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 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
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 WHARFEDALE POEM 
 
 BY 
 
 THE WHARFEDALE POET. 
 
 "My muse, tlio' hamely in attire. 
 May touch the heart.*'— Bukns. 
 
 LEEDS: 
 
 D. HAIGH, PRINTER & PUBLISHER, CRITIC OFFICE. 
 
 1870.
 
 [COPYRIGHT i:i.si:i;\ ED ]
 
 ?R 
 
 TO THE READEB 
 
 One word before my verses meet thine eyes: — 
 
 Nursed in the lap of Nature, and almost living 
 upon her charms, the writer has felt the necessity 
 of pourtraying his thoughts on paper for his own 
 delectation, and he has felt (forgive him if he has 
 misinterpreted,) that others might perhaps catch and 
 utilize his sentiments : hence this little book asks 
 a candid reading. The erudite may discover the 
 want of erudition in a Cotter's son. He appeals 
 not, however, to learning (which he admires), but 
 to the heart. Having said this, he hows profoundly 
 to his reader, and hopes for a long and pleasant 
 acquaintance. 
 
 The Banks of the Whabfe, 
 December, 1870. 

 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 I'm Longing for Spring 
 
 The Soldier's Orphan Child 
 
 I Think of Thee 
 
 Lines Suggested by hearing a Blackbird Sing 
 
 I know a Sweet Secluded Spot 
 
 The Bluebell 
 
 Written on Leaving Wharfedale ... 
 Musings 
 
 To a Tuft of Primroses 
 
 To Jennie 
 
 To Richard Smith, Esq 
 
 Oh tell me not of Brighter Lauds ... 
 
 A Wish, with a Present 
 
 To a Thrush 
 
 The Lovers' Seat on the Banks of the Wliarfe, Tadcaster 
 
 The Poet. ( An Acrostic) 
 
 On Hearing the Robin Sing 
 
 To Mr. Tngham, of Leeds, Historical Painter 
 
 Eliza with the Jet-Black Curls 
 
 Lines to Jennio 
 
 On Spring ... ... ... 
 
 The Robin's Welcome 
 
 The Glade I Love 
 
 On Seeing some Violots Withering 
 Daisies... ... ... 
 
 Page 
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 5 
 
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 11 
 
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 26 
 
 27 
 
 28 
 
 28 
 
 29 
 
 29 
 
 30
 
 VI CONTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 A Welcome to May 30 
 
 The First Bud of the Year 31 
 
 Song 32 
 
 A Reverie ... ... ,.. ... . . ... ... 32 
 
 Reflections on my Boyhood's Home ... ... ... 33 
 
 Lines to a Kingcup ... ... ... ... ... ... 35 
 
 To B. B. Thompson, Esq. ... ••• 35 
 
 In Memoriam ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 37 
 
 Ou the same ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 38 
 
 To Captain Shann, J.P 39 
 
 Suggested on Hearing of the Burial of Miss R 40 
 
 The Brooklet 11 
 
 The Swallows o'er the Sea have Fled ... ... ... 41 
 
 I love to Muse ... ... ... ... ... ... 42 
 
 Lines to a Young Lady oh her Birthday ... ... ... 12 
 
 Song ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 11 
 
 The Banks of the Wharfe !1 
 
 My Heart is Sad 46 
 
 My Jennie ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 46 
 
 Spring 47 
 
 Tli nights Suggested during a recent Ramble on the Banks 
 
 of the Wharfe 49 
 
 On Seeing a Snowdrop 
 
 What I Love 
 
 O Maiden so Divinely Fair 
 The Morning Invitation 
 Song ... 
 
 The Rose 
 
 To a Butterfly 
 
 The Neglected Lyre ... 
 
 To a Daisy 
 
 Supposed to be Written by a Lover at the Grave of his 
 
 Loved Ono ... ... 56 
 
 49 
 50 
 51 
 51 
 52 
 53 
 53 
 51
 
 
 VII 
 
 Aii A I ir's A'i 'i 
 
 I Love, ami Roam with Me . . 
 
 ; ! , Inviting hi r to an 
 
 Walk 
 
 '"in 
 My Native Land, roy Much-Lov'd Eome 
 '• 
 Winter 
 
 ' ! ' 
 
 Fai.- Summer Time . . 
 
 The Sqi of an Old 3 I 
 
 ! I will Haste; to Yonder Grove . . 
 
 an who Vi Gaol by lb 
 
 31 forGl 
 
 Twili nghts in June. . 
 
 Little Streaml 
 
 bath Bells 
 
 n Gent) Gales .. 
 ' i been written in Bol 
 
 Wharfedale 
 On ? : Chnrch 
 
 Come Roatn the Fields 
 Lines to a Young Friend 
 To a Cowslip . . 
 
 I've S o and Beati ] - . . 
 
 Th V mth's Soliloquy while waiting for His Lo 
 
 1 the Last Day of August 
 The I. ' ig.. 
 Bui Charming Woman I love moi 
 To a l'i iend in Leeds 
 My Jennie's by h Cottage Door .. 
 
 The Fairy's Song 
 
 Bei ; vex Kiss 
 
 I 
 
 
 
 
 . . 
 
 58 
 
 
 
 
 59 
 
 . . 
 
 GO 
 
 
 61 
 
 . . 
 
 G2 
 
 
 62 
 
 • . 
 
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 . . 
 
 61 
 
 
 
 
 67 
 
 le C 
 
 
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 68 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 71 
 
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 71 
 
 
 
 
 72 
 
 
 7:: 
 
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 75 
 
 . . 
 
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 . . 
 
 7 i 
 
 ve 
 
 77 
 
 
 7 
 
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 7') 
 
 . ■ 
 
 80 
 
 . . 
 
 M 
 
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 62 
 
 
 83 
 
 ■ • ■ • 
 
 -
 
 Vlll 
 
 CONTENT.-;. 
 
 Musings by the River Wharfe 
 
 Alice Lee 
 
 To the Rev. E. H. Brooksbank, J.P., Healaugh Hall 
 
 By the Margin of Wharfe's River 
 
 To a Pimpernel 
 
 By Wharfe's Winding Stream 
 
 Thoughts at Early Dawn .. 
 
 The Dying Maiden 
 
 In Memory of M rs. Bellhouse 
 
 Oh Wharfe ! again thy Winding Stream . . 
 
 In Memory of Mrs 
 
 Oh ! Speak not Lightly of the Bard 
 
 Help for the Sick and Wounded 
 
 Lines suggested during an early Walk on the Banks of 
 
 the Wharfe 
 There is a Blank 
 
 By Wharfe's Sweet Stream the Shepherd Pipes 
 My Jean Awake, Aurora Smiles 
 The Wanderer's Return to His Native Place 
 Thoughts at Christmas Time 
 Addressed to the Author by a Lady, 1S65 
 Suggested by reading " Wharfedale Poems" in Manu 
 
 script 
 
 Page 
 
 84 
 
 85 
 86 
 87 
 88 
 89 
 90 
 92 
 94 
 96 
 97 
 98 
 99 
 
 100 
 102 
 103 
 104 
 105 
 106 
 107 
 
 107
 
 WHARFEDALE POEMS
 
 WHARFEDALE POEMS. 
 
 ['M LONGING FOR SPRING. 
 
 CJ/TM Longing fur Spring, I'm longing for Spring, 
 02 When sofl showers fall and when wild birds sing; 
 When nature is gay and the Sower is unseal'd; 
 When hill, dale, and plain do their fragrance yield ; 
 When crimson-.tipp'd daisies arc seen on the lea; 
 Wh m so inds a wild note from bush and from tree; 
 Winn the pretty pale primrose looks up to the sky; 
 When the violet smiles with a tear in its eye; 
 When buttercups lovely in thousands are seen, 
 Like spangles of beauty all over the green ; 
 When the sun is in glory al five in the morn ; 
 When the blossoms arc gay on the spray of the thorn; 
 When the birds' are all building in hedgerow and tree ; 
 When joy twitters merrily, jocund^ and free; 
 When the young leaves unfolding, kiss gently the 
 
 wind ; 
 When the sworf -hilar revels Sol's warm rays to find; 
 When young fove, enchanted, retires to the glade, 
 And dreams of the future in sunshine and shade; 
 
 b2
 
 4 WHARFEDALE POEMS. 
 
 "When amaranths bloom all fresh and all fair, 
 And fairies entwine them as gems in their hair ; 
 When dew-drops bespangle the fragrant moss-rose ; 
 When larks mount to bathe in each zephyr that blows ; 
 When bluebells are gay by the clear river side, 
 Whose waters of crystal are scarce seen to glide ; 
 When meadows, as carpets of emerald spread, 
 Seem to laugh with each tree as new-born from the 
 
 dead ; 
 When swallows revisit our dear island home, 
 Skimming blithe through the air, as if glad they had 
 
 come ; 
 When hedgerows with beautiful blossoms are clad ; 
 When every fluttering insect is glad ; 
 When young life is verdant, and nature's perfume 
 Is biu'sting from leaflets and scatter'd from bloom ; 
 When stockdoves are cooing in every grove ; 
 When linnets sing love-songs to linnets in love ; 
 When butterflies soar on their strange starry wings 
 In search of the rarest and sweetest of things ; 
 When the hum of the bee in all quarters is heard 
 In harmony sweet with the voice of the bird ; 
 When lambkins are skipping about on the plain, 
 As dancing in time to the blackbird's wild strain ; 
 When the milkmaid with glad heart is waken'd to 
 
 song, 
 As she looks on the cowslips the way-side along. 
 When thus joyous Nature, uniting in praise, 
 Pours forth the grand music in marvellous lays,
 
 WllAKriil'ALE POEMS. 5 
 
 I look on the wonders that God has brought forth, 
 And I feel I can't fat bom their nature or worth : 
 Yet, in the glad spring-time 1 always rejoice 
 Till my heart's full of rapture and tuneful my voice, 
 And I sing, while the woodlands responsively ring, 
 " All hail to the spring-time — the beautiful Spring.'* 
 
 THE SOLDIER'S ORPHAN CHILD. 
 
 (M MET a little blue-eyed girl,* 
 03 A-wandering o'er the green ; 
 Her head was crown'd with curls as fair 
 As eyes have ever seen. 
 
 " How old are you, my little maid ? " 
 
 I said ; " Come tell, I pray." 
 Blushing, she said, "I'm eight years old 
 
 Upon the first of May!" 
 
 "Then tell me where your parents dwell," 
 
 I softly to her said. 
 "Sir," she replied, " my parents dear 
 
 Are laid among the dead ! " 
 
 " Then say where is your home," I said ; 
 
 " With whom now do you live? 
 Come tell me fair one, and to you 
 
 This pretty book I'll give." 
 
 * " I met a little cottage girl."— Wordsworth.
 
 WHARFEDALE POEMS. 
 
 I held the prize before her eyes, 
 The pictures to her showed ; 
 
 And then she cried, " I'll tell you, sir," 
 As meek her head she bowed. 
 
 " For I a brother have, and he 
 
 Is good and kind to me ; 
 And oh ! he'll love this book to read, 
 
 When list'ning I shall be." 
 
 I sat me down upon a stone, 
 
 And she beside me sate 
 (She wrapp'd her apron round the book) 
 
 Her story to relate. 
 
 " Please, sir, my simple tale I'll tell, 
 
 As you have asked me ; 
 I live within yon lowly cot, 
 
 Beneath the aged tree : 
 
 " My aunt, my brother, and myself, 
 
 Together there abide, 
 And have done ever since the day 
 
 My gentle mother died. 
 
 "My father was a soldier, and 
 
 Ee was iii battle slain ; 
 For England — oh ! he fought and fell 
 
 I pon the bloody plain.
 
 \\ II LEFEDALE POEMS. 
 
 ■*' I often lieard my mother say 
 
 That lather died in fight ; 
 And she would weep the live-long day, 
 
 And through the weary night. 
 
 "And soon her health began to fail, 
 
 Her colour weut away ; 
 And then for many wicks, alas ! 
 
 Upon her bed she lay. 
 
 "They told me mother could not long 
 
 Continue — and 'twas true; 
 For at the dawn of coming 'lay 
 
 Her parting breath she drew. 
 
 "They laid her in her coffin bed, 
 Then in the grave-yard drear ; 
 
 And now the flowers above her grow, 
 And I am often there. 
 
 -" And when I look upon her grave, 
 And think she sleeps beneath, 
 
 I think that I should like to he 
 With her asleep in death." 
 
 She ceas'd — and in her gentle eve 
 
 I saw the briny tear ; 
 And yet a sweet smile seem'd 1o play 
 
 Upon that face so dear.
 
 S WHARFEDALE POEMS. 
 
 Jtising, she left me ou the spot ; 
 
 Spell-bound awhile I stay'd ; 
 I thought upon the gory field, 
 
 And where the dead were laid. 
 
 And then I thought within my heart. 
 If I with wealth were blest, 
 
 Pd call that little one my child, 
 And she would bring me rest. 
 
 Yet she is blest already — though 
 The tear was in her eye ; 
 
 Her heart was with the blessed dead : 
 She waited but to die ! 
 
 I THINK OF THEE. 
 
 <H THINK of thee, though far away, 
 v^» AVhile mingling with the throng; 
 I think of thee at close of day, 
 Wand'ring the wools among. 
 
 I think of thee at midnight hour, 
 
 When all beside is still ; 
 And then, as if by magic's power, 
 
 Thou dost enchain my will.
 
 WHA.REEDALE POEMS. 9 
 
 I think of thee when morning light 
 
 Reveals our well-known walks ; 
 Thus, day by day, and night by night, 
 
 Thy mem'ry with mo talks. 
 
 LINES SUGGESTED BY HEARING A 
 BLACKBIRD SING. 
 
 <H HAVE listen'd, I have listen'd unto thy soothing 
 
 <S> lay, 
 
 Until my weary soul was stirr'd with visions bright 
 
 and gay ; 
 I thought I was again a hoy, upon my mother's knee— 
 I heard her breathe the fav'rite song she used to sing 
 
 to me ; 
 My eldest sister, too, I saw close sitting by her 
 
 side, 
 Weaving a crown of wild-wood flowers with tasteful, 
 
 graceful pride ; 
 And when the fav'rite song was o'er, the fragrant 
 
 wreath was made, 
 My sister gently rose and placed the chaplet on my 
 
 head ; 
 And as this act she did, she said these cheering words 
 
 the while : — 
 " In after years shall flowers like these thy thoughtful 
 
 heart beguile,
 
 10 WHABFEDAIjE poems. 
 
 And thou wilt sing in artless strains lavs of thy native 
 
 land; 
 Both friends and strangers from afar shall take thee 
 
 by the hand." 
 And as the pleasing tale she told, the tear stood in. 
 
 her eye : 
 " But ere that wisli'd for day shall come, I in the 
 
 grave shall lie ; 
 I in the silent grave shall lie, as still as still may he ; 
 Yet then, you know, your songs you'll sing to others, 
 
 not to me. 
 But I shall listen — listen, oh ! to ev'ry word you say; 
 Yes, I shall hear the music when your tuneful harp 
 
 you play." 
 My mother deal did listen to the story that she told, 
 Ami then she strok'd my sister's locks — her flowing 
 
 locks of gold ; 
 My mother heard each gentle tone, but ne'er a word 
 
 did speak, 
 But brinish pearls iii numbers roll'd adown her 
 
 blanched che< 
 Oil ! many weary years have sped since that remem- 
 bered time : 
 My sister* died in maiden bloom, my mother in her 
 prime ; 
 
 * The author's sister died at the early age of thirteen. 
 II is mother ;it thirty-seven.
 
 w ii \i;i i.oau: POEMS. 11 
 
 And close together now they lie within the grave-yard 
 
 green, 
 But not ;i stone to mark 11k.' Bpol above their bed is 
 
 ■:i ; 
 Yet still in memory thej Live — shall live to life's last 
 
 day, 
 And then, as in my infancy, myheadwith them I'll lay. 
 
 I KNOW A SWEET SECLUDED Sl'OT. 
 
 0// KN-: >W ;i S"w i Luded spot 
 
 O \\ mg-birds flit from spray to spray, 
 
 And carol forth their sweetesl notes 
 All through the live -long summer day ; 
 
 And where the drooping willows spread, 
 And mingling, branching sweet-briars grow 
 
 Across the purling brooklet clear, 
 
 Whose waters bright meandering flow. 
 
 The wild-rose there in beauty smil -. 
 
 While bell-flowers deck the pathway side; 
 Ami dew-drops radiant Lingering stay, 
 
 Where sweel l> scented \ iolets hide. 
 
 To this dear baunl I oft repair, 
 
 Willi (Mic who is my soul's own jiriil*', 
 To breathe t<> ber my tales of Love 
 While sitting by the brooklet's side.
 
 12 WHARFKDALE P0EM3. 
 
 THE BLUEBELL. 
 
 £»i LL hail ! tliou fairy azure gem, 
 
 O Sparkling in Nature's diadem, 
 
 "With glowing pearl-drops full of light, 
 
 Sprinkled from the breath of night. 
 
 Array'd in skirt of emerald green, 
 
 Fit robe to grace a fairy queen ; 
 
 "Where could a brighter flower be found, 
 
 E'en though we search the woodland round ? 
 
 The violet is fair to see 
 
 As is the cowslip on the lea : 
 
 Sweet is the wild-rose after showers, 
 
 But bluebells are the fairest flowers. 
 
 WEITTEN OX LEAVING WHAKFEDALE. 
 
 " Oh 1 friends regret tad, scenes for ever dear.'" — Byron. 
 
 /JAH Wharfedale ! I must leave thy favour'd bowers ; 
 
 ^ Yet ere I go one fond last gaze I'll take. 
 
 Each tree in this fair scene to me is dear, 
 
 And seems to whisper to my drooping spirits 
 
 A pensive wailing to my pensive thoughts. 
 
 How often 'neath the arms of yon old tree 
 
 Havo these ears listened to some pleasing song 
 
 6umz bv the maid I loved, who is no more. 
 
 Together we sli.ill never roam again, 
 
 To make the woodlands eoho to our songs.
 
 WHAREEDALE POEMS. 18 
 
 t)h ! banks of Wharfe, she treads on fairer soil, 
 
 An angel, now — she dwells in Paradise ! 
 
 Her songs wore sweet, but how much sweeter now ! 
 
 Oh could I once more see her at my side ! 
 
 Yet no, — my love for Tier forbids the thought ; 
 
 Nor must I griev< — but memory will oft 
 
 Call back the blissful hours we spent together, 
 
 And tears unbidden from their fountains gush 
 
 To trickle down my cheeks — yet cease complaint ! 
 
 For blest are those who find relief in tears. 
 
 Oh ! I remember well that precious eve, 
 
 The eve of Sabbath day, when I and those 
 
 "Who were my young companions sallied forth 
 
 On those dear banks to wander for an hour ; 
 
 Time flew so quickly that the tinkling bell 
 
 Surprised me — woke me from my reverie. 
 
 Within the fane, whence came those hallow'd sounds, 
 
 My duty was, that hour of ev'ning prayer. 
 
 Nature had oharm'd me. but the sacred song 
 
 Pour'd out to Heaven's high King demanded mo 
 
 As leader of the youthful vocalists. 
 
 Across the meadows at those sounds I flew ; 
 
 The flight of bird I vied with as T ran. 
 
 In those days, too, I was a favourite 
 
 With Squire and Lady, for they lov'd my song, 
 
 Nor lov'd scarce less my wavy flaxen hair 
 
 And glowing cheeks, then blooming like the rose. 
 
 Now all is changed ; the bloom has quite departed,,
 
 14 WHARFEDALE POEMS. 
 
 And once bright hah- lias now a sombre hue ; 
 
 My light step chain' d by joints less supple grown ; 
 
 Yet live I, but my friends are in the dust, 
 
 Save that a few remain to me. And Change 
 
 Has wrought his transformations upon them ; 
 
 The blush of youth has grown to manly prime ; 
 
 The man is now grown old : just as the grasses 
 
 Have overgrown the beds of the departed, 
 
 Who now are free from all the cares of time : 
 
 They have a world that never knows a change, 
 
 Peaceful they sleep, and sleep for evermore! 
 
 Yet no! the day shall come, when, chang'd once more,. 
 
 The mortal shall awake to consciousness, 
 
 And immortality shall crown God's handiwork. 
 
 So I will onward press — my task fulfil ; 
 And lie who sends the soft refreshing dew 
 At eve, to cheer the drooping herb and flower 
 Will watch o'er me ; and, should misfortune come, 
 Will help me through the si niggle, and will bring 
 My weary soul within the bourne of Heaven. 
 
 MUSINGS. 
 
 5j|#yHILE T :iin al the garden gate, 
 *MJV The moon is in ley : 
 
 The evening star is shining bright, 
 The, streamlet rippling by.
 
 WHARFEDA1 i; POEMS. 
 
 The gladsome Spring lias come again, 
 The vale is clad n ith flow ers ; 
 
 An emerald mantle covers o'er 
 These smiling hills of ours. 
 
 How glorious is the distant view 
 
 < >f yonder moon-lil grove ! 
 And gently o'er the face of Heaven 
 
 The tinted cloudli I - move. 
 
 Grand also are the neighb'ring meads 
 
 Beneath the mellow liglri ; 
 While dimly Calls the village tower 
 
 Upon tin' raptur'd sight. 
 
 Ami softly sweel the zephyr sighs, 
 While winding through the I owers; 
 
 As nil iis wings i( bears along 
 Tin- breath of dew-clad flowers. 
 
 Those beauty-drops on leaf . d 
 
 A II lovely now appear ; 
 In their magnificence they vie 
 \\ ith jewels princes wear. 
 
 Oh ! how I love tliis sc n i — 'lis here 
 The tinkling streamlet flovt . 
 
 Ami seems io ask my love for flowers, 
 And everything that grows.
 
 1£ WHARFEDALE POEMS. 
 
 The falling leaf — the wither'd flower, 
 The oak, tho' gnarl'd and rude, 
 
 Oft make ine feel an ecstasy 
 
 That common thoughts exclude : 
 
 They bring to mind those happy days 
 
 Which held my soul of yore, 
 When heart was light and cheeks were bright 
 
 With roses mantled o'er. 
 
 TO A TUFT OF PRIMROSES. 
 
 /j\FT have I sought your fairy forms 
 
 In April's changeful hours, 
 From early dawn till ev'ning shades, 
 In Wharfe's enchanting bowers. 
 
 For then my ardent spirit lov'd 
 To trace each line Avith care ; 
 
 Not tir'd with roving through the day 
 Where ye grew sweet and fair. 
 
 In sylvan grove — o'er mossy banks, 
 
 And down the valleys gay 
 (As poets dream, tho fairies trip), 
 
 My feet were wont to stray.
 
 WHABFBDALB POEMS. 17 
 
 The rivers, brooks, and woods, and birds, 
 
 My life and light seeni'd then ; 
 I held communion with the hills, 
 
 And with the outstretched plain. 
 
 Nor can my passion for you tire ; 
 
 I love nut less, bul more ; 
 And still 1 gather Primroses 
 
 As in the days of yore ! 
 
 TO JENNIE. 
 
 CJT'HERE is sunshine in th<_' valley, 
 
 And sunshine o'er the lea ; 
 There are leaves upon the hawthorn, 
 And blossoms on each tree 
 
 There are song-birds in the bowers, 
 And song-birds in the tree ; 
 
 There are dew-drops on the flowers, 
 And health for you and me. 
 
 TO EICHAED SMITH, ESi . 
 
 ~^ ; ' strugglinj : is thon a friend arl true ; 
 
 Ifwantin >, what would tl r bard do? 
 
 Ah, sire ten thousand than] to thee 
 
 For thy kind acts and patr s to me, 
 
 i
 
 18 WHAKFEDALE POEMS. 
 
 Through life, oil may'st thou never want a friend ; 
 
 Thy deep'ning path he bright unto the end. 
 
 And may kind Heaven guide thy daughters three, 
 
 Thy son at home, thy youngest o'er the sea : 
 
 And when Death's hand shall close each shining eye, 
 
 Then join the blest in immortality ! 
 
 OH TELL ME NOT OF BKIGHTEK LANDS. 
 
 i 
 
 §H tell me not of brighter lauds, 
 Where maidens are divine : 
 Oh tell me not of gayer flowers 
 Than those sweet ones of mine. 
 
 There's not a maid, nor shrub, nor flower, 
 
 Look wheresoe'er we may, 
 So sweetly pure, so free, so fair, 
 
 As English homes display. 
 
 Where scented hawthorns deck each hill, 
 
 The primrose every vale ; 
 Where violets 'neatb the hedgerows blow, 
 
 And fragrance Loads the gale; — 
 
 Where flowery meads and verdant groves 
 
 Invite the birds to sing ; 
 Where bees for honeyed treasures ply, 
 
 And ply on tireless wing ; —
 
 wii w:ri:i>Au: POEMS. lit 
 
 Where milkm id •. with glowing: cheeks 
 
 Ai morn and eve do sing, 
 Thrilling the woods Mil valloys round 
 
 T '! all with in.: - ; ■ ring, — 
 
 'Tis there the youthful loving pairs 
 
 May sit 'neath hedge or tree, 
 And tell their tender tales of love, 
 
 From rude intrusion free ; — 
 
 ■ 
 Where also dwells the good old squire, 
 
 Who loves to feed the poor, 
 Permitting not the hungry one 
 
 Fasting to leavo his door. 
 
 *& 
 
 'Tis Hi us sweet maids and lovely flowers 
 
 Make every homestead fair ; 
 While Lerous hearts awake a smile 
 
 By being presenl there. 
 
 Then tell me not of brighter scenes : 
 
 J call each view a dwarf 
 When once compar'd with what I love, — 
 
 The flowery, winding Wharfe. 
 
 c2
 
 20 AVHARFEDALE POEMS. 
 
 A WISH, WITH A PRESENT. 
 
 CTT'HE gift accept, my fair young friend, 
 
 And to these simple lines attend, 
 From one who early loved thee, — 
 From one who still loves faithfully. 
 Come bind us with a golden chain, 
 Come tell me that you love again ! 
 Never forget the vows we made 
 As once we trod the sylvan glade ; 
 Tell me you love the very spot 
 Where violet and forget-me-not 
 I gave you. when beneath that tree 
 I vow'd to love you constantly. 
 Remember, also, Inholm's lane, 
 Where song-birds woke their joyful si rain, 
 And daisies grew in graceful pride, 
 And laugh' d as we went side by side ! 
 Have you forgot the rustic stile 
 Where first I saw your witching smile ? 
 We wandered in the woody dell, 
 When night-winds sigh'd and beech-nuts fell ; 
 The rippling stream we sauntered by, 
 And tear-drops fell from either eye. 
 'Twas there I stole the virgin kiss, — 
 You said you lov'd — my life was bliss ; 
 Bui now, alas! no words can move 
 Thy heart to re-assert its love. 
 Still I'll be true till death shall como 
 And call me to my last long home !
 
 WHARPEDALB POEMS. 21 
 
 TO A THEUSH. 
 
 OT'HOTJ dosl pour forth thy melody, 
 
 Tlio' liill and dale arc clad with snow; 
 The bitter north-winds stay not thee, 
 But ever (inward dosl thou go. 
 
 Oh ! tell me why thou art so gay 
 
 At such a cold and gloomy hour ; 
 There's no warm sunbeam's gladsome ray, 
 
 Nor doth there bloom a single flower. 
 
 Methinks thou'rt dreaming of the hours 
 When cowslips sweet bedeck the vale; 
 
 When flow'rets fair unite their powers 
 To fling their fragrance on the gale ; 
 
 When daisies and when kingcups bloom 
 Beside the babbling, sparkling brook; 
 
 And linnets' sprightly carols come, 
 
 And roses from their green buds look : 
 
 When zephyrs whisper music soft 
 
 Thro' mossy dell and woodland glade, 
 
 And showers of gleaming dew-drops oft 
 Come pattering down the leafy shade; 
 
 "When in the morn the milkmaid's song 
 
 Floats gently over hill and dale, 
 And joy seems rife all hearts among, 
 
 Like waves of life on every gale.
 
 22 WHARFEDAIiE POEMS. 
 
 If such thy dream, hope on, nor fear, 
 For soon the snows shall melt away ; 
 
 The earth will laugh, tho' now 'tis drear, 
 To greet the genial Spring-tide day. 
 
 THE LOVEES' SEAT ON THE BANKS OF 
 THE WHAEFE, TABCASTEK. 
 
 'OSS-GKOWN and rude is that old stone, 
 Close by the pathway laid 
 By accident, or hands unknown, 
 Beneath the old tree's shade. 
 
 There lovers fondly, often meet, 
 
 As in the woods the doves, 
 Who seek the shady, cool retreat, 
 
 Cooing their gentle loves. 
 
 And sweet it is, as evening hour 
 
 Closes the Summer day, 
 To feel the witching, soft'ning power 
 
 Of Nature's varied lay ! 
 
 Below, the stream is stealing by, 
 
 With gurgling, tinkling sound ; 
 While blackbirds lift their voice on high, 
 
 And fragrance breathes around.
 
 WHAEFEDAIE POEMS. 'J.'! 
 
 'Tis pleasant on thai slime to sit 
 
 When <Mi\\ ard Bteals the night, 
 A.nd see the leaves as moonbeams flit, 
 
 Dancing as in delight. 
 
 In such a scene 'tis sweet to tell 
 
 The tales of early love ; 
 As flow the waters through the dell, 
 
 As coos the gentle dove. 
 
 Here, weary as the "lay may be, 
 
 My evening hours I'd spend ; 
 And if these joys are not for me, 
 
 For earth my wishes end. 
 
 T II E POET. 
 
 (An Acrostic.) 
 
 ^jl^YOPiK, work !• yes, ever at its work is the poor 
 
 * J *- /V poet's brain — 
 
 In brightesl hours, in darkest nights, he pours his 
 
 earnest strain. 
 Line by line, and verse by verse, he onward, upward 
 
 goes: 
 Like to the topmost boughs o' th' oak, toward heaven 
 
 he grows.
 
 21 WUAKFEDALE POEMS. 
 
 In lonely room, in midnight's gloom, his brain he 
 
 plies for you ; 
 Aye, oft till peeps the morning sun, does he his course 
 
 pursue. 
 Mystery on mystery his pensive mind reveals ; 
 The simplest flower that decks the sod a lesson to him 
 
 yields : 
 Yet, oft the poor bard knowetk want, tho' rich men 
 
 take no heed, 
 And suffer him, while yet alive, thro' their neglect to 
 
 need, 
 So that his muse to all the world sad shall record the 
 
 deed. 
 
 ON HEARING THE EOBIN SING. 
 
 (3H GAIN the robin's song I hear, 
 cEy Blithesome it warbles forth its strain ; 
 Oh ! dost thou come to tell thy tale 
 In music at my window pane ? 
 
 Hail to thee ! harmless redbreast ; thou 
 Dost stir my inmost heart this day ; 
 
 So thrilling are thy flowing notes, 
 Sweet bird, sing on, sing on, I pray. 
 
 My window I will open wide, 
 If only thou wilt with me stay ; 
 
 And food enough I'll give to thee, — 
 Repay me with thy pleasing lay!
 
 WHARFEDALE POEMS. 25 
 
 I will not hiirm Hire, pictl v bird, 
 But I'll protect thco from the storm ; 
 
 Como in, and my companion be ; 
 
 I'll shelter thee, and keep thee warm. 
 
 And when tho green leaves deck (he thorn, 
 And flowers again shall grace the lea, 
 
 Believe me, thee I'll not detain ; 
 As now, so then thou shalt be free! 
 
 I) 
 
 TO ME. INGHAM, OF LEEDS, 
 
 HISTORICAL PAINTER. 
 
 AIL, Ingham, hail ! the noblest friend on earth ! 
 My uncouth muse can sing but half thy worth ! 
 How throbs in gratitude my heart to thee, 
 For all thy bounty kindly shown to me ! 
 May Ileaven be with my friend where'er he goes ; 
 Joys may he reap — that true friend only knows ! 
 God blesses him who giveth to the poor 
 With tenfold mercy amplitude of si hit 
 (From Him who made the stars to shine on high, 
 Who form'd tho sun with beams to fill the sky,) — 
 Awaits ; a thousand blessings, gently crown'd, 
 Fall on his head, and all his paths surround! 
 His silvery hairs a crown of glory see, 
 Blessed in time and in eternity.
 
 2f) WHAT! FED ALE POEMS. 
 
 To him may life be full of joj r and peace, 
 Peace growing, strength ning as his years increase. 
 Let children learn with joy to lisp his name, 
 Nor let the Muses cease to raise his fame ! 
 In words of fire, oh ! let his virtues burn, 
 And future ages, spell-bound, mark his urn ! 
 
 ELIZA WITH THE JET-BLACK CURLS. 
 
 /j^LIZA with jet-black curls, 
 ^ Whilst strolling by Wharfe's side, 
 Declar'd she loved her minstrel-boy, 
 And she would be his bride ; 
 
 That she would be his bonnie bride, 
 
 And love him night and day ; 
 And naught on earth should cause her heart 
 
 To suifer love's decay. 
 
 But Death's cold hand untimely came, 
 
 And took her life away ; 
 And now beneath the cold green turf 
 
 In peace her form doth lay. 
 
 * 
 
 And in the happy time of Spring, 
 
 Ih'iicatli tin- noon-tide ray, 
 The minstrel-boy full oft is seen 
 
 Beside her grave to stray.
 
 \v : I ■ I : i "• : i • 
 
 lie scatters o'er the grasi y knoll 
 The flowers she prized so dear, 
 
 And lifts imploring <y es to I '■ 
 As it' engaged in prayer. 
 
 Then from the sacred spol he parts,- 
 
 Departed is his joy ! 
 Ye lovers all conic drop a tear 
 
 With this poor minstrel-hoy. 
 
 LINES TO JENNIE. 
 
 /jflTHIin up, cheer up, my own sweet maid, 
 
 We soon shall meet again ; 
 I've not forgot the words we said, 
 While strolling o'er the plain. 
 
 Those 1 icant eons flowers you give to me, 
 When by Wharfe's winding stream, 
 
 Are in the book press'd carefully, 
 Like some fond poet's dream. 
 
 Tho' far apart we dwell, sweet maid, 
 
 I ever will prove true ; 
 So trust me, and be not afraid 
 
 I other love than you.
 
 28 WHAEFEDALE POEMS. 
 
 ON SPRING. 
 
 (}!VO W, Phoebus smiles on "YVharfe's green banks ! 
 Qir The little bee is on the wing ; 
 The feather'd tribes return their thanks 
 At the approach of gladsome Spring. 
 
 How sweetly yonder violets bloom 
 Beneath the spreading bushes green ! 
 
 And ! how rich their sweet perfume ! — 
 I own that Flora now is queen. 
 
 THE ROBIN'S WELCOME. 
 
 /jfOME to my cottage door, sweet bird ; 
 *^ I've thrown some crumbs for thee ; 
 Right glad I am to hear thy voice, 
 It sounds so sweet to me. 
 
 Now cold and piercing winds blow high, 
 
 And snow is falling fast ; 
 Then come and share my frugal meal, 
 
 And stay till storms have pass'd. 
 
 With coming Spring thou shalt bo free, 
 To range each plain and grove ; 
 
 But come just now, and be to me 
 A messenger of love.
 
 WHAEFEDALE POEMS. 29 
 
 THE GLADE J LOVE. 
 
 GT'IIK glade I love, with music glad, 
 
 When Nature is with verdure clad: 
 The cuckoo's son" - is sweet to me 
 When twittering sounds from shrub and tree 
 Join in a general symphony ! 
 I love to see the sweel larks rise, 
 To hear them warbling in the skies : 
 I love the sighing, rippling lay 
 From waters flowing by the way; 
 And when they dash the rude rocks o'er 
 I love to listen while they roar 
 Like basses deep, whose harmonies 
 The sounds in Nature avcII supplies. 
 
 ON SEEING SOME VIOLETS WITHERING. 
 
 Q£WEET violets, as T gaze on you, 
 &* The gathering tear bedims mine eye; 
 Fading so quickly from 1113- view, 
 The parting sad evokes a sigh. 
 
 Oh ! why not always with me stay, 
 And grace thro' life my varied path? 
 
 It cannot be — ye pass away, 
 
 As man, who here no resting hath !
 
 30 WHAttFEDALE POEMS. 
 
 DAISIES. 
 
 ggEAUTIFUL daisies, all sparkling with dew, 
 O Robed in mantles of loveliest hue, 
 Blooming so sweet 'neath the san's golden beam, 
 Waving your heads near the clear purling stream. 
 
 A Yv T ELCOME TO MAY. 
 
 " Right welcome be thou, faire freshe May." — Chaucer. 
 
 0/ HAIL Ihce, charming month of May ; 
 03 Birds also sing a welcome lay ; 
 And silvery brooks appear to me, 
 Sweet month of May, to welcome thee. 
 
 The glowing sun, the verdant trees, 
 The cowslips sweet, the passing breeze, 
 Lambkins disporting o'er the lea. 
 Rejoice, like me, to welcome thee. 
 
 The violet blue, and primrose pale, 
 Seem to disclose the self-same tale ; 
 The daisy, and the daffodil, 
 Welcome thee with a right good will. 
 
 The skylark rises up on high, 
 And warbles forth sweet notes of joy; 
 Tin' streamlet, too, sighs forth its lay, 
 To welcome thee, sweet month of May.
 
 WHABFEE \i.i: PO] M 3 1 
 
 The smiling fields, the passing showen . 
 The bees upon f be dewy flowers ; 
 All things rejoice and dance with glee, 
 glorious May, to welco c. 
 
 THE FIEST BUD OF THE YEAK. 
 
 Sj|#yiIAT wondrous beauty I can trace 
 
 Depicted on thy smiling face ! 
 Of childhood emblem fair art thou, 
 With laughing eye and radiant brow ! 
 
 On thee, oh ! how I love to gaze, 
 Bathed in the sun's refulgent rays, 
 And sportive, dancing to and fro, 
 Kissing the hreezes as they go. 
 
 Thy form — thy motions as in glee, 
 Enchain my soul, enchanting me; 
 
 Thou simple, lovely, witching tiling, 
 Thou herald of the jocund Spring !
 
 32 WHARFEDALE POEMS. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 0£ DO not care 
 
 C^/> For jewels rare ; 
 They never could buy peace of mind : 
 
 To wed a squire 
 
 I've no desire ; 
 My heart's another way inclin'd. 
 
 For I intend 
 
 My days to spend 
 With one I love that's o'er the sea ; 
 
 Then come no more 
 
 Unto my door: — 
 Lordlmg nor squire shall ne'er wed mo. 
 
 A REVERIE. 
 
 @\ FEW brief days, and then this breast, 
 O^ From sorrow free, shall be at rest — 
 
 At rest within the earth: 
 Bui the immortal soul will fly 
 Back to iis Father in the sky, — 
 
 To God who gave it birth.
 
 WUAEFEDALE POEMS. 38 
 
 i 
 
 RE TIONS ON MY BOYHOOD'S EOME. 
 
 " Breath - 1! r I e man rith soul e i di n I, 
 Who ai v. r t.j himself liath said — 
 This i- mj on a, my natii e laud 
 
 CJT'O bring our home scenes back 1o view is sweet. 
 
 : or memory's pictures can the fancy greet. 
 The favourite haunts where in our youth we play'd, 
 The cm : eat the sprea Ling ash-tree made ; 
 The splash and hummin so L from water-mill 
 I >ie in the crj stal wat< cs of the rill ; 
 The placid ri >ei, as it softly glides, 
 Kissing the flowers that fringe its verdant sides ; * 
 The' ancient church, now mouldering to decay ; 
 The good old school across the neighb'ring way; 
 The well-known chime of nightly curfew bell, 
 That on the breeze comes with a gradual swell ; 
 The winding banks where daisies iove to spring, 
 The towering larch, where thrush and bla :kbirdsing; 
 The songs of larks rising from pastures rare ; 
 The flowers sweet that grace the meadows fair; 
 The warning bark of faithful shepherd's dog; 
 The tranquil vale, the cottage free from clog 
 Of ceremonies that the rich oppress ; 
 The lovely maiden clad in simplo dress; 
 Upon those walls the creeping ivy grows, 
 "While the meandering stream before it flows ; 
 The rustic bridge that strides across the brook ; 
 The tufts of cowslips in th' adjoining nook ; 
 
 D
 
 31 WHAKFBDAIiE POEMS. 
 
 The lovers 1 stone within the calm retreat, 
 
 Where lightsome youths and charming maidens meet, 
 
 Love-tales to breathe by moonlight soft and sweet, 
 
 The farmboy leaning on the rustic stile, 
 
 Whistling some well-known ditty out the while ; 
 
 The beechwood, fairy-like, from which the wren 
 
 Pipes its small song far from the haunts of men ; 
 
 The jocund linnet on the aged thorn, 
 
 The first blush hailing of returning mom ; 
 
 The five-leaved rose upon the thorny tree ; 
 
 The bluebells hanging wildly, bonnily ! 
 
 The stately foxglove by the river growing, 
 
 While the blackthorn a shade is o'er it throwing ; 
 
 The hall embosom'd midst majestic trees, 
 
 Long has withstood the boist'rous wintry breeze ; 
 
 The little bee in search of honeyed store, 
 
 Eoaming each copse and smiling upland o'er ; 
 
 The narrow path amid the sylvan glade ; 
 
 The fragrant violets 'neath the verdant shade ; 
 
 The beauteous primroses, the milkmaid's song, 
 
 The healthful breeze which bear those sweets along; 
 
 All hail ! sweet scenes, you doth my heart revere ! 
 
 While now I muse, I can't repress a tear ; 
 
 My fancy you shall never cease to charm, 
 
 While throbs my heart within tins bosom warm; 
 
 When closed shall be my wond'ring eyes for aye, 
 
 And in the silent tomb these limbs shall lie.
 
 WHARFEDALE POEMS. 35 
 
 LINES TO A KINGCUP. 
 
 Q^WEET kingcup, tho' thy native bower is graced 
 O* By thy fair presence, ' would have thy smile 
 Not here alone ; bu1 as 1 have a cot 
 Where love and pea e and sweet contentment dwell, 
 And arc my chosen guests, — there would I have 
 Thy company ' Eul 1 auty dn 
 
 My manners shall display no hurtful touch, 
 Nor rude hands rifle blossoms from thy stem; 
 Rather I'll tend thee with a constant care, 
 And when the world grows cold and strange to me, 
 And adverse fortune I upon my path, 
 
 I'll look on thee, and thy bright smile shall bless 
 And cheer my drooping spirit, — and my trust 
 Shall climb and cast itself upon my God, 
 Who made thee beautiful — and thee supports ! 
 
 TO B. 15. THOMPSON, ESQ., 
 
 WITH THE AUTHi r's PORTRAIT. 
 " Thus to n lii ve the wretchi d was his pride."— Goldsmith. 
 
 tyVVY much-lov'd, highly valued friend, 
 QJ Accept the trivial gift I send, — 
 The likeness of an artless hard, 
 To fame unknown — whom few regard : 
 About as wretched and as poor 
 As those who hog from door to door. 
 
 D 2
 
 36 WHARFEDALE POE3I3. 
 
 Thompson ! whene'er I breathe thy name 
 
 A gleam of light, a grateful flame 
 
 Flits through my heart, brightens my cj'e, 
 
 And stirs awaken' d memory. 
 
 I see again thy father's day ; 
 
 He ne'er sent misery away 
 
 Empty, none parted from his door, 
 
 For he was generous to the poor. 
 
 So thou, with heart as true and kin 1, 
 
 To show thy bounty art inclin'd ; 
 
 Pity each poor one in dblress, 
 
 And help him in his helplessness. 
 
 May Heavenly blessings on thee pour 
 
 Like April rain-drops evermore, 
 
 Prosperity and bliss entwine 
 
 For thee, as tendrils of the vine ; 
 
 Long may'st thou live in joy and peace. 
 
 Thy foes be few, thy friends increase; 
 
 So also for thy bonnie wife, 
 
 God I''' ;s her with a calm long life, 
 
 May health and wealth upon her smile, 
 
 And peace reign in her domicile; 
 
 Thy ehddren's hearts in love combine, 
 
 And star-like o'er thy pathway shine; 
 
 And when from earth you're called away, 
 
 Oh ! may you meet in endless day !
 
 IX MEMOKIAM. 
 
 cr-' II E blacl chur sh-yard tree 
 
 ^ Breathe i forth its i I train : 
 
 I drop a tear : Eliza ne'er 
 
 Will hear its song again ; 
 The green sod Lies upon hi r breast, 
 
 Her youthful lii arl is now at rest. 
 
 The daisy wee, upon the lea, 
 
 Doth lode t bead ; 
 
 The violet blue, and primrose too, 
 
 Delicious odour shed ; 
 Bui lair Eliz i ne'er will more 
 
 With me Dame Nature's works explore. 
 
 The tender dove, in tranquil grove, 
 Sighs forth her plaintive notes; 
 
 The milkm id' g, yon woods among, 
 On balmy zephyrs floats ; 
 
 But plaint of dove, nor song i f maid 
 Disturb not wh sre Eliza's Laid ! 
 
 The sun divin l brigh time 
 
 O'er 6 ailing green ; 
 
 The skylarls . warbles its lay 
 
 I [igh in the bl e f rene; 
 But we shall see, alas ! no more, 
 
 Eliza on this chequer'd shore !
 
 o 
 
 S WHAEFEDALE POEMS. 
 
 ON THE SAME. 
 
 WBITTEN AT MIDNIGHT. 
 
 'QT'IS now the hour of lone midnight, 
 ^ And I have stolen from my bed, 
 Beneath the pale moon's trembling light, 
 To spend an hour among the dead. 
 
 "Whose grave is this with flowers bespread, 
 Upon whose heart is this sod press'd ? 
 
 Is it not fair Eliza's bed, 
 
 Wherein her youthful head doth rest ? 
 
 This is the spot where she doth lie, 
 Enwrapp'd in her long slumber deep ; 
 
 She does not know I'm musing 1 by, 
 
 Tho' down my cheeks the tears do creep. 
 
 Oh ! fairesl flower, little thought I 
 Thai thou, jusl in thy maiden bloom, 
 
 Before the Autumn passed by. 
 Would'sl be committed lo the tomb. 
 
 That beaming eve can 1 Ibr'vt ? 
 
 ( !an I forgel the winsome smile ? 
 No: still in dreams I share them yet : 
 
 They do my midnighl hours beguile.
 
 WHARFEDALE !'• ■: MS. 39 
 
 Oft by thy side doth fan grieve, 
 
 Thy snow-white hand is lock'd in mine ; 
 
 I view thy bosom gently heave, 
 
 And bear thee breathe, "I'm fondly thine." 
 
 Ay, sitting 'neath the self same tree, 
 
 Hearing the Wharfe's dear rippling stream ; 
 
 T: blooming flowers I plainly see, 
 And moonlight on the water gleam. 
 
 And hear the nighting ' -t song 
 
 Re-echo through the ueighb'ring grove; 
 
 And birds, the distant frees among. 
 Repeating former tales of love. 
 
 TO CAPTAIN SIIANN', J.P. 
 
 r HE God of Heaven prolong thy days, 
 ^ Our country long to bless; 
 The first art thou to help the poor, 
 
 And bring them happiness. 
 
 Thy arts to me I'll not forget, 
 
 As long as life is given ; 
 One of ill" best souls ever born 
 
 On earth — made meet for Heaven.
 
 40 WHARFJSDALE POEMS. 
 
 SUGGESTED OX HEAEING OF THE BURIAL 
 OF MISS E ■ . 
 
 " Death lies on her like an untimely frost 
 Upon the sweetest flower of all the field." — Shakespeare. 
 
 (t\ H me ! another flower has droop'd and died : 
 
 <Zr The fairest of earth's flowers die earliest ! 
 
 If the first blush of morning sees their birth, 
 
 They fade as fall the gentle dews of evening. 
 
 Such is this life of ours — mark we each day 
 
 With its swift hours ? How quickly does it pass, 
 
 And passing, tells us life is but a dream ! 
 
 Our Sister gone, was, in her youthful prime, 
 
 As pure and fair as the Spring's opening flower ; 
 
 Radiant in bloom and beauty she appeared, 
 
 Nor knew we that the icy hand of Death 
 
 So soon would freeze her blood ! yet now, alas ! 
 
 She lies conceal'd from view in the dark grave. 
 
 Oh ! let us love each other with a love 
 
 More lasting than the bounds of human life ; 
 
 Time is too short for trifling — let us love 
 
 While healthful vigour lasts, and when decay 
 
 Points with its finger on the dial of time 
 
 To sunset hours, and these frail bodies quiver 
 
 Upon the brink of an Eternity, 
 
 We may commil the mortal 1" the dust 
 
 With joj i'al hopes of immortality.
 
 WKARFEDALE POEMS. 41 
 
 THE BKOOKLET. 
 
 gftKETTY, purling, gentle brooklet, 
 ^ Softly flowing on thy way, 
 My love dreams beneath yon willow; 
 Help her fancy to be gay. 
 
 Whisper gently to her senses, 
 
 Sweetly murmur to the e r, 
 Toll her that T love her truly, 
 
 ( 'aim her spirits, banish fear! 
 
 THE SWALLOWS O'EE THE SLA HAVE 
 
 FLED. 
 
 CJT' 1 1 1] swallows o'er the sea have fled, 
 ^ The sear Leaves rustle 'neath my tread, 
 Each flower hangs dowu its gentle head, 
 For Summer days have flown. 
 
 The little birds forget to sir , 
 The butterfly to try its wing, 
 Their hum the be o Longer bring ; 
 ( iharms d^ i ig one by one ! 
 
 My heart is <<1. my 1 osom sigl i 
 
 For 'round me lie the dead and dying, 
 
 And all my hopes, Like them, are flying; 
 
 I, too, shall soni! be -one !
 
 42 "WIIARFEDALE POEMS. 
 
 I LOVE TO MUSE. 
 
 0/ LOYE to muse upon the time 
 & When I in years was young, 
 When everything around my path 
 A lay of gladness sung. 
 
 I love to muse upon the fields 
 
 In which I then did roam, 
 And the old tree I swung upon, 
 
 Beside my cottage home. 
 
 I love to muse on that old church, 
 
 Still grand in its decay; 
 And silently that ground to tread, 
 
 "Where many dear ones lay. 
 
 Yet more I love to muse of Heaven, 
 
 When holy thoughts arise ; 
 Which make me long for brighter charms 
 
 And home above the shies. 
 
 LINES TO A YOUNG LADY ON HER 
 BIRTHDAY. 
 
 |EAR friend, on this thy natal day. 
 To thee I w >uld devote a lay, 
 So lend a kindly ear to me 
 Whate'er my song may chance to be!
 
 WHABFBDALB POEMS. 43 
 
 To tell thee thou art young, and fair, 
 Modest, and pure, as snowdrop rare 
 That blossoms sweetly h\ the brook, 
 Which ripples through the shelter'd nook, 
 Would look like Hal fry — tho' 1 ween 
 'Tis true, and true Ins ever been. 
 
 May no frost nip thy fragile stem, 
 Nor fierce winds hurt thee, Lovely gem. 
 ( If man, deceitful man, beware, 
 Be cautions to avoid that snare ; 
 Walk circumspectly, e'en in mirth. 
 As did the Saviour when on earth. 
 In all things truth should load the van. 
 And sober wisdom mark each plan. 
 Treat kindly aged ones and poor, 
 Nor turn the wretched from thy door; 
 Do all the good thou canst on earth, 
 And thus show nobleness of birth. 
 Thy father love, and love thy mother, 
 Thy sister, also, and thy brother. 
 And in thy soul let Christ have place — 
 Repent all weakness, claim III,- grace ; 
 And when thy youth and beauty fade, 
 And life slopes into winter's shade, 
 To thee the glory shall be given, 
 Fading on earth to bloom in Heaven.
 
 4-i WHAUFEDALE POEMS. 
 
 SONG 
 
 (~{ T break of day, 
 
 O* I'll haste away, 
 And meet my love in yonder glade ; 
 
 Then will we hie, 
 
 "While soft winds sigh, 
 Beneath the wild-wood's cool green shade. 
 
 There will we stray, 
 
 'Mongst flowers gay. 
 Whilst birds their amorous lays rehearse, 
 
 And breathe our tales, 
 
 Where through the vales 
 The babbling brooks chime to my verse. 
 
 Our tales shall be 
 
 Love's harmony, 
 In songs as free as wild-birds bring. 
 
 So I'll away. 
 
 Without delay, 
 For now I hear my true-love sing ! 
 
 THE BANKS OF THE WHAEFE. 
 
 RAIL ! beauteous Wharfe! thy waters still 
 Flow on — the mansion, col, and mill 
 
 Remain the same, as changing never; 
 
 Thou changest, ycl remaineth ever!
 
 WHAUFEDALE POEMS. l~» 
 
 Thv flashing waters gleam like gold, 
 As fair they sparkled when of old ; 
 In childish play thy flowerets bwi ; 
 Were wonl my little hands 1" pre it, 
 While notes of linnets or of thrushi 
 Inspired my heart with j)l ties! 
 
 I love thy banks when laughing Mi 
 Decks Nature in her bright forms, gay 
 With green fields, mossy slopes and flowers 
 Brcatho sweetness, blest arc nooks and bowers, 
 For fragrance loads the passing breeze, 
 And Nature wakes each sense to please. 
 The osiers kiss the gentle stream, 
 As fitful plays the golden beam ; 
 And fishes gliding here and there, 
 Vie with the tenants of the air! 
 How grandly stands yon ancient hall:* 
 Tho' hoar with years the giant wall 
 "Withstands defiant storm and snow, 
 Frowns grimly back on winds that blow, 
 While trees majestic near it grow ; 
 The ash still spreads its branches wide 
 Over the seat,f where at my side 
 Sat one whose cheek I fondly press'd 
 When love first fill'd my youthful breast. 
 
 * Healaugh UalL t The Lovers' Scat.
 
 46 WHARFEDALE TOEMS. 
 
 Yes, let me drop a hallow'd tear, 
 For her who used to meet me here ; 
 Still lov'd by me but lov'd in vain, 
 Since Death forbids to meet again ! 
 
 MY HEART IS SAD. 
 
 ^'YY Y heart is sad — oh ! very sad ; 
 
 <oO Earth has no charms to make me glad, 
 For here I have a stranger grown, 
 With not a friend to call my own ! 
 Back to your founts ye falling tears, 
 Unless ye can relieve my cares : — 
 Gush, then, in rivers down my cheek, 
 And ease this heart, or it must break ! 
 
 MY JENNIE. 
 
 'LL tune my harp, I'll strike the string 
 
 4 
 
 £z> And of my Jennie sweet I'll sing ; 
 On mountain top, oh ! let me stand, 
 And all the world to hear command. 
 
 Ye gentle breezes, waft along 
 The simple music of my song — 
 My Jennie deax is fair and young, 
 Of guileless heart and tuneful tongue. 
 
 o> 
 
 »
 
 WHARFEDALE POEHS. 47 
 
 Her voice with Philomel's mighl vie, 
 Like angel's songs her melody; 
 Eer breath as sweel as dewy rose — 
 Br< athes only good, no evil knows ! 
 
 I love each stream and leaf and flower, 
 Each warbler sweel in Nature's bower; 
 Bui Jennie's smile is more to me 
 Than all tlu-su things combin'd can be. 
 
 Oh ! might her eye on me but rest, 
 JM fondly think my lot most blest ; 
 She could my every care beguile — 
 Care could not live 'neath Jennie's smile ! 
 
 § 
 
 S P E I N G . 
 
 "The time of the singing of birds is come."— Song of Solomon. 
 
 SPRING ! I love thee fresh and fair, 
 Season of bliss beyond compare, 
 When soars the lark into the sky, 
 And carols long and joyfully. 
 The sun resplendent throws his beam 
 O'er valley, woodland, lake, and stream ; 
 And on the gently sloping hill 
 There blooms the smiling daffodil ; 
 Each fragrant flower its influence sheds, 
 From yonder many coloured beds ;
 
 48 WHARFEDALE POEMS. 
 
 And then the cuckoo's matins swell 
 O'er hill and plain, and woody dell ; 
 And near the brook where willow,-; grow, 
 The primroses unnumbered blow. 
 By sunny banks I wend my way, 
 Where hyacinths and light winds play ; 
 The orchids and the daisy flower 
 Together dance in Nature's bower ; 
 The lily on the brooklet's breast 
 Is in its choicest mantle dress' d ; 
 The orchards robed in brightest bloom, 
 Lade Zephyrus with sweet perfume ; 
 While on the blossom-laden' d spray 
 The thrush pours forth his happy lay ; 
 The butterflies with colours bright 
 Upon the nodding cowslips light ; 
 And as I pass the hawthorn tree 
 I hear the humming of the bee ! 
 The linnet on the old beech tree 
 Warbles a joyful melody ; 
 The very insects in the grass 
 Seem whispering to me as I pass — 
 "Come and be blithsome, brisk, and gay, 
 Come let us keep a holiday." 
 Each wood and vale, and glebe and lea, 
 Show union, love, -and minstrelsy.
 
 \\ ii A i : !■■ i-. I » a i . r: POEMS. 1'J 
 
 Whithen oe'er I turn mj ej e 
 
 (Jtnl\s glory gleams from earth and sky; 
 Then thanks to Thee, Eternal King, 
 Who made the gladsome Mailing Spring-. 
 
 THOUGHTS SUGG EST ED DURING A EEC EXT 
 
 RAMBLE ON THE 
 
 HANKS OF THE WHABFE. 
 
 /J<\II how refreshing feels the passing breeze, 
 
 ^ As sinks the sun refulgent in the west, 
 
 And the broad sky is all one purple glow ! 
 
 How sweet to rest upon some daisied bank 
 
 As closes such a glorious day as this, 
 
 Far, far from pomp, and noise, and busy town-life, 
 
 To view our Heavenly Father's wondrous works ; — 
 
 Ah me ! how can the harden'd infidel declare 
 
 There is no Supreme Being ? — when at his feet 
 
 The little daisy flower itself doth bear 
 
 The very impress of a present God ! 
 
 ON SEEING A SNOWDROP. 
 
 /|\N thy fair form I love to gaze, 
 ^^ Glad tidings thou dost bring ; 
 Hence welcome art thou, lovely flower, 
 A harbinger of Spring. 
 
 E
 
 50 WIIARFEDALE FOEMS. 
 
 Almost companionless art thou, 
 
 For others grace the Spring 
 When wild-birds with their cheerful strain 
 
 Make all the woodlands ring ; 
 
 When, comes the cuckoo from afar 
 Its strange wild song to sing, 
 
 When torrents change to purling brooks, 
 To welcome in the Spring. 
 
 Then trees shall don their choicest green, 
 And verdure clothe the plain, 
 
 And Nature clap her hands and sing, 
 The Spring is come again ! 
 
 WHAT I LOVE. 
 
 0£ LOVE to rove thy banks, sweet Wharfe ; 
 Q~) To view thy waters glide along ; 
 To hear the neighb'ring woods resound 
 With the sweet wild-birds' matin song; 
 
 To sit beneath the hawthorn shade, 
 
 Where oft I've sal in years gone by ; 
 To think upon the ( Jotter's maid, 
 
 Who in the silent tomb iloth lie.
 
 \\ IIAKFKDALE POEMS. 51 
 
 O MAIDEN SO DIVINELY FAIE. 
 
 /|\ MAIDEN so divinely fair. 
 
 With flowing locks of auburn hair, 
 And beauteous eyes which far outvie 
 The hue of cloudless Summer sky ; 
 Whose voice is like to chiming rill 
 At eve, when all beside is still ! 
 Oh ! but to lay my head at rest 
 Upon thy gently heaving breast ; 
 To press thy dimpled cheek to mine, 
 And 'round thy neck my arms entwine ; 
 From thy dear lips to steal one kiss 
 Were rapture new, untainted bliss! 
 
 THE MORNING INVITATION. 
 
 (^si RISE ! my youthful queen, 1 cry ; 
 CV High mounts the sun up in the sky, 
 And morning breezes softly play 
 Among the flowerets brighl and gay; 
 The babbling brook, the flowing stream, 
 Drink gladness in Aurora's beam ; 
 The feather'd tribes from bush and tree 
 Rehearse their songs of jollity. 
 (>li ! come with me, enjoy this hour 
 Of pearly dew, ami op'ning flower; — 
 
 10 2
 
 52 WHARFEDALE POEMS. 
 
 Come, then, with me o'er grassy lea, 
 
 And sit beneath the hawthorn tree — 
 
 The freshness of the morn inhale, 
 
 And hear the stockdove's fond love-tale, ' 
 
 From tranquil haunt 'neath greenwood shade, 
 
 Mino-lino; with sons- of rustic maid, 
 
 Who joyful sings and milks the cow 
 
 Beneath the oak tree's spreading hough. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 CTT'IIE silvery moon is in the sky, 
 ^ The verdant corn adorns the vale ; 
 And every breeze that passes by 
 Bears jocund soug of nightingale. 
 
 The moon-lit dew gleams on the rose, 
 And softly evening zephyrs sigh ; 
 
 And every brooklet as it flows 
 Sings out a charming melody. 
 
 Oh ! leave thy domicile, I pray, 
 
 And walk awhile, sweet love, with me; 
 
 Pleasure will go where'er we stray, 
 And crown us with tranquillity.
 
 WHABFEDALE !'• IMS. 53 
 
 \ ml T will tell a soothing tale, 
 
 A tale thou wilt be glad to hear ; 
 Conic, moon and i tare their beams unveil, 
 
 Ami Love seems living everywhere. 
 
 THE ROSE. 
 
 §LOOM on, tli on sweet and fragrant flower- 
 Superb each petal glows; 
 The air is fill'd with sweet perfume 
 From thee, thou blushing rose. 
 
 Bloom on — and yet thy time is short, 
 
 And thou, alas ! must fade ; 
 Thy perfume cannot Death persuade 
 
 To spare thy lovely head ! 
 
 Like thine, our time on earth is short ; 
 
 Life frail, as is thy bloom ; 
 We walk awhile the busy scene, 
 
 Then sink into the tomb. 
 
 TO A BUTTERFLY. 
 
 JjfAIR child that in the sunny days dost love 
 d3l To stray among the newly open'd flowers, 
 And quaff from them the sweet pellucid wine, — 
 Weary thou sleepest on some blossom's bosom,
 
 54 WHARFEDALE POEMS. 
 
 Secure among the sweets of Nature's hand. 
 
 A happy lot is thine ; no cares, no weight 
 
 Of business knowest thou, nor art thou bound 
 
 To toil as man within the dingy walls 
 
 Of workshop, far from Nature's beauteous green : 
 
 Oh ! had I wings I'd join thee in thy flight, 
 
 Together we would roam o'er smiling mead 
 
 And sunny woodland, drinking as we went 
 
 The nectar which distils from fragrant flowers, — 
 
 A lightsome pair with happiness enclosed ! 
 
 THE NEGLECTED LYEE. 
 
 "Then chafe not, fret not, that thy lays 
 
 Die on the common ear.— 31ns. Craven Green. 
 
 /.AH ! do not cast thy harp aside ; 
 ^ Be sure thou dost not sing in vain ; 
 Thy tuneful lyre has been my pride : 
 Then wake the music oft again. 
 
 An evil hour that hour would be, 
 
 Should thy dear harp forget its strain : 
 
 Then let my prayer have weight with thee, 
 Nor let me plead with thee in vain. 
 
 What tho' the cold ami busy throng 
 Eeed not thy music pure ami sweet? 
 
 Some souls there are who Love thy song, 
 And know thy muse with truth replete.
 
 WHABFEDALE POEMS. 55 
 
 (ietiius like tlii •an ne'er decay: — 
 
 See'sl thou the ivy, fresh and green ? 
 
 So Summer skirs, or wintry day. 
 Shall see tliec stately and serene. 
 
 Then cast not thy dear harp aside ; 
 
 Be sure thou dost not sing in vain ; 
 Thy tuneful lyre lias been my pride : 
 
 Then wake' the music oft again. 
 
 TO A DAISY. 
 
 §LOOM on, thou floweret bright and fair ! 
 Though chill and dreary hours are thine, 
 Thou knowest not distracting care, 
 Yet hearcst marks of care divine. 
 
 Tho' boisterous blows the wintry wind, 
 And whiffles round thy slender form. 
 
 Meekly to me thou seem'sl resign'd, 
 Y<t cheerful midst the raging storm. 
 
 The winter's gloom will soon he o'er. 
 And Spring in all its charms appear; 
 
 Then cease not smiling, lovely flower, 
 As brighter days will soon be here.
 
 56 WHARFEDALE POEMS. 
 
 SUPPOSED TO BE WRITTEN BY A LOVER 
 AT THE GRAVE OF HIS LOVED ONE. 
 
 JffAlR one! I would that thou shouldst sweetly rest, 
 ^3 Now that the cold world cannot frown on thee, 
 Nor sorrows reach thee in thy narrow bed ! 
 Peace always stayeth in that home of earth ; 
 And, when my span of life is run, may I 
 In equal peace lie slumb'ring at thy side ! 
 Yes, thy repose is constant and profound. 
 Tho' low thy bed, this spot is beautiful ; 
 The laughing sun in glowing splendour looks 
 Upon thy grave ; the flowers above thee grow 
 With virgin beauty, gently they unfold, 
 Breathing their odours to the fanning breeze ; 
 The stately trees that o'er thee sadly wave 
 Shelter the birds ; while tunefully they sing, 
 As warbling out in wildest minstrelsy, 
 They seem to tell their tales of joy or woe 
 By turns — and stay their music only when 
 They seek refreshment from the fragrant winds 
 That, kissing first the bosom of the flower, 
 Rise towards Heaven to bear the incense thither. 
 Yet thou, alas! art hid from Nature's charms, 
 Nor can its music reach thy ears. Thy form 
 Lies in tho cold embraces of the earth ; 
 Thy cars are deaf, thy eye-balls blind, tho' age 
 Had ao1 approach'd the< — still in maiden prime ;
 
 WHAHFEDALB P01 us. 57 
 
 But Death took, ruthless, all their glory off, 
 And laid thy throbbing, bounding heart at rest. 
 Oh Death! unfeeling Heath, why didst thou steal 
 Her from my side and leave me thus alone? 
 A life in such a scene without an aim ! 
 Oh ! let mo fly to some dark, dreary cave ; 
 Some solitude which man hath never trod, 
 And there in watchfulness and solemn prayer 
 I'll pass my days, till Death at length shall come 
 And set my longing, weary spirit free ; 
 Then may I mount as on the wings of wind 
 To meet her who now is quite of out view ! 
 
 AN AUTHOE'S WISH. 
 ^^yilEN Death shall claim me for his own, 
 
 Lay me beneath the elm-tree's shade ; 
 That tree where in the hours of youth 
 My early friendships dear were made. 
 
 There raise no monumental stone, 
 
 But let the daisy grow, 
 An emblem of the early hopes 
 
 Of him who sleeps below. 
 
 For it has been my favourite flower, 
 
 Its form is dear to me ; 
 So I would have it on my grave, 
 
 My monument to be !
 
 58 WHARFEDALE POEMS. 
 
 COME, MAGGIE, LOVE, AND EOAM 
 WITH ME. 
 
 /jfOME, Maggie, love, and roam with me 
 ^ Across the daisy-jewelled lea ; 
 The blackbird blithe and speckled thrush 
 Pour out their songs from tree and bush ; 
 The linnet in the leaf-clad grove 
 Carols his sweetest lay of love ; 
 The cuckoo o'er the dewy lawn 
 Has sung his song since early dawn ; 
 The brooklet tells its tinkling tale, 
 While dancing gaily down the vale ! 
 The bee is kissing every flower ; 
 The wren is piping in the bower ; 
 The primrose pale and violet blue 
 Are deck'd with sparkling pearly dew ; — 
 In sooth, all Nature wears a smile 
 That well may every soul beguile ! — 
 Say, Maggie, wilt thou roam with me 
 Across the flower-bespangled lea, 
 Adown the pathway by the mill, 
 On to the church upon the hill, 
 And there beneath the spreading tree 
 I'll sing some favourite airs to thee, 
 And truthful breathe my talcs of love, 
 As softlv as the plaintive dove ;
 
 WHABFEDALE POEMS. ~>'J 
 
 For not a flower adorns the lea, 
 And not a rose upon the tree 
 Is half so sweet I vow — I swear, 
 As thou to me art youthful fair. 
 
 ADDEESSED TO PATTY H , INVITING 
 
 HEE TO AN EVENING WALK. 
 
 /jf OME forth, thou chosen of my heart — Arise 
 
 As the fair Harvest moonwhich walksthro' Ilcav'n, 
 And tenderly is smiling on the earth ! 
 Oh ! come, thou fairest one, and let us go 
 Our favourite walk, where trees the valley fill 
 With wondrous beauty, moving us to love ! 
 Thou know'st the pathway to the water-mill, 
 "Whose wheel is by the silvery brooklet turned, 
 That stream which, as it passes by thy bower, 
 As if at play, flashes the sunlight back ! 
 It stays not at thy father's snow-white cot, 
 But taking its fair imago on i<s bosom, 
 Eolls onward — so do thou come on with me ! 
 True peace abides in that fair cottage home, 
 And will abide, tho' thou should'st walk with me. 
 Come! peace goes with us — while beneath the thorn 
 We'll sit and talk of happy days not yet ! 
 When in our own sweet bower somewhere we dwell 
 Then joy and health and plenty smiling 'round ;
 
 60 WHABFEOALE POEMS. 
 
 In flowery Spring-time we will view together 
 The sprightly lark rise from the clover bed, 
 And listen to its early morning song, 
 As brilliantly it mounts towards the sky ; 
 Then will we walk the banks where primroses 
 And lovely violets lift their beauteous heads, 
 With jiensive eyes, as supplicating Heaven, 
 And praising Him who doeth all things well ! 
 Then come, my own beloved, my queen, my life- 
 Let us go forth together joyfully 
 To spend an hour where Love and union dwell. 
 
 AUTUMN. 
 
 OjjWTEE the King of Day doth rise, 
 <3> And dark ning clouds obscure the skies ; 
 The yellow leaves fly from the trees, 
 As keenly blows the northern breeze. 
 Now as I rove the woods among, 
 I hear no blackbird's cheerful song, 
 No pcrfum'd zephyr floateth by, 
 And all the wild-flowers withering lie ; 
 Summer hath fled like youth's sweet dream : 
 Like life's decline doth Autumn seem.
 
 WHABFEDALE POEMS. Gl 
 
 MY NATIVE LAND, MY MUCH-LOV'D 
 
 HOME. 
 
 'Y native land, my much-lov'd hoinc, 
 My drooping spiril clings to thee ; 
 No matter wheresoe'er I roam. 
 Thou ne'er wilt he fonrot l>v me. 
 
 Thy tranquil walks how prized by me ! 
 
 'Twas there my heart first learn' d to love ; 
 'Twas there I vowed beneath the tree 
 
 That I to ono would faithful prove. 
 
 Oft wandering o'er the moon-lit glade, 
 I breath' d to her my tender tale ; 
 
 But Death destroyed what love had made, 
 And like the dove her loss I wail. 
 
 Oh ! lovely maid, can I forget 
 
 Thy beauteous form, thy placid smile, 
 
 When on the banks of Wharfe we met, 
 And sat upon the rustic stile '?* 
 
 But oh ! those joyous hours have sped, 
 And I am greatly changed since then — 
 
 The bloom from off my cheeks hath fled, 
 Nor will it e'er return again. 
 
 * The Fish-house Gate Stile.
 
 62 WHARFEDALE TOEMS. 
 
 Of her bereft whom I loved best, 
 
 I wander far from friends and home ; 
 
 But of her loving form at rest, 
 
 I'll think while thro' the world I roam. 
 
 LOVE YE ONE ANOTHER. 
 
 St. John, xiii. 34. 
 
 Qf S thy brother in distress ? 
 ^ Help him in his helplessness. 
 He like thee is " flesh and blood ;" 
 So if thou canst do him good 
 Do it quickly — for who knows 
 But that ere the day shall close 
 Thou may'st breathe thy latest breath, 
 And thine eyes be blank in death ? 
 Death to young, death to the old, 
 Comes in ways dread — manifold ! 
 Do thou good, as all men may, 
 Ere thy life shall pass away ! 
 
 WINT E \l. 
 
 2j'V< *VV fast is falling feathery snow, 
 
 QZr And blustering piercing north-winds blow ; 
 
 The sun withholds bis warming beam, 
 
 And ice holds sway o'er pond ami stream.
 
 WHABFEDALE POEMS. 63 
 
 Upon the banks qo wild-flowers blow, 
 Nor does the scanty herbage grow; 
 No song-bird pours its melody, 
 Save one lone warbler on the tree 
 Leafless and cheerless. Kobin sings 
 And shakes tbe snow-flakes from bis wino-s ; 
 Sweet bird, canst tbou be happy there ? 
 Or tell thy notes of woe and care ? 
 Tbe ringing footsteps on the ground, 
 Snow-clad, are beard with duller sound — 
 Stern "Winter holds his reign o'er all, 
 And is grand Nature's fitting fall ! 
 
 TO MAGGIE F- 
 
 JWEET Maggie! calm is evening hour ; 
 Say wilt thou stray with me, 
 While Luna sends her soft'ning power 
 O'er upland, vale, and lea ? 
 
 Now gently are the light dews falling, 
 
 And balmy is the air ; 
 While night-birds, to each other calling, 
 
 To love give willing ear. 
 
 The sky is now serene and calm, 
 
 And down the glade will we ; 
 Where wild-flowers fling their scenty balm, 
 
 And streams chime merrily.
 
 64 WHARFEDALE POEMS. 
 
 Come, then, fair Maggie, let us rove 
 While moonlight gilds the scene ; 
 
 And I will tell sweet tales of love 
 Such as shall please I ween ! 
 
 PAIR SUMMER TIME. 
 
 J AIR Summer time has pass'd and gone, 
 And flowers are fading one by one ; 
 So friends fall dead on every side, 
 Whilst I'm with health and strength supplied. 
 Time runs along with swift career, 
 And short's the longest sojourn here ; 
 One hour beholds us in full bloom, 
 The next attends us to the tomb ! 
 Lord give us grace to watch and pray, 
 While travelling on our short sad way, 
 That when on earth our race is done, 
 We may join those before the throne. 
 
 THE SQUIRE'S ESTIMATION OF AN OLD 
 SERVANT. 
 
 Qj'EE you the cot which yonder stands, 
 C^ Close to the green hill-side ? 
 Beneath its old thatch'd roof thero once 
 A widow did reside.
 
 \vii.\Kri:i> \u: poems. 65 
 
 Her husband when alive long wrought 
 
 For Jones, Esq., ,M<P, ; 
 To him he served as gardener, sir, 
 
 Near half a century. 
 
 Tho gardener died ten years ago, 
 
 Ho died in flowery May ; 
 And now his resting place is greon, 
 
 Smiling o'er man's decay. 
 
 But scarcely had tho cold earth closed 
 
 Over the lowly bed, 
 When to the widow went tho Squire, 
 
 And kindly to her 6aid — 
 
 " I bought a cot the other day, 
 
 The one just o'er the green, 
 \\ ith ivyed wall and thatched roof; 
 
 You know it well, I ween. 
 
 "Your husband while he was alive 
 
 Served me to virtue true ; 
 I wish to show I know his worth : 
 
 I give the cot to you. 
 
 " And that your widowhood may be 
 
 Less dashed with anxious care, 
 I make you owner while you live 
 
 Of thirty pounds a year." 
 
 F
 
 -€6 WHARFEDALE POEMS. 
 
 Why need we tell of thankfulness, 
 Or prayers sent up to Heaven, 
 
 Imploring happiness for him 
 By whom this boon was given ? 
 
 Nor need we tell of falling tears, 
 
 The fruits of gratitude, 
 As she look'd on and fancied he 
 
 Was like an angel good. 
 
 Before a week had pass'd away, 
 
 She to her cottage went, 
 To spend her last remaining years 
 
 In quiet and content. 
 
 I've seen her oft at eventide 
 
 Sit by her cottage door, 
 To watch the lab'rers homeward bend, 
 
 When their day's toil was o'er. 
 
 And 'twas a gladsome sight to see 
 
 Her walking on tho way 
 To yonder church within tho vale, 
 
 Upon a Sabbath day. 
 
 But months they glided into years, 
 And age came creeping on ; 
 
 And then the grave received her corso : 
 She's to her husband gone.
 
 WHABFEDALB POEMS. C7 
 
 Over their grave a willow droops, 
 
 With melancholy bough, 
 While flowerets grow with loveliness, 
 
 And some are blooming now. 
 
 Oft I have stol'n at close of day 
 
 To view the silent spot ; 
 But, ah ! my wand'rings soon will cease : 
 
 The grave will be my lot. 
 
 I've seen some three score years and ten ; 
 
 My limbs are bow'd with years ; 
 My soul ere long will take its flight 
 
 From this dark vale of tears. 
 
 Then I too shall bo laid adown, 
 
 Beneath the valley's clod ; 
 The world to me will nothing be : 
 
 The soul be with its God ! 
 
 ! I WILL HASTE TO YONDER GBOVE. 
 
 6<\ ! 1 -will haste to yonder grovo 
 ^ Where the wild bluebells grow, 
 And song-birds pour their strains of love 
 Upon each waving bough. 
 
 f2
 
 68 WHAKEEDALE POEMS. 
 
 I love to see the -woodbine twine 
 Around the blooming rose ; 
 
 To hear the village church-bells chime, 
 When evening's zephyr blows. 
 
 I love to see the village church 
 
 With ivy twined around ; 
 And near the end the spreading birch, 
 
 Whose branches kiss the ground. 
 
 TO THE POOR WOMAN WHO WAS SENT TO 
 
 GAOL BY THE C ■ M ■ 
 
 FOE GLEANING. 
 
 "And when ye reap the harvest of your land, thou shalt not make 
 clean riddance of the corners of thy field when thou reapest, neither 
 shalt thou gather any gleaning of thy harvest: thou shalt leave them 
 tmto tho poor, and to the stranger. I am the Lord your God." — 
 .Lev. xxiii. 22. 
 
 "Did i Lom o'er mountain and wave 
 
 That man should exist as a tyrant or slave ?"— C. PRINCE. 
 
 0£ LIKE to theo a gleaner was 
 Q3 In trampi il days of yore ; 
 My mother had a fam'ly hw 
 And wo were very poor. 
 
 About our fruitful neighbourhood 
 
 Glean could we at our will, 
 In any field where corn had stood, 
 
 Until wo had our fill.
 
 WHABFEDA1 US. GO 
 
 But C was not our abode, 
 
 There little i; rants reign ; 
 Take from the poor their privilege, 
 
 And hind them with a chain. 
 
 Not o'er the spot where tyrants lay, 
 
 May green grass ever grow, 
 Nor weeping ash extend its arms, 
 
 Nor modest daisy blow ; 
 
 Nor marble slab, nor monument 
 
 Uplift its head on high ; 
 There let them sleep, by all forgot, 
 
 Forgot by all for aye ! 
 
 But brave and noble-hearted souls 
 
 Shall in the poet's lay 
 Live, till this marv'llous globe of ours 
 
 Dissolves itself away. 
 
 TWILIGHT THOUGHTS IN JUNE. 
 
 "—All t lie air a solemn stillness holds."— Gray. 
 
 CTT'nE wild-rose rests its beauteous head 
 
 Upon the woodbine's fragrant breast, 
 While down the King of Day hath sped 
 Into the crimson'd, glowing west.
 
 70 WHARFEDALE FOEMS. 
 
 The zephyr scarcely stirs a flower ; 
 
 All is so tranquil, hush'd, and still ; 
 Spell-bound, as by some mystic power 
 
 That Heaven as well as earth can fill. 
 
 'Tis pleasant now to roam — afar 
 
 From cities, towns, and haunts of men, 
 
 While mildly beams the evening star 
 Over the flower-bespangled glen. 
 
 Its radiance beckons us on high, 
 
 And, silent, says " be of good cheer ; 
 
 Thou hast a house above the sky ; 
 
 Earth is no home ; don't seek it there." 
 
 man, whate'er of life is jiast, 
 Thy sojourn here can not be long ; 
 
 Wisely employ, then, what thou hast, 
 And seek to join the angel throng. 
 
 LITTLE STREAMLET. 
 
 ^TTLI-] slreamh't, ever flowing, 
 > Onward flowing to the sea ; 
 Weary never — good e'er doing, 
 How I would be like to the© !
 
 WHAKFKDALE TOKMS. 71 
 
 Through green pastures softly stealing, 
 Kippling through the grove and vale ; 
 
 Thirst assuaging, ailments healing, 
 Plants and flowers thy breath inhale. 
 
 Thou dost glide, and I am gliding ; 
 
 Useful, too, I'll try to be, 
 As my days are flying — sliding 
 
 Into dread Eternity ! 
 
 SABBATH BELLS. 
 
 /jfEIME on, chime on, ye Sabbath bells ! 
 
 Your minstrelsy o'er hills and dells 
 Proclaims to all in joyful sound 
 That rest, and peace, and love abound. 
 To me 'tis sweet to hear your chime, 
 As back it calls the happy time 
 "When life with me was young, and free 
 From all the world's perplexity ; 
 And faithful friends I knew of yore, 
 Who can my friends be now no more ! 
 
 WHEN GENTLE GALES. 
 
 ^KjJVHEN gentle gales are blowing, love, 
 
 ^^ Over bank and lea, 
 
 And wild hedge-roses throwing, love, 
 
 Fragrance wide and free ;
 
 72 WHARFEDALE POEMS. 
 
 Whilst feather'd tribes are singing, love, 
 
 From each blossom'd spray ; 
 And vesper-bells are ringing, love, 
 
 Wilt thou with me stray ? 
 
 Where hawthorns spread their arms, love, 
 
 O'er the crystal stream ; 
 Whose waters sigh their charms, love, 
 
 Such as poets dream ; 
 
 I'll plight the truthful vow, love, 
 
 'Neath the fragrant shade ; 
 Soft as the waters flow, love, 
 
 Come with me sweet maid. 
 
 LINES SUPPOSED TO HAVE BEEN WRITTEN 
 IN BOLTON WOODS, WHAKEEDALE. 
 
 'CJT'IS grand to walk in solitudes profound, 
 
 Nature to view in all her wildest modes ; 
 Stupendous scenes burst on th' astonish'd sight, 
 Till the heart leaps for what the eye 1 >eholds. 
 What pictures in such scenes unfold themselves, 
 And ask for thought from contemplative minds ! 
 The high winds now arc howling thro' tho trees, 
 Mingling with what the mind inuigiiicd was 
 The sound of footsteps coming on this way.
 
 WHARFEDALE POEMS. 73 
 
 Yet no ! 'twas but the echoes from the wood, 
 Commingling with the roar of cataract ; 
 Where in the distance it keeps up its brawl, 
 Dashing and leaping in its coiu-se o'er rock 
 And rugged precipice — it bounds and foams, 
 And onward pushes its incessant course, 
 Until it reaches its mysterious borne, 
 Th' immensity of waters called the Sea. 
 
 ON SEEING TADCASTER CHURCH. 
 
 £TILL stand'st thou, venerable pile, 
 And lookest as thou did'st of old ; 
 Yet crumbling are thy walls the while, 
 Thy lengthen'd years remain untold. 
 
 I thought thine age would bring decay, 
 When last I view'd thy lofty tower ; 
 
 And yet, as then, thou seem'st to-day 
 
 Almost untouched by Time's dread power. 
 
 Around thee grow the same old trees, 
 'Neath which in childhood oft I play'd ; 
 
 And still they stand the wintry breeze, 
 Still o'er me wave with grateful shade.
 
 74 WHARFEDALE POEMS. 
 
 Still sacred fane, oh ! may'st thou stand, 
 While generations pass to rest ; 
 
 A beacon pointing to the land 
 
 Where stands the City of the Blest. 
 
 COME EOAM THE FIELDS. 
 
 /ifOME, Emma, roam the fields with me; 
 ^ The month of May has come ; 
 Wild-birds are singing on each spray, 
 And violets are in bloom. 
 
 We'll wander by yon orchard side, 
 
 To view the blooming trees ; 
 And hear the sweet notes of the thrush 
 
 Float on the morning breeze. 
 
 We'll sit beneath the verdant shade, 
 Where sweetest wild-flowers grow ; — 
 
 I'll twine a wreath of choicest gems, 
 And place it on thy brow. 
 
 I'll crown thee Queen of Merry May ; 
 
 I'll banish care and -loom, 
 And fairies clad in bright array 
 
 Shall bless thy peaceful home.
 
 WIIAKFEDALE POESI.S. 75 
 
 LINES TO A YOUNG FRIEND. 
 
 /jfllEER up, my youthful friend, cheer up ! 
 
 Away with care and sorrow ; 
 Tho' gloomy be thy sky to-day, 
 It may bo bright to-morrow. 
 
 Despair, not then, my youthful friend, 
 
 But be thou up and doing ; 
 Many a man for want of faith 
 
 nath headlong run to ruin. 
 
 Let perseverance, hand in hand, 
 
 Go on with early rising ; 
 And thou shalt find in little time 
 
 A change that's quito surprising. 
 
 Put thy whole trust in God Most High, 
 And Ho will guide and guard thee ; 
 
 And when thou leav'st this chequer'd scene, 
 Heaven's vision will reward thee. 
 
 TO A COWSLIP. 
 
 'UCH pleas'd I view thee, tinted flower, 
 With gently nodding pendant head ; 
 And listen to the song-birds' strain 
 
 As they glide o'er thy greensward bed.
 
 76 WHARFEDALE POEMS. 
 
 Eor beauteous art thou to behold, 
 
 When uiantl'd o'er with dewy sheen ; 
 
 Thy form more pleasant is to me 
 Than is the throne of fairest queen. 
 
 I will awhile by thee recline, — 
 My soul with ecstasy is fill'd — 
 
 I would I had a poet's pen, 
 
 Or e'en in learning I were skill'd. 
 
 Thy name I'd breathe all o'er the globe, 
 Till every region knew thy praise ; 
 
 And future generations should 
 Thy glory know in happier days. 
 
 But I must leave thee, meek-eyed flower, 
 Yon busy town* now calls me hence ; 
 
 So I will trust thy fragile form 
 Beneath the eye of Providence. 
 
 I'VE SEEN A THOUSAND BEAUTEOUS 
 EOIIMS. 
 
 C]/*VE seen a thousand beauteous forms, 
 O And all their faces fraught with smiles; 
 But oh ! to view such eyes as thine, 
 I'd travel twice two hundred miles. 
 
 * Leeds.
 
 WHABFEDALE POEMS. 77 
 
 Those twinkling orbs with lucid beam 
 
 Should bo as beacons to my way ; 
 Should light mo if the path were 'lark, 
 So that my foet should never stray. 
 
 And oh ! believe me, gentle maid, 
 
 When in the Heavens tho bright stars shir 
 
 Thoir rays shall rouso my ling'ring love 
 To think thoir twinkling glorios thino ! 
 
 THE YOUTH'S SOLILOQUY WHILE WAITING 
 FOR HIS LOVE. 
 
 /JftH ! my own love, why art thou lingering? 
 
 ^Tho hour has long pass'd sine, mid have met; 
 
 And this tho spot is, but thou art not here. 
 
 Whoredostthou 6tra3 r , my own sweet hi ushingnymph ? 
 
 Aro thy eyes gazing on some brighter scene? 
 
 Or do thy feet tread in some fairy place ? 
 
 Yes 1 wheresoo'er thou art is fairy-land ! 
 
 Yc winds that blow, breathe perfumes around her, 
 
 And whisper to her that her lover waits, 
 
 Impatient, whilo you kiss her loving 1 i | 
 
 Tell her her lov'd one waits her coming hither; 
 
 That ho has cull'd the choicest flowers that grow, 
 
 And wove a chaplet for her marble brow, 
 
 Intending her to crown, as beauteous queon 
 
 Of Wharfedale's happy, youthful, blushing maids.
 
 78 WHARFEDALE POEMS. 
 
 COMPOSED ON THE LAST DAY OF AUGUST. 
 
 THE AUTHOR'S FIRST COMPOSITION. 
 
 JAKEWELL, farewell, sweet Summer month ! 
 I heave a sigh for thee ; 
 The beauteous wild-flowers soon will fade, 
 And bloom no more for me. 
 
 Should my short life be spared till Spring, 
 
 I'll see the daisies bloom ; 
 And watch them all arise with glee 
 
 From their lone wintry tomb. 
 
 Then will I wander in the grove, 
 
 When the sun's radiance glows, 
 To hear the rustling of the trees, 
 
 And watch their waving boughs. 
 
 I love to hear the wild-birds sing ; 
 
 Sweet is their tuneful strain ; 
 I love to see the lambkins 6kip 
 
 All o'er the flowery plain. 
 
 I once was like a little lamb, 
 
 That skipp'd from plain to plain ; 
 But, oh ! those hours have pass'd away, 
 
 Nor will return again.
 
 WHAIiFEPALE POEMS. 
 
 Thus quickly do tlio short years fly, 
 
 Tlius runs my life away ; 
 teach rue, Lord, to love Thy name 
 
 Prepare me for Thy day. 
 
 THE LOVERS' MEETING. 
 
 O/'LL ne'er forget that joyous eve, 
 <5^ When you and I last met ; 
 I'll ne'er forget the glance you gave, 
 Which told you lov'd me yet. 
 
 The words you spoke were clear and mild, 
 
 Good, sensible, and free ; 
 Your bosom heav'd a heavy sigh, 
 
 Which told that you lov'd me. 
 
 Love seem'd to tingle in thy hand 
 When it was pross'd in mino ; 
 
 The love-lit smile shone on thy face, 
 Which fondly said " I'm thine." 
 
 The modest blush was on thy cheek, 
 
 Just like the blooming rose ; 
 Tears from thine eyes like dew-drops fell 
 
 When Summer's zephyr blows.
 
 80 WHARFEDALE POEMS. 
 
 Why need I ponder in despair, 
 
 And sigh my life away, 
 When every look in silence speaks, 
 
 Thou wilt be mine some day ? 
 
 Then will I rise up with the lark, 
 
 And toil and sing all day ; 
 And happiness shall be my lot, 
 
 And all thy moments gay. 
 
 When years havo flown and strength decays, 
 
 And signs to part are given, 
 I'll hope to meet above the skies, 
 
 To dwell with thee in Heaven. 
 
 BUT CHARMING WOMAN I LOVE MORE. 
 
 (^i MAID divinely sweet I saw, 
 O One early Spring-tide morn, 
 Plucking the fairest, sweetest flowers 
 Beneath a snow-white thorn. 
 
 Her golden locks dishevelled hung 
 
 A round her neck so fair ; 
 And eyes had she so bright — tho stars 
 
 Could not Avith thorn compare.
 
 W!i \ ' B POEMS. 81 
 
 I love to hear tl lark's clear song, 
 
 I love the blackbir l's lay ; 
 I lovo to look inion the rill, 
 
 Thai dances on its way. 
 
 But charming Woman I love more 
 
 Than all the world beside ; 
 And I will feast upon her smiles, 
 
 Whatever may betide. 
 
 TO A FRIEND IN LEEDS. 
 
 fVY friend, a true born Englishman art thou, 
 i ' 
 
 > The stamp of man is 'graveu on thy brow ; 
 
 Oh! muc 1 .: T glory In such men as thee, 
 
 Such hearts may well make Albion prouder be; 
 
 May Peace (fair nymph) over thy household reign, 
 
 And fortune weave for fchee a golden chain ; 
 
 May rosy health with all her blushing charms 
 
 Surround, enfold, and bear thee in her arms. 
 
 And as the transit ears wheel softly 'round, 
 
 May thy endeavour h success be crown'd. 
 
 Go L ' hy bonnie graceful wifo ; 
 
 Oh ! may her days be loi i l pleai ares rife, 
 
 Her life be like some calm unruffh ' i tream 
 
 That glides with music 'neath Apollo's beam! 
 
 G
 
 82 WIIARFEDALE POEMS. 
 
 MY JENNIE'S BY HEE COTTAGE DOOE. 
 
 <V!WY Jennie's by her cottage door ; 
 CO She sits and spins all day, 
 And sings her songs from morn till eve ; 
 No lark can be more gay. 
 
 Wharfe's gentle stream below doth glide 
 
 In sweetest music by ; 
 While birds around from every bough 
 
 Breathe ont their harmony. 
 
 I love to hear my Jennie's voice, 
 
 But most to see her smile ; 
 And oh ! to kiss her roseate cheek, 
 I'd walk a hundred mile. 
 
 How sweet to view the lily's form, 
 "When moonbeams on it rest ! 
 
 Yet sweeter still to lay my head 
 Upon my Jennie's breast ! 
 
 My Jennie's given her sweet consent. 
 
 We soon shall married be ; 
 And I will never break my vow, 
 
 Eor she's so kind to mc !
 
 WHARFEDALE POEMS. S.'J 
 
 THE FAIRY'S SONG. 
 
 "at T I h ■ ilemn hour of aight, 
 
 O Where the glow-worm sheds its light, 
 
 In the flowerets bell ! hide, 
 
 With the ghost-moth by my side ; 
 
 Then on blushing blossoms sleep, 
 
 While the stars their vigils keep. 
 
 With acorn-cup I gather dew 
 From fragranl flowers of every hue; 
 And oft I casl a witching spell 
 Over brook, and grow, and dell ; 
 Anon on dandelion's seed 
 1 wing my airy flight with spec.], 
 And where rivers rushing elide, 
 On their liquid brows I ride ; 
 Or when ( lynthia opes her eye, 
 Join the fairy revelry. 
 
 Sometimes in reptile's slimy cell 
 Pensiw thought delights to dwell; 
 There 1 stay in solitude, 
 Happy in each changing mood. 
 
 BEES EVEE KISS. 
 gjgEES ever kiss the sweetci i flowers, 
 C5 While roaming through fair Nature's bowers 
 Then lovelies* dam el hew can I 
 Pass one so bright as thou ari by? 
 
 g2
 
 Si WIIAEFEDALE POEMS. 
 
 Oh ! be not coy as thou art fair, 
 But let me kiss those roses rare ; 
 
 Thy ruby lips to mine oh ! press, 
 And with thy smile thy lover bless. 
 
 MUSINGS BY THE RIVEE \YHAEFE. 
 
 JtLOW, sweet crystal Eiver, How onward in glee, 
 Qj Thy musical murmurs are pleasing to me ; 
 The flowers have all closed and the birds are at rest. 
 And the moonbeams lie lightly or dance on thy breast ; 
 The lamp of the glow-worm shines out in the vale, 
 "Where roses are breathing perfume to the gale; 
 But the old mill is silent, the miller is dead, — 
 In the church-yard sleeps lie, in his lone narrow bed. 
 How many 1 miss when at even I roam 
 Through the . i dear thai encircles my home ; 
 
 The iiniL i they once ga e me come back to me still, 
 And this life seems a dream and its pleasures are 
 
 nil : 
 W . the i ene of m; > hi dhi od rii e fresh to my 
 
 view, 
 All' fc as those I once knew. 
 
 On fchei c, banks by I he moo] tiow ofl do I stray, 
 
 While the soft d< . ing o'er floweret and 
 
 IV.
 
 WHARFEDALE POEMS. 86 
 
 "With the Cotter's sweet daughter, the pride of my 
 
 heart, 
 Our love-songs to > i n • ;• and our tales to impart ! 
 Sueh moments as these are delightful to me ; 
 Then, sweet crystal River, flow onward with glee. 
 
 ALICE LEE. 
 
 0£ SAW her in the sunlight laid, 
 
 <^> Happy Alice Lee ; 
 
 A wreath of flowers her brow array'd ; 
 
 Beautiful was she. 
 
 In balmy sleep her eyes reposed, 
 
 Lovely Alice Lee : 
 Like daisies when the day hath closed, 
 
 So she seem'd to me. 
 
 A rose was blooming on each cheek, 
 
 Gentle Alice Lee ; 
 But for the world I dar'd not speak, 
 
 Lest she should startled be. 
 
 At length she op'd her bright blue eye, 
 
 Blushing Alice Lee ; 
 And such a i\\ inkle did I spy 
 
 As you'd like to see.
 
 85 WHABFEDAT/E POEMS. 
 
 I gently press'd her hand divine, 
 
 Sweetest Alice Lee ; 
 And from that hour she has been mine, 
 And for aye shall be. 
 
 TO THE EEV. E. H. BEOOKSBANK, J.P., 
 HEALAUGH HALL. 
 
 fOLE letter, kind sire, 
 Was a thing to admire ; 
 It made my young heart all a-blaze ; 
 It quieken'd my muse 
 Her efforts to use, 
 To pour forth a song in your praise. 
 
 On our valleys and hills 
 
 Your goodness distils, 
 And tho children rejoice at your name ; 
 
 Every amorous youth, 
 
 And each maiden in sooth, 
 Delighted, give wings to your fame. 
 
 May good health attend you ; 
 
 May ( rod e'er defend you 
 Wherever your footsteps may wend ; 
 
 May your lengthening career 
 
 Be more blessed each ;. ear, 
 And never know want of a friend !
 
 WllAi;ri:i>Ai.i: POEMS. S7 
 
 BY TIIK MARGIN OF WHARFE'S RIVER. 
 
 OtflY the margin of Wharfe'e River, 
 C- Where the wild-flowers love to spring ; 
 Where the song-birds with thoir music 
 Make th' enchanted valley ring ; 
 
 I will meet thee by the hawthorn, 
 That, o'erhangs the laughing rill ; 
 
 "While the moon shines out with splendour, 
 O'er the fast decaying mill. 
 
 "We can view the village steeple 
 
 From thai dear delightful spi 
 Through the avenue of chesnuts, 
 
 Where is seen thy father's cot. 
 
 Words of love I'll breathe so gently, 
 While thy hand is presi is mine; 
 
 Tales of constancy I'll tell thee, 
 How I'll he for ever thine. 
 
 Yes, wo'll think of love and Heaven, 
 
 As the happy momenl flies ; 
 And forget this world of trials, 
 
 Gazing in each others' eves. 
 
 Then remember, 0! remember, 
 
 By the margin of the stream ; 
 
 "Where the waters babble gladness, 
 
 Lilies smile and lovers dream.
 
 88 WHARFEDALE P )EMS. 
 
 TO A PIMPEENEL. 
 
 CJT'HOU beauteous blushing Pimpernel, 
 ^ Thou art belov'd by me ; 
 Bringing a thousand happy dreams 
 Back to my memory. 
 
 Thou dost reeal the golden days 
 When innocence was mine ; 
 
 And every leaf, and every flower, 
 Told me a tale divine. 
 
 Now fancy sees my cottage home, 
 Beside the murm'ring rill, 
 
 Where oft I sat to listen to 
 The music of the mill. 
 
 I see the stalwart miller's form, 
 His well-known voice I hear ; 
 
 The breeze seems wafting on the strain 
 Ho sang, distinct and clear. 
 
 Oh ! fairy flower ; enchanting gem ! 
 
 Thou secm'st bedeck'd with smiles, 
 Pilling me with a pleasant dream 
 
 That all my care beguiles.
 
 W HARPED ALE P01 M , 89 
 
 ]>,V WHARFE'S WINDING STREAM. 
 
 9/t\Y Wharfe'a winding stream a fair damsel resides, 
 O Who vows she will love me whatever betides 1 
 What though I am born of a humble degree, 
 The lassie she cares not, because she loves me. 
 Her father's a farmer, an owner of land, 
 Who riches and servants has at his command, 
 And I, in the fields, work at guiding the plough, 
 With health and contentment enstamped on my hrow. 
 
 My Jenny's a jewel, the fairest, I ween, 
 The sun ever shone on — my own bonny queen ; 
 Her cheeks are like roses as seen in the morn, 
 When dew-drops hang brightly each leaf to adorn; 
 Yet modest in mien — like a primrose she seems, 
 That stands in the moonlight where wind crystal 
 
 streams ; 
 Her voice is as soft ad the zephyr that blows 
 Through green branching willows, where deep water 
 
 flows ; 
 Her eye is as witchingly blue as the sky, 
 "When Luna is flinging her radiance on high ; 
 Her foot is so pretty, you'd deem her a queen, 
 And another such ankle there never was seen ; 
 Look on her, a thrill through your bosom will pass ; 
 In sooth, you would fall quite in love with the lass; 
 And should she display her streaming bright hair, 
 You would think thai an angel you saw, I declare.
 
 90 WHARFEDALE POEMS. 
 
 In calm Summer evenings, when work is all done,. 
 We wander together where Wharfe's waters run ; 
 We stray thro' the valley — we roam thro' the glade, 
 Or we sit in the bower fair Nature hath made. 
 It is there I oft press her dear hand within mine, 
 While I look on her form as a being divine. 
 It was there I entwin'd her a chaplet of flowers, 
 And crown'd her a queen in Wharfe's fairy bowers ; 
 And these were the words that my queen heard me 
 
 say, 
 As I placed on her fair brow the garland so gay : — 
 " High Heaven*proteet thee from care and from strife, 
 And crown thee with health, and with wealth, and 
 
 long life, 
 And may I who have wooed — and have won thy pure 
 
 heart, 
 From virtue's fair pathway, oh ! never depart ! " 
 
 THOUGHTS AT BAELY DAWN. 
 
 "The day begins to break, and aigW is fled."— SHAKESPE ABE. 
 
 I IF FUSES now the sun bis golden beams. 
 As from the Fast ho looketh forth with joy : 
 The day dawns sweetly — what a sighl sublime 
 Bursts on the eye — blest is the man that sees ! 
 In rainbow lines the clouds adorn the Heavens, 
 Which wondrously arc pav'd with blushing roses; 
 While earth with all its creatures seems awake,
 
 WHABFEDALE POEMS. 01 
 
 And praises mix with universal joy — 
 Rising to Tlim who made the world so fair. 
 
 Let me mount high upon the breezy hill, 
 And view (he valleys stretching far and wide ; 
 There listen to tho song-birds and the streams 
 Thai laugh and glisten as I hoy onward go. 
 
 The sight and rustle of the golden corn 
 For me possess a thousand witching charms ; 
 To me the ploughboy's son-- is beautiful ; 
 The milkmaid's fair! — so are the lowing kine. 
 I love the hum of bees — I love the winds 
 That sigh as through an orchestra of loaves. 
 Some say such pleasures suit a simple mind 
 And chide because I love and sing those things. 
 
 Shall Heaven be blam'd, that has in me instill'd 
 Such tastes, such soul-ennobling Love ? 
 Should these forget to charm, then let mo cease 
 To find existence in this fleeting world ; 
 For then should I forget my King, my God, 
 As He, my Maker, form'd and keeps them all. 
 How, then, can I forget to love these things, 
 When objects all — above, below, around — 
 Gush forth with praises high ? My o'erwrought heart 
 Vibrates in unison — extols the love 
 That made tho world so good — so wondrous fair.
 
 92 WHAKFEDALE POEMS. 
 
 THE DYING MAIDEN. 
 
 gJENEATH the elm's embow'ring shade, 
 Cl> Within the grave-yard green, 
 This head of mine will rest, mother, 
 Ere Spring returns, I ween. 
 
 I feel so very sick, mother, 
 
 So sinking is my pain, 
 I think I shall not live until 
 
 The flowers come hack again. 
 
 ! to the window carry me, 
 
 My mother doar, I pray ; 
 The school-house I again would see, — 
 
 "Would see tho children play ! 
 
 Never again toward that school 
 My feet shall find their way. 
 
 Nor shall I go to church, mother, 
 With you on Sabbath day. 
 
 Oh ! nover o'er the meadow fair, 
 Through woodland green nor glen, 
 
 To gather pretty, golden flowers, 
 Shall my feel roam again.
 
 WHARFEDALE P0EM3. ! ,:: 
 
 Never for me tlie nightingale 
 
 Shall carol in the grove, 
 Nor goldfinch from the tree-top .-in-- 
 
 The notes I so much Love. 
 
 Beneath the ehesnul glade no more 
 
 You'll soe me sit at eve, 
 And in my brother's wavy Locks 
 The dear wild-wood flowers weave. 
 
 Yet Spring will come again, mother, 
 
 And flowers bedeck the lea ; 
 Song-birds again will sing their songs, 
 
 But not, alas ! for me. 
 
 For when the scenic- h ' e-rows bloom, 
 Ami green leaves clothe each tree, 
 
 I shall beneath the elm-tr >e shade 
 Be resting silently ! 
 
 Nay — do not weep for me. mother, 
 
 For soon 'twill all he well ; 
 I leave a world of pain, mother, 
 
 To go with Christ to dwell. 
 
 No sun is no , moth- \ 
 
 For Jesus gives tl ht ; 
 
 And angels clad in radii 
 
 Are with them day and night.
 
 94 WHARFEDALE POEMS. 
 
 There, through the flowery vales, mother, 
 
 The crystal waters flow ; 
 The Tree of Life gives fruit, mother, 
 
 From every waving hough. 
 
 And flowers of every hue, mother, 
 Yield plenteous sweet perfume ; 
 
 And every bower and tree, mother, 
 Are ever bright with bloom. 
 
 There nothing fades away, mother, 
 
 No evil enters there ; 
 'Tis a bright land of perfect bliss, 
 
 Where none shall know a care. 
 
 Come — once more kiss my cheek, mother ; 
 
 Once more — before I die : 
 The angels now arc waiting here; 
 
 So mother, dear — good bj'e. 
 
 IN MEMOEY OF MES. BELLHOUSE. 
 
 /|\n ! arl thou gone! the good, the brave? 
 ^ And have they laid thee in the grave, 
 Within thai narrow bed to rest, 
 Apart from those who lov'd thee best ?
 
 "U HAKIKI'AI.i: P01 MS. 'J5 
 
 How frail ! how verj frail arc we ! 
 I rod help our poor humanity. 
 Bui dusl we are, and back t<> earth 
 AW travel from our earliesl birth! 
 
 Our Sister, lately call'd away, 
 Did acts of kindness daj by day ! 
 Heaven bless'd her with a g mind, 
 
 With manners gentle and refined. 
 Her hearl could feel another's Avoe, 
 Ami needful help her hands bestow ; 
 Few word:- siifl'n'M of maddening iale. 
 None ever knew her kindness fail ; 
 Foremost was she to act her pari, 
 And try to heal the breaking heart. 
 
 The feeble and the aged poor 
 Thy well-known footsteps hear no more ; 
 No more they listen to the voice 
 Thai often made the hearl rejoice. 
 For, still in death, thy graceful form 
 '' I nol sunshine, cold, nor storm ; 
 
 While rests thy soul in that abode 
 '"Where all the righteous are with God.
 
 96 WHVUFSDATiE POEMS. 
 
 OH WHAEFE! AGAIN THY WINDING 
 STREAM. 
 
 /|MI Wharfe ! again thy winding stream, 
 ^ "Witli tears my eyes behold ; 
 For friends most dear no more I greet, 
 Though valued more than gold. 
 
 The scene around the aspect wears 
 
 It wore in days of yore ; 
 The ash-tree stands upon the hill,* 
 
 And charms me as before. 
 
 The banks remain, the hall, t the mill, J 
 
 The church jj where many pray ; 
 But those I lov'd and used to meet, 
 
 Oh ! tell me where are they. 
 
 There still the old bridge § strides the str i in, 
 Grown hoar with length of days ; 
 
 * The hill where the Castle used to stan 1, but now n >i one 
 remains to mark the spot. The place is called "The Castl Hill" to 
 this day. 
 
 t Healaugb HalL 
 
 t Tin- mill where the celcbr.'.i ■>! Tadcast< r Hour is manufactured. 
 
 The church dedicated to StMai-j is a large and beautiful stone 
 b u ild a thi f En Li h I I of the fifteenth century, and has a 
 
 nav , er, organ ae-toned bells. The regis- 
 
 ter dates from the beginning of theseventi mtb century. 
 
 § The noble bridge ovi r-ai lovely river Wharfe, and is 
 
 :, bn i ginning of the eighteenth 
 
 ruins oi the castle whicb stood on a hill on the 
 : rown.
 
 WHARFEDALE P . US. 97 
 
 And birds upon the self- ces 
 
 Warble their baj »pj I 
 
 Yet those 7 long'd and hop'd to meet, 
 Within the cold grave lie ; 
 
 It makes me sad to think of them, 
 And tears bedim mine eye, 
 
 Wh a fri id my heart to 
 
 In this wide world have I, 
 
 Because depart all : 
 
 'Tis time thai 
 
 r. OEY OV MRS. 
 
 Oj[ day 1 lay, 
 C^ As a cut flowi 
 
 •, ; tng this i heart, 
 
 Till from nr ' 
 
 ap to bli 
 
 H
 
 98 WIIAIIFEDALE POEMS. 
 
 Now hath she done with care and sorrow, 
 No pain shall reach her on the morrow ; 
 Sweetly she'll sleep — a sleep most sound, 
 In grave clothes folded under ground ; 
 There peaceful rest, until the day 
 To Judgment all are call'd away ! 
 
 OH ! SPEAK NOT LIGHTLY OF THE BAED 
 
 /jAH ! speak not lightly of the bard, 
 ^ Eor here how short his stay ! 
 His life is like a summer flower, 
 That blooms to pass away ! 
 
 At times, 'tis true, his thoughtful mien 
 
 Admits not sportive glee, 
 Yet in his soul a gladness wakes 
 
 With love of minstrelsy. 
 
 The marvellous twinkling, starry orbs 
 Which grace the brow of night, 
 
 Still keep in Heaven their even way, 
 Though hidden from the sight. 
 
 So with the bard — amid the throng, 
 
 Howe'er he may appear, 
 His soul is often rapt with strains 
 
 That others never hear !
 
 WHARFEDALE POEMS. 99 
 
 His muse is ever on the wine:. 
 
 Not i'^\- himsel f alone, 
 As flowerets scatter sweet perfumes 
 
 Until their days are done. 
 
 Then even from their withered leaves 
 
 An odour sweet will rise, 
 So from the bard may glory spring, 
 
 When in the grave he lies. 
 
 For his is not a "Common Lot," 
 Though death shall elose his eyes, 
 
 ITis memory lives while years roll on — 
 The poet never dies ! 
 
 Then speak not lightly of the hard, 
 
 For here how short his stay ! 
 Tlis life is like a summer flower, 
 
 That blooms to pass away ! 
 
 HELP FOR THE SICK AM) WOUNDED. 
 
 'E noble hearts of Albion, 
 
 Where peace and plenty reign, 
 Oh ! hear yo not the cry for help 
 That comes across the main ? 
 n2
 
 100 WHARFEBALE POEMS. 
 
 Think of the gory battle-field ! 
 
 What scenes of woe and pain ! 
 The wounded do your succour need- 
 
 You cannot help the slain ! 
 
 How many a gallant soldier 
 Is maini'd and prostrate laid, 
 
 Requiring food and clothing ! 
 Then quickly furnish aid. 
 
 Think each a noble brother, 
 And think — oh ! cruel fate — 
 
 Of sisters without shelter, 
 Unhoused — in starving state. 
 
 o 
 
 Sick, wounded, destitute — oh help ! 
 
 Tho' on a foreign shore, 
 Commiserate, condole with them, 
 
 And give them from your store. 
 
 LINES SUGGESTED DURING AN EAELY 
 
 WALK ON TI 1 \KS OF Till ' 
 
 WHARFE. 
 
 /HAL I LE! 1 love tog 
 vA^V Thou'] t b : compare, 
 
 Thy wati oil; 
 
 Thy vullc; woodlands laugh with gladness; 
 
 Peace, Liberty, and Lov everywher '
 
 WHABFEDALE POE] 101 
 
 Oli ! whal a sweet enchanl h this 1 
 
 Has soino good angel passing o'er the land 
 Strew'd beauties bounteously upon this spol .' 
 
 Thine Abbey," too, i 8 grand in its decay, 
 Embosom'd midsl thy < all majestic trees; 
 "Whoso towering tops impinge upon the sky; 
 Thy ancicut Halls add splendour to the s 'cue. 
 Then in thy Cottagi ; sace is supreme, 
 And Happiness sits queen in this abode. 
 
 Among thy fertile valleys (locks and herds 
 Are scattered, and the hills are witnesses 
 Of cattle numerous as the flowers of Spring; 
 Tho songs of wild-birds fall upon the ear; 
 Each breeze is fragrant with the breath of blossoms ; 
 Fair are the roses that adorn thy hedgerows, 
 But fairer still the Daughters of tho land. 
 
 Glad is tho shepherd's 1 »y who breathes thy air ; 
 While at his feet the Kttle brooklet glides, 
 Meandering through the verdanl meadow-sweets, 
 His rosy face sparkles with dewy health ; 
 Contentment sits upon his open brow, 
 Oh! shepherd's boy! what king is bless'd like thee? 
 
 * Bolton Abbey is supposed to have In en founded by Lady 
 Adeliza De Romille; about Beveu centuries ago. The register dans 
 
 from 1C89.
 
 102 WHARFEDALE POEMS. 
 
 THEEE IS A BLANK. 
 
 QT'HEBE is a blank now thou art gone, 
 ^ Thou fairest of the fair ; 
 I mi6S that happy face of thine, 
 Thy light-brown flowing hair. 
 
 I miss those gentle accents, and 
 
 The rustle of thy dress ; 
 But most of all at eventide 
 
 I feel my loneliness. 
 
 For oh ! when busy day is o'er, 
 
 And labour's cast aside, 
 I homeward bend my wearied frame, 
 
 Unto my own fireside. 
 
 Yet at the door no form I greet, 
 No smile my eyes to cheer; 
 
 My bosom heaves a heartfelt sigh, 
 While drops the silent tear. 
 
 At midnight hour in dreams I think, 
 Thou still art by my siile ; 
 
 And often o'er my chamber floor 
 T see thy spirit glide.
 
 WHARFBDALB POEMS. 103 
 
 But when I from my slumbers wake, 
 
 Thy grace I'm 1 form is gone; 
 And then I grieve yet no one heeds, 
 
 To find I am alone 
 
 BY WHARFE'S S\\ EET STREAM THE 
 SHEPHERD PIPES. 
 
 §Y Wharfe's sweet stream the shepherd pipes 
 Upon his oaten reed, 
 While in the bush the speckled thrush 
 Is seen her young to feed. 
 
 Now brightly glows the glorious sun 
 
 Over the meadows green ; 
 The cowslips sweet perfume the air, 
 
 And Beauty sits as queen. 
 
 The jocund lark that soars on high 
 
 Carols a matin song ; 
 And, humming merrily, the bee 
 
 Is briskly borne along. 
 
 Oh ! let us roam, my own sweet love, 
 
 Dame Nature's charms to view ; 
 Down where are seen the lovely (lowers 
 
 Of every shade and hue.
 
 104: WHARFEDALE POEMS. 
 
 We'll sit beneath the oaken tree, 
 
 And talk of days to come ; 
 "When thee I'll take to be my queen, 
 
 To cheer my cottage home. 
 
 Then let us go, my gentle maid, 
 
 Dame Nature's face to view ; 
 Down in the bowers where sweetest flowers 
 
 Are bright with sparkling dew. 
 
 MY JEAN AWAKE, AUEOEA SMILES. 
 
 ^Vy Y Jean awake, Aurora smiles, 
 C3C7 The happy lark his mate beguiles; 
 The ploughman's heart with joy o'crilows 
 To hear birds chanting 'mong the boughs. 
 
 The milkmaid sings her songs of glee, 
 To view the flowers upon the iea ; 
 Among the pastures fresh and gay, 
 The frisky lambs are seen at play. 
 
 The sun gives bliss in morning hours, 
 The pearl-drops still adorn the flowers; 
 Then come, my Jean, go forth with me, 
 Tho charms of Nature Let us sco.
 
 WHARFEDALE POEM?. I' 
 
 ! I will cull tho flowerets fair 
 And weave them in thy flowing hair; 
 This morn I'll crown Hue Queen of May 
 Within the greenwoods far away. 
 
 Then eomo, my Jean, Aurora smiles, 
 The happy lark his mate beguiles; 
 The ploughman's hearl with joy o'erflows 
 To hoar birds chanting 'mong the boughs. 
 
 THE WANDERER'S RETURN TO HIS NATIVE 
 
 TLACE. 
 
 CrT HE homo of my boyhood I visit again ; 
 
 I see the sweet cottage with heart full of pain ; 
 No father to greet me, no mother's bright smile, 
 No gay-hearted sister my cares to beguile; 
 E'en gone is the porch that once shaded the door, 
 And the wild-roso and woodbine will bloom there no 
 
 more. 
 Oh ! where are those plants which the garden array'd, 
 And the moss-grown old fruit-tree that made me 
 
 a shade ; 
 The jess'mine is gone which the window o'erhung, 
 And the bush where the robin once brought up its 
 
 young ; 
 And the old rustic seat where my sister and I 
 Lov'd to linger at even to gaze on the*sky.
 
 10G WHARFEDALE POEMS. 
 
 Ah ! all is a wreck ; not a charm doth remain, 
 And those I so prized I shall not see again. 
 Oh Time ! what a change o'er this spot thou hast 
 wrought, 
 
 And man's little aims thou hast turned into naught ! 
 The hands that were busy have sunk now, to rest, 
 And the green turf is nourishing over each breast. 
 
 THOUGHTS AT CHRISTMAS TIME. 
 
 'OTIS Christmas time, and chiming bells 
 
 Fling gladsome sounds o'er hills and dells 
 While gaily by the yule-log fires 
 Friends meet with friends in happy choirs. 
 
 We dearly love the jocund time ; 
 What tho' the hills are clad with rime ? 
 Our hearts are gay and full of glee, 
 A-dancing 'round the holly-tree. 
 
 But oh ! when Christmas comes again 
 Some friends will be across the main ; 
 Some cherish'd ones who lov'd us well 
 Upon a foreign shoro will dwell. 
 
 Then let's be merry while we may, 
 And from us " drive dull care away ; " 
 What tho' we never more should meet, 
 We'll give our friends aChristmas treat.
 
 WHABFEDALE POEMS. 107 
 
 ADDRESSED TO THE AUTHOR BY A LADY, 
 
 L865. 
 
 /if EASE not, dear friend, your Btudies to pursue, 
 
 However sonic may chide or censure you ; 
 And "Onward, upward," still your motto be — 
 Remember firmness gains the victory. 
 
 Live while you live a noble name In win, 
 Enjoyed by those alone who conquer sin ; 
 So shall a nobler muse your soul inspire, 
 Kindle pure, Heavenly, not unhallow'd fire ; 
 Improve each passing hour: true joys have birth, 
 Remov'd alike from gloom and noisy mirth ; 
 Be persevering in each noble cause, 
 You will succeed tho' many be your foes. 
 
 SUGGESTED BY READING " WHARFEDALE 
 POEMS" IN MANUSCRIPT. 
 
 /if HASTE is thy winning muse my much-lov'd 
 ^ friend ; 
 
 Heaven from false critics every line defend. 
 And many laurels twining round thy head, 
 Resound the lame of one to Nature wed ; 
 Love for the muse is seen in all thy song, 
 Enrich'd by fancy, free from hale or wrong ; 
 Success attend thy efforts, may thy strain
 
 10S 
 
 VVHARFEDALE POEMS. 
 
 Kindle in some hearts friendship's mighty reign ; 
 Into thy woodlands rambling may they see 
 Bich banks, and glens, and woods, as sung by thee, 
 Beauties which on their hearts shall ever dwell ; 
 Yea, which shall lead to love the Bard as well. 
 
 Daniel.
 
 INDEX. 
 
 Page 
 
 A few brief days, and then this breast 32 
 
 Again the robin's song I bear ... ... ... ... 24 
 
 Ah me! another flower has droop'd and died ... ... -10 
 
 Allhail! thou fairy asure gem 12 
 
 A Maid divinely sweefc I saw .. ... ■•• ••• 80 
 
 Aviso ! my youthful queen, I cry .. .. 51 
 
 At break of d 
 
 At the solemn hoar of m'; ... ... .. ••• 83 
 
 Beautiful do' ' all sparkling with dew 30 
 
 Bec3 ever kiss tl Bowers ... •■• ••• 83 
 
 Beneath the elm's erobow'riDg shade ... 92 
 
 Bloom on, t' ' ight and fail" 55 
 
 wer " : ' 
 
 By the margii iver 
 
 By Whar ' a the SI I pipes 103 
 
 ByY iliDg stream a fair damsel resides 
 
 Cease not, dear friend, your si " i 107 
 
 ty much-lov'd fri 
 
 Cheer up, cheer up, l sweet maid .. . ... ... 27 
 
 Cheer up, my youthful fri heerup ... 
 
 Chime on, chime on, ye h bells ... ... ■•• 71 
 
 Come, Emma, roam ' ields le ... ... ••• 7L< 
 
 Como forth, thou chosen of my heart — Arise oO
 
 110 IXDEX. 
 
 Page 
 
 Come Maggie, love, and roam with me ... ... ... 58 
 
 Come to my cottagi door, sweet bird ... ... ... 28 
 
 Dear friend, on this thy natal day... ... ..." ... 42 
 
 Diffuses now the san his golden beams ... ... ... 90 
 
 Eliza with jet-black curls ... ... ... 26 
 
 Pair child that in the sunny days dost love ... ... 53 
 
 Fair one ! I would that thou shouldst sweetly rest ... 56 
 
 Fair Summertime has pass'd and gone ... ... ... 64 
 
 Farewell, farewell, sweet Summer month ... ... 78 
 
 Flow sweet crystal River, flow onward in glee 84 
 
 Hail! beauteous Wharfe ! thy waters still ... ... 44 
 
 Hail, Ingham, hail ! the noblest friend on earth... ... 25 
 
 I do not care ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 32 
 
 1 hail thee, charming month of May ... ... ... 30 
 
 I have listened, I have listened unto thy soothing lay ... 9 
 
 I know a sweet secluded spot ... ... ... ... 11 
 
 I, like to thee, a gleaner was ... ... ... ... 68 
 
 I'll ne'er forget that joyous eve ... ... ... ... 79 
 
 I'll tune my harp, I'll strike the string ... ... ... 46 
 
 I love to muse upon the time ... ... 42 
 
 I love to rove thy banks, sweet Wharfe 50 
 
 I met a little blue-eyed girl ... 5 
 
 I'm longing for Spring, I'm longing for Spring . . ... 3 
 
 I saw her fading day by day ... ... ... ■•• 97 
 
 I saw her in the sunlight laid ... ... ... ••• 85 
 
 Is thy brother in distress 62 
 
 I think of thee, though far away ... 8 
 
 I've sjcu a thousand beauteous forms ... ... ... 76
 
 INDEX. Ill 
 
 P kOE 
 
 Later the King of Day doth rise ... ... ... ... 60 
 
 Little streamlet, ever flowing ... 70 
 
 Moss-grown and rude is thai old stone ... ... •■• -- 
 
 Much pleas'd I new thee, tinted flower ... ... ... 75 
 
 My friend, a true born Englishman art thou ... ... 81 
 
 My heart is sad— oh! very sad ... ... 46 
 
 My Jean awake, Aurora smiles ... .. 101 
 
 My Jennie's by her cottage door ... ... ... ... 82 
 
 My much-lov'd, liiglily valued friend ... ... ... 35 
 
 My native land, my much-lov'd homo ... ... ... Gl 
 
 Now fast is falling feathery snow ... ... ... ... 62 
 
 Now, Phoebus smiles on Wharfe's green banks ... ... 28 
 
 Oft have I sought your fairy forms 16 
 
 Oh ! art thou gone! the good, the brave 91 
 
 Oh ! do not cast thy harp aside ... ... ... ... 51 
 
 Oh ! how refreshing feels the passing breeze ... ... 49 
 
 Oh ! my own love, why art thou lingering ... ... 77 
 
 Oh ! speak not lightly of the bard ... ... ... 98 
 
 Oh tell me not of brighter lands ... ... ... ... 18 
 
 Oh Wharfe ! again thy winding stream ... ... ... 96 
 
 Oh Wharfedalc ! I must leave thy favoured bowers ... 12 
 
 ! I will haste to yonder grovo ... ... 67 
 
 Maiden so divinely fair 51 
 
 On thy fair form I love to gazo ... ... ... ... 49 
 
 O Spring ! I love thee fresh and fair ... ... ... 17 
 
 Pretty, purling, gentle brooklet ... ... ... ... II 
 
 Soo you the cot which yonder stands ... ... ... 61» 
 
 Still standest thou, venerable pile ... ... 73 
 
 Sweet kingcup, tho' thy nativo bower is graced ... 35
 
 112 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 Page 
 
 Sweet Haggle ! calm is evening hour ... ... ... 63 
 
 Sweet violets, as I gaze on you ... ... ... ... 29 
 
 The blackbird free, on church-yard tree ... ... ... 37 
 
 The gift accept, my fair young friend ... ... ... 20 
 
 The glade I love, with music glad ... ... ... ... 29 
 
 The God of Heaven prolong thy days ... 39 
 
 The home of my boyhood I visit again ... ... ... 105 
 
 There is a blank now thou art gone ... ... ... 102 
 
 There is sunshine in the valley ... ... ... ... 17 
 
 The silvery moon is in the sky 52 
 
 The swallows o'er the sea have fled .. ... ... 41 
 
 The wild-roso rests its beauteous head ... ... ... 00 
 
 Thou beauteous, blushing Pimpernel ... ... ... 88 
 
 Thou dost poiir fo'th thy melody ... ... ... ... 21 
 
 'Tis Christmas time, and chiming bells ... ... ... 106 
 
 'Tis grand to walk in solitudes profound ... ... ... 72 
 
 To bring our horns sceues back to view is sweet ... 33 
 
 'Tis now the hour of lone midnight ... ... ... 3S 
 
 To struggling genius thou a friend art true ... ... 17 
 
 Wharfedale ! I love to gaze upon thy charms ... ... 100 
 
 What wondrous beauty I can trai ... ... ... 31 
 
 When Death shall own ... ... ... 57 
 
 71 
 
 While 1 i i gato ... .,, 
 
 Work, work ! Tat its v. k is the] it's brain 23 
 
 •ts of Albion ... 
 
 letter, ! : ... . . ... ... ... 86 
 
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