B- 3ic6'iwq. 1(^/6 Cornell University Library PR4699.E55M51869 Meletae, poems. 3 1924 013 456 714 /fcf MELETAE. M E L E T A E POEMS BY JOSEPH ELLIS LONDON BASIL MONTAGU PICKERING 196 PICCADILLY 1869 t .-/, A '^t5-«> S-'S'y MELETAE. ^ O, go my book, go, tuning tell Some thoughts which haply me befell. Or in my youth, or later age. And set my soul a-singing; From me, to bear upon the page, Some traces of my pilgrimage To them whose life is springing. Wend well, my book, wend wide and find The true-born brotherhood of mind. Some kindred souls who me not know. Albeit they have been yearning; Tell them their love may serve to show That knowledge which to self doth flow Is little worth the learning. So speed, my book, so gainful speed. As that, in readers some, to breed New motions of the heart and brain, To send their thoughts aflying; Then shall I not have writ in vain. But charmedly live on again. And never quite be dying. B Cornell University 9 Library The original of tliis book 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/cu31924013456714 PREFACE. THAT Man is the only laugher has been gene- rally assented to ; that he is the only thinker on the Earth has not been so well determined ; but it is undoubted that he is the only thinker who craves to preserve his thoughts as the traces of his real, though immaterial, individuality- — Mentis et animi vestigia. Thus have I essayed to exemplify, after my own perception, some of the essential characteristics of poetry. The bards and improwisatori adapted, sponta- neously, the measure of the song to its subject. So should the poet-writer harmonize the tone of thought and sentiment. The same as to manner in the use of words. A poem is in some degree original if only it has its own cadence, more so when also in metrical construction it is unique. There is also the quality rhetorical (or of resonance), absence of which is a defect. It may be said these graces of verse spring naturally from the sincerity of the poet. Not always, for a man may think as a poet, yet be deficient in ear and in taste. A diamond in viii PREFACE. the rough will, through knowledge, be esteemed for its value ; when polished, it excites involunUry admiration. Poetry includes art with the divine afflatus. " That art," says Victor Cousin, " which seems to me the best reflection of universal beauty, which reproduces it under all forms and in every manner, is poetr)'." A celebrated Wit of the last century presents Poetry as the antithesis of Truth. This is allowable in the humourist, for his cynicism reproves a " vulgar error." True poetry is advanced truth, and, though an efflorescence of the mind, the sublimation of good sense, musically rendered. Inevitably in this, as in all " collections," there is inequality. I trust, however, in the sangre azul of the critics, that if they please to exhibit a brick from the edifice, it will be one fairly well made. Yet, at the best, I do not persuade myself that these poems represent me. One can be con- scious of strength, and know that it is not fully manifested. The will and the wing may indeed be strong enough to soar, but the flight cannot be long sustained when the pinions are much encumbered with material things. Carmina proveniunt animo deducta sereno. Monks, Balcombe. March, 1869. CONTENTS. Page "TAEAD to me -'-^ A Love Song .... I 3 My Motto 5 Golden Moments 7 Song— Wait, oh, wait 9 Forgotten . ... II The Dirge of Man ' 13 A Fhght in Space 21 No more . . . . 27 Heaven on Earth .... ■ 30 The Shadow of the Tomb . . 41 The Early Song • 44 Columbus at Seville ; 1505 . . . 46 Sonnets. Sight .... ■ 77 Analogy . . . 78 Angel Music ... 79 Fame and Immortality . 80 Peace . .... . 81 Double Life ... . . 82 On the South Downs .... 83 The Cathedral of Cordova . . . 84 Lincoln Cathedral .... . . . 85 Wellesley . . . . . 86 John Britton . . . . ' . 87 Frederick William Robertson . 88 X CONTENTS. Page Sortain . .... 89 Joseph Hunter . . . 90 T. J. Judkin. . . . 91 Edward Lumley ... . -9^ Benigna . 93 Richmond Hill . . . 94 Ordination . . . • 95 Photography . . 96 To Sir Robert Peel, 1846 ... 97 The Mutiny and Massacres in India . . 98 Tones to the Absent ...... 99 Now and then . . 100 The Tercentenary ; Stratford-upon-Avon, 23 April, 1864 . . . 103 Try again 121 A Canticle 124 A Hymn for all People ... 129 A Lament . . . 130 Ix»ve and Time . . 133 ITie Love Test ... 134 Pity or Envy . . • '35 Mabel . . . 136 Song. The Inconstant .... 137 Golden Hair . . 139 Impromptu — Ah, lady, pity, &c. . . 140 The Coquette . .141 Sevilla . . ...... 142 Ephemera. Y« Battel Daye 145 The Lay of the Rainy Day 150 CONTENTS. xi Page The Lay of the Mayor 155 The Peace-Fight . . . . . . .161 A Tale of the Flood .... . . 169 Stigma Loweri 172 In Germany, 1844. Cologne Cathedral 174 A Full Moon at Ehrenbreitstein 174 The Ariadne .... ... 175 The same . . 175 The Dresden Gallery of Paintings ... 176 Bastei, Saxony .176 Brandt, Saxony 1 77 The Novice 177 Felicia ... 178 The Last Good-bye 179 To Sarah at School 180 The Sermon .... .... 181 Vale! l8» The Answer 182 Impromptu. — Blushing 182 An Everlasting Flower 1 83 Impromptu. — The Mirror 183 Impromptu. — The Cigar ... . . 184 Impromptu. — A Whim . . .184 Impromptu. — Kindred 185 Impromptu. — The Cloud . . . -185 Before the Bust of Henry Philip Hope, Esq . 1 86 Chantrey, 1841 187 Richmond. — Autumn ... . 188 DEAD TO ME. Wondrous scene ! amid the Andes, Mountain over mountain towering — And the terror of volcanoes — Fire, and frost, and heaven commingled : Dead to me. Fertile plains and shining rivers, Flowing on in sacred silence, Flowers and birds of gorgeous colours, Regions of primeval nature ;— Dead to me. Pleasant cities ! where I rested Till their novelty grew home-like — Mosque, and Temple, and Cathedral, That have been, and are for ages ; — Dead to me. And the people of those cities. For a while my social circle. Or philosophers, or poets. Graceful ladies all-accomplished ; — Dead to me. Ah ! the one of my election. Moving with a queenly grandeur, Smiling with a smile that blesseth ; And she still is smiling, blessing ; — Dead to me. A LOVE SONG. So, I ponder, will the earth-gods To me, on and on be dying, Whilst I live in thoughts unceasing And increasing, till they all are Dead to me. A LOVE SONG. MY love's a miracle : to me alone Her beauty liveth ; And her clear eye only to me Its light out-giveth. Others may scan her mortal countenance. And find it fAir, But oh ! they see not, as I see, The lustre there. She comes — and lo ! as by some mystic spell, Earth disappears, And I am living out of Time, Amid the spheres. She looks — and I, in gazing, am abash'd Her soul to see ; For when she looks, her form and face Are not to me. 4 A LOVE SONG. She speaks — and I suppose that other ears Hear woman's voice, The while for me soft tones of heaven My heart rejoice. She moves — and from her course obstructions fade, For so it seemeth That, passing, she doth gHde or float, As when one dreameth — But that her motion harmonies attend. Supernal, sweet ; And notes of music, told in pauses true. Fall with her feet. She smiles — and instant flashes forth the sun. All round so bright ; Dazzled, I fain would turn away, Satiate with light. She laughs — and with ethereal echoings The sky resoundeth ; And in the glee, from height to height, My spirit boundeth. She sings — the winds, all earthly sounds, are hush'd ; The angels list ; And I am with them flying, flying, On wings of mist. MY MOTTO. My love is gone — how blank and dark it is !- And hope how vain ! Except, that on a day my love Will come again. MY MOTTO. THOUGH thou art on the ground, With things of baseness found, Be not to baseness bound — Look up. The lowly may be high, And loftiest be nigh. And thou canst see the sky — Look up. Hast thou some work to do And canst, with false or true Or low, or high, endue — Look up. Hast thou thy place to take, And wouldst some merit make, For self and others' sake — Look up. MV MOTTO. If, as a latent fire, Burnetii some strong desire, And well thou dost aspire — Look up. If much with cares perplext, 'Mid complications vext. Thou doubtest of the next — Look up. If, having open choice, Thou hearest honour's voice, And after, wouldst rejoice — Look up. In disappointment crost. Thou hast essay'd and lost. And tremblest at the cost ? — Look up. Cometh the world in joy, That knoweth none alloy? — Lest thou the charm destroy — Look up. Sunless the world appears ? Art thou depress'd with fears ? Melteth thy heart in tears ? — Look up. GOLDEN MOMENTS. Say they that Truth's a flam. Honour, a mere whim-wham. And Honesty, a sham ? — Look up. Art thou both mean and grand. Is thy life darkly plann'd, And hard to understand ? — Look up. GOLDEN MOMENTS. OF itself the soul is conscious, Knoweth that it lives sublime, Out of space and out of time. Love begot is unconfinfed By the earth or arc above, — What is in the world but love ? Each on each, abstracted, leaning — Eye to eye, and cheek to cheek — Musing more than tongue can speak. GOLDEN MOMENTS. Friend, my friend, O friend eternal ! What shall sympathy control When we see each other's soul ? Gaily we converse together — Strive wherever words can reach ; What else need we having speech ? In a waking dream I ponder, Thinking out and writing thought, Coining treasure out of nought. Thought abstruse, by others written, Weans me from the mortal strife, Charms me in a charmfed life. Words of praise alone are sounding, Words of praise that promise fame ; Have I made myself a name? Heart-still in a holy silence, With a dread that is not fear, Doubting not that God is near. SONG. WAIT, oh wait ! for life is new, Time will bring thy heart's desire. Thy young hopes shall tell thee true — If thou aspire. Wait, oh wait ! though sped the boy, Let not care precede the day, Thy long future hath of joy All that you pray. Wait, oh wait ! though manhood's prime Hath not satisfied thy will. Be not out of heart with time, It Cometh still. Wait, oh wait ! if love to thee Hath till now been bitterness. She is coming, fair and free. Thy life to bless. Wait, oh wait ! the world as yet Doth not heed thy voice or pen ; Wiser growing, thou wilt get The praise of men. SONG. Wait, oh wait ! though knavish fools Take the prizes rightly thine, Thou dost doubt the Fate that rules, If thou repine. Wait, oh wait ! if thou hast past The climacteric of thy years, Highest honour comes at last, Suppress thy tears. Wait, oh wait ! if strength decays. And thy future seemeth brief, Note, that those who wear the bays Have greater grief. Wait, oh wait ! if hope no more Trick thee with delusions fond. All thy triumphs are in store — In life beyond. FORGOTTEN. GLIMMER of the light of Heaven, Inkhngs of the life of angels, Voices reaching me though heard not — Forgotten ! Grateful sentiments engender'd, Priceless favours unrequited, Native impulses to virtue — Forgotten ! Thoughts of fire, that flash'd and faded, Clear and infinite perceptions. Fitful visitings of genius — Forgotten ! High resolve and passionate purpose. Schemes that unto Fame were tending, Haply marr'd by false ambition ? Forgotten ! Loves that grew without incitement. Loves that glow'd of flame the whitest. Loves of sympathy sincerest — Forgotten ! FORGOTTEN. Loves of places, things and persons, Loves made loves in love unconscious, Real loves, though unresponsive — Forgotten ! Friendships genial, spontaneous, Softer friendships, more than friendships, Friendships true, though uncontinued — Forgotten I Ah ! the years of seeing, hearing. Thinking, reading, storing knowledge Gladly found and fondly treasured — Forgotten ! Incidents of signal import, Strange events of poignant pathos. Synchronisms that moved to wonder — Forgotten ! Dire unreason and delusion. Keen chagrins, the futile offspring, Errors that have work'd for evil — Forgotten ! Much is gone, but more remaineth, Who can tell what Memory holdeth ? Shall they be — the myriad memories Hid in that mysterious storehouse — Forgotten ? 13 THE DIRGE OF MAN. WE live to learn, and learn to live, We know, nor longer guess and try ; Knowledge henceforth we can outgive — But we must die. We see, and now can rightly see, No more deluded by the eye ; Sight ! thou henceforth our guide couldst be- But we must die. We hear, and separate word from wit, Nor take for truth what is a lie ; Ear, be henceforth our counsel fit — Ah ! we must die. Time, we did treat thee with disdain, Letting the hours uncounted fly ; Now prize thee we, O Time, in vain ! For we must die. Spring, thy ecstatic influence Makes us renew, we care not why, The juvenescent soul and sense — But we must die. 14 THE DIRGE OF MAN. Summer, thy genial, sunny hours Returning, still the past outvie ; And brighter, brighter, bloom thy flowers ! But we must die. Autumn, thy tints, thy lessening day, Thy saddening eve, and reddening sky, Still charm us more the more we stay — But we must die. Winter, thy cold our spirit warms, Thy rest, our rest doth typify, And we have grown to love thy storms ; But we must die. Ye verdant plains, ye branching trees That oft with rapture we descry. More, and still ever more ye please — But we must die. Ye pretty flowers that deck the mead And move our hearts to glorify. More, more do we your beauty heed — But we must die. Ye elements that flash and roar, And, godlike, each to each reply. More, more we wonder and adore — But we must die. THE DIRGE OF MAN. O Nature, mother Nature ! thou Once moved men thee to deify ; We feel our kindred with thee now — But we must die. Dear friends ! we miss'd you when ye fled, Trial and time did us ally ; Time ! thou couldst substitute the dead — But we must die. And ye, our loved companions yet, Whose constancy can time defy; Time doth increasing love beget — But we must die. Children beloved ! our hope and care Since when ye could but laugh and cry ; Our friends to be !— but otherwhere — For we must die. Sweet confidence ! so sweet to know, Sweet trust, we'll win thee by-and-by. And trusted, sweetlier trust bestow- But we must die. Much that we knew not how to love, Regarding not when it was nigh. We covet now all else above — But we must die. i6 THE DIRGE OF MAN. Oft-seeing some affection brings, We prize what time doth ratify, And grow to love famiUar things — But we must die. We've labour'd much, our deeds are known, Perchance our work doth fructify ; Now might we reap where we have sown — But we must die. For thee, O Fame ! we could endure To be interpreted awry ; Now are we righted, and secure — But we must die. For wealth, the need of polish'd life. Did we not much ourselves deny ? Ease now succeeds the money-strife — But we must die. Sweet the appliances of wealth When life is fresh and hope is spry ; Of sickly zest in ageing health : — And we must die. The talents in us, little prized Whilst with our compeers we would vie ; If late, the world hath recognized — But we must die. THE DIRGE OF MAN. Honours are ours and high estate, Our name men now much magnify ; Is it in scorn they make us great ? When we must die. O Reputation ! canst thou not Our joy and strength revivify ? Or lagging long, thou hadst forgot That we must die. Experience, trial, habitude. Tend much our lives to simplify ; — We have by use the world subdued — But we must die. Now, apt in all that skill may test. Whether we wits or fingers ply. We joy that skill to manifest — But we must die. Intricate, difficult, abstruse, — These yearly less to us apply ; Practice should henceforth prosper use — But we must die. Some fond idea whereto we've wrought Through weary years with many a sigh, Is now to full fruition brought — But we must die. ! THE DIRGE OF MAN. Lost opportunity we grieve, Best noting what hath passed by ; May we not now the lost retrieve ? No, we must die. Acts have we done, when lacking light. Which in revision mortify ; Henceforth they shall be done aright ! No, we must die. In outward truth what first appears We scan, compare and rectify ; Then taste the beautiful endears — When we must die. Loved knowledge ! ours by sweat of brain. It seems that thou art ours for aye ; Poor tree ! will not thy fruit remain, Though thou must die ? Pile truth on truth, from age to age, Let knowledge mount from high to high ; Oh, then we might indeed be sage ! But we must die. .\las ! to each, alone, has worth, Experience that life must buy- Little whereof we leave on earth. When we must die. THE DIRGE OF MAN. 19 Wisdom may come, not lightly given, But hard to gain, elusive, shy. Is won by those who well have striven, — When they must die. Philosophy hath vistas fair, Wherethrough new wonders we espy ; To us their sequence is despair — For we must die. Fountain of language, springing new, Whence is thine affluent supply ? Is then thy source exhausted too When we must die ? Wherefore, O tongue, thy wealth of words, The viewless soul to signify ? Is thine the mission of the birds That sing, and die ? Memory, the long, instructive past, Hath made thee Reason's best ally. And now a treasury rich and vast ! But we must die. Ye trackless subtleties of thought Daring beyond our world to pry, — Your striving shall not be for nought I Though that we die. > THE DIRGE OF MAN. From whence ye came, thereto ye go — The Me bereft of mortal tie ; — The very self we best shall know Though that we die. Oh, highest thought ! Oh, impulse true. That dost the highest thought imply ; Our Father God — and life anew, Though that we die. Our Father God ! enough to think,— Enough all thought to satisfy, And mortal to immortal link. Though that we die. O Thou Most Wise, the only Good ! Thy Work may not Thy work decry ; For all, we owe Thee gratitude. Most, when we die. A FLIGHT IN SPACE. METHOUGHT, that in the vast ethereal void I was upborne without the need of wings, A charmed wonder all my soul employed, And I became mine own imaginings ; — On, on I floated, wisting nothing where, Fill'd with a fearless ecstasy, and soon Mine eyes were resting, in a sweet despair. Upon the serrate surface of the Moon ; Well, well 1 knew the ramparts gaunt and grim, Though much exceeding our extremest guess, And forms amorphous clung about the brim Of black abysses, broad and bottomless ; Ah ! what a weird and joyless scene I scann'd. Of bald reflection and of shadows dark, Great Tycho flung his figure o'er the land. And Dorfel show'd, miles high, his vertex stark ; No cloudy vapours veil'd their mighty crests, The stars were shining in the long, long day, The Sun, that to those summits never rests. Was as a blazing ball without a ray ; 22 A FLIGHT IN SPACE. A blazing ball hung in a vault of gloom ! And, where he shone, I saw adown, adown, — Although his beams reach'd not the depths of doom. In those chief craters that have gain'd renown — First Ptolemy and next Copernicus — And all was terrible, unearthly all ; No sight or sound that bringeth bliss to us, No song of bird, no splash of waterfall. Nor wind, nor river, nor of motion aught. For those dread creatures moved not to mine eye ; Even to think of them I am distraught, Nor can I tell if they did creep or fly. They are not like the entities of Earth, For, in their airless world, there is no breath, When they began to be they had no birth. And, if they cease, it is without a death. Then, being comfortless, I thought of home, And saw my loved Earth as a silver sphere, Ornate with crepuscule of frothy foam, And lucent, witli a lustre very clear ; Such was its splendour, that I cried aloud, — " Rightly, O Moon, our decimal thou'rt shown ! And surely, if thou knowest, art very proud My beauteous Earth thy primary to own." Next, to my vision was, in part, revealed That hemisphere from Earth for ever hid, A FLIGHT IN SPACE. 23 Whereon, I think, were mists, which much concealed A vast and varied champaign, in whose mid I faintly saw an ocean, spreading wide. And shores productive, and constructed things ; Then fell the two weeks' night, from me to hide Beings to whom the dark not bHndness brings, — Not as the torpid creatures next our globe, Scantly existing in a vacuous waste, But such as the Creator doth enrobe Equal for joy — as here more gladsome placed.' On, on I floated, and, unknowing time. Beheld the orb men dote on from afar. And ever give a place in loving rhyme. Vesper, or Venus, our dear even-star :— It is a radiant world, than Earth more fair. And, nearer to the Sun, as heaven more seeming, Like Earth would be withouten cloud or care. E'en as we think the Earth in happiest dreaming": The Sun, in grandeur twice our god of day, There doubly blesseth ; and that globe is clad In glory that our language cannot say, — Such, if the poet told, he would be mad. Nor fogs, nor storms, nor biting frosts unkind, But summer always, or unchanging spring. And light, in which our optics would be blind, And warmth that would to us prostration bring ; ' See Notes. 34 A FLIGHT IN SPACE. There, among scenes of nature consonant, Are organisms dower'd with grace supreme, Beings, of whom my praise irrelevant Would but conjecture, or a mockery, seem. Abash'd I looked, then floated on and on. Until, in holy awe, I came anear The Fount of Light, creation's paragon, Resting enravish'd on the outer sphere. I saw the lustrous comets come and go. The planets, in their fealty, swift careering, The meteor ring, that gives the zodiac glow, A whirling mass, like a vast zone, appearing. Then, in a moment, I was changed to be Within the photosphere, the home of light ; Artd, henceforth, what I saw I scarce did see, But trulier knew, as whiteness knoweth white. For now I was enshrined in force unspent. In primal life and in the womb of cause. Amid the nether worlds' arcana pent. At the exliaustless source of Nature's laws : Amid the colours prime, of every hue, Which, in the tilings of earth, reflection find, Which herb, and flower, and maiden-cheek endue, And which the rainbow and the prism unbind ; Amid the odours of the odours' spring. Which faintiy touch the ken of mortal sense. A FLIGHT IN SPACE. 25 Amid the melodies which ever ring, By men o'erheard somewhiles, unknowing whence ; Amid the sheen that shineth aye unshaded, And, shadowless, where time is never told, In elemental glories undegraded. The antetypes of diamond and gold : And so, entranced, by inner sight I knew The high Intelligences of the Sun, Angels I name them not, nor were it true To term them as of flesh, or fancy-spun ; Words fit them not, for they are not as we. Wherefore describe I them with modest fear — They are all eye, and hence I say they see ; They are all ear, and so I say they hear ; But their quick consciousness is not of sight. Nor are they aught impressible by sound. Perceiving, ever they perceive aright. Their least perception passing thought pro- found : — Are there not tones on Earth which some not list, Odours, most subtile, which the most not know, Phantasms, which eye inspired, alone, doth wist. Thoughts that, from germs not of the Earth, do grow ? — Or of their language, exercised unspoken, If I should say they speak, 'twere wrongly said 26 A FLIGHT IN SPACE. Of attribute whereof we have no token, Communion voiceless and unhmited ! Or, if I say they love, it were not well So to express a faculty to blend One in the other's nature, and to dwell In perfect unison withouten end. Were I to say they have a face or frame, I should be telling but an earthly dream, For I have, with amazement 'kin to shame, Beheld that Intellectual Presence beam : — Their world immeasurable they permeate. Unknowing motion, effort, space or time, Changing from zone to zone, from state to state, At instant impulse of a will sublime ; Less than omniscient, all untaught they know. Less than omnipotent, need no control. Less great than God, they cannot greater grow. And yet they are not greater than the soul. Lo, in my soul, I their co-equal hve. Albeit incorporate with mortal clay, Not without sympathy I homage give. Nor know I but that I shall be as they ; With human Minds I think they converse keep,— Genius, through Nature's influence, inspire. And, in the waking thoughts, or dreams of sleep. Imbue them with the empyrean fire ; NO MORE. :l-j Forth, from their glorious home, they subtly shed Rays that, unseen, through crust corporeal shine, Quick'ning the body, as with manna fed. Yielding the spirit sustenance divine. O Sun, I know not half my debt to thee, Cause of all joy and these divinings fond. E'en that, from out thy light, I dimly see Thy God, and God of all the worlds beyond. NO MORE. O FRESHNESS and newness of all in tliis earth-world, O simple contentment, acceptance undoubting, O future unending, and sweet without bitter — No more ! The world was for me, in its beauty and grandeur, The beings I loved were for me — a charmed circle. All places and things had endurance eternal — No more ! 28 NO MORE. O dreams of perfection, in waking or sleeping, O pure admiration that knew no abridgment, Perfection of hope, in a hope seeming perfect- No more ! O faith that was in me, a faith yet unshaken, A faith in all promise, a faith in pretension, A faith in the rightness of all things existent — No more ! Sweet Truth ! with no stain on her heaven-born whiteness, Sweet Trust ! resting calm as the sleep of the babies, Devotion unstinted, and boundless as ether — No more ! O warmth of the heart that had never known chilling, O impulse forth-springing, the cost never counting, Emotion that well'd as a river of gladness — No more ! O joy of the thoughts I beUeved to be primal, O joy of invention that none had preceded, O joy of observing what none had erst noted — No more ! NO MORE. 29 Wild wonder that came to me daily and nightly, Holy awe, unobservant of cause or conclusion. And dread, with no fearing, in glimpses supernal — No more ! O zeal, as the flame that to heaven ascendeth. Desire for all goodness, — expedience unknowing, O sentiment, glowing untold and unmeted — No more ! The zest of- the spirit, the zest of the senses. Each sight and vibration a new-bom enchantment, Enjoyment that came from the fountains of Nature — No more ! O charm of the vision, and charm of the hearing, O pride of the soul, quick in mental perception, O marvel of life in a life full of marvels — No more ! O dreams out of Earth, in the region of Fancy, O fancy ecstatic, that soar'd as the angels, O life out of life, in a life beatific — No more ! Ye error, delusion, bootless expectancy, Thou base discontent, eldest bom of unreason. Thou fatuous conceit of a self proved so feeble : — No more ! 3° HEAVEN ON EARTH. IF happiness is perfect joy, And Heaven is true felicitie, A happy moment Heaven could be, Evermore. The httle maid's first birthday-feast. Her httle head with chaplet crown'd, Her little first-loves all around : — Esto perpetuum I The younker, with his younker friend Off for a ramble, far away. Throughout a sweltering summer day ;• Esto perpduwn ! The schoolboy at the breaking-up. The ordeal pass'd, the speeches said, Two prizes gain'd, the classes sped : — Esto perpetuum / HEAVEN ON EARTH. 31 The game is cricket, and the scores Are even — but another run — The ball is hit — and we have won ;— / I've heard of fishing, find the pool ; In my young heart doth bum a wish. And now, I grasp a gUttering fish : — Esto perpeiuum ! The girl, almost to woman grown, Whose beauty might elect her queen. Who now has first her beauty seen : — Esto papetuum ! The stripling, first his nature conning, In day-dream, tries the world to scan, Thinks what it is to be a man ! — Esto perpeiuum .' The demoiselle, of homage tired, Leams, though she knows not how or when, She has impress'd the man of men : — Esto perpetuum ! Stept out of Academus' shade. The man beholds his future clear, And bravely marks out a career : — Esto perpetuum ! 32 HEAVEN ON EARTH. A day, its like not bom before — The earth in smiles, the sky in shine — This world, so beautiful, — is mine ! Esto perpetuum ! The world is mine, this world of men — Do they not love me, everyone ? Have loved me since my life begun : — Esto papetuum I Dear Alma-Mater, hard thy task ! But now, the best condones the worst — A wrangler, and a double-first : — Esto perpetuum / The years have flown, the fight is fought, The care and doubt are less and less. And, from this hour, it is success ! Esto perpetuum ! To one I love I tell not love, — Perchance, I talk with her awhile. And win a smile beyond a smile : — Esto perpetuum .' 'Mid meadows green, and summer's sheen I track the winding of the brook. And now and then a trout I hook ; — Esto perpetuimi ! HEAVEN ON EARTH. 33 Who Cometh nigh ? what lovely face, What form of grace, what eyes divine ! She passeth — but a look is mine : — Esto perpetuum ! Ecstatic vision, thou art gone j Gone, as the meteor glideth by, Leaving its splendour in the eye : — Esto perpetuum ! My nag is fleet, the sward is soft, I turn my back on men and towns, And madly scamper o'er the downs : — Esto perpetuum ! I've woo'd in vain, and woo again, This notelet comes to ban or bless ; I break the seal, the word is " yes : '' — Esto perpetuum / The time is May, the Earth is new, And warm, and bright and blossoming, The soft air stirs, the birdies sing : — Esto perpetuutn ! How like to life the tale is told ! So true, that fiction it is not To me, who have all else forgot : — Esto perpetuum ! 34 HEAVEN ON EARTH. We meet and kiss, and talk, and walk In winding path and coppice green, By all, but each by each, unseen : — Esto perpetuum ! A friend, front coupe, train " express,'' This morning's " Times," " Pall Mall Gazette," A gossip, and a cigarette : — Esto perpetuum ! White, graceful hands now strike the chords, A lithesome throat doth deftly sing, And I, the loved, am listening : — Esto perpetuum ! Quiet and warm the summer night, And clear the moon, when on the lawn We linger, linger 'till the dawn : — Esto perpetuum ! Or on a sultry day of June Under the canopy remain. And listen to the thunder-rain ;— Esto perpetuum ! Some work is done, some part achieved, No more to-day but talk and joke. Serenely rest, serenely smoke : — Esto perpetuum ! HEAVEN ON EARTH. 35 hand unfaithful ! in my mind The very touch is clearly wrought ; That, that is it ! I see my thought : — Esto perpetuum ! In intellectual being blent, With my true friend I now converse, And here and there a line rehearse : — Esto perpetuum ! The middle row, a central stall. The zest of youth, the rest of age, Fechter, as Hamlet, on the stage : — Esto perpetuum ! The lake is smooth, the mountains shine, 1 steer the skiff amid the isles. And, at my look, my sweetheart smiles :— Esto perpetuum ! A truce to toil, a truce to care ; Are we not shipp'd for sunny France ? What do we now but sing and dance ! Esto perpetuum ! The music has been in my soul ; But now that it is made a voice, Supremely doth my soul rejoice : — Esto perpetuum ! 36 HEAVEN ON EARTH. To think that men henceforth shall hear From out the sweet supernal store, A cadence never heard before : — Esto perpetuum ! Now Costa leads, the viol sings. And every deft device of sound In perfect synthesis is found :— Esto perpetuum J Her eyes are lustrous, large and full, Their icy beauty men admire ; But now, I see them flashing fire : — Esto perpetuum ! The mother, first her child caresses, And first the thought her life-blood stirs That in the world two fives are hers ; — Esto perpetuum ! Now have I done a noble deed, Great was the toil, 'mid doubt and blame. But men shall much repeat my name : — Esto perpet7tum ! The sweet forgetfulness of ease, A sense that all is good and true, And nothing in the world to do ;- Esto perpetuum ! HEAVEN OH EARTH. 37 Where chamois haunts, and glacier gleams, 'Mid the stupendous Alp I pause. Greater than Alp, to think the Cause : — Esto perpduum ! I know a truth words cannot prove ; Come arc and angle, point and line, O perfect Reason, it is thine ! Esto perpetiium ! Through me, by geometric art, A thing invisible is shown, A vital consequence beknown : — Esto perpetuum I Pensive philosopher, distress'd At ills unthinking men endure ; Thou hast propounded cause and cure : — Esto perpetuum ! Or, with abstruse, inductive search, Nature's Arcana hast unseal'd, And the deep mystery reveal'd : — Esto perpetuum ! Indulge the beatific thought That, through the ages yet to be, Mankind shall own a debt to thee : — Esto perpetuum ! 38 HEAVEN ON EARTH. Ingenious mechanician, thou Hast well the combination sought, And iron now performs thy thought : — Esto perpettium ! Thou know'st that by thy shrewd device, Some hurtful toil in filth and pain Will ne'er be done by hands again : — Esto perpetuum ! The analyst a solvent needeth. Nor from his craving knoweth rest ; 'Tis found — 'tis found ! the only test : — Esto perpetuum ! Rapt poet ! vext by subtle thought, With urgent throes thy thought hath birth- A new creation on the earth ! Esto perpetuum ! Astronomer despair not yet. The star is there, compute again ; Now look, and this time not in vain ! Esto perpetuum ! The long continued effort closes ; My Book is nearing to the end, And now, the final word is j>enn'd : — Esto perpetuum ! HEAVEN ON EARTH. 39 Of feeble breath, withouten hope, The weary weeks have pass'd in pain, 'Tis o'er — 'tis o'er ! I hve again : — Esto perpetuum I Hardship and peril press too long, The fruits of toil with us will die ; Ho ! to the rescue ! hear, they cry : — Esto peipetuum ! After the danger and the dread I breathe again unbated breath. And say, " No more I dance with Death : " — Esto perpetuum ! I loved long past, that love is dead ; Since then I've striven the sordid strife : Again I love, am loved — new life ! Esto perpetuum I On foreign land, perchance in Spain, I ride and rove amid the wild. And freshen, freshen as a child : — Esto perpetuum ! This pain doth stultify my mind ! And will, with mind, itself destroy, Hush — it hath ceased ! new-born is joy : — Esto perpetuum ! 40 HEAVEN ON EARTH. Oh, anguish ! and oh, deeper grief; Why life and health, 'mid cloud and care ? Outshines the sun, my sky is fair : — Esto pcrpetuum .' In the cathedral dome I list, The Anthem riseth to the skies ; And all the mortal in me dies : — Esto perpduum .' Far, far from land, the ship rides well ; I view the restless, shoreless sea. At one with that infinitie : — Esto perpdimm ! Still is the night, the stars are bright, They see me with their myriad eyes, And to their gaze my soul replies : — Esto perpetmim / The world forgot, my spirit clear. Free from tlie maze of doubt and strife, I live a new, unbounded life : — Esto peipctuum ! The past into the future passes, And all experience I see Resolved in tlie eternal Me ; — Esto perpetuum / THE SHADOW OF THE TOMB. 41 Lost in my prayer, in rapture lost, I know no speech of thought or word, And yet I know my prayer is heard : — Esto perpetuum ! There is a joy above all joy, A thought beyond all thinking known. The thought — to be with God alone — Evermore ! THE SHADOW OF THE TOMB. WHAT is this which cometh o'er me, Makes me so suspend my breath. And begin to think of death ? 'Tis the shadow of the tomb. Why so caring and comparing ? Why doth thought, through memory ranging, Moralize, the world is changing ? 'Tis the shadow of the tomb. 42 THE SHADOW OF THE TOMB. Chosen friends ! I think, where are ye ? Whither doth such thinking tend ? That I too shall have an end. 'Tis the shadow of the tomb. So do all things have an ending ! Folly ! thus thy heart annoying With things made for thy enjoying : — 'Tis the shadow of the tomb. Knowledge, I have loved thee dearly ; How this heresy of thought, — - Knowledge tendeth unto nought ? 'Tis the shadow of the tomb. No ! it tendeth unto wisdom : Yet, when faculties are faihng, Wisdom will be unavailing ! 'Tis the shadow of the tomb. Or, if Wisdom cometh truly, She shall teach thee for thy earning All the littleness of learning ! 'Tis the shadow of the tomb. Ay, but fame shall be my guerdon ; — Fame, I think, not far extendeth, And hke other things it endeth ! 'Tis the shadow of the tomb. THE SHADOW OF THE TOMB. 43 Time, I ponder, fleeting, fleeting, Once my slave, is now my master, Like a torrent, faster, faster ! 'Tis the shadow of the tomb. Is it well that I, so earnest. Sicken at the worldly strife — Feel the nothingness of life ! 'Tis the shadow of the tomb. Sweet contentment, wert thou darkness ? Have I hallow'd wrong for right ? Why perturbeth me the light ? — 'Tis the shadow of the tomb. More to Heaven I bend my vision, — More and more in God confiding. More and more in God residing : 'Tis the shadow of the tomb. 4+ THE EARLY SONG. AH, I bethink me, dear, longing still on and on, What numberless new things are there to see ; And I'm rejoicing me now, in foreshadowing, To be beholding them, Lucy, with thee. Spring will be coming soon, trees Avill be budding forth. Flowers will be blossoming over the lea ; Birds will be carolling, — and I'll be happy then, Looking and listening, Lucy, with thee. Are there not rivers, and lakes amid mountains high. Countries and cities beyond the broad sea ; Are they not waiting, and glowing, and flowmg on, Until I visit them, Lucy, with thee ? THE EARLY SONG. 45 Endless the wonders of nature and skilfulness, Spread o'er the world we shall wander in free ; Blest are they all to me, lovely or terrible, In that I'll witness them, Lucy, with thee. Jewels, and pictures, and sculptures, and palaces, Rare things and fair things of topmost degree, Are beaming in colours and grace and magnificence, All to be looked upon, Lucy, with thee. Nought it concemeth me. Wiseacre's whispering, " Ever these have been, and ever will be,'' Nought are they worth to me than dust and ashes all, If I behold them not, Lucy, with thee. COLUMBUS AT SEVILLE. A.D. 1505. IS it the end ? — so mundane honour faileth. My chief hope lacketh ; the Holy Sepulchre Will not by me be rescued ; that great land Which much exceedeth, which I yet could find, Will not by me be proven ; the ripe harvest, Golden-sheaved, will not by me be gather'd : The reaper hath the glory, not the sower ; To track the pathless ocean needed one, Thousands can follow him and share the gain. Diego, Fernando — equal as my sons, Fruit of two mothers equal in my love. May ye inherit and deserve the guerdon ! O Thou, beneficent Father ! Thou, my God ! Hear now my plea, forgive my discontent : If man ingrate be base, how baser far Ingratitude to Thee ! Shall I forget All the sweet day-dreams of my rising life ; My marvellous salvation from the deep ? — Saved, to unfold the secrets of the world ! Shall I forget Thou didst implant in me The deep, fix'd knowledge of those unknown shores, COLUMBUS AT SEVILLE. 4 7 Whereby, henceforth, the Earth will be enlarged, And the True Faith will save unnumber'd souls ? My God ! Thy goodness to me has been great . How had I clearer thought of Atalantis Than that of Plato and of Marco Polo ? Or than of Marinus and Alfraganus, Of the rotund formation of the Earth ? How could I doubt what came to me from Thee ? Didst Thou not give to me, by Martin Behem, My help for sailing, in the Astrolabe ? Didst Thou not bring to me my Toscanelli, And Juan Perez, at the convent gate ? — He that, as 'twere Thine angel sent to aid, Foreran me to the Royal Ysabel. It is a little pain to scan those years Of fretful waiting and vexations deep, Those eighteen years of earnest hope suppress'd, Those droning years of fullest pulse of life, Outspent in care, and penury, and scorn. Well I remember thee, cold Cazadilla, And thy repulse for John of Portugal ! But there were better men in those drear days ; — Gonzalez de Mendoza of Toledo, Whose intercession brought me to the Queen. And thou, De Quintanilla, my kind host, Who, with the good St. Angel, call'd me back, When, in a brief despair, I fled from Spain. 48 COLUMBUS AT SEVILLE. Then the strong strife of tongues, at Salamanca, When I stood forth to argue with the Junta ; To tell to men of schools and catechisms AVhat God had taught me— God alone could teach. " Ha, ha !" say they, " and thou dost well believe That, sailing down thy globe, thou wilt return. Forced by some special gales, up-hill, to Spain ! " Or, " Thou dost think that men feet upwards walk. Like as the flies upon the ceiling there !" Yet wert thou one, friar Diego de Deza, Dower'd with a soul receptive of the Truth. That was well over, though it hurt my heart To think — the wisest of the world reject me. How wiser, thou, Columbus ? not thine o\yu, Not thine own wisdom ! yet how could I dare To promise that, as undemonstrable As things beyond the grave ? Ah, happy next ! Like a triumphant song, after the contest, Sounded to me, the message of St. Angel, When he retum'd, and told the Queen's resolve ; " For my own crown of Castile ^wU I do it. E'en though I pledge my jewels !" Noble heart ; Bless thee, St. Angel ! Then I saw the Queen For aye her regal and benignant smile Is printed on my heart ; for aye her words. COLUMBUS AT SEVILLE. 49 Even as of honey and soft music blent, Comfort my spirit ; joy came, as a flood. And I forgat seven years of vassalage In one blest moment ; I forget it not ; Then, then it was that I the queen besought To make the treasures of the new-found world Redeem the Holy Sepulchre, and wrest From the proud Soldan all the sacred shores ; O God, Thou knowest it not vainly said ; Man may propose, 'tis Thou alone permittest. Come, Juan de Coloma, courtly scribe. Bring thou the parchments, let the words be writ : Use now thy pencraft on a novel theme ; Note in indelible characters that I, Columbus, am henceforth " High Admiral," Viceroy and governor of those lands and seas Far-reaching, fertile, affluent, serene. To-day unknown, but surely to be found. Now speed to Palos, to behold the sea ; To get the ships, to call my mariners ! The sovereigns say it ; read the royal rescript ! " This is Columbus, fit him for the ocean ;" Will ye not do it ? nay, it must be done. Men, unconvinced, will lag at a behest ; How could I prove what God alone can show ? Dear Martin Pinzon, thou for one hadst faith ; E so COLUMBUS AT SEVILLE. Dear brother of the sea, if, since that day- Was somewhat to forgive, I have forgiven ; Is not forgiveness the true test of love ? I love thee ever. Here was my second Spring ; The past a dream, wherefrom I woke to act ; No more the days of hope unsatisfied. No more for me the life of common things ; Past the meridian of my mortal years, I was as one who newly trod the earth. Elastic, strong, my spirit fresli as air, Soaring prophetic over hindrances, Looking but onwards. Then the solemn day ; The day of the new world : my God, Thou knowest That my faith was firm, and that I went forth Not as men go to search — only to find ! To Thee I knelt, with all my company : But what in them was prayer, in me was thanks, — Thanks for the mission I was crown'd withal ; And we went forth to prosper, blest of Thee ! Yet, in that joy immortal, I was man, And justly weigh'd the burthen of my task. My fellows had some heat not wholly pure, Fed by a fuel that doth waste too soon, — A flame that rose and fell with lessening light, COLUMBUS AT SEVILLE. 51 Not, as the diamond, blazing unallay'd. In the old world they felt they were as men, But when they left that world their manhood faded. The land was lost, the trade-wind sped to west, And they were sailing into an abyss Whereout perchance no wind would ever waft ; Behind them all they knew, before them nothing ! Hard to inform men what they cannot ken ; Who shall define the mystery of faith ? But unto me, in secret, all was well Whilst we were pointing to the destined coast. The needle varies ! whither shall they go, Tracking a course where Nature's self hath doubt ? What painful, sweet contention in my soul ! Those faint rebellious spirits, murmuring loud Yet helping forward daily to the goal. Threatening to stay, and do they knew not what, Fearing, exasperate, that they could not turn. Then, on the day of desperation, came The singing-birds, as heavenly harbingers ! And the fresh herbage floating from some shore. Yet, yet no land — they would no further sail ! I told them I was serving God and Queen, And they must onward with me to the end. The light of heaven was in me, and I saw A light of earth beam from the latent world ; Then said I, also a new world of men. 52 COLUMBUS AT SEVILLE. Praised be God ! oh, uncompared to-morrow ! Has other mortal known of such to-morrow ? O night, no night ! but as a day in heaven : The fruiting of a hfe within the grasp, The long, long happy dream, at last fulfill'd ! Surely as broke the dawn, they shouted " land !" Shall I forget the day I kiss'd that shore, And thank'd my God upon my promised land ? What ? my poor mariners — am I a god. That ye bow down to me, like them of old To Paul and Barnabas ? But still a king ! First king of beauteous regions unexplored. Yet to be peopled in the faith of Christ ! As king of men — a man to rule o'er men. And thus again in the base throng of men ; From out the heaven of hope, to mortal cares, Warring, heart-sick, with lust, and pride and greed. There was a soul in me to reign and rule. Albeit perhaps my function was to find. Ah, 'mid that low turmoil, I had some joy — Such as to human heart not oft is given ! Shall I forget that rapture of my soul, Bred from the visions of a virgin world? .\ world to me reveal'd, and by me found ! The gorgeous birds and flowers, the luscious fruits, COLUMBUS AT SEVILLE. 53 The verdant groves resounding with sweet tune, Eke, but for man, terrestrial paradise ! That work was done, when to the east again I set my keel : Pinzon, my one-time friend, Martin Alonzo, and dost thou forsake ? Wouldst thou indeed outstrip me in the race And play the herald ? no, that must not be, Away to Spain ! to Spain, whate'er betide. Shall I forget that dire, extremest peril. When 'mid the horrors of the raged Atlantic, I waver'd in my faith, and, doubtingly. Placed my proud record in the floating cask. Lest, with me and my toil-worn mariners. The firstlings of my labours should be lost ? Shall I forget my tremulous content When next I saw the Lusitanian king ? Shall I forget the contrast with black doubt. When my return to Palos was acclaim'd ? Or, joyful day supreme ! when I was call'd In honour to the court ? To be a king ! And to the court, a royal progress had I ; Still in mine eyes the signs of welcome glister. Still in mine ears the shouts of welcome ring ! And then, the cavalcade through Barcelona ; 54 COLUMBUS AT SEVILLE. The chivalry of Spain came forth to greet me— A cohort of grandees and caballeros Attending me, unto the fount of honour. That was a royal day ; myself a king, And more than king, being a prophet-king. Under a canopy of gold I saw them, King Ferdinand and gracious Ysabel. They rose to me as sovereigns to sovereign : \Vlien I would offer homage, they upheld me. And bade me sit with them, as should a king — King of a world more vast and rich than theirs ! When I had told to them my wondrous story. They bent the knee in thankful adoration, Yielding due fealty to the King of kings. 'I'he Te Deum went to heaven, praising Him, Giver of all the glories of the world. Then spake I that great vow — to pay to God, Out of the revenues to me assigned, Enough to save the Holy Sepulchre. Bright Barcelona ! I behold thee now, As then thou wert to me ; thy sunny ways. Thy pleasant palaces, with open doors To him, the first of men ; thy windy walls, Wash'd by the blue Internum, where I roda Betwixt the king and prince, equal as king, Forgetting not the providence of God ; COL UMB US AT SE VILLE. 5 5 And, happier still, where oft-times I conversec' With the benignant Queen, telling the past. And limning the beyond. Then had I honour ! Then was given to me a brave escutcheon, Which I pray my heirs will bear right worthily ; My own insignia quarter'd with the King's, Castile and Aragon : A Castilla y a Leon NuEvo MuNDo Dig Colon. Then had I honour ! for the questing mind, Wherever learning grew, was fiU'd with joy — Possess'd with phantoms of new things to be, Whereof I was the enchanter ; the air rung With " Columbus — Christopher Columbus, He who has dared to fathom the unknown ; To whom was given knowledge, passing know- ledge ; He who has found a world ! " Again away ; this time in no distrust. Not, with scant trappings, but in wealth and power. The Sovereigns, Columbus and Fonseca : — Who would have licence let him ask of these. Then was to grant less easy than command ! 56 COLUMBUS AT SEVILLE. Great was the toil, proportion'd to its purpose, The purpose yet to find a hidden main, — Kingdoms of Prester John and the Great Khan. We were a deedy conclave in that while : The Admiral, De Soria, and Fonseca, Francisco Pinelo, the treasurer, — Beginning that which hath a far horizon, Planning the prelude of a birth of nations. Who could resist those high-bom, proud hidalgos Fervent to take the front in ways untried ? I see thee now, Alonzo de Ojeda, Testing thy prowess ere the need began. Then it was done ; and in the bay of Cadiz, Floated the seventeen caravels, full-rigg'd, Furnish'd with all that might attach the Indies, And marry well the new world to the old. Then gave men reverence to me, and I wended. Of a brave squadron the " High Admiral." O sunrise fair ! that gaily seem'd to smile Upon the entrance of a world to come : Then the Canaries — then away, away ! Until the first-born of the new delight Dominica, and then, amid the Antilles, Gladden'd with odorous gales and sylvan shores ; There was the rich anana, and there too, COLUMBUS AT SEVILLE. 57 As if to match the bitter with the sweet, Saw we the limbs of men prepared for food. Next came the Virgin Islands, pass'd uncounted. And then our new-world home, Hispaniola ; And then, once more, rest at La Navidad. Rest in unrest ! for henceforth was I shown That this sublunar world with trouble teems Wherever man doth turn it to his uses. O cherish'd idols of inventive thought ! Are ye to be the origin of pain ? Gone, my first foot-print on the land of promise. My fortress and my garrison no more ! Yet had I hope and courage, and went on. Took firmer stand, and, on the water'd plain, Builded to thee, O Royal Ysabel, The primal city of the new-found world. How like a fever'd dream the chequer'd days. Until again I planted foot on Spain ! A vexbd dream of pain and joy and sorrow ; A tangled web, an incoherent tale. The cry for gold , gold, insufficient, found ; The ships to Spain to satisfy that call ; Dark discontent of men, who look'd no higher Than transient enjoyment, yet fulfill'd Their part as instruments to future good : — The plot of Bernal Diaz, well reveal'd ; And of the joys, I do bethink me now 58 COLUMBUS AT SEl'ILLE. Of the entrancing journey o'er the mountains ; Great God, I thank Thee for that prospect fair, Which in my soul I think will live for ever : — The flower-enamell'd plains, the branching ferns, The giant cedars that of ages spake, The towering palms, the verdure and the streams : Increasing gold, for gold was still my need — Need for my favour in the eyes of men. Had we not found the earthly paradise, And bent ourselves to furnish it with woe ? Ay, 'tis a mystery I fail to solve, That grand results of benefit to man Must pass the ordeal of sin and pain. Then sail'd I forth to Cuba, and, more south. First saw the beauteous land, Jamaica named. Then I beheld that labyrinth of islets Adorning the wide sea, like an enchantment, Henceforth, by men, as the Queen's Garden known. (Told of by Mandeville and Marco Polo, Perhaps not far removed from the great Khan.) Yet were these days of dolour ; for the joys Were nigh outweighted by the toils and trials. My much-loved mariners, not as in me Raised with high hopes, supernal visitings, Took not serenely those privations sore, — Labours of day, misgivings ol the night ; Sustain'd in heart by wonder at new things, Faint with the peril, lacking utmost faith. COLUMBUS AT SEVILLE. 59 And I, unstrung, finding a tranquil sea, Swoon'd in collapse, a sickness like to death. They bore me to my city ; And my eyes open'd— joy ineffable ! Angel of Providence, Bartholomew ! Whence came you,my loved brother? sent from God : For to my help thou earnest, when rny power Was threaten'd ; e'en when Pedro Margarite Took ships and fled, with falsehood, to the throne. Be thou Adelantado, rule with me. Giving me double strength. Praisfed be God ! Here I recall intrepid, strong Ojeda, Who took with guile the brave chief Caonabo And brought him, bound behind him, to the town. Then were some happier days ; the royal pair Sent me, by Torres, an approving missive. And, with my dear Bartholomew beside me, I strove to form and regulate a State. Then as a king I ruled, and not in vain ; Then gave we battle to the Indian people. Who boasted much to drive us from the, land — A Kttle band against uncounted thousands ; But thou, Ojeda, wert invincible. And help'd us much to hold, and to subdue : Then was the yoke upon them, and henceforth 6o COLUMBUS AT SEVILLE. They paid Spain tribute in the longed-for gold. This breedeth some compunction in my heart. What were our rights over these simple men, That we should master them and be their curse ? May we, for good, cause any creature pain ? It was the will of God, that in new lands The faith of Christ should spread; the cry was " gold f My power was gold, and power must be maintain'd. To cultured minds what a strange charm hath gold! Hath not its touching some Satanic spell. To poison blood, and make man less than man ? Now, I remember, I did feel the bite Of that arch-traitor, Pedro Margarite. His lies had rooted, and their fruit was shown In thee Aguado, my once favour'd friend. Juan Aguado, the commissioner, Vaunting dominion over The Admiral ! Ay, and he had it ; and I gave him place. That was a heavy blow, although I knew My God would give me justice among men. And thou wilt go, Aguado, back to Spain, Back, wth the budget of my misdemeanors ? To tell them I have not done what I have. I shall go with thee then, and there confront thee. And put to shame thy foolish, false report. COLUMBUS AT SEVILLE. 6i My God was gracious to me in that hour, And gave to me a boon, by Miguel Diaz, No less than the exhaustless mines of Ha)aia, The same, I think, as those the ancient Ophir, Work'd by king Solomon for the Holy Temple. Empty reproach ! that I was alien, — stranger ; How alien, as the wide world's citizen. How stranger, who had brought them wealth and glory? The whole earth is his country, man his nation, Whose pure, sole purpose is to serve mankind. And yet I love thee well, my native Genoa, E'en with the love a man has for his mother : Genoa la superba, Genoa, my first home, City of mountain-side, and ships, and palaces, City of commerce, and sea-going men. God bless'd me onward, and despite the storms, (Which must be for the things surpassing man). Gave me safe passage back to the old world. My mariners, would ye have slain the captives — Sinning for food, losing your trust in God ? The people crowded to the bay of Cadiz, To see a sick and stirry company, Batter'd by storms, and with much hardship worn. I went among them a Franciscan monk. Bearded, and gown'd, and corded ; was not I 62 COLUMBUS AT SEJ'ILLE. Reft of my power, my office stultified, By weak Aguado's charter? therefore now, Until restored, a man unpropertied. That was soon over ; not for long I wore The garb of deprivation : on to Burgos ; — " The Admiral " in lowly gabardine. His escort proud, with gold and captive men. " Welcome Columbus ! why this humble mien, Art thou not still our Admiral and Viceroy?" My grace to thee, O traitorous Margarite, And wily Boyle ! so ended thy designs. Wise Ferdinand, benignant Isabella ! AVell did ye listen to my troublous story. Nobly incline to my prophetic aim. Willingly grant equipments for the work. Through thee, Fonseca ! Oh, if call'd to judge thee, I would not punish thee with greater torture, Than thou didst cause my soul by thy delays. A bishop hinder'd what a king commanded ! Two years of waning life, wasted and lost ! While the great continent was yet unfound. Now on the threshold of my great reward, And so to be impeded, it was pain. COLUMBUS AT SEVILLE. 63 The struggle ended ; and again I went : Even as a greyhound straining from the leash, To break the cord and seize upon the game. Here I condemn me that too much incensed With base Fonseca's minion, Breviesca, He following me with insults to the strand, I struck the dastard renegade to earth. Why, in that lofty moment did he tempt me To loose on him my pent-up agonies ? Forth from San Lucar ! on a new-mark'd course; — Who that would gain the new must risk the old. One cask of water left ! but God was with me ; And, on that day of need, loom'd Trinidad. Then found I Paria, which I think must be Near to, or part of, a far-spreading land ; For there are freshets, as of mighty rivers, Whose sources are not islands : and I think That the sweet influences which there abound, — Splendours of earth and sky, surfeit of joy. Amid the beaming of unshaded suns, Cool'd by soft zephyrs like the breath of heaven, Betoken, that not far from this is placed That Eden told as man's first paradise. I say not but that here the freshet flows Straight from the fountain of the tree of life. 64 COLUMBUS AT SEVILLE. The past grows dim: God knoweth that hence- forward I had such griefs 'twere bhss but to forget. They cannot be forgotten, but it seems That by-and-by, in life, sorrow accustoms ; Emotion dulls, pleasure and pain come liker. Time, growing dearer, is more part with us, — Even as ourselves have largely merged in Time, And so events have less disparity. The first ingratitude impresseth deeply. But after that all ingrates group in one. The early joys had each a separate being ; The later joys blend, like the hues at sunset, And vanish as the setting of the sun. Not so in all, — ah, my Bartholomew ! Not so of meeting thee ; that was a joy Such as, in youth or age, stands out alone, Not mixing with the mass of circumstance. And healthful vigour came at seeing thee, Adelantado, my faithful brother. And how fares all this while Hispaniola ? Too long detained ! evil too deep for cure. Turbulent men, on vicious purpose bent, Broke up the springs of order, stood at bay Against authority, and mischief bred. Conscience approves that I was merciful, And with much patience urged them to do well ; COLUMBUS AT SEVILLE. 65 This know'st thou, Roldan, thou the chief of rebels; But for the just is justice ; and I dealt Strong-handed justice to defend the good. Wherefore " The Admiral," wherefore as a king, If not to govern ? that was my tyranny : Bishop Fonseca, thou must know they lied, Therefore didst greatly lie, telling the sovereigns I was unjust — >how greatly ! when they sent A Bovadilla to subvert my power. Like as to Job, the messengers of evil Came to me, saying, " He has seized thy house, Plunder'd thy ownings, and proclaim'd thee felon.'' This to Columbus, who has found a world — This to Columbus, who expended life In long night-watchings and in irksome toil, To give a wider compass to mankind ! I am " The Admiral," but I serve the Crown. What the Crown wills, whate'er, let that be done. Bring then the manacles, here are my hands ! And thou too, dear Bartholomew ! come on. Let us to prison, bound as galley slaves. I thought, that Christ, my Lord, was one time bound, Pelted with scorn, and flagellate with thongs. And thus to Spain : thus to the Bay of Cadiz, They brought the Admiral, Viceroy of a world. Then were they pitiful — ^the men of Spain : 66 COLUMBUS AT SEVILLE. Columbus pitied ! pity for Columbus : And I had lived for pity ! Merciful God ! I thank Thee that my heart could bear that thought. Yet, at this they sta/d not ; but let their pity Rise into indignation at my wrongs. Then went a shout of shame, a horrent cry, A sound of anger, which, advancing, grew. Echoing from city to city through the land ; — " In manacles the finder of a world !" The sovereigns heard that cry, and the sweet Queen My letter to a lady of the Court ; (For shackled hands may write not to a queen ;) Then wrote they to me, and I dofF'd my chains To put on robes for stately Grenada. There is a scanty solace in kind words. And to the best of verbal penitence Royal regrets can salve indignities; But when at seeing me the Queen did weep, I wept to think the Queen should weep for me ! gentle Isabella ! noble heart ! 1 bless my God for serving such a queen. Then were the fountains of my soul refresh'd, And I forgave, — God knoweth I forgave, Whate'er of anguish from the Queen had sprung. Two years they said — then should they reinstate COLUMBUS AT SEVILLE. 67 Two years of common life — it must not be. To me, to whom 'tis given to open out, It must not be, to stagnate in the found. For then I knew, as now, that time is short, And I must give, with undecHning zeal, Life's latest issues to the work of God. Had not De Gama, rounding the stormy Cape, Found, for his nation, wealthy Calicut ? Should I not find, (as still I think there is,) A strait that tendeth to the Indian seas Out of the ocean where my lands are known, And superadd unto my vast new world The rich resources of the glowing East ? The good day came ; and forth from Cadiz Ba}' I made fair progress to the broad Atlantic. — Brother Bartholomew, dear Son Fernando ! I thank my God who gave you and preser^'ed you. — It was an anxious voyage, big with promise. And ye were comfort to me in those hours. We had keen sufferings, lingering sorrows. In perils uttermost of land and sea \ Yet they are summ'd into a little chapter. And I survey them with an even judgment. Like to a watcher looking from the Pharos, Seeing all objects at a moment's glance. That was a bitter baulk, when, seeking shelter, We craved admittance at Hispaniola : 68 COLUMBUS AT SEVILLE. Pompous Ovando ! thou didst well, methinks. To turn away the finder of thy land. But we went well without thee : and right soon Were welcoming the coast of Terra Firma. Then found we Cape Honduras, and I hoped Near that peninsular the strait desired. It is not far, or if no strait be there. The land is narrow to the Indian seas. Now, vext with raging storms, we found in time The wished-for golden shore Veragua. Here the Adelantado search'd the land. And did confirm me in my earlier thought ; — This is indeed Aurea Chersonesus. Thou didst agree with me, Bartholomew, And hadst establish'd here a settlement, But for mischance, and ills unparallel'd. Back, — back to Spain ; alas ! the strait must be, And men anon shall take that course to Ind- God's will be done ! He lets me mark the way, That whence Columbus turn'd, others may speed. Lo, then my soul had succour, for I saw Bright visions of the night, and heard my God ; — " Why frettest thou, O man, and losest heart? .\re not thy troubles as of man with man ? Have not I promised thee thou'lt be sustain'd?"— Therefore what mattefd when the v/oe befell, My ships on shore, I and my company Left unprovided on the Indian strand? COLUMBUS AT SEVILLE. 69 Then was it, that, denied supply of food, God gave me the Eclipse, and hid the Moon, To show the Indian I must be preserved. Now bless thee, Diego Mendez, still my friend, That wert the chosen means empower'd by Him, My heavenly Father, to go thence and save. Undaunted by one failure, thence again Thou wentest, this time with good Fiesco. Go then canoes, go fragile boats to sea. For me the day of miracles survives ! Pass weary months, pass quickly in my thought ; Months follow months, and yet they will return. Ah, Porras ! thou wert one who gave me pain By thy desertion in my time of need ; Thou too wert conquer'd : and the ships did come. Unto God's mercy, not to thy good-will Be that ascribed, Ovando ; so I went Once more to my own city, Isabella. There with some tenderness, some show of defer- ence, Was I received and foster'd, and did wait, Enough to grieve o'er my perverted plans ; To learn of cruel laws I had no power To soften ; to hear of deeds inhuman Which tore my heart; — and I cried, " Not to me, Gracious Creator, not to me, impute These sufferings of thy creatures, — not to me ' " 70 COLUMBUS AT SEVILLE. Ovando, thou didst smile, with some pretence Of fairness to me ; but thou wert not fair. I fear, lest thou hast weighted the account Which I must cast with God : may He forgive thee ! In storms to Spain : if seemeth that my work Must end in storm ; how can the mind have peace, Whilst the chief recompense is still withheld? How shall I rest, whilst that the evil rule. Yet banes Hispaniola ? profitless ! My journey to Segovia, for now My voice at court brings no responsive tones : The (^ueen is dead ; the Court is dead to me. Ah, Ferdinand! thy chilly, surface-smiles Ga\-e meagre comfort to my yearning soul ; ^\^^at ! thou wouldst grant me titles, properties, In this old world, where I have nothing eam'd. Denying me my just inheritance In the dominions I have won for thee ! Is not the compact sacred ? thou shalt lose, Breaking it, more than thou canst rob from me. In forfeit of thine honour among men. Thy glory is inglorious, O King ! All IS in vain, my letters as my voice : And thou too, Amerigo Vespucci, Failest to right me, though thy heart is true. O queenly Isabella ! sunk with thee COLUMBUS AT SEVILLE. 71 My last, best hope : O traest, highest friend, Thou, queen of women as the Queen of Spain ; Pure pride it is to think that thou didst love me In like of love wherewith man honours man, The flame of friendship ; why then art thou gone, Why, why evanish'd ere my task is done, Leaving me aidless ? Dear Bartholomew, I pray thee go to Court ; tell Queen Juana, Queen of Castile, how I wait and fade. The child of Isabella will not fail me ; She will give ear, and, with a yielding heart. Restore my dignities. Tell her my claims ! Show that I leave her more than she can give. In wealth or titles : tell her I yet can do What will endow Castile in might and glory Above all earthly kingdoms. He is gone ; He will achieve his purpose : not for me, Yet for my heritage. Those increasing tithes Of revenues enlarging without end. Shall still, at Genoa, the fund augment Which I have set apart to be applied To the redemption of the sacred tomb. 72 COLUMBUS AT SEVILLE. The body weakens, but the soul is strong: soul ! what wilt thou do, so resolute. Losing thy minister, craving all alone ? 1 am my soul ; I have not done my work. Are there not worlds to find which I can seek ? Have I not knowledge and the will to act ? Such are the ways of God ; and it is sure I have been highly favour'd ; for to me Was given, by faith, perception of some things Not gain'd by human learning ; I foresaw Regions unseen, e'en as I now foresee The heaven whereto I go. Shall I essay To teach men uninspired the graces of That Country where the King is just ; and where All promise is fuLfill'd ? The kings of earth Owe justice, and should heed this holiest law. Viewing their mighty Prototype on high. Yea, I will praise Him ! for I have been bless'd : Has not the beam celestial lit my path ? Has not miraculous care o'ershadoVd me ? Have not I heard soft whispers from the skies ? May I not think of thee, base Bovadilla, When thou wert lost, and my weak barque was spared ? Did I not touch the topmost height of fame, Down to be dragg'd into the pit contempt ? Not so, not so ! forgive me Thou Most Good : My dreams sublime, and their accomplishments, COLUMBUS A7 SEVILLE. 73 Have much exceeded all my toils and trials ; And I look onward with a joyous heart. Heeding the outcomes of my mortal life. Upon those shores, to and through me disclosed, There will be puissant empires, unenslaved ; Darkness will be illumined, knowledge spread, And the true Faith will permeate that world. Still is the land of Heaven for me to find, And on the Earth justice shall come to me ; Justice shall come, and men shall say — " Colum- bus!" SONNETS. 77 SIGHT. IF still, with closed eyes, I see thy face, What is it but thine impress on my mind ? And though, henceforth, I were for ever blind. Those lineaments mine inner sight would trace : Or if on earth no more thou holdest place, To me unveilfed beam thy features kind. Brought by a force that cerements cannot bind ! Whether of earth, or from the aether space Thou comest at the bidding of my will, Shall not I love thee ever, and thou me ? Art thou not calling when for thee I call ? O friend belovfed, whom death doth not kill, Come to my vision^ — wheresoe'er you be, To show me absence is not death in all. 78 ANALOGY. WAS it a dream — that keen undoubting joy, Which I, but now, as if for aye, did know ? Was it a dream — the vision that did glow In Hght that light itself doth not destroy ? — Was it a dream, that did my soul annoy With anguish of unutterable woe ? — Was it a dream, that in my mind did grow, And every subtlety of thought employ ? Kin of my heart ! real things, the loved and lost, How come ye to me, and again forsake ? (As waifs from out the sea of Time uptost,) Do ye in dreamland habitation make ? Were ye then dreams, that bitter tears have cost ? Is such the life wherefrom, at death, we wake ? 79 ANGEL MUSIC. SOMEWHILES, when into vacancy I gaze, And seem bereft of life, or rapt in thought, My soul is with divinest music fraught, — Hearing soft accents of celestial praise ! In notes unwritten, and in wordless lays. Anthems are singing to me, all unsought, — Each time I listen new vibrations caught, — 'Till I am lost in joy, and sweet amaze. Whence are ye then, ye tones of heaven ? for sure Ye are not visitings of human kind ; Are ye embalmed memories, sublimed? Or, of the hereafter, do ye come to lure My soul from sensuous seekings unrefined. With strains supernal by the Angels chimed ? 8o FAME AND IMMORTALITY. WHAT being hast thou, much desired Fame, That men should immolate themselves to thee? Art thou indeed an immortalitie, Or only what thou seem'st ? a name— a name ! Art thou in one, a gloiy and a shame, So to be lauded unto extasie, — And yet be but the mind's infirmitie. The cause of folly, and the source of blame ? Speak, speak ! my heart, is there not something more Than reputation, that true fame can give,— Something for which ambition is not crime ? Ah ! is it nothing, when the world is o'er, To reign in mortal bosoms, and to Uve In ceaseless echoes to the end of time ' 8i PEACE. PEACE is to man not peace, but torpid soul, Idlesse corporeal, or a mental sleep. It is to be as happy as the sheep. Supine, contented with an earthy dole. Alas, alas ! how shall my heart control The strong unrest, that doth with doubting keep ? Disquietude, amid compunctions deep. Still to attain so little of the whole ! Peace is of Heaven !— Oh, sunny, ripply sea Withouten shore :— till then the normal strife. Error with truth, the contest, ceaselessly. Against the wrongs wherewith the world is rife ; The struggle of the conscience with the Me : — Peace is the stagnant pool, the rivulet is life ! 82 DOUBLE LIFE. BLENT in one mortal life, there are two lives ; One is a life of toil, and trick, and gain, A life of meagre pleasure, shallow pain, Following a miry course, as Mammon drives ; A life that after the Material strives. Building up works that, for a while, remain. Mountains of gold, and monuments as vain, To be but nothing when the end arrives ! The other hfe is that of heart and soul. Of passion, and of poetry, and song ; Of depths and heights of sorrow and of mirth ; It brings no profit, as it hath no goal. And, though it all doth unto earth belong, Subsists but in oblivion of the Earth. 83 ON THE SOUTH DOWNS. A SONG to thee, O Nature ! whilst the hills Yield to my senses fullest s)Tnpathy ; Above the world of men, and blent in thee, A joy that is thy joy my bosom fills. And I claim sonship, mindless of " the ills That flesh is heir to ; " nought is now to me Than the primeval sward, and sky, and sea, Boundless — as thy companionship instils. O Mother Nature, take my heart in thine ! O Mother Nature, I in thee am lost ! Mother Nature, take me as thy child ! Why know I this sublimity divine. If not from thee ? take me at any cost ! 1 had not loved so, if thou hadst not smiled. 84 THE CATHEDRAL OF CORDOVA. AS in a forest seeming infinite, A portal and an altar everywhere, The soul is moved to lofty thought, and prayer Unto the Omnipresent One of might, So had the pious Moslem purpose right. Who did at Cordova this temple raise ; For when he wander'd in the vasty maze Of columns rich, in every hue bedight, He knew no spot where he must offer praise, Nor where he last was prostrate, nor the door Wherethrough he gain'd the labyrinthine floor — Unnoting which, among the nineteen ways ; Nor found he there incitement to adore, Than as the thankful heart its homage pays. Between Sevilla and Badajoz. i,th May, i85o. 8s LINCOLN CATHEDRAL. I'VE seen the Lyncolne Mynster, on the hill Which, for deep centuries, it hath ycrown'd,' And, in beholding, such delight have found As our forefathers' pious minds did fill. At the evolving from a fervent will A work yet onwards, endlessly, renown'd. Ethereal Fancy ! thou art here unbound, Roving from human deeds of subtile skill. Pillar and lancet-arch and tracery rare, Proportion whose perfection bears a spell. The votive chapels, proofs of holy care. With roof by worthy Willson carvfed well. Unto the destination of my prayer. Where our great God beneficent doth dwell. 86 F WELLESLEY. RIEND, I possess with joy a Gift* most rare, Form'd of the gems which are the thoughts of Great in all difficult things, — a mental Sun Gilding where'er he glances ; and my care Shall be to prize it justly, and compare, Till, hke the skill'd Anatomist, I've won The full idea from fragment seen, and spun From its sweet poesy, that fabric fair, A noble Mind ; at which I'll gaze and gaze. Striving by sympathy to emulate, Praying, all men may, in the latter days. Aspire unto such high and glorious state ; And, in mine age, I'll list the young men's praise. Whilst of his Gift, and Wellesley, I prate. * " Primidae et ReliquiiE." See Notes. 87 JOHN BRITTON, THE ANTIQUARY, ON HIS BIRTHDAY : AGE 70. 7th JULY, 184I. WELL it beseems thee, Britton, to have gain'd Fulness of years ; the Past doth honour thee, As thou the past hast honour'd ; thou shalt be For a long age in memory retain'd. With those stone deeds whose glories have remain'd, And hallow'd now by " hore antiquitie,'' As is the storm-enduring Druid tree. Or echoing aisle, with storied windows stain'd. Ancient of days, but aye a boy in heart. Still hoping on, with sympathies unspent, Example to the Apathist, thou art ! Would that thy frame might fitly represent Thy spirit's freshness ! then should ills depart. And the grey tyrant, Time, for once, relent. FREDERICK WILLIAM ROBERTSON, MINISTER OF TRINITY CHAPEL, BRIGHTON. Written I'^^th August, 1853 — the day of his death. SO might it seem — now the brave voice is still For ever, and the noble heart at rest — That, as a planet leaveth in the west No trace of the bright course it did fulfil, Thy life, dear Robertson ! no deeds of skill In marble, or in gaudy pigments drest. Nor folios, thy labours to attest, No monuments to mark thy mighty will :* Of the Unseen — -unseen, unwrought, sublime, Thy work is woven in the Spirit of Man ; Deep meanings of the Mediatorial plan Told by thy eloquent tongue's euphonious chime ; — Hush ! the truth-tones thy earnest soul began Are echoing onward through the waves of Time. • See Notes. 89 SORTAIN. AFTER HEARING HIM PREACH. IF I might envy, it should be, Sortain, Thine heritage of intellectual joy; For well I know that in this world's annoy All other harbourage compares in vain : Sweet are these earthlings !' but or shine, or rain, Each in fruition breedeth its alloy ; Hourling delights, bom to themselves destroy ! How would we have the mutable remain ? Oh ! to forget them all, and, rapt, to lose Sense of mortality ; a while to rise Into sublimer being— as the dews 'Twixt Earth and Heaven, gaining dim surmise Of what, unflesh'd, we may be ; this endues Man like a god— this dost thou realize, go JOSEPH HUNTER, KEEPER OF THE PUBLIC RECORDS. STUDENT for love, a quiet-thoughted man, Thine is it. Hunter, to live lustrous hours Of gentle brooding o'er the Muses' dowers, And, humbly erudite, the text to scan ; Lift' with immortal memories, loftier than All the tame Present issues and devours. Thy spirit haunteth the Elysian bowers Among the minds which, ages gone, began : Sacred from doubt rest thy hypotheses ! An honest will is all this world may own ; But in that life, where Truth hath no degrees, Thou'lt prove the dear conjectures thou hast known, And see them clear, v.ith mightier mysteries. Each to its shape immutable ygrown. 91 T. J. JUDKIN. JUDKIN ot simple heart, who, in one name, Joins pastor, poet, painter- — in one age Blends the seven ages, baby or sage — As mood may vary ; how, anon, shall fame Reward thee, or thy worthy works proclaim ? Will she thy sermons vaunt, of holy rage And voice of stentor, or thy metred page Of Hymn or Sonnet ? or thy pencil's aim, To reproduce the grace the poet sees — (The picture oi his mind to other's eye :) What matters ! if, in each, man has done well. Whether he sought by rivers, rocks and trees. Or by the word of truth he could out-tell, Or poet's song, God's name to magnify ? 1865. 93 EDWARD LUMLEY. PERFECT exemplar of the London man, True cockney, and true Englishman mthal, A Christian too, we may thee justly call, Albeit devoted worshipper of Pan ; Double-lifed Lumley ! 'plaining of the ban Of street-incarceration, whilst the thrall Upon thy body cramps thee not at all. Nor narrows thy thought's compass by a span. Duty claims sacrifice ; yet thy full soul, Nurtured in hopes and high imaginings, Loseth no portion of its earthly joy, Strayeth, 'mid prairies green, from pole to pole, And, scaling Heaven with cherubic wings. Feeds on delights unreal, which do not cloy. 93 BENIGNA. O LOVELY lady, of the radiant mien, Thine aspect is a book of gentle joy, A sweet-toned happiness, without alloy, A lake of waters clear in placid sheen. It seemeth to me that, like Nature's Queen, Thou dost an holy influence etnploy, Quelling the haughty, cotnforting the coy, And making all things, with thyself, serene. Ah ! surely, in thy seraph-face we see, Unfaded, the Divine similitude j Just as in Eve, ere of the fatal tree She tasted, — before Evil's darksome brood Had, in the ceaseless struggle, sinfully. Displaced the lineaments with fingers rude. 94 RICHMOND HILL. WAKING,* I saw a valley far and wide Outspread beneath, the vision of my dream ; It was of Earth, yet not of Earth did seem, Wanting all mark of toil ; on every side Fair mead and forest lay, in verdant pride. And, as a pearl 'mid emeralds, a stream. O'er whose broad face the glorious Sun did gleam. Athwart meandering did calmly glide : No pain was there, no false exciting charm. But joy serene that might eternal be, — Whereat much wond'ring, I inspired did rise Into a phrenzy, and with sweet alarm Knew I beheld the long-famed Arcadie, Phantasm of Heaven, type of paradise. * See Notes. 95 ORDINATION. THIS day, O friend, is thy life's purpose changed ; For thou art chosen from the sons of men In the great cause to labour ; back agen To call an errant nature, long estranged From its prime state of virtue, and deranged, Until, as things diverse, the Now and Then. Brave be both heart and voice, fertile the pen ; Words will not waver while, in faith, are ranged The promises of Him who faileth not. Before thy mental vision will uprise Fulfilments, that the name of Sin outblot ; The tale of evU will provoke surprise ; Restored is Man, and Earth a heavenly spot ! Behold the end whereat God's agent tries. PHOTOGRAPHY. 1842. BY title new, for added gift, Light ! Have we to praise thee, Limner at our will Of all thou dost irradiate, with skill Surpassing far the emulative flight Of human aim ; for the discriminate might Of Nature's hand thy purpose doth fulfil. Ye, Porta, Galileo, Newton, if that still For earth ye care, are sharing our delight — From pride estranged, yet glad that thus your toil Hath glorious fruiting 1 and ye, of to-day, Who, tracking onwards through the mazy coil Of philosophic truth, now with them may Claim brotherhood, — -nor shall your lustre soil, NiEPCE, and Dagiterre, and Talbot, and Claudet ! 97 TO SIR ROBERT PEEL, after his speech on free-trade in corn, 2 2 Jan. 1846. Now seeth the world a high-exampled good,- Power confessing error ; onward, Peel ! Blush not thou if humanity reveal Its native weakness, (which to have withstood Were vice beginning ;) let no specious hood Be Truth's obscurer ; ever when we kneel, Greatest we are ; who to the right is leal Guidance divine hath in Thought's mazy wood. Honour to him, distinguish'd by no deed Which stemm'd the flowing of progression's tide To vaunt him on the eddy ; who did heed " The voice of God,"* beyond delusive pride, And all learnt wisdom. He shall have his meed, Albeit debaters of a day deride. * Vox populi, &c. 9S THE MUTINY AND MASSACRES IN INDIA. JUST God, my country's stricken heart Thou know'st — With woe too terrible for tongue to frame ! Her bra\e ones' agonies, her daughters' shame, Her innocents' torture, by the helhsh host Of Vishnu, and that prophet false whose boast Is countless murder; — and Thou know'st our blame. In that Thy truth we falter'd to proclaim, Truth which had saved in dangers uttermost. Yet not in vain the martyrs ! not in vain Their death-prayers changed to everliving songs ; Not void the desolation, nor the pain Of thousand treacherous and ingrate wrongs : For that the Truth may thence through Ind obtain, Strike by us, " Thou to whom vengeance belongs ! " •]th Nov. 1857 (the day of humiliation). 99 TONES TO THE ABSENT.* MARY, mistrust not ; wake the charmed tone, Strike, strike ! the chords that are too sweet for vexing ; Let the attendant Spirit, aye thine own, Speak with the voice whose stillness is perplexing ; Dread not the absence of the ears that were, Open that heart which will not bear confining. And there shall issue forth a holy prayer Of heavenly music, with thy thoughts combining ; Better than words, fitter than mortal breath, Were Music for thy sorrow's true expression. For it is abler to discourse with Death, Than any language in the world's possession ; Court then, oh love ! the speech which no words needeth. The subtile tongue, whose hest the Unseen heedeth ! * To a young lady who avoided music after the death of her father. NOW AND THEN.* SO, lady, in the haven of thy will, Meeting dear sacrifice with calm contentment. Dost thou thine earthly destiny fiilfil, Thyself bereaving 'gainst thy heart's assentment. Unto the Future art thou hence allied By her, in grace and good, from thee proceeding, x\nd though the present fade, all rainbow-dyed Twill hold a blissful charm in its receding. From the mind-treasures of the joyant years, Fancy will reproduce thine own sweet springing, E'en that thou scarce shalt ken, 'twixt smiles and tears. If then, or now, the merry bells are ringing ; But, as the sun another clime adorning, Merge into one, the evening and the morning. » At the marriage of the only child of an invalid widow. THE TERCENTENARY. STRATFORD-UPON-AVON 23RD April 1864. I03 THE TERCENTENARY. A FESTAL SONG. JUST three centuries agone Was our gentle Shakespeare born, And this is his natal morn. Shall we then forbear to sing What the centuries do bring ? Shall we, thanklessly, forget An accumulated debt ? Rather let us all confess Our unsumm'd indebtedness, Let us turn from work to play. And in joy keep holiday : For, three centuries agone Was our gentle Shakespeare born, And this is his natal mom. I04 THE TERCENTENARY. With the Spring come hope and mirth, In the Spring exulteth Earth, Spring gives all the world is worth, Jocund Spring gave Shakespeare birth ! With his primal, purest ray, Phoebus beam'd upon the day ; Then in glory forth he came. Putting lesser lights to shame. Like our Shakespeare by his fame. Avon's banks are greenest green, Avon smiles in silver sheen ; Stratford town this day is glad. Streets in boughs and banners clad ; Hour of mortal waking brings Sights and sounds of joyful things ; All people drest In gayest best. The church-bells ring, Lads and lasses sing. The birds are caroling — Earth is blest ! For, three centuries agone Was our gentle Shakespeare bom, And this is his natal mom. THE TERCENTENARY. 105 Now, muster'd in the Civic Hall, The votaries obey the call Of Flower, Mayor of Stratford hight. Stalwart, portly man of might, Flower, of ample beard white : Round him and Cailisle they gather- Mayor and President together, Carlisle, him Green Erin's king. Poet-love doth hither bring, — Carlisle, who himself doth sing ; Round him throng the devotees. Marking Shakespeare's effigies ; Round him lovingly they press. They whom Sympathy doth bless ; Flower lifts his stentor voice, " All be welcome ! all rejoice ! Lo ! our revels are begun, Let us forth to feast and fun." Shade of Shakespeare. I am here, I am here In aether sphere. As aether clear ; io6 THE TERCENTENARY. I am near you, See you, hear you ; Me you not espy, But I am all eye ; Me you not hear, But I am all ear ; And though you not hear Through the way of the ear, I am whispering to you. Passing through you ; Everywhere I am there ! HI. Now the soul of Stratford smiles, Shakespeare now the hour beguiles. Ring out merrily, merrily chime, Bells that rang in Shakespeare's time ; Ring out merrily, jubilant ring. Bells that did to Shakespeare sing ; Ring out, bells, and ringing tell " Here tire bones of Shakespeare dwell : Ding dong ding, and dong ding dong. So to Shakespeare was your song. Deck'd with medal and rosette. Not unwUHngly display'd. THE TERCENTENARY. 107 Every man doth care forget, Every matron, every maid. Walks in love with Shakespeare's shade. To the foremost favoufd spot Where our Shakespeare was begot ; Where, when Nature him had won. She bestow'd her darling son ; — To the little chamber, blest More than palace golden-drest ; To the school-room, where he caught More of knowledge than was taught ; To the precinct let us hie Where he dwelt, where he did die ; To the church, where prayer he said. Where he now lies buried ; To bright Avon's grassy banks. Conscious of his boyish pranks ; Tread the sward his foot hath prest. Green, as it his tread confest ! By the same stream That on him did gleam ; In whose cool wave He oft did lave ; Whose glassy face His form did trace, — O river ! we implore That reflex us restore ! To the meadows' chequer'd shade. io8 THE TERCENTENARY. Where he ponder'd, where he play'd ; List to Philomela, sprung From the quire that to him sung ; Then unto the streets agen, Where he took his note of men. Ho ! to the banquet, in a tent Raised for this high tournament ; Grandly circled, and array'd With the proverbs Shakespeare said, — Through the roof the sunbeams streaming, Glancing, glancing here and there, As their presence was beseeming. Gleaming, dancing through the air ; Ranged at tables gaily set, Pilgrims nigh eight hundred met, — Ladies fair, and men of thought. In one love together brought. Shall they not, in genial mind. Bless the blesser of their kind ? Shall they not, in Shakespeare's vein. Loving cups to Shakespeare drain ? CarUsle, leader of the feast. He, the festival's high priest. Has the duty to proclaim Homage unto Shakespeare's name. THE TERCENTENARY. 109 For three centuries agone Was our gentle Shakespeare born, And this is his natal mom. As a poet well may prate Of a poet much more great, Carlisle spake, and in full glee, Shout the merrie companie, " Shakespearis honour' d memoriet" Yet a shout ! and, in the clang, " Avon's bard " the minstrels sang. Shade of Shakespeare. I am near you. Near you. See you, hear you ; I have been at a feast. Nor last nor least : I forget not, I regret not ! Drink I not, and yet I drink In a way you do not think ; Eat I not, and yet I eat What is better than your meat. Taste your viands, sip your wine. All you do this hour is mine ; THE TERCENTENARY. In your cup my spirit enters, In each soul my spirit centres ; All you drink, and all you eat. With my sympathy complete. Flower told of greeting sent From the German continent ; From far Moscow's domes and spires Through the telegraphic wires. Houghton for the poets spake, — For his own and brothers' sake : Creswick signalized the fame Of his great fore-runner's name. Sound the trumpet ! minstrels sing, " Hail the Thespian poet-king !" From the dais Carlisle sped. And the votaries followed. Under Cynthia's smile they rambled, At the Pyrotechny scrambled, Saw that rocket and balloon, Minish'd quicker than the Moon ; Rambled, yielding to the whim, " Here the moon so shined on him ; — Soothes his spirit, too, the light Us doth tranquillize to-night ? " THE TERCENTENARY. V. 'Tis the Sabbath : fair the day ; Now we shall with Shakespeare pray. To the church the votaries speed, Space the Gothic fane doth need. Trench, the critic-bishop, rises, Gives a sermon of surprises ; For he took their hearts along Less with sermon than with song ; More than sermon that to tell All that Shakespeare had done well ; That to picture what we owe, In our joy or in our woe, Shed throughout our mortal span. To the poet-friend of man. Near those hallow'd reliques standing, Tone and attitude commanding. Well the Preacher then did preach, Much to charm and much to teach. Shade of Shakespeare. I am the air Of this House of Prayer ; You have well said, I am comforted. THE TERCENTENARY. I bless you, Enfold you, caress you. Sweet to me the praise Touching my mortal days ; For my light, now so bright, Blinks not my sight To my earth-born darkness ; I am well bestead To be so interpreted ; I left you my best. You hold the bequest, In your love I have rest. Now to Avon's banks away. Where was Shakespeare wont to stray ; Or, in smoothly gliding boat, Floating where our Bard would float ; Fancying, as we gently row. We with him a-fishing go ; Or to grassy pathways yonder. Where on Sunday he would wander, Pacing on with quiet feet. In contemplation calm and sweet. THE TERCENTENARY. 113 Swan of Avon. Die I never, never I, Whilst my Shakespeare doth not die ; Die I never, never I, For my Shakespeare will not die ; Sing I ever, ever sing, Whilst my Shakespeare's voice doth ring ; Live I ever, dying live, Whilst my Shakespeare's name doth live ; Sing I ever, ceasing not Till his singing be forgot. VI. Every day the sun doth shine. Every day we garlands twine, Garlands made with flowers of spring. Flowers that Shakespeare caused to sing. Every day we yoke with fun, Frisk and gambol in the sun ; Burthen us no sorrow shall For 'tis Shakespeare's festival ! Ho ! to Shottery by the path Shakespeare's foot oft trodden hath, H4 THE TERCENTENARY. When he would a-courting go, Stepping neither weak nor slow. See the house where she did dwell Whom our Shakespeare held in spell ; See the house where she was bom Past three centuries agone ; Then, o'er grassy uplands, on To the hill of Luddington ; See the spot where, it is said, Shakespeare did his first love wed ; — (Aye with Shakespeare briskly walking, Aye with Shakespeare inly talking,) Over Avon, where he went, Following where his footsteps bent ; Thorough meadows, green and still, By the river-side, until We re-enter by the j\Iill ; Pass the Church where Shakespeare lies, So fulfil our sympathies. Then to Charlecote, whence, they say, Shakespeare help'd the deer away ; Scenes that Shakespeare saw, survey. Now the great Pavilion throng. Listen to our Shakespeare's song ; Songs of sad or merry note, Chaunted by a lithesome throat ; THE TERCENTENARY. 115 Songs that tell the inmost mind, And the complex thought unwind ; Songs almost of soul a part, Songs, the music of his heart. Shade of Shakespeare. I am here in the throng, I know my song ; Your singing list — Thin aether, whist ! Sing, sing, The time is spring. Sing, sing, ever sing ; Sing as I sung, Old or young ; Sing when you can, Boy or man. That was my plan ; Sing, ever sing. Mother or maid, Be not afraid. VII. Every day the sun doth shine. Every day we garlands twine, [l6 THE TERCENTENARY. Garlands made with flowers of spring, Flowers that Shakespeare caused to sing. Gay all earth, and gay the sky, Leaping fish, and birds that fly ; Gay the hill-side and the glade, Gay in light that doth not fade ; Never open'd days more bright, Match'd with splendours of the night. Heart in hand the votaries meet, Unrefrain'd the votaries greet, Tread the earth with lightsome feet, On the mead, or in the street ; Note the sky, the birds, the flowers, Cheerly court the frolic Hours. Then at eve, in mimic rage, Gather them before the stage ; See the visions that they dote. Realize what Shakespeare wrote. See his Juliet, Viola, Rosalind, Olivia, See the pictures of his brain. See him half on Earth again. Shade of Shakespeare. I am liere, I am here, In aether sphere, As aether clear ; THE TERCENTENARY. 117 I am near you, See you, hear you ; These were my loves, — I have left you my loves, For ever my loves ; Seek, you will find them. Lovingly bind them ; Earth's gifts and graces, Sweet faces, And pleasant places. Delights more high That search the sky,— Though they pass away. Be not vext, Give Fancy sway ! They are types of the next. I have left you my joy. Look above and around, There is more to be found ; Time doth not destroy. I have left you my care. Oh ! of it beware ; I look'd high and guess'd, So do you your best. Old loves are yet mine In the region divine ; ^schylus, Euripides, Homer strong, and Sophocles, ii8 THE TERCENTENARY. Plautus, Aristophanes ; Best of the chosen few, I dear old Plutarch knew, And my debt to him confest ; Nor sought in vain Cervantes, Rabelais, Montaigne, Dante, Tasso, and Petrarch, Lope de Vega, Calderon, Spenser, and my rare Ben Jon, Mad Kit Marlow, and the rest. Strive, that when from mortals free. With the greatest you may be. VIII. Lo, the longest day hath end, Every friend must part from friend ; — Still high up the Sun doth shine. Yet we know he must decline. Votaries at Shakespeare's shrine, Knit in sympathy divine, — 'Tis the tyranny of Fate To dissolve and separate ! But, before we part, we shall Meet at this great Festival, Clad as Shakespeare's folk were clad. And, albeit a little mad. Fancy, 'mid the mazy dance, Shakespeare's comely countenance. THE TERCENTENARY. 119 Make the ball-room blaze, sublime With symbols of the olden time ; Deck the room with emblems round, As where Shakespeare should be found ; Don slash'd doublet, rufif and hose, Camisole with lace and bows, And a hat that Shakespeare knows. Ladies, well your tresses trim. Lace the silken bodice slim, Look as you'd be loved by him ! Let the minstrels not forget Jig, cotillion, minuet. In the time of good Queen Bess Men were merry none the less : Let the hour of parting be In Shakespearean jollitie. So, in after-time, we'll say. We did re-create his day ! Shade of Shakespeare. It is well done, I relish your fun ; Your crew I'm among. Your hands by me wrung ; — To me Time is past. The first is as last ; But I love you, I love you. I20 THE TERCENTENARY. O sisters and brothers, I love you all well, As I have loved others ; I care for your sorrow, I join in your laughter, I ken my kith now, and my kin who come after; A century passes, and you pass away. But I'll be here then as I am at this day. TRY AGAIN. OH Mother ! how shall I spell ? Sister can spell every word ; I wish to do it as well ; — Try again. Solomon Stratton can swim ; Often I think I shall drown ; Why can't I do it like him ? — Try again. Algebra bothers my brains ; Herbert, with ease, took the prize ; What have I eam'd for my pains ? — - Try again. Tumble I went at that fence ; Fleming sat firm as a rock ; Surely my riding's pretence ! — Try again. They skate, like train on a rail ; I cannot keep on my legs ; On ice one's courage does fail ! — Try again. TRY AGAIN. The balls run just where they say; How do they drive 'em so sure ? Bilhards I never shall play ! — Try again. Hand ! me thou wilt not obey ; Craftsman, it's legerdemain ! Why is my work as your play ? — Try again. Science to me is a maze, Albeit some prate it so glib ; Mercy ! my head it will craze ; — Try again. Strange ! how such pictures they make ; What I do is but a daub ; Palette and brush I'll forsake ! — Try again. Music I love, and would play, Art superhuman it seems ; Practice to me is dismay ! — Try again. Thoughts to the world would I tell ; Difficult efibrt it proves ; Some, not my betters, write well ; — Try again. TRY AGAIN. 123 What is the Orator's power ? Me, pubHc speaking confounds ; Gladstone can spout by the hour ; — Try again. Fix'd was my hope on that chance ! Lost ! whither now shall I go ? Backwards whilst others advance ! — Try again. Ruin ! half-way up to fame, Down from the ladder I fell ; Nothing is left me but shame ! — Try again. My love ! ah, half of my soul ! Yet she my love has denied ; Hard my distress to control ! — Try again. Oh, to determine the right ! Wrong hath its reasons as well ; Error like truth is bedight ! — Try again. Firm in their faith, do they preach, Wliat nothing on earth can prove ; How to such faith shall I reach ? — Try again. 124 A CANTICLE. What has become of my prayer ? Struggle, and struggle in vain ; Broken heart whispers despair ! — Try again. A CANTICLE. UNTO God, the all-pervading, Whence we came, in Whom we live. Men, for aye your voices raise Unto God, in songs of praise ! Unto God, Whose gifts are boundless, we will give all we can give. Of unconscious earth made conscious, conscious earth of God aware ; Men, for aye your voices raise Unto God, in songs of praise ! Knowing God, shall we unknow Him for a moment out of prayer ? A CANTICLE. 125 Sole indued with admiration, sole conceptive of applause ; Men, for aye your voices raise Unto God, in songs of praise ! Sole, on Earth enraptured gazing, more enraptured of the Cause. Witness, diverse shell refulgent glistening crystal, ore, and gem ; Men, for aye your voices raise Unto God, in songs of praise ! Witness, egg of bird or insect, and the germen in the stem. Witness, living things quiescent, varied flower, and herb, and tree ; Men, for aye your voices raise Unto God, in songs of praise ! Witness, zoophytes, perceptive though they neither hear nor see. Witness, ye ephemera, lasting the duration of a breath ; Men, for aye your voices raise Unto God, in songs of praise ! Witness parasite, and fungus springing beautiful from death. 126 A CANTICLE. Witness, animated creatures, of the water, land, or air ; Men, for aye your voices raise Unto God, in songs of praise ! ^^'itness, complex works that, working, silently their God declare. Witness, myriad modes of instinct new in beings numberless ; Men, for aye your voices raise Unto God, in songs of praise ! Witness, each existence order'd a superior life to bless. Witness well, ye orbs of glory ! balanced by a mighty spell ; Men, for aye your voices raise Unto God, in songs of praise ! AVitness, meteors and comets, forces that their course compel. Witness, principles of Nature, laws that winds and seas control ; Men, for aye your voices raise Unto God, in songs of praise ! Witness, mysteries electric, and the needle to the pole. A CANTICLE. 127 Witness, verities of Science, lighting to the vast unfound ; Men, for aye your voices raise Unto God, in songs of praise ! Witness, philosophic visions unexpress'd by verbal sound. Witness, godlike power of Reason, scanning the sublunar scene ; Men, for aye your voices raise Unto God, in songs of praise ! Witness, higher reason, rising to the proof of the unseen. Witness, habitudes unreason'd, tending always to the best ; Men, for aye your voices raise Unto God, in songs of praise ! Witness, human heart confessing more than reason has confest. Witness, Fancy daring further than the farthest planets roll ; Men, for aye your voices raise Unto God, in songs of praise ! Witness, inspiration prompted through the whispers of the soul. 128 A CANTICLE. Witness, awful voice of Conscience — voice at war with mortal sin ; Men, for aye your voices raise Unto God, in songs of praise ! Witness, God in man residing — making man with Angels kin. Witness, Mind of Man revolving of the future and the past ; Men, for aye your voices raise Unto God, in songs of praise ! Witness, Man, the God-perceiving, seeking to the first and last. Witness, Providence prevailing omnipresent though unsought ; Men, for aye your voices raise Unto God, in songs of praise ! Witness, God's unmeasured goodness — mercy passing human thought ! 129 A HYMN FOR ALL PEOPLE. ALMIGHTY Father, hear ! Our voice to Thee we raise In gratitude and fear ; And tunefully to praise Thy holy Name, confessing, With humble heart, our sin, — Beseeching for Thy blessing. Great God, so long forbearing. With us, the while transgressing. And for Thee little caring ; — Let not Thy wrath begin ! We have done ill, unknowing. And, thanklessly, received ;^ But, Thy mercy much exceedeth. As our feeble nature needeth ; — Oh ! if Thou cease bestowing. We are of all bereaved ! 13° A LAMENT. HE is gone ; our hopes and fears Are ended now — by death ; And from his parting breath Outspring our tears ! Gone, — ah ! wherefore was he born Only to mock our love ; Only to soar above, And make us mourn ? Yet not mourn \vithout relief, For, loving, we shall own That never to have known Were deeper grief. Never Davy to have seen. Never his gentle face. His unlearnt baby grace, And look serene ; Not the quick though steady eye. The mounting forehead fair, Cluster'd with Saxon hair In " brutus" high; A LAMENT. 131 Davy's eye, observant, blue. His brow of noble traits, Thoughtful in infant days, Of promise true ; Never list his laughing joy, Proving by every sense A clear intelligence, And all the boy. It were greater loss and woe. Not to have seen him — dead, In loveliness unsaid On th' earth below ; Beauty that unto him came New, when earth-life had past, Hovering to the last, A lambent flame ; Beauty that had been innate, — As bud involveth bloom, — Subliming to assume A saintlier state. Patience ! He is still my son, Davy, — Andy's brother, — For there is another Heaven hath won ; 132 A LAMENT. Andy, he of massive brain, Of mortal beauty rare ; Strangers on earth they were, As angels twain. Andrew, David, they are ours. Dear Wife, they do not die To us, but are for aye — Immortal dowers. Earthly ownings can be lost ; But heart to heart doth teach, Soul-gifts live — out of reach Of fire or frost. 9 February, 1859- 133 LOVE AND TIME. SAID'ST thou the time was brief? Who stole the hours away ? Stem justice bids me say Thou wert the thief ! Shall I then blame thee for The theft that was my joy ? And, lest thou Time destroy, Flee from thy presence, or Shall I, contented, bless The charmer and the charm. That can so sweetly harm In sweet forgetfulness ? Oh, then, increase thy crime, — That, if from day to day. Thou steal the hours away. There'll be an end of Time ! '34 THE LOVE TEST. OH ! frank, fond kiss — oh ! sweet, spun kiss, Pressing tire lips, and clinging ; Oh ! heart rejoice, whilst her clear voice Aye in mine ear is ringing. If that sweet kiss e'er quit my lips, I'll think she is offended ; When those dear tones mine ear not owns, I'll know her love is ended. 135 PITY OR ENVY. LOVE me ! or pity not : Mine image all outblot ;- Lest I that wretch should be, Pitied for losing thee ! [Will love from pity grow ? Cold reason tells me no ; May greater spring from less ? Hope faintly whispers, yes !] Give but thy love to me ;— Pity to hell be hurl'd ! Then am I, gaining thee. The envy of the world. 136 MABEL. TURNING, her face shone on me, and I saw More than in speech is found ! the vision dwells— Haunting my memory as a gracious guest ; Absence, or darkness, trouble, space, or time, Dim not to me the full expression fair : Melt, melting eyes, ye cannot freeze to me ; Smile, dimpled cheeks, to me for ever smile ; Pout, pretty lips, to me for ever pout ; Beam, sunny brow— never on me to frown ; Shine, seraph-countenance, unshaded aye, — Constant to me whilst constant is my mind, Never to fade, never to look unkind. 137 SONG. THE INCONSTANT. SO you think she deserves not my love ; That she's fickle, and may be untrue ? Well, why should I fret or complain That she seems not to me as to you ? For I love her, I love her, you see, And I think that she much loveth me. I have look'd into eyes more full. Enfolded a neck more fair. Taken honey from ruddier lips, And toy'd with more soft silken hair : But I love her, I love her, you see. And I think that she much loveth me. I've rejoiced with a spirit more frank, A more bland and beneficent grace ; I have won me a tenderer smile Than the sweet sunny beam of her face ; But I love her, I love her, you see, And I think that she much loveth me. .8 THE INCONSTANT. Ha ! you say that on him she'll bestow The favour I thought only mine ? Well, if s pity, and serveth to show That, as mortal, she's not all divine : Yet I love her, I love her, you see, Though I know that she not loveth me. '39 GOLDEN HAIR. PYRRHA, thy golden tresses Fall on my silvery pate, E'en as the sunshine blesses A wretch disconsolate. Cleon, thy golden dowers Much to my heart are worth ; Like as the summer showers Refresh the thirsty earth. Nay, nay ! thy gold, my Pyrrha, Is richer far than mine ; For these resplendent tresses Around my heart entwine. Cleon, my heart thou bindest About with cords of gold ; Else, lover though the kindest, Thy silver were too cold. Ah ! lovely, saucy Pyrrha, Thy gold is more than gold ; For near thy golden tresses, I never can be old. 140 IMPROMPTU. AH ! lady, pity the poor fluttering mite, Which, madden'd by the radiance of thine eye, Found, that to taste of the intense deHght, Was but to feed ambition, and to die. Cherish the memory of the tiny bird. That, proudly scornful of the taper's flame, In orbfed brightness instant death preferr'd To the spun pleasure of a joy more tame. So have I dared, when the twin meteors blazed. To bask a moment in the liquid fire ; So, at the flashing tempters have I gazed. And known that but to look was to expire. HI THE COQUETTE. VIOLET on that bosom white, Did its loveliness decoy thee ? Soon thou sheddest thy delight, Quickly will its warmth destroy thee ! So, the lure I know too late. And the spell of that soft eye ; Violet, happier thy fate That dost on her bosom die ! 142 SEVILLA. IN after-days I oft shall praise The towers, and flowers, of fair Sevilla ; Her sun and shade, and busy ways Graced by the Donas in mantilla ; Her grand Cathedral's solemn gloom ; Her zephyrs sweet with orange-bloom ; Her patios cool with pure azul, And all her Moorish maravilla ; But chief in memory will rule, (As far above as great Orion ! ) A sprite or bird Which there I heard ; An English tongue, That spake or sung In simple sooth Or careless truth. And the frank laugh of Dame Carlyon ! Sevilla, i May, i860. EPHEMERA. 145 YE BATTEL DAYE.» HO ! a joust of joyance rare, The Sussex chivalry was there, Maidens, matrons, knight and squire. All the flower of the shire ; (In the tilting of this day. Was there nought of warlike play. Only (g)lances that did fly Peacefully from eye to eye, And the combat's rage was spent In a learned argument :) From afar, with aim aesthetic. Philosophers peripatetic ; — Britton, ancient antiquary. History's depositary ; ('Tis supposed that he is able To describe the Tower of Babel, That he knows the secrets hid Under the great Pyramid, And was with his, Briton, clan At Stonehenge, and made the plan !) ' The Meeting of the Sussex ArchKological Society at Battle. 146 y£ BATTEL DAVE. Mantell, wise in fossil stones, Very conjurer with bones ; Hunter, munimental student, Sage in dates, in phrases prudent ; And in force numerical. Scholars lay and clerical, — All to Battel Abbey came In the Ladye Webster's name. To the ancient Hall with glee Flock'd the goodlie companie ; On the dais, as of old. Sate the wisest and most bold ; Chiefest, like a warrior brave. Was the Thane of Waldegrave ; Then the Minstrels at command Sang the deeds of fatherland : Lower first, the bard of Lewes, Told the conquering Norman's prowess ; Sad as dying swan he caroFd Of the final woe of Harold ; Of the ground whereon he stood Drench'd with Sax and Norman blood ; That all saw, ere he had done, England lost and England won. Hunter next, with modest grace, Occupied the minstrel's place; And the burthen of his song YE BATTEL DAYE. 147 Wrought eftsoons a passion strong ; For he quash'd, with accents bland, A tradition of the land, — Swore the famous Roll of Battle None it was but housewife's prattle, And in softest tones denied Fame to those who fought and died ; Shriek'd the ladies, horror-stricken, Antiquaries' hearts did sicken, Men of high ancestral pride Wish'd him stoned or crucified. And the spirits hovering near Groan'd in torment — sad to hear ; Fled the companie in haste. Hunter honied words did waste, B * * * * Y^r of Beechland raised his voice In a chaunt of wond'rous noise, Essaying to soothe their fears With a song of " nuts and pears ;" But in vain — for some do know When to stay and when to go ; — Pitying their loss that day, B * » * * ^ of Beechland strode away. Now the mid-day meal was spread, Where the monks, of yore, were fed, In the vast Refectory ; — 'Twas a pleasant sight to see 148 Y£ BATTEL DA YE. Such a joyous companie Ranged at tables, o'er and o'er, Twice two centuries and more Of gay dame and cavalier ; So they wassail — till their ear One in phrase polite doth crave, — 'Tis the Thane of Waldegrave : Then they pledge the Queen around, With the shout, the crypts resound ; To the Prince a cup they quaff, Him, Victoria's "better half;" To the Ladye Webster's name Next they drink with loud acclaim ; Then a mighty shout they gave For the Thane of Waldegrave ; Spake the Thane, and well said he, Spake the Thane right gallantly ; Britton spake, and worthie Lower, Hunter meek, and many more ; B * * * * w of Beechland then begun. But the dames effray'd did run ; As a dream by noise is sped The assembly vanished. Shone the sun, the zephyrs play'd Lightly in the chequer'd shade ; Type of human life, the day Mark'd unnoted its decay ; YE BATTEL DAVE. 149 Phoebus loath the joy to mar, Pitiful, restrain'd his car ; — On the lawn, among the flowers, In the cool of archfed bowers. Paced the fairy feet so light Of the dames with visage bright, SmiUng, laughing, full of glee, Laughing out right merrilie, Pass'd the happy companie. Backward, forward, here and there ; Music floating in the air Blended with the voices' hum — The climacteric had come : — 'Tis the superpenal doom, All things ripen to their tomb ; Lo, they ripen, ripen on Unto their perfection. Unto dissolution. — Like a fantasy of mist Which but now the mountain kist, Fringed round with beauteous dyes From the golden orb, at even, (Minor whisperings of the skies By reflection fresh from heaven,) So is gone the happy host, Whilst Hill and Abbey both remain, So its elements not lost. Elsewhere shall be condensed again. I50 THE LAY OF THE LAY OF THE RAINY DAY. (meeting of the SUSSEX ARCHAEOLOGICAL SOCIETY, i860.) OH ! you ennuyts and biases in need of a little variety Should have join'd the bonnie belles and the anti- quarian swells of the Sussex Archaeological Society, Last Wednesday, when they flock'd to the railway like folks in a frenzy. Determined, come what might, they would take their flight — to Pevdnsey. The rain pour'd, the clouds lour'd, and the wind roar'd three-parts of a gale. But away they went, on pleasure intent, like ships out of port, full sail ; From Brighton Station began the migration, and Falmer yielded its parson. And at Lewes and Glynde the platforms were lined with zealots to carry the farce on ; The Railway folk enjoying the joke shut the car- riage doors with a leer, THE RAINY DAY. 151 As much as to say, You're off for the day, but if sane would have surely stay'd here ; At Polegate and Berwick a few, half hysteric, swell'd the devoted throng. And the steam with a yell too late broke the spell, as it madly bore them along : Pevensey gain'd, more than ever it rain'd, the vic- tims were call'd to turn out. Beneath them the mud, above them the flood, as they hopelessly paddled about ; But 'Busses and Flys now gladden'd their eyes, and to them they went helter skelter. Forgetting their lore, except about Noah, and thinking of nothing but shelter. The ladies forlorn wish'd they'd never been bom, and the squires ofifer'd comfort in vain, For what can be said when the clouds overhead are pelting and drenching with rain ? So whether or no to the 'Busses they go, and sub- mit to a terrible cram. Till the leaders desire they'll get out in the mire and zAmire the Church of West Ham. Then back to the road they draggle and load with a squeeze yet worse than before. And over the Marsh, the wind howling harsh, and the rain persevering to pour. To tell of the doin's at Hurstmonceaux' ruins would be an exposure too bad, 152 THE LAY OF Knights and dames in a puddle, wise men in a muddle, exploring the Castle like mad ; This Castle invaded, to 'Busses they waded, fishy and moist pack'd together ; And each lady said, as she lifted her head, " Dear me ! what unfortunate weather ;'' So, in a frenzy, back to Pevdnsey, they went like a flock or a brood Of — let no one say what, though antiquaries not — for they were in search of — food : And here within walls which had been baronial halls they found a splendid new marquee, Fumish'd forth with tables and abundant eztadks very delightful to see : Then they tried to forget their feet very wet, and the grass rather damp for a floor. And look'd for their places, and made merry faces, and ceasbd to fret or deplore : There was Bishop Gilbert sweet as a filbert, and even like butter-milk mild. As proved the maiden near him, who surely didn't fear him, but almost continually smiled ; He, the Bishop serene, gave toasts of the Queen, the Prince, and all that is Royal, And the good girls and boys made the proper noise, and did everything that is loyal ; W. D. Lucas Shadwell did his best to make bad well, and ended by toasting Blencowe ; THE RAINY DA Y. IS3 Which was cause of great applause made by all paws — louder than the winds did blowj Then Mr. Blencowe, who nothing dorCt know, was so good as to speak very fast ; And Archdeacon Otter did pleasantly potter on the high influence of the past ; Mark Antony Lower spoke rather slower, and read 'em a yard of his rhyme. And Sir Walter StirHng, his knowledge unfurling, committed the M. P.'s crime : Then Mr. D. Cooper with wit always super (lative shows what is meant) Read Andrew Boorde's letter, good but not better than much that he oft doth invent : Then Mr. I. Hankey, nor prosy nor lanky, spoke of Pevensey's old Corporation, And the Rev""*. T. Brown (would he never sit down ?) thank'd him wittily for that oration : Now out of the crowd came the voice clear and loud of Holland, the corporate Member, Who swore with a shout that his mind he would spout, even though he stood there till December. Then after that " holler" rose Dodson the scholar, and spoke as an M. P. should. Which, though they were tired, the ladies admired, declaring it very good. Then a member unknown said the ladies had shone with a lustre that brighten'd the skies, 154 THE LAY OF THE RAINY DAY. And Powell the witty gave thanks in a ditty that dimm'd for a moment their eyes. The rain had ceased, but the wind increased till it threaten'd to level the tent, So out they flew without more ado, and straight to the Station they went. 155 THE LAY OF THE MAYOR. IN the year one eight six one O Stalwart Smithers gave a spread, And we shall relate the fun 0, What was done and what was said. Mayor of Brighton then was Smithers, Nine November was the day, And the day he got the honour For it he began to pay. All the world he had invited (Each man hath a world to hhn) And the elders round him gather'd, More than twice the Sanhedrim. M.P.'s both for Town and County, Judges, Magistrates, J.P.'s, Coroner, Stipendiary, And Recorder above these : Town-Clerk, Aldennan, Council-lors, Clerk of Peace, and men of fight. Him the Principal of College, Vicar, and his satellite. Soldier, Sailor, and Civilian, And the hybrid Volunteer, 156 THE LAY OF THE MAYOH. Lawyers, Parsons, and Physicians, Loving equally — good cheer. Full two hours amain they feasted, Full two hours forgot the Mayor, Nor found time to cast a glance on Smithers beaming " in the chair;" (Save when once aloud he shouted In a high and lofty strain. All, at once, his guests to challenge In a bumper of champagne.) Now the clarion out-sounded. And the guests knew it did mean. Stalwart Smithers would command them Presently to Toast the Queen. Twice again spoke out the trumpet. Twice again spoke out " the Chair," One, to toast the Royal Circle, Next, " the Army" to declare. Then from Waterloo and Cintra, General Byam, veteran, Grand of frame, in soldier's accents Made them proud of Englishman. Now the Minstrels tuned their voices To a chaunt of harmonie, Doleful were the sounds emitted. Though they slily call'd it " glee." Then spake Moor, the Tory would-be, Saying in a manly tone THE LAY OF THE MAYOR. 157 That the Magistrates call'd County Did deserve the trumpet blown. Verrall next in courteous phrases Deftly lauded gown and bell, And the venerable Vicar Spake illogically well. Burrows toasted the Recorder In befitting terms of praise, And Judge Locke right-well responded — Promising for future days. Rose the portly Colonel F * * * * tt, (India's fire with Europe's force) He " proposed" the Borough Members, And held forth till he was hoarse. Turning to the Borough Members He, so much on speaking bent, Put the M.P.'s in the lobby And himself in Parliament. Then on politics he spouted. Whilst he wildly trod the floor, Insisted on what no one doubted. And did like a hon roar. First he shouted, Sugar ! sugar ! ! Then " Potatoe" did repeat. Then cried. Cotton ! cotton ! ! cotton ! ! ! Then abruptly took his seat. Soon the M.P.'s ceased from wond'ring What the Colonel was about, 158 THE LAY OF THE MAYOR. And prepared themselves with patience To be singly " trotted out." Coningham show'd noble bearing, White look'd jovial, stout, and tall, Dodson sounded wise and witty And his " cotton twist" let fall. Once again the clarion sounded And the herald bade prepare, Worthily to toast his worship. Stalwart Smithers' self — the Mayor. Then as one they stood to do it, And a mighty peal arose. Now declining, now increasing, Lingering, lingering to a close. Smithers stood, as Minstrels ended, Aspect beaming like the sun. And a silence as at sunrise Reign'd around till he had done. Grateful words of man are sweeter Than the notes the night-bird sings. And his melting modest visage Told unutterable things ! Then the Borough Bench was toasted, And their merry-witted Chief Pleasantly their thanks did tender In a jocund speech and brief (Here the Clergy, much affrighted. Snuff' d the (Sunday) morning air. THE LAY OF THE MAYOR. 159 Wildly fled, — perhaps some of them Had a sermon to prepare.) Still the clarion out-sounded Still the herald did proclaim, Still the minstrel-tones resounded, Still the bottle went and came. Past-Mayor Alger, being toasted, Show'd himself, and fairly spake ; And "the Brighton Corporation" Help'd to keep the guests awake. When the Railway Co. was toasted. Chairman Schuster bravely swore That the interests of Brighton He'd at heart — no, nothing more ! When the fluent Lamb up-mounted — He, in his meandering way. Whilst the Parish folk " proposing," Would have talk'd till break of day. Now the guests began deserting. Or the toasts did dare to flout, — Stalwart Smithers said, " I'm Chairman, And I mean to have it out ! " So (it being Sunday morning). They must toast " The Deputie," When the Alderman enlarged on " Good feelz«' an' 'armony." Finally the clarion sounded. And the herald did proclaim l6o THE LAY OF THE MAYOR. That they had to toast " the ladies," (Left the latest to their shame !) So they rose to do their duty, All the straggled companie. And with ill-attunfed vigour Rattled out a " three times three." After pause for a respondent — Burrows did the part assume, And announced " he'd pop the question For any bachelor in the room !" This struck all the guests with choking, Out they rush'd with horrent cough. Stalwart Smithers left the table, Ellis safely bore him off. i6i THE PEACE-FIGHT. 1. IT was on Easter Monday, anno eighteen sixty- two, Went all mankind to Brighton for the Volunteer Review, (And this includes all womankind, for it's proper to declare That, if without the ladies, less than half man had been there). At morn the rain it rainfed, and stormily did rain, Causing to early risers a doleful deal of pain ; But wiser folk, who rest in peace, woke when the rain had done, And found the world rejoicing right merrily in the II. From far and near the thousands of patriot troops had come, And now, in order'd regiments, on march'd to fife and drum ; Until the South-Coast City of luxury and ton 1 62 THE PEACE FIGHT. Was as a camp in motion, or leaguer'd garrison. In the gardens of the Palace, and on enclosed lawns, The companies brigaded at the call of bugle- horns. Gay was the sight and gladdening when thus the work begun. Colours and bright arms mingled, moving all like one — In the midst a crystal fountain dancing in the sun. in. Thunder'd out now the cannon for the march away To the open country, and for the martial play ; Three miles upward, upward, tramp, tramp, tramp they went. Timing it to music, as if on battle bent. Long, long the line extendeth,- — up the hill they go, T\\-ice ten thousand citizens, discipline to show : Footmen, horsemen, cannoneers, — since the world was made Never man hath gazed on so noble a cavalcade. IV. Up, on the lofty Down-land, anon they look abroad. Up, on the breezy South Downs clothed with primeval sward ; THE PEACE FIGHT. 163 Soft, on the herby carpet, silent and soft they tread, — Distant, blue sea below them, blue sky overhead, — Low beneath, the sea waves waving to the strand, Above, the mighty billows of the waving land, — Vast transmuted billows moving on no more, A primordial ocean that has lost its shore ; Sinuous undulations linking graceful lines. Reaching as a famess that hath no confines ; And well were there to witness, cheering them along. Ranged round that high theatre, a grateful, countless throng — Of men and maids and matrons whom all degrees did blend. In pride of those battalions that would their homes defend. v. Soon on the ground came riding, attended by his knights. Lord Clyde, the well-proved hero of a hundred fights. His, the highest judgment, would test the Volun- teer, With his consummate tactics, and his eye severe. Could he fail to love them, the serried masses there. Stretching round the hill-side — square, and square, and square ? 1 64 THE PEACE FIGHT. Stretching round the hill-side like a horse-shoe bent, Marking out a horse-shoe of a mile extent. Rode he, the old General, all along the line. Making every front-man look his finest fine ; Rode he, the old General, with a canny scan. Seeming that he measured every single man. Here and there he halted courteous words to say. Here and there he question'd in his cautious way ; Here and there he halted fitly to survey. Sudden, along the whole line gallop'd he to west, Those who would be with him then had to ride their best — Following in a scamper straight along the Course, Where the General, foremost, rode the winning horse! Till the Grand Stand gaining, quickly he " puU'd up," The folk amain him cheering, as if he'd " won the Cup !" VI. Hereat, the first inspection being a work achieved. The General did halt awhile, receiving and received. By Lord Lieutenant Chichester, and Cardigan the bold— A name to be for ever with Balaclava told. VII. The spirit-stirring trumpet spoke out a martial blast. THE PEACE FIGHT. 165 Forth telling the commencement of the " marching past." First a troop of cavalry, then the Hants Light Horse — Huntsmen-looking warriors, apt the land to cross. Then in prescribed succession follow'd all the corps. Marching, marching bravely 'mid the music of applause ; Drab, blue, white and scarlet, forest-green, and grey, And plumes diversely tinted in picturesque array. Proudly each one bore him, more and more a man As he took the place of honour, a moment in the van. Endless seem'd the trooping, and, when at last 'twas o'er. In the way of a parting blessing, the people gave " one cheer more." Volunteers disappearing, all the world began to munch. For Lord Clyde, albeit a hero, is a mortal man at lunch. VIII. Whilst the General was refreshing, the troops at work had been. And the " enemy," got to Jericho somewhere near Rottingdean ; 1 66 THE PEACE FIGHT. And defensive lines were forming around two valleys nigh, With cannon, sword, and rifle, to smite him hip and thigh. To check the foe advancing, the great guns on the hill, Oped their tremendous thunder (and roused some lunching still.) The encounter thus beginning, soon furiously raged Along the distant valley, where first the troops " engaged." Then the defence retreating, in strategy, not fear, Was gradually pervading the horse-shoe valley near. Boom ! boom ! boom ! went the cannon, and quick the volleys blazed. Whereat the peaceful natives were wondrously amazed — And more at the manoeuvres, which were no whit less grand Because the charm'd beholders did not them understand. The smoke was made with powder, the noise was made with guns. And all the toiling combatants were dear Old England's sons ; How they did mount the steep slopes at " double quick" to charge. THE PEACE FIGHT. 167 Proved they had lungs and muscles; and hearts both strong and large. That gay, green brow was truly a glorious sight to see, That glen with smoke encompass'd, fiU'd with such chivalrie : The General Commanding watch'd from the eastern hill. Horse messengers forth sending his orders to fulfil. From all high spots surrounding great guns in turn do roar, And wake a hundred echoes that never spake before ; The sunny southern valley is everywhere alive With martial evolutions — busy as a hive ; Now they form a front-line half-a-mile in length. Now are changed in solid squares of bayonetted strength ; Now out-spread as skirmishers, alternate fast and slow; Now in steepest places up and down they go ! O'er all the sun, unshaded, well shineth to reveal The varied hues, the waving plumes, the flashing, glancing steel. IX. From full three hours less mid-day until ap- proach of night i68 THE PEACE FIGHT. Had those unflinching citizens toil'd on without respite ; Doubtless the good old General resolved he would make sure Whether, if having good intent, they also could endure, Doubtless the brave old Soldier had proved to him that day That the patriot British Volunteer can work as well as play. All toil should be productive — and one's soul doth feel delight At thought of twenty thousand men, with a won- drous appetite ! At thought of twenty thousand men, tall, shorter, fatter, thinner, A host of twenty thousand men — all so enjoying dinner ! Then as to General Lord Clyde, let's hope he well did dine. And that he got to comfort him a bottle of good old wine. l69 A TALE OF THE FLOOD. (the " BREAKING OF THE BOURN," NEAR BRIGHTON, 1852.) GILES and Tummas walk'd abroad On Sunday, to the London Road, Which the postman did assever Is a highway turn'd to river : First to Patcham, where the waters Have ta'en up their winter quarters — - 'Tis a " meeting of the waters :" From the vaporous cloudy wreath, From rebelUous springs beneath. From the village well o'erflowing — All unto a river growing. Saith Giles, " I doubt the well's bewitch'd ; Instead of waiting to be fetch'd, The water bids the sun good day, And, without carrying, goes away." Saith Tummas, " What I most admires In this quandary of the Squire's — His garden's very like a moat. The great house is a leaky boat.'' " And," saith Giles, " the more's a wonder. It's drier on the roof than under.'' 170 A TALE OF THE FLOOD. Thence to Withdean by the highway, Not speedily to be a dry way — For the new-bom river scamper'd Faster than they walk'd, much hamper'd By the springy boggy ground Where alone they footing found ; On to Preston, where the river Did in twain its bulk deliver. Soon again to meet in one, Galloping and dancing on To the Town of Brighthelmstone, Wliere the torrent, broad and strong, Thereto coursing miles along, Suddenly doth disappear ; — Giles and Tummas tarried here. Awe-struck that without a pause The flood is gone as 't never was : O'er the chasm both they bent. Each support the other lent, "Whilst with terror unassumed They gazed whereto the water boom'd Down the gulf with ceaseless flow, — Saith Giles, " I'ze 'maz^d where it go !" Tummas groan'd a deep " Oho !" Quoth a greybeard standing by, " Dullards you maun be sure/y, Don't you see this building here Is a lab'rat'ry for beer ? A TALE OF THE FLOOD. \Ti In this brewery, underground, They have made a vat profound, — There they save this Uquid dear, There convert it into beer : In the earth are amber stores. Spread on the primeval shores Cover'd by the mighty hills ; It from subtile veins distils. And much blendeth with this stream — Just, you know, like milk and cream. Hence the beer they have for sale, Look ! they write it ' Amber Ale.' " * Tummas oped his eyes as wide As his .eyelids would divide. Saith Giles, departing, " Well, I'm sure, If that 'ere ben't a lucky brewer ! " • It is certainly trae that the "Amber Ale Brewery "is situated as described by the Greybeard, and true also that the torrent does in a very mysterious manner vanish under the foundations of the said Brewery. For the other particulars we cannot vouch, but we know that poets are often favoured with an insight not permitted to ordinary mortals. — Ed. B. H. 172 STIGMA LOWERI. READ AFTER DINNER 25TH JANUARY, i860. MARC ANTONY LOWER 's a prince at palaver But, plainly to speak, a most rascally carver ; Tmce his aid at the table no host will employ Having seen the arch-spoiler hew, hack, and destroy ; As Hecuba's dire the despair of the wife Who ever has trusted his hand with a knife ; That moment all reason and sense fly away. He seizes your prog as a tiger his prey. Your Beef he saws thick, your Down Mutton thin, Or if it be fish serves out nothing but fin ; If Chicken he causes beholders to groan, Tearing flesh into ribbons and sinew from bone ; Seeing near him a Ham you ask him for that — When straightway he gives you a dollop of fat ; In the matter of pie put not in him your trust. Lest wishing for fruit you get nothing but crust : He 's been known many times to be very profuse With the savoury stuffing, forgetting the Goose, STIGMA LOWER/. 173 And, wisely avoiding your steel blade to tarnish, Help the lady who's next him to nothing but garnish ; He can cut with a pen, and concoct you a dish Out of fine modern ink with an ancient relish, But in carving and " serving " of Lower beware, Else, though you be parson, he'll make you to swear. Thus then in the higher, you recognize Lower, Though in this which is lower, you love him no more ! Marc Antony Lower enjoys his vacation. But says there's no time in it for' — recreation ; And then for long months he pursues his V(7cation Like horse in a mill without any cessation : Hence a problem provoking no small botheration, Namely — which is vacation and which is vacation ? For the difference here between vo and va Should value the same as between work and play. Or even as much as between do and say ; But whether in vo or whether in va. Or whether in work or whether in play, Or whether in do or whether in say. The metamorphosis is with O and A ; So with Lower — a slave who ne'er kicks off his fetters — Call it work, call it play, it's a question of letters. 174 IN GERMANY, 1844. Cologne Cathedral seen from the Rhine. LIKE a dismember'd stone-god thou appearest ! Knowing the course of ages will restore Thy giant limb, and front sublime thou rearest, As the great Titan proudly did of yore ; And even now is thy abasement o'er. For man admits thy long neglected right, Resolving to endure the shame no more ; Lo ! where the weed had growth, the owl delight, Again the chisel clinks with hundred-handed might. A Full Moon at Ehrenereitstein. I SAW at Ehrenbreitstein the still queen Crowning, refulgent, the embattled height, Smiling on all things with as pure a sheen As she forth shed her first created night ; Such sweet communion held she by her light. That the lone mortal, gazing from afar. Forgot his earth-born nature, and, despite Whate'er of ill his aspirations mar. Became for little while as her attendant star. IN GERMANY. 175 The Ariadne. 'Tis a great deed, Danndcker, thus to earn A perpetuity self-centred, so That if the unending lot whereto we yearn Not unto us were granted, thou wouldst know Prolong'd existence, whilst men come and go. Keeping thyself a name forever new. Nor would man's Maker thus on man bestow The skill creative, and unpleased view Of our decaying form such lasting image true. The Same. 'Tis very true, that arm reposeth sweetly. Wholly uncared for by the eager mind. And the fair form is fashion'd so completely, It is too difficult a fault to find ; Yet, if unto a choice I were inclined. First would I praise the limb depending low. As proof of art in nature, most refined . Show me that it is nerveless, ere I go ! Or, if she liveth not, how she supports it so ? 176 IN GERMANY. The Dresden Gallery of Paintings. Treasure of atoms of great souls translated, Sparks of the inextinguishable fire Erst in the upward struggle scintillated, Relics bequeath'd to comfort and mspire The future earth-worm destined to be higher, Beautiful sublimations of high thought Prison'd for centuries in dense attire, Glimpses, in heavenward flight, by genius caught. To thousands aye unknown if not to vision brought. Bastei, Saxony. Spot from primeval chaos unsubdued. Or, haply, left by the creative Word An instance of that fell disorder crude ; AVe gaze and tremble ! the still spirit, stirr'd Into emotion by this shapeless herd Of things material ; and thus do own. In all our pride of destiny deferr'd. We have a kindred nature with the stone. And bow, small block to great, as we to fear are prone. IN GERMANY. i77 Brandt, Saxony. Methinks the countless orbs in space revolving, At the beginning were concrete in one; And that dread shock, the vast compact dissolving, Left here enruin'd, when the wrack was done, A city, which man's work should equal none. Monstrous foundations, taller than our spires, Columns, sky-searching, though but yet begun. Portals, from whose survey man, shrunk, retires ; Grandeur beyond our means, nigh to our proud desires. The Novice. Within that antique convent thou art hidden,- A jewel in a casket, yet mine eye Lacks not thine image ; for, in spirit bidden. The loved form, like an angel, standeth by. Ah, if indeed unwilling, wouldst thou hie Unto the mountain-top, with features mild, And, with a ghostly presence, hear me sigh ? This were to prove true love but fancy's child. And sympathy, alas ! only a notion wild. 178 FELICIA. LADY, the nightingale did sing, full-hearted, As on my homeward way I lingered yesterday, Oppress'd with sorrow that from thee I'd parted ; (Ah ! tuneful, happy sprite. Singing thy roundelay Of all that love can say Throughout the charmed night ! Why is our lot, alas ! so different — Art thou more blest, or I less innocent ?) Dearest, if the soul do wander. As the Orientals tell, Into various tenements Still on earth to dwell. Then I pray, whate'er my fate. Thou a nightingale may be. Hymning, aye, at Heaven's gate From a spring-time tree ; Never but in music speaking. Smiled on by the listening stars, Soothing man in his distress, Joy attain'd yet keenly seeking, — Only varying the bars Of a sweet-toned happiness ! 179 THE LAST GOOD-BYE. MOTHER, no more we'll see thy face, We'll hear thy voice no more. Our life will never seem again Just as it was before. Yet will the seasons come and go, The sun and moon will shine. But all our consciousness will lack, The portion which was thine. So now begin we life anew. Past, present, future, changed; And many an old accustom'd thought Must be from us estranged. Dear mother ! absent though thou art. To us thou livest still. For carnal Death is impotent. The life in love to kill. Brothers and sisters, each and all. In company eleven — Henceforth, in dual sense, we seek Our origin in Heaven. i8o TO SARAH AT SCHOOL, ANTICIPATING THE HOLIDAYS. PRETTY, merry-langhing sister, This will find thee blithe and gay, Brimming full of hope and joyance, Seeking still a happier day. From the mirth thy heart o'erflowing Wouldst thou wisely make a store, — Though I wsh not, yet there shall be Times when thou wilt want it more. What a fund were that for after ! Fairy sister, fancy-free, — Precious fund of merry laughter. All enough for thee and me. Through our lives, however lengthened. Thou shouldst from thy store dispense Balm divine for every sorrow, Joy distill'd from innocence. That may not be, merry sister. So laugh out the little span ; And be it a rule of living, — To be happy when you can. THE SERMON. MADAM, when sitting in the Church, I see thee near the parson shining, Howe'er recondite his research I, gazing, list, without repining ; And whilst, in fairness, I agree With those who call the sermon prosy, Mine eyes (as shut they could not see), Forget entirely to be dozy. VALE! LADY, believe, Though but few hours ago Each other's face we did not know, That I shall grieve Because so soon we part. And hoard thine image ever in my heart Oh, happy fate , That hath endow'd it with so sweet a mate ! THE ANSWER. AY, lady dear, surely I'll go and see thee, For, in thy presence, time is very sweet, And, in thy presence, joy is very great; But Cometh soon the moment I must flee thee. Ending most bitter of the time too fleet. Sorrow the greater, — when we separate ! IMPROMPTU. BLUSHING, thou charmest me most, my dear. For it's then that I'm sure thou art all mine own; When blushing, I know thou'st forgotten to fear ! And I know thou art loveliest then, my love. I think when thou blushest thy heart overflows, Ah ! how full must thy heart be for that, my love ; The tint is as rosy as that of the rose. Only warmer — much warmer ! is't not, my love ? i83 AN "EVERLASTING FLOWER." AH, Mary ! and is this the flower That from the nosegay thou hast chosen ? Is it for me a parting dower, Given with soul and senses frozen ? So passionless it is, forsooth. An old maid's prudery typifying — Is this the token of thy youth ? Thy deeds are, sure, thy heart belieing : Much virtue will not I assume. Yet of some good this act may savour, — Have thou the everlasting bloom, And I, content, resign the favour ! IMPROMPTU. THE mirror broken ? never mind ! Such breakage shall not breed dejection ; Nor will I scold, whilst yet I hold The source of its most sweet reflection. 184 IMPROMPTU. FRIEND, from thy weed a light, Now touch I this with this ; Thus, to get fire firom fire, Cigar cigar doth kiss. Somewhiles by lips to lips, So springeth fire firom fire ; So liveth a new life, And bumeth, to expire. IMPROMPTU. — A WHIM. SHUT, shut, blest eyes ! — turn, turn away, fond face ! Tend not wherefrom this moment thou must sever ; Yet oh ! let sorrow next to joy give place, — For what, at sight, thou lov'st, is thine for ever. i85 IMPROMPTU. SOME acts there are, of human kind, Scarce of this earthly sphere. Thoughts which in other worlds shall find The home they have not here. And so will be the kindred traits, Stamp'd on the heavenly face, Whereby the loved of mortal days Affinity shall trace. IMPROMPTU. AS a cloud before the moon. So is life, — pass'd by as soon ; So is life to mortals given. Hiding sight, not hope, of Heaven. i86 BEFORE THE BUST OF HENRY PHILIP HOPE, ESQ. SILENTLY ! whilst we look upon The kind, expressive face. Only a httle breath has left Its features' mental grace ; The love inspired, with memory strives. And as we're gazing Hope revives. Quietly ! let the eye enjoy That classic beauty's sheen, The clouds of passion thence are past If they have ever been ; Beholding, happy thoughts are bred, — And Hope is raised from the dead. Hush ! stilly move — it is not good Much to disturb the air, For the heart whispers in this place. And the spirit rests in prayer ; Friend, mark the lofty placid brow, And see thy Hope in heaven now. i87 CHANTREY, 1841. CHANTREY,— although thy light still shines beyond, Mortals must mourn for an extinguish'd star ! The forms of beauty erst by thee create, Sorrowing for others, all now weep for thee I And know— yet instinct with thy mental type — That some dread change hath happen'd in their world. These now, fore-builded, are thy monuments, The graven records of thy qualities ; Proofs of a taste which fashion did not heed. Nor antecedents govern, but which rose Fresh from a mind teeming with pure affections. Oh, pattern fair of calm humility ! Thy pride, the earnest purpose to excel, — Pre-eminence, but the Creator's boon,- — For which thou gavest Him thanks, and boasted not. So didst thou put pretension to the blush By the mild modesty of thy true worth ; Fearing not contact with comparatives. Thou wert to all men equal, and a friend ; Kind with the lowly, natural to a king, — Great in simplicity ! RICHMOND— AUTUMN. GORGEOUS Autumnal Richmond ! Not gold, nor jewels, nor the thought of man, Can rival thee in splendour ; the blest eyes Retire abash'd, as, gazing at the stars, They are bedimm'd by an excess of joy — The sense all satiate ! and though the tints. Bom of thy struggles with tyrannic Winter, Have something of the sorrow of decay. Who would forego them, or all Summer ask, And lose such beauty, — such a death not see. Ah no ! as with the Columnar Temple, Hallow'd by ruin, whilst we mourn the fate, We cannot wish thee other; thou, O sunl Goest in glory from us, and we praise, Though gloom and darkness follow. iS9 RICHMOND.— WINTER. LO ! the dishevell'd maiden, unadorn'd, — Her mantle gone, her look depress'd and sad : If e'er she smile, it is a passing brightness, Treacherous and fitful, only born to die ; Yet she is lovely, and the witching charms, That by a costly vesture would be hid. Give to her form a radiance and a grace Which aught that veil'd them hardly could bestow. Fair vision ! unto thee winter is hurtless ; Thy pleasant beauty hath continual youth, And, like true genius, of itself alone. Despite all frowns, all chances and all change, Asserts its presence. With a perfect joy, The eye yet feasteth, conscious of no blame ; Still flows old Thames with his untiring smile, — Still doth each part make harmony in all. Adversity, thou test which dost not lie, Curse to the false, proving the honest heart, Quick'ning the latent virtue of the soul, — Here, on dear Nature, hast thou laid thine hand, — And list ! — the spirit of the landscape speaks, — " Be sure, whatever bears that frown unshamed. Hath fixity in good, nor varieth But in the fickle fancies of mankind." I go ENIGMA.— A SASH. LITTLE was it thought that I, Who reign'd supreme, at fashion's height, Now would be neglected quite. Without e'en knowing why ! Ah ! 'tis sad — yet, as afraid. To expel me by a single hand. They, with buckler to their aid. Have done it with a band I This to me, who yesterday Clasp'd the beautiful, the vain ; This for me — whom wooed the gay, — Only the wind and rain ! Who, with light encircling press, Maidens' heart heard beat and quail. To feel — is there no redress ? Feel nought beat but the hail ! This for me ! that, years gone by. Oft made the circuit of the zones, Listen when the storm is high. Then shall ye hear my moans ! Children now, alas ! alone. Upon a festive holiday. Recognize my former sway. Although to them unkno^vn. 1840. igi ENIGMA.— ALAS ! I AM a word ; that I tell you ; I've been heard when harm befell you ; I'm a maiden, sometimes pretty, Chanting oft a love-sick ditty ; In a ball-room I'm a jewel, Party oft unto a duel, — Sometimes being an attraction, Or the cause of " satisfaction." I'm by all loved, young and old ones, Fatal to me are the bold ones ; Fatal, since they change my nature, — Stultify my nomenclature ; I'm a creature made for gladness. Yet that loves a spice of sadness ; Oftentimes a mere whim-wham, — Think of this, — for that I am. 1 92 THE FIFTH OF NOVEMBER. THERE was a time, my brothers, Ere to man's estate we came, When the fifth day of November Brought to us a merry game ; Oh ! the banging squibs and crackers, And the rockets and the wheels. Still memory smells the powder. And the trepidation feels. Then Guy Fawkes, that wretched hero. Was burn'd to ashes quite, As the red remorseless tar-tub Increased our fierce delight ; Yet, like the famous Phoenix From the flames to re-appear. And make this day, next winter, Unlike other in the year. Now, the fifth day of November, Bringeth, — perhaps a fog ; 'Tis a Monday or a Tuesday, Or, — a day to burn a log ; We wonder much those simpletons That " guy,'' should hawk about. And the boys, with squibs and crackers, Make that infernal rout. 193 WITH HOOD'S ANNUAL, 1840.* LADY, the books herewith deserve thy fa- vour ! Thou shalt find wisdom in the garb of folly, Reason instill'd with all the strength of smiles, Truth speaking its own language to the heart. Thou shalt know Virtue when she doth not frown, And pathos undisturb'd with groans and tears, — And learn, by pleasant proof, that hopeful glee Doth better recreate than doleful dreamings. That keen, though bloodless weapon, Satire named. (Sometimes misused in aid of personal hate, But then most weak) doth in these pages strike, With cunning force and guileless artifice ; Wounding to cure, chastising faults which else. Being congenial, and too like the colour Of a degraded nature, had remain'd Uncared for,' or unseen. Lady ! on thee The shafts of satire must all pointless fall. * This date was prior to the general recognition of Hood's. genms. O 194 PRELUDE TO A COMMON-PLACE BOOK. NOUGHT to me, e'er pleasure brought, Like participating thought ; If silent, deep's the joy we feel. To find our own, another's weal ; The bright conception, unexprest Yet to ourselves, — by others drest ; Truly, and touchingly, that shewn Which we had thought were all our own. This mutual insight of the mind. This glimpse to which a third is blind, This interchange of feeling, this Sincere, though momentary bliss, — Should it, — as bliss had been the cost. If by me it now were lost. Should that, which bliss had caused, to be. Be straight forgotten then by me ? 195 THE CURATE. IN a village not far from " the city of smoke," Where, if bitter the scandal, the better the joke, A place much infested with (very) old maids, Who, declining, are pining for spiritual aids, — Where tradesmen learn brotherly love at " the Shades ;" There dwells a young Curate, ah, so interesting ! He wins by a look, by his mode of requesting. And so sweetly retiring, 'tis said by his friends That, so mild his beginnings, he can have no ends. When he took to the parish, most sad to relate ! Original sin was its terrible state ; Not a light in the darkness, no star in the sky, Of the whole population, not one but must die ! Then — then came the Curate, and surely no change Since that first at chaos, so marvellous strange, Has been known or conceived ; in one little week. No lady need carry a blush on her cheek ; — The thieves all decamp'd, tongue-tied were the liars. The sellers, converted, told truth to the buyers. The maids grew seraphic, angelic the men, The old '■ roaring lion" durst not from his den j 196 THE CURATE. Decorara, and piety, order, and peace. Half ruin'd the lawyers, and spoil'd the police : Now the godless and graceless flock gladly to church. Now the sick and bed-ridden are left in the lurch, Now pew-openers are harass'd, and big beadles strut, And free seats are not free if the church is not shut ; Now balls are deserted, and plays unremember'd, And all the May joys prematurely December'd; It was said that all those who had fathers before them Penance did for their sins, and but lived to deplore them. The Curate proved truths with a force mathematic, He proved without meaning the old word fanatic ; He proved to his listeners, by counting their heads. Exactly the number at home in their beds ; He proved — and fair Truth ne'er seem'd sweeter or grander — That man is not rightly a goose, but a gander, (And that fact, he explain'd, could most clearly be shown In a very particular friend of his own). The Curate did more ; — a blunder irrational Had mis-named the school of the village the " National ;" Tlie boys had their duties ; the principal thing THE CURATE. 197 Was, aloft in the old church to make the walls ring, And, like cherubs, encourage the people to sing. Now these cherubs sang badly, all out of tune sadly, And the Curate at first bore the dissonance madly, Until he discover'd, and shewed o'er and o'er. That they couldn't sing worse, if they sang as much more ! It follow'd from this that the people, improved By the Curate's exertions, felt piously moved To some cheerful diversion; — for saints do not thrive Without something worldly to keep them alive ; — To give them full justice, it here should be said That much they consulted, and patiently read, To find a pursuit which their hearts need not grieve, Nor even a shade on their spotlessness leave. They search'd through the Fathers, and little there found. But just when despair their perplexity crown'd, St. Thomas Aquinas the friend in need stood. Pronouncing that music is " holy and good ;" They shouted the dictum, they felt quite delighted. They thought all their labour was doubly requited. But ah ! one suspicion their joyfulness crost. If the Curate objected, the pleasure was lost ! A party agreed on the Pastor to wait. And, or banning or blessing, discover their fate ; igS THE CURATE. The Curate received them with looks calm and gracious, And mild as his favourite food farinaceous ; The purpose propounded, the visit explain'd. They await the decree, with suspense nothing feign' d ; Alas ! why so dark that erst radiant brow ? Why quiver those eyelids ? why rises he now ? He lifted his book, the table he slamm'd, " ^^'hy, gentlemen, surely you would not be damn'd ? " The worthies first wonder'd, then meekly begun To mention their reasons ; but when they had done, 'Twas lost on the Curate, He still was obdurate. Till, venting his fury, he splutter'd out, " Zounds ! When you talk to me this way my zeal has no bounds. If your taste is thus heighten'd in every degree. Who, I ask, will be caring to listen to me ? " 199 A CHASE OF ECHO. AN IDYL. [The legend of Ovid has been disregarded. Echo still lives, and is here the object of love,' — love as an abstraction, — real only whilst unreal, and lost when found. Laon is the love that dies on disenchantment.] Laon. VISION of sleep, dream of my waking life, Why is it, Echo, that I find thee not ? Doubtless thou livest, for the heart is true, And in my heart thou livest : Echo dear, Soon I shall find thee, — for I think, nay, know That thou art near ; Oh, answer to my call ! Blessed be Nature for these yearnings sure. Blessed be Nature for unfailing hope. * * * » » Where art thou. Echo ? Dear Echo, I have sought thee o'er the plain, In meads and groves, and in the ways of men : Answer me, sweet ! that I may be where t^ou art ; Echo ! — not here : Echo ! — alas, not here : 200 A CHASE OF ECHO. « « « « « Still on I wander, wander, wander on, Wearily wandering without thee, Echo ! Ah ! with thee, I would tread the Earth like air, Thy presence giving each a two-fold life, Thy soul with mine winging us o'er the hills ! ***** Here, by this lucent lake's smooth, smiling face. The woods and rocks around, in holy stillness, Here thou awaitest me : Echo! Echo. She is here ! Come to me ! Come to rnc. There, — there ! 'tis sure, — over the lake I'll swim ; Dearest, I come ! Dearest, I come. * * % * * Alas, alas ! not found. Come to me. Echo ! that together we May see, and hear, and know but one blest life : Come to me. Echo ! My joy without thee is not quite a joy. What thine eyes see not, brings no joy to mine- Cheerless to look on what thou seest not. Yet that thou shouldst be near me, it is pain ; Pain to be near, nor see thee, nor embrace. A CHASE OF ECHO. 201 Echo ! dear Echo ! Cruel, she is gone ! As I approach and think to clasp, she flies ; Oh, I am weary, and must faint or sleep. (Sleeps). (Murmurs in sleep). Dear love, but this is well : Now, now I see thee, now I hold thee near ; We shall not separate, we shall live for ever ! For such love dieth not : ( Wakes). No more ! no more : Yet shall I follow, for she will not stay, Where she hath cheated me : — away, away ! » » • « » Out of the maze at last ! I pant with speed ; But now where is my Echo ? Echo dear ! Where on these spreading down-lands can she shroud her ? The velvet sward, too soft for resonance, Too soft to hold the print of her light feet — How shall I guide me ? Swelling on and on. The land is undulate like waving billows. Now high, now low, as ocean without marge : Yet, in that deep trough must there silence be, — There could she gain some harbour ; I'll descend ; The place is very still ; — if she but speak. 202 A CHASE OF ECHO. Though faintly, I'll pursue her o'er the wold. Echo! Echo. Whence was the voice ? Echo! Echo. Lo, she hath flitted ; but I'll call again. Echo, where art thou ? ' Where art thou 1 Echo: Echo. Hearest thou me ? Hearest thou me ? Yes, love, I hear thee ! and do now approach The spot wherefrom thou speakest ; I am here : Echo, dear Echo ! now but speak again ; Oh, flee not from me when I am so near I Echo! She is gone, and I must travel further. Now am I faint, and yet again will call : Echo I Echo. Answer me ! Answer me. Thou lovest me still ? Thou lovest me still l Echo sweet, thou knowest that I love thee ; A CHASE OF ECHO. 203 Quit me not now, for I am broken-hearted, — The day doth fade, and with it hope and life ; I sleep, or die : Be with me, Echo dear ! (Sleeps). Echo speaks. Yes, I'll be with thee, Laon ; Fain could I pity thee, fain wish to be The love thou seekest, and so lose my joy ; Thy pain, my joy, still fleeing, still pursued, For aye evading, and for ever loved ! So thou shalt see me, for that sight is life. Force to thy heart, and fury to thy soul. Laon (in sleep). Echo, dear Echo, now I see thy face. Now hear thee breathe, now know that thou art mine : Never thou'lt leave me ! Echo speaks. Fond, foolish boy, then wert thy chase at end ! Away, away. Laon waking. Horror ! I sleeping live, and waking die ! Echo, dear Echo ! She is gone — is gone ; Dying I'll follow — sleeping live again. » » » » » The dells are ended ; on this arid plain 204 ^ CHASE OF ECHO. Even a voice can hide not ; weary heart ! Oh, void in heart, aching as ever void ! Oh, languid limbs, bearing a heavy heart. Stay thee, and I will sing : — Sweet one, why flyest thou ever away fro7ii me, Here and there answermg, never appearing, Somewhiles approaching, or whispering low to me. What shall I think, is it loving or fearing? Is it at will, or of fate thou evadest me, Still being near me wherever I''m straying ? Is it in joy or in grief thou escapest me. Mocking my call, and thy presence betraying ? Yet, whilst thou ansiuerest, ever I'll follow thee. Wooing the voice, and its origin blessing. Lovingly hearing, and calling unceasingly. Till eyes shall be blest, and arms shall be pressing. And now, oh whither, whither do I wend — Over this dreary field, withouten bound ? That dim horizon is, I think, the Sea ; That mark I'll reach, though I no further stray. * * « « * It is the Sea, and by its shore are crags : There doth my Echo hide : A CHASE OF ECHO. 205 Echo, I come! * * » * » Here, in this sea-cave will my Echo be ! 'Tis deep and wide ; the voice of Ocean list ! If she be here, I'll win her. Echo! Echo. I follow ! Follow. O happy me ! I'll enter j Echo sweet ! Echo, dear Echo ! kill me not with scorn ! Echo, dear Echo ! kill me not with woe ! — Surely she spake, but now again is dumb. Why in these dark recesses should I bide ? Yet, from the beach, I'll call her o'er the sea. Echo ! Echo ! hark ! Echo! Only mine own voice moaning o'er the main : My hope is fading : My heart is fainting, and mine eyelids droop ; Come then, kind sleep ; my feet are to the flood, If the waves mount, upon them I shall float. Unto another world, and to my Echo. {Sleeps). Echo speaks. Doomed Laon, thou wilt die : almost I love thee ! Others will hear me, and pursue in vain, 2o5 A CHASE OF ECHO. A love that doth not to this world pertain. See me once more, dear Laon ! Laon (in sleep). Echo, I see thee, and methinks thy beauty Sublimeth more and more ; turn not away Thy dove-like, dreamy eyes ; look on me yet, — That I the thought of those seraphic traits May have with me in my celestial rest : Now I behold thee fully, and for aye. ( Wakes). Gone, gone ! I think the world is false, Love but a voice, the loved one but a shade. My hope is dead ; is Iiighest life a dream ? The life of dreams is love and joy to me : My heart is void, and life is nothingness. Let me then rather sleep that long, long sleep, AVhere vain hope is not, or where love abides — Where, dreaming, ever I shall see my Echo. The heaving ocean lifts me from the earth ; — Echo, dear Echo ! daughter of the air, I go to thee. 207 NOTES. P. 23. This is derived from the conjectures of Hansen. P. 86. The author's apology for the facsimile opposite is — first, its intrinsic value, as a relic of a great man and scholar, the Marquess Wellesley ; secondly, that the note is written at the back of the original copy of the sonnet sent to the Marquess in acknowledgment of the gift of his " Primitise et Rehquise," having been found, after his death, among his papers ; thirdly, that the comment of the Marquess Wellesley gives an interest to the sonnet, which else it could not possess. The fac- simile, indeed, as above said, bears its own apology, as a. literary curiosity. The date of the sonnet, 1840, is that of the publication of the " Primiti^ et Reliquite," which is now classed among rare books. P. 88. This was exactly true at the time, nothing worth speaking of having then been published. The notes of sermons and lectures have since been given to the world, to the extent of some volumes — widely read and admired. Yet I will venture to say (as one who heard Mr. Robertson's preaching throughout his culminating period) that, however interesting and valuable those fragmentary " remains," they do not fitly represent his greatness. They are instances of his mind, but not a fair embodiment of his powers. P. 94. The treatment of the subject in this sonnet was suggested by an anecdote of Vancouver, who, returned from his last voyage, went immediately, at nightfall, to Richmond 208 Hill. He had a bedroom overlooking the view. The season was summer. Rising early, he drew aside the curtain from his window, and, enchanted by the scene, exclaimed, " Here will I live, here will I die !" He lies buried near, in the Church of Petersham. THE EXD. CHISWICK PRESS : — PRINTED BY WHJTTINGHAM AND WILKINS, TOOKS COURT, CHANCERY LANE.