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 CHE AUTHOR OF "HOEL, THE HOSTAGE. 
 
 WOLVEKHAMPTON : 
 WILLIAM PAKKE, HIGH STKEET. 
 
 LONDON: SIMPKIN, MARSHALL, AND 00. 
 MDCCCLL 
 
The Profits (if any) aiising from the sale of this Book will be given in 
 aid of the same object as that to which the Funds of the Bazaar are to 
 be appropriated, viz: — the building of an Infant and Sunday School at 
 Compton, in the parish of Tettenhall. 
 
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 1 
 

THE LADY WROTTESLEY, 
 
 TO WHOSE ' 
 
 ACTIVE BENEVOLENCE AND GENEROUS SYMPATHY 
 
 WE ARE INDEBTED 
 
 FOR THE FORTHCOMING BAZAAR, 
 
 THIS 
 
 IS 
 AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED. 
 
 Tettenhall Parsonage, 
 
 August 19, 1851. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 
 PACtE 
 
 Staffordshire Legend 
 
 3 
 
 The Dream of Christine 
 
 6 
 
 onstancy 
 
 13 
 
 TTj? Death of Melancthoii 
 
 20 
 
 S<ng of the Lyn 
 
 20 
 
 "we, ;, . . . . . . 
 
 28 
 
 ipeetre of the Brocken 
 
 .. 34 
 
 
 38 
 
 Jamep /^ Epistle 
 
 ., 41 
 
 aoe 
 
 44 
 
 iac»-ed Thoughts 
 
 .. 47 
 
 '^' le Look alone 
 
 83 
 
 ^^nes written in Pembroke Castle 
 
 .. 84 
 
 The Church in the Wilderness . . 
 
 89 
 
 '* Hio Jacet" 
 
 .. 91 
 
 XX Sonnets, from the Italian of Petrarch . . 
 
 94 
 
I Itoffnriisliire fegraii. 
 
 *' Oh ! sister, leave thy broidery frame, 
 The garden alleys crowd with flowers, 
 
 The meanest bud of which would shame 
 The toil of all thy sunlit hours." 
 
 He took her hand, he led her by 
 The glowing tulips and the rose. 
 
 For well she read, in voice and eye, 
 The deeper tale they would disclose : 
 
 " He is not safe ; — dear Jane, thy heart, 
 Thy loyal heart, is beating fast. 
 
 And thou and I must act our part, 
 To keep him for his own at last : 
 
A STAFFOKDSHIRE LEGEND. 
 
 " Escaped from Worcester's fatal field, 
 From ills that would the boldest scare, 
 
 'Twould ill become us now to yield 
 To the wild promptings of despair : 
 
 " When the night fell, with sudden gloom. 
 On Kinver Heath, 'twas Giffard led 
 
 The Sovereign from a fearful doom, 
 Long be that name remembered ! 
 
 " Garter and George were thrust aside. 
 His soldier garb, and flowing hair. 
 
 And donned a country suit, supplied 
 By those who served his humble fare. 
 
 " The rustic brothers knew no fear. 
 Content to die the prize to win. 
 
 And shewed, beneath a peasant's gear, 
 How throbbed the knightly heart within. 
 
 " Oh ! happy oak with ivy clad. 
 Thy memory shall live for aye. 
 
 And anxious tongues shall turn to glad, 
 Whilst telling of that wondrous day, — 
 
A STAFFORDSHIRE LEGEND. 
 
 " Yes, sister, to yon sheltering tree 
 Pilgrims and poets long shall come, 
 
 And envy him upon whose knee 
 
 The hunted Monarch dreamt of home : 
 
 " Shall Boscobel and Moseley Hall 
 The honours of the rescue share, 
 
 And Bentley's loyal lineage fall 
 Without a hand the risk to dare ? 
 
 " No sword-girt hand, oh ! sister, mine, 
 No warlike bosom need we here. 
 
 But those as white and pure as thine. 
 For this our Liege's Cavalier ; 
 
 " The Knight of Wrottesley would not ask 
 A greater boon than my behest, 
 
 Nor gallant Levison deem the task 
 Aught save the proudest and the best." 
 
 He whispered low, — her cheek grew pale, — 
 A start the maiden's ringlets shook, — 
 
 But her soft glances did not quail 
 Before her brother's earnest look. 
 
THE DREAM OF CHRISTINE. 
 
 The sun rose briglit in eastern sky, — 
 At Bentley's gate a palfrey stood, — 
 
 A ladye mounted pillion high, — 
 A serving man before her rode. 
 
 Fair speed the travellers on their way, 
 Perils are thicldy scattered there, 
 
 But woman's wit shall win the day, 
 And woman's name the rescue share ! 
 
 THE DREAM OF CHRISTINE. 
 
 £ iFrKgtiiriit. 
 
 Yes ! it is spread with many stones, 
 
 Sharp welcome to the feet. 
 Nor fountain's healing flow atones 
 
 For thorns, which ever greet 
 The Pilgrim of this rugged plain, 
 Where Want and Horror, Doubt and Pain, 
 
 Inhospitably meet : 
 
THE DEE AM OF CHEISTINE. 
 
 Yet here a woman, slight and fair, 
 
 Her steady path pursues, 
 With angel brow and braided hair, 
 
 And eye that calmly views 
 The coming night without dismay, 
 She closer draws her mantle grey, 
 
 To screen from falling dews. 
 
 More closely folded to her breast, 
 
 The sacred symbol lies, — 
 His symbol, w^hom she loveth best 
 
 Above all worldly prize ; 
 For whose dear sake she hath resigned 
 Fortune, and fame, and kith, and kind, 
 
 A choice divinely wise. 
 
 This cruel Desert w^ell she knows. 
 
 Its aspect is a friend's ; — 
 O'er sands, which bum with human woes, 
 
 Or rock and briar she w^ends ; 
 The Thunder's threat, the fell Simoom, — 
 The chilling vapours of the tomb, — 
 
 To none her spirit bends. 
 
THE DKEAM OF CHRISTINE. 
 
 " Not always thus," she said, and sighed, 
 
 " With firm unflinching tread, 
 On Sorrow's plain, so wild and wide, 
 
 My early steps were led ; 
 With wails, and tears, and backward glance, 
 I shunned retreat, nor dared advance, 
 
 Palsied by faithless dread : 
 
 *' Oh ! 'twas a bitter thing to see, 
 A sharp, sharp pang to know. 
 
 The shrines of my apostate knee 
 Beneath one righteous blow 
 
 Of Him, whose name is Jealous, fade 
 
 Swift as the hues of light that made 
 The Heaven-spanning bow." 
 
 Onward she went, — ^thoughts of the Past 
 
 Her eyes soft fire renewed ; 
 Fresh strength within her bosom cast, 
 
 All dauntlessly she viewed 
 The filmy shapes that flitted round. 
 The crawling monsters on the ground. 
 
 With mortal ill imbued. 
 
THE DREAM OF CHRISTINE. 
 
 Onward she went, and then serene, 
 
 Paused she for rest awhile ; 
 On the dank sward, that bright Christine 
 
 Lay, and, with grateful smile, 
 Surveyed her track, — the lightning showed 
 How weary was the Desert road, 
 
 How dangerous the Defile. 
 
 With arms uplift to Heaven, she gave 
 
 The praise unto her Lord ; 
 And then, with humble heart and brave, 
 
 A bounty she implored ; — 
 A healing sleep — a gentle dream 
 Of soothing power, and strengthening theme, 
 
 Her rest from harm to ward. 
 
 In earnest prayer, her eyes she closed, 
 
 In perfect trust her cheek 
 Upon a flinty rock reposed ; 
 
 Nor prayer, nor trust were weak, — 
 For, lulled as by an Angel's wing, 
 She sleeps, and straightway visions spring 
 
 Heroically meek. 
 
10 THE DREAM OF CHRISTINE. 
 
 A fair and shining companie, 
 Whose earthly sands are run, 
 
 Descend as from a cloudless sky, 
 And in their midst is one, — 
 
 She, who above all women blest. 
 
 Had held her Saviour to her breast. 
 Her Saviour, and her Son ! 
 
 Not pale, as when at Bethlehem, 
 A Mother's pangs she proved. 
 
 Bent o'er the Bud from Jesse's stem. 
 And worshipped while she loved ; 
 
 Xot as upon that aw^ul day. 
 
 Beneath the Cross in woe she lay. 
 And His compassion moved ; 
 
 Not wan with watching and with tears, 
 
 As kneeling by His tomb, 
 The Holy Mary now appears, — 
 
 Her brow is freed from gloom ; 
 A saintly joy is her's agen, 
 A queenly crown, though meek as when 
 
 She heard her glorious doom : 
 
THE DREAM OF OHRTSTINE. 11 
 
 And round her grouped, Christine discerned 
 Many beloved of old ; ^ 
 
 Anna, the aged Saint, who burned 
 With constant zeal, and told 
 
 The Christ ; — and she, who washed his feet 
 
 With contrite tears, devoutly sweet, 
 And hairs of living gold : 
 
 Those who supplied their Master's need. 
 And mourned around His tree. 
 
 Who to the chosen bore with speed 
 The tidings He was free ! 
 
 And she who served, and she who heard, 
 
 The sisters quickened by the Word, 
 Who dwelt at Bethany. 
 
 Arranged in spotless white, a palm 
 
 Bearing in each right hand, 
 Their faces glorified and calm. 
 
 The Virgin-Martyrs stand ; — 
 What now to them the axe and wheel, — 
 The Heathen's scourge, — the Paynim's steel, - 
 
 The torture, and the brand ? 
 
12 THE DREAM OF CHRISTINE. 
 
 Here, Catherine, the strong in death, — 
 
 Fidelia, the fair, — 
 And she, who to her latest breath 
 
 In song preferred her prayer; — 
 Here the young Agnes, steadfast child ; 
 And she who with the Rood beguiled 
 
 The Lion to his lair : 
 
 Another band is by their side, 
 No Martyr's palm they bear ; 
 
 But faithful are their hearts, and tried 
 By grief, and pain, and care. 
 
 The hidden witnesses, who raise 
 
 God's glory in unconscious ways, 
 His rest may also share ! 
 
CONSTANCY. 13 
 
 CONSTANCY. 
 
 He loved her, when the dreams of Youth, 
 
 Like stars through prison windows shone ; 
 When Want and Hardship, forms uncouth, 
 
 His ardent spirit pressed upon ; 
 His day-task done — with eager feet 
 
 e fled across the silent street, 
 And flinging to his Mother dow^i 
 The florin, or the hoarded crown ; 
 Full oft, the untasted meal forgot, 
 He hurried to the blessed spot, 
 Where, decked in all their brave array, 
 The City Peers kept holiday : 
 Fair was the place, a verdant shade 
 The lindens and acacias made. 
 And to the fountain's silvery tune 
 Warbled the nightingales of June, 
 And shapes of Art, a glorious band 
 Glowed freshly from the Sculptor's hand ; 
 But sight or sound had small control 
 To sway the current of his soul, 
 
14 CONSTANCY. 
 
 For one there was among that crowd 
 To whom his every thought was vowed, 
 Though farthest from the Maiden's ken, 
 He loved her then, — he loved her then. 
 
 He loved her, when his genius burst 
 
 The trammels of his low estate ; 
 And Art in painful silence nursed. 
 
 Sought, not in vain, a gentler fate ; 
 'Tis true that years had passed the while, 
 That leagues withheld him from her smile, 
 Nor Time nor Distance e'er could part 
 Her image from his inmost heart : 
 His subjects. Virgin Mother mild. 
 Or Saint or Seraph un defiled. 
 How loved he in each theme to trace 
 Some mood or feature of her face ; 
 Now would repeat her amber hair, 
 Her arching brows or pensive air. 
 And, as his hand his will obeyed, 
 Adore the idol he had made ; 
 Or waking from his troubled sleep, 
 Before his easel gaze, and weep — 
 Not hopeless tears, for from the hour, 
 When dawned the knowledge of his power. 
 
CONSTANCY. 15 
 
 His visions of the day and night, 
 Had worn a less ideal light ; 
 Though undivulged by tongue or pen, 
 He loved her then, — he loved her then. 
 
 Not always thus ; — at last it came, 
 
 The day which crowned his struggling life. 
 
 With love, with riches, and with fame, — 
 He wooed and won her for his wife. 
 
 Oh ! day of triumph, when he bore 
 
 His darling from the altar floor, 
 
 And in a princely home enshrined 
 
 Her Empress o'er his heart and mind ! 
 
 What was this gold, but as it brought 
 
 Fruition to her slightest thought ? 
 
 What w^as this fame, save when it raised 
 
 A blush to hear her husband praised ? 
 
 These honours — empty boastings all, 
 
 Excepting as on her they fall ? 
 
 And he was happy ; — in her eyes 
 
 He read her spirit's mysteries ; 
 
 Her cheek pressed closely to his own. 
 
 He caught, with raptured ear, the tone 
 
 Of that dear voice, now prompt to claim, 
 
 By every kind and tender name. 
 
16. CONSTANCY. 
 
 His fond regards ; or at lier feet, 
 The moments sped in converse sweet, 
 An Eden bloomed on earth again, — 
 He loved — and loved her not in vain. 
 
 " Too bright too beautiful to last !" 
 
 'Twas thus with trembling heart he sighed, - 
 Sudden the sky is overcast, 
 
 The flowers droop, the clouds divide. 
 He sleeps, and guiltless are his dreams, — 
 He wakes, and morning's ruddiest beams 
 Greet him a beggar ! — these fair halls 
 Must be exchanged for cottage walls, — 
 This dainty food and costly vair. 
 For russet garb and peasant fare, — 
 For him what matter! — ^but for her 
 This dark reverse hath power to stir 
 Rebellious murmurs in his breast. 
 Awhile, with anguish unsuppressed, 
 He vents his grief ; — but Love and Hope 
 With mightier enemies can cope ; 
 And these the sweet reflections wake. 
 He still may labour for her sake. 
 And with increased devotion bear 
 The burden she will fondly share. 
 
CONSTANCY. 17 
 
 When lo ! her Brother's open gate 
 
 Offers a more luxurious fate ; 
 
 And faithless was the look she cast 
 
 At bye-gone ease and pleasures past ; — 
 
 Too generous a choice he made, 
 
 And she too willingly obeyed ; 
 
 Such strokes may wound, but cannot kill, — 
 
 He loved her still ! — he loved her still ! 
 
 Alas for him ! the watchful night 
 
 Too soon succeeds the weary day ; 
 Where are those visions of delight 
 
 That round his canvass erst would stray ? 
 Alas for him ! — 'tis hard to bear 
 The cold grim presence of Despair, 
 The silent room — the lonely hearth — 
 And, worse than all, the hourly birth 
 Of bitter thoughts, and madd'ning fears, 
 And vain regrets for former years. 
 And Time passed on ; — Ambition, Pride, 
 Long since hath in his bosom died ; 
 In a strange land he dwelt, and earned 
 The bread which fed the life he spurned ; 
 When at his door there lighted down 
 A horseman from his native town ; — 
 
18 CONSTANCY. 
 
 Herald of Woe ! — In haste he sped 
 
 To kneel beside her dying bed ; — 
 
 One prayer for grace — one hurried glance ; 
 
 Is this the sunny countenance ? 
 
 Are these pale features, sharp and wan, 
 
 The lights he used to gaze upon ? 
 
 She weeps, — she calls upon his name, — 
 
 That low, sweet voice, — it is the same ; — 
 
 For ever in his ears will live 
 
 That agonizing cry — " Forgive ! " 
 
 Once more she lies upon his heart. 
 
 Once more she feels herself a part 
 
 Of his own being, and to Death 
 
 Yields on his lips her latest breath, 
 
 For in that moment he confest 
 
 He loved her well, — he loved her best. 
 
 Rest for the weary limbs, and balm 
 
 To soothe the aching heart, and rays 
 From the celestial orb, to calm 
 
 The soul that walks in troubled ways ! 
 His toil resumed, no more he turns 
 From kindly looks away, nor spurns 
 Of friendliness the word and hand 
 Which bound him to his Fatherland ; 
 
CONSTANCY. 1"9 
 
 And that deep sense of lovely things, 
 
 The feeling whence all power springs 
 
 T' emhody with religious zeal 
 
 Types for the universal weal, 
 
 Again breaks forth ; with loftier truth 
 
 The genius of his gifted youth 
 
 Returns again ; — ^his breast once more 
 
 Eeflects her image as of yore. 
 
 Now listen to the holy breath 
 
 That greets, not sues, the anus of death ; 
 
 Now read within his kindling eye 
 
 Faith, Patience, and Tranquillity ; 
 
 But even with these parting prayers 
 
 One thought, one dream of earth he shares. 
 
 Still with his own her name must blend. 
 
 He loved — ^he loved her to the end ! 
 
20 THE DEATH OF MELANCTHON. 
 
 THE DEATH OF MELANCTHON. 
 
 It is recorded of Melancthon, that, some days before he expired, he 
 wrote upon a piece of paper, in two columns, the reasons why he ought not 
 to regret leaving this world. One of these columns contained the blessings 
 which Death would procure him ; the other the evils from which Death 
 would release him. He put only two articles into the latter : — that he 
 should sin no more ; and that he should no longer he exposed to the rage 
 of the Divines. The other column contained six heads : — 
 
 I. That he should come to the light ; 
 
 II. That he should see God ; 
 
 III. That he should contemplate the Son of God ; 
 
 IV. That he should understand those admirable mysteries that he could 
 not comprehend in this life ; 
 
 V. Why we are created such as we are ; 
 
 VI. What is the union of the two natures in Jesus Christ. 
 
 Bow down in rev'rence ; meekly tread and slowly ; 
 
 Leave at the threshold every trifling thought ; 
 Let thou and I among the silent w^atchers 
 
 Behold Humanity divinely wTought ; — 
 A Pilgrim — weary, footsore, and opprest, 
 A Saint — expecting his eternal rest. 
 
THE DEATH OF MELANCTHON. 21 
 
 11. 
 
 Prostrate his form, emaciate with sickness, 
 The lights of day are waning in his eyes ; 
 
 Silvered, though not all snow, his hair is parted 
 Back from a brow, where seek for no disguise 
 
 Thoughts — noble, tender, searching, and refined — 
 
 Which made a daily altar of that mind, 
 
 III. 
 
 Vowed unto Love — the love of the Uniter ; 
 
 Backed by no strong temptations from within ; 
 By Faith ennobled, sanctified, and strengthened; 
 
 And only vexed that the unceasing din 
 Of vain disputes and controversial pride 
 His reconciling labours still defied. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Ah ! see, a ray of joy illumes his features ; 
 
 Supported on his elbow now he leans ; 
 Earnest desire lifts his languid eyelids — 
 
 Tells that rapt smile of earlier, dearer scenes ; 
 Or forward does his sanguine spirit rush, 
 Impatient for his rest — the Grave's untroubled hush ? 
 
22 THE DEATH OF MELANCTHON. 
 
 Back to the haunts of Knowledge is he roaming, 
 
 To try the metals of Philosophy 
 With the refiner's crucible, whilst filling 
 
 Her barns with store of Christian Liberty ? 
 Or by the Monk of Erfurt does he sit. 
 Conversing as when first their souls were knit 
 
 VI. 
 
 In bonds of love unfeigned — when bolder daring 
 Gave courage to the milder heart, and Peace 
 
 Passed, like a winged Angel, to the bosom, 
 Strange to her visitings ? (What sweet increase 
 
 Of Heavenly glory, and good will below, 
 
 These mutual gains of righteous friendship show !) 
 
 Eegrets his fervent soul the solemn Masses, 
 When knelt the crowd at complin and at prime. 
 
 Envies he those who leave their beds at midnight, 
 Prompt to obey the punctual matin's chime. 
 
 When moon and star outface the tapers dim. 
 
 To lead the practised chaunt or invocation hymn? 
 
THE DEATH OF MELANCTHON. 23 
 
 vin. 
 
 Or does the dying Sage recal with triumph 
 
 The time when Fame and Flattery hemmed him 
 round ; 
 
 When Prince and Peer bent low before his reason, 
 And bade him mark their creed's ambiguous bound, 
 
 And from the Foe secure each mountain pass 
 
 With goodly walls of adamant and brass ? 
 
 IX. 
 
 « 
 He speaks in tones low, equable, and tender. 
 
 Like to a murmuring sound his accents fall, 
 When o'er its breast hang down the withering alders, 
 
 (A seemly fringe for fading Nature's pall ;) 
 *' Oh ! welcome Death, to me thy face is fair, 
 For bears thy tongue no message of despair ; 
 
 X. 
 
 "Yet have I cherished Life, and hailed the bounties 
 Wherewith the Lord of Life has strewn my way ; 
 
 The charms of Learning, and the joys of Science 
 Have in my soul held frequent holiday ; 
 
 Love, Honour, Kindness, and a Parent's name, 
 
 Enkindling then a holy happy flame ; 
 
24 THE DEATH OF MELANCTHON. 
 
 " And more, far more than these, the ardent longings 
 For God's own counsel have my spirit filled ; 
 
 Led to discern beneath encumbering falsehoods, 
 The Church His constant hand doth ever build 
 
 Of faithful witnesses that rest alone 
 
 On the just merits of the Comer Stone. - 
 
 XII. 
 
 " But welcome Death, thy face is fair and pleasant, 
 With thee I leave the world's distracting din ; 
 
 I leave a land, dark with the strife of parties, 
 For one where dwelleth neither Hate nor Sin ; 
 
 There all shall be revealed, for there is light, 
 For sense too pure, for mortal eyes too bright ! 
 
 XIII. 
 
 " Have those veiled. twins fled from the earth for ever. 
 Meekness and true Obedience, driven hence 
 
 By lusts of Pride and Passion, falsely wearing 
 The mask of Zeal, the cloak of Innocence ; 
 
 Unheard our Mother's clear, harmonious notes 
 
 Among the discord of a thousand throats ! 
 
THE DEATH OF MELANCTHON. 25 
 
 " Oh ! ye perverse ones ; even Herod's soldiers, 
 Eude though they were, and warm with venal fire. 
 
 Forbore to rend the coat of the Redeemer, 
 That seamless garment, perfect and entire ; 
 
 But ye despise His law of love, and tear 
 
 The robes of light His mercy bids you share ! 
 
 XV. 
 
 *' I know, oh ! Lord, Thou chastenest when Thou lovest, 
 Making thy servants perfect but through Pain ; 
 
 Let me receive this test of Thine acceptance. 
 E'en though it proves me to have lived in vain, 
 
 To have borne the burden of the noontide sun, 
 
 Yet left the vineyard with my task undone. 
 
 " Thy glory is the same, although we perish ; 
 
 Thy glory is the same from age to age ; 
 And as Thy Word restraineth the furious waters. 
 
 So canst Thou also calm Thy people's rage ; 
 Then let me go, rejoicing in my loss, 
 Thankful to taste the dolours of the Cross !" 
 
26 A SONG OF THE LYN. 
 
 A SONG OF THE LYN. 
 
 River ! by thy winding way 
 
 I could rove for evermore, 
 List'ning to thy murmuring lay, 
 
 Under chime and mimic roar ; 
 Thus it falls, thy summer song, — 
 
 Thus it falls in accents clear; 
 If I do thy music wrong. 
 
 Blame thou my untuneful ear. 
 
 LYN LOQUITUE. 
 
 *' I would learn thee, I would learn thee, 
 
 Truths that never come too late ". 
 Fairy monitors to turn thee 
 
 From the precipice of Fate ; 
 Sigh not after present Pleasure, 
 
 Nor on Danger's margin sleep. 
 Lest, like mine, thy bounteous measure, 
 
 Overflow the rocky steep. 
 
A SONG OF THE LYN. 27 
 
 " I would shew thee, I would shew thee, 
 
 How a firm and tender mind 
 Conquers all that would o'erthrow thee, 
 
 Yields and wins, with Wisdom kind ; 
 I have found a track the surest, 
 
 Through a maze of rugged stones, 
 Softened them by kisses purest — 
 
 Polished them by gentlest tones. 
 
 " I would warn thee, I would warn thee, 
 
 If in idlesse thou dost rest, 
 That my brighter life will scorn thee. 
 
 For the weeds which throng thy breast ; 
 To the sluggish pool be given 
 
 Art to veil each dark retreat. 
 Thou, beneath the eye of Heaven, 
 
 Run, like me, in candour sweet." 
 
28 SONNETS. 
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 Time was, Beloved, when thou wert oft a thrall 
 To jealous fears, and doubts that shook thy peace, 
 Sapping its strong foundations ; — ^when increase 
 
 Of Power, or Joy, or even Love, could call 
 
 Those demons from their dark abodes, to fall 
 Again to their remorseless work, nor cease 
 Until thy wearied heart would seek release 
 
 In contrite vows unto the Lord of All : — 
 
 Such were thine envied days, thy courted hours, 
 Such the unrecked of trials of thy spring ; 
 
 But, blessed change, since then, above the bowers 
 Of thy vexed soul a thunder storm hath burst. 
 
 Crushing, mayhap, some garlands with its wing. 
 But scaring those that made its atmosphere accurst ! 
 
SONNETS. 29 
 
 On, gently on ! why doth the rosy ling, 
 The golden gorse, and the bog-myrtle, stay 
 Our eager steps? Methinks our zeal to day 
 
 Outstrips the circumspection that would fling 
 
 All trifling obstacles aside, and bring 
 
 A calm success to crown the traveller's way : 
 Ah ! why such thriftless haste ? Shall we survey 
 
 The scene to which our loving mem'ries cling, 
 From the ambitious crest of this famed hill, 
 
 With purer satisfaction, if we gain 
 
 Its promised height through weariness and pain ; 
 With throbbing brows, and tongues from weakness 
 still ; 
 
 Inaudible ! Oh ! let us not despise 
 
 In loftier aims, the patience of the wise ! 
 
30 SONNETS. 
 
 III. 
 
 We do but seek to grasp a shape of air, 
 
 When yearnmgly, with bounteous hearts, we sigh 
 
 For universal love and sympathy ; 
 And deem that, if the slaves of worldly care, 
 Of pleasure, or ambition, may not share 
 
 A common soul, where selfish thoughts must die ; 
 
 Yet, that more blest than these, it is our high 
 And holy privilege, so to compare 
 
 (As Nature's worshippers) our several minds, 
 That through all Time and Space they seem as one : 
 
 Sweet phantasy, but vain as sweet ! the winds 
 Loosed from the North, blow not the same to all : 
 
 What makes the Arab hail the rising sun, 
 Sings to the Russian of his icy thrall. 
 
I 
 
 SONNETS. 31 
 
 I knew thee not in the glad days of old, 
 
 • And yet thy presence haunts me like a dream, 
 
 Turning the Past into a crystal stream, 
 That ever floweth over sands of gold ; 
 And by its marge we wander, and behold 
 
 The dragon fly athwart its surface gleam, 
 
 Or watch, with thoughtful gaze, th' alternate beam. 
 Of sun and star the lily buds unfold ; 
 
 Pure emblems of th' favoured ones who rise 
 
 To find in Home's encircling charities 
 Shelter and Peace, as these among their leaves, 
 
 Yielding unhurt to Life's capricious wave. 
 Yet, ever true to Heaven, that receives 
 
 From their uplifted eyes the loveliness it gave. 
 
*6il SONNETS. 
 
 Naw let us sit and watch the flowing tide, 
 Nor call it waste of hours ; — ^the summer eve 
 Is bright, and almost tranquil, — a reprieve 
 
 From tempest we enjoy, and far and wide 
 
 A Sabbath for the elements is cried ; 
 
 The skies are fair, the winds in whispers grieve ; 
 But mark the waves, their angry bosoms heave, 
 
 Their voices rave with wrath unpacified ; 
 Foaming, they rush into their wat'ry strife, 
 And break upon the shore with threat 'ning din. 
 
 Refusing to be soothed. Alas ! for those 
 Who nurse their passion into furious life, 
 And launch their will upon the waves of Sin, 
 
 Vainly for them is shed Heaven's rapture of repose. 
 
33 
 
 " Give us your prayers !" — Thus speaks the Christian's 
 tone, 
 
 Thus be interpreted the sad caress ; 
 
 When those tried hearts whose rooted tenderness, 
 Like boughs of western forests, have upgrown, 
 Entwined through storm and sunshine with our own, 
 
 Are summoned hence by Duty's call to bless 
 
 A distant home, whilst weeping we confess 
 Our desolate estate. — " Where art thou flown, 
 
 Thou dearest one ? Earth hears no more the sound 
 Of thy pure feet walking the ways of peace ;" 
 Yet dare we cry " give us thy prayers, nor cease 
 
 Thy fond accustomed pleadings, till unwound 
 This chain of doubt and fear, and we rejoice 
 In the low music of our Mother's voice !" 
 
34 THE SPECTRE OF THE BROCKEN. 
 
 THE SPECTKE OF THE BROCKEN. 
 
 The Spectre of the Brocken seems 
 
 Unto the vulgar eye, 
 A fearful thing of pagan dreams, 
 
 And wizard agency ; 
 But they who gaze, in truth behold 
 
 Their own reflection there, 
 Crowned with a wreath of lambent gold, 
 
 And treading on the air. 
 
 'Tis thus at least she would receive 
 
 That ghostly sight, who now 
 Essays, though late the autumn eve. 
 
 To climb the mountain's brow ; 
 A three-years' child upon her arm. 
 
 With earnest love she bore. 
 Nor sign of shrinking or alarm 
 
 Her calm demeanour wore : 
 
THE SPECTRE OF THE BROCKEN. 85 
 
 For in her soul Affection's doom 
 
 Chased evil shadows forth ; 
 And tender spirits left no room 
 
 For ministers of Wrath ; 
 Of Earth and Heaven she oft times spake 
 
 As of a two-fold home ; 
 Her children here their sojourn make, 
 
 Her husband there doth roam. 
 
 Was it well done ? — The silent snow 
 
 Falls sullenly at first ; 
 The clouds close round, — the sun dips low,- 
 
 The brooding storm hath burst ! 
 She keeps good heart, — she presses on, — 
 
 The beacon is in sight, — 
 A blessed moon hath often shone 
 
 From out a wilder night. 
 
 V. 
 
 Nobly she strove, — but all in vain ; 
 
 Her limbs refused their aid, 
 And faint from weariness and pain, 
 
 Upon the ground she laid ; — 
 
THE SPECTRE OF THE BROCKEN. 
 
 Her child, upon her breast reclined, 
 
 (Warm shelter to the last,) 
 Dreams of his playmates left behind. 
 
 Unconscious of the blast. 
 
 VI. 
 
 " The wild cat steals along the wood. 
 
 The hawk sails out to prey, — 
 But, for the helpless and the good, 
 
 Who shall their cause betray ? 
 Fly upwards, upwards, little bird. 
 
 Droop not the tiny wing. 
 And, though by earthly ears unheard, 
 
 Of Freedom thou shalt sing : 
 
 VII. 
 
 " There, safe beyond the curtained clouds. 
 
 Thy meek thanksgiving yield, 
 And to thy sight, in radiant crowds. 
 
 Bright shapes shall be revealed ; 
 For in each sanctuary spot 
 
 His messengers are found. 
 Without whose knowledge falleth not 
 
 A sparrow to the ground." 
 
THE SPECTEE OF THE BEOCKEN. 37 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Thus warbling in a sweet, low strain, 
 
 That strengthen 'd ere its close, 
 She woke her sleeping boy again, 
 
 And in the frozen snows 
 She bent his dimpled knees, and raised 
 
 His rosy hands aloft, 
 Then bade him pray ; — the babe, amazed, 
 
 Replied in accents soft : — 
 
 IX. 
 
 " Our Father, Thou Who art above. 
 
 Blest be thy holy Name ; 
 And, as in Heaven rules Thy love, 
 
 Be it on Earth the same ; 
 Give us each day our daily bread, 
 
 Forgive, as we are kind ; 
 Let us not be to evil lead, 
 
 But swift deliverance find." 
 
 Hark ' hark ! above the shrieldng storm 
 
 A signal shot resounds. 
 And by that pale recumbent form 
 
 A faithful creature bounds ; 
 
38 
 
 He licks her hand, and pants and cries, 
 
 Half frantic with delight, 
 Then to his master backward hies, 
 
 To lead him to the site. 
 
 She strives her fading sense to rouse. 
 
 And by the torch-light sees 
 Two rough clad men with anxious brows. 
 
 One lifting from his knees, 
 With tender care, her shivering child ; — 
 
 Faith's sweet reward was given, — 
 And then, rejoicing in the wild. 
 
 Her spirit sprung to Heaven. 
 
 TO- 
 
 Heav}^ upon thy soul it fell. 
 
 The iron hand of Sorrow ; 
 Tolled in thy ear Hope's funeral knell. 
 
 Thou viewest the to-morrow 
 
39 
 
 As calm-bound voyagers behold 
 
 The orb set in a blaze of gold, 
 
 As captives gaze upon their chains, 
 Yet feel the life blood in their veins. 
 Flow as of old ! 
 
 Thy radiant hair with ashes strewed, 
 Thy fair cheek stained with weeping, 
 
 Clad in a robe of sackcloth rude, 
 Its cumbrous foldings sweeping 
 
 The dust beneath thy feet I see. 
 
 Thine altered self — the magic key. 
 Ere while to open and combine 
 The spirits that acknowledged thine 
 Queenlike and free ! 
 
 And from thy silver-chiming tongue 
 Come notes of sad blaspheming, 
 
 Ungentle plaints too surely wrung. 
 By hours of sickly dreaming ; 
 
 Thou railest at the guardian sun. 
 
 His garish summer beams have won 
 No entrance to thy closed heart. 
 The voice of birds and streams their part 
 Vainly have done. 
 
40 TO . 
 
 A little while — a little while — 
 And Patience shall enfold thee 
 
 With strong kind arms, — her serious smile 
 From evil shall withhold thee ; — 
 
 The lovely hues of field and flower 
 
 Will in thy sight resume their power, 
 Nature's dear gifts thine eyes will bless 
 Again with dews of thanMulness, 
 A gracious shower : 
 
 The light dance of the air-tost leaves 
 Shall raise a sweet emotion, — 
 
 The moon which shines on Autumn sheaves, 
 The majesty of Ocean ; 
 
 The silent river's fruitful way, 
 
 The rock enwreathed with lichens grey, 
 The graceful ferns that bend to look 
 At their own image in the brook, 
 
 All shall bear sway. 
 
 Then shall the lark pour thrilling strains, 
 And thou wilt heed her singing, 
 
 And listen when the dove complains. 
 And bless the bee's home-winging ; — 
 
ST. James's epistle. 41 
 
 Then will the distant sheep bell's tone 
 
 Recal a shepherd all thine own, 
 Pastures for ever green — a fold 
 Where perfect peace shall wax not old, 
 Nor grief he known ! 
 
 ST. JAMES'S EPISTLE, 
 
 Chap. III. 
 
 Strife by the peaceful hearth — 
 
 Dishonour to the brave — 
 Rude hours of godless mirth — 
 And Virtue's sudden grave — 
 Taunts that can move the worm — 
 
 Proofs of a nation's shame — 
 Revenge's nurse, and Slavery's germ — 
 And a poison cup of Fame ; — 
 Such are the trophies strung 
 Unto thy chariot wheels. 
 And such the use that Satan steals 
 From tHee, oh, cruel Tongue ! 
 
42 ST. James's epistle. 
 
 Blessings in hall and bower — 
 The mother's cradle song — 
 The vows of Love's dear hour — 
 
 And greetings which belong 
 But to the faithful — notes of praise, 
 
 And warnings gravely fond that come 
 From the same tender fount, and raise 
 Sweet reveries of youth and home ; — 
 Such are the roses hung 
 Upon thy garland fair. 
 And joy and peace delight to share 
 These gifts, oh, gentle Tongue! 
 
 Suspicions that lay waste 
 All human sympathy — 
 Dark hints of faith misplaced — 
 And truth proclaimed a lie — 
 Lures to entrap the vain — 
 
 For the weak a muttered spell — 
 And missiles to assault the fane 
 Where holiest memories dwell ; — 
 Such are the asps that stung 
 Of old at thy behest, 
 And still surround their ancient nest, 
 Oh, thou deceitful Tonejue ! 
 
ST. JAMES's EPISTLE. 4^r 
 
 Hopes for the anxious soul — 
 
 Remembrance for the bowed — 
 And speech of grace to bring the goal 
 
 Nearer the meekly proud — 
 Tales to exalt the child — 
 
 Music for sadder years — 
 High thoughts, and visions wild 
 To dry the mourner's tears ; — 
 Such are the gems among 
 The caskets of thy dower, 
 They fall on earth a costly shower, 
 From thee, oh, precious Tongue ! 
 
 The ban of ruthless War — 
 The pardon of a King — 
 A cloud despised afar, 
 
 Whence awful thunders spring — 
 A honey-dropping dew 
 
 Of prayer through every loss — 
 Curses the utterer shall rue — 
 And tidings of the Cross ; — 
 Such are the colours flung 
 On thy banners here below ; 
 To choose the right, through weal and woe. 
 Be mine, mysterious Tongue! 
 
 G 
 
44 
 
 PEACE. 
 
 WRITTEN ON SEEINa A DESIGN FOR A FRESCO, BY A MODERN ARTIST, 
 WITH THE ABOVE TITLE. 
 
 Peace ! thou Angel of the Light, 
 Make my spirit clear and bright, — 
 Give my languid pulses tone, — 
 Guide my temper by thine own, — 
 Regulate my wayward will, — 
 Check the throng of thoughts that fill 
 With bewildering strife my heart, — 
 Chase the memories which start, 
 Now to dazzle, now to sting. 
 Chase them with thy healing wing, — 
 Shade me with thine olive bough, — 
 Make me even such as thou ! 
 
 Let the varied Past be viewed. 
 With its tempests, wild and rude ; 
 With its sudden springing flowers ; 
 With its sunshine and its showers ; 
 With its starlight, soft and pale ; 
 With its biting northern gale ; 
 
PEACE. 45 
 
 With its hopes that lie a waste ; 
 With its fears in bliss effaced ; 
 As a mystic scroll from whence 
 Patience — Faith — Obedience — 
 May be learnt in word and deed, 
 By the souls who rightly read. 
 
 Let me look on present days 
 With a meek and watchful gaze ; 
 Every minute as it flies 
 Burden bears of smiles or sighs, 
 Evil thought, or good intent. 
 Pride, or kindness, or content, 
 Idleness, or sore regret. 
 Or a mind more sweetly set ; 
 Let me, therefore, watch and ward. 
 Lest a false note mar the chord, 
 Lest a rash or tuneless wire 
 Bring to dissonance the choir. 
 
 For the future let me feel 
 No vain longings o'er me steal ; 
 But if Fancy will not sleep, 
 Moving me to smile or weep, 
 
46 PEACE, 
 
 At tlie joys or trials sore, 
 That for me may be in store, 
 Be thou near, oh ! gentle Peace, 
 Timely bid her influence cease, 
 Lest in idle dreams I lose 
 All thy lessons would infuse, 
 And withdrawn to earth, my sight 
 Cannot brook a purer light. 
 
SACKED THOUGHTS. 47 
 
 Archtype of all things ! when the Father crowned 
 
 His works with blessing, and Creation's heir 
 Looked on the creatures doomed with him to share 
 
 The leafy shades of Eden's hallowed ground, 
 And call him Lord ; the Angels that surround 
 
 Th' eternal Throne,. beheld prefigured there 
 That time of Love when the whole earth shall bear 
 
 The yoke of Thy dominion, when the sound 
 Of Thy great Name, oh ! Son of God, shall rend 
 
 The mountain tops, and make the valleys sing 
 With joy and gladness ; when at Thy command 
 
 The wolf and lamb in peace their lives shall spend. 
 And palms and myrtles wave throughout the land 
 
 Wherein is built the City of the King ! 
 
48 SACRED THOUGHTS. 
 
 " Justice and Faith and Mercy," these, oh, Lord, 
 Are the requirements of Thy righteous will ; 
 But woe to those, who, eager to fulfil 
 
 The mighty task and earn the bright reward, 
 
 Cling less unto the Sceptre than the Sword ; 
 Woe unto those, who on the Sacred Hill 
 See not thy Cross from day to day, until 
 
 They at its foot lay down their cherished hoard 
 Of earth-born hopes and sinful phantasies ; 
 
 Then lightened of their burdens and renewed 
 In heart and purpose, strain their anxious eyes 
 Far onward from the goal unto the prize. 
 
 Leaning upon the staff of Faith endued 
 
 With Righteousness and Mercy from the Rood. 
 
SACRED THOUGHTS. 49 
 
 Shadows and Types ! — I look upon the Earth 
 The impress of Thy Majesty is here, 
 The mountains tell us of that time of fear, 
 
 When in the midst of sin and godless mirth, 
 
 Thy vengeful waters swept the monstrous girth 
 Of the Old World ; — Ocean and Atmosphere, 
 These are Thy slaves, and if the stars appear 
 
 Mysterious in their beauty, if their worth 
 Our age of iron knowledge hath not found. 
 
 Still can we say their voices sing of Thee 
 
 Sweetly as when of yore went forth their sound 
 
 Unto all lands ; — when shepherds held the key 
 To their celestial speech, and Wisdom crowned 
 
 Those midnight readers of Infinity. 
 
50 SACRED THOUGHTS. 
 
 EPIPHANY. 
 
 Star of the East ! when o'er th' Chaldsen plain 
 
 Thy ministering rays in beauty broke, 
 
 What eloquence of light was thine that woke 
 The Magi's hearts to follow in thy train, 
 And seek, with fearless faith, the lowly fane 
 
 Where lay the new-born Christ, — there never spoke 
 
 An Angel more divinely : Lo ! the smoke 
 Of Gentile incense rose, and not in vain. 
 
 While gold and myrhh brought from afar, were spread 
 Around in precious heaps as to a King. 
 Suffer, oh ! God, Thy Gospel star to shine, 
 
 With equal truth, o'er each benighted head. 
 Leading them forth to kneel at Bethlehem's shrine, 
 
 Their tribute prayer, and praise their offering. 
 
SACKED THOUGHTS. 51 
 
 FIRST SUNDAY AFTER EPIPHANY. 
 
 So early in the Temple ! ere it faded 
 
 The wreath of morning on that sacred brow, 
 Among the learned men of Israel now 
 
 See the Child Jesus stand, alone, unaided, 
 
 And by the power of heavenly wisdom shaded. 
 Astonish all who listen by the flow 
 Of His meek eloquence that seemed to show 
 
 Such wondrous gifts combined ; and when upbraided 
 By his fond, fearful Mother, who had sought 
 
 Him, " sorrowing long," how full of Prophecy 
 (Though breathed to closed ears) is his reply ; 
 
 See in this Gospel page how firmly wrought 
 The truths of filial love and duty lie, 
 
 By the young Saviour's own example taught. 
 
5^ SACRED THOUGHTS. 
 
 Not seldom in the Christian dawn were found 
 
 High hearts and holy — men, whose steadfast eyes 
 Beheld the Sun of Kighteousness arise 
 
 With healing on His wings, and straightway bound 
 
 The Spirit's armour on, as to the ground 
 
 They cast each earthly hope — yielding the ties 
 Of home and country for that greater prize, 
 
 Their Master's cause. — ^What, if it often frowned 
 The unrighteous world, upon their righteous zeal, 
 
 And frowning smote ? — Such deeds were prophesied. 
 What if Death came by famine, fire, and steel ? 
 
 Death's Victor placed an angel at their side. 
 Upon their martyred brows to set the seal 
 
 Of Heaven's grace — the signet of the Bride. 
 
SACKED THOUGHTS. 53 
 
 Thy perfect rule of Love — ^when shall we grave 
 
 Its lessons, Lord, on our censorious minds ? 
 
 Where lurks the heart of tend'rest mould, that finds 
 Subjects alone for blessing ? Idly rave 
 A myriad tongues, if the once just and brave 
 
 Fall from their high estate, and careless winds 
 
 Scatter the charity that ever binds 
 Thy Church in Heaven, triumphant : — Jesu save 
 
 Thine earthly servants from this evil thing, 
 Which haunts our public ways and creeps beside 
 
 Our very hearths ; let not temptation spring 
 To judge and to condemn, when ills abide 
 Within our brothers' homes ; and quench the pride 
 
 That must Thy threatened retribution bring ! 
 
54 SACKED THOUGHTS. 
 
 ARCHBISHOP LAUD. 
 
 May we not fitly glory, that our age 
 
 From the deep gulph of obloquy and shame 
 Hath brought the pious mem'ry of thy name, 
 
 And placed it among those who should engage 
 
 Our reverence and love ? What though the rage 
 Of wicked men overthrew thy worldly fame, 
 And, from the prison to the block, with shame 
 
 Led thee to end thy zealous pilgrimage. 
 
 It was thy mother whom their hearts abhorred ; 
 
 Her altars were the lights they strove to lay 
 Low in the dust ; her precepts were the hoard 
 
 They sought to scatter to the winds a prey ; 
 And this, thy doom of blood, was meet reward 
 
 For Faith and Duty, in that evil day. 
 
SACKED THOUGHTS. 65 
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF JAIRUS. 
 
 Hark ! from the house proceeds a sound of wailing, 
 Where Death to-day his bridal feast hath kept, 
 And o'er the bed of her so fondly wept 
 
 A Mother's jealous love her face is veiling 
 
 From pitying eyes ; — one noontide ray is paling 
 The child's fair brow, whence the long hair is sw^ept 
 In silken braids, and o'er her lids hath crept 
 
 The moisture of decay ; — sharp w^as her ailing 
 And sudden her decease ; but see they come, 
 The Great Physician, Peter, James, and John, 
 
 Following the Ruler to his darkened home. 
 
 *' Give place, the maiden is not dead but sleeping!" 
 
 And spite the scomer's laugh, the Holy One 
 
 Put forth His hand, and turned to joy their weeping. 
 
56 SACRED THOUGHTS. 
 
 I love not well to see the hornbeams clinging 
 Unto their garniture of withered leaves ; 
 It is a melancholy sight, that grieves 
 
 My inward spirit, when the groves are flinging 
 
 Their summer robes aside, and freely swinging 
 Their branches in the wind. Are these not they 
 Who prize their ancient pleasures in decay ? 
 
 And clasp the crumbling phantoms, altho' bringing 
 
 Delight no more ? Hark ! through the woods a voice, 
 " Cast off, oh, Christians ! these deceits, and bare 
 
 Your very hearts to Heaven ; set not your choice 
 
 Upon the vanity which passeth by. 
 
 But bide the storm, and press ye on to share 
 
 The promised Spring of Immortality !" 
 
SACRED THOUGHTS. 57 
 
 Oh, blessed Liturgy, that leads us on 
 
 By gentle steps ! — Now the Priest's words proclaim 
 
 God's pardoning love, and bid us humbly name 
 On bended knees our many sins ; — anon 
 Confession, and meek lips, with sorrow wan. 
 
 And eyes o'erflowing, brighten, as they claim 
 
 The Absolution, whilst Devotion's flame 
 Bums steadily ; — ^from prayer to benison, 
 
 We hasten forward, when the Psalm gives place 
 To that blest book " which all that run may read." 
 Once more the Chant arises, and the Creed, 
 
 That Casket of our Faith, is heard, each face 
 Turned to the East ; — again we praise and plead, 
 
 Until at last we reach the Feast of Grace. 
 
58 SACKED THOUGHTS. 
 
 Love, Joy and Grief, and Fear for ever springing, 
 Are these affections in the human heart 
 Acting an Angel's or a Demon's part ? 
 Now notes of comfort to the Pilgrim singing. 
 And now his soul with sobs of anguish wringing. 
 Lord, let the consolation and the smart 
 Be subject unto Thee ; and as Thou art 
 All wise, all just, all merciful in bringing 
 Thy wayward children to Thy feet, oh ! rule 
 
 Our every passion with Thy breath divine : 
 Add to our love, patience, and faith, and school 
 
 Our joy's exuberance ; let not grief repine 
 At Thy corrections, and bid fear be still, 
 Save when we murmur at Thy righteous will. 
 
SACRED THulKiHTS. 59 
 
 Not mine, oh ! Lord, the orisons alone 
 
 Poured forth at morning or at eventide, 
 
 When, if Devotion kneels not at my side, 
 Hahit still murmurs, with her lips of stone. 
 The oft repeated prayer now haply grown 
 
 A hollow sound, or w^orse, a task of pride ; 
 
 But give me in my spirit to abide 
 A voice that shall for ever be Thine own, 
 
 By day, by night, in crowds, or when the hush 
 Of silent, solitary thoughts give birth 
 
 To musings, which the w^orld is fain to crush, 
 Grant me this boon, O Lord ! and thus prepared 
 For good or evil, let me count the worth 
 
 Of Time, as with Thy presence it is shared. 
 
60 SACRED THOUGHTS. 
 
 If o'er our hearts the weeds of discontent 
 Grow wild and rank, and we forget to prize 
 The glorious liberty that round us lies, 
 
 Then let us gaze upon the monument, 
 
 Reared in an age when Persecution spent 
 Her fury on the fold of Christ, and spies 
 Trained by the foe, with open dragon eyes. 
 
 Watched the devoted band, who nathless went 
 Forth to the place of torture undismayed. 
 
 Oh ! Church of Faith, shall not our tears bedew 
 Thy page if carelessly beneath the shade 
 
 Of olive boughs our bridal lamps we trim, 
 When the racked Saint, with peaceful rapture, prayed, 
 
 And from the flames uprose the Virgin-Martyr's hymn ? 
 
SACKED THOUGHTS. 61 
 
 THE TWO PILLARS. 
 
 Above his Rachael's lonely desert grave 
 
 A stone the Patriarch raised, designed to tell 
 
 To future generations, where it fell. 
 The blow that rent his heart in twain, and gave 
 Her gentle soul release, no more a slave 
 
 To human fears. Surely he minded well 
 
 That day the pillar built at El Bethel, 
 The token of God's bounteous love, and clave 
 To the dear memory of that blessed hour, 
 
 Even amid his tears at Ephrath shed. 
 Oh ' ye bereaved ones, when the tempests lour 
 
 Around the tombs where lie your cherished dead,. 
 That time of darkness loses half its power, 
 
 If mercies past be then remembered. 
 
6^ SACJIED THOUGHTS, 
 
 Not for the rich and proud, and not for those 
 Who count the praise of men ahove the Word 
 Preached by the still small voice, that will be heard, 
 
 When all beside is mute, do they unclose 
 
 The Gates of Heaven ; upon their threshold glows 
 
 No dream of earth, no soul that hath preferred 
 
 The World before the Cross, or hath demurred 
 Which were the wiser choice ; but Meekness shows 
 
 Her lovely presence there, and Patience keeps 
 The sacred portal. Faith, with angel eye, 
 
 Standeth without, and there Kepentance weeps, 
 And lifts, by Hope, directed to the sky. 
 Her drooping head, while pale Humility 
 
 The harvest of her self-abasement reaps. 
 
SACRED THOUGHTS. 63 
 
 Hark ! where the waters of eternal grace 
 Gush from the rock a full sufficient tide, 
 The voice is heard by Esaj prophecied 
 To that beloved, but rebellious, race. 
 Chosen by God of old. The honoured place 
 Of sons and daughters must they now divide 
 With strangers and with slaves unsanctified, 
 Aliens from Israel, who cannot trace 
 
 From Abraham and Isaac their descent. 
 Yea ! broad and deep is this baptismal wave. 
 An unexhausted and exhaustless river. 
 Who bathes in Faith is blessed and for ever, 
 
 And happy they whose constant souls are bent 
 To keep its impress pure unto the grave. 
 
64 SACKED THOUGHTS. 
 
 " Ye know not what ye ask," wherefore desire 
 Riches that make them wings to flee away, 
 The pomps of Earth that lure while they betray. 
 
 And honours that may chance to feed the fire, 
 
 Where in ambition heavenly thoughts expire ? 
 " Ye know not what ye ask." Would ye delay 
 The flight of those ye dearly love, or pray 
 
 For health undimmed, or haply ye require 
 
 Boons greater still? — " Ye know not what ye ask,' 
 
 God's love is shown, in that your idle prayers 
 Nothing avail ; — perchance a nobler task 
 Awaits you here than liberty to bask 
 
 In pleasure and in joy, whilst unawares 
 
 Steals forth the foe your fields to plant with tares. 
 
SACRED THOUGHTS. 65 
 
 Let me take heed, lest I, while swift to hear 
 The Word of God, am slothful to obey ; 
 Let me take heed, lest when I seek the way 
 To Life eteme, Hypocrisy is near 
 To tempt me from that path of faith and fear, 
 In Controversy's barren woods to stray, 
 A saint in name, — in truth a castaway ! 
 Oh ! Saviour, do Thou wTite, in lines severe, 
 This lesson on my inmost heart, and guide 
 
 My feet within the Vineyard of thy Church ; 
 Let not the service of my lips proceed. 
 When far from Thee my soul is drawn aside ; 
 
 Try Thou my spirit. Lord, and sift and search, 
 And make my life appear a comment on my creed. 
 
66 SACRED THOUGHTS. 
 
 Above the City's tumult is there heard 
 
 A voice whose iron tongue invites to prayer, 
 That hallow'd sound cleaves it the murky air, 
 
 Bidding us flock to hst the written Word ? 
 
 In the fresh morning, ere the world hath stirr'd. 
 The fountain of our thoughts, does it declare 
 That same kind bell, its healing message where 
 
 Cluster the hamlet chimneys, and the bird 
 
 To the rude summons tunes his matin song ? 
 
 Then be our senses quick to comprehend 
 That to the Sabbath not alone belong 
 
 The worship and the praise, which should ascend 
 A daily sacrifice His Courts among. 
 
 Who at all seasons is the Sinner's Friend. 
 
SACRED THOUGHTS. 67 
 
 CONVERSION OF ST. PAUL. 
 
 Dear Lord ! wliat have we here ? A man whose soul 
 
 Once humed with zeal Thy saints to persecute, 
 
 A Pharisee, who lahour'd to refute 
 With " threat 'nings and with slaughter" the control 
 Of Thy thrice blessed Name, now doth enrol 
 
 His own amongst the brethren whom repute 
 Proclaims the objects of his wrath — nor mute. 
 
 Nor void of loftiest power the grace which stole 
 Into his heart when Ananias laid 
 
 On him his hands by Thy command, withal 
 Restoring sight. A precious Festival 
 
 Truly is this, and be Thy Church array 'd 
 
 In robes of praise and flowers that cannot fade. 
 While she adores Thee for Thy servant Paul. 
 
68 SACRED THOUGHTS. 
 
 If thou, Jerusalem, who wert the seat 
 Of David's throne, the city loved of Him 
 Who reigneth aye hetween the Cheruhim ; 
 If thou, whose stones were trodden hy the feet 
 Of Prophets and Apostles, yea whose street 
 Bore footsteps greater far, hath to the brim 
 Filled up and drained thy cup of wrath, till dim 
 Thine eyes with weeping, and the dust is meet 
 
 To be thine only food : — if this be so, 
 Shall we not fear lest proud, perverse, and cold. 
 Our time of grace speeds by as did of old 
 Thine, Fallen One ! if we, to whom is given 
 
 The childrens' bread, still tamper with the foe. 
 Who would allure us far from God and Heaven. 
 
SACRED THOUGHTS. 69 
 
 Ere from the Mount of Terrors, Moses bore 
 
 The statutes of his God on tables twain, 
 
 And ere the Son of Man proclaimed again. 
 At Zion's Gates a milder, kinder lore, 
 The new Commandments of His love, — before 
 
 He spake, " Judge not lest ye be judged," a strain 
 
 Unutterably sweet on Egypt's plain 
 Arose when Joseph ruled the Monarch's store ; 
 
 Faith, Charity, Forgiveness, in his breast 
 Together dwelt, working each Christian grace : 
 When pale, with shame, his brethren sought his face, 
 
 What tender words their guilty dread represt, 
 " Fear not, — for am I in Jehovah's place ? — 
 
 Be comforted, and take with me your rest !" 
 
70 SACRED THOUGHTS. 
 
 Our bounded vision hath no wider scope 
 
 Than the Time Present, coloured by the Past, , 
 But let the clouds of Disappointment cast 
 
 Their gloom on the horizon of our Hope, 
 
 Too soon despairingly we cry, or grope 
 Our course impatient of the coming blast. 
 Or trembling bind us to the quaking mast 
 
 Of mortal ties. Oh ! vainest thought, to cope 
 
 With Love Omnipotent, and blind as vain. 
 For never mist obscures our atmosphere, 
 
 Nor howls the wind, nor falls the beating rain, 
 But He who guides the storm will also steer 
 
 Through rock and shoal our barks, and make it plain. 
 E'en to the faithless ones, that God is near. 
 
SACKED THOUGHTS. 71 
 
 THE SNOW. 
 
 How radiant a mantle hath she donned 
 
 Within one night this winter-stricken earth ; 
 
 Whilst we crept shivering to the blazing hearth, 
 Heaven's blessed answer failed not to respond 
 To her mute prayer, and, lo ! th' enchanter's wand, 
 
 Hath clothed her thus in robes of precious worth ; 
 
 Now let the storms sweep on in their fierce mirth, 
 They cannot chill her bosom — ^warm and fond, 
 
 Let the thick clouds darken the rayless sun, 
 They cannot hurt the buried seed, nor blight 
 
 The buds in hidden silence bursting there ; 
 Shall we not also ask a cloke of light. 
 
 The spotless raiment of the Sinless One, 
 Our shield from woe — our shelter in despair ! 
 
73 SACKED THOUGHTS. 
 
 The labour chant of maidens who surround 
 
 The village well, and loiter as they sing ; — 
 T' uncertain notes, half sweet, half quavering, 
 
 That from the weary vagrant's lips resound 
 The mother's cradle hymn — the voice renowned 
 
 Above its mates, whose tutor'd graces fling 
 
 A spell about young hearts ; — the songs which spring 
 From happy children, (music's wildest ground,) 
 
 Or the old ballad by the Christmas fire 
 Warbled at eve ; — how vocal is the earth ! 
 
 Let not these tones be mute, when from the choir 
 Peals jubilant the organ's solemn mirth. 
 
 And Psalms of penitential woe expire, 
 To yield a place to themes of loftier birth. 
 
SACRED THOUGHTS. 73 
 
 Pray for the Sailor ! pray for those who earn 
 A scanty living on the waters wide, 
 That our luxurious homes may he supplied 
 
 With daily comforts ; — ^when thine eyes discern 
 
 A storm up-gath'ring in the west ; — oh ! turn 
 From worldly thoughts of pleasure and of pride, 
 And gaze in fancy on that wrathful tide, 
 
 Whose surges sing of death in accents stern ; 
 It may be that ere night the sinner's cries 
 Of agony will o'er the waves be flung ; 
 
 Oh ! pray for those who for themselves pray not ; 
 It may be that ere mom the hymn will rise 
 Faith's latest effort from the Christian's tongue, 
 
 *' Depart in peace !" be not these words forgot ! 
 
74 ' SACRED THOUGHTS. 
 
 KING CHARLES THE MARTYR. 
 
 What majesty of grief is this which rears 
 
 Unto the skies his " grey discrowned head ?" 
 
 Whose the calm eye, the firm, unflinching tread, 
 That speaks a triumph over human fears ? 
 Behold a scaffold pledged to blood and tears. 
 
 Behold the Lord's Anointed thither led ; 
 
 A witness to the power divinely shed 
 Around the throne of kings ! The lapse of years 
 Leaves on the nation's brow the crimson stain 
 
 Of that unhallow'd deed, although the groan 
 Still doth arise of thousands prompt to own 
 
 The deep offence ; — and thus must it remain, 
 Did not the Lamb's own precious blood atone 
 
 For that which followed when His Saint was slain. 
 
SACKED THOUGHTS. ' 75 
 
 Yes ! be our moods inconstant as the waves, 
 Bom of perpetual change and ever-fleeting, 
 Elate with courage now, and now retreating 
 
 To seek their brethren in their nameless graves ; 
 
 Yet have these denizens of Ocean caves 
 
 A Queen to rule their wild and w^ayward beating, 
 And surely at her bidding come they greeting, 
 
 To render homage as obedient slaves : 
 
 And she, the Ladye of the Tides, hath One 
 To whom she owes her sovereignty of light. 
 
 Herself the meek recipient of His beams. 
 This be our parable. Behold the Sun 
 
 Of Righteousness is here, and the Moon seems 
 A symbol for the Church in beauty bright ! 
 
76 SACRED THOUGHTS. 
 
 Art thou as he, who sought from year to year 
 Bethesda's pool, unto his fellows praying 
 For needful aid, that suffered no delaying, 
 
 Yet destined Disappointment's bitter tear 
 
 Unheeded still to shed ? Around thy bier 
 Of living death, say, are those waters playing. 
 The Angel's looked-for touch of love obeying. 
 
 Others to heal, and leave thee moaning here ? 
 Be thy faith strong — thy patience all unfailing, 
 
 And at thy bed of grief or sin shall stand 
 
 One, Who can turn to songs of joy thy wailing, 
 
 More merciful than the unpitying band 
 
 Which passed thee by, — more powerful to save 
 Than he who virtue to Bethesda gave. 
 
SACRED THOUGHTS. . ^ 77 
 
 Yet, if indeed thy prayer is not unheard, — 
 If thy long years of faith thus sorely tried, 
 And humble watchfulness have drawn aside 
 The Great Physician's steps, — if at His word 
 Thou wert made whole, although the Angel stirred 
 The waters not for thee, — spread far and wide 
 The w^ondrous deed, and be thou too espied. 
 Like him of old, with worship undeferred 
 Within the Temple gates, remembering there 
 
 The voice that spake beneath the sacred dome. 
 And still speaks on as in those ages past : — 
 " Behold ! now art thou healed ; but beware 
 
 Transgression for the future, lest there come 
 On thee a heavier sentence than the last." 
 
78 SACKED THOUGHTS. 
 
 Who shed upon the rose's blushing cheek 
 
 A fragrance better than her loveHness ; 
 
 Who clothed the woodbine in a royal dress 
 Of scarlet and of gold, yet bade her speak 
 A language honey-fraught ? Who gave the meek 
 
 And blue-eyed violet (angel hermitess !) 
 
 So rich a power the wanderer to bless ? 
 Who makes the strongest yield unto the weak, — 
 The fairest to the homely, — by bestowing 
 
 The boon of tender odours on their sighs ? 
 Is it not He, whose hand is overflowing 
 
 With spiritual gifts, and Who supplies 
 Grace to His human blossoms, whether growing 
 
 In Beauty's sheen, or weeds of humbler guise ? 
 
SACRED THOUGHTS. 
 
 The world had numbered Angel guests before, 
 
 The special ministers of God's command 
 
 On Mamre's plain, and when the winged band 
 Witnessed th' eternal promise to restore 
 
 E'en through the Sleeper's seed, of blessing more 
 Than perished at the Fall ; and he whose hand 
 Led Israel forth from the Egyptian's land. 
 
 And that bright form who to Manoah bore 
 Tidings of joy : — but not till now had tongue 
 
 Uttered such words as the Archangel spake 
 Unto the Maid of Nazareth, while sung 
 
 The listening hosts of Heaven ; mission unmeet 
 For meaner lips than Gabriel's to take 
 
 Straight from the radiance of the Mercy-Seat ' 
 
80 SACRED THOUGHTS. 
 
 Oh ! Virgin Mother, truly 'twere a wrong 
 To hail thee as a Goddess, and transfer 
 The service of each contrite worshipper, 
 
 That to thy Son Emmanuel should belong, 
 
 To thy meek shrine ; — yet if thy Heav'n-taught song 
 Of exultation faileth not to stir 
 Our hearts with praise, surely we do not err 
 
 In rev 'rend love, to count thy place among 
 
 The chiefest of God's saints, who wert esteemed 
 
 Worthy to be His Parent upon earth, 
 
 (The chosen shoot from Jesse's sacred stem ;) 
 Oh ! holy Mary, how can the redeemed 
 
 Forget the Author of that wondrous birth, 
 Or her blest pains at lowly Bethlehem ! 
 
SACRED THOUGHTS. 81 
 
 The faithful woods have cast their summer leaves, 
 
 Save where the laurel's shining boughs are seen, 
 
 Or ilex stands in ever-living green, 
 Or arbutus a fairy bower weaves 
 
 Of fruit and flowers. The swallow from the eaves 
 Long hath departed, and the honey queen 
 Her duties well fulfilled, calm and serene. 
 
 Hath laid her down to perish ; — Nature grieves 
 Above her children's tombs, and yet despair 
 
 The pulses of her bosom never stirs. 
 For spring will come, when trees will bloom as fair. 
 
 The swallow chirp as gaily, and the bee 
 
 Go murmuring forth among the golden furze, 
 Blythe as of old ; — may we not also share, 
 
 Dear Lord, this pledge of Immortality ! 
 
82 SACRED THOUGHTS. 
 
 It may be tliat the voice of praise hath stilled 
 
 Thy conscience with its syren lullaby ; 
 
 It may be that the friends of Home supply 
 Thy heart's desires, or happy Love hath filled 
 Thy hands with roses, fair enough to build 
 
 A bower in the Desert ; — or the cry 
 
 Of bitter tongues, perchance, hath made thee fly 
 For refuge to self worship, those who chilled 
 
 Thy young affections, scoffing at thy pride : 
 Oh ! learn alike to fear the weal and woe. 
 
 As wandering rivers that far distant glide. 
 From whence the springs of living waters flow. 
 Among whose banks and darksome hollows grow 
 
 Pernicious fruits, and weeds unsanctified. 
 
ONE LOOK ALONE ! 83 
 
 ONE LOOK ALONE! 
 
 When infant sorrows stir our breasts, 
 
 And bring the April showers down ; 
 And hidden thorns the truth attests 
 
 How faithless is the May-day crown ; 
 Swift to our mother's arms we fly, 
 
 There joy must welcome back her own, 
 Nor need be uttered lullaby, 
 
 No words, — no words, — one look alone ! 
 
 When bright with hope the fields of June, 
 
 And summer flowers are opening wide, 
 And young hearts beat to Passion's tune, 
 
 Who worldly harmonies deride ; 
 Enough for them, if they can meet 
 
 A soul to thrill with kindred tone, 
 And ask, whilst kneeling at her feet. 
 
 No words, — no words, — one look alone ! 
 
 When Autumn storms have rent the vine. 
 And scattered round her purple store, 
 
 And ancient friends their trust resign, 
 For thoughts they never knew before ; 
 
 M 
 
84 LINES WPJTTEN IN PEMBROKE CASTLE. 
 
 Oh ! hasten ere the vintage hour, 
 To bind the branches overthrown, 
 
 Brief task, where Love still walks in power. 
 No words. — no words, — 07ie look alone ! 
 
 When in the stark December glades 
 
 Hushed are the songs of bird and bee. 
 And music-loving nature fades 
 
 Into a death-cold lethargy ; 
 If by a fresh turned grave we stand, 
 
 And weeping kiss the sacred stone. 
 We hear a voice, — we clasp a hand, — 
 
 No words, — no words, — 07ie look alone ! 
 
 LINES WRITTEN IN PEMBROKE CASTLE. 
 
 I leant against a battlement of Pembroke's ruins grey, 
 As sunshine on the Castle wall smiled nature's holiday. 
 While dear friends sought with fearless steps each 
 
 donjon, keep, and tower. 
 Or sketched a sweet memorial for many an after hour : 
 
LINES WRITTEN IN PEMBROKE CASTLE. 85 
 
 But not with these I gaily roved, and not with those I 
 
 scanned 
 The bastion and pointed arch by Norman builder 
 
 planned, 
 Or transferred with a skilful hand into the travelled 
 
 page 
 Monckton's dim Priory, that told of a remoter age : 
 
 For then a dreamy retrospect absorbed my heart and 
 
 brain, 
 I lived mid shadows of the Past, which seemed to 
 
 breathe again, 
 And silently my memory woke the legends of the 
 
 place 
 That owns the birth of Richmond's Earl, the founder 
 
 of his race. 
 
 In yon cold chamber, ivy- wreathed, first opened to 
 
 the light 
 The infant eyes of him who gave our ancestors their 
 
 right,— 
 The hardiest soldier of his time, — the crowned of 
 
 Bosworth field, 
 Th' prosperous monarch who could rest securely on 
 
 his shield : 
 
86 LINES WEITTEN IN PEMBROKE CASTLE. 
 
 A mother's kiss here smoothed the brow bom to a 
 diadem, 
 
 And pressed the hand that should unite the rival 
 roses' stem, 
 
 A mother's love here watched the dawn of that deep- 
 thinking mind, 
 
 And guarded well the little feet for rougher paths 
 designed : 
 
 Within that court the bold boy leapt upon liis gallant 
 
 steed. 
 Or gave with childish eagerness the wandering bard 
 
 his meed, 
 How proud the morning when he donned his shining 
 
 maiden sword. 
 Or rode a tilt, or twanged a bow down on yon grassy 
 
 sward. 
 
 Yes ! Henry, yes ! thou wert the first of that bright 
 
 Tudor line. 
 Which o'er the destinies of worlds once shed its rays 
 
 divine. 
 Poor England's war-stained frame to fill with renovated 
 
 youth, 
 The friend of Science, and of Art, the champion of 
 
 Truth. 
 
LI^ES WEITTEN IN PEMBEOKE CASTLE. 87 
 
 Thus steeped in History's lore, my soul looked back 
 
 upon the past, 
 Too anxious to endue with life the treasures there 
 
 amassed, 
 Kecalling with a throbbing pulse those old triumphant 
 
 days, 
 Which crowned our Isle with laurel wreaths, and girt 
 
 her paths with praise : 
 
 And fain would I have conjured up in glorious review, 
 The giant spirits of that age, — the wise, — the brave, 
 
 — the true, — 
 When British armies won the field, and British ships 
 
 the sea, 
 And Poesy went hand in hand with proud Philosophy : 
 
 But higher interests fixed my thoughts, and led my 
 
 errant pen. 
 For then Religion was released from Superstition's 
 
 den, 
 The cords were loosed from her feet, the bandage from 
 
 her eyes. 
 And her white hands again were raised unsullied to 
 
 the skies : 
 
88 LINES WRITTEN IN PEMBROKE CASTLE. 
 
 Though stripped of Popish ornaments her raiment 
 
 was not mean, 
 For Kings her nursing fathers were, her mother 
 
 reigned a Queen, 
 And Martyrs poured their Hfe drops forth for her a 
 
 ruby store, 
 While pearls from God's own priceless Word about 
 
 her neck she bore : 
 
 Then forth she walked, meekly serene as when in 
 
 days of eld, 
 The holy Patriarchs of our Church her loveliness 
 
 beheld. 
 Undaunted at the bigot's curse, — the axe, — the stake, 
 
 — the chain, — 
 And strengthened in the lofty hearts that followed in 
 
 her train : 
 
 And still she lingers upon earth, watched by a faith- 
 ful band. 
 
 Her presence fills our homes with love, and con- 
 secrates the land. 
 
 And jealous spies surround her camp, lest the foe 
 enter in. 
 
 To sully her bright purity with folly and with sin. 
 
THE CHURCH IN THE WILDERNESS. 89 
 
 Spare then, oh ! ruthless Time, I pray, these high and 
 hoary towers, 
 
 Long o'er these battlements renew the waving ivy- 
 flowers. 
 
 So future pilgrims hither led, perchance, these walls 
 may trace, 
 
 And bless, w^hilst musing on their Faith, the Koyal 
 Tudor race ! 
 
 THE CHURCH IN THE WILDERNESS. 
 
 No name but His ! within His house there rest 
 
 No records of the hands that fashioned it, 
 No vain memorial of the pious breast 
 
 Whence first arose the hallow^ed thought to fit 
 A temple for His service in the wild ; — 
 
 Their offerings and their worship both were given 
 Free as the Magi's to the Saviour Child, 
 
 Nor counted they the cost to win the smile of Heaven. 
 
90 THE CHURCH IN THE WILDERNESS. 
 
 No name but His ! liigh o'er the porch is raised 
 
 The symbol of His passion, wind and rain 
 Oft have assailed it, since the builder gazed 
 
 With thankful eyes on the completed fane, 
 And in yon niche beneath, with grateful care. 
 
 The Mother and her holy Babe enshrined, 
 Who smiled alike on all who entered there. 
 
 The sinner, and the saint, the noble, and the hind. 
 
 No name but His ! softly the orient light 
 
 Pours in its radiance, through the window planned 
 To shadow forth His Trinity, and dight 
 
 With store of emblems, of His high command. 
 His meekness, and His mercy ; whether crowned, 
 
 Or as a shepherd, strong in love he bends 
 Beneath the burden of the lost one found, 
 
 Or as the Lamb of God, His flag of peace extends. 
 
 No name but His ! Upon the Altar stone 
 
 His monogram is sculptured, and above 
 The tokens of His death and suffering, prone 
 
 To lift our hearts with reverential love ; 
 Nave, aisles, and chancel, tower, and roof, and floor, 
 
 Where er we turn one mind inspires them all, 
 No name but His whom only we adore, 
 
 No record but of Him on whom alone we call ! 
 
" HIC JACET." 91 
 
 HIC JACET." 
 
 Let Pride, and Pomp, and Glory claim 
 The marble tomb, the sculptUr'd urn, 
 
 But in our heart of hearts thy name 
 Shall, like a lamp undying, burn. 
 
 Beneath the aspen's trembling shade. 
 That scarcely veils the morning sun, 
 
 Where erst thy childish footsteps played. 
 With flowers thy bed is over-run : 
 
 There art thou sleeping, — yet not so, 
 Th' immortal essence haply stays 
 
 Our tears to soften as they flow, 
 
 Upwards our drooping brows to raise. 
 
 Yes ! still we see thy gliding form, 
 The wavings of thy shadowy hair, 
 
 The pressure of thy hand is warm. 
 
 Thy voice, the voice of Love and Prayer. 
 
 N 
 
92 "HIC JACET." 
 
 We know thee now as when we thought, 
 Rejoicing on thy early days, 
 
 And marvell'd at a mind so fraught 
 With Modesty's translucent rays ; 
 
 So humble, that it fain would hide 
 E'en from itself, its inner life, — 
 
 So gentle, that a look of pride 
 Wounded it sore as mortal strife. 
 
 What need hadst thou of Duty's chain 
 To bind thee to thy household cares, 
 Or of Obedience to restrain 
 ' Thy quiet feet from worldly snares ? 
 
 The twilight of a blessed home, — 
 
 Thy father's fields, and fireside glow, — 
 
 These were thy pleasures, and to roam 
 A dark mysterious sound of woe. 
 
 And well thy " first domestic loves," 
 By him,'!'- the deep in spirit mourned, 
 
 With warblings filled thy native groves, 
 With bloom thy bounded path adorned : 
 
 * Coleridge. 
 
■ HIC JACET. 
 
 93 
 
 Toil (if for others) thou didst hail, 
 
 And Pain and Watching seemed to thee 
 
 But semi-tones in Life's grand scale 
 To vary its monotony : 
 
 Yet, who that saw thee could deny 
 Th' unconscious mucic of thy soul. 
 
 The soothing influence of thine eye, 
 The harmony which blent the whole : 
 
 Oh ! nothing recked thy simple worth 
 
 Of vanity, or selfish leaven, 
 We weep thee, and we bend to Earth, — 
 
 We praise thee, and we glance to Heaven ! 
 
^4 TEANSLATIONS. 
 
 XX SONNETS, 
 
 FROM THE ITALIAN OF PETBARCE 
 
 XL. IN VITA. 
 
 Albeit I have kept thee from transgressing, 
 
 Nor e'er dishonoured thee with Falsehood's strain. 
 Oh ! my ungrateful tongue ! yet art thou fain 
 
 Shame and reproach to render for my blessing; 
 
 For when I need thine aid, and would be pressing 
 To win Love's recompense, thou dost remain 
 Most icy cold, or otherwise, thy strain 
 
 Is faltering as a dreamer's low confessing ; 
 
 And ye, sad tears, throughout the livelong night 
 
 Desert me never, but when she is near 
 
 Whom ye might move, then instantly ye fail ; 
 
 Ye too, my sighs, fall faintly on my ear, 
 So prone in torturing me to take delight, 
 My gaze alone reveals my heart's fond tale. 
 
TEANSLATIONS. 95 
 
 LIV. IN VITA. 
 
 Not all the spells of the magician's art, 
 Not potent herbs, nor travel o'er the main. 
 But those sweet eyes alone can soothe my pain, 
 
 And they which struck the blow must heal the smart; 
 
 Those eyes from meaner love have kept my heart, 
 Content one single image to retain, 
 And censure but the medium wild and vain, 
 
 If ill my w^ords their honeyed sense impart ; 
 These are those beauteous eyes which never fail 
 
 To prove Love's conquest, wheresoe'er they shine. 
 Although my breast hath oftenest felt their fire ; 
 These are those beauteous eyes which still assail 
 
 And penetrate my soul with sparks divine, 
 So that of singing them I cannot tire. 
 
96 TRANSLATIONS. 
 
 LXVIII. IN VITA. 
 
 Her golden tresses to the gale were streaming, 
 
 That in a thousand knots did them entwine, 
 
 And the sweet rays which now so rarely shine 
 From her enchanting eyes, were brightly beaming, 
 And — was it fancy ? — o'er that dear face gleaming 
 
 Methought I saw Compassion's tint divine ; 
 
 What marvel that this ardent heart of mine 
 Blazed swiftly forth, impatient of Love's dreaming ? 
 
 There was nought mortal in her stately tread 
 But grace angelic, and her speech awoke 
 
 Than human voices a far loftier sound, 
 A spirit of Heaven, — a living Sun she broke 
 
 Upon my sight ; — ^what if these charms be fled ? — 
 The slackening of the bow heals not the wound. 
 
TEANSLATIONS. 97 
 
 XCVII. IN VITA. 
 
 That lovely pallor that so well concealed 
 
 Her wonted smile, like cloud in summer skies, 
 With grace untold into my heart did rise, 
 
 And each emotion hidden there revealed ; 
 
 Then I perceived what heavenly regions yield, 
 
 The looks that are exchanged in Paradise, 
 
 This tender sentiment alone these eyes 
 
 Beheld — to other sights their lids were sealed. 
 
 Each glance angelic, each meek attitude, 
 
 That e'er in woman's soul could Love hetray. 
 To that I sing contempt and scorn would be ; 
 
 Gently she bent to Earth in kindest mood, 
 Her fair regards, and silent, seemed to say, 
 ' ' My faithful friend, who take him thus from me ?" 
 
98 TEANSLATIONS. 
 
 CXXV. IN VITA. 
 
 What realm of Heaven, what unseen region, lent 
 
 The model from whence Nature took that face, 
 
 That countenance of loveliness and grace. 
 On which her utmost skill was fairly spent? 
 What fountain nymph, what goddess ever sent 
 
 Such golden ringlets to the winds' embrace ? 
 
 When did so many virtues find a place 
 Within one soul ? — Witness the fatal rent 
 
 Made in this heart of mine : — he, who her eyes 
 Has not beheld beaming on all around, 
 
 Can little reck of Beauty's noblest guise ; 
 And he, whose ear is stranger to the sound 
 
 Of her sweet laughter, honeyed speech, and sighs, 
 Knows not the power of Love to heal and wound. 
 
TEANSLATIONS. 99 
 
 / CXXVIII. IN VITA. 
 
 Oh ! bright and happy flowers and herbage blest 
 On which my Ladye. treads ; — oh ! favoured plain 
 That hears her accents sweet, and can retain 
 
 The traces by her fairy steps imprest ; — 
 
 Pure shrubs, with your young verdure newly drest, — 
 Pale amorous violets, — leafy woods, where deign 
 To pierce the Sun's warm rays, and thus sustain 
 
 Your lofty stature, and umbrageous crest ; — 
 
 Oh ! thou, fair country, and thou crystal stream ; 
 Which bathes her countenance, and sparkling eyes, 
 
 Stealing fresh lust are from their living beam ; 
 How do I envy thee these precious ties ! 
 
 Thy rocky shores will soon be taught to gleam 
 With the same flame that bums in all my sighs. 
 
100 TRANSLATIONS. 
 
 CXIJX. IN VITA. 
 
 If the soft glance, the speech, both kind and wise, 
 Of that beloved one can wound me so, 
 And if, when e'er she lets her accents flow. 
 
 Or even smiles. Love gains such victories ; 
 
 Alas ! what should I do, were those dear eyes. 
 Which now secure my life through weal and woe, 
 From fault of mine, or evil Fortune, slow 
 
 To shed on me their light in Pity's guise ? 
 And if my trembling spirit groweth cold 
 
 Whene'er I see change to her aspect spring. 
 This fear is only born of trials old ; 
 
 (Woman by nature is a fickle thing,) 
 
 And hence I know her heart hath power to hold 
 
 But a brief space Love's sweet imagining ! 
 
TRANSLATIONS. 101 
 
 CLVIII. — IN VITA. 
 
 Come, Love, and, as companions, let us, gaze 
 On glorious things beyond all Nature fair ; 
 Behold where sweetness falls in showers rare, — 
 
 Behold on earth the light of heavenly rays, — 
 
 Behold that robe, so far above our praise, 
 
 Broidered, in gold and pearl, with choicest care,- 
 Behold how gracefully these feet repair, 
 
 Led by those eyes, by hill-environed ways : 
 The verdant turf and flowers of varied hue. 
 
 Spread 'neath the shade of yonder ancient tree, 
 Pray to salute her footsteps as they glide 
 And the sweet skies kindle with brighter blue. 
 
 Rejoicing in her lovely eyes to see 
 
 Whence their serene effulgence is supplied. 
 
102 TRANSLATIONS. 
 
 CLXXXIII. IN VITA. 
 
 Say, from what vein did Love procure the gold 
 To make those sunny tresses ? From what thorn 
 Stole he the rose, and whence the dew of mom, 
 
 Bidding them hreathe and live in Beauty's mould ? 
 
 What depth of ocean gave the pearls that told 
 Those gentle accents sweet though rarely born 
 Whence came so many graces to adorn 
 
 A brow more fair than summer skies unfold ? 
 
 Oh ! say, what Angels lead, what spheres control 
 That song divine which wastes my life away ? 
 
 (Who can with trifles now my senses move ?) 
 
 What sun gav^ birth unto the lofty soul 
 
 Of those enchanting eyes, whose glances stray 
 
 To burn and freeze my heart — the sport of Love ? 
 
TRANSLATIONS. 1 03 
 
 VII. IN MORTE. 
 
 Oh t my sad eyes, our sun is overcast, — 
 
 But it hath strayed to Heaven, and there is shining, 
 
 Waiting our coming, and perchance repining 
 At our delay ; there shall we meet at last : 
 And there, mine ears, her angel words float past. 
 
 Those who best understand their sweet divining ; 
 
 Howe'er my feet, unto the search inclining, 
 Ye cannot reach her in those regions vast. 
 
 Why, then, do ye torment me thus, for oh ! 
 It is no fault of mine, that ye no more 
 
 Behold, and hear, and welcome her below ; 
 Blame Death, — or rather praise him and adore, 
 
 Who binds and frees, restrains and letteth go, 
 And to the weeping one, can joy restore. 
 
104 TKANSLATIONS. 
 
 XV. IN MOETE. 
 
 Thou hast despoiled the fairest face e'er seen, 
 
 Thou hast extinguished, Death, the brightest eyes, 
 And snapt the cord in sunder of the ties, 
 
 Which bound that spirit brilliantly serene ; 
 
 In one short moment, all I love has been 
 Tom from me, and dark silence now supplies 
 Those gentle tones ; my heart which bursts with 
 sighs, 
 
 Nor sight, nor sound, from weariness can screen : 
 Yet doth my Ladye, by compassion led, 
 
 Return to solace my unfaiHng woe, 
 
 Earth yeilds no other balm : — oh ! could I tell 
 
 How bright she seems, and how her accents flow, 
 Not unto man alone, Love's flames would spread. 
 But even bears and tigers share the spell. 
 
TRANSLATIONS. 105 
 
 XI. IN MORTE. 
 
 If when the birds their strains of sadnesss pour, 
 
 Or green leaves to the summer breezes wake ; 
 Or when, upon a fresh and flowery shore. 
 
 The crystal waves in liquid murmurs break, 
 
 Then if I sit thoughtful for Love's sweet sake. 
 She, whom Earth hides, and Heaven holds in store. 
 
 Appears, and from her distant home doth make 
 This answer to the sorrows I deplore : — 
 
 " Ah ! wherefore art thou in such haste to die?" 
 Fondly she asks me, — " wherefore and for whom 
 
 Gush forth the tears, in torrents, from thine eye ? 
 Weep not for me, for from the dismal tomb 
 
 Hath sprung eternal happiness, and I, 
 In truth, awoke, when Death wrapt me in seeming 
 gloom." 
 
106 TRANSLATIONS 
 
 XX. IN MORTE. 
 
 My heavy sighs fill the surrounding ear, 
 
 As from these rugged slopes I view the plain 
 Where she was born, who held my heart in chain 
 
 When, in the flower of her age, so fair 
 
 She rose to Heaven, causing me such despair 
 By her unlooked for flight, that still I strain 
 My weary eyes to seek her, but in vain. 
 
 Whilst every spot my tears of sorrow share : 
 
 Nor is there stem nor stone among these hills, — 
 
 Branch or green leaf within these solitudes, — 
 
 Grass blade or blossom in this vale's recess, — 
 Nor flows one drop of water in these rills, — 
 
 Nor lives one beast among these savage woods 
 That knoweth not my griefs deep bitterness. 
 
TRANSLATIONS. 107 
 
 XXXIV. IN MORTE. 
 
 Methought I rose unto that upper sphere, 
 
 Where dwells she who on earth I seek in vain, 
 And, 'mid the throng of the third Heaven, again 
 
 I saw her, lovelier far, but less severe. 
 
 She took me by the hand and whispered, "Here, 
 If hope deceives not, thou shalt soon remain, 
 I am the one who caused thee so much pain, 
 
 And closed my day of life ere eve drew near ; 
 Mine is a happiness the human mind 
 
 Conceives not of, — I wait for thee alone. 
 
 And that bright veil which thou w^ert wont to prize f— 
 Ah ! wherefore paused she, and my hand resigned, 
 
 For words so gentle, and so pure in tone, 
 Had almost power to keep me in the skies. 
 
108 TBANSLATIONS. 
 
 XXXIII. IN MORTE. 
 
 Thou valley, with my fond regrets o'erflowing, 
 
 And torrent, swollen by the frequent tear ! 
 
 Dark woods, sweet birds, and fish, that all appear 
 Shut in between these slopes, with verdure glowing ! 
 Ye gales, that from my constant sighs are growing 
 
 Soft and serene ! — pathway, no longer dear. 
 
 And hill that tires, which once had power to cheer, 
 Where yet, by habit taught, Love leads my going ; 
 
 In ye your wonted aspects I discern, — 
 Not thus, alas ! with me, to whom are given, 
 
 Instead of happy life, unnumbered pains; 
 
 Here saw I my beloved, and here return 
 To view the spot whence she rose up to Heaven, 
 
 Leaving on earth nought but her fair remains. 
 
TEANSLATIONS. 109 
 
 XXXV. IN MOETE. 
 
 Love, who wert wont in happy hours to seek 
 
 These shores, when we upon our friends would dream, 
 Or settle our disputes, whilst thou didst seem 
 
 With me and with the river oft to speak ; — 
 
 Ye flowers, and leaves, ye caves, and airs,— and eke 
 High hills, deep vales, and plains that open gleam, 
 And thou blest haven mine, that would redeem 
 
 And shelter me from fortunes sad and bleak ; 
 Oh ! fair inhabitants of forests green, — 
 
 Oh ! nymphs, and ye tliat on this grassy bed 
 In liquid crystal feed and live for ever. 
 My days once bright as yours, now dark are seen. 
 
 Like Death who makes them so, — well is it said, 
 *' In this world man is free from sorrow never !" 
 
110 TKANSLATIONS. 
 
 XXXVII. IN MORTE. 
 
 Beautiful spirit ! loosened from the ties 
 
 The loveliest that Nature's skill could weave, 
 Think of my sadness in thy Heaven, and leave 
 
 Awhile thy happy musings for my sighs : 
 
 No more those treacherous feelings can arise 
 
 Which made me once thy gaze of coldness grieve. 
 Now all securely may thine ears receive 
 
 My plaint, and thou may'st bend on me thine eyes. 
 Look on the rock whence Sorga flows, and there, 
 
 Amid bright flowers and streams, one thou wilt see, 
 Who on thy memory feeds, and on despair ; 
 
 But though Love's birth-place unto thee and me, 
 Let not thy late abode thy glances share, 
 
 Lest thou behold what would displeasing be. 
 
TRANSLATIONS. Ill 
 
 XLII. IN MORTE. 
 
 Zephyr returns, the radiant season bringing, 
 
 With her fair family of grass and flowers ; 
 And Progne chirps, and Philomel is singing 
 
 Her notes of woe, while blush the springtide hours, 
 The laughing fields, the skies with gladness ringing, 
 
 Make Jove rejoice, to view his daughter's bowers, 
 In every living creature Love is springing. 
 
 And earth, and air, and water own his powers. 
 But ah ! the heaviest sighs return to me, — 
 
 Sighs drawn from out my breast, by her who reigns 
 In Heaven, o'er my heart so potently ; 
 
 The hills may bloom, and birds pour forth their 
 strains, 
 And lovely women pass, but I can see 
 
 Nothing but savage wilds and desert plains. 
 
112 TEANSLATIONS. 
 
 LXIX. IN MORTE. 
 
 Dear precious pledge, by Nature snatclied away, 
 
 But yet reserved for me in realms undying ; 
 
 Oh ! thou on whom my life is aye relying, 
 Why tarry thus, when for thine aid I pray ? 
 Time was, when Sleep could to mine eyes convey 
 
 Sweet visions, worthy thee ; — why is my sighing 
 
 Unheeded now — ^who keeps thee from replying ? 
 Surely contempt in Heaven cannot stay : 
 
 Often on earth the gentlest heart is fain 
 To feed and banquet on another's woe, 
 
 (Thus Love is conquered in his own domain,) 
 But thou, who seest through me, and doth know 
 
 All that I feel, — thou, who canst soothe my pain, 
 Oh! let thy blessed shade its peace bestow. 
 
TRANSLATIONS. 113 
 
 XC. IN MORTE. 
 
 Thou wandering bird, that melancholy lay 
 
 Thou singest o'er thy vanished hours of glee, 
 
 For night and winter close upon the lea, 
 And all thy joyous months have sped away ; 
 If thou couldst know that I too am a prey 
 
 To heavy grief, and thus our fates agree ; 
 
 Then to this aching bosom thou would'st flee 
 To share the woes which nothing can allay : 
 Haply the absent mate thou dost deplore 
 
 Still lives and sings, though in a distant glade ; 
 But Death and Heaven have taken all my store. 
 
 Yet this dark season, and eve's coming shade. 
 Recalling sweet and bitter things of yore, 
 
 Invite for thee my pity's gentle aid. 
 
 WOLVERHAMPTON: W. PAIIKE, PRIKTER, HIGH STREET. 
 
FR6899 
 
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