Cornell University Library 
 PR 5285.R91 1886 
 
 Some verses, privately printed in memory 
 
 3 1924 013 543 198 
 
The original of tiiis 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/cu31924013543198 
 
SOME VERSES 
 
 Charlotte Fanny Rutson, 
 
 PRIVATELY PRINTED 
 
 IN MEMORY OF HER, 
 
 FOR THE USE OF HER BROTHERS AND HER FRIENDS. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 For the information of those who may come after 
 us, a few facts with reference to my sister are here 
 recorded. 
 
 From the year 1854 to her death in 1884, with the 
 exception of two visits of about eight weeks each 
 to Filey, in 1835 ^.nd 1856, and of one visit to 
 Harrogate in 1865, my sister hved in this house 
 without the break of a single day. She was the 
 happy and devoted companion of my father and 
 mother till the death of the former in May, 1867, 
 and of my mother till her death in January, 1881. 
 After that she remained with us, her brothers, still 
 here till her own unexpected death in December, 
 1884. My sister was not, like our mother, an invalid ; 
 but an injury to her knee in March, 1854, resulted — 
 after a period of great pain and of want of sleep so 
 prolonged as to be nearly fatal — in a permanent lame- 
 ness, making locomotion impossible, except with 
 assistance from others, or in a wheeled chair. A 
 chair of this kind she usually propelled with her own 
 hands, and with no little speed, both within the house 
 
( iv ) 
 
 and along the garden walks. Before the injury to her 
 
 knee she had been an excellent horsewoman, and had 
 
 eagerly sought in distant expeditions subjects for the 
 
 sketches, of which many examples remain here. 
 
 After that event many pleasures became impossible 
 
 for her ; but the society of her father, and of her 
 
 mother, and all the interests of her brothers, were an 
 
 exceeding delight to her. From the narrow limits of 
 
 the house and of the garden, which owes so much to 
 
 her and to my mother, she took the keenest interest 
 
 in the neighbourhood, and in the world beyond; 
 
 especially in Christian Missions at home and abroad, 
 
 and in the cause of Temperance and of Goodwill 
 
 between Nations. And it was with truth that the 
 
 Rector of the Parish, preaching on the Sunday after 
 
 her death, from the Epistle for the Day, " Rejoice 
 
 in the Lord always ; and again I say Rejoice," and, 
 
 speaking of joyfulness as " a key-note of the whole 
 
 Christian life," declared it to have been especially 
 
 characteristic of her whom the parish was then 
 
 mourning.* 
 
 A. O. R. 
 
 Newbv Wiske, 
 
 November ist, 1886. 
 
 • See the " Kirkby Wiske Parish Magazine " for January, 1885. 
 
REST. 
 
 A T eve, my God, I rest in peace, 
 Reclining on Thy love ; 
 'Tis Thou that mak'st each care to cease, 
 With solace from above. 
 
 At midnight hour my soul shall rise 
 
 In thankfulness and praise ; 
 When darkness does enshroud mine eyes, 
 
 My soul sees best Thy ways. 
 
 The dawn shall hear my anthems loud, 
 
 And hear my early prayer, 
 That I may, with Thy strength endow'd, 
 
 Direct my steps with care. 
 
 All day I know that Thou art near. 
 Though clouds may interpose ; 
 
 They cannot long inspire with fear, 
 Nor quite around me close. 
 
COME UNTO ME. 
 
 • Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will 
 give you rest." — ^Matthew si. 28. 
 
 -***- 
 
 T ORD, at Thy feet I cast my care, 
 
 ■'-' Since Thou dost bid me place it there : 
 
 Why should I heavy burdens bear 
 
 That Thou, my God, to me would spare ? 
 
 When Thou, my God, to me dost call. 
 Why do I pause, or stoop, or fall ? 
 
 Lord, as I rise, my burdens fall, 
 Till at Thy feet I'm freed from all. 
 
 When Thou, my God, dost bid me rest 
 With Thee, Thine own invited guest, 
 
 Why should I languish, care-depressed. 
 Nor share the rapture of the blest. 
 
TURN UNTO THr REST, O MT SOUL. 
 
 -•*>- 
 
 " Turn unto thy rest, O my soul." 
 ►^^ 
 
 V^HEN shadows o'er my spirit fall, 
 " • And terrors all my mind appal ; 
 When sorely for some aid I call, 
 I turn, my God, to Thee. 
 
 When care, with dark, despotic s\va\-, 
 Condemns me in his realms to stray, 
 For rest, release, and Hope's bright ray, 
 I turn, my God, to Thee. 
 
 When trust and faith again I learn. 
 And sunshine in Thy love discern. 
 In thankfulness and joy I turn, 
 Still more, my God, to Thee. 
 
LORD, THOU KNOWEST THAT I LOVE THEE. 
 
 -»**- 
 
 S. John xxi. i6. 
 «*■ 
 
 T^HOU knowest that I love Thee, Lord, 
 
 Though poor the signs my deeds afford ; 
 I dare not say for Thee I'd die. 
 And yet my soul would death defy. 
 
 Thou knowest that I love Thee, Lord, 
 Though oft Thou hast my fall deplored ; 
 One watch with Thee Thou bid'st me keep. 
 But slumber closed mine eyes in sleep. 
 
 Yet, though with Thee no prayer I prayed. 
 Though from Thy side I fled dismayed. 
 Although I have Thy name ignored. 
 Thou knowest that I love Thee, Lord. 
 
Lord, Thou knowest that I love Thee. 
 
 Yes, Lord, Thy sheep I well will feed, 
 To pastures green their steps will lead, 
 And guide them where still waters flow ; 
 They well, for Thee, my love shall know. 
 
 And when with them I shall appear. 
 Thine everlasting will to hear, 
 There, in Thy glorious courts above, 
 Thou, Lord, my God, wilt own my love. 
 
DEATH. 
 
 --»<- 
 
 ' I am persuaded that neither life, nor death . . . shall be able to 
 separate us from the love of God." 
 
 T KNOW not where Death waits for me ; 
 -*■ His shadowy form I cannot see ! 
 Whether at some unlooked-for turn — 
 Unwarn'd — his presence I'll discern ; 
 Or from some point, full long in view, 
 His aim he surely shall renew ; 
 Whether, where smoothly flows life's stream, 
 I'll see his sword uplifted gleam, 
 Or that, amidst the tempest's roar. 
 He'll open wide his dreaded door ; — 
 My God ! I know not when, or where ; 
 I only know Thou wilt be there ! 
 
Death. 
 
 I know not when death waits for me, 
 Nor when I shall his dark form see ; 
 Whether at midnight's silent hour, 
 He enter sleep's deceptive bower ; 
 Or, by the blazing mid-day sun, 
 I read his mandate as I run : 
 Or, at the early dawn, I hear 
 His summons whispered in mine ear ; 
 Or, by the eve's low setting sun. 
 He tells me that my work is done ; 
 Whene'er his shaft he shall prepare — 
 I know, my God, Thou wilt be there. 
 
 I know not how death waits for me. 
 Nor how he wills my soul to free ; 
 Whether with friends around my bed, 
 I hear his slow, approaching tread ; 
 Or if, afar from friendly glance, 
 Alone, I mark his swift advance ; 
 Or, prostrate on some burning strand, 
 I yield my unresisting hand ; 
 Or if, full-armed to meet his face, 
 On frozen plains I see his trace, 
 And fall beneath his icy glare ; — 
 I know, my God, Thou wilt be there. 
 
Death 
 
 Death cannot find a place so drear, 
 But Thou, my God, my call shall hear ; 
 He cannot find a place so chill, 
 But Thou, my God, art with me still. 
 He cannot in the darkest night. 
 Seize me when Thou art not in sight ; 
 Nor can he fill my mind with fear, 
 Since Thou, my God, art ever near ; 
 He cannot swiftly bear me hence. 
 But Thou, my God, my way shall fence ! 
 Why fear to trust me to his care. 
 Since, O my God, Thou wilt be there ? 
 
FAREWELL. 
 
 ►♦^ 
 
 ■pAREWELL, thou Earth, whose golden eve 
 -^ From shades of night wins no reprieve ; 
 Farewell, ye Flowers, whose radiant hues 
 Must fade amidst autumnal dews ; 
 Farewell, ye Streams, whose crystal flow 
 Too soon an ocean-grave shall know ; 
 Farewell, ye Hills, whose lofty peaks 
 The early snow-storm swiftly seeks ; 
 Farewell, ye Friends, who yet pursue 
 The march ye must awhile renew. 
 
 I go where shines the glorious light 
 That yields to no obscuring night ; 
 I go where flowers unfading bloom. 
 Touched by no winter's frigid gloom ; 
 I go where streams their margins lave 
 Engulphed in no wild ocean grave ; 
 I go where hills majestic rise, 
 Met by no deirk, ungenial skies ; 
 I go where no deplored Farewell 
 Shall sound its sad re-echoing knell. 
 
THEY REST FROM THEIR LABOURS. 
 
 OYE, with whom our days were spent ! 
 Who to the Earth, sometime, were lent ; 
 How oft, when all is hush'd around. 
 On you we muse, in thought profound. 
 
 Say, do ye speed in cars of light, 
 Where all to us is dark as night ? 
 Do fiery steeds your will obey ? 
 Do ye explore the realms of day ? 
 
 Or, do ye rest by crystal streams. 
 
 Where light more pure than sunlight gleams ; 
 
 Where perfumed airs float softly by. 
 
 And wond'rous trees their fruits supply ? 
 
 Where birds enchant eternal hours 
 With songs once heard in Eden's bowers ; 
 Where flowers with hues of splendour blaze. 
 Unknown to earth and mortal gaze ? 
 
They Rest from their Labours. ii 
 
 Dr, do ye walk with saints of old, 
 And tread the sands of burnished gold, 
 And speak of that transcendant hour, 
 When man shall rise with heavenly power ? 
 
 Say, if in rapturous choir ye sing 
 The praises of your Heavenly King ? 
 Say, do ye hear His glorious voice, 
 And with blest multitudes rejoice ? 
 
 Say, do ye praise, in converse high, 
 His might, who pierced for you the sky ? 
 Do ye extol the boundless love 
 That opened wide the Gates above ? 
 
 And do ye watch the cloud-like veil 
 Through which ye shall our advent hail ? 
 Which shines, hke Israel's cloud of might. 
 Beyond our dim, imperfect sight. 
 
 And do ye linger on the shore 
 Where Time's swift tide ye fear no more, 
 To welcome us whose trembling feet 
 Approach to claim your greeting sweet ? 
 
 In vain we ask the silent night, 
 Or seek to pierce the sunset light ; 
 In vain we scan the radiant dawn. 
 For tidings of your glorious morn. 
 
12 They Rest from their Labours. 
 
 Ye cannot, O ye loved ones, tell, 
 What is your state, or where ye dwell ; 
 How ye now spend the hourless day, 
 Ye may not, O ye loved ones, say. 
 
 But though your life to us is sealed 
 And your new joys all unrevealed, 
 'Tis not concealed that ye are blest — 
 And that ye love — and that ye rest. 
 
TO SLEEP. 
 
 >^* — 
 
 O WEET messenger ! with soothing power 
 *^ To breathe a calm when storms shall lower, 
 How shall I sing thy praise, O Sleep ! 
 Or tell the blessings thou dost keep ? 
 
 Shall I, O slumber ! praise thy power. 
 When, conquering sorrow's saddest hour. 
 With silent hand thou turn'st the dart. 
 That time may heal its bitter smart. 
 
 Sleep ! can I tell the hours' relief. 
 The balm thou bring'st to anxious grief. 
 To eyes whose vigil closed in tears. 
 To hearts beset by thousand fears ? 
 
 Or, shall I rather sing thy praise, 
 When, following toilsome, weary days. 
 Thou spread'st thy mantle, lined with down, 
 Nor heedest adverse fortune's frown ? 
 
14 To Sleep. 
 
 Misfortune aye shall seek thy face, 
 Nor car'st thou ought for time or place : 
 Capricious smiles may mock the Great, 
 While thou dost on the Servant wait. 
 
 Invading foes may shake thy throne, 
 And banish thee to realms unknown ; 
 With grief thou dost their mandate learn ; 
 With eager wings thou dost return. 
 
 Sickness shall chase thy smile away 
 Through the long hours, till garish day ; 
 And pain, thy ever-conquering foe, 
 Shall bid thee, when most needed, go. 
 
 How shall I mourn thine absence, — dread 
 The weary hours when thou hast fled. 
 The search for thee with aching eyes. 
 Thy loss deplored with tears and sighs ? 
 
 We call thee, but thou fli'st afar : 
 Night, with her softly-beaming star. 
 Shall lure thee, but thou turn'st away : 
 Nor Silence deep shall bid thee stay. 
 
 Aurora hastens, but in vain ! 
 Her orient steeds and glowing train 
 Shall mount with slow and painful speed 
 If thou their steps dost not precede. 
 
To Sleep. 15 
 
 In vain the rosy hours shall shed 
 Their fairest garlands o'er our head ; 
 In vain roll back the gates of day, 
 If thou, sweet Sleep ! art far away. 
 
 Sleep ! can I tell the ardent joy 
 
 That greets thy smile, e'en shy and coy ? 
 
 Thy briefest visits, far between. 
 
 Are hailed with speechless joy, O Queen ? 
 
 And if thy gracious smile we miss, 
 The border of thy robe we kiss : 
 E'en Saints do homage at thy feet, 
 And Sages will thy presence greet. 
 
 Thou reign'dst in Eden's shaded bowers. 
 Encircled deep with fragrant flowers ; 
 Thou could'st the wilderness transform 
 When dreams of Eden hush'd the storm. 
 
 Deep Slumber heralded the birth 
 Of God's last, fairest gift to earth ; 
 And " sleep " we call the sacred night 
 That ushers in the heavenly light. 
 
 God knows thy power, O gracious Sleep ! 
 He knows the mourner's eyes would weep 
 A double tide, unstayed by thee : 
 He knows the griefs that none can see ; 
 
i6 To Sleep. 
 
 He " giveth songs " to cheer the night, 
 That pain's long hours may bear thy flight ; 
 He stayeth by the couch of woe, 
 To dry the tears that still may flow. 
 
 Yet, wanting thee. He knows our frame 
 Unequal to postpone Death's claim ; 
 He does the keys of mercy keep — 
 'Tis Thou, my God ! that givest sleep. 
 
PATIENCE. 
 
 ►*< 
 
 'T^ELL me, where does patience dwell ? 
 -^ Is it in the cloistered cell, 
 Where pensive nun her beads doth tell ? 
 With pilgrim on his weary march. 
 When heat and toil his spirits parch ? 
 With sages on some arduous quest ? 
 Or patriot, with his land, opprest ? 
 Is it by the couch of woe, 
 Where pain and sickness come and go ? 
 
 Sweet patience does, with tranquil smile. 
 Aid each and all their path to while ; 
 To each and all she succour lends ; 
 Most precious gifts to all she sends. 
 
 But to attain her highest aim. 
 And her highest office claim, — 
 To banish earth's persistent moan. 
 Patience must not work alone. 
 
1 8 Patience. 
 
 Patience hath not " perfect work," 
 If beneath her smile there lurk 
 Doubts and fears and vain regrets ;— 
 Then her power in weakness sets. 
 
 But when we jfoy and Faith admit 
 With Her within our heart to sit, 
 Then Patience will no duty shirk — 
 Then Patience hath " her perfect work.' 
 
ON A PICTURE OF A DTING WOMAN. 
 .*< 
 
 ■^r OR glorious flood of golden light, 
 "^ ^ Nor Cypress-dark and shadowy night 
 Shall call to earth those steadfast eyes, 
 For ever fix'd beyond the skies ; 
 
 Fix'd, where we still with wistful gaze 
 See not the Heavenly splendours blaze ; 
 Fix'd, whilst we scan with fitful glance. 
 Nor hear the sounds that saints entrance ; 
 
 Fix'd on " the bright and morning Star " 
 Seen by the Prophets from afar. 
 Whose Sceptre rules with boundless sway, — 
 Blest dawn of the eternal day. 
 
 * These lines are in his sister's handwriting, and among verses 
 the whole of which are undoubtedly her own. But the Editor does 
 not feel absolutely certain that these are hers. 
 
TO A LADT, ON HER GARDEN. 
 
 TJ^AIN would I sing the beauteous train 
 -•■ That now adorns this verdant plain ; 
 From every clime, of every hue, 
 Bright flowers displayed within our view. 
 
 Fair garlands of roses, alas ! ye are dead. 
 No longer your fragrance around us is shed ! 
 But, though, shattered and fallen, your beauty is past. 
 We remember your glory ; your fame it shall last. 
 
 And to upbraid our rising sigh, 
 A thousand flowers around us vie ; 
 Contending for the meed of praise, 
 In crowds their charming heads upraise. 
 
 Geraniums, with their blooms of fire. 
 May well to the first rank aspire ; 
 To their resplendent, dazzling hues, 
 We cannot grateful thanks refuse. 
 
To a Lady, on her Garden. 21 
 
 From palest pink to deepest rose, 
 This family bright tints disclose ; 
 Nor other riches are denied, 
 Their foliage gold and silver pied. 
 
 From dark Perilla's purple leaves 
 Yellow intensity receives ; 
 Lobelia with its sapphire blue 
 Doth with more lustre gold imbue. 
 
 Proud dahlias, lifting stately head. 
 Their glory o'er the background shed ; 
 And graceful fuchsias, drooping low, 
 Meet the verbenas' upward glow. 
 
 Alas ! that Frost, with icy clasp. 
 Shall seize these treasures in his grasp. 
 Except the few whose winter-sleep 
 Is guarded in yon crystal keep. 
 
 But let not sad untimely fears 
 Distress our mind, or tempt our tears. 
 Stern winter yet is far away ; 
 Enjoy the beauties of to-day. 
 
 See where, beneath the evening sky. 
 The lengthening shadows darkly lie I 
 They but enhance, by sombre shade, 
 The brilliant lights by sunbeams made. 
 
22 To a Lady, on her Garden. 
 
 Thus alternating seasons fall 
 But to increase the charms of all ; 
 Far less we might sweet summer prize, 
 If absent were our wintry skies. 
 
 " Hope not sunshine every hour, 
 Fear not clouds will always low'r," 
 As the best and wisest motto, 
 See inscribed within the grotto. 
 
 New pleasures now before us rise, 
 As glancing round, we raise our eyes, 
 Beyond we see the varying ground. 
 Where lofty trees the distance bound. 
 
 Here classic vase, with perfect taste. 
 At studied intervals is placed ; 
 There columns rise of fretted wire. 
 Where roses to each arch aspire. 
 
 And see where sits to grace the scene, 
 At once its Genius and its Queen, 
 She who these beauties did devise 
 To soothe our cares and charm our eyes ! 
 
 'Twas she designed the gay parterre, 
 And ranged the beds with skill and care ; 
 'Tis she who spies, with practis'd eyes. 
 Where some sweet vista may surprise. 
 
To a Lady, on her Garden, 23 
 
 We rest within the ample shade, 
 
 By giants of the forest made ; 
 
 How meet for friendship's converse sweet, 
 
 For solitude a calm retreat ! 
 
 Here lively Wit may hold her court, 
 With gayest interchange of thought ; 
 Here may a poet weave his lay, 
 Forgetful of decHning day. 
 
 Here Love ma,y list to lover's vow, 
 And earth with brighter hues endow ; 
 Here Love may smile at lover's fears. 
 Phantoms that fancy quickly rears. 
 
 But we to other scenes repair. 
 And turn to quit this realm so fair ; 
 The dial does the hour recall 
 For meetings gay in bower and hall. 
 
 Long shadows warn us to retire. 
 Nor tempt the eve while we admire ; 
 Lest dews, that nurse each opening flower, 
 Should prove for man a baneful power. 
 
 Now softly gleams the evening star, 
 The curfew bell is heard from far ; 
 And, ere the sun's last ray declines. 
 The moon's cold disk opposing shines. 
 
24 To a Lady, on her Garden. 
 
 Perchance when midnight owns her sway, 
 Who rules with mild benignant ray, 
 Gay fairies, lightly flitting round, 
 Shall visit this enchanting ground ; 
 
 And, tripping past each cluster bright, 
 That glitters in the silver light. 
 Sparkling with gems of purest ray, — 
 Marvel that man prefers the day. 
 
 They dance, till earliest streak of dawn 
 Proclaims the approach of golden morn ; 
 Then, to their couch of dewy moss, 
 The shaven lawn in haste they cross. 
 
 No footfall does their path reveal ; 
 Their airy dwellings they conceal ; 
 They now, perchance, are close at hand. 
 For surely this is fairyland. 
 
 No further need my fancy stray. 
 To search for home for spite or fay ; 
 I turn from thoughts of grot and dell, 
 To bid the flowers a short farewell. 
 
 Farewell ! sweet flowers ! without a sigh, 
 Or parting thought of sorrow ; 
 For if it be but fair and dry, 
 We meet again — to-morrow. 
 
 Angus f. 
 
70 Ml MOTHER. 
 
 O WEET Madre ! 'tis thy Natal Day ! 
 *^ How best shall I good wishes say ? 
 Shall I wish thee stronger health, — 
 Gift more precious far than wealth, 
 Gift, that, if 't has learned to stray, 
 'Tis hard to keep from day to day ? 
 
 Shall I wish that blessed sleep 
 May thro' still hours thine eyelids keep ? 
 That when thy head reclines at night, 
 It may repose till morning light ? 
 
 Shall I wish thou could'st enjoy 
 All that thou would'st, without annoy ? 
 That for the world might brightly shine 
 The gems it does in thee resign ? 
 
26 To my Mother. 
 
 The world doth lose : perchance we gain 
 What in the world is sought in vain : 
 Less loss hast thou, all will agree, 
 Than has the world, deprived of thee. 
 
 I'd wish thee not a brighter smile 
 Than that which does our path beguile : 
 Of Patience thou has such a store, 
 I do not need to wish thee more. 
 
 Of love thou hast a treasury, — 
 Much still — and much in memory. 
 From those whose care may yet be viewed. 
 And those whose love shall be renewed. 
 
 Thou hast the love of more than all 
 Who for thy love on earth may call. 
 Thou hast the love that passeth thought. 
 The love with Heavenly solace fraught. 
 
PORTRAIT OF MY MOTHER. 
 
 O HALL I now a portrait draw 
 
 ^ That you shall say 's without a flaw, 
 
 Of one whom nature form'd to shine, 
 
 And did for brightest skies design ; 
 
 To captivate by form and face. 
 
 By every charm and every grace ? 
 
 But, the' all that is brightest not quickly may fade, 
 Yet flowers that are fairest most fragile are made. 
 Oft, those, that we deem for gay sunlight array'd, 
 Are only permitted to bloom in the shade. 
 
 Bright hues do not need to derive from the sun 
 The radiance they shed, upon many, or one ; 
 The greys and the browns may his gilding require. 
 To cause us their grave neutral tints to admire. 
 In shade we more truly our deep homage pay. 
 To that which owes naught to the sunshine's proud ray. 
 
28 Portrait of my Mother. 
 
 'Tis thus, in the shade, that my Flower is adored, 
 And low at her feet sweetest incense is poured, 
 The incense of love and the homage of care, 
 Shall vie with each other, acceptance to share. 
 * * * * -x- 
 
 Her care for others is so great, 
 That oft it is her hapless fate, 
 To lie with anxious thought awake, 
 When they her cares can not partake- 
 Full many a care (where care is needless). 
 Full many a fear (where fear is groundless). 
 Intrudes into her watchful mind : 
 Solicitudes of every kind. 
 
 Tho' her boudoir 's from rumours remote, 
 Who, as she, does of actions take note ? 
 Of all that passes so perceptive. 
 She would have made a good detective. 
 
 No secret is guarded so well. 
 But by skilful and magical spell. 
 If some deed any seek to transact. 
 She quickly discovers the fact. 
 
 4: ^ 4: 4: :j: 
 
 Now with dainty fingers rare. 
 
 She works for some gay Fancy Fair : 
 
 For " Ragged School " or for " The Blind," 
 
 Her, hard at work, we oft shall find ; 
 
Portrait of my Mother. 29 
 
 Now in serious judgment sitting 
 Upon crochet work, or knitting ; 
 Thoughts so deep might rule a realm, 
 They would a novice overwhelm ; 
 
 Whether "floss " or " German " wool ? 
 Whether to be " straight " or "full " ? 
 Whether "Sock," or "Hood," or " Cape" ? 
 And that decided — of " what shape ? " 
 
 No problem from Euclid so hard is to solve, 
 As the puzzles that knitters so quickly resolve, 
 Tho' you search the six Books with assiduous care. 
 With receipts for rare knitting, not one can compare ! 
 
 With lines and with circles you're soon at " The Bridge" 
 But oh ! list to the problems in knitting a ridge ; 
 " One, one, two, pass over, two into one, return. 
 With naught begin again and progress you will learn." 
 
 ^Ic ^C stf ^£ SJc 
 
 Seated in her quiet nook. 
 Now she takes up some new Book: 
 What for us would last an age, 
 Scarcely is for her a page. 
 
 If worthless, it is thrown aside ; 
 Inferior works their heads may hide ; 
 A critic, just and sure and keen, 
 In literature a very Queen. 
 
30 Portrait of my Mother. 
 
 Of Books and Tracts she has a store 
 For men not deeply versed in lore, 
 To aid the weak, to rouse the cold, 
 To guide the young, to cheer the old. 
 
 For history, or pedigree, 
 Relationship, or storee, 
 Her memory is so acute, 
 Nor man nor book can it refute. 
 
 When from her rich and varied store 
 She charms us with her tales of yore, 
 Time, with swift wings, doth steal away, 
 Lest he should be beguiled to stay. 
 
 Of men and things a righteous judge ; 
 Altho' to some she feels a grudge, 
 Yet all for charity may hope. 
 Except Colenso and the Pope. 
 
 The Garden owns her skill and taste, 
 In it are all things rightly placed ; 
 She loves what pleases and adorns, 
 She loves the Roses, not the Thorns. 
 
 ->** 
 
 Now say that 'tis a portrait true ! 
 For all who shall my picture view, 
 "Will grant that 'tis a lifelike sketch, 
 And not of fancy any stretch. 
 
10 THE SUNSHINE. 
 
 «^^ 
 
 TT OW shall we woo thee, sunshine fair, 
 ■*-■'■ To gild once more each gay parterre ? 
 We count the weeks, we count the days, 
 Since last we saw thy cheering rays. 
 
 In vain each flower with tearful face 
 Deplores the extinction of her race ; 
 Vain is her mournful, mute appeal. 
 Thou dost not for her sorrows feel. 
 
 In vain gay Flora's lavish hand 
 Bids the fair buds in turn expand ; 
 They fail to win from thee a smile, 
 Nor can they sunless days beguile : 
 
 Stern, unrelenting storms await. 
 To seal their sad, untimely fate : 
 We see but dark and withered stems. 
 The spectres of departed gems. 
 
32 To the Sunshine. 
 
 The rains, that in thy watchful sight 
 Fly swiftly from advancing light, 
 Emboldened by thine absence, stay 
 Remorselessly, from day to day. 
 
 The winds, that in thy presence sigh 
 And whisper softly, passing by. 
 Rush rudely when thou art not there. 
 Deafening with screams the trembling air. 
 
 Have we, alas ! provoked thine ire ? 
 Or prized too carelessly thy fire ? 
 When heat might hope to win our praise, 
 Say, have we sighed for cooler days ? 
 
 "When thou thy brightest beams displayed, 
 Have we extolled the charms of shade ? 
 Did apathy refuse to yield 
 A tribute due from flower and field ? 
 
 Were we regardless of thy rays 
 In all their glorious noon-tide blaze ? 
 Or slow their beauties to perceive 
 When they with shadows danced at eve ? 
 
 Did we of scorching beams complain ? 
 And welcome thy harsh foeman, rain ? 
 Inconstant mortals ! prone to change. 
 And, when most blest, to widest range. 
 
To the Sunshine. 33 
 
 Cloudland usurps thy wonted sway, 
 Her armies close in dense array ; 
 Hosts upon hosts invade thy realm ; 
 Fierce rulers seize the wavering helm. 
 
 Darkly they frown o'er thy domain, 
 And all their fury o'er it rain ; 
 Swiftly they rush and wildly sweep. 
 While thy deserted subjects weep. 
 
 Return, sweet Sunshine ! to thy throne, 
 Responsive to thy suppliant's moan ; 
 A glance from thy benignant face 
 The baleful vapours shall displace. 
 
 Zephyr shall hail thee with soft airs ; 
 Ether her azure depth prepares ; 
 And Flora shall, to greet thy view. 
 Her radiant garlands yet renew. 
 
 The Garden, 14/A Sept., 1866. 
 
TO THE CUCKOO. 
 
 ►** 
 
 WJ^ hail thee, Cuckoo ! bird of gladness ! 
 
 In thy voice we hear no sadness ! 
 Thy joyous notes awoke the chord 
 That spring's soft airs of hope afford. 
 
 We hear thee when the latest eve 
 Doth silent shadows closely weave ; 
 We hear thee in the earliest dawn 
 Of laughing May's sweet smiling morn. 
 
 We hear thee in the sultry noon. 
 When scarce a leaf shall rustle : soon 
 Thou makest all the woods around 
 With echoing " Cuckoos " gay resound. 
 
 Where is the heart that loves not thee, 
 Sweet harbinger of spring ? 
 Where is the hand would not for thee, 
 Now sweep the tuneful string ? 
 
To the Citckoo. 35 
 
 We love thee more, that well we know, 
 Inconstant ! thou wilt quickly go ; 
 Too soon thou seek'st another shore ; 
 Too soon thy loss we shall deplore. 
 
 No home with us dost thou prepare : 
 True to thy voice thou hast no care : 
 No anxious thoughts do thee molest, 
 Thou hast with us, nor home, nor nest. 
 
 But for some pitying lesser bird. 
 Would those gay notes no more be heard : 
 Thy name would vanish from the earth, 
 With those sweet sounds that gave it birth. 
 
 Yet of the shadows in thy life, 
 Tales of ingratitude and strife. 
 Let us not rigidly inquire : 
 From judgment let us quick retire 1 
 
 Thy mission, if to gladden man. 
 Full well thou fill'st its little span ; 
 T^ou bid'st his heart with thee rejoice : 
 For this thou tun'st thy welcome voice ! 
 
 Then Earth more gaily onward rolls : 
 We then forget its ice-bound poles ! 
 Let man achieve the double part, — 
 To work and sing, with thankful heart. 
 
 A VOICE FROM THE WOODS. 
 
VISIT TO HARROGATE. 
 
 Part I.— OUR RESOLVE. 
 ►*< 
 
 To C. M. R.,* 30th September. 
 
 T It 7 HEN not a peach adorns the wall 
 And yellow leaves around us fall ; 
 When flowers from day to day do fade, 
 And night dews rest on sunlit glade ; 
 When dahlias, now so gay and fair. 
 Their dark funereal garb shall wear 
 When by the ruthless hand of frost 
 The treasures of the year are lost ; 
 When sealed their long impending fate, 
 We will take flight for Harrogate. 
 
 * Her Mother. 
 
Visit to Harrogate. 37 
 
 Part II.— OUR ARRIVAL. 
 
 >^ 
 
 To W. R.* 3yd October. 
 
 Swiftly our wishes to obey, 
 Four horses speed us on our way ! 
 Postboys in scarlet gaily dight, 
 Recall of olden times the sight ! 
 
 Mile after mile we smoothly roll, 
 
 Nor pause for aught save clam'rous toll ; 
 
 Oft as we cross the iron ways 
 
 We sing the praise of good old days ! 
 
 The final hill we mount apace, 
 " The Dragon " frowning in our face, 
 As, many a milestone left behind, 
 Ourselves in Harrogate we find. 
 
 We pass the Shops ! we pass " The Queen 
 (Where Croquet on the lawn is seen) ! 
 Nor pause till we arrive in state 
 At "Prince's Villa"! Harrogate ! ! ! 
 
 * Her Father. 
 
38 Visit to Harrogate. 
 
 Part III.— OUR DEPARTURE. 
 
 >*< 
 
 To A. M. C.,* nth November. 
 
 When winds blow cold across the moor, 
 Right up to " Mr. Greensmith's " door ; 
 When leafless trees stand bent and bare 
 And " Lodgings " from each window stare ; 
 When bark no longer lulls the sound 
 Of carts that thunder on the ground ; 
 When wintry storms in ambush wait, 
 We take our flight from Harrogate. 
 
 What though the star of friendship shines 
 Where " Bilton House " each wish divines ; 
 What though, descending, may be seen, 
 In azure robe, its radiant Queen, 
 The stranger at the gate to greet. 
 Or for a fireside chat to meet ; 
 Yet Home asserts magnetic sway 
 And wisdom tells us to obey. 
 
 * Her Cousin, Mrs. Gott, of Armley, then living at Wyther. 
 Mr. and Mrs. Gott also had a house (Bilton House) at Harrogate 
 in 1865. The letter on p. 40 is to their boys. 
 
Visit to Harrogate. 39 
 
 What though to view each sacred well 
 And visit every Woodland dell 
 (With zeal it were in vain to tell), 
 Franky and George and Mademoiselle, 
 With Allan, John, and Benjy too, 
 Their welcome escort would renew, 
 And smiles around our pathway strew, 
 We now must bid our friends adieu. 
 
 What though the Sun's bright noontide rays 
 May vie with gayer summer days ; 
 What though no cloud obscures his face 
 Throughout his daily-shortening race ; 
 His slackened pace and lowered course 
 Bid us mistrust his lessening force. 
 And prudence whispers in our ear 
 " Fly, while November days are clear." 
 
 We turn our faces to the north 
 
 And gaily on our way set forth. 
 
 With pleasant memories in store 
 
 We take our way across the moor. 
 
 Enveloped in our royal rug 
 
 We drive wrapped up so warm and snug. 
 
 And guarded against every risk 
 
 We homeward turn — to Newby Wiske. 
 
ST. VALENTINE'S DAT. 
 
 (In return for a Valentine from the little boys at Wyther.) 
 >*■> 
 
 "D EH OLD the treasures of the Post !— 
 •'-' Amidst the dull and common host 
 Spring's brightest flow'rs now start to view 
 And summer's gayer thoughts renew. 
 
 Reposing on soft vernal green, 
 Snow-drops, with pendant heads, are seen ! 
 While, as a contrast fit, I view 
 The hyacinth's deep sapphire blue ! 
 
 Fain would the Muse inspire a line 
 To praise the charming Valentine ! 
 And my most constant knights to thank. 
 Brave Allan, George and gallant Frank. 
 
 Fain would I " friendship's offering " greet 
 With welcome and responses meet, 
 And say to all, in Poet's lines, 
 " Forget me not " my Valentines ! 
 
 l4//( February, t866. 
 
A LETTER. 
 
 .*< 
 
 TV /T Y dearest John, 
 
 ^^^ We had hoped that to-day 
 
 We in person should pay 
 To you our sincerest good wishes ; 
 
 That with us you would spend 
 
 This glad day to its end 
 And partake of its festival Dishes. 
 
 But alas ! that a foe 
 Should have dealt a sad blow 
 To frustrate our Birthday good wishes ; 
 And that far from our sight, 
 In a middling plight. 
 
 You are faring on Invalid Dishes. 
 
 But, in spite of the foe, 
 
 You our wishes shall know, 
 They shall greet you when morning appears ; 
 
 We now send you by the Post 
 
 Of best wishes a host. 
 For this and for all future years. 
 
43 A Letter. 
 
 May you soon your couch quit, 
 
 And stand, walk, or sit, 
 Quite free from that Elf s wicked pinches ; 
 
 May you soon with a stride 
 
 Leave the foe on one side 
 That you now are escaping by inches. 
 
 I could wish that swift time, 
 
 To extend my short rhyme. 
 Would allow me some moments of grace ; 
 
 But quite vain is the prayer. 
 
 Of poor mortal's despair, 
 When for them he ne'er slackens his pace. 
 
 I must therefore in haste 
 
 (Not one moment to waste) 
 Wish you happier returns of the day ; 
 
 Your kind thoughts will supply 
 
 All that time shall deny. 
 All good wishes my pen would convey. 
 
 Our best love I must add. 
 And just say we are glad 
 To receive this A.M. your kind letter ; 
 And once more repeat. 
 Your Birthday to greet. 
 That we hope you will soon be quite better. 
 Yours affectionately, 
 7.m October, 1875. C. F. R. 
 
A LETTER. 
 
 T^EAR Mr. Serjeantson, 
 ^^^ I enclose you the cone 
 
 From the Tree that has grown. 
 In the far Cahfornian grove; 
 
 Where this wonder of earth, 
 
 Ninety-nine feet in girth, 
 Greets the trav'ler who thither may rove. 
 
 You have left it behind 1 
 
 But I know you designed 
 To take with you the Giant's small cone ; 
 
 For I quite call to mind, 
 
 Though the seed you declined. 
 You accepted a specimen cone. 
 
 We trust without chill, 
 
 You got home to Camp Hill, 
 Where old Romans might yet hear their tongue ; 
 
 Where their Horace survives. 
 
 And our Shakespeare revives. 
 By their host ever honoured and sung. 
 
44 A Letter. 
 
 But far better than all, 
 
 He responds to the call 
 Of the voice that for us faileth never ; 
 
 Before all other lore, 
 
 His heart opens the door, 
 To the word " that endureth for ever." 
 
 Many thanks for kind visit ! 
 
 That my brothers should miss it 
 They will very sincerely deplore ; 
 
 The next time that you come, 
 
 May you find them at home 
 As well as your Friend, C. F. R. 
 
 P.S.— As regards Quarter Sessions, 
 With all its discussions, 
 
 See " The Herald " of Wednesday last : 
 When they made up their mind 
 (As detailed there you'U find) 
 
 To retrieve some mistakes of the past. 
 
 Newby Wiske, 
 2^th Oct., 1874. 
 
TO Mr FATHER. 
 
 -•*«- 
 
 (Placed on his breakfast table on Valentine's Day.) 
 
 *i< 
 
 TIJ^ ARLY the sun begins to shine ; 
 •*-' Not earlier than my Valentine 
 Is heard to advance with welcome tread ; 
 To many dear ; the honoured head. 
 
 With ready smile to greet each face ; 
 With ready hand to ope the door 
 For her, whose hand engaged is 
 Propelling chair along the floor ; — 
 Watching, with more than lover's care, 
 The slightest extra-toil to spare. 
 
 Then leading to the throne of grace 
 Our hearts from worldly thoughts and ways. 
 Which, in the earth's absorbing mist. 
 Must darken heaven's illuming rays. 
 
46 To my Father. 
 
 Next breakfast-cares attention seize : 
 He makes the tea, each taste to please : 
 Then to discussion, grave or gay, 
 Upon each topic of the day. 
 
 Then, all the day, where'r required, 
 Eager to go, and swift to arrive, 
 So swift, we often say he keeps 
 A pair of wings concealed, and flies. 
 
 His patience soon for me, I trust. 
 May be no longer tried and proved : 
 I feel my powers their strength renew, 
 And think the goal is now in view. 
 
 Soon may we rove, as once we roved, 
 O'er hill, and dale, and fields so green, 
 Or on those roads so smooth and hard, 
 The finest roads that can be seen.* 
 
 To end my lay, I fear 'tis time, 
 (And pray excuse each rugged line) 
 So with best wishes for all time. 
 Good morrow to my Valentine. 
 
 St. Valentine's Day, 1863. 
 
 * Before the Highway Act, the roads about Newby Wiske were, 
 through her Father's care, exceedingly good. 
 
TO W. E. 
 
 1\ /T Y Mother desires her best love to-day, 
 ■'■*-'■ And to wish you a happy new year : 
 Her bard, she aspires in verse to convey 
 Such wishes to those she holds dear. 
 
 Fain would I sing the charming book. 
 At which we all with pleasure look, 
 Fain would I sing the tender thought, 
 That has to her this treasure brought. 
 
 I'll appeal to the muse, 
 
 Sure she cannot refuse 
 
 A few lines for occasion so pressing. 
 
 Her kind aid I invoke. 
 
 But (a saint 'twould provoke,) 
 
 I am met by a silence distressing. 
 
 The muse I find is far away, 
 Making a New Year's holiday : 
 Her whereabouts I cannot learn, 
 Nor can I count on her return. 
 
 * William Ewart, of Broadleas, M.P., her Mother's Brother. He 
 was the author of the Public Libraries Act, and of many Bills 
 (referred to in the last line of the letter) for establishing the Decimal 
 System. The penultimate verse refers to his scholarly tastes, illus- 
 trated by the Newdegate of 1820, and several poems written in early 
 life. 
 
To W. E. 
 
 To polish and refine, 
 
 I have, alas ! no time ; 
 
 Even could I find elsewhere the line, 
 
 And write each wish in rhyme. 
 
 I cannot burn the midnight oil ; 
 I am " tucked up " at ten ; 
 And friends by day my efforts foil ; 
 In vain I seize the pen. 
 
 Go, where the muse does aye reside, 
 Go, where she well might aye preside, 
 Where she, alas! rechnes at ease. 
 In thy deep dells, oh sweet Broadleas ! 
 
 Tell her to wish a happy year. 
 To him and all whom he holds dear, 
 To him who once invoked the nine, 
 With graceful and with potent line : 
 Wish that he may retouch the lyre. 
 With ardent and poetic fire : 
 Wish that he may in senate still 
 Progress promote by voice and will. 
 And of his mind declare the treasures, 
 Not forgetting Weights and Measures. 
 
C. F, R., at the Study door. (A. 0. R., within. J 
 
 /^ N the threshold I pause, my hand I restrain, 
 ^^ To open the door I almost refrain, 
 Lest, from study of laws and each wily clause 
 (To entrap the unwary and puzzle the brain) 
 I, by careless invasion of this sacred ground, 
 Disturb the researches of lawyer profound. 
 
 I enter so softly the region of books, 
 (Retreat of the Student) with gravity's looks, 
 Peep over his shoulder, he reads, I protest, 
 (While I thus his studies so fear'd to molest) 
 Not equity's law, or the rights of the land, 
 But a Novel profane ! he's reading George Sand ! 
 
FOR DISTRACTING THOUGHTS. 
 
 ►*> 
 
 TXT HEN sad persistent thoughts intrude, 
 
 Making it luxury to brood ; 
 When doggedly the Spectre stands, 
 To warp the brain, restrain the hands ; 
 Let us assume a cheerful mien. 
 Coax it to stay behind the scene. 
 Promise to listen ere 'tis dark, 
 Promise an airing in the Park. 
 
TO LADY WALLACE* 
 >^ 
 
 'T^HE Muse poetic, sends a line, 
 ■^ Inspired by modern Heroine, 
 Who, votary of a sister Muse 
 In peaceful days, — now War doth choose. 
 Now foremost in the fight. 
 
 Her Hero now has ta'en the field, 
 (Resolved with only life to yield) : 
 Two armies are in proud array : 
 She early joined the fierce affray. 
 
 Yellow " Bills " to battle call, 
 Spread like standards on each wall ; 
 While " Coalition " is abhorred, 
 " Plumping " is urgently implored. 
 
 * Lady Wallace, mother of Lady Milbank, and an excellent 
 pianist, took a warm interest in all Sir Frederick Milbank's election- 
 contests in the North Riding. 
 
52 To Lady Wallace. 
 
 Fair warriors were in days of Eld 
 On fiery chargers oft beheld ; 
 War chariots still fair warriors bear, 
 Gold streamers waving in the air. 
 
 No longer with the spear or bow, 
 The enemy is now laid low, 
 But, Eloquence the ear assailing. 
 Resistance is all unavailing. 
 
 Here a Shopman ! There a Farmer 
 Captured by the skilful charmer ! 
 E'en to the blind she paints the view, 
 That Yellow must outshine the Blue. 
 
 No Raven, with ill-omen'd croak. 
 Shall in the camp distrust provoke ; 
 Nor threatenings of the numerous host 
 " Gazetted " where their foemen boast. 
 
 Skill'd Pioneers have smooth'd the way ; 
 The " Press-gang," too, works in our day ; 
 Recruiting sergeants swiftly ride ; 
 Deserters are at once descried. 
 
 A " Herald " weekly does proclaim 
 In proud succession many a name ; 
 In columns ranged the forces stand. 
 Supported well on either hand. 
 
To Lady Wallace. 53 
 
 The final lance they soon vill wield ! 
 Naught do the " Yellows " dread, 
 With such an army in the field, 
 A Wallace at its head ! 
 
ADDRESS FOR A LIBERAL. 
 
 >i< 
 
 INDEPENDENT Electors! 
 
 ^ The Nation's directors ! 
 
 Again your free suffrage I claim. 
 
 For the Liberal Band 
 
 I've the honour to stand 
 
 And your Votes to request in its name. 
 
 I'm a Freetrader bold 
 
 (As you need not be told) 
 
 With my heart full of love for our commerce, 
 
 Let us ne'er be afraid, 
 
 But welcome each trade, 
 
 And share with all Nations our full purse. 
 
 Then whene'er of Reform 
 We encounter the storm, 
 I'm prepared to receive a 6-pounder 
 
Address for a Liberal. 55 
 
 If he dwell in the Town ; 
 If a poor country clown, 
 He can't make his entry 10 under. 
 
 When the battle begins 
 
 With fierce war's horrid dins, 
 
 Well armed with our 6 and lo-pounders, 
 
 'Gainst Conservative hosts 
 
 We will stand at our posts 
 
 And carry the day amidst thunders ! 
 
 As regards Home Affairs, 
 
 And on small local cares, 
 
 I'm opposed to all Centralization ; 
 
 Whilst I'll gladly support 
 
 What shall wisest be thought, 
 
 I disapprove Class legislation. 
 
 If you wish that the Church 
 
 Should be left in the lurch, 
 
 Tho' the loss of old dues be regretted ; 
 
 I am sure, I don't wish 
 
 Any stray loaf or fish 
 
 Should longer by Church Rate be netted. 
 
 Though a Churchman sincere, 
 
 I all scruples revere, 
 
 I'd abolish invidious Tests ; 
 
56 Address for a Liberal. 
 
 I am for swift Progress, 
 Let's banish the Ogress 
 That entrance to office molests. 
 
 Independent Electors ! 
 
 The Nation's protectors ! 
 
 Unitedly come to the fight ; 
 
 Though the contest be strong 
 
 We'll the battle prolong 
 
 Till Victory asserts our just right ! ! ! 
 
 May, 1865. 
 
PROGRESS OF REFORM. 1867. 
 
 T yl THEN the Nation re-opened for council each Hall 
 
 ' * And our Statesmen obeyed her imperative call, 
 The folks much did wonder, who thought on reform. 
 How Lord Derby proposed to encounter the storm. 
 
 Disraeli designed a new course to invent, — 
 To arrange a Reform Bill which all should content ; 
 But he found that the House, tho' resolved to amend, 
 On good " resolutions" refused to depend. 
 
 To model a Bill, in his fingers so plastic, 
 
 That, resisting much pressure, should yet prove elastic. 
 
 This artistic reformer at once undertook ; 
 
 But during the process his Cabinet shook. 
 
 A hurricane swept the political sky 
 And three stars, that had ventured their light to deny, 
 From the bright constellation of Derby now fell. 
 Propelled by a conscience that made them rebel. 
 
58 Progress of Reform. 
 
 Then Gladstone he pondered " by day and by night," 
 To decide upon peace, or decide upon fight. 
 Since, though his wish urged him the Bill to oppose, 
 Expediency tells him to succour his foes. 
 
 For Dizzy had modelled a Bill so complete 
 That it baffled his foes to procure its defeat ; 
 Since (so well this magician his dext'rous art knows). 
 Transformation but followed their furious blows. 
 
 In advance he now waves the victorious palm ! 
 Though Lowe from his cavern still sounds the alarm, 
 And Gladstone laments o'er three courses deserted. 
 And Bright that 'tis carried by men " unconverted." 
 
 Now, lastly, the Champions in conclave unite. 
 In concessions undreamed-of the Tories delight; 
 The Whigs to reform the Reform Bill combine 
 And from rating their foes to house-rating decline. 
 
 No fears from a popular suffrage we find, 
 
 Nor magical cures for the woes of mankind ; 
 
 But England expects that all voters invited 
 
 By Wisdom's own torch will take care to be lighted. 
 
 zyth March. 
 
LINES ON THE ATLANTIC CABLES. 
 
 1865 AND 1866. 
 
 ^^ 
 
 T^THY does Britannia listening stay 
 
 * * On Erin's farthest rock ? 
 Why asks she of the restless waves 
 Questions they seem to mock ? 
 
 Where are the voices she has heard 
 Responsive from the deep ? 
 
 She listens for some whispered word : 
 Why do its echoes sleep ? 
 
 Sad speculation asks in vain, 
 
 Vainly does science ask, 
 What fate awaits the mystic chain ? 
 
 How speeds the giant task ? 
 
6o Lines on the Atlantic Cables. 
 
 Does Neptune, from dim, cavern'd halls, 
 
 Oppose his royal sway ? 
 A pathway through his trackless realm 
 
 Forbidding us, for aye ? 
 
 The dull wire sleeps on mossy banks. 
 Where ocean forests wave ; 
 
 Or on the bare primeval rocks 
 That earth's foundations pave. 
 
 It sleeps in that untrodden vale 
 Two thousand fathoms down ; 
 
 Where mountains, high as Alpine peaks, 
 O'er hidden treasures frown. 
 
 Thrice do they reach the truant coil, 
 Thrice do they raise its head. 
 
 Thrice does it every effort foil 
 To find its silent bed. 
 
 They turn, at last, to Erin's shore. 
 
 Indulge no vain lament, 
 Though well we know, in that sad hour, 
 
 How far from " Heart's Content." 
 
 Still for success they feel no fear ; 
 
 For fresh devices call ; 
 Britannia's sympathetic tear 
 
 Is dried ere it can fall. 
 
Lines on the Atlantic Cables. 6i 
 
 True courage is not chiefly shown 
 
 When men in battle cope ; 
 Its chiefest shines when failures fail 
 
 To quench the fire of hope. 
 
 It chiefest shines when hope inspires 
 
 In failure fresh endeavour : 
 It chiefest shines when fortune tires, 
 
 And does from us recoil. 
 
 August, 1865. 
 
 -•+>■ 
 
 Again Britannia lends her ear 
 
 To hopes that will not yield ; 
 One hand rests o'er her dazzled sight, 
 
 One on her peaceful shield. 
 
 She gazes on the parting ships. 
 
 She waves a swift farewell ; 
 Thrfee cheers for English hearts and hands, 
 
 And hopes that naught can quell ! 
 
63 Lines on the Atlantic Cables. 
 
 E'en Neptune, stern, opposing king. 
 
 Does his resistance stay; 
 As, won by prowess such as this, 
 
 He waives his sovereign sway. 
 
 He raises no malignant storm. 
 Invokes no sea-nymph's aid ; 
 
 But, 'neath his calm, impassive smile, 
 The conquering coil is laid ! 
 
 The sea is there as though 'twere not. 
 
 Vainly its billows boast ; 
 Swiftly the lightning current darts. 
 
 Inspired, from coast to coast. 
 
 (Thus, 'neath the surging restless waves 
 
 Of life's tempestuous sea. 
 Unseen, each deeper thought doth pass : 
 
 The soul is ever free.) 
 
 O ! Thou mysterious low-laid wire ! 
 
 Thou chain without a link ! 
 Long may'st thou lie untouched by time. 
 
 Nor marred by flaw nor chink. 
 
 May none but words of truth and love 
 
 Thy magic cord transmit ; 
 May this new tie the nations' hearts 
 
 For ever closer knit. 
 
Lines on the Atlantic Cables. 63 
 
 May none but messages of peace 
 
 Be flashed from shore to shore. 
 Till distant strands as one shall meet, 
 
 When seas shall be no more. 
 
 yuly, 1866. 
 
FAIRX RING. 
 
 (Addressed to one who crossed after sunset a lawn wet with dew.) 
 
 O EE ! the Fairies ! let them pass, 
 ^ Tripping o'er the tufted grass, 
 Headed by their airy queen, 
 Sparkling in their silver sheen ! 
 
 Now they reach the fairy ring. 
 Now to fairy dances sing, 
 Footing it on smoothest green. 
 Meet for fairies and their queen ! 
 
 " Some one hath disturbed the grass, 
 " Who can dare this way to pass ? 
 " A mortal's foot-fall rudely sounds, 
 " Treading on our sacred grounds. 
 
 " Haste away to far off ring, 
 " For no mortals here we brook ; 
 " Tho' armed with scientific book, 
 " 'Tis well we did not catch him." 
 
THE QUEEN AND THE PEOPLE. 
 
 .4^ 
 
 "^l^T'HY, undeterred by dull November's shade, 
 
 * By his ungenial frowns all undismayed, 
 Does the great city wear a summer smile, 
 And deck with summer tints each long defile ? 
 
 Where busy feet are wont with hurried tread. 
 In all engrossing haste, their way to thread, — 
 Why do vast crowds, close packed, unwearied, stay, 
 Nor heed the waning of the autumn day ? 
 
 Repaid — when joyous tones approaching tell 
 That soon their voice the glad acclaim may swell ! 
 Repaid — when soon their keen, expectant glance 
 Descries their Sovereign's royal train advance ! 
 
 It is to welcome in their midst their Queen 
 That multitudes in concourse thus are seen : 
 It is to mark- at every step her praise, 
 And echoes of a people's homage raise. 
 
 Far from her ear unnumbered voices note 
 The zeal that does for them her powers devote ; 
 Prized, where no eye beholds the pomps of state. 
 Are cares fulfilled, and duty nobly done. 
 
 Of countless millions few on pomps can gaze ; 
 In vain for them do courtly splendours blaze ; 
 But all can prize zeal prompt at duty's call, 
 And note the love their Sovereign feels for all. 
 
66 The Queen and the People. 
 
 'Tis She who does with joy's glad sons rejoice, 
 With sorrow's children blend her pitying voice ; 
 'Tis She whose timely, sympathizing, word 
 Afar, 'mid scenes of misery, is heard. 
 
 'Tis She the mourner's heart with hope would lift ; 
 Who hails for poverty each welcome gift : 
 Where'er is gladness, and where'er is woe. 
 Her sympathies, unclaimed, responsive flow. 
 
 Far shines the radiance of the beacon star 
 That cheers the mariner who toils afar ; 
 Though many a barrier wave may roll between, 
 High o'er the ocean shines that star serene. 
 
 Far shines the life whose pure and constant ray, 
 With undimmed lustre, beams from day to day : 
 Far from its throne may varied lives be spent, 
 Yet all be conscious of the radiance lent. 
 
 Such is the life that millions fain would shield ; 
 Lands far remote, as one, their homage yield ; 
 As dear to all, although Herself unseen, 
 The life, the love, the welfare of their Queen. 
 
 November, 1869.* 
 
 * One of the first occasions of the Queen's public appearance 
 after the death of the Prince Consort. 
 
JN EPITAPH* 
 
 T T E followed Christ, and daily by life's road 
 The seed of love unweariedly he sowed : 
 He walked with God along the narrow way 
 That leads His servants to the perfect day. 
 
 Dedicated to my dear Father and Mother 
 
 In Recollection ; 
 In Consolation ; 
 In Anticipation. 
 
 IN MEMORT OF TWO BE LOVE Df 
 
 To SIGHT NOW LOST, AND GONE BEFORE. 
 
 -I- 
 
 MY SISTER. 
 
 TTUSH'D is the voice so soft and low, 
 
 Clos'd the sweet eyes that shone with love ; 
 Beaming on all she lov'd below, 
 And rais'd so oft to Heaven above. 
 
 * In the churchyard of South Otterington. 
 
 t Jane Margaret Rutson died (at Breckenbrough, while the house 
 at Newby Wiske was being enlarged) on January igth, 1854. The 
 opening verses vividly recall the patience, courage, and brightness 
 ofspirit, never indeed unremembered by those who surrounded her, 
 with which she bore for nearly two years a most painful malady — 
 an acute form of sciatica, which gradually wore out her strength. 
 The other " beloved," C. F. R's eldest brother William Rutson, a 
 Lieutenant in the 70th Regiment, died in May, 1846, at Leamington, 
 to which place he had gone in good hope of recovery from illness 
 that did not seem serious. 
 
68 In Memory of Two Beloved. 
 
 No more shall here that sweet smile welcome 
 Us, whom she lov'd, from absence short ; 
 
 No more shall here that sweet glance follow 
 Us, whom she lov'd, with tender thought. 
 
 No more around her couch of pain 
 Bright flowers shall we for her arrange, 
 
 Nor hear her eager accents praise 
 Their hues and ever beauteous change. 
 
 Such once, with light and bounding step. 
 And graceful form oft bending low. 
 
 Through woods and dells she lov'd to seek — 
 The spring's first flowers, that lowly grow, 
 
 For one like her companions meet. 
 Sweet violet shy, and primrose pale : 
 
 She did their fragrant presence greet, 
 Then lightly borne on spring's soft gale. 
 * ♦ * * 
 
 And shall we grudge her spirit's flight. 
 To realms of bright celestial light, 
 
 And wish deferred for her the sight 
 
 Of splendours to which Earth is night ? 
 
 Ah ! could our anxious care avail 
 
 From sorrow, tears, and pain to shield. 
 
 Then we with semblance of true love. 
 Our dearest might refuse to yield. 
 
In Memory of Two Beloved. 69 
 
 But, weak and powerless to avert 
 
 The lightest shaft from sin's dark quiver, 
 How shall we dare our wills assert, — 
 
 God's children still condemn to suffer ? 
 The Heavens, that erst with wistful gaze 
 
 She scann'd, and Earth's dim fitful glance, 
 She now shall see in splendour blaze, 
 
 And hear the sounds that saints entrance. 
 For far beyond what eye can see, 
 
 Or ear can hear, or thought conceive, 
 Is the full measure of that love 
 
 "Which Thy redeem'd shall share with Thee, 
 
 Whom here " enough she could not love." 
 
 Her ransom'd soul by Jesu's grace 
 Now " satisfied " in realms above. 
 
 Shall see her FATHER " face to face." 
 
 MY BROTHER. 
 There too is He, so soon withdrawn 
 
 From Earth which smiled so fair for him, 
 So young, so loved, so treasur'd here. 
 
 So mourn'd through many a fleeting year 
 
 Then first we learn'd at death's stern call 
 That Earth is not the spirit's home ; 
 
 That the dread gates stand open aye. 
 And Death the brightest leads away. 
 
70 In Memory of Two Beloved. 
 
 Then did we tremblingly perceive 
 That whom Thou givest is but lent 
 
 Then did we feel how frail the cord, 
 
 By death's stern hand how quickly rent ; 
 
 In vain refuse belief to lend, 
 And think he must return once more ; 
 
 In vain we long'd in night's still hour 
 The message of our love to send. 
 
 Parting, we'd dream'd that all was well, 
 While hope's fair. tree waved o'er our head: 
 
 We met, — when Cypress droop'd to tell. 
 Our latest, cherished, hopes were fled. 
 
 * * * * 
 
 O Lord, forgive that we should seek 
 Thy children to detain awhile ; 
 
 And from Thy crown Thy treasures keep, 
 Thy children from their Father's smile. 
 
 Though our dim eyes may not behold. 
 Or trace, the line of Heavenly shore. 
 
 Yet faith, instead of sight, is given ; 
 We feel they are but gone before. 
 
 We strain our eye to pierce the haze 
 Which yet resists our earnest gaze ; 
 
 Which seems so slight, — yet is so dense. 
 Impervious to our eyes of sense. 
 
In Memory of Two Beloved. 71 
 
 We listen oft to hear the sound 
 
 Of Heavenly music all around, 
 Which seems so near ; — yet still in vain 
 
 We strive to hear the loud refrain. 
 
 For God in mercy veils the sight 
 
 Of glories which we cannot share, 
 Lest one short gleam of Heavenly light 
 
 BHnd us to all He gives us here. 
 
 We may not hear the anthems rise, 
 Sung by bright seraphs of the skies, 
 
 Lest ear that heard the Heavenly strain 
 Might deaf to earthly choirs remain. 
 
 But not in darkness are we left 
 
 In dim uncertainty to grope 
 Or friendless ; — if of all bereft, 
 
 We have a sure and certain hope. 
 
 Each heart may Heaven's own light contain. 
 
 Altho' on earth the shadows rest, 
 God in the highest Heaven doth reign, — 
 Yet also in each lowly breast. 
 
 The Holy Spirit now abides 
 
 (As Christ on earth once deign'd to dwell), 
 The lamp of truth and love to hght 
 
 For ever in life's inmost cell ; 
 
72 In Memory of Two Beloved. 
 
 To burn with steady upward flame. 
 To guide us to the perfect day ; 
 
 To shine around with softened gleam, 
 And fill with light the common day. 
 
 Grant that our hearts, O Lord, till death 
 Be found as one with thee above ; 
 
 That earth, nor friends, nor life, nor death, 
 Shall part us from Thy spirit's love. 
 
 Waiting on Thee, may each renew 
 His strength, like eagle for its flight ; 
 
 For as the Earth recedes from view. 
 The Heavenly Mansions shine with light. 
 
 There as one family above, 
 
 May we with Saints and Angels rest. 
 
 And, far above all other love, 
 
 Our souls with Thy great love be bless'd 
 
12, 
 
 IN MEMORY OF MT MOTHER. 
 ^** 
 
 TO THOSE WHO MOURN WITH AND DWELL AROUND US. 
 
 I am sure that I shall be only doing what accords at once -with your 
 feelings and my own in saying a few words, however inadequate, of her 
 who for more than fifty years has dwelt among you, and thought of you, 
 and of the many others who have " gone before." 
 
 It is not often in these days of change and travel that any reside so 
 continuously in their own place. So, however, did reside my father and 
 mother. Residence at their home has been continuous, or with absences 
 so rare and short, that the house has never once been closed to the service, 
 relief, and comfort of the sick or needy around. 
 
 Since the lamented departure of our beloved father, the years, in 
 the dear and sweet companionship of our mother, have passed swiftly 
 away, till now she, to whom he was so devoted, has joined him in the 
 heavenly home. 
 
 For many winters past, our dear mother's health has not been strong, 
 but it strengthened in the summers, till, on the 31st May, 1878, she was for 
 the last time in the garden that she loved so well, directing the planting of 
 the summer flowers she was not to see. The following morning, the ist 
 June, she was suddenly struck by one of those mysterious, invisible blows, 
 that we call a stroke, and though revival at once took place, yet never 
 more had she strength to be out of doors, or for more exertion than to 
 move with difficulty from room to room, and "patience had her perfect 
 work." From that time she looked for, and often wished for, her 
 departure; till on the morning of the last 4th January, while we deemed 
 
 * Written by C. F. R. very soon after her mother's death . A little later she gave some 
 of her neighbours the paper that follows this. 
 
74 
 
 him yet far distant, the messenger came, and four days after, our beloved 
 mother " fell asleep." 
 
 Though she herself impressed upon us her failing strength, yet, with 
 her bright spirit and loving nature, her unselfishness, and patient 
 endurance, and her affectionate interest, we failed to realize how nearly it 
 was spent. 
 
 Endowed with distinguished abilities, cultivated by an education of 
 extraordinary care, with every engaging charm of mind and person, none 
 possessed in a higher degree those advantages that enable their possessor 
 to shine admired in the world. Yet delicate health superseded the energy 
 and vigour of early years, and a life of comparative quietude was all that 
 her strength allowed. It is not, however, those most active in the world 
 whose presence is most felt and most missed in their home and family. It 
 is they to whom all can come, whose opinion is always just, whose advice 
 is always wise, with "a heart at leisure from itself, to soothe and sym- 
 pathize." 
 
 I will not refer to her music, and her drawing, and the many acquire- 
 ments and more active pursuits that fell into disuse ; but I will name her 
 great love of reading, and her extraordinarily retentive memory. Nothing 
 she had heard or read was ever forgotten. In no quotation, illustration, or 
 allusion was she ever at fault. Her conversation, ever admirable, was 
 adorned by incidents and anecdotes — while not the least charm was her 
 narration of them. 
 
 In her own love of reading, she sympathized with those who could only 
 enjoy it in a lesser degree, and she unweariedly circulated hundreds of copies 
 annually of very many of the excellent and popular periodicals now 
 published ; not only for those immediately around her, but to other places 
 for the sick or poor, and it gave her often pleasure to hear they " gave 
 pleasure to old and young." To the last she superintended their circulation. 
 
 For many years her nights were very wakeful, and she would rise in the 
 early summer mornings, when all the rest of the house was hushed in 
 slumber, and sitting at her window, would see the sun re-appear, and read 
 the sermons and meditations and other devotional books she ever had by 
 her. I have said that her memory for everything was good, but in nothing 
 more delightful than in the store of hymns she so frequently and beautifully 
 
75 
 
 quoted — even latterly, in illness, she often added a new one to her 
 collection ; — with a verse was she ever ready to illustrate a thought — and 
 with a hymn or a verse, did she constantly supplement, from memory, the 
 little discourses (such as " Heavenward Thoughts for Christian House- 
 holds ") with which we closed the evening reading of Scripture in the years 
 gone by, when we all, invariably, assembled around her before retiring 
 to rest. Nothing could be more impressive than to hear her repeat 
 Mr. Sankey's hymn " Nothing but leaves," and many others. 
 
 My dear mother most loved Sunday, with its absence from worldly 
 thoughts and cares, and if there be any day we can miss her more than 
 another, it is Sunday ; on that day, when an atmosphere of peace and holy 
 calm seemed to surround her in the sacred leisure of the " day of days," 
 when as a bright centre she sat to read or be read to of heavenly things. 
 Often as she heard the morning bells begin the day, she would say 
 ' ■ I may not to Thy courts repair, 
 Yet here Thou surely art ; 
 Lord, consecrate a house of prayer 
 In my surrender'd heart." 
 Verses that were often on her lips recur like a message to me now. 
 
 She sympathized in every beneficent purpose. The efforts of our great 
 societies, the Bible Society, the Missionary Societies, Scripture" Readers' 
 Societies, and more benevolent associations than I can name had her warm 
 interest and support ; and the Temperance Societies in the neighbourhood 
 had in her a constant friend. 
 
 Ever kind, considerate, and gentle, with her refined mind and elegant 
 tastes, with her " sweet voice and smile," with her ready care for the 
 welfare of others, she won in a remarkable degree the love of all around 
 her, and none can know as I, the holy aspirations and the earnest prayers 
 that ascended to God from her heart and lips, and how ardently she sought 
 the higher life. 
 
 " Christ leads us through no darker rooms 
 Than He went through before ; 
 He that unto God's kingdom comes. 
 Must enter by the door." 
 28th Jan., 1881. C. F. RUTSON. 
 
A FEW OFT-^OTED VERSES OF 
 COMFORT. 
 
 >4^ 
 
 Perhaps the following detached verses, a few of the many 
 often said, as occasion prompted, by my dear mother, may be not 
 unacceptable; — and may even be a word of comfort, to some, in an 
 hour of need, that she " being dead, yet speaketh." — C. F. Rutson. 
 
 15th Feb., 1881. 
 
 Guide me, O Thou great Jehovah, 
 
 Pilgrim through this barren land ; 
 I am weak, but Thou art mighty ; 
 
 Guide me by Thy powerful hand. 
 
 Guide me, O my Saviour, guide, 
 Till the storm of life is past ; 
 
 Safe into the haven guide ; 
 O receive my soul at last. 
 
 Thy Spirit, Lord, impart. 
 Thy presence and Thy love ; 
 
 I ask to serve Thee here below, 
 And live with Thee above. 
 
 Nearer to Thee, and nearer still. 
 Draw my heart and mind and will ; 
 Save me from sin and Satan's power. 
 And guide and guard me every hour. 
 
Soul, cast all thy care on me, 
 'Tis my care to care for thee ; 
 Learn in me thyself to sink, 
 On thyself forbear to think. 
 
 Fear not, I am with thee, O be not dismay'd, 
 
 I, I am thy God, and will still give thee aid ; 
 
 I will strengthen thee, help thee, and cause thee to stand. 
 
 Upheld by my righteous, omnipotent hand. 
 
 Through waves, and clouds, and storms. 
 His power will clear thy way ; 
 
 Wait thou His time— the darkest night 
 Shall end in brightest day. 
 
 Commit thou all thy ways 
 
 To His unerring hands, 
 To His sure truth and tender care, 
 
 Who earth and heaven commands. 
 
 No profit canst thou gain 
 
 By self-consuming care : 
 To God commend thy cause ; His ear 
 
 Attends the softest prayer. 
 
 Large petitions will we bring, 
 We are coming to a king ; 
 For His love and power are such 
 None can ever ask too much. 
 
78 
 
 Whate'er the care that breaks thy rest, 
 Whate'er the wish that swells thy breast, 
 Spread before God that wish, that care, 
 And change anxiety to prayer. 
 
 When courting slumber. 
 The hours I number, 
 And sad cares cumber 
 
 My weary mind ; 
 Let this thought cheer me, 
 That Thou art near me. 
 Thine ear to hear me 
 
 Is still inclined. 
 My soul Thou keepest, 
 Who never sleepest, 
 Midst gloom the deepest 
 
 There's light above ; 
 Thine eyes behold me. 
 Thine arms enfold me, 
 Thy word hath told me 
 
 That God is love. 
 
 While I am a pilgrim here, 
 Let Thy love my spirit cheer. 
 As my guide, my guard, my friend, 
 Lead me to my journey's end. 
 
 IVBHT aAAPKM,