; 
 
 And, mid smiles and tears fast rising, 
 
 We speak of days long past, . 
 The season when we gathered 
 
 Old England s spring-flowers last. 
 
 The maiden snowdrop, guarded 
 
 By spear-like leaves around, 
 The starlike, golden crocus, 
 
 That glitters on the ground ; 
 
 We loved them well, and prized them, 
 
 The first-born of the year, 
 But the early perfumed violets 
 
 We ever held most dear ; 
 
126 LEAVES FROM THE 
 
 Nestling in sheltered places, 
 
 When the snow-wreaths melt away, 
 
 With dewy smiles receiving 
 The warm sun s welcome ray. 
 
 Bright Hope and sunny Pleasure, 
 Lurked in each tiny flower, 
 
 And still these withered blossoms 
 Retain their heartfelt power. 
 
 They tell of kind remembrance, 
 Of love, unchanged and true, 
 
 Of friendship, dearer to our hearts, 
 Than rarest scent or hue. 
 
BACKWOODS. 127 
 
 EVENING. 
 
 Hushed is the thunder, 
 
 The storm has passed by, 
 Floats not a raincloud 
 
 Across the clear sky ; 
 In the west lingers 
 
 The glory of day, 
 Gleams on the mountains 
 
 Its last golden ray. 
 
 In the dark forest 
 
 The breeze is at rest, 
 Not a wave ruffles 
 
 The lake s silver breast ; 
 Gently the flowers 
 
 Have sunk to repose, 
 Softly among them 
 
 The rivulet flows. 
 
 One fair star beaming 
 
 In radiance above, 
 Sheds o er their slumbers 
 
 The pure light of love ; 
 
128 LEAVES FROM THE 
 
 Calm, serene, tender, 
 The aspect she wears, 
 
 Her smile celestial, 
 Shining through tears. 
 
 All the wide landscape 
 
 Lies silent and still, 
 No sound in the valley, 
 
 No voice on the hill ; 
 Slowly the bright tints 
 
 Fade from the sky ; 
 Risen in splendour 
 
 The moon floats on high. 
 
 Night in her beauty 
 
 Descends on the land ; 
 Dewdrops are scattered 
 
 Like pearls from her hand ; 
 O er bird, tree, and flower 
 
 Her pure gifts she throws ; 
 To man, worn and weary ; 
 
 She giveth repose. 
 
BACKWOODS. l J . 
 
 THE OLD WIFE. 
 
 Yes, she is old she must be old, 
 
 For I remember long ago 
 Her tresses gleamed like living gold, 
 
 That now are white as drifted snow, 
 And the pure oval of her face, 
 
 The fair round cheek and sunny brow, 
 The pliant form s unrivalled grace 
 
 Have lost their early freshness now. 
 
 Old yet believe it as you will, 
 
 The tender beauty fair and bright, 
 That stirs me in remembrance now, 
 
 As when I first beheld its light, 
 Was not, nor could be, half so dear, 
 
 As are the looks I meet to-day, 
 Where Time has given with every year, 
 
 More charms than e er he stole away. 
 
 For in her face I love to read 
 
 The records of her faithful love, 
 My solace in each hour of need, 
 
 My anchor that no storm could move ; 
 For me each day of care she bore, 
 
 For me and mine the tears she shed ; 
 Remembering all, I can but pour 
 
 A thousand blessings on her head. 
 i 
 
130 LEAVES FROM THE 
 
 SONG. 
 
 BESPECTFTTLLY DEDICATED TO THE 
 
 "WOMEN S RIGHTS" CONVENTION, 
 
 Our husbands they may scold or snore, 
 
 Or bake, or fry, or stew ; 
 While we this man-spoiled world restore, 
 
 And make it good as new. 
 
 ******* 
 No husband s mission own we now, 
 
 To bully or to bore ; 
 " Obedience " of the marriage vow, 
 
 Shall form a part no more. 
 
 PUNCH. 
 
 Maid of France ! whose aimed hand 
 Saved of old thy native land ; 
 Lady ! on thy castle wall 
 Aiding, cheering, leading all ; 
 Ye, and hundred names beside 
 Shining through war s crimson tide, 
 Show that we can rule the fight, 
 Show, command is Woman s Eight! 
 
BACKWOODS. 131 
 
 Wit, her female votaries claims, 
 Learning guards their honoured names ; 
 Art and Poetry have found 
 Women to their service bound ; 
 History s voice aloud declares 
 Choicest gifts were ever theirs ; 
 Why should we then wear the chain ? 
 Let us have our Rights again ! 
 
 Home affections ! peaceful hours ! 
 Fireside joys, that once were ours ; 
 Vain delusions ! meant to keep 
 Women s souls from loftier sweep, 
 We have cast you all away. 
 Husbands, children, what are they ? 
 Ours no more each household task, 
 Injured Women s Rights we ask ! 
 
132 LEAVES FKOM THE 
 
 A PEEP AT THE FAIRIES. 
 
 Come out, come out of the stifling rooms, 
 
 Come out in the summer air ; 
 The cool night winds blow over the fields, 
 The fragrant sweetbriar its perfume yields, 
 
 And the skies are bright and fair. 
 
 And see, oh see, o er the smooth mown grass 
 The flickering lights that play ; 
 
 Are they the firefly s lamps that gleam ? 
 
 No ! by the brightness of every beam, 
 The fairies keep holiday. 
 
 Now, for the roof of their festal hall, 
 
 A sweetbriar spray is bent ; 
 And for curtains of tissue, silvery white, 
 Studded with wonderful pearls of light, 
 
 A spider his web has lent. 
 
 Yonder, two elves with all their might 
 
 Come dragging a mighty stone ; 
 A pure white pebble, smooth and fair 
 Now they have placed it, with heed and care, 
 Tis surely meant for a throne ! 
 
BACKWOODS. 1 : ,:; 
 
 What will they do for a canopy ? 
 
 Ingenious elves are they 
 See ! they have hung a roseleaf sweet 
 Floating over the royal seat, 
 
 Under the sweetbriar spray. 
 
 A large, smooth leaf from a laurel bough 
 
 Some friendly wind has rent, 
 This shall their festal table be 
 Loaded with spoils of flower and bee, 
 
 Laid neath the cobweb tent. 
 
 Hark ! I hear from the thicket side 
 
 The sound of a fairy horn, 
 Soft, as the dewdrops on the grass, 
 The trickling rills of music pass, 
 
 On flitting breezes borne. 
 
 And now they come, in martial state 
 
 Surrounding their tiny Queen : 
 Gentles and Dames, a courtly train 
 And, marching in time to the minstrel strain, 
 
 Come archers in garb of green. 
 
134 LEAVES FROM THE 
 
 All lit by the fairy torchlight s gleam 
 
 They wind o er the dewy sod ; 
 And the green blades spring from the pressure light, 
 And the uncrushed daisies glimmer white, 
 
 Where an instant past they trod. 
 
 No more must we gaze, some hurtful spell 
 
 Still follows the curious eye ; 
 And evil befalls the luckless wight, 
 Who dares in the starry summer night 
 
 Intrude on their revelry. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Written for the Air entitled " Mary Astore ." 
 
 Not when the summer days 
 
 Glide softly by ; 
 Not when the lark s sweet lays 
 
 Float from the sky ; 
 Not when bird, flower, and bee 
 Fill earth with melody, 
 Let one sad thought of me 
 
 Waken thy sigh. 
 
BACKWOODS. 135 
 
 And when the winter fire 
 
 Sheds its clear light ; 
 Just ere the year expire 
 
 That rose so bright ; 
 When laughter s silver sound 
 And the glad song goes round 
 Be no dark memory found 
 
 Haunting the night. 
 
 But when the silent hour 
 
 Of man s deep rest, 
 Bids memory s sleepless power 
 
 Reign in thy breast, 
 Then, let the thought of me 
 Float through the air to thee, 
 And in thy visions be 
 
 A welcome guest, 
 
136 LEAVES FROM THE 
 
 ITALY. 
 
 Phoenix of Nations ! from the smould ring heap 
 Of ashes, whence thou spread st thy radiant wing, 
 How have we watched and joyed to see thee spring 
 
 In vigorous life, as one refreshed by sleep ! 
 
 Now, smiles illume the eyes, that wont to weep, 
 And blessings, from afar, are o er thee shed, 
 While Freedom s children greet thy crowned head. 
 
 We, from her island seat, amid the deep, 
 
 We, who have sorrowed for thy hour of pain, 
 
 Now bid thee, on thy brightening way, " God speed !" 
 May He, whose Spirit can alone make free, 
 
 Whose word hath called thee into life again, 
 
 Preserve thee evermore in every need, 
 
 And twine the olive wreath of peace for thee* 
 
BACKWOODS. 137 
 
 GENIUS. 
 
 Envy not, thought of mine, those whose rich dower 
 Is genius, heaven s most dazzling gift to men ; 
 Admire, but envy not ; for oh ! to them, 
 Great is the peril wedded to the power. 
 Blest, trebly blest, if in each dangerous hour 
 
 Religion guides them with her ray divine ; 
 
 Then, on their kind, like Spring s sweet days they shine 
 With vivifying gifts of sun and shower ; 
 But awful is the might, and dread the doom, 
 
 Of genius unennobled and unblest, 
 
 Whose gleam is but the lightning s baleful ray, 
 Flashing with fatal splendour through the gloom, 
 Death-fraught and dying : let me rather rest 
 
 Where on my sheltered path may beam the day. 
 
138 LEAVES FROM THE 
 
 THE MEADOW. 
 
 And must this parting be our very last ? 
 
 No ! I shall love thee still, when death itself is past ! 
 
 CAMPBELL. 
 
 The summer sun shone bright and clear upon the champaign 
 
 fair, 
 
 And incense of a thousand flowers perfumed the golden air ; 
 The clover blooms bent down their heads beneath the laboring 
 
 bee, 
 And mother-birds, on tiny nests, peeped forth from bush and 
 
 tree. 
 
 The meadow land sloped gently down around the shining pool ; 
 Tall were the rushes on its bank, its waters deep and cool ; 
 There the gay foxglove reared her head in queenly pomp and 
 
 pride, 
 And sheltered, with her friendly leaves, the violets by her side. 
 
 Gems from Aurora s tresses flung, the diamond sparks of dew 
 Still glittered where the hedgerow trees their partial shadows 
 
 threw ; 
 
 Beyond, the wood anemones their slender stems upbore, 
 And golden cowslips on the turf outspread their fragant store. 
 
BACKWOODS. 139 
 
 Along the path a wanderer came with weary steps and slow, 
 
 But, as she paused and looked around, her dim eyes seemed 
 to glow, 
 
 And once she bent to pluck the flowers that bloomed about her 
 feet, 
 
 Then, with a sudden pang, drew back, nor touched the blos 
 soms sweet. 
 
 44 No, not for me !" she inly sighed, " not for such hands as mine, 
 Ye lovely meadow flowers, it is your gentle charms to twine : 
 Ye are for childhood s happy hours, that know no touch of 
 
 care, 
 And innocent and loving hearts beat lightly where ye are. 
 
 " Why should a moment s sudden thought, a flash of memory, 
 bring 
 
 At once before my heart and eyes my childhood s vanished 
 . spring? 
 
 Mcthought the flowers I gathered here, yes here, were bloom 
 ing still, 
 
 And I could hear the busy hum of yon long silent mill. 
 
140 LEAVES FROM THE 
 
 " How sweet ! how bitter ! could it be that I might feel again 
 The child-heart beating in my breast, the child s pure life 
 
 regain ? 
 No ! the sharp anguish of the thought that forced my touch 
 
 away 
 From those pure flowers would still be near to haunt me night 
 
 and day. 
 
 " I go, I go. Between the days that I but now recall 
 And this dark present which infolds my spirit in its thrall, 
 These hands themselves have dug a gulf across whose depths 
 
 untold 
 Too well I know I may not pass to breathe the peace of old. 
 
 Farewell, sweet blossoms ! There are hours when e en such 
 
 hearts as mine 
 
 Are purified by holy sleep, and bathed in visions fine ; 
 Then in my dreams I ll wander here, and then no thought 
 
 shall stay, 
 But I will pluck your tender forms, and bear your charms 
 
 away." 
 
 Above the flowery greensward she bent with tender grace, 
 As when a mother bends to kiss her child s fair sleeping face 
 A mute caress without a touch then through the summer day 
 Went like a shadow dark and sad, and slowly passed away. 
 
BACKWOODS. 141 
 
 RETROSPECTION. 
 
 Tis not well to forget it is good to recall 
 
 As we bask in the sunshine, the storms that have been, 
 When the joy of the present shines bright over all, 
 
 To remember a moment the darkness we ve seen ; 
 For there was not a day when some light did not break 
 
 Like an angel from heaven thro the tempest s dark shroud, 
 And Hope with fresh smiles from her slumber awake, 
 
 As the fair bow of promise shone bright on the cloud. 
 Tis not well to forget, in the night of the soul 
 
 Tis well that our visions should be of the past ; 
 Thus assured that the shadows asunder will roll, 
 
 And leave us a morning as bright as the last ; 
 For the Hand that has guided, is guiding us still ; 
 
 By the way that He led us, He leadeth us yet, 
 And sorrow s dark terrors, or pleasure s keen thrill, 
 
 May whisper alike " Tis not well to forget." 
 
142 LEAVES FKOM THE 
 
 ECHO SONG. 
 
 Ye Echoes of this lovely lake, 
 
 Oh tell me if, returning never, 
 I shall again your answers wake ; 
 Say must my absence be forever ? 
 Echo : Forever ! 
 
 Ye trees, that here in beauty grow 
 And look o er vale and field and river, 
 
 Ye see me grieve that I must go ; 
 But tell me will it be forever ? 
 Echo : Forever ! 
 
 Here dwell the early friends of youth, 
 
 From whom no change my heart can sever ; 
 
 Oh tell me, will they keep their truth, 
 And do I leave them now forever ? 
 Echo : Forever ! 
 
 Then lovely scene, a long farewell ! 
 
 Again I tread thy margin never, 
 Too well my fate thine echoes tell, 
 
 But I ll remember thee forever. 
 
 Echo : Forever. 
 
BACKWOODS, 143 
 
 A SUMMER NIGHT. 
 
 Oh, how welcome breathes the strain ! 
 
 Wakening thoughts that long have slept, 
 Lighting former smiles again 
 
 In faded eyes that long have wept. 
 
 MOOBE. 
 
 She sat by her chamber window, 
 
 The night was calm and fair, 
 And sweet perfumes from the garden 
 
 Were borne on the quiet air. 
 
 Weeping, ceaselessly weeping, 
 
 As the silent hours went by, 
 Till her dim eyes saw no longer 
 
 One star in the tranquil sky. 
 
 There came through night s breathless stillness 
 
 A chime from the old church tower ; 
 She never heard it, nor heeded 
 
 The lapse of the midnight hour. 
 
144 LEAVES FROM THE 
 
 Till softly, softly, and distant, 
 A faint sound stole to her ear ; 
 
 But she sighed, " It was only the whisper 
 Of a breeze that wandered near !" 
 
 She sighed, " It was but the night-wind," 
 Yet still she waited to hear, 
 
 And again the sweet sound floated 
 More sweet to her list ning ear. 
 
 Nearer and nearer coming, 
 Yet still like some fairy strain, 
 
 Now in the distance dying, 
 Now breathing to life again. 
 
 Nearer, and ever nearer, 
 
 The sweet sounds come and go, 
 
 Till she heard the wheels of a carriage 
 Roll over the road below. 
 
 Until, in the bright clear starlight, 
 
 She saw it pass her by, 
 And the horn still softly breathing 
 
 Its strain to the midnight sky. 
 
BACKWOODS. 145 
 
 But the tender spell of the music, 
 The strain she had loved to hear 
 
 In the distant home of her childhood, 
 Had scattered her musings drear ; 
 
 For it seemed, in the land of strangers, 
 The voice of a cherished friend, 
 
 And brighter thoughts of the future 
 Began with its notes to blend ; 
 
 And a whisper, soft as the falling 
 Of roseleaves in summer s prime, 
 
 That told her of One great presence 
 Unaltered by space or time. 
 
 The window was closed, but already- 
 One upward glance she had given, 
 
 And seen that the same sweet message 
 Shone down from the stars of heaven. 
 
146 LEAVES FEOM THE 
 
 ENGLAND. 
 
 Oh ma patrie. 
 La plus cherie, 
 Qui a nourri ma jeune enfance ! 
 
 MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS. 
 
 I cannot close my cherished task, 
 
 Or turn to other thoughts away ; 
 Fond memory will not cease to ask 
 
 For thee one earnest, heartfelt lay. 
 Oh, for a tongue of poet-fire 
 
 To sing thee, as thou shouldst be sung ! 
 Then, ere its grateful notes expire, 
 
 About thine altars should be flung 
 One wreath of melody divine, 
 
 Fit offering for a hallowed shrine. 
 
 But thou, whose smile serenely bright 
 
 Blent with the sunrise of my days, 
 Wilt not disdain the tribute slight 
 
 That I can render to thy praise. 
 A child amid thy fair domain 
 
 I learned the story of thy past, 
 While, at each page, the patriot chain 
 
 Its golden fetters o er me cast ; 
 Strong, as the life with which they twine, 
 These fetters made, and keep me, thine ! 
 
BACKWOODS. 147 
 
 It is not that I cannot see 
 
 In other lands the brave and good, 
 Nor that I hold all right to be 
 
 Engirt by thy surrounding flood ; 
 Let other lands be great and fair, 
 
 And other skies more clear than thine, 
 Yet, not for all of rich or rare, 
 
 Would I exchange the rays that shine 
 Bright with the favouring smile of God 
 
 Upon thy throne, thy church, thy sod. 
 
 Heart cherished home ! no length of years 
 
 Divorces that sweet name from thee ; 
 One changeless love my bosom bears, 
 
 Star of the Ocean ! tis for thee. 
 Till Fate my destined thread has spun, 
 
 Till hopes and fears for me are o er, 
 Till Life s last trickling sand has run, 
 
 Although I tread thy fields no more, 
 While from afar I see thee shine, 
 
 My heart s devotion shall be thine ! 
 
PART III. 
 
 To Thee I consecrate my lays, 
 To whom my powers belong ; 
 These gifts upon Thine altar strown, 
 O God, accept accept Thine own. 
 
 MONTGOMERY. 
 
" ABIDE WITH US." 
 
 Abide with us the hours of day are waning, 
 And gloomy skies proclaim th approach of night ; 
 Leave us not yet, but, with us still abiding, 
 Cheer us until the morning s welcome light. 
 
 Abide with us before Thy gentle teaching 
 The crowd of grief that wrapped our spirits fly, 
 And to our inmost souls thine influence reaching 
 Lays all our unbelief and terror by. 
 
 Abide with us oh ! when our hearts were failing, 
 How did Thy words revive our dying faith, 
 The hidden prophecies of old unveiling, 
 Showing the mysteries of Messiah s death. 
 
 Abide with us so prayed they, though unknowing 
 Him who had cheered them with His words divine ; 
 So, Lord, with us abide, Thy peace bestowing 
 Till every heart become thy living shrine. 
 
152 LEAVES FROM THE 
 
 THE DAY DAWN. 
 
 As when the heavy shades of night 
 
 Begin to yield before the dawn, 
 And first a grey and misty light 
 
 Creeps slowly over grove and lawn, 
 Until above the purpled hills 
 
 Long level rays their glory pour, 
 And light the whole wide circle fills, 
 
 And life, where all seemed dead before, 
 
 So slowly bright ning o er the soul 
 
 Until the shadows flee away, 
 While night s dark clouds asunder roll 
 
 And fade amid the perfect day, 
 i Dost Thou, Sun and Light Divine, 
 
 In growing splendour clearly rise, 
 And bid the heavenly landscape shine 
 
 Refulgent on our wondering eyes. 
 
BACKWOODS. 153 
 
 EVER WITH THEE. 
 
 No more in darkness, trials, and temptations, 
 No more a waif on trouble s billowy sea, 
 How sweet will be the day of my abiding 
 
 Ever with Thee ! 
 
 Bright after darkness shines the summer morning, 
 Bright is the sunshine when the tempests flee, 
 But brighter far the home where dwell Thy chosen 
 
 Ever with Thee. 
 
 Dear are the hours when those we love are near us, 
 Dear, but how transient must their brightness be ! 
 That one glad day will know no sadder morrow 
 
 Ever with Thee. 
 
 Love will be there methinks all other glories 
 Nothing to those enraptured souls will be, 
 Filled with the transport of that one assurance, 
 
 Ever with Thee. 
 
 But long may be the way that we must travel, 
 And many a dark ning storm we yet may see, 
 Dread sorrows may o erwhelm us ere we re sheltered 
 
 Ever with Thee. 
 
154 LEAVES FROM THE 
 
 Not so : Thy hand, extended Through the darkness 
 Leadeth us on the way we cannot see, 
 And, clasping that, e en here we walk in safety 
 
 Ever with Thee. 
 
 " TOUCHED WITH THE FEELING OF OUR 
 INFIRMITIES." 
 
 Thou givest the morning s early dew, 
 
 The day s awakening light, 
 The noontide beam, the cool of eve, 
 
 The stillness of the night ; 
 Thou daily dost our strength renew, 
 
 And, when our labours close, 
 Thou watchest by the silent couch 
 
 And guardest our repose. 
 
 Is there a thought within our brain, 
 
 A fancy unexpressed, 
 That will not clothe itself in words 
 
 To mortal ears addressed ? 
 Yet Thou hast seen it from its rise 
 
 And read st, whate er it be, 
 And even the visions of our sleep 
 
 Are known, Lord ! to Thee. 
 
BACKWOODS. 155 
 
 Have we a grief in silence bore 
 
 No human eye can see, 
 Blooms there a joy within our hearts 
 
 We breathe not e en to Thee ? 
 Thou seest, thou feel st, and giv st us back, 
 
 Alike in joy or woe, 
 A thrill of finer sympathy 
 
 Than earth can e er bestow. 
 
 Oh ! this, beyond the richest store 
 
 Of outward gifts divine, 
 This proves to many a grateful soul 
 
 That boundless love of Thine ; 
 A love that guards through childhood s years, 
 
 That cheers Life s devious way, 
 And bears from Death s victorious dart 
 
 The venomed sting away. 
 
156 LEAVES FROM THE 
 
 THE DEATH OF THE RIGHTEOUS, 
 
 " The end of that man is peace." 
 
 His end is peace no more distrest 
 By cares that harassed him before, 
 
 The sunshine of the land of rest 
 
 Steals brightly through its open door, 
 
 And e en upon his dying bed 
 
 That glorious light is softly shed. 
 
 Ah ! happy he who early gives 
 To God the offering of his heart, 
 
 For, stayed on him, in peace he lives, 
 And hails the summons to depart, 
 
 And, journeying to so bright a bourne, 
 
 For him we cannot, dare not mourn. 
 
 The rich man s pomp, the poor man s fare, 
 
 Alike are tending to decay ; 
 All earthly pride, all earthly care, 
 
 At death s dark hour must pass away ; 
 But happy those, when all is past, 
 Who win the peace of Heaven at last. 
 
BACKWOODS. 157 
 
 The perfect man, whose soul, refined 
 
 By long communion with the sky, 
 Has left the aims of earth behind 
 
 And placed his wealth and hopes on high, 
 How glorious is his parting hour, 
 When sin and death have lost their power ! 
 
 When Jesus, crucified for men, 
 
 Was hanging on that dreadful tree, 
 He blessed the dying thief who then 
 
 Pleaded, " Lord, remember me ! " 
 The Saviour bid his sorrows cease, 
 
 And even his last breath was peace. 
 
158 LEAVES FROM THE 
 
 "I BELIEVE IN THE COMMUNION OF SAINTS." 
 
 What is it ? Hast them ever been mong those who roam afar, 
 Whose unforgotton household fires gleam on them like a star, 
 A guiding star, that glitters still to show a haven blest, 
 Where the wanderer yet may moor his bark, the weary yet 
 may rest ? 
 
 Hast thou marked them when they spoke of home, and seen 
 
 the flushing brow, 
 The eyes that soften now with tears, and now with pleasure 
 
 glow ? 
 The voice whose earnest tones grow sweet with music of the 
 
 soul, 
 As mighty tides of love and hope across the bosom roll ? 
 
 Oh, I have seen the happy smiles that childhood used to wear, 
 Come back to brighten for a while the man s pale brow of care, 
 As thought s bright magic pencil wrought a picture half divine, 
 Of home, and all the thousand joys round childhood s home 
 that twine. 
 
BACKWOODS. 159 
 
 And not less dear the Christian s home, that blessed land, 
 
 should be 
 
 To him who hopes its golden streets, its living streams, to see ; 
 The breathings of its summer air should reach him even now, 
 And light the smile upon his lip, the gladness on his brow. 
 
 Then, when the travellers to that land should hold commu 
 nion here, 
 
 How blest, how glad, those hours would be ! how sacred and 
 how dear ! 
 
 Nor weariness nor cold restraint to cloud their brightness come, 
 
 Forgotten, while the full heart holds no thought but that of 
 home. 
 
160 LEAVES FROM THE 
 
 THE HEARER OF PRAYER. 
 
 Of all the names beneath the heaven, 
 Which is the fittest to be given 
 
 To Him who rules on High ? 
 What words that mortal lips can frame 
 Are least unworthy of Thy fame, 
 
 Great Lord of earth and sky ? 
 
 In vain we seek to shadow forth 
 
 Thy power, Thy truth, Thy matchless worth, 
 
 Thy love, Thy ceaseless care ; 
 To inspiration s page we turn 
 And there the words in glory burn, 
 
 " Thou that hearest prayer ? " 
 
 Not all the eloquence sublime 
 
 That graced each sage of earlier time 
 
 Such words could e er devise, 
 Mighty to bind with viewless chain 
 Man s spirit to his God again 
 
 To draw him to the skies. 
 
BACKWOODS. lt>l 
 
 Poor wand rers on life s darkling way, 
 Uncertain still, and apt to stray, 
 
 Unsafe, whate er our care, 
 It is a blessed thought indeed, 
 That Thou art near us in our need, 
 
 That Thou dost hear our prayer. 
 
 The angel hosts that round Thee fly 
 Exalt Thy praise above the sky 
 
 And fill the heavenly air ; 
 But sweeter notes shall swell the hymn 
 When saints redeemed shall worship Him 
 
 Through whom Thou nearest prayer. 
 
 L 
 
162 LEAVES FROM THE 
 
 THE LAMB IS THE LIGHT THEREOF. 
 
 The fairest light that ever shone 
 
 In summer skies, 
 The purest rays that ever flashed 
 
 On mortal eyes, 
 
 Shall be but as the dead of night 
 To that eternal, glorious light 
 
 That shall be given 
 To those who, for a little space, 
 Have bravely run the Christian race 
 
 And entered Heav n. 
 
 Sometimes a gleam of that pure light 
 
 Is found below 
 In humble hearts that on their way 
 
 With patience go. 
 
 It makes those hearts with rapture bound ; 
 And, though the scene be dark around, 
 
 It cheers them on, 
 Augments and brightens day by day, 
 And still emits a purer ray, 
 
 Till life is done. 
 
BACKWOODS. 163 
 
 That spotless sun, which ever lights 
 
 Heaven s peaceful clime, 
 Which no mutation knows, nor shade 
 
 Of night or time, 
 Is but the reflex of His love 
 Who, slain for us, now reigns above, 
 
 Our Saviour-God : 
 
 And, while on high His glory s shed, 
 He guides the pilgrim feet that tread 
 
 Where once he trod. 
 
1<54 LEAVES FROM THE 
 
 THE SIXTEENTH PSALM. 
 
 Preserve me, Lord, for in Thy strength 
 
 My trust shall ever be ; 
 My soul with childlike faith and trust. 
 
 Shall still repose on Thee. 
 
 Thy saints are dear unto niy heart, 
 And those that love Thy way ; 
 
 But from the dangerous paths of sin 
 I ll turn my eyes away. 
 
 Thou Lord, Thyself, shall be my lot, 
 And, while Thy love is mine, 
 
 I m owner of a fair domain 
 A heritage divine. 
 
 For this my heart shall still rejoice, 
 For this my songs shall rise, 
 
 Nor death shall chill the certain hope 
 That points to yonder skies. 
 
 Thy power can break his icy chains, 
 Can set his prisoners free, 
 
 And raise the souls that Thou hast made 
 To dwell in Heaven with Thee. 
 
BACKWOODS. 165 
 
 NIGHT MUSINGS. 
 
 Now Night has closed around us, 
 
 And Sleep her wings has spread 
 O er many a silent pillow 
 
 O er many a weary head, 
 And thousand changeful visions 
 
 Through Fancy s mazes stray, 
 Where mingle forms of Faery 
 
 With those of yesterday. 
 
 No dreams can weave their network 
 
 Around my brain to-night, 
 No fancied forms are treading 
 
 That path of silver light ; 
 The moon of Thy ordaining, 
 
 The stars that own Thy word, 
 Look through my window, telling 
 
 The goodness of the Lord. 
 
 Nor they alone are speaking 
 
 Their mighty Maker s praise, 
 While each eventful moment 
 
 Thy fixed decree obeys ; 
 The breathing of the sleepers, 
 
 The stillness of the hour, 
 The calm that reigns about us, 
 
 Attest Thy Love and Power. 
 
166 LEAVES FROM THE BACKWOODS-. 
 
 LIFE S PILGRIMS. 
 
 Pilgrim ! that passest by this narrow road, 
 Dost thou go silent, sorrowing all the day ? 
 Consider twas not singing that did stay 
 
 Thy feet, that so more swiftly might have trod. 
 
 Lift up thy heart in thankful praise to God ! 
 For He, who placed thee in a rugged way, 
 Hath given thee strength and guidance, and the ray 
 
 Of Heaven s pure light to cheer thee, and hath showed 
 
 The golden crown that waits thee at the end. 
 Rejoice ! it is thy heritage rejoice ! 
 Go ever with thanksgiving in thy heart, 
 
 So shall thy worship to His throne ascend, 
 So shall thy heart grow purer, and thy voice 
 Learn in the angels songs to bear its part. 
 
 THE END. 
 
LIST OF SUBSCRIBEKS. 
 
LIST OF STTBSCEIBEBS. 
 
 Adams, J., Esq. 
 
 Aingc, Mrs., England, 2 copies. 
 
 Anderson, Mr., United Stuu >. 
 
 Anderson, Rev. D., M.A. 
 
 Armour, Mr. 
 
 Armstrong, Rev. D., 2 copies. 
 
 Baird, Mrs., 2 copies. 
 
 Baird, Rev. R. G., 3 copies. 
 
 Barr, Miss, United States, 2 copies. 
 
 Becher, H. C. R., Esq., 2 copies. 
 
 Birrell, Mr. D., United States, 2 copies. 
 
 Black, Mr. 
 
 Boone, Mr., United States, 2 copies. 
 
 Bowen, Rev. S., England, 5 copies. 
 
 Breakey, Mr. W. 
 
 Bridges, C. J., Esq., 2 copies. 
 
 Bucke, Dr. 
 
 Bucke, Mr. Julius P. 
 
 Burke, J. W., Esq., P.L.S., 2 copies. 
 
170 LIST OF SUBSCRIBERS. 
 
 Cameron, Hon. M., 2 copies. 
 
 Campbell, J. D., Esq., 2 copies. 
 
 Carman, Mr. 
 
 Caw, Rev. D. 
 
 Clark.,Mr. W B. 
 
 Clarke, Duncan, Esq., 2 copies. 
 
 Corser, Mrs., England, 2 copies. 
 
 Cox, Mr. W., United States, 2 copies. 
 
 Crawford, Mr., 2 copies. 
 
 Crawford, Mrs. W., United States. 
 
 Dartmouth, the Earl of, 4 copies. 
 
 Davenport, Mrs. J., England. 
 
 Davie, Miss. 
 
 Davie, Mrs. 
 
 Davis, Miss. 
 
 Davis, Miss L. C., 6 copies. 
 
 Dougall, Mrs. F., United States. 
 
 Durham, Miss. 
 
 Elliot, Mr., 10 copies. 
 
 Ellis, Mrs. 
 
 Esden, Mrs., 2 copies. 
 
 Evans, Mr. P. C,, England. 
 
 Evans, Rev. W. B. 
 
 Farrell, Mrs. S. W. 
 
 Fleming, Mr. 
 
 Flintoft, Mrs. 
 
 Fowler, Mrs., England. 
 
 Frazer, Rev. G. ? B.D., England. 
 
LIST OF SUBSCRIBERS. 171 
 
 Gemmill, Mr. D. 
 
 Glass, Mrs. 
 
 Haden, Rev. A. B., M.A., England, 4 copies. 
 
 Hartland, Miss, England. 
 
 Hartley, Mrs. J., England, 7 copies. 
 
 Haws, Mrs. G. W. 
 
 Hay, Mrs., England, 10 copies. 
 
 Heard, Mr., United States. 
 
 Higham, Miss, England, 2 copies. 
 
 Highain, Miss E., 2 copies. 
 
 Highaiu, Miss S. A., 2 copies. 
 
 Higham, Mr. F., 2 copies. 
 
 Higham, Mr. G., 2 copies. 
 
 Inglis, Dr. R., United States. 
 
 Inglis, Rev. D., 4 copies. 
 
 Inglis, Rev. J. 
 
 Irving, JEmilius, Esq., 2 copies. 
 
 Jarnieson, Mr. A. 
 
 Jamieson, Mr. R. A. 
 
 Jamieson, Rev. A. 
 
 Jenkins, Rev. J. H., B.A., 2 copies. 
 
 Kemp, Rev. A. F., 6 copies. 
 
 Kerr, Mr. D. R., 2 copies. 
 
 Kerr, Mrs. D. R. 
 
 Kerr, Mrs. G., England. 
 
 Lawson, Miss. 
 
 Lewis, Mr., England. 4 copies. 
 
 Lister, Mrs., England. 
 
172 LIST OF SUBSCRIBERS. 
 
 Lloyd, Miss, 4 copies. 
 
 Lloyd, Mrs., 4 copies. 
 
 Macalister, Mr. N. 
 
 Mackenzie, J. A., Esq. 
 
 Marples, Mr., England, 8 copies. 
 
 Martin, Mr., 6 copies. 
 
 McDonald, Mr., 9 copies. 
 
 Mclnnes, D., Esq., 2 copies. 
 
 McLean, Mr. A. 
 
 McLean, Mr. Gr. 
 
 McMullen, Mr. 
 
 McMurray, H., Esq., 2 copies. 
 
 McNab, A., Esq. 
 
 McNaughton, Miss. 
 
 McVicar, Mr. 
 
 Mitchell, Mr. J., 2 copies. 
 
 Monckton, Major J., England, 2 copies. 
 
 Monckton, Miss, 2 copies. 
 
 Monckton, Miss E. L. 
 
 Monckton, Miss Fanny. 
 
 Monckton, Miss Rosa, 4 copies. 
 
 Monckton, Mrs., 2 copies. 
 
 Monckton, W., Esq., 8 copies. 
 
 Murray, Rev. J. 
 
 Padfield, Mr. 
 
 Padfield, Mr. A. 
 
 Parke, Mr., England, 2 copies. 
 
 Patton, Miss. 
 
LIST OF SUBSCRIBER^. 
 
 Patton, Mr. H. N. 
 
 Patton, Mrs. H. N. 
 
 Peckham, Judge, U. S. 
 
 Pizey, Rev. E., B.A., England, 
 
 Plant, Miss, England. 
 
 Pope, Miss. 
 
 Pope, Miss E. 
 
 Pope, Mrs., United States. 
 
 Poussett, Mr. H, 
 
 Poussett, P. T., Esq. 
 
 Rainsberry, Mr. 
 
 Reekie, Mrs. 
 
 Reynolds, Mr. G., England. 
 
 Reynolds, T., Esq., 12 copies. 
 
 Robson, Mr. D. 
 
 Roe, Rev. H., B.A., 2 copies. 
 
 Sawyer, Rev. W. G., England, 8 copies, 
 
 Shoebotham, Dr., 2 copies. 
 
 Siddens, Miss, England. 
 
 Sloan, Mr., United Stat 
 
 Smith, J., Esq., England, 20 copies. 
 
 v. Mrs., England. 
 Stephens, W. C., Esq., 2 copies. 
 Stewart, Mrs., United States. 
 Stokes, Mrs., 2 copies. 
 Sullivan, Mr>. 
 Symington, Mr. 
 Talfourd, F., Esq. 
 
174 LIST OF SUBSCRIBERS. 
 
 Thorneycroft, Mrs. T., England, 2 copies, 
 
 Thornton, Mr. 
 
 Thorp, Rev. W., England. 
 
 Toogood, Miss, England. 
 
 Townley, Rev. A., D.D. 
 
 Trubshaw, Mr. J., United States, 2 copies. 
 
 Turnbull, Mrs. 
 
 Vidal, Mrs. 
 
 Walsh, Rev. W., England. 
 
 Ward, Mr. G. 
 
 Warren, Mr., United States. 
 
 Watson, Mrs. E. P. 
 
 Wheelock, Mr., United States, 2 copies. 
 
 Whichcote, General, England, 8 copies. 
 
 Williams, Mr. 
 
 Woodall, Mr. W., England, 40 copies. 
 
 Wright, Miss. 
 
 Young, Mr. A. 
 
 Young, Mr. H.