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P O \l M S 
 
 BY 
 
 THOMAS HOOD. 
 
 ILLUSTRATED DY 
 
 BIRKET FOSTER 
 
 :M,: 
 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 E. MOXON, SON & CO., DOVER STREET 
 
 1871. 
 
iriTrr »t 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 
 rAGf 
 
 HVMN TO THE SuN 
 
 I 
 
 Sonnet 
 
 3 
 
 The Mary 
 
 4 
 
 Bianca's Dream 
 
 s 
 
 Ode to Rae Wilson, Esq. . 
 
 20 
 
 Ode to the Moon 
 
 . 42 
 
 q-Q ***** 
 
 . . 46 
 
 The Two Peacocks of Bedfont . 
 
 • 47 
 
 Ode to Melancholy 
 
 
 The Compass, with Variations 
 
 ' ^ 
 
 Stanzas to Tom W'oodgate . 
 
 71 
 
 The Key 
 
 • 77 
 
 To . 
 
 . . 8+ 
 
 The Knight and the Dragon 
 
   ^7 
 
 I Rememder, I Remember 
 
 1 1 
 
 Poem 
 
   1 \ 
 
 Address 
 
 
 977353 
 
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 Hymn to the Sun — 
 
 " Giver of glowing light !" Pagr \. 
 
 Sonnet on receiving a Gift. 
 
 " Look how the golden ocean ihinct abore 
 Ili pebbly itono." Pogt j. 
 
 The Mary. 
 
 " The »ca i» bright with morning." Page 4- 
 
 Bianca's Dream. 
 
 " For Julio underneath the lattice plajr'd." Pogt ly 
 
 " tlic next iwcet crcn. 
 With Julio in a black Venetian bark, 
 Row'd slow and stealthily." Pugt 17. 
 
vi list op illl'strations. 
 
 Ode to Rae Wilson. 
 
 "Dcv belli! How nncl the uundi o.' i'.i^r i-. 
 
 '• Litp't \tnr\y cnriroai." '""Kf J'- 
 
 Ghent. 
 
 Pagrii. 
 
 Ode to the Moon. 
 
 •• Mother of light "" Pag* ^^■ 
 
 To , WITH A Flask of Rhinewater. 
 
   The okl Catholic dty <m* ttiU. ' P'>S' 4^ 
 
 The Two Peacocies of Bedfont. 
 
 " Thctv, grotlc itraDKrr, thou nuy'il only wc 
 Two lombrv pcacuckt. ' Pagf 55. 
 
 Ode to Melancholy. 
 
 '■ No tonow CTor cholin their throata 
 Eacrpi iwtet nlghiingvle." Pugr 57. 
 
 The Comtass, with Variations. 
 
 • Tww In the Bay of Niplr>.' Pttgr 6t. 
 
LIST or It.LUSTRATIONS. VII 
 
 Stanzas to Tom Woodgatf. 
 
 ■• To climb the blllow'i hoary brow." P^S* 74- 
 
 The Kkv — A Moorish Romance. 
 
 '•Th' Alhambra'i pile." Piigf -j^. 
 
 To . COMI-OSED AT ROTTERDAM. 
 
 "' Before mc lie dark water«. 
 In broad canals and deep, 
 Whereon the «llvcr moonbeam* 
 Sleep, ncttlcv* in their «lfep." P''Sf 84. 
 
 ' I'm at Rotterdam." Poge 86. 
 
 The Knight and the Dragon. 
 
 ' On the Drachcnfeli' crnt 
 He had built a itone ne»t." Page 87- 
 
 ' He ga2ed on the Rhine 
 
 And it« hanks 90 dliinc." P^S' '9- 
 
VUI IIST Ol' ILLL'STRATIONS. 
 
 I Remeuder. 
 
 " I mrwinbcf* I mtmnbcf 
 The 6r mc* (iark and high." Pagt toi. 
 
 Poem, frou the Polish. 
 
 " To think upon th« Bridge of Knr." /'•V' 1^- 
 
 Address. 
 
   Yn! when the teaming billow* rare the while 
 
 Arv'und the rDckjr Fmu uh] Hoijr l>lc." P^S* '°9- 
 
?;)l)mu to the ^\u\. 
 
 IVF.R of glowing light ! 
 'I'hough but a god of other days. 
 The kings and sages 
 Of wiser ages 
 Still live and gladden in thy genial rays I 
 
 King of the tuneful lyre, 
 Still poets' hymns to thee belong 
 
 Though lips arc cold 
 
 Whereon of old 
 Thy beams all turn'd to worshipping and song I 
 
 Lord of the dreadful bow, 
 None triumph now for Python's death ; 
 But thou dost save 
 From hungrj' grave 
 The life that hangs upon a summer breath. 
 
IIYUN TO THE aUN. 
 
 Father of rosy day, 
 No more thy clouds of incense rise ; 
 
 but WAking flow'rs 
 
 At monniig hours, 
 (j-w; cpi't their s.^ccts to meet thee in the skies. 
 
 (Jud ut the Dclptiic fane, 
 No more thou listcncst to hymns sublime ; 
 
 But they will leave 
 
 On winds at eve, 
 A solemn echo to the end of time. 
 
»onnft. 
 
 ON RFXKIVING A GIFT. 
 
 I'OOK how the polden ocean shines above 
 
 Its pebbly stones, and magnifies their girth ; 
 So does the brifiht and blessed li>;ht of I.ovc 
 Its own thinf^s glorify, and raise their worth. 
 As weeds seem flowers beneath the flattering brine. 
 And stones like gems, and gems as gems indeed, 
 Hv'n so our tokens shine ; nay, they outshine 
 Pebbles and pearls, and gems and coral weed ; 
 For where be ocean waves but half so clear. 
 So calmly constant, and so kindly warm, 
 As Love's most mild and glowing atmosphere. 
 That hath no dregs to be upturn'd by storm ? 
 Thus, sweet, thy gracious gifts are gifts of price, 
 And more than gold to doting Avarice. 
 
A SEASIDE SKETCH. 
 
 |OV'ST thou not, Alice, with the early tide 
 To sec the hardy Fisher hoict his mast, 
 
 wide,— 
 ' .. .,   to cast 
 
 His net into the deep, which doth provide 
 Enormoi: '. in its vast 
 
 Uosom li..- . . -.1 who seek 
 
 And take its gracious boon thankful and meek ? 
 
 The sea is bright with morning, — but the dark 
 Seems still to linger on his broad black sail. 
 For it is I     irk 
 
 Fur the I . his pale 
 
 And level beams : All round the shadowy bark 
 '! '■• gale 
 
 The keel's new speed, and whiten at the bow. 
 
 4 
 
I 
 
• •• • • • 
 
Tlir MARV. 
 
 Then look abaft — (for thou canst understand 
 That plirasc) — and there he sitteth at the stern, 
 Grasping the tiller in his broad brown hand, 
 The hardy Fisherman. Thou may'st discern 
 Ten fathoms ofTthe wrinkles in the tann'd 
 And honest countenance that he will turn 
 To look upon ua, with a quiet gaze — 
 As we are passing on our several ways. 
 
 So, some ten days ago, on such a morn, 
 The Mary, like a scamew, sought her spoil 
 Amongst the finny race : 'twas when the corn 
 VVoo'd the sharp sickle, and the golden toil 
 Summon'd all rustic hands to fill the horn 
 Of Ceres to the brim, that brave turmoil 
 VV'as at the prime, and Woodgate went to reap 
 His harvest too, upon the broad blue deep. 
 
 His mast was up, his anchor heaved aboard. 
 His mainsail stretching in the first gray gleams 
 Of morning, for the wind. Ben's eye was stored 
 W'itli fishes — fishes swam in all his dreams. 
 And all the goodly east seem'd but a hoard 
 Of silvery fishes, that in shoals and streams 
 Groped into the deep dusk that fill'd the slcy, 
 For him to catch in meshes of his eye. 
 
6 TUP ilAHY. 
 
 For Ben had the true sailor's sanguine heart. 
 
 And saw the future with a boy's brnvc th<'Uf;ht, 
 
 No doubts, nor faint misgivings had a part 
 
 In his bright visions — ay, before he caught 
 
 His fish, he sold them in the scaly mart. 
 
 And summ'd the net proceeds. This should have hrmi 'lit 
 
 Despair upon him when his hopes were foil'd, 
 
 Uut though one crop was marr'd, again he toil'd 
 
 And sow'd his seed afresh. — Many foul blights 
 Perish'd his hardwon gains— yet he had plann'd 
 No schemes of too extravagant delights — 
 No goodly houses on the Goodwin sand — 
 But a small humble home, and loving nights, 
 Such as his honest heart and earnest hand 
 Might fairly purchase. Were these hopes too airy ? 
 Such as they were, they rested on thee, Marj-. 
 
 She was the prize of many a toilsome year. 
 
 And hardwon wages, on the perilous sea— 
 
 Of I ver since the shipboy's tear 
 
 W.. r home, that lay beyond the Ice , 
 
 She was purveyor for his other dear 
 
 Mary, and for the infant yet to be 
 
 Fruit of their married loves. These made him dote 
 
 L'pon the homely beauties of his boat. 
 
Whose pitch black hull roU'd darkly on the wave, 
 No gayer than one single stripe of blue 
 Could make her swarthy sides. She seemd a slave 
 A negro among boats — that only knew 
 Hardship and rugged toil — no pennons brave 
 I-Maunted upon the mast — but oft a few 
 Dark dripping jackets flutter'd to the air, 
 Ensigns of hardihood and toilsome care. 
 
 And when she ventured for the deep, she spread 
 
 A tawuy sail against the sunbright sky, 
 
 Dark as a cloud that journeys overhead — 
 
 Uut then those tawny wings were stretch'd tn flv 
 
 Across the wide sea desert for the bread 
 
 Of babes and mothers — many an anxious eye 
 
 Dwelt on her course, and many a fervent pray'r 
 
 Invoked the heavens to protect and spare. 
 
 Where is she now ? The secrets of the deep 
 Are dark and hidden from the human ken ; 
 Only the sea-bird saw the surges sweep 
 Over the bark of the devoted Ben, — 
 Meanwhile a widow sobs, and orphans weep. 
 And sighs are heard from weatherbeatcn men. 
 Dark sunburnt men, uncouth and rude and hairy, 
 While loungers idly ask, •' Where is the Mary ? " 
 
iSiauca fi Dvcam. 
 
 A Vi: NET IAN STORY. 
 
 IIANCA ! — fair Bianca ! — who could dwell 
 With safety on her dark and ha^el gaze, 
 Nor find there lurk'd in it a witching spell. 
 Fatal to balmy nights and blessed da)-8 ? 
 TiiL- j'c Ireful breath that made the bosom swell, 
 
 She turn'd to gas, and set it in a blaze ; 
 Each eye of hers had Love's Eupyrion in it. 
 That he could light his link at in a minute. 
 
 So that, wherever in her charms she shone, 
 A thouAand breasts were kindled into flame ; 
 
 Maidens who cursed her looks forgot their own. 
 
 And beaux were turned to flambeau.x where she came 
 
 All hearts indeed were conquered but her own. 
 Which none could ever temper down or tame ; 
 
 In short, to take our haberdasher's hints. 
 
 She might have written over it, — " From Flints." 
 8 
 
She was, in truth, the wonder of her sex. 
 
 At least in Venice — where with eyea of brown 
 
 Tenderly ian|,'uid, ladies seldom vex 
 
 An amorous fjcntle with a needless frown ; 
 
 Where gondolas convey guitars by pecks. 
 
 And Love at casements climbeth up and down, 
 
 Whom for his tricks and custom in that kind. 
 
 Some have considered a Venetian blind. 
 
 Howbeit, this difference was quickly taught, 
 Amongst more youths who had this cruel jailor, 
 
 To hapless Julio — all in vain he sought 
 
 With each new moon his halter and his tailor ; 
 
 In vain the richest padusoy he bought. 
 And went in bran new beaver to assail her — 
 
 As if to show that Love had made him smart 
 
 All over — and not merely round his heart. 
 
 In vain he labour'd thro' the sylvan park 
 
 Bianca haunted in — that where she came. 
 Her learned eyes in wandering might mark 
 The twisted cypher of her maiden name. 
 Wholesomely going thro' a course of bark : 
 
 No one was touch'd or troubled by his flame. 
 Except the Drj-ads, those old maids that grow- 
 In trees, — like wooden dolls in embryo. 
 
 c 
 
lO 
 
 In vain complaining elegies he writ, 
 
 And taught his tuneful instrument to grieve, 
 
 And sang in q :.>lit, 
 
 Constant bt: cvc ; 
 
 She mock'd his wooing with her wicked wit, 
 
 And slashed his suit so that it mutch'd his sleeve, 
 
 Till he grew silent at the vesper star. 
 
 And quite despairing hamstring'd his guitar. 
 
 Dianca's heart was coldly frosted o'er 
 
 With snows unmelting — an eternal sheet, 
 
 Dut his was red within him, like the core 
 Of old Vesuvius, with perpetual heat : 
 
 And oft he long'd internally to pour 
 
 His flames and glowing lava at her feet, 
 
 But when his burnings he began to spout, 
 
 She stopp'd his mouth, — and put the craUr out. 
 
 Meanwhile he wasted in the eyes of men. 
 So thin, he secm'd a sort of skeleton. key 
 
 Suspended at death's door — so pale — and then 
 He ; • • 
 
 The i ■n, 
 
 But he was perishing at twenty-three. 
 
 For people truly said, a :cr, 
 
 " It could not shorten L... , -. . U longer." 
 
Fl ( V •.' ( \ >. HIM ■. Vf 
 
 1 1 
 
 I"or wliy, he ncitlicr slept, nor drank, nor fed. 
 Nor relish'd any kind of mirth below. 
 
 I'ire in his heart, and frenzy in his head, 
 Love had become his universal foe. 
 
 Salt in his su^'ar — nightmare in his bed; 
 At last, no wonder wretched Julio, 
 
 () sorrow ridden thinj;, in utter dearth 
 
 Of hope,— made up his mind to cut her girth ! 
 
 For hapless lovers always died of old, 
 Sooner than chew reflection's bitter cud : 
 
 So Thisbe stuck herself, what time 'tis told. 
 The tender-hearted mulberries wept blood ; 
 
 And so poor Sappho, when her boy was cold, 
 Drown'd her salt tear-drops in a Salter flood. 
 
 Their fame still breathing, tho' their death be past, 
 
 I'or those old suitors lived beyond their last. 
 
 So Julio went to drown, — when life was dull, 
 But took his corks, and merely had a bath ; 
 
 .•\nd once, he pull'd a trigger at his skull, 
 15ut merely broke a window in his wrath ; 
 
 And once, his hopeless being to annul. 
 He tied a pack-thread to a beam of lath — 
 
 .\ line so ample, 'twas a query whether 
 
 Twas meant to be a halter or a tether. 
 
 c 2 
 
12 niAvcA s : 
 
 Smile not i: .hat Julio did not thrust 
 
 His sorrows through — 'tis horrible to die ! 
 
 And come down with our little all of dust, 
 That Dun of nil the duns to satisfy ; 
 
 To leave life's pleasant city as wc must, 
 
 In Death's most i' ' to lie. 
 
 Where even all our ; 
 
 To pay the debt of Nature that we owe ! 
 
 So Julio lived : — 'twas nothing but a pet 
 
 He took at life — a momentary spite ; 
 Besides, he hoped that Time would some day get 
 
 The better of Love's flame, however bright ; 
 A thing that Time has never compass'd yet. 
 
 For Love, wc know, is an immortal lij;ht ; 
 Like that old fire, that, quite beyond a doubt. 
 Was always in, — for none have found it out. 
 
 Meanwhile, Bianca dream'd— 'twas once when Night 
 Along the darken'd plain began to creep, 
 
 Like a young Hottentot, whose eyes are bright, 
 Altho' in skin as sooty as a sweep, 
 
 The tlow'rs had shut their eyes— the xephyr light 
 Was gone, for it had rockd the leaves to sleep. 
 
 And all the lin^ '   • ' ' ' •' •- 's 
 
 Uiulcr their nm ^'s- 
 
BIANCA ■- t>i'i vM 
 
 n 
 
 Lone in her chamber sate the dark-eyed maid, 
 By easy stages jaunting through her prayers. 
 
 But listening sidelong to a serenade, 
 That robb'd the saints a little of their shares ; 
 
 For Julio underneath the lattice play'd 
 His Dch Vicni, and such amorous airs. 
 
 Born only underneath Italian skies. 
 
 Where every fiddle has a Bridge of Sighs. 
 
 Sweet was the tune — the words were even sweeter — 
 Praising her eyes, her lips, her nose, her hair. 
 
 With all the common tropes wherewith in metre 
 The hackney poets " overcharge their fair." 
 
 Her shape was like Diana's, but completer ; 
 
 Her brow with Grecian Helen's might compare : 
 
 Cupid, alas ! was cruel Sagittarius, 
 
 Julio — the weeping water-man Aquarius. 
 
 Now, after listing to such laudings rare, 
 
 'Twas very natural indeed to go — 
 What if she did postpone one little pray'r — 
 
 To ask her mirror " if it was not so ? " 
 'Twas a large mirror, none the worse for wear, 
 
 Kcllecting her at once from top to toe : 
 And there she gazed upon that glossy track 
 That show'd her front face though it " gave her back. 
 
14 BIANCA S DREAM. 
 
 AnJ loiij; her lovely eyes were held in thrall, 
 Uy that dear page where first the woman reads : 
 
 That Julio was no natt'rer, none at all, 
 
 She told herself — and then she told her beads ; 
 
 Meanwhile, the nerves insensibly let fall 
 Two curtains fairer than the lily breeds ; 
 
 For sleep had crept and kiss'd her unawares, 
 
 Just at the half-way milestone of her pray'rs. 
 
 Then like a drooping rose so bended she, 
 Till her bow'd head upon her hand reposed ; 
 
 But still she plainly saw, or seem'd to sec. 
 That fair reflection, tho' her eyes were closed. 
 
 A beauty bright as it was wont to be, 
 
 A portrait Fancy painted while she dozed ; 
 
 'Tis very natural, some people say, 
 
 To dream of what we dwell on in the day. 
 
 Still shone her face — yet not, alas I the same. 
 
 But 'gan 8. :   
 And sadder ti. ;ine — 
 
 Her eyes rcsign'd their light, her lips their bloom. 
 Her teeth fell out, her   "le, 
 
 Her cheeks were tin^L .yes with rheum: 
 
 There was a throbbing at her heart within, 
 For, oh ! there was a shooting in her chin. 
 
niANCA S DRTAM. I 5 
 
 And lo ! upon her sad desponding brow, 
 
 The cruel trenches of besieging age, 
 With seams, but most unseemly, 'gan to show 
 
 Her place was booking for the seventh stage ; 
 And where her raven tresses used to flow, 
 
 Some locks that Time had left her in his rage, 
 And some mock ringlets, made her forehead shady, 
 A compound (like our Psalms) of Tite and Braidy. 
 
 Then for her shape — alas ! how Saturn wrecks. 
 And bends, and corkscrews all the frame about, 
 
 Doubles the hams, and crooks the straightest necks. 
 Draws in the nape, and pushes forth the snout. 
 
 Makes backs and stomachs concave or convex : 
 \Vitncss those pensioners call'd In and Out, 
 
 Who all day watching first and second rater. 
 
 Quaintly unbend themselves — but grow no straighter. 
 
 So Time with fair Bianca dealt, and made 
 
 Ilcr shape a bow, that once was like an arrow : 
 
 His iron hand upon her spine he laid. 
 
 And twisted all awrj' her " winsome marrow. ' 
 
 In truth it was a change ! — she had obey'd 
 The holy Pope before her chest grew narrow. 
 
 But spectacles aud palsy scem'd to make her 
 
 Something between a Glassite and a Quaker. 
 
i6 bunca's drbam. 
 
 Her : ' cmc, 
 
 A: 
 
 For what sad maiden can endure to seem 
 
 Set in for ^ bic ? 
 
 The fancy ni.i . , 
 
 Grown thin by getting bigger, like a bubble, 
 
 Burst, — but still left some frugmcnts of its sixe. 
 
 That like the soapsuds, smarted in her eyes. 
 
 And here — just here — as she began to heed 
 The leal world, her clock chimed out its score ; 
 
 A clock it was of the Venetian breed. 
 
 That cried the hour from one to twenty-four ; 
 
 The works moreover standing in some need 
 Of workmanship, it struck some dozen more ; 
 
 A warning voice that clenched liianca'a fears. 
 
 Such • ' referrini; .' " •' * her years. 
 
 At fifteen chimes she was but half a nun, 
 By twi ' ' " • - renounced the veil; 
 
 She thoi, t twenty-one. 
 
 And thirty made her very sad and pule, 
 
 To 1 '   ! un ; 
 
 A- . 
 
 And thought no higher, as the late dream cross'd her. 
 
 Of single blessedness, than single Glostcr. 
 
niANCA's nnPAM. 17 
 
 And 80 Bianca changed ; the next sweet even, 
 
 With Julio in a black Venetian bark, 
 Row'd slow and stealthily — the hour, eleven. 
 
 Just sounding from the tower of old St. Mark ; 
 She sate with eyes turn'd quietly to heav'n. 
 
 Perchance rejoicing in the grateful dark 
 That veil'd her blushing cheek, — for Julio brought her. 
 Of course, to break the ice upon the water. 
 
 But what a puzzle is one's serious mind 
 
 To open ; — oysters, when the ice is thick. 
 Are not so difiicult and disinclined ; 
 
 And Julio felt the declaration stick 
 About his throat in a most awful kind ; 
 
 However, he contrived by bits to pick 
 His trouble forth, — much like a rotten cork 
 
 Groped from a long-neck'd bottle with a fork. 
 
 But love is still the quickest of all readers ; 
 
 And Julio spent besides those signs profuse, 
 That English telegraphs and foreign pleaders, 
 
 In help of language are so apt to use : — 
 Arms, shoulders, fingers, all were interceders. 
 
 Nods, shrugs, and bends, — Bianca could not choose 
 But soften to his suit with more facility, 
 He told his story with so much agility. 
 
 D 
 
1 8 dunca's oreau. 
 
 " Be thou my park, and I will be thy dear," 
 (So he bc^an at last to spcik or quote ;) 
 
 " Be thou my bark, and I thy Kondolicr," 
 (For passion takes this figurative note ;) 
 
 " Be thou my light, and I thy chandelier ; 
 Be thou my dove, and I will be thy cote ; 
 
 My lily be, and I will be thy river : 
 
 Be thou my life — and I will be thy hvcr. 
 
 This, with more tender logic of the kind, 
 He pour'd into her small and shell-like ear, 
 
 That timidly against his lips inclined ; 
 
 Meanwhile her eyes glanced on the silver sphere 
 
 That even now began to steal behind 
 
 A dewy vapour, which was lingering near. 
 
 Wherein the dull moon crept all dim and pale. 
 
 Just like a virgin putting on the veil: — 
 
 Bidding adieu to all her sparks — the stars. 
 
 That erst had wood and worshipped in her train, 
 
 Saturn and Hesperus, and gallant Mars — 
 Never to flirt with heavenly eyes again. 
 
 Meanwhile, remindful of the convent bars, 
 Bianca did not watch these signs in vain. 
 
 But turn'd to Julio at the dark eclipse. 
 
 With wotds, like verbal kisses, on her lips. 
 
niASCA S DREAM. 
 
 »9 
 
 He took the hint full speedily, and back'd 
 
 By love, and nif;ht, and the occasion's mcetncss, 
 
 Bestow'd a something on her cheek that smack'd 
 (Thou);h quite in silence) of ambrosial sweetness ; 
 
 That made her think all other kisses lack'd 
 
 Till then, but what she knew not, of completeness : 
 
 Being used but sisterly salutes to feel, 
 
 Insipid things — like sandwiches of veal. 
 
 He took her hand, and soon she felt him wring 
 
 The pretty fingers all instead of one ; 
 Anon his stealthy arm began to cling 
 
 About her waist that had been clasp'd by none ; 
 Their dear confessions I forbear to sing, 
 
 Since cold description would but be outrun ; 
 For bliss and Irish watches have the power, 
 In twenty minutes, to lose half an hour! 
 
 D 2 
 
OtJC to Ixar (LOilGon. Coq. 
 
 WANDERER, Wilson, from my native land, 
 Remote, O Rac, from godliness and thee. 
 Where rolls between us the eternal sea, 
 Besides some furlongs of a foreign sand, — 
 Beyond the broadest Scotch of London Wall ; 
 Beyond the loudest Saint that has a call ; 
 Across the wavy waste between us stretch'd, 
 A friendly missive warns me of a stricture. 
 Wherein my likeness you have darkly elch'd. 
 And though I have not seen the shadow sketch'd. 
 Thus I remark prophetic on the picture. 
 
 I guess the features : — in a line to paint 
 Their moral ugliness, I'm not a saint. 
 Not one of those self-constituted saints, 
 (Juacks — not physicians — in the cure of souls, 
 Censors who sniff out mortal taints, 
 And call the devil over his own coals — 
 
 30 
 
ODE TO RAK WILSON, ESQ. 21 
 
 Those pscudo Privy Councillors of God, 
 
 Who write down judt;n)cnls with a pen hard-nibb'd 
 
 Ushers of lieel/ebub's liiuck Kod, 
 Commending sinners, not to ice thick-ribb'd, 
 Hut endless (lames, to scorch them up like flax — 
 Yet sure of heav'n themselves, as if they'd cribb d 
 Th' impression of St. Peter's keys in wax ! 
 
 Of such a character no single trace 
 
 Exists, I know, in my fictitious face ; 
 
 There wants a certain cast about the eye ; 
 
 A certain lifting of the nose's tip ; 
 
 A certain curling of the nether lip, 
 
 In scorn of all that is, beneath the sky. 
 
 In brief it is an aspect deleterious, 
 
 A face decidedly not serious, 
 
 A face profane, that would not do at all 
 
 To make a face at Exeter Hall, — 
 
 That Hall where bigots rant, and cant, and pray. 
 
 And laud each other face to face, 
 
 Till cv'ry farthing-candle ray 
 
 Conceives itself a great gas-light of grace. 
 
 Well ! — be the graceless lineaments confest ! 
 I do enjoy this bounteous beauteous earth ; 
 And dote upon a jest 
 
RAE WILSON 
 
 " Within the limits of becoming mirth ; " — 
 No solemn sanctimonious face I pull, 
 Nor think I'm pious when I'm only bilious— 
 Nor study in my sanctum supercilious 
 To frame a Sabbath Bill or forge a Bull. 
 I pray for grace — repent each sinful act — 
 Peruse, but underneath the rose, my Bible ; 
 And love my neighbour far too well, in fact. 
 To call and twit him with a godly tract 
 That's tum'd by application to a libel. 
 My heart ferments not with the bigot's leaven. 
 All creeds I view with toleration thorough. 
 And have a horror of regarding heaven 
 As anybody's rottc: 
 
 What else ? no part 1 lake in party Iray, 
 
 With tr'^;'-" ri.im n:Iiin;:sL:alc"s slancwhanc'OJ 
 
 tartars, 
 I fear no Pope— unJ let great Krncst play 
 At Fox and Goose with Fox's Martyrs I 
 I own I laugh at over-righteous men, 
 I own I shake my sides at ranters, 
 And treat sham-Abr'am saints with wicked bnnt-f- 
 I even own, that there are times— but then 
 It's when I've got my wine— I say d canters ! 
 
n 
 
 I've no ambition to enact the spy 
 
 On fellow souls, a Spiritual Pry — 
 
 'Tis said that people ought to guard their noses, 
 
 Who thrust them into matters none of theirs ; 
 
 And tho' no delicacy discomposes 
 
 Your Saint, yet I consider faith and pray'rs 
 
 Amongst the privatest of men's affairs. 
 
 I do not hash the Gospel in my books, 
 And thus upon the public mind intrude it. 
 As if I thought, like Otahcitan cooks. 
 No food was fit to eat till I had chcw'd it. 
 On Hiblc stilts I don't affect to stalk; 
 Nor lard with Scripture my familiar talk, — 
 
 For man may pious texts repeat, 
 .\nd yet religion have no inward seat ; 
 'Tis not so plain as the old Hill of Howth, 
 A man has got his belly full of meat 
 Ik-cause he talks with victuals in his mouth ! 
 Mere verbiage, — it is not worth a carrot ! 
 Why, Socrates^-or Plato — where's the odds ? — 
 Once taught a jay to supplicate the Gods, 
 And made a Polly-theist of a Parrot ! 
 
 A mere professor, spite of all his cant, is 
 Not a whit better than a Mantis,— 
 
24 ODF TO RAP. WILSON, ESQ. 
 
 An insect, of what clime I can't determine, 
 
 That lifts its paw« most p;i ' thence. 
 
 By simple savages — thro' ; , 
 
 Is reckon'd quite a saint amongst the vc: 
 
 Hut whcrc's the reverence, or where the nous. 
 To ride on one's religion thro' the lobby, 
 Whether a stalking-horse or hobby. 
 To show its pious paces to " the House ? " 
 
 I honestly confess that I w Icr 
 
 The Scottish member's legislative rigs, 
 
 That spiritual Pinder, 
 Who looks on erring souls as straying pigs. 
 That must be lash'd by law, wherever found. 
 And driven to church, as to the parish pound. 
 I do confess, without rescrs-c or wheedle, 
 I view that grovelling idea as one 
 Worthy some parish clerk's ambitious son. 
 A charity-boy, who longs to be a beadle. 
 
 On such a vital topic sure 'tis odd 
 How much a man can differ from his neighbour: 
 One wishes worship freely giv'n to God, 
 Another wants to make it statute-labour — 
 
as 
 
 The broad distinction in a line to draw, 
 A» means to lead us to the skies above, 
 You say — Sir Andrew and his love of law. 
 And I — the Saviour witli his law of lnvc. 
 
 Spontaneously to God should tend the soul, 
 
 Like the magnetic needle to the Pole ; 
 
 Hut what were that intrinsic virtue worth, 
 
 Suppose some fellow, with more /eal than knowledge, 
 
 Fresh from St. Andrew's College, 
 Should nail the conscious needle to the north ? 
 
 I do confess that I abhor and shrink 
 From schemes, with a religious willy-nilly, 
 That frown upon St. Giles's sins, but blink 
 The peccadilloes of all Piccadilly — 
 My soul revolts at such a bare hypocrisy. 
 And will not, dare not, fancy in accord 
 The Lord of Hosts with an Exclusive Lord 
 
 Of this world's aristocracy. 
 It will not own a notion so unholy, 
 As thinking that the rich by easy trips 
 May go to heav'n, whereas the poor and lowly 
 Must work their passage as they do in ships. 
 
 E 
 
26 wii iiis, I. . .>. 
 
 One place there is — beneath the burial sod 
 Where all mankind arc equalised by death ; 
 Another place there is — the Fane of God, 
 Where all are equal, who draw living breath . 
 Juggle who wilt else\ok*rc with his own soul. 
 Playing the Judas with a tc; ' ' '.c — 
 
 He who can come beneath t .. cope, 
 
 In the dread presence of a Maker Just, 
 Who metes to ev'ry pinch of human dust 
 One e%'en measure of immortal hope — 
 He who can stand within that holy door, 
 With soul unbow'd by that pure spirit-level. 
 And frame unequal laws for rich and poor, — 
 Might sit for Hell and represent the Devil ! 
 
 Such u... (.<<- .-.^'...i.in sentiments, O Kac, 
 In your last Journey- Work, perchance you ravage. 
 Seeming, but in more courtly terms, to say 
 I'm but a heedless, creedless, godless savage ; 
 A very Guy, deserving fire and faggots, — 
 
 A ScofTcr. always on the grin, 
 And   " n to the mortal sin 
 
 Of liV> .. .vorms less than merry matrgots I 
 
 The humble records of my lilc to scafLh, 
 I have not herded with mere pagan beasts ; 
 
ODE TO RAF. WII.SOS, ESQ. 27 
 
 But sometimes I have " sat at good men's feasts," 
 And I have been " where bells have knoll'd to 
 
 church." 
 Dear bells I how sweet the sounds of village 
 
 bells 
 When on the uiululatmg air tlit-y swim I 
 Now loud as welcomes ! faint, now, as farewells ! 
 And trembling all about the breezy dells 
 As fluttered by the wings of Cherubim. 
 Meanwhile the bees are chanting a low hymn ; 
 And lost to sight th' ecstatic lark above 
 Sings, like a soul beatified, of love, — 
 With, now and then, the coo of the wild pigeon ; — 
 O Pagans, Heathens, Infidels and Doubters ! 
 If such sweet sounds can't woo you to religion, 
 Will the harsh voices of church cads and touters ? 
 
 A man may cry " Church ! Church ! " at cv'ry 
 
 word. 
 With no more piety than other people — 
 A daw's not reckon'd a religious bird 
 Because it keeps a-cawing from a steeple. 
 The Temple is a good, a holy place, 
 But quacking only gives it an ill savour : 
 While saintly mountebanks the porch disgrace, 
 .■\nd bring religion's self into disfavour ! 
 
 E 2 
 
28 ODE TO RAR WILSON, B8Q. 
 
 Behold yon servitor of God and Mammon, 
 Who, I   th his I-cd(^cr, 
 
 BU . trading gammon, 
 
 A black-leg saint, a spiritual hedger. 
 Who backs his rigid Sabbath, so to speak, 
 Against the wicked remnant of the week, 
 A saving bet against his sinful bias — 
 " Rogue that I am," he whispers to himself, 
 " I lie — I cheat — do anything for pelf, 
 But who on earth can say I am not pious ? " 
 
 In proof how over-righteousness re-acts. 
 
 Accept an anecdote well based on facts. 
 
 One Sunday morning — (at the day don't fret) — 
 
 In riding with a friend to Pondcr's End 
 
 Outside the stage, we happcn'd to commend 
 
 A certain mansion that we saw To Let. 
 
 " Ay," cried our coachm.in, with our t." 'pplc, 
 
 " You're right ! no house along the r . ■,s nif;h 
 
 it. 
 'Twas built by the same man as built yon chapel, 
 
 And master wanted once to buy it, — 
 But t'other driv the bargain much too hard — 
 
 He ax'd sure /y a sum purdigious I 
 But being so panicular religious. 
 Why, llial, you see, put muster on his guard ! " 
 
ODK TO RAE WILSON. ESQ. 2g 
 
 Church is " a little hcav'n bcluw, 
 1 have been there and still wuuld go," — 
 Yet I am none of those who think it odd 
 A man can pray unbidden from the cassock, 
 And, passing by the customary hassock, 
 Kneel down remote upon the simple sod, 
 And sue in foriiui puu/'i-ris to God. 
 
 As for the rest, intolerant to none, 
 Whatever shape the pious rite may bear, 
 Kv'n the poor Pagan's homage to the Sun 
 I would not harshly scorn, lest even there 
 I spurn'd some elements of Christian pray'r — 
 An aim, tho' erring, at a " world ayont " — 
 
 Acknowledgment of good — of man's futility, 
 A sense of need, and weakness, and indeed 
 That very thing so many Christians want — 
 
 Humility. 
 Such, unto Papists, Jews, or turban'd Turks, 
 Such is my spirit — (I don't mean my wraith !j 
 Such, may it please you, is my humble faith ; 
 I know, full well, you do not like my works] 
 I have not sought, 'tis true, the Holy Land, 
 .\s full of texts as Cuddie Hcadrigg's mother, 
 The Bible in one hand, 
 
30 ODE TO RAE WILSON, ESQ. 
 
 And my own commonplace-book in the other — 
 But you have been to Palestine — alas ! 
 Some minds improve by travel, others, rather. 
 
 Resemble copper wire, or brass, 
 Which Rets the narrower by going farther! 
 Worthless arc all such pilgrimages — very ! 
 If Palmers at the Holy Tomb contrive 
 The human heats and rancour to revive 
 That at the Sepulchre they ought to burj', 
 A sorry sight it is to rest the eye on, 
 To see a Christian creature graze at Sion, 
 Then homeward, of the saintly pasture full, 
 Rush bellowing, and breathing fire and smoke. 
 At crippled Papistry to butt and poke. 
 Exactly as a skittish Scottish bull 
 Hunts an old woman in a scarlet cloak ! 
 
 Why leave a serious, moral, pious home, 
 Scotland, renown'd for sanctity of old. 
 Far distant Catholics to rate and scold 
 For — doing as the Romans do at Rome ? 
 With such a bristling spirit wherefore quit 
 The Land of Cakes for any land of wafers. 
 About the graceless images to flit, 
 And buzz and chafe importunate as chafers, 
 
WlI.SliN, 1 '.'. ^I 
 
 Longing to carve the carvers to Scotch collops ? — 
 People who hold such absolute opinions 
 Should stay at home, in Protestant dominions, 
 Not travel like male Mrs, Trollopes. 
 
 Gifted with noble tendency to climb, 
 Yet weak at the same time. 
 Faith is a kind of parasitic plant. 
 That grasps the nearest stem with tendril-rings ; 
 And as the climate and the soil may grant. 
 So is the sort of tree to which it clings. 
 Consider then, before, like Hurlothrumbo, 
 You aim your club at any creed on earth. 
 That, by the simple accident of birth, 
 You might have been High Priest to Mumbo Jumbo. 
 
 For me — thro' heathen ignorance perchance, 
 
 Nor having knelt in Palestine, — I feel 
 
 None of that griffmish excess of zeal, 
 
 Some travellers would blaze with here in France. 
 
 Dolls I can see in Virgin-like array. 
 
 Nor for a scuffle with the idols hanker 
 
 Like crazy Quixote at the puppets' play. 
 
 If their " offence be rank," should mine be rancour ? 
 
 Mild light, and by degrees, should be the plan 
 
32 ODE TO RAE WILSON, ESQ. 
 
 To cure t! '   1 ; 
 
 liut who \ ".cd man, 
 
 And give him two black eyes for being blind 7 
 
 Suppose the tender but luxuriant hop 
 Around a canker'd stem should twine, 
 What Kentish boor would tear away the prop 
 So roughly as to wound, nay, kill the bine ? 
 The images, 'tis true, are strangely dress'd, 
 With gauds and toys extremely out of season ; 
 The carv'ing nothing of the verj' best. 
 The whole repugnant to the eye of reason. 
 Shocking to taste, and to Fine Arts a treason — 
 Yet ne'er o'erlook in bigotr)- of sect 
 One truly Catholic, one common form, 
 At which uncheck'd 
 All Christian hearts may kmdlc or keep warm. 
 
 Say, was it to my spirit's gain or loss. 
 
 One bright and balmy morning, as I went 
 
 Prom Liege's lovely environs to Ghent, 
 
 If hard by the wayside I found a cross. 
 
 That made me breathe a pray'r upon the spot — 
 
 While Nature of herself, as if to trace 
 
 The emblem's use, had trail'd around its base 
 
 The blue significant Forget-me-not ? 
 
K 
 
 ^Jf 
 
ODE TO RAE WILSON, ESQ. 33 
 
 Mclliou);ht, the claims of Chanty to ur^jc 
 More forcibly, along with I'aith and Hope, 
 The pious choice had pitch'd upon the verge 
 
 Of a delicious slope, 
 Giving the eye much variegated scope ; — 
 '• Look round," it whispcr'd, " on that prospect rare, 
 Those vales so verdant, and those hills so blue ; 
 linjoy the sunny world, so fresh, and fair. 
 But" — (how the simple legend pierced me thro' I) 
 
 *' Priez pour lus Malmeureux." 
 
 With sweet kind natures, as in honey 'd cells, 
 Religion lives, and feels herself at home ; 
 Hut only on a formal visit dwells 
 Where wasps instead of bees have formed i\.' 
 Shun pride, O Rae ! — whatever sort beside 
 You take in lieu, shun spiritual pride ! 
 A pride there is of rank — a pride of birth, 
 A pride of learning, and a pride of purse, 
 A London pride — in short, there be on earth 
 A host of prides, some better and some worse ; 
 But of all prides, since Lucifer's attaint. 
 The proudest swells a self-elected Saint. 
 
 To picture that cold pride so harsh and hard. 
 Fancy a peacock in a poultry yard. 
 
Behold him in conceited circles sail. 
 Strutting and dancing, and now planted stifT, 
 In all his pomp of pageantry, as if 
 He felt "tV ' ' - •' on his tail! 
 
 As for the ; . n'd by man. 
 
 He scorns the whole domestic clan — 
 
 He bows, he bridles. 
 
 He wheels, he sidles. 
 At last, with stately dodgings in a corner 
 He pens a simple russet hen, to scorn her 
 I'ull in the bla^e of his resplendent fan t 
 
 • Look here," he cries (to give him words). 
 
 "Thou feather'd clay — thou scum of birds ! 
 Flirting the rustling plumage in her eyes, — 
 " Look here, thou vile predestined sinner, 
 
 Doom'd to be roasted for a dinner, 
 Behold these lovely variegated dyes 1 
 These arc the rainbow colours of the skies 
 That Hcav'n has shed upon me con amort — 
 A Bird of Paradise ? — a pretty stor)- ! 
 / am that Saintly l-'owl. thou pultn,- chick \ 
 
 Look at my crown of glor)- 1 
 Thou dint;y, <1 jiii ; 
 
 And off goes I i kick. 
 
 With bleeding scalp laid open by his bill I 
 That little simile exactly paints 
 
ODE TO RAE WILSON, ESQ. 35 
 
 How sinners are despised by saints. 
 By saints ! — the Hypocrites that ope heav'r'- ' — 
 Obsequious to the sinful man of riches — 
 But put the wicked, naked, barelcgg'd poor, 
 In parish stocks instead of breeches. 
 
 The Saints ! — the Bigots that in public spout. 
 Spread phosphorus of zeal on scraps of fustian, 
 And go like walking " Lucifers " about 
 Merc living bundles of combustion. 
 
 The Saints! — the aping Fanatics that talk 
 All cant and rant, and rhapsodies highflown — 
 
 That bid you baulk 
 
 A Sunday walk, 
 And shun God's work as you should shun your own. 
 
 The Saints ! — the Formalists, the e.\tra pious, 
 Who think the mortal husk can save the soul, 
 By trundling with a mere mechanic bias, 
 To church, just like a lignum-vita: bowl ! 
 
 The Saints ! — the Pharisees, whose beadle stands 
 Beside a stern coercive kirk. 
 A piece of human mason-work, 
 
 F 2 
 
36 ODE TO RAE Wlt-SON, ESQ. 
 
 Callinj^ all Js, 
 
 In that grc..' . , "l made with hands. 
 
 Thrice blessed, rather, is the man, with whom 
 The gracious prodigality of nature, 
 
 The balm, the bliss, the beauty, and thi; .'. 
 
 The bounteous providence in ev'ry feature, 
 Recall the good Creator to his creature, 
 Making all earth a fane, all heav'n his dome ! 
 To his tuned spirit the wild heather-bells 
 
 Ring Sabbath knells ; 
 The jubilate of the soaring lark 
 
 Is chant of clerk; 
 For choir, the thrush and the gregarious linnet ; 
 T': .1 cushion for his pious want : 
 
 A:..., > .. .^crated by the heav'n within it. 
 
 The sky-blue pool, a font. 
 Each cloupcapp'd mountain is a holy altar : 
 
 An organ breathes in cverj* grove 
 
 And the full heart's a Psalter, 
 Rich in deep hymns of gratitude and love ! 
 
 Sufficiently by stem necessitarians 
 
 Poor Nature, with her face begrimed by dust. 
 
 Is stoked, coked, smoked, ai<. ' choked ; but must 
 
 Religion hove its own Utilita: , 
 
 Labell'd with evangelical phylacteries. 
 
ODE TO RAE WILSON, ESQ. 37 
 
 To make the road tu liL-avn a railway trust, 
 
 And churches — that's the naked fact — mere factories ? 
 
 Oh 1 simply open wide the Temple door, 
 And let the solemn, swelling, organ greet. 
 
 With Voluntaries meet. 
 The willing advent of the rich and poor! 
 And while to God the loud liosannas soar. 
 With rich vibrations from the vocal throng — 
 From quiet shades that to the woods belong. 
 
 And brooks with music of their own. 
 Voices may come to swell the choral song 
 With notes of praise they Icarn'd in musings lone. 
 
 How strange it is while on all vital questions. 
 
 That occupy the House and public mind. 
 
 We always meet with some humane suggestions 
 
 Of gentle measures of a healing kind. 
 
 Instead of harsh severity and vigour. 
 
 The Saint alone his preference retains 
 
 For bills of penalties and pains, 
 And marks his narrow code with legal rigour ! 
 Why shun, as worthless of afTiliation, 
 What men of all political persuasion 
 Kxtol — and even use upon occasion — 
 That Christian principle. Conciliation ? 
 
3.S WILSON, ESQ. 
 
 But poshibl^' the men who make 
 
 With Sunday pippins and old Ti„; :, 
 
 Attach some other meaning to the term, 
 As thus : 
 
 One market morning, in my usual rambles, 
 Passing along Whitechapel's ancient shambles, 
 Where meat was hung in many a joint and quarter, 
 I had to halt awhile, like other folks, 
 
 To let a killing butcher coax 
 A score of lambs and fatted sheep to slaughter. 
 
 A sturdy man he look'd to (<:'.'. 
 
 Bull-fronted, ruddy, with a formal streak 
 Of well greased hair down cither check. 
 As if he dee dashdce'd some other flocks 
 Besides those woolly-headed stubborn blocks 
 That stood before him, in vexatious huddle — 
 Poor litlk- laiiihs, V. '' "' ' "' " ^ " ' !, 
 
 While, now and tli' 
 And meekly snufTd, but did not taste the puddle. 
 
 Fierce bark'd the dog, and many a bio- •■ •' ' -.ilt. 
 That loin, and chump, and scrag and t. 
 
 Yet still, that fatal step they alt declined it. — 
 
ODE TO RAE WILSON, ESQ. 39 
 
 And sliunii'd the lainlcd dour as il they sintit 
 Onions, mint sauce, and lemon juice behind it. 
 At last there came a pause of brutal force, 
 
 The cur was silent, for his jaws were full 
 
 Of tangled locks of tarry wool, 
 The man had whoop'd and holloed till dead hoarse. 
 The lime was ripe for mild expostulation. 
 And thus it stammer'd from a standcr-by — 
 " Zounds ! — my good fellow, — it quite makes mc — 
 
 why, 
 It really — my dear fellow ■' •■:■ t try 
 Conciliation ! 
 
 Stringing his nerves like flint. 
 The sturdy butcher seized upon the hint, — 
 At least he seized upon the foremost wether, — 
 And hugg'd and lugg'd and tugg"d him neck and crop 
 Just nolens volcns thro' the open shop — 
 If tails come off he didn't care a feather, — 
 Then walking to the door and smiling grim, 
 He rubb'd his forehead and his sleeve together — 
 
 " There ! — I've coficiliated him ! " 
 Again — good humouredly to end our quarrel — 
 
 (Good humour should prevail I) — 
 
 I'll fit you with a tale. 
 
 Whereto is tied a moral. 
 
40 
 
 O . ' '. '• 
 
 W oep decline 
 
 Cough, hectic nusheii, ev'r)- evil sign, 
 
 That, as their   ' '■ 
 
 The Doctors g i 
 
 Accordingly, the grisly Shade to bilk, 
 
 Each morn the patient quafTd a frothy bowl 
 
 Of asinine new milk. 
 Robbing a shagsry suckling of a foal 
 Which got pro, - ire and skinny— 
 
 Meanwhile tht ;,..„... -.s cried "Poor Mary 
 
 Ann ! 
 She can't get over it I she never can I " 
 When lo! to prove each prophet was a ninny. 
 The one that died was the poor wetnursc Jenny. 
 
 T -itc the case, 
 
 Theri '. two grown donkeys in the place; 
 
 And most unluckily for Eve's sick daughter, 
 T'     ' ' ' male, 
 
 W 1 
 
 Of milk, or even chalk and water. 
 No matter : at • ' ' 
 
 Down trots a <: . ''e. 
 
 With Mister Simon Gubbins on its back, — 
 '• Your sarvant, Miss,— a wcrry spring like day, — 
 
ODE TO RAE WILSON, ESQ. 
 
 1« 
 
 Bad time for hasscs tho I good lack I good lack t 
 Jenny be dead, Miss, — but I'/e brought ye Jack, 
 He doesn't give no milk — but he can bray." 
 So runs the story, 
 And, in vain self glory. 
 Some Saints would sneer at Gubbins for his blindness — 
 Hut what the better are their pious saws 
 To ailmg souls, than dry hee-haws, 
 
 Without the milk of l^uman kindness ? 
 
 v<- 
 
Otir to rhr fKIoou. 
 
 I i i i i-.i\ (I ii:,:it : now fairly dost thou ^o 
 Over those hoary crests, divinely led ! — 
 Art thou that huntress of the silver bow, 
 Fabled of old ? Or rather dost thou tread 
 Those cloudy summits thence to ga/e below, 
 Like the wild Chamois from her Alpine snow. 
 Where hunter never climb'd, — secure from dread ? 
 How many antique fancies have I read 
 Of that mild presence I and how many wrought ! 
 Wondrous and bright, 
 Upon the silver light, 
 Chasing fair figures with the artist, Thought ! 
 
 What art thou like ? — Sometimes 1 sec thee ride 
 A far-bound galley on its perilous way. 
 Whilst breery waves toss up their silvery spray ; — 
 Sometimes behold thee glide, 
 
 A2 
 
onr. TO TUP. moos. ^^ 
 
 Cluster'd by all thy family of stars. 
 
 Like a lone widow, throuj^h the welkin wide, 
 
 Whose pallid cheek the midnight sorrow mars; — 
 
 Sometimes I watch thee on from steep to steep, 
 
 Timidly li>;htcd by thy vestal torch, 
 
 Till in some Latmian cave I see thee creep, 
 
 To catch the younj; Ivndymion asleep, — 
 
 Leaving thy splendour at the jagged porch 1 — 
 
 Oil, thou art beautiful, howc'cr it be ! 
 Fiuntress, or Dian, or whatever named ; 
 And he, the veriest Pagan, that first framed 
 A silver idol, and ne'er worshipp'd thee ! — 
 It is too late — or thou should'st have my knee — 
 Too late now for the old Ephesian vows. 
 And not divine the crescent on thy brows ! — 
 Yet, call thee nothing but the mere mild Moon, 
 
 Behind those chestnut boughs, 
 Casting their dappled shadows at my feet ; 
 I will be grateful for that simple boon. 
 In many a thoughtful verse and anthem sweet, 
 And bless thy dainty face whene'er we meet. 
 
 In nights far gone, — ay, far away and dead, — 
 Before Care-fretted, with a lidless eye, — 
 I was thy wooer on my little bed, 
 
 G 2 
 
44 
 
 ODE TO THE MOON. 
 
 Letting the early hours of rest go by, 
 
 To see thcc flood the heaven with milky light, 
 
 And feed thy snow-white swans, before I slept ; 
 
 For thou wert then purveyor of my dreams, — 
 
 Thou wcrt the fairies' armourer, that kept 
 
 Their burnish "d helms, and crowns, and corslets bright. 
 
 Their spears, and glittering mails : 
 And ever thou didst spill in winding streams 
 
 Sparkles and midnight gleams. 
 For fishes to new gloss their argent scales ! — 
 
 Why sighs ? — why creeping tears ? — why clasped hands ?- 
 
 Is it to count the boy's expended dow'r ? 
 
 That fairies since have broke their gifted wands ? 
 
 That young Deli;;ht, like any o'erblown flow'r. 
 
 Gave, one by one. its sweet leaves to the ground ? — 
 
 Why then, fair Moon, for all thou mark'st no hour. 
 
 Thou art a sadder dial to old Time 
 
 Than ever I have found 
 On sunny garden-plot, or moss-grown tow'r. 
 Motto'd with stem and melancholy rhyme. 
 
 Why should 1 grieve for this ? — Oh I must yearn 
 Whilst Time, conspirator with Memory, 
 Keeps his cold ashes in an ancient urn. 
 Richly emboss'd with childhood's revelry 
 
ODR TO TMF. MOON. 
 
 A5 
 
 With leaves and cluster'd fruits, and flow'rs ctcrne,- 
 (Ktcrnal to tiie world, thou(,'h not to mc). 
 Aye there will those brave sports and blossoms be. 
 The deathless wreath, and undecay'd festoon. 
 
 When I am hearsed within, — 
 Less than the pallid primrose to the Moon, 
 That now she watches throu^'h a vapour thin. 
 
 So let It l)c : — Ucfore I h.>.>. ;■- .••„.,, 
 Thou wert in Avon, and a thousand rills. 
 Beautiful Orb ! and so, where'er I lie 
 Trodden, thou wilt be gazing from thy hills. 
 Hlcst be thy loving light, where'er it spills. 
 And blessed thy fair face, O mother mild I 
 Still shine, the soul of rivers as they run, 
 Still lend thy lonely lamp to lovers fond, 
 And blend their plighted shadows into one : — 
 Still smile at even on the bedded child, 
 .■\nd close his cvclicN with ihv silvir w.-ind ! 
 
 eJu^T ?s?JT»::55P^ 
 
Zo   * • • 
 
 WITH A FI.ASK OF RHINR WATER. 
 
 |Hli "ill *-.i:nii:t <^iiv w.i?. >lui, 
 
 In the Minster the vespers were sung. 
 And, re-echoed in cadences shrill, 
 The last call of the trumpet had rung ; 
 While, across the broad stream of the Rhine, 
 The full Moon cast a silvery zone ; 
 And mcthouRht, as I (jazed on its shine, 
 " Surely that is the liau dc Cologne." 
 I inquired not the place of its source. 
 If it ran to the cast or the west ; 
 But my heart took a note of its ct..: -. . 
 That it flowd towards Her I love best — 
 That it flow'd towards Her I love best. 
 Like those wandering thoughts of my own. 
 And the fancy such sweetness posscss'd, 
 Thot the Rhine scem'd all Eau de Cologne ! 
 
 48 
 
Cljc 'Cxuo pcacocliG of Bftifout. 
 
 LAS ! Tliat breathing Vanity should go 
 Where Pride is buried, — like its very ghost, 
 Uprisen from the naked bones below, 
 In novel flesh, clad in the silent boast 
 Of gaudy silk that flutters to and fro, 
 
 Shedding its chilling superstition most 
 On young and ignorant natures — as it wont 
 To haunt the peaceful churchyard of Bedfont I 
 
 Each Sabbath morning, at the hour of prayer. 
 Behold two maidens, up the quiet green 
 
 Shining far distant, in the summer air 
 That flaunts their dewy robes and breathes between 
 
 Their downy plumes, — sailing as if they were 
 Two far-off ships, — until they brush between 
 
 The churchyard's humble walls, and watch and wait 
 
 On either side of the wide open'd gate. 
 
 47 
 
48 THE TWO PEACOCKS OV DEDFOST. 
 
 And there they stand— with haujjhly necks l>eforc 
 God's holy house, that points towards the skies - 
 
 Frowning reluctant duty from the poor, 
 
 And tempting homage from unthoughtful eyes : 
 
 And Vouth looks lingering from the temple door, 
 Hreathing its wishes in unfruitful sighs. 
 
 With pouting lips, — forgetful of the grace, 
 
 Of health, and smiles, on the heart-conscious face .■ 
 
 Because that Wealth, which has no bliss beside, 
 
 May wear the happiness of rich attire ; 
 And those two sisters, in their silly pride, 
 
 May change the soul's warm glances for the fire 
 Of lifeless diamonds ; — and for health denied, — 
 
 With art, that blushes at itself, inspire 
 Their languid checks— and flourish in a glory- 
 That has no life in life, nor after-story. 
 
 The aged priest goes shaking his grey hair 
 In meekest censuring, and turns his eye 
 
 F.ai:' t f , and heavenward in pray'r, 
 
 A- . clasps his hand, and passes by. 
 
 Good-hearted man 1 what sullen soul would wear 
 Thy sorrow for a garb. .■ 
 
 Put on thy censure, that t „ praise 
 
 Of one to grey in goodness and in days ? 
 
Till'. TWO I'KACOCKS OF DKDFONT. 49 
 
 AIho the solemn clerk partakes the shame 
 Of this ungodly shine of human pride, 
 
 And sadly blends his reverence and blame 
 In une grave bow, and passes with a stride 
 
 Impatient : — many a red-hooded dame 
 Turns her pain'd head, but not her glance, aside 
 
 From wanton dress, and marvels o'er again, 
 
 That heaven hath no wet judgments for the vain. 
 
 " 1 have a lily in the bloom at home," 
 
 Quoth one, *' and by the blessed Sabbath day 
 
 I'll pluck my lily in its pride, and come 
 And read a lesson upon vain array ; — 
 
 And when stifT silks are rustling up, and some 
 Give place, I'll shake it in proud eyes and say — 
 
 Making my reverence, — ' Ladies, an you please 
 
 King Solomon's not half so fine as these." " 
 
 Then her meek partner, who has nearly run 
 
 His earthly course, — " Nay, Goody, let your text 
 
 Grow in the garden. — We have only one — 
 
 Who knows that these dim eyes may see the next ? 
 
 Summer will come again, and summer sun. 
 And lilies too, — but I were sorely vext 
 
 To mar my garden, and cut short the blow 
 
 or the last lily I may live to grow." 
 
50 THE TWO PEACOCKS OP BEDFONT. 
 
 " 1 lie Ubl !   quuth ihc, •' am!   
 
 Lo ! those two wantons, will 
 With waving plumes, and jewels in their hair, 
 
 And painted checks, liki- -v'd 
 
 And curtscy'd to I — last S.i .-. , ...,. :, 
 
 I heard the little Tomkins ask aloud 
 If they were angels — but I made him know 
 f" "'   'right ones better, v--"'-   '■••!cr blow ! " 
 
 So speaking, they pursue the pebbly walk 
 That leads to the white porch the Sunday throng, 
 
 Hand-coupled urchins in restrained talk. 
 And anxious pedagogue that chastens wrong, 
 
 And posicd churchw;i: " ' ' --talk. 
 
 And gold-bcdizcn'd ;ig. 
 
 And gentle peasant clad in buflfand green. 
 
 Like a meek cowslip in the spring serene . 
 
 And blushing maiden — modestly array 'd 
 
 In spotless white, — still conscious of the glass ; 
 
 And she, the lonely widow, that hath made 
 A sable covenant with grief, — alas ! 
 
 She veils her tears under the deep, deep shade, 
 While the poor kind' ' ' ' •' v pass, 
 
 Bend to unclouded cli 
 
 Her boy, — so rosy ! — and so fatherless I 
 
THE TWO PF.ACOCKS OF BEDFONT. 5I 
 
 Thus, as good Christians ought, they all draw near. 
 
 The fair white temple, to the timely call 
 Of pleasant bells that tremble in the car. — 
 
 Now the last frock, and scarlet hood, and shawl 
 I'ade into dusk, in the dim atmosphere 
 
 Of the low porch, and heav'n has won them all, 
 — Saving those two, that turn aside and pass. 
 In velvet blossom, where all flesh is grass. 
 
 Ah me I to see their silken manors trail'd 
 In purple lu.Nurics — with restless gold, — 
 
 Fiauntin;; the grass where widowhood has wail'd 
 In blotted black, — over the heapy mould 
 
 Panting wave-wantonly I They never quail'd 
 How the warm vanity abused the cold ; 
 
 Nor saw the solemn faces of the gone 
 
 Sadly uplooking through transparent stone : 
 
 But swept their dwellings with unquiet light, 
 Shocking the awful presence of the dead ; 
 
 Where gracious natures would their eyes benight 
 Nor wear their being with a lip too red. 
 
 Nor move too rudely in the summer bright 
 Of sun, but put staid sorrow in their tread, 
 
 Meting it into steps, with inward breath, 
 
 In very pity to bereaved death. 
 
I TMK TWO PEACOCKS OF BEDFONT. 
 
 Now in the church, time-subcr'd minds resign 
 To solemn pniy'r, and the loud chauntcd hymn,- 
 
 With glowing picturings of joys divine 
 
 Painting the mist-light where the roof is dim 
 
 But youth looks upward to the window shine, 
 Warming with rose and purple and the swim 
 
 Of gold, as if thought-tinted by the stains 
 
 Of gorgeous light through many-colour'd panes ; 
 
 Soiling the virgin snow wherein God hath 
 Enrobed bis angels, — and with absent eyes 
 
 Hearing of Hcav'n, and its directed path, 
 
 Thoughtful of slippers, — and the glorious skies 
 
 Clouding with satin, — till the preacher's wrath 
 Consumes his pity, and he glows, and cries 
 
 With a deep voice that trembles in its might. 
 
 And earnest eyes grown eloquent in light : 
 
 " Oh, that the vacant eye would learn to look 
 On very beauty, and the heart embrace 
 
 True loveliness, and from this holy book 
 
 Drink the warm-breathing tenderness and grace 
 
 Of love indeed 1 Oh, that the young soul took 
 Its virgin passion from the glorious face 
 
 Of fair religion, and addrcss'd its strife. 
 
 To win the riches of eternal life I 
 
THE TWO PEACOCKS OF DEDFONT. 53 
 
 " Doth the vain heart love glory that is none, 
 
 And the poor excellence of vain attire ? 
 Oh t^o, and drown your eyes a^'ainst the 8un, 
 
 The visible ruler of the starry quire, 
 Till boiling gold in giddy eddies run, 
 
 Uaz/ling the brain with orbs of living fire ; 
 And the faint soul down-darkens into night, 
 
 And dies a burning martyrdom to light. 
 
 " Oh go, and gaze, — when the low winds of ev'n 
 Breathe hymns, and Nature's many forests nod 
 
 Their goldcrown'd heads; and the rich blooms of hcav'n 
 Sun-ripcn'd give their blushes up to God ; 
 
 And mountain-rocks and cloudy steeps arc riv'n 
 By founts of fire, as smitten by the rod 
 
 Of heavenly Moses, — that your thirsty sense 
 
 May quench its longings of magnificence ! 
 
 " Yet suns shall perish — stars shall fade away 
 Day into darkness — darkness into death — 
 
 Death into silence ; the warm light of day. 
 The blooms of summer, the rich glowing breath 
 
 Of even — all shall wither and decay, 
 
 Like the frail furniture of dreams beneath 
 
 The touch of morn — or bubbles of rich dyes 
 
 That break and vanish in the aching eyes." 
 
54 THE TWO PEACOCK i ONT. 
 
 They hear, i>ing, and repentant shed 
 
 Unv. ' ' ' -s in whol • irs, and pour 
 
 Their with low . head 
 
 Receive the solemn blessing, and implore 
 
 Its grace — then soberly v ' ' tread, 
 
 They meekly press tov, „ y door. 
 
 With humbled eyes that go to graze upon 
 
 The lowly grass — like him of Babylon. 
 
 The lowly grass ! — O water-constant mind ! 
 
 Fast-ebbing holiness! — soon-fading grace 
 Of serious thought, as if the gushing wind 
 
 Through the low porch had wash'd it from the face 
 For ever I — How they lift their eyes to find 
 
 Old vanities! — Pride wins the very place 
 Of meekness, like a bird, and flutters now 
 With idle wings on the curl-conscious brow ! 
 
 And lo I with eager lookb •. . ck the way 
 
 Of old temptation at the lowly gate ; 
 To feast on feathers, and on vain array, 
 
 And painted cheeks, and the rich glistering state 
 Of jewel-sprinkled locks. — But where arc they. 
 
 The graceless haughty ones that used to wait 
 With 1 '■ - '■, and nods, and stifTcn'd eye ? 
 None >. the old homage bending by. 
 
\.^ 
 
THE TWO PEACOCKS OF BEDFONT. 55 
 
 In vain they look for the ungracious bloom 
 Of rich apparel where it glow'd before, — 
 
 For Vanity has faded all to gloom, 
 And lofty Pride has stifTcn'd to the core, 
 
 For impious Life to tremble at its doom, — 
 Set for a warning token evermore. 
 
 Whereon, as now, the giddy and the wise 
 
 Shall gaze with lifted hands and wond'ring eyes. 
 
 The aged priest goes on each Sabbath morn. 
 But shakes not sorrow under his grey hair ; 
 
 The solemn clerk goes lavcndcr'd and shorn 
 Nor stoops his back to the ungodly pair : — 
 
 And ancient lips that puckcr'd up in scorn, 
 Go smoothly breathing to the house of pray r , 
 
 And in the garden-plot, from day to day. 
 
 The lily blooms its long white life away. 
 
 And where two haughty maidens used to be. 
 In pride of plume, where plumy Death had trod, 
 
 Trailing their gorgeous velvets wantonly, 
 Most unmeet pall, over the holy sod ; — 
 
 There, gentle stranger, thou may'st only see 
 Two sombre Peacocks. — Age, with sapient nod 
 
 Marking the spot, still tarries to declare 
 
 How they once lived, and wherefore they are there. 
 
Ot)f to jBrlaiubolp. 
 
 The -.w 
 
 |i">NfF, let us set our   
 Like Pliitomel, nj;.i 
 To aggravate the inward grief, 
 rhat makes her accents so forlorn 
 vl has many cruel points. 
 Whereby our bosoms have been torn. 
 And there are dainty themes of grief. 
 In sadness to outlast the morn, — 
 True honour's dearth, affection's death. 
 Neglectful pride, and cankering scorn, 
 Withai:   , .   , . 
 
 Have \\. ■i)rn. 
 
 The world I — it is n wilderness, 
 Where tears are hung on everj* tree : 
 For thus my gloomy phantasy 
 Makes all things weak with me ! 
 56 
 
ODE TO MP.I.ANCIIOI.Y. 
 
 Come let us sit and watch the sky, 
 And fancy clouds, where no clouds be ; 
 Grief is enouj;h to blot the eye. 
 And make heaven black with misery. 
 
 Why should birds sing such merry notes, 
 
 Unless they were more blest than we ? 
 
 No sorrow ever chokes their throats, 
 
 Except sweet nightingale ; for she 
 
 Was born to pain our hearts the more 
 
 With lier sad melody. 
 
 Why shines the Sun, except that he 
 
 Makes gloomy nooks for Grief to hi'de, 
 
 And pensive shades for Melancholy, 
 
 When all the earth is bright beside ? 
 
 Let clay wear smiles, and green gVass wave,' 
 
 Mirlh shall not win us back again, 
 
 Whilst man is made of his own grave. 
 
 And fairest clouds but gilded rain ! 
 
 I saw my mother in her shroud, 
 Her cheek was cold and vcrj' pale ; 
 And ever since I've look'd on all 
 As creatures doom'd to fail ! 
 Why do buds ope except to die ? 
 
58 ODE TO UBLANCHOLV. 
 
 Ay, let us \v.it(.ii t;it : :cr. 
 
 And think of our lovi ; 
 
 And oh I how quickly time doth fly 
 To brinjj death's winter hither I 
 Minutes, hours, days, and weeks. 
 Months, years, and ages, shrink to nought ; 
 An age past is but a thought ! 
 
 Ay, let us think of him awhile 
 
 That, with a coffin for a boat. 
 
 Rows daily o'er the Stygian moat, 
 
 And for our table choose a tomb : 
 
 There's dark enough in any skull 
 
 To charge with black a raven plume ; 
 
 And for the saddest funeral thoughts 
 
 A winding-sheet hath ample room. 
 
 Where Death, with his keen-pointed style. 
 
 Hath writ the common doom. 
 
 How wide the yew-tree spreads its gloom. 
 
 And o'er the dead lets fall its dew. 
 
 As if in tears it wept for them, 
 
 The many human families 
 
 That sleep around its stem ! 
 
 How cold the dead have made these stones, 
 With natural drops kept ever wet ! 
 
»)DR TO MHI.ANCMOl.V. yj 
 
 Lo ! here the best — the worst — the world 
 
 Dc'th nnw remember or for|,'ct, 
 
 Arc in one common ruin hurl'd, 
 
 And love and hate are calmly met ; 
 
 The loveliest eyes that ever shone, 
 
 The fairest hands, and locks of jet. 
 
 Is't not enough to vex our souls, 
 
 And fill our eyes, that we have set 
 
 Our love upon a rose's leaf, 
 
 Our hearts upon a violet ? 
 
 Blue eyes, red cheeks, are frailer yet ; 
 
 And sometimes at their swift decay 
 
 Beforehand we must fret. 
 
 The roses bud and bloom a^ain : 
 
 But Love may haunt the f;rave of Love, 
 
 Ami vi.iiili the mould in v.iin. 
 
 O clasp me, sweet, wliilat thou art mine, 
 
 And do not take my tears amiss ; 
 
 For tears must flow to wash away 
 
 A thought that shows so stem as this : 
 
 Forgive, if somewhile I forget. 
 
 In woe to come, the present bliss ; 
 
 As fright-cJ Proserpine let fall 
 
 Her flowers at the sight of Dis : 
 
 Ev'n so the dark and bright will kiss — 
 
 I 2 
 
6o ODE TO MELANCMOLY. 
 
 The sunniest thiiit;.s ; :ncst shaUc, 
 
 And there is cv'n ah,, 
 That makes the heart afraid ! 
 
 Now let us with a spell invoke 
 
 The fullorb'd moon to Brieve our eyes ; 
 
 Not bright, not bright, but, with a cloud 
 
 Lapp'd all about her, let her rise 
 
 All pale and dim, as if from rest 
 
 The ghost of the late-buried sun 
 
 Had crept into the skies. 
 
 The Moon I she is the source of sighs. 
 
 The very face to make us sad ; 
 
 If but to think in other limes 
 
 The same calm quiet look she had, 
 
 As if the world held nothing base. 
 
 Of vile and mean, of fierce and bad ; 
 
 The same fair light that shone in streams. 
 
 The fairy lamp that charmed the lad ; 
 
 For 80 it is, with spent delights 
 
 She taunts men's brains, and makes them mad. 
 
 All things arc touch'd with Melancholy, 
 Bom of the secret soul's mititrust. 
 To feel her fair ethereal wings 
 Weigh'd down with vile degraded dust ; 
 
ODE TO MELANCHOLY. 
 
 6t 
 
 liven llic bri(;ht exlrcmcB of joy 
 lirin); on conclusions of disgust, 
 Like the sweet blossoms of the May, 
 Whose fragrance ends in must. 
 O give her, then, her tribute just. 
 Her sighs and tears, and musings holy 
 There is no music in the life 
 That sounds with idiot laughter solely ; 
 There's not a string attuned to mirth, 
 But has its chord in Melancholy. 
 
 ^> 
 
 i..^. 
 
 /^ 
 
v!Ii)f cCompaoo, Uutl) (LlaiiationD. 
 
 IN li close of day — 'twas in the bay 
 Of Naples, bay of glon' ! 
 While liyht was hanging crowns of gold 
 On mountains high and hoary, 
 
 A (;ali.int bark got under weigh, 
 
 And with her sails my story. 
 
 For Leghorn she was bound direct, 
 With wine and oil for cargo. 
 Her crew of men some nine or ten. 
 The captain's name was lago ; 
 A good and gallant bark she was. 
 La Donna (called) del Lago. 
 
 Hron/ed mariners were hers to view, 
 With brown checks, clear or muddy. 
 Dark, shining eyes, and coal black hair, 
 Meet heads for painter's study ; 
 62 
 
>^' 
 
 -^tJ-^~ 
 
THE COMi'AbS, WITH VARIATIONS. 
 
 But 'midst their tan there stood one man, 
 Whose check was fair and ruddy ; 
 
 His brow was high, a loftier brow 
 Ne'er shone in song or sonnet, 
 His hair a little scant, and when 
 lie dofTed his cap or bonnet. 
 One saw that Grey had gone beyond 
 A premiership upon it I 
 
 His eye — a passenger was he. 
 
 The cabin he had hired it, — 
 
 His eye was grey, and when he look'd 
 
 Around the prospect fired it — 
 
 A fine poetic light, as if 
 
 The AppeNine inspired if. 
 
 His frame was stout, in height about 
 Si.\ feet — well made and portly ; 
 Of dress and manner just to give 
 A sketch, but very shortly, 
 His order seemed a composite 
 Of rustic with the courtly. 
 
 Hi ate and quafTd and joked an J laughed, 
 And chatted with the seamen, 
 
G4 TIIK COMPASS, WITH VARIATIONS. 
 
 And often task'd their skill and ask'd 
 " W'l ':cr is't to be, man ?" 
 
 No I ition there appeared 
 
 That he was any demon. 
 
 No sort of sign there was that he 
 Could raise a stormy rumpus. 
 Like Prospcro make breezes blow. 
 
 And rocks uii thump us, — 
 
 But little wc . . ; what he 
 
 Could with the needle compass ! 
 
 Soon came a storm — tlic sea at first 
 Sccm'd lying almost fallow — 
 When lo I full crash, with billowy dash, 
 From clouds of black ' v, 
 
 Came such a gale, as L i once 
 
 A cenfr>', like the aloe ! 
 
 Oui ... prcp;ircd 
 
 To •. : 
 
 When, Rush I a flood of brine came down 
 Th'- • -quite a fountain, 
 
 And ; end the table rear'd. 
 
 Just like the Table Mountain. 
 
THE COMPASS, WITH VARIATIONS. 65 
 
 Down rush'd the soup, down gush'il the wine. 
 
 Hach roll, its role repeating, 
 
 KolI'd down — the round of beef declar'd 
 
 For parting — not for meating I 
 
 Off flew the fowls, and all the game 
 
 Was " too far gone for eating ! " 
 
 Down knife and fork — down went the pork, 
 
 The lamb too broke its tether : 
 
 Down mustard went — each condiment — 
 
 Salt — pepper — all together ! 
 
 Down everything, like craft that seek 
 
 The Downs in stormy weather. 
 
 Down plunged the Lady of the Lake, 
 Her timbers seemed to sever; 
 Down, down, a dreary derry down. 
 Such lurch she had gone never; 
 She almost seemed about to take 
 A bed of down for ever I 
 
 Down dropt the captain's nether jaw. 
 Thus robb'd of all its uses, 
 He thought he saw the Evil One 
 Beside Vesuvian sluices. 
 
66 THE COMPASS, WITH VARIATIONS. 
 
 •P. 
 
 Down fell the stc -cc, 
 
 To all the Siiints ^ : „ . 
 
 And candles to the Virgin vow'd 
 As savc-alis 'gainst his ending. 
 Down fell the mate, he thought his fate. 
 Check mate, was close impending. 
 
 Down fell the cook — the cabin boy 
 Their beads with fervour telling. 
 While alps of serge, with snowy verge, 
 Above the yards came yelling. 
 Down fell the crew, and on their knees 
 Shudder'd at each white swelling I 
 
 Down sunk the sun of bloody hue. 
 
 His crimson light a cleaver 
 
 To each red rover of a wave : 
 
 To eye of fancy weaver 
 
 Neptune, the God, sccm'd tossing in 
 
 A raging scarlet fever ! 
 
 Sore, sore afraid, each papist pray'd 
 To Saint and Virgin Mary ; 
 
THE COMPASS, WITH VARIATIONS. 67 
 
 But one there was that stood composed 
 Amid the waves' vagary; 
 As staunch as rock, a true game cock 
 "Mid chicles of Mother Gary ; 
 
 His ruddy cheek rctain'd its streak. 
 No danger secm'd to shrink him : 
 His step still bold, — of mortal mould. 
 The crew could hardly think him : 
 The Lady of the Lake, he secm'd 
 To know, could never sink him. 
 
 Rela.x'd at last tlie furious gale 
 Quite out of breath with racing ; 
 The boiling flood in milder mood, 
 With gentler billows chasing ; 
 From stem to stern, with frequent turn, 
 The Stranger took to pacing. 
 
 And as he walk'd to self he talked. 
 
 Some ancient ditty thrumming, 
 
 In under tone, as not alone — 
 
 Now whistling, and now humming — 
 
 " You're welcome, Charlie," " Cowdenknowcs." 
 
 " Kenmure, " or " Campbells" Coming." 
 
 K 2 
 
68 THB COMPASS, WITH VARIATION'S. 
 
 !• .wi went tilt- \s . ' r. went the wave, 
 
 I't.ir quitted the fii il ; 
 
 The Saints, I wot, were soon forgot. 
 
 And Hope was at the pinnacle : 
 
 When rose on high, a frightful cry — 
 
 " The Devil's in the binnacle ! " 
 
 " The Saints be near," the helmsman cried. 
 
 His voice with quite a falter — 
 
 " Steady's my helm, but every look 
 
 The needle seems to alter : 
 
 God only knows where China lies, 
 
 Jamaica, or Gibraltar I " 
 
 The captain stared aghast at mute, 
 The pilot ut th" apprentice ; 
 No fancy of the German Sea 
 Of Fiction the event is : 
 liut when they at the comp.> 
 h seem'd non compass mentis. 
 
 Now north, now south, now tast, nuw west, 
 The wavering point was shaken, 
 'Twas pa.st the whole philosophy 
 Of Newton, or of Bacon ; 
 
TIIL COMPASS. Willi VAKIAIIONS. 69 
 
 Never by compass, till that hour 
 Such latitudes were taken I 
 
 With fearful speech, each after each 
 Took turns in the inspection . 
 They found no gun — no iron — nuni: 
 To vary its direction ; 
 It seem'd a new magnetic case 
 Of Poles in insurrection ! 
 
 Farewell to wives, farewell their lives. 
 
 And all their household riches ; 
 
 Oh I while they thought of girl or huv. 
 
 And dear domestic niches, 
 
 All down the side which holds the heart, 
 
 That luicllc j;ave tln-m --titi Ii.'; 
 
 With deep amai;e, the Stranger gaz'd 
 To see them so white-liver'd : 
 And walk'd abaft the binnacle. 
 To know at what they shivcr'd ; 
 But when he stood beside the card, 
 St. Josef I how it quiver'd ! 
 
 No fancy-motion, brain-begot. 
 In eye of timid dreamer — 
 
70 TUB COMPASS, WITH VARIATIONS. 
 
 The nervous finger of a sot 
 Ne'er show'd a plainer tremor ; 
 To e%'cry brain it seem'd too plain, 
 There stood th' Infernal Schemer I 
 
 Mix'd brown and blue each visage grew. 
 Just like a pullet's gizzard ; 
 Meanwhile the captain's wandering wit. 
 From tacking like an izzard. 
 Bore down in this plain course at last, 
 " It's Michael Scott— the Wizard ! " 
 
 A smile past o'er the ruddy face, 
 "To sec the poles so falter 
 I'm puzzled, friends, as much as you. 
 For with no fiends I palter ! 
 Michael I'm not — although a Scott — 
 My christian name is ^Valter." 
 
 Like oil it fell, that name, a spell 
 
 On all the fearful faction ; 
 
 The Captain's head (for he had read) 
 
 Confcss'd the Needle's action, 
 
 And bowd to Him in whom the North 
 
 Has lodged its main attraction. 
 
^taunis to Com ^OootJ^atc, 
 
 OF HASTINGS. 
 
 OM ; arc you still within this land 
 Of livers — still on Hastings' sand, 
 
 Or roaminj; on the waves ? 
 Or has some billow o'er you rolled 
 Jealous that earth should lap so bold 
 A seaman in her graves ? 
 
 On land the rushlight lives of men 
 Go out but slowly ; nine in ten. 
 
 By tedious long decline — 
 Not so the jolly sailor sinks, 
 Who founders in the wave, and drinks 
 
 The apoplectic brine ! 
 
 Ay, while I write, mayhap your head 
 Is sleeping on an oyster-bed — 
 I hope 'tis far from truth I — 
 
 7' 
 
T- 
 
 With periwinkle eyes ; — your bone 
 Beset with muBsels, not your own, 
 And cc • 'iir tooth ! 
 
 Still docs the ^ , 
 
 The main afTords, the Aidant dance 
 
 In safety on the tide ? 
 Still llies that sign of my good-will 
 A little hunting thing — but still 
 
 To thee a flag of pride ? 
 
 Does that hard, honest hand now clasp 
 The tiller in its careful grasp — 
 
 With every summer breeze 
 When ladies sail, in lady-fear— 
 Or, tug the oar. a gondolier 
 
 On smooth Macadam seas ? 
 
 Or are you where the flounders keep, 
 Some dozen briny fathoms deep, 
 
 Where sand and shells abound — 
 With some old Triton on your chest, 
 And twelve grave mermen for a 'quest. 
 
 To find that you are — drown'd ? 
 
STAN2AS TO ToM WOOUGATE. 73 
 
 Swift is the wave and apt to brint; 
 A sudden doom — perchance I sing 
 
 A mere funereal strain ; 
 You have endured the utter strife — 
 And arc — the same in death or life — 
 
 A good man ' in the main ' I 
 
 Oh, no — I hope the old brown eye 
 Still watches ebb, and flood, and sky ; 
 
 That still the brown old shoes 
 Are sucking brine up — pumps indeed I 
 Your tooth still full o' ocean weed, 
 
 Or Indian — which you choose. 
 
 I like you, Tom I and in these lays 
 Give honest worth its honest praise, 
 
 No puff nt honour's cost ; 
 For though you met these words of mine, 
 All letter-learning was a line 
 
 You, somehow, never cross'd ! 
 
 Mayhap we ne'er shall meet again, 
 Except on tnat pacific main, 
 Beyond this planet's brink ; 
 
BTAN2AS TO TOM WOODGAIB. 
 
 Vcl, as \vc I -■ wcalhcr. 
 
 Still may wc iicr, 
 
 As comrades on this ink I 
 
 Many a scudding gale we've had 
 Together, and my gallant lad, 
 
 Some perils we have pass'd : 
 When huge and black the wave career'd, 
 And oft the giant rpcar'd 
 
 The master ol > '■ , — 
 
 •Twas thy example taught me how 
 To climb the billow's hoar)- brow. 
 
 Or cleave the raging heap — 
 To bound along the ocean wild, 
 With danger — only as a child 
 
 The waters rock'd to sleep. 
 
 Oh, who can tcU that brave delight, 
 To sec the hissing wave in might 
 
 Come rampant like a snake I 
 To leap his horrid crest, and feast 
 One's eyes upon the briny beast. 
 
 Left couchant in the wake 1 
 
»=v^ 
 
STANVAS TO TOM WOOPr.ATE. 
 
 The simple shepherd's love is still 
 To bask upon a sunny hill, 
 
 The herdsman roams the vale — 
 With both their fancies I agree ; 
 Be mine the swelling, scoping sea. 
 
 That is both hill and dale I 
 
 I yearn for that brisk spray — I yearn 
 To feel the wave from stem to stern 
 
 Uplift the plunging keel ; 
 That merry step we used to dance 
 On board the Aidant or the Chance, 
 
 The ocean " toe and heel." 
 
 I Icing to fc-el the steady gale 
 
 That fills the broad distended sail — 
 
 The seas on cither hand ! 
 My thought, like any hollow shell, 
 Keeps mocking at my ear the swell 
 
 Of waves against the land. 
 
 It is no fable — that old strain 
 Of syrens ! — so the witching main 
 Is singing — and I sigh I 
 
76 STAV/AS TO TOM WOODGATE. 
 
 My heart is all at once inclined 
 To seaward — and I seem to find 
 The waters in my eye I 
 
 Mcthinks I see the shininf; beach ; 
 The merry waves, each after each. 
 
 Rebounding o'er the flints ; 
 I spy the Rrim preventive spy ! 
 The jolly boatman standing nigh ! 
 
 The maids in morning chintz I 
 
 And there they float — the sailing craft I 
 The sail is up — the wind abaft — 
 
 The ballast trim and neat. 
 Alas ! 'tis all a dream — a lie ! 
 A printer's imp is standing by, 
 
 To haul my mizen sheet I 
 
 ^ty tiller dwindles to a pen — 
 My craft is that of bookish men — 
 
 My sail — let Longman tell ! 
 Adieu, the wave, the wind, the spray ! 
 Men — maidens — chintzes — fade away I 
 
 Tom Woodgate, fare thee well ! 
 
^i)f i\fi'. 
 
 A MOORISH ROMANCE. 
 
 1 1 !•- Moor leans on his cushion, 
 With the pipe between his lips ; 
 Anil still at frequent intervals 
 The sweet sherbet he sips ; 
 
 Dut, spite of lulling vapour 
 
 And the sober cooling cup, 
 
 The spirit of the swarthy Moor 
 
 Is fiercely kindling up I 
 
 One hand is on his pistol, 
 On its ornamented stock, 
 While his finger feels the trigger 
 And is busy with the lock — 
 The other seeks his ataghan, 
 And clasps its jewell'd hilt — 
 Oh ! much of gore in days of yore 
 That crooked blade has spilt ! 
 
 77 
 
yR THE KEY. 
 
 His brows are knit, his eyes of jet 
 
 In vivid bla. ' 11, 
 
 And gleam n. ilashes 
 
 Like the fire-damp of the coal ; 
 
 His jaws arc set, and through his teeth 
 
 He draws a savage breath. 
 
 As if about to raise the shout 
 
 Of Victory or Death I 
 
 For why ? the last Zebeck that came 
 And moor'd within the Mole, 
 Such tidings unto Tunis brought 
 As stir his very soul — 
 The cruel jar of civil war, 
 The sad and stormy reign, 
 That blackens like a thunder cloud 
 The sunny land of Spain I 
 
 No strife of glorious Chivalry, 
 For honour's gain or loss. 
 Nor yet that ancient rivalrj'. 
 The Crescent with the Cross. 
 No charge of gallant Paladins 
 On Moslems sti- '-. ; 
 
 But Christians - ,, ^ stian blood 
 
 Beneath the olive's branch I 
 
THE KhY. 79 
 
 A war of horrid parricide, 
 
 And brother kiilinf; brother ; 
 
 Yea, like to " doys and sons of dogs ' 
 
 That worry one another. 
 
 But let them bite and tear and fight, 
 
 The more the KalTers slay, 
 
 The sooner Hagar's swarming sons 
 
 Shall make the land a prey I 
 
 The sooner shall the Moor behold 
 Th' Alhambras pile again ; 
 And those who pined in Barbary 
 Shall shout for joy in Spain — 
 The sooner shall the Crescent wave 
 On dear Granada's -walls : 
 And proud Mohammed Ali sit 
 Within his father's halls I 
 
 " Alla-il-alla* " tig^'^like 
 Up springs the swarthy -Moor, 
 And, with & wide ind-hasty stride, 
 Steps o'er the marble tloof ; 
 Across the hall, till from the wall, 
 Where such quaint patterns be, 
 With eager hand he snatches down 
 An old and massive Key ! 
 
THE KEY. 
 
 A iiiaiisivc Key of c;. pc, 
 
 And dark with dirt a: 
 
 And well three weary centuries 
 
 The metal mifiht encrust ! 
 
 For since the King Uuabdil fell 
 
 Before the native stock, 
 
 That ancient Key, so quaint to see, 
 
 Hath never been in lock. 
 
 Brought over by the Saracens 
 
 Who fled across the main, 
 
 A token of the secret hope, 
 
 Of going back again; 
 
 From race to race, from li.nul to iiand, 
 
 From house to house it pass'd ; 
 
 O will it ever, ever ope 
 
 The Palace gate at last ? 
 
 Three hundred years and fifty-two 
 On post and wall it hung — 
 Three hundred years and fifty-two 
 A dream to old and young ; 
 But now a brighter destiny 
 The Prophet's will accords : 
 The time is come to scour the rust, 
 And lubricate the wards. 
 
8i 
 
 For should the Moor with sword and lance 
 
 At Al(,'csiras land, 
 
 Where is the bold Ucrnardo now 
 
 Their progress to withstand ? 
 
 To IJur(;os should the Moslem come. 
 
 Where is the noble Cid 
 
 Five royal crowns to topple down 
 
 As gallant Dla/ dill ? 
 
 Hath Xercs any Founder now, 
 
 When other weapons fail, 
 
 With club to thrash invaders rash, 
 
 Like barley with a flail ? 
 
 Hath Seville any Perez still, 
 
 To lay his clusters low, 
 
 And ride with seven turbans green 
 
 Around his saddle-bow ? 
 
 No I never more shall Europe see 
 
 Such Heroes brave and bold 
 
 Such Valour, Faith, and Loyalty, 
 
 As used to shine of old! 
 
 No longer to one battle cr)' 
 
 United Spaniards run. 
 
 And with their thronging spears uphold 
 
 The Virgin and her Son ! 
 
 M 
 
Si THE KEY. 
 
 Ff. '■ ' " 'i Biscay 
 
 Ir.- 
 
 And Barcelona bears the scar* 
 
 Ti. ints pine 
 
 For want of foreign trade : 
 
 And gold is scant ; and Alicante 
 
 Is scil'il by strict blockade I 
 
 The loyal fly, and Valour falls, 
 
 Opposed by court intrigue ; 
 
 But treachery and traitors thrive, 
 
 Upheld by foreign league; 
 
 While factions seeking private ends 
 
 By turns usurping reign — 
 
 Well may the dreaming, scheming Moor 
 
 Exulting point to Spain ! 
 
 Well may he cleanse the rusty Key 
 
 With Afric sand and oil, 
 
 And hope an Andalusian home 
 
 Shall recompense the toil ! 
 
 Well i: Moorish spear 
 
 Throu. '11 sweep. 
 
 And where the Catalonian sowed 
 
 The Saracen shall reap I 
 
TIIR KP.V. 
 
 83 
 
 Well may he vow to spurn the Cross 
 
 Hcncath the Arab hoof, 
 
 And plant the Crescent yet a^jain 
 
 Above th' Alhambra's roof 
 
 When those from whom St. Jaj^o's name 
 
 In chorus once arose, 
 
 Arc shouting Faction's battle cries, 
 
 And Spain forgets to " Close ! " 
 
 Well may he swear his ataghan 
 
 Shalt rout the traitor swarm, 
 
 And carve them into Arabesques 
 
 That show no human form — 
 
 The blame be theirs whose bloody feuds 
 
 Invite the savage Moor, 
 
 And tempt him with the ancient Key 
 
 To seek the ancient door t 
 
-^0 
 
 COMPOSED AT ROTTERDAM. 
 
 GAZE upon a city,— 
 A city new and slrange,-- 
 Down many a watery vista 
   My fancy takes a range : 
 From side to side I saunter, 
 And wonder where I am : 
 And can You be in England, 
 And / at Rotterdam ! 
 
 Before me lie dark waters 
 In broad canals and deep. 
 Whereon the silver moonbeams 
 Sleep, restless in their sleep ; 
 A sort of vulgar Venice 
 Reminds me where I am ; 
 Yes, yes, you are in England, 
 And I'm at Rotterdam. 
 
.«fej^ 
 
TO 
 
 Tall houses with quaint gables, 
 Wlierc frec|uent windows shine, 
 And quays that lead to bridges, 
 And trees in formal line. 
 And masts of spicy vessels 
 From western Surinam, 
 All tell mc you're in England, 
 liut I'm in Rotterdam. 
 
 Those sailors, how outlandish 
 The face and form of each 1 
 They deal in foreign gestures, 
 And use a foreign speech ; 
 A tongue not learn'd near Isis, 
 Or studied by the Cam, 
 Declares that you're in England, 
 And I'm at Rotterdam. 
 
 And now across a market 
 
 My doubtful way I trace, 
 
 Where stands a solemn st.ituc, 
 
 The Genius of the place ; 
 
 And to the great Erasmus 
 
 I offer my salaam ; 
 
 Who tells me you're in England, 
 
 But I'm at Rotterdam. 
 
 85 
 
.S6 
 
 The cofTce-room is open — 
 I mingle in its crowd, — 
 The dominos a' - - 
 
 The hookahs i 'ud ; 
 
 The flavour, none of Fcaron's, 
 T'   • • • .. 
 
 1 . . md. 
 
 And I'm at Rotterdam. 
 
 Then here it goes, . 
 The toast it shall be mine. 
 In Schiedam, or in sherr)-, 
 Tokay, or hock of Rhine ; 
 It well deser\xs the brightest. 
 Where sunbeam ever swam — 
 " The Girl I love in England " 
 I drink at Rotterdam ! 
 
 
 <^i« 
 <'_- 
 
I I- 
 
 
 0i ••; 
 
%\n ivnisljt auti tl)c Dragon 
 
 > the famous old times, 
 (Famed for chivalrous crimes) 
 As the legends of Rhineland deliver, 
 Once there flourished a Knight, 
 
 Who Sir Otto was hight, 
 
 On the banks of the rapid green river 1 
 
 On the Drachenfels' crest 
 
 He had built a stone nest, 
 
 From which he pounced down like a vulture, 
 
 And with talons of steel 
 
 Out of every man's meal 
 
 Took a verj' extortionate multure. 
 
 Yet he lived in good fame, 
 
 With a nobleman's name, 
 
 As •• Your High-and-well-born " addrcss'd daily- 
 
 S7 
 
88 Till KNIGHT AKD THE DRAGON. 
 
 Though Judge Park in his wig 
 
 Would have dccm'd him a prig, 
 
 Or a cracksman, if tried at th' Old Bailey. 
 
 It is strange — very strange! 
 
 How opinions will change ! — 
 
 How antiquity blazons and hallows 
 
 Both the man, and the crime, 
 
 That a less lapse of time 
 
 Would commend to the hulks or the gallows ! 
 
 Thus enthrall'd by Romance, 
 
 In a mystified trance. 
 
 E'en a young, mild, and merciful woman 
 
 Will recal with delight 
 
 The wild keep, and its Knight, 
 
 Who was quite as much tiger as human ! 
 
 Now it chanced on a day. 
 
 In the sweet month of May, 
 
 Fr   nt Sir Otto was gaxing. 
 
 W'l; . in the sheath. 
 
 At that prospect beneath, 
 
 Which our tourists declar- 'ing I 
 

 V 
 
 
 -'^' 
 
 '- '>T^*^ 
 
THE KNKlllT AND THE DRAGON. 89 
 
 Yes — he K^^ed on the Rhine, 
 
 And its banks, so divine ; 
 
 Yet with no admiration or wonder, 
 
 Hut the f^iiiit of a thief. 
 
 As a more modern chief 
 
 Looked on London, and cried " What a plunder ' " 
 
 From that river so fast, 
 
 From that champaign so vast, 
 
 He collected rare tribute and presents ; 
 
 Water-rates from ships' loads, 
 
 Highway-rates on the roads. 
 
 And hard poor-rates from all the poor peasants I 
 
 When behold ! round the base 
 
 Of his strong dwelling-place, 
 
 Only gained by most toilsome progression, 
 
 Me perceived a full score 
 
 Of the rustics, or more, 
 
 Winding up in a sort of procession I 
 
 " Keep them out ! " the Knight cried. 
 
 To the warders outside — 
 
 But the hound at his feet gave a grumble ! 
 
 N 
 
9° 
 
 THE KNIGHT AND THE DR\GON. 
 
 And in scrambled the knaves. 
 
 Like feudality's slaves, 
 
 With all forms that arc servile and humble. 
 
 " Now for boorish complaints ! 
 
 Grant me patience, ye Saints ! " 
 
 Cried the Knight, turning red as a mullet ; 
 
 When the baldest old man 
 
 Thus his story began. 
 
 With a guttural cro'l; in liis ltuIIcI ! 
 
 " Lord supreme of our lives, 
 
 Of our daughters, our wives. 
 
 Our she-cousins, our sons, and their spouses. 
 
 Of our sisters and aunts, 
 
 Of the babies God grants 
 
 Of the handmaids that dwell in our houses! 
 
 " Mighty master of all 
 
 We possess, great or small, 
 
 Of our cattle, our sows, and their farrows ; 
 
 Of our mares and their colts. 
 
 Of our crofts, and our holts. 
 
 Of our ploughs, of our wains, and our harrows ! 
 
THli KMOIir ANO THE DRAOOS. QI 
 
 " Noble Lord of tlie soil, 
 
 Of its corn and its oil, 
 
 Of its wine, only fit for such gentles I 
 
 Of our cream and sour-kraut, 
 
 Of our carp and our trout. 
 
 Our black bread, and black puddings, and lentils ! 
 
 " Sovran Lord of our cheese, 
 
 And whatever you please — 
 
 Of our bacon, our ej;t;s, and our butter. 
 
 Of our backs and our pulls. 
 
 Of our bodies and souls — 
 
 O give ear to the woes that we utter ! 
 
 '• We are truly perplcx'd, 
 
 We are frighted and vcx'd, 
 
 Till tlie strings of our hearts are all twisted ; 
 
 We are ruined and curst 
 
 Uy the fiercest and worst 
 
 Of all robbers that ever existed I " 
 
 " Now by Heav'n and this light ! " 
 
 In a rage cried the Knight, 
 
 '■ Tor this speech all your bodies shall stiffen ! 
 
 N 2 
 
92 TUB KMCHT AND THE DRAGON. 
 
 What I by Feasants miscallcl ! " 
 
 (juoth the man that was bald, 
 
 " Not your Honour wc mean, but a Grinfin. 
 
 " For our herds and our flocks 
 
 He lays wait in the rocks. 
 
 And jumps forth without giving us warning ; 
 
 Two poor wethers, right fat, 
 
 And four lambs after that. 
 
 Did he swallow this very May morning ! " 
 
 Then the Highand-wellborn 
 
 Gave a lau^h as in scorn, 
 
 " Is the < '(.-ed such a glutton ? 
 
 Let him c... .., :..'■: rams, 
 
 And the lambs, and their dams — 
 
 If I hate any meat, it is mutton ! "' 
 
 " Nay, your \'' 1 then 
 
 The most bal . 
 
 " For a sheep we would hardly thus cavil. 
 
 If the merciless Ueast 
 
 Did nut oftentimes feast 
 
 On the Pilgrims, and people that travel." 
 
TIIK KMOHr AND TlIK DRAGON. 93 
 
 " I'east on what," cried the Knight, 
 
 Whilst his eye glisten'd bright 
 
 With the most diabohcal flashes — 
 
 " Docs the Beast dare to prey 
 
 On the road and highway? 
 
 With our proper diversion that clashes ! " 
 
 " Yea, 'tis so, and far worse," 
 
 Said the Clown, " to our curse ; 
 
 For by way of a snack or a tiflin. 
 
 Every week in the year 
 
 Sure as Sundays appear, 
 
 A young virgin is thrown to the GrifTin ! " 
 
 " Ha ! Saint Peter I Saint Ntark ! " 
 
 Roar'd the Knight, frowning dark. 
 
 With an oath that was awful and bitter : 
 
 " A young maid to his dish I 
 
 Why, what more could he wish. 
 
 If the Beast were Highborn, and a Kitter ! 
 
 " Now, by this our good brand. 
 
 And by this our right hand. 
 
 By the badge that is borne on our l>ann.TS, 
 
94 I'iE KMCIIT AM VOON. 
 
 If wc can but once meet 
 
 With the munstcr's retreat, 
 
 Wc will teach him to poach on our manors! 
 
 Quite content with this vow, 
 
 With a scrape and a buw, 
 
 The glad peasants went home tu their flagons, 
 
 Where they tippled so deep. 
 
 That each clown in his sleep 
 
 Dreamt of killing a legion of dragons ! 
 
 Thus engaged, the bold Knight 
 
 Soon prepared for the fight 
 
 With the wily and scaly marauder ; 
 
 liut, ere battle began, 
 
 Like a good Christian man. 
 
 First he put all his household in order. 
 
 Lti ,..--.„--. 1 „ -.Id 
 
 (Thus his rugged Lieutenant was bidden] 
 
 " And be sure, without fault, 
 
 No one enters the vault 
 
 Where the Church's gold vessels arc hidden. 
 
TIIR KNlr.llT AND TlIF PRAOOV. 95 
 
 " In the (lark oubliette 
 
 Let yon merchant forRct 
 
 That lie e'er had a bark richly laden — 
 
 And that desperate youth. 
 
 Our own rival forsooth ! 
 
 Just indulf^c with a kiss of the Maiden ! 
 
 " Crush the thumbs of the Jew 
 
 With the vice and the screw, 
 
 Till he fells where he buried his treasure ; 
 
 And deliver our word 
 
 To yon sullen caped bird. 
 
 That to-ni;:ht she must sinfj for our pleasure !" 
 
 Thereupon, <•(?/••</•/■;.• 
 
 As a champion should be. 
 
 With the bald-headed peasant to ^uide him. 
 
 On his war-horse he bounds. 
 
 And then, whistling his hounds, 
 
 Prances olT to what fate may betide him ; 
 
 Nor too lonR do they seek. 
 
 Ere a horrible reek, 
 
 Like the fumes from some villanous tavern, 
 
^6 THE KMCHT AND THE DRAGON. 
 
 Set the dogs on the snuff, 
 
 For they scent well enough 
 
 The foul monster coil'd up in his cavern I 
 
 Then alighting with speed 
 From his tcrrilied steed. 
 
 Which he ties to a tree for tlu , ;, 
 
 With his sword ready drawn, 
 Strides the Rittcr High-bom, 
 And along with him drags the scared peasant ! 
 
 " O Sir Knight, good Sir Knight ! 
 
 I am near enough quite — 
 
 1 have shown you the beast and his grotto : 
 
 15ut before he can reach 
 
 Any farther in speech. 
 
 He is stricken stone-dead by Sir Otto! 
 
 Who withdrawing himself 
 
 To a high rocky shelf, 
 
 Sees the monster his tale disentangle 
 
 From each tortuous coil. 
 
 With a sudden turmoil. 
 
 And rush forth the dead peasant to mangle. 
 
Tiip. KN'ir.iiT ANn Tiir. pragov. 97 
 
 With his terrible claws, 
 
 And his horrible jaws, 
 
 He soon moulds the warm c.,;.,c :.) a jelly ! 
 
 Which he quickly sucks in 
 
 To his own wicked skin 
 
 And then sinks at full stretch on his belly. 
 
 Then the Knight softly goes 
 
 On the tips of his toes 
 
 To the greedy and slumbering savage, 
 
 And with one hearty stroke 
 
 Of his sword, and a poke, 
 
 Kills the beast that had made such a ravage. 
 
 So, extended at length. 
 
 Without motion or strength. 
 
 That gorged serpent they call the constrictor. 
 
 After dinner, while deep 
 
 In lethargical sleep, 
 
 Falls a prey to his Hottentot victor. 
 
 " 'Twas too easy by half! " 
 
 Said the Knight with a laugh : 
 
 " But as nobody witness'd the slaughter. 
 
98 THE KNIGHT ASI \GON. 
 
 I will swear, knock and knock, 
 
 By Saint Winifred's clock, 
 
 W'c were at it three hours and a quarter ! " 
 
 Then he chopped off the head 
 
 Of the monster so dread. 
 
 Which he tied to his horse as a trophy ; 
 
 And, with hounds, by the same 
 
 Ra-jt^cd path that he came. 
 
 Home he jogg'd proud as Sultan or Sophi ! 
 
 Blessed Saints I what a rout 
 
 When the news flew about. 
 
 And the carcase was fetch'd in a waggon ; 
 
 What an outer)- rose wild 
 
 From man, woman, and child — 
 
 " Live Sir Otto, who vanquish'd the Dragon I ' 
 
 All that night the thick walls 
 
 Of the Knight's feudal halls 
 
 Rang with shouts for the wine-cup and flagon 
 
 Whilst the vassals stood by. 
 
 And repeated the cry — 
 
 " Live Sir Otto, who vanquish'd the Dragon I ' 
 
THE KNIGHT AND THE DRAGON. 99 
 
 The next night and tlic next, 
 
 Still the fight was the text, 
 
 'Twas a theme for the minstrels to brag on I 
 
 And the vassals' hoarse throats 
 
 Still re-echoed the notes — 
 
 " Live Sir Otto, who vanquished the Dragon ! " 
 
 There was never such work 
 
 Since the days of King Stork, 
 
 When he lived with the Frogs at free quarters ; 
 
 Not to name the invites 
 
 That were sent down of nights. 
 
 To the villagers' wives and their daughters I 
 
 It was feast upon feast, 
 
 For good cheer never ceased. 
 
 And a foray replenish'd the flagon ; 
 
 And the vassals stood by. 
 
 But more weak was the crj- — 
 
 " Live Sir Otto, who vanquished the Dragon ! "' 
 
 Down again sank the sun. 
 
 Nor were revels yet done — 
 
 But as if ev'ry mouth had a gag on. 
 
 o 2 
 
lOO THE KNIGHT AND THE DRAGON. 
 
 1 n.   od luumJ, 
 
 DciA .iid 
 
 Of " Sir Olto, who vanquish'd the Dragon • ' 
 
 There was feasting aloft, 
 
 But through pillage so oft 
 
 Down below there was wailing and hunger ; 
 
 And utTcctiun ran cold, 
 
 And the food of the old. 
 
 It was wolfishly snatched by the younger I 
 
 Mad with tro . .ast, 
 
 Where's the wonder at lust 
 
 If the peasants quite altcr'd their motto ? — 
 
 And with one loud accord 
 
 Cried out " Would to the Lord, 
 
 That the Dragon had vanquish'd Sir Otto! " 
 
3 Ixfiiumbfr, 3) ixriurmbrv 
 
 KKMEMIiER. 1 remember, 
 Tlic house where I was born, 
 The little window where the sun 
 Came peeping in at morn ; 
 
 lie never came a wink too soon, 
 Nor brouglit too long a day, 
 But now, I often wish the night 
 Had borne my breath away I 
 
 I remember, I remember. 
 The roses, red and white. 
 The violets, and the lily cups, 
 Those flowers made of light ! 
 The lilacs where the robin built, 
 And where my brother set 
 The laburnum on his birtn-day,— 
 The tree is living yet ! 
 
 lOI 
 
I02 I REMEUDER. 
 
 I remember, I remember, 
 
 Where I was used to swing, 
 
 And thouf;ht the air must rush as fresh 
 
 To swallows on the wing ; 
 
 My spirit flew in feathers then, 
 
 That is 80 heavy now, 
 
 And summer pools could hardly cool 
 
 The fever on my brow I 
 
 I remember, I remember 
 
 The fir trees dark and hi^h ; 
 
 I used to think their slender tops 
 
 Were close against the sky : 
 
 It was a childish ignorance, 
 
 But now 'tis little joy 
 
 To know I'm farther off from lleav'n 
 
 Than when I was a boy. 
 
Poem, 
 
 FROM THE POLISH. 
 
 KOM seventy-two North latitude, 
 Dear Kitty, I indite ; 
 But first I'd have you understand 
 IIow hard it is to write. 
 
 Of thoughts that breathe and words that burn, 
 
 My Kitty, do not think, — 
 licfore I wrote these very lines, 
 
 I had to melt my ink. 
 
 Of mutual flames and lover's warmth. 
 You must not be too nice ; 
 
 The sheet that I am writing on 
 Was once a sheet of ice ! 
 
 103 
 
I04 POEM. 
 
 The Polar cold is sharp enough 
 To freeze with icy rIoss 
 
 The genial current of the soul, 
 E'en in a " Man of Ross." 
 
 Pope says that letters waft a sigh 
 From Indus to the Pole ; 
 
 But here I really wish the post 
 Would only " post the coal." 
 
 So chilly is the Northern blast, 
 It blows me through and through 
 
 A ton of Wallsend in a note 
 Would be a billet-doux I 
 
 In such a frigid latitude 
 
 It scarce can be a sin, 
 Should passion cool a little, where 
 
 A Fury was iced in. 
 
 I'm rather tired of endless snow. 
 And long for coals again ; 
 
 And would give up a Sea of Ice, 
 For some of Lambton's Main. 
 
POEM. 
 
 I'm sick of dazzling ice and snow, 
 
 The sun itself I hate ; 
 So very brij^ht, so very cold, 
 
 Just like a summer grate. 
 
 For opodeldoc I would kneel, 
 My chilblains to anoint ; 
 
 Kate, the needle of the North 
 Has got a freezing point. 
 
 Our food is solids, — ere we put 
 
 Our meat into our crops, 
 We take sledge-hammers to our steaks 
 
 And hatchets to our chops. 
 
 So very bitter is the blast, 
 So cutting is the air, 
 
 1 never have been warm but once, 
 When hugging with a bear. 
 
 One thing I know you'll like to hear, 
 
 Th' effect of Polar snows, 
 I've left off snuff — one pinching day — 
 
 From leaving off my nose. 
 
 105 
 
io6 PuEU. 
 
 1 have no car for music now ; 
 
 My cars both left together ; 
 And as for dancing, I have cut 
 
 My toes — it's cutting wcathci. 
 
 I've said that you should have my hand. 
 Some happy day to come ; 
 
 But, Kate, you only now can wed 
 A finger and a thumb. 
 
 Don't fear that any Esquimaux 
 Can wean me from my own ; 
 
 The Girdle of the (jucen of Love 
 Is not the Frozen Zone. 
 
 At wives with large estates of snow 
 
 My fancy does not bite ; 
 1 like to sec a liridc — but not 
 
 In such a deal of white. 
 
 Give me for home a house of brick. 
 
 The Kate I love at Kcw I 
 A hand unchoppcd — a merry eye ; 
 
 And not a nose, of blue. 
 
. /, 
 
POPM. 
 
 107 
 
 To think upon the Bridge of Kew, 
 To me a bridge of sighs ; 
 
 Oh, Kate, a pair of icicles 
 Are standing in my eyes I 
 
 God knows if I shall e'er return, 
 
 In comfort to be lull'd ! 
 But if I do get back to port, 
 
 Pray let me have it mull'd. 
 
 ^(^rlm^"'^ 
 
 '''^m 
 
 r 1 
 
^^ 
 
 
 J^ 
 
 ^ 
 
 1^-1 
 
 m^ 
 
 ^^^0 
 
 tj^vk! 
 
 Clb 
 
 '"^^ ^^'Ai 
 
 a£ASIkaAj 
 
 it^ 
 
 
 
 ^teM^^Miill 
 
 ^tJtJlTGG. 
 
 mi 
 
 USH ! not a sound I no whisper I no demur I 
 No restless motion — no intrusive stir ! 
 But with staid presence and a quiet breath, 
 One solemn moment dedicate to Death ! 
 
 For now no fancied miseries bespeak 
 The panting bosom, and the wetted check ; 
 No fabled Tempest, or dramatic wreck, 
 No Royal Sire washd from the mimic deck, 
 And dirged by Sea Nymphs to his briny grave I 
 Alas I deep, deep beneath the sullen wave, 
 His heart, once warm and throbbing as your own. 
 Now cold and senseless as the shingle stone ; 
 His lips, so eloquent, choked up with sand : 
 The bright eye glazed, — and the impressive hand, 
 Idly entangled with the ocean weed — 
 Full fathom five, a Father lies indeed I 
 
/• 
 
 ■»v 
 
AnnRESs. 109 
 
 Vcs I where the foaming billows rave the while 
 
 Around the rocky Ferns and Holy Isle, 
 
 Deaf to their roar, as to the dear applause 
 
 That greets deserving in the Drama's cause. 
 
 Blind to the horrors that appal the bold, 
 
 To all he hoped, or feared, or loved, of old — 
 
 To love — and love's deep agony, a-cold ; 
 
 He, who could move the passions, moved by none, 
 
 Drifts an unconscious corse. — Poor Elton's race is run ! 
 
 Weep for the dead I Yet do not merely weep 
 For him who slumbers in the oozy deep : 
 Mourn for the dead I — yet not alone for him 
 O'er whom the cormorant and gannet swim ; 
 Hut, like Grace Darling in her little boat, 
 Stretch out a saving hand to those that float — 
 The orphan Seven — so prematurely hurl'd 
 Upon the billows of this stormy world. 
 And struggling — save your pity take their part — 
 With breakers huge enough to break the heart ! 
 
 ztt: 
 
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