wmm f t)eni:?/lft.mil.1l3incbliff. PR 5798.W72G5'"'™""* '■"'"'>' *"' mSmf^ "beyond the veil; "poems spiritu 3 1924 013 570 050 7^, Xfffrf? 1743 Whitworth (TIBirra A.) Glimpses "Be- yond the Veil," poems spiritual and songs earthly, photo port., cr. 8vo, cloth. Is. 9d. 1884 The original of tliis bool< is in tine Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013570050 w. s. downes. Photo. Rembramdt Studio, ?LEAFORD. GLIMPSES r "BEYOND THE VEIL." ipojems Spiritual, wxti Songs ®art§flg. BY LAURA A. WHITWORTH. / speak not unknowingly, but as one having seen (though darkly) ''Beyond the Veil."—h. A. W. Eontion : W. H. BEER & CO., 33, HENRIETTA STREET, COYENT GARDEN, W.C. 1884. Jl^Jiitatqit^ 6i| ^^rmt$$tx«t, THE RIGHT HONOURABLE THE EARL OF ROSSLYN. CONTENTS. The Rosicrucian — An Allegory I knew a Face Sunset Pictures The Days of Old ... Love's History A Vision of Heaven ... In Shadow-land The Heart's Hidden Chamber ... ... i8 Drear November ... i8 The Vale of iTears ... 19 Dream not, fond heart 20 Beware ! ... ... 21 The Dying Bride ... 21 A Song of Two Worlds 23 Onward and Upward 26 The Lassie, where is she.' ... ... 27 The Singer 27 The Loves of long ago 28 The Chorister's Prayer 28 The Dreamer ... 30 The Child-Angel's Song 3 1 By the Ocean ... 31 The Heart's Unrest ... 32 A Summer Idyl ... 33 "The Electric Chain wherewith we are darkly bound" ... 33 Herzdruken ... ... 3^ Passing away. . . ... 35 In Lincoln Cathedral 36 Dead Violets ... 37 Lines on the Sunder- land Disaster ... 38 Chill October ... 39 On the Heights ... 40 Harvest Home ... 41 The Immortals ... 43 A Love Idyl... ... 43 Spring's Awakening ... 45 Drifting 46 A Sunny Picture ... 47 Twofold Life ... 47 The Meadow Stream 48 Time and Eternity ... 49 A Poet's Wish ... 50 The Deserted Mansion 50 God Omnipresent ... 51 May-Day 52 In the fulness of time 52 VI CONTENTS. PAGE PAGE Out with the Tide ... S3 Childhood's. Dreams ... 74 The Warp of Life ... 55 Love's Messenger 75 Only Playmates 56 The Spirit's Cry 76 Did I but dream ? ... 57 To a Picture 76 With gems or love ... 58 Forebodings ... 77 The Old Year and the What will to-morrow New. — 1 883-1 884 58 bring? 77 St. Botolph's Bells ... 59 A Plaint 78 In Memoriam : Mr. Poor Nancy ... 79 Garfit 60 Margaret 80 Old Letters 60 Jilted '. 8i Thoughts 61 Muriel's Flight 81 God's Garden 62 The Bohemian 84 A Lover's Quarrel ... 63 Prescience 85 Unfinished ... 63 Contrasts ... ... 85 Only the Echoes 64 Longfellow. — A Mo- Three Pictures 65 nody 87 The Haunted Grange 65 He cometh not 88 October 6g Lady May and her To a Sunflower— 1883 69 Lovers 89 A Sketch 70 " May the light of His " Omnia fates in pejus Face shine down rure" 70 upon us " ... 90 If I were a great prin- Forgive 92 cess 7» Shadows 93 Wishes 71 Dreams — idle Dreams 93 Love is King... 72 The Spiritual World... 9+ The British Lion 73 The Soul of Poetry ... 95 Just after a shower ... 73 GLIMPSES ''beyond THE VEIL," THE ROSICRUCIAN. AN ALLEGORY. A STRANGE weird boy men deemed him, full of fancies wild, Save one — his mother ; he was her first and only child. To her he told his dreams ; she did not harshly chide, But, knowing others would, she strove to hide Deep in her heart these sayings of her boy, Lest men should scorn him — bidding her employ Her son in hewing wood or drawing water from the well Like other boys ; for in this woodland dell No rich ones dwelt^— all were of loiwly birth, Hewers of wood and tillers of the earth. Which yielded corn and fruits sufficient for their need. For midst these humble hearts no grasping greed Had crept to poison Nature's bounteous gifts to men. Their women toiled and spun ; sufficient for them when They pleased their husbands, rear'd their children well. Teaching the girls to work, at market buy and sell, Buy what was needed, sell some produce of their own, Fresh eggs, or garden stuff or poultry, in a neigh- bouring town. 8 And these good people scarcely knew the power of gold— That glittering demon we so fain would have and hold. Their innocent joys they had when work was done In summer evenings after set of sun, When to the green old Mike his fiddle brought, And lads and lassies country dances taught. With reels and polkas sometimes in between. A pretty sight was then that rustic green — Mike crying to some awkward lout, " Haud straight; I'll stop at once if ye will gang that gait. Set to your partners — set, I say, not sit. Now Molly, bow. Ah ! Bill, I see ye're hit, I mind yere mother, Miss Bess, a slip of a girl — Such bonny cheeks as she had, and her hair all curl. Ye're pretty enough — don't blush 1 — but not so pretty as she When she married yere father, and gave the sack to me. Ye needn't snigger — I might ha' had many a lass ; But I liked my fiddle better, and mebbe a glass. Now foot it once more together, then good night to ye all. On Monday night, if it's fine, I'll give ye another call." • ■ • • ■ • • Our Eric watched the dancers from the shade Of spreading oak, where on the grass at length he laid. Dreaming his wondrous dreams of worlds beyond the ken Of mortals, peopled by other beings than men. Then he would wander half the summer night Through woods and wilds, beneath the moon's pale light, And looking earnestly upon some distant star Would speak impassioned words — yearning to break the bar Of flesh that held his soul, which longed to soar Unto some half-remembered world he had known of yore When in the spirit, — for thus his thoughts would tend, In this strange world of spirits all his dreams would end. At home his mother waited, her heart grown chill For fear the boy had happen'd on some ill ; Then when he came she sought to charm away The fancies which beset him night and day. For when he slept he murmur'd in his dreams Of books and stars, of flowers and murmuring streams. Or, stranger still, of god-like spirits hovering near To whisper mystic meanings in his ear. Then half affrighted she would creep to bed, A few short hours to rest her weary head. About this time a stranger came to dwell A stone's throw from the wood our Eric loved so well. A splendid white-hair'd man, of noble mien ; His furrowed brow denoted thought, his eyes were keen And dark — yet mild and sweet his face. His garments hung in folds of wondrous grace. He seemed some holy hermit, monk, or friar, For on his breast there shone a cross of mystic fire. Once wandering through the wood the boy he met ; Questioned him often, and meeting again, questioned yet. Marvelling how such a mind had sprung from lowly birth : Enquiring now of Heaven, and now of earth — What made the stars to shine — and things man should not know — Of other beings who rule for weal or woe The passions of mankind, who guide man's fate. Yet may in turn be roused to love or hate. 'Twas thus he taught the boy of mystic lore. Revealing what Nature half revealed, before. 10 And Eric loved his teacher, aptly learning all : To read, to write, and after evenfall Study the planets — how, tho' subject still To one great Being, they guide the human will, Move one to warlike deeds, another melt to love, Inspire poets their heavenly birth to prove. And ever as he spoke his flashing eye Would glow with light, as one who could not die. He taught the secret use of weed and flower, How man may summon spirits by his power. He spake as one who wondrous sights had seen ■ Of men and things that centuries since had been. This dawned upon the boy by slow degrees, As in his books he learned to read with ease, And with large eyes of wonderment begun To question, in his turn, of how his teacher's years outspun The appointed age of mortals. " To those who own The badge of rosy-cross are many secrets known," The sage replied. " Yet should one seek to learn — The rules that guide our lives are cold and stern. We know no love of woman ; household ties, Which other mortals seek, we must despise ; No children's lips can sweetly lisp our name As father ; we seek no earthly fame. My child, wouldst thou too seek to learn The deeper mysteries of those worlds which burn In yon blue vault, you must all these forego. Read T aright ? And are those eyes aglow With the same fire that lights the rosy cross Here on my breast ? Wouldst count all joys as dross That clog the spirit in its path to Light With earthly fetters ? Flesh that death can blight Is mortal, this must know at last decay. The soul to newer worlds will pass away — Soar free and fetterless the realms of space, Speak with the shining spirits face to face. We have the power to lengthen Hfe's short span ; Visit the spirit world while in the form of man. Forswear all meaner joys on earth below, And on thy breast the rosy cross shall glow." While he spake thus the boy would turn aside And ponder deeply what it might betide. Of many occult things he knew the use and name, And in his breast there burn'd some subtle flame That bade him seek to know more than his kind. The love of knowledge with his soul entwined, Left him no heart for meaner things that bound The lives of those within that pastoral ground ; A m3'stic yearning for the great all good, Who dwells unseen in Nature's every mood, Who clothes the earth with verdure like a cloud. And in the beautiful Himself doth shroud. Yet still exists within the lowliest weed That ever burst to life frorn tiniest seed. It was a poet's nature dwelt within his heart, Divine and deathless, of his very soul a part. Of all he saw he still divined the cause By intuition ; knew all Nature's laws ; Until the sage would marvel that the boy Seemed all so clear from baser earth's alloy. That oft will cloud the soul in seeming night, Tho' some bright spirits shine with clearer light. It chanced that Eric, wandering in the wood To view the elements in stormy mood. Lifted his eyes, and saw a sight most fair : A rnaiden, beauteous as the dawn, like gold her hair. Eyes blue as heaven's blue vault — she seemed to be Weeping, in grief and sore perplexity. A silver broider'd robe girt her fair form around. Her sandalled feet seemed scarce to press the ground. He thought she could not be of mortal birth. She seemed too fair and bright for aught of earth ; Her hair was floating wildly to the storm. And made a glorious mantle for her form. 12 She spake. " O gentle stranger, tell me where I may find shelter from this storm ; my robe and hair Are wet with rain, and I have wander'd far With naught to guide me save yon evening star ; Now in this wood I fear I've lost my way, Is there no cot where I may rest till day ? " Bewilder'd by her beauty for a space He answer'd not, but gazed upon her face — And wot not why his heart should beat so high ; But soon bethought his mother's cot was nigh. Where he might lead her from the stormy night, So took her hand to lead her steps aright. His pulses throbbing, all his heart on fire. His soul awaking to a new desire, Dimmed for a moment every higher thought. Save this full passion which had come unsought. 'Tis ever thus when souls would soar to heaven. We find all flesh is mixed with earthly leaven That earthward clings — why is it ever so ? Man questions man, yet still may never know, Or be one jot the nearer solving this great mystery. That ever will repeat itself in this world's history. So Eric, from seeking after worlds unknown, Now only sought to make one heart his own. The glorious dreams his soul had known of yore Waxed dim and pale this living love before ; And yet he paused to think what it might cost — Earth's little day 'gainst all that mystic host. Some inner prompting bade him seek the sage — Root out this newer love for learning's mighty page. His mother and the maid still bade him stay. And youth said — love. He wavered day by day. As in his mother's cot the maid still stay'd. Helped in the household work, and willingly obeyed The elder woman, yet told not whence she came. The mystery fanned love into a flame ; Yet when the sage would warn him to beware Lest he might enter some unholy snare, 13 He shunned his home, and wandered far and wide, Till love would whelm his heart like lava tide. His mother, ever yearning for her boy, Would talk to him of earthly love and joy. And Eric reasoned : what might it avail Though he should stretch his life beyond the pale Allotted man — move spirits to his will ? And while he reasoned passion murmured still : While of the earth we must be one with earth, Till death shall give our souls the newer birth We crave. And so, one sunny day. The twain went forth, the maid in bride's array. The village bells gave forth a merry sound. And Eric, leaving dreams, a mortal's guerdon found. Men are not gods, nor may to Heaven aspire Save through the gates of death, and cleansing fire, Some few perchance the rosy cross may wear On earth, but such I truly ween are rare. I KNEW A FACE. I KNEW a face — alas that it should be I knew a face- — I know that face no more On earth. If on some unknown shore. It may be I shall see that face again, After long years perchance of yearning pain, Heaven will be Heaven — as earth was Heaven to me. Without how desolate — what glory might Me compensate, for loss of that dear face What great Infinitude of pardoning grace Suffice. If there at last we may not meet In all the fulness of a love complete, I dare not think how dark would be my night. 14 SUNSET PICTURES. The golden sun behind yon hill sinks slowly from my sight ; Sun pictures float above my head, in crimson, gold, and white ; White ships upon a sea of blue sail to some unknown land — Ah ! whither, whither sail they ? in vain I make demand. Now castles, towers, and palaces chain my entranced eyes ; Again, a choir of angels in shining white arise ; An army clad in cloth of gold, and one in crimson dressed. Meet as in battle for a space, then vanish, like the rest. Clouds float towards the orient, glow purple for a space. So, break in tiny fragments, and all my scenes displace ; While greyer, greyer grows the sky, a chill comes with the night, Where are those meeting armies ? and where those choirs of light ? Perhaps, within the land of dreams they dwell for evermore, Floating, floating in a golden sea towards a crystal shore. THE DAYS OF OLD. ! FOR my bonny grey mare once more. And a mad wild gallop o'er dale and hill. On the soft green turf by the old sea-shore, Or away down the lalne by the mill. 15 And hey for the sweet wild hopes of youth, The dreams that must fade one day ; The belief that the world holds love and truth, And friendships that fade not away. for the free sweet days of old, And the heart of a child again ; Untouched by sorrow, with hope untold, And never a thought of life's pain ! My bohny grey mare lies under the hill. They buried her long ago : 1 must turn to life with a steadfast will — And perhaps it is better so ! Fair youth must pass, as the flowers of spring Give way to the summer's growth : Old Time will ever be on the wing, Though to keep his pace we be never so loath. LOVE'S HISTORY. Two lovers dancing on the greeaj ; Two kisses, sweeter ne'er had been ; A trip to church one sunny day — The twain are one for ever and aye. A rosy babe all dimpled o'er Is playing on the cottage floor; The others through the meadows stray. To wander home at close of day. A happy couple, hand in hand. Amongst the white-robed children stand ; Each rosy face held up to kiss — A lowly cottage full of bliss. i6 A VISION OF HEAVEN. The arch of heaven uplifted, far beyond the ephemeral blue, And my spirit eyes were opened, to God's glory shining through ; A wondrous power drew my soul, from its casket lying here. Upward, upward, slowly . floating, where the glory shone most clear. There I saw our Holy Jesus with His diadem of thorns. Transfigured and resplendent, yet bow'd down as one who mourns ; For the voices of earth's children, reached Him in the highest Heaven, With their wayward, wilful sinning, all His wounds afresh were riven. Yet O, the mild sweet patience on our blest Redeemer's face, All my soul was filled with longing for the fulness of His grace ; As I bowed in adoration with that vast angelic throng. One whispered to me gently ; " You will join our hosts ere long." I marked their white robes gleaming, with a splendour none may know. Who travailing, yearning, sinning, still are shackled here below; On their breasts in mystic splendour, the cross's symbol shone, Those wearing brightest diadems were nighest to the throne. Apostles, Martyrs, Virgins, bearing palm-leaves in their hands. To and fro they passed before me, more numerous than the sands ; 17 Now a rush of glorious music trembled through the shining place, My vision dimmed and faded, then vanished into space. Yet only for a little while, the chains of earth shall bind, The Angel Death will kiss these lips, and my soul its Heaven may find ; Still the face of Holy Jesus, bends towards me from above. And my soul is filled with yearning for the fulness of His love. IN SHADOW-LAND. In Shadow-land, a land beyond the sun, All things exist that we have treasured most : The home we knew in youth, the flowers we loved. And those dear faces we have loved and lost 1 All things exist- — the beautiful, the true, Our poets' dreams, and thrilling minstrelsy: Fair things we cherished, loved ones gone before — All fairer, dearer, in that land to be ! We name it Shadow-land, who darkly here Stretch forth to grasp some token, or decry ; We, who are shadows passing to and fro. Dwell here a space, like autumn leaves to die. Is it ideal, this land ? Perchance in dreams. Some subtle glimpse we faintly, dimly see ; When somewhat freed from soul-encircling flesh, Our souls may join the spirits of the free ! And which is Shadow-land ? Ah 1 who can tell ? Material forms as shadows pass away: Beyond the night that darkly bounds our view Perchance there lies a full and glorious day ! i8 THE HEART'S HIDDEN CHAMBER. Our hearts we open not to all who pass, Men see us smile, where inwardly we weep, There is no mirror all our thoughts will glass Some secret inner chamber every heart must keep. There are whose hands we hold in friendship's grasp, Who deem they read us like an open book — Not those who nearest to our heart we clasp Within our inmost soul may dare to look. We float forth thoughts upon the stream of life, Which each one seeing reads by his own light ; While we who write, what inward burning strife May rack us, bringing tears to dim the sight. What visions faded in the distance of past years. What sepulchres our hearts must ever hide ; Life's hollow smiles, more sorrowful than tears. Where memory flows like lava's molten tide. Yet once we stood upon thy threshold — life, And looked forth fearless to the coming years , In that dim vista saw no forms of strife, And heard no echo of the future's fears. The page was all unwritten, fair to view. Not blurred, and stained, as future records give. Yet could we hope to write our lives anew, Would one amongst us ask again to live ? DREAR NOVEMBER. November, drear November ! when fogs and sleet and snow Vie with each other which can cause most misery below; 19 Leafless and bare, the gaunt trees stretch their arms unto the sky, The winds moan 'eerily at night, Hke a banshee's woeful cry. Sometimes the sun will deign to shine just for one little hour. Then hides his face as half ashamed, while storm- clouds gloom and glower. Winter looms drearily ahead — the robin twitters from branches bare, The dead leaves rustle under our feet, and a mist hangs in the air; Anon drives the wind with a sudden swoop, whirling the leaves on high. The sun has set in a sullen glare, telling a storm is nigh. O Christ ! have pity on ships at sea these wild autum- nal days. And grant the prayers of those at home may help them on their ways. THE VALE OF TEARS. Eyes that are dim by reason of wept tears, Hopes that have died with all the passing years, Unspoken memories far too deep for speech Of dear beloved who lie beyond our reach ; Of faces shrouded from the light of day. And echoing footsteps passed from earth away ; Of loves unloved until beyond that bourne From whence no mortal love can e'er return However wept ; our tears no more they heed. The love they looked for once no longer need ; And we still linger, asking of the years : Where are our dead ? where are the hopes and fears, 20 The happy smiles, the beaming eyes of youth ? Belief in all things— Love, and Faith, and Truth. Friendships that, changeless, no decay could know, Gone, gone for ever, where all bright things go. O, faint sweet memories, like dead flowers ye lie Within our lives enshrined till we, too, die ; Or, like dull seeds that dormant long have lain. In Paradise to live and bloom again — Dear links that bind us to the world to come And draw us ever nearer Heaven and Home — Bright glimmerings that bid us from the gloom Look far beyond the darkness of the tomb. DREAM NOT, FOND HEART. Dream not, fond heart, that love is Heaven, Tho' for a space it seems so fair. If pure love were to mortals given. We should not yearn to journey there. If eyes we loved were always true. And hearts we trusted could not fail, If false love we might never rue, Alas, the lights of Heaven would pale. If change would never touch our dream, And loving once we loved for ever; The earth a very Heaven would seem And here to stay be our endeavour. Alas ! all earthly things are frail And loving eyes too soon grow cold, The fondest love-dreams fade and fail, The hearts we cherish are not gold. 21 BEWARE! Beware the glance of those dark eyes ; Beware the droop of veindd lid ; For Cupid hides in every dimple, And love in every smile lies hid. The eyes are dark and softly pensive, The face is like a poet's dream ; Her hair hides sunlight in its meshes, And ripples with a furtive gleam. I know the face is very fair, And so I cry, Beware, beware ! Heed not the low-toned voice of music. Low whispering 'neath a moonlit sky ; She has no heart, this form of beauty. And will not heed tho' you should die. In vain you swear for aye to love her, She will but smile upon your woe; The fondest love-vows will not move her. She wins your heart and bids you — go. I know her face is very fair. And so I cry. Beware, beware ! THE DYING BRIDE. O SAY not I must pass away. And leave this world I love so well : The bells that rang my wedding peal. So soon must toll my funeral knell ! They do but jest — why look so sad ? All earth rejoices in the spring ! I'm feeling better, and so glad, That I could join the birds and sing ! 22 Come, husband, j-ow will not believe This dismal story which they tell : Sit by my side, and say again Those loving words I know so well ! Yes, hold me back from cruel Death, And love must conquer in the end : He dare not drag me from your side — A wife, from life and love, to rend ! The happy earth is mantling o'er With all the lovely tints of spring : I'd see the violets bloom once more. And watch the swallows homeward wing. Thus treading in the well-known paths, In health and strength by your dear side, Grow old and grey, and die at last : But never as a one year's bride ! Oh! clasp me close — I cannot die: 'Tis but a faintness, that must go: Yes, hold me closely, tenderly, I like to know you love me so ! The faintness deeper, deadlier grows, I half believe they told me true : Farewell, bright world of loveliness 1 Husband, a brief farewell to you ! The violets bloom upon her grave, And overhead the swallows fly To greet their northern home again. Where she in dreamless sleep doth lie ! He sees her eyes in summer skies. And feels her breath in breath of Spring- The golden sunbeams are her hair: For him she lives in everything ! 23 A SONG OF TWO WORLDS- THE EARTHLY AND SPIRITUAL. THE EARTHLY. Here mighty anguish, born of pain and sin, Works its sore way amongst all humankind ; The loftiest virtue man's contempt may win, While gilded vice its worshippers will find. Worth midst the lowly often finds a place ; Bright genius shines from homes of lowly clay ; Dullards still oftener win some worldly race, With spurs of gold to speed them on their way. Oft friends we cherish most, like serpent brood Will turn and sting when nearest to the heart. Our fleshly instincts seldom turn to good, Tho' spirit oft would play a nobler part. The inner life at higher things would aim. Yet, sorely fettered, earthbound still must stay, Pent, prisoned in its feeble earthly frame. Fails in the strife, and dims its heavenly ray. We grasp at shadows, which our hearts beguile, Let sordid wants engross our life's best prime, While heaven-born joys unheeded pass, the while. Eternity is lost, in dreams of Time. The joy of summer, or awakening spring, The peaceful murmur of the wind-swayed trees, The glorious throbbing ocean, imaging Man's world-tossed heart, that will not be at ease, The flash of light, which heralds in the dawn And all the beauty of a new-born day. Tell us for ever of Eternity's blest morn. When all these life-mists may be swept away. All these bright gifts God gives with lavish hand, For earthly tinsel still we cast away our gold. Like children, hurtful things we will demand, And only long for what we may not hold. 24 How scant reward is given to some great mind Which seeks all Truth, through poverty and pain ; Shrinks from the fickle flattery of mankind, And loves his books before all Fame or gain. Some blood-stained hero from the battle-field A nation welcomes with loud shouts of joy, Crowns him with bay leaves, who made thousands yield And bite the dust, to gain a monarch's toy. And yet our earth is fair — its lowliest flower Rich wisdom teaches to the seeking mind, Of Him who holds the lightnings in His power. And still a thought for lowly things can find. Oft we may find beneath some cottage roof That happiness content alone can give ; Let those who dwell in palaces aloof Go learn from these, it may be well to — live. We mortals lording it o'er all the earth Deem it created solely for our kind, Inherit it in sorrow from our birth. Until our level with its dust we find. What are we ? fashioned with such wondrous art Into God's Image sore defaced by sin — Flesh that but forms of earth a tiny part. Spirit that back to Heaven a way may win. And why should spirit thus be clogged with dust. Trailing its glory through sin's awful mire ? We may not question One who is all just ; 'Tis so, perchance, our souls are cleansed by fire That we may reach the bourne still held in view (That world of which the heritage we lost). Now God's most precious Blood has paid our due At such an awful price — Himself the cost. How sweet it is to worship at His feet. Follow, tho' faltering, the steps He trod, ntil our prayers have formed a ladder meet To lead us upward till we reach our God. 25 BEYOND THK VEIL, That glorious Home — (how may my feeble pen Essay to paint what will await us there ?) — Bright holy freedom for pure souls of men — Which may not with vain earthly joys compare, There all things live, existent, pre-expressed, That we but dimly have imagined here. Loved spirits gone before us to their rest Await us in the forms we held most dear ; And we shall greet them with the love of old. In tenfold strength, without its earthly taint Of self, the fondest human love must hold While 'neath the burthen of the flesh we faint. Scenes we have loved may glow for us again More beautiful than e'er of old we knew ; Old haunts of childhood lost thro' mists of pain, In peerless beauty there shall meet the view. All grown more fair than when we knew them here, Seen through the halo of Heaven's purer light. Peopled by forms that erst had made them dear. Whose angel faces with God's love are bright. What sore perplexed us here shall be made plain ; All doubts shall vanish that oppress us so ; Earth's tangled threads be all made straight again. Guided to join in one unbroken flow. Music, more sweet than earthly ears may hear, Floating through space in undulating sound. Swelling in glory, bringing God more near. Strains lost on earth, may here again be found, " No more to sorrow," "God's eternal rest." What ear so dull ? what eye so dimmed by earth ? That hears not, longs not, for the joy expressed By that bright promise of a heavenly birth, Though death upon the threshold darkly stand. And our weak souls shrink from his ghastly face ? May blessed spirits wait at God's command To bear us safely to that holy place ! 26 My eyes grow dim ; no more I dare reveal To those whiDse ears are not attuned to hear. My fleshly eyes grow dark ! my senses reel ! The wails of lost ones fill my heart with fear I My soul no longer sees " Beyond the Veil " ! My heart is throbbing with a restless pain ! I find my words are weak, and sorely fail To picture all that burns within my brain. ONWARD AND UPWARD. Our feet may walk the earth, Our thoughts still scale high Heaven, Yet ever must our greatest thoughts Be mixed with earthly leaven. There is no spirit wholly pure ; Some fleshly taint must still Cling to these earthly garments, Look upward as we will. But onward, upward ever. We are but strangers here. Sink not beneath thy burthens, Hope's star still shines to cheer. Beyond there glows a city, Where the many mansions be : Walk on in Christ's own footsteps, He will give thee victory. Ye may be faint and weary; The road seem long and sad ; Christ has drunk thy cup of sorrow, He lives to make thee glad. O, weary one, push onward ! O, sorrowing ones, look up ! He will not leave thee comfortless, Tho' bitter be thy cup. 27 THE LASSIE, WHERE IS SHE? There dwelt a bonny lassie once In a woodland cottage home, She knew not of the outer world. And never wished to roam. Content to tend her bees and flowers All through the summer day. So brightly passed the happy hours In sweet content away. One day there came a sailor lad From some far distant sea. Now you may seek that woodland bower, But the lassie — where is she ? For the sailor came a wooing, With words so sweet and low. And they sailed away one happy day When the gentle breeze did blow. THE SINGER. In earliest childhood he would stray apart From other children, pondering in his heart On all things beautiful of sight or sound. Until one day the gift of song he found ; So, lifting up his voice, he sang a strain Of such sweet melody the birds re-echoed it again ; The brook took up the echo as it swept To join the sea, — and all who heard it wept ; For now it told the yearning of deep love. That, unavailing, seeks its depth to prove ; Of death, who shows us all things full and clear ; Of ripples in the sea of Time that await us her All these the singer sang, with heart and voice — A strain now mournful, now bidding all rejoice. 28 THE LOVES OF LONG AGO. Oh, memory, bring back to me the loves of long ago, And bid one stand before me now, in the firelight's ruddy glow — Smooth out the wrinkles Time has made in that face once young and fair. And take away the locks of grey — bring back the golden hair. Bring back the voice that, low and sweet, promised to love me well. So many weary years ago I scarce can count or tell. She vowed that Time could ne'er destroy the love she fondly swore — Ah, Time has swept her face away to a dim and dis- tant shore. Alone, I tremble on the brink, of that end I dread to know. And not one face is left to me of the loves of long ago. THE CHORISTER'S PRAYER. The rosy light of sunset swept in through the chancel door. It rested awhile on a kneeling form, as gleaming softly o'er The soft gold curls of the praying boy, as tho' from Heaven to pour A blessing upon the drooping head, in answer to his prayer. Perchance from Heaven some angel smiled, to see him kneeling there. With the small hands clasped, on the pale sweet face, a beauty for earth too rare. 29 And this was the prayer of the boy who knelt at the Minster's hallowed shrine : " Pray God give me power to sing to-night just once of Thy love divine, " 'Ere the cold grave closes above my head, and the silence of death is mine ! " He prayed while the tears fell one by one, for the world he soon must leave, As he thought how his mother's lonely heart o'er her only son would grieve. For he knew full well that the hand of death was heavy at his heart, As he robed that night for Even-song, in the choir to take a part. And, oh ! how that glorious treble pealed, the fretted roof along. It filled each listening soul with awe, as of an angel's song, And scarce an eye but dimmed with tears, of all that spell-bound throng. Anthem. Treble — All glory be to God on high ! Who hears the suppliant's inmost cry — The faintest echo of a sigh ; To Christ, who for our sakes did die. Chorus— Qlona. in Excelsis. Gloria in Excelsis. The anthem o'er, the organ sobbed out into a moan ; That golden head drooped low— the fervent soul had flown. White-wing'd angels to the Holy place draw near, His song has reached the Almighty's listening ear. 30 THE DREAMER. I EVER dreamed of worlds unknown, Nor heeded hands which clasped my own Within a firm love-clasp : I strained to gaze on far-off stars. And beat against the prison bars That held me in their grasp : And scarce would heed dull things of earth, Or aught that seemed of lowly birth : Yet deemed I looked to heaven ! From blessings all within my hold I turned to abstract theories cold, By wisest ancients given. The warm religion of the heart Was not for me, and formed no part Of my life scheme : On love I looked with scornful eyes, And deemed it but a doubtful prize To crown youth's dream 1 'Twas thus the empty years rolled on : I woke to find myself alone. My loved ones — dead ! Then far-off stars waxed faint and pale, .Dead theories seemed of no avail. Grief bow'd my head 1 I now to Christ for comfort come. Looking towards that far-off home Where they are gone : And, trembling on the grave's dark edge. The Cross I hold — a sacred pledge To lead me on ! 31 THE CHILD-ANGEL'S SONG. Brighter than gold are the floors of Heaven, Whiter than snow its worshipping throng; Only awhile to this earth are given The souls which join in the angels' song. We may not stay when our Father calls — Let no tears shadow our bright winged flight, We wing to the warmth of the God-lit halls Where His presence diff"uses Eternal light. BY THE OCEAN. I HEARD the voices of children Float in thro' the open door, As they played beyond in the meadow, That stretched to the sea-girt shore. Voices and rippling laughter, With the sea's soft murmur wrought A spell o'er my weary spirit, That happier memories brought. Play on, O happy children, By the murmuring mystic sea ; Life is a deep, vast ocean, But its depths are not for thee. What tho' thy sand-built palace Is swept away by the tide. Build them still higher and higher, With castle and keep beside. We too have built our castles On the shifting sands of time, But the waves of life o'erswept them In the days of our youth and prime. Play on, O happy children, &c. 32 THE HEART'S UNREST. We know not why our hearts grow sad, Why something from our life seems gone ; Some heartfelt joy that once we had, Some subtler lights which o'er us shone. We know not why forbidden tears, Should dim our eyes at twilight's hour ; Why gladsome memories of past years Have lost for us their soothing power. We know not why some sweet old song Will fill us with a sense of woe. Or why some tale of human wrong With restless misery fills us so. And if 'tis spring the violet's scent But moves us to some old regret ; And ere we know why this should be. With tears our lashes all are wet. Yet violets bloom and sweet birds sing As in the days when we were glad ; Full summer follows on the spring, And only human hearts are sad. Some breaking of an unknown link, The yearning for a home, not here. We stand upon the next world's brink And seeing darkly learn to fear. We know not what to fear or hope. Midst wranglings of the many creeds Of unseen evils which to cope. Or wherewithal to feed our needs. The path to Heaven is hard to find. And few may clearly point the way. Though Christ still lives our hearts to bind, And lead from darkness unto day. 33 A SUMMER IDYL. BALMY summer sunshine, O birds that sing so sweet, And flowers that cluster lovingly About world-weary feet. How can my heart droop falteringly, 'Neath burthens and despair, When God's dear love all bounteously Has made our earth so fair? 1 look above, the fleecy clouds Sail through the ether blue. Afar the glittering ocean bounds The horizon of my view. Yet should the birds refuse to sing. The flowers refuse to bloom, How soon the lovely earth might be A scene of silent gloom. " THE ELECTRIC CHAIN WHEREWITH WE ARE DARKLY BOUND."— Byron. We may not know from whence the links may start That bind all human-kind by brain or heart, Love's oft'-told tale each mortal stoops to hear ; The same soft strain of music brings the tear ; Alike some piquant jest to laughter moves One here, one there, and human kinship proves. Disease invades alike each mortal frame ; We feel another's sorrow, having known the same. But more than these — a subtler essence flows Binding us to eternity. Our joys and woes Are but as atoms in the mighty chain Which one great master-mind doth pre-ordain. Our place is known ere ever we were born, Pre-destined as the light to greet the morn. c HERZDRUKEN. (Heart's Pain.) A CARELESS word from those we love, May fill us with a sense of pain ; We tax our inmost thoughts to prove, If we offended, perhaps in vain. A word perchance but lightly spoken, A frown where we should meet a smile. Are trifles by which hearts are broken, Tho' they may live, and love the while. There are, whose natures unattuned To finer feelings of the heart, Skim but the surface of all joy, And sorrow plays a transient part. 'Tis well to strive our hearts to calm. And hide from all what most we feel ; The world can give no soothing balm. What recks it of our woe or weal ? Others attuned to higher things. What joy they know is full and deep ; For them the earth with music rings. Yet grief her keenest pangs doth keep. Like music played by skilful hands. Their heart-strings answer to a touch ; They are not bound by iron bands, But loving — oft love overmuch. And then the broken heart will cry, Sore fretted by the careless throng ; Who pass in cold indifference by All human sorrow, human wrong. " O ! give me but a quiet grave, And plant pale snowdrops o'er my breast ; For God's eternal love I crave, Wherein this weary heart may rest." 35 PASSING AWAY. A RECITATION. Oh ! call me not again to earth When Paradise is full in view, I catch the gleam of golden gates, And may not linger here with you. Yet hold my hand, the light grows dim. The weary journey's Well nigh past. Come closer, kiss my lips again, And still be near me to the last. Forgive, if I have wrought you woe. By any bitter words I've said, Forgive me, once before I go, 'Twill give you comfort when I'm dead. The children — yes — I hear them now, They'll miss me for a little while. But childhood's tears are quickly dried. And soon comes back the ready smile. You'll sometimes tell them of the home Where mother went, from earthly pain. And some day you and they will come And I shall see you all again. Now promise you will let the grass Have one year's growth above my rest, Before you let another's head Lie in my place upon your breast. Even my picture from the wall Would haunt you with reproachful eyes. I think 'twould from its fastening fall, When you my memory ceased to prize. If sometimes, in the lonely night, You stretch despairing arms in vain, I will be with you in your The proud earl stood beside us now. His looks held no disdain. Anon the happy bells pealed forth, We walked the flowery way ; And sweet and fair is my sweet wife, Who cheers my path alway. 45 SPRING'S AWAKENING. The laughing light of spring time Is trembling through the land, Awaking flowers and leaflets, As with a fairy wand. How balmy are the breezes, How sweet the lights that play On softly murmuring brooklet, Gladdening all upon its way. The earth is all awaking, As from a dream of pain, To a life of love and beauty. Sunny hours and genial rain. The Winter, in departing. Like an old man, worn and sad. Shakes his white lock's to the "heavens, Weeps to see the earth so glad. The golden Lenten lilies nod Their tassels to the breeze ; The dainty blue forget-me-nots Cluster 'neath the forest trees. They love the marge of some fair stream. Where lovers, hand-in-hand. Weaving of the scene a paradise. Scarce seem on earth to stand. For youth and spring are all as one. With sunshine bubbling over, Full to the brim of happiness, And living, aye, in clover. Ah ! gather posies while ye may, Time will not ever tarry ; Birds build their nests in spring alway, — Young men and rnaidens mairy ! 46 DRIFTING. Like leaves upon a summer stream, For years we drifted far apart ; And yet some mystic cord was there, Which drew us nearer — heart to heart, We met — as only strangers meet, Not wotting of the magic cord; Which ever brought our souls more near, Until we loved with one accord. As slowly rolled the fateful years. One morn had brought us face to face ; At once thro' eyes heart leapt to heart. But only for one moment's space. We stand beneath a sullen sky, The wild waves vvash upon the shore ; One clinging kiss — a last good-bye. And I may see my love no more. No more like drifting leaves we float. But far apart as mountains stand ; We must not love, we may not meet. For one close clasp of hand to hand. O ! love, I strain despairing eyes, O 1 love, my heart breaks all alone ; But only the plashing wave replies. And echoes my heart-weary moan. Ah ! love who cometh all too late, How cruel the decrees of fate. 47 A SUNNY PICTURE. We stood amidst the golden corn. All bright and smiling was the morn, The reapers, singing, passed us by, And not a cloudlet flecked the sky. Love flooded o'er our lives with light. Our hearts had ne'er known sorrow's blight If sorrow in the world might be We knew it not, and what cared we ? We knew what love and summer meant. " The winter of our discontent " Seemed yet so very far away. Grim Time might never bring the day. So kissing 'midst the golden corn. Our hearts were one that summer morn. When Hope and Sunshine seemed to say : True love can never pass away. TWOFOLD LIFE. " Death — what we term death, is but the casting away of the soul's worn garment." — L. A. W. Oh soul, freed soul, say whither dost thou go ? To Heaven's bliss, or purgatorial woe ? Man may not follow thy invisible night. Its clear way winging through the fields of light ? Say, are our prayers and tears of no avail ? Canst thou not for one moment lift the veil From our sad hearts — flesh-cumbered here on earth, Until like thee we seek our mystic birth ? 48 O bend towards us, whisper words of cheer, When in some hour our souls are fain to hear The subtle rustling of thy angel wings, Feel thy soft presence, know unutterable things ! Is there no hour we may communion hold ? In dreams perchance, when earth has loosed one fold, Our spirits soaring through the realms of space Again behold our lost ones face to face ! But yesternight I met one, " gone before," Like, yet unlike, the form I knew of yore : Her aged face was glowing with bright youth. And yet I felt it was herself in truth 1 Though I had never known her young and fair. Had seen her only with her snowy hair And calm sweet brow, that age had wrinkled o'er. And eyes that held life's shadow now no more. It seemed not strange to hold her hand again, And hear her voice without one touch of pain. In its full tones : not strange, but passing sweet ! Just in my dream to kneel at her dear feet ! Our life is twofold, and the life of dreams To me the truer and the sweeter seems : Its joys are deeper, and it brings more near The spirit world, and all we hold most dear ! THE MEADOW STREAM. The children play'd with flowers by the stream; Strung daisy chains, and revelled in the gleam Of summer sunshine, all throughout the hours Of those bright happy days amongst the flowers. 49 In later years one sat beside that stream, A maiden, flushed with all a maiden's dream Of happy love, that, in her eyes' glad light, Made all the earth seem beautiful and bright. Anon two lovers wander hand in hand, And sweetly speak of love, upon the strand Of this stream's marge, all through the summer day, Happy as children, pass the hours away. Yet, once more in the eventide of life He clasps her hand, and calls her faithful wife : Unchanged the murmuring waters ripple by. And overhead still glows the summer sky. TIME AND ETERNITY. How ruthlessly sweep the years along Bearing with therft life's sorrow and wrong, Out on a tideless sea ! The hopes, the fears, the passion, or woe. Like waifs on an ocean they drift and flow, On to eternity 1 Men's noblest deeds, that form the theme Of saga's legend, or poet's dream, Alike on the stream they go ! With the unsung lives of men unknown. Loves that in some men's hearts have grown To a dream of woe ! Yearnings that lift men's minds from earth. Bidding them look to a mystic birth For the -undying soul ! Not an atom is lost, not one lowly heart But in God's blest city shall form a part Of that Mighty Whole ! 5° A POET'S WISH. It is not given us all to stand aloof, Like some tall cedar towering toward the sky, A beacon light for centuries yet unborn. Bearing a name that lives though we must die. And yet each lowly flower that decks the earth Has its appointed destiny below, To give forth perfume for the passer by, Or, clad in beauty, make a goodly show. We may not sing a grand undying strain, To thrill all nations with its wondrous power, Yet still may chant a melody full sweet, And while away perchance some dull-paced hour. May it be mine to breathe some melody. Or simple song to soothe the heart's unrest. So dying I may leave on life's rough sea Some waifs of thought to stir a kindred breast I THE DESERTED MANSION. Its chambers are deserted now. No sound of voices from within; No happy children romp about With all their merry din. The echoes sound through empty halls. As the grey dusk of evening falls. Deserted is the white rose bower, No fluttering robe flits down the walk; Neglected hangs each lovely flower. All dead and drooping from its stalk. Rank weeds are trailing all about. 'Tis dark within, and drear without. SI Red lichens cling about the walls, The solemn rooks flit over-head Waking the echoes as they go, It seems as though the place were dead. So mournful is the slow decay, When signs of life have passed away. At nightfall shadows haunt its glades, Which give the place an evil name ; The people cross themselves and pass. Low muttering of its ghostly fame. And none dare pass within its gate. For fear of some dark awesome fate. Yet once fair women graced its rooms. Love whispers sounded in its bowers ; Proud courtly forms of young and old. Passed in and out amongst the flowers. While sights and sounds of life were there. To make the picture passing fair. GOD OMNIPRESENT. Ask not. Where is our God ? but look around. ' In all things that exist a God is found : He moves the universe, He breathes through space. Though only veiled, man may behold His face. He rolls the thunder, rules in storm or sun. In all, through all, His emanations run. From the Empyrean, where His glory shines. To earth's remotest ends, His love divines The spirit's slightest wish, expressed by prayer. Wherever Faith shall seek Him He is there. The throbbing ocean murmurs : God is here. The flowers lift up their heads and feel Him near. All things obey the working of His will, O ! man, and wilt thou only doubt Him still ! 52 MAY-DAY. Dolly came tripping across the meadow, So blithe and gay, on a bright May-day ; Now in sunshine and now in shadow, She gathered the posies of blossoming May. And gaily she sang as she tripped along, The loving burthen of some old song — " Oh, for my laddie, who loves me so, To the furthest ends of the earth I'd go ! " Willie came sauntering adown the lane. And heard the words of the maiden's lay. Oh, sweet to their hearts is the old refrain Of a story told 'midst the blossoming May ! That again was told when the lovers twain Fell to gathering May in that shady lane — That sweet old story, though never so old. Will last, and live, while the world shall hold. IN THE FULNESS OF TIME. If hands droop weary from some earthly task, And hearts grow heavy under sense of wrong. We pray for death, unknowing what we ask. In sore heart-sickness query — Lord, how long ? If all life's sunshine seems to pass aside, And all life's sorrows make with us a stay, Grief will not alway in our hearts abide, The sun at last must chase the clouds away ! God's way, not ours, must lead us to the end, He knows how much these earthly hearts can bear; The cross, whereunder fainting we may bend. If borne with patience, will but lead us — there 1 53 Will lead us, following in the steps He trod, Who our redemption sought through pangs of death Man-like in sorrow, yet a very God, Yielding for sinful man in agony His breath ! Is it too much from our weak souls to ask That we should take our cross and follow too ; Accept in meekness every earthly task That for His sake the Lord has bid us do ? And when at last our fainting breath shall fail, The cross will fall from our weak flesh away :. The fulness of His glory rend the veil, And He bid welcome to Eternal Day ! OUT WITH THE TIDE. A fisherman's story. There is not a doubt, as the tide goes out I shall pass out of life, Though I've weathered many a storm in my time with the wind and waves at strife. And now I am bound for a friendly port I know dear wife it is best ; For I'm tired of buffeting angry waves, and fain would be at rest. Ah, many a morn ye have watched me, lass, putting off from the shore ; Now Bill will go i' the boat alone, for I shall go with him no more. Open the window wide, old wife, as I may see the bay. And the fishing boats how daintily wi' wind and waves they play. 54 It's strange as I should be dying here wi' you beside my bed, [led. I, who for fifty years or more such a venturous life have A wonderful thing is death, my lass — it shows us all so clear; You would scarce believe I could wait like this with never a doubt nor a fear. I mind me now how one fearful night, wi' a mighty, rending shock. Just off this coast, the "Albert Ross" struck on a sunken rock. We soon had the lifeboat out, for sure — I were hale and hearty then. And as we' put off such a ringing cheer went up from the hearts of the men. The women were weeping and wailing a bit, as women folks will do ; But amongst them all you stood white, but firm, for you were always true blue. And as from the wreck we brought them in, the living and the dead. The women folks help'd all they could, but you had the soundest head. Many brave hearts went cold that night, under the treacherous wave. And few were the lives, do all we might, 'midst the breakers we could save. Our lifeboat's crew were sorely tried, and one brave lad was lost. But "Hearts of Oak" are aye to the fore, never counting the cost. They buried all the dead in one grave, there i' the old churchyard, With only one stone to mark the spot — aye, lass, it be mighty hard To be washed ashore far away from home, with never a friendly hand To close your eyes, and to lie at last unknown in a strangers' land. 55 They were most on 'em foriners washed ashore, and one, scarce more than a boy. Had such a calm, sweet smile on his face, as tho' he knew Heaven's joy. A woman's picture we found on his breast, with a shining lock of hair. And, mayhap, his sweetheart's own dear hand had placed them fondly there Afore he sailed in the "Albert Ross" to meet with a sailor's doom, And scarce an eye but was wet as we lowered him into his early tomb. I can hear the waves as they wash on the shore, it brings these things to mind ; Ye'll be lonely this Yule-tide darlin', and little for mirth inclined. But the old man's life is ended, he is only going out with the tide, And ye'll join me soon, for it can't be long, afore ye are laid by my side. And there will be no more stormy seas in that peaceful land of rest. Give me one kiss, I am going fast, and hold my head on your breast. The sea still- murmurs, I love the sound, perhaps I may hear it there, Washing the shores of Eternity, with a sound of Time^ despair. THE WARP OF LIFE. Life is like some rare mosaic, •Now 'tis bright, and now prosaic. Weave it with a skilful hand. When the pattern is complete. Fit the Master's eye to meet. He will the warp demand. 56 Weave within it deeds of kindness, Do not falter in thy blindness, Weave the woof with pain. Self-denying, God reliant, To the shafts of sin defiant. So the victory gain. Do not spend life's hours in dreaming Of a good that is but seeming; Here below the sun. Weave thy warp in full completeness, That His eye may judge its meetness. When the work is done. Be not deaf to human sorrow. From thy Heavenly pattern borrow Sympathy, and love. Weave it in a robe of whiteness, Gleaming with a pure soul's brightness, For thy home above. ONLY PLAYMATES. We were but playmates, he and I, Once in those early golden days : I lived alway in my cottage home. For him the world held other ways. Parted so long, lonely was I — Would he too soon forget me ? Sad was my heart, loath did we part, Playmates so fond and dear were we. Long were the years, still, through my tears, Hope shone ever before me, Tho' never a word from him I heard As those weary years went o'er me. 57 Down to the meadows merrily Went the lads and lasses one day ; Joyous and glad, each had h-er lad, Laughing and courting 'midst the new-mown hay. One courted me ; I cried, " Let be ! Love is not for me ! " I said, " Heart have I none, since he is gone " — Thinking my playmate may be dead. A stranger came to the field that day. Sought me out from all the rest — " Oh, love 1 at last waiting is past ; Come, sweetheart, to thy lover's breast ! " DID I BUT DREAM ? Did I but dream thou wert mine own, My gentle love, whose hand I held in mine ; Whose face was dearer than aught else to me. In that fair city, by the castelled Rhine ! 'Twas like a dream we floated down the stream. Your golden head pressed close unto my breast, My arms around you, all I loved on earth : O love ! for ever might we thus be blessed. Sweet love ! where art thou ? Must I cry in vain. And wear the night out in one weary moan ? For those dear lips I ne'er may press again. As my heart answers, "Thou art all alone." If 'twas a dream, O let me dream again ; Yea, dream for ever till the night shall come — The night of death that endeth this long pain. And brings me back my love e'en thro' the tomb. 58 WITH GEMS OR LOVE. Shall I woo thee with bright gems and rare, To clasp thy neck and grace thine hair And sparkle in the ball-room's glare — Sweet maiden ? Or shall I bring thee gem-like flowers, All blooming fresh from summer showers, To whisper thee of lovers' bowers, And hearts love laden ? Then say each rose is like thy cheek. Each violet like thine eyes so meek, Their fragrance like the love I seek To crown my life ? Alas, I know not how to woo, Or say fond words as others do ; I only know my heart is true. Wilt be — my wife ? THE OLD YEAR AND THE NEW. 1883— 1884. Another year gone to the past. With all its hopes and fears — Pleasures all too bright to last. Sorrows too deep for tears : Old friends grown cold or passed away To a land beyond our ken. Where they no longer own the sway That moves the hearts of men. Ring solemnly and slow, ye bells, Of the Old Year's death your legend tells. 59 Now dawns the birth of another year As pales yon evening star, — A merrier sound from the bells we hear Which greets us from afar ; And may it bring us hopes renew'd, New friends both staunch and true, Troubles thro' Faith's bright halo view'd, Pleasures we ne'er may rue. Ring loud, ye bells, ring cheerily, To greet the New Year merrily. ST. BOTOLPH'S BELLS. Oh ! sweet St. Botolph's bells. Again your chiming swells In floods of music on the still night air ; Of many a bygone year it tells. And many a home scene fair. Within their sound I dwelt long years ago — Their distant music set my heart aglow. When listening to its chime. We watched the Old Year dying solemnly and slow, In that dear bygone time. Our childish hearts untouched by grief or care. We had no sorrow for the passing year, And heard no sadness in the bells' sweet sound ; Flung wide the casement to the keen night air ; Thus we a New Year's presence gladly found. Whilst all the neighbouring bells, with clash and clang, To greet the infant Year wild paans rang. Then we in gentle sleep Its early hours would keep. Ah ! now we greet the sound through mists of tears And half-forgotten memories of past years — So wake to weep. 6o IN MEMORIAM.— MR. GARFIT. He needs no marble bust, or sculptured tomb, His grandest tribute is the memory of the just, Who miss him from their midst, and from the gloom Look ever upward with a loving trust. They hear the echo of a voice which saith, " In ministering to My poor, ye succoured Me; O, enter in, ye faithful unto death. The gates of Heaven are open wide for thee." Ye sorrowing ones, 'tis but a little space We suffer here to fit us for that life. Here we are strangers to our Father's face, Who will receive us after this world's strife. And he we loved so well has gone before. Where we may follow in the steps he trod ; Like him at last be welcomed on that shore, Where stand the everlasting homes of God. There Christ, the corner-stone, for ever stands, The link that binds our sinful souls to Heaven, He bids us loose from earth our clinging hands. And claims us for the life His life has given. OLD LETTERS. Dear written words, traced by the hands we love ; Ink faded yellow with the lapse of years ; How sad to read, yet tenderly they move Our hearts — and fill our eyes with yearning tears. Perchance they breathe of love's undying strains. In words that thrilled our hearts so long ago. While the hot tide of youth was pulsing through the veins. And pale cheeks flushed such wealth of love to know. 6i The hand that wrote may be a heap of dust, The loving heart have ceased for aye to beat, Yet swift roll back the intervening years, — Again we hear the echo of their coming feet. Again we read the love-light in their eyes. And fondly dream such love can never die, Then wake to find the past has gone for aye, And face the present with one lingering sigh. Go, sad sweet relics of a golden prime. Lie hid in some deep casket, out of sight. We may not stay the swift-winged feet of Time, He hurries forward with resistless might. And only some slight waifs remain like these. To flood our hearts with memories of past days, When all seems stern and cold, the past remains A loving memory softening life's hard ways. THOUGHTS. No heart so full of sorrow but hath some spring of joy; There is never a baser m^tal but haith some pure alloy. In the hearts of little children are pure deep wells of love — The height and depth of a pure child-soul what learned man can prove ? They question of great matters with wide and won- dering eyes; The wisest one does well to pause before he makes replies. 62 There is some touch of Heaven in the lowliest human soul, And the purest heart that ever beat escapes not sin's control. In matter dwelleth evil — towards earth is earth's desire. 'Tis well if the immortal soul of man be purified by fire ; Heaven's spark rnay be extinguished if steeped too deep in sin, And the lost soul cleave to the earth it loved unable Heaven to win. Unutterably awful is that earth-bound spirit's state. Longing to enter the homes of earth, yet wailing at Heaven's gate. GOD'S GARDEN. The earth is the Lord's own garden. Flowers and weeds grow there, Plane trees to cast cool shadow, And flowering shrubs most fair ; Fruit trees, with golden burthen. He oft may prune with pain, That they droop not in heat of summer, But bear sweet fruit again. And His refreshing showers Of love fall over them all, Alike on the weeds and flowers. The fruit and the plane trees tall ; But when He comes to tend them, And store His fruit away, The weeds shall be cast into darkness. The flowers bloom alway. 63 A LOVER'S QUARREL. Silently we two were straying : I was sad at heart, and you — With the rose I gave you, playing — Kept your face hid from my view ; One by one the petals strewing, At your feet I saw them fall : This the fate of rose, and wooing, A life bereft of beauties all ! Though the earth was bright with sunshine, Though the sky. was blue above, All the light had died within me — Scattered petals — shattered love ! When you whispered gently, " Darling, Just forgive me once again ! " All the earth was filled with glory, Like a shadow passed my pain ! UNFINISHED. Death calls us hence, our lives all incomplete, Some task unfinished, or some work to do. While earthly paths still seem to claim our feet. Life's skein is tangled, and we hold no clue. It may be in another life we find The clue to all which seemed so dark before, It may be that the scales our eyes which blind, Will fall away bn reaching Heaven's door. Unfinished still these earthly tasks may be, The book unwritten which we have begun ; We cannot scaij the warp of fate that He, Our Master, weaves in lands beyond the sun. 64 We may not know how when these eyes shall fail, And darken to the scenes which bound our sight ; A richer glory makes the lights of earth grow pale, And eyes may open in a world of Light ! Dead hands that drooped from their unfinished task. Some earthly task, in love and hope begun. May find the thread unbroken in that home Where our true life begins — though this be done. ONLY THE ECHOES. In a silent street in the city. Where faint echoes come and go. She sang me a sweet old ditty. Of love such as lovers know. And oft as I came to listen Its burthen sweet and glad, The tears in my eyes would glisten. For joy oft will make one sad. Now echoes break the silence, As tho' spirit voices sang The burthen of that sweet ditty. Which oft thro' these rooms has rang. And I wait to catch its meaning, As I heard it long ago From the lips of my own lost darling, When love set our hearts aglow. But only a strange sad echo Comes in at the open door. And the voice of the living singer Shall enter my heart no more. She singeth now with the angels, A glad light in her eyes. And I quietly wait to join her, When the day-dawn shall arise. 65 THREE PICTURES. FIRST. Only a blushing maiden sweet, Only a first love's passionate kiss ; But does the whole earth hold, we ask, Aught so entrancing and bright as this ? The roses bloom and the glad birds sing While youth and summer are on the wing. SECOND. Only two hearts that beat as one, Down by the sun-kissed autumn sea ; Harvest fields that, like burnished gold, Stretch for miles o'er a billowy lea. O dear love, thou art mine alone, Tho' autumn winds make the wild sea moan. THIRD. A white shroud over the earth's fair breast, A cosy nook by the fireside ingle ; Two heads that bend o'er a babe at rest. While golden and jet locks lovingly mingle. Angels might envy a scene hke this — The consummation of wedded bliss. THE HAUNTED GRANGE. It lay beyond the city gates, dark ivy climbed its outer wall, I marked me how the country folk would hurry by at even-fall ; A gloomy moat half spanned the space where sentinel tall fir trees stood, Behind, and stretching many a mile, was barren moor and dusky wood. E 66 In truth, it was an eerie place, and well might grue- some legend boast. Belated mortals hurried by beyond the spell of sprite or ghost. For fifty years no human foot had crossed the lintel of its door. And still those doors must closed remain until had sped full fifty more. And why ? I questioned ; none could tell, tho' some looked canny, as with zest. They told me of the Squire's will, in which he made some strange request; And pointed to a crone whose years had seamed her face with wrinkles o'er. And scathed her till her filmy eyes could look upon the sun no more. Old Martha was my lady's maid, and she could tell the tale, they said ; And what those closfed doors must hide till fifty more long years had fled. Now, Martha ne'er the tale had told for fifty years to human kind ; She scowled and muttered when I asked, as tho' some mystery lurked behind. The gossips long had ceased to ply their chattering trade for Martha's ear; They loathed and shunned her every one, and truly she was one to fear. She dwelt alone ; and oft by night, and always when the moon was high. She stood before the haunted Grange, and some had heard her moan and cry. Others more ventur'us still had seen her toss her arms in wild despair, As flitting from the Grange there came two shadowy figures thin as air. Then Martha swift would flee away to sink upon her cottage floor, [door, Until some kindly passer-by would enter by the open 67 And draw the spirit back to life that fain perchance had passed away, For scanty were the thanks she gave to those who brought it back to-day. Thus evermore she dwelt alone, and seemed to own nor kith nor kin. The gossips when they met would say she glowers o'er some awful sin. But if that sin were hers alone, or what its, nature, none could say, So well and truly had she hid her secret thoughts from light of day. But older, weaker, Martha grew, at last she could not leave her bed ; Death's hand was heavy at her heart, and many muttered prayers, she said. The parish priest, a good old man, bade her confess to him apart. That so his prayers might help her soul, and ease her stricken dying heart. "Ah ! father," then she faintly said, " a load of grief is on my soul, I know that I am dying fast, I gladly will confess the whole." " The Squire he was a jealous man, and his young kinsman, Hugh de Vere, Loved my fair mistress far too well, and she held not her lord so dear. That when young Hugh with fulsome words would seek to win her heart away. He had an easy task methought, for I would watch them night and day ; For Hugh had sworn to love me once, his face was fair as his heart was foul, And I hated her who took away, the one for whom I would give my soul. 68 I whispered the Squire what I knew, ah ! how he turned with anger white, And swore an awful solemn oath, that he revenge would have that night. I led him to the guilty pair, passion had made his heart a hell ; He drew his sword, and slew them both, it was a murder, dark and fell. We told the servants they had fled, he closed and locked the chamber door ; And none since that dread awful night, have ever crossed the lintel o'er. Yet still my lady haunts the place, it is a weird and solemn sight To see her flitting o'er the sward, red stains upon her robe of white. "Ah ! now they both together come ; my father, say a louder prayer ; The Squire beckons me away, he stands behind the ghostly pair. And O ! the anguish in their eyes, they seem to listen; father pray ; ' Out of the depths they have' cried, O Lord, give light to chase their guilt away.' Eternal rest give them, O Lord, and let Thy Light upon them shine ; And my poor soul drinks in the words ; will God for- give such sins as mine ? " " Amen, and may they rest in peace," the priest still pray'd beside the bed ; But Martha heard the words no more, her erring soul at last had fled. 69 OCTOBER. A DIRGE. The harvest is ingathered, The leaf growing sere ; Winds wail for the year That is dying. The fields are deserted, The ripe fruit falls From the orchard walls, At our feet 'tis lying. Decay hangs over all, Yet beautiful is death. As the wind's keen breath Passes by. Bright tho' too brief Is the autumn day As it dies away. Like a sigh. Keen and cruel the east wind, Whirling the leaves along In a motley throng, Like birds of flight. Quickly the night comes ; Autumn's grey pall Spreads over us all In the long dark night. TO A SUNFLOWER— 1883. Like the sunflower I turn to the warmth and the glow Whenever the sun may be seen ; But so seldom his countenance greets us below. We sunflowers must perish I ween. 70 A SKETCH. A FRIEND she is, a very friend, indeed, To those who suffer, or to those who need. The poor know well the music of her voice. Bidding some weary heart in Christ rejoice ; Or reading holy words from that one Book, To which for greatest comfort Christians look. Her wealth she holds as given by the Lord For others' good — she spreads that wealth abroad ; The poor she maketh her especial care. With sympathy and love as sweet as rare. A thousand blessings on her steps attend ; I hold the honour great to call her friend. "OMNIA FATES IN PEJUS RURE." Grieve not if some long-cherished dream Has fled and left thee sore at heart ; It is the fate all mortals know, To see their fondest dreams depart. Grieve not though friends should prove untrue. Friendship, like autumn leaves, may die; All cherished things of earth must end, And with half-faded memories lie. If eyes that once have shone with love Should coldly, sternly pass you by. Ah, let it not your anguish move — The loveliest things the soonest die. All things of earth are little worth — Dreams within dreams that soon decay; There is a land far, far from earth. Where darkest night must dawn to day. 71 IF I WERE A GREAT PRINCESS. If I were a great princess, dear love, Would you be my own true knight ; And bear this ribbon which bound my hair Triumphant through lists and fight ? Then with my jewelled hands so white I would give you the victor's crown ; While the court stood by in proud panoply. And you knelt humbly down. But alas ! I am only a village maid. No jewels my fingers grace ; I have only myself to give, dear love, And I come of no kingly race. Yet my heart is true as a maid's can be, And I love but you alone ; We shall envy no maids of high degree, Or kings on their golden throne. Our lowly cottage content shall grace, ■ And love fill our lives with light ; And I will ever be your princess, And you my own true knight. WISHES. "Would I were yon little milkmaid. Tripping merrily along With her milk pails and her sweetheart, Joining in some quaint old song." Sighed my lady ; " Well-a-day, Life for me has lost its May ; Friends are faithless, love has fled. And I might just as well be dead." 72 " O that I coald be my lady, Dress all day in silken gown, Visit grand folks in my carriage. See the wonders of the town," Said the little milkmaid, sighing, Tho' she had not thought of dying. " Life for me is work alway. And Colin stays so long away." Whate'er your rank or lot may be. Come ye of high or low degree, Aye let Content your motto be. LOVE IS KING. My Harold is loving, and tender and true, I know that he loves when he comes to woo ; He presses my hand and kisses my cheek. And his loving eyes from their grey depths speak. O love is king of the world, and we All must bow when our king we see. And I will wear my blue ribbons to-day, For Harold will come a-courting so gay ; He says deep blue is the colour for me, As deep as my eyes, which match the blue sea. O love is king, &c. And when the May doth blossom again Before God's altar will stand we twain To be made one. O the happy day ! When I stand with Harold in bride's array; For he says he will love me for ever and aye. When youth has fled and bright locks grown grey. O love is king, &c. 73 THE BRITISH LION. We name our isle the land of liberty ; Its maids are fair, its sons are brave and free. The greatest men that e'er the world has known Have lived to call this island home their own. From sea to sea, and eke from land to land, Men own the power of her protecting hand. And from the centre of her mighty heart, A thousand links that bind all nations start. Our stately ships sail forth on every sea. The pride and glory of our isle to be ; And none dare rouse the lion from his sleep, Who o'er our island home his watch doth keep. He slumbers lightly, at a sound to leap, In bristling anger, all her foes to sweep Before him. Who dare beard him now, Or stand before the glory of his brow, Untrembling : when, from shore to shore, Resounds the awful thunder of his'roar ? JUST AFTER A SHOWER. How lovely is nature just after a shower. When the raindrops are sparkling on leaflet and flower; The clouds piled like mountains 'midst broad seas of blue, As though Heaven each moment might burst on our view. How lovely is nature just after a shower, When birds sing their sweetest from each woodland bower ; So cool and refreshing the sweet meadow grass. Where the gentle kine graze, looking up as we pass. 74 A fragrance from upturned earth — fragrance from clover — While insects resplendent about our path hover. The yellow-clad bee sips rich swreets from each flower — Yes, nature is sweetest just after a shower. CHILDHOOD'S DREAMS. Haverholme Priory, August 7TH, 1884. I REMEMBER in my childhood, How I dreamed the hours away, With a child's fantastic fancies. In bright cloudland dwelt alway. Poring o'er some fairy legend. Or some book of mystic lore ; Filled my brain with wond'rous fancies, And still ever craved for more. In some shady nook of garden. Or some sunny meadow near; Where the drowsy hum the bees made. Was the only sound to hear. Half asleep and half awaking. Through the summer afternoon ; With glad birds, and bees, and flowers. All my childish heart in tune. Ah ! methinks I still am dreaming. Where the golden sunflowers grow ; In the distance waters gleaming. Branches waving to and fro. One tall sunflower bends towards me. And I kiss her homely face ; Seems as though some friend of childhood Bade me welcome to the place. And the stately pile before me Is a dream of long ago ; Where in dreams the spirit wanders, Mortal man may never know. LOVE'S MESSENGER. Bird, on sw.ift wing go bear for me This message to mine absent love ; Tell her that I will constant be. Seeking alway my love to prove : That I await the happy day When I may claim her for my bride ; Bid her all doubt quick chase away, No sorrow shall our love betide. Then back, dear bird, on fleetest wing. To bring my darling's words to me ; Love's messenger can comfort bring Tho' hearts be parted by the sea. And I will pray no harm befall My messenger in love's swift flight — My gentle dove who bears for me A message to my heart's delight. 76 THE SPIRIT'S CRY, How oft to Heaven we lift the anguished cry, O let me die; But God in mercy disregards the prayer Of weak despair. Gird up thy limbs ; there is a God above — A God of love. He knows thy weakness, and will be thy friend Unto the end. What tho' dark clouds awhile o'ercast thy sky; They will pass by. And so reveal the glory which they hide At eventide — The eventide of life which hides away Eternal Day. TO A PICTURE. SWEET cold face, so truly pictured there. How faithful is the light on brow and hair ; How deep the eyes which fondly seem to smile Upon me as I madly gaze the while. Those lovely lips just parting for a kiss, To tantalise me with forbidden bliss ; So life-like all, and yet no warmth is there. And my poor heart is frenzied with despair. 1 may but kiss thy pictured face again. Deeming such kiss can soothe my yearning pain ; Tho' no response I meet for evermore. In dreams I still can kiss thee o'er and o'er. There is no face in all the world to me So dear as this : if it might ever be Mine own for ever — mine to hold for aye — Vain mocking dreams, away, away. '77 FOREBODINGS. A SENSE of mystery hangs thickly in the air, As though some evil thing were lurking near ; I know not how the blow may fall, or where, And inwardly my spirit shrinks with fear. A shiver goes through all my frame, a chill As though death's hand were heavy at my heart ; I seek in vain to conquer by strong will — I call on Jesu's name, and bid my fears depart. Alone — each sound seems fearful, born of night ; My faults rise up before me in a dark array. Towards the east my eyes I strain for light, And in my heart most fervently I pray. Did ever prayer ascend to Heaven in vain ? My heart grows calm, my fears all melt away; And, should I never tread the earth again, Sweet Jesu, lead me to Eternal Day ! WHAT WILL TO-MORROW BRING? What will to-morrow bring ? Child, with those laughing eyes, With thee 'tis ever Spring; Joy for thee never dies. Flowers grow about thy path. Summer winds softly sigh ; Night brings refreshing rest. Loved ones are ever nigh. What will to-morrow bring ? Maiden, so fresh and fair. Time is still on the wing, True love is ever rare. 78 Vows that are breathed at morn Sink with the sun to rest, Where dull grey clouds are borne, Darkening the golden west. What shall the morrow bring To our world-weary hearts ? Love perished in its Spring, Life as a dream departs. A PLAINT. TO THE WORLD. O DAYS that go SO heavily, nights that pass in pain. Will never one faint sunny ray Shine into life again ? The swallow flies to happier lands. When summer days have fled ; Now winter reigns within my heart, All, all its flowers are dead. False friends went with its summer, They love not winter's reign ; 'Tis seldom one true friend we find Through poverty, and pain. Could I win riches and a name. The swallows back would flee ; Away false world accept the scorn, 1 fling ye in my misery. And should you come in happier days I'll bid you all good morrow; If I forget ye faithless were To one in pain, and sorrow. 79 O ! world of hollow friendships, O! world of loves forsworn, 'Twere better never to exist, Or die as soon as born. Well may the new-born infant, Greet life with one long wail ; Opening its eyes to misery, More sorrows soon assail. In each stage of life's journey, Fresh sorrows group together. Alas, alas, I morbid grov/, The fault lies with the weather ! POOR NANCY. BALLAD. He comes not by our cottage door. As once he used to do ; My bright eyes charm him now no more, His love has proved untrue. He swore my cheeks were like the rose. My step was light and free ; When meeting him at evening's close He said he loved but me. O woe is mine, the day I rue. For my sweet love has proved untrue. My cheeks are now as lilies pale, My eyes grown dim with tears ; I wander lonely through the vale. And weary of the years. 8o He comes not by our cottage door, He comes not by the river; My face can charm him never more, My love has gone for ever. O woe is mine, the day I rue, For my sweetheart has proved untrue. I miss him by the wicket gate, I miss him by the burn, And cry, O, cruel, cruel fate ! Whichever way I turn. Now lay me in the cold dark grave. And plant pale flowers above. And on the stone that marks the spot Just write — " She died for love." For woe is mine, the day I rue, Since my sweetheart has proved untrue. MARGARET. O HOW I loved you, Margaret, I think if you had known What wealth of love was in the heart. Which beat for you alone. How fondly your sweet face, enshrined Within its inmost cell ; You had not scorned me, Margaret, And bade a cold farewell. The years have passed, sweet Margaret, So wearily away, Since last I held your hand in mine That bygone summer's day. O would you love me, Margaret, As dear as I love you. There's ne'er a daring, gallant deed For you I would not do. O Margaret ! sweet Margaret ! My heart beats fondly for you yet. 8i JILTED. Does a thought of me still in your heprt intrude, Tho' parted for aye by thine own decree ? Slied'st thou ever a tear in thy soHtude ? When thy heart will whisper, " He loved but me," O, why did you bid me, with flashing eye. Go forth from your presence for ever more ? I loved you too fondly, I know not why ; You fooled me, and ever I love forswore. Tho' you sigh your heart's deepest, you sigh in vain, Not twice shall I bow at a worthless shrine ; I loved you — 'tis well — and you scorned my pain, Now you go your way, and I go minp. M U R I E L' S FLIGHT. A BORDER BALLAD. " Come hither, Muriel. Why those tears ? Lord Ronald is both rich and brave ; Nay, put aside thy foolish fears, A father's honour you may save. They say his wife died all too soon. But gossips love such tales to tell. I bid thee ere another moon Be Ronald's bride by book and bell." " O father, mercy," Muriel cried, " My heart has been another's long. They say his wife by poison died, And he had worked her bitter wrong. I shrink beneath his cruel smile That all his art can never hide ; I know his soul is black with guile. And will not be his wife," she cried. F 82 " Go, take her to the dungeon keep, And set a guard about the door; Tho' she may wail and she may weep I'll look upon her face no more. Until you come as Ronald's bride You look no more upon the sun." And " Mercy, mercy ! " Muriel cried. But still the cruel deed was done. The castle keep was dark and drear And heavy with the noisome air; She shivered with the cold, and fear Of loathsome things that crawl6d there. She heard the sentry's measured tread Pace up and down before the door, And ever deeper grew her dread That she might see the light no more. As slowly passed the lengthen'd hours, Where day and night seemed all as one, She drooped, as droop all bright-hued flowers Without the great life-giving sun. Her eyes grew dim with many tears. Her cheeks were as the lily pale ; Deeper and darker grew her fears. Lest heart and courage both should fail. " To live to be a murderer's bride ; Nay, death would be a fitter mate," She thought, and once again she sighed, Scarce half resigned to meet her fate, And twice the moon had waxed and waned. The dungeon air grew deadly chill, King Christmas with his ice crown reigned ; Deep snows had covered dale and hill, Yet still the guard paced to and fro. But hark ! she hears a gurgling cry, And hasty step of friend or foe Thrills her, with hope, of succour nigh. Strong arms uphold her fainting form, Hot kisses rain upon her face. 83 Look up ; it is thy lover's arm Shall bear thee from this loathsome place. Dead lay the guard across the door, All powerless to stay them nov/. To horse they fly, and, free once more, The keen air sweeps o'er cheek and brow. Thus life renewed in heart and brain, Her own dear lover by her side. They swiftly fly, nor check the rein. As those who from pursuers ride. High piled and drifted lies the snow. The ice king reigns o'er all the land ; The river, conquered in its flow, Is hard and firm as iron band. Across the ice they spur and speed, It breaks just as they reach the shore ; And now they check each reeking steed Before a lowly cottage door. A stoup of wine the old wife brings (Young Hubert's nurse in days of yore), They drink, and off on love's swift wings She bids God speed them o'er the moor. Swift fly the milestones as they go, Leaving the castle far behind ; Her cheeks but gain a richer glow From contact with the biting wind. And now they cross the border line ; The knot is tied, he clasps her hand — " My wife ! my Muriel 1 ever mine, Thrice welcome to my native land." He leads her to his ancient tower. Girt by a dismal moat around ; Deep love is all their wealth, .and dower — A father lost, a husband found. Lord Ronald heard the news anon, And quickly to his saddle leapt ; Just paused to urge his followers on. As day and night the road they kept. 84 They reach old Betty's cottage door. " O sair is me," the old nurse said, " Ye'U Hght upon 'em never more, The bonny pair are stark and dead. Just where the river deepest flows The ice gave way. O woe is me !" She wept so much, with ruddy nose, That they believed this thing to be. Anon she laughed to hear them swear, And at Lord Ronald in such a plight ; For she had saved the daring pair, And covered well their way of flight. THE BOHEMIAN. I AM out at elbows and down at heel. But the scoffs of fortune I scarcely feel. And should the fortunate pass me by With an upturned nose and a scornful eye, I'm a true Bohemian — what care I ? There's a maiden, fair as a poet's dream. And only for me her bright eyes beam ; We talk sometimes of a cottage home And the glad bright days that yet will come, When my picture is finished and on the line. And O, to see how her eyes will shine ! There's beauty all round in the world for me, In the deep green woods, by the sobbing sea ; I work sometimes, but like best to lie With my face upturned to a summer sky, And my own little maiden just close by; Then for fortune's frowning what care I ? 8s PRESCIENCE. I LOVE not towns, humanity distresses me, Crowds I would shun, their breath oppresses me ; I gasp for air, grow faint and chill at heart, And of the whole I seem a mystic part, I seem to feel the sorrow surging thro' a crowd Meet in my brain till I could cry aloud. In every careworn face I read its history, Unveilfed is each heart, I know its every mystery; Past, present, future, each by turn I read From this most awful prescience I would be freed. But pray in vain to be as others are. So I from crowds must choose to dwell afar. If I might always dwell apart from man, And only God's grand secrets hid in nature scan, My home should be beside the glorious sea. Whose every varying mood is dear to me ; Its plashing waves my lullaby by night, Speaking for ever of its Maker's might. CONTRASTS. For some the earth seems strewn with flowers, Friendship and love come all unsought ; With golden wings fleet by the hours Unsaddened by a sordid thought. Their every want some loved one tends. All art and nature for them meet ; Pleasure the day begins and ends, When all the world is at their feet. 86 And some go sorrowing all their days, Scant rays of light their path illume; The world makes them no flowery ways, Nor incense of a sweet perfume. Small hands there are which never plucked A wayside flower in childish glee, Sad childish eyes that never looked On aught but pain and misery. Think how a city waif would feel Beneath Heaven's canopy of blue, All free to roam at his sweet will Midst sights and sounds as sweet as true. What joy to him each tree and flower, The pleasant turf beneath his feet ; His heart would know a new-found power, All pleasant country things to greet. In cities men grow gaunt with want. And women only know to toil. Yet see their loved ones droop and die, While famine claims them as his spoil. 'Tis hard to see grim want and pain Destroy the poor Christ loved so well ; But O, His face will shine again, Tho' when and where we cannot tell. Yet courage, poor hearts, our God is love, We shall not always ask in vain ; Methinks whenever trouble comes Some blessing follows in its train. 87 LONGFELLOW.— A MONODY. Died March 24TH, 1882, Dead! Ah, no! Thou canst not die; 'tis but transition; Weary of earth, heaven greets thy fuller vision ; Not on the shifting sands, but on the rock of fame, In glowing colours live the letters of that name. Our purest, sweetest singer, from whose stainless rhyme. Not one line would we blot. From clime to clime It thrills world-weary hearts, and to all time Its music shall sound forth, like sweet bells' chime. Nor can thy memory die ; amongst us still. Part of thyself — like some sweet rippling rill, That freshly greets us, through the heat of noon ; Or strain of music, with glad hearts in tune. Sounds ever that sweet song. Yet never more Thy voice can reach us from that unknown shore. We knew thee what thou wert — but now. No fading, earthly laurels wreathe that brow; A richer crown is thine : God knows the worth Of stainless life, free from dark taint of earth. With noble yearnings, true poetic soul. Seeking a newer birth, in that great whole. The universe, the all-pervading truth, Earth's true elixir, everlasting youth. So shall ye live, until all time shall end. Great poet, noble heart, and truest friend ; Unknown, yet known in earliest years to me, My first dull, halting rhymes, inspired oft by thee ; First loved of poets, still I hold thee dear, And mourn thee ever, thro' the darkness here. 88 HE COMETH NOT. I TOUCH the chords and listlessly I sing of brooks and babbling rills, I sing, and ever through the song A monotone of sadness thrills. Or if I sing some song of love, Of knight so brave and maiden fair, My heart still wails. He cometh not. And that sad undertone is there. The winds go sighing thro' the trees. The vine taps on the casement pane. And my sad heart is bow'd with grief For love that aye must be in vain. It is not seas that roll between, No continents our hearts divide, More than a world must intervene To keep my loved one from my side. And still the music sobs and moans In unison with my sad soul ; I cannot sing the songs I love, My sorrow is beyond control. I scoffed at love, a dream I said, Alas, I ne'er had felt its power ; I met my fate when all too late. And now I fain must rue the hour. O love, the years will come and go, I dare not look upon your face. My secret you must never know Till Time or Death these dreams efface. 89 LADY MAY AND HER LOVERS. ■A TRAGEDY WITH A MORAL. The Lady May was proud as fair, Like rippling sunbeams gleamed her hair; And yet her eyes were dark as night, But in their depths a lurid light Told danger near. In truth she was a scornful maid, Her wrath a thing to fear, 'twas said ; Yet for her beauty men went mad, And lost what little sense they had, I sadly fear. For never a one pleased Lady May — This one too sad, that one too gay ; Another — ^his rents came slowly in ; And none a look or smile could win From haughty May. Sir Hubert — widower — pined and died, They laid him by his first wife's side ; And all for love he died, men said. My Lady only tossed her head, And turned away. Lord Harry wooed her one whole year. His vows were never more sincere ; A gallant light-o'-love was he. Yet in despair he went to sea. My Lady smiled. Young Amos Brent, who came to. wop — A mild young curate— loved her too ; But him she treated with such scorn He wished he never had been born. Or died a child 1 ! 90 Anon there came a wealthy Earl, His jet-black locks in many a curl About his noble forehead clung; With Lady May love songs he sung For many aa4w)ur. Of love he never spake a word, And only laughed when tales he heard Of others wasting in despair, Because my Lady's face was fair : He scorned her power. Now Lady May grew sad in turn, With love her heart began to burn ; Her smile his coming oft did greet, Her eyes for him grew soft and sweet : Her heart was won. Alas ! the Earl grew cold and stern. My Lady May met no return ; But when this fact he dare impart She plunged a dagger in his heart — And eke her own. Moral. Now all fair maids take warning, and all young men beware. Less true love ye be scorning, to fall in false love's snare. "MAY THE LIGHT OF HIS FACE SHINE DOWN UPON US." O Face, most sweet and holy. Shine upon our darkness here. Enlighten and console our hearts Lest we shrink in nameless fear. 91 Shine upon us in our sorrow With infinitude of love, Draw us upward, Heavenward ever, To Thy realms of light above. When the clouds of sin surround us And hide Thee from our sight ; O, do not quite forsake us, Lest we sink in endless night. We are not worthy, dearest Lord, To kneel and kiss Thy feet ; Less worthy still to see Thy face In its pardoning love so sweet. Yet let Thy Face shine down for us Who walk so darkly here ; We could never brave life's billows If we missed that Face so dear. O, sweetest, loving Saviour, In our hearts be Thine abode, That we seldom may offend Thee While we tread life's rugged road. Though temptations crowd around us. Like shadows bid them fade. While Thy countenance surrounds us With the halo love has made. O Face, so sweet and gentle, O love, surpassing rare. Let Thy light shine down upon us. Listen to each fervent prayer. 92 FORGIVE. To . Forgive — the very word is sweet, " Forgive as you would be forgiven," When coming near the mercy-seat. Forgiveness you must ask of Heaven. Man is but human to offend. By careless act, or word unkind. But let not strife, tried friendship end. When this sweet word the wound may bind. If one with sorrowing heart should say : " Dear friend, forgive me once again ; " To smooth some thorns from life's rough way, Would you refuse in proud disdain ? Methinks if one had wrought me ill, Yet penitent should say — Forgive, 'Twould move my proud and stubborn will. No anger in my heart could live. We cannot tell what moves the mind, Or what the subtle cause may be ; We only know our friend unkind. And we grow cold in sympathy. And yet one heart from pain to save What matter if our pride must bend ; We might be parted by a grave. Life is so short ! Forgive thy friend. 93 SHADOWS. Ah ! too oft are we pursuing Day by day, our own undoing ; Joys that all too quickly wither Seek we, wandering hither, thither, In the world's unquiet ways. Seeking ever, finding never, Failing oft in our endeavour ; Grasping shadows, substance leaving, Finding joy that ends in grieving. Thus go by the empty days. DREAMS— IDLE DREAMS. We floated idly down the river, And watched the rushes bend and quiver All silently. I wished that in some charmfed boat Through life we might together float, You and I. We parted at the river's bend. And there my love and hope had end For ever. You left me with a sunny smile. Flirtation might an hour beguile Upon the river. What cared you if my heart might rue That hour I gave to love and you, A year ago ? / could not place upon your brow The strawberry leaves that crown it now ; 'Twas better so. 94 THE SPIRITUAL WORLD. There is a link which binds all humanity — a subtle essence which flows from the Great Creator of the universe, and permeates all created beings, more or less. This essence is part of the soul or spirit, for the soul is composed of various spiritual essences, as the body is of material compounds. This soul once formed can never die or be entirely destroyed, though it suffer everlasting punishment, by like spiritual causes, which are unlike anything the material man can imagine, so terrible are they in their intensity. In the spiritual world are as many different states and existences as here on earth. These are divided principally into the three states known to us as — Heaven, the mid region (Purgatory of the Catholics), and the lower regions, or Hell. Into Heaven only those enter at death whose lives have been sanctified by purity and true holiness, and by walking in the footsteps of Christ. The mid region is only divided from our fleshly eyes by a thin veil or partition. Into this state after death those souls enter who are not yet prepared for the highest heaven ; for these souls the prayers of the blessed and of mortals can avail much, and by this is meant the communion of saints, or of God's Church. Here sin is typified by darkness, and the more wicked of these souls are terrible to look upon, when they cause themselves to appear to those mortals who have the gift of seeing spirits. The more free from sin the soul the more bright and beautiful is it to behold, and causes not the shrinking fear and horror of the darker ones. These restless spirits of the mid region are ever craving to be heard and seen of mortals ; hence come the mysterious noises — opening doors, sounding footsteps, flitting shadows, &c., of haunted houses. 95 Humanity has grown so' materialised now that flesh can seldom hold communion with spirit, or we might learn they wish to solicit our prayers on their behalf. The tendency of man is to ignore what cannot be scientifically explained, and bind even the spiritual world within the narrow compass of his own brain. The fathers' of the Church who ordained prayers for the dead had no doubt a sound basis for it. THE SOUL OF POETRY. A POEM to appeal to the heart of its reader must possess — a soul. There are many poems quite correct in rhyme and rhythm, possessing also a certain beauty of style and language, but they pass away from us as shadows. We read — perhaps admire — and then forget. Others, as Longfellow's grand " Psalm of Life," Miss Proctor's "Cleansing Fires," and many less well known, when once read can never be wholly eifaced from the mind and heart. They ring in our ears and haunt our thoughts like some glorious strain of music. We are better and purer for having read them. They express our inmost thoughts in such language as we burn to use. They stir up all that is good within us, and our souls go forth to meet the souls of those great poets who grandly express what we can only feel. It seems to me only one who has known sorrow can write a truly great poem. The happy may babble of green fields, murmuring brooks, summer flowers, and love, in strains that please the multitude ; but the heart must have known sorrow to give the poem a soul — sorrow which brings greater insight into the hearts, of other men. Truly I hold it better to have written one great and noble poem than to have conquered nations. NOW READY. BY THE SAME AUTHORESS. THOUGHT WAVES. laTRieS AND BA&IiADS. Price, with Portrait, cloth, gilt edges, 4/- ; Paper Covers, 1/6. "'THOUGHT WAVES' is a book that will afford the highest pleasure in reading, and the musical cadences of the rhymes sing in your ears long after the book has been laid aside. There is without doubt, a brilliant future for the young and talented authoress." — Sale and Exchange. " 'Well,' replied Miss Ken, 'as a small gift book I should recom- mend to your attention the recent " Thought Waves," written by Mrs. Edwin Whitworth. This lady has produced many lyrical effusions which have commanded more than usual public attention. Several of her poems have been set to music. The book I refer to has its faults, but these are fully atoned for by the depth of thought contained in the poems, and the musical flow of the rhythm. Take, for instance, the poem " Loved too Late."' " — Family Novelette.' Extract from the Lady's Pictorial of August 26th, 1882, under the heading "Music," appears the following notice: — "I have lately had under my notice a large collection of words for music, by Mrs. Laura A. Whitworth, which are much above the average. The lady's imagination is as fertile as her style is refined. ' First Fiddle.' " " The authoress admits there may be some weeds amongst the flowers she has cultivated, but these are few and far between, and the work may be commended as a garland containing many sweet productions, and fully justifying the title she has given her inspira- tions of ' Thought Waves.' " — Stamford Mercury. " Mrs. Edwin Whitworth has issued under the title of ' Thought Waves,' a selection of lyrics, ballads, and songs. Mrs. Whitworth has more than the gift of ready versification ; she possesses a highly poetic mind, and the strain" in which she writes, generally pathetic, is pure and harmonious in its varying keys." — Leeds Mercury. LONDON : W. H. BEER d Co., 33, Henrietta Street, Covent Garden. m^miMumMT-!pm>^^' r I ^1 i,*i 1