Cornell University jbrary The original of tliis book is in the Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31 92401 3531 557 M N A' S ISLE, tx m^mt BY T. J. OUSELEY. ** I see the Deep's untrampled floor '.iL^With green and purple sea-weeds strown ; I see the waves upon the shore, Like light dissolved in star-rshowers, thrown: I sit upon the sands alone. The lightning of the noon-tide ocean Is flashing round me, and a tone Arises from its measured motion. How sweet ! did any heart now share in my emotion." Shellby. LONDON: WOODFALL AND Kyj'DEE, ANGEL COTTRT, SKnOfEIb '^|bEET ; SHREWSBURY: JOHN DAVIES, HIGH STREET. 1853. TO THE EIGHT HONOURABLE BENJAMIN DISHAELI, M.p., D.C.L., ETO., ETC., £T0. ' MtDbak Sik, It affords me both pride and gratification to dedicate this Volume to you; the profound Statesman, the brilliant Orator, and the Conservator of our Country's honour. Nothing that I could , ■write, in the shape of eulogy, would be commensurate ■with your distinguished and unrivalled talents ; and, humble though the tribute be, believe me it is a spontaneous homage to Genius, from Yours ever faithfully, T, J, OUSELET. Sheewsbuet, July, 1853. PREFACE. The chief Poem in this Volume is merely a Sketch of the Natural Beauties of the Isle of Man. The historical portions are gleaned from the works of SachoTerell, Oswald, Camden, and Waldron. The Author is fally sensible of his inabiUty to do justice to the enchanting Scenery of Mona. Painters and Sculptors can, at best, but produce a faint resemblance to Nature. Claude's landscapes, however rich in colouring and beauty, are but mockeries, contrasted with reality;— the marble, moulded into exquisite proportions by the genius of Canova, lacks the quintessence of all things— life. The Artist may deceive the eye with colours dipt in heaven, but his bouquet is without perfume. So the Poet must fail, who would presume (with imager}') to convey to the mind the unapproachable splendour of Nature;— whether in her aspect of Grandeur, or in the more simple and delicate objects that move, or breathe fragrance, beneath her magic wand. Although the human heart may feel the enchantment connected with the sublime or beautiful, the lips are sealed, and the hand is powerless. PREFACE. adequately to portray them. His object will be attained if he has added, in the most trifling degree, to the interest already existing relative to the Fairy Island. The Miscellaneous Poems he trusts may meet with favour from many of his readers, as the majority of them have reference to the Domestic Affections, and appeal to the heart as well as to the understanding. Doubtless there are numerous blemishes; — who shall presume to claim the attribute of perfectioni CONTENTS. MONA'S ISLE:— PAGE DouaiiAS 1 Castlbtowk 21 Pbbi. 35 RiMSBT 51 Ancient Maddsss asd Custous . 68 The Brttids .... 83 MTRCELLANEOUS POEMS:— The Well of Life ... 93 Mt Mother . . . . 97 Life — ^What is Life? 99 A Word for the Slave .... 102 What is Poesib? ... 106 The Merciful Reproof 113 Mt Mother's Voice 116 The Dtiks Child . ... 119 Castles iii the Air . 122 Ih Meuoriah . 124 Look Back to Childhood's Hatot Bays 129 Flowers on a Grate .... 131 The Happt Season . 133 Gret Hairs . 135 Don't Care . 137 What thocsh Aoe o'betakb thee . 139 The Coast of Mberie England . 141 We all mat do good if we tet . 143 Household Words . . . . . 145 . 148 The Good Spirit 150 i ' Tiii CONTENTS. PAGE The Lost Loved Ohe . 153 To Ada Boston . 155 Stanzas to . 156 Love that dieth not . 158 Forgive and Forget . 160 The Question . . 162 The Storm 164 The Sea . 165 Fallibility . 166 Broken Promises . 167 Thoughts on visiting the Ruin of Aberystwith Castle 16S | Nature and Man 172 There's a Season tor All 174 The Angel op Spring . 176 The Noon oe Night . 178 Think of me in the Silent Ho [JRS . . 180 Bemember the Poor 182 The Quiet Hour 184 July .... . 185 The Slave 186 Stars of the Night . . 188 Words for Music 190 A Nation's Dirge . . 192 All for the Best 195 Sing On! . 198 The Season, Hour, and Place for Death . . 200 Voices from the Shore and th E Sea. . . .203 Sing the Old Song again 206 Good Thoughts . 209 Adam and the Flower . 209 The New Year 210 The Grave of Shaksperb . 216 The Dead Child 221 The Young Mother, . 222 He never made his Mother sm ILE . . , . 224 Sonnets to the Bight Hon. B. Disraeli, M.P. 226 Kenealy . 228 MONA'S ISLE. €mh tJTB /irst. ®®W®2s^S. Bbioht emerald from the Amethystian sea, Beautiful Mona rising from the deep; All who love Nature needs must worship thee, Sunlight and joj are thine; — ^the heart wiU leap With a wild rapture as the eye doth sweep Over thy fertile and majestic hOIs : Thy rocks of ages, mighty, jagged, and steep, The sparkling of thy many crystal riUs, Scenes of enchantment form, the heart with rapture fills. MONA'S ISLE. Beautiful Mona robed in ambient air; Isle of tke Sea Nymphs who around thee play ; Brave men hast thou, and women passing fair, And peaceful valleys on thy sunny way, Tempting us never from thy shores to stray : Clear are the waters that around thee flow, Pure as the cloudless sky at noon of day; Upon thy sea-girt hills wild flowers grow. Whilst sparkling waves and sands are dallying far below. The beauteous bay spreads forth its crescent arms To welcome all who hail its lovely shore; Prom DotTSLAS head to Clayhead nature's charms Win every heart : — e'en when the tempests roar, And on St. Mary's rock the waters pour, Burying beneath their waves the Refuge Tower, As on high wing the sea-gulls wildly soar ; — With awe we pause, and breathless scan the power. That floods the heaven with light, or darkness round doth lour. DOUGLAS. Fair Onchan like a cloudlet calmly lies, Studding the hill above the glassy bay ; A tiny hamlet bosomed in the skies ; Its dwellings seeming on a summer's day Like sheep when on a mountain's brow they stray. Dotting the distant verdure,— -tsnowy white : — Here Mona's fairest Maid, so Manxmen say. Dwells the admired of all, a fairy sprite, A glimpse of heaven on earth, is she, to mortal sight. I have seen many women, beauties too — Tall, short, dark, fiiir, from North, South, East, and West — Some with complexions of the oUre hue; But ne'er on human features did eyes rest So spirituel : — ^her sylph form is imprest Upon my heart for ever. Could I wed, (I really am in earnest, not in jest,) And be by Grace, and Beauty, ever led. My heart would yearn to thee, sweet, modest Mary S * * * *. B 2 MONA'S ISLE. VI. I would to tliy dear praise a song now write, But all that Poet's fancy ever penned, All that their soul of souls did e'er indite, Byron, Moore, Shelley, — aye, names without end. Cannot a lustre to perfection lend : — Old bachelors and greybeards perhaps may smile. Their smiles by no means will the matter mend. So if you '11 have but patience for awhile, I '11 do my best to sing — the Maid of Mona's Isle. 1. The Lassie of Onchan, oh, who can portray, In words, or with pencil, her figure and face ? Her smile is like sunrise just kissing the day. Enchanting her motion with each varied grace. Mary-ineen My-Chree. 2. Her blue eyes beam dovelike, her voice it is clear As tones of a lute on a calm summer sea ; The storms of life's voyage that sweet voice would cheer ; Child-like is her heart in its innocent glee. Mary-ineen My-Chree. CANTO I. DOUGLAS. 3. Her laugh is a joy, and a glance from her eyes Enraptures, yet purifies every heart ; Like rich pearls her teeth, such as Monarchs would prize ; Rose-dyed are her lips, gently breathing apart. Mary-ineen My-Chree. 4. Thy life is one beauty, beloved Mona's child, A paragon thou, an undying desire ; As modest as beautiful, soul undefiled, A saint on thy bosom might yearn to expire. Maiy-ineen My-Chree. VII. Ceased is my song, but thou canst never cease To hold a fond place in my memory : In the far past thou shin'st a star of peace Like Eve's fair planet, which we love to see Peep from the sky when garish, day doth flee : Old men and women will their children tell. How in their youth they loved to gaze on thee. How pure and beautiful thou wert; — the Belle Of Mona's fairy isle — ^its flower of hill and dell. MONA'S ISLE. CANTO i. Near thy bold land-mark, Douglas, — one reclined Upon the mossy turf 'mid wild heath flowers ; ■ His face turned seaward to the gentle wind Basking in sunlight; — ^reckless of the hours Which greedy Time unceasingly devours : High o'er his head the mottled cloudlets hung Braided with light. — Crystalline ether towers From heaven's vast concave battlements were swung, And mid this scene of grandeur, thus the Wanderer sung : Beauty around, — sea, mountains, sunshine, calm. Sky cloudless as an infant's smiling face ; Wild thyme and field flowers shed their precious balm ; The breath of Nature all the scene doth grace ; Alone I sit, but not alone ; — my race Par from me, yet have I communion sweet With the fair spirits of sea, earth, and sky, And in my solitude I converse meet With all that can the soul's beat feelings purify. CANTO I. DOUGLAS. Is thia the bliss of human hearts ? Ah no ! Thoughts will arise to call us back to earth; E'en as the tide upon the shore will flow, Fond thoughts that other days have given birth, And clasp'd undying even in our mirth. Come o'er us, and the form we love appears Like some pure spirit, with a holy smile. Renewing youth, till joy's unbidden tears Plow from their crystal wells; — gems precious without guile. Ocean is spread before me, — on the sea Zephyrs are sporting, — every tiny wave Sheds forth a smile, — ^that smile falls not on me ; My life, is of my life the lonesome grave, One feeling only struggles hard to save My heart from death's corruption; 'tis not love, But soul's idolatry, — a lamp whose flame Sums at thy shrine as pure as stars above ; Whose light shall ne'er be quenched, fed by thy hallowed name. MONA'S ISLE. CANTO i. 4. Oh, that thou wert beside me, that thy head Was pillowed on my bosom, and thine eyes Blended with mine, — ^mine arms around thee spread; Our voices but the mingling of our sighs, Like rainbow clouds melting in sunset skies ; That I might hear the pulses of thy heart Whisper that thou art mine ; might know, might feel, That of thy life mine own did form a part. No other bUss would I that Heaven could e'er reveal. Yes, would that thou wert near me — that the light Of thine enchanting eyes should on me fall; Each glance with varied beauty pure yet bright, Soul-speaking, deeper would my heart enthrall : And the rich fulness of thy lips withal, The rosy banks which thy bright orbs Ulume With magic radiance would my joy enhance; Thy breath the incense of some rare perfume Filling the air around, my senses would entrance. DOUGLAS. 6. Oh, that thou wert beside me ! All I see Is fraught with beauty, grandeur, power divine ; The humble flowers, high rocks, the mighty sea, The depthless heavens, the fleecy clouds that shine, Th' horizon with its circling purple line ; — Each object is a wonder, a delight, A marvel to mine eyes, a mystery; I revel in the scene so passing bright. Find poetry in them, — ^but heaven, alone, with thee. Again, would thou wert near me : Once again I breathe the wish of my soul's fond desire : Alas ! my prayer for thee is like the rain That droppeth on the ocean, — to expire In the vast depth of waters; — I aspire For that which only can contentment give : In vain I call upon thy name, — thou art In spirit with me, — I should cease to live Could the remembrance of thee fade from this lone heart. B 3 10 MONA'S ISLE. 8. The world may call this madness, — be it so ; Yet 'tis not of the world, — for few may feel The pangs of an unutterable woe. Enduring thought 'neath which the brain will reel. Struggling the consuming fire to conceal That burns unceasing — till, by slow degrees. Life's hopes are sapped, Reason forsakes her throne. And to a wilderness of horror flees. Leaving the wreck of mind — unwept, unloved, unknown. Half way adown the hill a creek is seen, With lofty spiral rocks on either side ; Which form a shady and retired screen : — Upon the pebbly shore the lucid tide With its long folding waves now softly glide; Here the bold swimmer plunges, to display The cunning of his art : — with arms spread wide, Head, breast erect, he buffets with the spray, Until he gains his point, the bosom of the bay. DOUGLAS. 11 A winding path leads to this little creek, Supported, seaward, by a low stone-wall ; It looks, seen from the bay, a thread-like streak. And almost perpendicular its fall. Enough the stoutest hearted to appal : TJpon this path, just 'neath the mountain's brink, A natural well is formed, — 'tis very small ; Into this rocky cup the waters sink, Yielding to all who thirst, delicious, crystal drink. The mellow dipping of the distant oars, The swelling sails, gleaming all snowy white ; The muffled thunder of the surf, that roars Upon the Lighthouse rock : — The dazzling light Streaking the waves like molten silver, bright ; Blending with shadow of some passing cloud : From pleasure-seekers, songs of pure delight FaU on the ear, with greetings long and loud. Till night lights up her golden lamps and spreads her shroud. 12 MONA'S ISLE. The Night, the summer night, with balmy breath Kissing the twilight veiled amid the sky ; Watching with tenderness the Earth beneath : The crystal moon floating in ether, — high Above the frosted silver clouds ; whilst nigh Venus or Jupiter, whose brilliant light With a soft lustre heaven doth beautify : Or when sweet Luna hides her presence bright. Myriads of stars burst forth, — entrancing to the sight, The Night, — when silence reigns in depths profound, The Night, — when Earth is hushed in placid sleep ; The Night, — when Nature only breathes around; The Night, — when Fishermen upon the deep 'Mid toil and danger anxious watchings keep : The Night, — when tortured bosoms gain repose. When weary hearts upon the pillow weep ; The Night, — when happy dreams around us close, The Night, — great, mighty soother of all human woes. DOUGLAS. 13 XIV. The jewelled curtain rises! — O'er the sea, Like breath upon a mirror ere it fade. The distant hills of Cumberland we see ; Anon the Sun befioods the lofty shade, And pierces with his rays each vale and glade : The songs of birds fall sweet upon the ear, Melodious is their luscious serenade ; Among the purple heather-bells appear WUd bees ; — and glist'ning dewdrops, flowers and trees to cheer. From out the gorgeous East, the fair young Mom Looks forth, smiles beaming from his soft blue eyes ; A coronal of pearl his brows adorn, His robe, bright silv'ry clouds, fring'd with rich dyes. Gold tinctured. — Upon wings of light he flies. Wafting rare incense from his plumage bright. And as he climbs the clear cerulean skies. To gain his throne in the meridian height. Earth haUs his glorious presence, with a fond delight ! 14 MONA'S ISLE. canto i. The Night, the Morn, have both engrossed my song : Mona, that song is sung alone to thee ; And as I wander thy loved paths among, Let my steps stray to thy famed Nunnery ; Where, 'neath the shade of many a spreading tree, Young hearts and loving eyes have erst confest The magic of thy verdant witchery. With stifled sobs that will not be represt, Trembling, the head lies bowed upon the beating breast. XVII. Moments of bliss how brief, with joy how rife ; — Love's first gifts from a maiden are her tears ; Such gems can fall once only in a life ; None are so pure, — shed in our after years. Surrounded by earth's common hopes and fears ; The timid blush, eyes downcast, the deep sigh. The look, whose light is eloquence, — endears : Oh, that those blissful moments e'er should fly, That the fond dreams of youth, stem Time should falsify. CANTO I. DOUGLAS. 15 XVIII. No more at mom or eve the groves among Is heard the tolling of the Convent bell ; Matins and vespers pass, no sacred song, From young crushed hearts, upon the air doth swell, Void is the chapel, silent is the cell : An ivy-cover'd ruin, mouldering walls, Old trees, — are all that of the long past tell ; No more St. Bridget rules within her halls ; Where knees in prayer were bent,- bleak desolation falls. This is the very trysting-place of Love ; When the sun's golden arrows pierce the shade Of the thick trees ; when the blue sky above Looks calmly down, and nestles 'mid the glade : The variegated leaves are interlaid Like a broad rich mosaic; — Overhead The playful branches form a beauteous braid, And thus a softened light around is shed ; Nature's cathedral nave, with lofty arches spread. 16 MONA'S ISLE. canto i. XX, Kirk Braddan is a rural cemetery Not far from Douglas. The churchyard contains Some strange old monuments. — Obscurity As to th' inscriptions on them yet remains ; The centre of the burial ground sustains An ancient stone-cross, hastening to decay, This relic some rude carving still retains : At the cross' foot some large flat stones display A tempting seat, oft used upon a summer's day. Outside the church, near to the steeple's base. Is a large circular and quaint old shield Resting upon a stone. — On this we trace Figures of wolves, or dogs, in part revealed : The breath of Age its beauty has concealed ; There 's no inscription, and it bears no date ; Attraction to the curious it may yield. With us, antiquaries have little weight. They only can suppose, seem knowing, and look great. DOUGLAS. 17 XXII. Close to the entrance of the Church is placed A grave-Etone, which a rare inscription bears; It tells the Bev. Patrick Thomson graced Kirk Braddan parish more than forty years ; "At present Vicar," on the stone appears, It gives the figures, sixteen seventy-eight ; In sixteen eighty-nine, the parish tears Pell for ViiTTi most abundantly, — stern Fate For Mr. Patrick Thomson would no longer wait. XXIII. How this good Pastor's body e'er could lie Under the stone, when he was Vicar " still," Is past all comprehension. — Probably, The hale old fellow thought Death had his fill> And would not on bim exercise his skill, He weather'd out eleven years before The fiction changed, and he was really ill. Yet during Ufe his own loss he 'd deplore, And wrestled with grim Death, when near upon fourscore. 18 MONA'S ISLE. canto i. In this Church.yarcl, now free from earthly woes, Lie many strangers to fair Mona's Isle : Here young and loving hearts have found repose, Whose presence was a beauty, and whose smile Would aching bosoms of their griefs beguile. Sweet monuments of Love, fond mottoes bear, Telling of goodness, piety, erewhile : Here placid Grief ne'er yields to wan Despair, Bright amaranthine wreaths the silent sleepers wear. In the fair summer eve to wander here. And muse amid the tablets to the dead, Will often raise the sympathetic tear, Gems that affection o'er the lost will shed. We fancy that we know each form that 'a fled. We see them as in life and watch them die ; Death turns to sleep, and so we lightly tread Over their graves. We hear the Parent's sigh. Or brother's, or lov'd sister's parting agony. CAiTTO I. DOUGLAS. 19 Douglas again ! The bay spreads wide its arms ! fTear the broad sea proud Castle Mona stands, A noble structure which has many charms, Within a few yards of the level sands : It is a princely mansion, and expands Its wings of massiTe strength in stem array ; Its castellated form at once commands The attention of the stranger on his way ; Magnificence and strength, the building both display. XXTH. It was erected fifty years ago ; The cost exceeding forty thousand pounds ; Near to its base the lake-like bay does flow ; There are delightful gardens; pleasure grounds, And beauteous scenery the place surrounds ; With lovely shrubberies and choicest flowers, This palace of a castle now abounds. Here many 'mid the sylvan shades and bowers, Retire to seek repose, and pass the joyous hours. 20 MONA'S ISLE. canto i. XXVIII. Such are sweet Nature's beauties. — Of the town The least 'tis possible to say were best ; It boasts not architectural renown, Except the buildings on the hills that crest The lovely bay ; — their bearing is due west : The streets are narrow, crooked, and unclean, 111 paved, worse lighted, — despite of protest; In fact, there 's nothing in them to be seen But what is beggarly; in true parlance, they 're mean. XXIX. So farewell, Douglas ;— many a happy hour Has passed upon thy shores, and on thy hiUs; Thy pure air breathes o'er all with magic power From the vast ocean : — Thy pellucid rills Sing healthful music, as their water trills Down thy huge rocks. — With exquisite delight The eye and heart thy boundless beauty fills ; Dream-land art thou, where, radiant with light. Rich scenes of fairy realms glad the rapt dreamer's sight. €uh tJTB huv^. it* fury, fearfully will leap, The howling *tomi with blackuem veils the day, Au/J hardy tteamen «hrink, with uodifiguiiied di«may. XUL 'Mid th« Cathedral ruin* arc the grare* (H «hipwreek«d mariner*, with rude carved «tone« Hh<,viiiij( the natiie* of »onie the rtormy wave* Have ca«t u^Htn the coa«t ; heartied are their bone* Where the storm «ii>irit a sad requiem moaoti ; Strangers lie there, yet sleep in tranquil rest, Tlic-ir kindred know not of them, their loved tones No more will charm the ear or »c*oth« the breast ; O'er these no graven slab, name, age, or sex attest. 42 MONA'S ISLE. canto hi. Within the area of the grounds, and based, With sides that point due North, South, Bast, and West, A mound, formed pyramidical, is placed ; It is supposed that here the ashes rest Of those whom fame or fortune most had blest; Some think here mustered all the men at arms, Whom the chief warrior from this spot addressed When circumscribed by foes, mid war's alarms; Whichever tale be true, it hath romantic charms. Soft is the sward about this ancient mound, Like velvet to the tread, an emerald green ; Such as the Fairies well might gambol round, When fair Titania would her court convene ; And silver moonbeams light the enchanted scene; Or when through the old port holes stars peep out. Like loving eyes, with glances sweet, serene, As coy young elfins sidelong look, and pout. Why should not sprites, like earthly maids, pretend to doubt ? CAKTO III. PEEL. 43 Along the shore, both north and south, abound, Scooped bj the constant tides, romantic caves ; Upon the western side a cavern 's found, Of vast extent. In storms the furious waves Force entrance here, as loud the tempest raves : Strata, of rich and variegated dyes. Form in this cavern massive architraves ; Here substances from minerals arise, Encrusting the vast concave, which Time beautifies. XVII. Cornelians oft are found amongst the sand, That fringes round the bosom of the bay ; Agates and curious pebbles deck the strand. Which marvel-loving people choose to say Are cast there by the sea-nymphs in their play: By moonlight 'tis delightful here to stroll, And sing, to one, a love-beseeching lay; Or e'en in simple prosaic parole, Tell of the hopes, the fears, and joys that rend the soul. 44 MONA'S ISLE. canto hi. Of Peel itself, but little need be said ; The town is old, has very crooked streets. Like some Scotch sea-side village ; — its chief trade, The herring fishery. — They place stone seats In front of almost every house. — One meets A tail-less cat beside each cottage door, Which never, when the sun shines, thence retreats. The population appear very poor, Speak Manx, drink spirits, smoke, and all life's ills endure. The fishermen, a hardy-looking race. Rough jackets wear and trowsers, aU of blue ; Hats, with pitch'd canvas cover'd, their heads grace : When fishing 's over, and there 's nought to do, They lounge in idleness, and smoke or chew At times, half-naked children they will nurse, A rugged picture for an artist's view. To ease their tempers often swear and curse — Men usually get snappish with an empty purse. OASTO HI. PEEL. 45 To mark the time they had a simple way : Near to the entrance of the Castle gate, There iised to be, to get the noon of day, A space, ten feet by one, it bears no date. Whitewashed, with one black line drawn down it straight, Four inches broad, — aright in the centre placed; TiU. the gate's shadow reached this they would wait, When twelye o'clock was by the dial traced; From this the true meridian time was always based. Near Peel there is a lone sequester'd deU, Called Glen Meay. A gentle rivulet. Descending from the hills, doth hither well ; By underwood and wild flowers 'tis beset ; With daffodils, the primrose, violet. Is formed a shady and delightful bower; From this cascade the silver streamlets jet : O'er a huge ledge of rocks, with uncheck'd power. The crystal gurgling waters musically shower. 46 MONA'S ISLE. canto hi. This is the very trysting-place of Love ; The light falls mellowed through the emerald leaves, Distill'd from the sweet floral wreath above : The ivy o'er the rock a network weaves, To which with constancy each tendril cleaves ; The trickling water lulls the heart to rest, Eyes speak with thought, the conscious bosom heaves. The head falls silent on the loving breast, Words would dispel the charm, the truth is all confest. Love is the Child of Beauty ; all we see, That purely falls upon our outward eyes, Wins from the heart th« fondest sympathy : The rainbow spanning with its arch the skies, riowers from whose lips rich fragrancies arise ; The moving shadows from the clouds above. O'er the ripe golden grain. — The varied dyes Of trees most beautiful ; list from the grove, How songsters trill sweet notes ;— all Nature breathes of Love. CAJSTO III. PEEL. 47 Here 's Tynwald Hill, that famous antique spot, Where promulgated are the Island's laws ; Revered by Manxmen, 'twill ne'er be forgot ; For on this mound did Freedom plead their cause. Solemnity reigns here, — no rude applause Disturbs the gravity that should prevail ; Here, breathless, multitudes attent would pause, Whilst life or death were pending in the scale, And many would the fate of one poor wretch bewail. XXV. Tradition tells us the condemned to die Might a remission of their sentence gain. If through the crowd of people they could fly, On the lake side, and Tinwall Stone attain ; Many have run the race for life in vain. The cone, in height, measures about twelve feet ; It bears no ornament, is very plain ; Here the officials in due order meet, According to his rank each takes th' appointed seat. 48 MONA'S ISLE. The mound's circTimference is eighty yards, Three terraces in circles round it twine ; Here seated the chief Judges make awards ; A flight of steps to the mound's top incline In a direct and straight unvarying line ; The summit of the hill is six feet wide, None can exactly tell its origin, Many opinions on this theme divide. The learn'd in ancient lore cannot the point decide. This was the site of a great battle-field, 'Twixt the two sons of Goddard, King of Man ; The contest for the crown, and which should wield Sole sovereign sway over the Island clan : On Valentine's famed day the fray began ; Olave was Victor, Reginald was slain. Towards the coast his routed forces ran. Thousands of slaughtered warriors strewed the plain ; The vanquished Tyrant's corpse in Purness Abbey 's lain. CANTO III. PEEL. 49 More than six hundred years have winged their flight, Since Reginald was slain. Historians say That he was treacherous, — a hypocrite; Vindictive, cruel ; ready to betray His dearest friends, stood any in his way ; Did homage to King John, and lowly bent, Yielding submission to the Papal sway, Oppressed the people wheresoe'er he went, Till irksome to the Isle became his government. xiix. The Norway scribes relate that he was brave, A famous Warrior of undaunted mien ; That quarter he ne'er asked, nor ever gave ; — For full three years or more was never seen To enter any house where fire had been. The common practice of a Pirate's life ; His frame was muscular, eyes fierce and keen ; He gloried in the stir of battle strife, Like a wild wolf he prowled where most the prey was rife. 50 MONA'S ISLE. canto hi. In former days, the Statute Book records The laws were promulgated with display ; Rich crimson velvet trimmed with golden cords Formed a large canopy of proud array Placed on the top of Tynwald HUl they say. Here seated on a throne, with sword in hand. The chief his island subjects would survey. With face turned to the east ; — ^whilst near would stand The Officers of State waiting for his command. €min i^t /nnrtjr. ^^sssm"^. A PEBTTT, qniet, neat, clean, homely town Is Bamsey; on the margin of a bay To which it gives its name: — ^has no renown, Or antique monuments with yisage gray ; Or old Cathedral tumbling to decay : Its sweet, retired, and modest-looking fitee Wins upon all who hither chance to stray ; The mouth of Sulby Biyer at this place Kisses the sapphire sea, — and flows to its embrace. 52 MONA'S ISLE. canto it. Some lovely villas on its outskirts lie, Delightful cultured grounds around them spread ; And variegated is the scenery ; The country towards the west, a garden-bed, Fertile and level wheresoe'er we tread : The walks are pleasant. — Prom Sky Hill is seen The obelisk and lighthouse of Ayr-head, And when the air is clear, the day serene. The headlands of the neighbouring coasts the eye may glean. The pier runs a considerable way Into the sea ; — and ten miles in extent. Forming a half moon, is the beauteous bay ; O'erlooking it is Albert's monument, Erected there, to celebrate the event Of the Queen's husband's visit to the isle ; From it there is a view magnificent ; Here may the tourist pleasing houi'S beguile. By gazing o'er the sea and land, for many a mile. CANTO IV. RAMSEY. 53 The glens of Milntown, Sulby, and Balure, Are calm romantic spots. — Here some retire From the loud busy world ; — and aU secure, The votaries who solitude admire May, undisturbed, enjoy their soul's desire : Here in some shady and sequestered nook, Where all is silent save the feather'd choir, 'Tis sweet to pore o'er some old favourite book, Or muse on days gone by, ere peace the heart forsook. The little village of Eirk Maughold stands On the north-east promontory ; its name Derived from one who led stout pirate bands Some fourteen centuries ago. — He came, So state the heralds of his saintship's fame. In a small wicker boat, which drifted 'fore The north wind to the island. He became Most eminent for piety, and wore Sackcloth, ate roots, drank water, and life's joys forswore. 54 MONA'S ISLE. iJANTO iv. VI. He lived in mountain caves, was most austere, And in the year four h.undi'ed ninety-eight, The Manx people, who piety revere. Finding him godly-minded and sedate. Made him their Bishop ;-^suoh is wayward fate. People from far-off countries came to see The man whose touch alone would consecrate ; St. Bridget hearing of his sanctity, Received from him the veil of her virginity. VII. This village once was a fine noble town. Where pilgrims would resort to Maughold's shrine ; A place in those days of world-wide renowo. The saint being thought less only than diviue ; Now it has fallen into sad decline : The Church stands on a lofty eminence ; When viewed from off the sea, the picture 's fine ; A record of the bandit's penitence. That good deeds may secure an earthly recompense. RAMSEY. 55 rni. Not far from the old Church ; upon the brink Of a huge precipice, is Maughold's well, The water sickly people oft will drink, Supposing that disease it will expel. As Maughold sanctified it, so they tell ; That it contains a most potential charm. And acts against the Elfins like a spell ; Those who possess it are secured from harm. But those who have it not, the fairies sore alarm. The virtues of this water all believe, And many stories are extant thereon ; No more the Fairies can their pranks achieve. Once touch them with it, and away they 're gone : No other well can bear comparison With old St. Maughold's;— one brief incident, A sort of legend, we shall verse upon ; If any from the truth of it dissent. The fault is theirs, not ours ; the trifle is well meant. 56 MONA'SISLE. canto iv. EODEI MAUE AND MOM lEIN. One summer's night, the month was June, Before uprose the silver moon ; Young Rodri Maur, the handsome, bold Was crossing near famed Kirk Maughold ; When lo ! he saw upon the ground. Strange lights that glimmered all around ; And Elfins heard in high debate, Discussing Mona Irin's fate. He paused, and heard an elfin say : " 'Twere best ere break of morrow's day That two to Mona's cot shall go. And plead a piteous tale of woe ; The maiden, who is blithe and kind. Will soon the cottage latchet find ; The entrance gained, present this flower, It all her senses will o'erpower ; Her golden locks divide in twain, Then bring her hither o'er the plain ; Once place her in our charmed ring. Once waft her with the mouse-bat wing. Whilst cold doth pinch, and heat will burn. She never homeward will return." RAMSEY. 57 Rodii no sooner heard the plan. Than swift to Maughold's well he ran ; Dipt in his flask and quickly bore The water to the cottage door; Alas 'twas open, and within Two women bent o'er fair Irin ; One parting from her forehead fair, The silken tresses of her hair ; The other watching with delight, The maiden in her lomly plight ; A flower was drooping on her breast, Whilst open lay her snowy vest ; She looked just like a sleeping child. And in her dream of joy she smiled. Quick to the maid brave Rodri flew. And o'er the hags some water threw ; Yelling with fury and affright. They faded instantly from sight ; — He then knelt down and viewed her charms, As she lay death-like in his arms ; He spoke, blood mantled o'er her cheek ; He kissed her, but she did not speak ; He clasp'd her to his fond embrace. The water dropped upon her face; Her bosom heaved, some deep-drawn sighs WeU'd from her heart ; at length her eyes 58 MONA'S ISLE. Look'd from their ivory lids and smiled — With rapture then was Rodri wUd. She spoke, and wondered he was there, And questioned where the women were ; Told him she'd dreamt of fairy bowers. Where she had culled the sweetest flowers ; That he had wandered by her side. And talk'd of love, and called her bride ; 'Twas cruel of him thus to creep. Beside her and dissolve such sleep : Soon Eodri told what he had seen, What he had heard, — described the scene ; And bade her strangers ever shun. After the setting of the sun ; — Then urged his suit. — With eyes down bent At length she whispered fond consent ; Next day to Maughold's church they sped, And by some holy Priest were wed. The selfsame cot may now be seen. Not far from Maughold's fairy green : To keep the elfin host at bay, There always is, by night and day, A jar of water in the place, To guard against the fairy race ; That water is a magic spell, If drawn from good St. Maughold's well. cAHTo IT. RAMSEY. .59 Some few years after bishop Maughold died, A bloody battle in the north was fought; When all the people to Eirk Maughold hied, And thither they their gold and jewels brought ; That sacred place, th' affirighted people thought, Would keep their riches from the plunderer's hands ; Before the battle GiUiecolum sought Permission from his father for his bands To ransack e'en the Eirk, — ^to sate his dire demands. His father, Somerled, would not withhold Permission, — ^yet said "let this business rest Between your conscience and good St. Maughold. I '11 not share in the booty, and protest Against a deed with sacrilege imprest." The work of pillage very soon began. The booty was secured without contest ; About the church the robbers yelling ran, Rejoicing that they could the wealthy hoard trepan. 60 MONA'8 ISLE. The first watch of the night was nearly past, And sentinels to guard the church were sent ; When Gilliecolum, with hrow ovelcast, Retired to rest within his warlike tent ; Quickly to sleep the hardened spoiler went ; When St. Maughold appeared in angry mood, Threatening the plunderer with punishment Eternal, which he swore to by the rood, And vowed that Misery should ever o'er him brood. In a cold sweat of terror he awoke, Sent for the priests, the property restored ; Said that he would not Heaven's wrath provoke. And for their pardon earnestly implored. That all his sins he fervently deplored ; Thus did the saint though dead some good achieve, And more than ever was his name adored : This miracle old Manxmen still believe, And no fine art of reasoning can them undeceive. CANTO IT. BAMSBY. 61 ISeax the Kirk Gate stands old St. Maughold's Cross, An ancient relic rudely sculptur'd o'er ; Its form quadrangular, it will engross The minds of those who study antique lore. Who on the far-gone past delight to pore ; On one side, Bridget 's kneeling to the Saint, Who veils her from the world for evermore. She is no beauty, certainly, sans paint ; The pirate, too, looks old, and likewise very quaint. Behind this is a crucifix, whereon The death of Christ, the sculptor has pourtray'd ; This is a theme too sad to dwell upon : On the third side we find the lovely maid St. Bridget kneels as though imploring aid, Her eyes look up to heaven ; her mild, sad face Seems as if Grief on her his hand had laid ; Upon the fourth side nothing clear- we trace. Some think it is St. Maughold landing at this place. 62 MONA'S ISLE. Upon a shield, three legs, the arms of Man ; Thus making arms of legs, and legs the arms ; 'Tis rather an eccentric sort of plan, Yet such device throughout the island swarms. Three legs must better prove in wars' alarms Than two, if people wish to run away ; One, the poor cripple with exertion warms : Spurs, with large rowels, these three legs display ; What was the body of these legs ? no one can say. From Eamsey Bay, as southward on we pass, There is a pretty creek, and waterfall ; The name of this sweet spot is Ballaglass ; The creek is beautiful, though very small ; Howe'er, these pleasing objects are not all; There is a lovely and fine wooded vale, Whose leafy shades Arcadian scenes recall ; Here, when the sultry summer days prevail, The wanderer seeks repose, the cool air to inhale. RAMSEY. 63 On the ground rising south-west may be seen, A Druid's cirde, — ^rrhich the people name The Castle of King Orry ; — it has been, , Doubtless, a place of Druidical fame ; Here oft to Beil rose the sacred flame ; The stones have here survived the worshippers, Forgotten, almost, is their idol's name. Ruin alone past greatness registers, The white-robed priests have mouldered in their sepulchres. About two miles from hence, below the bridge Of the Doon rivulet, a fine cascade, The highest in the island, falls ; — the ridge Is very lofty, — a delightful shade Veils o'er the stream, — the trees sweet bowers braid. The water singeth like the drowsy hum Of bees, with sounds by tinkling cymbals made ; Sometimes its music on the ear will come Like the deep solemn rolling, — of a distant drum. 64 MONA'S ISLE. The pretty little village, Laxey, lies Embosomed in a glen of some extent ; 'Twas once one of the isle's celebrities, A town of note that merchants would frequent ; In its rich lead mines silver 's prevalent ; 'Tis celebrated for its paper mills ; The scenery romantic, and is blent On the south, west, and north with lofty hills ; Prom every point of view the eye with beauty fills. At Ballaneille was born the great Castine, A noted military chief of France ; He joined a British regiment of the line, Was made a sergeant for his vigilance. Got leave of absence after his advance. Returned here, married fair Helen Colace, When he gave way to gross intemperance, Outstaid his furlough, and, to avoid disgrace, Escaped on board a smuggling lugger from this place. CANTO IV. BAMSBY. 65 Landing at Dunkirk, Castine joined the French : By acts of valour rose to high command ; He fought and bled in many a field and trench, Was made the colonel of a gallant band. When the Republic ruled the Gallic land ; — In seventeen ninety-two, when Dumourier Was sole commandant of the Army Grand, He gained a higher step in his career. Was General made, and stood almost without compeer. Defended Mentz, the bulwark of the Rhine^ Where'er he went was heralded by Fame ; Vict'ry would laurels round his brow entwine ; A talisman of glory was his name, And yet he perished by a death of shame : For some political offence we glean, Obnoxious to the people he became. In seventeen ninety-three, with dauntless mien, He fell beneath the knife of the foul guillotine. MONA'S ISLE. xxrv. Near Laxey two delicious springs arise, St. Patrick's, on the west by Shargey-grave ; The pureness of its stream with crystal vies ; The other, called Lord Henry's Pont, doth lave The southern beach and mingles with the wave: One mule north is a cavern unexplored, Hard iron rocks at once both roof and pave ; 'Tis said that here bold pirates booty stored. That wretched captives here, in vain for life implored. Sweet Onchan with its pretty cottage homes, Commanding beauteous views of land and sea. Of rocks whereon the angry ocean foams, The richly-cultured landscape on the lea ; Lov'd garden flowers, the ripe fruit-laden tree ; With healthful breezes cheering all around ; The laugh of children in their playful glee ; Joys such as these fair Onchan's hill surround — Such calm and pure delights are not in cities found. CANTO IV. RAMSEY. 67 XXVI. The village crowns the hill; — the town and bay Of Douglas lie beneath : like a choice fold Of milk-white lambs, the cottages display Their snowy fronts, as bright beams manifold From the uprising sun bathe them in gold. All pure, yet radiant ; whilst the clear blue sky. Like a rich mantle, does the mount infold : The scene, thus viewed, at midsummer, may vie, With the much-boasted land of classic Italy. My rapid flight around the isle is o'er, Douglas again, with its sweet bay appears : Now must I dwell on Mona's ancient lore, The monuments, and deeds, of far-gone years. The superstitions of the mountaineers. The Druids and the customs of the age, Fairies, the black art, and the mighty Seers : These subjects will the curious engage. And lend some interest to the tourist's pilgrimage. (KitDtn t|iB /iftji. ji.ssr(SH3issrw ffir^ssnssrsiiEffl ^^^ ©wsitomis. Time worketh changes with all things of earth ; Who can look back upon the past and find No cause for gratulation, that his birth Has fallen in days when fortune is more kind, When sage experience has informed the mind, And brought us nearer to the perfect state ; Opened the eyes that Ignorance would blind. Made man to trust more to himself than fate, And loftier aspirations in his heart create. MANNERS AND CUSTOMS. 69 Whilom when Scandinavians ruled in Man, Their customs were uncultiTated, — rude ; They had a horrible and barbarous plan, By which their children early were endued To bear life's trials with stem fortitude. When newly bom to frost they were exposed, Then placed before a fire of magnitude, Thrown in hot water, then in cold ; — ^reposed On the bare rugged eartlu — their eyes by misery closed. No mother's voice to sing the lullaby. No mother's tender care to soothe each pain ; Never upon*them fell the watchful eye ; The loving glance that suffering will sustain Was never theirs, but looks of cold disdain Met their warm pleadings for the kind caress ; Well were they tutored never to complain ; No prayer of hope their infant steps to bless ; S'en from the very breast, their life was bitterness. 70 MONA'S ISLE. IV. In the sweet, tender, early mom of life, Long ere the period of manhood's years. They drank the very dregs of mortal strife : Whipt at the altar by the priests, till tears Ceased to flow from their eyes, till human fears Were checked within their bosoms, till no groajs. Followed the lash, and fell upon the ears Of those who flayed them : — ^not a single moan Passed from their lips, — they stood, inanimate as stpne. The boys were taught to hold, raise, and depress. Or turn obliquely, in their hands the bow ; To shoot their arrows with such steadiness, That to the centre of the mark they 'd go : Should one be lost amid the grass or snow, Another dart was in the same course seiit; Thus they the place of the lost one would know : To those who hit the mark they would present A girdle, or a bow, — or fine habiliment. CAMTo V. MANNERS AND CUSTOMS. 71 So sMlfiil were they, it is said they 'd hit " A halfpenny, or needle " placed as far As they could see-^the smallest stem vould split With their sharp darts. When they were trained for war, No ohstacles their energies could mar. Could throw the javelin, and wield the spear, Weapons in those days the most popular ; Unknown to their brave hearts a sense of fear. They felt invincible, and dared the foe when near. In the last century the bow and sling Were much in use, and parishes would meet For shooting-matches, when each place would bring Their best, picked men, for prizes to compete ; Rewards and praise the conquerors would greet ; The prize sometimes has been a fair young maid. When rivals struggled for approval sweet; Then was the cunning of the art displayed, The victor crowned with flowers, the vanquished, lorn, dismayed. 72 MONA'S ISLE. A story is extant, that one May-day, Two youths, Hugh Camaish, and Theodrick Sayle, Met to decide the which should bear away As his fond bride the beauteous Ellen Quayle ; The place, a piece of greensward in the vale Where Laxey lies. — Theodrick was a fair And comely youth with golden locks, yet frail Compared with Hugh Camaish, — still was his air That of a noble spirit, that e'en death would dare. Hugh was of lofty stature, and his frame Well knit and muscular; — his jet-black eyes Flashed like the lightning. — Emulous for fame Was stamped upon his brow ; — life's energies Seemed moulded in his form, disdain would rise On his proud lip to hear a doubt expressed Of aught that he attempted : he was wise In his great self-conceit ; such was imprest On all who heard him speak, the cruel, bitter jest. CANTO V. MANNERS AND CUSTOMS. 73 He rowed that he would win sweet Ellen's hand ; Talked of Theodrick as a beardless boy. Said that with shame his baby brow he 'd brand ; That he looked womanish ; — ^was fit to toy With girlhood only, he so slim and coy ! That manly weapons he should cease to wield, His time in household matters should employ ; Handle the needle, not the warrior's shield. Leave men to stem the tide, or battle on the field. Theodrick was a modest gentle youth, Who never boasted of his well-known skill ; Still was he valiant-hearted, and in sooth One of a quiet yet determined will ; Gentle his tongue as the sweet murm'ring rill : EUen he loved from boyhood's early days, Her smile his soul with purest joy would fill, He sang to her the old chivalric lays. She listened with delight, to hear dear Mona's praise. 74 MONA'S ISLE. She loved him from the depths of a pure heart ; His footfall was like music to her ear ; 'Twas misery for her with him to part, And boundless joy to know that he was near. To her he was of earthly things most dear : Her waking thoughts were with him ; in her dreams Of unconnected visions he 'd appear; Wandering far with him by bright fairy streams, And wake to mourn his absence 'mid the morning beams. Like rich twin ebon diamonds flash'd her eyes ; Her hair outshone the Raven's glossy wing ; Love flutter'd o'er her bosom with sweet sighs, Lips that would mock a moss-rose blossoming : Her presence was a beauty, like the Spring, Gladd'ning the pulse of every heart within ; Her voice tuned like a lute's melodious string ; Her beauteous features votaries would win ; Cupid's light finger left, — a dimple on her chin. MANNERS AND CUSTOMS. 75 XIV. Hugh once had saved the maiden's father's life, When they were wreck'd and struggling with the wave ; He asked consent that she should be his wife, The which the old man generously gave. Deeming her worthy of a man so brave ; He woo'd, but could not win her gentle hand, Her heart to loved Theodiick was a slave, To one sole idol could that heart expand. And she besought bim not to urge his stern demand. He heeded not her tears, but pressed his claim, Taunted her father with ingratitude ; The more the maid implored, the more the flame Of passion burned within his bosom rude, A passion not so easily subdued : The father urged in vain ; — her pleading sighs Were the sole answer; — she sought solitude, Tears gemmed the silken lashes of her eyes. Smiles from her face had fled, and all earth's gaieties. 76 MONA'S ISLE. To leave it to the trial with the bow, At length reluctantly she gave consent ; And promised that she would her hand bestow On him who won the match. — Her heart was rent With dread forebodings as to the event. The time was fixed, the first of sunny May ; Hugh of the victory was confident, Whilst Theodriok walked humbly on his way, With heart and hand well nerved to meet the coming day. The hour arrived, the target firm was placed ; The best of three shots would decide their fate ; Hugh with a clouded brow Theodrick faced, In his black heart was crouching scorpion Hate, With maddening drink howe'er he felt elate : First to the line went Hugh and took his aim, The arrow from his bow flew sure and straight. Struck the true centre of the mark, — became To him a bright presage of victory and fame. OAKTo V. MANNERS AND CUSTOMS. 77 At this, long loud huzzas were instant given ; Theodrick calmly stepped into his place ; One look to Ellen and a glance to heaven, A smile of beauty beaming on his face, Whereon no shade of tremor eye could trace ; His steady hand the pointed weapon drew^ Close to his shoulder, with a classic grace. Quick as the lightning to the goal it flew. And split the arrow of his vaunting foe in two. XIX. The barbs were drawn, the shots proclaimed a tie; " More drink," cried Hugh, " that was a lucky hit — Go on, boy, do not look so very shy." With words like these he exercised his wit, Theodrick heeded not the unmanly twit; Calmly again he drew the tensive string ; A breathless pause, swift did his arrow flit. Fixed in the very centre of the ring; Its feathers trembling^ — ^like a lark's upon the wing! 78 MONA'S ISLE. Ha ! ha ! laughed Hugh, and plied again the drink, Walked to the mark, and shot wide of his aim ; 'Twas then observed his heart began to shrink ; He spoke no more ; — ^mayhap he felt a shame, Or that his soul was stricken by th' acclaim " One for Theodrick ! " — Then he drew a dart, And, as the youth advanced the hit to claim. The arrow from the felon's bow did start. And pierced the good Theodrick through his guileless heart. XXI. The crowd was hushed; — each breast was fraught with pain ; Save a deep, universal throb of woe, That whispered from their lips like distant rain. As they beheld blood from Theodrick flow ; The very sunlight had a lurid glow ; When mid the silence rose an awful cry. Like one whom Death had slain by sudden blow; 'Twas Ellen, with her arms upraised on high, A statue of Despair, — in writhing agony. CANTO V. MANNERS AND CUSTOMS. 79 One shriek alone came from her broken heart ; Oh, would that at that hour the maid had died ! With her white hands she held the hair apart O'er her hot brow ; whispered, " Theodrick's Bride Is waiting for his presence by her side ; Where art thou, dear one, whither art thou flown ? Quick, dearest, come, thine Ellen will not chide." She sank upon the earth; a childish moan Escaped her quivering lips, — Reason had fled its throne. Hugh moved not, — drew a poignard from his vest. And cried aloud, " Revenge, revenge is sweet ! The first who dare approach me soon shall test My weapon's point ; here do I humbly greet The beauteous bride, — the bridegroom at my feet ; May his soul endless tortures feel in hell. Thus, thus, do I the laws of Mona cheat:" And instant, with a horrid fiendish yell. He cleft his vengeful heart, — to earth the murderer fell. 80 MONA'S ISLE. canto v. XXIV. On that day twelve-months was a maiden seen Robed in a bridal dress, yet ashy pale ; She came to view the sports upon the green, No soft entreaties could with her prevail, No words of lov'd remonstrance would avail To stay her steps, or curb her strong desire : At the same hour when fell Theodrick Sayle, Her head bent o'er the shoulders of her sire, Sweet Ellen's spirit fled ; quench'd was the mortal fire. xxv: The peasantry, in ancient days, would tie Their hair behind, bound with a leathern thong ; This head -gear was supposed to beautify. Therefore they always wore it very long ; Their clothing was of woollen cloth, and strong ; Stockings all footless, brogues of coarsest hide. Over the instep these were laced along ; Such the extent of their rude, native pride, A hardy race were they, who foppery would deride. CAWTO T. MANNERS AND CUSTOMS. 81 The women, gowns of linsey-woolsey wore, Short petticoats, dyed of a darkish red With moss that grew upon the rocks ; — ^and more, A winding sheet ! — so Bishop Meryk said. Whene'er they went abroad, around them spread. Just to remind them of mortality. By grave-cloths, the sad vestments of the dead : Of this record we doubt the verity. And think 'twas but a plaid worn by the peasantry. Deemsters and Coroners could once compel, On payment of a very trifling fee. Persons of either sex with them to dwell In servitude; — ^this was done by decree, They called it yarding, for which Waldron see. The Sumner o'er the shoulder laid a straw. Proclaimed the Deemster's name, or Barony, And all refusing to obey the law Had only barley-cake and water for their maw. B .3 82 MONA'S ISLE. Old customs now have nearly passed away, The Christmas revelries, and New Year's eve. Sporting and garlanding in sunny May, With flowers that youth for beauty would inweave ; The feastings for the dead when all should grieve ; Wedding processions, — ^and the osier wands With which the groomsman would the bride receive. Marching thrice round the church in little bands. And dancing in the moonlight — on the silv'ry sands. d^antn tlfB iiitlj. ■ipiilJl ©lEtSrHEJS. Silence, — ^no breathing save from lips of flowers ; Day peeps from out the Bast ; — a glimpse of light Prom the horizon, — ^tells the Morning Hours Earthward are wending, as the solemn night Closes his raven wings, and shrinks from sight : O'er the broad ocean myriad golden beams Prom heaven's great orb, on lofty hills alight, Waked from their slumbers are the crystal streams. And from the emerald woodland luscious music teems. 84 MONA'S ISLE. canto vi. On Glen Darragh, the calm pellucid Mom In placid beauty smiles. The diamond dew Glitters on every leaf. The perfumed thorn, Deck'd with May's blossomings, delights the view. And richest flowers of every varied hue, A carpet form for youthful Summer's tread ; Who comes with gentle steps, his eyes of blue, Radiant with love, about his beauteous head A coronal of pansies, — bound with silver thread. A solemn sound was borne upon the breeze. Like distant thunder muttering its ire ; As though instinct with life the gnarl'd oak trees Moved mournfully, — portending something dire ; In the far distance gleamed the fitful fire ; Nearer it came, till one vast multitude Approached, — as though impelled by strange desire To consummate some dreadful deed, — subdued. But yet not quenched, — the longings of these people rude. OANTO VI. THE DRUIDS. 85 Foremost th' Arch Druid walked in reg^l state; Upon his head a tiara of gold Placed o'er an oaken wreath. The Arch Druaight, Wore on his breast, enchased in richest mould, The adder-stone, so fabulous of old, His breacan of six colours ; — in his hand A golden bill-hook; used, as we are told. To rend the mistletoe. None could withstand The mandate he sent forth, — or his stem reprimand. A venerable man was he, his beard, A silver grey, reached to the middle breast ; His very look the superstitious feared. As his fierce, piercing eyes on them would rest ; Next came the Sacerdotal Order, — drest In white robes, emblematical of Truth And holiness, — the which they had imprest On all their followers. Old age and youth Believed alike on them; that what they said was sooth. 86 MONA'S ISLE. canto vi. In sky-blue robes, the sweet device of Peace, Followed the Bards who sang in BeU's praise ; And as they sang their fervour would increase, With rapture they to heaven their eyes would raise. Which awed and hush'd the multitude ; those lays Were called cairn tunes, each Bard was deemed inspired As upward flew the consecrated blaze : Next came Disciples, variously attired. In dresses blue, green, red, — ^by servitude acquired. The sacred circle gained, a mystic prayer Was muttered by the chief. — A sign then made, When lo ! from out the crowd a damsel fair. Bound was brought forth, on the stone table laid, Lamblike, yet fearless, was the gentle maid ; Th' Arch Druaight drew a dagger from his vest, And midst dumb silence sheath'd the keen-edged blade Up to the hilt in the poor victim's breast ; No cry escaped her lips, — the spirit was at rest. CASTO Ti. THE DRTJID8. 87 Within the centre of the Temple stood "The awful stones of power," whereon was lain, Surrounded by large piles of seasoned wood. The body of the sacrifice just slain ; The blood was suffered from the corpse to drain Whilst the designing Priests professed their skill. By subtle scrutiny to ascertain. The course of things to come; and by their wiU Bring greatest good to pass, or see impending ill. Thousands hare perish'd by the hand of man. By man, man's blood has lavishly been shed ; Priestcraft has proved humanity's stem ban. At idol altars human flesh has bled ; Gross Superstition has the murderer led To blur the knife with the heart's crimson tide ; Glen Parragh's vale has been a scene of dread ; Forgetfiilness the past may never hide ; Horror mnst strike each breast, — and e'er on it abide. MONA'S ISLE. Sacred the groves, — ^to Kends, but not to God ; Fountains polluted, valleys the retreats Of human butchers ; — the sweet verdant sod Stain'd with life's essence by brute priestly cheats ; The black pollution Satan's heart concretes, Infesting the most beauteous spots of earth ; In vain the victim Mercy's aid entreats ; A human sacrifice was food for mirth, Once happy homes were blasted — left a gloom, a dearth ! Here the last human sacrifice was slain. On this fair Isle, so beauteous to the sight ; Yet will the memory for aye remain Of many a horrid deed. Here the fork'd light Fed by flesh human, startled ebon Night, And bid earth's glorious day shrink back dismayed ; Here from the cairns on many a dizzy height, The unholy fires their dreadful deeds displayed, And here the Vampyre's thirst for blood at length was stayed. CAHTO VI. THE DRUIDS. Now look upon the scene. The shadow lies Athwart the old grey stones, — ^which the bright sun Kisses with silver lips, — and purifies The dark past with the present. Time hath spun His woof of light and shade since deeds were done That sicken as we think. The gentle streams Sing plaintively, as on their course they run; The solitude around the place beseems The sadness of the hour, like pain scarce felt in dreams. im. Away, away the past ! — ^the present hour Is fraught with joy, to aU with souls to feel Loved Nature's beauties; who in each small flower See priceless gems that o'er the senses steal; And balmy breath inhale, the mind to heal : Altar most sacred is the pure of heart, Love, imdefiled, the shrine where all should kneel ; Mammon, the world, the gay and busy mart. Allure but to destroy, — true bliss these ne'er impart. 90 MONA'S ISLE. Thus have I glanced, though briefly, o'er thy charms, Beautiful Isle, retreat from toil to peace. To thy lov'd hills and dales my heart still warms, Thine image only with my life can cease ; May happiness from year to year increase To the indwellers of thy joyous home; Thou art indeed sweet Nature's masterpiece. Free as the sea breeze, or old ocean's foam. No sunnier clime could tempt me from thy shores to roam. Farewell, dear Mona, — ^farewell, happy hours, Ye lofty crags, farewell, and fairy dales; Farewell, ye leafy woods and rainbow flowers. And fare ye well old legendary tales ; Farewell, ye elfins sporting in green vales. Mysterious cairn, and Druidical well ; Farewell, ye odorous and spicy gales ; Love, beauty, all of joy that tongue may tell, To ye I breathe a sad Adieu, — good Night, — Farewell ! MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. THE WELL OF LIFE. AnXD the clear blue sky, at noon of day. The Sun resplendent shone on Sychar's vale ; The emerald leaves npon the firoitfol trees Jnst motioned, as with life, beneath the breath Of the mild Summer breeze. — Beside a well Sat one, npon the ground, with eyes downcast Ab though in pensiTe mood. — ^Mayhap He thought How at this spot, of verdant beauty, stood, Abram, who tarried here when on his way To Canaan from Haran. — This the ground That Jacob gave to Joseph; — hence the spring Was called Jacob's WeU. — Mayhap He saw The great past in the present, and beheld, Afi in a vision, the famed Patriarch stand 94 THE WELL OF LIFE. Beside the altar he first built to God, And dedicated in his faith and love To the strong God, — the God of Israel. 'Twas here God promised the good Patriarch The land to all his seed. — Here, on the hill Gerizim, full of faith, the father bound Isaac his son, and lifted up the knife To slay him as a sacrifice to God. Near, Dothan's valley lies, where in a pit Joseph was by his cruel brethren cast. And after sold to slavery; and here The bones of Joseph brought from Egypt lie. Mayhap these passed before Him as a dream. His reverie was broken suddenly ; The sound of a light footstep met His ear, When, gently raising up His head, He saw A woman with a waterpot, who came According to her customary wont To fill from out the well. His face divine Beamed with a holy, mild, and heavenly light ; His silken gold-tinged locks flowed widely o'er The well-formed shoulders, and the open brow Gave token of a pure and truthful heart ; His eyes with liquid tenderness were fiUed. Being athirst, with accent meek. He said " Give me to drink.'' The tone was not command, THE WELL OP LIFE. 95 Nor deep entreaty earnest ; but a calm And kind request, heart-touching, musical ; He was alone, for His companions were Gone to the city to buy meat. She paused, And for a moment spoke not, her black eyes. Lustrous with beauty, dimmed before His gaze. Struck by His looks, and softened by His tone. She answered, and desired to know how He, A Jew, could think of asking drink from her, A woman of Samaria ! The Jews In those days holding no communion with The cursed Samaritans; who, they all thought Should in the Kesurrection have no part. Rising from off the ground. He looked on her With tenderness, such as a dove's mild eyes Would fix upon its mate, and gently said, " If thou did'st know who asketh thee, thou would'st Soon ask of Him, and He to thee would give Water so pure thou ne'er should'st thirst again." Not knowing what He meant, she quick replied, " Give me this water that I thirst no more. Or hither come again to draw." — He then Bade her to bring her husband ; when she said, " I have no husband." — On that true reply, He told her she had had five husbands, that The one she now had was, in verity, 96 THE WELL OF LIFE. No husband. — And from this He spoke to her Of her whole course of life, e'en as her heart Would commune with herself. She went her way Back to the city, and proclaimed aloud The wondrous meeting, and besought that all Should go with her and see the very Christ, Who told her all things that she ever did. The multitude went with her, and beheld Jesus and His disciples, — and they drank From His sweet lips, th' eternal living font. Water of life, and many then believed. Their hearts being opened to the light of truth, By His persuasive eloquence divine. Thus without worldly force — or stratagem, With meekness, mercy, and a heart of love, Many were brought into the heavenly fold, By the sweet shepherd Jesus. MY MOTHER. 97 MY MOTHER I LOOK around, but never see One living face so dear to me, Nor hear a voice with tones so sweet As thine, my Mother, — ^which I greet With all the fervency of truth. That link'd my heart to thine in youth. II. Though Time thy brow has wrinkled o'er, Years only bind me to thee more ; Though age has dimmed thy loving eyes, Their latent sparks I fondly prize : Though feeble be thy steps, they 're dear To me, — I know my mother 's near. III. When absent, far &om sight apart, Thy form lies pictured on my heart ; Thy gentle voice, and tender snUe, My musing moments oft beguile ; I dream of days when I was prest Upon my Mother's yearning breast. 98 MY MOTHER. No face, however fair it be, Can lure my heart away from thee ; No voice, however sweet its tone, Breathes such lov'd music as thine own ; No eyes, however warm and bright. Can like my Mother's glad my sight. No step, however light its fall Upon mine ear, can e'er recall. My senses, like thy tread, with care. Uneven sounding on the stair; No kiss so pure, no love so true, My Mother, — as I give to you. Have you a Mother 1 — ^Prize her well, Her loss the motherless can tell ; Cling to her with a loving heart. The day will come when you must part ; Comfort thy Mother, be her stay, Lighten her griefs on Life's dark way. LIFE— WHAT IS LIFE? 99 LIFE-WHAT IS LIFE? LiF£, — what is life ? A sunbeam creeping through a dungeon's gloom, On which the hapless captive looks intent : — The portal to the dark and lonesome tomb, A sturdy swimmer with his strength near spent; Emblem of strife. In Touth, — a glorious summer, whose sweet breath Comes o'er the senses with delicious thrill; Earth fraught with incesose, crown'd with flowery wreath, Grold on the mountain, — crystal on the rill, Heart with joy rife. F 2 100 LIFE— WHAT IS LIFE? Manhood's strong hour; Health laughing through the veins with ruddy glow ; The eye on heauty feeds, — no care, no thought, All looks suhlime above, around, below, No pang a crease upon the brow has wrought ; Grief hath no power To check the onward current of delight ; No cloud upon the horizon's circle 's seen, The soul expands with love in its pure flight ; The very air transparent, and serene With heaven's rich dower. Entrancing Fame! The Poet's verse, — the Sculptor's cunning art ; The Painter's glowing canvas, — and the tongue Inspired by Eloquence: — Glory, the Mart; Music, whose silver chords are ne'er unstrung, A deathless name : Honour, — a bauble title : — homage paid By man to man ; dust kneeling before dust, The sun behind a cloud will cast a shade. Time wafts his wing, and smites down with the gust, Quench'd the bright flame ! LIFE- WHAT IS LIFE? 101 Few, little years, Melt e'en as flakes of snow upon the earth ; Like them we fall, and with the past expire ; The future recks not of us, — and our birth Unknown, or unremembered ; — each desire Soon disappears Mid the vast multitude. — The flesh decays Beneath the verdant sod, — we pass away And leave no void ; fond memory's balmy rays Shine not o'er us; — the long-forgotten clay Can claim no tears. Vain, fleeting life ! Created but to perish; — what art thou, That men should worship thee like some rich gem, Priceless above eternity, — and bow Before thee, e'en as though thou wert to them AU peace — no strife; As if thou didst not bring disease and pain, Heart pangs and hopeless yearnings, with despair To rack the bosom : — ^greater loss than gain, An evanescent robe, though tempting fai^ Art thou — oh Life ! 102 A WORD FOR THE SLAVE. -A WORD EOR THE SLAVE, Shake, shame to thee, England, though land of the hrave ; And shame to thee, Gaul, with thine Eagles of fame ; To slumber in peace whilst the world holds a slave, Is a blot on your 'scutchedns, a stain on your name : For Conquest you 've fought, — and for Glory have bled, For honour, and lucre, War's Clarion has pealed ; And thousands on thousands of brave hearts halve shed Their life's precious blood on the carnage-stained field ; Ye boast of religion, your learning, and UWs, That Freedom is right, — and Oppression a ban ; Of Civilization — and yet dare to pause. Nor strike for God's right ;' for His likeness in Man. A WORD FOR THE SLAVE. 103 II. Tour Commerce may flourish, your names be renowned. The blessings of plenty around ye be poured ; Your fleets and your armies by Vict'ry be crowned. Your mandates obeyed — ^by the force of the sword ; But riches, nor power, nor glory are pure. So long as dishonour can tarnish their worth ; 'Tis well for the Victor his fame to endure. The Freeman, — to boast of his tread on the earth : Oh hark to the piercing and desolate cry Prom o'er the Atlantic — ^feel peace if you can ; The wail of the Slave up to heaven shall fly, Strike, strike for God's right ; for His likeness in Man. in. Think, think on the millions who ceaselessly toil. Whose living flesh quivers beneath the rude lash ; Whose blood in the fever of torture doth boil, Whose teeth, in their agony, fearfully gnash : Of feelings outraged, and of Kature debased. No duty implanted of Virtue and Truth; All hope of the future for ever effaced, No high aspirations to lustre their youth: Degraded and spumed, crouching objects of scorn. Life's energies sapp'd, and reduced to a span ; Behold them heart-broken, unpitied, and lorn. Oh strike for God's right ; for His likeness in Man. 104 A WORD FOR THE SLAVE. IV. The sweet bonds of kindred are heartlessly rent, The child from its parent is far away sold; Men, women, like cattle to market are sent, And human flesh bartered for dollars, or gold : The bleat of the Ewe for her yeanling will cause Some feeling of pity — sensation of pain ; When beasts are o'ertasked — see Humanity pause. Yet suffer a Brother to pine in his chain : For mercy ye pray, — ^yet no mercy ye give, 'Tis time in your hearts that repentance began ; Oh let not dishonour your glories outlive. But strike for God's right ; for His likeness in Man. V. think of the tortures, the groans, and the blood. The sacrifice daily of life at the shrine That Mammon erects to supply ye with food, Man's blood, human flesh — formed from image divine: Oh think ye that Prayer to the great living God, Is heard 'mid the moans of the wretches that die ? When blood of a brother cries warm from the sod. That blood is recorded by Angels on high; Ye share of the spoil, — ^ye partake in the wrong. The flame of Oppression ye guiltily fan ; Ye sanction the chain, and the life-cutting thong : Arise, strike the bonds from God's likeness in Man ! A WORD FOR THE SLAVE. 105 VI. No more let the Banner of War be unfurled, For Conquest or Vengeance, base lucre, or pride ; Let Peace throw her Olive-wreath over the world. And Justice, with Mercy, the Nations all guide : But ere the Sword 's sheathed, ere sweet Peace ye proclaim, Brave England and France your vast prowess unite To blot from the earth the dark signet of shame. And let your shriU War-note be. Freedom and Right ! Found a law Universal — ^that colour nor creed. To Liberty ne'er shall again be a ban ; Humanity's voice will applaud the great deed, Quick, strike for God's right ; for His likeness in Man ! F 3 106 WHAT IS POESIB? WHAT IS POESIE? Amid the hedge-rowB, see the swelling buds Gemming the Hawthorn ; — and the Snowdrops lone ; Moon-dyed Primroses ; — golden daisy studs ; Pale Crocuses — Anemone's star-zone; The sun-dipt Cowslip ; — Love's eyes, Violets, thrown By the fair hand of the young smiling Spring Upon the verdant bank, their emerald throne ; The purple Hyacinth ; — and silver wing Of the bright starry Woodruff, — with May's blossoming. Forget-me-Not, — or Maiden's trust : — The cells Of Honeysuckles breathing luscious sighs ; The Elfin Eye-Bright ; — purple Pox-glove bells. And Heart's-Ease tinctured with the Rainbow's dyes : The B/Cgal Iris whose rich colour vies With the pure Summer heaven. Sweet Jessamine ; Bright orange Lilies ; flaunting Peonies ; The pearl Narcissus, — fragrant Eglantine, Bronz'd Wall-Flowers — and the purple dove-neck'd Columbine. WHAT IS POESIE? 107 And golden lacker'd Buttercups; — wild Rose; Pale fragrajit Qove Pinks; — ^modest Pheasant's Eye; The Lilies of the Valley — ^in repose ; Bright checkered Pansies ; sweet White Strawberry ; And Pimpernels that in the corn-fields lie ; Snap-Dragon's crimson lips, and throat of gold ; Pair Bindweed streak'd o'er with a pinky dye ; Down cover'd Ox-Lips, petals manifold. Breathe sweeter Pobsib, — than human lips e'er told. Pomona's stores are beautiful, — ^behold, The full ripe Grape grows pendant from the vine; Peaches, and Apricots, rich bloom unictld ; Currants, like drops of pearl and ruby, shine ; The golden Apples round the bough entwine. And juicy Plums hang tempting on the tree ; Baxe flavoured Pears, and luscious N^ectarine ; Orange, Pine, Citron, odorous Strawberry : — In fruits and flowers are found, sweet themes for Poesie. 108 WHAT IS P0BSIE1 Hie to the Woods ! — look how the Giant Oak Spreads his huge arms to wrestle with the wind; For centuries he dares the lightning's stroke, To yield his life at last to some rude hind : Willows with branches to the earth inclined ; The heaven-kissing Lime with verdure heaves, The stubborn Ash, and Elm, with Vine entwined ; And quivering Aspens, with their emerald leaves, A beauteous robe of glory for Earth's bosom weaves. The silver-coated Beech, and mournful Yew ; The tall grey Poplars waving to the sky; And old dark Firs that never change their hue ; The fertile Birch, and clouded Maple's eye; — And noble spreading Chestnuts tower on high ; — Brown Hazel — ornamental Sycamore : Watch Autumn in her dress chalcedony. The Woods with richest colours braided o'er, Bach leaf is Poesie — the Muses' golden lore. WHAT IS POESIE? 109 The gentle flowing Elver, on whose face, As in a mirror beautiful and bright, The sedgy banks, and trees the eye can trace ; Each little ford sparkling with silv'iy light ; The reflex of the skimming Swallows' flight. Dipping their wings upon the lucid stream ; The whimpling Brook, where plashing trout delight ; The broad fair Lake, or Fall where waters teem, AU lull the heart with Foesie, — as in a dream. Till. Listen by moonlight to the If ightingale, As he pours forth his loud, clear, luscious notes; Singing his solitary love-lorn tale : At early mom the Lark to heaven floats, And Thrush and Blackbird tuneful swell their throats, TrUling rich harmony : — the Woodlands ring. With myriad music, — which delight denotes ; — How joyfully each chorister doth sing! Each note is Pobsie, — sweet Nature's offering. 110 WHAT IS POESIB? Prom Earth to Heaven ! — ^Behold the rising Sun Gilding the mountain tops with amber fire ; At Eve, when weary Day his course has run, See him adown the Western hUls retire, Mid rainbow glories — till his rays expire : The Silver Moon sails in the purple sky ; Million of Stars, that wonderment iuspire, Jewel the firmament's vast canopy ; Heaven's book of mysteries — is fraught with Pobsie. From Heaven again to Earth ! — The mind of Man Beams with intelligence whate'er his sphere ; Genius is not Wealth's heir ; — the Artisan In penury and misery — may rear A monument of Fame without compeer: God's gifts to Ancestry are not allied, The brightest jewels from dark mines appear. Prom dross, by Art, the metal 's purified. Mind is Man's richest Ore, — by fiery furnace tried. WHAT IS P0ESIE1 lU Homer, a beggar, won a deathless name ; The humble Virgil's Epics ne'er shall die ; Ovid, Love's votary, allied with fame ; Shakspere is crowned with immortality ; The shepherd Bums from Scotia's mountains free, Sang to each heart, and breathed inspiring strains ; Wordsworth with Nature joined his minstrelsy, Thomson, and Bloomfield, tuned to rural swains, Painting the changing Seasons, and the fertUe plains. XII. Cowper, Gay, Ramsay, and harmonious Pope, Crabbe, Hogg, and Young; poor Hood, the gentle, kind ; Moore, Erin's harp, and Campbell, Bard of Hope ; Shelley of brilliant — and gigantic mind ; Milton, the great Magician, old and blind : Many whose names the world will aye revere. In whose bright pages priceless gems we find. Whose lays melodious charm both heart and ear. Owe all to PoBSiB — sweet Nature's mighty Seer. 112 WHAT IS POESIE? Earth, Heayen, Nature,— everything is fraught With sweetest mysteries for human lore ; Each flower, tree, herb, and star has with it brought Some bright imaginings the Mind to store. Immortal, e'en when time shall be no more : Music and Beauty, on the ear and eye Their balmy influences ever pour; — Prom first Creation to Eternity, Was, — is, — and shall be alway, — gentle Poesie. THE MERCIFUL REPROOF. 113 THE MERCIFDI EEPROOF. At early mom within the Temple sat, Surrounded by the People, One who taught, With the soft fervent eloquence of truth. The only way to everlasting life, God's Holy word. The Scribes and Pharisees Entered the sacred place, and with them brought A Woman, as in bonds — ^for some offence. And placed her in the midst, that all might see. She, guilty-stricken, with a blushing cheek And panting bosom, veiled her lustrous eyes With the long silken lashes which drooped from Their smooth transparent lids, and threw a shade Of roseate hue upon her beauteous face. — He felt her presence, but He noted not That she was there. When presently they said. Thinking to tempt Him to transgress the law. That they might 'gainst Him accusation bring, "Master, this Woman in adultery Was found by us, e'en in the very act. Moses commanded that such dreadful sin Should punished be by stoning unto death ; 114 THE MERCIFUL REPROOF. What sayest Thou 1 " He heeded not their words, But stooping, wrote a something on the ground, In the dust, with His finger. They again Urged on the question, when He slowly rose, And looking on them with His eyes of thought. Which searched as with a ray of heavenly light Their inmost souls, with earnestness replied, " Let him among you that is without sin First cast a stone at her." He then again Stooped to the floor, and musingly wrote on. When His reflective mood was o'er. He turned. And there beheld the Woman, as at first. Right in the midst, alone, near Him she stood. For her accusers, one by one, had gone Out from the place, touch'd by His probing words. He gazed on her with tenderness. She ne'er Lifted the snowy curtains of her eyes. But mutely like a statue held herself. At length He spoke, and with mild accent said, " Woman, thou hadst accusers, where are they 1 Hath no man yet condemned thee?" With a sigh From her o'erladen breast, she answer made. Most sorrowfully, " No man. Lord." Then rose Her head from oS her bosom, and looked up To Him, beseechingly ; — her humid eyes Met His, but shrank not back, for there she saw THE MERCIFUL REPROOF. 115 Hope and forgiveness, mercy and sweet love, A refuge from despair; and then she felt The sacrifice accepted of a heart Contrite and humbled at her Saviour's feet. Lifting His hands above her drooping head, As in the act of blessing, thus He spake, "Neither do I condemn thee." And with voice, Like a fond parent to an erring child. Grave this injunction — " Go, and sin no more." 116 MY MOTHER'S VOICE. MT MOTHEE'S VOICE. I. The snows of many wint'ry years Have fallen, and melted from my sight ; Sunshine and storm, joy's snules, griefs tears ; Summer's fair bloom, and autumn's blight : Sweet words, from lips beloved, I 've heard. Fond smiles that won my youthful heart ; Yet lips, nor smiles, have ever stirred Such feelings as thou didst impart: No sound can e'er my soul rejoice. Like thine, — ^my tender, — Mother's voice ! II. Death's wing has o'er thee closed, — ^thou 'rt gone. And other ties have claimed my love ; But oft-times when I muse alcne, My spirit to the past wUl move : I see thee as in boyhood's days, Thy gentle look, — thy soothing care ; I hear thy well-remembered lays. Thy blessing on my infant prayer : The past comes o'er me— I rejoice Again to hear — my Mother's voice. MY MOTHER'S VOICE. 117 Thy words of kindness, and thy smile, Are present with me as of yore, Ere I had tasted worldly guile ; Would that I could those days restore : Thou wert my friend, — sincere wert thou. My life thy hope, thy love my joy. Unruffled was my careless brow. My heart was pure, — ^without aUoy : No human Ups can e'er rejoice Like thine, — ^mine own, — ^my Mother's voice. Around me gentle voices call. From lips that breathe of earnest truth ; Looks of affection on me fall. From eyes that lit my manhood's youth ; Children are gathered round my side. With joys, domestic, I am blest ; All that can form a parent's pride Are to my yearning bosom prest : Yet nothing can my heart rejoice Like thee — ^first loved, — ^my Mother's voice. 118 MY MOTHER'S VOICE. Life's many changes, hopes, and fears, Have left their signets on my brow, I look back to the bye-gone years For smiles that never cheer me now : StiU while I live, while reason reigns, And mind can picture blessings past ; Whilst any pulse of life remains. My soul shall love thee to the last : In death my spirit will rejoice Again to hear, — my Mother's voice ! THE DYING CHILD. 119 THE DYING CHILD. BeautifuIi, the Autumn leaves Gutter all around; One by one they gently fall, Crumpled on the ground: Rivulets their races run, Singing on their way ; Morning crisps the velvet grass With his frosty ray ; In the deep wood, mournfully Coos the gentle dove, Like a spirit, lorn, and lone. From its early love. 120 THE DYING CHILD. II. 'Neath a humble cottage roof, Lay a little Child ; O'er her pale but beauteous face, Guardian Angels smiled ; Looks serene spoke from her eyes. As her golden hair Played in silken, spiral curls. On her forehead fair: With her tiny fingers yoked O'er her silent breast,^ She reposed, — a spirit pure Waiting for its rest. III. By that Child a woman knelt. Breathlessly attent ; Heart-weak she, with sorrowing sighs, Hope's light nearly spent ; Moved her lips with inward prayer. Hands in anguish wrung, Watching with despairing glance. No speech on her tongue : Fading flowers faintly breathed From the window sill ; Save the whisper of the wind. All around was still. THE DYING CHILD. 121 IT. With a smile upon her lips, Human, half diyine; Upraised was a little hand, 'Twas the well-known sign; Then the Mother's tender voice. Though her eyes were dim. Told how gentle Jesus called Children unto Himi Calmly closed the maiden's eyes As the Word was read, When the Mother paused, — she saw That her Child was, — dead! 122 CASTLES IN THE AIR. CASTLES m THE AB. I. The Child, when first it walks alone, Is pleased with every new device; A coin of gold — a simple stone. Alike its fingers will entice : The sunbeams dancing on the floor, The shadow moving on the wall ; On smallest things it sets a store, And with a grasp will seize them all : Though clad in rags — neglected, — ^bare. That child builds — castles in the air. II. The Man, whate'er his station be. Is prone to think he knoweth best ; There 's nothing like equality, And why should he be downward presti If rich, some new wish will intrude,' If poor, he riches ought to have ; Of want, or worldly plenitude. He ever is the constant slave : None are contented with their share ; And will build, — castles in the air. CASTLES IN THE AIR. 123 These visions seldom with them bring Much grief to prey upon the heart : But when the Poet plumes his wing. And soars beyond the world's wide mart ; When, yearning for the bays of fame. He kills, with thought, the pregnant mind, Too late, alas ! he finds the flame. Quenched by neglect, — ^no ray behind : Then is he driven to despair : Then fade, — ^his — castles in the air ! a 2 124 IN MEMOEIAM. m IVCEMOEIAM, MouBN not, nor weep, — his course is run, The battle's fought, the battle's won; The Conqueror like the setting sun Now lies on glory's bed : Above his silver'd head Fame holds a bright undying wreath, That ne'er can know the touch of death. Though silent is the mortal breath : Death was not made for him. The past shall ne'er be dim. The warrior's name is raised on high, The brightest page in history ; Imperishable; — ^ne'er to die: The grave can never hide A country's love, — and pride. IN MBMORIAM. 125 Mourn not; — nor weep he did not yield His life upon the blood-stained field ; His heart was England's mirror'd shield : Duty his gvdding star, In peace, — or fearful war: The world shall be his monument, His epitaph — a life well spent, Nations the mourners, who lament The aged hero's fall : His day of burial Death's mighty triumph ; — ^there to see The flower of England's chivalry Prostrate before him bend the knee: An universal sigh Ascends to heaven on high. ' Mourn not, nor weep; — the clashing steel, The tramp of many a martial heel. No more upon his ear shall steal : The ear is silent now, Belax'd the iron brow: 126 IN MBMORIAM. No more the loud artillery, Shall roar its dreadful revelry Beneath his searching eagle eye : Those eyes are closed in sleep, The field no more to sweep : No more the tongue, command shall speak. When carnage all around did reek, Calm was the lip, — ^unmoved the cheek, Till shouts of victory. Made the stem bosom sigh. Mourn not, nor weep ; — though life be past. Steadfast he stood from first to last ; Fame's wreath undying o'er him cast : The Potentates of earth Paid tribute to his worth ; His bosom glittered with the blaze Of Begal gifts to mark their praise. He lived 'mid glory's brightest daze : Yet humble was his mien, In green old age serene ; IN MEMORIAM. 127 In duty's path, he ever trod, Obedience waited on his nod ; He waited — the shadow of a God! The latest breath he drew, To England's cause was true. Mourn not, nor weep ; — ^he might have died A wreck upon life's fearful tide, Like Marlborough ; — Dotage for a guide : The sturdy forest oak, Pell'd by the lightning's stroke. Yields but to nature's noblest blow ; The God-made mind was ne'er laid low, Or Grief had filled her cup of woe : From Walmer's castled height^ His spirit winged its flight. No pang of pain ; — ^his last repose Was Kke a Summer evening's close ; He '11 slumber till the clarion blows To wake the holy dead With bliss, eteme, to wed. 128 IN MBMORIAM. VI. Mourn not, nor weep ; — remember well The day when 'fore him Assatb fell; — Let grateful Lusitania tell Vimibea's bloody fray Beneath the victor's sway : The whole Peninsula shall ring With praises to the subject king, Who ia his train did conquest bring : Spain, bow thy haughty head, Do homage to the dead : BaBOSSA, ClUDAB RODRISO, Sebastiait, — ^Badajos, laid low! ViTTOEiA fell beneath his blow ; The despot he o'erthrew. At deathless WATERLOO ! LOOK BACK TO CHILDnOOD'S HAPPY DAYS. 129 LOOK BACK TO CHILDHOOD'S HAPPY DAYS. Look back to childliood's happy days, Ambition, Fame, cry " onwaid go ! " How sweet are youth's Temembered lays, New music does not move us so : The future may be pictured bright. The past we know had joyous hours ; No present object yields delight. Like bygone times, — 'mid childhood's flowers. Look back to childhood's happy days. When round the hearth the dear ones met ; Think of kind words; the loving rays Beaming from eyes we ne'er forget : The mother's look of anxious thought, A father's smile of pride and joy, When every hour with bliss was fraught, The heart was pure without alloy. G 3 130 LOOK BACK TO CHILDHOOD'S HAPPY DAYS. Look back to childhood's happy days, Old scenes will vividly appear ; The past from memory ne'er decays, And distance makes it doubly dear : The faces we have loved are gone, Silent their lips, — their hearts are cold, The breast our childhood slept upon, No more its yearnings can unfold. Look back to childhood's happy days, 'Twill purify the worldly heart ; For every pulse that in it plays. Some fond remembrance will impart : The brightest honours we may gain. The highest meed of earthly praise ; Are evanescent, weak, and vain ; Look back to childhood's happy days. FLOWERS ON A GRAVE, 131 PLOWEES ON A GEAVE. How dark, how cold, how lone beneath. How placid, calm, is all above ; We never seem to see grim death, When flowers bloom o'er the breast we love ; We almost think those flowers give peace, That in the Summer time their sweets Scent where the living senses cease. And the indweller joyous greets ! II. We think that death is merely sleep, Sleep, only in the Wintry hours ; The dead in Summer wake and keep A living watch beneath the flowers : That when the Summer 's gone, they close Again their eyes, in peaceful rest ; And thus throughout all time repose. In the bright mansions of the blest. 132 FLOWERS ON A GRAVE. The thought is pleasing, let it last, 'Twill banish gloom and grief away ; With the bright present blend the past, The spirit never turns to clay : Then culture well the sweet wild flowers. Muse with a hallowed joy, — ^nor weep. Think in the lonely, silent hours, The lost to earth, — do only sleep. THE HAPPY SEASON. 133 THE HAPPY SEASON. I. Smrr days axe ooming; Hark, the cuckoo's note From aEar doth float, Cuckoo, cuckoo ! Soft as distant flute. Or a loYe-strung lute. As the bees are hummuig. O'er the gill jflowos. Blight irith bronze and gold. Which around them fold; Cuckoo, cuckoo! Li each flovret's breast Honey-suckers rest, Rifling the fcagrant bowers. n. Crystal streams are singing; Cheering sunbeams play 'Mid the silver spray. Cuckoo, cuckoo! Blossom^ white and pink, Bahny dew-drops drink ; Streets aroimd are springing : 134 THE HAPPY SEASON. Morning light comes beaming ; Soothing breathes the air, Lulling every care — Cuckoo, cuckoo ! Bright birds twitter round, On the emerald ground ; Nature's happy dreaming. Green, the young wheat moving. O'er the broad rich lands Nature's wealth expands — Cuckoo, cuckoo ! And the genial shower Cools each herb and flower ; Heaven tears are so loving. When on earth they 're falling: Presh'ning all to life, Prom the winter's strife — Cuckoo, cuckoo ! Happy season this, Fraught with quick'ning bliss. Youthful days recalling. GREY HAIES. 135 GRET HAIES. OiiD ruins are valued, so should be old friends, And all time-honoured objects, but human, we love ; The rainbow with storm and with darkness still blends. Yet the aged will seldom our sympathies move ; Grey hairs pass tmheeded, we never reflect, That the cares of a life have been bravely endured, We treat with contumely and icy neglect Those who 've outlived the past and life's bounty secured. The mild eyes of beauty, and locks glossy bright. Will attract, and we pause, doing homage thereto ; We dream not that sunset will banish the light. And that beauty itself must succumb to time too : The head that is whitened by age should be blest. Every lip should, with reverence, breathe forth a prayer; Whom God hath long spared should by Man be caress'd ; For grey hairs are more sacred than youth's forehead fair. 136 GREY HAIRS. Grey hairs are the snows that kind Heaven lets fell On the few, to admonish the many in time ; They speak with loud voice if we list to the call, Man should heed it, tho' strong he may feel in his prime : The aged are Patriarchs pointing the way To the young early Pilgrims on life's thorny wild; The guides that should keep us from walking astray; Then revere them in silence, with heart like a child. DOIPT CABE. 137 mm CAM. BsFLBCi, uid speak not in sach haste, Much for thought may leqniie yonr aid ; Light woids are in Teiy bad taste, " I don't care " seems to say — " I 'm a&aid." A£raid that the truth should be known. Some mong yon have done, and vonld chide; Tis more manly an error to own. Than pettishly seek it to hide. Suppose you are right, why " don't care 1 " We should feel e'en for those who are wrong ; All human of &ults hare a share. For perfection to none doth belong: Think kindly, speak kindly to all, < This will speedily anger remove ; In life the small portion of gall Is made sweet — by the honey of love. 138 DON'T CARE. " Don't care ! " — when you Ve perhaps given pain, To those hearts who have lov'd you for years; The loss of a friend is no gain, When 'tis purchased with sorrow and tears: A wound in the flesh may not slay, Though it fester, — Cleave poison behind. But harsh words a pang may convey That may torture for ever the mind. Away with " don't care ! " — You should say « 'Tis a pity "— " I 'm sorry "— « I 'm grieved ;" All strife we should try to allay, Then self-conquest we shall have achieved : Remember a fault you would find If a child said " don't care " in a pet ; By example make others more kind ; The heart should forgive — ^and forget. WHAT THOUGH AGE O'ERTAKE THEE. 139 WHAT THOUGH AGE O'EBTAKE THEE. What though age o'ertake thee, Beauty leave thy brow ; Could I e'ei forsake thee. Love thee less than now } Once the flower is planted. Though its leaves decay. Yet the root, enchanted. Clings unto the clay. What though age o'ertake thee, Though thy hair grow white ; Weary years, love, shake thee, And thine eyes lose light? Still thy heart lemaineth. Faithful in its truth ; Still thy voice retaineth Sounds of early youth. 140 WHAT THOUGH AGE O'BBTAKE THEE. What though age o'ertake thee, Summer days will fly; Yet the Sun shall wake thee, From the Winter's sky ; As the Sun then shineth. On the leafless tree. So my spirit twineth, BTer, love, round thee. What though age o'ertake thee, Beauty leave thy brow ; Could I e'er forsake thee, Love thee less than now ? Once the flower is planted, Though its leaves decay. Yet the root, enchanted, Clings unto the clay. THE COAST OP MERRIE ENGLAND. 141 THE COAST OE MEEEIE ENGLMD. The coast of Merrie England, How bold it is and free ; What grandeur, and what beauty too. Around that coast we see : Her castles stern defiance bid, Her cots all tell of peace; Her cultur'd hiUs proclaim aloud Domestic joys increase. The coast of Merrie England, Surrounds her like a band Of adamant or iron girth. That no foe can withstand : By day and night her seamen brave Watch well the happy isle : — Each Briton is a hero born Who 'd die for glory's smUe. 142 THE COAST OP MERRIE ENGLAND. in. The coast of Merrie England, Oh may it ever be A terror to the tyrant heart — A blessing to the free : And her ships, oh may they ever Be victors on the main ; And fight as well as Nelson did. Against both Prance and Spain. WE ALL MAY DO GOOD IF WE TRY. 143 WE AIL MAT DO GOOD IF WE TET. Wb all may do good if we try, If we do all we can, we do well ; One sunbeam enlivens the sky; Who in all things is known to excel 1 Small seeds in the earth bring forth flowers, Tiny drops, in the sea, form the wave. The minutes pass on to the hours. Let us freely give that which we have. The mite of the Widow was blest; For the many the one may relieve ; A small space of time affords rest ; Little kindness great good may achieve : Huge mountains consist but of grains ; Unseen stars add a lustre to Night ; Each herb something useful contains : If we do what we can, we do right. 144 WE ALL MAY DO GOOD IF WB TRY. The poorest have something to give, 'Tis not gold that can soothe the crush'd heart ; Kind words will in memory live, Yield more joy e'en than wealth can impart: When Mary anointed the Lord, He pronounced the lov'd work to he good ; And comforted her with His word. Saying thus — " She hath done what she could." HOUSEllOLD WORDS. 145 HOUSEHOLD WORDS. Ansels of goodness, present though unseen, Watch with soft yearnings o'er the sacred spot Where Home is formed. — They gaze with eyes serene On the indwellers of the lonely cot ; Whilst love domestic cheers the humble lot, And their calm spirits breathe of kindred peace : Sunshine of happiness without a blot To shade, or mar, its beauty; life shall cease Ere HousEHoiD Words, from human hearts shall find release. Words are not tones alone to fill the ear ; Looks of affection speak with eloquence, And whisper to the soul in accents clear Of fond reliances. — With joy intense The pure heart thrills, whilst eyery grosser sense Flees from the mortal, and th' ecstatic mind Dwells on the scene with holy reverence : Nature's sweet impulses will ever find In HousBHOLB WoKDS a charm, for all of human kind. 146 HOUSEHOLD WORDS. Warriors are great on glory's battle field; Honour is gained by human sacrifice; Statesmen tbe tongue of Eloquence may wield ; Wealth hides from censure the foul brow of vice ; Painters and Poets have their artifice ; Deceit has ruled the World in every age, Bach for himself has framed a smooth device; The man who starts on peaceful Pilgrimage, With Household Woebs to teach, that man is Nature's sage. Knowledge is pow'r, the knowledge that shall tend To spread abroad peace and good-will to man ; What knowledge can such love as this transcend, Since first we entered on our mortal span? Fame, with her wings. Ambition's hopes may fan ; Science may spread her glittering lures around. With eyes of light the universe may 'scan; Yet what in science is there to be found. So pure as Household Words, when heart to heart is bound 1 HOUSEHOLD WORDS. 147 Let such go forth amid the busy world, To purify the passions of our race ; High let the spotless Banner be unfurl'd, Uptum'd to it, with Faith, be every face : Let man meet man, with brotherly embrace ; Call back the early feelings of the heart ; Let strife no more humanity debase ; In life's contentions take a nobler part ; Make Household Wokds a guide, a compass, and a chart. H 2 148 THE PENITENTIARY. THE PENITENTIAEY. I. SiATBiiT buildings, for the sick, Spacious Unions, for the poor ; Palace, for the Lunatic, Prisons, for the evil doer ; But for woman, frail, yet wronged. Shelter for the head there's none ; Mark — for all the evil-tongued, Is the outcast friendless one. II. Mothers, fathers, brothers, dear. Think of daughters, sisters lost ; Think ye, how the Tempter near. O'er their path of Virtue crossed. See them in their early youth. Simple, guileless, void of sin ; Smiles of innocence and truth Beaming from their hearts within. III. Who has on them set the ban. Torn the blush from off the cheek ? Who, but he, the Judas, man, Vile seducer of the weak! THE PENITENTIARY. 149 Should not he who crushed the flower, Grieve to see its beauty low ; Should not he repent the hour, Strive to heal the heartless blow ? Man, to thee appeal we make, Woman, we to thee appeal ; Give your aid for Mercy's sake. Let not hate your bosoms steel : Find a shelter, find a rest, Give her comfort, good inspire. Take her to Compassion's breast ; Pluck the brand from out the fire. T. Think of Him who meekly bore All our sins, whose life was love ; Him who said, " Go, sin no more," Christ, the Saviour, from above ! How He, with His spirit pure. Pardon gave to her who fell : Shall not we the fall'n endure. Shall not love our bosoms swell 1 150 THE GOOD SPIRIT. THE GOOD SPIRIT. An Angel stood upon the highest point Of Earth's poor pigmy mountains, and looked down On the broad scene beneath his presence pure, Into the vast profound ; where lands and seas, In light, and darkness, slumbering, and in life, Were spread before him. On his face divine, A radiant smile — such as is only seen In Heaven's eternal palaces of bliss — Lit up his eyes, and to his heart there gushed Feelings of kindred love for the New World ; A pendant-drop in the great concave dome That formed his limitless and blest abode. His spirit felt that on the sea and earth There was a portion of Divinity, The essence of all Time, the Godhead's power ; That they who dwelt below, each thing of life, Inherited the glorious gift of heaven : That feeling, love, and smile of kindred joy. Was LiBEKTY ! — ^but soon a shadow passed O'er the bright features of that stainless face ; THE GOOD SPIRIT. 151 His quick perception caught the moaning sounds Of human pain ; he heard the clanking chains That kept the God-made form of man in bonds ; He saw strong warriors, in their power of might, Crushing the helpless, and the tyrant's arm Raised, to strike down the weak ; he saw the few Decked out in pomp ; the many clad in rags : Plenty for power, and millions craiving food. Pood that their labour had produced from earth. The Trumpet blast of Triumph then he, heard, Whilst wails from stricken wretches rent the air. The doomed to toil and sweat 'neath life's sore load : The Angel groaned. His mighty bosom swelled With human sympathy, and tears of love Gushed from the fountain of his heart. He wept ! To know that man to man should be unjust; That Creeds were vanity ; that Mercy taught Forgotten was, and that a mockery. In form of prayer, was daily sent to heaven : That Priests and Prophets were but painted gauds. Religion a mere fantasy ; that Self Was the great idol by mankind set up, For their sole worship. Gon's name made a lie. Gob's Word a form : His will known, not obeyed ; The present all in all, the future dark 152 THE GOOD SPIRIT. By wilful blindness. Then the Angel knelt, And prayed the hand of Vengeance should be stretched Over the Earth ; that Chaos once again Should in confusion reign, and man be swept Off with the beasts that perish ; when a cry From the oppressed of earth, smote on his heart, And his stern brow relaxed ; his face again Beamed with a holy love. A voice was heard : " Take comfort, ye my people. I the Lord Will bow the stubborn heart, and raise the reed Bruised by the Tyrant's heel, for ye are mine." Man, fearing God, rose with a Giant's strength. The nations lifted up their hands and prayed. When, lo ! the star of Liberty appeared, And universal joy lit up the world ; Pure Liberty, with God, her guiding lamp. THE LOST LOVED ONE. 153 THE LOST LOVED ONE. She was — would that she were, — e'en as she was. Would that the past were present now to me ; The future present in the past, with her For immortality. With but one world Of everlasting sunshine, — with one heart Alone, to beat responsive pulse to mine. She was, — I am; — oh! that I ne'er had been. All that is left me now is Memory ; An indistinct, yet fairy vision,^seen Through the thin veil that years have shaded o'er. How can I draw her presence from my brain 1 Her face was traced with far more beauteous lines Than Painter's skill, or Sculptor's art e'er formed : Her cheeks just tinted, — e'en as though the lips Of the young Moss Rose kissed them in its play ; Her very lips told of unspoken love ; Her eyes, twin lamps of Virtue, cast their light With holy quiet on all things around ; H 3 164 THE LOST LOVED ONE. Her smile was unpolluted innocence, Looking from out her features with a charm That won all hearts it beamed on. Her sweet voice, More musical than finest, soft-tuned lute. Enraptured every hearer when she spoke ; Her accents, every ear, attent, would list With breathless admiration. She stood forth An angel moulded in a mortal form. Unmatched, — alone created ! That fair face, Th' expression heavenly ; flower-tinted cheeks. Lips, Love's own oracles ; — those beaming eyes, Smiles that wanned more than sunbeams, and that voice Which gave perfection spirit; — all are gone! TO ADA BOSTON. 155 TO ADA BOSTON. FoHDLY does thy father press thee, Dearly does thy mother bless thee, Who could cease, love, to caress thee ? Beautiful art thou. From thy blue eyes smiles are streaming; Innocence is o'er thee beaming ; Like some Angel spirit dreaming, la thy placid brow. Seedling of earth's richest flowers, May'st thou bloom in Virtue's bowers, Giving grace to life's brief hours ; Till the snows of years Turn thy golden locks to whiteness, When thy youth has lost its lightness. Yet make radiant with its brightness. All thy mortal tears. 156 STANZAS TO STANZAS TO I. When wilt thou come to me ? In vain I gaze far o'er the vast blue deep, Prom early morn to eve my vigils keep ; Sometimes thy form I see On the horizon, like a spirit fair. But soon it fadeth into ambient air ; When -wilt thou come to me ? Oft thy dear form I see On far pellucid clouds ; thy beauteous eyea Mournfully looking at me, the wind's sighs Sadly come o'er the sea. Singing a dirge that chills upon my heart ; Hope cannot live, beloved, from thee apart : When wilt thou come to me 1 STANZAS TO 157 There is a mystery In all things that pertain to our brief life, With wonder every outward sense is rife ; On the mind's wings we flee, And without eyes and ears, we see and hear; I feel thy presence though thou art not near : When wilt thou come to me ? The searbird's wing is free To span the ocean, tempests she defies ; Onward upon her home-bound course she flies ; Instinct with liberty. To her own nest, nooked in some rock, above The reach of man, she hies to her mate's love: When wilt thou come to me ? 158 LOVE THAT DIETH NOT. LOVE THAT DIETH ^ NOT. Love not alone the gay, The beautiful, the bright ; For youth will melt away. As day-beams into night : But love the heart that 's pure, How plain soe'er the face ; Such lore will long endure,] Such love cannot deface. Love not alone on earth Those transient things of life. Which, like the rainbow's birth, Soon fade 'midst shadowy strife : But love the Power that made All that to man is given. Whose spirit doth pervade The universal heaven. LOVE THAT DIETH NOT. 169 Love all things, great and small, Prom man to tiny flower; Created they were all By an all-seeing Power : For " God is love,'' we know, Whate'er may be our lot ; Then in life let us sow The love that dieth not. 160 FORGIVE AND FORGET. FOEGTYE AID EOEfiET, FoRftivB, — and forget, Be the past, — with the past ; 'Tis useless to fret, And hold strange to the last : We all have a way. Who is faultless 1 — ^not one ; Bid Kindness then stay, Say to passion, — ^be gone ! Forget, — and forgive, Nothing human is pure ; As long as we live, We must strive to endure : To bear, and forbear, Is a motto full wise ; Shun then every care, For heart-peace is a prize. FORGIVE AND FORGET. 161 III. Forgive, — and forget, Check all feelings unkind ; There neyer was yet Bad, — ^but good was behind ; Though harsh words may fall Prom the lips when in haste, Speak kindly, — the gall Will scarce bitter the taste. 162 THE QUESTION. THE QUESTION, I. What thy thoughts, love? wert thou dreaming Years ■within a moment's space ? Pensively thine eyes were beaming, Sadness shaded o'er thy face : Did the past arise before thee 1 Was the present shut from view ? Or did visions, sweet, come o'er thee ? Speak, beloved one ; say me true. II. Why those tears upon thy cheek, love ? Precious gems should rarely fall : Why with blushes only speak, love 1 One kind look would tell me all : Ah, that smile, like sunlight streaming Through the far o'erclouded sky. Tells me that thy heart was dreaming Visions, that can never die. III. Oalm and sunshine last not ever. Storms and clouds will intervene ; Earthly happiness can never Through long years remain serene : THE QUESTION. 163 But the memory of the past, love, Like the moming star ■will shine, Thoughts of early days will last, love, — Fear not, then, to caU me thine. IV. Tremble not, beloved, nor doubt me, lay thy head upon my breast ; This poor heart would break without thee, Thine its secret hath confest. Thou art mine, mine own for ever, 'Twas thy dreaming told thee so ; And no waking thought shall sever Links that bind, through weal or woe. V. What thy thoughts, love 1 wert thou dreaming Years within a moment's space ? Pensively thine eyes were beaming. Sadness shaded o'er thy face : Did the past arise before thee 1 Was the present shut from view 1 Or did visions, sweet, come o'er thee ? Speak, beloved one ; say me true. 164 THE STORM. THE STOBM. I. A SHEiEK and a moan — the wind's deep groan- A dash and a crash on the shore ; A purple sky, with the stars hung high, And the tide rolling evermore : An inky pall then cov'reth all — The bright stars are c[uench'd, and we hear A distant peal, and the waters reel As the Tempest Fiend draweth near. II. The thunder roars, and the sharp hail pours. The wind whistles over the wave ; And petrels ride on the foaming tide. As loudly the Storm Spirits rave : The lightning's glare is the torch they bear. As they bend o'er the boiling sea ; Black, doleful, and deep, it on doth sweep — Then away with a howl they flee. THE SEA. 165 THE SEA. Mystekious page in Nature's book art thou, Yast and unfathomable Sea ; Whate'er the mind's intensity, How creased soe'er the Student's brow, Man's knowledge, like the shores of earth. Beneath thy ever-rolling tide Is overwhelmed. — His mental worth Cannot thy depthless waves divide, Nor scan the treasures hidden there : Teeming with life thy darksome womb Heaves to the tempest ; — but oh, where Hast thou concealed within thy tomb The loved of Earth? Where are the eyes That looked responsive kindred level The purest of all human ties, Thy callous heart could never move. Wife, father, brother, sister, child. And the strong warrior in his might; Thy sunlit bosom has beguiled ; Yet hast thou in one little night Stayed the heart's pulses, and let fall The torrent of thy wrath. A ban Art thou upon the world's wide ball, To prove the power of God to doubting Man. 166 FALLIBILITY. FALLIBEITT. Slow is the step of Time, To Manhood's prime; When that is past, Time fleeth downward, fast. Fruits that are ripe decay ; So Life's brief day Sinks into night. For Death with Time taies flight. III. Prize then the early youth, 'Tis pure as truth ; Tears blot the page Of Life's book, — ^read by Sage. BROKEN PROMISES. 167 BBOKEN PEOMISES. Tib easy to promise, not so to perfomi, To say " I will do,"— and yet fail at the last; To buoy up the heart with belief in your truth. Then carelessly scatter its hopes to the blast. 'Tis easy to say " you 11 rely on my word," Not thinking, one moment, the pledge to fulfil ; To deceive with a smile, and a confident tone, And heed not the wrong, broken faith may instil. Ne'er promise, unless yon can see the way clear, 'Tis glossing o'er &lsehood, with vilest of art ; Think well, ere yon speak, or best speak not at all; Truth only, reliance can ever impart. A moment to ponder, much good may achieve ; A moment unheeded, much wrong we may cause ; Weigh well, then, each word ; words are precious as gold, The scale it not balanced, without there 's a pause ! 168 THOUGHTS ON ABERYSTWITH CASTLE. THOUGHTS ON YISITING THE ElM OF ABEETSTWITH CASTLE, I. Daek Ruin, that for years has stood The storm's fierce rage, and summer's calm, Beneath thy rocks the ocean flood Has flowed and ebbed in plaintive mood. Whilst cheering breezes waft their balm. ir. Around thee rugged, jagged steeps, Their heads uplift to kiss the skies : The bursting cloud upon thee weeps. The howling gust thy watch-tower sweeps, And then beyond th' horizon flies. III. Northward, thy brother Cambria's Land Stands boldly on the surging deep, Girding thy Bay with iron band. As though some mighty Wizard's wand Had woke thee from thy tranquil sleep. THOUaHTS ON ABERYSTWITH CASTLE. 169 IV. The unceasing tide creeps on thy shore ; The spirit voices of the deep Now mnrmur as they did of yore ; And will, till time shall be no more ; With crests of foam their waves shall leap. V. But what remains of thee shall go From memory, even as from sight ; The waters o'er thy dust shall flow, No future bom thy name shall know ; Yet once how famed thou wert for might ! VI. The thunder booms amid thy hills. Like war-blasts in the battle fray ; Man's heart with fear, and wonder fills, The power is shown of Him who wills ; Can Man, — Destruction's stem arm stay? VII. Man formed thee in his pride and power. Time touch'd thee — Ruin round thee clung; The seagull shrieks above thy tower. Where lov'd lips sang in Lady's Bower ; Where are those lips, — ^the harp unstrung? 170 THOUGHTS ON ABERYSTWITH CASTLE. VIII. Still art thou noble in thy fall, To ua thy fate reflection brings ; Let Cambria's heart the past recall, Her memory spread thy funeral. As loud thine ancient fame she sings. IX. 'Tis more than half a thousand years,* When first thy form in beauty rose ; Since then how many hopes and .fears Have kings and warriors felt, — what tears Have widows shed to ruthless foes 1 X. In ruin crumbling, day by day. For centuries t thy pride has lain; Cyidren amid thy fragments play. And stranger eyes, from far away. Gaze on thee as a giant slain. XI. Huge were thy battlements, and strong. As thine own native flinty rocks. Thy walls and towers the warrior throng Guarded with life — their triumph song Has ceased, — decay their glory mocks. • Erected in the year 1277. t In ruins since 1624. THOUGHTS ON ABEBYSTWITH CASTLE. 171 XII. Fancy can draw the veil aside, And picture thee in grandeur lone, Defiance on thy brow of pride, Looks forth the foemen to deride ; — The veil is dropped, the vision 's gone. xm. But few things now remain to thee, Cambria, the coimtry of the brave ; Nature, thy bills, the boundless sea, Thy language fraught with poesie — Thine ancient tongue, may ages save. 172 NATURE AND MAN. NATUEE AM) MAN, A OLEAM of sunshine oft is seen, The silver moon, the lonely star ; The feather'd lark's nest wove with green, Or simple flower, like elfin car. A rainbow in the heaven set, A thunder clap, the lightning's flash ; We hear the singing rivulet, And the loud raging ocean's dash. Night's solemn darkness, radiant day, The mountain^high, the fertile plain, The budding blossomings of May, The emerald tree, the golden grain : A leaf, with thousand veins imprest, A flower in varied colours dyed, A bird in richest plumage drest, An insect, wondrously supplied. NATURE AND MAN. 173 These things, and many more, we see. So often seen we note them not ; If seen, and noted, they would be On memory's heart the greenest spot ; One vital hour with God is worth Whole years of life to mortals given; For everything that 's viewed on earth, Well pondered, leads the heart to heaven. Each blade of grass, each tree, each flower, Each insect, bird, or beast, must prove The vastness of Eternal power — That God is great, that God is love. 174 THERE'S A SEASON FOR ALL. THEBE'S A SEASON FOE ALL. There 's a season for all Of beauty and love ; O'er the great and the small, It smiles from above ; The rich man enjoys it, But much more the poor ; His labour employs it, It adds to his store : And Summer 's that Season, When warmth, life, and light, Give impulse to reason. And new strength to might. II. The sun, too, shines brightly Upon his thatched cot. Its last beam falls lightly, Makes cheerful his lot ; THERE'S A SEASON FOR ALL. 175 He 's up at the daybreak, With lark in the mom ; He lists to the land-drake, 'Mid golden-eared com ; While at even the dove Coos soft on his ear. 1 And his children with love ^ Exult when he 's near. m. Oh, Season of Pleasure, Sweet birthtime of flowers; When joy without measure Its blessed balm showers ; By the cool purling stream, The velvet-spread plain, We think life but a dream. Forgetting i^s pain; Yes, an angel art thou ; I We list for thy call. Thou hast smiles on thy brow. Lov'd Season, to all. 176 THE ANGEL OP SPRING. THE ANGEL OF SPKING. With gold-tinged hair, few flowers enwreathed Around her brow of virgin snow ; Upon her face beam sunny smiles, Soft music from her lips doth flow ; At her approach the trees bud forth, Under the hedge-rows violets sweet And moon-dyed primroses appear, Spreading a carpet for her feet. Green, fairy blades of grass spring up, Earth wakes from out her winter dream, Refresh'd in every pulse of life ; Songs murmur from the gentle stream ; Birds, twittering, plume their silken wings. With trills, melodious, fill the sky ; All Nature looketh forth serene. To greet her presence lovingly. THE ANGEL OP SPRDfa. 177 m. The BEAnTOiTL is she, of all ; Season of Life, and love, and joy; The harbinger of brighter days ; Yet is she gentle, mild, and coy ; And shadowy veils at times descend. As timidly she draweth back. But when her bashfulness is o'er, Young sunbeams brighten on her track. As onward o'er her path she moves, Soft genial airs embabn the skies : And every cloudlet glides in light. Bedecked with richest orient dyes ; When she departs, repose around LuUs every scene, like dreamy bowers. For Summer, her sweet Sister, smiles. Strewing the Earth with rainbow flowers. I 3 178 THE NOON OF NIGHT. THE NOON OF NIGHT, Out from the dreary town, where all is gloom ; — Out to the wide-spread fields, — the distant woods : Inhale the breathings of the sweet wild flowers On the soft air that cheering fans thy brow. List in the silence for the far-off brook. And let its gentle murmurs touch thy heart "With other thoughts than those of busy life. The deep blue heaven lies tranquil, and the stars In myriads glitter, as their varied hues Shine in the vast immensity, each one A spirit speaking of the wonderful. Silence around, yet from th' extended space Voices of Angels seem to quire the praise Of the Most Holy One. — Silence around, Yet waking dreams entrance the beating heart As it draws in the sweet inspiring breath Of Nature and her glories. — Time has closed For a brief space his pinions ; and the pause THE NOON OF NIGHT. 179 During God's audience, gives a hallowed glimpse Of the Divine Eternity in Man. Out in the fields, — study the book of life In the deep Midnight, where Omnipotence Has charactered in golden types of light His power infinite, and thus instructs Man from the page of Nature, that his life When past, shall rise again immortal clad. 180 THINK OP ME IN THE SILENT HOURS. THINK OF ME IN THE SILENT HOURS. I. Think of me, in the silent hours, When life's gay lures have lost their charm ; Ear in the fields — amid wild flowers, When Summer's breath thy heart shall warm. Think of me when the Evening Star, Beams mildly on thy soul-lit eyes, When golden sunsets from afar. Flash o'er the west their gorgeous dyes. Think of me, in the quiet hours. When in thy cheerful happy home Thou sitt'st, like Eve in Eden's bowers, Without a wish beyond to roam : When friends are gone, and thou alone, Canst commune with thy gentle heart. When every feeling takes its tone From thoughts Love only can impart. THINK OP ME IN THE SILENT HOURS. 181 Think of me, in the midnight hours, Ere Poppy sleep doth steep thy brain, Ere death-life on thy bosom lowers His curtain of a tinctured grain : And when thou sleepest, — ^in thy dreams Be with me still in every scene, Till the bright morning on thee beams. And wakes thee up to Ufe serene. 182 REMEMBER THE POOR. REMEMBEE THE POOR. I. " Happy season — happy season, Mirth and feasting all around, I can hear them as I crouch Down upon my ragged couch ; Thinhing — ^till my puling reason, Trembling, wanders at the sound ; Then I dream of Christmas joy. And fancy — I 'm again a boy. II. Plenty — ^blessings all about me. Yet no plenty here within, Where I shiver, moan, and pine — Like a dog, too weak to whine : Ev'ry being seems to doubt me, Mark'd as though a thing of sin ; Cruel fate — so lone and lorn, God ! — why was I ever born?" III. Thus a wretch, one Christmas morning, Mutter'd in a gloomy shed, While he shrank within himself, As if heat his blood could pelf REMEMBER THE POOR. 183 From the tattet'd raiment fawning O'er his carcase, shred by shred ; Gazing on a spark of peat, A doleful light, all void of heat. Friendless outcast — ^hapless brother, Flesh of us, why pass thee by ? One great Grod shall judge us all ; Thou by Poverty didst fall ; Nature is thine only mother. But Humanity will cry, Man to man, perform your part, Giye — ^with a cheerful loving heart. Ye, then, who are blest with plenty, Te whom want has never scared With his haggard chilling touch, Thankful should ye be for much : From your thrift some portion empty. Let your heart to his be bared ; Ponder on the Holy Word, Give to the Poor — ^lend to the Lord. 184 THE QUIET HOUR. THE QUIET HOUR. I. LlBTEK, listen ! sounds are stealing Tiptoe on the balmy air ; Eve, her rainbow robe revealing, Blushes through the twilight fair : Whilst dreamy voices, touch'd with Pleasure's pain, Hum their sweet incense through the yearning brain. 11. Listen, listen ! hearts are beating To a soft yet dulcet tone ; Speak not — breathe not — eyes are meeting, Rich in light as jewell'd zone : Echo enchanted sleeps — the fragrant breeze Just fans the leaflets on the emerald trees. III. Listen, listen ! streams are singing Down amid the amber glade ; Fairies' perfumed bells are ringing ; The night bird trills from out the shade. Shall not our silent souls awake to move In unison, when all around is Love ? JULY. 185 JULY. CHiiii) of the Sun, whose beams illume thy hair, Thou paragon of beauty, light, and joj: Crowned with rich flowers of every hue and form, Perfume thy breath, and harmony thy voice. By verdant meads thou meekly walkest forth. Attendant on thy footsteps every grace ; And singing rivers with pellucid streams, Welcome thy presence, as the darksome hours Yield to the day-beams. Most belov'd art thou Of Nature's gifted children. Prom thy hand Plenty is showered upon the craving earth ; And every living thing to thee looks up, To catch the glory of thy passing smile. And win their bounty from thy liberal hand. Earth, Air, and Ocean, mingle in sweet love To greet thy coming. Every flower, cloud, wave. Looks bright before thee, — and the solemn Night Puts back her frown, to meet thee with a smile. Shed from the lustre of her myriad eyes. 186 THE SLAVE. THE SLAVE. I wouiiD not be a slave. I speak not now Of him whose skin is black, whose life is toil ; Not of the bondsman from the Afric shore, Branded and chained a captive from his home ; Nor do I speak of those who labour hard At plough, or loom, or other work of life, Prom morn till night, to earn their scanty food. Such are not slaves, because their minds are free ; Within their flesh of suffering there may breathe The inspirations of a noble heart, Thoughts that fly on the wings of liberty, Untrammelled as the air beneath the dome Of Heaven's great vault. Thoughts that can never die. Being immortal as the soul of man, May to the object of a Tyrant's power Bring balm of hope, as Life is but for Time. Such are not slaves indeed. The thing that is Is he who, clothed with riches and with power, Makes them his god, the pander to his will ; Deadens all impulse to a virtuous deed ; THE SLAVE. 187 Lives all for tdf — of eveiy passion's throb The 'wretched Tictim; till at last he feels Hate of himself, despised of all mankind, Idol of parasites, degraded dust; Till age comes premature to sap his life. Palls all his taste of luxury, and shows As in a mirror, the false hideous past ; Then conscience, like some dreadful dream, will cling To every waking thought, and hurl him back To the foul hell of doleful dark despair. At last he dies, without one sorrowing heart To breathe a prayer for him — without one sign Of mercy for him in the life to come — Such man is truly serf, from birth to death ; Freedom is lost when man is slave to self ! 188 STABS OP THE NIGHT. STAES OS THE NIGHT, Staes of the night, Rain forth your light ; Fo,r weary and worn, Heartstricken, forlorn, I loathe the bright mom : Worldly desires, Which day inspires, Fade 'neath your fires. Stars of the night. II. Flowers of the spring, Rise now and fling Odours around ye ; Light has unbound ye. Beauty has crowned ye ; Thoughts from earth's breast, Fondly ye 're prest Where lov'd forms rest, Flowers of the spring. STARS OF THE NIGHT. 189 Stars of the night. To my rapt sight Ye are like flowers. Amid silent hours, Gremming love's bowers : Flowers of the sky, Festooned on high. Ye never die, Stars of the night. 190 WORDS FOR MUSIC. WOEDS EOB MUSIC. Whene'er you meet a stranger, By poverty laid low, Straight let your heart yearn to him, Compassion for him show : The act repays the kindness ; With flowers his pathway strew ; Then do ye unto others As you would they 'd do to you. When unkind words are spoken, Oh, raise not then your ire ; A gentle look will oftimes Quench passion's hottest fire ; To err, we know, is human. Of faultless ones how few ; Then do ye unto others As you would they 'd do to you. WORDS FOR MUSIC. 191 If each would make this precept The study of a life, Sunshine would gleam in winter, The world with joy be rife ; Ko pangs assail the bosom. No tears the cheek bedew ; Then do ye unto others As you would they 'd do to you. 192 A NATION'S DIEGE. A NATION'S DIRGE, I. Toll out, ye doleful beUs, Prom every steeple tower, Giye forth a sound that tells England's 'reft bosom swells — Lost her great power. II. Whisper deep, solemnly, Stifle your sobbing throes, Each unto all reply, Slowly and mournfully, A nation's woes. III. Sun, blot your garish light ; Day should in darkness move. Like an appalling Sprite, Shrouded in blackest night. Below, — above. A NATION'S DIRGE. 193 IV. Earth, 'tia your travail hour, Groan from your laden breast, As o'er your pent-up power Sulphureous air doth lour Over his rest. V. Sheathed is the warrior's sword. Lone lies the stirless plume, Closed are the lips adored. Victory ! the magic word. Cannot relume. VI. Boom, boom, artillery. Speak loud above his head ; With your breath blot the sky, Thunder the wailing cry — Wellihston 's dead! VII. Hark ! — 'tis the march in Saul, — List to the solemn drum ; Heavily footsteps fall, Arms are reversed — and all Stand as if dumb. 194 A NATION'S DIRGE. VIII. Brave hearts are paralysed ; Deep is a nation's grief : Men gaze with vacant eyes, Breathing despairing sighs — Gone is their chief. IX. " Earth to earth, dust to dust," No more shall worldly strife Cumber the brave and just; Prayerfully let us trust. Death— is but Life. X. England, he loved thee well. Ever to duty true ; Thy grief shall ring his knell. His name thy hallowed spell With Waterloo ! ALL FOR THE BEST. 195 ALL FOE THE BEST. z. CoHTBNTEDLT rest : Panse not, — ^repise not ; Onward still go, Battle with woe, Whate'er be your lot : 'Tis— all for the best. n. Contentedly rest: The Seasons will change; Nothing IS still, Mountain or rill, Wherever we range; 'Tis— all for the best. K 2 196 ALL FOR THE BEST. in. Contentedly rest : The few possess wealth ; What is their gold, To the untold Pure blessings of health ? 'Tis— all for the best. IT. Contentedly rest : E'en beauty must fade; What is so fair As silver'd hair, When age seeks the shade 1 'Tis— all for the best. T. Contentedly rest : Sickness and sorrow Enter the door. Rich one, and poor, Now, and to-morrow: 'Tis— all for the best. ALL FOR THE BEST. 197 VI. Ciontentedly rest : Death cometh at last ; Who can his dart Shield from the heart, When once it is cast? 'Tis— all for the best. vu. Contentedly rest, Through trials and pain : Think 'tis God's wUl, Life's cup to fill ; Ne'er murmur — complain : 'Tis— all for the best. 198 SING ON. SmG ON!* Mt soul is dark, then wherefore should I sing? Do songsters carol at the noon of night ? Do they spread out, in gloom, the airy wing, And joyous, heavenward soar to seek the light 1 When the heart's day is gone, and Hope takes flight. Can the crushed spirit onward look, and smile 1 When Mind, — that grapples at the Infinite, Finds no response, though struggling hard erewhUe, Is left to pine unknown, — amid the rank and vile. Tell the poor Captive in his lonely cell, That heaven is beautiful, the earth hath flowers, That sunlight streams o'er hill and fairy dell ; Of cottage homes, and castellated towers ; • These lines were written in reply to Thomas Aird, the Poet, who advised the Author to " Sing On." SING ON. 199 Speak of the rainbow's arch, — the genial showers ; Of perfume from the newly-furrowed earth, Sweet shady walks, and Amaranthine bowers ; How Summer's coronals have sprung to birth. Speak of the blithe and free, — to mock him into mirth! III. Bid the black Midnight rend his ebon robe, Quench the bright stars, and quick unveil the day ; With mortal fingers the dark future probe ; Command the tides their ebb and flow to stay ; O'er keen December throw the garb of May ; The Seasons change, bid Death himself be gone. Strive with a breath the tempest's rage to stay ; The Man whose heart Despair has preyed upon May muse with silent Grief, — ^but never more "sing on ! ' 200 THE SEASON, HOUR, AND THE SEASON, HOUE, AND PLACE FOR DEATH. I. Not in the gloomy chamber would I die ; With curtains drawn. At early dawn; Whispers, light footsteps ; — and a mystery In each sad face. Which grief will trace ; 'Mid doleful sounds of a great coming woe : Nor hear heart-throbs. With broken sobs ; These silent sadnesses, — I would forego. 11. Not in the Winter, — when the piercing wind Howls like Despair, In the keen air. And startles from its rest the tranquil mind : When Misery's Imploring cries In fancy break upon the list'ning ears : And Charity, On suppliant knee ; With her sweet sister. Pity, sheds her tears. PLACE FOR DEATH. 201 ut. In the bright SiTMMER-tide I pray to die; When flowerets sweet The senses greet ; And depthless looks the pure dark purple sky : When meek Twilight Embraces Night ; And Darkness peeps not from his silent pall ; When Philomel His throat does swell, And from his leafy bower his lov'd mate call. IV. At Midnight would I close mine eyes to earth ; When all is still, Save murmuring rill : When the bright day has fled, and sounds of mirth Have ceased, — when Sleep Her watchings keep, O'er the p'oor treasure-seekers of the world : When few are nigh To weep — to sigh. Whilst Life's gay banner over me is furl'd. K 3 202 SEASON, HOUR, AND PLACE FOR DEATH. The Place: — ^beside an open window; — where My dying eyes Could scan the skies ; Or on the sward, in the calm Summer air ; My Canopy The star-lit sky : Myriads of shining worlds hung o'er my head ; Watch them expire, Like sparks of fire ; With the last Star, I would my Spirit fled ! This is the Season, Hour, and Place for Death; Eyes and heart given Alone to hearen, With placid Hope resign the mortal breath ; Whilst Angels sing Their welcoming, As the Mind's eyes behold th' eternal shore, Communion sweet Where spirits meet ; And from the lov'd of earth, — shall part — no more. VOICES PROM SHORE AND SEA. 203 VOICES FEOM THE SHOEE AND THE SEA. ["The women of Libo bave a cuBtom, wben their husbands are fishing out at sea, to sit along the shore in the evenings, and sing, continuing so to do till each of them can distinguish the responses of her own husband at a distance. Libo is the long row of islands that divides the Adriatic ^om the Lagouns."] Fkancbsca. Where art thou, love ? The glorious Sun is sinking in the west ; Below — above, The beautiful are dosing into rest ; The crystal Day Is fading 'neath the blushing amber sky. His last bright ray The Amethystian sea doth beautify : Let not the Night, With her rich myriad jewels, lure thee, dear ! Her gems, though bright, Are not so precious as Affection's tear: Oh, answer me! And torture not this fond, this doating heart ; No joy can be Without thy voice, — life of my life, thou art : 204 YOICBS PROM SHORE AND SEA. Sweet Julio, mine, Throw back thy raven locks, lift up thine eyes ; With Song divine. Pour forth the melody thou know'st I prize : In vain mine ears Listen to greet thy voice from off the sea ; Griefs silent tears I pour as a libation, love, to thee : Thy voice I hear ! Blest be the breeze that wafts the loving sound ; My Julio, dear, With rapture now this yearning heart doth bound ! Julio. The Sun has set, Yet wherefore flutter thus thy heart, my dove ? The Night is yet Flowering the deep with stars from heaven above ; The Wind is still. Zephyrs upon the water dallying play ; Pear thou no ill. My lips will join to thine ere break of day : Praneesca, sweet, Thy beauteous image is before me now ; VOICES FROM SHORE AND SEA. 205 Unseen, I greet Thy soul-lit eyes, and oliTe-tinctured brow : Thy form I press. Within my heart of hearts I cherish thee ; Thy name I bless. Thou 'rt wealth, fame, lore, aye, all the world to me : My joy— my pride. Fairest art thou of Libo's svmny isles; When by thy side, Earth yields no happiness like thy fond smiles ; Nor time, nor space, Danger on shore, or perils on the sea, Can e'er deface, Dearest — ^my fond remembrances of thee : Pbancbsca, dear. My little boat is freighted for the mart ; My barque draws near. Soon shall I clasp thee, loved one — to my heart. 206 SING THE OLD SONG AGAIN, ma THE OLD SONG AGAIN, Sisa me the song again, Heed not my teara ; With that old, dear lovVl strain, Past joy appears ; Days that were always bright, No troubled dreams at night. No yearning for the light ; All hopes, — ^no fears. Shadows fall o'er my heart, Sing, dearest, sing ; Music will light impart. Tune, then, thy string ; Tell of the olden days. When the Sun's golden rays Shone on my guileless ways. Joyous, — ^like Spring. SING THE OLD SONG AGAIN. 207 Call back the voices gone, Gladden mine ear ; Bring to me, one by one,^ Fond faces near : Let me look in their eyes. There read the mysteries Of love, that never dies ; Perfect, — ^no fear. Sing of the garden flowers, Darling, sing now ; Tell of the shady bowers 'Neath Summer's glow ; Sing of the well-known chair, Place a dear mother there, Part the thin silky hair Over her brow. 208 SING THE OLD SONG AGAIN. V. Sing of the tender kiss, Pond, warm caress. Sing of unsullied bliss, Sweet gentleness : Sing of the past, — oh sing Lays that -will Mem'ry bring Home, on youth's silver wing. This heart to bless. Sing me the song again. Heed not my tears ; With that old, dear lov'd strain. Past joy appears : Days that were always bright. No troubled dreams at night, No yearning for the light ; All hopes, — no fears. GOOD THOUGHTS.— ADAM AND THE FLOWER. 209 GOOD THOUGHTS. GrOOD thoughts are flow'rs of earth that bloom in Heaven ; The winged Messengers — from Man to God ; The bread of Life without the mortal leaven, The fragrant path that Angel feet have trod : Blest Spirits, ever watching from above. Who tend the Mind with spotless wings outspread ; Guarding from Evil — ^with undying love ; Inspiring Faith — when earthly Hope has fled ; The loving tears of Angels, — o'er the dying shed. ADAM MD THE FLOWER. When Adam named the beauteous flowers. One tiny gem escaped his view; The meekest in all Eden's bowers. Its simple robe of turquois hue : — This little Flower, with modest shame. Said " Lord I grieve, — sad is my lot, I only, — am without a name." He, smiling, said — "Poegbt me Not." 210 THE NEW YEAR. THE NEW YEAE, I. HnsH'D in the gloom of Night, Darkness around ; No star to greet the sight, Not e'en a ray of light, Darkness profound : Silence as dumb as death, Void, — ^without sound. Held is the list'ner's breath, Heaven above, — earth beneath, Seemeth spell bound. II. Awful as 'mid the dead, Stirless the air ; Nature her pall has spread, Life's beating pulse seems fled, Whither, oh where ? Time flags — and droops his wing, Doleful his glare ; And to the earth doth fling, Like an abhorred thing. What once was fair. THE NEW YEAR. 211 'Tis the Old dying Year Waning away, Soon hia end draweth near, Leafless and bare his spear, Gone his life's ray. Dried are his chaplet flowers That bloomed in May ; No vernal summer bowers, No sweet refreshing showers. Lure him to stay. Ring out, — ye merry bells, Sleepers all hear ; Ring out, — the bosom swells. Ring out, — ^your music tells, 'Tis the New Yeae : Tells of the coming Spring, Days that will cheer ; Hope rides upon his wing. Heart unto heart must cling, As he draws near. 212 THE NEW YEA.R. Ring out, ring merrily, Heed not the past ; Ring out, right cheerily, Ring out, — for, verily, Joy's hour flies fast : Think of the future, bright, No thought back cast; Think of the pure delight, Summer's warm golden light. No chilly blast. Mourn not. — The loved ones gone. Heed not the sigh ; Grieve not their race is run, Life's silver thread is spun, Silent they lie : Silent as stars that gleam In the far sky ; Wrapt in a wakeless dream. Sweet, blissful visions teem. Angels watch nigh. THE NEW YEAR. 213 TII. Shake the old steeple tower, Ring out your might, Down, down, the music shower, Ring out, — ^with earnest power, Waken old Night : Ring out, — that all may hear. Lone hearts excite ; Tell them the New-bom Year Cometh their souls to cheer, Ring with delight. Old Year, — a fond farewell, Rest in thy tomb ; Many have lov'd thee well. Wall of Life's citadel, Mourn ye with gloom : For in your bosom lies, Stricken by doom. All the sweet memories Of human sympathies ; No more to bloom. 214 THE NEW YEAR. New Year, we welcome thee, Short though your stay; Many will how the knee In mortal agony. Ere you 're away : Many feel happiness Flowers on their way ; These will your coming hless, These do your worth confess. Bask in your ray. X. New Years will come and go. Throughout all Time ; Smiles of joy — throbs of woe. From eyes and hearts will flow, Pleasure, and crime : TUl the Last Day shall come. When the loud chime. Wakes, from the concave dome. Millions, to call them home To realms sublime. THE NEW YEAR. 215 Then will the sleepers wake Ne'er to sleep more; Then will the mountains quake. Earth from its centre shake, Time then be o'er: Then will Eternity Beign evermore : Sorrow for ever fly, Love in all purity, Joy — and adore ! 216 THE GRAVE OF SHAKSPBRE. THE GRAVE OF SHAKSPERE,' Speak not! — scarce utter breath; — this hallowed spot Entombs the dust of one whose world-wide fame Crowns him the master-spirit of all Time. Here "gentle Shakspere" sleeps. Within these walls, Cramped in a little space, the mouldering form That gave to thought a substance, and portrayed Visions of beauty ne'er before conceived. Enshrined here lies. How poor is human speech To speak hia praise ! Yet feelings will arise Within each bosom, e'en though unexpressed, That touch the heart with rev'rence, and we dream Delicious visions 'neath the magic spell Of his sweet truthful pen : — And mighty forms. Created by a mightier power, appear. And pass before us. See the jealous Mook, The noble and brave warrior, like a child. Gazing with tenderness, (his eyes suffused * This address was delivered at a Siialisperian festival, at Stratford-on-Avon, on Tuesday, the SOtli Aprii, 1853, by Mr. James Bennett, the leading tragedian of the Theatre Royal, Birmingham. About 14,000 persons were present. THE GRAVE OP SHAKSPERE. 217 With misty doubt), upon his soul's best joy, The "gentle Dbsdbmona." — ^Near them stands Iaqo, — led by jealousy and hate. To poison their life's cup. — Anon, Macbeth, Pear-haunted, pauses, whilst his Lady's voice Urges a deed of blood, to win a Crown ! Hamlet, the brain-distempered Dane, pours forth Sublime Philosophy ! Ophelia sings The wild, sad requiem, of a broken heart : — " The course of true love never did run smooth." Old Lear, in madness raging 'mid the storm ; Or in deep, subtle converse with his Fool, Lays bare the well-springs of the human mind. Falstapf, the burly jocund wit, the butt Of his own jests ; the low-born gentleman. — Love-stricken Romeo, fair Juliet's love. The merry Rosalind, and wronged Cohstanob, And Beatrice with her wit and bitter scorn. Majestic Katherine defends her fame ; — The beauteous Cleopatra mad with love. Touchstone, the Prince of jesters ; and the boor Launcelot Gobbo, servant to the Jew. Shvlock's revenge; and Portia's eloquence. Pleading for " Mercy " with an Angel's tongue. Each passion, of each grade of mortal life, Reflected in the mirror of bright Truth 218 THE 6EAVB OF SHAKSPERE. With stern reality. — 'Twould take from Time More than a summer's day, — from early dawn To the last blush of twilight in the eve, To tell the smallest portion of his worth. Our country's pride ; the treasure of our hearths, The darling of our hearts. — The loved recess Where pensive thought retires to muse in bliss : Our winter's sunshine, that shuts out the gloom Of Nature's bitterness, and leaves the storm To battle on imheeded. — For with him. Our magic guide and mentor, we can track The sylvan shades, and wanton 'mid the flowers ; Or list the whispering of the silver stream. Marking its course with music. — Or when stars Look smiling down from the purpureal vault. Quick call to mind the moon-light cover'd bank, And how the beauteous spangled " floor of heaven Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold." No phase of life but his gigantic mind Has tinctured with a glory ! The blackest deeds that stain and sear the flesh, The brightest virtues that exalt the soul. He has unfolded ; — and our mortal eyes See with him through the future, as the past. His gifted mind within our own has placed A second conscience that unveils our souls. THE GRAVE OP SHAKSPBRE. 219 Peart-searcher he : the smallest throb that tells Of thought an atom ; or the deepest gush Of feeling that runs thriUmg through the veins, Alike succumb to hiiTi ; for his control Is uniyersal empire over Man. — To all he reads the lesson of a life ; From youth to hoary age, instruction gives. What maiden but has pondered o'er his strains ? What matron but has wept beneath his power ? What youth but has imbibed entrancing lore From the illumined pages he has writ? What man but has felt manhood stronger rise Within his breast at his inspiring strain? Firstborn of Nature he,— earth's richest flower, Shedding the perfume of his deathless verse To give immortal fragrance to our lives. Howl on, ye ruffian roaxing winds without, Your ravings cannot touch the peace within ; The antidote to your foul chilly breath Is in the page of Shakspere. — On each leaf Sunshine more glorious than Italia's skies : Each line a flower, each word a priceless gem. Each thought, a rainbow spanning earth and heaven ! The gentle sigh, th' unbidden tear ; the rush Of blood that swells the heart, and makes it beat L 2 220 THE GRAVE OF SHAKSPBRE. With lofty aspirations ; and the hate That Vice engenders. Virtue's frankincense, Thrilling throughout the veins like healthful balm, We owe to thee ! — Poet, Philosopher ; Great Dreamer of the glorious truths of life ; Preceptor of all good ; of evil acts The stem admonisher, we bow to thee, Half Angel and half dust. Say, art thou here 1 Is thy pure spirit hov'ring round us now ? Do thy fond eyes gaze on us ? — is thy heart Yearning with love to us, as ours to thee 1 Great mighty spiiit whom the Future owns ; Oh, glorious paragon of human kind. Thy name is sacred as lov'd household words Remembered in the childhood of our joy. Our brother slumbers there. — Great brother he Of all the human race. — Kindred in heart. Closer than kindred blood, we press him home Warm to our bosoms with fraternal love. And feel such love is deathless as 'tis pure. His mind, immortal, like the mid-day sun. Gives light and life to all things it doth touch. Nations will rise and perish ; but his Fame Shall live triumphant till the knell of Time ! " We ne'er shall look upon his like again ! " THE DEAD CHILD. 221 THE DEAD CHILD. Beautiful shadow of a spirit gone, Why should we mourn that thou art lost to earth ? Life would haye brought thee cares had years passed on, And sighs and tears subdued thy stainless mirth : Thy beauty has not faded, yet, sweet flower. Unchanged thy features as in dreamless sleep; Death has but touched, not crush'd thee with his power, Why for thine absence, loved one, should we weep? Time to the living sorrow brings ; — and Age Stamps the fair features with deep lines of thought, Tears blot the leaves of youth's enchanted page, Harsh are the lessons by Experience taught: But thou hast 'scaped them all ; eternal light Suns thy pure heart in realms of endless bliss ; Grief cannot pain thee in those mansions bright; Oh blessed change, to Heaven, from sphere like this. Beautiful shadow, thou art passed away. No care have we for thee; thou'rt God's alone; We think not of thy robe of earth, — ^its clay Could not with immortality have shone : We see thee in the morning, — hear thy voice Prattling with love, and know that love will last ; And in the evening, in our prayers rejoice That safely through this vale of tears thou 'st past. 222 THE YOUNG MOTHER. THE YOMG MOTHER I. SiNB, lovely, loving Mother, sing; Well may thine eyes fill with delight ; Well may'st thou gaze upon the ring, With which you gave your hearted plight ; Well may your dreams be fraught with bliss, The future gleam with cloudless skies, As you impress the tender kiss, Upon the cheek that most you prize. II. Sing, lovely, loving Mother, sing; The babe that sleeps upon thy breast. Thy fledgling with its feeble wing. Will in thy fond arms safely rest : Weir may the cherub smile that plays Around his mouth win all thy heart ; ' And from thee draw the sweet dear lays, A Mother's lips alone impart. III. Unconscious he, but who can tell What fairy visions meet his mind ; What heavenly music, like a spell, In dream-land his pure ear may find ? THE YOUNG MOTHER. 223 Or what good Spirits watching near, Sing lullabies to soothe his sleep ; Tones that his unstained soul may hear, As round him they lov'd vigils keep. IV. When from his eyelid's silken veil, A crystal drop, forth gently peeps ; Let not distrust with thee prevail, 'Tis joy that o'er his spirit creeps : His spotless heart can know no fears, His sinless breast can feel no woe ; He speaks to thee with pangless tears. As pure as star-beams fall on snow. V. Sing, lovely, loving Mother, sing, And lull him with thy tender voice ; Birds carol sweetest in the Spring, Few hearts in Winter may rejoice : Sing while thou may'st, the time enjoy. For sadness dims all human eyes ; There is no bliss without alloy, Life's sunshine has its storm of sighs. 224 HE NEVER MADE HE NEVEE MADE HIS MOTHER SMILE, [A young Irish girl, in giving testimony against an individual in a court of justice, said, "Arrah, Sir, I 'm sure he never made his mother smile."] I. The barren rock that never yields, Where precious seedlings fade and die ; The weed that chokes the harvest fields, Waters that stagnate as they lie ; Fruits that ne'er ripen on the tree. Dreams that doomed wretches oft beguile; Are like him void of sympathy, Who never made his mother smile. Yes, she who nursed his feeble limbs, Kept ceaseless vigils o'er her boy ; Whose anxious eyes grief's tear-drop dims, As she clings closer to her joy: She taught him first alone to walk. And weary hours with him would while, Her rapt ears listened to his talk, And yet — he never made her smile. HIS MOTHER SMILE. 225 Her only hope in manhood's prime, To him her substance all was given ; His faiilts were follies, sin no crime, Although her heart neglect had riven ; One word of love she hoped to hear. Her spirit, crushed, — ^to reconcile : She joyed to list his footsteps near, And yet — ^he never made her smile. rv. What stem reproof, that voice can give Prom lip of friend, or tongue of foe, Can cut so deep, — so sensitive. Convey such hopeless pang of woe. As this poor simple, truthful strain, Which volumes speak to blast the vile. Unhappy wretch, accursed like Cain] He never made his mother smile. 226 SONNETS TO THE SOBNETS TO THE EIGHT HON. B. DISRAELI, M.P. Thou of the gifted mind ; — thine eloquence Commands the Senate, — who with eager ear Listen to thee, matchless, without compeer, And gaze upon thee with delight intense ; As with the magic of thy voice each sense Becomes spell-bound; — ^like those who pause with fear: Thy brilliant wit unbends the brow austere ; Thy look of thought denotes intelligence ; Scorn from thy lips quick as an arrow flies, The victim shrinks beneath thy with'ring sneer ; Anon, to noble flights thy voice will rise. And rich imaginings, that stir the soul With language that each heart electrifies. Flash like keen fire from heaven's unfolded scroll. RIGHT HON. B. DISRAELI, M.P. 227 II. A Poet from thy boyhood ; — ^in thine eyes The orient gems of Thought lay pictured deep, Like waMng-dreamings, wandering as in sleep, Yet flushed with beauty. — The calm summer skies At even, depthless as heaven's mysteries, Were not more silent. — Time took onward sweep. Thy silver tongue was loos'd, — ^then didst thou reap Youth's gold harvest, Fame, which mortals prize. Genius has crowned thee with undying wreath ; Thy breast is spotless honour's fortress-keep ; Foul envy cannot taint thee with her breath ; Thine Eloquence enchains both youth and sage ; To thee. Wit did his richest stores bequeath, Thou mighty. Master-spirit of the age ! 228 KBNBALY. KEMALY, [Written on the first page of " Goethe, a Pantomime," by Edward Kenealy.] I. The gifted mind ; The Scholar and the Poet's jubilee ; Learning walks hand in hand with Poesie; The great ones of the Past appear, — and we Bare treasures find That have been hidden in the womb of Time : Thoughts spring to light, like flowers in their prime, Bathing the heart with incense. The sublime With home combin'd. The varied verse, All beautiful as heaven at sunset hour ; With heart-pulse music, whose enchanting power Gladdens the ear. — Or the refreshing shower Whose drops disperse The wearied faintness on our gloomy way. Waking us up to life ! — Sweet numbers play Through every line, — like fairy tones that sway The Universe. KENEALY. 229 The well of Thought; Prom which great spirits that have gone before Drank deep of Poesie's immortal lore, To thee has yielded freely its rich store : Ecstatic draught! Shakspere, and Shelley, from the crystal stream Imbibed the light eternal — and its beam Hath on thee shed its lustre, like a dream By Fancy wrought. The hidden things, To the dull eyes of millions, have to thee Unfolded been, — and the mind's golden key TJnlock'd thy brain, and set its yearnings free. To soar on wings Ethereal, — to co-mingle with the vast And subtle beauties of the glorious past, Blending them with the future, — which thou hast In thy heart's springs. 230 KBNBALY. V. . Earth, Heaven, and Hell ; Thy mighty mind has pictured with a force Of beauty and of power ; — traced the source Of Nature in her grand mysterious course ; Dissolved the spell That bound the Passions, and laid bare the heart To sweetest impulses, — whose throbs impart Peelings that ne'er again from us can part ; The soul's pearl shell ! VI. Lost to earth now ; A lone star shining in a distant sphere ; Yet future generations will revere The triumphs of thy Genius, and draw near, When men shall know Thou wast, but art not, and shall hail thy name And place it on the pinnacle of Fame, Branding thy cold compeers with scorn and shame, When thou 'rt laid low. WOODPALL AND KINDEB, FRINTEBS, AWGEIi COURT, SKINNER STREET, LONDON. LITEEAEY NOTICES OP BT T. J. U S E L E Y. Fraser's Magasine, ApHl, 1844.— "From the Church I strolled into the Verein Garden, and flinging myself down beneath one of the green trees that shaded me &om the rich sunlight, but did not obstruct either the view of the landscape which I coveted, or the perfume of the flowers from the neighbouring gardens^ I reflected on those charming passages in Uie works of Ouseley, a true poet, fiUed *ith the true Olympian fire of genius, and destined, as I think, one day to fill a niche next to Shelley, the most poetical Imagination since Spenser and Shakspeare." Dublin University Ma^asinet June, 1849. — " The wonderful richness and novel melody of Shelley's lyrics have, it is quite plain, fascinated Mr. Ouseley, as they must every true dis- ciple of poetry ; and are, we think, the models which he has rather attempted to rival than to imitate.** Literary GazettSt April 7» 1849. — " That most of this collection of sweet poetry has enriched magazines and other periodicals, and that the longest— viz. * The Vision of Death's Destruction,' has run through three editions, are reasons against our going into quotations, details, or criticisms; for we do not like to be guilty of repetitions; and to praise what has already obtained such a meed of public approbation, would be but to gild refined gold, and paint the lily — wasteful and ridiculous excess. Suffice itto say, therefore, that not only is the true poetic spirit rife in Mr. Ouseley^s writings, but they are of the most wholesome and healthful tone. No one can read them without being satisfied by their skil- ful execution, and improved by their sound principles. There is every variety of verse, and almost of subject ; and all pleasing and grateful to the sense." Morning Post. — *' We have seldom read a collection of miscellaneous poems so uniformly excellent. Open the volume where you will, and you will find some thoughts glowing or sublime, clothed in language vigorous, musical, and suggestive of fine imaginings. The * Vision of Death's Destruction * is a noble flight, worthy of our strongest-winged poets- Of this, as well as of the shorter efifusions, we may say that the strain is sustwned, power- ful, and strikingly original." Morning Herald, July 4, 1839. — *' Though this collection of poems has already attracted attention, as is evident by the fact that a third edition has been called for, yet we believe they are not so well known to the London reading public as they deserve to be. We recom- mend them to all lovers of true poetry, of pure sentiment, and of deep reflection. The author is a man of genius, seeking for truth in the holy source of pious wisdom, and giving utterance to thoughts worthy of that inspiration in language full of simplicity and pathos. An agreeable sadness pervades the volume, but it does not d^enerate into gloom, nor does the train of religious feeling, with which the poetry is marked, become distastefiil by being pushed to the extreme of fanaticism. Several of the pieces are worthy of a distinct LITERARY NOTICES OF POEMS BY T. J. OTTSELEY. notice, but at present we cannot do more than give an extract as a specimen of the author's style." Bell's Weekly Mesaengei', July 13, 1839.—" The writer of these poems appeals to some of the best feelings of the human heart. His diction, by which we mean the manner in which he avoids harsh inversions, is at once simple and nervous ; it is, in all respects, exceedingly good; it is natural without being trite— indeed, such as every well-educated person would employ upon similar occasions. Another excellence is, that he is not an imitator ; what he has is his own ; there is nothing of Byron or Shelley." Britannia, Nov. 30, 1839.—'* No one can read even a portion of this volume without being convinced that the author is a poet formed and fashioned by nature. He imitates no one, and borrows from no one; his ideas and style are his own. The opening poem, termed, a 'Vision op Death's Destruction,' is the longest and the best; the thoughts are soft and sublime as the theme varies, and the language always elegant and appropriate. The death of the miser, the maniac, and the murderer, are all described with graphic force, pre- senting in each case a lively and perfect image to the mind. Throughout this noble poem, for so we may justly term it, there runs a fine tone of deep religious feeling, like a vein of gold in a mine. The minor poems are of a miscellaneous character, the versification being as varied as the theme. Indeed Mr. Ouseley appears to possess a perfect command of language, and has the rare gift of being enabled to cast his thoughts in whatever metre he will. The volume is every way deserving of extensive popularity." The Spectatoj; July 27, 1839.— *• These poems exhibit considerable fluency and much dis- tinctness in presenting images." Liverpool Standard, July 24, 1849.—'* We will not compare him with this or that poet— with Byron, Shelley, Southey, Wordsworth, Campbell, &c.; but we will say, that he has written many poems of which not one of these illustrious writers would disdain to own the paternity. Indeed there is the true genius and spirit of poetry in his compositions ; and, what is .the best test of true poetry, all readers, who rise from the perusal of them, will find- themselves benefited by the elevated and moral tone that pervades their sentiments and diction. Let us point out some of those which have made an impression on our minds. At page 15 we have been struck with a short, but sweet and reverent, poem, commencing— ' Mother, thy Name is holier far,*— a kind of household poem, which not only would become the lips of Dr. Johnson, Adam Clarke, Walter Scott, and all those great men who have stated themselves to have been so indebted to maternal affection and instruction, but it ought also to be learned by each child in every private family of the kingdom — in this king- dom wherein * Honour thy father and thy mother,' is ever the prevailing sentiment. At page 110, different in character from those we have already noticed, appears * The last of the Brigands ; ' and well does the author depict and sustain the love of freedom, the martial bearing, the attachment to mountain scenery. A fine poem this would be for recitation. We would that such, together with speeches from Shakspeare, Cowper, &c., were more at- tended to in our schools; yes, even in our National Schools, where the eternal system of writing and cyphering bids fair to dull the edge of the mind , deaden the heart, and make our boys at once dull and worldly, rather than put life and energy into their souls, and give them heroic hearts. Recommending the * Sabbath Day * for perusal, we hasten on to a truly exquisite effort, entitled * The Lone One.' We have read this some dozen times over, and like it better every time. It is like Miss Drury's ' Annesley' in one respect — namely its perfectness. Not a word would we alter; not a sentiment would we change ; little would we wish to add; nothing would we take away. There is no faulty rhyme; it is sweet and polished, and neither a Campbell nor a Rogers could have written with more care and correctness. In taking leave of Mr. Ouseley, we cordially thank hira for these splendid proofs of the genius of poetry that is within hira; we thank him for the strains that have won many an hour from the weary ways of the world; we thank him for the ele- vation of mind, and goodness of heart, which his muse delights to implant ; and we trust that blessing, intellectual, moral, and religious, will follow him all the days of his life." Cornell University Library PR5115.055M7 Nona's Isle, and other poems. 3 1924 013 531 557