-NRLF mrnmm 1IIKI1IY LIBRARY UNIVERSITY Of CALIFORNIA ■ mm m%': ; --- mk- mm- - ,-;^$StK '' -v.''. ;v ','v .: ', ri*M~^ .--".." ■'"' : : £$S A TALE OF TRESCO, ? THE TAVISTOCK CHIMES, OTHER POEMS, Mostly of the West Gouhtry. D. P. ALFORD, Author of " The Retreat," &c. TAVISTOCK: T. W. GREENFIELD. tONDON: SIMPKIN AND MARSHALL. 1894. LOAN STACK <\ftH-F (HAlN This little volume is a sheaf from a harvest slowly gathered in, through many years of a very busy life. May the poems help any readers, as they have helped the writer, to cling to the ideal and the spiritual, amid the growing forces of materialism. The book is small, and the poems are mostly of the West Country ; because an unknown author is more likely to be read, if he publishes a cheap book and one that appeals to local feeling. The time and place of the poems are given ; because to personal friends, who will be the chief readers, such details are interesting, more or less. Tavistock Vicarage, 7th June, 1S94- 56-* O CONTENTS. PAGE Light, Strength, and Peace 3 The Spirit 4 A Casket of Jewels 5 A Tale of Tresco 6 Dead Leaves 17 The Sea 18 The Tavistock Chimes 19 The Eurydice 31 Songs from "A Thousand Years Ago " : — i. The Fight of Hingston Down 34 ii. The "Winning of Taunton Dean 37 The Nightingale and the Warblers 38 The True Ballad of Manly Peek of Tavistock 39 The New and Old, on Spenser's "Faerie Queene" 44 " The Lost Leader ; " 1886 45 Peter Tavy Combe 46 Blue-Bells in Bickleigh Vale 48 Autumn 49 The One and All 49 CONTENTS. PAGE A Welcome to the West ; June, 1889 50 Revivalism: 52 Christmas Day 53 From Hey Tor 54 The Sea and the Moor \ 54 To a May Fly 55 By the Sea Shore 55 Death 57 The Blizzard, 1891 57 Under the Shadows 63 Daffodils by the Tamar 64 Tennyson 65 Recovery 65 The Nightingale and the Lark 66 A Pattern : The Good Man of Taunton 67 Princetown 70 Shakespeare and Cowper , 70 Our Friends Beyond 71 "We live unto the Lord " 71 The Nightingale and the Organ 72 ->£«- "A TALE OF TEESCO," LIGHT, STRENGTH, AM) PEACE. The world is old ; with widening sway, Strong science spreads its piercing ray "Within the realms of night. And yet the mysteries remain Unsolved, of sin and death and pain ; Here only Christ gives light. The world is old ; its learned lore Of morals, growing more and more, Drags on its endless length. But still to choose the right alway, And bravely do it, day by day, Christ only giveth strength. The world is old, and comforts grow, And now, alike for high and low, The joys of life increase. But when we ponder wistfully Of what beyond the grave shall be, Then, only Christ gives peace, Gulworthy, Tavistock, July, 1875. B THE SPIRIT. Bead, my Brother, read the Word ; Plenteous riches there are stored ; Thoughts to strengthen and to guide thee, Thoughts to comfort and to chide thee. But, remember, that same Spirit Who imparteth all its merit, Christ hath promised shall inspire Thine own soul with heavenly fire. Hear, my Brother, reverently, What the Church shall tell to thee, Christ's own Spouse, through ages dim, Bearing witness unto Him. Yet remember that same Spirit Who imparteth all her merit, Christ hath promised shall inspire Thine own soul with heavenly fire. Work, my Brother, eagerly, For the Lord who died for thee, Offering daily, loving labour, For the Saviour's boundless favour. Yet, remember, 'tis the Spirit Giveth every work its merit ; Therefore take thou daily heed Thine own soul with grace to feed. Oulworthy, August, 1875. 5 A CASKET OF JEWELS. I stood beside a garden bank, Upon a lovely April morn ; 'Twas brighter for the sunless blank, That long had kept the world forlorn. For now the early mist had fled, Betreating from the sun's warm glow, And only marked the winding bed, "Where Tavy wandered far below. But still the moisture blessed the earth, And made it steam beneath the sun ; A savour from the teeming birth And fruitful workings just begun. From west to east I strolled, the bank With dewy drops was frosted o'er ; From every blade, there growing rank, A dew-drop hung, and nothing more. I turned, and glanced from east to west, And every dew-drop flashed a gem, More full of glory than the best That decks earth's costliest diadem. All colours of the heavenly bow Were gleaming there with quivering light, Not jewels that regalias show Were ever half so bright. There burns the ruby's ruddy glare ; There flashed forth diamonds white and clear : The topas' flaming light is there Studding the hedge bank far and near, »2 O A TALE OF TRESCO. Here purple amethysts retire Beneath the leaves, but shine between ; Here emeralds, with their warm -toned fire, Eebuke the grass's sullen green. Less than we think, can fortune say, What jewels shall our pathway strew ; That more depends, from day to day On Sunshine, and our point of view. Qulworthy, Sunday Morning, April 2nd, 1876. A TALE OP TRESCO * PROLOGUE. Ear off on ocean's desert plain A storm has stirred the deep ; And all around our lowly isles, Wild waves their revels keep. Against Peninnis' rocky pile, They rush in grand array ; Then break and rise a hundred feet, In clouds of glittering spray. Within Porthcrassa's straitened bounds, The billows rage and foam, And thunder on the sandy bar, Where stands our island home. * The natives lay the accent on the second syllable ; and the late strong-billed, kind-hearted Lord Proprietor, Augustus Smith, did the same. A TALE OF TRESCO. 7 CANTO FIRST. In sweet Trescb, a cottage trim, Eeside Old Grynsey* beach, Is standing near the rampant waves, All but within their reach. 'Tis built of granite, low and strong, With thatch securely tied, And porch, that as the wind veers round, Shuts fast on either side. A tiny garden, in the front, Tall tamarisks embower ; And from the midst there springs aloft An aloe in full flower. Within, the merchant captain's wife Lies heaving many a moan ; 'Tis twelve months since the captain went, And left her there alone. He left her strong and full of hope, A happy, blooming bride ; And when he said, " Farewell," ne'er dreamed That ill would her betide. He brought her from a peaceful home Eemote from fortune's frowns, A lonely hamlet almost lost Amongst green Dorset Downs. When first he left, with cheerful work She sped each flying day ; And friendly neighbours helped to wile The evening hours away. * The two bays of Tresco are now called old and new Grimsby. Grynsey was the old name, and suits the verse better than the new one. See Borlase's " Observations on the Islands of Scilly," 1756. A TALE OF TRESCO. But soon unwonted weakness came, And fears of weakness bred ; And ere he had been gone six months, All joy and hope had fled. Then winter storms prevailed, and lashed Old Grynsey bay to foam ; And sad and sick at heart, she pined For loved ones left at home. She held her peace, and tried to smile And hide her growing care ; For all Trescb was striving hard To make her happy there. His letters too, so full of life, She would not cross with pain : " I'll tell him all I've felt," she sighed, " "When he comes back again." But weeks crept on, and made too sure The stranger's early doom, Consumed with that fell stroke that nips Our fairest in their bloom. The weeks crept on, and fickle May, The month when they were wed, Brought phantoms of her short-lived joys To haunt her lonely bed. The neighbours all are full of ruth, And some rebellious cry, Thinking of all that might have been, " Kind Heaven ! why must she die ? " And now, as June draws near its close, She lies awaiting death, But one strong wish, yet unfulfilled, Detains her parting breath. A TALE OF TRESCO. She lay contented and at peace, Till yesterday there came The Captain's word from Liverpool, A line, and jnst his name. She called his cousin to her side, A pilot bold was he ; " Oh ! tell him gently as you can, And bring him back to mc." To-day, a restless yearning watch Has robbed her soul of peace ; And as the stormy strife grows loud, Her painful fears increase. Whilst winds and waves are- raging fierce, Within old Grynsey bay, The captain's wife, for very life, Is struggling through the day. As twilight falls, the wild winds cease Their furious revelry, And change* their course, and softly blow To soothe the stormy sea. And weary, she no longer can Her anxious vigil keep ; But finds, once more on earth, the rest Of calm, untroubled sleep. CANTO SECOND. Through half a score of fertile shires The captain hurries down, Past halls and farms and cottages, And many an ancient town. * Such a sudden change of wind, in the midst of a tremendous sea that threatened to overflow Hugh Town, occurred on the evening of April 24, 1868. 10 A TALE OF TRESCO. He travels fast as train can run, But thought flies on hefore ; E'en now he greets his fair young wife, Beside Old Grynsey shore. But though his thoughts fly forward fast, He still has eyes to see, And heart to love the homely scenes That pass so rapidly. He sees and feels as one whom love Has raised to higher life ; And English homes are doubly dear Eor the sake of his English wife. To women worn, and weakly habes, That in his path are thrown, To be seen to-day and never more, "Waifs from the great unknown, To these he shows the kindly tact, True chivalry imparts ; The chivalry that love still breeds, In honest, manly hearts. But now he stands on Penzance pier, In the roar of the raging sea ; And cries, " Here's fifty pounds for him, Who'll brave the storm with me." A kind, blunt friend had told the tale ; " While you were far away, Consumption seized your bonny wife ; She scarce can live the day." A TALE OF TRESCO. 11 At first he stood like one distraught, The light forsook his eye ; Then grief was crushed in stern resolve, — 11 I'll see her e'er she die." The Little Western floats at ease Within the sheltering pier ; And on her bridge the skipper stands, He knows no thought of fear ; And yet he cries, " For pity's sake I'll do what any can ; But he that tempts the sea this day Is no sound-witted man." A shout, a rush, a breathless pause, " A pilot-boat in the bay ! " O'er hungry billows she staggers and glides, Half hid in mist and spray. By furious stress of wave and wind, She is borne to the treacherous beach ; Can she round the pier, and safely ride Beyond the billows' reach ? A breathless pause — and then a shout ; Like a swift and well-trained steed, She knows the touch of her master's hand, And turns in her headlong speed. On an errand of love, through the growing storm, From far Tresco they've come, To bear the merchant captain back To dying wife and home. 12 A TALE OF TKESCO. They need no bribe to start again ; From land-locked bays once free, The pilot-boat has nought to fear Prom the raging, ruthless sea. With steadfast will and glowing hearts, /They meet the storm once more, And plunge through the mounting s0rge that sweeps In a mighty roll to the shore. They climb aslant o'er swelling waves, Till the pier is far behind ; Then tack, and alone with the sea in its wrath, They scud before the wind. The boat is borne to the clouds above, And sunk to the depths below ; And true to the guiding helm she swerves From many a whelming blow. Yet straight and swift, with close-reefed sail, O'er the maddened deep she flies, "With course direct as an emigrant bird, That makes for warmer skies. Still pressing on, ten knots an hour, A boat bewitched seems she ; Till the isles, like low grey rocks, emerge From the foam of the boiling sea. But her speed declines, and now she scarce Can o'er the billows creep ; The wind is falling off, and leaves Her rolling in the deep. A TALE OF TRESCO. 13 The storm-lashed ocean rages on, But the air is still as death. Then presently, from off: the Isles, There blows a gentle breath. It keeps them tacking off and on, Till the islands fade from sight ; It keeps them tacking on and off, Through all the weary night. The captain stood so calm and strong, Amidst the storm's wild din, That none could guess what grief and fear He kept concealed within. But now that nought is left to do But bear the heart's sore pain, And what he longed for, all but given, Is snatched away again ; He crouches 'neath his sorrow's load, While weary hours pass by ; And hard, rebellious thoughts increase His restless agony. CANTO THIRD. The merchant captain nears Tresco, The sun is high at noon ; His native isle, it seems to smile, In the glittering warmth of June. The sky is deep unclouded blue, The sea rich emerald green ; They meet and merge in purple haze, That quivers there between. 14 A TALE OF TRESCO. The island slopes are freshly clothed With corn and grass and brake ; E'en granite headlands, in the light, Less sombre colours take. Beneath the cottage eaves there bloom Geraniums ten years old ; Strange ice-plants* cover garden walls "With stars of lake and gold. The captain has no heart to love The beauties of the day ; He waits woe-wearied in the boat Safe moored in Grynsey bay. He loiters, though the wished-for home Is standing there in view, Dreading to find, when he should land, His dark forebodings true. By kindness led, and half by force, He gains the shore at last, The sparkling beach where oft he played In happy days long past. At other times, when home he came, Old friends were there to greet him ; His last hope fails him, when he sees, Not one has dared to meet him. Some staggering strides across the sands, One sharp turn to the right, And there his own snug cottage stands, Bathed in the sun's warm light. * Mesembryanthenmm. The common sorts grow profusely over cottage garden walls ; and the late Governor had 120 varieties in his gardens at Tresco. A TALE OF TKESCO. 15 The tamarisks are scarcely moved, So gentle is the breeze ; And o'er the honied aloe flowers Are humming swarms of bees. But all within is shrouded close From sun and balmy air ; He saw the signs of death, and turned, To go — he knew not where. But ere the fiend, that waits on woe Could plot to do him harm, His sister came to him, and laid Her hand upon his arm. " come and see how peacefully She lies, as if asleep, She smiles so calmly, angels must Their watch around her keep. ■ And I have many things to tell About her happy death, And all the gentle words she said, As quickly came her breath." He had no power to think or will ; She led him by the hand ; And soon within her dainty room, And by her side they stand ; The dainty room he used to deck With pictures of her own ; Their bridal room, where she, poor child, Had drooped and died alone. And when he saw the heavenly smile That brooded e'er the dead, The strong man hid his face and knelt, And sobbed beside her bed. 16 A TALE OF TRESCO. Long time he knelt, till calm thoughts came. "We trust, but cannot know, The spirit of his angel wife "Was with him in his woe. But this we know, through all the pain, Pleading with his despair, And seeking him in his distress, The love of God was there. EPILOGUE. Fae off on ocean's desert plain, No more the wild storm raves ; The sea girds round our sunny isles With little smiling waves. Beside Peninnis > rugged foot In gentlest swell they creep, So quietly they would not wake An infant from his sleep. High on Porthcrassa's sandy beach Are strewed thick flakes of foam, To show how fierce a storm has raged Against our island home. The billows all have sunk to rest, As though their work were done ; Porthcrassa bay gleams peacefully, Like silver, in the sun. Gulworthy, 1875, 17 DEAD LEAVES. AN AUTUMN DIRGE. Dead leaves are falling slowly to the ground, And glisten as they fall, like flakes of gold, For pallid autumn sunlight breathes around, And the still autumn air is clear and cold. Slowly they fall, and scarce a passing breath Disturbs their even motion as they fall ; !Nor can we deem it hard that timely death Thus gently brings them to their funeral. Por since they burst their scaly sheath in May, Blithely and fully they their course have run : We cannot grieve to see their bright decay, Because they died not, till their work was done. But what of this dear child, that we to-day, With hearts forlorn, have laid beneath the sod ? When death comes so untimely, can we say, In patient trust, " Thy will be done, God " ? Ah ! surely death ne'er came so out of place ! Eor body, mind, and heart had scarcely shown The full sweet bloom of woman's gentle grace, When all our cherished hopes were overthrown. Untimely ! so it seems ; but who art thou To speak of timeliness ? " ripeness is all." Her soul was ripe for heaven. Then let us bow, As she bowed, meekly, at the Master's call. Qulworlhy, November, 1876. 18 THE SEA. Thalatta! Thalatta! Cried the warriors in their glee ; "When, after months of toil and strife, They gazed upon the sea. They shouted, lept, and laughed and wept, 'Twas joy akin to pain, To find the track, that led them back, To their own dear land again. The sea ! the sea ! The smiling, restless sea ! How dear to every Englishman Its solemn tones must be ! The secret of our glory, That makes us great and free, The high-road of our empire, Is the world-encircling sea. Here first we saw the channel, Some thirty years ago,. A second soft blue heaven Gleaming there below. We all were travel-weary, But that bewitching sight Inflamed our flagging spirits With a wondering, strange delight. And now the sea gleams brightly, As brightly as of yore, And all our hearts beat quickly, To catch its gleam once more. Thank God, that though some sadness In our cup of joy may be, "We still can taste such gladness In gazing on the sea. Suggested by the first sight of tJie Sea between Axminster and Charmouth, August 22nd, 1877. 19 THE TAVISTOCK CHIMES. FIKST CANTO. Then William cried : " 'Tis better we should part Than each be hardening thus the other's heart With daily wrangling. Want, in these bad times, Sends many an honest man to foreign climes, Eor work and wages. I'll be one of these, And toil for thee and thine across the seas." A prettier homestead nowhere could be seen Than William's cottage. There, 'mid woodlands green (Green now with all the varied tints of May,) The rapid Tavy works her seaward way. Leaving Crowndale where Drake first saw the light, And felt his power, and dreamed, by day and night, Of deeds of daring — leaving that honoured ground, She breaks through threatening rocks, and sweeps around The meadows of Walreddon. Then, her shore Is rent by Walkham tumbling from the moor. Fuller she flows from that lone waters-meet, But still breaks o'er her stones in babblings sweet, And so to William's cottage. There, her stream, Spanned by a rustic bridge of one strong beam, With cot below and sloping woods above, Abounds in all the beauties painters love. They visit here when o'er the woods are spread Bright autumn tints of russet, gold, and red. The poet loves it rather in the prime, The Spring of promise, that most bonny time When tender buds that clothe each sunny slope Revive sweet thoughts of youth and love and hope. Hither was Mary brought, a happy bride, Ten years before. And William, by her side, 20 THE TAVISTOCK CHIMES. Was proudest of the proud to hear her praise Their future home. And those were prosperous days. Not far away, where Tamar's waters sweep By Latchley's meadows, stores so rich and deep Of mineral wealth by happy chance were found That shafts were sunk in all the country round, And quickly, 'mid those woodlands fair and still, Rose the gaunt noisy forms of human skill. So, work was plentiful, and wages good, Strong men earned something more than clothes and food ; And William praised the world and praised his wife ; And when a boy was born, declared his life Was all that heart could wish. Then came reverse. William's own mine fell fast from bad to worse, Afraid of puffing quacks and foreign ore, A public, often duped, would trust no more. Beneath the strain of poor adventurers' fears, Small mines would keep their workmen in arrears, Before they stopped outright. Thus troubles came. Trained hearts, in joy and grief are still the same, Only more kind in sorrow. Mary's heart, Undisciplined, nor taught to take its part Of sorrow's burden, could not bear the smart Of want and pain. Strong-willed and strangely fair, With well -formed features and a winning air, She ruled her narrow circle like a queen, And kindly ruled, whilst nothing came between To spoil her temper. JNow, when flattery ceased, And children came apace, and want increased ; As pride went out, ill- humour took its place, n And spoilt her winning air and gentle grace, \ And scarce of all her beauty left a trace. J When William, downcast, felt the oppressive gloom, That brooded, like a nightmare o'er his home, THE TAVISTOCK CHIMES. 21 With love's strong help, he bore it for a while, And often in his sadness, forced a smile. But he, too, was untrained in heart and thought, With mind uncultured, and a soul untaught The secret of true patience. Was it strange, That as the months passed on, and no good change Came o'er his dwelling, he grew hard and fierce, And oft with bitter taunts the heart would pierce He once loved dearly ! Thus it chanced at last, All tenderness from that sweet home had past, His lonely plans unmoved the man could tell, And sternly, proudly, speak his long farewell. They both had said sharp things ere he'd begun His closing speech ; but when that speech was done, Mary was slow to answer, for his word Within her soul unwonted feeling stirred. O'er all their married life her glance she threw, Her eyes were opened, and at once she knew Her want of care to keep the hearthstone bright Had cursed their home with this malignant blight. Alas ! no grief, nor vows to wound no more, Can give pierced hearts the trust they had before. But must all thoughts, all efforts be in vain To save from wreck the years that still remain ? A longing seized her, wrought of hopes and fears, To pour her sorrow forth in sighs and tears. She must, she will, find shelter on his breast, There, with remorseful sobs and faults confest, Promise once more to be his gentle wife, In every chance, for all their future life. But when she raised her eyes, and saw how stern Were William's looks — dark looks that seemed to burn Iuto her very soul — she could not dare Before such looks to lay her spirit bare, c2 22 THE TAVISTOCK CHIMES. Restrained, and driven within, that strong spring-tide Of newly-wakened feeling conld bnt hide Beneath the semblance of her former pride. As when in winter time the pliant soil, Hardened with cold that checks the ploughman's toil, Relaxing 'neath the short-lived heat of day, Grows yet more firm as sunlight fades away, "When the great wizard Frost exerts his might Through the still hours of a December night ; So Mary's frozen heart, one moment free, Was wrapt again in harder misery. SECOND CANTO. Then William from his cottage firmly strode, And on his shoulder bore the paltry load Of all his worldly goods. He bore within A heavier burden far, a load of sin ; Of no deep dye, but weighty ne'ertheless With worldly habits and rough selfishness. 'Twas evening ere he reached the neighbouring town. It nestles in the midst of hill and down, Thrown out by Dartmoor, like strong sheltering arms, To shield a favourite child from rude alarms. Here he and Mary had been born and bred, Here told their tale of love, and here had shed Their childish tears. Here too, for many an hour, Beneath the shadow of the old church tower, In quaint old buildings, long since swept away, Had played together, when their hearts were gay. But memories sweet in loving hearts abide ; They cannot linger when true love has died. And loving hearts, most sensitive in youth, May grow too bard for tenderness and ruth ; THE TAVISTOCK CHIMES. 23 So hard, that objects dear in days gone by- Lose all their power to waken sympathy. E'en thus it was with William ; he went down, Untouched and sullen, through his native town ; Stepped quite unmoved along each well-known street, And so passed on the hurrying train to meet ; The hurrying train, fit symbol of an age When eager strivings all our thoughts engage, And men on some far goal are so intent, They have no time for gentle sentiment. Eut whilst all heedless William waited there, And darkness gathered, and the misty air Made the lamps flicker as they stood arow, In street and lane and market place below, He fell into a dream, a waking dream, And mazily went wandering up the stream Of fickle fancies. Till the clock struck six. Then came a sound his vagrant thoughts to fix ; For on the ear rang out the quaint old chimes* That he had heard in youth a thousand times, And, as the sound came beating on his brain, Without his wish, dead memories rose again, And many a scene of happier days gone by Came pictured forth in clearest imagery. First Picture. The kitchen of a country farm, That blazing logs kept bright and warm, Had gathered friends from far and wide To keep a merry Christmas-tide. The holly shone upon the wall ; And cheerily beat the hearts of all ; At the time of our story the chimes only played one tune. 24 i THE TAVISTOCK CHIMES. E'en elders joined the dance and play To honour that great holiday. He saw himself a youngster there, And Mary fairest of the fair ; Himself from love's vexations free, And full of fun and boisterous glee ; But Mary had a woman's ease, And woman's knowledge how to please, A maiden thoughtful, grave and coy, Whilst he was still a romping boy. The dance is o'er, the laughter done, And all the merry guests are gone ; Gone forth in cheerful groups to fight The gloomy darkness of the night. But when they reached the open down, That lay between them and the town ; And when they wandered from the rest, And Mary's voice her fears contest ; And she was glad of his strong arm To shield her from the night's alarm ; The thought that this proud, queenlike maid Was leaning on his manly aid, This wrought at once an inward change, And stirred new feelings, deep and strange ; And startling hopes and fears destroy The careless comfort of the boy. And when the town's dim far-off light Breaks through the darkness of the night, Clear through the frosty air they hear, Now dying off, now ringing near, The midnight chimes that speak of home, Rising to greet them as they come ; And, like a message from above, Telling the secret of his love, THE TAVISTOCK CHIMES. 25 Those chimes seem whispering in his ear, " Love changeth folks from year to year ; " Seem whispering o'er and o'er again, " 'Tis love that turneth boys to men." Second Picture. He saw himself a wretched lovelorn wight, Awake and weary on his lonely bed, And passing all the dreary hours of night Torn by opposing claims of hope and dread. Hope cried : " She does but hide her love for thee, Ask boldly, and this treasure shall be thine." Dread whispered : " Nay her heart must still be free. Who ever truly loved and gave no sign ? " For some twelve hours the land had done her best To celebrate her prince's wedding day ; And "William's country town, amongst the rest, Had bravely striven to drive dull care away. For there were sights and shows of every sort, And many a treat to mark each hour's advance, And dinners, teas, and simple rustic sport, And then, to crown it all, the merry dance. And Mary, 'midst her friends a courted queen, Had scarcely noticed William in the crowd ; He thought how strong and true his love had been, And swore that she was fickle, false, and proud. So when the feast and merry dance were o'er, And all the merry dancers gone to rest ; Poor William lay awake to probe the sore That made so wild a turmoil in his breast. 26 THE TAVISTOCK CHIMES. Pond thoughts of her he long had held so dear, The yearning now to claim her for his own, The boisterous battling of his hope and fear, As he lay there unfriended and alone ; These held him waking all the weary night In dismal solitude and restless pain, Whilst fear and hope maintained their equal fight, And in their battling fell and rose again. And as that dark, and dreary, doleful time Crept slowly, slowly on from hour to hour, The sturdy stroke and mournful mocking chime Came beating on him from the old church tower. Thus beating, dinning on his fevered brain, And telling how far off was yet the day, Those queer old chimes poured forth their tedious strain, "Whilst slowly-creeping moments passed away. Third Picture. It was a soft September eve, So soft that one would fain believe 'Twas still the merry May ; Only the leaves were turning brown, And one or two were falling down, Gently, before their day. Prom all the busy world apart, With deep, full gladness at the heart, On that sweet eventide, He sat quite still by Tavy's stream, Quite still, as if in some bright dream, With Mary by his side. THE TAVISTOCK CHIMES. 27 That morning made them man and wife, They pictured all their future life, Pure peace without alloy. Oh, think it, dream it, while ye can, Sweet winning wife, brave, hopeful man ! Life has not too much joy. They heard the wood-dove's gentle moan, As they sat still and all alone Reside their cottage door. And Tavy's stream, there babbling by, Was like a merry minstrelsy, To cheer them evermore. Then came from far those evening chimes, Recalling sad, perplexing times, When she was not his own. He thought, " Since thou indeed art mine, My love and life shall all be thine, I'll live for thee alone. Though strait and hard our lot may be, That shall but make my love for thee More deep, my bonny bride. Let other friends, let fortune fail, No loss, no trouble, shall prevail To tear me from thy side." In the few seconds whilst those chimes played on, These pictures of the past had come and gone, Rut in that space, as by a voice from heaven, A tender heart to that stern man was given. Starting with glad surprise he homeward went, And like some honest, heart-eased penitent, Poured forth his hope and purpose on his way, And thus right humbly to himself did say, — 28 THE TAVISTOCK CHIMES. " I'm more ashamed than my poor words can tell To 've treated thus the wife I loved so well ; To 've let her sadness vex and wonnd my heart, Instead of nrging me to do my part, And help her more onr common lot to hear, By greater kindness and more fostering care. Thank God, who tonchecl my heart, and brings me back So soon to her that owns it. Should there lack All love to greet me, who's to blame bnt me, Who killed her love by my cursed cruelty ? My duty's plain, by every means to strive And help her long-lost tenderness revive ; But should it not be so, yet here and now, To the great Grod I make this solemn vow, Ever to love and help her, while I've breath, To leave her only at the call of death." THIED CANTO. For two long hours the lonely wife conceals From prying eyes the misery she feels ; Unwilling that her little ones should know, By outward sign, her deep, heart-crushing woe. And yet the grief that seems so hard to bear Has brought forth even now a fruit most fair, The fruit of loving patience. For the joy Of her own children can no more annoy Her suffering spirit. Though, in days gone by, Their noisy mirth and thoughtless revelry Had often made her morbid soul more sad, As if they slighted her by being glad ; Now with a grateful heart she sees them play, And close with merry rout the careless day ; THE TAVISTOCK CHIMES. 29 Grateful to think such joy will sweep aside All lasting grief, whatever shall betide. But when the little ones are fast asleep, And minutes leaden-winged more slowly creep, And darkling twilight cometh on apace, Throwing a dreary gloom about the place, Then Mary's deep-drawn- sigh and weary moan Tell of a heart all friendless and alone. Beside the cot of him she loved the best, Her first-born son, loved more than all the rest, As being the symbol of their happier life, Before want came to them, and jars, and strife, Beside his cot, she crouches on the ground, And whilst the darkness deepens all around, And her low sobbing is the only sound That breaks the dreadful silence, she looks back Over her earlier life's uneven track ; Her maiden days, with all their foolish pride ; Her courtship and her marriage, when the tide Of happiness ran strong but never deep, For conscience, all the while, was fast aleep ; And so, when trouble came, the twofold stream Of love and joy departed like a dream ; Dried up at once, leaving no trace behind In selfish heart and narrow worldly mind. She thought of every word that William said, And all his gentle ways when they were wed ; And, for a moment, held him much to blame That he, through all, had not been still the same. " If men are stronger, they should waver not, As we weak women waver with our lot." But soon the sense of all her own arrear Of love and duty made his faults appear As nought beside her own. She could but see Herself the cause of all their misery. 30 THE TAVISTOCK CHIMES. And when this double load pressed on her there, Of guilt and grief, 'twas more than she could bear. "With hidden face she pressed the hard stone floor ; And whilst the storm of woe grew more and more, And the wild flood poured o'er her fierce and fast, She bent before it till its rage was past. Meanwhile her husband, through the darkness drear, With pitying, loving heart, is drawing near, Bringing love's solace for her sore distress To rob her grief of all its bitterness. Fearful he comes ; as one in olden strife, Sore wounded to the risk of very life, When once restored, would seek the field again, More wise and wary for his long-borne pain ; So William comes, a wiser, humbler man, Resolved to conquer all that patience can, To the lone spot which must be now the scene Of his self -conquest, as it erst had been Of his defeat. And yet a calm content, Unknown for years, was with him as he went, The deep, calm peace that pure intention gives, The dower of every wight that nobly lives. The darkness and the rain he heeded not ; Blindfold he could have found the well-known spot ; But he was startled when no feeble glare Prom the small casement pierced the murky air. With stealthy, trembling step he reached the door ; Then silent stood, for, from that cottage floor, There smote him, in the dark, the stifled cry Of that poor woman in her agony. One moment more, and all their griefs forgot, And all their bitter taunts remembered not, With no word spoken, clinging heart to heart, They knew that nought but death could bid them part. THE ETTRYDICE. 31 Scholars of grief, these well-tried friends, I ween, Are happier now than ever they have been ; And, day by day, their settled gladness tells Of love rekindled by the old church bells. Gulworthy, 1877. THE ETTRYDICE. {Foundered offLuccomb Chine, Sunday afternoon, Mar. 24, 1878.) There where the soft Bermudas on ocean's bosom rest, Like broken bits of Eden or the islands of the blest ; Where the winds are cool and balmy with an everlasting Spring,i And o'er three hundred fairy isles perpetual verdure fling ; There where the Pilgrim Fathers, driven forth by cruel wrong, Greeted their new-found country with a sweet thanksgiving song; There the good ship Eurydice has tarried on her way, But not the airs of Paradise could tempt a longer stay ; Eor hers are gallant officers as ever trod the deck ; And hers are British seamen, nor wind nor wave can check ; And most are brave and stalwart youths in training for the fleet, Eor whom, though brave, the joys of home are still surpassing sweet ; And some are aged mariners whose time for rest has come ; Some invalids, whom broken health makes pine the more for home. 1 See Andrew Marveh's " Bermudas." 32 THE ETJRYDICE. So the word, " We're off for England ! " doth sound amiss to none, All gladly leave those island gems to glisten in the sun ; And thinking of the home delights that will he theirs so soon, With merry heart and lusty cheer, they pass the deep lagoon. Those peaceful isles and rocks, I ween, have heard no merrier chime Since the Pilgrim Fathers' cheerful hymn sung in the olden time. Now the English frigate homeward hounds, like a sea-bird fast and free, And o'er the hroad Atlantic scuds, with a fresh breeze on her lee ; Eor still the weather is serene, and still the wind is fair, As if the soft Bermudan clime were present everywhere. And now she sweeps the Channel with her press of canvas on, As though she could not slacken rein until her race was run. Old guardsmen keeping careful watch along our southern shore, Espied the frigate as she passed and thought of days of yore. They knew the freight she bore with her, and blest her as she past, " God grant her many a trip, and each more prosperous than the last ! " 'Twas Sunday, and the sun shone out to greet the holy day; The frigate sped her onward course through sparkling foam and spray. " The breeze is stiff, yet leave her sails full flashing in the sun, In one half -hour she'll be at rest, with all her labour done." — She is at rest, but not within the port where she would be; At rest, but foundered deep and still, beneath the sparkling sea. THE EUEYDICE. 33 For darkness bred of cloud and snow o'er all the country fell, And furious northern blasts burst forth, like fiends let loose from hell. They swept across the Berkshire downs, and lashed the woods of Hants, And startled many a country choir amid their evening chants ; They leapt across the Spithead roads, and stormed the cliffs of Wight, And from the gorge of Luccomb Chine rushed forth with deadlier might. The gallant ship is sailing past with all her canvas spread, And hope in those brave mariners has left no room for dread. The cruel blasts leap on her, like a panther on its prey, She sinks, and drags three hundred souls down from the light of day. In awful solitude she sank behind her veil of snow, And only scattered waifs are left to tell her tale of woe ; But high above the blustering wind there rose one startling cry, The cry of those three hundred souls in their last agony. Britannia needs must weep for these, the youthful and the brave, Who close at home and gay of heart have found a watery grave. She mourns that they should be cut down so early in the race. She mourns ; but hundreds more as brave stand forth to fill their place. Aye, thousands more, of whom our land delights to make her boast, The men that meet death steadfastly, still waiting at their post; Brave men that in the fatal fray no cause for trembling find, Though they see grim death in front and leave an English home behind. Gulworthy, March, 1878, 34 SONGS FROM AN UNPUBLISHED DRAMA, " TAUNTON CASTLE," OR "A THOUSAND YEARS AGO." I. The Fight of Hingsto^ Dowct. Supposed to be sung by Snell, a Cornish Harper, in Guthrum's Camp, some forty years after the battle. 1. As the sea's advancing tide Gains npon the lessening shore, So these Saxon billows hide Celtic landmarks more and more. Sunny vales our fathers trod, Grassy down and forest land ; All — it is the will of God — Pass beneath the stranger's hand. ii. Driven from lands so rich and rare, Driven to mountains bleak and bare, Like a hurt beast in its lair, Dream we of long ago. What if we, alone too weak, From the Northmen succour seek, Our long pent-up wrath to wreak On our Saxon foe ? in. From Hingston Down toward the south We look, and lo, the harbour mouth, And all the gleaming bar of sea With Danish ships flash merrily, Beneath the morning sun. THE FIGHT OF HTNGSTON DOWN. 35 Then running inland with the tide, A hundred vessels safely ride At anchor, in the silvery lakes, That Tamar hurrying seaward makes ; Before the day is done. And now upon the spoil they leap, And many a noisy revel keep, Within the halls and with the cheer, Of Saxon landlords dwelling near. But English tribes are one at last ; From Forth to Exe they gather fast, And readily they draw the sword To help defend their Overlord. v. At the dawning of the day, Stood they forth in bold array, In the open fields that crown The lofty sweep of Hingston Down. When the sun is at its height, Still they strive with main and might. Mountain torrents checked in course, Rage the more with furious force, And with surging eddies sweep Round the rocks they cannot leap ; So the swelling Saxon ranks, Checked in front, flow round our flanks. Dane and Cymry stand the shock Like the torrent-beaten rock. At the setting of the sun, Egbert holds the field hard won. 3> 36 THE FIGHT OF HTNGSTON DOWN. Eroken, scattered far and wide, Struggling to the river's side, Dane and Cymry mix their blood In the Tamar's murky flood. Mingled blood of friends and foes Down the copse-fringed river flows, Ey the mighty Morwell crags, Slipping slowly through the flags, Eearing to the Danish fleet The first sad presage of defeat. VI. weep ye for the wretched folk that lie, Groaning deep groans between each fitful breath ; Eeneath the cold clear moon and ruthless sky, Calling in vain for thy release, Death. Yet weep ye more for widows left forlorn, Lonely and lorn in all life's bitterness ; And for the little ones, ye Cymry, mourn, "Whom this day's fighting leaveth fatherless. There is but loss from efforts made too late ; ISTo Christian may on heathen help rely. We can but bend us meekly to our fate, And dream, and only dream, of days gone by. The reader may perhaps consider such a regular system of rhymes an anachronism, but he must remember that the con- quered Celts were far ahead of our English forefathers in the art of poetry. Dr.Guest says, "The earliest poems of the Irish have final rhyme, and we know that the Welsh used it at least as early as the sixth century." * A little further on he adds, "I incline, therefore, to think, though the subject is one of * " History of English Rhythms," vol. i,, p. 120, THE WINNING OF TAUNTON BEAN. 37 difficulty, that final rhyme first originated with the Celtic races, that it was early transferred to the Latin, and from thence came gradually into our own language." Probably, as Archbishop Trench argues, the Latin had no need to borrow an artifice which " is the well-nigh inevitable adjunct of a poetry not quantitative."! But, at all events, Dr. Guest's theory shows how early a more elaborate versification was used by the Celts. THE WINNING OE TAUNTON DEAN. Supposed to be sung in Taunton Castle before King Alfred, by Edith, daughter of the Burgrave El frith. Ah ! many a curse and many a moan Are rising to heaven from the banks of the Tone. King Ina of Wessex, from morning till night, And Nunna, his helper, are leading the fight. They fight with Geraint, the King of West Wales, The wide-ruling Lord of moorlands and vales. The Saxons charge fiercely, again and again, Too mad with the battle to think of the slain. The Welsh, though sore-pressed, throughout the long day, Stand firm, like the stag of their moorlands at bay. So strongly they strive to keep for their own The rich summer land by the banks of the Tone. They're fighting again, by the rise of the Sun, It would have been night ere the battle was done ; Eut Nunna crept round, and charging in rear, Confounded the Welsh with a wild panic fear. Their order is broken ; in terror they fly, 'Twixt the Tone and the hills, by hundreds to die. t " Sacred Latin Poetry," p. 42. D2 38 THE NIGHTINGALE AND THE WARBLERS. Through, the meadows and woods of that rich summer land, The "West-Saxons follow with red sword in hand. Up the combes of the (Juantock, they follow and slay, And o'er the smooth hill-top, they're hunting all day. They pass the deer feeding at peace in the glen, Such game are forgotten by men hunting men. "When the killing was stayed, at the set of the sun, The vale of the Tone had been fought for and won. The dead, they lie still, in the pale moonlight, A prey for the wolf and the crow and the kite. The Welshmen down-hearted creep westward away, And leave their rich valley for ever and aye. Eut poor folk and peasants that touched not the sword, King Ina, the pitiful, gave them his word ; As long as they peacefully turned to their toil, No Saxon should trouble the sons of the soil. Now the dead are forgotten, their dolor and moan, In the bright little town on the banks of the Tone.* Gulworthij, 1878. THE NIGHTINGALE AND THE WARBLERS. A PLEA FOR SMALL POETS. Whilst we waited in the wood, Listening for the nightingale : Other birds did all they could, Singing songs in every scale. * Edith is supposed to have advanced a little beyond her English contemporaries in versification, under the influence of Snell, her father's Celtic servant. May, 1884. THE TRUE BALLAD OF MANLY PEEK. 39 Thrush and blackbird piping loud, Eedbreast in his minor key, Jostling with the merry crowd Lately come across the sea. But the nightingale's full song Seemed to silence all their trilling, Whistling low, then gurgling long, Ear and heart with music rilling. Yet, where nightingales come not, In our lovely western shire, (Wilful bird to shun the spot Which our poets most admire) Shall we silence all the chorus In the Tavy's wooded dales, Just because they pour not o'er us Music like the nightingale's ? Eather there we'll welcome gladly Every tiny singing bird ; For the seasons creep on sadly, When no madrigals are heard. THE TEUE BALLAD OE MANLY PEEK OF TAVISTOCK. Supposed to be written by one of his fellow-townsmen, soon after his return in April, 1626. A new Enterprise The Commons were so malcontent, planned When Charles began to reign ; He thought it wise to win their hearts, With glory won from Spain. 40 TBtE TKUE BALLAD OE MANLY PEEK. How Manly Peek^ In Plymouth Sound at anchor lay was drawn into One hundred ships and ten, it. Well-furnished with war's muniments And fourteen thousand men. The drum and trumpet echoed far, Their sound came on the wind. Brave Richard Peek ? he heard the sound, And could not stay behind. He lived in Tavistock, and there A pleasant home had he, A bonny wife, and pretty bairns To climb upon his knee. But Drake's own love of glory lived Within his townsman's breast. A Yolunteer he joined the fleet, And glory was his quest. What the Fleet That mighty host small glory won, did. They toiled and fought in vain. Their fickle chief a castle took, And then came home again. What Peek did. But Richard Peek was left behind, Our honour to retrieve. He went to look for oranges, Without the Spaniard's leave. He saw, mid shrubs and sandy knolls, All ghastly in their blood, Three comrades ; when a mounted knight Rushed on him, like a flood. He dazed the charger with his cloak, And, as she wheeled around, He grasped the knight with micklc might, And hurled him to the ground. THE TRUE BALLAD OE MANLY PEEK. 41 He is taken 'Gainst musketeers then hurrying up Prisoner, He made the knight his shield ; But twelve to one are odds enough To bid the bravest yield. They drove him bound through Cadiz town, ' in Our hero, Manly Peek, the cheek. That caitiff knight him thrust full sore, Eight through from cheek to cheek. He is sent to They sent him on to Xeres, where Xeres ; A Duke should be his judge. And Jesuits came to shrive his soul. — Eut Eichard would not budge. where his Faith Said he, "I look to Christ alone ; is tried, And need no man between. Your Pope of Eome, I know him not." The Jesuits scowled, I ween. and his Truth, They haled him then before the Court : They asked him what might be The strength of Plymouth garrison. — They knew far more than he. Eor Jesuit spies had brought report How well we kept our hold On Plymouth Town, with seventeen guns, And twenty men all told. and his Temper They mocked him, jeered at English hens, Who talked of swords and bullets. Amidst his foes, he smiled and said, " "We call you Spaniards, pullets." ' ' Then wilt thou truss one ? ' ' cried the Duke. Brave Eichard looked about, And saw, on either side, the Guards, In gallant sort decked out. 42 THE TEUE BALLAD OF MANLY PEEK. and his Courage. He said, " ISTo Englishman can fear One man of any nation." Their rapiers crossed ; they fenced and foiled ; And each man held his station. " I'll give thee life," Medina cried, " If thon canst him disarm." Peek wrenched the rapier from his hand, Nor did him further harm. The people growled. Medina asked, " Wilt now for honour strive ? " " Give me a quarter-staff," cried Peek, " And I'm a match for five." They took a halhert, struck away The head, gave Peek the haft. " Now use thy skewer well," they said. Peek wondered why they laughed. Three to one. Three, fully armed, came on at once, In front, to left and right. " Now bravely die ! Thou canst not win In such unequal fight." He thrust so strong, he swung so wide, That, ere they could come nigh him, He lay one grovelling in the dust, And sent the others flying. Peek is Then long and loud the angry crowd commended Did rage and fume and roar. But Lords and Ladies liked his pluck, And praised him more and more. THE TRUE BALLAD OF MANLY PEEK. 43 and sent to the They wrote and told their royal Lord, King. King Philip, what he'd done ; How he against the best of Spain Brave victory had won. The King he sent for Eichard Peek, And bade him service take, On land or sea, beneath his flag, And his conditions make. He prefers But Eichard said, "Charles is my king, England to His servant I must be ; Spain ; And my dear wife at Tavistock Is yearning sore for me," King Philip gave him parting gifts, Though grieved to let him go. And fair Court ladies presents gave, They did admire him so. And returns with Thus Manly Peek came home again, glory to All covered with renown ; Tavistock. And his brave deeds much honour brought Unto his native town. 'Tis time, good friends of Tavistock, To end our simple story. The King, you see, had all the cost, Our Eichard all the glory. Tavistock, 188 4. 44 THE NEW AND OLD. On Spenser's " Faerie Qtjeene." New worlds had stirred men's hearts, and learning new ; And here in England, freedom fanned the flame. Pair Italy, whose freedom Tyrants slew, Conld boast of Tasso's verses in her shame. A worthy Bard to celebrate her name Onr England knew not, though brave fights had been "Well fought, and sonnets sung, to win her fame. But voices fail not long full hearts, I ween ; And Spenser led the chorus with his " Faerie Queene." When with all noble deeds and fancies fair The chivalry of life seemed doom /to die ;