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Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of tliis book is in 
 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
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 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013468719 
 
THE DIAMOND WEDDING 
 
 AND 
 
 OTHER POEMS. 
 
 MES. NEWTON CROSLAND, 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 " LYDIA ;" " MEMORABLE WOMEN ;" " MRS. BLAEE,'^ ETC. 
 
 LONDON: 
 HOULSTON AND SONS, 65, PATERNOSTER ROW. 
 
 [.All Rights reserved.] 
 
 1871. 
 
LONDON 
 
 PRINTED BY WERTHEIMEE, LEA AND CO., 
 
 CIRCUS PLACE, FINSBDRT CIRCUS. 
 
MY DEAR OLD FMENDS, 
 
 CHAELES AND MAEY COWDEN CLAEKE, 
 
 ■WHO, 
 
 FROM THEIE LIFE-LONG LABOURS, 
 
 ARE I'OR EVER ASSOCIATED 
 
 "WITH THE 
 
 GREATEST NAME IN ENGLISH LITERATURE, 
 
 I DEDICATE THIS VOLUME, 
 
 ■WITH THE TRUEST RESPECT AND MOST 
 
 AFFECTIONATE REGARD. 
 
 CAMILLA CEOSLAND. 
 
 Blackhkath, Nov., 1871. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 THE DIAMOND "WEDDING. 
 
 Pae,t I. The Silver Day 
 „ II. The Golden Day 
 „ III. The Diamond Wedding .- 
 
 1 
 20 
 47 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 Helena 
 
 63 
 
 The Light Beakees ... 
 
 82 
 
 The Heart's Awakening . 
 
 84 
 
 The Garland Maker 
 
 86 
 
 The Dreams op Youth 
 
 . -87 
 
 The Sno-w Drop ; A February Fancy . 
 
 93 
 
 Lost ! Lost ! 
 
 97 
 
 The Lotb "Wave 
 
 99 
 
 The Mother's Dream 
 
 . - 102 
 
 The Four Crowns 
 
 . 106 
 
 Marian's Two Griefs 
 
 . 109 
 
 Out in the Cold . . • . . 
 
 118 
 
 My Mulberry Tree . . ... 
 
 . 120 
 
 Her Last Letter 
 
 . 123 
 
 My Heart's Friend ... . . 
 
 .. 124 
 
 The Stranger Rose . . . . ■ . 
 
 . 127 
 
 The Best Chamber . . ... 
 
 . 129 
 
VI 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Alone .... 
 
 The Three Friends . 
 
 A Pjean pok, Mereib England 
 
 Dirge por a Suicide . 
 
 Day by Day .... 
 
 The Talking Fire . 
 
 Christmas Eye at Sea 
 
 A Man's Certain Knowledge 
 
 TuE Pedlar .... 
 
 The Austrian Goliath 
 
 The King of Italy . 
 
 Old Lights are Dying Out 
 
 The Two Rose Trees ... 
 
 The Death op the Pauper Peasant 
 
 The Cry of the Felon ..... 
 
 What dost thou Whisper, Murmuring Shell ? 
 
 The Real and the Ideal 
 
 To the Brate Hearts 
 
 The Little Serving Maid 
 
 Cupid Disarmed 
 
 Olden Homage 
 
 TiHE Battle op Life . . . , 
 
 A Fate ... 
 
 A Christmas and New Year's Ditty 
 
 Three Dawns 
 
 ElTERS 
 
 " He Giveth his Beloved 
 
 Epithalamium 
 
 A Litany Hymn 
 
 A Cry from the Vineyard 
 
 Minor Chords . 
 
 An Invocation 
 
 Sleep" 
 
 PAGE 
 
 141 
 144 
 148 
 153 
 155 
 158 
 163 
 166 
 168 
 171 
 175 
 182 
 184 
 187 
 191 
 193 
 194 
 197 
 199 
 202 
 205 
 210 
 212 
 213 
 222 
 224 
 229 
 231 
 234 
 236 
 238 
 240 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Eighteen Hundred and Sevexty-One 
 nurseky konsense. no. 1 
 Xo. 2 
 
 PAOE 
 
 243 
 246 
 248 
 
 SONGS. 
 
 The Lover's "Wish . 
 
 A Serenade 
 
 Song op the Lost Pleiad . 
 
 Lote's Seasons . 
 
 Song of July 
 
 Song for September . 
 
 The Archer 
 
 The Eevenge 
 
 Old Friends 
 
 Our Volunteers 
 
 Summer Night — A Cantata 
 / 
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 Grief . 
 
 Venice 
 
 The Appian "Way 
 
 August Fancies . 
 
 Art's Endeavour 
 
 Photography and Art 
 
 The Magic Mirror . 
 
 The Heart's Cassandra 
 
 Old Age 
 
 Autumn 
 
 Autumn Flowers 
 
 The Eoyalty of Sorrow 
 
 Visitations . 
 
 251 
 253 
 254 
 256 
 26S 
 260 
 262 
 263 
 264 
 266 
 268 
 
 275 
 276 
 278 
 280 
 282 
 284 
 286 
 283 
 289 
 290 
 291 
 292 
 293 
 
THE DIAMOND WEDDING. 
 
 % Bott'c Starg, in C^rec ^arts. 
 
 Part I. — The Silver Day. 
 
 Pekiod a.d. 1830. 
 
 A Tale — like those unwritten ones which fall 
 
 As feathers from the outstretched wing of Time, 
 
 Float in the mem'ry of a child or friend, 
 
 Then gravitate to blank oblivion's gulf! 
 
 Yet hath the story comely attributes. 
 
 Which grow the fairer as more near we gaze, 
 
 And paradisal hues which still survive 
 
 To streak the shadows of a fallen world : 
 
 So snatch we it from Lethe's threatening spray, 
 
 A prisoner make, and show it through the bars 
 
 Of simple verse befitting Doric theme. 
 
 It was a glad commemorative day, 
 The Silver "Wedding of a faithful pair. 
 Five fives of j'ears had glided from the scroll 
 The hours unwind with even measurement, 
 Since maiden fair and stalwart burgher youth 
 Had vowed the life-enduring marriage vows. 
 The marriage vows, which, to the lovers' ears, 
 
 B 
 
a THE DIAMOND WEDDING. 
 
 Are cadenced music in those bright May days 
 When, duties seem delights; — yet awful vows 
 Are they to them of selfish, untamed will, 
 Of quick caprices, and of roving soul. 
 Devoid of fibrous roots, or tendrils fine 
 That keep the nature constant. 
 
 But true hearts 
 Can ne'er uproot and wrench themselves away 
 From the once loved, without a mystic wail 
 Of woe, which oft the angels only hear; 
 And all the little fumes and frets that may, 
 Like surly breezes, shake some petals down 
 From Love's memorial roses, it may chance 
 But bring the boughs in tender recompense 
 To closer interlacing ; while the roots. 
 Love's hidden roots, creep silently more twined I 
 For who of 'generous nature e'er forgave 
 The falchion stroke of sudden angry look, 
 The dagger- thrust of some quite common word 
 Made murd'rous by the tone's unwonted pitch, 
 Who e'er forgave such hurts from one beloved — 
 The culprit at forgiveness shedding back 
 Love's torrent in a frank impetuous rush — 
 Who e'er forgave, or was forgiven thus 
 Nor felt how sweet the kisses that can dry 
 The bright tears at their source ? We never prize 
 The blue vault of the skies above so much 
 As when on April days the zenith clears; 
 And shows the world's great roof as if 'twere cut 
 
PART 1. THE SILVER DAY. 3 
 
 From one vast turquoise, while the fleeting clouds 
 Like pearl or opal flooring pass away ! 
 
 And Paul and Bertha Wald were common clay 
 With ingrain flaws declaring Adam's race ; 
 Therefore I say not they had never sinned 
 Against each other by an angry word; 
 I but aver such words had ever been 
 So quick repented, thej^ had blistered more 
 The tongue that uttered, than the swooning ears 
 Which half refused to listen. After all, 
 Such words 'twixt them had been far fewer than 
 The rings which sparkled on the wife's soft hand. 
 Each one her husband's gift, that had been set 
 On dainty finger as a tender seal 
 Of some memorial homage fondly paid 
 'Mid shower of loving speech — a shower like that 
 Which darts impetuous from a fountain bright. 
 Whose source is high, although it seems but deep ! 
 
 It -was the Silver Wedding of this pair. 
 Hoped for and prayed for through the far back jea.Ts. 
 Ripe was the season for a Festival, 
 With sudden ripeness English summers show ; 
 Bright June on tiptoe drew night's curtain back 
 And bade the sun creep up the deepening sky^ 
 And tinge the flowers, and dry the clustering drops. 
 And loose the folded buds — and then peep in 
 At eastern windows, waking children up 
 
4 THE DIAMOND WEDDING. 
 
 Who play white-robed with pillow-hidden toys, 
 And chirp, like finches in their little nests, 
 Till roused the drowsy elders. 
 
 But this morn 
 The busy household woke and stirr'd betimes, 
 E'en things inanimate seemed half alive. 
 As if the active minds about them shed 
 Some transient sense into the stocks and stones ; 
 So great the preparative stir and sound 
 Of footsteps hurrying to and fro, with halt 
 A moment — then again with buoyant tread 
 And light unconscious bound of service glad. 
 
 The house was old — and quaintly showed its age. 
 As if declaring for a fashion past 
 "With something of a champion's earnestness. 
 Ah, dust the hands which raised the rafters there. 
 And dulled the ears which heard the hammer's stroke 
 Or mallet's thud, as that fair home took shape ! 
 In far off days 't was thought a country place, 
 And lay, 'mid sylvan scenes, the leafy haunt 
 Of joyous thrush and plaintive nightingale ; 
 But now — so had the crowded city grown — 
 'Twas called suburban. Still the garden kept 
 Its fair fresh face— not yet o'ershadowed by 
 Such terraced-rows as reared their stuccoed fronts 
 At angles right and left, about as far 
 From the old wall as school-boy's merry shout 
 
PART I. THE SILVER DAY. 
 
 Could wake the echoes, or, his bow well stretched, 
 
 An arrow reach. Only the dear great trees, 
 
 That sucked the generous soil deep down below 
 
 The lily's bulb, or seedling's tender shoots ; 
 
 Only the trees, green chieftains of the place, 
 
 In all their rich maturity of age, 
 
 Untouched as yet by gnawing tooth of time. 
 
 Proclaim the garden's story ; sycamore 
 
 And linden, and a mulberry rich with leaves 
 
 Of silk sharp serrated, and promises 
 
 Of luscious coming wealth ; and feathery pines 
 
 For winter greenness, near a poplar prim 
 
 Arboreal Quaker with the stiff straight spine 
 
 And arms uplifted; and a cedar broad 
 
 That leaned its heavy branches lazily 
 
 To meet soft cushion of the mossy turf; 
 
 And lonely tulip tree, that never finds 
 
 A brother martyr to those mystic shears 
 
 Which clipped and snipped its every shining leaf, 
 
 To form inverted from all other shapes 
 
 Of leafy outline and aspiring curve. 
 
 The house was old — and fashions alter. Once 
 A noble of the land had here his home 
 And sat at feast with brother Peers, and men 
 Who moved the rudder of the ship of state 
 In times of peril. Now the dark grained floors 
 Were trodden by the burgher Paul, and her 
 Whose matron step had lost its youthful spring;- 
 
6 THE DIAMOND WEDDIXG. 
 
 I 
 
 And children's pattering feet tripped here and there 
 Untiringlj'. 
 
 Oh, honest were the hands, 
 The sturdy hands that laid those rafters firm. 
 So bravely true, no shock of dance could thrill 
 Or make them tremble ! And the broad oak stairs 
 Led up to double doors which shut out sound. 
 And made each i'oom a home within a home.' 
 
 That joyous summer morn had aged apace. 
 And Mocha's fragrance hinted breakfast hour, 
 The while the great hand-bell by lusty arm 
 Was deftly swung three times resoundingly. 
 But something more to-day than muster call 
 Its vibrant peal declared ! About the stairs 
 A sibilation answers to the stroke, 
 The signal for Love's greetings to begin. 
 Upon the oaken stairs and corridor 
 The morning sunlight streamed ; a lavish flood 
 Which laid its gold in myriad shining threads 
 Among the curls a little child shook back. 
 With face upturned to read the teaching look 
 Of elder sister. Both were bathed in light 
 That passed through stained glass window; but the 
 
 gold 
 Fell somehow like the glory of a saint 
 About the little Lilias, six years old, 
 While ruby-red and purple-sheen beflushed 
 
PART I. THE SILVER DAY. 7 
 
 The winsome figure of the radiant Maud, 
 Nineteen last May Day. 
 
 " Lilias, dear," she said,' 
 " The youngest, you, I think, have sweetest task. 
 " Take now the basket, and your frock full too, 
 " Of these fresh flowers ; — be grave as any judge, 
 " And, when Mamma's door creaks, prepare :. 
 " Strew flowers before her as she leaves her room, 
 " And down these first few stairs — walk backwards as 
 " I showed you how — and treat her like a queen. 
 '•' Papa was up so early he has spoilt 
 " Our plot for him — but he enjoys I think 
 " Our little projects, and will help^-nbt mar. 
 " Now, Lilias, watch the door, and drop a flower 
 " Between the rails, that we below may know 
 " The moment when she comes." 
 
 well rehearsed 
 The little scene, and Lilias grave indeed 
 With conscious dignity, and yet half shy 
 Played out her part ; — and when the long-watched 
 
 door 
 Flew open wide, and showed the form so loA'ed, 
 The cTiild, for once evading mother's touch, 
 Strew'd flowers adown the stairs— nor did forget 
 The sigaal ,rose which shed its odorous leaves 
 Upon the chequer'd hall. And then broke forth 
 A choral strain by fresh young voices poured — 
 The song for this day's service, writ by bard 
 "Who oft penned stanzas to the lovely Maud, 
 
8 THE UIAMOND WEDDING. 
 
 And was domestic Laureate. It might be 
 
 His verse would halt sometimes — not truly scan 
 
 By all the frigid rules the critics frame ; 
 
 But in his true heart-love no flaw was seen ; 
 
 And 'twas by right of love as Maud's betrothed 
 
 That Charles, as if he were indeed' a son, 
 
 Had set to rhymes the children's filial thoughts. 
 
 The moment passed of first and quick surprise, 
 The mother lent herself to all the play ; 
 Posed to the dignity of queen-like state 
 With some untutor'd skill ; but yet she pressed 
 A white tooth on the under lip, as if 
 To keep her mobile features still, and bar 
 A rippling burst of sunny smiles, or else 
 Those joyous tears which have their own bright fount, 
 And tho'Ugh they flow through pain and sorrow's 
 
 course. 
 Mix not their waters sweet with bitter drops. 
 But when the flowers were all bestrew'd, the song 
 At end, she caught up Lilias in her arms. 
 And 'twixt caresses smoothed her hair and frock, 
 Settled the ribbons that tied up her sleeves, 
 And in the moments so employed she gained 
 Due mastery of herself, — was able now 
 To give back loving words and open smiles 
 For all the homage tender'd ; 't would have marred 
 The youthful joyance had she fully shown 
 How deeply she was stirred. 
 
PAllT I. THE SILVEK DATi. 9 
 
 But next a pause ; 
 For never in that house did morning wane 
 Without a reverential service, short 
 But fervent. Soon the master in clear tones 
 Read a few verses, that like manna fell 
 To them who had soul-hunger. Then he thanked 
 The Giver of all Good for manifold 
 And present blessings, specially that they 
 Had lived to see this day, — passing to prayer 
 In those brief sentences which comprehend 
 All human needs. joy it is to think, 
 That always somewhere on this suffering earth 
 That Prayer is rising from the lips and hearts 
 'Of countless Christian people, rolling still 
 Its endless incense up the shining stair 
 And through the gates the angels hold ajar ; 
 Pleading " Our " Father, and deliver " us " 
 In many tongues, but never travestied 
 To selfish " me " and " my I" 
 
 Around the boaid 
 That breakfast hour a radiant group was formed, 
 Bright faces kindling with expectant glee 
 At promises of all the day's delights — 
 Fresh hearts, each eager strong with hope and trust, 
 Taking their first taste of the pleasures pure 
 Of that glad holiday. There are three draughts 
 For youth's best joys: anticipation first. 
 Which wakes imagination up, — then comes 
 Reality ; and when that hour is o'er 
 
10 THE DIAMOND WEDDING. 
 
 Delicious retrospection, often sweet 
 
 As drops remaining in the unstirr'd cup 
 
 Which generous hand has sugar'd. Something fails 
 
 The palate or the draught when bitterness 
 
 Eemains for memory. 
 
 Ethel came next 
 In age to Maud^Ethel the fair and slight, 
 With dove-like eyes, and dove-like winning ways. 
 Then Frank swift-footed — mighty cricketer. 
 Also a great arithmetician he 
 With love of mathematics, and the gift 
 Of doing most things easily, yet well 
 And Harry, twelve years old just turned, who prayed 
 To be a sailor, vowing that he had 
 No wits for merchant's dreary counting house. 
 Or College Halls, or any one of all 
 The Land's vocations. These the children were 
 Whose voices led by Maud had made the choir ; 
 And as fbr George the clever eldest son. 
 Father's right hand, alert in all affairs 
 Of sale and purchase, but of honour keen. 
 Worthy to fill in time that father's place ; 
 Gredrgie was married eighteen months ago. 
 And he and his must come as visitors 
 To make the pleasure of the day complete. 
 
 That time the sturdy English middle class 
 Was not so fine as now; yet had it pride 
 In its own worth and true nobility, 
 
PAKT I. THE SILVER DAT. 11 
 
 Too proud perchance it felt of all it was 
 
 To mince its manners in the vain attempt 
 
 To rival customs that belong to courts. 
 
 Daughters and wives would wear a last year's gown 
 
 Without a fume because the gay beau monde 
 
 Had slashed its sleeves, and clipped an inch of skirt, 
 
 And house-wives clung to old receipts — old ways 
 
 Of ordering this and that their mothers taught, 
 
 And most of all eschewed the 'petty tricks 
 
 Of show to make the little seem the much ; 
 
 Not unobservant, when occasion served, 
 
 Of gracious modes they were top wise to ape, 
 
 But haters of veneer^ and jewels sham. 
 
 The merchant Paul had prospered from his youth 
 
 And learned to spend as well as how to gain ; 
 
 And this great day of sunny festival 
 
 "Was widely known to far-off friends and kin. 
 
 'Twas open house with welcome warm and true. 
 
 And niany sorts of pleasant play devised, 
 
 To help the children in their happy task 
 
 Of entertainment of some dear child-guests ; 
 
 Swing, ball, and hoop befitting garden play. 
 
 And archery for the practised hand and eye. 
 
 The gates that opened to- the carriage sweep 
 Upon their hinges hung, thrown back to day 
 One time for all with preparative look 
 That was a greeting. First the child-guests came ; 
 For these a "long day's" pleasure never seems 
 
12 THE DIAMOND WEDDING. 
 
 Too much; unjaded nerves still bear them through 
 
 The toils of play and prattle without end, 
 
 And, oh, what chatter over Harry's ship, 
 
 Three feet ten inches long ! with nautical 
 
 Discussion 'mong the boys as it was launchel 
 
 Upon the ancient fish pond. Nearer noon 
 
 Game Charles, whose glee at that whole day with 
 
 Maud 
 Was potent rival- to the children's mirth 
 And power of joy sustainment. Then old friends, 
 The friends of youth, and those j-et earlier days 
 Which look so lustrous seen on mem'ry's glass. 
 Began "to muster ; newer acquaintances 
 Came later, but the garden party grew 
 Before the great arrival of the day. 
 This was not titled friend, or famous wit. 
 Or radiant leader in gay fashion's world 
 Vouchsafing to enlighten lowlier sphere 
 Like shining meteor- from the upper air; 
 Georgie and Margaret his wife, had some 
 Reflected glory ; but the cynosure 
 Of fondest hearts and most admiring gaze 
 Was newest pet and freshest joy, their Babe ! 
 First grandchild, bearing grandsire's name, as 't were 
 A trust — the eldest son of eldest son. 
 Of a good stock descendant lineal. 
 Inheritor of possibilities 
 Of fame and fortune only dreamed of yet ! 
 Meanwhile the baby had his dignities : 
 
PART T. THE SILVER DAY. l3 
 
 Maker of Aunts and Uncles, his soft breath 
 With something of an infant royalty 
 Conferr'd sweet titles patented by love. 
 
 A coach-ful 'twas, with nurse to hold the child, 
 A little pompous from her pride of place, 
 And youthful parents happier than they knew. 
 Georgia was clever, active, brave and good,^ 
 Ambitious, too, if all the truth be told — 
 And not ashamed to show by every act 
 How well he loved his wife. His Margaret 
 Had been his first, and true,' and only love, 
 Not won quite easily, but won at last 
 With sweet entireness ;— Margaret was not 
 A woman beautiful by line and rule, 
 She frenzied limners when they vainly tried 
 To catch her smile, or fix the fleeting look 
 That' gave a radiance to her homely face. 
 And fell like sunshine in the opening spring. 
 Maggy, or Madge, she commonly was called 
 By those with right to utter her pet name; 
 But oftenest her husband called her Pug, 
 A small joke, too much sheathed in love to sting. 
 
 In the old garden stood a building quaint, 
 Pagoda-like, with curves that pleased the eye, 
 Jasmine and honeysuckle climbed around 
 And sent their fragrance through the open door. 
 One little window lighted up the place 
 
14 THE DIAMOND WEDDIKG. 
 
 Which was a favourite haunt for shade and rest. 
 
 Snatching an interval from hostess cares, 
 
 Deputing husband to play double part, 
 
 The mistress of the revels drew her George 
 
 And Margaret to the cool Pagoda seats ; 
 
 Then taking baby from the nurse's arms 
 
 Dismissed the servant. Soon the infant cooed 
 
 As if he felt the mighty waves of love 
 
 Which bathed his little life. Tossed high in air 
 
 By granddam's careful hands, he stretched his arms 
 
 As he would clasp some unseen treasure trove, 
 
 And open eyed looked wonder at the world; 
 
 Then listened to the jingling silver bells 
 
 Which hung about the coral at his waist, 
 
 According to the fashion of the day ; 
 
 When also babies were becapped with lace 
 
 Of texture delicately rich and fine, 
 
 Which threw soft shadows round the little face. 
 
 And added beauty to the beautiful. 
 
 Three generations thus together grouped, 
 Set forth a pleasant picture. Georgie talked 
 Out of the full abundance of his joy. 
 His father's partner made that very day. 
 He was " the luckiest fellow ever bom ! 
 " Such darling mother, and so sweet a son ; 
 " Of course he would not count the wife at all — " 
 So jested he — "lest he should make her vain." 
 But yet his arm wound swiftly round her waist. 
 
PART I. THE SILVER DAY. 15 
 
 And witli a sudden hug he gave her cheek 
 
 A warm emphatic kiss of great and pure 
 
 Rejoicing. " Mother dear," he said, " she is 
 
 " A little cheat; — 'twas but the other day 
 
 " T learn'd her pedigree. We did not know 
 
 " The Pug had cousinship with Dukes and Earls." 
 
 " Oh, George," cried Margaret, flushing as she spoke,, 
 " Far off the kin — I count it really nought. 
 "Besides they all are strangers to me quite; 
 ' ' My father was cadet of younger son, 
 " And, loving not to play the spaniel part 
 " Of poor relation, drifted by degrees 
 " Out of their knowledge. I belong to you, 
 " And reckon only your relations mine." 
 
 " I don't believe," continued George, " that she 
 " Would e'er have told me of her lofty line ^ 
 
 " But for these black pearl earrings ;" as he spoke 
 He touched the gem which trembled in her ear. 
 Pear-shaped, 't was set by some old Florentine 
 Of Goldsmiths' guild, upon the antique bridge 
 Which spans the Arno stUl; and his the work 
 Of that art-taste which smiles the fashions down. 
 Reigning with beauty always far beyond 
 The hour's caprices. " But for these," said George, 
 " Which once her great-aunt wore, she'd not have told 
 " I know. They well become the Pug, and when 
 " I owned as much admiringly, she gave 
 " Their history — " 
 
16 THE DIAMOND WEDDING. 
 
 " AYhicli now I almost wish 
 " I'd' kept dead secret, since you tease me so,"_ 
 Said jSIargaret, with, the sunny smile that ruled 
 Her hushand. 
 
 " If that be the case," cried he, 
 "I'm penitent; and after all is said 
 " I think I wish that Madge had only been 
 " A peasant girl, for me to surely prove 
 " How well I loved her in her lowly state." 
 
 " What nonsense," said his mother, " do you talk." 
 
 But it was nonsense she did not forget ; 
 
 She knew her son — she knew his truth and love. 
 
 And yet she felt some day he 'd be content 
 
 His baby boy had kinship with the great. 
 
 But George, now looking towards the garden path. 
 Observed his father for a moment free, 
 So he uprose and darted after him. 
 Some city news of more or less import 
 There was to tell; for though the father made 
 Whole holiday to-day — at least so called — 
 His son had done an hour or two of work; 
 Had opened letters with report on freights,— 
 Effected wisely three insurances, 
 And settled Customs' duty on ten bales ; 
 Also had rectified the grave mistake 
 In banker's book, and paid annuity 
 Unto the old blind clerk ; these things he told, 
 
PART I. THE SILVER DAY. li 
 
 His father listening with approving nod. 
 Whole holiday ! What fiction of the hraiu ! 
 Whole holiday ! We know the rest it meansj 
 Or change of acts which is a sort of rest — 
 And school-boys, perhaps, make out their " gaudy 
 
 But busy workers always hear a voice 
 No others hear, that ofttimes shrilly pipes 
 Above the sounds of pleasure, or disturbs 
 The silence of repose — be it compared 
 To hiss of snake, or lucky cricket's chirp, 
 It is the voice of present worldly cares 
 That will be heard through all the holidays. 
 
 But long to tell the varied incidents 
 That made up memories of that summer day. 
 And soon, the banquet hour arrived, when guests 
 Assembled 'neath a huge and lofty tent, 
 Where dainty dishes and substantial fare 
 Were like in their abundance. Piles of fruit 
 And flowers gladdened two senses at a time. 
 As is their kindly wont. Ah, fruit and flowers 
 StiU whisper to the un reluctant ear 
 Their Eden tale of beauty and of joy, 
 And afiiuence of pleasure. Pair the sign 
 When they the aspect mitigate of things 
 More gross, however needful. 
 
 To enjoy 
 Earth's pure and pleasant boons unselfishly, 
 
 c 
 
18 THE DIAMOND WEDDING. 
 
 With gratitude at heart, while proflfering 
 
 A large consistent hospitality. 
 
 Is one good way a good man has to show 
 
 He holds fair fortune but a thing in trust; 
 
 And thus did he who played the host to-day. 
 
 Be sure the wine, of red and amber hue. 
 
 Sparkled like molten jewels, as were raised 
 
 Bright glasses brimming for the. day's chief toast. 
 
 With "kling" and " klang," 'mong dear old friends 
 
 and kin ; 
 For -Paul, descended from a Teuton stock. 
 Yet dashed a little by the warmer Celt, 
 And, though an Englishman by birth and choice. 
 He kept up customs of the Fatherland, 
 Witness the celebration of this year 
 Of " Silver Wedding " and the clinking glass! 
 
 But ere the June-day dropp'd its twilight veil, 
 There was brisk ^dancing on the shaven lawn 
 While mellowed sunbeams shot their level rays 
 Like Parthian arrows seen between the trees. 
 And afterwards a pleasant song or two 
 Sounded to listeners gather'd now indoors, 
 A little like the evening's lullaby ; 
 Till grate- of wheels upon the- gravel path 
 Was warning that the parting hour was come; 
 One after one roU'd carriages away. 
 And when at last the great barr'd gates were shut. 
 Strange silence seemed to fall upon the house. 
 
PART I. THE SILVER BAY. 19 
 
 Lilias was fast asleep witli rose-flushed cheek 
 And parted lips, and tangled drooping curls, 
 And thus — dead weight — was carried up the stairs 
 She had all blithely strewn when day began. 
 
 And they the Pair so long and closely knit 
 Sat hand in hand to rest a little while, 
 And thus reviewed the present and the past ; 
 Feeling in thankfulness like travellers 
 Arrived at some commanding hilly peak. 
 Whence traversed roads and untrod paths are seen : 
 And each one knew, and to the other own'd 
 This day had richer gifts of love and joy 
 Than e'en they'd imaged on their bridal morn. 
 
20 THE DIAMOND WEDDING. 
 
 Part II.— The Golden Day. 
 Pemod a.d. 1855. 
 
 Often in mansions, where art-treasures glow, 
 We see two portraits, differing as mucli 
 As fruit from blossom, or as colours 'neath 
 The sunshine first, and then the moonlight pale. 
 Yet on a closer scan we find one name 
 Suffices for them both ; some simple name 
 Of man or woman passed from youth to age. 
 Then looking at the painter's work, we see 
 Th' abyss of busy years stretched out between 
 The different seasons of a human life. 
 
 Just so with Paul and Bertha is it now. 
 The fourth part of a century of time 
 Has dropp'd into the Past's enlarging gulf, 
 Since, in their prime and pride of middle age 
 We looked upon them last. Bertha has reached 
 Not quite the limit that the Psalmist set. 
 But Paul exceeds it by a year or two. 
 As now they keep their Golden Wedding Day. 
 Something above the average is their lot 
 Of health and strength remaining ; yet the years 
 Have writ their story on each form and face. 
 
PART II. THE GOLDEN DAY. 21 
 
 White hairs, the lovely livery of age, 
 
 Enhance their comeliness ; and that thin fringe 
 
 Of frosted silver round the old man's head — 
 
 Blanch'd as sea-foam that gathers round a rock^- 
 
 Is set off by a skull-cap of the hue 
 
 Of royal purple, velvet broider'd fine 
 
 With gold and pearls by Ethel's cunning hand. 
 
 In mazy wreath, design true lovers' knot. 
 
 And worn as pretty symbol new to-day. 
 
 The whitened braids that soften Bertha's face, 
 Are canopied by lace with lappets long, 
 Which cross at fastening brooch beneath her chin. 
 Black silk she wears even on gala day. 
 But gathers' round her a rich Indian shawl, 
 Which has its own especial history. 
 
 This June day was less bright and sunny-warm 
 Than June days mostly are; soft fleecy clouds 
 That floated high, and did not threaten rain, 
 Made tender light, 'neath which the garden flowers 
 Reveal'd their loveliness of form and hue. 
 How little was the dear old garden changed ! 
 'Tis true the trees might look of broader girth, 
 And one was scathed by lightning ; other one 
 Showed palpable decay— but for the rest 
 They were green glories still. 
 
 This Golden Day, 
 Crowning, commemorating fifty years 
 
22 THE DIAMOND WEDDING. 
 
 Of wedded life was kept more soberly, 
 
 With less of revel and festivity 
 
 Than had seemed meet for Silver Day, when life 
 
 Had fuller flush. Enough that children dear. 
 
 And children's children, these a goodly flock. 
 
 Should all assemble, with those few old friends 
 
 The one stern reaper yet had kindly spared. 
 
 Frank and his wife, their numerous boys and girls, 
 And Charles and Maud with sons and daughters tall, — 
 A younger Maud, herself a happy wife, — 
 Will all be present soon ; and by-and-bye 
 Be sure that Greorge the eldest son will bring 
 His two fair girls and bright-eyed younger boy. 
 Alas ! his children have been motherless 
 For ten long years ! And recently his Paul— 
 The babe we knew with jingling coral bells — 
 Has so offended, that the tongue were bold 
 Which dared to name him to his father's ear. 
 George is a grej-^-beard now, and man of mark, 
 A county member speaking well and oft. 
 Head of the firm, where Frank, however, takes 
 The giant's share of active city work. 
 Leaving the brother, that he loves so well. 
 More free to play the grave law-maker's part. 
 
 Ethel, unwedded Ethel, seems so young. 
 Carries so well her two and forty years. 
 We think at first a miracle has passed 
 
PART II. THE GOLDEN DAY. 23 
 
 And stayed the work of time. But looking close, 
 
 Discerning something of the hidden power 
 
 Of loveliness of soul, we see the cause^ 
 
 Of her serene perennial youthfulness. 
 
 A tender heart unsoiled by selfishness ; 
 
 A fancy made so pure by shining beams 
 
 Of bright ideal excellence, it ne'er 
 
 Could harbour foul or sacrilegious guest. 
 
 Some say that she was loved by one who died ; 
 
 Some that she loved, and was not loved again ; 
 
 And some that she had never loved at all, 
 
 Her thought of love and life remaining still, 
 
 Like air that men inhale on mountain tops. 
 
 Too rare and ether-like for daily breath ; 
 
 None know. Meanwhile she brims with usefulness 
 
 Her active, helpful, hopeful maiden life. 
 
 " The single woman of a certain age," 
 
 She turns no lingering looks on vanished youth ; 
 
 Is full of filial love and duty found 
 
 To her dear parents — yet half-mother, too. 
 
 To Georgie's girls, who lean on her for strength. 
 
 " Aunt Ethel thinks," " Aunt Ethel says," they find 
 
 A watchword potent, and a passport sure 
 
 To move their father to their youthful will, 
 
 And make him cancel some too stern decree. 
 
 That none but he could dare to abrogate. 
 
 But two dear names we have not uttered yet. 
 Lilias ! where is she ? and the shining curls, 
 
24 THE DIAMOND WEDDING. 
 
 Have they ,been caged 'neath flowing bridal veil, 
 
 Or would a maiden's " snood " become them still ? 
 
 A brighter coronal is hers ; the while 
 
 The curls, more precious than true golden ore. 
 
 Have quiet rest, disturb'd perchance sometimes 
 
 By loving hand or mother's tender kiss. 
 
 And are with reverence guarded. 
 
 Lilias died 
 So soon, she saw no fading of the flowers 
 Whose kindred she had strewn on oaken stairs. 
 " Walketh the pestilence in darkness " dread, 
 And it had sprung upon her at a bound, 
 Like jungle-tiger darting at his prey, 
 Fever'd the flesh, strangled the tortured throat. 
 And in. three days set free from bonds of earth 
 A spirit, that not yet had shaken ofi" 
 The morning dew of pure baptismal drops. 
 Hardly the gravel way was smooth from ruts 
 Of many wheels at "Silver" festival. 
 When the great gates were opened wide again 
 To let black horses in ; the solemn steeds 
 That mimic woe, and live themselves by death. 
 Somewhere in cemetery dankly green 
 A white stone rises, telling Lilias lies 
 Beneath it. Yet her parents keenly feel 
 She is not prison'd 'neath the heavy mould. 
 But stiU to them she ever is the child — 
 Never a woman — never what the years 
 Had surely made her, had she lived to know 
 
PART TI. THE GOLDEN DAY. 25 
 
 The pains and perils that belong to life. 
 Alvvaj's it seems she might come back to play 
 With doll's house, still preserved with trusty care, 
 And seen, not handled, by the little folks, 
 AVho crowd at times the ancient nurserj^, 
 And hear of all " Aunt Lilias " was, and did. 
 
 And Harry, too, the eager sailor boy? 
 So full he was of hopeful sprightljiness, 
 There seemed reserve of joy to balance well 
 The average burthens of a human lot. 
 And leave much happiness to credit side. 
 He had his boyish will ; and that keen thirst 
 For strange adventure which he felt at heart 
 Found some assuaging, though no surfeit his. 
 Thrice round the world the waves upbore him 
 So that he knew all stars that make night's roof 
 The sight supreme vouchsafed to mortal eye. 
 Stupendous reflex for that mirror small ! 
 And oft he'd seen the Southern Cross bend back 
 At solemn midnight, and the dear north stars. 
 We welcome nightly as familiar friends. 
 Creep down their stair- way to light Arctic seas. 
 
 He knew the Guinea coasts of Africa, 
 And traded with their swarthy denizens ; 
 He better knew the dazzling orient lands. 
 And grew intoxicate with beauty there. 
 Dimly perceiving how from out the East 
 
26 THE DIAMOND WEDDIXG. 
 
 Came all we know of cunning patient toils, 
 And fabrics gorgeous in their loveliness. 
 A Merchant Captain in his thirtieth year, 
 He made some voyages with a great success; 
 Yet always spared, whate'er the freight might be, 
 A "thing of beauty" for his father's house, 
 So that it now had monuments of him 
 Which met us surely whereso'er we looked ; 
 Quaint ivory carvings — balls within a ball, 
 And screens and fans in common daily use, 
 Or ebonies inlaid with wondrous skill,' 
 And nodding mandarins provoking mirth, 
 Or chess men cut too fine for players' touch, 
 With warrior pawns and howdah'd elephants ; 
 And china bowls of hues which gently stroke 
 An eye ofiended by some harsher tints ; 
 And chests japanned, still softly redolent 
 Of attar pure, sultanas might have prized. 
 
 At last a shipwreck'd host implored his help — 
 And though his ark of refuge bowed beneath 
 Its quite unwonted burthen — all were saved. 
 But soon the tempest rose, and like a strong 
 And giant wrestler tussled with the ship 
 And tore and maim'd it tiU the canvass shriek'd. 
 Then howl'd its triumph in appalling tones. 
 Tons after tons of precious goods were cast 
 Into the ravening sea, but still the bark 
 Was ovextaxed, and when its fate was near 
 
PART II. THE GOLDEN DAY. J,7 
 
 Seemed like some living thing that broke its heart 
 In doing noble work. 
 
 Again were saved 
 In many boats, and on the rafts he plann'd 
 The multitude twice spared, as well as all 
 His own brave crew, who — as sometimes befalls — 
 Had grown to have soul likeness to their chief. 
 But he the Captain holding duty far 
 More dear a thought than any selfish care 
 "Was last himself to leave the sinking ship ; 
 Alas, that moments should make destiny ! 
 A wave resistless, though but watery wedge, 
 Rush'd in between the saving raft and him. — 
 And when it broke no straining eye could see 
 The daring Captain of the vanished ship ! 
 
 It was a hero's death ; and when the tale 
 "Was simply told without embellishment, 
 Fame took it up and sent it round the world 
 On many sure and swift mercurial wings, 
 So that his name grew representative, 
 And typical of duty unto death — 
 A sweetness to the breath that uttered it. 
 
 To those dear ones who knew and loved him best, 
 The tidings came with sudden wrench and shock. 
 Upheaving and reversing all the thoughts 
 That linked the absent sailor to his home; 
 Making new landmarks on the chart of life 
 
28 THE DIAMOND WEDDING. 
 
 And staining it with tears among the gaps. 
 Ethel was stirr'd to deeper depths than Maud 
 Whose heart was warm'd by many sorts of love, 
 And wifeless George knew keener brother's pang 
 Than Frank the unbereaved. But with a woe 
 More sharply piercing did the parents feel 
 The trouble that had come upon their age. 
 Yet were its uses sweet beyond compare, 
 Since it had power to weld them closer stiU 
 In heart and spirit ; — this though they indeed 
 Had had large measure of the life and love 
 Which we too oft but know in waking dreams. 
 And when the sorrow fell upon their house 
 Like sudden bolt from pall-like thunder cloud, 
 The old man laid his business burthens down 
 For filial hands to raise, and seldom left 
 His Bertha, knowing that his presence best 
 Assuaged the bitterness of her regrets ; 
 Till by degrees he found himself consoled. 
 Receiving comfort from each other still 
 Neither was poorer for the strength bestowed, 
 But richer both, — since such a love as theirs 
 Makes of the heart a wondrous crucible— 
 Wrings out an ecstacy from even woe — 
 And finds fit symbol in the alchemist 
 Transmuting ores so different into gold. 
 
 Two years had now quite passed since Harry died, 
 And they had learn'd to calmly bear their loss. 
 
PART II. THE GOLDEN DAY. 29 
 
 Not theirs to let the stone of silence fall, 
 
 As some survivors do, above their dead, 
 
 To make a sepulchre for memory ; 
 
 But in a tender way they often talk'd 
 
 About him, as if he, though absent still, 
 
 Were not aU sundered from the life of home. 
 
 Thus did it seem to Bertha Wald that day 
 
 A pleasant thing to wear the Indian shawl, 
 
 Which had been Harry's latest costly gift ; 
 
 It was his due to much remeniber him 
 
 On such a day as this ; and she set out 
 
 The ivory toys and grouped the Mandarins 
 
 With her own hands, and more than common care, 
 
 For coming friends to notice and admire. 
 
 This, though her thoughts each minute would revert 
 
 To one intent, which if well carried out 
 
 Would be the crowning glory of the day. 
 
 Maud and her husband, with their merry troop. 
 Were first to make the buzz of voices heard ; 
 They always came with something like, a charm. 
 That broke the trammels of despondency. 
 When sorrow's night had dark and cruel reign, 
 They rent the clouds and showed the- stars behind ; 
 And now when gala-day was wide proclaim'd, 
 Their spirits rose to meet its exigence. 
 Maud had been happy in her wedded lot. 
 But 't was from husband's love and tempers sweet, 
 Not prizes great in that blind lottery 
 
30 THE DIAMOND WEDDING. 
 
 Which most men call success. Charles was not rich 
 
 In gold or land ; but yet he owed not that 
 
 He could not pay — brought up his children dear 
 
 So wisely well to bravery and truth, 
 
 They dared no act which shame would bid them hide; 
 
 So elder friends oft to each other said, 
 
 " Those people's children will do well — you'U see." 
 
 It was the secret of their great content 
 
 To love the right, and leave all else .to God. 
 
 The rhyming faculty that Charles once own'd 
 
 Had faded now, perchance, for want of use ; 
 
 But in his soul the poet's well lay pure. 
 
 And making happy those he held most dear. 
 
 He lived the poem that he did not write. 
 
 The eldest son his mother's darling still, 
 The George so altered since we saw him last, 
 Came while short shadows of familiar things 
 Made dial of the grass, and so proclaim'd 
 But brief the time since noon. Thus had she will'd ; 
 And though he thought his mother's eager wish 
 An over-anxious, unaccustom'd whim, 
 He would not thwart her for the world to-day; 
 Besides calm hours ere evening banquet time 
 For once would seem a pleasant wholesome rest. 
 The strong man's heart was full of filial love. 
 With greater reverence than belongs to youth ; 
 We need to reach the heights of middle age. 
 And mark new generations flush'd with hope. 
 
PAET II. THE GOLDEN DAT. 31 
 
 And climbing, in their adolescent bloom, 
 
 The sunny side of life's ascending path, 
 
 Ere we can see the Alps of Age beyond 
 
 In their sublime but frost-crown'd majesty. 
 
 It might be that the loss of his dear wife 
 
 Had deepen'd other currents of his love 
 
 But not a fraction widen'd. Hence, though still 
 
 Ambitious of success and fame and power, 
 
 With large world-knowledge of his fellow men. 
 
 What he called friendships were for most part like 
 
 The measured greeting with his well gloved hand. 
 
 Without close contact or emphatic grip. 
 
 But where he loved, his love was warm and true 
 
 As those hot springs which never ice or chill 
 
 Howe'er the winter triumphs. Unto him 
 
 His children were so dear, — -so much a part 
 
 Of all he clave to as his treasure here, 
 
 That woe through them had sharp and subtle sting ; 
 
 And when his first-born, Paul, for whom he toiled. 
 
 Wedded in haste a girl obscure and poor, 
 
 Without so much as telling his desire 
 
 Or sanction seekiug for a fixed intent. 
 
 The father raged as only such men rage 
 
 At overthrow of life's strong darling hopes, 
 
 At keen betrayal by a trusted one. 
 
 At duty measured by "till now — no more," — 
 
 Disown'd— discarded him, but flung him stilL 
 
 His cash per quarter — just the self-same sum 
 
 Apportioned to the careless bachelor 
 
32 THE DIAMOND WEDDING. 
 
 For "eating dinners" at the Inns of Court, 
 
 And living seemly as became a man 
 
 "Who, fate propitious, might, the Woolsack mount. 
 
 He gave such income still, since due by right 
 
 Of promise understood ; and men like George 
 
 Keep promises amid the scalding wrath 
 
 "Which washes clean the mental tally slate 
 
 Of meaner souls, less nice in their revenge : 
 
 Yet flung it was like gauntlet to a foe, 
 
 Or scrap some worthless cur despised receives 
 
 From hands that ne'er caress. 
 
 All this was known 
 To many ; yet it seemed none dared to plead 
 And seek forgiveness for the young man's fault. 
 
 Swiftly rolled up his carriage to the door 
 And George helped out his daughters young and fair, 
 Two girls attired in fashion's freshest mould. 
 Who wore rich dresses with the careless grace 
 "Which only habit gives ; then did he cast 
 A glance of proud content upon the boy 
 The clever handsome agU.e younger son 
 Who darting nimbly up the well-worn steps 
 With youthful clatter-tread, ran in to be 
 The first with " Golden " greetings. And if now 
 The father's heart remembered with a pang 
 An absent one, the star eclipsed from sight — 
 None saw the trouble through his masking smiles. 
 
PAra' II. THE GOLDEN DAY. 33 
 
 An hour was passed in noisy liouseholcl chat ; 
 Young cousins meeting have so much to tell ! 
 Bat soon the Grand- dam talked with George aside, 
 At first a little of the brother dead, 
 To warm the heart it was her aim to melt ; 
 And then proposed a quiet garden stroll. 
 
 The gardener, who had tended well the grounds 
 As boy and man for nearly forty years, 
 Had been perplexed and troubled many days ; 
 His mistress dear who at all other times 
 Had been content with what he plann'd and did, 
 Showed whims and fancies which now crossed him sore. 
 Choice flowers that grew before the summer-house 
 She'd had uprooted by a firm decree — 
 " I grieve to vex you, but it must be so," 
 She calmly said, and in their empty place 
 She , would have planted more old-fashioned things. 
 Scarlet geraniums with the horse-shoe leaf, 
 And purple pansies of a common sort; 
 And then declared the jasmine must be clipped 
 And honeysuckle newly trained across 
 The quaint Pagoda, — painted fresh last year; 
 Till, when, reluctantly all this was done. 
 The man looked dazed — but presently exclaimed 
 " Well, ma'am, I think you've made the clock run 
 
 back 
 '• With what they call a vengeance ! Dearie me 
 " The place for all the world looks just the sitmc 
 
 D 
 
34 THE DIAMOXl) WKDDING. 
 
 "As it was used to do before we built 
 " The bot-house, and bad fires." 
 
 Tben sbe but smiled 
 And said " I like to be reminded thus 
 " Of early times, and mucb that's passed away.'' 
 
 Yet not by path direct with purpose plain 
 Did Eertha Wald the old Pagoda reach ; 
 First with a little fuss she showed her son 
 Some orchids of a rare and curious sort 
 Sent from, afar by one of Harry's crew — 
 And then she pointed out the peaches forced, 
 And told how fins the passionflower bad grown, 
 And all 'mid running babble of home things ; 
 With cunning craft she weighed her pleasant 
 
 words, 
 Yet craft it was so wholly void of wrong 
 Its essence was still white and pure with truth. 
 
 "But mother dear," said George caressingly, 
 " You ought to rest — I know how soon you tire." 
 " Not here," she answered, " for the air is close, 
 " But let me lean upon your arm my dear, 
 ' And then we'll seek my own old favourite haunt." 
 
 " Don't hurry — and I'll talk instead of you," 
 Exclaimed with tenderness the grey beard son ; 
 '• I meant to ask what lovely girl that was 
 " "With Ethel driving in the Park last week, 
 
PART II. THE GOLDEN DAY. 35 
 
 " They did not look at me, but I saw them ; 
 
 " And such a profile as that Hebe had 
 
 " One does not soon forget. Who was the girl.P" 
 
 " Oh, Ethel has so many loving friends 
 " I do not always know with whom she is, 
 " We'll ask her by-and-bye to tell the name. 
 
 " Ah, Ethel's friends are certain to be nice ; 
 " But, mother dear, your voice betrays fatigue 
 " The old Pagoda is the place to rest," 
 Said George, descrying it between the trees ; 
 And then he added with a sigh "for years 
 " I shunned these garden paths, but now I'm here 
 " I feel that it is well. Dear Maggie loved 
 " The poor old summer-house, and for that sake 
 " I'll try to conquer selfish cowardice 
 " Which starts at shadows of the happy past. 
 " So let us rest and talk of olden times." 
 
 "Few things," she answered, "do I like so well, 
 " Unless it be to talk of future hopes ; 
 " Not only those which brightly shine beyond 
 " The dark barred gate old people feel is near, 
 " But earthly hopes I cherish for the young." 
 
 This said, they stepped within the summer house 
 And for a little while sat mute and still ; 
 Only sweet sounds of nature all around 
 
36 THE DIAMOND WEDDING. 
 
 Made varied music to the listening ear. 
 Insects were humming, having hewly woke 
 Prom their siesta since the noon-tide hour, 
 And leaves seemed whispering to each other fast 
 ,0f all the breeze was saying ; while a thrush 
 Surcharged with song poured forth its joyous lay. 
 Something of hope and peace was in the air 
 With spell to wake fine echoes in the heart. 
 
 The first was George to take up threads of talk : 
 "'Tis wonderful how little changed. this spot 
 " Siace all of us were young ! Ah, it presents 
 " A series of dissolving views to me. 
 " Here as a hoy I conned my Latin tasks, 
 " And here a childish quarrel was made up ; 
 " And here — yoi;i do not know — my lips first touched 
 " Dear Maggie's hand ;— but I am very sure 
 " You recollect your Silver "Wedding Day ; 
 *' When I indeed was rich in earthly joy, 
 ■■' And thought myself twice blessed in wife and 
 
 child, 
 " Yet now they both are gone from me." 
 
 "Nay, George, 
 " Your boy still lives, and I must plead for him 
 " With all my heart." 
 
 " You plead ! Oh, mother dear, 
 " Eefrain — refrain. You do not know what 't is 
 
PART II. THE GOLDEN DAY. 37 
 
 " To have bad children ; yes, I may say that 
 " We have been always dutiful and true." 
 
 " I thank God for my children every day," 
 Said Bertha "Wald, with cadence in her voice 
 That gave expression to the grateful words. 
 
 " Oh, then forbear." 
 
 "Nay, hear me speak to-day." 
 
 " "Were it a girl," cried George, impatiently, 
 " I think — I do not know — but still I think, 
 " I could have pitied, knowing well the power 
 " Of pleading lover's words ; but see my girls, 
 " Though motherless how nobly good they are." 
 
 " Listen a moment, George. I say a youth 
 " In early manhood's wilful eager days 
 " Left motherless, has even greater loss 
 " Than daughters thus bereft. Few seem to think 
 " The son has need of mother's mystic aid, 
 " And friends oft blindly let him drift away 
 " 'Mong hidden rocks, from which the silken cords 
 " Bound to the anchor of a mother's love 
 " Perchance had saved him; while because the loss 
 " To girls bereft strikes more the general sense, 
 " Matrons are ready with their open arms 
 " To shield the half-fledged nestlings, seeking thus 
 
38 THE DIAMOND WEDDIKG. 
 
 " To let the many compensate for one. 
 
 " Of late it is that I have thought this out, 
 
 " And I would supplement my words and say, 
 
 " A father's loss is greater to the girl. 
 
 " Work out the problem from what side you will, 
 
 " I do believe I 'm. right." 
 
 " Tour words," cried George, 
 " Are startling — I must dwell on them awhile." 
 
 " And ask yourself, dear son," said Bertha Wald, 
 " If in your days of young and hopeful love 
 " I did not smooth some rough and thorny ways. 
 " Poor Paul had no such friend ; I was too old, 
 " His sisters are too young." 
 
 "Oh, mother, dear, 
 " You rend me by these memories ! But see 
 " What differences there are ! This girl he picked 
 " From out an artist's studio, where they say 
 " A pretty face makes market by the hour : 
 " Observe, the tale has all been brought to me." 
 
 " Distorted then out of its truthful form," 
 She answered warmly. " Every fact I know : — 
 " Her father was a gentleman, but poor, 
 " An artist only of some small renown. 
 " His daughter was the darling of his heart, 
 " And thrice his pictures borrowed grace, they say, 
 " Because he caught the beauty of her face. 
 
PART II. THE GOLDEN DAY. 3J 
 
 " Never to other painter did she sit ; 
 
 " And when her father died quite suddenlj^ 
 
 " And she was left with only dangerous dower 
 
 " Of loveliness and j^outh, Paul married her 
 
 " In privacy and haste ; lifting, he says, 
 
 " A white dove from the world's cold storm, to 
 
 rest 
 " And shelter. Not alone his marriage seems 
 " A 3'oung man's folly ; from one point of view 
 " It might be called a brave and manly act ! " 
 
 " And you defend him!^' George exclaimed ; but 
 now 
 His mother saw great tears were dropping fast 
 Upon the beard — the ample pouting beard, 
 Which caught them as they fell ; and at this sight 
 She wept as well, and slid her hand in his. 
 
 " But why such haste ! He should have trusted 
 me." 
 Resumed the father. 
 
 " Recollect," said she, 
 " You thwarted him three years ago, and then 
 " He yielded." 
 
 "Ah, you mean that silly thought 
 " About his cousin IMaud — I don't approve 
 " Of cousins marrying ; and besides I knew 
 
40 THE niAMOXD WEDDING. 
 
 " They each might match much better, as you see 
 " The girl has done. Pshaw, 't was a fire of straw." 
 
 " He thinks so now himself. But still he knew 
 " How weak he was to stand against your will," 
 She answering said, nor pleaded further then. 
 
 After a pause, in which it seemed her son 
 Had summoned back the sternness which had ebbed 
 A moment from his heart — " Mother," he said, 
 " You cannot dream what hopes for him were mine, 
 " What high ambition in my soul I nursed. 
 "And then, his mother's people liave of late 
 " Quite made advances; politics the same 
 " Have brought us face to face, and they claim us, 
 " Not we solicit them. It has been named 
 " And bruited, and for choosing I could have 
 " At once a Baronetcy ; but for what end ? 
 " For him to follow after ! If I 'm wroth 
 " You cannot wonder." 
 
 As he spoke she sighed, 
 And in her sigh such sorrow spo^ that he 
 Was stirr'd to anguish. 
 
 "Much I still might say, 
 " But will not," was her soft reply; "and yet 
 " Of this one thing my inmost conscience tells 
 " I should remind you. Little cared your wife 
 "For life's ambitions; but she loved j'ou both; 
 " And if from Heaven's courts she looks on earth. 
 
PART II. THE GOr.DEN DAY. 41 
 
 " I know her peaceful spirit pleads with mine. 
 
 " liemember, too, what words once here you said, 
 
 " ' I think I wish that Madge had only been 
 
 " '. A peasant girl, for me to surely prove 
 
 " ' How well I loved her in her lowly state.' 
 
 " You meant it ! George, you are more aged than I, 
 
 " You have forgot the love and life of youth!" 
 
 "No, no, no, no — a thousand times I say! 
 " This struggle shows how well I recollect. 
 " Mother, I yield — I will forgive my boy." 
 And then his passion broke anew in tears ; 
 But soon he check'd them, press'd his mother's hand, 
 And let her thank him in her own best way. * 
 
 After a pause, "Tell me,"' said George, "when 'twas 
 " You saw him last?" 
 
 " About three hours ago," 
 The mother cried with smiles, and meeting full 
 His keenly questioning look. 
 
 "Then he is here! 
 ' ' mother, what a strategist you are ! 
 " I '11 see him, and at once it better be." 
 
 " I '11 bs the messenger," she rising said, 
 " And send the culprit hither." 
 
 "JSTay," cried George, 
 
42 THE DIAMOND WEDDING. 
 
 " It is not fit that you should play the part 
 " Of lackey." 
 
 " Oh, not lackey's part it is," 
 Responded eagerly the mother dear, 
 " But that of a triumphant herald, charged 
 " With joyous tidings : whj'', your words, my son, 
 " Have taken all my weariness away, 
 " And given strength shall serve me well and long." 
 
 Some hours there are in every human life, 
 In which the leading threads of destiny ^_ 
 Seem gathered close, like reins within the hand 
 Of skilful charioteer, whose will controls 
 A team of fiery steeds ; and mastery 
 Belongs to him who knows to press the curb 
 Upon his passions while they champ and "fret. 
 
 Such victory George Wald had newly gained. 
 And when his son approached, no looker on 
 Could e'er have guessed how sharp the strife had 
 
 been ; 
 For both of them were English born and trained. 
 And so had not effusion in their mien. 
 There was a lingering tight hand-clasp, and then 
 The son bareheaded stood, and answered plain 
 Such questions as his father put ; nor flinch'd. 
 Nor aped undue humility ; nor yet 
 Set up too strong or proud defence. 
 
PART II. THE GOLDEN DAY. 43 
 
 " You should 
 "Have trusted, all to me," the father said. 
 
 " I did," the son with gentleness replied. 
 " I knew this happy time would surely come, 
 "It was myself I did not fulty trust. 
 " I felt my words unmeet to cope with yours, 
 "Yet knew my heart could never give her up. 
 "Father, some day you'll comprehend it all 
 " When you have learn'd the worth of Marguerite !" 
 
 " Go fetch this rare excuse — I judge she's here." 
 
 " How gladly ! Eut one thing I wish to say 
 " As simple fact, before you see my wife ; 
 " I do assure you of the truth in this, 
 " All fault where fault has been was solely mine, 
 "And I have thought it but a proper care 
 " To shield her from all sorrow that I could ; 
 " She does not know in grave and full extent 
 "How stern and strong your sad displeasure was." 
 
 "For this I thank you;" then his father said, 
 "With heart that warmed to tenderness and trust, 
 For he loved manliness in men as much 
 As softer qualities in womankind. 
 Besides he could not help but recognise 
 On that young face, now stirr'd by thronging hopes. 
 More potently revealed than ever yet 
 
44 THK DIAMOND WEDDTXG. 
 
 Had seemed — the look which in the mother dead, 
 Had so enthralled his soul ! 
 
 Minutes were wing'd, 
 And lo ! almost before he was aware^ 
 A figure taller than the common height, 
 Yet graceful as a sylph, was led to where 
 The father waited. Simply dressed it was 
 In some light fabric of a silvery grey. 
 While a mantilla of black Spanish lace 
 Half hid, half showed a mass of auburn hair. 
 He started, 't was the "Hebe" that he saw, 
 "Whose perfect profile he could not forget, 
 Marked as it was by what he most admired — 
 The delicate patrician aquiline! 
 
 There is a beauty^may one dare to say 
 Falsely so called? — itself a cunning mask 
 That hides a soul whoSe comeliness is small. 
 Such beauty fares but ill beneath time's touch ; 
 Having no life renewing principle, 
 The gnawing tooth leaves dents which do not heal. 
 And much of all the cynic has to say, 
 When he most sneers at perishable bloom. 
 Applies in force to only beauty base. 
 
 But, oh, there is a far diviner sort 
 Which doth itself perpetually renew. 
 And this was Marguerite's rare loveliness, 
 
PAfiT II. THE GOLDEN BAY. 45 
 
 In which the outlines of majestic form 
 
 Seemed all accordant with some inner law. 
 
 The clear arched brow, and well cut mouth and 
 
 chin, 
 And throat columnar though so flexible 
 "Were all truth tellers, showing of a mind 
 That opened widely to the fairest 'thoughts, 
 Of culture too, though still she was so young ; 
 Of simple dignity that is a strength, 
 A needful fibre to the woman's heart. 
 And as her character was one that had 
 In it the potent element of growth. 
 So must her beauty prove perennial, 
 And only change to suit the changing years. 
 
 But when the play is played the curtain falls, 
 And old and young were well content to-day, 
 For the Grandfather had his share of joy 
 With pride in his dear wife's success and power ; 
 And George was happy in his ire subdued. 
 And dream'd his dreams of many future days. 
 At least 't was well that no plebeian girl 
 Was Hnked by wedlock to his eldest son* 
 And e'en her name — so like yet not the same 
 As that he reverenced — had a tender spell ! 
 
 Then when the evening waned a great delight 
 Broke on his listening ear: for Marguerite 
 Had rich contralto voice, and joining choir 
 
46 THE DIAMOND WEDDING. 
 
 Of youthful singers of the Evening Hymn, 
 
 Its clear tones rang with melody supreme, 
 
 And seemed to prompt thanksgiving in his heart, 
 
 Which echoed still as deeper darkness fell. 
 
 The simple words, in childhood utter'd oft. 
 
 Of prayer and praise unto the "King of Kings," 
 
 And thanks "for all the blessings of the light." 
 
47 
 
 Part III. — The Diamond Weddixcj. 
 
 Period a.d. 1866. 
 
 Ten years liaye sped ! Small golden grains of Time 
 
 From that dim glass which antique fancy placed 
 
 Beside the restless scythe ; — atoms so small 
 
 That science coldj when questioning the past, 
 
 Oft scorns to deal with measurement thus fine. 
 
 And yet ten years j — what sum they always make 
 
 To every human soul that sets itself 
 
 To con the fuU, but fading ledger book 
 
 Which memory tightly clasps ! And after all, 
 
 Few things there are which more divinely show 
 
 The gifts to man, transcending other dowers 
 
 Than his supreme capacity to crowd 
 
 Emotions in epitomes of time. 
 
 Yet feel existence like a brimming cup. 
 
 With lip that ever widens to receive. 
 
 So that his heart becomes a microcosm 
 
 In some short span of swiftly-rolling years, 
 
 That Nature counts but little— such as that 
 
 In which the sapling grows a foot, perchance, 
 
 And wins the circlets of a few dark rings— 
 
 In which the towering cliff, wave-vex'd and worn, 
 
48 THE DIAMOND WEDDING. 
 
 But yields its inches to the watery foe. 
 And all proclaims that Time but regulates 
 The outer world— and not to Thought belongs. 
 We live a life in one short day sometimes. 
 A common clock can tick with even stroke 
 The moments of our rolling plan'et's course, 
 But never yet was metronome devised 
 To beat the rhythm of our spirit life ! 
 
 ]SI'ot yet had dawn'd the Diamond Wedding Day 
 Of Paul and Bertha Wald — 't was eve before ; 
 Call it we will the Yigll of the Feast. 
 Ten years had brought them to the sixtieth year 
 Of wedded life and love. That they were frail 
 Of limb, and showed the body's wear and tear 
 Was but the natural result for them 
 Of privilege so rare ; and recently 
 Great shocks of fear had stirred their children much ; 
 Fear that the sorrow which must surely come 
 Was hovering very near. 
 
 A little thing 
 Had power to shake them ; even joy could harm, 
 As had been witnessed a few months' ago. 
 They'd been sojourning on the southern coast, 
 Where summer lingers to the first short days ; 
 And on a gleaming, calm, autumnal morn. 
 With Ethel, slackening pace to suit their steps, 
 Thej' still could walk awhile beside the sea. 
 Often they talked to sailors on the btach, 
 
PAKT III. THE DIAMOND WEDDING. 49 
 
 And liked to watch the little fishing smacks 
 With party coloured sails — whose every patch 
 Was silent witness of a conflict past ; 
 But with more interest still did they regard 
 The Life Boat of the station and its crew- 
 
 ■ One day they found the men had haul'd it up 
 To give smart touches with the painter's brush, 
 And had erased some Pagan word it bore, 
 Declaring such "uncanny." Then began 
 White lett'ring of a better chosen name. 
 Even before their eyes the two words grew, 
 And the strong Life Boat was the "Harry Wald!" 
 
 " Why do you give your sturdy boat that name ?" 
 The father asked with much control of voice. 
 
 " Well, don't you know of Captain Harry Wald ?" 
 Was question-answer of the honest tar, 
 With something like compassion in the tone 
 For ignorance presumed. " They are to call 
 " A big ship after him, but we are first ; 
 " I'm sure the name suits Life Boat best of all. 
 " And if so be the ladies like to hear 
 " I'll spin the yarn for them." 
 
 " No, no, good man, 
 " 1 know it all," the father quick replied. 
 
 E 
 
50 THE DIAMOND WEDDING. 
 
 " Yet no offence, I did not mean it so," 
 The sailor said. 
 
 " Offence ! here take my hand. 
 "The 'Harry "Wald' will never float the worse 
 " Because an old man's blessing rests upon 
 " Her brave devoted crew. But more than this, 
 " Take these for wintry hours — and spare enough 
 " For paint sometimes, to keep the name still fresh." 
 And saying this a roll of golden coin 
 Passed to the broad brown hand. 
 
 It was a joy 
 This incident, a sudden startling joy. 
 And Paul and Bertha tasted it as such. 
 And yet it made old wounds call forth fresh tears. 
 And as a flower, full blown, at gentlest touch. 
 Will petals drop, although it might unchanged 
 Have swayed upon its stem another day, 
 So it was felt some vital strength had passed 
 In those heart thrillings on the pebbly beach. 
 
 The Diamond Wedding Day — the morrow near 
 Will fall, by happy harmony of fate. 
 Upon a peaceful Sabbath day of r^st. 
 No showy festival is pre-arranged, 
 Though sweet reunion of the dearest ones 
 Is plann'd as thing of course. 
 
 It was an eve 
 That lured fresh breezes after hours of heat : 
 
PART III. THE DIAMO>'D WEDDING. 51 
 
 And they, swift weavers iu the crimson west. 
 Prepared the sinking sun's bright canopy. 
 The house was still, with that soft hush that seems 
 Scarce marr'd or broken though a voice be heard. 
 'T was often thus in these calm gliding days : 
 Servants were old, and very seldom now 
 Made stir and haste, but loved a slow routine. 
 In which it seemed to them all life mo-ved best. 
 
 The Pair were seated in their large, low chairs ; 
 The knitting dropp'd from Bertha's feeble hands; 
 Their daughter Ethel read, in clearest tones 
 To suit dulled hearing, at their joint request 
 From some old book of much revered Divine, 
 Well known to both, which they had loved when young. 
 And loved still better now. 
 
 For long, long years 
 The fittin? motto for their lives had been 
 
 o 
 
 " Ave, ready j" with the soul's accounts made up 
 
 From day to day; and all this world's affairs 
 
 Serenely settled in more vigorous times> 
 
 By no disturbing indecisions moved. 
 
 They looked on all such things as by-gone work. 
 
 And not to be retouched. 
 
 A sound of wheels 
 Was heard upon the gravel path, and lo ! 
 A welcome visitor is soon announced ; 
 'Tis Marguerite, who as a sweet surprise 
 Breaks on the trio. 
 
-52 THE DIAMOND WEDDING. 
 
 Marguerite from time 
 Has won increase of stately loveliness; 
 And from a fault an inward grace has grown. 
 Happy, and honoured by the world's acclaim. 
 The consciousness that once herself had swerved. 
 Though in the partial ignorance of youth, 
 A little from the straightest narrow path. 
 By stealthy marriage, not at once avowed, 
 Had miagled with her native dignity 
 A golden vein of sweet humility, 
 Through which she learn'd the wisdom of the heart. 
 
 '"Tis three whole days since we have heard of 
 
 you," 
 
 She said, " and so I thought I 'd come to-night ; 
 
 " Especially as Paul has sent me word 
 
 " His father and himself cannot be home 
 
 " Till afternoon to-morrow, having lost 
 
 " The train they should have travelled by to-day : 
 
 " Papa is vexed — although the message says 
 
 " The Trial, much prolonged, is over now, 
 
 " And the good cause has won. Paul spoke three 
 
 hours, 
 " And evening papers one and all declare 
 " It was a splendid speech. I am so glad 
 " His father went to hear him plead so well, 
 " And you, too, all are pleased, I know." 
 
 Ah. 
 
 yep, 
 
PART III. THE DIAMOND WEDDING. 53 
 
 Was echoed with sincerity and warmth, 
 
 With separate comments suitable from each, 
 
 And many loving thanks to Marguerite 
 
 For coming to them in this kindly way. 
 
 But still upon her senses finely true 
 
 Something of change touched sadly. Such a change 
 
 As house companions see not. Bertha's voice 
 
 Was low beyond its wont; her hands, too, lay 
 
 So listlessly upon the knitting dropped, 
 
 To Marguerite's observing, anxious glance 
 
 They had in them pathetic helplessness. 
 
 Soon she moved nearer to the drooping form. 
 
 And taking footstool for her lowly seat, 
 
 Look'd upwards into Bertha's faded face. 
 
 It was a pretty picture ; old and young. 
 
 The contrast softened very tenderly 
 
 By looks of love — not harshly, coldly marked. 
 
 There was a little pause ; for Marguerite 
 Grew grave. But presently the granddam smiled. 
 And something like the olden light again 
 Beamed from her shrunken eyes. She raised her 
 
 hand 
 And touched a jewel that the young wife wore; 
 Who promptly answering to the gesture cried — 
 " Ah, grandmamma, you know the earrings then ! 
 ■ " They were my lovely present yesterday, 
 " On sole condition that I wore them first 
 " When I should visit you. And, like a child 
 
54 THE DIAMOND WEDDIKG. 
 
 " Desiring full possession of a toy, 
 
 " I would not wait to-morrow's festival, 
 
 " Although I know they 're its memorial 
 
 " To make them doubly dear. Words cannot say 
 
 " How much I prize them ; yet if any one 
 
 " Can guess, 't is you. You know how dear Sir 
 
 George 
 " Adored his wife, and these black pearls were hers." 
 
 " Yes, yes ; and tell him, dear, I understand," 
 The low voice murmured, with some emphasis 
 TJpon the final syllables. And then 
 The two sat hand-in-hand without much speech. 
 But Marguerite, still looking wistfully 
 With upturn'd gaze upon the withered cheeks. 
 Perceived their pallor grow, and seeing signs 
 Of coming faintness cried, " Dear Aunt, she 's ill, 
 " Oh, let us send for skilful help at once." 
 
 And yet she rallied much, and spoke, and smiled. 
 Before the fingers, used to note the throbs 
 Which tell of life and death, touch'd her thin 
 
 wrist. 
 And voice oracular in kindly tones. 
 Acknowledged urgent need of watchful care. 
 
 The household was astir with anxious zeal; 
 But shaken by the sudden grief and fear. 
 The Old Man clasped his trembling hands and wept. 
 
PART in. THE DIAMOND WEDDING. 55 
 
 Calm- Ethel, too, was stricken by the shook 
 To piteous outbreak of her sore distress. 
 So Marguerite at once took up her part, 
 And was a strength and stay. 
 
 " Let me be .nurse, 
 " For I am young and well, and need not rest," 
 She said ; " or, Auntie, if you this refuse, 
 " We '11 share the watch to-night. But first I '11 
 
 use 
 " My ponies at the door." 
 
 Then she wrote out 
 TJnto her husband this brief telegram, — 
 " I think your father might need special train, 
 " His mother ails so much." 
 
 To coachman said — 
 " Drive fast — and spare not cost or pains that this 
 " May reach without delay." 
 
 Then measures ta'en 
 That Maud and Frank at early morn might know 
 Their mother's failing state, she set herself 
 To keep a loving watch ; and firmly wise. 
 On her the rule was tacitly conferr'd. 
 
 The air was fragrant with the breath of flowers. 
 And wafted through the open windows oft 
 Refreshing wealth through that soft summer night. 
 But oh, how ghostly ever seems the dawn 
 To them who watch the sick ! Its pale gray light 
 
56 THE DIAMOND WEDDING. 
 
 Is tinged in senjblance to the ashy hue 
 
 That heralds death — as if when day is born, 
 
 The wondrous night with all its thousand eyes 
 
 Is ruthless slain, and laid upon its bier. 
 
 And there are moods in which the shrill cock-crow, 
 
 And note delicious of the soaring lark, 
 
 And merrv carol of some child of toil, 
 
 Astir before the regal sun is up. 
 
 But seem the phrases of a requiem. 
 
 It was at dawn that Bertha woke from out 
 A deep, still slumber, opened wide her eyes. 
 And beckoned to the loved ones near ; then spoke 
 In voice low toned, yet still distinctly clear. 
 Though but in fragments did her speech come forth. 
 " Oh, I have had a glorious dream," she said ; 
 " Lilias was with us on the Diamond Day, 
 " And si.rewed sweet flowers — but it was up the stairs, 
 " Not down she led ! and Harry stretched his arms 
 " To meet me from his ship's tall deck, with flags 
 " Bright-coloured waving gaily overhead. 
 " And such a smile was on his happy face ! 
 " I was to blame to sigh or grieve about 
 " The sea- weed shroud that used to pain me so. 
 " Dear husband, we shall see them both, I know ; 
 " They have been waiting for us very long." 
 Then afterwards she said with little moan, 
 " I see you all but George— where is my George?" 
 But soon the faintness brought oblivion back ! 
 
PART III. THE DIAMOND WEDDING. 57 
 
 Yet once again calm consciousness returned. 
 And now she knew her grey -haired eldest child 
 Clasped her wan hand, the while great bead-like tears 
 Splashed on the coverlet. One look from eyes 
 That still had power to recognise her son, 
 Although the death-film o'er them darkly crept. 
 Told all the blessing that she could not speak! 
 
 And soon the bright June sun had mounted high, 
 And neighbouring church-bells, pealing steadily, 
 Invited worshippers to come and be 
 Together gathered in one Holy name. 
 The watchers thought the dying heard the bells, 
 And liked the Sabbath sound; but when it ceased 
 Her last faint breath had passed ! Bertha was called 
 From struggling life and pain, to know the things 
 Eye hath not seen, nor heart of man conceived. 
 
 The day, the Diamond Wedding Day, glowed on 
 With sunbeams beating on the darkened panes, 
 And yet the hours were exquisitely still. 
 As if kind Nature was in s)'mpathy 
 With them who wept and prayed. 
 
 But Marguerite 
 Had tender fancies ; and she 'd heard the tale 
 Of Silver Day, and strewing of the flowers; 
 So she obtained fresh roses pure and white. 
 And pale forget-me-nots, and heart's-ease dark. 
 And other symbolising buds that might 
 
58 THE DIAMOND WEDDING; 
 
 Pe sprung from some that little Lilias knew, 
 
 And strewed them on the couch where now was laid. 
 
 Like marble image of a much-loved saint, 
 
 The form so long revered ; and in the hand 
 
 She placed a garden lilyj sceptre-wise. 
 
 And George knew all — and learned 'twas Marguerite, 
 Whose wise forethought had led him there that 
 
 morn. 
 He strove for words to hless her as he would. 
 And prayed her children might requite for him. 
 
 The patriarch father. Bertha's Husband, seemed 
 More stunned than shocked, and wept but little 
 
 now; 
 But when the evening came, and level beams 
 Shot Parthian arrows, as on dancers oncej 
 He sought the shaded chamber of the dead. 
 Entreating to be left alone therein ; 
 Yet Ethel, ling'ring for a moment, saw 
 Her father kneel and bow his head beside 
 Her mother's placid form. 
 
 Twice she look'd in 
 With gentlest touch upon the opening door, 
 And marked this posture still. But the third time 
 A little thing alarmed her. A dark moth 
 Of harmless kind, that on hot summer nights 
 Steal in through open casements, rested now 
 Upon the old man's tight-clasped, wrinkled hands: 
 
PART III. THE DIAMOND WKDDING. 59 
 
 In Life 't is instinct to shake off at onoe 
 Sucli creatures, if, by bold mistake of theirs, 
 They dare to dally with, and use us thus. 
 
 'T was o'er ! The Diamond Wedding Day was done, 
 The brighter, better Bridal was complete ! 
 
 ^ 4* 5l5 :^ :}: 
 
 These things are garnered in some mem'ries still. 
 Although the house is razed — the garden spoil'd, 
 And dear memorial trees are fell'd. Where once 
 The happy thrush its joyous paeans sang, 
 A ceaseless traffic fills the air with sound. 
 And where the quiet, quaint Pagoda stood, 
 The Railway Engine hissing, pants and halts. 
 
P O E M S. 
 
HELENA. 
 
 " It hurts not him 
 That he is loved of me." 
 
 All's Well that ends Well. 
 
 " So they laughed about our Friendship ! Let them : 
 
 what care you' or I, 
 Sitting hand-in-hand this morning, with the bright 
 
 fire blazing nigh ! 
 So they laughed at Woman's Friendship — called it 
 
 weaker than a straw, 
 With a dozen dull comparisons that Folly's tongue 
 
 can draw. 
 
 " They were tempted from their slumbers, ere this 
 
 autumn morning broke, 
 By the cruel preparations which the hunters' clarion 
 
 spoke. 
 DuU and cloudy is the noontime, and the air is 
 
 dank and chill, 
 Do you envy them their racing over heath and over 
 
 hill? 
 
64 POEMS. 
 
 " No ;^ then to this seat, my Mary — yes, the lounge- 
 chair large and low. 
 
 At your feet I'll take my station, and I'll lean my 
 flushing brow 
 
 On your knee whilst I am telling all my heart has 
 hived so long ; 
 
 To none other could I speak it, even with this 
 faltering tongue ! 
 
 " Mary — ^Friend aHke and mentor ! having three 
 
 years more than I, 
 Grave and staid with twenty summers that have 
 
 passed her smiling by ; 
 Smiling all save that brief season, when her sun was 
 
 clouded o'er, 
 Though to beam with xay serener, for the darkness 
 
 felt before. 
 
 " And to dower her with the wisdom — that which 
 
 only grief can yield. 
 Subtle sympathy extended — wrought by friendship 
 
 to a shield. 
 For though Mary now is happy — happy in her love 
 
 approved, 
 In her sweet contented present — and in future fears 
 
 removed ; 
 
 " She remembers aU the anguish — all the conflict 
 of that hour. 
 When hope and fear were wrestling, and she only 
 found the power 
 
HELENA.. 65 
 
 To breatte her heart to Helen — in these clasping 
 
 arms to hide, 
 Finding thus the sole assuaging of her misery's 
 
 rising tide. 
 Nay, no tears of recollection — though I kiss them all 
 
 away. 
 As I'd brush the dew from flower-bud in the sunny 
 
 month of May." 
 
 " Little Helen," now quoth Mary, '• little Helen, 
 
 sister heart, 
 In those days of soul-convulsion, do you know what 
 
 was your part — 
 That you stood among the ruins, with a sword in 
 
 either hand, 
 Keeping off Despair from Anguish — trampling out 
 
 Fate's fiery brand ? " 
 
 "'Twas but sympathy," said Helen, "that could 
 
 feel and comprehend. 
 And I ask it now from Mary, from my true and 
 
 dearest friend. 
 There are lights among the shadows, that my 
 
 tongue must strive to show. 
 Else indeed would reason tremble, ere the bidden 
 
 words could flow. 
 I've a Woman's heart within me — for I felt it 
 
 newly pant. 
 Girlish thoughts are gone for ever, though my years 
 
 are still so scant. 
 
66 HELENA. 
 
 Girlhood's days, and girlhood's fancies — folly's pyramid 
 
 up-piled, 
 And which seem to me more childish than the 
 
 thinkings of a child ! 
 
 "Is there heauty in a blankness, whereon error 
 
 still may write — 
 In the stone where lies the statue, that the chisel 
 
 brings to light ? 
 Or worth in wondrous eloquence, till the pent-up 
 
 stream has broke. 
 Or the lyre but newly fashioned, ere its hidden soul 
 
 has woke ? 
 If herein be worth and beauty — ^but believe me not 
 
 unless 
 Is the homage granted duly to our vaunted girlish - 
 
 ness. 
 
 " Need I name his name, my Mary ? You have 
 
 guessed it, that I know, 
 By the pressure of your fingers, and the half word 
 
 whispered low : 
 Yet you cannot e'en conjecture — 'tis the strangeness 
 
 of my lot, 
 That I scarcely can remember when it was I loved 
 
 him not. 
 He the man now more than thirty — I the child he 
 
 used to lift 
 To his knee to make me happy, bribing by some 
 
 baby gift. 
 
HELENA. 67 
 
 " To this day they tell the story — when a raree 
 show had place, 
 
 Such, as pleases but the elders in the joy on child- 
 hood's face ; 
 
 How he throned me on his shoulder, towering over 
 all the rest, 
 
 T for payment giving kisses — all my gladness thus 
 exprest, 
 
 While he turned his face to take them, and his eyes 
 looked up to mine, 
 
 "With a light that I remember as of something half 
 divine. 
 
 " Then mjf^ fingers wandered freely, o'er his cheek 
 
 and through his hair. 
 And my tiny feet he nestled near his heart with 
 
 loving care. 
 They were blue shoes I was decked with — that I 
 
 still can call to mind. 
 Trifle though the recollection, to be by memory 
 
 shrined. 
 
 " Oh, to lean my head one minute, where the blue 
 
 shoes rested then, 
 To be clasped and prisoned fondly, for an instant 
 
 once again ; 
 Then to live upon the consciousness — a light for 
 
 memory's hoard. 
 That he by that dear moment's love my self-respect 
 
 restored ! 
 
68 HELENA. 
 
 " Mary, you can understand me — you can feel it 
 in the scope 
 
 Of a love like this that truly— I dare not cherish 
 hope; 
 
 The hope that Philip loves me ! Now I breathe to 
 you the word. 
 
 Whose music was a mystery) dwelling in a deep heart- 
 chord. 
 
 Yet my father calls him Philip— whilst my tongue 
 perforce must speak 
 
 All his formal appellation, like acquaintance of a 
 week. 
 
 " No — that hope I dare not cherish, for its beams 
 are all too bright. 
 
 And I shrink like dungeoned captive from the glowing 
 stream of light. 
 
 All enough to cheer my darkness is a faint and 
 starry ray, 
 
 Like the one that shone upon me, it was only yester- 
 day. 
 
 "I had plucked a flower that lingered o'er the gar- 
 den's ruined plot, 
 
 Yet from idleness, or weariness, the flower I cherished 
 not ; 
 
 Placed it lightly in my girdle, where it withered in 
 an hour. 
 
 Then fell away unheeded that poor forgotten flower. 
 
HELENA. 69 
 
 " But he raised it from the carpet — raised it with 
 
 a pleasant smile, 
 My gaze was on the looking-glass, I saw him all 
 
 the while, 
 How beneath his vest he hid it: — 'tis I know a 
 
 foolish thing, 
 Yet for that flower believe me — I would give this 
 
 jewelled ring." 
 
 "Far beyond," said Mary, gravely, "all a boy's 
 
 fantastic flights, 
 Far above the heartless triumph, which a worthless 
 
 man delights, 
 I .believe he loves you truly — not from one such 
 
 sign alone. 
 But hundreds write a prophecy by a sybil's secret 
 
 shown ! " 
 
 " Hush ! — remember what I told you — that such 
 
 light I cannot bear. 
 Even these your words o'ercome me with a hope 
 
 that chills like fear. 
 You alone will not despise me for the weakness you 
 
 may note — 
 I am choking— Mary loosen this ribbon from my 
 
 throat. 
 
 " iNow thank heaven that tears are flowing ! Of 
 its blessings this the chief, 
 That my trial is not always too great for such 
 relief. 
 
70 HELBKA. 
 
 Yet a moment and I'll tell you Tiow the truth I 
 
 learned to know, 
 How my childish love expanded — how it came to 
 
 change and grow. 
 
 "In my baby-days he loved me— he was then a 
 
 noble youth. 
 With a form to mate Apollo — and his mind the 
 
 shrine of Truth; 
 And his sister and my mother — they were friends 
 
 like you and me. 
 With the dearest love of sisters, though of kin not 
 
 one degree. 
 
 "Helen's mother — Philip's sister — died within a 
 
 little space, 
 Leaving only baby Helen to fill their vacant place ; 
 i'oT they were so bound together, that whoever loved 
 
 the one. 
 Found affection towards the other by reflected ray 
 
 had shone. 
 
 "Then my father's heart contracted round his 
 
 child of wife bereft, 
 For it surely could not satisfy the void that she had 
 
 left! 
 While for Philip's sister's friend's sake, and perchance 
 
 for Philip's own, 
 Much of courtesy and friendship to the noble boy 
 
 was shown. 
 
HELENA. '71 
 
 Then I know that Philip loved me — sought his 
 
 sister's friend to trace, 
 In the gestures of my childhood, and the younger 
 
 Helen's face. 
 
 " But while I was still a plaything. Life for him 
 
 had long begun, 
 To the world's arena beckoned, a victory must be won. 
 How the laurels grew and gathered, unto you I 
 
 need not tell, 
 Proud, to know my soul is strong enough to love 
 
 his soul so well ! 
 
 " Fitful were his hurried visits — ^perhaps a change- 
 ful year would whirl, 
 
 'Tvixt his comings, unforgotten by the silent little 
 girl. 
 
 Always loving, never fearful, to his pet and darling 
 still. 
 
 Though she saw her elders humble, waiting on his 
 word and will. 
 
 Oh, the soul of love is reverence, when the rever- 
 ence hath no fear, 
 
 But an onward, upward looking, making high 
 thoughts grow more clear! 
 
 " Well, the change came on last summer, and the 
 first thing worthy note, 
 "Was a day you may remember of the party in the 
 bnat- 
 
72 HELENA. 
 
 The heavens were like a sapphire— or if filin-clouds 
 
 came to view. 
 They were pearls that seemed the setting, glassed in 
 
 Ocean's deeper blue. 
 
 "We had entered and were grouping, when I 
 
 heard the welcome plea. 
 And the tone that was caressing, ' Little Helen sits 
 
 by me.' 
 So he took my hand and placed me, and — at times 
 
 the spray dashed high — 
 With the boat-cloak he'd provided, he wrapped me 
 
 safe and dry. 
 
 " I was silent, far too happy, listening to his every 
 
 word. 
 To have taste for girlish prattle, or by childish 
 
 thoughts be stirred; 
 Yet my thoughts were not more foolish than the 
 
 words that others spoke — 
 Once they surely measured nonsense to the boatmen's 
 
 measured stroke ! 
 
 "Then the worse than nonsense followed — that 
 which ever seems to me. 
 
 From the hind, or from the noble, still the worst 
 vulgarity. 
 
HELENA. 73 
 
 'Tis the jest at things most sacred — yet I could not 
 
 but admire 
 How with pride, and yet politeness, he turned on 
 
 them their own fire ; 
 Gave no clue by which to fathom if his heart had 
 
 ever loved. 
 But the vaguest vague descriptions of the woman he 
 
 approved. 
 
 "'Could not tell if dark eyes pleased him — never 
 thought about their hue, 
 
 So they beamed with bright intelligence, and looked 
 but kind and true. 
 
 Tall and short might both be graceful — j^et he some- 
 times had inclined 
 
 To the middle height in woman, if with symmetry 
 combined.' 
 
 " Then miue ears took in a sorrow, which I could 
 
 not chase away, 
 He had called me ' little Helen ' thrice at least that 
 
 very day ! 
 But a hope came with the sorrow^ (see my foil)' 
 
 how I show), 
 The hope — beyond all others — that perchance I still 
 
 might grow ! 
 
74 HELENA. 
 
 " Ah, my heart did not foreshadow, that he never 
 
 more woiild say 
 Aught so dear as 'little Helen' in the old familiar way. 
 For that day when so much knowledge came to 
 
 hreak a dream to me. 
 Was the epoch whence his bearing grew the bearing 
 
 that you see ! 
 
 " Brightly shone the summer morning ; never 
 
 fearing stormy change, 
 "Was our little vessel guided beyond prudence' 
 
 measured range. 
 But the waste of waters widened, as we wandered 
 
 from^ the strand. 
 Till the stedfast shore behind us seemed a narrow 
 
 line of land. 
 
 " Then the summer breeze blew stronger, and the 
 
 summer sky grew dull. 
 And the summer clouds were tangled, of a threatening 
 
 meaning full; 
 Like a steed roused to rebellion, now the angry Ocean 
 
 heaved, 
 And our fears grew round us like a web that 
 
 frightened Fancy weaved! 
 
 " It might be Death and Danger gloomed not 
 from the shadowy land. 
 And that only Terror mocked us, and paled our little 
 band. 
 
HELENA. 
 
 Though but few the words he spoke then, j'^et was 
 
 something in his mien, 
 That made me feel we should be no more what we 
 
 before had been. 
 
 " And the cloak I well remembered, though it 
 
 now wrapped only me, 
 How its six yards' girth once served for both, and 
 
 served abundantly; 
 In mirthful need so cleverly had it kept us twain 
 
 from harm, 
 But a year had passed, and stealthily had bound us 
 
 by a charm ! 
 
 " I would have borne an agony but to save him 
 
 one slight pain, 
 Yet though the waves dashed furiously, mocking the 
 
 blinding rain, 
 For the very life within me, to Philip I could not 
 
 say, 
 'The cloak once served for both of us, a portion 
 
 take I pray ! ' 
 
 " I could have sunk contented then in that un- 
 fathomed grave, 
 And I did not feel a murmur at the Ocean's angry 
 rave. 
 
76 HELENA. . 
 
 His tone of voice ! new life it breathed, and his ej'e 
 
 had spirit spell, 
 When thus by peril's truthful test my heart its 
 
 change could tell ! 
 Yet afterwards he distant grew why, Mary, do 
 
 you smile ? 
 Though I see a tear is trembling on its azure throne 
 
 the while." 
 
 " If there were not in your story, Helen dear, a 
 
 sunny light, 
 I would strive to cheer the darkness of Life's sad 
 
 and dreariest night. 
 But I see the day is kindling — you know in tropic 
 
 lands 
 How the sun comes up with fleetness, chasing back 
 
 night's ebon bands ; 
 Though a darker, deeper midnight in those gorgeous 
 
 climes is shown, 
 Than to our sombre northernness in the summer 
 
 time is known. 
 
 " And there's law of compensation, that comes 
 from One on High, 
 
 That a price is paid for all things, and a price pro- 
 portionally ; 
 
 And souls that give and taste the wealth, of a love 
 like this of yours. 
 
 Must pay its price in suffering, through many trial 
 hours. 
 
HELENA. 77 
 
 "But yet in hopeful spirit still— no mazy thread 
 
 forgot — 
 I bid — with woman's courage — you, to meet your 
 
 woman's lot ! 
 In quiet rest, my Helena — and calm this fevered 
 
 brow " 
 " Your words have calmed me ; " Helen said, " and 
 
 I will leave you now. 
 
 " For a letter you have promised j and your task I 
 
 can divine. 
 As I see the paper lying that's to speak in many a line. 
 While you are thus outpouring your heart to its 
 
 other self, 
 1 will the spot deserted seek, and find my favourite 
 
 shelf, 
 I'm queen to-day of the library — better I read than 
 
 muse. 
 If in the poet's truthful page I can these memories 
 
 lose ! " 
 
 Little Helen, loving Helen, yes, her father's house 
 was still — 
 She had said the guests wers absent on the heath 
 
 and on the hill — 
 Save the murmur, had she listened, of the servants' 
 
 busy crew, 
 Making ready for the banquet, which the evening 
 would renew; 
 
78 HELENA. 
 
 All SO silent, that her footsteps, light and airy 
 though they were, 
 
 Almost sounded, as she passed along the corridor 
 and stair. 
 
 Then the hall clock's measured ticking made her 
 turn to note the time. 
 
 Hours and hours were yet before her, ere that ban- 
 quet hour would chime. 
 
 So she ope'd the book-room's portal — glided to 
 
 the nook she loved, 
 Where a band of glorious posts reigned, from meaner 
 
 tomes removed. 
 Then with reverent love she lifted down a volume 
 
 from its rest, 
 And her soul to its communings with an earnest heart 
 
 addressed. 
 
 Ah, how strangely was it chosen ! Soon a page 
 
 with pencil lined, 
 And words in One hand-writing must our little 
 
 Helen find. 
 Then the tears sprang forth like diamonds, but she 
 
 dashed them from her eyes. 
 To seize the unhoped, unlooked-for wealth, that now 
 
 before her lies ; 
 Yet all in vain,— the open book is the cushion for 
 
 her cheek. 
 Tears glistening still, and quivering hands, their 
 
 struggling language speak. 
 
HELENA. 79 
 
 Now what the sound to startle her, from a curtained 
 
 window near? 
 And what the voice, from its close recess, that 
 
 breaks upon her ear? 
 In accents, too, that tremblingly, by the deepest 
 
 feelings stirred, 
 Give some new sense, unconsciously, to every common 
 
 word ! 
 
 " Forgive, oh Helen ! I did not mean to play the 
 paltry spy- 
 Yet was entranced — how could I move — and you 
 
 alone so nigh ! " 
 " Not with the Hounds ! " 
 
 " Oh, perish them— perish the huntsmen, too ; 
 And perish every thing on earth that leads my 
 steps from you!" 
 
 He has left the curtained window, moving nearer 
 
 at his will; 
 " Oh, how foolish is this weeping — you a child must 
 
 think me still ! " 
 " Not a child — deep-hearted Helen — children do not 
 
 understand 
 All a poet's passion-breathing ! " Ah, he dares to 
 
 take her hand ! 
 
 Now a mist comes o'er her vision — now those lids 
 she could not raise. 
 If death must be the forfeit for withholding thus 
 her gaze. 
 
80 HELENA. 
 
 And her lips are mutely parted — not for all that 
 
 life might bring, 
 Could she now command a movement, or the power 
 
 of uttering ! 
 
 Yet not fainting she — nor falling : like a rigid 
 
 statue there, 
 When — the hand no more relinquished — he bends 
 
 beside her chair. 
 So not for her dear safety round her waist his arm 
 
 he steals, 
 With touch so light, that there it is she rather 
 
 knows than feels ! 
 
 " Soul of my life ! oh, speak to me— though to 
 
 kill me with your tongue. 
 If heart to heart, and life to life, must not through 
 
 Life belong ! 
 Have you not seen for ages past, I lived but by 
 
 your side. 
 Sigh not for boyish love— a Man's sets with a stronger 
 
 tide! 
 
 "I have waited all the morning, and it seemed a 
 dreary j'ear ; 
 
 Where have you been? what have you done? Your 
 favourite haunt is here ! " 
 
 Now the statue melts and trembles — and the flush- 
 ing cheek is hid, 
 
 While Philip kisses twice and thrice, each dear 
 eclipsing lid! 
 
HELEJTA. 81 
 
 Hope's radiant light shone fearfully : for once its 
 
 ray withdrawn, 
 If but a moment, seemed to leave her world without 
 
 a dawn. 
 And yet this real Light of Truth that beams upon 
 
 her way — 
 She marvels that it hath not power like lightning's 
 
 self to sla}"^ ! 
 
 The minutes glide to swift-winged hours ; and the 
 
 fire neglected dies : 
 The twilight dials out the day, and the clock's iron 
 
 tongue replies: 
 But sacred are Love's wisdom-thoughts, unmeet for 
 
 stranger's ear, 
 And Helena's and Philip's words may not be uttered 
 
 here ! 
 
 1847 
 
82 
 
 THE LIGHT-BEARERS. 
 
 It ma ybe that a living spark 
 
 Was dropped from Eden's flaming brand; 
 
 And kindled once at God's command, 
 The IjIGHt has lived through all the dark. 
 
 Sometimes the Bearers bore it low, 
 Like lurid torch on fenny ground. 
 So low, the light might oft confound 
 
 With phosphorescent cheating glow. 
 
 Sometimes it flamed, a beacon rare, 
 Upon the hill- tops of the land ; 
 But, wanting soon a feeding hand. 
 
 Sank into smouldering ashes there. 
 
 Sometimes from sacred altars shed. 
 It rose a many-coloured fire. 
 And pointed, like a flaming , spire. 
 
 To that blue sky which arched o'erhead. 
 
THE LIGHT-BEARERS, 83 
 
 Sometimes it shone a crescent mild, 
 
 Like planet under near eclipse. 
 
 Which yet with silver softly tips 
 A rugged scene and pathway wild. 
 
 It often lurked in student's room, 
 And lit the walls with rosy light, 
 And made within both warm and bright, 
 
 ■However deep the outer gloom. 
 
 Along the streets anon it came, 
 Like gas-jets, cunningly entwined, 
 Which light each other as the wind, 
 
 Puts in and out the struggling flame. 
 
 Sometimes, a golden nimbus bright. 
 It circles o'er the Teacher's brow; 
 Yet hid for us the crown and glow 
 
 Unless we see with Spirit-light. 
 
 Thank God for every kindling spark ; 
 Thank Him for every steady ray. 
 Which sheds upon our shadowed way 
 
 A Kght that struggles with the dark ! 
 
 He chooses from His creatures still 
 His true Light-bearers every age, 
 The war with darkness here to wage 
 
 His own great purpose to fulfil ! 
 
84 
 
 THE HEART'S AWAKENING. 
 
 Onlt yesterday a Child, 
 
 She the little rosy maiden, 
 Her's the glow of laughter wild ! 
 
 Now her brow with thought is laden. 
 From behind her eyes there gleams 
 Light which tells of stranger dreams. 
 Faint, like summer morning breaking. 
 With the shadows warfare making; 
 It is waking — It is waking! 
 
 Gone for aye the childish pace 
 
 Bounding, trotting at our call; 
 
 Slowlier, with a sweeping grace. 
 See her tiny footprints fall : 
 
 Silenter the babbling tongue, 
 
 When her elder friends among, 
 
 Yet her speech new music making ; 
 
 And her words new meaning taking, 
 
 Now her Girlish Heart is waking ! 
 
THE heart's awakening. 85 
 
 She hath opened Ifature's books, 
 
 Leaf by leaf thej turn for her; 
 
 And her soul as still she looks 
 Heaveth with a gentle stir. 
 
 Stars, — that were but stars before. 
 
 Shown by scientific lore. 
 
 Off such prosy fetters shaking, 
 
 Are with spirit-lustre breaking 
 
 On the Heart that's newly waking ! 
 
 She will sit in listless thrall 
 
 Gazing on a fleecy cloud; 
 Or upon the waterfall ; 
 
 Or upon a flowery crowd ; 
 Or on bee and butterfly ; 
 Or on birds that climb the sky ; 
 As she were dull earth forsakins — 
 
 o 
 
 Life from Dreamland" only taking 
 
 Meet for Young Hearts just awaking ! 
 
 There is yet another change 
 
 For the pensive little maiden; — 
 
 Now Good Angels round her range ; 
 
 Be their white wings wisdom laden. 
 
 She no longer solely looks 
 
 Into Nature's extern books 
 
 Though she musing sits apart; 
 
 She hath found a subtler teacher 
 
 And a more impassioned preacher, 
 
 In her Wakened Woman's Heart! 
 1850. 
 
86 
 
 THE GARLAND MAKER. 
 
 About the flowers her fingers glided. 
 Into their place the blossoms slided, 
 Roses — but never a thorn remained — 
 Snow-drops, pendant like pearls unstained. 
 Lilies, beneath their green leaves leaning, 
 Orange flowers, with their mystic meaning ! 
 And as she wove the wreath for a bride 
 Some Love got twined the flowers beside ; 
 For She had a lover who loved her well — 
 She too would be wed ere the autumn fell. 
 So her task was light that happy minute. 
 
 For her heart was in it — her heart was in it ! 
 
 The autumn fell, but she was not wed; 
 Her lover was false the neighbours said. 
 She twined a wreath with her fingers thin, 
 But never a rose was found' therein ; 
 To the rhythm, she twined, of a tolling bell. 
 And the flowers she wove were les immortelles! 
 A wreath to be laid on a young girl's tomb, 
 A maiden dead in her early bloom. 
 And tears dropped down on the pallid sheen. 
 And Grief got twined the buds between — 
 Her task was sad — but she would begin it. 
 For her heart was in it — her heart was in it ! 
 
87 
 
 THE DREAMS OF YOUTH. 
 
 *' Keep true to the Dream of thy youth !*' 
 
 Schiller. 
 *' Therefore trust to thy heart, and to what the world 
 culls illusions." 
 
 LONGFELLO W, 
 
 To "the Dream of Youth" be faithful, to the 
 "heart's" dictating "trust;" 
 
 Never heed the scorn of worldlings creeping snake- 
 like in the dust : 
 
 Though they call white truth " illusions," as with 
 dazed imperfect sight, 
 
 Bats and owls that love the midnight, may despise 
 the noon-day light ! 
 
 Be thou faithful to the Message! Like a watchword 
 
 bear it round 
 To the Leal of Heart, whose pulses will beat quicker 
 
 at the sound ; 
 Let the music of its meaning interpenetrate thy soul, 
 And the storm of fate unharming o'er thy outer life 
 
 shall roll- 
 
88 THE DREAMS OF TOUTH. 
 
 To tbe Leal a watchword welcome: but to them of 
 weaker heart, 
 
 Whose spirits have to wrestle with the world's ig- 
 noble part — 
 
 Who feel the slimy serpent writhing round the 
 seraph- wings. 
 
 And know his opiate poison duUs our actions' finer 
 springs — 
 
 Let it flame on high, a beacon, with its pointed 
 
 tongue of fire. 
 Still upwards, upwards tendiug with unsatisfied desire. 
 If they do not comprehend it, let them take it as a 
 
 faith, 
 And believe, as in a Prophet, what each glorious 
 
 Poet saith ! 
 
 Through their words, like crystal windows, we behold 
 that Eden land 
 
 Which in early years was fashioned by Truth's own 
 benignant h^nd ; 
 
 Though the clouds may overhang it — clouds our- 
 selves have woven there — 
 
 Would we see it in its freshness, we must breathe a 
 purer air. 
 
 Cold of heart and dull of senses, do not mock with 
 
 idle strife. 
 For the dreams of Youth, believe me, are the Truest 
 
 Things in Life. 
 
THE DREAMS OF TOTJTH. 89 
 
 And your blunt material weapons in the conflict 
 
 with a Thought, 
 Grow molten as a metal which the lightning fire 
 
 hath caught. 
 
 Oh, those dreams are God's revealings ; never heed 
 what worldlings say — 
 
 With their tongues by falsehood blistered — rearing 
 up their gods of clay: 
 
 Sweep them down from hearth and pedestal, as with 
 a tempest blast; 
 
 Mission worthy of the worthiest to be this icono- 
 clast ! 
 
 For though passing fair the age is, when compared 
 
 with former years, 
 An unsightly dwarf it fostereth, whose strength but 
 
 half appears ; 
 Dark, deformed the little imp is, though too vague 
 
 to have a name. 
 Unless, indeed, a myriad the Proteus thing may claim. 
 
 Let us call it Doubt an instant — doubt of all our 
 
 own souls teach — 
 Doubt of Gon Himself in Heaven — doubt of all 
 
 Doubt cannot reach ; 
 Doubt of music throughout Nature — doubt of Truth 
 
 upon her Throne ; 
 And doubt of how their harmony is by the Poet 
 
 shown ! 
 
90 THE DREAMS OF YOUTH. 
 
 Oh ! be faithful to the message — to thine early 
 
 Dream " keep true " — 
 Do not swerve for narrow teaching, nor " expedient " 
 
 paths pursue: 
 Rather think thiae eyes deceive thee, or thine ear a 
 
 traitor grown, 
 Than bow thee to an argument 'gainst Truths which 
 
 thou hast known! 
 
 Known! for they are not Opinions, with a "really 
 to my seeing ; " 
 
 But rock-truths, that, primeval, are foundations of 
 thy being. 
 
 And seeming contradictions — that in vain, array ap- 
 pear, 
 
 To battle with a noble creed, and triumph to the ear — 
 
 Are but segments of great circles, broken up by 
 ignorance. 
 
 Which, could we but unite them, for one soul- 
 enraptured glance, 
 
 "Would be orbs of Truth, proclaimiug by their seK- 
 sustaining light 
 
 That the Dream of Youth from Heaven is the only 
 Life aright ! 
 
 Have no doubt of Love and Friendship : in the 
 
 world they both are rife. 
 Though, grown used to Lovely Order, we but babble 
 
 about strife; 
 
THE DREAMS OF YOUTH. 91 
 
 Though thine individual hopes may have withered 
 ere they bloomed, 
 
 And the life-fire of afiection he a treasure self-con- 
 sumed. 
 
 Have no doubt of hero-actions, and of brave en- 
 durance too ; 
 
 Seek no vulgar, vain repayments, for the deeds 
 that thou may'st do ; 
 
 Let thine own mind's exaltation be the guerdon and 
 the spur. 
 
 And its trust, which is devotion, from aU meaner 
 thoughts deter ! 
 
 Be thou worthy the fulfilment of Youth's soul- 
 sustaining Dreams, 
 
 And that "Worthiness shall keep thee still beneath 
 their gorgeous beams : 
 
 Life shall pass thee like a river, stranding treasures 
 by the way. 
 
 And the season of existence be for thee perpetual May. 
 
 Age for thee shall have no meaning, save the silver- 
 ing of the hair. 
 
 And the furrow on the forehead and the body's 
 signs of wear; 
 
 Which but seem the preparations for unfolding of 
 the wings 
 
 That have grown to strength and beauty by thy 
 snirit's comTnimiTiora 
 
92 THE DREAMS OF YOUTH. 
 
 Oh, the Alchemist's elixir was a promise trite and 
 
 tame, 
 To the inner life of freshness which the faithful 
 
 heart may claim : 
 Love and Genius are immortal, and the Truest of 
 
 all Truth 
 Is their vision of Divinity — the radiant Dream of 
 
 Youth ! 
 
 1847. 
 
93 
 
 THE SNOWDROP; 
 
 A FEBEUARY FANCY. 
 
 Welcome, purest Pearl of Spring ! 
 Fairest little dainty thing, 
 Pendant from thy emerald stem, 
 As one holds apart a gem 
 For our own admiring gaze. 
 Or a friend's approving praise : 
 Pearl, a thousand times more dear 
 
 Than the one which — shrined in story- 
 Swung from Cleopatra's ear. 
 
 For her shame, and not her glory! 
 
 Jewel on the breast of Earth, 
 
 Why hast thou such priceless worth? 
 
 'Tis because a fairy spell 
 
 Doth within the Snowdrop dwell. 
 
 If Pearls that rest in deep-sea caves 
 
 Have learned the secrets of the waves, 
 
94 94 THE SNOWDROP ; A FEBRUARY FANCY. 
 
 And when set on beauty's brow 
 (Faint with envy at its hue). 
 
 They still Ocean's marvels know. 
 Thou canst tell us tales as true ! 
 
 Down I stoop my head to listen, 
 And I see thy leaflets glisten ; 
 I have caught thy trick of speech. 
 And its m.eaning I can reach ; 
 Speak, sweet Herald of the Spring, 
 Speak, thou dainty fairy thing ! 
 Have flower-roots in converse met? 
 Are the violets waking yet ? 
 Oh, beneath their humble manner 
 Have they not a folded banner. 
 Ready to unfurl on high, 
 And flaunt their merits to the sky ? 
 Crocuses are surely stirring. 
 Without drowsy vain demurring? 
 And the gentle primrose pale? 
 And the lily of the vale ? 
 
 Through the long — long winter's night 
 Hidden from our mortal sight. 
 Did you sleep, you little flowers, 
 Dreaming of the summer hours? 
 Or was it yours, like slaves, to keep 
 Watch upon the slumbers deep 
 
THE SNOWDROP ; A FEBllUARY FAKCY. 9S 
 
 Of the garden's rival queens ? 
 Or, among tlie forest scenes, 
 Did you list the heavy breathing, 
 Where the giant fibres wreathing, 
 Told of sylvan sovereign realms, 
 Of the kingly oaks and elms, 
 Birch and beech, and chesnut fine, 
 Sycamore and slender pine? 
 
 I have bent my head to listen, 
 I have seen thy leaflets glisten ; 
 I thy trick of speech have caught, 
 And thank thee for the lesson taught; 
 And I TOW a vow to-day 
 Which Summer shall not charm away, 
 When the rose with her compeers 
 In her regal pomp appeals — 
 When the graceful fuchsia stoops. 
 And beneath her riches droops, 
 (Ruby flowers with sapphire, hearts)^ 
 AVhen the gentle Zephyr parts 
 Leaves aside, from blossoms bright, 
 As they were the tresses light 
 That Teiled a beauty's starry eyes 
 Which glad us with a sweet surprise 5 — 
 When beneath the sheltering trees 
 Gratefully I take my ease. 
 Pleased to note the quivering shade 
 By their waving branches made, 
 
96 6 The snowdkop ; a February fakcy. 
 
 Finding voices in the sound 
 Of the rustling leaves around — 
 In that hour of summer glee 
 My vow is to remember Thee, 
 Springing from the Earth's dark breast 
 First to wake from winter's rest, 
 First to sound with clarion voice 
 A song whose echo is " Rejoice ! " 
 That song the flowers take up in turn. 
 If we but attentive learn. 
 Listening for their ideal speech. 
 And its meaning strive to reach. 
 
 Questions may be written here. 
 But no answer can appear. 
 For to every separate ear 
 Comes a separate response, 
 Like a music heard but once. 
 Yet in grateful memory, 
 Through the hours of summer glee, 
 I will still remember Thee, 
 Fairest little daintj' thing. 
 Herald of the Coming Spring! 
 
 1850. 
 
LOST! LOST! 
 
 Lost ! lost ! When was it seen ? 
 
 The light elastic tread, 
 B}' which, when dancing on the green, 
 
 The buttercup , bowed down its head. 
 But, looking up a moment after, 
 Broke out with all a floweret's laughter 
 
 And not a petal shed ! 
 
 Lost ! lost ! When did it go ? 
 
 The nut-shade from her hair ; 
 It cannot lie beneath the snow 
 
 Which winter time has drifted there ; 
 For sunbeams that her tresses spangled, 
 Their warmth and glow therein had tangled. 
 
 Could frost to touch them dare ? 
 
 Lost ! lost ! When did it fade ? 
 
 The pink- bloom from her cheek, 
 'Twas shadow by the roses laid; 
 
 Ah, well; of this we need not speak. 
 For short the time when roses flourish. 
 And life with wealth of beauty nourish — ■ 
 
 In dreams that bloom we'll seek. 
 
98 LOST ! LOST ! 
 
 Lost! lost! Oh hear you it ? 
 
 Is cried at eventide. 
 But lo ! what on the East is writ— 
 
 What voice springs out the stars beside ! 
 " Beyond the ken of mortal vision, 
 Is seen Youth's wealth, by Faith's prevision. 
 
 Restored and glorified ! " 
 
 1861. 
 
90 
 
 THE LOVE-WAVE. 
 
 There are seasons come upon us 
 ^Vlien our cares fade out of sight, 
 
 And the world around is shovm us 
 By a ray of Eden's light. 
 
 Letters reach us breathing kisses 
 Pure as those from mothers' lips ; 
 
 Every one a dainty bliss is, 
 
 As the heart its love-draught sips. 
 
 For they've musical notation 
 
 Gleaming 'mid the flow of words, 
 
 Which our minds' harp-like vibration 
 Can fiU up to perfect chords. 
 
 Comes a work-gift from dear fingers 
 Sent from far o'er hill and sea, 
 
 And their pressure round it lingers 
 With a touch of mystery. 
 
100 THE LOVE-WAVE. 
 
 But more sweet than gift or letter 
 
 Is a Presence that we prize. 
 When we feel a happy debtor 
 
 For a glance from loving eyes. 
 
 As the Gulf Stream warms our chill lands,. 
 
 Bringing zephyrs to our fields — 
 Sunny wealth from tropic islands — 
 
 And a lavish bounty yields; 
 
 Bidding flowers to bud and open. 
 
 Which had never tasted life 
 Had not spell of frost been broken 
 
 In the elemental strife ; 
 
 Thus a Love- Wave brings soul treasure. 
 
 Satisfying our heart needs. 
 Till we hold a brimming measure ; 
 
 Then like tidal stream recedes. 
 
 And some day the wind has altered. 
 Blowing now a chilHng blast, 
 
 And farewells are sadly faltered. 
 And our joys like dreams are past. 
 
 Comes a season bleak and dreary. 
 When Life's radiance seemeth lost. 
 
 And our hearts feel cold, and weary 
 Of the bitterness and frost. 
 
THE LOVE-WAVE. 101 
 
 Yet from days all bright and sunny 
 
 Happy memories we may hive, 
 As the bees store up sweet honey 
 
 Which but summer hours can give. 
 
 And in times most sad and lonely, 
 
 The hungry heart is fed 
 By the recollections only 
 
 Of the love which is not dead. 
 
 And the Grod who guides the sparrow 
 
 In its flight and in its fall. 
 Though to-day our joys He narrow. 
 
 May to-morrow widen all. 
 
 Oft with suddenness uprising 
 
 Soft winds clear the darkest sky, 
 And with just such sweet surprising 
 
 Mav the warm Love-Waves be nigh ! 
 
102 
 
 THE MOTHER'S DEEAM. 
 
 By her Dead Child the Mother kneels, 
 And on her ear the death-bell peals ; 
 He was — the heir to wide-spread lands. 
 And all the state that wealth commands ; 
 He is — a tiny heap of clay 
 Laid in the graTe-clothes' prim array. 
 
 The day is chill with weeping clouds. 
 Whose veil the radiant noon-time shrouds, 
 Shown through the antique oriel panes, 
 Sombred by richly -darkened stains ; 
 Yet bringeth something of relief — 
 That sunshine does not mock her grief. 
 
 The frenzy of her mad despair 
 
 Hath dashed away the power of prayer ; 
 
 With streaming eyes and throbbing brow. 
 
 Her form— but not her heart — may bow ; 
 
 The words come tangled, or but track 
 
 One frantic thought, " Give back — give back ! " 
 
THE MOTHERS IIREAM. 103 
 
 A pitying Angel stooped his wing 
 A balm to this sad soul to bring : 
 Quick through her frame there silent crept 
 A subtle charm — the Mother slept ; 
 Such sleep as on the rack was caught 
 When sense and soul sank overwrought. 
 
 Then moulded from her tears arose 
 A mirror to reflect the woes 
 Which on the Future's mystic loom 
 Lay ready for her Infant's doom ; 
 Thus through each dimly-shifting scene 
 She dreaming sees what would have been. 
 
 She and her Husband — they whose blooming days 
 Have scarcely reached bright youth's meridian 
 
 blaze — 
 Stand hand in hand, with wrinkled cheek and brow, 
 And scant locks fleck'd with fifty winters' snow. 
 Anguish is written on the matron's face. 
 And wrath and grief each other quickly chase 
 Athwart the visage of her time-changed lord ; 
 Anon he drops her hand with bitter word 
 Of harsh rebuke : " The fault it was her own ; 
 Fruit of the seed which she herself had sown : 
 The weak indulgence of his boyhood's day 
 Had raised the fiend no mortal power could stay." 
 Then, by the shadowy painting of the dream, 
 IJew terrors throng, and o'er her vision gleam. 
 
lOi THE mother's dream. 
 
 Entranced she gazed. Behold, there rose to view 
 A stranger man, yet one her spirit knew; 
 The soft-eyed babe had grown to this dread thing, 
 More venom-dowered than is the adder's sting. 
 The dice-box rattles in his trembling hands ; 
 He throws — the stake his broad ancestral lands ! 
 The fresh-drawn flagon, and the wine-soiled glass, 
 And haggard form before the Dreamer pass ; 
 And then, in quick review, some woman's wrongs 
 Are shrieked in chorus by a choir of tongues : 
 New crimes the mirror shows in lurid flame — 
 Then breaks at last beneath its load of shame ! 
 
 By her Dead Child she still is kneeling ; 
 The solemn bell has stayed its pealing ; 
 The clouds have wept themselves away. 
 The sun resumed his gorgeous sway, 
 And through the antique oriel pane 
 Streams with a sapphire— emerald stain, 
 And falling as through ruby deep. 
 Makes Death but seem a rosy sleep. 
 
 The little hands so soft and fiair 
 Are folded as in infant prayer ; 
 The dimpled chin and placid brow 
 Not yet are marred by passion's glow. 
 And now the mother silent kneels, 
 For through her soul a soft peace steals ; 
 She sees that Heaven's power has blent 
 Sweet mercy with the anguish sent. 
 
THE mother's DREAJr. 105 
 
 No longer tears bedim her eyes. 
 Life's duties fair before ber rise ; 
 And be, wbose only angry word 
 Was in the awful vision beard, 
 Becomes again tbe dearest tie 
 To life, and all life's mystery. 
 One kiss sbe plants on coldest lips, 
 And on tbose eyes in dull eclipse ; 
 Tben leaves sbe with a solemn tread 
 Tbe guarded chamber of tbe Dead ! 
 
 1S49. 
 
106 
 
 THE FOUR CROWNS. 
 
 There is a time, if but a day, 
 We wear a Crown of Roses ; — 
 
 Or drear the lot of them whose May- 
 No birthright wealth discloses, 
 
 To form a crown in Youth's bright morn 
 "When all the sunbeams level 
 
 So daze our eyes, we rarely see 
 Life's meshes to unravel ; 
 
 Or note how far the shadows stretch, 
 To limn our idlest gesture — 
 
 Not yet the day when shadows press 
 About us like a vesture. 
 
 There is a time the Few achieve 
 
 Great deeds, that win for guerdon 
 A Crown, which lookers-on believe 
 
 Too fair to be a burthen. 
 But oh ! 'tis well the laurel hides 
 
 The scars got in the winning, 
 "Were Fame's rough pathway early proved. 
 
 Such deeds might halt beginning ; 
 
THE FOUK CROWNS. 107 
 
 So brave 'twould be to do and dare, 
 And strive wbere Duty beckoned, 
 
 If Prescience shewed Earth's poor rewards, 
 Its disappointments reckoned ! 
 
 There is a crown of flaming gems, 
 
 With varied starry stories, 
 For monarch's beaming diadems 
 
 Are made of separate glories, 
 And should be bound in perfect round, 
 
 By which the gems are holden, 
 And set each at its proper place 
 
 In Truth's pure ore — the golden. 
 But gold and gems weigh heavily. 
 
 However they be shining. 
 And often 'neath the robes of state 
 
 A human heart is pining. 
 
 One King— yea. One King's Son there was, 
 
 Who had for coronation 
 Not gold, nor gems, nor laurel leaves. 
 
 Nor roses' soft oblation ; 
 But lancet Thorns drew sacred blood. 
 
 In rosy, ruby measure. 
 Each drop redeeming ruined souls, 
 
 And worth a planet's treasure ! 
 And from each pointed Thorn still beams 
 
 A light so lustrous glowing, 
 It pierces up to Heaven's courts, 
 
108 )8 THE FOUR CROWNS. 
 
 Oh, sister hearts, that oft repine 
 
 "When youth's sweet roses perish, 
 And think the laurel crown is one 
 
 It would be just to cherish, — 
 Who look with envy half confessed 
 
 On all the world's high places — 
 Make question of your better selves, 
 
 And bow your woman faces ! 
 If you've been pierced near the heart, 
 
 Your brow felt thorny wounding ; 
 Rejoice ! and let your royal hymn 
 
 Of kinship now be sounding ! 
 
109 
 
 MARIAN'S TWO GEIEFS. 
 
 • And he made a mourniug for his father seven days." 
 
 Genesis 1. 10, 
 
 ' Would God I had died for thee, O Absalom, my son ! " 
 
 2 Sam. xviii. - 
 
 I WOULD paint to you the picture of a little slender 
 
 Maid, 
 Whose airbum curls had borrowed from each June 
 
 a deeper shade ; 
 Each!— the Junes were very scanty, hardly twelve 
 
 times had the sun 
 Reddened rose and whitened lily since her young life 
 
 had begun. 
 Sable garments wrap her figure, from the ground 
 
 unto her chin. 
 And we know they are the livery of her orphanage 
 
 within. 
 See, her soft blue eyes are shining through the 
 
 mists of childish tears, 
 And she sobs at every memory of her early, happy 
 
 years. 
 
110 marian'^s two griefs. 
 
 But the noons glide on and vanish, and the starry 
 nights upspring. 
 
 To the measured beat and cadence of .Time's never- 
 tiring wing ; 
 
 And young Marian's grief grows fitful, and her tears 
 now only flow 
 
 Like a sudden rain in spring time, not from sted- 
 fast fount of woe ; 
 
 Tears which scarcely make Hope jealous of her rights 
 o'er childish hours, 
 
 As she paints, in them her rainbow with the hues 
 of all the flowers ! 
 
 Now the earth has onward circled, till a year has 
 passed away, 
 
 Every land has had its summer, and its perfect half 
 of day ; 
 
 Night-like grief has come to many, with a heavy 
 polar weight, 
 
 But this Maiden's night of sorrow proved the tropic's 
 briefer state — 
 
 Sudden falling, sudden lifting, — and was lit its per- 
 fumed air 
 
 By the lamps of youth's bright fireflies, shining out 
 like jewels rare. 
 
 Heaven's stars we know, unchanging, can illumine 
 every land. 
 
 But perchance we mark them oftener when no earth- 
 light is at hand. 
 
Marian's two griefs. Ill 
 
 Fair young Marian at her studies lifts the veiling 
 
 curls aside, 
 Knowledge gently stealing o'er her, like the risiag 
 
 of a tide ; 
 And to win the wealth of wisdom, legacied by great 
 
 and good — 
 On conditions somewhat subtle, seldom fully under- 
 stood — 
 Is her sovereign wish enthroned, holding regal purple 
 
 state 
 In the heart where other rulers shall be servitors of 
 
 fate! 
 True, she thinks she thus is keeping promise made 
 
 unto the Dead ; 
 Yet soon she is but walking where her own desires 
 
 have led, 
 Seeking stores of varied knowledge — soft bewitching 
 
 Tuscan tongue. 
 And the truths that are embedded our Teutonic 
 
 thoughts among ; 
 French, for fashion and politeness, and because there 
 
 have been some 
 Such full-voiced, purposed Frenchmen, that 'twere 
 
 death their resting dumb ; 
 So as harpist set to play on a feeble twanging harp. 
 Adds some silver strings for basses, raises treble 
 
 notes a sharp. 
 Ere he sweeps into expression the melody at heart ; 
 Thus they've made and moulded language for their 
 
 own esoecial nnrt 1 
 
112 Marian's two griefs. 
 
 Other tongues for other uses seeks she, and the 
 
 sisterhood 
 Of the dainty arts befitting a woman's varying mood. 
 I remark her arm is circled by a bracelet of dark 
 
 hair. 
 Cut from near a mother's forehead, when death's 
 
 finger had been there ; 
 And our Marian wears for locket, a medallion of 
 
 her sire. 
 Shown at times to friends and kinsfolk, who the 
 
 likeness oft admire. 
 Passed the daj-s when they were showered on by the 
 
 orphan's ready tears — 
 Blessed time, that lulled her anguish with the music 
 
 of its years ! 
 Blessed ordinance of Heaven, ever limiting the share 
 Of the orphans' natural sorrow to the measure they 
 
 can bear ! 
 
 Now the girl has grown to woman — ah, a woman 
 
 true and real. 
 And as such a representer of the absolute Ideal ; 
 Whence the weaker souls diverging move within a 
 
 narrower sphere, 
 Though with warped sort of likeness to the type 
 
 they may appear, 
 Showing all things fainter, feebler— joy and grief, 
 
 and wit and words 
 Sounding only muffled beatings when great Nature 
 
 strikes the chords ; 
 
Marian's two gkiefs. 113 
 
 Thus it follows not that weaklings — be it loss or be 
 
 it gain — 
 Sing all Marian's Hymn of Gladness, or can dive to 
 
 meet her pain ! 
 
 In the fulness of fit season she was wed to one beloved, 
 And, her fetters all flower woven, in Life's onward 
 path she moved. 
 
 True in Girlhood, true in Wifehood, she made music 
 
 like a song. 
 To the spirit-ears that listened as she passed amid 
 
 the throng ; 
 But her heart was timed to. rapture, when on balmy 
 
 summer morn 
 Came a little baby Daughter her bright future to 
 
 adorn. 
 Then with satisfied completeness rose her nature to 
 
 its height, 
 Overtopping merely Woman by the Mother's grander 
 
 right ! 
 Oh, the happy days which followed, when her joy 
 
 like foimtain rare 
 Dashed the sparkles of its glory over every common 
 
 care ! 
 
 Yet the Hea"venly ways are hidden ; buds and blos- 
 soms perish here 
 
 But to open for a coronal ia the bright and death- 
 less sphere ; 
 
114 Marian's two geibfs. 
 
 Voices that but hum and prattle, only half articulate. 
 Silenced here may swell a chorus in the new and 
 
 white- robed state ; 
 Baby-eyes that looked and questioned, with a childish 
 
 ignorance, 
 Shall dive straight through sages' mysteries, with a 
 
 single spirit-glanpe ; 
 Yet, I still believe the Promise, and that length of 
 
 days was meant 
 For a favour and an honour — and that deepest is 
 
 the dent 
 Of The Serpent's fang, when fadeth son before his 
 
 white-haired sire; 
 Or the maiden, in her blooming, bears that chill and 
 
 prim attire 
 Which heaveth not in bodice, nor can win a rhythmic 
 
 grace 
 From the wearer's bounding pulses, or her changeful, 
 
 gliding pace. 
 But is shut from aU beholders with a hurrying 
 
 delay. 
 While the loving crave to linger by the dull unsen- 
 
 tient clay. 
 
 She of whoni I now am telling — she was called on 
 
 to give back 
 Her priceless one, the jewel that had lighted up 
 
 life's track. 
 
M4rian's two griefs. 115 
 
 Had she gazed on it too fondly? looking less, per- 
 chance, on high 
 
 To the pure eternal jewels that shall gleam beyond 
 the" sky ; 
 
 "Was it Love that lifted gently treasure all too 
 closely clasped, 
 
 So her soul might follow — follow, till it deathless 
 treasure grasped ? 
 
 At the age herself was orphaned, at that age 'her 
 
 daughter died, 
 In the dawn of joyous girlhood, and its early April 
 
 pride. 
 Oh, the contrast of the grieving ! Once her heart 
 
 was like a flower 
 With its coming sweetness hidden, guarded well from 
 
 storm and shower 
 By the lavish leaves and branches — thus its sturdy 
 
 slanted cup 
 Bore the sadness and the tempest, ere *it opened to 
 
 look up. 
 Now the heart full widely opened had nor shelter 
 
 nor retreat, 
 And the sorrow came to rifle life of gladness when 
 
 complete. 
 E'en as Eve grieved over Abel, taking lesson stern 
 
 and dread 
 Of the curse and of the promise, as she gazed upon 
 
 the dead; 
 
116 makian's two griefs. 
 
 Or as David the Repenter, ere his royal race was run. 
 Knew a royal depth of anguish, crying " Absalom, 
 
 my son ! " 
 So she mourned in heart bereaYcment — not for mea- 
 sured days or years — 
 With a sorrow fathoms deeper than the fountain of 
 
 her tears. 
 Arts and reading once were to her a sweet solace 
 
 and relief; 
 Now they proved full often echoes to the language 
 
 of her grief; 
 All the common things she looked on seemed but 
 
 finger-posts to show. 
 Dismal turnings on the pathway of her labyrinth of 
 
 woe : 
 Birth-Day ! kept for sad memorial, with a sinking 
 
 of the heart — r 
 Death-Day ! darkening with its shadow all life's 
 
 future fairer part ; 
 And the fitful recollections, which no Lethe can allay. 
 Made a chronicle of sadness that she could not blot 
 away ! 
 
 There are little gloves I know of, and a tiny parasol, 
 And a half hemmed strip of muslin in a narrow, 
 
 yellowed roll, 
 With a rusty needle set in where the task was left 
 
 undone — 
 Emblem of a hundred workings that in life are but 
 
 begun — 
 
Marian's two griefs.. 117 
 
 All are kept and treasured fondly, with a miser's 
 jealous care, 
 
 Balm'd in sighs that often glide on out of sorrow 
 into Prayer ! 
 
 But the ladder of the Patriarch was " set up" on 
 very earth, 
 
 And the prayer may reach to Heaven that is lowliest 
 in its birth ; 
 
 And The Christ, whose Human Mother kissed the 
 pierced hands and feet, 
 
 Will pity Marian's weakness from His awful Judg- 
 ment Seat ! 
 
118 
 
 OUT IN THE COLD. 
 
 Out in the Cold ! — •when the snow-flakes meet. 
 Softly weaving with shuttles unseen 
 
 Earth's robe that looks like a winding-sheet. 
 Though underneath, is the livrag green. 
 
 Out in the Cold ! — when the hailstones smite 
 With untuned music the window pane. 
 
 Then back recoil, as in jealous spite. 
 Or melt away to a chilling rain. 
 
 Out in the Cold! — when the midnight chimes. 
 And stars look cruel in frosty sheen. 
 
 And pale as a corpse the sick moon climbs 
 Her stair- way broad Kke a suffering queen. 
 
 Out 'mid solitudes fearful to know 
 
 Of Alpine peaks when the storm-kings rage. 
 And rocks are rent and the torrents flow. 
 
 And hours of dread are a weary age. 
 
OUT IN THE COLD. 119 
 
 Out in the Cold ! — on a polar sea, 
 
 When icebergs blast with their frozen breath, 
 While boreal lights shine brilliantly, 
 
 Like torches set in chamber of death. 
 
 Out in the Cold ! — There's a keener time 
 Than cometh on wings of frosty wind ; 
 
 When circled is Life with wintry rime ' 
 That withers away the heart and mind ! 
 
 For if lights of love no longer shine, 
 The earth's but a frozen donjon keep. 
 
 Till hour of grace when, by touch divine, 
 The frost-sleep closeth the ej'^es that weep. 
 
 Soft is such sleep to the weary heart 
 
 That longs for love which shall never die. 
 
 And looks for Death with his friendly dart 
 To burst the clouds from the brighter sky ! 
 
120 
 
 MY MULBERRY TREE. 
 
 Dear little Tree I oh, hasten to grow ! 
 
 Hasten the wealth of thy beauty to show. 
 
 Grow in the spring time through sunshine and 
 
 shower, 
 Start with the impulse of wakened-up power ;- 
 Let winds that can whisper of soft sunny climes 
 Kiss and caress thee a thousand of times. 
 Grow in the sunshine and grow in the shade, 
 Grow through the splendour of days that must fade 
 Into hours that we feel are not absolute night, 
 Though the daisies dldse, and the moon is bright 
 As a burnished shield which is bossed and bent 
 By the battle's fray and the foeman's dent; 
 And the sleepy stars peep few and pale 
 "With half- shut eyes through the twilight veil. 
 
 Grow little Tree through the summer days, 
 Lift up thy boughs to catch the bright rays, ■ 
 Stretch out thy roots in mysterious ways ! 
 Shielded thou art from the cruel east wind; 
 Railings around thee are cunningly twined 
 
MY MULBERKY TREK. 121 
 
 For careful protection— and, thanks be to them, 
 Croquet's rude ball cannot hurt thy young stem. 
 Grow thro' the glow of the summer's rich prime. 
 Swell with the joy of the year's crowning time. 
 Tongues, I .could dream, are thy serrated leaves. 
 Prate to the swallows that build 'neath the eaves; 
 Give them tokens of love for thy kindred afar. 
 Ere they wing their swift flight from the still polar 
 
 star! 
 Dost thou pine for blue skies which make heaven 
 
 seem near, 
 Though thy life is bound up in the earthlier sphere ? 
 If the skies are not sapphire that shine on thyself. 
 At least thou art free from the sorrows of pelf. 
 Ungnawed by the wonderful worm is the sheen 
 Of thy tender and glossy and emerald green ; 
 The silk in thy leaves is not bartered or sold — 
 They shall drop at thy feet like a carpet unrolled 
 When the sun has been dyer and turned them to gold ! 
 
 Ah, Mulberry Tree ! still slender and small — 
 Whose worth is a promise, if worth is at all — 
 The hand that now reaches thy branches so slight 
 And plucks thy first berries with pride and delight 
 (Pride for thee that hast struggled through perilous 
 
 hours 
 Of frost, and of snow-drift, and cruel sleet showers) 
 That hand has the writing of time on its palm, 
 And its rest will be chill and its pulses all calm 
 
122 Mr MULBERRY TREE. 
 
 Ere thou canst be monarch of lofty degree, 
 My little, slow-growing, young Mulberry Tree ! 
 
 Yet my fancy intrusts, thee with messages still. 
 
 And duties soft, sylvan, for thee to fulfil. 
 
 The dull step of age, as it passes away, 
 
 Must be followed by tread of the youthful and gay ; 
 
 If children should swing 'neath thy branches so 
 
 strong. 
 Be sure that thou do them no deadlier wrong 
 Than to pelt them with berries, and stain the neat 
 
 dress. 
 So win them a scold that is half a caress. 
 And oh, if fond lovers should meet 'neath thy shade, 
 I charge thee — ^by all that upon thee is laid, 
 By the beautiful legend that linked thee of old 
 To the story of love which the poet hath told — 
 Some mystical spell that hour to exert. 
 All the woes of the fickle at once to avert ! 
 I charge thee by Thisbe and Pyramus true. 
 And the m.agical change in thy rich berries' hue. 
 Make the vows which thou hearest as true to the core 
 Of the hearts of the lovers as theirs were of yore. 
 So that youth and that maiden in far future days 
 Shall prize thee, and heed thee in all tender ways; 
 Keep the axe from thy bole for the sake of the past, 
 Till thy green life it may be e'en theirs shall out- 
 last ! 
 
123 
 
 HER LAST LETTER. 
 
 Teeming with life as the song of a bird. 
 Brimming with love as a goblet with wine, 
 
 Jocund as day when the spring has stirred 
 VTas her laughing Letter in every Hne. 
 
 Over mountain and sea it duly came. 
 
 Through days and nights of a gentle unrest, 
 
 With the vermeil seal of her dear pet name. 
 And scented with attar she loved the best. 
 
 Meanwhile there had flashed the tale of her Death-^ 
 Of a stumbling horse and a pointed stone; 
 
 And the lagging words seemed her parting breath. 
 With their laughter changed to a dying moan. 
 
 This was at first — when the Letter was read 
 
 Through the lens of tears that love could not stay ; 
 
 But Time her words has to music wed, 
 And their joy seems now a seraph's lay ! 
 
124 
 
 MY HEART'S FRIEND. 
 
 " Car L'amiti^ ne mauque pas ^ ceux-l& qui croient en elle," 
 
 Saintine. ' 
 
 Unswayed by fortime's fickle wave — 
 A spirit gentle, and yet brave; 
 By action and endurance tried — 
 With self-respect that is not pride : 
 And dowered with intellect — the sense 
 That loveth Truth, unmasks pretence, 
 And cannot with an idle tongue 
 Confound and torture right and wrong. 
 What noble qualities to blend 
 
 For my Heart's Friend! 
 
 Yet better still a loving heart, 
 Of constant temper ; not the start 
 Of fierce, impulsive ecstasy. 
 That for a moment boundeth high. 
 
MY heart's friend. 125 
 
 Then dieth, like an unfed flame — 
 Whose memory hath less joy than shame : 
 A loving heart loves many things— 
 I would not feed alone its springs, 
 But my love with the lovings blend 
 
 Of my Heart's Friend ! 
 
 A soul serene — yet one that could 
 Melt to a soft or sadder mood, 
 Perchance a thought more readily 
 Than take the tone of revfelry ; 
 Yet not for worlds so very wise 
 As not to join with laughing eyes 
 In children's glee, and frolic mirth, 
 Or welcome wit and humour's birth. 
 May gladness oft its sparkle lend 
 
 To my Heart's Friend ! 
 
 And perfect faith, that could withstand 
 Mean jealous doubts on either hand; 
 And love that " casteth out " all fear. 
 Ready to lend a willing ear 
 To free confession, even though 
 The records of our weakness flow. 
 Encouraging with tear or smile 
 The faltering powers of speech the while ; 
 Until afiection counsel blend 
 
 From the Heart's Friend ! 
 
1261 
 
 Or if a grayer fault there be 
 To blot the page of memory ; 
 If folly should have merged in wrong. 
 Yet still to loose the fettered tongue, 
 And sink upon that faithful breast, 
 And feel fond arms around us pressed; 
 While, for the Pharisee's hard word. 
 Be pity and forgiveness heard, 
 And love its mantling shield extend 
 
 Near the Heart's Friend ! 
 
 I would not care for what degree 
 
 Of rank or age that Friend should be ; 
 
 Yet circumstances moidd so much 
 
 Poor human clay, that Friendship such 
 
 As this we're likeliest to find 
 
 In equal station — kindred mind: 
 
 But what, so seeking, should we bring? 
 
 The struggle to deserve the thing 
 
 Perchance may to our longing send 
 
 A dear Heart's Friend! 
 
 1847. 
 
127 
 
 THE STRANGEE ROSE. 
 
 A YOUNG Moss Rose in a hedgerow grew — 
 
 'Twas planted there by a merry child, 
 And fairies fed it with limpid dew, 
 
 And Flora's self on its beauty smiled. 
 The merchant Berry and soldier Thorn 
 
 (The hedge was a little world, you know), 
 Upcurled their leaves with a look of scorn — 
 
 Like lips that our world can sometimes show. 
 The Dog-rose said, "I am thrice as gay;" 
 
 Despised by all was the stranger thing; 
 And they twined their straggling boughs away, 
 
 As if to touch it some harm would bring ! 
 
 But the Dog-rose soon with envy drooped. 
 The butterfly left her quite alone; 
 
 And the honey-bees all in rapture stooped 
 To gather wealth from the stranger one. 
 
128 THE STRANGER ROSE. 
 
 The Berry and Thorn looked now askance, 
 
 Despising such creatures' taste, said they ; 
 But next observed that each maiden's glance 
 
 To the mossy flower would fondly stray. 
 So a conclave met in briery sheen 
 
 To find who the Stranger-guest might be ; 
 But She was dead ere they owned her Queen, 
 
 Or Envy's soul could her merit see ! 
 
 1851. 
 
129 
 
 THE BEST CHAMBER. 
 
 I STOOD within those Lordly Halls, 
 
 Their name I .wl|1 not say, 
 Though it hath echoed round the world. 
 
 In stories grave and gay. 
 There is no need to teU the word 
 
 That would the place proclaim. 
 For human hearts know Truer Truths 
 
 Than live in date or name. 
 
 Yet there's a half-endowed mind, 
 
 The man who talks and reads, 
 Heaps fact on fact — thinks knowledge lies 
 
 In chronicling of Deeds : 
 Deeds ! that may stand like warning towers. 
 
 Yet little do they teach. 
 Unless we track the burning path 
 
 Which led from each to each I 
 
130 THE BEST CHAMBER. 
 
 For such we leave the "lying" page, 
 
 Immortal Raleigh named,* 
 Whose clinging satire to this day 
 
 Th' Historian's task has shamed. 
 Shamed — ^though the Poet thanks him well 
 
 For that cold skeleton. 
 Which He can warm to life, and mould 
 
 A form of beauty on. 
 
 I stood within those Ancient Walls, 
 
 The "show-house," fine to see; 
 Through stately rooms, 'neath lordly domes. 
 
 We passed on merrily ; 
 Smiling, to think how much alike 
 
 Such places seem to be, 
 With boards all bare for strangers' feet, 
 
 Chairs covered carefully. 
 
 For o'er the floors the sunlight pours. 
 
 High from each western pane ; 
 The quivering branches in the breeze 
 
 Their trembling shadows rain ; 
 The song of birds, and flowers' breath. 
 
 Proclaim mid-summer days, 
 The Lord is where the Senate band 
 
 A nation's sceptre sways. 
 
 • " Give me that Tolume of lies," said Sir Walter Ealeigh, 
 confined in the Tower, and asking for a book of History. 
 
THE BEST CHAMBER. 131 
 
 A few brief weeks in autumn time, 
 
 When grouse or partridge falls, 
 Make up the space of time he spares 
 
 His old ancestral halls. 
 In mansions four by turns he dwells — 
 
 (What new ground Fancy treads, 
 I see the throng who have no home 
 
 Wherein to lay their heads ! ) 
 
 Along the walls old pictures rest, 
 
 From many a master hand; 
 Vandyke and Kneller, Reynolds, too. 
 
 Present a goodly band 
 Of stately dames, and warriors grim. 
 
 And courtiers smooth of tongue, 
 And some whose deathless fame and name 
 
 To history belong. 
 
 But mid this Painted Pedigree, 
 
 Gleams one surpassing face 
 Of young ripe beauty — and the form 
 
 Which Lely loved to trace. 
 The mistress of a King she was; 
 
 From her till now descends 
 Some beauty, and a title high, 
 
 Which with as high ones blends ! 
 
 The menial, who with courteous pride 
 
 The Cicerone plays, 
 Points out the favourite, fair and frail, 
 
 The theme of poets' lays. 
 
132 THE BEST CHAMBER. 
 
 " Her son first Duke — the likeness great — " 
 
 So dof.h our guide declare — 
 " Indeed tlie present Ladies Blank 
 
 Have just that auburn hair." 
 
 In sacred quiet rest her dust — 
 
 God ! keep her soul, I pray. 
 Be sure She did not fail on earth 
 
 Her jienalty to pay. 
 But oh, it is a curious thing. 
 
 And might a cynic make 
 To note the strange distorted forms 
 
 That human pride will take ! 
 
 So passed we on through many rooms, 
 
 Each had its name, I trow ; 
 " We 're in," our guide, explaining cried, 
 
 " The Guest's * Best Chamber ' now. 
 For ages 'twas their Graces' own. 
 
 So used in years long past ; 
 Here five great Dukes were born, and here 
 
 Did seven breathe their last. 
 But since — you know the tale no doubt — 
 
 That dreadful suicide, 
 The family dislike the room. 
 
 And none will here abide." 
 
 Instant there flashed within my soul 
 
 A sort of solemn light, 
 By which obedient Memory 
 
 Unrolled her pictures bright ; 
 
THE BEST CHAMBER. 133 
 
 For well I knew the storied deeds 
 
 Of this same titled race, 
 And in that room for me there dwelt 
 
 The genius of the Place ! 
 
 Through floors and walls there seemed to come 
 
 A mighty spirit -band 
 That grouped themselves as at the wave 
 
 Of some commander's hand. 
 On passed they like the shifting scenes 
 
 Of Banquo's mirror true, 
 His of the future — mine the past, 
 
 I will recall a few. 
 
 The despot Fashion (its gay crown 
 
 The cap adorned with bells) 
 Rules even Vice whose deep dark wave 
 
 By fashion ebbs and swells. 
 The Gamester's base degraded life 
 
 lHot now the thing to ape. 
 The gods of avarice and chance 
 
 Have ta'en another shape. 
 
 But scarcely three- score years ago, 
 
 Our nobles great and high 
 Played cleverly the painted cards, 
 
 "Wei-e practised with the die ; 
 E'en Woman with a trembling lip. 
 
 Flushed cheek, but drooping lid. 
 With jewelled fingers clutched the gold, 
 
 Or— ^death-like anguish hid. 
 
134 THE BEST CHAMBEK. 
 
 Such scenes, that time, were common things 
 
 Within this Mansion fair ; 
 Though Fashion lent her gaudy cloak 
 
 The leper-spots were there. 
 'Twas then there was a Merchant-prince, 
 
 Unmeasured wealth he swayed, 
 "Who as a highly honoured guest 
 
 Here with his daughter stayed. 
 
 Some talk there'd been, some treaty framed 
 
 By which this maid should wed. 
 And for a title barter gold, 
 
 The greedy fathers said. 
 True, hers was mere plebeian blood; 
 
 Yet one had played his part, 
 The lordly Heir had warmly wooed, 
 
 And she'd — a woman's heart ! 
 
 Father and son both wanted gold : 
 
 Whence sprung the Gakiester's thought 
 To win the gold — not take the wife? 
 
 The web was duly wrought. 
 The beggared merchant paid the debt — 
 
 His "honour" he must keep: 
 A kinder bridegroom found the girl — 
 
 'Twas sweet with Death to sleep ! 
 
 And in This Room died these great lords.— 
 
 The first delirium racked; 
 He raved of dice— of title-deeds, 
 
 And cards with cunning packed. 
 
THE BEST CHAMBER. 135 
 
 The second — did no spectre walk 
 
 To palsy him with dread; 
 No thorns spring through the down where lay 
 
 His coronetted head ? 
 Did not her lips once bloom, again, 
 
 And in the death-hour hiss 
 To pay him back a withering curse 
 
 For every lying kiss ? 
 
 The Scene grows dim, it melts away ; 
 
 Another I behold, 
 A youthful bride and beautiful, 
 
 A husband stern and cold. 
 Deep love had warmed her free, fresh soul. 
 
 Maturing heart and mind : 
 Alas, alas! but not for him 
 
 To whom her fate they bind ! 
 
 The deadly poison of false words 
 
 Had been for her prepared. 
 And subtly poured, till she believed 
 
 The thing that they declared. 
 Letters kept back — false messages — 
 
 The tale so old and dark; 
 Yet why did she, by all that's pure, 
 
 Unto another hark? 
 Why did she act the deadly sin 
 
 Of wedding without love — 
 A deed that says, " I am all strength, 
 
 Temptation all above ? " 
 
]36 THE BEST CHAMBER. 
 
 Be merciful in judging her, 
 
 And her unhappy fate ; 
 Much teaching had she to unlearn, 
 
 Which she unlearned too late. 
 Of all the evils "Women bear, 
 
 Crushed as they are by wrongs, 
 The deepest are the lessons false 
 
 They hear from worldly tongues; 
 
 Till feelings that they cannot quench, 
 
 For very shame they hide, 
 And bury pure and holy thoughts 
 
 Beneath an icy pride; 
 And where an earthy seal is set 
 
 In natures base and low, 
 They grow the heartless things they seem : 
 
 "With her it was not so. 
 
 Not thus she erred — though in despair. 
 
 And lashed by Woman's pride 
 To soar above the scornful one. 
 
 She did become a bride : 
 To find^how soon ! — the vanity 
 
 Of worldly pomp and show, 
 And to divine the evil plot 
 
 Which doomed her life to woe. 
 
 To find that he, her lord, had known 
 The falsehood now confessed ; 
 
 Yet nightly ia this very Room 
 Her loathed couch she pressed. 
 
THE BEST CHAMBER. 137 
 
 Here tears rained fast; though afterwards 
 
 Hers was that arid grief, 
 To which the tears that will not spring 
 
 "Would be such sweet relief. 
 
 Here watched she o'er a sickly babe, 
 
 Heart-racked by dull despair ; 
 Seeking to fan Life's flickering spark 
 
 With almost frantic care. 
 She knew she loved with Mother's love, 
 
 A joy worth woe to win ; 
 But did not know that Little Life 
 
 "Was all 'twixt her and sin ! 
 
 All — and enough. Her warm deep heart 
 
 "Was filled such thoughts among; 
 It scarce had want of other love, 
 
 Not room for any wrong. 
 The barrier, holy in its strength, 
 
 Lay shivered at her feet : 
 The mourning garb and coflBn small 
 
 This "passage" may complete. 
 
 Her Life had now a darker phase, 
 
 Kaleifioscopic change, 
 "Where shone two starlike Memories, 
 
 In truth an union strange. 
 Yet though like double stars distinct, 
 
 Each love lent love a light, 
 And by their rays in her sad heart 
 
 But showed surrounding night ! 
 
138 (8 THE BEST CHAMBER. 
 
 Did yearning for the Dead wear out, 
 
 As Grod in mercy wills ? 
 Or — Absence not unfrequently 
 
 A friendly part fulfils — 
 Did the one Other Memory grow 
 
 A flame to scorch, not light. 
 Ere Circumstance, with " crutch-like rod," 
 
 Brought Him before her sight ! 
 
 Him she had wronged ! I do believe 
 
 In souls so finely strung. 
 That even from their darkest faults 
 
 Some goodness may be wrung ; 
 Some stepping-stone of high intent 
 
 Be found, which led astray. 
 And lured them on in trance-Hke flight 
 
 Through Error's cloudy way : 
 
 Him she had wronged ! What penitence. 
 
 What abject humble words, 
 Could best attune to peace again 
 
 His heart's yet jarring chords? 
 One interview — one — one — no more ; 
 
 'Twas granted him at length : 
 A thousand angels her should guard 
 
 Who trieth thus her strength ! 
 
 Struggles more fierce than life with death ; 
 
 Hair silvered in a night; 
 And not one holy love to keep • 
 
 Her Woman's heart aright! 
 
THE BEST CHAMBER. 139 
 
 She fled — and Shame's funereal pall 
 
 But heralded her bier; 
 No portrait of her decks these walls ; 
 
 Her tomb ? It is not here ! 
 
 Brief chronicles ! and others rise 
 
 The crowding page to fill 
 Of heart-enacted tragedies 
 
 That shame the player's sldll. 
 On — on — the phantom-band press through 
 
 This gaily gorgeous Room, 
 With pulses bared, like those who found 
 
 In Eblis Hall their doom. 
 
 The last one comes, and wearing still 
 
 A look of princely pride; 
 But through that mask there stands confessed. 
 
 The daring Suicide ! 
 The trappings now of wealth and state 
 
 Are all transparent things, 
 Through which are seen the festering wounds 
 
 Of human passions' stings ! 
 
 Ambition — Love — Religion — which 
 
 Mind-master did he meet ? 
 For these the springs which oft'nest shake 
 
 Strong Reason from her seat. 
 What dulled the keen delicious sense 
 
 That mere existence seems, 
 And taught his soul to wander dark 
 
 Mid foul and charnel dreams? 
 
140 THE BEST CHAMBER. 
 
 What changed for him far-seeing Hope 
 To corpse-like blind Despair ? 
 
 For outward blessings fortune held 
 Him in especial care. 
 
 Imagination's glowing self, 
 
 Kindled by Suffering's torch. 
 Can only trace an outline dim, 
 
 Can enter but the porch, 
 Not scan the gloomy, temple, where 
 
 The souls distraught abide, 
 In those preluding hours which lead 
 
 To maniac Suicide ! 
 
 No matter what his secret grief; 
 
 On earth heart- griefs are rife. 
 Which from the broken spirit press 
 
 Our clinging love of life ; 
 Griefs for which Hope has not a word 
 
 To cheer with cheating love. 
 And Time that only could be kind 
 
 Seems all too slow to move ! 
 
 Enough, enough ! the dream is o'er. 
 
 The phantoms glide away; 
 I hear a voice in arch reproof — 
 
 " You no attention pay, 
 This chair — the gift of George the Third, 
 
 Indeed, he says, it 's true ; 
 A.nd see that glass !— and oh, look there. 
 
 What lovely ormolu ! " 
 
 1845. 
 
141 
 
 ALONE. 
 
 ' The world be'ongs to cold hearts.*' 
 
 Maohiavel. 
 
 A THOUSAND millions walk the Earth 
 Whom Time and Death control : 
 
 Alone ! and lonely from our birth, 
 Each one a separate Soul ! 
 
 Yet the Great God who made all things, 
 And "good" He saw they were, 
 
 Gave not to Man a Seraph's wings 
 To quit this lower sphere ! 
 
 (Though sheathed plumes the spirit hath, 
 
 In Life but half unfurled, 
 To float him o'er its burning path, 
 
 In Thought's aerial world.) 
 
 Not wings to bear us far away, 
 God gives his creatures here. 
 
 But tendrils of the heart which may 
 Infold each blessing near. 
 
J 42 ALOXE. 
 
 AflFections — sympathies divine — 
 
 High aspitations wake ; 
 Each seeking with its like to twine, 
 
 And strength to give and take. 
 
 These are His gifts, that warmest glow 
 
 In Genius' burning breast. 
 Which can but half its radiance show. 
 
 Soul-lit at His behest ! 
 
 Alone ! — through Childhood's lagging hours, 
 Which creep until our prime, — 
 
 Heart-longing, like the folded flowers. 
 To reach a gladder time. 
 
 Alone ! — for even then begin 
 
 The discipline and wrong, 
 Which crush the nobler soul within, 
 
 And make it of the throng :■ 
 
 Even in just proportion due 
 As the young heart is warm 
 
 To mould to loftier things and true. 
 It takes the shape of harm. 
 
 Torn are the tendrils soft and strong, 
 
 That may not cling aright ; 
 Yet how instinctively, for long. 
 
 They struggled towards the light ! 
 
ALONE. 
 
 Alone! We never know how much, 
 
 Till we that trial dare, 
 When Care, who heaps with stealthy touch, 
 
 Bids us our burthen bear, — 
 
 A fardel made of many things, 
 
 Of sorrows unforeseen, 
 And hopes whose knell keen Memory rings 
 
 To show — what might have been ! 
 
 Life's errors wreck the little store 
 Of Time which moulds our fate; 
 
 And seldom beacons shine before. 
 But mock us when too late. 
 
 Alone — Alone! — each highest thought. 
 
 The one least understood ; 
 Till oh, in Death— Life's battle fought. 
 
 We are alone with God ! 
 
 18.846. 
 
lU 
 
 THE THREE FRIENDS. 
 
 There were Three Friends — that is to say, 
 They were men meeting every day ; 
 Grasping each other's hands with earnest pressure 
 Upon the Mart, or in the hours of leisure. 
 
 The Eldest had a large and finely-tempered heart. 
 Thought a few thoughts in which the world had not 
 
 a part, 
 And, as the mountains are the first to win 
 A dawning glory' ere the day begin, 
 He saw to trace his life-c]iart on a plan 
 Of simple grandeur meet for such a man. 
 
 His acts oft puzzled worldlings, who, you know. 
 Bat like, are blinded by the noon-day glow 
 Of deeds to which they cannot find the clue 
 Of double motive or a selfish view. 
 And yet as mountain sun-crowns downwards creep 
 Till o'er the plain the generous day-beams sweep, 
 So from the height of his great soul were caught 
 Some peerless lessons by example taught. 
 
THE THREE FRIENDS. 145 
 
 " But," says the reader, " to these Three Great Friends 
 I cannot see which way your story tends." 
 Patience: — and yet perchance when all is known. 
 Meaning or moral may but half be shown ! 
 Of station, fortune, equal all had been, 
 But to the younger two came losses unforeseen. 
 Generous and prompt, the First with open hand 
 Made free his fortune to their joint command ; 
 Saying, "It is a gift or loan, it matters not. 
 According to the chances of your future lot." 
 A test of friendship bravely, nobly borne; 
 But though the theme be much less trite and worn, 
 It is almost as hard — I own, not quite — 
 To take with grace, as to bestow aright 
 Favours like this ; which try mind-metal more 
 Than shielding life with life amid the battle's roar. 
 
 One was profuse of thanks ; yet you might see 
 He bit his lip half-peevishly. 
 
 And to his cheeks the chafed and feverish blood 
 Sent fitfully its tell-tale flood. 
 
 The Other said, " God bless thee ! " fervently ; 
 " God knows I would have done the same for thee." 
 
 And several signs stood out in strong relief 
 To mark the Twain ; — but, to be brief, 
 The One a slave, in struggling to escape. 
 Broke up his household gods of every shape 
 
146 THE THREE, FRIENDS. 
 
 To melt them — in his heart — into one figure rude 
 Of monstrous mien, which he called Gratitude : 
 Until, self-tortured by his hideous guest, 
 Day brought no peace, and night no rest ! 
 
 The Other one walked upright as when he 
 
 First knew his friend in all equality: 
 
 There was no servile crouching ; no revoke 
 
 Of differing thoughts he once had freely spoke 
 
 (For e'en as discords harmony may make, 
 
 So kindred minds some different views may take). 
 
 The only chain the gold 'twixt them had wrought 
 
 Drew them more near, and dearer friendship brought. 
 
 " Grod knows I would have done the same for thee ! " 
 
 " / know he would have done as much for me ! " 
 
 Was felt— not said — by each respectively. 
 
 An unsung music to themselves most dear, 
 
 As one may silent read a page, not hear. 
 
 The writhing slave knew nought of such sweet peace ; 
 His visits shorten, and at last they cease. 
 As for the Lender, if his thoughts be told. 
 He mourns to lose a friend, and not his gold. 
 Unto the Other once he said, " Your words are true : 
 You 've tested me ; but I have tested you ! 
 It pains' my heart to know he could not comprehend 
 The rights and pleasures of a faithful friend." 
 
THE THREE FRIENDS. 147 
 
 "It chances," said tlie Third, "that you and I 
 
 Do understand each other perfectly. 
 
 But frankly tell me, do not you opine 
 
 That, out of every hundred, ninety-nine 
 
 Of poor mankind do not know how 
 
 Either t'accept a favour or a boon bestow ? 
 
 No matter what on Friendship's Shrine th' oblation, 
 
 They shrink in horror from an Obligation ! 
 
 So little are the ties of brotherhood 
 
 Eetween Earth's children understood, 
 
 That I could count, upon the fingers of one hand. 
 
 The little noble brother-band 
 
 "With whom I know such bonds might be, 
 
 And give or take all equally. 
 
 Without disturbance of our self-respect. 
 
 Or some regret the curious might detect." 
 
 " 'Tis very sad!" the First one sighing cried, 
 
 "God's gifts we most unequally divide: 
 
 How shall we teach one human brotherhood ? " 
 
 "Trust God! and trust the might of doing good!" 
 The Other answered ; " There's a dawn draws near 
 (May eyes grow stronger ere the noon appear. 
 For some I know that not e'en now can bear 
 Truth's struggling beams that pierce this murky air) ; 
 Why, 'tis a wholesome sign, j'ou will aver. 
 That even You and I can thus confer!" 
 
 1846. 
 
148 
 
 A PiEAN FOR"MEKRIE ENGLAND," 
 
 DURING THE CONTINEKTAT^ TROUBLES OF 1848. 
 
 A PJEAN for " Merrie England ! " at tte dawning of 
 
 the year, 
 Arid its notes let echo vibrate, up from peasant unto 
 
 peer ! 
 Not with trumpet-toned laudation and the cant of 
 
 patriot strain, 
 Which, right or wrong, still clamours, and denies a 
 
 nation's stain ; 
 But with choir of earnest voices let our deep thanks- 
 givings rise, 
 Like the organ's solemn pealing, mounting upward 
 to the skies. 
 
 She stands a rock of refuge 'mid the European shock. 
 She, the cloud-kissed little Island, whither weeping 
 
 exiles flock ; 
 "Where the swift-dethroned Monarch finds a tranquil, 
 
 safe retreat. 
 And the. men men-hounds have hunted feel their 
 
 life-pulse calmly beat ! 
 
A P^AN FOK "MERRIE ENGLAND." 149 
 
 Oh, the sanctuary must be holy, but the power on 
 
 which it rests 
 Is the secret of its being, which the nation's soul 
 
 attests. 
 
 What a people are our people — with the large and 
 
 thoughtful brain, 
 Prompt to act when Action 's needed, brave to bear 
 
 their heavy pain. 
 When Endurance is the touchstone— that which 
 
 weaker souls despise — 
 Stedfast Fortitude the granite whence their milder 
 
 virtues rise ; 
 Calm and cautious 'mid the perils which have frenzied 
 
 other lands, 
 Pressing onward — ever onward, with their toil-worn, 
 
 bloodless hands ! 
 
 Sharp the sword unsheathed by Faction — changing 
 
 to a deadly scythe. 
 Mowing down the tares and wheat-ears, making 
 
 Freedom's self to writhe, 
 Till she tremble lest her future be — her sorrows o'er 
 
 again ; 
 Lest her courage faint and falter, lest her faith 
 
 begin to wane, 
 Lest in broken-hearted anguish to some fresh made 
 
 yoke she bend. 
 And the wondrous scene enacting like a thrice-told 
 
 story end ! 
 
150 A P^AN FOE "mEREIE ENGLAND." 
 
 Sharp the sword unsheathed by Faction — but we 
 
 know a sharper still, 
 'Tis the Tongue of Free Discussion-, whence is learned 
 
 a People's Will ! 
 "When their naked-handed numbers now in serried 
 
 ranks are heard, 
 Now like leaven to each household — by their souls 
 
 the dull are stirred. 
 Then our Rulers meekly — proudly — yield the thing 
 
 which wisdom shows, 
 And our happy Revolutions are without Rebellion's 
 
 woes !. 
 
 True, the dead whose names are jewels in the crown 
 that History wears, 
 
 They the Barons bold at Runnymede, who each his 
 laurel bears — 
 
 And dogged Hampden, self- sustained, and the mar- 
 tyr'd Russell brave, 
 
 And our modern men, as great and true, who serve 
 us from the grave, 
 
 TJpreared a dome for Liberty — our beacon 'mid the 
 storm, 
 
 Which we from time to time enlarge to Her en- 
 larging form ! 
 
 True, our soil was rankly fertilised, in dark times 
 
 passed away, 
 By British blood, by brothers shed in many a civil 
 
 fray ; 
 
A P^AN FOR " MERRIE ENGLAND." 151 
 
 But other lands were blackened too by the fratricidal 
 
 stain, 
 Their people galled 'neath tyranny — and they 
 
 wrestled with their chain! 
 Was it childhood's play without result save — dying 
 
 for a name ; 
 Are they children still- — and still chastised — and only 
 
 pity claim ? 
 
 Have the nations lain in lethargy while we awoke 
 
 to do. 
 That we seem before them in our growth a hundred 
 
 years or two ? 
 If so, 'twere a horrid fever-sleep, by nightmare's 
 
 terrors riven. 
 Which hath not health, or strength, or peace unto. 
 
 the slumberers given ; 
 The whirling earth in its even course lays all lands 
 
 to the sun. 
 Why have they not, from the seed Time sows, the 
 
 same rich harvest won ? 
 
 It is well their kings and rulers should take lesson 
 from our laws, 
 
 Come like students to a teacher, learning many a 
 hidden cause; 
 
 But 'twere also well their people should take pat- 
 tern by our own, 
 
 By the grand heroic patience of the footstools of the 
 throne ! 
 
152 A P^.AN FOR "MERRIE ENGLAND." 
 
 From the farthest north of Orkney to the " Land's " 
 
 sharp stretching " End," 
 Nought before my spirit's vision doth so beautifully 
 
 blend. 
 
 Hark ! their recompense is coming — there is heard 
 
 a murmuring sound, 
 Like the rush of far-off waters when their wonted 
 
 course is found; 
 Hindered commerce breaks her trammels, bearing on 
 
 her silver stream, 
 'Neath the flag of Free Exchangement, hopes far 
 
 brighter than a dream! 
 Fancy sees the life-like engine — hears the crash of 
 
 myriad looms, 
 And the artisan's pale forehead now the glow of joy 
 
 resumes ! 
 
 Oh, thanksgiving unto Heaven! Unto One be all 
 
 the praise 
 That our blessed, "Merrie England" has passed by 
 
 the evil days ; 
 If we seek His second causes — is it race or is it place 
 That gives to us the triumph Time itself shall not 
 
 efface ? 
 Let our pride be justly tempered, for our glory must 
 
 grow dim^ 
 If we do not sing Rejoicings as a deep Religious 
 
 Hymn! 
 
 January. 1S49. 
 
153 
 
 DIEGE FOR A SUICIDE. 
 
 Lay your lutes and viols by ; 
 
 Close the organ's swelling choir, 
 Instruments of mortal make, 
 
 jSTot for such a strain desire. 
 List The Dirge in Nature's voice. 
 
 In the Ocean's surging song, 
 Sighing on the pebbly beach, 
 
 "W^ith a murmur deep and long; 
 
 In the Autumn's moaning blast, 
 
 Sweeping through the solemn pines, 
 When the air is cold and dank. 
 
 And the shortening day declines. 
 Listen for the fitting Dirge, 
 
 In the everlasting roar 
 Of the ceaseless cataract. 
 
 Leaping blindly from the shore. 
 
 For great Nature's solemn sounds 
 Have a language of their own ; 
 
 But unto the young and gay, 
 'Tis a language never known; 
 
154 DIRGE FOK A SUICIDE. 
 
 Like the writing on the wall, 
 "When Chaldea's haughty king 
 
 Found for sole interpreter 
 
 The Prophet taught by suffering. 
 
 To some natural, solemn Dirge, 
 
 Lay your brother, sister, down — 
 Where the earth is barrenest. 
 
 And a flower has never grown. 
 But forbear from look or word 
 
 Of the ignorant Pharisee ; 
 Dare not judge of one who learned 
 
 So much more of Life than ye ! 
 
 Learned — till Life itself became 
 
 A thought too terrible to bear ; 
 The heart a chamel of dead hopes, 
 
 "With spectral Madness there, 
 To quickly grow a despot king, 
 
 And rule with smiling nod, 
 And urge the Deed — ^but leave, at last, 
 
 The Suicide to God ! 
 
100 
 
 DAY BY DAY. 
 
 Look at the oak from an acorn sprung, 
 
 The oaik whose bole is of Titan girth, 
 The song-birds nestle its boughs among. 
 
 And there have the future singers birth ! 
 But a knell is rung, with, its sure decree — 
 
 When the hour-glass shivers the sandi are spilt- 
 Of the wood of the hewn and sapless tree 
 
 A rider of crested waves is built: 
 
 And there seems to be sung as the ship glides o 
 " This is what Day by Day has done ! " 
 
 The glacier, loosed from the Ice King's hand. 
 
 Moves on with a solemn march and slow. 
 To a tune that the beating stars command, 
 
 Shall murmur for ages across the snow : 
 But the wind finds a harp at last to play, 
 
 And sounds a march that has greater speed. 
 Till the glacier weeping itself away 
 
 Is ready a Rhine or a Ehoue to feed. 
 
156 
 
 DAY BY DAY. 
 
 But this is the tune, as the wind soughs on, 
 "See you what Day by Day has done!" 
 
 A babe at the' font ; then a gleesome child ; 
 
 And a bride half veiled by her amber hair ; 
 A matron wise, and a mother mild ; 
 
 A grandam bent by many a care ; 
 And the shining hair, grown grey and scant, 
 
 Is folded away from touch and sight — 
 On the form of age do the sunbeams slant, 
 
 But the inner heaven brings " evening light ! " 
 And ever the while a lesson runs on, 
 " This is what Day by Day has done ! " 
 
 Two hearts that are joined in Love's Eden here, 
 
 Thinking leaves ne'er fall, nor chill can come. 
 And see not the serpent of change is near, 
 
 To sting by turns — and by turns to numb : 
 Bui at last the hiss is heard, and now 
 
 The dreadful crest of the snake appears, 
 And they fall apart with a broken vow 
 
 Whose chasm cannot be filled by tears. 
 
 This picture affrights — we its legend shun — 
 " See you what Day by Day has done ! " 
 
 Yes, Time can be cruel with his right hand, 
 But his left has a precious balm, concealed — 
 
 It will open wide at the ■ One command, 
 And the priceless treasure be all revealed : 
 
DAY BY DAY. 157 
 
 And perchance when Time shall be overthrown, 
 When the olden things shall have passed away, 
 Our souls to a larger wisdom grown 
 
 Shall measure the worth of a single Day — 
 With awe at the scheme which is here begun. 
 And joy at what Day by Day has done ! 
 
 1861. 
 
158 
 
 THE TALKING FIRE. 
 
 ' Our country claims our fealty ; we grant it so, but then 
 Belore M:iu made us citizous, great Nature made ns men." 
 
 Lowi-XL. 
 
 I HEAR. December's biting blast, 
 
 I see the slippery hail-drops fall — 
 That shot which frost-sprites laughing cast 
 
 In some great Arctic arsenal ; 
 I lean my cheek against the pane, 
 
 But start away, it is so chill, 
 And almost pity tree and plain 
 
 For bearing Winter's load of ill. 
 
 The sombre sky hangs dark and low. 
 
 It looks a couch where mists are born — 
 A throne whence they in clusters flow 
 
 Or by the tempest's wrath are torn. 
 I turn me to the chamber's Heart, 
 
 Low pulsing like a vague desire. 
 And strike an ebon block apart, 
 
 Till up there springs a blazing fire ! 
 
THE TALKING FIRE. 159 
 
 It hath a jovial roaring tone, 
 
 Like one rebuking half in jest — 
 Yet ah, I wish there coald be known 
 
 The wisdom that it hath exprest — 
 Or sinking to a lambent glow, 
 
 Its arched and silent cavern seems 
 A magic glass whereon to show, 
 
 And shape anew, our broken dreams ! 
 
 I vow the flaming tongue hath caught 
 
 Quaint echoes of the passing time; 
 Thus laughs it at my idle thought. 
 
 My longing for a fairer clime: 
 " So — so — you'd like some southern shore. 
 
 To gather flowers the winter through, 
 As if there were on earth no more 
 
 For busy human hands to do ! 
 
 " You'd like to doze in myrtle bowers, 
 
 And taste the far niente cup. 
 And, droused by odour of the flowers, 
 
 Your soul to scarcely waken up ! 
 Or if aroused by random shaft, 
 
 To miss your Northman's priceless pearl, 
 And know it melted in that draught 
 
 You had not strength away to hurl ! 
 
 "Oh, keep your pearl— your Saxon Heart 
 
 And all the jewels round it hung : 
 Ye Ejiglish, do your noble part 
 
 And teach it with unfettered tongue : 
 
160 THE TALKING FIEE. 
 
 Hold out your freedom for a light; 
 
 Let darkened Europe not despair, 
 Though like a raft-tossed crew at night, 
 
 Strange perils now the Nations share ! 
 
 " And guard your Own ! — In this, oh mark 
 
 High duty and the world's fair fate ; 
 Thou art poor deluged Europe's Ark, 
 
 Her fortimes on Thy Safety wait ; 
 And — crouching lion at her feet, — 
 
 In aU her matron graces drest. 
 Let free .Britannia smiling greet 
 
 Her radiant Daughter of the West ! 
 
 " The broad Atlantic flows between, 
 
 But love can bridge the ends of earth ; 
 Of all the lands my race have seen 
 
 These two the rest are more than worth ; 
 Not for their skies, or fruits or gold. 
 
 But for their sturdy growth of Man, 
 Who walks erect, and will not hold 
 
 His life beneath a tyrant's ban. 
 
 " Yet do not curl your lips with scorn 
 
 That others are not great as ye ; 
 Your fathers fought ere ye were born 
 
 And died that thus- it now should be ! 
 I tell you spirits walk unseen, 
 
 Excepting by the soul's strong sight ; 
 Hampden and Washington I ween 
 
 Are leaders yet in Freedom's fight ! 
 
THE TALKING FIRE. IGl 
 
 " And shadowy hosts I need not name' 
 
 Are legions in the cause to-day, 
 From dungeon's rack and martyrs' flame, 
 
 Their spirits mingle in the fray ; 
 See how their sorrowing eyes look down 
 
 On every craven's drooping head: 
 Oh, be your loftier nature shown 
 
 If but in homage to your Dead ! 
 
 "Think how they bore the knife, the cord. 
 
 The scafibld's hideous triumph car ; 
 The sharpest sword of cruel word, 
 
 Before you were what now you are ! 
 So neither nourish idle pride, 
 
 Nor sigh for sweets the South has blent ; 
 I vow I could such weakness chide 
 
 If my hot breath were not so spent." 
 
 It ceased; but oh, its words of fire 
 
 Had dropped upon my Northman's heart, 
 Rebuked a moment's vain desire. 
 
 And slain it like a hunter's dart; 
 Oh, welcome now the slippery hail, 
 
 And welcome winter's biting blast — 
 Ye braced our sires ; they still prevail 
 
 Who triumphed through the stormy past. 
 
 And as beside the ruddy blaze 
 
 We muse or talk of mighty things, 
 
 In clarion tone one little phrase 
 
 Still through the heart's deep echoes rings — 
 
10'.i THE TALKING FIKE. 
 
 " Our Hearths — our Homes — beyond compare ! 
 
 Those charmed circles whence there rise 
 The stedfast souls that do and dare, 
 
 And shape a Nation's destinies! 
 
 There, pile the faggots high — aslant — 
 
 And let them crackle out their hymn — 
 There is no logic — that I grant — 
 
 In wilful words of woman's whim : 
 And yet I feel the liaks that glide 
 
 'Twixt English Hearths and Liberty, 
 And track how We— our truest pride — 
 
 Fi7-st sheltered Her Divinity ! 
 
 December, 1851. 
 
163 
 
 CHRISTMAS EVE AT SEA. 
 
 The holly bough ife gleaming 
 
 With dark and priokly sheen, 
 The mistletoe betraying 
 
 Its tender white and green; 
 The Christmas. Tree, Kke fairy, 
 
 Holds strange mysterious gifts; 
 And though the snow be lying 
 
 In deep and treacherous drifts. 
 Our English hearts are warming 
 
 Beneath their festive mirth, 
 For 'tis the Blessed Season 
 
 When Good Will came on earth ! 
 
 The Season stirs our nature 
 
 In many mystic ways, 
 High tides of feeling rising 
 
 At thoughts of other days : 
 But when the bowl is brimming, 
 
 And when the feast is spread. 
 And when dear friends are meeting, 
 
 And happy tears are shed. 
 
164 CHRISTMAS EVK AT SEA. 
 
 I claim there be remembered,' 
 With cheers of three times three, 
 
 The English hearts that muster 
 On Christmas Eve at Sea; ! 
 
 Be sure with homeward yearning 
 
 Their thoughts incline to-night, 
 Where'er the ship be trailing 
 
 A wake of silvery light ; 
 Upon a slumbering ocean, 
 
 Or near the coral caves. 
 As red as holly berries, 
 
 Am^id the emerald waves ; 
 Or where the icebergs glitter. 
 
 And warn with frosty breath. 
 And glide like moving mountains 
 
 The Southern Cross beneath ! 
 
 Where now 'tis chilly noontide — 
 
 Or balmy tropic night — 
 Or where the sun is beaming 
 
 In lancing lines of light ; 
 Wherever floats our banner, 
 
 As if a path to cleave 
 Be sure our English brothers 
 
 Remember Christmas Eve, 
 And think of all the friendships 
 
 Which absence shall not chill. 
 And household, deep affections 
 
 More near the heart's core still ! 
 
CHRISTMAS EVE AX SEA. 165 
 
 Our soldiers and our sailors. 
 
 Who hold in England's name 
 The Nightless realm! — Dominion 
 
 Which only She can claim ; 
 The brave adventurers swarming 
 
 From out the parent hive, 
 Who seek with hum of labour 
 
 To do, and dare, and strive, 
 And 'mid their toiling waken 
 
 The wilds to English speech, 
 And glory in the future 
 
 Their sons may haply reach ! 
 
 And women weak who bravely — 
 
 Some earnest hope at stake — 
 At call of love or duty 
 
 The ocean pathway take ; 
 Oh, sweet the spirit fancy 
 
 That All in thought are near ! 
 We feel their unseen presence. 
 
 Their voices almost hear. 
 While fondly we remember. 
 
 With cheers of three times three, 
 The English hearts who muster 
 
 On Christmas Eve at Sea ! 
 
 December, 1862. 
 
166 
 
 A 
 
 ma:n's certain knowledge. 
 
 To my certain knowledge Maud's haughty and cold, 
 I wooed her with praises, and tempted with gold ; 
 But she drew her soft fingers away from my clasp, 
 Growing quite an inch taller resenting the grasp : 
 Yet 'twas hardly three months from that very day 
 When she married a Captain on only half pay ! 
 
 To my certain knowledge Matilda's a fool, 
 I've talked to her gravely like tutor at school ; 
 But she only looked down with her lips set to smile, 
 And counted her stitches of head-work the while : 
 Yet now that she's wife to a statesman of fame 
 They say that she helps play his intricate game ! 
 
 To my certain knowledge Eliza was mean, 
 Insisting on settlements fit for a queen ; 
 Yet by merest of chances I heard t'other day, 
 She had given the third of her fortune away ; 
 After all, 'twas a lucky escape that I had, 
 From a woman so cautious, and really so mad! 
 
A man's CEKTAIN KNOWLEDGE. 167 
 
 To my certain knowledge fair Kate is a shrew.. 
 As arrant as Shakspere's own master hand drew; 
 "When she chose to consider I'd trifled with Jane, 
 She poured out strong words like a torrent of rain. 
 The plain sister Jane only tempted her fate, 
 But I might have proved a Petruchio to Kate ! 
 
 To my certain knowledge ppor Nancy was vain, 
 And of pride to uphold her had never a grain — 
 Believed all one said-r-and girls should not expect 
 That a man will prize love he at once can detect. 
 'Twas a pity she died - for she had a sweet face, 
 A voice that was music, and form full of grace. 
 
 Do not talk about Julia — that heartless coquette. 
 For rankling the. wound that she gave me is yet. 
 Oh, she smiled and she listened — cajoled with a look. 
 Till I thought I could read her as plain as a book. 
 Yet at last when I sued, with coolness she said, 
 Rich girls like herself need not hasten to wed. 
 
 To my certain knowledge the women are weak, 
 Or foolish or vain, or but for a freak 
 "Will make their born rulers like abject slaves seem ; 
 In short, their great virtues are only a dream, 
 "Which our poets still use to brighten the page 
 Of every life-drama from youth unto age ! 
 
168 
 
 THE PEDLAE.* 
 
 '•Men of genius cau more easily starve, tlwn tlie world, witli 
 safety to itself, cau contluue to neglect and starve them." 
 
 Forster's L-Je of Goldsmith. 
 
 A PEDLAR hawked his wares for sale, 
 Through crowded streets, o'er hill and dale. 
 And modestly, with gentle voice, 
 Arrayed them for the people's choice ; 
 And said, " A loaf is all I ask. 
 And, by the winter's fire to bask, 
 A roof above, and garments plain. 
 Express mj' greediest thirst for gain." 
 
 The People turned his wares about, 
 And shook their heads in solemn doubt ; 
 With tinsel goods made his compete. 
 Yet called his Gold a "copper cheat." 
 Then with a smile, and yet a sigh. 
 He said, "Though you refuse to buy, 
 My wares away I will not take, 
 I give them — for the children's sake!" 
 
 * The Fedlar, and some other short poems in this volume, 
 appeared originally in Chambers' Edinburgh Journal. 
 
THE PEDI.AR. 169 
 
 The little children grew in time 
 To life's most eager, early prime ; 
 And seeking here, and seeking there. 
 For wealth deserving of their care, 
 The youths and maidens, fair and brave, 
 Have found the wares the Pedlar gave. 
 And loud their voices now are heard. 
 By generous indignation stirred : — 
 
 " Oh shameful sires to thus despise 
 The Poet's priceless melodies ! 
 To tread beneath a scornful heel 
 The source of our exalted weal — '■ 
 Celestial truths which seem to rush 
 O'er heart and soul, like morning's flush 
 In southern climes, that quick up springs. 
 And charms aside night's clouding wings ! " 
 
 And then among themselves they spoke, 
 And soon one grateful feeling broke ; 
 They cried, " Oh, let us journey forth 
 From east to west, from south to north. 
 And take no rest until we find 
 This uncrowned Monarch of our Mind ; 
 He must be old, and may be poor 
 Who left these treasures at our door ! 
 
 " A palace home we'll build for him, 
 And gold shall all his coflFers brim; 
 
170 I THE PEDLAR. 
 
 Ambrosial food shall deck his board ; 
 And nectar drinks be freely poured. 
 Such as Kke melted jewels flash ; 
 A thousand looms shall creak and crash 
 To weave him raiments, fine and meet. 
 For winter's cold or summer's heat ! " 
 
 From north to south, from east to west 
 They journey long, and take no rest; 
 Foot-sore with stony roads they've passed, 
 They come upon a grave at last ! 
 A humble grave, but yet they know 
 The Poet's dust is laid below. 
 Too late— too late the wreath they've wove 
 To crown the monarch of their love! 
 
 Yet as they bend with reverent mien. 
 And pluck for relics grasses green, 
 A haunting voice floats through the air. 
 And softly cries, " Beware — beware ! 
 The Poet takes, to common eyes. 
 In every age a different guise ; 
 Beware lest ye such Pedlar meet, 
 And call his Gold a ' copper cheat ! ' " 
 
171 
 
 THE AUSTRIAN GOLIATH. 
 
 ON THE OUTBREAK OF -n-AR IN 1859. 
 
 Beautiful and dear Italia, 
 Surely Freedom's day appears, 
 
 Though its dawn be crimson-tinted, 
 And we watch it through our tears ! 
 
 Dear Italia — be united ! 
 
 Like a band of brothers be — 
 Driving forth the base betrayers. 
 
 That forbid you to be free. 
 
 Who can think with clear decision. 
 When the thieves the ermine wear, 
 
 Of aught else than how to chase them 
 Back unto their wolfish lair ? 
 
 Shoulder unto shoulder pressing. 
 
 Purpose may intensify; 
 Lesser strifes will seem so little. 
 
 While you all one foe defy. 
 
172 THE AUSTR]A^' GOLIATH. 
 
 Oh, Sardinia ! to my fancy 
 Thou art like to Da-rid now; 
 
 May'st thou in the coming struggle 
 Lay thy dread Groliath low ! 
 
 And take heart — it is thy glory 
 To be armed with righteousness ; 
 
 Like to him in Hebrew story, 
 
 Whom the Lord of Hosts did bless. 
 
 Oh, Sardinia ! well I love thee — 
 I thy gracious soil have pressed. 
 
 Seen thy sons, with steps of freemen, 
 By the gifts of freedom blessed. 
 
 Where the Doria's spirit hovers, 
 The renowned " Superba ''* sits ; 
 
 And her beauty half discovers. 
 Like coquette by sudden fits. 
 
 She was crowned by all the Graces, 
 Ere she gave Columbus birth, 
 
 And sits glassed by bluest waters ; 
 But to me her chiefest worth 
 
 Is her freedom shining star-like. 
 Beacon unto neighbours dear. 
 
 Bibles hawked at railway station, 
 In the hella lingua clear ; 
 *Genoa. 
 
THE ATJSTKIAN GOLIATH, 173 
 
 Preaching, talking, printing all things. 
 Show the English way that's caught ; 
 
 Viva Vic?roE ! — would 'twere ringing 
 Far as is my wandering thought! 
 
 And again that winsome city. 
 Fresh and fair her civic crown; 
 
 " Equal laws for all the people,"* 
 There the motto widely known. 
 
 Oh, Italia, dear Italia, 
 
 Call thy children by thy name; 
 Tuscan, Roman, and Venetian, 
 
 Milanese the word should claim ! 
 
 By the pressure of the Present, 
 
 By thy yet all matchless Past, 
 By thy fateful pregnant Future, 
 
 Be united now at last ! 
 
 By the Dante thou hast given 
 
 To enrich the world for aye. 
 By thy Tasso and thy Petrarch, 
 
 And thy Great of later day. 
 
 By thy Angelo and Raphael, 
 
 And thy Rosa farther south ; 
 By the school of thy Bologna, 
 
 And the school near Arno's mouth. 
 
 *Iiiscriptiou on a public momiment in Turin. 
 
174 THE AUSTRIAN GOLIATH. 
 
 By . thy Titian of Yenezia, 
 
 Where the seaweed on the stair 
 
 'Minds one of the tangled tresses. 
 Of a sea- nymph's floating hair ; 
 
 By thy Fleets which awed the nations, 
 By the valour of thy dead ; 
 
 By thy sumptuous merchant-princes, 
 Shewing us how Trade was bred ; 
 
 By the Poesy which dwelleth 
 In the letters of thy name, 
 
 Be united all as brothers. 
 
 While your rights you boldly claim ! 
 
 Oh, the cold ungrateful Europe, 
 Owing Arts and Commerce all 
 
 To thy blood, which circled finely 
 When we were in serfdom's thrall! 
 
 On the mart, , and in the studio,' 
 Still we lessons take of thee; 
 
 Julius rules our times and seasons, 
 Galileo's truths we see. 
 
 Can we mutely mark the struggle. 
 As we watch it through our tears? 
 
 Though its dawn be crimson-tinted. 
 Surely Freedom's day appears! 
 
 ^pril, 1859. 
 
]75 
 
 THE KING OF ITALY. 
 
 ON THE TITLE BEIX& FIRST PROCLAIMED. 
 
 " n bel paese ch'Apeuuiu parte, 
 11 mar circoudti e I'Alpe."— Fetuarch. 
 
 The King of countless Palaces! He yet must Eave 
 
 two more 
 Ere he can hold the war-horse in, and rule from 
 
 shore to shore ! 
 What matter that his fair Turin has pleasant regal 
 
 state, 
 Where freemen with their mien erect round throne 
 
 and altar wait ; 
 Or that white Florence smiling sues, and opens wide 
 
 her doors, 
 Where "Pitti" asks a monarch's tread upon its 
 
 marble floors ; 
 Or that at red Vesuvius' foot, and by the sapphire bay, 
 The brightest city Europe boasts her beauty yields 
 
 to-day ? 
 
i/b THE KING OF ITALY. 
 
 A nation bids to Bourbon halls its King — " the 
 
 honest man " — 
 But he must keep his saddle seat with soldiers in the 
 
 van ; 
 What matter Genoa the Superb has merchant homes 
 
 so wide, 
 They'd hive his royalest retinue in all its martial 
 
 pride. 
 AVhat matters that a score of towns have Palaces to 
 
 spare, 
 And crowned kings might be enthroned in pomp and 
 
 splendour there ? 
 The King of countless Palaces demandeth just T-\vo 
 
 more, 
 Ere he can lay his sword aside, and rule from shore 
 
 to shore ! 
 
 We know that loud Te Deums rise in Milan's 
 
 beauteous fane 
 From grateful hearts surcharged with joy, and tried 
 
 by recent pain — 
 But prayer is mingled with the praise, and there's 
 
 an Ear can hear, 
 And in St. Mark's such strains must rise in accents 
 
 loud and clear. 
 King Victor claims, and he must have those Princely 
 
 Ducal Halls, 
 Where portraits of the Doges dead are hanging on 
 
 the walls ! 
 
THK KING OF ITALY. 177 
 
 Ah ! how they seem to watch and wait for brothers 
 
 brave to come, 
 Italia's sons, with masters' mien, to hold their ancient 
 
 home ; 
 For glad bright eyes to break the gloom, and quick 
 
 free steps to sound 
 Where now the sullen stranger treads, and scatters 
 
 victims round ! 
 'Twould be a pleasant sight to see that poor white- 
 coated thing 
 March out, the while from every tower the clanging 
 
 joy-bells ring, 
 To see the three pure colours placed by hands un- 
 stained with gore 
 Upon those ancient masts that rise before St, Mark's 
 
 great door ; 
 To see some summer holiday King Yictor, true and 
 
 bold, 
 ■Ascend the Giant-guarded Stairs, his ceded rights to 
 
 hold: 
 New Ritual then for 'spousals with the Adriatic Sea, 
 But oh, what ring were rich enough to wed fair 
 
 Venice free ! 
 Only the gem of Truth, set in to self-adjusting law, 
 Could be the fit espousal ring, without a speck or flaw, 
 To girdle all the jutting isles that rise from out the 
 
 wave, 
 And point like fingers to the sky from which th^y 
 
 justice crave. 
 
178 THE KIJS'G OF ITALY. 
 
 What pleasant sights ! Well they may be^ for close 
 
 beside the Throne 
 A Statesman* holds the mystic reins, whose one 
 
 groat mind alone 
 Is match for all the shallower brains he readeth 
 
 o'er and o'er ; ' 
 And walls may fall by wisdom's words as well as 
 
 cannon's roar. 
 But if the foe cannot be taught what is a Nation's 
 
 right, 
 He'll have to learn — some happy day — what is a 
 
 Nation's might: 
 If belcliing guns must rake and tear, and shake the 
 
 still lagoon. 
 And make a midnight of the air in bright and 
 
 sunny noon — 
 If foes must starve, and soldiers die, and women 
 
 weep and wail. 
 And war's red horrors measure out their very 
 
 utmost tale. 
 So be it — in God's chosen time — much rather than 
 
 the peace, 
 Which is not peace, but only wrong's extended 
 
 shameful lease. 
 If Venice, " emerald paved," must see her waves half 
 
 ruby dyed. 
 Thus dashed against her marble white, the foe would 
 
 be defied; 
 
 * Civour still lived. 
 
THE KING OF ITALY. 179 
 
 Death-blent her Colours thus she'd flaunt — and better 
 
 this should be 
 Than that the black and yellow flag she should 
 
 triumphant see ! 
 Somehow the Bridge of Sighs must wake an echo 
 
 of the note 
 "Which only cleaves the lighten'd air from out a 
 
 freeman's throat; 
 Somehow the quaint Rialto mart must throng with 
 
 happy faces, 
 And childhood grow to youth, and see but dimly 
 
 sorrow's traces; 
 Somehow with .White, Green, Red at prow the 
 
 gondolas must dart 
 On busy errands 'mong the homes of Commerce and 
 
 of Art ; • 
 Somehow the captive State must have her fair limbs 
 
 all set free 
 To join her hands with sister States beside the 
 
 Ancient Sea! 
 
 And then — or first? — another spot must own King 
 
 Victor lord \ 
 
 Ere he can mount a steadfast throne and lay aside 
 
 the sword ! 
 Believe, oh Nations of the North, that 'neath its 
 
 modern masks, 
 The Roman nature still bounds high, and sighs for 
 
 noble tasks ; 
 
180 THE KING OF ITALY. 
 
 Its wrongs have all been double-edged to slay both 
 
 flesh and spirit. 
 And yet it still has strength to be, and the great 
 
 Name inherit. 
 Oh, Rome, the heart, the aching heart, until its 
 
 pulse beats true. 
 The nation ' is not hale and strong its earnest work 
 
 to do! 
 Oh, Rome, all Italy declares among its seven hills, 
 Must rise the throne for him who well the kingly 
 
 office fills! 
 
 The CaBsarii ruined Palace walls are bared to every 
 
 eye. 
 And bats and owls keep lonely rule beneath the 
 
 midnight sky ; 
 But there are fouler things than these that reign in 
 
 pride of place, 
 And need the scourge of right and law their being 
 
 to efface. 
 Between St. 'Peter's priestly Chair and Capitol of 
 
 Old, 
 The yellow Tiber's parting stream by God's own 
 
 hand is roll'd ; 
 Let this be type of what shall be when dawn has 
 
 grown to day, 
 When foreign swords no longer gleam, and freedom's 
 
 progress stay. 
 
THE KING OF ITALY. 181 
 
 Let thunders of tlie Vatican still hurl from Papal 
 
 seat, 
 To pierce the hearts which deem that there great 
 
 powers and mysteries meet ; 
 But let the other shore behold a simple human king, 
 To rule by law and shower the good that must from 
 
 j ustice spring : 
 As haughty flowers that bow their heads to where 
 
 ,the sun is shining, 
 "Would rival cities bow content without a moment's 
 
 pining, 
 Content that Rome, their queen of old, should have 
 
 chief honour still. 
 Without the blast of envy's breath her bounding 
 
 heart to chill. 
 Not till within the Capitol he signs himself a King — 
 Not till Venetian voices shall their loud Te Deums 
 
 sing — 
 Will Victor doff the warrior's helm, and wield his 
 
 sword no more, 
 The King of Countless Palaces must rule from shore 
 
 to shore ! 
 
 April 8th, 1861. 
 
182 
 
 OLD LIGHTS AKE DYING OUT. 
 
 (suggested by sevekal recent deaths.) - 
 
 Old Lights are dying out. 
 
 Like beacon fires consumed. 
 Which, warmed the wintry air. 
 
 And darkness bla,nk illumed. 
 Yet, unlike mortal fires. 
 
 The soul-fed lamps I mean. 
 Leave tracks of spirit light 
 
 Ta show that they have been : 
 
 And smouldering unextinct, 
 
 A furnace wealth of Thought, 
 By workmen of the mind 
 
 To be more newly wrought ; 
 iOr else to serve their need. 
 
 As torches in a mine, 
 A light by which to see 
 
 Their wealth of genius shine ! 
 
OLD LIGHTS ARE DYING OUT. 183 
 
 Old Lights are dying out, 
 
 But New Ones gem the sky, 
 And with increasing glow 
 
 Spread far, and sparkle high : 
 Yet who shall tell how much 
 
 Of starry light they owe 
 To spirit track, or torch 
 
 Of them who now lie low ! 
 
 Jul!/, 1849. 
 
18i 
 
 THE TWO ROSE TREES. 
 
 AX APOLOGUE. 
 
 " I will incline mine ear to tlie parable ; and sliow roy dark 
 speech upon the hAip."— Psalm xlix. 4, 
 
 Two Rose Trees once ia a garden grew, 
 
 And breathed the sunshine, and drank the dew ; 
 
 The blind mole knew how their roots stretched deep 
 
 Mutely, but surely their hold to keep ; 
 
 Brightest of butterflies haunted the place 
 
 And hover'd and wheeled in butterfly chase; 
 
 The highwayman bee — to their beauty cold — 
 
 Went laden away with his bags of gold ; 
 
 And the baldrick rainbow, spanning earth's breast. 
 
 Saw its ruby tints in their flowers confessed. 
 
 They grew side by side, yet were not intertwined. 
 And few were the boughs to each other inclined ; 
 But, like neighbours who chat at a wall that is low. 
 They breathed rose thoughts o'er a tiny box-row. 
 
THE TWO ROSE TREES. ] 85 
 
 Oh, the One was surely of haughty mien, 
 
 With its flowers so red, and its leaves so green, 
 
 And ever it seemed in a floral unrest 
 
 Lest some of its worth should be unexpressed ; 
 
 Half an ell higher it claimed to be 
 
 Than the Other, the very much humbler tree ! 
 
 " See," it exclaimed in an accent of pride, 
 
 "My fame how it spreads through the garden wide; 
 
 A beauty has chosen my blossoms bright. 
 
 To wear 'mid her hair at the ball to-night ; 
 
 And to-morrow my flowers will stand in gold cups 
 
 At a great civic banquet where royalty sups ! 
 
 Oh ! must I not hasten to burgeon and flower, 
 
 And lay all my buds in the sunshine this hour ? 
 
 So, neighbour, good bye, I am sure that you see 
 
 What 'tis to be famous, and sought for, like me!" 
 
 Then the Other bent down with a gesture of grace. 
 
 Content to be given the lowlier place ; 
 
 But it murmur 'd, in accents like music to hear, 
 
 "I only can Be! But to be is so dear, 
 
 That I leave to the Master to will as He may 
 
 The uses my flowerets may have day by day; 
 
 I am not ambitious, and scarcely desire 
 
 The fame to which merit like yours may aspire, 
 
 And somehow the air is so murky to me, 
 
 I cannot be Doing — I only can Be!" 
 
186 THE TWO ROSE TREES. 
 
 So. saying, its branclies bowed nearer the ground, 
 And hid half the flowers that amid them were found. 
 But at eve a sick child lay down on the grass — 
 Then the leaves bent aside to let the scent pass : 
 And some white-winged messengers chanced to be 
 
 near. 
 Who carried the odour far out of this sphere. 
 For they found in it tokens which made them aware" 
 It was amaranth like and meet for their care. 
 Lo ! at midnight the rose-tree was lifted away 
 And its place in the garden was vacant next day! 
 
 That night at the ball the Beauty was vexed; 
 
 Yet she gave a red rose — 'mid her troubles per- 
 plexed — 
 
 Grave a rose to a traitor who smiled at his power 
 
 When his chariot-wheels roUed over the flower. 
 
 And the blossoms which flaunted in gold cups so rich, 
 
 Were faded next morning and swept to a ditch ; 
 
 Now across the green box-row when winter wind 
 soughs 
 
 Their once haughty parent leans lonely bare boughs. 
 
 But the Other Tree burgeons beneath a bright sky, 
 
 Where its flowers will not wither, — its roots cannot 
 die. 
 
187 
 
 THE 
 
 DEATH OF THE PAUPER PEASANT. 
 
 ' Priucea and lords may flourish, or may fade, 
 A breath cau make ihcm, as a breath has made ; 
 But a bold peasantry, their country's pride, 
 When once destroyed, can never be supplied." 
 
 Goldsmith. 
 
 'NEiTH the summer's sun, and the winter's snow, 
 
 Through Youth and Manhood's time, 
 He won by the toil that furrowed his brow 
 
 Deep, in his early prime. 
 The homely food, and the garments rude, 
 
 And shelter from, wind and weather ; 
 Up, up — with the sun, his work was- begun 
 Ere the birds sprung from the heather. 
 Plough — sow — delve away, 
 The harder the work, the less the pay; 
 Do we not know 
 The world goes so? 
 But the shelter that kept out weather and winds 
 
 Had the magical name of Home ; 
 A word that is dearer to English minds 
 Than palace or lordly dome. 
 
188 THE DEATH OF THE PAUPER PEASANT. 
 
 There were garments rude, and frugal food. 
 
 For a little loving band ; 
 And a wife was there, once young and fair. 
 
 To clasp the horny hand. 
 And bless it — through God — that its strength could 
 
 give, 
 'Not store for old age— r-but the means to live ! 
 
 For the poor have hearts — and 'tis thought they 
 know, 
 
 A feeling of joy from one of woe. 
 
 Old Age! He h^th passed by years the span 
 
 That the Psalmist, we know, " measured out to man." 
 
 And Fortune, the blind, for him doth rehearse 
 
 The mournful and terrible Roman curse. 
 
 His children have grown greyheaded — and died, 
 
 And gladly he 'd lie in the grave beside. 
 
 For England is bleak to the poor and old. 
 
 She measureth worth by measure of gold. 
 
 And seldom attempts to understand 
 
 The noble labour of head or hand ; 
 
 But sure her decay if she never mounts 
 
 To a Heaven beyond " red-lined accounts ! "' 
 
 And the horny hand is feeble now. 
 
 And the full bright eye is dim ; 
 And his scanty hairs are white as snow. 
 
 And he totters in every limb. 
 
THE DEATH OF THE PAUPER PEASANT. 189 
 
 Yet may it not be, that memory- 
 Lives through the wreck of years? 
 Does he call on Death, with that gasping breath, 
 And the fast descending tears ? 
 
 Oh! the world is cold 
 To the Poor and Old; 
 For he cannot work, and he doth not steal, 
 And only the poor for him can feel ! 
 
 'Tis Poverty gaunt the shelter gives, 
 
 And a homely couch spreads there ; 
 Though she can no more, and only lives 
 
 Herself on the scantiest fare. 
 But she hath kind words, that wake the chords 
 
 Of grateful tenderness ! 
 Oh ! spoils the least, of the wealthy's feast, 
 
 Would soothe the hours' distress ! 
 
 But the Law saj^s, " No, 
 It must nut be so; 
 Away from the scene that mirrors Home^ 
 Away, to the parish workhouse come ! " 
 
 Life's sands are ebbing few and fast ; 
 Thank God, he hardly knows at last. 
 The meaning of the words they say ! 
 " Up — up. Old Man ! come — come away. 
 Though' cold and wet December's day ; " 
 But harsher than the melting sky 
 The hearts that turn him forth — to die. 
 
lyU THE DKA.TH OF THE' PAUPER PEASANT. 
 
 A pauper dies — what matter where? 
 
 Or how he lives, they little care. 
 
 Is Poverty so deep a crime, 
 
 Bears it the brand — the serpent's slime. 
 
 So plainly marked, that by its side 
 
 Seems fair the selfish heart of pride ? 
 
 That Idleness and Luxury 
 
 Are worthier held than Poverty ? 
 
 'No ! Honour to the stalwart hand. 
 
 And honour to the labouring band ! 
 
 And though the Pauper's winding sheet 
 
 Is all Old England now can m.ete 
 
 To him who tilled her fruitful soil. 
 
 Till Age forbade the hand to toil ; 
 
 Deep in the heart such things shall sink- 
 
 Deep in the hearts that feel and think. 
 
 Until Opinion's mighty sway. 
 
 Shall wipe the Nation's stain away ! 
 
 December, 1843. 
 
191 
 
 THE CRY OF THE FELON. 
 
 Yes ! shackle my limbs, and bind me fast. 
 
 Through the hooting crowd to press, 
 Away to the Judgment Hall ; at last 
 
 The Doom of my Life I guess. 
 Think not the spasm that shoots through my frame 
 
 Is the quiver of wounded pride; 
 What hath the Felon to do with shame, 
 
 Or the pangs unto shame allied ! 
 
 Ye are ranged as Foes — and my heart will swell 
 
 With hate and a dull despair ; 
 Though your laws compel that the Lie I tell 
 
 With a calm and truthful air. 
 Oh, were it not brave if I cheated you. 
 
 Ye Judges sage and cold ! 
 My thin blood warms at the thought anew. 
 
 And the Lie grows strong and bold. 
 
 Grave Judges, 'tis [ who have wrongs to revenge, 
 More than You in your ermined state; 
 
 And the God who through Us doth the wrong avenge, 
 Worketh out a Nation's fate. 
 
192 THE CRY OF THE FELON. 
 
 How dared you leave me to fester my soul 
 Through Misery's keen temptations — 
 
 Where Infamy's gulfing waters roll, 
 And Example finds persuasions ? 
 
 My world was a night' — where Ignorance lay 
 Like a pall o'er my trampled heart ; 
 
 I never knew childhood's careless day, 
 Nor aught that could joy impart. 
 
 Tell me not Power cannot touch this Wrong- 
 It hath skill to bring me here ; 
 
 It hath gold to fee the slippery tongue 
 Of my foe, the pleader there. 
 
 It hath strength to mould that marvel great- 
 
 An army of willing men. 
 And to rest aloft in its pride and state. 
 
 Secure from the vulgar ken. 
 Oh, surely it were a lighter task 
 
 To scatter a little gold ! 
 To feed us, and Teach us, are all we ask. 
 
 And the Pauper Youth to mould ! 
 
 Ye've heard of the mansions fair and great 
 
 Which the Rats have undermined; 
 We are the Rats of the Social State, 
 
 Which ye seek to trap and bind. 
 And this, when ye have a Wizard Wand 
 
 (As of old in the fairy tale) 
 By which ye could change us to a band 
 
 Of servitors true and hale ! 
 
 1846. 
 
193 
 
 WHAT DOST THOU WHISPER, 
 MUEMURING SHELL? 
 
 What dost thou whisper, murmuring Shell ? 
 
 Child of the fathomless dark sea. 
 Thou canst great Ocean's secrets tell; 
 
 Oh, then, proclaim thy lore to me ! 
 Teach me the language of thy tone. 
 
 What would thy cold, still lips reveal ? 
 All the dread mysteries thou hast known. 
 
 Oh, not for ever thus conceal ! 
 What doth thou whisper, murmuring Shell ? 
 Would'st thou dread Ocean's secrets tell ? 
 
 Bear'st thou unto some heart bereaved 
 
 A message that froni parting breath 
 Thy apt and ready form received. 
 
 Ere Beauty found her bridegroom — Death ? 
 Or didst thou leave the wide domain, 
 
 And thy bright home in coral cave. 
 To echo Man's shrill cry of pain. 
 
 Ere life was vanquished by the wave ? 
 What dopt thou whisper, murmuring Shell? 
 Would'st thou dark Ocean's secrets tell ? 
 
 1846. 
 
194 
 
 THE EEAL AND THE IDEAL. 
 
 One of Earth, and one of HeaYcii, 
 
 They are strangely knit for aye ; 
 Harder are they to be riven 
 
 Than Man's spirit from the clay. 
 Twin-born as the human birth, >= 
 
 Yet more strongly intertwined, 
 Each believe is little worth 
 
 That the other doth not bind. 
 
 Start not, Dreamer ! at the thought, 
 
 Jove's Olympus touched the ground ; 
 And the Rose, with odoilr fraught. 
 
 Wins it from the soil around. 
 "But in Poetrv and Art, 
 
 And within the subtle brain, 
 The Ideal dwells apart, 
 
 There in majesty to reign;" 
 Cries he with a lip upcurled, 
 
 And he asks with scornful air, 
 " ' The statue that enchants the world ! ' 
 
 Thiak'st thou "Woman is as fair?" 
 
THE REAL AND THE IDEAL. 195 
 
 It may be — or it may not ; 
 
 But at least ye this will own, 
 Surely it has been your lot 
 
 Separate beauties to have known? 
 Here a lip, and there a finger, 
 
 Now a brow, or swan-like throat, 
 That within the mem'ry linger. 
 
 And like fairy visions float. 
 This then is the bright Ideal 
 
 Which — oh, never lose the clue — 
 While it borrows from the Reai., 
 
 Is itself for ever Tkue ! 
 
 Cold unto the Poet's heart. 
 
 Words — that do imprison Thought ; 
 Bars — that show us but a part 
 
 Of the glory he has caught. 
 Yet he knows that human feeling 
 
 Is the one exhaustless mine. 
 Though the gold of his revealing, 
 
 Worldling! never can be thine. 
 Nature in her fairest mood, 
 
 Or her sternest, still is Real; 
 Nature, then, by Poet wooed, 
 
 Leads hJTn to the true Ideal. 
 
 Can He think a lofty deed. 
 
 Which has not been acted o'er ? 
 
 Oh! a human heart to read, 
 Is, of all, the deepest lore. 
 
19K THE REAL AND THE IDEAL. 
 
 And the Real, Real "World 
 
 Is, since first was Poet here. 
 In the bright Ideal furled, 
 
 As the Earth in atmosphere. 
 'Tis the air the Spirit breathes, 
 
 If I read the truth aright, 
 Which all radiant thought enwreathes, 
 
 Shedding round us Spirit-Light. 
 
 1844. 
 
197 
 
 TO THE BRAVE HEARTS. 
 
 * They are the sileut grieft which cut the heart-striags." — Ford. 
 
 To tlie Brave Hearts ! Not theirs who rush 
 
 To lead the furious Yan, 
 When rising passions wildly crush 
 
 Fear from the heart of Man; 
 When nations look as Umpires on,- 
 And Honour must be lost or won ! 
 
 To the Brave Hearts ! Ho senate throng, 
 
 Upheld by iron will ; 
 Whose constancy in right or wrong 
 
 Belongs to Action still ; 
 While party-friends do cheer them on, 
 And Honour must be lost or won ! 
 
 Drink to the Hearts which do not break, 
 
 But suffer, and are true ! 
 Not of a radiant beauty speak, 
 
 But cheeks of pallid hue. 
 To mortal eyes their crowns are dim; 
 But fill the goblet to the brim ! 
 
J 98^ TO THE BRAVE HEARTS. 
 
 To Genius, doomed with drooping wing 
 
 To toil a sad life through, 
 Yet keeps itself a holy thing, 
 
 With holy work to do. 
 To them who ne'er such birthright sold- 
 Abused God's gift — for tempting gold! 
 
 To them who racked by mortal paia, 
 Yet do not lose their trust ; 
 
 Where Mind doth o'er the body reign. 
 Till this resolves to dust. 
 
 To Hearts that suffer, and are true, 
 
 Be minstrels' praise, and honour due ! 
 
 18«46. 
 
199 
 
 THE LITTLE SERVING MAID. 
 
 Would I could find, some happy day, 
 
 A little Serving Maid, 
 With open brow and honest eyes 
 
 That never look afraid ! 
 
 She ought to have a light quick step. 
 And voice with pleasant ring, 
 
 And something in her girlish ways 
 E,eminding one of spring. 
 
 I would not prove a mistress hard: 
 
 Her, duties should be light, 
 And we'd together bend the knee 
 
 At morning and at night. 
 
 I'd praise her both with eye and tongue 
 When praise was clearly right, 
 
 And chide her for her little faults 
 Just as a mother might. 
 
 She should pick up the cotton reel 
 
 That rolled upon the floor. 
 And thread the needle small and fine; 
 
 Or close the open door; 
 
200 THE irrTLE SERVING MAID. 
 
 And fold the shawl just as I would ; 
 
 And smooth my locks of grey; 
 And perhaps, sometimes, she'd kiss my hand 
 
 In the sweet southern way ! 
 
 I'd have her wear her common gowns 
 
 With something of a grace, 
 For sense of beauty thus revealed 
 
 Is never out of place. 
 
 She should arrange fresh gathered flowers 
 
 With taste refined each day, 
 Contrasting hues, and blending forms. 
 
 As skilful fingers may ; 
 
 Till presently, about the house, 
 
 A Paradisal air 
 Breathes out its message from the skies,^ 
 
 And tells the Father's care. 
 
 I would not check my little Maid 
 
 If while her needle stitched. 
 She warbled forth some tuneful song, 
 
 Which had her ear bewitched. 
 
 And she might have her pleasant treats. 
 
 While I should miss her sore. 
 And yet next day her duties light 
 
 Would all be valued more. 
 
THE LITTLE SERVING MAID. 201 
 
 Her duties light ! — I call them so ; 
 
 God knows if I should prove 
 A wise task-mistress to the girl 
 
 Whom I should surely love ! 
 
 But as my autumn days pass by — 
 
 Life's pleasant autumn time — 
 'Tis spring in Youth's far hemisphere 
 
 With pledge for summer's prime! 
 
 So when such Maid had grown to be 
 
 Tbe type of all I sought, 
 A. ppop, a rest, a singing bird. 
 
 With hidden solace fraught; 
 
 When most her step was herald's sound 
 
 Of just the needful aid, 
 And day by day I prized yet more 
 
 My trusty Serving Maid ; 
 
 That time 'twould be some "dreadful man" 
 
 Would look into her face ; — 
 Then see she wore her common gowns 
 
 With something of a grace ! 
 
 So I will cease to seek or sigh 
 
 For this my Serving Maid, 
 Content to dream of such an one 
 
 In fancy's garb arrayed ! 
 
202 
 
 CUPID DISARMED. 
 
 (written to illtistkate an engraving by ughtfoot of a painting 
 by hilton, and published in the " dra-wing-room table-book.") 
 
 " Qui que tn sois, voici ton mattre- 
 II Test, le fut, ou le doit §tre." 
 
 Ah, take his bow, and loose the string, 
 
 Away the dangerous weapon fling ; 
 
 And steal the plumed shafts that rest 
 
 Within the quiver's ready nest ; 
 
 Then dream thou hast " disarmed " the boy 
 
 For whom the world is but a toy ! 
 
 Dream — for delusions wilder far 
 
 Than aught which come on Night's dark car 
 
 Beset the souls of them who dare 
 
 To clasp his form, and henceforth wear 
 
 The badge of serfdom to his rule 
 
 That marks them pupils of his school. 
 
 Thou, Mother Queen, art not exempt 
 
 What mockery in thy vain attempt ! 
 
 A million sharpened arrows gleam, 
 
 And from his blue eyes softly beam, 
 
CUPID DISARMED. 203 
 
 As ready for their warlike trade 
 
 As are his kisses to be laid 
 
 On lips for love's own kisses made ; 
 
 And ere those million shafts have flown, 
 
 Another million will have grown, 
 
 So barbed and trimmed for dexterous use, 
 
 Alas ! as well for sad abuse ! 
 
 One would have thought some artist-hand 
 
 For every heart its shaft had planned. 
 
 Some are subdued by specious tongue, 
 
 And some by tenderest pity wrung ; 
 
 And woman — weakness for her shield — 
 
 Oft loves to fervent homage yield, 
 
 And worships like a star on high 
 
 The leader of her destiny ! 
 
 And beauty ! who shall dare declare 
 
 He is not swayed by forehead fair, 
 
 And soul-lit eyes, and blushing cheeks 
 
 Through which the heart its language speaks, 
 
 And such a form of matchless mien 
 
 As painters give to Beauty's Queen ! 
 
 But oh, the surest shaft of all — 
 
 Which yet as rose-leaf soft may fall. 
 
 And hardly show the wound it makes. 
 
 And not betray the life it wakes, 
 
 Till, pressed into the heart's deep core 
 
 "We know that lonely freedom's o'er — 
 
204 CUPID DISARMED. 
 
 Is sympathy of heart and brain 
 
 That weaves an adamantine chain, 
 
 Whose jewelled links are wreathed and wound 
 
 "With flowers from life's enchanted ground! 
 
 Thou, painter-poet, knewest well 
 
 The truths that words but feebly tell; 
 
 "Writ are they in the glowing lines 
 
 Through which thy soul of genius shines, 
 
 To show by its enduring light, 
 
 "With steadfast ray serenely bright. 
 
 That something which can never cease; 
 
 That spark which makes the Gfods of Greece 
 
 Still subject meet for Christian times. 
 
 For painter's choice, and poet's rhymes! 
 
 1849. 
 
205 
 
 OLDEN HOMAGE. 
 
 ON READING IN 1861 THE NEW EDITION OP 
 ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING' S POEMS. 
 
 Crown Her ! but oh, not I pray 
 With, the glossy leaves of bay. 
 Such as fancy weaves alway, 
 
 For the crown on Sappho seen, 
 Since the leaves, called evergreen, 
 Have but one year's Kfe I ween. 
 
 Crown Her — crown Her for her right; 
 Not with many coloured light, 
 Leaping from the diamond bright ; 
 
 Crown Her — not with roses red, 
 Blushing at the praises shed, 
 Dew-like round each drooping head. 
 
 On the heavy, rough-lined crown. 
 Which the monarch's form bows down, 
 Flashing jewels well are shown ; 
 
206 OLDEN HOMAGE. 
 
 On the brow of Beauty's queen. 
 Where no shade of care has been, 
 Fitly are red roses seen ; 
 
 And the bays of right belong 
 To a very noble throng, 
 Singing each an olden song. 
 
 Each one adding some fine wire 
 To the far resounding lyre. 
 Fashioned by Our Poets' fire. 
 
 But She addeth many strings, 
 Rich new octaves to us brings. 
 And her soul athwart them flings. 
 
 Waking music of such tone 
 
 But to be compared alone 
 
 With the Rare the world has known. 
 
 Never — never Woman's feet 
 Clomb before to her high seat. 
 Yet to Her it seemeth meet; 
 
 For— true Woman — stoopeth she 
 To her sisters pityingly. 
 Teaching us beseechingly. 
 
OLDEN HOMAGE. 20'l 
 
 Telling truths ne'er heard before- 
 Opening wide the secret door, 
 Which We pressed against of. yore, 
 
 Faintly, vaguely, murmuring low, 
 " Oh, for one to come and show 
 AH the Woman's soul must know ! " 
 
 Lo ! the Sister Queen hath come, 
 Speaking truths that have been dumb, 
 I^ever counted in the sum 
 
 Of heart-knowledge — though they stiU 
 Euled the heart with despot's will. 
 Some to save, and some to kill! 
 
 Tear-gemmed with sympathy, alas! 
 
 On high She holds Truth's burnished glass; 
 
 Great men stand by, to let Her pass 
 
 Throneward, among the Greatest Few, 
 Sole woman of that god-like crew. 
 And yet a very woman too. 
 
 And She sole Poet-Empress there 
 
 No crown of common mould should wear. 
 
 To hide one tress of woman's hair; 
 
208 OLDEN HOMAGE. 
 
 Give her the glory of a Saint, 
 
 Suggesting, by its outline faint 
 
 More than the painter knows to paint; 
 
 Or let your vivid fancy make 
 
 All palpable, the flowers that wake 
 
 "Within the heart, for her sweet sake. 
 
 And grow, displacing tare and weed, 
 
 According to that healthful seed 
 
 Her words vouchsafed in time of need ; 
 
 And dreaming of their form, and hue, 
 
 Shape out a chaplet, ever new, 
 
 Of spirit life — than earth's more true; 
 
 Or change the tears o'er "Bertha" shed. 
 Or "A Year's Spinning" darkly sped, 
 To symbol pearls for her instead; 
 
 Or dare distU each holy thought. 
 
 Her "ExUe Drama" shall have taught. 
 
 And that her grand "Dead Pan" has wrought 
 
 To deathless forms ; and out of them 
 Weave, without aid of flower or gem, 
 The sole Immortal Diadem ! 
 
 1851. 
 
OLDEN HOMAGK. 209 
 
 Postscript. 
 
 Full Twenty Years have passed away 
 Since I thus penned a homage lay 
 Which could not half my thoughts convey. 
 
 And better still to-day I know 
 
 How poor my love and reverence show 
 
 But seen with only partial glow. 
 
 And yet resuscitate, I bring 
 
 My rhymes like simple dirge to sing. 
 
 At least an unpretending thing. 
 
 Or liker still to poor wild flowers, 
 A loving hand for tribute showers 
 Upon a grave;, although there towers 
 
 Above, a monumental fane, 
 And marble in recording strain 
 Tells to the world its loss and gain ! 
 
 1871. 
 
210 
 
 THE BATTLE OF LIFE. 
 
 Have you chosen your buckler, and weapons of war, 
 And proved that their temper is true? 
 
 Have you fluttered your banner, and dreamed that 
 the car 
 Of triumph is ready for you? 
 
 It is well to be hopeful and well to be brave. 
 
 But best to be true to yourself; 
 And to know that Life's glory, however we rave, 
 
 Disdains the sole worship of pelf. 
 
 Oh, how strange is Life's Battle which we have to 
 fight, 
 
 Where victims to weakness of soul 
 Are bewildered by advocates cheating their sight, 
 
 And luring from victory's goal! 
 
 Do you know how false captains may ever be told 
 From Chiefs to whom honours belong? 
 
 'Tis because that mean banners they ever unfold 
 Yet gild them to dazzle the young. 
 
THE BATTLE OF LIFE. 211 
 
 Never trust for a Leader the selfish or vain, 
 
 Or him who would blister his lips 
 With a falsehood, although he might jesting explain 
 
 'Twas only truth's partial eclipse. 
 
 Never list to the whispers of those who advise 
 
 That virtue will sink in the race; 
 And that they in the world are the happy and wise. 
 
 Who rest from her wearying chase. 
 
 Oh, the soul is an armoury, where weapons of fight 
 Dwell silently stored in our youth; 
 
 Let us choose there a banner emblazoned bright 
 With Charity, Justice and Truth ! 
 
 Let us plant on our turrets, and clasp to our heart, 
 
 Defend it with peril of life, 
 Whether be it our duty and true soldier's part. 
 
 To act or endure in the strife. 
 
 Let it be for a trophy, or be for a shroud. 
 
 But still to the banner keep true ; 
 And whatever your fortune, there sweeps from the 
 crowd 
 
 The car of the Victor for vou ! 
 
 1851. 
 
212 
 
 A FATE. 
 
 A GOLDEN sunbeam turned astray 
 From earth, that would its love repay, 
 To glitter on cold Ocean's breast, ' 
 And seek but never find a rest. 
 
 A mountain torrent, strong and bright, 
 Down sweeping like a rush of light. 
 To sink in marshes unaware, 
 Struggle awhile — then mingle there. 
 
 The River thus ignobly quelled ; 
 The generous Sunbeam thus dispelled — 
 So many a heart and mind there seem 
 World-tortured from great Nature's scheme ! 
 
 1847. 
 
213 
 
 CHRISTMAS AND NEW YEAR'S DITTY. 
 
 There's a pause 'mid the labour and wrestle of life ; 
 
 Old Time with his steady hands 
 Though he may not linger for Ioyc or for strife 
 
 Still glideth out sparkling, sands ; 
 And he turneth his scythe away from the flowers, 
 
 And spares them to us to-day; 
 Come, gather them quick through the Christmas 
 hours. 
 
 And pluck them while you may — 
 The Flowers of the Heart which do not wait 
 
 For the summer's scorching sun, 
 But bloom in the darkness, and seem to dilate 
 
 The more they are gazed upon ! 
 Love — Charity — Peace are such spirit-flowers, 
 
 And an earnest Faith in the true, 
 Which blossom their brightest in murky hours 
 
 And their loveliness still renew. 
 
214 A CHRISTMAS AND NEW YEAR's DITTY. 
 
 For every such flower casteth fruitful seed 
 
 On the soil as it trails along,; 
 
 Since there never was yet a kindly deed 
 
 That did not uproot a wrong, 
 
 And leave where it stood 
 
 Some germ of good 
 
 Our tangled thoughts among ! 
 
 So these are the wreaths for Christmas Time 
 The Flower Bells these for a New Year's chime! 
 Brighter than bays of glossy green 
 Dearer than holly of prickly sheen; 
 Giving more joy than the mistletoe cold. 
 And its shadowy legends of mysteries old ; 
 Like a thing from the tomb with its marble fruit, 
 Useless and worthless the parasite shoot; 
 Oh, why from the charnel of olden time, 
 Doth it come Hke a ghost to the merry mime, 
 And be lover's excuse — and summon the rush 
 , Of the heart's warm tide in the maiden's blush ? 
 
 List to the music our Flower Bells make! 
 If the soul be attuned ye cannot mistake, 
 So glad is the voice — so melodious the tone, 
 As if Heaven itself to our senses were shown. 
 Oh, let us when Christmas has passed away. 
 And the labour of life usurps Its sway. 
 Still list for their sound, as we breathe in the race 
 Where Mammon leads on for a phantom chase ! 
 
A CHRISTMAS AND NEW YEAR's DITTY. 215 
 
 It may not be heard by the frigid few, 
 Though it quickens the pulse of the warm and true, 
 
 Who feel that they would 
 
 If they only could 
 Be gentle and generous, the long year through ; 
 Them whose hearts never freeze — though they bound 
 
 more high, 
 'Mid the Christmas scenes of revelry, 
 
 Where eyes are beaming 
 
 With truth — not seeming. 
 The life-fire of the generous soul ; 
 
 And hearts' strong beatings, 
 
 Loving greetings. 
 
 Joyful meetings 
 Swell Mirth's bright tide beyond control! 
 
 I know it may chance 
 At the revel or dance 
 
 That saturnine natures look on, 
 And mix in mirth's coil 
 Yes — as water with oil. 
 
 Or as if they would rather be gone. 
 And tell you they're merry. 
 And happy ? " Yes, very," 
 
 As they'd prove by some wisdom " saw : 
 While the ghost of a smile 
 Plays o'er them the while 
 
 With the warmth of a cold, raw thaw. 
 
216 A CHRISTMAS AND NEW TEAb's DITTY. 
 
 But never for them is the minstrel's song — 
 For the thoughts of the Many it finds a tongue. 
 
 Then sing we of Christmas, wherever it be. 
 That our Northern Tongue is the language free ! 
 In our own dear land, on the dark deep sea. 
 
 Or in those far homes where Its • tones first woke 
 The echoes that slept 
 And by silence were kept 
 (Like a lute that had never spoke). 
 Or had only replied 
 When the wild bird cried 
 Or the unheard Tempest broke. 
 
 Oh, then while our dear ones are gathered around, 
 And with friendship and love is the festival crowned ; 
 While no terror of partings our happiness curbs. 
 No shade o'er the future our present disturbs. 
 Let us brim up a glass to the Emigrant bands. 
 And across the wide world in thought grasp hands. 
 Oh, if spirit might travel on sunbeam or wind. 
 How many among you to-day would ye find ! 
 From Australia's rich summer, and Canada's snow. 
 And the Tropical lands where the palm trees grow ; 
 Be sure that To-day whatever it brings. 
 They spread for an hour fond Memory's wings ; 
 And I nearly believe. 
 
 Amid reverie's hush 
 That I hear the plumes cleave 
 
 The ether, and rush 
 
A CHRISTMAS AND NEW TEAR^ DITTY. 217 
 
 To hover more near 
 
 To the friends that are dear; 
 Till the love of the absent we feel in sweet waj^s, 
 And know they recall their own early days, 
 And still bask in thought in our Yule log's blaze. 
 
 So brim up the glass, 
 
 Not one let it pass, 
 
 To the hardy and brave 
 
 Who across the blue wave 
 
 Keep Christinas at least 
 
 By Memory's feast ; 
 And are with us in heart from the far off strand. 
 From the lonely waste and the wilderness land. 
 And this be our prayer, that wherever they roam 
 They may kindle the joys of an English home, 
 
 Till the corn upspringing, 
 
 And sheep-bells ringing, 
 
 Proclaim a story 
 
 Of Labour's glory; 
 And promise for many an infant band, 
 A new, yet a well-loved Fatherland ! 
 
 How crowding the fancies thought summons so fast. 
 Of the scenes that are round us while Christmas 
 
 shall last. 
 To mirror Thanksgiving in Rest's lucid stream. 
 And Gratitude show by Enjoyment's bright beam ! 
 Where dear friends are met 
 And foes feuds forget; 
 
218 A CHRISTMAS AND NEW YEAr's DITIT. 
 
 For he must be a churl of the dark-furrowed brow, 
 Who will not throw back 
 Care's mantle of black, 
 And bury his enmities now ! 
 
 Yet alas ! there's one shadow we may not rebuke, 
 That comes to the hovel, or halls of a Duke; 
 Alike in its sadness, 
 AHke in the spells 
 By which the heart's gladness 
 Its coming dispels. 
 'Tis a thought of the lost ones — the loved but the 
 dead ! 
 And we picture the scene 
 Of what once has been — 
 Recall every gesture — the turn of the head, 
 The wave of a curl o'er a forehead fair. 
 And the gay light step, now here, now there. 
 And the genial smile — and the voice that dwells 
 A sounding dream in Memory's cells ! 
 But even from sorrow 
 One joy let us borrow. 
 Let us cleave to them nearly 
 And cherish more dearly 
 The friends that are left us on life's narrow shore ; 
 For Time's troubled wave 
 Hideth many a grave. 
 And old friends are those that reach the heart's core ! 
 How crowding such fancies! Belonging I know 
 To the days that we live in, the great present Now. 
 
A CHRISTMAS AND NEW YEAR's DIITY. 219 
 
 Yet there's habit long cherished to laud forth in 
 
 rhymes 
 The picturesque glories of far olden times ; 
 Though their lustre is apt to grow tarnished and dim, 
 When we look on their evils repugnantly grim. 
 They were famous old times you cannot forget, 
 When the " Baron's retainers " all jovial were met ; 
 And ale flowed in streams, and an ox roasted whole, 
 Made a gluttonous feast for each hungry soul. 
 When the old Castle Hall sheltered riot's m.ad crew, — 
 But 'tis whispered such Castles had deep dungeons too : 
 Where the toad and the rat, and the lizard and 
 
 snake. 
 Their horrible festival also might make ; 
 Where " retainers " who angered the Baron so great. 
 Dead or living were flung to their dark noisome 
 
 fate; 
 And excellent reasons were gravely weighed. 
 And many more "pros" and "cons.'' were said 
 Ere the oxen were doomed, and their life-blood ran. 
 Than ever were needed to hang up a Man ! 
 
 Then the "rush-strewn floor," and the " lady's bower," 
 
 And "troubadour's lay" at the twilight hour. 
 
 Have been really a fortune of favourite themes. 
 
 Enriching for ages the poet's day dreams ; 
 
 But whether their beauty has worn away — 
 
 Or it is that our modern tastes decay, 
 
 (Save in hands of a master) they've had their day. 
 
220 A CHRISTMAS AND NEW "SEARS DITTY. 
 
 For the terrible trick of this present age 
 Is to seek for the truth on history's page ; 
 And we find that the rushes unmoved for a year, 
 Remarkably dirty and loathsome appear ! 
 Of the famed "lady's bower" we have very slight 
 trace, 
 
 But there's little of doubt 
 
 Were the truth found out, 
 "We should see it a very cold comfortless place ! 
 
 Was it pantry — or work-room? 
 
 With cheeses — or hand-loom ? 
 
 For books they'd small need 
 
 Since few knew to read ; 
 And no post was ready for love or for pay 
 A letter from lover or friend to convey ! 
 
 That the Present is fruitful in many a woe — 
 That wrong rears its front, and that virtue bows low — 
 Is only to tell that night has not past. 
 That error's dark cloud o'er this earth is still cast ; 
 But the earnest and faithful, and thoughtful and 
 
 true, 
 StiU hope that the Morning is breaking to view ; 
 And feel, though they yet have to wait and to 
 
 strive. 
 There is much of repayment the present doth give. 
 Though wealth may not crown them, and honours 
 
 they lack, 
 Though they sweep but a pebble away from the 
 
 track, 
 
A CHRISTMAS AND NEW TEAR's DITTY. 221 
 
 Where the car of True Progress comes slowly along ; 
 Their own hearts reward them, though mute be the 
 
 tongue 
 Which babbles so often with high-sounding words 
 Of warriors' deeds and of feudal lords. 
 So let us not sigh for such " olden times," 
 Or spend in their praises our idle rhymes ; 
 But rather keep Christmas around the hearth, 
 Where the heart's deep affections have holiest birth, 
 With a thought for the absent — a sigh for the dead, 
 And Praise for the blessings which round us are 
 
 shed. 
 Are ye poor ? To the poorer still offer your mite ; 
 Are ye rich ? Then your largess bestow with delight ; 
 Does adversity frown? Hope with sadness is blent, 
 Then bravely endure — be not vainly content, 
 But summoD your energies, brace up your skill. 
 For God helps them most who help themselves still ; 
 And pray that when knell for the dead year chimes. 
 The coming be fairer than "olden Times." 
 
 1846. 
 
222 
 
 THREE DAWNS. 
 
 December. 
 
 Out of the darkness the dull Day comes 
 
 Like a sick man raised from his bed of pain, 
 With a faltering foot, and a hand that roams. 
 
 Help from a sturdier hand to gain. 
 And still as he steps to his ancient seat 
 
 He seems so wan, and so frail of mien. 
 That our voices drop as his looks we greet, 
 
 And we pause perplexed our words between ! 
 
 February. 
 
 There's a wintry Dawn when the New Year's staff 
 
 Is planted firm on the shore of time. 
 Yet we hear not yet the merry laugh 
 
 Of the jocund child at the morning's prime. 
 We see that the Earth is alive, and breathes 
 
 Like Lazarus startled to life againj 
 Though the grave still gapes, and the grave-cloth 
 wreathes 
 
 Its fold round the form that for dead had lain. 
 
three dawns. 223 
 
 April. 
 
 But there comes a Morn when a voice is heard 
 
 That wakens the Earth to a bounding joy, 
 The hills are glad, and each little bird 
 
 Sings a song of love that has no alloy. 
 Oh ! the first Spring Dawn glides up like the Maid 
 
 Who lay 'mid the loved ones' passionate weeping, 
 Till her God Himself in a sweet voice said, 
 
 " Not dead is the damsel, but only sleeping !" 
 
224 
 
 EIVERS. 
 
 * Thou didst cleave tbe earth with rivera." 
 Habakkuk iii. 9. 
 
 He cleaves tlie Earth wltli Rivers ! — bright, bounding, 
 
 fresh, and free; 
 Or creeping, dark and sluggish, to meet the restless 
 
 sea. 
 And ever still they are the types of Life that onward 
 
 pours. 
 And cleaves its little path between the two eternal 
 
 shores. 
 The mountains strong, the patriarch hills — that silent 
 
 seem to stand, 
 With caps of cloudj and hoary locks, and mien of 
 
 dumb command — 
 Hide tarns that never see the sun, and persevering 
 
 rills. 
 And silvery waterfalls, that wake the music of the 
 
 hills. 
 
KIVERS. 225 
 
 And these beget the rivers vast, which ever onward' 
 glide — 
 
 Howe'er they wander by the way — to meet the ampler 
 tide. 
 
 He cleaves the earth with Rivers ! Beside the limpid 
 brook 
 
 The field-flowers lean, Narcissus like, to in their 
 mirror look. 
 
 The shy wildfowl, in silence bold, athwart the stream- 
 let skims ; 
 
 And graceful willows droop to lave their taper, slender 
 limbs. 
 
 Anon the stream is sought by man ; and water- 
 carriers trail 
 
 Their shining burthen, clear and cool, in many a 
 brimming pail ; 
 
 The village joys to be so near, though learning, 
 perhaps, its worth 
 
 By frost, that, in the shortened days, the brooklet 
 chains to earth. 
 
 But once a week the water-wheel grows dry the 
 stream above, 
 
 And cattle loosed from heavy yoke with lazy foot- 
 steps move ; 
 
 The ferry-boat lies at its ease beneath the alder's 
 shade. 
 
 And Nature's self almost appears in Sabbath dress 
 arrayed. 
 
 Q 
 
226 RIVERS. 
 
 On Sabbath days tbe bells peal out as if surcbarged 
 
 with song, 
 Till, on the soft conducting wave, the rapture gKdes 
 
 along ; 
 And when no more poor human ears can catch the 
 
 Sabbath note, 
 A mystic music lingering seems beside the stream 
 
 to float — 
 To calm 'mid toil, and whisper hope, and give the 
 
 spirit rest, 
 When haply still the thews must strain, and life's 
 
 hard current breast. 
 
 He cleaves- the earth with Rivers ! and on their 
 
 margins rise 
 Fair cities, crowned with pinnacles outlined against 
 
 the skies — 
 Fair cities, yea, great heart-shaped beads the genera- 
 tions mould, 
 To hang upon God's river threads of silver or of 
 
 gold : 
 Heart-shaped be sure, could we but see the plan 
 
 that should prevail, 
 Though aims fall short, and men despair, and means 
 
 are mixed and frail ; 
 So that the traffic marts jut out in some unsightly 
 
 way. 
 And lordly domes take ample sweep and school-rooms 
 overlay ; 
 
RIVERS. 227 
 
 And churclies oft are crushed and cramped, and have 
 
 their doors too small, 
 While monuments to Mammon raised are somewhat 
 
 over tall ! 
 Still, from the serried mass to which a mighty city 
 
 grows, 
 With palpitating thought and deed, a nation's life- 
 blood flows : 
 Though good and ill so mingled are, they often seem 
 
 to be — 
 Like wrestlers, face to face, limb-twined, in. strife 
 
 for mastery — 
 So mingled, that the very coin with reverent hand 
 
 we lay 
 Beside the widow's sacred mite, on Sacramental-day, 
 May still be fouled by evil use, hqwe'er the piece look 
 
 bright. 
 And still seem warm from heathen palm that clutch'd 
 
 it overnight. 
 
 He cleaves the earth with Eivers ! but, near the 
 
 haunts of man, 
 The shores are wed by bridges, which parting waters 
 
 span; 
 Each arch a ring completed when sunshine makes a 
 
 shade. 
 And memory keeps the symbol when clouds the 
 
 image fade. 
 But 'tis beyond the bridges the fleets of nations ride, 
 And merchants' wealth is floated upon the swelling tide. 
 
228 KIVERS. 
 
 ships, of bird-like fleetness, that make the ocean 
 
 path! 
 ships, the hundred- throated, that bellow nations' 
 
 wrath ! 
 ships that part the loving, and dear ones re-unite ; 
 That thread the glittering icebergs, or dart 'neath 
 
 tropic night ! 
 O ships that know the E-ivers ! doth never message 
 
 flow 
 From sister streams, for you to give, in mystic accents 
 
 low, 
 When home at last you rest your strength upon 
 
 some limpid stream 
 Which leaps to kiss your burly sides, that bask in 
 
 sunny gleam ? 
 No message ! but, as rj^vers faH, obeying One Behest — 
 With wealth of waters lost and found, on ocean's 
 
 shining breast — 
 There rises oft, in Fancy's realm, the thought that 
 
 yet they bear 
 Some memories of human life — its mingled joy and 
 
 care; 
 And that, when inarticulate, the ocean seems to pant 
 For power of speech, like some dumb thing which 
 
 has a human want. 
 The Great Sea grasps the Rivers' lore, with all its 
 
 own combined. 
 And so can symbol something true to every human 
 mind ! 
 
229 
 
 " HE GIVETH HIS BELOVED SLEEP." 
 
 " The Qucea had some hours' sleep."— SuiWin, Dec, 1861 . 
 
 Sleep ! for the night is round thee spread. 
 Thou daughter of a line of kings ; 
 Sleep, widowed Queen, while Angels' wings 
 
 Make canopy above thy head ! 
 
 Sleep, while a million prayers rise up 
 To- Him who knew all human sorrow, 
 That day by day each soft to-morrow 
 
 May melt the bitter from thy cup. 
 
 Let slumjber knit grief's ravelled skein ; 
 Thy Princely Children look to thee 
 For pattern of pure Constancy, — • 
 
 Thy People weep for thy great pain. 
 
 Oh, nobly fit for regal mate, . 
 
 "Was he whose worth at last we know ; 
 
 It is our way small love to show 
 Till cold the heart love might elate : 
 
230 HE GIVETH HIS BELOVED SLEEP. 
 
 Our hard, stem way ; till some great rent — 
 Lite that which gapes by Naples' bay 
 And tears the mountain's side to-day — 
 
 Reveals what hidden fires were pent ! 
 
 Sleep, for thy heart is tempest tost : 
 WhUiB we to loyal passion grown 
 Would lay our lives before thy throne 
 
 To back recall the loved and lost. 
 
 And yet not lost! — but waiting free 
 On Heaven's side the shining river, 
 Where saints shall meet no more to sever, 
 
 And crowns be kept eternally. 
 
 Long life we ask for thee, dear Queen, 
 And moonlight peace, since joy is set. 
 And Time's soft touch on dark regret, 
 
 And memories calm of what has been ! 
 
 Long life for thee — for our best sake, 
 To be our stay 'mid hopes and fears. 
 Through many far off future years. 
 
 Till thou by Albert's side shalt wake ! 
 
 Dec. 30, 1861. 
 
231 
 
 EPITHALAMIUM. 
 
 (a nuptiaIi song.) 
 
 There comes across the Nortliem Sea 
 A Princess in her maiden bloom ; 
 
 Hold back, ye craft of less degree, 
 
 And give her barque the ampler room ! 
 
 And lull your breaths, ye winds of March, 
 Or change the blast, in hour like this. 
 
 To airs that neither chiU nor parch. 
 But flush her cheek with gentle kiss. 
 
 She comes, but not with silken sail- 
 Like dark enchantress of the Nile — 
 
 And silver oars, so runs the tale. 
 Propelled to music all the while. 
 
 A mightier power this age's gift 
 Than brawny arm of toiling slave ; 
 
 Like giant fay the steam-ship swift 
 Bears her across the yielding wave. 
 
232 EPITHALAMIUM. 
 
 To music certes — music rare, 
 
 But not by weary hirelings played ; 
 
 A lium of gladness fills the air. 
 And almost mocks the viol's aid. 
 
 The same pale sky above her springs 
 As that which, in the olden time. 
 
 Was canopy for bold Sea Kings 
 
 When might was right, and weakness crime. 
 
 They came as conquerors — but, withal. 
 They dashed the salt spray in our face. 
 
 And taught us, 'neath their passing thrall. 
 To win ourselves the Sea Kings' place ! 
 
 More gentle conqueror ! — She will meet 
 But English hearts which seek to lay 
 
 Their magic keys before her feet. 
 
 And strew fresh flowers upon her way. 
 
 She comes to be the wedded wife 
 Of jealous England's darling Hope, — 
 
 She comef in brightest years of life 
 To fill with light his horoscope! 
 
 She comes another child to be 
 
 To that Crowned Widow of the Land, 
 
 Whose sceptre weighs more heavily 
 
 Siilce One has ceased to hold her hand! 
 
EPITHALAMIUM. 233 
 
 Oh, let the loud bolls joy proclaim 
 
 And clang their music on the air, 
 And let the towns with lustrous flame 
 
 Write radiant Welcome everywhere. 
 
 But while the Two — so great, so young — 
 A pair of lovers pledge their troth, 
 
 Let us with reverent heart and tongue 
 Ask himian blessings for them both ! 
 
 Among the gems that brightly shine 
 
 Their earthly coronets around, 
 May love's immortal roses twine, 
 
 Like sacred flowers from holy ground. 
 
 And when the long, long years are fled. 
 And baubles drop from careless clasp. 
 
 Oh, may the Angels bring instead. 
 
 The deathless Palms for them to grasp ! 
 
 March ith, 1863. 
 
234 
 
 A LITANY HYMN. 
 
 " In all time of our tribulation ; in all time of our wealth ; 
 in the hour of death, and in the day of judgment,— Good 
 Lord» deliver us." — The Litany. 
 
 When cares in cruel legions throng 
 
 About the bruised and bleeding heart, 
 And sorrow with a falteriag tongue 
 Reveals how keen has been the smart ; 
 Then, Holy Spirit, softly shower 
 On us Thy renovating power, 
 Lord ! in the time foreshadowed thus, 
 For Christ's dear sake deliver us! 
 
 In aU bright days of youth and health, 
 
 When joys abound and friends are true, 
 In every hour of earthly wealth. 
 
 And Satan's wiles both old and new; 
 Then, Holy Spirit, to us prove 
 How rich is still the Father's love. 
 Lord! in the time foreshadowed thus. 
 For Christ's dear sake deliver us! 
 
A LITAHy HYMN. 235 
 
 In that dread hour of coming death 
 
 When all things just proportions show, 
 May we with every fleeting breath 
 Thy wondrous love and pity know; 
 Then may Thy Spirit's power instil 
 How little 'tis that Death can till ; 
 Lord ! in the hour foreshadowed thus, 
 For Christ's dear sake deliver us ! 
 
 When all mankind at last shall see 
 
 The Saviour on his Judgment-throne, 
 Amid the white-robed host may we 
 Be hailed His dearly purchased own! 
 So may the Holy Spirit still 
 God's endless purposes fulfil; 
 Lord ! in the day foreshadowed thus. 
 For Christ's dear sake, deliver us ! 
 
236 
 
 CRY FROM THE VINEYARD. 
 
 " God sends his servauts to bed wlien they have done 
 their Trtjrk !" Thomas Fuller. 
 
 " Oh, Father, I'm weary — how long must I stay 
 In this Vineyard weed-tangled, with work for all day ? 
 The Sim is so scorching, the winds are so ill. 
 That I faint at the travail — or shiver and chill; 
 My feet they are wounded, my garments are torn. 
 And the labour grows harder than labour at morn, 
 E'en the grapes they are bitter, and quench not my 
 
 thirst, 
 And woes are so many I know not the worst!" 
 
 " Oh, Child," spoke the Father, " let patience be 
 
 thine. 
 Till the grapes thou find'st bitter ferment into wine ; 
 A robe there is weaving which cannot be torn, 
 A robe which by wedding-guests only is worn ; 
 A crown there is promised with jewels more bright 
 Than a monarch's regalia bared free to the light; 
 
A CRY FROM THE VINEYARD. 237 
 
 And the breath of the flowers which fade not nor die, 
 Shall heal every wound, and shall hush every sigh ! 
 
 " Oh, Child, well-heloved, when the evening shall 
 
 come, 
 Be sure thou, shalt slumber and rest in thy home ; 
 A bed is preparing more soft than the. cloud 
 Which floats in the ether one bright star to shroud, 
 When the white moon is shining to silver it o'er 
 As the cradles of princes were burnished of yore : 
 And He who once trampled the wine-press alone 
 Will bring thee to rest when thy labour is done ! " 
 
238 
 
 MINOR CHORDS. 
 
 The sun is lowering each bright ray, 
 
 For day is gently dying; 
 The ebbing tide rolls fast . away 
 
 With sound of plaintive sighing. 
 
 I feel my day of life is done 
 
 With aU its fitful story ; 
 And I shall pass with setting sun 
 
 That shines in golden glory. 
 
 I might have better loved the world 
 
 Had it to me been kinder, 
 But- then my soul its wings had furled, 
 
 Its sight been all the blinder. 
 
 Each sorrow now lifts up its veil 
 
 And looks no longer cruel, 
 But holds aloft, beyond earth's pale, 
 
 Its own especial jewel. 
 
MINOR CHORDS. 239 
 
 The ebbing tide strands wasted store, 
 
 But over now the toiling, 
 And human life for evermore 
 
 Is free from human soiling. 
 
 The setting sun lights mountain peaks. 
 
 The low lands they are shading; 
 And memory in music speaks 
 
 The while the day is fading. 
 
 The beckoning waves more swiftly roll 
 
 To other far dominions. 
 But Faith and Hope bear up my soul 
 
 Upon their radiant pinions ! 
 
240 
 
 AN INVOCATION. 
 
 God of battles — Lord of Heavenly Hosts^ 
 Who keeps red carnage from our island coasts, 
 In gratitude we plead 
 
 For Teuton and for Gaul ; 
 Let not the mj'riads bleed 
 At one man's selfish call ! 
 
 By pride *it was the Holy Angels fell ; 
 The pride that makes each heart its proper hell. 
 And like a fever-taint may grow and spread 
 Till through the land the poison-seed be shed. 
 Pour cooling waters on the fiery flood 
 
 Of murderous rage, 
 
 And thus assuage 
 The Cain-like thirsting for a brother's blood ! 
 Touch France with generous shame. 
 Which shall be noble fame 
 When unborn scribes write fair her name ; 
 Help her with grace to own her sin, 
 Let a more holy life for her begin : 
 
AN INVOCATION. 241 
 
 Help Frenchmen now to say, " "We darkly erred, 
 Made drunk by wine o£ vanity, tliat stirred 
 The slumbering passions in a nation's breast ; 
 That we are sobered now, let deeds attest ! " 
 
 From Thy high courts serene, Lord, 
 Send forth a fiat that shall sheathe the sword, 
 And lull that roaring thunder — mocking Thine — 
 Which hurls its death bolts on from line to line ! 
 Let men perceive how foul and dread a thing 
 This martial glory which they love to sing! 
 
 Strip from the idol mean 
 
 Its tinsel sheen. 
 
 Tarnished and torn, 
 
 Blood-stained, and worn 
 
 By shafts of truth. 
 
 And tears of ruth! 
 
 Wakened from her bad dream of victory. 
 
 Let France through arts of peace make history ! 
 
 By lessons stern and dread. 
 
 She now is surely led 
 To own how oft her blade has turned the scale 
 To make might rule, and right of no avail. 
 
 Grant her remorse 
 
 A healing force; 
 
 Soften her eager heart, 
 
 Give her a nobler part, 
 
 K 
 
242 AN INVOCATION. 
 
 Tasting herself of that same draught 
 Which other fainting nations quaffed. 
 
 When she held up 
 
 For them the cup. 
 And bade them drink the bitter lees. 
 And bend to her their stubborn knees ! 
 
 Grod, we plead 
 
 For Teuton and for Gaul ; 
 Let them no longer bleed 
 
 At Glory's frantic call ! 
 
 August 22nd, 1870. 
 
243 
 
 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND SEYENTY-ONE. 
 
 Stands a Veiled Figure at the porcli to-night', 
 With foot advanced to cross the threshold stone, 
 When metal tongues shall clang, " the year i 
 gone ! " 
 
 A year now seen by blood-red, lurid Hght. 
 
 The veiled New Year doth not her secrets show ; 
 But holds a mirror slanting to the past. 
 Whereon there are such crowded pictures cast. 
 
 We gaze with bated breath, and whisper low. 
 
 It is a cruel year whose race is- run. 
 
 Closing with requiem notes of Nations' wail 
 For their brave dead, for whom not tears avail 
 
 To show the measure of the evil done. 
 
 Dare man be proud of arts, however rare, 
 When the ripe product of his teeming mind 
 Is warlike weapon, of most murderous kind— 
 
 Cain's bludgeon still — whatever name it bear ! 
 
244 EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND SEVENTY-ONE. 
 
 We cannot see what gifts the New Year trails ; 
 Only a shadow through the doorway falls, 
 "With dusky outline, that on fancy calls 
 
 To shape and sharpen what the drapery veils. 
 
 'Tis true, we know her ample skirts shall brush 
 The slumbering earth, what time sweet Spring is 
 
 due, 
 And bid the flowers their loveliness renew, 
 
 And wake the song-birds from their winter's hush! 
 
 "We know from out the armoury of the soil 
 The pressure of Spring's fairy foot shall draw 
 The tiny weapons, blades without a flaw. 
 
 To wage 'gainst hunger by the hands of toil : 
 
 We know Grod's universal laws shall ne'er 
 Meet fracture or reversal ; and thbugh we 
 The links of destiny not yet can see, 
 
 The coil is shapened by a Father's care : 
 
 We know that good and evil fructify 
 
 With sure precision ; and as this year dies, 
 It leaves to us unwholesome legacies 
 
 For the Veiled Stranger's rule to purify. 
 
 To fancy's eye her face looks calm and grave. 
 Like one prepared for perUs ever -new, 
 Up-looking to the sky's eternal blue 
 
 For heaven's stars to light and guide and save. 
 
EIGHTEEN HUNDKED AND SEVENTY-ONE. 245 
 
 A sword she wears, with strong right hand on hilt, 
 And yet the sphinx-like lips seem set for speech, 
 That from the English heart " goodwill " would 
 teach, 
 
 And throw on other lands of war the guilt ; 
 
 And let us greet her in the Roman way, 
 And grave a "Salve" to the coming year 
 In cunning letters, dinted deep and clear. 
 
 And trust the stranger till she doth betray ! 
 
 JN'c'it Year's Eve, 1870. 
 
246 
 
 NURSEEY NONSENSE. 
 
 . No. 1. 
 THE SLEEPY POPPY AND ITS FRIENDS. 
 
 Sighed the Poppy red. 
 As it drooped its head, 
 
 " I am so ve-ry slee-py, 
 " I wish' — it — were night, 
 " To shut— out— the Ught, 
 
 " Except what — the stars — can peep by ! " 
 
 " Shall I make you a bed ?" 
 The Green Moss said, 
 
 " I will at once begin it, 
 " With a soft little pillow 
 " As round as a billow, 
 
 " 'T will be done in half a minute." 
 
 Thought the Water Lily, 
 " How extremely siUy 
 
 " To sleep in the prime of day ! 
 " But a leaf I can spare, 
 " Which if stretched with care, 
 
 " Will keep off the sun's bright ray ! " 
 
THE SLEEPY POPPY AND ITS FRIENDS. 247 
 
 Cried the pretty Hare-bell; 
 With a tone and a swell 
 
 In its voice, that was music quite, 
 " I will ring three times 
 " My evening chimes, 
 
 " And then it will seem like night." 
 
 " I will tuck up the bed," 
 The Bind-weed said, 
 
 " I never, you know, was lazy ;" 
 " And there would be no harm 
 " If I keep his toes warm," 
 
 Chirped the cosseting little Daisy. 
 
 Then in chorus they cried. 
 As the sleepy one tried 
 
 To listen to what they said, 
 " You may go fast asleep, 
 " And a watch we will keep, 
 
 "Like sentinels round your bed." 
 
 But they whispered together, 
 " It may be the weather, 
 
 " Or is it he ■'s tired with play ? 
 " Or can it be true, 
 "That too much morning dew 
 
 " Has made him so sleepy to-day ! " 
 
248 NURSERY NOKSENSE. 
 
 No. 2. 
 TOSS TIP BABY. 
 
 Toss up Baby ever so high. 
 
 Birds are aloft in the summer sky, 
 
 Why should not Baby learn to fly? 
 
 Yet oh, I forgot some little things, 
 Our Baby does not grow any wings ; 
 Only a tiny white tooth upsprings. 
 
 And the only feather that I can spy 
 Is a scarlet feather, that jauntily 
 Is set in his hat for finery. 
 
 Toss the Baby up to the moon, 
 He '11 come down again very soon ; 
 Perhaps to-morrow by afternoon. 
 
 But the bright moon seems excessiYely cold. 
 And the Man in the Moon looks cross and bold. 
 And might our dear little Baby scold ; 
 
 And perhaps he'd give him a pinch or a pat, 
 And steal the feather to wear it flat 
 Upon his own old shabby hat. 
 
 So Baby we'll keep and kiss below, 
 And only toss him up so — so — so — 
 With one, — two, — three — and here we go! 
 
SONGS. 
 
251 
 
 THE LOVER'S WISH. 
 
 Oh, how I wish that Fortune's Wheel 
 
 Would turn a little faster, 
 I dread delays, and all the maze 
 
 Of rivalry's disaster. 
 I wish that She could softly sleep 
 
 In some enchanted palace 
 Till I could wake her with love's draught 
 
 From Wealth's delightful chalice ! 
 
 I'd have her fingers girt with rings, 
 
 And ever free from toiling ; 
 I'd win a "handle" for her name. 
 
 And keep it safe from soiling. 
 I'd have a dozen lackeys wait 
 
 Upon her will and pleasure, 
 I'd have her horses champ the bit 
 
 Delaying for her leisure ! 
 
252 SONGS. 
 
 I wonder though. — are all the rich 
 
 Quite happy and contented? 
 I wonder do I keep my wits, 
 
 Or am I half demented ? 
 I know at least that gilded baits 
 
 As yet have never caught her, 
 I wonder dare I bait with Love 
 
 And eighty pounds a quarter ! 
 
SONGS. 253 
 
 SERENADE. 
 
 The birds are sleeping in their nests, 
 
 The aspens scarcely quiver, 
 The stars are clustering overhead 
 
 To glass them in the river. 
 The watch-dog knows us both too well 
 
 To raise a note of warning. 
 Come out my Juliet from your rest. 
 
 Ere night dissolve to morning ! 
 
 The balcony is out of reach, 
 
 I cannot touch your finger ; 
 But yet around the sacred spot 
 
 My footsteps turn and linger. 
 Come out a moment ere you sleep 
 
 And let me know you near me, 
 And drop the rose-bud from your hair 
 
 In token that you hear me ! 
 
254 SONGS. 
 
 SONG OF THE LOST PLEIAD. 
 
 Shine on, proud Sisters ! — gem the sky. 
 But mock not ye my destiny ! 
 Human I know my heart has grown. 
 But never for a shining Crown 
 Would I its human lore unlearn. 
 And to my radiance lost return. 
 Ye pity me my lowly choice, 
 But hear the Starry Bride rejoice ! 
 Sisters, believe my Crown is not 
 A forfeit high for Love's sweet lot ! 
 
 Strange, human love demands, they say, 
 The sacrifices mortals pay ; 
 Yet wealth before its altars flung. 
 Or for a trophy, proudly hung 
 "Within its temple; fortune, fame, 
 And myriad hopes the heart could name 
 Grow valueless, until they seem 
 Poor as the memory of a dream ! 
 Sisters, my forfeit Crown is not 
 Too high a price for Love's sweet lot ! 
 
SONGS. 265 
 
 Strange human We! None ever thinks, 
 While the elixir draught she drinks, 
 Too high the price ; — and if it be 
 Youth's draught of unmixed purity, 
 If round the heart, beneath Love's wings, 
 Gather all holy thoughts and things — 
 Ambition's tiusel toys are not 
 A forfeit high for Love's Sweet lot ! 
 Then grieve not for my lowly choice. 
 But hear the Starry Bride rejoice! 
 
 1846. 
 
256 SONGS. 
 
 LOVE'S SEASONS. 
 
 When first I saw my bonny Kate 
 
 The Spring was fresli and fair. 
 And she was decked for May-Day f^te, 
 
 With blossoms in her hair. 
 And, oh, I 'mind me of the day. 
 Her step so lithe. 
 Her voice so bKthe, 
 They stole m.y eager heart away ! 
 
 But we were young; — the elders said 
 
 That boy and girl must -Wait ; 
 I sued — but still five years had sped 
 
 Before I married Kate. 
 Ah, well I mind that summer day, 
 She'd grown so dear, 
 Each passing year, 
 And kept the heart she stole away ! 
 
SONGS. 257 
 
 It was Life's Summer when we wed^ 
 
 'Tis Autumn witli us now; 
 She wears the matron's coif instead 
 
 Of blossoms on her brow. 
 But Autumn is more rich than May, 
 And true love grows, 
 For well she knows 
 To keep the heart she stole away ! 
 
 And dread we not the wintry time, 
 
 Our hearts will never chill 
 If hand-in-hand Life's steep we climb. 
 
 And love each other stiU. 
 For I believe beyond the tomb 
 True love shall be 
 For Kate and me, 
 "Where Summer flowers again shall bloom ! 
 
258 SONGS. 
 
 A SONG FOR JULY. 
 
 Listen ! on the Summer air 
 Floats a music ever3'wliere ! 
 Fairies tune the flower-bells, — 
 Rich the melody that swells, 
 As each tiny leaflet shakes 
 When beseeching zephyr wakes 
 Asking for the perfumed wealth. 
 Which he taketh half by stealth ; 
 Oh, how can the drudging Bee 
 Never heed their minstrelsy! 
 
 As he hums and hums about, 
 He is proud, I have no doubt. 
 Of his dusty russet coat 
 And his harsh reproving note ; 
 Like the human bees who live 
 But to fill a golden hive, 
 Worldlings like that russet band 
 Have no wealth in Fairy Land ; 
 They but laugh when we declare 
 Music floateth everywhere! 
 
SONGS. 259 
 
 Now July on tiptoe stands 
 (Flowers and fruit in both' her hands) 
 On that arch by Summer built, 
 And with rainbow treasures gilt, 
 Which from Spring to Autumn sear, 
 We must traverse every year. 
 List ! the willows kiss the stream 
 Where the water-lilies gleam; 
 And upon the summer air 
 Music floateth everywhere! 
 
 1847. 
 
260 SONGS. 
 
 A SONG FOE SEPTEMBEE. 
 
 London's empty ! Only in it 
 
 Sometjbing near two million souls ; 
 Some in cellars, some in garrets, 
 
 Some the work-house law controls ; 
 Crime barefaced, in prisons wasting, 
 
 Also hid on teds of down, 
 After days of pleasure tasting, 
 
 Either in or out of town. 
 
 London's empty ! Only in it 
 
 Merchants' fructifying store ; 
 And misers' dull " enchanted " treasure, 
 
 Which the spider watches o'er. 
 Hark ! the wail of sorrow sighing. 
 
 Tears are shedding every minute; 
 Every day a hundred dying, 
 
 Though the town has " no one " in it ! 
 
SONGS. 261 
 
 Joy and grief — all human passions — 
 
 Love and anger, peace and strife : 
 On what inner springs of feeling 
 
 Turn the outer wheels of Life, 
 Though ITS mighty heart is beating 
 
 With a dull lethargic flow, 
 After Senators' grave meeting. 
 
 After Fashion's fever-glow ! 
 
 18- 1846. 
 
262 SONGS. 
 
 THE AECHER. 
 
 An Archer from the hill countree, 
 Came forth with arrows one — two — three; 
 But not to»chase the chamois fleet. 
 Or bring young eaglets to his feet, 
 No quiver from his shoulders hung, 
 Or bow by him was deftly strung — 
 And yet his arrows all went' true 
 As shaft that archer ever drew ! 
 
 In silent wrestle sure and slow, 
 
 He'd gained his arrows long ago. 
 
 The first was Love, that, meek yet bold, 
 
 Can win a maiden more than gold ; 
 
 The pext the Beaming Glance that spoke, 
 
 And echoes in her bosom woke ; 
 
 But oh, the third was Poet's spell. 
 
 In glowing song his love to tell ! 
 
SONGS. 263 
 
 THE REVENGE. 
 
 So you love me as never you loved before ! 
 
 That I know it, you ask me to own; 
 I thank you, uplifting mine eyes to your gaze, 
 
 Where wonder already is shown. 
 Sit yonder — no nearer — my tale I will tell, 
 
 If I falter, it is not with love ; 
 If I tremble, it is not from pity for you, 
 
 Or regret at the snare I have wove. 
 
 I'd a friend whom I loved, — my Peri, who kept 
 
 All my nature at rest on her heart ; 
 You wooed and deceived her with honey-sweet 
 words, 
 
 And played a mean traitor's dark part. 
 Then uprose the keen passion of ardent revenge — 
 
 I knew I had wit, and was fait. 
 And I've played with your heart, Sir, as you 
 played with hers. 
 
 And my triumph with yours may compare ! 
 
264 SONGS. 
 
 OLD FRIENDS. 
 
 Our song it shall be of the friends we knew 
 
 In the rosy days of youth, — 
 The friends who have proved as they older grew 
 
 But their constant love and truth. 
 As old trees are the only trees we know 
 Which shelter the nests when the storm winds blow, 
 Old friends are the friends that are dearest still 
 In life's autumn glow, or its wintry chill ! 
 
 You may smile, ye youths of the beardless chin. 
 
 And ■ maids, in your blushing May, 
 There is snow without, but a fire within 
 
 That burns at a later day. 
 As old wine is the only wine we think 
 In life's banquet hour it is meet to drink, 
 Old friends are the friends whose clasp we claim 
 In the crowning hour of our joy and fame! 
 
SONGS. 265 
 
 And the trees that shelter the songsters small 
 
 Have a hundred birthday rings, 
 And wine that is poured at a monarch's call 
 
 The warrant of age still brings. 
 Old friends are the friends whom the minstrels 
 
 praise, 
 The friends of our Spring and Autumn days ; 
 And when old wine sparkles like liquid gem, 
 'Tis the heart's libation we pour to them ! 
 
266 1 SONGS. 
 
 OUR VOLUNTEERS. 
 
 And did they think we loved so well 
 
 The chink of pound and penny. 
 We had no soul for higher things, 
 
 And cravens were the many ! 
 'Tis well that giants doze sometimes 
 
 Or loll with idle gesture. 
 We would not have them always wear 
 
 Their corslets as a vesture. 
 
 Hurrah, hurrah ! and hearty cheers 
 Hurrah, hurrah for Volunteers. 
 
 But once the lion heart is roused 
 
 They show the nation's mettle. 
 And prove that Englishmen at need 
 
 A thing or two can settle ! 
 The Rifle drill has practice sharp, 
 
 Click — click — we hear them firing, 
 And fancy fills the picture up 
 
 With thoughts of foes retiring. 
 
 Hurrah, hurrah, and hearty cheers, 
 Hurrah, hurrah for Volunteers. 
 
SONGS. 267 
 
 And gunners heave the heavy gun 
 
 And point with sure precision; 
 AVhile women smile with tearful pride 
 
 At Volunteers' decision 
 To do, and dare, and rather die 
 
 Than tarnish English story ; 
 E'en traders feel on traffic marts 
 
 The breath of martial glory 
 
 That breathes Defence ! for hearty cheers 
 Shall ever greet our Volunteers! 
 
 1859. 
 
268 SONGS. 
 
 SUMMER NIGHT. 
 
 A CANTATA. 
 
 find a song to suit the summer night ! 
 
 The summe'r night 
 
 Of tender light ; 
 Make tremulous stir. 
 
 By music's spell 
 Of the mystic air 
 
 "With fall and swell. 
 
 SoKG. 
 
 The finches nestle o'er their young, 
 
 The soaring lark sleeps low. 
 Ah, do they dream of minstrelsy 
 
 The morning hour shall know ! 
 Only the nightingale awake 
 
 Repeats its olden tale, 
 And floods the air with melody, 
 
 Beneath the moonlight pale. 
 
SONGS. 269 
 
 How oft to aching human hearts, 
 
 The carol of a bird 
 Has brought a message never told 
 
 By any spoken word. 
 And Philomel's nocturnal lay 
 
 Floats on the summer night, 
 And brings a rapture never felt 
 
 In noon-time's garish light. 
 
 But odours come 
 
 With quiet spellj 
 From garden home 
 
 And hill and dell. 
 
 Song. 
 
 The Eoses are blushing, 
 But none see the flushing 
 Of tints that grow deep. 
 While the butterflies sleep. 
 And' the Lily's pure sheen 
 Grows more lovely between 
 
 The sunset and sunrise. 
 
 The Jasmine abundant 
 In odour redundant, 
 Flings fragrance around ; 
 While nearer the ground, 
 The meek Mignonette 
 Will not let us forget 
 
 The joy of the sunrise. 
 
270 SONGS. 
 
 The Passion-flower glowing 
 With, symbols for showing, 
 Atid feather fan leaves, 
 Climbs up to the eaves,, 
 And its flowers at the pane 
 Shall be memory'^s gain. 
 
 A Hymn at the simrise* 
 
 But look now 
 
 And hearken ! 
 Night's soft light 
 Doth darken, 
 And the moon sick and pale 
 Takes a cloud for a veil. 
 
 Finale. 
 
 Great drops are splashing all around, 
 
 And pattering on the leaves, 
 And every fainting floweret now 
 
 Its welcome draught receives. 
 The sky looks like a funeral pall, 
 
 No star can pierce the dark, 
 But distant thunder echoing rolls 
 
 And makes the watchers hark ! 
 
 Nearer it comes! rolKng and crashing,. 
 And the sky is alight with sudden flashing ; 
 
SONGS. 271 
 
 The fbrest trees are made to bow, 
 
 With sylvan moan and shriek, , 
 And o'er the scene the lightning plays 
 
 In fiery forked streak. 
 Dumb creatures trembling in their fear. 
 
 Seek man's protecting power, 
 And cowering at his feet, await 
 
 All nature's calmer hour. 
 
 And the rain is now falling 
 
 In torrents appalling, 
 As if a vast ocean were poured from the sky ; 
 
 While rivulets clatter 
 
 With loud stony chatter. 
 That seems the dread Storm- King himself to defy ! 
 
SOXNETS. 
 
GRIEF. 
 
 ' The heart knoweth its own bitteruess." 
 
 I WILL commune with mine own heart alone. 
 So learn to battle with the giant Grief 
 That shadows now my soul, and reigns a cl^ief. 
 
 Quenching each spark of joy and hope that shone 
 
 Till sick, faint Reason trembles on her throne. 
 O Heart ! grow greater, bring me thus relief, 
 Make room for chaos and a new belief! 
 
 So — so — it may be borne. All but the tone 
 
 Of the word-arrows friendly tongues would fling, , 
 Callinff them sweet advice ! I do beseech 
 
 Believe me — and not meaner counsel bring 
 
 Than the great truths which greatest poets teach 
 
 Great Grief is all too Great and True a thing 
 For the world's narrow policy to reach ! 
 
276 SONNETS. 
 
 VENETIA. 
 
 FEBRUARY, 1860. 
 
 I SEE a Figure seated by the Sea, 
 
 "With, hair that Titian painted — hair that's bound 
 
 By strings of polished pearls and corals wound 
 In rosy tangles — reaching to the knee, 
 Where quivering hands are clasped beseechingly ; 
 
 Her rich tiara, cast upon the ground,- 
 
 Is gemmed by drops that fall with sobbing sound ; 
 If tears could loose, Ven'etia would be free ! 
 The chains that bind her on her palace stair 
 
 Are subtly forged to make them dark and strong ; 
 See how they canker round her ankles fair, 
 
 Her skilful hands coerce with cruel wrong ! 
 Armed heels hold down the links with watchful care. 
 
 And clank them for a sort of martial song. 
 
SONNETS. 277 
 
 But still tlie wailing of Her deep dolore, 
 
 In minor cadence, pierces heart and ear ; 
 
 Beyond the Alps it reaches strong and clear, 
 Waking sharp echoes as it rusheth o'er 
 The mountain homes where Tell drew bow of yore ; 
 
 But o'er the ridge of Apennine so near, 
 
 The rousing cry of suflfering sister dear 
 Sounds like a clarion call from shore to shore ! 
 The air is troubled, and vibrating shakes 
 
 The Three Fair Colours freely to the wind 
 To wave beside Sardinia's Cross, that takes 
 
 A starry lustre, rising to the mind 
 Like hope's fruition, when the darkness breaks, ^ 
 
 And The Day dawns for which Italia pined! 
 
278 SONNETS. 
 
 THE APPIAX AVAY, ROME. 
 
 ox SEEING THE ELECTRIC WIRES SUSPENDED 
 ALONG THE ANCIENT TOMBS. 
 
 The Ancient Romans, in their palmy day, 
 Mindful of Death, and not afraid to show 
 His frequent reapings in the fields of woe. 
 
 Set costly tombs along the public way ; 
 
 Sub-Urban miles thus consecrated they. 
 
 Betwixt the marble mounds rode to and fro 
 Patrician rulers and their followers low. 
 
 And conquering legions, fresh from battle's fray. 
 
 Came too the victor in his triumph car. 
 
 And captives, weighted with the symbol chain; 
 
 And caged wild beasts, brought safely from afar 
 For all the ruthless purposes of pain ; 
 
 And priests of peaceful gods, and gods of war. 
 And flower Jcrowned oxen, white without a stain. 
 
SONNETS. 279 
 
 11. 
 
 To-da}-, how different is the throng that treads 
 The far-famed Appian "Way! But still the sky- 
 Looks down benign, with soft and great blue eye ; 
 
 And now the marble mounds, like giant beads. 
 
 Seem hung on beauty's neck; for lo! the threads 
 Of fine electric wire pass tremblingly 
 Along the sombre rows — make destiny 
 
 To Nations, and show forth their instant deeds! 
 
 Do the great Pagans from their Hades soar 
 To know such uses of their ancient tombs, 
 
 And feel the world is shaken to its core 
 By throbs of all that in the future looms? 
 
 Past voices speak amid the Present's roar. 
 
 And to the listening ear their murmur comes. 
 
280 SONNETS. 
 
 AUGUST FANCIES. 
 
 It is the Crown of Summer— August tide! 
 
 Nor reels the Earth 'neath her tiara's weight, 
 
 But with a stately, calm, befitting gait — 
 Not wholly unto, gladness unalKed, 
 That matron-mirth which wears a mask of pride — 
 
 Lifts her broad brow with conscious wealth elate. 
 
 As if to ask what worthy planet-mate 
 Gemmed the clear sky, and circled by her side. 
 St.iU seems she ever lone : the ' moon — pale face ! 
 
 She makes but servitor — for wages this, 
 To hold her anchored in the sea of space : 
 
 And in her pride Earth takes no meaner kiss 
 Than from the Orb of Day, whose warm beams chase 
 
 The Winter's sorrow with dear Summer's bliss. 
 
SONNETS. 281 
 
 ir. 
 
 Beneath an ancient elm-tree's broadest shade, 
 In mood of idleness, which rusteth not, 
 Dull work-day ploddings are an hour forgot, 
 
 And finer fancies round the soul are laid 
 
 In tender ministration. Earth arrayed 
 
 In August vesture makes a charmed spot — 
 A small bright chequer on our sombre lot — 
 
 And fairy voices come from mead and glade, 
 
 And sound from humming-bee that saileth by, 
 Or bounding footfall of the antlered deer, 
 
 And in the rivulet that trickles nigh, 
 Telling in accents musically clear. 
 
 Which float far upwards to the azure sky, 
 A thousand secrets for the Poet's ear ! 
 
 Augiist, 1850. 
 
282 SONNETS. 
 
 ART'S ENDEAVOUR. 
 
 " It shall bruise thy head, and thou shalt bruise his heel." 
 
 Gen, iii. 1 A. 
 
 There is a cry no instrument of sound 
 Hatli ever uttered, to be babbled fortb 
 By all tbe tattling echoes of the earth ; 
 
 Not graduate organ pipes so smoothly round, 
 
 Nor brazen throats to music's service bound. 
 Nor viol's strings, nor yet of greater worth 
 The tongue of man can give it actual birth : — 
 
 It is the Soul's Cry at the Serpent's wound ! 
 
 The bruised heel with bitter ache and smart 
 Still makes us falter in the climbing pace. 
 
 Cleaving to earth ; until the sick faint heart 
 
 Draws half faith's radiance from the downcast face ; 
 
 Then cries the soul — a cry that hath no part 
 In air's vibrations, nor of earth a trace. 
 
SONNETS. 283 
 
 II. 
 
 Yet as the Hebrews knew the name they ne'er 
 
 Might syllable — we ever know the cry 
 
 We cannot utter in its ecstasy, 
 To fellow-mortals' ears ; — although we share 
 In striving efforts, so' that here and there 
 
 Some indications of that spirit-sigh 
 
 Ascend from depths no plummeting can pry. 
 And piercing upward purify the air. 
 The wrestle of our souls strikes out the tone 
 
 That rusheth on to God's inclined ear. 
 The Exile's cry of Aspiration shown 
 
 In fretted arch— in music's mystic sphere — 
 On poet's page — through white Carrara stone. 
 
 By painted threads — and all where Arts appear ! 
 
 1864. 
 
284 SOXNETS. 
 
 PHOTOGRAPHY AND ART. 
 
 He wHo has made the Sun his serf can show- 
 Man's life-leased house, each window-pane and bar, 
 With all the lines that beautify or mar 
 
 The human soul's palatial prison now, 
 
 And at the wonder still doth reverence grow ; 
 For sometimes, lured by happy guiding-star 
 Which even shines to prison-homes from far. 
 
 The Royal Captive looks through casement low. 
 
 But only thus we see — or we mis-see — 
 
 The soul's fine traceries, which seem so mean 
 
 Through the dull glass, we turn with childish glee 
 To dote upon the wall the panes between, 
 
 And marvel how its shapely forms agree 
 And own the Prison has a lovely sheen. 
 
SONNETS. 285 
 
 II. 
 
 The Artist labours in a nobler way ; 
 
 He hath, a mighty wand that subtly breaks 
 
 The hard straight bar which every casement streaks, 
 And as he quickl}' opens to the day 
 The thick dim panes, he bids the Prisoner stay 
 
 Full-statured at the window : then there wakes 
 
 A fresh creation, which an Art-life takes 
 Diviner than the fairest thing Sun's ray 
 Can father ! And forgiving, we forget 
 
 If casement panes, and bars less fact-like glow 
 Than those the Sun's sharp-pointed ray hath set; 
 
 More glad to have the Prisoner fairly show 
 With all the jewels of his coronet, 
 
 Than perfect outline of his Prison know ! 
 
286 SONNETS. 
 
 THE MAGIC MIRROK. 
 
 OHj that some " tricksy sprite " from fairy -land 
 
 A Magic Mirror would on earth bestow, — 
 
 Not for vain purposes of idle show, 
 But subtly moulded ; so that wise pommand 
 Should summon, as by spell of fairy's wand, 
 
 Scenes to its surface that like life should glow, — 
 
 Scenes it were well that man for man should know ! 
 The Few who work not should behold the band 
 Of human brothers bearing Adam's curse. 
 
 With their soul-lineaments of toil defined ; 
 Bare Poverty's temptations ; and yet worse 
 
 The sensuous quagmire of the unformed mind, 
 Whose fatuous lights, uncertain and perverse, 
 
 But glimmer lurid to mislead mankind. 
 
SONNETS. 287 
 
 II. 
 
 And not alone would I the Mirror bright 
 
 Should show at Rich Men's hearths the Poor 
 Man's care; 
 
 But that the lowly bom the gift should share, 
 And on the glassy tablet read aright 
 The marvel of their Rulers' constant might ; 
 
 Weigh in the balance Truth alone can bear, 
 
 'Gainst toil of Hand, keen Brain- work's wear and tear, 
 Till seeming wrongs should soften to their sight. 
 Oh, human fellows ! — in each soul there lies 
 
 The Magic Mirror which we seek to gain. 
 There to be found with kindly-searching eyes. 
 
 In Human Sympathy! — too prone to wane 
 With dull disuse — but kept a burnished prize 
 
 By constant service free from selfish stain ! 
 
 1850. 
 
288 SONNETS. 
 
 THE HEART'S CASSANDRA. 
 
 Few are the souls so easily content 
 
 That they would live a hy-gone year again 
 In the strict letter of its joy and pain," 
 
 Nor say " Oh, rather he Azrael sent 
 
 To loose the cord, and let the veil bo rent ; '"' 
 But nature, lured by hope and mirage vain. 
 Clinging to life, still doubts the bitter bane 
 
 Which hides behind the Future's blandishment. 
 
 Yet doth a pale Cassandra, whispering low, 
 Oft haunt the secret chambers of the heart. 
 
 And — in the rhythm dedicate to woe — 
 
 Proclaim that Life hath ever wounds that smart, 
 
 That, as of old, our bleeding feet must show - 
 The thorns which on the pilgrim's path upstart I 
 
SONNETS. 289 
 
 OLD AGE. 
 
 Ever advancing with a light foot-fall, 
 
 Is it a kind friend or a foe appears ? 
 
 Eyes do not see all clearly dimmed by tears 
 Through decades shed ; so we perchance mis-call 
 The snow-crowned Presence, shrinking from its thrall; 
 
 But still we learn that oft our dark cowled fears 
 
 May hide the livery that a bright hope wears. 
 And dreaded things be lovely after all. 
 Old Age with trembling hands holds up to sight 
 
 Life's tangled skein, where all some woe must trace, 
 While a white beam from Heaven's quenchless light 
 
 Reveals God's Providence in every place : 
 Age is a friend if we but see aright, 
 
 And meet its coming kiss with upturned face. 
 
290 SONNETS. 
 
 AUTUMN. 
 
 AuTTJMN, with finger chilly now newly maps 
 The grove and garden ; softly weeping too, 
 Not diamond drops of early morning dew, 
 
 Such as the summer sunbeam laughing laps. 
 
 But plenteous tears that flow for storm-mishaps 
 And saturate Earth's heart. Yet fond and true 
 She makes the most of every fading hue. 
 
 And o'er the soil her sombre covering wraps, 
 
 'Broidering its dank, dark green with brown and gold. 
 And weaving in the few, poor, scentless flowers 
 
 That do not drop from out her trembling hold : 
 Quick at her task, for comiag Wintry Powers 
 
 "With icy shroud shall soon the Earth enfold. 
 
 While the Past Seasons mourn their perished hours. 
 
SONNETS. 291 
 
 AUTUMN'S LAST FLOWERS. 
 
 Autumn's Last Flowers are falling one by one — 
 Those sickly children of the fading year, 
 "With scanty retinue of leaflets sear. 
 
 And though companioned, seeming each one lone : 
 
 The gracious Summer-time its part hath done. 
 A slanting sun-ray struggles feebly near, 
 Too chUl to kiss from them the frosty tear 
 
 That shines as jewels have on death-brows shone. 
 
 Poor scentless blossoms — waking pity's sighs, 
 But unbeloved of bee or bird, or bright 
 
 "Winged revellers, gay-coated butterflies ! 
 
 The Heart has emblems in its dreary night. 
 
 Of these sad flowers : like life-in-death they rise. 
 Faint shadows seen by memory's pallid light ! 
 
292 SONNETS. 
 
 THE ROYALTY OF SORROW. 
 
 "In all sleek prosperity there is something common- 
 place ; in all great adversity something royal." 
 
 Lord Lytton. 
 
 Yes, Grief is Eoyal! If it were not so 
 
 Man would be abject, and, his glory gone, 
 
 Could have no royalty to lean upon : 
 Sorrow is Princely — by a sign we know 
 That consecrateth every human woe. 
 
 In imitation of the Gtreat King's Son, 
 
 His saints are militant until be won 
 The sceptre-palms, and crowns that they will show. 
 And soldiers sharing in this stern campaign 
 
 Must ask not rest, nor ease, nor golden leisure, 
 But — striving ever on earth's battle-plain — 
 
 Cast off the spell of life's corroding pleasure, 
 Pour out, to trumpet tones, the heart's red rain, 
 
 Accepting, Christ-like, Sorrow's brimming measure. 
 
SONNETS. 293 
 
 VISITATIONS. 
 
 The mind's great doors are opened wide sometimes, 
 And grand processions enter silent there. 
 Mount to the council chambers swept out fair 
 
 From all defilements and unholy slimes ; 
 
 Then on the silence break ecstatic chimes 
 
 Which fill the soul with music ! Earthly care 
 Shrinks pale and shrivelled in the ether rare, 
 
 But dies not — waiting for less lustrous times. 
 
 Alas ! too soon returns life's fitful hour 
 
 When the soul's grandeur fades, its music rests ; 
 
 And yet the echoes vibrate— and a dower 
 Of fragrance, lingering incense-like, attests 
 
 The vanished glory, telling of the power 
 
 Of those Anointed Lords who were the guests. 
 
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