wiiwwrwiwiwuHiwwiwiiii n i nn iwi mm •MafK^t njiTrriVh I'ui'iT ■W^".* Gfornell Itttu^raitg ffiibrarg FROM THE BENNO LOEWY LIBRARY COLLECTED BY BENNO LOEWY 18S4-1919 BEQUEATHED TO CORNELL UNIVERSITY Cornell University Library PR1195.F8H97 Fugitive poetry. 1600-1878, 3 1924 013 293 398 PR I t 35 F8Hg7 THE " CHANDOS CLASSICS." FUGITIVE POETRY. COMPILED AND//EDITED BY J. C. HUTCHIESQir, ACTHOB OF " VILUGE VOICES," ETC. rrs ■<, 'iW LONDON: Kl'|- | FKEDERICK WARNE AKD CO. BEDFORD STREET, STRAND. TV A^^7l-2f ^rfffantene pews DALLANTYNE AND HANSON, BDlNBURCH CHANDOS STREET, LONDON PREFACE. In assigning myself the task of compiling tlie present volume of Fugitive Poetry, I was not unaware of the difficulty attendant on such an undertaking, to wit, the certainty of the liability to err repeating itself at every step, from so many pieces having been published anonymously whose authors are now known, and the probability of compilers setting down as anonymous pieces whose authors were unknown to them. Although I have used all care and inquiry to clear doubt and avoid error, in so far as they presented themselves, I am constrained to remark that I should not be surprised to hear that a few pieces are included into this collection whose authors are known to some, or whose authorships may yet be claimed. It is possible that such a work as the present could be in a great measure perfected, although beyond the power of one person to accomplish, and I, will therefore be glad to hear from any one who may discover in the present collection any piece whose authorship is known. I take the present opportunity to return thanks to friends who have rendered me assistance in collecting, and also to those Editors and Publishers who have readily granted permission to include in this selection pieces from their compilations, &c., that are held as copyright ; but, should any have been inserted, either by accident, or through ignorance, in respect of which permission ought to have been obtained, I trust that this will serve as an apology for the oversight or omission, and that their like generosity will be extended towards me. From Fugitive Prose I have made a few extracts and selections, which, I trust, will be an acceptable supplement. J. C. H. Stoneywood, xeak Abekdeex 1878, Cornell University Library The original of tliis book is in tine Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013293398 CONTENTS. Introddction Ak Epistle to the Editor from " Anonymous ' PASS 1 7 8 AG BE B. 7AQS A Sacred Melody 19 A Wish 21 Advent of the Messiah, and Glories of His Kingdom 30 Awake, Psaltery and Harp, I my- self will Awake Early .... 84 Blessed are they that have not Seen, and yet have Believed . . 41 Bless us To-night 39 Departed Tears .... .60 Desii-e for Holiness .... 22 Discouraged because of the Way . 23 Evening Hymn 26 Evermore 89 Female Kety 59 Glory and Honour ascribed to the Eedeemer 39 God is Good 86 Gracious Invitation to Perishing Sinners 33 Guardian Angels 78 Hagar and Ishmael 47 Hide Me under the Shadow of Thy Wings 43 Hymn 25 Hymn for Satm'day Evening . . 27 Hymn to Virtue 54 " i am the Way, and the Truth, and the Life" 85 "I will be Glad in the Lord" . . 83 Idle Words 81 Imitation of Christ's Humility . 36 In Suffering 19 Infant Beauty 69 Infidelity 79 Joy in the Holy Ghost . . . 24 Life Compared to a River . . 74 Life, Death, and Eternity ... 75 Lost Days 74 Manifestation of Christ to the Gentiles 33 Meditation 80 Moses in the Bulrushes . . 47 My ain Countrie 88 My Choice 68 My Father's at the Helm ... 69 My Soul Thirsteth for God . . . 40' Not Lost, but gone Before ... 73 God, who metest in Thine Hand 16 Omnipresence 13 Omnipresence of God 15 Only Waiting 36 " Our Feet shall Stand within Thy Gates" 14 Paraphrase on the Lord's Prayer , 1 7 Prayer 51 Providence 58 " Rejoice with Them that do Re- joice" 40 "Eemember now thy Creator" . . 25 OONTENTb'. Eetirement Eetum and come to God . . . Sabbath ETening Twilight . . Saturday Evening Spirit of God, that Moved of Old Stanzas Submission under Aifliction Sunset among the Alps . Sweet Rest The Beacon .... The Body and the Soul . The Bright and Morning Sti The Crown of Glory . . The Death of Goliath . The Deluge .... The Destroying Angel . The Family Altar . . . The Family Bible . . . The Heavenly Best . The Lord's Prayer Imitated The Matin Horn- of Prayer The Missionary . . . The Missionary's Farewell PAGE 80 43 86 28 16 62 37 57 21 30 56 42 23 50 45 49 44 83 20 18 52 65 79 The Morning Star .... 29 The Negro Convert 62 The Eabbi's Jewels 72 The Sailor's Evening Hymn . . 26 The Setting Sun . . . . 54 The Soul's Defiance ..... 82 The Time for Prayer ... .53 The Two Dedications . . . . 71 The Vaudois Missionary ... 67 The World we have not Seen . . 56 There is a Tongue in every Leaf 64 Those Eternal Bowers . . . 32 Time 61 To an Infant 70 Trust in God under Earthly Priva- tions 35 Walk in the Light .... 19 Watch and Pray ... . . 77 Waves . . 76 Watchman, What of the Night ? . 28 Wearied .... . . 76 Where is God? . . . 13 MORAL. A Model Sermon 144 A Retrospect 131 Act in the Present 1 37 Be Kind 91 BeKind 92 Bide your Time 116 Cupid Taught by the Graces . .118 Folly 114 Hope .... . .129 How Old art Thou ? 132 lu Imitation of Shakspeare . . 128 Inscription on a Sun-dial . . . .133 Life's Changes 102 Light for All 124 Lines for the First Leaves of an Album 145 Lines on a Skeleton 130 Love and Friendship . Never say Fail . . . Paddle your Own Canoe Past and Present . Peace . . Peace of Mind Recollections Reserve . Stanzas . . Sympathy . The Child and the Flower The Children's Choice The Doers of tho Word The First Bawbee . . The Flight of Years . The Game of Life. . The Happy Evening . 128 138 117 122 94 94 131 116 126 94 107 109 139 111 185 128 121 CONTENTS. FAQE The Jom-ney ofTrath .... 141 The March of Time 134 The Man-iage Vow 118 The Martyrs of Koyal-Lieu . . 152 The Masque of the New Year . 146 The Mother's Jewels 112 The Eiver and the Tide . . 101 The Bobber's Deathbed . . 123 The Tear of Sympathy . 95 The Three Ages of Life . . . 98 The World of Dreams . . 150 The World's Changes . . .103 There's Nothing Lost . . 97 FAGS Time 133 Time .... 134 To a Child 105 To my Child at Play 106 To Myself 127 To the Departing Year .... 149 To-day and To-morrow . . . 132 Truth Lives on 143 Wed not for Gold 119 Who is my Neighbour ? . . . . 140 Wishes and Realities ■ 107 Your Mission 136 Y'outh . . 93 NATURAL AND BESGBIPTirE. A Beautiful Maiden 212 A Spring Evening 166 A Storm 220 . 174 . . 175 , . 215 214 . 182 179 . 225 . 186 . 184 . 215 A Thought in September Autumnal Decay Ben Nevis , . Country Life Dew .... Evening Thoughts Eventide . . Flowers .... Frost .... Glencoe .... Hymn to the Moon 162 Invocation of the Earth to Morning 158 Lines suggested by the Brilliant Aurora 165 Lines written in a Severe Frost 183 Moral Reflections on Autumn . . 176 Morning . . . . . . 178 Nature . . 224 October 174 Ode to Winter .... .177 On an Autumnal Leaf . . . .197 On a Butterfly 208 On Sailing Past Cape Trafalgar .221 Kenil- Oii Seeing a Butterfly just Escaped from its Chrysalis . . On Seeing Burleigh Castle On Visiting the Ruins of worth .... . Spring Flowers . . Solitude .... Song for May-Day Song of the Grass . Summer .... Summer ... Summer Hymn Sunrise Sunset Sunshine and Shower. The Approach of Spring . The Bottom of the Sea . The Chapel by the Shore The Dead Lark . . . The Dewdrop and the Stream The Evening Hour • . . The Evening Star The First of March The Forester 187 The Frosted Trees 200 The Furze 199 182 223 223 187 170 170 195 172 173 171 157 159 219 166 210 226 181 218 161 159 167 CONTENTS. The Guelder Rose 191 The Halcyon 203 The Harehell and the Foxglove . 192 The Hawthorn 198 The Heliotrope 195 The Herdsman's Happy Life . .169 The Inhabitants of the Waters 211 The King-Fisher 203 The Meadow Giowan ... .189 The Migration of Birds . . . .181 The NightBlowing Cereiis . . .194 The NightFlowering Cereus . . 193 The Northern Seas 164 The Owl's Revenge .... 204 The Pheasant 202 The Rainbow 185 The Sea Shell 210 The Seasons 163 The Sleeping Beauty . . . .213 The Song of the Streams . .216 The Summer Comes 168 Pi-GB The Swallow's Return .... 180' The Thrush 202 The Wild Briar 200' The Wild Flower 190 The Wind in the Woods. . . .188 The Winter Rose 198 To a Lady, Gazing on a Beautiful Landscape 212 To a Young Lady 214 To the Evening Star 160 To the Morning Laa^k .... 201 To the Nightingale 201 To the Ocean 208 To the Passion Flower . . . .192 To the Rose 191 To the Sun 156 To the Witch Hazel 199 Twilight 179 Winter makes Spring . . 178 Wodenfride's Song .... 168 Yellow Leaves 19ft NATIONAL, SOCIAL, AND DOMESTIC. A New English Ballad .... 268 A Song of the Sea 229 A Wife's Appeal to her Husband . 270 An Exile's Dream of Home . . 242 Come Home 244 Dermot's Parting ... . . 276 Frozen to Death . . . 298 Genius . . .... . 310 Gloamin' ... ... 296 Home ... . .243 Home 244 Imitation of Byron's Modem Greece, as applied to Scotland . 228 Kosciusko ........ 233 Lady Byron's Reply to Lord Byron's "Fare Thee Well" ..... 304 Lines by a Young Lady Bom Blind 278 Lines by an English Ofioer . . 297 Linger not long 271 Linlithgow Palace ... . 256 Little Minnie 287 Little Shoes and Stockings . . . 286- Loudhon's Attack 231 March 21st., 1871 .... 264 Midnight 296 Mother's Love 288 Napoleon's Last Request . . . 238 New England's Annoyances . . 300 On a Sleeping Child .... 290 On Guard 284 On Milton's Blindness . . . .311 On seeing Mr. Stewart Watson's Picture of Burns 317 Outward Bound 294 Over the Sea 274 Palmyra 235 Pompeii 236 Remember Me 273, OONTHNTS. XI PAGE Ronald's Lament 249 Scotland 229- Shakspeare 314 Ships at Sea 245 Sir Jolin Franklin 241 Sonnet Written at Shakspeare's Tomb 315 Sorrow and Song 310 The American Patriot's Song . . 302 The Angel's Visit 253 The Birthplace of Tasso ... 318 The Blind Boy 280 The Blind Giri's Lament . . .279 The Blind Giri to her Mother . . 281 The Gaged Lady of Buchan . . 258 The Captive Queen 257 The Captivity of Francis I. . . 239 The Deserted Wife 292 The Domestic Hearth .... 269 The Dream of the Tombstone . .271 The Dumb Child 282 The Happiness of a Winter's Fire- side ......... 295 The Indian's Bridge 247 The Lay of Sir William Wallace . 255 The Norwegian Rovei-'s Song . .251 The Orphan 266 The Orphan and Lord Linsey- Wolsey 265 The Orphan Girl's Eecolleotions of a Mother 308 The Orphans 305 The Orphan's Voyage Home . . 267 The Patriot Warrior 275 The Patter of Little Feet . . .284 The Picket of the Potomac . . .302 The Press 313 The Printer's Song 313 The Prisoner of St. Helena . . .237 The Prouesse of Kynge Eycharde 260 The Sailor's Wife 293 The Sea Fight in XCII. . . .240 The Shan Van Vocht .... 230' The Song of Steam 319 The Star and the Child . ... .268 The Times of King Lion-Heart 261 The Two Eoses 321 The Vessel coming in ... . ,294 The Vulture of the Alps . . .268 To an Infant Smiling as it Awoke 289 To Bums, while living .... 315 To my ain auld Wife . . . .291 To my Mother 299 To Robert Bums 316 What is True Poetry ? ... 309 Young Again 277 LTBIG AND LEQENDABY. A' Body's like to be Married but Me 354 A Knapsack and a Cheerful Heart 346 A Pot of Good Ale . . . A Soldier, a Soldier for me . A Song for Autumn . . . A Songe of a fine Skott . . Adieu for Evermore . . . Adieu, my Native Land, Adieu An Old-Fashioned Love Song An' thou wert my ain thing 346 347 422 343 404 406 328 357 Arise an' come wi' me . .361 Back Again' ... ... 400 Bide ye yet 368 Bonnie Laddie, Highland Laddie . 401 Busy, Curious, Thirsty Fly . . .326 Canzonet 421 Cargen Water 356 Charlie is my Darling .... 409 Come away, come, sweet Lovo . . 329 Come, Bustle, Bustle 342 Come to the May-Pole .... 335 CONTENTS. PAGE Conquer! or Fall 413 Dametus — His Jigge ia Praise of his Love 329 Death of Woodhull 377 Dinna Foi-get 356 Donald of the Isles 386 England, Europe's Glory . . .411 England, the Anchor and Hope of the World 410 Every Bullet has its Billet . . .394 False, yet Fair 327 Farewell! Forget me not . . .417 Father Mathew 325 Fidelity 325 Forget me not 332 Hark ! the' Hollow AVoods resound- ing .... ... 411 Here awa', there awa' .... 393 Here's to the King, sir . . . 350 How Stands the Glass around ? . 345 I hae nae Kilh 403 I met twa Cronies .S53 I'll gang nae mair to yon Town . 419 I'll give the Land we live in . .415 Id Praise of Melancholy . 396 In the Season of the Year . . . 348 Jamie o' the Glen . . . . 360 Legend of the Wine Tower . 375 Lizzie Lindsay 398 Love me little, love me long . . 330 Love not me 332 Love will find out the way . . .412 O gin my Love were yon Red Rose 392 Kenmuro's on and awa', Willie . 407 Ode to Eloquence 322 Oh ! Firm as Oak 341 Oh ! Sailor Boy, Sailor Boy, Peace to thy Soul . . . . . . .415 Old Towler 349 Old Vale of White Horse Ballad . 381 On Ettriok Banks 359 On this Cold Flinty Rock . . .407 Our ain Fireside 398 PAGB Patie's Wedding 365 Robin Adair 337 Row weel, my Boatie .... 355 Shipwreck of the " Abeona" . . 463 Sir Olaff and Erl-King's Daughter 379 Song of an Arabian Girl .... 333 Song of the Free Lances . . . 334 Song : — Stately Towers ! Blissful Hours 338 St. De'nick's Well . ... 374 Such a Parcel of Rogues in a Nation 402 Sussex Whistling Song .... 348 Sweet Echo Wakes Her Mimic Song 416 The Auld Man's Lament . . . 354 The Bonnie Breist Knots . . . 393 The British Grenadiers . . . 397 The Charm 324 The Chase is o'er, the Hart is Slain ... . . . 417 The Fairies' Song . . ... 395 The Fine Old English Gentleman . 339 The Flower of Yarrow . 362 The Haunted Lake .... 372 The Huntsman's Dirge . . . 396 The Indian Lover's Song . . 333 The Lake is at Rest .... 338 The Land, Boys, we Live in . 340 The Last Tree of the Forest ■. 391 The Mariner's Song . . . .419 Tlie Murcinn Cavaher .... 382 The Pledge 420 The Strathspey of the Marchioness of Huntley 390 The Tinker's Song 335 The Topsails Shiver in the Wind . 414 The Vicar of Bray 351 The Wee, Wee German Lairdie . 405 The White Cockade 403 There are Twa Bonnie Maidens . 368 Thou ait Gane Awa' 394 Till Death I Sylvia must Adore . 331 Time's Alterations . . . . 359 CONTENTS. Unhappy Love .... We be Three Poor Fishermen Wee'l Gang to the Kirk Awa' . PAOE . 332 . 412 . 408 PAGE What's a' the Steer, Kimmer . . 404 Within a Mile o' Edinhurgh Town 358 Would You Choose a Wife . . .357 HUMOROUS. A Country Schoolmaster . . . 435 A Draught to Cure 481 A Hot Wind Eeverie in November 465 A Husband's Dream 452 A Grecian Fable 503 A Kintra Schulemaister's Farewell tae the richt side o' his Black Coat 434 A Landlord's Card . . .470 A Little More ... . . 539 A Modem Valentine . . 542 A Newspaper ... . . 492 A Ehyming Direction . 535 AUister McAllister . . . 505 AU's WeU that Ends Well . . .442 Bachelor's Fare 450 Billy Dip .... 461 Blank Verse on Niagara . . . 539 Boxiana 449 Buonaparte and the Echo . . . 533 Celibacy versus Matrimony . . 450 Cold Water 431 Contradiction ... ... 522 Cross Purposes . .... 442 Dialogue betwenEcho and aGlutton 534 Dr. Johnson's Ghost to Mrs. Piozzi 463 Economy . 473 Elessde 492 Fashion 425 Fashionable Wedding . . . .537 Frank Hayman ... . . 471 Fools 494 Gaelic Speech 445 George King's Petition .... 537 Grammatical Tautology .... 475 Homceopathic Soup 433 Hot Day 430 How-d'ye-do and Good-bye . . . 497 How shall I Dine ? . 430 Indecision . . 483 Irish Angling ... ... 459 Irish Love Song . . . 500 Jocky said to Jenny . . 505 Joe Wood 444 John Davidson ... . 436 Johnny Sands . 508 Laugh and get Fat . ... 530 Letter Directed in Verse . . 635 Lines on Tipperary . . . 535 Mizie's Complaint . ... 457 Monsieur Kaniferstane . . 468 My Old Hat ... . . 487 My MoUi Anni 532 Nina to her Lap-dog 527 Number One, or the new " Chief End" 446 " One Good Turn deserves Another" 459 Owed to' my Creditors . . . 448 Paramount Punning . . . 443 Penny Postage . . ... 541 Eetaliation 480 Eeturn under the Income Act . . 538 Saturday 431 Shadows .... .463 Simon Brodie 502 Surnames 496 Symptoms of Love 499 The Answer of the Egyptian Mummy 425 The Aukl Good-man 506 The Careless Couple 429 The Case Altered 476 The Clever Idiot 484 The Clown and the Vicar . . .477 CONTENTS. PAGE The Days of Chivaliy .... 427 The DexterouB Thief .... 479 The Division of the Earth . . . 495 The Doctor and his Apples . . . 509 The Dose 519 The Duke and the Pig .... 485 The Fairy and the Scissors . . . 516 The Fishermen 512 The Fruit of Old Ireland . . .501 The Gardener's Song .... 515 The Gouty Merchant and the Stranger 486 The Horse-dealer and his Groom . 474 The humble Petition of the letter W 503 The Husband's Complaint . . . 454 The 111 "Wind 459 The Irish Boy and the Priest . . 514 The Irish Traveller 458 The letter H's Petition . . . .531 The Magpie, or Bad Company . . 489 The Married Man's Fare . . . 451 The Negro's Eetort 513 PAOB The Old Bachelor . . . . 456 The One Grand Point .... 518 The One-legged Goose .... 524 The Oxford Student to his Mother 423 The Picture 438 The Pilgrim 466 TheBetort 482 The Secret .^441 The Shavers 538 The Siege of Belgrade . . . .504 The Sportsman's Distress . . . 474 TheTurbot . ^ 513 The Universal Postage . . . .541 The Wager Decided 460 The Whimsical Mal-entendre . 473 'Tis all One to Me 540 Tobacco 475 Toujours les Femmes . . . 440 Wanted — A Governess .... 460 Waterloo 528 Women are Best when they're at Best 498 BLEGIAO. A Mother's Dirge over her Child . 553 Burial of a Pilgrim Father . . . 544 Death and Burial of a Child at Sea 654 Elegiac Stanzas 543 1 am Dying 548 Lost 550 My Grave 545 On the Death of Lord Byron . . 546 The Death of the Dromedary Driver 560 The Dying Boy 550 The Dying Soldier 556 The Jb\ineral of the Duke of Wel- lington . 557 The Last Farewell 546 The Lost Little One 552 The Mourner 549 HPIGBAMS. A Breakfast of Learning A Modern Samson . . A Rhapsody .... Antagonist Sympathies . Candle-end Economy 562 566 567 561 561 Crime 563 Encouragement to MaiTy . . . 562 Fortune 551 From the Arabic 565 His All ! : , 563 CONTENTS. XT PAGE Infamy 566 Matrimony 565 Occasioned by the Words " One . Prior" 567 On a Miser 563 On Content 566 On God's Omnipotence .... 566 On Seeing a Fly Burned in a Lamp 563 On Seeing a Young Lady writing Verses, &c 565 On the Wedding Ring . . . .568 Peggy's Will 564 Pins 568 Russian Epigram 561 Shoes 667 The Cup-bearer . . . . The Distinction . . . . The Doctor and his Patient The Empty Gun . . . . The Lawyers The Peer and the Tinker , The Rose The Weeping Widow The World ... To a Bad Fiddler . To a Pretended Friend To a Yoimg Gentleman . Warnings .... What's Honour? . Wit and Genius PASS . 568 . 563 . 567 . 564 . 562 . 564 . 568 . 565 . 566 568 . 564 . 567 . 562 . 567 . 564 SJPITAPS8. From the French 570 In Allhallow's Church, Oxford. . 571 In Barrow-upon-Soar Churchyard 575 In Cowie Churchyard .... 576 In Winton Churchyard .... 574 In Fetteresso Churchyard . 575, 576 In Greenwich Churchyard . . . 570 In Hatfield Churchyard .... 577 In High Wycomb Churchyard . . 571 In Hurstpierpoint Churchyard . . 575 In Langtown Churchyard . . . 577 In Lymington Churchyard . , . 570 In Ripoa Churchyard . . 572, 577 In Selby Churchyard . . . .576 In Uttoxeter Churchyard . . . 575 In Wisbeach Churchyard . . . 573 On a Beautiful and Virtuous Young Lady 573 On a Cobbler 573 On a Farmer 574 On a Fiddler 578 On a Man famed for Charity . . 572 On a Man named Stone . . . .571 On a Miser , . 572 On a Tombstone at Gunwallaw . 571 On a Violent Scold 572 On a Young Lady 571 On an Infant . . . 570, 573, 576 On John SuUer 577 On John Underwood 570 Onthe EarlofKildare .... 575 On two young Children .... 570 FUGITIVE POETRY. INTEODUCTION. " The world is full of Poetry ; the air Is living with its spirit ; and the waves Dance to the music of its melodies, And sparkle in its brightness." "The great tendency of poetry," writes Ohanning, "is to carry the mind beyond and above the beaten, dusty, weary walks of ordinary life, to lift it into a purer element, and to breathe into it more profound and generous emotion. It reveals to us the loveliness of Nature, brings back the freshness of youthful feeling, revives the relish of simple pleasures, keeps unquenohed the enthusiasm which warmed the springtime of our being, strengthens our interest in human nature by vivid delineations of its tenderest and loftiest feelings, knits us by new ties with universal being, and, through the brightness of its prophetic visions, helps faith to lay hold on the future life." And says Gray in his Life of Robert Ferguson, "Works of philosophy and science are only the study of a few superior minds, but the productions of imagination are perused by men of every description. The learned and the ignorant, the grave and the gay, the young and the old, find something attractive in the varied pages of the inspired bard. Hence is the tendency of such effusions of the utmost importance in forming the taste, and cultivating the moral perceptions, especially of the youthful mind. An heroic spirit has been roused by a patriotic song, a hard and proud mind softened to sympathy by a powerful representa- tion of fictitious distress. The distant wanderer, restored to his native scenes by a lively description, has blessed the poet's pen; the solitary thoughts of the invalid have been transported to green fields and cooling streams, and his languid ear charmed with the woodland song; even the pious soul is awakened to a more exalted feeling of devotion by the divine strains of the inspired minstrel." •While we read and realise the truthfulness of the above, we may well say, with Campbell — " Oh, deem not, 'midst this worldly strife, An idle art the poet brings ; Let high philosophy control, And sages calm the stream of life, 'Tis he reiines its fountain springs, The nobler passions of the soul." B 2 INTRODUCTION. Many are the stars that shine in the firmament of poetic literature, and, though there are some of lesser magnitnde than others, all are light-giving. The many minds that once were with us are now, with imperishahle beauty, embalmed to us in their writings ; " Therein the dead heart speaVeth, the clay-cold tongue is eloquent ;" " Their sound is gone into all lands, and their words to the end of the world." When we look at the shelves of our libraries, we are led to exclaim with Tupper, " Oh, books ! ye monuments of mind; concrete wisdom of the wisest ; sweet solaces of daily life ; proofs and results of im- mortality ; trees yielding all fruits, whose leaves are for the healing of, the nations ! groves of knowledge, where all may eat, nor fear a flaming sword; gentle comrades, kind advisers, friends, comforts, treasures ; helps, governments, diversities of tongues, who can weigh your worth !" The literature of the present day is illustrated and adorned by numerous compilations from the writings of our best authors, and these are found to be of inestimable value to those who have not the leisure, means, or application to profit from the perusal of books in their original form. At the feast of reason, where we feed our minds from the stores of the great and grave ; where we drink wine from the fountain of wisdom, and, like the giant in Homer, exclaim, " More ! this is divine ;" where we see many flowerets from the fields of literature adorning the table and delighting the eye ; where we see the table overspread with the most savoury dishes, suiting every palate, teeming with the richest nutrition, that we exclaim like Burns over his haggis, " O what a glorious sight, warm-reekin', rich !" these compilations find their place at the festive board as silver baskets loaded with choice fruits, or we find them on the sideboards as golden caskets containing most precious jewels. Many times we refresh our lips with a grape from these silver baskets, and say, " This is delicious ; from whose ga,rden is it?" Many a time we take and examine a jewel from these golden caskets, and say, " This is a gem of sterling worth ; from whose mine is it p" and on not a few sundry occasions we get the answer, " Anonymous." On coming across these gems — and many gems are truly of poetic worth — we have often said with Burns, when he heard Lapraik's song — "I've scarce heard aught describe sae weel What gen'rous, manly bosonis feel ; Thought I, 'la this frae Pope or Steele, Or Beattie's mint?' They tauld me 'twas an odd kind chiel, Whose name's ' Unkent.' " We sing the praises of the great masters, and not unworthily, who have by their works raised monuments amongst us more durable'than brass. We love to learn from all those master minds that have shone in the literary world from the Alfred the Great of the Anglo-Saxons to the Alfred the Great of the nineteenth century, Tennyson. We all have our favourite poets. We delight in Ohancer, the father of INTBODUGTION. 8 Englist poetiy, and admire the Speuser ttat rekindled tlae lamp when poesy grew dim. We have pleasure in the Saokville that shed the dawn on, the Elizabethan era, when arose the glorious sufl, Shakspearej the " man of a thousand souls." With what pleasure do we read the works of those who hold a place in thti solar system of poesy around the Bard of Avon, and with what delight do we strive to give our favourites a place in the firmament of literature, tcS' rank them next to Shakapeare. Some take Milton, "whose richly jewelled and majestic prose alone would raise him to a lofty I'ank aihong the Ealeighs and the Bacons, the Taylots and the G-ibhons of cmr English tongue, and whose song," writes Macaulay, " so sublime and so holy that it would not misbecome the lips of those ethereal Virtues whom he saw with that inner eye, which no calamity could darken^ flinging down on the jasper pavement their crowns of amaranth and gold." Some delight in the author of " Hudibras," and place him prince and paramount of English burlesque. Some praise their Dryden, and endorse Samuel Johnson's statement that " Dryden found English poetry brick and left it marble," while they are Compelled to thtow the dramatic filth that dims his laurels to the dunghill. Others take up Pope, the prince of the artificial school, and claim for him. a place of infallibility^ We admire the beautiful hymns of Isaac Watts, that have made his name familiar in every family. With pleasure we make mention of Allan Kamsay, whose " Gentle Shepherd" is the finest Scottish Pastoral Drama ever written, nor shall we forget Robert Blair's fine blank verse poem, " The Grave." Some delight in Thotason, the author of " The Seasons," and adm:ire "the fat and lazy poet" who wrote the " The Castle of Indolence," which is considered his finest piece of literary workmanship. Some have a great appreciation of Gray, who is best known by his famous "Elegy," and say; with Gowper, that he is " the only poet since Shakspeare entitled to the character of the Sublime ;" whilst others side with Johnson, and " don't tliink Gray a first-rate poet." Some delight in the gentle-hearted Goldsmith, and, with Bishop Percy, speak of his " elegant and enchanting style," and say with poor dying Gray, when "he heard "The Deserted Village" read at Malvern, "That man is a poet," whilst others call him, as did Warton, " the first of sOlefiin coxcombs," or " an inspired idiot," as did Horace Walpole. We have Shenstone, who has written the finest specimen of the English Pastoral Ballad, and we must make mention of the Wartons, Mark Akenside, Edward ¥oung, Beattie, Churchill, McPherson— the Scottish Ohatterton as he is sometimes called — who gave Ossian'a Poems to the world, and Thotnas Ohatterton, " the marvellous boy that perished in his pride." There are those who are enraptured with the muse of Moore, whose crown is a circlet of shining gemsj but allowed to have much of the drawing-room sheen about them. Whilei some would claim Scotland's wreath tot Scott, the picturesque painter in Words, the poet of chivalry and romance^ others give the title of Scotland's National Bard td Robert Burns, the peasant in " hodden e2 4 INTBODVOTION. grey," who speaks to the hearts of his countrymen, the gentle and stirring spirit of whose poetry has spread into every home and over every country where the English tongue is known. We have a pleasure in the charming compositions of Oowper, " the pensive hard of Olney," who has been termed " the sensitive plant in the garden of literature," while others delight in lauding the illustrious but unhappy Byron, who poured upon the world a flood of poetry, " the strangest mixture of shining gold and black mire." There are some who admire Crabbe, " who was," Byron said, " Nature's sternest painter, yet the best." And, when we come to the end of the eighteenth, and beginning of the nineteenth century, what a constellation of poets surround us, and attract our attention by their brilliancy. We have Samuel Rogers, Hogg, Montgomery, Tannahill, Campbell, Mrs. Hemans, Kirke White, Bishop Heber, Shelley, Keats, Hannah Moore, and Joanna Baillie. We have also, and it were unfair not to mention, Bowles, of sonnet fame ; Pollock, whose sacred epic, " The Course of Time," will live as long as time doth run its course ; Ferguson, Bloomfield, and Allan Cunningham. We delight in the '' magnificent dreams" of " gentle" Coleridge, the " unmanageable themes" mastered by Southey. We have a reverence for " simple" Wordsworth, the great master of the Lake school, and admire the delightful drolleries of the humorous Hood. We have also to be grateful for the pleasure we derive from the Knowleses, the Henry Taylors, and the Talfourds of the nineteenth century, who remind us that we are the countrymen of Shakspeare, Jonson, and Massinger. Coming down nearer our own day we have to bear in remembrance the names of the " Delta" of Blackwood, the " L. B. L." of the Idtera/ry Gazette, the Brownings, Professor Aytoun, Thorn, Motherwell, Alexander Smith, Hon. Mrs. Norton, Eliza Cook, Charles Swain, Charles Mackay, and Martin F. Tupper. While we have thus made mention of the more prominent of our British Bards, we are in courtesy and duty bound not to overlook those who have flourished and are flourishing on the opposite shores of the Atlantic, such as Edgar Allan Poe, Sigourney, Willis, Whittier, Bryant, and their Laureate, Longfellow, who is perhaps as well known in Britain's Isles as is our own Laureate, Tennyson. And who among us denies the position our present Laureate holds as head of the poets in the passmg generation, or dare say " the pure and steady radiance of his sweet varied music" is unworthy of the Boyal honour? While we have passed in review before us names familiar to us, and cherished in our memories, we have omitted many sweet singers worthy of notice. From an article on " The Poetry of the Day," we may aptly quote the following :—" Hardly a magazine is now published," observed Moore to Scott, when talking of the poetry of the day, " but would once have made a reputation." "Ecod!" said Sir Walter, " we were very lucky to have come before these fellows !" If one were not dis- armed by the good-humour of the remark, it might be hinted that both the interlocutors have now subsided into the rank of the minor INTBOnUGTION. 5 poets of their own generation, and tliat therefore the compliment paid to the lesser lights of our day was not very extravagant. There may be plenty of Scotts and Moores among ns, but assuredly we do not boast of many Wordsworths and Byrons, or Shelleys and Keats ! But nevertheless there is in these last days an astonishing under- current of poetry welling constantly on, and working its way towards the light." There is a poet for every palate, and, while we revere the memories and praise the works of those whose names are written on the Scroll of Fame, what have we to say about the many gems that have been written throughout all these poetic eras ; gems whose sterling merit has found them a place in many a standard class-book ; gems whose genuineness finds them an undeniable place in many a high-class magazine ; gems whose worth entitles them to creep into the vagrant corner of a newspaper to enjoy light for, alas ! only a day ; gems, bearing the signature — Anonymous. It has been our design, therefore, to make a selection from these leaves that have been drifting on the stream of Time, kept afloat by their own intrinsic merit, not because they emanated from the pen of a Shakspeare, a Scott, a Burns, a Byron, a Tupper, a Tennyson, or any other of our known or acknowledged authors. Doubtless, a number of fugitive eSusions have been sunk in the waters, while the sparkling beauty of many has been the means of their preservation or rescue from oblivion. These fugitive writings may be called, " Bread cast on the waters, found after many days." Our Ballad Literature, much of which is anonymous, is but meagrely represented in the present collection, as it was not our intention to encroach on a field already gleaned, and whose " gipsy children of song" have been presented in many collected forms. To men such as Percy, Herd, Scott, Motherwell, Buchan, Whitelaw, Eoberts, and others, we owe a debt of gratitude for their labours. When we have BO many volumes of Ballad Literature, and more especially "The Legendary Ballads of England and Scotland," in present series, it is not within our province to reproduce any examples from the same. So far as we are aware no such collection as the present has as yet been made, and feeling that a Selection from the many fugitive poems that have been floating about so long in the literature of the past and present, presented in a collected form, would be a something to be desired, a something called for, and, as we shall trust, something that will prove acceptable to all lovers of poesy ; we set ourselves with " fear and trembling," yet hopefully to the work, which has been to us one of pleasant research along "the hedgerows and leafy lanes of literature." AN EPISTLE TO THE EDITOR "ANONYMOUS." Dear Pbiend, it cues my old heart cheer, To learn tlie time is drawing near "Wien of my works the world will hear By yonr selection ; I do not know well what to say For th' honour you to me thus pay, May all success 'tend you, I pray. And your coUeotiou. But honest wish may selfish seem To bid success, and I your theme ; Tet when I heard, the Anon, scheme Tickled my fancy. I wrote as all the world will know Purely for gpod, not fame or show, — Since none for failure write, I trow, — Success enhance ye. Bight glad am I this circumstance Grants me the leave to make advance : Trust me, I'll use all vigilance Not to out-run The care I ever did maintain. Which does my modesty explain, For to the end I will remain Tour friend " Anon." Why would I thus address you? Well, While you would fain my praises swell, I'd have you to the public tell What I have done :— In case it is not in your plan, — That you may my life history scan Since e'er this world of ours began, And yet, unknown. AN E FIST LB TO THE EBITOB. Not that I wish you to narrate My birth, my parentage, estate, Nor all my life details collate, For these would fail j Tell how I did myself employ. Tell how I roamed a gleeman coy, And touched of old " the wood of joy," Sang history's tale. Look at my legendary lore ; My ballads sung in days of yore. Your literati now adore. The people praise ; These so-called " good old times" have flown. The minstrel's " occupation's gone," We're better, wiser, greater grown In latter days. E'en long ere Anglo-Saxon times Bejoiced in me^ I sang my rhymes, And, wandering in many climes. Did fame acquire ; Ere Hesiod or Homer sung, Ere Sophocles or Sappho sprung, Ere Seneca or Virgil strung The poet's lyre. When persecution first did drain The Christians' blood, in Nero's reign, My hymns did soar in sweetest strain. On wings of prayer. E'en ere the Royal Psalmist's day. My voice was heard in holy lay ; If earlier ages you survey, I'm traced even there. There many imitators were, From early days who fain would share With me my fame, my garb did wear. To suit their aim. King Alfred as a ininsbrel lone ; Dickens from " Boz" has famous grown ; And Scott was called " The Oreat Unknown" — The name J claim. Bat Anon. Letters I disclaim. Written by those who 'neath my name. Would hide their cowardice and shame. They raise my ire ; AN EPISTLE TO TEE EDITOE. They from the line of duty swerve, To nothing noble they ennerve, No warm reception they deserve, Except— -the fire I I hear this question, asked of you, — But, why publicity eschew ? Why keep " unknown to public view P" I'll answer give. I court not fame, it is secure, Though many products may be poor, I know the worthy will endure. The good will live. Obscurity I did not choose Lest, peradventure, " Scotch Reviews Me scribbler dub, denounce my muse," With pen severe. I'm unassuming, you're aware ; I need no " patron's gen'rous care," Nor wish before the world to glare. Nor critics fear. 'Tis wise this policy of mine, Details of self to self confine. For pilgrims would flock to my shrine, And I've no crave For idolising reverence ; When 'tis a place of no pretence, I, inconvenience and expense, Admirers save. Since all details are hid from view (I dare not tell them e'en to you) I'd ask that you my works look through, And you will learn All of me you need wish to find. My genius, character, and mind. My genuine love for all mankind, You will discern. I fancy when your work is o'er, 'Twill be a sample, but, no more ; Tou'U find that my gigantic store Would volumes make : My fertile mind 'twill serve to show. The public more of me will know. And may on me more care bestow, For my works' sake. 10 AN EPISTLS TO THE EDITOR. On my effusions, when good wine. To hear the critics read, assign To other master hands than mine, Amuses one ; " Oh, this is excellent," they say, " Bears it not genius' touch, I pray," But they, in their good time and way Are stamped " Anon." Look closely a,nd my gifts descry, — In truth to tell them I feel shy. As linguist, few with me will vie, For I have made Translations from, to, every topgue ; Musicians, too, I rank among ; Composer, too, of sacred gpug. To worship aid. As benefactor, too, you'll find. In meliorating human kind, I do not fall in far behind The princely donor ; If my experience I'd express, The pious who relieve distress Find wha,t flows in in happiness Is more than honour. Pray take not my remarks amiss, Explain them alf, and then add this : " An ever-living author is Our Anon, friend." Enough, I need not more rehearse, Nor exilogiae myself in verse. All I have said you will endorse From end to end. If asked that you my rank assign Amongst the mighty, pray deomie ; Assured that safe is the last line On Fame's proud scroll ; Then to "The Temple" walk will I, " Anonymous" sign silently, And with becoming modesty Wind up the EoU ! mtretr. Pity religion has so seldom found, A skilful guide into poetic ground, Tne flowers would spring wnere'er she deigned to str.'y. And every muse attend her on her way. Cowpe:;. How heautiful is genius when combin'd With hohness ! oh, how divinely sweet The tones of earthly harp, whose chords are touch'd By the soft hand of Piety — and hung Upon religion's shrine. Wilson's Isle of Palms. It is no trifling good to win the ear of children with verses which foster in them the seeds of humanity and tenderness and piety; awaken their fancy, and exercise pleasurahly and wholesomely their imaginative and meditative powers. It is no trifling benefit to provide a ready mirror for the young, in which they may see their own best feelings reflected, and ^herein " -yvhatsoever things a;rs honest, whatso- ever things are just, whatsoever things are lovely," are presented to them in the most attractive form. It is no trifling benefit to send abroad strains which may assist in Preparing the heart for its trials, and in supporting it under them. — Southey. The poetry of devotion is the rarest of all poetry. It is sad to think how few, of all tjie po^tg in the English language, have possessed or exhibited the Chjistia,B character, or had the remembrance of their names associated with the thoughts of Christ and His Cross, or the feeliui^'s to which the grqat theme of redemption gives rise in the bosom of a Christian. We may find plenty of the sentimentality of religion, expressed too in beautiful language, but as cold as a winter uight's frost- work on our windows. A few beloved volumes, indeed, have their place in the heart, but they are few ; and of these the praise belongs not exclusively to the genius of poetry, but to a far more precious and elevated spirit — ^the spirit of the Bible. What bosom, that possesses this, does not contain the germ of deep poetry P What poet has ex- perienced its influence, whose song did not breathe an echo of the melodies of paradise? In the true minstrelsy of devotion, there is a higher excellence than that of mere genius. Poetry herself acknow- 12 SPIRIT OF GOD, TEAT MOVED OF OLD. ledges a power which is not in her, and observes a deep and subhme emotion excited which she cannot, unassisted, produce or maintain m the souls of her listeners. When she becoines the handmaid of piety, she finds herself adorned and enriched (in another sense than Virgil's) with a beauty and a wealth that are not her own — " Miratvirque noros fructus, et non sua poma." Sacred Haep. The glowing language and harmonious numbers of poetry exert a powerful influence over the human mind, both in elevating the thoughts and warming the feelings. This power can never be so legitimately employed as in contributing to the purposes of religion, the paramount importance of which demands that every endeavour should be bestowed to recommend it to the understanding and the heart. Convinced of this truth, and encouraged by the example of the inspired poets of the Old Testament and by the injunction of the Apostle Paul, to teach and admonish one another in psalms, and hymns, and spiritual songs, many eminent Christians in modern times have exercised their talents in composing hymns in honour of the great events recorded in Holy Writ, or in giving a poetical dress to some of the remarkable passages with which it abounds, and thereby adapting them for storing the memory with sublime and holy thoughts, or for forming a part in the hallowed praises of the sanctuary. — Bev. H. Stebbing. SPIRIT OF GOD, THAT MOVED OP OLD. Spirit of God, that moved of old Upon the waters' darkened face. Come, when our faithless hearts are cold. And stir them with an inward grace. Thou that art Power and Peace combined, AU highest Strength, aU purest Love, The rushing of the mighty Wind, The brooding of the gentle Dove, — Come, give us still thy powerful aid. And urge us on and keep us Thine, Nor leave the hearts that once were made Pit temples for Thy grace divine : Nor let us quench Thy sevenfold light ; But still with softest breathings stir Our wayward souls — and lead us right, Holy Ghost, the Comforter ! 13 OMNIPEESBNCB. These is an unseen Power around, Existing in the silent air ; Where treadeth man, where space is found. Unheard, unknown, that Power is thex-e. And not when bright and busy day Is round us with its crowds and cares, And not when night, with solemn sway, Bids awe-hushed souls breathe forth in prayers ; Not when on sickness' weary couch, He writhes with pain's deep, long-drawn groan, Not when his steps in freedom touch The fresh green turf — ^is man alone. In proud Belahazzar's gilded hall, 'Mid music, lights, and revelry. That Present Spirit looked on all. From crouching slave to royalty. When sinks the pious Christian's soul, And scenes of horror daunt his eye. He hears it whispered through the air " A Power of Mercy still is nigh." The Power that watches, guides, defends Till man becomes a lifeless sod. Till earth is nought — nought, earthly friends — That omnipresent Power — is Ood. WHBEB IS GOD? Whebe is He ? Ask His emblem, The glorious, glorious sun. Who glads the round world with his beams Ere his day's course is run. Wliere is He ? Ask the stars that keep Their nightly watch on high. Where is He ? Ask the pearly dew. The tear-drops of the sky. Where is He ? Ask the secret founts That feed the boundless deep. The dire simoom, or soft night-breeze That lulls the world to sleep. 1 ! OUB FEET SHALL STAND WITHIN THY GATES. Where is He ? Ask the storm of fire That buT-sts from Etna's wdnib ; And ask the glowing lava flood That makes the lands a tbttit). Where is He ? Ask the Maelstrom's whh-l, Shivering tall pines like glass ; Ask the great oak, the graceful flower. Or simplest blade of grass. Where is He P Ask the B&hemotli, Who drinketh rivers dry; The ocean king Leviathan, Or scarce seen atom fly. Where is He ? Ask the awful calm On mountain-tops that rests ; And boundinff, thundering avalanche, Rent from their rugged crests. Ask the wide-wasting hurricane, Careering in its might ; The thunder crash, the lightning blaze. Earth all convulsed with fight. Where is He ? Ask the crystal isles On Arctic seas that sail ; Or ask from lands of balm and spicey The perfume-breathing gale. Where on the universe is found, That presence-favoured spot ? — All, all proclaim His dwelling-place ! But say, where is He not ? " OTJR PEBT SHALt STAND WITHIN THY GATES." Open now "Thy gates of beauty, Zion, let me enter there, Where my soul in joyful duty Waits for Him who answers pray'r ; Oh, how blessSft is this place, Eill'd with soIaCe, light, and grace ! 0MNIPSE8EN0E OF GOB. 15 Yes, my Grod, I come before Thee, Come Tioil also down to me ; There we find Thee and adore Thee There a heaven on earth must he. To my heart, oh, enter Thou, Let it he Thy temple now. Here Thy praise is gladly chanted, Here Thy seed is duly sown ; Let my soul, where it is planted, Bring forth precious sheaves alone. So that all I hear may he Fruitful unto life in me. Thou my faith increase and quicken, Let me keep Thy gift divine Howsoe'er temptations thicketi ; May Thy word still o'er me shine. As my pole-star through my life. As my comfort in my strife. Speak, God, and I will hear Thee, Let Thy will be done indeed ; May I undisturbed draw near Thee While Thou dost Thy people feed ; Here of life the Fountain flows. Here is halm for all our woes. OMITIPBESBNCE OF GtOD. Above — below — where'er I gaze. Thy guiding fiiget. Lord, I view, Traced in the midnight planets' blaze, Or glistening in the morning dew ; Whate'er is beautiful or fair. Is but Thine own reflection there. I hear Thee in the stormy wind, That turns the ocean wave to foam ; Nor less Thy wondrous power I find, When summer airs around me roam ; The tempest and the calm declare Thyself, for Thou art everywhere, I find Thee iii the depth of night, And read Thy Naine in every star 16 GOB, WSO METEST IN TEINB HAND. That drinks its splendour from the light That flows from mercy's beaming car ; Thy footstool, Lord, each starry gem Composes — not Thy diadem. And when the radiant orb of light Hath tipped the mountain-tops with gold ; Smote with the blaze, my weary sight Shrinks from the wonders I behold ; That rw of glory, bright and fair, Is but Thy hving shadow there. Thine is the silent gloom of night. The twilight eve — the dewy mom ; Whate'er is beautiful and bright, Thine hands have fashioned to adorn. Thy glory walks in every sphere. And all things whisper, " God is here !" O GOD, WHO METEST EST THINE HAND. God, who metest in Thine hand The waters of the mighty sea, And barrest ocean with the sand. By Thy pei-petual decree ; What time the floods lift up their voice, And break in anger on the shore, When deep to deep calls with the noise Of waterspouts and billows' roar ; When they who to the sea go down. And in the waters ply their toU, Are lifted on the surge's crown. And plunged where seething eddies boil ; Bnle then, Lord, the ocean's wrath, And bind the tempest with Thy will ; Tread, as of old, the water's path. And speak Thy bidding, " Peace, be still !" So with Thy mercies ever new Thy servants set from peril free. And bring them, — Pilot wise and true, — Unto the port where they would be. 17 PARAPHRASE ON THE LORD'S PRAYER. Father of all. Eternal Mind, In iinoreated light enshrined. Immensely good and great ; Thy children — formed and blest by Thee,— With filial love and homage, we Fall prostrate at Thy feet. Thy name in hallowed strains be sung. Let every heart and every tongue Thy solemn concert join ; In loving, serving, praising Thee, We find our chief felicity. But cannot add to Thine. Thy righteous, mild, and sovereign reign Throughout creation's ample plain Let every being own ; Lord, in our hearts where passions rude, With fierce, tumultuous rage intrude, Erect Thy peaceful throne. As angels round Thy seat above. With joyful haste and ardent love. Thy blest commands fulfil; So let Thy creatures here below. As far as Thou hast given to know. Perform Thy sacred will. On Thee we day by day depend. Our being's Author, and its end. Our daily wants supply ; With healthful food our bodies feed, Our souls sustain with living bread — Our souls that never die. Extend Thy grace to every fault. Each sinful action, word, or thought. Oh ! let Thy love forgive ; For Thou hast taught our hearts to show Divine forgiveness to our foe Nor let resentment Hve. Where tempting snares bestrew the way. To lead unwary minds astray. Permit us not to tread, Unless Thy gracious aid appear, T' avert the threat'niug evil near, From our unguarded head, c 18 TEE LOBB'S PRAYER IMITATED. Thy sacred name we thus adore, And thus Thy choicest gifts implore Withjoyful humble mind, Because Thy power and glory prove Thy kingdom built on wisdom, love, Unceasing, unconfined. THE LORD'S PRATER IMITATED. Patheb of all ! Eternal Mind ! Immensely good and great ! Thy children — formed and blest by Thee, — Approach Thy heavenly seat. Thy name in hallowed strains be sung ! We join the solemn praise : To Thy great name with heart and tongue. Our cheerful homage raise. Thy mild, Thy wise and sovereign reign. Let every being own ; And in our minds, — Thy work divine,-=- Erect Thy gracious throne. As angels, in the heavenly worlds, Thy blessed commands fulfil. So may Thy creatures here below Perforin Thy holy will. On Thee we day by day depend ; Our daily wants supply; With truth and virtue feed our souls That they may never die. Extend Thy grace to every fault Oh ! let Thy love forgive ; Teach us divine forgiveness too. Nor let resentments live. Where tempting snares bestrew the way. Permit US apt to tread ; Avert the threat'ning evil, far From our unguarded head. Thy sacred name we would adore, With humble, joyful mind ; And praise Thy goodness, power and truth, Eternal, unconfined ! 19 A SACRED MELODY. Be Thou, Godi by night, hj day. My Guide, my Guard from sin, My Life, my Trust, my Light Divine, To keep me pure within ; — Pare as the air, when day's first light A cloudless sky illumes. And active as the lark, that soars Till heaven shine round its plumes. So may my eojil, upon, 'the wings Of faith, unwearied rise. Till at the gate of heaven it sings, 'Midst light from Paradise. m suppBRiisrG. Pathee, Thy will, not mine, be done ; So prayed on earth Thy suffering Son ; So in His name I pray. The spirit faints, the flesh is weak. Thy help in agony I seek. Oh ! take this cup away. If such be not Thy sovereign will, Thy wiser purpose then fulfil ; My wishes I resign ; Into Thy hands my soul commend, On Thee for life or death depend ; Thy will be done, not mine. "WALK IN THE LIGHT." Walk in the light — and thou shalt own Thy darkness past away. Because on thee the light hath shone In which is perfect day. Walk in the light — and sin abhorred Shall not defile again ; The blood of Jesus Christ the Lord Shall cleanse from every stain. c2 20 THE HEAVENLY BEST. Walk in the liglifc— and thou shalt find Thy heart made truly His, Who dwells in cloudless Kght enshrined : In whom no darkness is. Walk in the light — so shalt thou know That fellowship of love His Spirit only can bestow Who reigns in light above. Walk in the light — and follow on Tin faith be turned to sight. Where, in divine communion, God is Himself the light. THE HEAVENLY REST. Theke is an hour of heavenly rest To mournful wanderers given ; There is a tear for souls distrest, A balm for every wounded breast — 'Tis found above — in heaven ! There is a soft, a downy bed, 'Tis sweet as breath of even ; A couch for weary mortals spread, Where they may rest the aching head, And find repose — in heaven ! There is a home for weary souls, By sin and sorrow driven ; When tossed on life's tempestuous shoals. Where storms arise, and ocean rolls. And all is drear — but heaven ! There faith lifts up the tearful eye. The heart with anguish riven ; And views the tempest passing by. The evening shadows quickly fly, And all serene is heaven ! The fragrant flowers immortal bloom. And joys supreme are given; There rays divine disperse the gloom ; r»eyond the confines of the tomb Appears the dawn of heaven ! 21 SWEET BEST. Come, brethren, don't grow weary, But let Tis journey on ; The moments will not tarry, This life will soon be gone. The passing scenes all tell us That death will surely come, These bodies soon will moulder, In th' dark and weary tomb. There is sweet rest in heaven. There is sweet rest in heaven. Loved ones have gone before us. They beckon us away. O'er aerial plains they're soaring. Blest in eternal day ; But we are in the army. And dare not leave our post ; We'E. fight until we conquer The foes' most mighty host. There is sweet rest, &c. Our Captain's gone before us. He kindly calls us home To yonder world of glory. And sweetly bids us come. The world, the flesh, and Satan, Will strive to hedge our way. But we'll o'ercome these powers. If we hourly watch and pray. There is sweet rest, &c. A WISH. Oh for the dreamless rest of those That in the dust serenely sleep — That feel no more their own wild woes, That hear no more their kindred weep ! How blest are those that iu the clay Forget the pangs this being gave ! No fears appal, no hopes betray. The peaceful inmates of the grave. 22 DESIBE FOB HOLINESS. Though near the house of pray'r they lie, They nevet hear the Sabbath-bell ; Nor when the funeral passes by, Start at the dead man's passing kneU. Though whirlwinds wild o'er Nature sweep. Though battles fill the world with woes. Though orphans wail, and widows weep, It ne'er disturbs their calm repose. Though there no coral lips be prest, Though there shall heave no mutual sighs ; No cheek repose on beauty's breast — Tet oh, how still the sleeper lies ! Though there no friendly hand shall stake The hand of friendship any more — What then ? — the heart that wished to break Is broken, and the strife is o'er. No tear-drops o'er the cold cheek start, No dark shades o'er the spirit t^ave ; No writhing pang distracts the heart Of those that moulder in the grave. Oh, for the dreamless rest of those That in the grave serenely sleep — That feel no more their own wild woes. That hear no more their kindred weep ! DESIRE FOR HOLINESS. Oh, could I find from day to day A nearness to my God, Then would my hours glide sweet away, While leaning on His word. Lord, I desire with Thee to live Auew from day to day, In joys the world can never give, Nor ever take away. Blest Jesus, come, and rule my heart, And make me wholly Thine, That I may never mofe depart, Nor grieve Thy love divine. BISGOUBAOED BECAUSE OF THE WAY. 23 Thus, till my last expiring breath, Thy goodness I'U adore ; And when my frame dissolves in death. My soul shall lo?e Thee more. THE CEOWN OF GLOEY. A OBOWN of glory bright, By faith I see ; In yonder realm of light, Prepared for me. Oh, may I faithful prove, And keep the crown in view. And through ttxe storms of lif* My way pursue. Jesus, be Thou my guide. My steps attend ; Oh, keep me near Thy side. Be Thou my friend. Be Thou my shield and sun, My Saviour and my guard j And when my work is done^ My great reward. DISCOUEAGED BECAUSE OE THE WAT. The way seems dark about me — overhead The clouds have long since met in gloomy spread, And, when I looked to see the day break through. Cloud after cloud came up with volume Uew. And in that shadow I have passed alongj Feeling myself grow weak as it grew sti'ong, Walking in doubt, and searching for the way, And often at a stand — as now to-day. And if before me on the path there lies A spot of brightness from imagiUed skies, Imagined shadows fall across it too, And the far future takes the prjiSetit's hue. 3d, JOY IN TEE SOLY GHOST. Perplexities do thi-OBg upon my sight, Like scudding fog-banks, to obscure the light ; Some new dilemma rises every day, And I can only shut my eyes and pray. Lord, I am not sufficient for these things. Give me the light that Thy sweet presence brings ; Give me Thy grace, give me Thy constant strength ; Lord, for my comfort now appear at length. It may be that my way doth seem confused, Because my heart of Thy way is afraid ; Because my eyes have constantly refused To see the only opening Thou hast made. Because my will would cross some flowery plain Where Thou hast thrown a hedge from side to side ; And turneth from the stony walk of pain, Its trouble or its ease not even tried. If thus I try to force my way along — The smoothest road encumbered is for me ; For were I as an angel, swift and strong, I could not go, unless allowed by Thee. And now I pray Thee, Lord, to lead Thy child — Poor wretched wanderer from Thy grace and love ; Whatever way Thou pleasest through the wild, So it but take her to Thy home above. JOY IN THE HOLT GHOST. Thebb is a stream which issues forth From God's eternal throne. And from the Lamb a living stream, Clear as the crystal stone. This stream doth water Paradise, It makes the angels sing. One cordial drop revives my heart. Hence all my joys do spring. Such joys as are unspeakable, And full of glory too ; Such hidden manna, hidden pearls, As worldlings do not know. HYMN. 25 Eye hatli not seen, nor ear hath heard, Prom fancy 'tis concealed, What Thou, Lord, hast laid np for Thine, And hast to me revealed. I see Thy face, I hear Thy voice, I taste Thy sweetest love, My sonl doth leap, but, for wings. The wings of Noah's dove ! Then should I flee from hence away, Leaving this world of sin ; Then should my Lord put forth His hand. And kindly take me in. "EEMEMBEE NOW THY CEEATOE." Rembmbeb thy Creator now. In these thy youthful days. He will accept thy earliest vow. And listen to thy praise. Bemember thy Creator now. And seek Him while He's near. For evil days will come, when thou Shalt find no comfort near. Remember thy Creator now. His willing servant be ; Then when thy head in death shall bow, He will remember thee. Almighty God ! our hearts incline Thy heavenly voice to hear ; Let all our future days be Thine, Devoted to Thy fear. HYMN. Comb, Holy Ghost, our souls inspire. And lighten with celestial fire ; Thou the anointing Spirit art, Who dost Thy sevenfold gifts impart. 26 TEE SAILOR'S EVENING RYMN. Thy blessed unction from above Is comfort, life, and fire of love ; Illumine with perpetual light The darkness of our blinded sight. Anoint and cheer our soilfed face With the abundance of Thy grace ; Keep far our foes, give peace at home ; Where Thou art guide no ill can come. Teach us to know the Father, Son, And Thee, of both, to be but one ; That, through the ages aU along, This still may be our endless song : Praise to Thy eternal merit, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. EVENING HYMN. The day is past and gone. The evening shades appear ; Oh, may we all remember well, The night of death draws near. We lay our garments by, Upon our beds to rest ; So death will soon disrobe us all Of what we here possess. Lord, keep us safe this night. Secure from all our fears ; May angels guard us while we sleep Till morning light appears. And when we early rise, And view th' unwearied Sun; May we set out to win the prize. And after glory run. THE SAILOR'S EVENING HYMN. Long the sun hath gone to rest, Dimrded is now the dee{>ening west. And the sky has lost the hue That the rich clouds o'er it threw j HYMN FOB SATUBDAT BVBNINO. Lonely on the pale bine sky- Gleam faint streaks of crimson dye. Gloriously the evening star Looks upon us from afar 5 Aid us o'er the changeful deep, God of power ; Bless the sailor's ocean-sleep At midnight's hour. On the stilly twilight air "We would breathe our solemn prayer, — Bless the dear ones of our home. Guide us through the wild wave's foam. To the light of those dear eyes. Where our heart's best treasure lies. To the love in one fond breast, That unchanging home of rest ! Hear her wben, at eventide, She kneels to pray That God Would bless, defend,- and guide. Those far away ! Now the moon hath touched the sea, And the waves, all tremblingly. Throw towards heaven their silvery Spray, Happy in the gladdening ray ; Thus, B,edeemer, let Thy love Shine upon us from above : Touched by Thee, our hearts will rise. Grateful towards the glowing skies ', Guard us, shield tis, mighty Lord, Thou dost not sleep ; Still the tempest with Thy word, Kule the deep ! HYMN FOR SATUEDAY EVENING. Anothek week has passed away. Another Sabbath now draws near ; Lord, with Thy blessing crown the day, Which all thy children hold so deaf .' Delivered from its weekly load, How light the happy spirit springs, And soars to Thy divine abode With peace and freedom on its wings. WATCHMAN, WHAT OF THE NIGHT? Now 'tis our privilege to fiBd A short release from all our care ; To leave the world's pursuits behind, And breathe a more celestial air. Lord, those earthly thoughts destroy, Which cling too fondly to our breast ; Through grace prepare us to enjoy The coming hours of hallowed rest. And when Thy word shall set us free From every burden that we bear. Oh ! may we rise to rest with Thee, And hail a brighter Sabbath there. SATURDAY EYENING. Sweet is the last, the parting ray. That ushers placid evening in. When with the still, expiring day, The Sabbath's peaceful hours begin ; How grateful to the anxious breast, The sacred hours of holy rest ! Hushed is the tumult of the day. And worldly cares and business cease. While soft the vesper breezes play, To hymn the glad return of peace ; Delightful season, kindly given, To turn the wandering thoughts to heaven. Oft as this peaceful hour shall come. Lord, raise my thoughts from earthly things. And bear them to my heavenly home. On faith and hope's celestial wings, — Till the last gleam of life decay. In one eternal Sabbath-dm/ ! WATCHMAN", WHAT OF THE NIGHT? Sat, watchman, what of the night P Do the dews of the morning fall P Have the orient skies a border of light. Like the fringe of a funeral pall ? TEB MORNING STAB. " The night is fast waning on high, And soon shall the darkness flee, And the morn shall spread o'er the blushing sky. And bright shall its glories be." But, watchman, what of the night. When sorrow and pain are mine, And the pleasures of life, so sweet and bright, No longer around me shine P " That night of sorrow thy. soul May surely prepare to meet. But away shall the clouds of thy heaviness roll. And the morning of joy be sweet." But, watchman, what of the night, When the arrow of death is sped. And the grave, which no glimmering star can light, Shall be my sleeping bed ? " That night is near, and the cheerless tomb Shall keep thy body in store. Till the morn of eternity rise on the gloom. And night shall be no more !" THE MOENDSTG STAE. Star of the mom, whose placid ray Beamed mildly o'er yon sacred hill. While whispering zephyrs seemed to say, As silence slept, and earth was still. Hail, harbinger of Gospel light ! Dispel the shades of Nature's night ! I saw thee rise on Salem's towers, I saw thee shine on Gospel lands. And Gabriel summoned all his powers And waked to ecstasy his bands ; Sweet cherubs hailed thy rising ray, And sang the dawn of Gospel day ! Shine, lovely star, on every clime. For bright thy peerless beauties be, GUd with thy beam the wing of time, And shed thy rays from sea to sea ; Then shall the world from darkness rise. Millennial glories cheer our eyes ! 30 THE BEAOON. The scene was more beautiful far, to my eye, Than if day in its pride had arrayed it ; The land-breeze blew mild, and the azure-9,rched sky Looked pure as the Spirit that made it. The murmur arose, as I silently gazed On the shadowy waves' playful motion ; From the dim distant isle till the beaoon-firg blazed Like a star in the midst of the ocean. No longer the joy of the sailor-boy's breast Was heard in his wildly-breathed numbers ; The sea-bird had flown to her wave-girded nest. The fisherman sunk to his slumbers. I sighed as I looked from the hills' gentle slope ; All hushed was the billows' commotion ; And I thought that the beacon looked lovely as Hope, That star of life's tremulous ocean. The time is long past, and the scene is afar, Tet, when my head rests on its pillow. Win memory sometimes rekindle the star That blazed on the breast of the billow. In Kfe's closing hour, when the trembling soul flies. And dpath ^ills the soul's l3,st emotiQi}, O then may tJje seraph of mercy arise, Like a, ^^x on eternity'^ pce^u. ADTENT OF THE MESSIAH, AJSD GLORIES OF HIS kutgpom, Isaiah xUl. 1-13. Behold my Servant ! see him rise Exalted in my might ! Him have I chosen, and in him I place supreme delight. On him, in rich effusion poured. My Spirit shall descend ; My tiTith and judgment he shall show To earth's remotest end. ADVENT OF TEE MES8IAR. 31 Gentle and still shall be his voice, No threats from him proceed ; The smoking flax he shall not quench, Nor break the bruisfed reed. The feeble spark to flames he'll raise ; The weak wUl not despjse ; Judgment he shall bring forth to truth. And make the fallen rise, The progress gf his zeal and pow'r Shall never know decline, Till foreign lands and distant isles Receive the law divine. He who erected heav'u's bright arch. And bade the planets roll, Who peopled all the climes of earth, And formed the human soul. Thus saith the Lord, Thee have I raised. My prophet thee instal ; In right I've raised thee, and in strength I'll succour whom I call. I will establish with the lands A covenant in thee. To give the Gentile nations light. Ari d get the pris'ners free. Asunder burst the gates of brass ; The iron fetters fall ; And gladsome light and liberty Are gtraight restored to all. I am the Lord, and by the name Of great Jehovah known ; !No idol shall usurp my praise. Nor mount into my throne. Lo ! former scenes, predicted once, Oonspiouous rise to view ; And future scenes, predicted now. Shall be accomplished too. Sing to the Lord in joyful strains ! Let earth His praise resound, Ye who upon the ocean dwell, And fill the isles around ! 32 THOSE ETERNAL BOWEBS. city of the Lord ! begin The universal song ; And let the scattered villages The cheerful notes prolong. Let Kedar's wilderness afar Lift up its lonely voice ; And let the tenants of the rock With accents rude rejoice: Till 'midst the streams of distant lands The islands sound His praise ; And all combined, with one accord, Jehovah's glories raise. THOSE ETERNAL BOWERS. Those eternal bowers Man hath never trod, Those unfading flowers Round the throne of God : Who may hope to gain them After weary fight ? Who at length attain them, Clad in robes of white ? He who gladly barters All on earthly ground; He who, like the martyrs. Says, " I wiU be crowned i" He vmose one oblation Is a life of love. Clinging to the nation Of the blest above. Shame upon you, legions Of the heavenly King, Denizens of regions Past imagining ! What ! with pipe and tabor Fool away the light P When He bids you labour — When He tells you, " Fight !" GBACI0U8 INVITATION TO PERISHING SINNERS. 33 While we do our duty, Struggling through the tide. Whisper Thou of beauty On the other side ! Oh, heed not the story Of this Ufe's distress : Oh, the fxiture glory ! Oh, the loveliness ! MANIFESTATION OF GHEIST TO THE GENTILES. Whbu, on the midnight of the East, At the dead moment of repose. Like hope on misery's darkened breast. The planet of salvation rose, — The shepherd, leaning o'er his flocks. Started with broad and upward gaze — Kneeled — while the Star of Bethlehem broke On music wakened into praise. The Arabian sage, to hail our King, With Persia's star-led magi comes ; And all, with reverent homage bring Their gifts of gold and odorous gums. If heathen sages, from afar. Followed, when darkness round them spread. The kindling glories of that star, And worshipped where its radiance led, — Shall we, for whom that star was hung In the dark vault of frowning heaven, — Shall we, for whom that strain was sung. That song of peace and sin forgiven,^ Shall we, for whom the Saviour bled, Careless his banquet's"blessings see. Nor heed the parting word that said " Do this in memory of me ?" GEACIOUS INVITATION TO PBEISHING SINNERS TO COMB UNTO OHEIST, AND EBOBIVB THE BENEFITS OF KEDBMPTION. Isaiah Iv. Ho ! ye that thirst, approach the spring Where living waters flow ; Free to that sacred fountain, all ■^Vithout a price may go. V 94 GBAOI0U8 INVITATION TO PERISHING SINNJEBS. How long to streams of false delight Will ye in crowds repair ? How long your strength and substance waste On trifles light as air ? My stores afford those rich supplies That health and pleasure give : Incline your ear and come to me; The soul that hears shall Hve. With you a opr'nantl will make, l!hat ever shall endure ; The hope which gladdened David's h^art My mfetcy hath made surd. Behold He comes ! your leader conies ; With might and honour crowned 5 A witness who shall spread my name To fearth's remotest bound. See : nations hasten to His call Ptom ev'ry distant shore ; Isles, yet unknown, shall bow to Him, And Israel's God adore. Seek ye the Lord while yet His ear Is open to your call ; While offered mercy still is near. Before His footstool fall. Let sinners quit their evil ways, Their evil thoughts forego, And God, when they to Him return, Beturning grace will show. He pardons with o'erflowing love ; For, hear the voice divine ! " My natttte is not like to yours, Nor like your ways are Mine : " But far as heaveil's resplendent orbs Beyond earth's spot extendi As far my thoughts, as far my ways, Your ways and thoughts transcend. " And as the rains from heaven distil. Nor thither mount again, But swell the eaJth with fruitful juice, Aud all its tribes sustain : TBUST In god. 35 " So not a -word that flows from ma Shall ineffectual fall ; But universal nature prove Obedient to my nail. " With joy and peace Shall then be led The glad converted Itads : The lofty mountains then shall feing, The forests clap their hands. " Where briers grew 'midst barren, wilds, Shall firs and myrtles spring ; And Nature, through its lltmdst bouuds. Eternal praises sing.' TEUST IN GOD TOTDER SEVEEE EARTHLY PRIVATIONS. HAbakkxik iii. 17-18. What tlibugh no flowers the fig-tree clothe, 'Though vines thejr fruit deny. The labour of the olive fail. And fields ho meat siipply ? Thpijgh from the fold, with sad Surprise My flock cut off I see ; Though fatDine pine in errlpty stdiUs, Where herds were wont to be ? Tet in the Lofd will t be glad. And glory ill His love ; In Him I'll joy, who will the God Of my salvation prove. He to my tardy feet shall leiid The swiftness of the foe ; Till, raised on high, I safely dwell Beyohd the reach of woe. God is the treasure of my soul, The source of lasting joy ; A joy which want shall not impair. Nor death itself destroy. 3j2 86 IMITATION OF CHRIST'S HUMILITY. Philippians ii. 6-12. Ye who the name of Jesus bear, His sacred steps pursue ; And let that mind which was in Him Be also found in you. Though in the form of God He was. His only Son declared. Nor to be equally adored As robb'ry did regard ; His greatness He for us abased, For us His glory veiled ; In human likeness dwelt on earth. His majesty concealed; Nor only as a man appears, But stoops a servant low : Submits to death, nay, bears the cross, In all its shame and woe. Hence God this gen'rous love to men With honours just hath crowned, And raised the name of Jesus far Above all names renowned : That at this name, with sacred awe. Each humble knee should bow, Of hosts immortal in the skies. And nations spread below ; That all the prostratepow'rs of hell Might tremble at His word, And ev'ry tribe, and ev'ry tongue. Confess that He is Lord. ONLY WAITING. (A very aged man, in an almshouse, was asked what he was doing now ? He replied, " Only Waiting.") Only waiting till the shadows Are a little longer grown ; Only waiting till the glimmer Of the day's last beam is flown ; SUBMISSION UNDER AFFLICTION. 37 Till the night of earth ia faded From the heart once full of day ; Till the stars of heaven are breaking Through the twilight soft and grey. Only waiting till the reapers Have the last sheaf gathered home, For the summer time is faded, And the antumn winds have come ; Qiiickly, reapers ! gather quickly The last ripe hours of my heart. For the bloom of life is withered, And I hasten to depart. Only waiting tUl the angels Open wide the mystic gate, By whose side I long, have lingered. Weary, poor, and desolate ; Even now I hear the footsteps. And their voices far away ; If they caU me, I am waiting, Only waiting to obey. Only waiting till the shadows Are a little longer grown ; Only waiting till the glimmer Of the day's last beam is flown : Then from out the gathering darkness Holy, deathless stars shafl rise, By whose light my soul shall gladly, Tread the pathway to the sMes. SUBMISSION UNDEE AFFLICTION INCULCATED FROM THE EXAMPLES OF CHRIST. Hebkbws xii. 1-lS. Behold what witnesses unseen Encompass us around ; Men, once like us, with sufE'ring tried. But now with glory crowned. Let us, with zeal like theirs inspired. Begin the Christian race, And, freed from each encumb'ring weight. Their holy footsteps trace. 38 SUBMISSION UNDBB AFFLIOTIQ^ Behold a witness nobler still, Who trod affliction's path, Jfisus, at onoe the finisher And author of our f aitk. He for the joy before Him set, So gen'rous was His love, Endured the cross, despised the sh^me, And now He reigns ^.bo.ye, If He the scorn of picked men "With patience did sustain, Becomes it thoss fpr whom He died To mnrinur or complain ? Have ye like Him to blood, to death, The c^iuse of truth maintained P And is your heay'nly Father's vpice Torgptten or 4isd^ined ? " My son," saith He, " with patient mind Endnre the chast'ning rod j Believe, when by afflictions tried. That thou art loved by God." His children thus most dear to Him, Their heav'nly Father trains, Through all the hard experience led Of sorrows and of pains. We know- He owns us for His sons. When we correction share ; K or wander as an alien race, Without our Father's care. A father's voice with rev'rencB we On earth have oftpn heard ; The i'ather of our spirits now Demands the same regard. Parents may err ; but He is wise. Nor lifts the Sod in vain ; His chast'nings serve to cure the soul By salutary pain. Affliction, when it spreads around. May seem a field of woe ; Yfit there, at last, the happy fruits Of righteousness shall grow. GLOBY AND HONOUB. 39 Then let our hearts no more despond. Our hands be weak no more ; Still let us trust our Father's love, His wisdom still adore. BLESS US TO-NIGHT. Fathee, of love and power, Guard Thou our evening-hour, Shield with Thy migbt. For all Thy care this day Our grateful thanks we pay, And to our Father pray, Bless us to-night. Jesus Emmanuel, Oome in Thy love to dwell In hearts contrite; For many sins we grieve. But we Thy grace receive, And in Thy word believe, Bless us to-night. Spirit of truth and love, Life-giving holy Dove, Shed forth Thy Hght; Heal every sinner's smart. Still every throbbing heart, And Thine own peace impart, Bless us to-night. GLORY AND HONOUR ASCRIBED TO THE REDEEMER. Eevelations i. 5-9. To Him that loved the souls of men, And washed us in His blood, To royal honours raised our head, And made us priesljs to God ; To Him let every tongue be praise, And every heart be love ! All grateful honours paid on earth, And nobler songs above ! 40 UEJOIGE WITS THEM THAT BO REJOICE. Behold, on flying clouds He comes ! His saints shall bless the day ; While they that pierced him sadly mourn In anguish and dismay. I am the First, and I the Last ; Time centres all in me ; Th' Almighty God, who was, and is. And evermoi-e shall be. «MT SOUL THIRSTETH FOR GOD." Thotj hidden love of God, whose height, Whose depth unfathomed no man knows ; I see from far Thy beauteous light. Inly I sigh for Thy repose ; My heart is pained, nor can it be At rest, till it find rest in Thee. Is there a thing beneath the sun That strives with Thee my heart to share ? Ah ! tear it thence, and reign alone. The Lord of every motion there ! Then shall my heart from earth be free, When it hath found repose in Thee. Lord, Thy sovereign aid impart, To save me from low-thoughted care ; Chase this self-will through aU my heart. Thro' all its latent mazes there ! Make me Thy duteous child, that I Ceaseless may " Abba, Father," cry. Each moment draw from earth away My heart, that lowly waits Thy call : Speak to my inmost soul, and say, " I am thy Love, thy God, thy All !" To feel Thy powe*', to hear Thy voice. To taste Thy love, be all my choice. 'REJOICE WITH THEM THAT DO REJOICE." EoMANS xii. 15. Loud, give me freely to rejoice When others' joys I see. E'en though the brightness of their lot Extendoth not to me. BLESSED ABE TBEY THAT HAVE NOT SEEN. 41 Give me a heart from envy free, A heart o'erflowed with love, That I may praise for all the joy That Cometh from above. Grant me not only to possess Contentment with my lot, But sympathy and joy with those Who have what I have not. Grant me to love mankind so dear. That when their good I see. Each blessing, as it lights on them, May fall, a joy, on me ! 'Tis good to weep with those who weep. But oft the tears we shed Are selfish, and self-pitying tears. Though dropped o'er others' dead. But in rejoicing with the glad. The troubles of ov/r lot— Self — ^with its murmurs and its wants — Must be, in love, forgot. Then, O my God, let me rejoice when others' joy I see. Even although upon my life The sunlight may not be ! "BLESSED ARE THEY THAT HAVE NOT SEEN, AND YET HAVE BELIEVED." John xx. 29. From the German. We saw Thee not, when Thou didst tread, O Saviour, this our sinful earth ; Nor heard Thy voice restore the dead, And waken them to second birth ; Yet we believe that Thou didst come. And quit for us Thy glorious home. We were not with the faithful few. Who stood Thy bitter cross around ; Nor heard Thy prayer for those who slew. Nor felt that earthquake rock the ground. We saw no spear-wound pierce Thy side. But we believe that Thou luxst died. 42 THIJ, BBIQBT AND MORNING STAB. No angel's message met our ear, Ou tliat first glorious Ea,ster day-; " The Lord is riseu. He is not liere ; " Come see tte pls^ce where Jesus lay." But we believe that Thou didst quell The banded powers of earth and hell. We saw Thee not return on high ; And now, our longing sight to bless, No ray of jglory from the sky Shittes down upon our wilderness ; , But we believe that Thou art there, And seek Thee, Lord, in praise and prayer. THE BRIGHT AND MORNING STAR. The last sand from time's hour-glass Shall soon disappear. And like .vapour shall vanish This old rolling sphere. On the floor like the ohafE-stream In the dark wintry day, From the fan of destruction Shall suns drift away. And the meteors of glory Which 'wQder the wise. Only gleam till we open In true worlds our eyes. But aloft in God's heaven, There blazeth a star. And I live while I'm watching Its light from afar. From its lustre immortal My soul caught the spark. Which shall beam on undying When sunshine is dark. So transforming its radiance Its strength so benign. Dull clay burns a ruby. And man grows divine. RETURN, AND COME TO GOD. 43 To the zenitli ascended, From Joseph's dark tomb, Star of Jesse ! so rivet My gaze through the gloom, That Thy beauty imbibing, My dross may refine. Till in splendour reflected I burn and I shine. "HIDE ME UNDER THE SHADOW OF THY WINGS.' Still nigh me, my Saviour, stand. And guard in fierce temptation's hour ; Hide in the hollow of Thy hand ; Show forth in me Thy saving power : Still be Thine arm my sure defence. Nor earth nor hell shall pluck me thence. In suffering be Thy love my peace ! In weakness be Thy love my power ! And when the storms of life shall cease, JesuS, in that important hour. In death, as life, be Thou my guide. And save me, who for me hast died. RETUEN, AND COMB TO &0D. Return, and come to G-od ; Oast all your sins away ; Seek ye the Saviour's cleansing blood ; Repent, believe, obey ! Say not ye cannot come ; — For Jesus bled and died. That none who seek in humble faith Should ever be denied. Say not ye will not come ; 'Tis God vouchsafes to call ; And fearful will their end be found On whom His wf ath shall fall. Come, then, whoever will i Oome, while 'tis called to-day ; Seek ye the Saviour's cleansing blood ; Repent, believe, obey. u THE FAMILY ALTAE. The rioh are poor or vainly stored Without the Lord. 0, give us, Lord, Thy grace to see Our debt to Thee! When we are tempted, be Thou near To guide and cheer ; Tea, make our duty our delight By day and night. Dear ones that wont to bend the knee. Have gone to Thee, And left to us an empty chair, And grief to bear. Friends come and go, they must depart ; But stiU Thou abt ; And as Thou art their Lord the same, Our grief we tame. And hear Thee in the wind that waves Their grass-green graves. Proclaim the Besuirection life The end of strife ; And as the vict'ry Thou hast won Thy will be done ! While in this wilderness below, Before we go. To guide, to comfort, and defend. Thou heavenly Friend ! And when the awful shore is passed And safe at last. We shaJl, within the happy place. Declare Thy grace. Then, then the song through heaven shall ring None else can sing ; While angels bending to the ground Drink in the sound. O, hallowed be Thy Name on earth Round every hearth ! Though Thou art hidden in the skies We're in Thine eyes ; Thy " ever plenty-dropping hand" Makes fat the land ; And that our prayers ascend to Thee, And answered be, Triumphed hast Thou o'er death and hell And rent the veil ; And made us priests and heirs to Grod All by Thy blood. 45 THE DELUGE, The judgment was at hand. Before the sun Gathered tempestuous clouds, which, blackening, spread Until their blended masses overwhelmed The hemisphere of day : and, adding gloom To night's dark empire, swift from zone to zone Swept the vast shadow, swallowing up all light And covering the encircling firmament As with a mighty paE. ! Low in the dust Bowed the affrighted nations, worshipping. Anon the o'ercharged garners of the storm Burst with their growing burden ; fierce and fast Shot down the ponderous rain, a sheeted flood That slanted not before the baffled winds. But, with an arrowy and unwavering rush. Dashed hissing earthward. Soon the rivers rose. And roaring fled their channels ; and calm lakes Awoke exulting from their lethargy, And poured destruction on their peaceful shores. The lightning flickered in the deluged air. And feebly through the shout of gathering waves Muttered the stifled thunder. Day nor night Ceased the descending streams ; and if the gloom A little brightened, when the lurid morn Eose on the starless midnight, 'twas to show The lifting up of waters. Bird and beast Forsook the flooded plains, and wearily The shivering multitudes of human doomed Toiled up before the insatiate element. Oceans were blent, and the leviathan Was borne aloft on the ascending seas To where the eagle nestled. Mountains now Were the sole land-marks, and their sides were clothed With clustering myriads, from the weltering waste Whose surges clasped them, to their topmost peaks, Swathed in the stooping cloud. The hand of death Smote millions as they climbed ; yet denser grew The crowded nations, as the encroaching waves Narrowed their little world. And in that hour Did no man aid his fellow. Love of life Was the sole instinct ; and the strong-limbed son. With imprecations, smote the palsied sire That clung to him for succour. Woman trod 46 THE DELUGE. With -wavering steps the precipice's brow, And found no arm to grasp on the dread verge O'er which she leaned and trembled. Selfisliness § at like an incubus on every hegit, iaothering the voice of love. The giant's foot Was on th^ stripling's neck ; ai^d oft despair Grapple.d fhe r^ady steel, and kindred blood Polliiwd the last remnant of tliat earth Which God was deluging to purify. Huge monsters from the plains, whose ^ieletons The mildqw of succeeding centuries Has failed to crumble, with unwieldy strength Crushed through the solid crowds ; and fiercest birds Beat downwards by the ever-rushing rain. With blinded eyes, drenched plumes, and trailing wings, Staggered unconscious o'er the trampled prey. The mountains were submerged ; the batrier chains That mapped out nations sank ; ilntU at length One Titan peak alone o'ertopped the waves. Beaconing a sunken world. And of the tribeg That blackened every alp, one man survived : And he stood shuddering, helpless, shelterless. Upon that fragment of the universe. The surges of the universal sea Broke on his naked feet. On his grey head. Which fear, not time, had siLvered, the black cloud Poured its unpitying torrents ; while around, In the green twilight dimly visible. Boiled the grim legions of the ghastly drownedj And seemed to beckon with their tossing arms Their brother to his doom. He smote his brow; And, maddened, would have leapt to their embrace ; When, lo ! before him, riding on the deepj Loomed a vast fabric, and familiar soiulds Proclaimed that it was peopled. Hope once more Cheered the wan outcast, and imploringly He stretched his arms forth toward the floating walls. And cried aloud for mercy. But his prayer Man might not answer, whom his God condemned. The ark swept onward, and the billows rose And buried their last victim ! Then the gloom Broke from the face of heaven, and sunU^t streamed Upon the shoreless sea, and on the roof That rose for shelter o'or the living germ Whose increase should repopulate a world. 47 HAGAE, AND ISHMAEL. The promised seed is born, — no Ishmael now Win share a father's smiles with Sarah's child ; And Hagar with her son must wander far Across the dreary solitary wild. Ere she departs one proud disdainful glance She throws on all around ; yet in her eye The tear-drop gathers, as she sees her child Tip to his father's face gaze wistfully. No angry, galling word to him she speaks, But bends her o'er the silent wond'ring boy, While the big tears that trickle down her cheeks Tell of a mother's inward agony. MOSES IN THE BULEUSHES. Beside the river's brink. Where tall the rushes grew, She gently laid him dowii. And, weeping, then withdrew To some secluded spot. Where she intent could view What there might him befall. What danger might accrue. But long she did not wait. For she at length espied King Pha,raob's daughter come Down by the river's side To bathe, as custom was With that illustrious fair. And from pollution cleanse Her form so noble, there. When to the place she came. The ark it caught her eye, She to her servants said, " See yonder what doth lie Afloat upon the wave, Where those tall rushes are ? — Some dark, mysterious thing Lies hidden surely there. My maidens, haste and see What this strange thing can mean." Her servants heard and went. And to the ark they came, 48 MOSES IN TEE BULBUSHE8. How great was their surprise When they the sight beheld : An infant-lying there, — A lovely Hebrew child. The tender infant wept, The princess felt its smart, She gently took him np. And pressed him to her heart. Unlike her noble sire. Who wickedly decreed That every male should die, Born of the Hebrew seed. Like some kind mother, she Beheld the helpless babe. And thought within herself His life, how shall I save ? I'll take him as mine own. And he my son shall be. And at my father's court He there shall dwell with me. In aJl the arts and skill Of Egypt's sacred lore, I'll fitly train him up, Its mysteries to explore ; His name I'll Moses call. To signify and show. That from the rippling wave His tender form I drew. And while she mused thus, Tonng Miriam forward came. And seemed as if she would Some information gain ; And with a modest look She to the princess said, " Shall I a woman seek To nurse the tender babe ?" " Yes, little maiden, go, A Hebrew woman bring :" But least did she suspect That Miriam knew the thing. With eager haste she ran The joyful news to tell, That for the lovely babe AU things were working well. TEFj BBSTBOYING angel. 49 When to lier home she came, The story she made known, The mother clasped her hands, And cried, " God's will be done !" Then with a heartfelt joy, Such as a mother feels, She to the princess hastes, And in her presence kneels. The princess then to her In sweetest accents said, " See you this lovely child — This tender, darhng babe : To your maternal care, Committed he shall be ; Take him and bring him up, And nurse him well for me : Such wages I will pay As you of me demand, And when he's fully grown I'll take him from your hand." And safely lodged once more Upon its mother's breast. The tender infant sleeps, And takes its wonted rest. But through the vista years. What noble form is seen. What sweetness in his looks. And majesty serene P 'Tis he — the helpless babe, A conqueror become ; 'Tis he — ^the man of God, Conducting Israel home. THE DESTROYING ANGEL. " To your homes," said the leader of Israel's host, " And slaughter a sacrifice ; Let the life-blood be sprinkled on each door-post. Nor stir till the morn arise ; And the Angel of Vengeance shall pass you by. He shall see the red stain, and shall come not nigh Where the hope of your household hes." 50 THE DEATH OF OOLIATH. The people hear, and they bow them low — Each to his house has flown ; The lamb is slain, and with blood they go, And sprinkle the lintel stone ; And the doors they close when the sun hath set, But few in oblivious sleep forget The judgment to be done. 'Tis midnight — yet they hear no sound Along the lone still street ; No blast of a pestilence sweeps the ground. No tramp of unearthly feet. Nor rush as of harpy -wing goes by. But the calm moon floats in the cloudless sky, 'Mid her wan light clear and sweet. Once only, shot like an arrowy ray, A pale-blue flash was seen ; It passed so swift, the eye scarce could say That such a thing had been : Yet the beat of every heart was stiU, And the flesh crawled fearfully and chill. And back flowed every vein. The courage of Israel's bravest quailed At the view of that awful light. Though knowing the blood of their oflfering availed To shield them from its might : They felt 'twas the Spirit of Death had passed. That the brightness they saw his cold glance had cast On Egypt's land that night. Wail, King of the Pyramids ! Death hath cast His shafts through thine empire wide. But o'er Israel in bondage his rage hath passed. No first-born of hers hath died — Go, Satrap ! command that the captive be free. Lest their God in fierce anger should smite even thee. On the crown of thy purple pride. TKE DEATH OF GOLIATH. His heart is cold,xhis head is low, And bis pride of strength departed ; Withered in death the dauntless brow. And the look that terror darted. FBAYEB. 51 Oh ! Elah's vale is red witli gore, And steel with steel is clashing ; But where is he who rushed before. Like a flame through the columns dashing ? Young hero of Elah ! did sleep Thy sword in its scabbard that morning ? No — many a maiden shall weep When she sees not her lover returning. And many a widow lament The chariot wheels delaying Of the lord of her heart, thou hast sent To his long sleep, thy prowess displaying ! Te daughters of Israel rejoice. With tabret and wild cymbals sounding ; And raised be the loveliest voice. The fame of the hero resounding. But vainly the sword of the brave Might flash, like the meteor gleaming. Had the Lotd not arisen to save His chosen from slavery redeeming ! But hush ! — for the scoffer's at hand. And the spirit of song hath departed ; Oh ! 'tis strange in a far distant ]a.nd. That my harp from its willow is parted ! PKATBR. Go when the morning shineth, Go when the noon is bright, Go when the eve declineth, Go in the hush of night ; Go with pure mind and feeUng, Fling earthly thoughts away, And, in thy chamber kneeling, Do thou in secret pray. Eemember all who love thee, All who are loved by thee. Pray, too, for those who hate thee. If any such there be : e2 52 THE MATIN SOUB OF PBAYEB. Then for thyself, in meekness, A blessing humbly claim. And link with each petition Thy great Eedeemer's name. Or if 'tis e'er denied thee In solitude to pray. Should holy thoughts come o'er thee When friends are round thy way ; E'en then the silent breathing, The spirit raised above, Will reach His throne of glory Who's mercy, truth, and love. Oh ! not a joy nor blessing With this can we compare. The power that He hath given us To pour our souls in prayer ! Whene'er thou pin'st in sadness. Before His footstool faU ; Eemember in thy gladness His love who gave thee all. THE MATnsr HOUR OF PRATER. This cool and fragrant hour of prime, Unvexed by life's intrusive care. My matin hour of praise shall be — Sweet, solitary praise and prayer. 'Twill gird my spirit for the fight. The glare, the strife of this world's way ; Weak, tempted, weary, lone, and sad, 'Tis never, never vain to' pray. This cool and fragrant hour of prime : The silent stars are fading quite ; The moist air gently stirs the leaves. Dew-laden, to the breaking light. The stillness, the repose, the peace. They win the quiet soul away, To visit that elysian world Where breaketh an eternal day. TEH TIME FOB PRAYEB. 53 Ere falls tlie stealing step of dawn, The night's soft dew, on her brown wings, Upriseth from her nest the lark. And, soaring to the sunlight, sings. Thus may my sonl sing on, and soar Where sight tracks not her flight sublime, Morn, noon, sweet eve, and ever in This cool and fragrant hour of pi-ime. For though the world enclose me round, Strong Faith can carry me abroad Where shines my home — Jerusalem, The glorious dwelling-place of God ! Then let my soul sing on, and soar Above the world, beyond all time. And dwell in that pure light, and breathe The air from that celestial clime. Sing on, and soar ! sing on, and soar ! Till through the crystal gates of heaven — No longer closed in upper skies — Thou enter in to sing — Forgiven ! THE TIME FOE PRATER. When is the time for prayer ? With the first beams that light the morning sky. Ere for the toils of day thou dost prepare. Lift up thy thoughts on high ; Commend thy loved ones to His watchful care : — Morn is the time for prayer ! And in the noontide hour. If worn by toil, or by sad cares opprest. Then unto God thy spirit's sorrow pour. And He will give thee rest : Thy voice shall reach Him through the fields of air :- Noon is the time for prayer ! When the bright sun hath set — Whilst yet eve's glowing colours deck the skies^ When with the loved, at home, again thou'st met, Then let thy prayer arise For those who in thy joys and sorrows share : — Eve is the time for prayer ! HYMN TO VIBTUE. And when the stars come forth — ■ When to the trusting heart sweet hopes are given, And the deep stillness of the hour gives birth To pure, bright dreams of heaven — ' Kneel to thy God, ask strength life's ills to bear : — Night is the time for prayer ! When is the time for prayer ? In every hour, while life is spared to thee — In crowds or solitude, in joy or care — Thy thoughts should heavenward fle,e. At home — at morn and eve — with loved ones there. Bend thou the knee in prayer ! THE SETTING SUN. That setting sun ! that setting sun ! What scenes, since first its race begun, Of varied hue its eye hath seen, Which are as they had never been. That setting sun ! full many a gaze Hath dwelt upon its fading rays With sweet, according thought sublime. In every age and every clime ! 'Tis sweet to mark thee, sinking slow The ocean's fabled caves below ; And when th' obscuring night is done, To see thee rise, sweet setting sun. So, when my pulses cease to play. Serenely close my evening ray. To rise again, death's slumber done. Glorious like thee, sweet setting sun! HYMN TO VIRTUE. Ever lovely and benign, Endowed with energy divine — HaU ! Virtue, hail ! From thee proceed The great design, the heroic deed, The heart that melts for human woes, Valour and truth, and calm repose. EYMN TO VIRTUE. 55 Thougli fortune fro\yn, ilioiigli fate prepare Her shafts, and wake corroding care, Though, wrathful clouds involve the skies, Though lightnings glare and storms arise, In vain, to shake the guiltless soul. Changed fortune frowns and thunders roll. Pile, avarice, thy yellow hoard ; Spread, luxury, thy costly board ; Ambition, crown thy head with bays ; Let sloth recline on beds of ease ; Admired, adored, let beauty roll The magic eye that melts the soul ; Unless, with purifying fires. Virtue the conscious soul inspires. In vain, to bar intruding woe, Wealth, fame, and power, and pleasure flow. To me thy sovereign gift impart. The resolute, unshaken heart, To guide me from the flowery way Where pleasure tunes her syren lay : Deceitful path, where shame and care The poisonous shaft concealed prepare ! And shield me with thy gen'rous pride, When fashion scoff's and fools deride. Ne'er let ambition's meteor ray Mislead my reason, and betray My fancy with the gilded dream Of hoarded wealth and noisy fame ; But let my soul, consenting, flow, Compassionate of other's woe. Teach me the kind, endearing art To heal the mourner's broken heart — To ease the rankling wounds of care. And soothe the frenzy of despair. So, lovely virgin, may I gain Admission to thy hallowed fane, Where peace of mind of eye serene, Of heavenly hue and placid mien, Leads, smiling, thy celestial choir, And smites the consecrated lyre. And may that minstrelsy, whose charm Can rage, and grief, and care disarm, Can passion's lawless force control, Soothe, melt, and elevate my soul ! 56 THE BODY AND THE SOUL. What is the body P — fragile, frail As vegetation'^ tenderest leaf ; Transient as April's fitful gale. And as the flashing meteor brief. What is this soul ? eternal mind, Unlimited as thought's vast range, By grovelling matter unconfined — The same, while states and empires change. When long this miserable frame Has vanished from life's busy scene. This earth shall roll, that sun shall flame. As though this dust had never been. When suns have waned, and worlds sublime Their final revolutions told. This soul shall triumph over time, As though such orbs had never rolled. THE WORLD WE HAVE NOT SEEN. There is a world we have not seen. That time shall never dare destroy, Where mortal footstep hath not been, Nor ear hath caught its sounds of joy. There is a region lovelier far Than sages tell or poets sing. Brighter than summer beauties are. And softer than the tints of spring. There is a world — and, oh, how blest ! Fairer than prophets ever told ; And never did an angel guest One half its blessedness unfold. It is all holy and serene, The land of glory and repose ; And there, to dim the radiant scene, The tear of sorrow never flows. It is not fanned by summer gale, 'Tis not refreshed by vernal showers ; It never needs the moonbeam pale, For there are known no evening houra. SUNSET AMONG THE ALPS. 57 No ; for this world is ever bi-iglit With a pure radiance all its own ; The streams of uncreated light Flow round it from the Eternal Throne. There forms that mortals may not see, Too glorious for the eye to trace, And clad in peerless majesty, Move with unutterable grace. In vain the philosophic eye May seek to view the fair abode. Or find it in the curtained sky : — It is the Dwelling-place of God ! SUNSET AMONG THE ALPS. Thotj who hast Thine altar made On every mountain's brow ; Whose temple is the forest's shade, Its arch the forest's bough ; Thou hast ever listened when we prayed, And Thou wilt hear us now. Full kingly is Thy royal grace On the wide world poured forth ; From the sunny south, " in pride of place,'' To the icy-girded north. The glorious beauty of Thy face Doth shine upon the earth. To each — to all — Thy bounty flows, FuU, boundless, deep, and free ; Thou hast flowers for earth, and stars for heaven, And gems for the blue sea ; And for us our everlasting hills, And hearts which dauntless he. More hast Thou given, God, yet more Than our spirits true and bold. And our mighty mountain sentinels, Those v/atchers stern and old — The shadow of a glorious pg,st Our memory doth enfold. 58 PBOVIBENOE. That little band of shepherd men Who left their flocks with Thee, And, strong in heart, went boldly forth To make our mountains free — Thy hand was with their steadfast worth, And they won the victory. And they, the saints of later time, Who dwelt in places lone. And wandering exiles for their faith, Through toil and famine, fight and death, Their martyr crowns have won. 'Twas Thou preserved their fleeting breath, And they sit beneath Thy throne. Forsake us not, but as of old So let our spirits be. And give ub still the courage bold To keep our mountains free. And our ancestral faith to hold, Wherewith to worship Thee. The cattle on a thousand hills, The feeble and the small. We leave throughout the silent night, Nor fear lest harm befall ; For Thou, who blest the patriarch's store. Wilt guard and keep them all. Praise from the mountain's lordly crest. Praise from the valley lone. For all our dailj' blessedness, For our bright ones who are gone. To Thee, the mightiest, wisest, best, The great Eternal One ! PROVIDBNOB. Just as a mother, with sweet, pious face. Teams towards her little children from her seat, Gives one a kiss, another an embrace. Takes this upon her knees, and on her feet : And while from actions, looks, complaints, pretences. She learns their feelings, and their various will. To this a look, to that a word dispenses. And, whether stern or smiling, loves them still : — FBMALE PIBT7. 59 So Providence for us, high, infinite, Makes otir necessities its -watohftil task, Hearkens to all our prayers, helps all our wants, And even if it denies what seems our right. Either denies because 'twould have us ask. Or seems but' to deny, or in denying grants. MT FATHER'S AT THE HELM. The curling waves, with awful roar, A little boat assailed. And pallid fear's distracting power O'er all on board prevailed. Save one, the captain's darling child. Who steadfast viewed the storm ; And, cheerful, with composure smiled At danger's threatening form. " And sport'st thou thus," a seaman cried. While terrors overwhelm ?" " Why should I fear ?" the boy replied ; " My father's at the helm." So when our worldly all is reft. Our earthly helper gone. We still have one true anchor left — God helps, and He alone. He to our prayers will bend an ear, He gives our pangs relief, He turns to smiles each trembling tear. To joy each torturing grief. Then turn to Him, 'mid sorrows wild, When want and woes o'erwhelm, Bemembering, like the fearless child. Our Father's at the helm. FEMALE PIETY. Tis sweet to see the opening rose Spread its fair bosom to the sky ; 'Tis sweet to view, at twilight's close. The heavens' bespangled canopy. 60 BHPABTED YEAB8. 'Tis sweet, amid the vernal grove, To hear the thrush's fervent lay^ Or lark, that wings his flight above. To hail the dawning of the day. But sweeter far is maiden's eye Upraised to heaven in pious prayer, When, bathed in tears, she looks on high. What sacred eloquence is there ! Oh ! sweeter far that sacred name, " My Father !" uttered by her tongue ; And sweeter when her heavenly flame Ascends in pioas, holy song. Oh ! sweet when on the bended knee. Her thoughts, her spirit mount above In pious, deep-felt ecstacy. To realms of everlasting love ! DEPAETED YEARS. Kneix of departed years, Thy voice is sweet to me. It wakes no sad, foreboding fears. Galls forth no sympathetic tears, Time's restless course to see. From hallowed ground I hear the sound Diffusing through the air a holy calm around. Thou art the voice of Love, To chide each doubt away ; And as thy murmur faintly dies, Visions of past enjoyment rise In long and bright array. I hail the sign That love divine Will o'er my future path in cloudless mercy shine. Thou art the voice of Hope ! The music of the spheres ! A song of blessings yet to come, A herald from my future home, My soul delighted hears. By sin deceived. By nature grieved. Still am I nearer rest than when I first believed. TIME. 61 Thou art the voice of Life, A sound which seems to say, " prisoner in this gloomy vale, Thy flesh shall faint, thy heart shall fail. But fairer scenes thy spirit hail, That cannot pass away. Here grief and pain Thy steps detain, There in the image of the Lord shalt thou with Jesus reign." TIME. Time is the changeful shore of life, And life's a mighty sea, Whose billows sweep athwart the deep Of dark Eternity. Death is the pilot fierce and bold. Whose vessel bears us hence ; With giant hold and sceptre cold, He comes — we know not whence. He comes, and icy is his hand, And terrible his eye ; With stern command, which none withstand, He bids his pris'ner die. Away, away, across the deep The silent vessel flies ; No glass can trace its landing-place — 'Tis hid from human eyes. Prom age to age the vessel comes ; Each year, and month, and day Some blank is left, some heart bereft — For none its course can stay. Sometimes its sails with holy light And heavenly hues appear ; But oft its form is wrapped in storm, And thunders speak it near. Tet there is one of sovereign might. In whom all powers combine ; An arm whose sway the dead obey— Saviour ! it is Thine. 62 STANZAS. And, lo ! beliind yon tyrant fierce His valiant conqueror stands ; With love unknown He claims His own, And plucks them from his hand. THE NEGRO CONVERT. I HEARD that Negro, on his lowly bed. Thus forced to bid to earthly hopes adieu : I heard him pray for mercy on the head Of him, whose bitter wrath his brother slew ! Lowly he lay, but still the sufferer knew. That more than his the heavenly Master bore. When on the cross, exposed to public view, His dying breath forgiveness did implore. For those whose hellish hate wa's glutted with his gore. Slave masters ! such is pure Religion's power ! These are the morals Christ's disciples preach ! Let interest alone, then rule the hour, And still this gospel will your servants reach ! Shame ! that it should be needful to beseech A British subject, in these polished days. To let a godly man draw near, and teach His heathen household, Britain's God to praise, And train their souls to walk in. Wisdom's pleasant ways ! STANZAS. MoKif's earliest blush with frowning dyes Proclaims Night's empire done, And soon the full-orbed power will rise Of Day's creative sun. At such an hour, 'tis sweet to mark Nature's unruffled state, And hear the matin-hailing lark Carol at Heaven's own gate : And view the pearls displayed by Night, As sparkling on each spray. They catch the morn's reflected light, And glistening melt away ; STANZAS. 63 And list to voices which prevail When noisy man's is still, As floating on the dewy gale, They breathe from stream or hill : In such an hour the soul expands, And fearless dares explore The vision of those viewless lands Beyond Time's bounded shore. The mind forgets its cares awhile, The heart its pangs foregoes, And, warmed by Nature's peaceful Bmile, Is lulled to sweet repose. Our thoughts the lapse of time retrace. When Eden's blooim was young, And Man, inspiring heavenly grace, Heaven's songs of virtue sung. Then all was like this prime of day, All peaceful, all serene ; And Innocence with artless sway Gladdened each happy scene. All voices joined in sweet accord, In hymns of grateful praise. To hail Creation's mighty Lord, In pure and hallowed lays. The sun ascends — ^morn's freshness fades, The spell of peace recedes ; Labour resumes his busy trade. And Man his bustling deeds. So when the Sun of knowledge *ose, Eden's rich treasure's past — The soul no more with pureness glows, Chilled by Sin's withering blast. The garden is a wilderness. The wilderness a grave, M^n's mi»d a chaos of distress That Heaveti was rich to save. For, lo ! with healing wings the sun Breaks forth with richest dyes. The moral night's dark reign is done — Hear, earth ! list, O ye skies ! 64 THERE IS A TONGUE IN EVERY LEAF He, who from chaos called the world, And bade creatiou be, From depth of moral gloom unfurled The mmd, and made it free. This renovation of the sonl, This morn of happier time, Makes former wounds of sorrow whole, Atoning man's first crime. And still his rays are shining bright, To all who seek their power. Inspiring warmth and guidance — light In life, or death's dark hour. Oh, hail him then, with shouts of praise. With loud hosannas sing. High, high your swelling anthems raise To Heaven and Nature's king. For, through the dim of future years, So Faith illumes the eye. Him, who the drooping spirit cheers, I see forsake the sky. And, clad in glory all His own. Begirt with Mercy's sword. While seraphs wait around His throne. He speaks the vital word. And the last morning flashes forth, The graves give back their dead, From west to east, from south to north. Hell's power is captive led. That morn shall set again no more. But rise to perfect day. And giief and sin on Eden's shore. And tears, shall pass away. No clouds the lovely scene shall gloom, No terrors man a£fright. Celestial blessings ever bloom, A day without a night ! THERE IS A TONGUE IN EVERY LEAP. Theke is a tongue in every leaf, A voice in every rill — A voice that speaketh everywhere. In flood and flre, through earth and air ! A tongue that's never still I THE MIS8I0NABY 65 'Tis the Great Spirit, wide diffused Through everything we see, That with our spirits oommuneth Of things mysterious — ^Ijfe and death, Time and eternity ! I see him in the blazing sun, And in the thunder-cloud : I hear him in the mighty roar That rusheth through the forests hoar When winds are raging loud. I feel him in the silent dews, By grateful earth betrayed ; I feel him in the gentle showers, The soft south wind, the breath of flowers, The sunshine, and the shade. I see him, hear him, everywhere. In all things — darkness, light. Silence, and sound : but, most of all, When slumber's dusky curtains fall, I' the silent hour of night. THE MTSSIONABY. He left his native land, and far away Across the .waters sought a world unknown. Though well he knew that he in vain might stray In search of one as lovely as his own. He left his home, around whose humble hearth His parents, kindred, all he valued, smiled — Friends who had known and loved him from his birth. And who still loved him as a favourite child. He left the scenes by youthful hopes endeared — The woods, the streams that soothed his infant ear. The plants, the trees, that he himself had reared, And every charm to love and fancy dear. All these he left, with sad but willing heart. Though unallured by honours, wealth, or fame j In them not even his wishes claimed a part, ' And the world knew not of his very name, m THS MISSIONARY. Canst thou not guess what taught his steps to stray ? 'Twas love ! — ^but not such love as worldlings own, That often smiles its sweetest to betray, And stabs the breast that offered it a throne. 'Twas love to God ! and love to all mankind ! His Master bade the obedient servant go. And try if he in distant realms could find Some, who His name and saving grace would know. 'Twas this that nerved him when he saw the tears His aged mother at their parting shed ; 'Twas this that taught her how to calm her fears. And beg a heavenly blessing on his head. 'Twas this that made his father calmly bear A godly sorrow, deep, but undismayed — And bade him humbly ask of God, in prayer. His virtuous son to counsel, guide, and aid. And when he rose to bless, and wish him well. And bent a head with age and sorrow grey, Even while he breathed a fond and last farewell, HaU-sad, half-joyful, dashed his tears away. " And go," he said, " though I, with mortal eyes. Shall ne'er behold thy filial reverence more ; But, when from earth to heaven our spirits rise. The Hand that gave him shall my child restore. " I bid thee go, though human tears will steal From eyes that see the course thou hast to run ; And God forgive me if I wrongly feel — Like Abraham called to sacrifice his son." And he is gone ! With ardent steps he prest Across the hills, to where the vessel lay. And soon, I ween, upon the ocean's breast, They saw the white sails beariflg him away. And did he go unfriended — poor — alone P Did none of those who, in a favoured land The shelter of the gospel-tree had known, Desire to see its peaceful shades expand ? 'Tis not for me to answer questions here : Let eveiy heart its own responses give ; And all, to whom thoii- fellow-men are dear. Bestow the bread by which their souls may live. 67 THE VAUDOIS MISSIOISrAEY. "The Vaudols Christians, who lived in the recesses of the Alps, sought to disseminate the Scriptures, which they themselyes possessed and deeply valued, in the following manner : — They travelled over the country as pedlars, and when they had in this capacity obtained access to the dwellings of the rich, they offered them the Bible, and thus not unfrequently were the means of Sowing the good seed, which afterwards sprang up and bore fruit to life eternal." " O LADY fair, these silks of mine Are teautifal and rare, The richest web of the Indian loom, Which beauty's self might wear. And these pearls are pure and mild to behold, And with radiant light they vie ; I have brought them with me a weary way, WUl my gentle lady buy ?" And the lady smiled on the worn old man Through the dark and clustering curls. Which veiled her brow as she bent to view His silk and glittering pearls. And she placed their price in the old man's hand. And lightly turned away ; But she paused at the wanderer's earnest call, " My gentle lady, stay ! " lady fair, I have yet a gem Which a purer lustre flings, Thau the diamond flash of the jewelled crown, On the lofty brow of kings ; A wonderful pearl of exceeding price. Whose virtue shall not decay, Whose sight shall be as a spell to thee, And a blessing on thy way !" The lady glanced at the mirroring steel Where the youthful form was seen. Where her eye shone clear, and her dark looks waved Their clasping pearls between : " Bring forth the pearl of exceeding worth. Thou traveller grey and old ; And name the price of thy precious gem. And my pages shall count thy gold." The cloud went off from the pilgrim's brow, As a small and magic book, Unchased with gold or diamond gem, From his folding robe he took : p2 MY GHOIGE. " Here, lady fair, is the pearl of price, May it prove sucli to thee ! Nay — keep thy gold, I ask it not. For the Word of God is free." The weary traveller went his way — But the gift he left behind Hath had its pure and perfect work In that high-born maiden's mind, — And she hath turned from her pride of sin To the lowliness of truth, And given her human heart to God In its beautiful hour of youth. And she hath left the old grey walls Where an evil faith hath power, The courtly knights of her father's train, And the maidens of her bower ; And she hath gone to the Vaudois' vale By lordly feet untrod, Where the poor and needy of earth are rich In the perfect love of God. MY CHOICE. I ASK. not wealth ; — the glittering toy I never may command ; Let others own it is their joy. And wield the gilded wand. I ask not fame ; — the laurelled wreath My brow would never wear ; It cannot shield the heart from grief, Or banish even care. I ask not beauty ; — 'tis a gem As fleeting as 'tis bright ; Even one rough gale may bear it hence. And saddening is its flight. Such fading flowers of earthly ground Why should I e'er possess ? — In them no lasting bliss is found, No solid happiness. The soul's calm sunshine I would know ; Be mine Eeligion's trust ; Be mine its precious truth to know j — All else is sordid dust, INFANT BEAUTY. 69 And Hope and Faith, as angels bright, Be mine attendants too. Bear me above earth's sinful might — Present me heaven's bright view. For Death, ere long, -with subtle art, Will claim his kindred dust ; How peaceful, then, will be my heart ! How sacred'bo its trust ! Then I can feel life's troubled rbad Has not been passed in vain ; And, calmly trusting in my Grod, Yield back my breath again. INFANT BEAUTY, I LOVE to gaze upon the face, With infant beauty beaming, To watch the gay and artless grace, O'er every feature streaming. When bliss Bad lighted up the eye Of childhood into ecstasy. Ere yet the sparkling fount of life, 'Mong earthly streams has vanished, On the dark waves of sin and strife, Its first fresh brightness banished, While yet its calm and holy tide, By innocence ia sanctified. Oh ! who can chide a mother's love ? Is not her heartfelt pleaisure Allied to purity above, While she beholds the treasure That hangs in beauty at her breast. And deems it of all gifts — the best ? To see the ever- shifting shades Of light and beauty dancing Across the face, where as one fades Another smile is glancing. Unutterable joy imparts Down to the depths ot mothers' hearts, 70 TO AN INFANT. The first dim dawn of mental day, When, scarcely comprehended, Truth's clear and pure, yet wavering ray, Seems half with error blended, While dreams of dubious wonder roll Their shadows o'er the infant soul ! These, these fond thoughts of future joys In mothers' hearts awaken. By hours of care and bitter sighs. And troubling fears unshaken ; Alas ! that many a bitter pang Should on such lovely prospects hang ! But years are flown ; and where is now The look of infant gladness ? The beauty of the childish brow Is dashed with lines of sadness ; And, worse than all, dark dreadful sin Sinks like a pestilence within. There is one change, and only one — Childhood ! thy peace redeeming ; The second birth ! when joy unknown Through the free spirit streaming Tells of redemption, pardon, love, Untold on earth — ^but sealed above. TO AN INFANT. Sweet infant, when I gaze on thee, And mark thy spirit's bounding lightness, Thy laugh of playful ecstasy. Thy glance of animated brightness. How beautiful the light appears Of Reason in her first reveaUngs ; How blest the boon of opening years. Unclouded hopes, unwithered feelings ! Thou hast not felt ambition's thrall, Thou dost not sigh for absent treasures, Thy dark eye beams iu joy on all, Simple and artless are thy pleasures ; And should a tear obscure thy bliss, I know the spell to soothe thy sadness, The magic of thy father's kiss Can soon transform thy grief to gladness ! THE TWO BEDIOATIONS. 71 The world, my fair and frolic boy, May give thy feelings new dirfeotions, But may its changes ne'er destroy The fervour of thy warm afEections ! Still may thy glad contented eyes Smile on each object- they are meeting, Tet, most of earthly blessings, prize A parent's look — a parent s greeting ! And, oh ! may He, whose boundless love Excels the ken of human blindness, The wisest father's care above — Beyond the fondest mother'^ kindnegs — Teach thy young heart for Him to glow ; Thy ways from sin and sorro'vy sever, And guide thy steps in peace below, To realms where peace endures for ever ! THE TWO DEDIOATIOlSrS. OnK darling is baptised to-day, And with t"wo hearts at one. We have offered up to Jesus Our little first-born son. It is his dedication-day — A day of peace and joy, And purpose, hope, and prayer for him Enll well our hearts employ. In his white robes our baby slept While midst the Sabbath throng We held him up for baptism With prayer and sacred song. And still he slept, though storm and snow Beat down our hill-bound glen, And tore his snowy coverings off As we bore him home d:gain. Sweetly he slept through all, nor knew Of fear, or cold, or storm. Till in his mother's arms at home He wakened, cradled warm. 72 TEE BABBI'B JEWELS. So might we two Have said or sung But four short years ago, That Sabbath evening that we bore Our darling through tha snow. Another dedication-day Has come and gone since then. And we have given our darling boy Up to the Lord again — God grant with hearts as true, as when. That day of storm and snow, "We brought him first unto the Lord, Four happy years ago ! A stormy day to our poor hearts This baptism of fire — Though nature wears her roses now, And earth her greenest 'tire ! Roughly the storm of sickness shoot Our little tender ilower ; But the Good Shepherd of the sheep Was with us in that hour. And gave to our beloved sleep — Then bid us watch and see The storm pass o'er him while he slept, From conscious suffering free. Kinder than tenderest mother's arms Were round him as he slept. And brighter visions than our home Were for his waking kept ! For the dear Saviour in His arms Has borne our lamb away, To wake to more than mother's love- Earth's storm.s all past for aye ! THE EABBI'S JEWELS. In schools of wisdom all the day was spent ; His steps at eve the Rabbi homeward bent. With homeward thoughts which dwelt upon the wife And two fair children who consoled his life. NOT LOST, BUT GONE BEFOllE. 73 She, meeting at the threshold, led him in. And with these wofde, preventing, did begin : " Ever rejoicing at your wished return. Yet do I most so now ; for since this mom I have been much perplexed and sorely tried Upon one point which you shall now decide. Some years ago, a friend unto my care Some jewels gave, rich precious gems they were ; But having given them in my charge, this friend Did afterwards nor come for them, nor send. But left them in my keeping for so long, That now it almost seems to me a wrong That he should suddenly arrive to-day. To take those jewels which he left, away. What think you ? Shall I freely yield them back. And with no murmuring ? — so henceforth to lack Those gems myself, which I had learned to see Almost as mine for ever, mine in fee." " What question can be here ? Tour own true heart Must needs advise yon of the only part : That may be claimed again which was but lent. And should be yielded with no discontent. Nor surely can we find herein a wrong. That it was left us to enjoy it long." " Good is the word," she answered ; " may we now And evermore that it is good allow !" And rising, to an inner chamber led. And there she showed him, stretched upon one bed. Two children pale, and he the_ jewels knew. Which €rod had lent him and resumed anew. NOT LOST, BUT GONE BEFORE. Sat, why should friendship grieve for those Who safe arrive on Canaan's shore ? Beleased from all their hurtful fpes^- They are Jiot. lost, but gone before. How many painful days on earth Their fainting spirits numbered o'er ! Now they enjoy a heavenly birth — They are not lost, but gone before. Dear is the spot where Christians sleep. And sweet the strain which angels pour; Oh, why should we in anguish weep ? They are not lost, but gone before. 71 LIFM QPMPAMED TO A BIVEH. Secure from ©very mortal care, By sin and sorrow vexed no more, Eternal Ijappiness they ^)ia/re> WliQ j^e 7X0^ lost, but gone Ijefoie. To Zion'a peaceful coTirts above. In faith triumphant may we soar. Embracing in the arms of love The friends not lost, but gone before. On Jordan's )3ank, when^'gr y^p opme. And heajr vis swelling watqrs roar, Jesus, convey us safely Tiome, To friend^ not lost, but gone b^fpre. LOST DATS. The lost days of my life until to-day. What were they, could I see them on the street Lie as they fell P Would they be ears of wheat Sown once for food, but trodden into clay ? Or golden coins squandered and still to pay ? Or drops of blood dabbling the guilty feet ? Or Bueh spilt water as in dreams must cheat The throats of men in hell, who thirst alway ? I do not see them here ; but after death God knows I know the faces I shall see. Bach one a murdered self, with low lost breath : " I am thyself — what hast thou done to me ?" " And I — and I — thyself " (lo ! each one saith), " And thou thyseu to all eternity !" LIFE OOMPAEBD TO A ErVBR. River, river, little river. Bright you sparkle on your way. O'er the yeUpw pebbles dancing, Through the flowers and foUage glancing, Like a child at play. River, river, swelling river. On yovj rusli, o'er rough and smooth, Lotf-der, faster, brawling, leaping Over rooks, by rose-baAs sweeping Like impetuous youth. LIFH, DEATH, AND ETERNITY. 75 Eivev, river, brimming river, Broad and deep, and still as Time ; Seeming still — yet still in motion, Tending onward to the ocean. Just like mortal prime. River, river, rapid river ! Swifter now you slip away ; Swift and silent as an arrow ; Through a channel dark and narrow. Like life's closing day. Eiver, river, headlong river, Down yoxf. dash into the sea ; Sea that line hath never sounded. Sea that voyage hath never rounded, Like eternity. LIFE, DEATH, AND ETERNITY. A SHADOW moving by one's side, That would a substance soem — That is, yet is not, — though descried, — Like skies beneath the stream ; A tree that's ever in the bloom. Whose fruit is ever ripe ; A wish for joys that never come, Such are the hopes of life. A dark, inevitable night, A blank that will remain ; A waiting for the morning light, When waiting is in vain ; A gulf where pathwa,y never led To show the depth beneath ; A thing we know not, yet we dread : That dreaded thing is death, The vaulted void of purple sky That everywhere extends. That stretches from the dazzled eye, In space that never ends ; A morning whose uprisen sun No setting e'er shall see ; A day that comes without a noon ; Such is eternity. 76 WEARIED. Would'st thou be there to meet those long-lost faces Watching o'er us, though unseen, from yon bright land above j Waiting to waft us from this shore of sadness, To that love-lighted home, — to God's own Land of Love. Would'st thou be theris, O lonesome heart and weary, Bereft of all but hope to meet eai-th's hopes in heaven ; Little hands are stretching forth in thy dreams to guide thee — God's gifts but taated, and from this cold world riven. Would'st thou be there, fainting one, with travel ; Eyes now bedimmed with age, with tottering steps and slow ; No rest is here, and life is but a vapour. Green pastures wait for thee beyond the reach of woe. Wearied and faint with grief and sorrow laden, Life's day will soon be o'er and nightless day will shine ; Earth's joys do fade — beyond is Life eternal, Strive, wearied one, and trust that Life is thine. WAVES. Thb Psalmist -cried, With the strong voice of the soul's agony, " Thy waves and billows have gone over me !" Bule Thou the raging of the angry sea : Stay Thou the tide. Ah, this deep flood ! " Thou hast afflicted me with all Thy waves ;" O'er my sad spirit how the tempest raves ! But is not Thine the only hand that saves ? — Lord, Thou art good ! Hast Thou not said — " When through the deepest waters thou must go, The swelling waters shall not overflow ?" And every sinking struggle Thou dost know Where I am led. And yet O King ! I know Thou'rt mightier than the waters' roar : " Thy loving-kindness" help me to adore ; And " Thy song in the nighli," for evermore Help me to sing. WATOH AND PBAY. 77 Now, as of old, From the wild waves a child would cry to Thee : Lord, lull the lashings of grief's stormy sea. For sorrow's waves are overwhelming me ; The tempest hold ! Now in the night Of anguish and of weeping, let me hear, Above death's dismal dirges, in my ear Thy blessed voice, dispelling every fear With heavenly light ! Father ! I know, Though darkness cloud my path in dreary night. The foaming breakers all are crowned with light ; A shining track beams on above my sight : Love made it so. Help me endure, And sink not in the surging waves that roll, Threat'ning to gulph me in their wild control ; " Hope is a precious anchor to the soul," Steadfast and sure ! Peace, " peace, be still !" Thou, who once held the waves within Thy palm, Saviour ! speaJ: to my heart that blessed calm ; And teach my soul to chant a cheerful psalm, Whate'er Thy will ! . Help me to raise, With humble resignation, such a song : , Some sinking one may listen, and be strong ; And chastened hearts shall yield to Thee, life-long Anthems of praise. Then, on the shore Of the broad ocean of Thy love — the land Where, for my coming, wait the angel band — Fast to "the Book of Ages" let Thy hand Hold me, for evermore ! WATCH AND PRAY. Cheistian ! seek not yet repose, Cast thy dreams of ease away ; Thou art in the midst of foes. Therefore watch and pray. 78 GUARDIAN ANGELS. Gird thy heavenly armour on, Wear it ever, night and day ; Near thee Inrks the evil one, Therefore watch and pray. Listen to thy sorrowing Lord, Him thou lovest to obey ; It is He who speaks the word. Therefore watch and pray. 'Twas by watching and by prayer Holy men, of olden day, Won the palms and crowns they wear ; , Therefore watch and pray. Watch, for thou thy guard must keep j tray, for God must speed thy way : Narrow is the road and steep. Therefore watch and pray. GUARDIAN ANGELS. Gently, gently fall sweet sleep O'er thine eyelids, soft and deep, Gently as the breath of floNvers in the bright noon's honeyed hours. Gently as the dews of heaven On the wild-rose at the even. Thou art pure, immortal one ; Oh ! be pure tUl life is done. We would take thee in thy bloom From the dim walls of the tomb ; We would bear thee, blest and fair. Where thy home and kindred are. Pray, then — strive to enter in Through the cold world's woe and sin ; In each glad and gloomy hour, In thy weakness, m thy power. Pray — and we will pray for thee. Strive — and we will strengthen thee. Ay, on the land and on the seas. In the tempest and the breeze. In the solemn hush of night. In the loud moon's burst of light, Strive ! oh strive ! — around, above thee, We will lead and we will love thee. 79 THE MISSIONARIES' FAEBWBLL. Land where the bones of our fathers are sleeping, Land where our dear dnes and fond ones Axe weeping, Land wh^re the light of Jehovah is shining, We leave thee lamenting, but not with repiniiig. Land of our fathers, in grief we forsake thee, Land of our friends, may Jehovah protect thee. Land of the Church, may the light shine aroUind Ihee, Nor darkness, nor trouble, nor sorrow confound thee. God is thy God : thou shalt walk in his bHghtness, Gird thes with joy, let thy robes be of whiteness : God is thy God ! let thy hills shout for gladness ; But ah ! we must leave thee — we leave thefe in sadness. Dark is onr path o'er the dark rolling beean ; Dark are our hearts ; but the fire of devotion Ejndles within : — and a far distant nation Shall learn from our lips the glad song of salvation. Hail to the land of our toils and our sorrows ? Land of our rest ! — when a few more to-morrows Pass o'er our heads ; we will seek our cold pillows, And rest in our graves, far away o'er the billows.' INFIDELITY. Thou who scornest truth divine. Say what joy, what hope is thine? Is this world from sorrow free ? Is this world enough for thee ? No ; for care corrodes thy heart. Art thou willing to depart ? No ; thy nature bids thee shrink From the void abyss's brink. Thou may'st laugh, in broad sunshine ; Scoff, when sparkles the red wine ; Thou must trenible, when deep night Shuts the pageant from thy sight. Morning comes, and thou blaaphemest ; Yet another day thou deemest Thine ; but soon its light will wane ; Then thy waniing comes again. There's a morrow with no liight — Broad and blazing, endless light ! Should its dawn thy dreams o'ertake, Better thou didst never wake. 80 MEDITATION. Tell me, ye viewless Spirits of tlie Air, Who steal upon the soul with silent wing, Seeming to wake, as with its breath, a string That yields deep melody all hidden there. Tell me i£ ye are visions from the tomb, Or dreams awaked by Fancy's wizard ball. Or ministers of ill, released from- thrall. In robes of light, to tempt us to our doom. Or messengers of peace from regions blest, On mercy's errand, stooping from above. Or friends departed, drawn by lingering love To whisper weal or warning to the breast ? Te have no voice to answer, but the eye Doth trace your homeward pathway to the sky 1 EETIEEMENT. I LOVE to steal awhile away From every cumbering care, And spend the hours of setting day In humble, grateful prayer. I love in solitude to shed The penitential tear, And all His promises to plead. Where none but God can hear. I love to think on mercies past. And future good implore, And all my sighs and sorrows cast On Him whom I adore. I love by Faith to take a view Of brighter scenes in heaven ; Such prospects oft ir.y strength renew. While here by tempests driven. Thus, when life's toilsome day is o'er. May its departing ray Be calm aa this impressive hour. And lead to endless day. 81 IDLE WORDS. " I have a high sense ol the virtue and dignity of the feinale character, and would not, by any means, bi thought to attribute to the ladies' emphatically, the fault here spoken of. But I have remarked it in some of my friends, vrho, in all but this, wer© among the loveliest of their sex. In sxicb, the blemish is more distinct and striking, because so strongly contrasted with the superior delicacy and loveliness of their na'ures." — Sirred Hnrp qf American Poetry. " My God !" the beauty oft exclaimed, With deep impassioned tone, But not in tumble prayer she named The High and Holy One ! 'Twas not upon the bended knee, With soul upraised to heaven, Pleading, with heartfelt agony, That she might be forgiven. 'Twas not in heavenly strains to raise To the great Source of good, Her daily oflfering of praise. Her song of gratitude. But in the gay and thoughtless crowd. And in the festive hall, 'Mid scenes of mirth and mockery proud, She named the Lord of all. She called upon that awful name, When laughter loudest rang — Or when the flush of triumph came — Or disappointment's pang ! The idlest thing that flattery knew. The most unmeaning jest. From those sweet lips profusely drew Names of the Holiest ! I thought — how sweet that voice should be, Breathing this prayer to Heaven — "My God, I worship only Thee ; Oh, be my sins forgiven !", G THE SOUL'S DBPIANCE. I SAID to Sorrow's awful storm, That beat against my breast : Rage on-r-tiiou may'st destroy this form, And lay it low at rest ; But still the spirit that now brooks Thy tempest raging high. Undaunted on its fury looks With steadfast eye. I said to Penury's meagre train. Come on — your threats I brave ; My last poor life-drop you may drain, And crush me to the grave ; Yet still the spirit that endures. Shall mock your force the while, And meet each cold, cold grasp of yours With bitter smile. I said to cold Neglect and Scorn, Pass on — I heed you not ; Te may pursue me till my form And being are forgot ; Yet still the spirit which you see Undaunted by your wiles. Draws from its own nobility Its high-born smiles. I said to Friendship's menaced blow, Strike deep, my heart shall bear ; Thou canst but add one bitter woe To those already there ; Yet still the spirit that sustains This last severe distress. Shall smile upon its keenest pains, And scorn redress. I said to Death's uplifted dart. Aim sure— Oh, why delay p Thou wilt not find a fearful heai-t — A weak, reluctant prey ; Por still the spirit, firm and free, Triumphant in the last dismay, Wrapt in its own eternity, Shall smiling pass away. 83 THE FAMILY BIBLE. How painfully pleasing tlie fond recollection Of youthful connexions and innocent joy, When, blessed with parental advice and affection, Surrounded with mercies, with peace from on high. I still view the chair of my sire and my mother, The seats of their offspring as ranged on each hand. And that richest of booKs, which excelled every other- That family Bible, that lay on the stand ; The old-fashioned Bible, the dear, blessed Bible, The family Bible, that lay on the stand. That Bible, the volume of God's inspiration, At morn and at evening could yifilji iis delight, And the prayer of our sire was a sweet invocation. For mercy by day, and for safety through night. Our hymns of thanksgiving, with harmony swelling. All warm from the heart of a family band, Half-raised us from earth to that rapturous dwelling. Described in the Bible that lay on the stand ; That richest of boots, which exceUed every other — The family Bible, that lay on the stand. Ye scenes of tranquillity, long have we parted ; My hope's almost gone, and my parents no more ; In sorrow and sadness I live broken-hearted. And wander unknown on a far distant shore. Yet how can I doubt a dear Saviour's protection. Forgetful of gifts from his bountiful hand ! Oh, let me, with patience, receive his correction. And think of the Bible that lay on the stand ; That richest of books, which excelled every other — The family Bible, that lay on the stand. "I WILL BE GLAD IN THE LORD." Psalm civ. 34. When morning's first and hallowed ray Breaks with its trembling light, To chase the pearly dews away. Bright tear-drops of the night : g2 84 AWAEJE, PSALTERY AND UABP. My heart, Lord, forgets to rove, But rises gladly free, On wings of everlasting love, And finds its home in Thee. When evening's silent shades descend, And Nature sinks to rest, Still to my Father and my Friend My wishes are addressed. Though tears may dim my hours of joy. And bid my pleasures flee, Thou reign'st where grief can not annoy, I win be glad in Thee. And e'en when midnight's solemn gloom. Above, around, is spread, Sweet dreams of everlasting bloom Are hovering o'er my head. I dream of that fair land, Lord, Where all Thy saints shall be ; I wake to lean upon Thy Word, And still delight in Thee. « AWAKE, PSALTERY AND HARP ; I MYSELF WILL AWAKE EARLY." Waki:, when the mist of the blue mountains sleeping. Like crowns of glory, in the distance lie ; When breathing from the earth, o'er young buds sweeping. The gale bears music through the sunny sky ; While lake and meadow, upland, grove, and stream, Rise like the glory of an Eden dream. Wake, while unfettered thoughts, like treasures springing, Bid the heart leap within its prison-cell : As birds and brooks through the pure air are flinging The mellow chant of their beguiliag spell ; When earliest winds their anthems have begun. And, incense-laden, their sweet journeys run. Then, Psaltery and Harp, a tone awaken, Whereto the echoing bosom shall reply, As earth's rich scenes, by shadowy night fox'saken. Unfold their beauty to the filling eye ; When, like the restless breeze, or wild-bird's lay. Pure thoughts, on dove-like pinions, float away. I AM THE WAT. 85 Wiike then, too, man, wlien from refreshing slnmber. And thy luxurious conch, thou dost arise. Thanks for life's golden gifts — a countless numher — Calm dreams, and soaring hopes, and summer skies ; Wake ! — ^let thy heart's fine chords be touched in praise. For the free spirit of undying Grace ! "I AM THE "WAT, AND THE TRUTH, AND THE LIFE." Thou art the Way — and he who sighs. Amid this starless waste of woe. To find a pathway to the skies, A light from heaven's eternal glow — By Thee must come, Thon gate of love. Through which the saints nndoubting trod ; Till Faith discovers, like the dove. An ark, a resting-place in God. Thon art the Truth — whose steady day Shines on throngh earthly blight and bloom. The pure, the everlasting ray. The Lamp that shines e'en in the tomb ; The Light, that out of darkness springs, And guideth those that blindly go ; The Word, whose precions radiance flings Its lustre upon all below. Thon art the Life— The blessed Well, With living waters gushing o'er. Which those who drink shall ever dwell Where sin and thirst are known no more ; Thon art the mystic pillar given. Our Lamp by night, our Light by day : Thou art the sacred Bread from heaven ; Thou art the Life— the Truth— the Way. 86 GOD IS GOOD. Gob is good ! Each petfumed flower, The stoilitjg fields, the dai-k gteen wood, The insect, fluttering for an hour, — All things proclaim that God is good. I hear it in the rushing wind ; Hills that have for ages stood, And clouds with gold and silver lined. Are Still repeating, God is good. Each little rill, that, many a year, Has the same verdant path pursued, And every bird, in accents clear, Joins in the song that God is good. The restless main, with haughty roar, Calms each wild wave and billow rude, Retreats submissive from the shore, And swells the chorus, God is good. Countless hosts of burning stars. Sing His praise with light renewed ; The rising san each day declares. In rays of glory, God is good. The moon that walks in brightness, saya, God is good ! — and man endued "With power to speak his Maker's praise, Should still repeat that God is good. SABBATH EVENING TWILIGHT. DELjGHTFtJL hour of sweet tepose, Of hallowed thought, tjf love, of prayer, I love thy deep and tranquil close, Eor all the Sabbath day is there. Each pure desire, each high request That burned before the temple shrine — The hopes, the fears, that wound the breast All live again in light like thine. SABBATH EVENING TWILIGHT. 87 I love thee for tlie fervid glow Thou shedd'st around the olosmg day — Those golden fires, those wreaths of snow, That light and pave his glorious way ! Through them, I've sometimes thought, the eye Ma.y pierce the unmeasured deeps of space. And track the course where spirits fly On viewless wiugs, to realms of bliss. I love thee for the unbroken calm That slumbers on this fading scene, And throws its kind and soothing charm O'er " all the little world within." It trances every roving thought, Tet sets the soaring fancy free, — Shuts from the soul the present out That all is musing memory. I love those joyous memories. That rush, with thee, upon the soul, — Those deep, unuttered symphonies, That o'er the speU-bound spirit roll. All the bright scenes of love and youth Eevive, as if they had not fled ; And Fancy clothes with seeming truth The forms she rescues from the dead. Tet holier is thy peaceful close. For vows love left recorded there ; This is the noiseless hour we chose To consecrate to mutual prayer. 'Twas when misfortune's fearful cloud Was gathering o'er the brow of heaven. Ere yet despair's eternal shroud "Wrapped every vision hope had given. When these deep purpling shades came down, In softened tints, upon the hUls, We swore, that, whether fate should crown Our future course with joys or ills, — Whether safe moored in love's retreat, Or severed wide by mount and sea, This hour, in spirit, we would meet, And urge to Heaven our mutual plea. 88 MY AIN GOUNTBIE. Oh, tell me if this hallowed hour Still finds thee constant at our shrine ; Still -witnesses thy fervent pTayer Ascending warm and true with mine ! Faithful through every change of woe, My heart still flies to meet thee there ; 'Twould soothe this weary heart to know That thine responded every prayer. "MY AIN COUNTBIE." From " The Swcyrd and Trowel." Inserted hy Permission. " I AM far frae my hame, an' I'm weary aftenwhiles For the langed-for hame-hringin', an' my Father's welcome smiles; I'll ne'er be fu' content until my e'en do see The gowden gates o' heaven, and my ain countrie. The earth is flecked wi' flowers, mony -tinted, fresh an' gay, The birdies warble blithely, for my father made them sae; But these sights an' these soun's will as naething be to me When I hear the angels singing in my ain countrie. I've his gude word o' promise that, some gladsome day, the King, To his ain royal palace, His banished hame wiU bring ; Wi' e'en an' wi' hearts running owre we shall see ' The King in His beauty,' an' our ain countrie. My sins hae been mony, an' my sorrows hae been sair, But there they'll never vex me, nor be remembered mair ; His bluid hath made me white. His hand shall wipe mine e'e. When He brings me hame at last to my ain countrie. Like a bairn to its mither, a wee birdie to its nest, I wad fain be ganging noo unto my Saviour's breast, For He gathers in His bosom witless, worthless lambs like me, An' carries them Himsel' to His ain countrie. He's faithfu' that hath promised — He'll surely come again — He'll keep His tryst wi' me, at what hour I dmna ken, But He bids me still to watch an' ready aye to be To gang at ony moment to my ain countrie. EVEBMOBE. 89 So I'm watchin' aye, an' singing o' my hame, aa I wait, For the soun'in o' his footfa' this side the garden gate ; Gtod gi'e His grace to ilk ane wha listens noo to me, That we may a' gang in gladness to our ain countrie." EVBEMOEE. BEHELD a golden portal in the visions of my slumber, And through it streamed the radiance of a never-setting day ; While angels tall and beautiful, and countless without number. Were giving gladsome greeting to all who came that way. And the gates, for ever swinging, made no grating, no harsh ringing. Melodious as the singing of one that we adore ; And I heard a chorus swelling, grand beyond a mortal's telling, And the burden of that chorus was Hope's glad word — Evermore ! And as I gazed and listened, came a slave all worn and weary, Hia fetter-links blood-crusted, his dark brow clammy damp, His sunken eyes gleamed widely, telling tales of horror dreary, Of toilsome stragglings through the night amid the fever swamps. Ere the eye had time for winking, ere the mind had time for thinfing, A bright angel raised the sinking wretch, and off his fetters tore ; — Then I heard the chorus swelling, grand beyond a mortal's telling, " Pass, brother, through our portal, thou'rt a freeman evermore!" And as I gazed and listened, came a mother wildly weeping — " I have lost my hopes for ever — one by one they went away ; My children and their father the cold grave hath in its keeping, Life is one long lamentation, I know nor night nor day ! '' Then the angel softly speaking, — " Stay, sister, stay thy shrieking. Thou shalt find those thou art seeking beyond that golden door !" Then I heard the chorus swelling, grand beyond a mortal's telling, " Thy children and their father shall be with thee evermore !" And as I gazed and listened, came one whom desolation Had driven, like a helmless bark, from infancy's bright land ; Who ne'er had met a kindly look — poor outcast of creation — Who never heard a kindly word, nor grasped a kindly hand. " Enter in, no longer fear thee : myriad friends are there to cheer thee — Friends always to be near thee ; there no sorrow sad and sore !" Then I heard the chorus swelling, grand beyond a mortal's telling, " Enter, brother ; thine are friendship, love, and gladness evermore !" 90 EVERMORE. And as I gazed and listened, came a cold, blue-footed maiden. With cheeks of ashen whiteness, eyes filled with lurid light ; Her body bent with sickness, her lone heart heavy laden ; Her home had been the roofless street, her day had been the night. First wept the angel sadly, then smiled the angel gladly. And caught the maiden madly rushing from the golden door ; Then I heard the chorus swelling, grand beyond a mortal's telling, " Enter, sister, thou art pure, and thou art sinless evermore !" I saw the toiler enter to rest for aye from labour ; The weary-hearted exile there found his native land ; The beggar there could greet the King as an equal and a neighbour ; The crown had left the kingly brow, the stafi the iDeggar's hand. And the gate for ever swinging, made no grating, no harsh ringing, Melodious as the singing of one that we adore ; And the chorus still was swelhng, grand beyond a mortal's telling, While the vision faded from me with the glad word — " Bvermpre !*' oral We live in deeds, not years ; in ihowgliia, not breaths : In feelings, not in figures on a dial. We should count time by hea/rt-lhrohs. He most lives Who thinks most ; feels the noblest ; acts the best. Bailey. Only add Deeds to thy knowledge answerable, add Faith, Add Virtue, Patience, Temperance, add Love, By name to come call'd Charity, the soiil Of all the rest ; then wilt thbi; not be loath To leave this Paradise, but shalt possess A Paradise within thee, happier far. Milton. MoRALiTT is only ponfused and clouded by being associated with theories of the universe. All faiths acknowledge and authenticate the moral code. H^one dare alter it. All sacred books enunciate the Commandments in very nearly the same, terms. No religion dares inculcate inteipperance, falsehood, or impurity. Morality must be obeyed on its own authority, and maintained for its own sake. FfiOTHmGHAM. He that does good to another man, does also good to himself; not only in the consequence, but in the very act of doing it; for the conscience of well-doing is an ample reward. — Seneca. It is to live twice, when you can enjoy the recollection of your former life.— Martial. BE KIND. Be kind to thy father; for when thoil wast young, Who loved thee as fondly as he ? He caught the first accents that fell from thy tongue, And joined in thine innocent glee. P2 BE KIND. « Be kind to thy father, for now he is old, His locks intermingled with gray, His footsteps are feeble, once fearless and bold ; Thy father is passing away. Be kind to thy mother, for, lo ! on her brow May traces of sorrow be seen : Oh, well may'st thou cherish and comfort her now, For loving and kind hath she been. Remember thy mother, for thee will she pray. As long as God giveth her breath ; With accents of kindness, then, cheer her lone way, E'en to the dark valley of death. Be kind to thy brother, his heart will have dearth. If the smile of thy love be withdrawn ; The flowers of feeling will fade at their birth. If the dew of affection be gone. Be kind to thy brother, wherever you are. The love of a brother shall be An ornament, purer and richer by far, Than pearls from the depths of the sea. Be kind to thy sister, not many may know The depth of true sisterly love ; The wealth of the ocean lies fathoms below The surface that sparkles above. Thy kindness shall bring to thee many sweet hours, And blessings thy pathway to crown, Affection shall weave thee a garland of flowers. More precious than wealth or renown. BE KIND. Be kind to the old man, while strong in thy youth — Be kind, not in seeming alone, but in truth ; He once was as young and as hopeful as thou. With a bosom as light, as unwrinkled a brow ! Be kind to the poor man and give of thy bread, With shelter and pillow to comfort his head ; His lot and thine own may be one ere he dieth. Or neighbour to thine the low grave where he lieth ! YOUTH. 9a Be kind to the crooked, the lame, and the blind; What's lacked in the body they feel in the mind ; And while virtue through trial and pain cometh forth. In the mind, not the body, is man's truest worth. Be kind to the fallen who lives but to mourn ; Be kind to the outcast who seeks to return ; Be kind to the hardened who never hath prayed ; Be kind to the timid who still is afraid ! The injured who down by oppression is borne ; The slighted who withers ; the victim of scorn ; The flattered who topples aloft but to fall ; The wronger and wronged — oh, be kindly to all ! For vast is the world of the generous mind, And narrow the sphere to the selfish assigned ; And clear is the path of the warm and the true — • Of the haughty and vain, how delusive the view ! Then unto the old show respect while thou mayest — The poor, while to Him who gives all things thou prayest — The weak or the lost, 'neath the load of his sorrow — And thine own cup of joy shall o'erflow ere the morrow ! YOUTH. Blest hour of childhood ! then, and then alone, Dance we the revels close round Pleasure's throne, Quaff the bright nectar from her fountain-springs. And laugh beneath the rainbow of her wings. Oh ! time of Promise, Hope, and Innocence, Of Trust, and Love, and happy Ignorance ! Whose every dream is Heaven, in whose fair joy Experience yet has thrown no black alloy ; Whose Pain, when fiercest, lacks the venomed pang Which to maturer ill doth oft belong. When, mute and cold, we weep departed bliss, And Hope expires on broken Happiness. PEACE. Lovely lasting Peace below, Comforter of every woe, Heavenly born and bred on high, To crown the favourites of the slsy ; Lovely lasting Peace, appear, This world itself— if thou art here. Is once again with Eden blest. And man contains it in his breast. PEACE OP MIND, Come lovely, gentle Peace of Mind, Be thou my cheerful, constant guest. With thee, whate'er on earth I find, Thou, pledge of heaven, shalt make me blest. Oome, thou that lov'st to walk at eve. The banks of murmuring streams along, That dar'st the crowded court to leave, To hear the rustic's simple song. With thee, the lamp of wisdom burns. The guiding light to realms above ; With thee, the raptured mortal learns The wonders of celestial love. With thee, the poor have endless wealth. Thy sacred presence glads the slave ; With thee, the sick hail coming health. The weak are strong, the timid brave. SYMPATHY. On earth, while onward time doth roll, Incessant cares our path surround ; Yet thou reviv'st the drooping soul As dew from heaven the thirsty ground. TEE TEAR OP SYMPATHY. 95 As lullaby the ailing child May softly lull to quiet sleep, So thy consoling spirit mild Soothes those who sorrow-stricken weep. For oft when some poor heart by grief Is wrung, true sympathy may dry The bUnding tear, may yield relief. And thus suppress the bitter sigh. Sweet unison of soul will raise Faith's languid flame, in anguished breast, And blended hopes of brighter days Lighten the heai't with sorrow pressed. Oh, is it not indeed sublime, To drop soul-soothing words of cheer. Which like some sweet-loved meUow chime Fall gently calm on pensive ear. 'Tis Heaven's command that we should be To each as brothers, and in love We should fulfil this high decree, This " new commandment" from above. Then let us do whate'er we can. And ne'er be selfish, backward, vain, To aid a sufiering fellow-man, To mitigate a brother's pain. For He whose mighty power could stay The tumult of the troubled sea. Breathed while on earth, day after day. The very soul of sympathy. THE TEAR, OF SYMPATHY. How lovely shines the liquid pearl, Which trickling from the eye. Pours in a sufiering brother's wound. The tear of sympathy ! 96 THE TEAR OF SYMPATHY. Its beams a fairer lustre yield Than richest rubies give — Golconda's gems, though bright, are cold- It cheers, and bids us live. Softer the tones of Friendship's voice, Its words more kindly flows, More grateful in its simplest sound Than all which art bestows. When torturing anguish racks the soul. When sorrow points its dart ; When Death, unerring, aims the blow Which cleaves a brother's heart ; Then, Sympathy ! 'tis thine to lull The sufferer's soul to rest ; To feel each pang, to share each throb. And ease the troubled breast. 'Tis thine to aid the sinking frame ; To raise the feeble hand. To bind the heart by anguish torn. With sweet affecfion's band. 'Tis thine to cherish Hope's fond smile. To chase afiBiction's gloom. To mitigate the pains that wait Our passage to the tomb. Then give me, Heaven, the soul to feci. The hand to mercy prone ; The eye with kindly drops that flows For sorrows not my own. Be mine the cause of Misery's child — Be mine the wish sincere. To pluck the sting that wounds his breast, And heal it with a tear. 97 THERE'S NOTHING LOST. There's nothing lost. The tiniest flower That grows within the darkest vale, Though lost to view, has still the power The rarest perfume to exhale ; That perfume, borne on Zephyr's wings May visit some lone sick one's bed. And like the balm affection brings, 'Twill scatter gladness round her head. There's nothing lost. The drop of dew That trembles in the rosebud's breast, Will seek its home in ether blue, And fall again as pure and blest — Perchance to revel in the spray. Or moisten the dry, parching sod. Or mingle in the fountain spray. Or sparkle in the bow of God. There's nothing lost. The seed that's cast By careless hands upon the ground, Will yet take root, and may at last A green and glorious tree be found ; Beneath its shade, some pilgrim may Seek shelter from the heat of noon. While in its boughs the breezes play. And songbirds sing their sweetest tune. There's nothing lost. The slightest tone Or whisper from a loved one's voice. May melt a heart of hardest stone, And make the saddened heart rejoice. And then, again, the careless word Our thoughtless lips too often speak. May touch a heart already stirred. And cause that troubled heart to break. There's nothing lost. The faintest strain Of breathings from some dear one's lute. In memory's dream may come again. Though every mournful string be mute. The music of some ha,ppier hour — The harp that swells with love's own words. May thrill the soul with deepest power When still the hand that swejot its chords, u 98 THE THREE AGES OP LIEE. Obseeve what wisdom sMuea in that decree. Which, varying life, appoints our ages three. Youth, manhood, and decline. In these we trace A rich proportion, and harmonious grace. Deprived of either life would charm no more : A whirl of passion, or a desert shore. If all were young, and this a world of boySj Heavens ! what a scene of trifles, tricks, and toys ! How would each minute of the live-long day, In wild, obstreperous frolic, waste away ! A world of boys ! defend us from a brood So wanton, rash, improvident, and rude ; Truants from duty, and in arts Unskilled, Their minds and manners, like their fields, untilled ; Their furniture, of gaudy trinkets made; Sweetmeats their staple article of trade ; No fruit allowed to ripen on the tree, And not a bird's-nest from invasion free. In public life, there still would meet your sight, The same neglect of duty and of right. Pray, iot example, take a stripling court. And see which there would triumph, law or sport : " Adjourn, adjourn," some beardless judge would say, " I'll hear the trial when I've done my play !" Or, if the judge sat faithful to the laws. Hear how the counsel might defend his cause. " May't please your Honour — 'tis your turn to stop, I'll spin my speech, when I have spun my top." Meanwhile the jury pluck each other's hairj The bar toss notes and dockets into air. The sheriff', ordered to keep silence, cries, " Oh, yes ! oh, yes ! when I have caught the^e flies." Such were the reveUings of this giddy sphere. Should youth alone enjoy dominion here: All glory, mischief; and all business, play — i And life itself, a misspent holiday. Now let us take a soberer view again, And make this world a world of full-grown men, StifE, square, and formal, dull, morose, and sour, Contented slaves, yet tyrants when in power ; The firmest friends, where interest forms the tie. The bitterest foes, where rival interests vie ; Skilled to dissemble, and to smile by rule, In passions raging, while in conduct cool ; THE THBEE AGES OF LIFE. , 9P i Still, with some deep, remote design ia view, Plodding, yet wanting ardour to pursue ; Still finding fault with every fretful breath. Yet hating innovation worse than death ; In arts unwieldy, but too proud to learn. In trifles serious, and in frolic stem ; In love, what glances — at a manor ground ! What sighs and wishes — for a thousand pound ■ But sure the stream of life must sweeter stray, The nearer to the source its waters play. Besides, there's such a raoiness in youth. Such touches too of innocence and truth. We love the things, how full soe'er they be Of all their noisy pranks, and frivolous glee. If they rectoire our tight, experienced rein. Our grosser vices they in turn restrain. ' . ; ' From youth the profligate their sins conceal, . '. And feign that virtue which they cannot feel. Before his son, what father is profane ? What parent dares a filial ear to stain ? Who does not check his conduct and his tongupj In reverence for the yet untainted young ? Oh yes ! in tender age, a holy charm Breathes forth, and half-protects itself from harm. Bereft of youth, and to mid age confined, The life of life were ravished from mankind. The same dull round of habits would prevail, Vice wax inveterate, folly would grow stale, And this fair scene of active bliss become A long, dark fit of hypochondriac gloom. Thus youth's and manhood's fierce extremes contend. With wholesome clash, each other's faults to mend ; Waging a kind of elemental strife. They Taise and purify the tone of life; The light and shade, that fix its colours true. The sour and sweet, that gave it all its gowt. But shall old age escape unnoticed here P ' That sacred era, to reflection dear, That peaceful shore, where passion dies away. Like the last wave that ripples o'er the bay ? ' Hail, holy Age ! preluding heavenly rest. Why art thou deemed by erring fools unblest P Some dread, some pity,- some contemn thy sta/te — ■ Yet all desire to reach thy lengthened date ; -■ u 2 lOO TSU THBEH AGES OF LIFE. And of the few so hardly landed there, How very few thy pressure learn to bear, And fewer still thy reverend honours wear. He who has stemmed the force of youthful fire. And rode the storm of manhood's fierce desire. He only can deserve, and rightly knows Thy sheltering strength, thy rapturous repose. As some old courser, of a generous breed, Who never yielded to a rival's speed, Far from the tumults of Olympic strife, In peaceful pastures loiters out his life, So the wise veteran ends his race, his toils, And sweetly his late lingering eve beguiles. What though the frost of years invest his head ? What though the furrow mark Time's heavy tread ? There still remains a sound and vigorous frame, A decent competence, an honest fame ; In every neighbour lie beholds a friend ; E'en heedless youth to him in reverence bend. Whilst duteous sons retard his mild decay. Or children's children smooth his sloping way. And lead him to the grav&jivith death-beguiling play. Thus, as the dear lo^^^jice he leaves behind. Still court his bless^^^nd that blessing find. Their tenderness i^^^^g'well repays. And yields to thei^^^^^^^nant of his days. For them he frames tWlaughter-moving joke ; For them the tale wMl prestine glee is spoke ; For them a thousana nameless efibrts rise; To warn, to teach, to please, he hourly tries. Nor ever feels himself so truly blest. As when dispensing comforts to the rest ;■ His hands in active duties never tire, He grafts the scion, points the tendrils spire, Or prunes the summer bower, or trims the winter fire. Nor is this all. As sensual joys subside, Sublimer pleasures are to age allied ; Then, pensive memory fondly muses o'er The bliss or woe impressed so long before ; The sinking sun thus sheds his mellowed ray, Athwart those scenes it brightened through the day. Then, too, the soul, as heavenly prospects ope. Expands and kindles with new beams of hope. So the same parting orb, low in the west, Dilates and glows, before it sinks to rest. TEE BIVEB AND THE TIDE. 101 Oh ! if old age were cancelled from our lot, Full soon would man deplore the unhallowed blot ; Life's busy day would want its tranquil even, And man must lose his stepping-stone to heaven. Thus, every age by God to man assigned, Declares His power, how good, how wise, how kind ! And thus in manhood, youth, and age, we trace A sweet proportion, and harmonious grace. THE EIV^EB AND THE TIDE. On the bank of a river was seated one day An old man, and close by his side. Was a child who had paused from his laughing and play To gaze at the stream, as it hurried away To the sea, with the ebb of the tide. " What see you, my child, in the stream, as it flows To the ocean, so dark and deep ? Are you watching how swift, yet how silent it goes ? Thus hurry our lives, till they sink in repose. And are lost in a measureless sleep. " TSow listen, my boy ! Ton are young, I am old. And yet like two rivers are we ; Though the flood-tide of youth f )-om Time's ocean is rolled, Yet it ebbs all too soon, and its waters grow cold As it creeps back again to the sea." "But the river returns !" cried the boy, while his eyes Gleamed bright as the water below. " Ah ! yes," said the old man ; " but time, as it flies, Turns the tide of our life, and it never can rise." " But first," said the boy, " it must flow." Thus, watching its course from the bank of the stream. They mused, as they sat side by side ; Each read different tales in the river's bright gleam — One bonie with the flow of a glorious dream, And one going out with the tide. 102 LIFE'S CHANGES, Ho-w strange is life,— how changeful time I pne day the smiles of love may cheer The heart, like joyous nuptial chime, "Which falls upon the listening ear Sweet and symphonious, and the soul Is filled with dulcet thoughts of joy. Oh, would life's little round aye roll On thus, with nought e'er to alloy Out Miittual bliss ; but time to see* As it sped on its swift winged way. Our hearts in closer unity Of love Etnd friendship .joined each day. But, no, alas ! timo onward flies, And brings the ever-changeful years,_ Which nip earth's truest, tenderest ties Erom us, thus turning joys to sighs Of saddening grief, and love-lit eyes To weeping sorrows bitter tears. So on tne rolling tide of life, Man — ^frail, weak bark — must ever ride, 'Midst swelling seas of storm and strife ; But let us still in Him confide, Who sends for every storm a calm, Eor every wound a healing balm. Then to omniscient care resign The trying troubles of each day. And ne'er at His just will repine. Who " takes but what He gave, away." O Grod ! how hard for us to say, " Thy Will, Lord, be done !" alway. With intermingled joys and tears Haste on the short and fleeting years Of life, in which loved friends depart ; Tet memory holds (them dear to heart. 'Tis sweet, when youthful years have flea, And time has tinged our looks with grey. To muse on happy scenes which made Us light and gay in life's young day. Or when with years maturer crowned. And on our minds is left th' impress Of every change in life's strange round, We love each varied scene to trace. THE WOBLD'S OHANaES, 103. Oft when alone, in Some calm hour, When hushed and stilled is outward life,- Keen memory with reflecting power Brings visions sad, yet sweet; and rife With musings strange on quiet dead On hearts that once did warm , glow With life and love, but now have fled,! Ne'er to return again, ah, no ! THE WORLD'S CHANGEB. The solemn shadow that bears in his hands The conquering scythe and the glass of sands, Paused once on his flight where the suni'ise shone. On a warlike city's towers of stone; And he asked of a panoplied soldier near, " How long has this fortressed city been here?" And the man looked up, man's pride on his brow — " The city stands here from the ages of old ; And as it was then, and as it is now. So will it endure tfll the funeral kneU Of the world be kn oiled. As Eternity's annals shall tell." And after a thousand years were o'er, The shadow paused over the spot once more. And vestige of none of a city lay there. But laikes lay blue, and plains lay bare. And the marshalled corn stood high and pale. And a shepherd piped of love in a vale. " How !" spake the shadow, " can temple and tower Thus fleet, like mist from the morning hour?" But the shepherd shook the long looks from his brow— " The world is filled with sheep and corn ; Thus was it of old, thus it is now, Thus, too, will it be while moon and sun, Bule night and mom. For Nature and life are one." And after a thousand years wore o'er. The shadow paused over the spot once more. And lo ! in the room of the meadow-landa, A sea foamed far over safiron sands. And flashed in the eventide bright and dark, And a fisher was casting his jiets from a bark ; 104 THE WORLD'S CSANGE8. How marvelled the Shadow ! " Where then is the plain P And where be the acres of golden grain ?" But the fisher dashed ofE the salt spray from his brow— " The waters begirdle the earth away. The sea ever rolled as it roUeth now ; What babblest thou about grain and fields ? By night and day, Man looks for what ocean yields." And after a thousand years were o'er. The shadow joaused over the spot once more. And the ruddy rays of the eventide, Were gilding the skirts of a forest wide ; The moss of the trees looked old, bo old ! And valley and hill, the ancient mould, Was robed in sward, an evergreen cloak; And a woodman sang as he felled an oak. Him asked the shadow — " Bememberest thou, Any trace of a sea where wave those trees ?" But the woodman laughed ; said he, " I trow, If oaks and pines do flourish and fall, It is not amid seas ; The earth is one forest all." And after a thousand years were o'er, The shadow paused over the spot once more. And what saw the shadow P A city again. But peopled by pale, mechanical men, With workhouses filled, and prisons, and marts. And faces that spake exanimate hearts. " Strange pictures and sad!" was the shadow's thought; And turning to one of the ghasiiy, he sought For a clue in words to the when and the how. Of the ominous change he now beheld ; But the man uplifted his careworn brow — " Change P What was life ever but conflict and, change P From the ages of old. Hath affliction been widening its range." "Enough !" said the shadow, and passed from the spot; " At last it is vanished, the beautifiol youth Of the earth, to return with no to-morrow ; All changes have chequered mortality's lot ; But this is the darkest — for knowledge and truth, Are but golden gates to the temple of sorrow 1" 105 TO A CHILD. " The iaemoi*y of thy uame, dear one, Lives in my inmost heart, Linked with a thousand hopes and fears, That will not thence depart.'' Things of bigh import sound I in thine ears. Dear child, though now thou may'st not feel their power. But hoard them up, and in thy coming years Forget them not ; and when earth's tempests lower, A talisman unto thee shall they be, To give thy weak arm strength, to make thy dim eye see. Seek Truth — that pure, celestial Truth, whose birth Was in the heaven of heavens, clear, sacred, shrined, In reason's light. Not oft she visits earth : But her majestic port the willing mind. Through Faith may sometimes see. Give her thy soul. Nor faint, though error's surges loudly 'gainst thee roll. Be FEEE — not chiefly from the iron chain. But from the one which passion forges ; be The master of thyself ! If lost, regain The rule o'er chance, sense, circumstance. Be free. Trample thy proud lusts proudly 'neath thy feet. And stand erect, as for a heaven-born one is meet. Seek Virtue : wear her armour to the fight : Then, as a wrestler gathers strength from strife, Shalt thou be nerved to a more vigorous might By each contending, turbulent ill of life. Seek virtue : she alone is all divine ; And, having found, be strong in God's own strength and thine. Truth— Fkbedom — Vihtue — these, dear child, have power. If rightly cherished, to uphold, sustain, And bless thy spirit in its darkest hour : Neglect them — thy celestial gifts are vain — In dust shall thy weak wing be dragged and soiled, Thy soul be crushed 'neath gauds for which it basely toiled. 106- TO MT CHILD AT PLAY. Plat on, my little one ! fair is ttine hour ; How jocund thy spirit, how cloudless and bright ! While care haunts the court, and the camp, and the bower, Thy heart only feels the warm thrill of delight ! Play on ! for thy gambols so blithesome and free. It were pleasure to share, as 'tis joy to behold ; Thou art merry and Wild as the revelling bee ; Thou art blithe as a lamb just escaped from the fold. Oh ! could'st thou thro' life be as happy as now. With thy heart as unclouded, thy bosom as pure ; Could the joy of that smile which enlightens thy brow, And the rapturous glow of thy spirits endure. But I would not with dread of the future oppress thee ; Play on ! and remember, that nothing can tear From thy innocent bosom the hopiss that now bless thee. Save the vice of the world : — all thy dangers lie there. And when its temptations beset thee, my child, Oh ! think of the truth which my vetse would impart. And be ne'e* by its folly, its madness, beguiled. But in purity keep all the thoughts of thy heart ! More joy will it give me in life, if thy name Be a word to awaken the feelings of worth ; More joy than to see thee exalted by fame. And rich in the wealth and the grandeur of' earthi! Yea; goodness will yield to thy soul a delight Wimk thS splendour of greatness can never bestow ; And while virtue directs thee, her heavenly light Win reveal the sweet flowers in thy pathway below ! Thus favoured ajid happy, thus blessing and blest. Thou wilt pass through the world linallured by its crime ; Thus living, be honoured ; thus dying, thy rest Will be endless in glory — thy triumph o'er time ! 107 THE CHILD AND THE FLOWER. " Oh ! tell me, Miother," said a fair young .child, As he gazed with his earnest eyes, " Who made this flower ? What painted it so ? What-gavd to it that deep rich glow, Like the blue of the beautiful skies ?" " He who made that flowes, my darling boy, Maketh the thunders roll ; He made the earth, the sky, the sea. The flower, the fruitj the leaf, the tree. And gave to thee thy soul." " Is His home, dear mother, the southern' land. Where the perfumed breezes play-^ Where the gorgeous birds, with golden wing, Make bright the never- changing spring In bowers that are ever gay?" " His home, iby child, is beyond the skies, A' paradise of flowers. Where little children — angels there — Paint those flowers so bright and fair, And bring them to this land of burs." " Oh ! how I wish that home were mineji ' And yon were with me too ; I would paint a wreath so strangely fair. And twine il;,. mother, for you to wear-^ A crown of heaven's own hue !'' . WISHES And EEALItlBS. A CfilLD's WISHES. '^ I wish I were a little bird, To fly so far and high. And sail along the golden clouds. And through the azure sky. I'd be the first to see the sun Up from the ocean spring ; And ere it touched the glittering spire, His ray should gild my wing. 108 WISHES AND REALITIES. " Above the hills I'd watch him still, Far down the crimson west ; And sing to him, my evening song, Ere yet I sought my rest. And many a land I then should see, As hill and plain 1 crossed ; Nor fear through all the pathless sky That I should e'er be lost. " I'd fly where, round the olive bough. The vine its tendrils weaves ; And shelter from the moonbeams seek Among the myrtle leaves. Now, if I climb our highest hill, How little can I see ! Oh, had I but a pair of wings. How happy should I be !" " Wings cannot soar above the sky. As thou in thought canst do ; Nor can the veiling clouds confine Thy mental eye's keen view. Not to the sun dost thou chant forth Thy simple evening hymn ; Thou praisest Him, before whose smile The noonday sun grows dim." " But thou may'st learn to trace the sun Around the earth and sky. And see him rising, setting, still, Where distant oceans lie. To other lands the bird may guide His pinions through the air ; Ere yet he rests his wings, thou art In thought before him there. " Though strong and free, his wing may droop, Or bands restrain its flight : Thought none can stay — more fleet its course Than swiftest beams of light ; A lovelier clime than birds can find, While summers go and come. Beyond this earth remains for those, Whom G-od doth summon home." -109 THE CHILDREN'S CHOICE. John. I MEAN to be a soldier, With uniform quite new ; I wish they'd let me have a drum, And be a captain, too ; I would go amid the battle With my broadsword iu my hand, And hear the cannon rattle. And the music all so grand. MOTUEE. My son ! my son ! what if that sword Should strike a noble heart. And bid some loving father From his little ones depart ! What comfort would your waving plumes And brilliant dress bestow, When you thought upon the widow's tears And her orphan's cry of woe ! William. I mean to be a president, And rule each rising state. And hold my levies once a week, For all the gay and great : I'll be a king, except a crown, For all they wont allow. And I'U find out what the tariflP is. That puzzles me so now. MOTHEE. My son ! my son ! the cares of state Are thorns upon the' breast, That ever pierce the good man's heart, And rob him of his rest. The great and gay to him appear As trifling as the dust. For he knows how little they are worth- How faithless is their trust. 110 THE GHILBKEN'S CHOICE. Louisa. I mean to be a cottage girl, And sit behind a rill, And morn and eve Iny pitcher there With purest water fiU ; And I'll train fi lovely woodbine Around my cottage door, And welcome to my winter hearth The wandering and the poor. Mother. Louisa,dear, a humble mind 'Tis beautiful to see, And you shall never hear a word To check that mind from me ; But, ah ! remember, pride md,y dwell Beneath the woodbine shade ; And disccntesnt, a sullen guest, The coffctage hearth invade. Caroline. I wiU be gay and courtly. And dance away the hours ; Music, and sport, and joy shall dwell Beneath my fairy bowers ; No heart shall ache with sadness Within my laughing hall. But the note of joy and gladiuesa Re-eobo to my call. MOTMER. children !-sad it makes my soul To hear your playful strain ; 1 cannot bear to ohiU your heart With images of pain. Yet hambly take wWt God bestows, And like his own fair flowers. Look up in sunshine with a smile. And gently bend in showers. Ill THE FIRST BAWBEE. Oh nane, I trow, in a' the eartli Was tappier tlian me, When in my wee ,breek poTioh I got My 6rst bawbee. I turned it roun' and roun' wi' pride, Syne toddled aff wi' glee, To ware on sometidng that was good ; My first bawbee. I met aiild grannie at the door ; . " Noo, Eab," feays she, " tak' care Nae feckless whigmaleeries buy Whan you gang to lAie fair. "A gauey.row, a sonoy sconej Is best for ane that's wee. For muokle lies in hoo you ware Your first bawbee." My grannie's words were soon forgot When to the Fair I gaed,. An' saw sae mouy fairhes there On ilka staun' arrayed. I glowered at this and glanced at that Wi' roving, greedy e'e, Syne felt dumfounert hoo to ware My first bawbee. Here apples lay iii mony a creel, A' temp'in' to the view. An' pears and plooms, whase very loots Brocht water to my mou'. , , , An' there were toshed wee picture-books, A' spread oot nice to see ; ' They seemed, to say, " Oome here and ware Your first bawbee." I kenned the ane wid 'gust the ga!b, The ithpr tell me how Cock Robin fell that waefraf day The sparrow drew his bow. 112 THB MOTHER'S JEWELS. Them baith waesooks I couldna get, An' sae wj' tearfu' e'e I swithered lang on whilk to span' My first bawbee. At length a wheedlin' Berish loon Began to brawl an' brag ; Says he, " Come here, my little lad. An' try the lucky bag. If you have but one copper got — For it you may get three ; Shure, never venture never win- Come sport wi' your bawbee." Sae at the bag I tried my luek ; But hope was dang agee — A blank was mine, and sae I lost My first bawbee. A tear cam' happin' ower my cheek, As sad I daundered hame, Wi' hunger tum'lin' up an' doun Like vrin' within my wame. I telt atdd grannie a' my tale ; " Tou've gane far wrang," said she ; " But muckle guid may yet come oot Your first bawbee." THE MOTHEE'S JEWELS. The dreamy night draws nigh ; Soft airs delicious breathe of mingled flowers. And on the wings of slumber creep the hours ; The moon is high. . See yonder tiny cot. The lattice decked with vines ; a tremulous ray Strolls out to where the silver moonbeams lay, Yet pales them not ! THE MOTHER'S JEWELS. H3 Within, two holy eyes. Two little hands clasped softly, and a brow Where thought sits bnsy, weaving garlands now Of joys and sights For the swift coming years. Two rosy lips with innocent ■worship part : List ! be ihon saint or sceptic, if thou art Thon must have ears : ' Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soxil to keep ; If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take.' Doth it not noiseless ope The very floodgates of thy heart, and make A better man of thee, for her sweet sake. Who, with strong hope. Her sweet task ne'er forgot To whisper, ' Now I lay me,' o'er and o'er ? As thon didst kneel upon the sanded floor — Forget them not ! From many a festive hall. Where flashing light and flashing glances vie. And, robed in splendour, mirth makes revelry — Soft voices call On the light-hearted throngs To sweep the harp-strings, and to join the dance. The careless girl starts lightly, as perchance, Amid the songs. The merry laugh, the jest, Come to her vision songs of long ago. When, by her downy c6ucli, she murmured low, Before her rest. That simple infant prayer. Once more at home, she lays her jewels by, Throws back the curls that shade her heavy eye. And kneeling there, With quivering lip and sigh. Takes from her finger white the sparkling rings. The golden coronet from her brow, and flings The baubles by ; Nor doth she thoughtless dare To seek her rest, till she hath asked of Heaven That all her sins, through Christ, may be forgiven. Then comes the prayer : I 114 FOLLY. " Now I lay ule down to sleep, I pray tlie Lord my soul to keep ; If I snould die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take." The warrior on the battlefield, After the battle — pillowing his head. Perhaps, upon a fallen comrade dead — Scorns not to yield To the sweet iliemories of his childhood's hour, When fame was bartered for a crimson flower. The statesman grey. His massive brow all hung with laurel leaves, Forgets his honours while his memory weaves A picture of that home, 'mid woods and streams. Where hoary mountains caught the sun's first beams ; A cabin rude — the wide fields glistening. The cattle yoked, and mutely listening ; The farmer's toil, the farmer's face, and, best Of earthly luxuries, the farmer's rest. But hark ! a soft voice steals upon his heart : " Now say your prayer, my son, before we part ;" And clasping his great hands — a child once more — Upon his breast, forgetting life's long war, Thus hear him pray : " Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep ; If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to taka." FOLLY. There is folly in all the world, Or go we east or west ; A folly that vexes the old, And keeps the young from rest. The miser has folly enough, For his soul is in sordid bags ; And the spendthrift's folly, alas ! Brings him to sin and rags. FOLLY. 115 There is folly in statesmen's solienies, For, spite of their plotting and wit, There's a wiser hand above That leads them with bridle and bit. There's folly in power and pride. That mates full many to fall ; There's a folly in maiden's love. But that is the sweetest of all. But of all the follies, the worst — For it stings with constant smart, The scorpion of the mind — Is that of a thankless heart. For the thankless heart is cursed. And with blessings eucomjpassed grieves— For it cannot rejoice with the hand That gives nor yet receives. To be thankful makes better the good ; And if Heaven should send us ill, There is kindness in Him that gives — So let us be thankful still. Oh, let us be thankful in youth. And let us be thankful in age ; Let us be thankful through life, For there's pleasure in every stage. Youth has its own sweet joys, And he must be blind as a bat, Who cannot see Love's sweet smile, And will not be thankful for that. There are friends the dearest to cheer. Ere half our sand is run ; . And affection makes wintry days As bright as the summer's sun. And when from the dearest on earth We part, let us hope 'tis given A boon to be thankful still To meet them again in heaven. l2 116 EESBRVB. {From the French-) Something should remain utiseen, All the will should not appear ; For light thoughts will intervene, And light words to danger veer. Sometimes on the verge of speech, Better not be over-bold, But little pausing caution teach. What to say and what withhold. Idle talk is ever free, And with riches soon runs o'er ; Keasou should the treasurer be. And still something keep in store. BIDE TOUE TIME. BrDB your time ! — ^the morn is breaking. Bright with freedom's blessed ray; Millions, from their trance awaking, Soon shall stand in stern array. Man shall fetter man no longer. Liberty shall march sublime ; Every moment makes you stronger — Firm, unshrinking, bide your time. Bide your time ! — one false step taken Perils all you yet have done ; Undismayed — erect — unshaken — Watch and wait, and all is won. 'Tis not by one rash endeavour Men or States to greatness climb ; Would you win your rights for ever, palm and thoughtful, bide your time ! PADDLE YOUR OWN OANOB. 117 Bide your time ! — your worst transgression Were to strike, and strike in vain ; He whose arm would smite oppression Must not need to smite again ! Danger makes the brave man steady — Eashness is the coward's crimen Be for freedom's battle ready When it comes — But bide your time ! PADDLE YOUR OWN OANOB. VoYAGEK upon life's sea, to yourself be trae, And where'er your lot may be, " Paddle your own canoe !" Never, though the winds may rave, falter nor look back ; But upon the darkest wave leave a shining track. Nobly dare the wildest storm, stem the hardest gale ; Brave of heart and strong of arm, you will never fail. When the world is cold and dark, keep an aim in view ; And toward the beacon-mark " Paddle your own canoe .'" Every wave that bears you on to the silent shore, From its sunny source has gone, to return no more : Then let not an hour's delay cheat you of your due ; But, while it is called to day, " Paddle your own canoe .'" If your birth denied yon wealth, lofty state and power, Honest fame and hardy health are a better dower : Bat, if these will not suffice, golden gain pursue ; And to gain the glittering prize, " Paddle your own oa/noe !" Would you wrest the wreath of fame from the hand of fate ? Would you write a deathless name with the good and great ? Would you bless your fellow-men ? Heart and soul imbue With the holy task, and then " Paddle your own canoe !" Would you crush the tyrant wrong, in the world's free fight ? With a spirit brave and strong, battle for the right : And to break the chains that bind the many to the few — To enfranchise slavish mind — " Paddle your o'vn canoe t" THE MABBIAGE VOW. Notlimg great is lightly won, notting won is lost ; Every good depd, nobly done, will repay the cost : Leave to Heaven, in humble trust, aU you will to do ; But, if you'd succeed, you inust " Paddle yovb. own canoe !" OUPID TAUGHT BY THE GRACES. It is their summer haunt ; — a giant oak Stretches its sheltering arms above their heads, And midst the twilight of depending boughs They ply their eager task. Between them sits A bright-haired child, whose softly glistening wings Quiver with joy, as ever and anon He, at their bidding, sweeps a chorded shell. And draws its music forth. Wondering, he looks For their approving smile, and quickly drinks (Apt pupU !) from their lips instruction sweet — i)ivine encouragement ! And this is Love Taught by the Graces how to point his darts With milder mercy and discreeter aim ; To stir the bosom's lyre to harmony, And waken strains of music from its chords They never gave before ! THE MAEEL&.GE YOW. Speak it not lightly ! — 'tjs a holy thing, A bond'enduring through long distant years, When joy o'er thine abode is hovering. Or when thine eye is wet with bitterest tears, Recorded by an angel's pen on high. And must be questioned in eternity ! Speak it not lightly ! — ^though the young and gay Are thronging round thee now with tones of mirth, Let not the holy promise of to-day Fade like the clouds that with the morn have birth ; But ever bright and sacred may it be, Stored in the treasure-cell of memory. WED NOT FOB GOLD. 119 Life will not prove ali sunshine — there will come Dark hours for all — oh, will ye, when the night Of sorrow gathers thickly round your home. Love, as ye did in times when calm and bright Seemed the sure path ye trod, untouched by care. And deemed the future, like the present, fair ? Eyes that now beam with health may yet grow dim, And cheeks of rose forget their early glow ; Languor and pain assail each active limb. And lay, perchance, some worshipped beauty low : Then win ye gaze upon the altered brow And love as fondly, faithfully, as now ? Should Fortune frown on your defenceless head, Should storms o'ertake your bark on life's dark sea. Fierce tempests rend the sail so gaily spread. When Hope her syren straiu sang joyously : WiU ye look up, though clouds your sky o'ercast. And say. Together we will bide the blast ? Age with its silvery locks comes stealing on. And brings the tottering step, the furrowed cheek. The eye from which each lustrous gleam hath gope. And the pale lip, with accents low and weak. Win ye then think upon your life's gay prime. And, smUiag, bid Love ti-iumph over Time ? Speak it not lightly ! Oh ! beware, beware ! 'Tis no vaiu promise, no unmeaning word, Lo ! men and angels Kst the faith ye swear. And by the High and Holy One 'tis heard. Oh then kneel huinbly at His altar now. And pray for strength to keep the marriage vow ! WED NOT FOR GOLD. WoTiLDST wed for gold ? Seek yonder palace-gate. Where liveried menials at the entrance wait : They guard the porch 'gainst all of low degree, But thou, unseen, shall enter there ^rith me. And learn a lesson from a gilded paeg^ Too true the tale it tells, from age to age. 120 WED NOT FOB GOLD. Of wealth and misery joined hand in hand. See yonder lady fair ! — wouldst understand Why on her youthful brow that shadow rests ? Can it be true that aught of grief molests One who is mistress of a home like this ?_ What, cannot riches purchase earthly bliss ? Fool ! list the moral that this scene imparts. — She purchased wealth — with what P — two broken hoaita. Scarce one short year ago, a youthful pair Plighted their troth, and swore through life to share, Whether for weal or woe, their mutual lot ; But wealth came limping by, and she forgot Her faith, his love ; alas ! poor girl, she sold Her earthly happiness, her heaven, for gold. Where is he now, that poor heart-broken boy ? When he beheld his all of earthly joy Gone, gone for ever with the rich man's bride. A tombstone mournful whispers, "that he died." And is she happy now ? No ; every scene She looks upon but tells what might have been. Though decked in costly silks and satins rare, Though priceless jewels glitter in her hair, Though blessed with everything that wealth can buy. Still is she happy ? List the stifled sigh Bursting unbidden from her aching breast. It sometimes finds a voice, though oft repressed : And in that sigh a truthful tale is told ; Go, write it on thy heart — ^Wed not for gold. Wouldst wed for gold ? Seek yonder humble cot ; There wealth and misery are alike forgot ; Wide open stands the hospitable door, And welcome he who enters, rich or poor. Contentment smiles around with homely grace ; Here jaundiced Avarice, with saffron face. Would e'en forget his hoards of yellow dust, And give his millions could he share the crust That honest labour renders ever sweet, (Not always such the luxuries of the great) See from Ids daily toil the cotter come ; Pull well he knows the loved one waits him home ; Little cares he to share the rich man's part. His mine of wealth is one true woman's heart ; Like those twin stars that mariners descry. When looking eastward in the northern sky, They seek the cynosure to trace their way O'er pathless seas ; but lest they wandering stray THE HAPFY EVENING. 12J And choose some other orb, the pointer's guide To it above, heedless of all beside ; Revolving ever, still they never rove From out the path that guards the star they love. So woman's fond affections, pure and true, Once gained, will faithful ever cling to you Though all else change. Let good or ill betide. Faint not, blest man, an angel's at thy side. Constant in death, she whispering, points above — " Dearest, we'll meet in heaven, for heaven is love." Think well on this, ye fools, that seek to gain A fleeting pleasure for an age of pain 'Tis short-lived pleasure wealth alone can give. And happier far, methinks, 'twould be to live Poor but contented. Now my thought is told. Go, write it on thy heart — Wed not for gold. Wed not for gold. Seek California's shore. Contend with thousands for the glittering ore ; Toil while the sun beats ou thy fevered head ; ToiliUl thy fainting heart is almost dead ; Toil till thy worn-out limbs refuse to stand ; Dig till the pickaxe drop from out thy hand ; Till frosted head and heart proclaim thee old — Ay, more, — ^tUl death ! but, oh ! wed not for gold. THE HAPPY EVENING. How blest is he whose tranquil mind, When life declines, recalls again The years that time has cast behind. And reaps delight from toil and pain. So when the transient storm is past. The sudden gloom and driving show'r, The sweetest sunshine is the last, The loveliest is the evening hour. 122 PAST AND PRESENT. In earlier days, in happier hours, I watched and wandered with the sun : I saw him when the east was red, I saw him when the day was dead, All his earthly journey done. Looks of love were in the west, But he passed and took no rest ! O'er the immeasurable blue. Across the rain, amidst the blast. Onwards and onwards, like a god. Through the trackless air he trod. Scattering bounties as he passed By the portals of the west. And never shut his eyes in rest. how — in those two happy hours — How deeply then did I adore The bright unwearied sleepless sun. And wished — just thus my course to run ; Prom sea to sea, from shore to shore. My deeds thus good, thus known, thus bright. Thus undisturbed by rest or night. But now — since I have heard and seen The many cares that trouble life. The evil that requiteth good. The benefits not understood — Unfilial, unfratemal strife, The hate, the lie, the bitter jest — 1 feel how sweet are night and rest. And oh ! what morning ever looked So lovely as the quiet eve. When low and fragrant winds arise And draw the curtains of the skies. And gentle songs of summer weave — Such as between the alders creep Now, and soothe my soul to sleep ! 123 THE EOBBBE'S DEATH-BED. Dnicnown, untended, and alone, Beneath the damp cave's dripping stone, On his low bed the robber lay, Watching the sun's departing ray. As slowly, faintly, faded all The dim light on that cavern's wall. Alone — alone^^and death was near, And that stern man, nnnsed to fear. Whose shout had led the battle-strife, Whose arm had bared the bloody knife, Whose soul would neither spare nor yield. In secret way, or open field ; That giant frame, of sinewy make, Why does each nerve and fibre quake ? Why glares around that eagle-eye ? Can he, the dauntless, fear to die ? Yes : Eear, a stranger-guest, has come To fill that cave's mysterious gloom With visions dire, and monsters fell, And some remembered — all too well, Dim pictures of the far-ofi' past — AH hideous now, and all defaced. What form is that advancing slow ? His mother wipes his misty brow, He feels her breath, so gently warm. His head rests on her feeble arm. Kind words once more are heard, and felt, A mother's knee in prayer has knelt. 'Tis all a dream ! That form has gone. The friendless one remains alone, Tet something still sounds in his ear — 'Tis not the ocean-waves, though near ; It is the stiU small voice which speaks. When nought beside the silence breaks. That voice which neither wind nor wave Nor aught can stifle but the grave ; A still small voice — -yet louder far To him who hears, than din of war ; And deep, and clear, the warning cry, When sickness comes, and death is nigh. At early morn there sought that cave. On high behest, two warriors brave ; Commissioned by their prince to find. That lawless man — to guard and bind, 124 LIGHT FOB ALL. At safety's risk, tliat ivon hand, And from its terrors rid the land. Behold he sleeps ! — the veriest child Might sport beside that ruffian wild, So still, so fixed, so moveless now. The marble of that fearful brow. No passion stirs his fluttering breath. He sleeps the long cold sleep of death. He sleeps ; but who the tale shall tell Of that lone robber's last farewell ? When earth, and sky, and sea, and air. And all they held of rich or fair ; When all his greedy hand had gained, And all his hold would have retained. Were passing swiftly, surely by. And fading from his drooping eye ; While nought but horror, guilt, and gloom Eemained beside his opening tomb. Yes : then, even then, that holy book, With trembling hand the robber took, A.nd such the lessons learned in youth, And such the force of heavenly truth, That while condemned the page he read. Some hope of mercy o'er it shed A ray more bright than earth could yield ; And feeling, all too long concealed. Burst forth, o'ermastered by his fate. But, hark that call — " One moment wait." He drops the book — it is too late ! LIGHT FOE AGL From tie Oei-man. You cannot pay with money The million sons of toil — The sailor on the ocean. The peasant on the soil, The labourer in the quarry, The hewer of the coal ; Your money pays the hand. But it cannot pay the soul. LIGET FOB ALL. 125 You gaze ou the cathedral, Whose turrets meet the sky ; Kemember the foundations That in earth and darkness lie : For, were not those foundations So darkly resting there. Ton towers up could never soar So proudly in the air. The workshop vaust he crowded That the palace may be bright : If the ploughman did not plough. Then the poet could not write. Then let every toil be hallowed That man performs for man, And have its share of honour As part of one great plan. See light darts down from heaven, And enters where it may ; The eyes of all earth's people Are cheered with one bright day j And let the mind's true sunshine Be spread o'er earth as free, And fill the souls of men As the waters fill the sea. The man who turns the soil Need not have an earthly mind ; The digger 'mid the coal Need not be in spirit blind : The mind can shed a light On each worthy labour done, As lowliest things are bright In the radiance of the sun. What cheers the musing student. The poet, the divine, — The thought that for his followers A brighter day will shine. Let every human labourer Enjoy the vision bright — Let the thought that comes from heaven Be spread like heaven's own light ! 126 STANZAS. Ye men who hold the pen. Rise like a band inspired, And, poets, let your lyrics With hope for man be fired ; TiU the earth becomes a temple, And every hnman heart Shall join in one great service. Each happy in his part. STANZAS. No courtly halls for me ! I sigh not for their pomp and slate, Their midnight scenes, their revels late Of thoughtless gaiety ; My heart would feel oppressed. And I should mourn while others smiled. By visionary joys beguiled. And flatterers caressed. , But where bDlows are dashing In the sunny light flashing, Where wild flowers are blushing, And mountain streams rushingr— There, and there only, is my heart's wild bound Free as the air, while Nature smiles around. And yet ! I would not dweU A discontented denizen In this fair world, apart from men. Like monk in cloistered cell ; Who, by a life of idle ease. Must seek in vain his God to please. Be mine the happiness (So exquisite !) of being blest, And blessing others. I'd not rest In useless idleness ; But meekly, lowlily, would shed A pure, bright influence, while I tread The straight and rugged path my Saviour trod ; The only path that leads to heaven and God ! 127 TO MYSELF. Is solitude a burden to thy soul ? Hear what to great Pythagoras, of old, Where through deep vales Peneus' waters roll, By Echo and the Nightingale was told. "Wherefore, Nightingale !" the sage demands, (For he the varied lai}guage understands Of bird and beast, and e'en of wave and wind), " Wherefore, Songstress, dost thou love to find Thy sunless shelter 'mid secluded dales, Scattering thy melodies on desert gales, And the deaf woods unheard by human kind P" Prom the low thicket by the water's edge The halycon flitting from the trembling sedge, " I sing to heaven," the Nightingale replied ; The wise man smote upon his breast and sighed. Long was the pause, the gliding stream was heard, Wind in the leaves, the notes of that lone bird ! Sudden, a parting fragment of that rock Down the steep side, bounding and crashing fell, Awakening Echo, slumbering m her cell. Whose startling voice reverberates the shook. "Why, thus," the sage inquired, " Echo, tell, Lovest thou in secret cave alone to dwell P" " Alone to dwell !" the aerial height replied ; Then, dimly visioned on the mountain side. Where the tall cliffs in hoary grandeur tower. The nymph's reclining form apparent grew ; In moss of many hues these lines she drew — " The voice of heaven in solitude I hear, Whether in distant thunder on mine ear. Or in the winds of eve that whisper near ; In lonely silence conies that voice most clear. And I can best repeat the sounds to me most dear." The sage departs, instructed, humbled, thence. And calls admiring grace to reverence. The sacred truth his mystic lays impart, " Silence and solitude,' he cries, " shall discipline the heart.' 128 LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP. When Love and Eriendship both were young, In frolic mood one day ; They strove by argument to prove Who bore the widest sway. " My empire," Love, exulting, cried, " O'er all mankind extends," " And mine !" said Friendship, " oft begins. Where yours in coldness ends. " Thy transient reign, like youth's gay charms. Decays with beauty's flower. Whilst my consoling influence soothes The mourner's darkest hour. " Then, urchin ! know Love's power is vain. Unless with Friendship joined ; Thy chains the senses may enslave — Mine the immortal mind." IN IMITATION OF SHAKESPERE'S SONNETS. I SAW a maid let fall a tender tear, Which, as it travelled down her virgin cheek. Did better tell me of her bosom's care, Than all the language which her tongue could speak. And as she smiled, and in her cheeks she wore, Two dimples, such as Venus' self might own, Where Cupid nestling \vith his golden store, Quick as I gazed, an arrow had let flown ; I felt its smart, and straightway did devise. That love, from smiles, not tears, doth take its rise. THE GAME OF LIFE. This life is but a game of cards, which mortals have to learn, Each shufiles, cuts, and deals the pack, and each a trump doth turn; Some bring a high card to the top and others bring a low. Some hold a hand quite flush of trumps, while others none can show. sopm. 129 Some shuffle with a practised hand, and pack their cards with care, That they may know, when they are dealt, where all the leaders are ; Thus fools are made the dupes of rogues, while rogues each other cheat, And he is very wise indeed who never meets defeat. When playing, some do throw the ace the counting cards to save, Some play the deuce, and some the ten, but many play the knave ; Some play for money, some for fun, and some for worldly fame, But not until the game's played out can they count out their game. When hearts are trumps we play for love, and pleasure rules the hour, No thoughts of sorrow check our joy in beauty's rosy bower ; We sing, we dance, sweet verses make, our cards at random play. And, while our trump remains on top, our game's a holiday. When diamonds chance to crown the pack the players stake their gold. And heavy sums are lost and won by gamblers young and old ; Intent on winning, each his game doth watch with eager eye. How he may see his neighbour's cards and beat him on the sly. When clubs are trumps look out for war on ocean and on land, For bloody horrors always come when clubs are held in hand ; Then lives are staked instead of gold, the dogs of war are freed — In our dear country now we see that clubs have got the lead. Last game of all is when the spade is turned by hand of Time, He always deals the closing game in every age and clime ; No matter how much each man wins or how much each man saves. The spades will finish up the game and dig the players' graves. HOPE. In hope a king doth go to war ; In hope a lover lives full long ; In hope a merchant sails full far ; In hope just men do suffer wrong ; In hope the ploughman sows his seed : Thus hope helps thousands at their need. Then faint not, heart among the resl ; Whatever chance, hope thou the best. 1606. 130 LINES ON A SKELETON. Behold this ruin ! 'Twas a skull, Once of tliG ethereal spirit full ; This narrow cell was life's retreat, This space was thought's mysterious seat. What beauteous visions filled this spot ! "WTiat dreams of pleasure long forgot ! Nor hope, nor joy, nor love, nor fear Have left one trace of record here. Beneath this mouldering canopy Once dwelt the bright and busy eye ; But start not at the dismal void. If social love that eye employed ; If with no lawless fire it gleamed. But through the dews of kindness beamed, That eye shall be for ever bright. When stars and sun are sunk in night. Within the hollow cavern hung The ready, swift, and tuneful tongue. If falsehood's honey it disdained. And, when it could not praise, was chained, If bold in virtue's cause it spoke Tet gentle concord never broke. That silent tongue shall plead for thee, When time unveils eternity. Say, did those fingers delve the mine, Or with the envied rubies shine ? To hew the rock or wear the gem Can little now avail to them. But if the forge of truth they sought. Or comfort to the mourner brought. These hands a richer meed shall claim, Than all that waits on wealth or fame. Avails it, whether bare or shod. These feet the path of duty trod ; If from the bowers of ease they fled To seek affliction's humble shed ; ■If grandeur's guilty bribe they spiirned, And home to virtue's cot returned. These feet with angel's wings shall vie, And tread the palace of the sky. 131 RECOLLECTIONS. I've pleasant thouglits which memory brings, in moments free from care, Of a fairy-like and laughing girl, with roses in her hair; Her smile was like the starlight of summer's softest skies, And worlds of joyonsness there shone from out her witching eyes. Her looks were looks of melody, her voice was like the swell Of sudden music, gentle notes that of deep gladness tell ! She came, like spring, with pleasant sounds of sweetness and of mirth, And her thoughts were those wild flowery thoughts that linger not on earth. A quiet goodness beamed amid the beauty of her face. And aU she said and did was with its own instinctive grace ; She seemed as if she thought the world a good and pleasant one, And her light spirit saw no ill in aught beneath the sun. I've dreamed of just such creatures, but they never met my view, 'Mid the sober dull reality in their earthly form and hue. And her smile came gently o'er me like spring's first scented airs. And made me think life was not all a ^vilderness of cares. I know not of her destiny, or where her smile now strays, But the thought of her comes o'er me with my own lost sunny days, With moonlight hours, and far-ofE friends, and many pleasant things That have gone the way of all the earth, on Time's resistless wings. A RETROSPECT. In the east the shadows deepen, and come creeping where the sun, In the morning, earth adorning, on his glorious march begun. And gilded in the distant west the silver web he spun. Now night's dark pall is thrown o'er all the sons of toil each one. For now to wearied nature aE the daily task is done. In the eve of life the shadows of long-cherished hopes fleet by. And leave their blight of silvery light on a fair sunny sky, For God's best gifts are lent us here, and wait us there on high ; Here moth and rust, and dust to dust, and tears that will not dry,- But sighs, nor fears, nor sorroVs tears ne'er reach beyond the sky. ic2 132 HOW OLD ABT THOU? At the eve of life while musing on the sunny hopes of yore, And the loved forms we so cherished, that will come again no more, Then the heart feels tired and weary, and longs for yon bright shore. Whose nightless day drives tears away, and sorrows come no more, For the hopes so fled, the loves so dead, this world can ne'er restore. TO-DAY AND TO-MOEROW. To-day, man lives in pleasure, wealth, and pride ; To-morrow, poor, of life itself denied. To-day, lays plans for many years to come ; To-morrow, sinks into the silent tomb. To-day, his food is dressed in dainty forms ; To-morrow, is himself a feast for worms. To-day, he's clad in gaudy, rich array ; To-morrow, shrouded for a bed of clay. To-day, enjoys his halls, built to his mind ; To-morrow, in a cofiBn is confined. To-day, he floats on honour's lofty wave ; To-morrow, leaves his titles for a grave. To-day, his beauteous visage we extol ; To-morrow, loathsome in the sight of all. To-day, he has delusive dreams of heaven ; To-morrow, cries too late to be forgiven. To-day, he lives in hopes as light as air ; To-morrow, dies in anguish and despair. HOW OLD ART THOU? CoujfT not the days that have idly flown. The years that were vainly spent ; Nor speak of the hours thou must blush to own When thy spirit stands before the throne To account for the talents lent. But number the hours redeemed from sin. The moments employed for heaven ; Oh, few and evil thy days have been. Thy life a toilsome but worthless scene, For SI nobler purpose given. TIME. 133 Will the shade go hack on thy dial-plate ? Will thy snn stand still on his way ? Both hasten on : and thy spirit's fate Bests on the point of life's little date ; Then Uve while 'tis called to-day. Life's waning honrs, like the sihyl's page. As they lessen, in valae rise ; Oh, ronse thee and live ! nor deem man's age Stands in the length of his pilgrimage, But in days fliat are truly wise. msofiipnoN ON a sun-dial. Save when the sun's resplendent ray May gild the passing hour. To mart the minutes ou their way I lose the ready power. So only can that time he blest. And called by man his own. In which the sunbeam of the breast. The Conscience, may have shone ! TIME. Whether we smile or weep. Time wings his flight ; Days, hours, they never creep ; Life speeds like light. Whether we laugh or grroan. Seasons change fast ; Nothing hath ever flown Swift as the past. Whether we chafe or chide. On is Time's pace ; Never his noiseless steps Doth he retrace. 134 TEE MARCH OF TIME. Sjieeding, still Bpeeding on, How, none can tell ; fcioon he will bear us To Heaven or Hell. Dare not then waste thy days, Reckless and proud ; Lest, while ye dream not. Death spread thy shroud. TIME. How swift the pinions Time puts on, To urge his flight away ! To-day's soon jesterday ; anon To-morrow is to-day ! Thus days, and weeks, and months, and years, Depart from mortal view ; As sadly, through this "Vale of Tears," Our journey we pursue ! Yet grieve not, man, that thus ho flics. He hastes thee to thy rpst ; The drooping wretch that soonest dies, Is soonest with the blest ! THE MARCH 0¥ TIME. In the palace, in the cottage. By the river, by the rill. Time is ever marching onward. Ever onward — onward still. Novor tiring, never resting. Neither bending to our will ; Hastening on with even footstep, Kver onward — onward still, TBE FLIGHT OF YEAJB,S. 135 Secrets lost in dark oblivion. Human tongue shall never tell; Time, their keeper, little heeding, Marches onward — onward still. Dreams and echoes of the past, "Waken in us memory's thrill ; Showing, by their silent teaching. Time is marching onward stiU. THE FlilGHT OF TEAES. The flight of years — ^how soft, ho^ fleet ! How like a winged angel's feet. Departing from the starry throne. On messages of love nnknown ! A setting snn — a gleaming sail Driving before the western gale. Then lost where ocean's verge appears. Are shadows of the flight of years. The flight of years — ah, who can tell Where the departed moments dwell.'' Lost in what deep and bonndless sea ? Sunk itt what wide eternity ? For ever past, for ever gone ? ISo trace to fix a thought upon ; But mirth and grief, and hopes and fears. Are swallowed in the flight of years. The flight of years — ^how many an eye, Weeps at the thought of years gone by ! Looks back upon the sad array — The restless night — the anxious day ; Sees the loved form so pale, so chiU, And mourns its broken idol still ! While all below, that soothes or cheers, Seems buried in the flight of years. The flight of years — it bears along. The mighty purpose of the strong. Tenth's thousand fond imaginings. And manhood's ardent spiritings ; 36 YOUB MISSION. The sigh of love, the sigh of care, The sad forebodings of despair. And pride's approach, and slander's sneers, Sink in the rapid flight of years. The flight of years — 'twill soon be o'er, When the last pilgrim treads the shore ; When darkness broods across the sun. And mercy's gracious work is done; When heaven renewed, and earth restored, Shout at the presence of their Lord ; Disease and death, and sin and tears. Shall perish with the flight of years. YOUR MISSION. I7 you cannot on the ocean Sail among the swiftest fleet, Rocking on the highest billows, Laughing at the storms you meet — You can stand among the sailors. Anchored yet within the bay ; You can lend a hand to help them, When they launch their boats away. If you are too weak to journey Up the mountains steep and high. You can stand within the valley While the multitudes go by ; You can chant in happy measures, As they slowly pass along ; Though they may forget the singer. They will not forget the song. If you have not gold and silver Ever ready at command ; If you cannot, toward the needy, Reach an ever open hand ; You can visit the afflicted. O'er the erring you can weep ; You can be a true disciple. Sitting at the Saviour's feet. ACT IN THE PRESENT. 137 If you cannot, in the conflict. Prove yourself a soldier true ; If, where the fire and smoke are thickest. There's no work for you to do ; When the battle-field is silent. Ton can go with careful tread. Yon can bear away the wounded. Ton can cover up the dead. If you cannot iu the harvest, Gramer np the richest sheaves : Many a grain, both ripe and golden, Which the careless reaper leaves. Ton can glean among the briers Growing rank against the wall. For it may be that their shadow Hides tiie heaviest wheat of alL Do not, then, stand idly waiting For some greater work to do ; Fortune is a lazy goddess. She will never come to you. Gro and toil in any vineyard. So not tear to do or dare ; If you want afield of labcntr. You can fi/nd it anywhere. ACT IN THE PEE SENT. Heart gazing monmfnlly Back through past years. Bringing sad memories. Laden with tears — Life's hours wasted. Talents abused. Bright opportunities Blindly refused — Close up the record Fraught with such pain ; Xears that have vanished Betum not again. Grasp thou the Present, Be earnest and bold — Fleeting its moments, More precious than gold. 138 NEVER SAY FAIL! Watch and fight bravely Against sloth and sin ; Pray for the spirit, The victory to -win. Cometh the Fntnre Veiled and slow P Gro forth to meet her, For weal or for woe. Bringeth she gladness ? Praise thou the Lord. Bringeth. she sadness ? Bow to His word. O'er Past and o'er Future Dim shadows recUue, Heart, be thou manful, The Present is thine ! NEVER SAT FAIL! Keep pushing — 'tis wiser Than sitting aside, And dreaming and sighing And waiting the tide. In life's earnest battle They only prevail Who daily march onward And never say fail ! With an eye ever open, A tongue that's not dumb. And a heart that will never To sorrow succumb — You'll battle and conquer Though thousands assail ; How strohg aiid how mighty ! Who haver say fail ! The spirit of angels Is active, I know, As higher and higher In glory theygo; Methinks on bright pinions Prom Heaven they sail. To cheer and encourage Who never say fail ! TEE D0BB8 OF TEE WORD. 139 Ahead then keep pushing, And elbow your way, Unheeding the envious, And asses that bray ; All obstacles vanish, All enemies quail, In the might of their wisdom Who never say fail ! In life's rosy morning, In manhood's firm pride. Let this be the motto Tour footsteps to guide ; In storm and in sunshine. Whatever assail. We'll onward and conquer. And never say fail ! THE DOBES OF THE "WORD. I SING the Doers of the Word, The Flower of human kind. Who hear the summons of the Lord, And quick their girdles bind. They wait not for the bridal day. When forth to battle led ; They leave behind the faint to pray. The dead to bury the dead. 'Tis theirs to die that Truth may live. To face the hissing hail ; With woe and foe alike to strive. Till right o'er wrong prevail. 'Tis theirs the tyrant sword to smite. The bondsman to release, , And usher in the welcome light Of earth'.a uiillennial peace. I sing the Doers of the Word, Whom angel wings have fanned. And fUled with love and joy unheard To scatter through the land. UO WHO IS IIY NEIGHBOUB? Where hunger cries, and shivering ■wiiicls Wail round the shattered door, Their willing step an entrance finds To bless the helpless poor. The Doers of the Word I sing, Who with a generous heart Their sacrifice to duty bring, And well perform their part ; Nor parley they with weak excuse, Nor at their lot repine. But give, and say. This Heaven may us?, For it is Heaven's, not mine. Ye dreamers wild ! eschew the trance Which fond illusion weaves, And spurn the idle thought that chanco Will bring you golden sheaves. But when the loud alarm is mug, To action prompt be stirred. And wrestle strong to rank among The Doers of the Word. WHO IS MY NEIGHBOUR? Thy neighbour ? It is he whom thou Hast power to aid and bless ; Whose aching heart and burning brow Thy soothing hand may press. Thy neighbour ? 'Tis the fainting poor, Whose eye with want is dim, Whom hunger sends from door to door ; — Gro thou and succour him. Thy neighbour? 'Tis that weary man, Whose years are at their brim, Bent low with sickness, care, and pain ; — Go thou and succour him. Thy neighbour ? 'Tis the heart bereft Of every earthly gem ; Widow and orphan, helpless left ; — Go thou and shelter them. THE JOUBifEt OF TBtTTlI. l4l Thy neighbour P Yonder toiling slave, Fettered in thought and limb ; Whose hopes are all beyond the grave ! — Go thou and ransom him. "Whene'er thou meet'st a human form Less favoured than thine own, Eemember 'tis thy neighbour worm. Thy brother or thy son. Oh, pass not, pass not heedless by ; Perhaps thou canst redeem The breaking heart from misery ; — Go share thy lot with him. THE JOUENBY OF TRUTH. AccuKSED be the hour I ventured to roam From the cool recess of my moss-clad home ; I will back to my mouldering walls and hide These tears of despair and wounded pride. I sought the enchantress Fashion's hall — The many were bound in her iron thrall ; They turned from my simple pra.yer away, As I told them how vain and capricious her sway. A bard I met, with glorious eye. And song, whose thrilUng melody Won its unchecked way to the human breast; A flattering throng around him pi-essed. I told him how fickle and fleeting the loud Unmeaning praise of the worthless crowd ; Of the achmg brow, the hollow "eye, The wearing fears, the despondency ; The sleepless night, the vigil late, The uncertain fame, and the certain hate ; Bat the poet frowned, and, turning to me, " Begone from sight, stern Truth," said he, " Can you hush the proud and lofty tone Of my gloomy hope ? Begone ! begone ! 142 THE JOURNEY OF TEUTS. Expect from frail woman unchanging smiles, Or win the bird from the serpent's wiles. Or lure yon moth from that glittering flame. Sooner than sully my dream of fame." I entered the cell of the plodding sage. And threw a gleam o'er his mystic page ; But he closed his pained eyeballs, and said that I Could never have seen his new theory. A fair young maiden, with open brow. Was listening to her first-love's vow ; I whispered her, that one day she Would weep her fond creduhty ; That her idol was cold and vain, and would cling To Ambition's shrine, and the offering Of her changeless love would forget, and leave Her youth over cold neglect to grieve. She said my voice was harsh, and that I Was governed by hate and by jealousy ; . Her cheek was flushed with indignant pride, As she clung more firm to her lover's side. Wherever I went I spread dismay. Friendship and Feehng I frightened away ; And Love shook his saucy finger at me. And declared me his mortal enemy. I entered the church, and what did I there ? I drove from the pulpit the minister. Poor priest ! he turned paler than marble — but I Could not win to my shrine one votary. I knocked at the dying man's desolate gate — Death looked from the window, and begged me to wait, Tor a doctor had entered the moment before, And, seeing me coming, had bolted the door. I entered Ms study to wait for him there. And sat down to read in his easy-chair ; But his books fell to pieces, and during my stay Two-thirds of his physic had melted away. I dared not visit the lawyer's den, For I knew I should never return again ; The rarest sport 'twould have been for him To murder and tear me limb from limb. TBUTE LIVES ON. 148 But it grieved me more than all The very children afraid of me ; The innocent creatures ■were at their play. And if I came near them they'd scamper away. G-ood heavens ! to have seen those urchins run, You'd have thought I'd been the unholy one. 'Twas the height of folly for me to roam From the cool recess of my moss-clad home ; I will hack to" my stony well, and hide These tears of despair and wounded pride. TRUTH LIVES ON. Through the rugged march of time, Marked with mis'ry, sin, and crime, Error stalks with upreared head O'er her fields of slaughtered dead ; But beneath her bloody tread The Truth lives on. Warriors strong and brave of yore Drenched Judea's plains with gore, And the laud with war was rife, For his tomb who hated strife. In the teachings of whose life The Truth lives on. Progress rolls her car along, Slowly righting human wrong ; Might the right may crucify, Nothing can her power defy ; Though Herod live and Jesus die. The Truth lives on. Burning faggots blazing high, Gibbets tow'ring to the sky. Inquisition's rack and pain. Slavery clanking loud its chain, Ealsehood triumphs still in vain ; The Truth lives on. Underneath this load of wrong. Truth eternal moves along ; Every true heart's mighty throe EoUs away some human woe ; Error reels beneath the blow, And Truth lives on. l-l-l A MODEL SERMON. It should bo brief ; if lengthy, it will steep Oui- hearts iii apathy, our eyes in slcejD ; The dull will yawn, the chapel-lounger dozo, Attention flag, and memory s portal close. It should be warm ; a livinar altar-coal. To melt the icy heart and charm the soul ; A sapless, dull harangue, however read, Will never rouse the soul, or raise the dead. It should be simple, practical, and clear j No fine spun theory to please the ear ; No curious lay to tickle lettered pride, And leave the poor and plain unedified. It should be tender and aircotionate, As his warm theme who wept lost Salem's fate ; The fiery laws with words of love allayed. Will sweetly warm and awfully persuade. It should be manly, just, and rational, Wisely conceived, and well expi'essed withal ; Not stuffed with silly notions, apt to stain A sacred desk, and show a muddy brain. It should possess a well-adapted grace. To situation, audience, time, and place ; A sermon formed for scholars, statesmen, lords, With peasants and mechanics ill accords. It should with evangelic beauties bloom. Like Paul's at Corinth, Athens, or at Eome ; While some Bpiotetus or Sterne esteem, A gracious Saviour is the Gospel theme 1 It should have in it many an ardent prayer, To reach the heart, and fix and fasten there j When God and man are mutually addressed God gi-ants a blessing, man is truly blessed. It should be closely, well applied at last, To make the moral nail securely fast : Thou art the man, and thou alone will mako A Felix tremble and a David qiiako. 145 DINES FOR THE FIRST LEAVES OP AN ALBUM. Let this album, bright-Bouled maiden, Be an emblem of thy life ; Let not its fair leaves be laden With a single thonght of strife. Let no vain, nnreal sorrow Blur the beauty of the page ; No unknown, unborn " to-morrow'' Lend to youth the hue of age. Empty wishes — eager throngings Of vague hopes that cry for food ; — Ever-anxious, restless longings After absent, distant good : From all these, and aU who bring them. Shut thy life, and seal thy book ; From thy soul, like shadows, fling them ; Banish them by one bright look. Here all pleasant fancies hover — All that at once are bright and brief : The raptures of the happy lover. But not a jot of his fond grief. The wit (if you can chance to find it) Where good-nature points the dart ; The wisdom that, when bright thoughts bind it. Softens, but saddens not the heart. Nay — let e'en nothings find a place. If they are prettily disguised ones ; He who says nothings with a grace, Is worth a score of would-be-wise ones. Nor let the pencil's magic art Be wanting to complete thy pages : That can more vivid thoughts impart Than all the pens of all the sages ; — That can lend forms to thy fair book The pen alone could compass never ; That can arrest the fleeting look, And fix the fugitive for ever, 146 THE MASQUE OE THE NEW TBAE. " So forth IsBew'd the Seasons of the Teare." — Spenser. Out from tower and from steeple rang tlie sudden. New Tear bells, Like the chorusing of genii in aerial citadels ; And, as they chimed and eohqed overthwart the gulfs of gloom, Lo, a brilliance burst upon me, and a Masque went through the room. Eirst, the young New Tear came forward like a little dancing child, Aud his hair was as a glory, and his eyes were bright and w3d : And he shook an odorous torch, and he laughed but did not speak, And his smile went softly rippling through the roses of his cheek. Round he looked across his shoulder : — and the Spirit of the Spring Entered slowly, moved before me, paused and lingered on the wing; And she smiled and wept together, with a dalliance quaint and sweet, Aud her tear-drops changed to flowers underneath her gliding feet. Then a landscape opened outwards, broad brown woodlands stretched away In' the luminous blue distance of a windy- clear March day; And at once the branches kindled with a light of hovering green, And grew vital in the sunshine as the spirit passed between. Birds flashed about the copses, striking sharp notes through the air ; Danced the lambs within the meadows ; crept the snake from out Ms lair; Soft as shadow sprang the violets, thousands seeming but as one ; Flamed the crocuses beside them, like gold droppings of the sun. And the Goddess of the Spring — ^that spirit tender and benign — Squeezed a vapoury cloud which vanished into heaven's crystal wine ; And she faded in the distance where the thickening leaves were piled; And the New Tear had grown older, and no longer was a child. Summer, shaking languid roses from his dew-bedabbled hair. Summer, in a robe of green, and with his arms and shottlders bare, Next came forward ; and the richness of his pageants filled the eye ; Breadths of English meadows basking underneath the happy sky. Lous; grass swayinsf in the playing of the almost wearied breeze; Flowers boweJ l(eiiua,th a crowd of the yellow-armoured bees; Vjuriiptnous forests tilled with twilight, like a dreamy old romance; Rivers falling, rivers calling, in their indolent advance ; TEE MASQUE OF THE NEW YEAB. 14,7 Crimson heath-bells making regal all the solitary places ; Dominant light, that pierces down into the deep blue water spaces ; Sun-uprisings, and sun-settings, and intensities of noon ; Purple darkness of the midnight, and the glory of the moon ; Rapid, rosy-tinted lightnings, where the rocky clouds are riven, Like the lifting of a veil before the inner courts of heaven ; Silver stars in azure evenings, slowly climbing up the steep ; Cornfields ripening to the harvest, and the wide seas smooth with sleep. Circled with those living splendours. Summer passed from out my sight ; Like a dream that filled with beauty all the caverns of the night ! And the vision and the presence into empty nothing ran — And the New Tear was still older, and seemed now a youthful man. Autumn ! Forth from glowing orchards stepped he gaily in a gown Of warm russet freaked with gold, and with a vision sunny brown ; On his head a rural ohaplet, wreathed with heavily drooping grapes, And broad shadow-casting vine leaves like the Bacchanalian shapes. Fruits and berries rolled before him from the year's exhausted horn ; Jets of wine went spinning upwards, and he held a sheaf of corn : And he laughed for very joy, and he danced from too much pleasure, And he sang old songs of harvest, and he quafied a mighty measure. But above this wild delight an overmastering graveness rose, And the fields and trees seemed thoughtful in their absolute repose : And I saw the woods consuming in a many-coloured death — Streaks of yellow flame down- deepening through the green that linger^th. Sanguine flashes, like a sunset, and austerely shadowing brown ; And I heard, within the silence, the nuts sharply rattling down : And I saw the long dark hedges all alight with scarlet fire. Where the berries, pulpy-ripe, had spread their bird-feasts on the briar. I beheld the southern vineyards, and the hop-grounds of our land, Sending gusts of fragrance oxitwards, nearly to the salt sea strand; Saw the windy moors rejoicing in their tapestry of fern, And the stately weeds and rushes, that to dusty dryness turn. L 2 148 THE MASQUE OF THE NEW YEAR. Autumn walked in glee and triumph over mountain, wood, and plain, And he looked upon their richness as a king on his domain : All too soon he waned and vanished over misty heath and meres — And the New Tear stood beside me like a man of fifty years. IV. In a foggy cloud obscurely, entered Winter, ashy pale, And his step was hard and heavy, and he wore an icy mail ; Blasting aU the path before him, leapt a black wind from the north, And from stinging drifts of sleet he forged the arrows of his wrath. Tet some beauty still was found, for when the fogs had passed away, The wide lands came glittering forward in a fresh and strange array ; Naked trees had got snow foliage, soft, and feathery, and bright. And the earth looked dressed for heaven in its spiritual white.' Black and cold as iron armour lay the frozen lakes and streams ; Round about the fenny plashes shone the long and pointed gleams Of the tall reeds, ice-encrusted ; the old hollies jewel-spread. Warmed the white marmoreal chillness with an ardency of red. Upon desolate morasses stood the heron like a ghost. Beneath the gliding shadows of the wild fowls' noisy host ; And the bittern clamoured harshly from his nest among the sedge Where the indistinct dull moss had blurred the rugged water's edge. But the face of Winter softened, and his lips broke into smiles, And his heart was filled with radiance as from far-enchanted isles ; For across the long horizon came a light upon the way — The light of Christmas fires, and the dawning of new dayi And Winter moved not onward like the rest, but made a stand. And took the Spirit of Christmas, as a brother, by the hand ; And together toward the heavens a great cry of joy they sent — And the New Year was the Old Year, and his head was grey and bent. Then another New Tear entered, like another dancing child. With his tresses as a glory, and his glances bright and wild ; And he flashed his odorous torch, and he laughed out in the place. And his soul looked forth in joy and made a sunshine on his face. Out from spire, and from turret, pealed the sudden New Year bells, Like the distant songs of angels in their fields of asphodels ; And that lustrous child went sparkling to his aged father's side, And the New Tear kissed the Old Tear, and the Old Year gently died. 149 TO THE DEPARTING YEAR. Wkitten at midnigut. Dec. 31st, 182- Eare thee well, thou fitful dream ! Yet an hour, and all is o'er — And, to-morrow's rising beam shall light thy path no more. Eare thee well ! yet ere we part — Ere thine hours have ceased to be, Take thy tribute from my heart, My blessing home with thee. Yes, my blessing ! By my tears, By my heaving bosom's pain. Thou hast brought what future years Ne'er can bring again. And though 'neath the glorious flowers. Lurked the sting that pierced my breast, Yet, oh ! yet, thy vanished hours — I will call them blest. Oalm and peaceful were they never — Theirs was many an anguish sore ; Theirs it was a tie to sever That earth unites no more. Yet through mists of gloom and tears, Dwelt ONE sunbeam on my breast — Oh ! beyond all other years, I will call thee blest. Words can never, never tell Half the feelings bound to thee — Half the thrilling dreams that dwell With thy deathless memory. Thine has been the power to raise Burning spells to break my rest — Yet, oh ! yet, thy parted days — I WILL call them blest. 150 THE WORLD OF BBBAMS. Hark ! a sound ! thou vanished y(-ar ! Now thy brief career is o'er : Take, oh ! take, my parting tear. We shall meet no more. Sleep in dust, 'mid ages gone — There it rang, thy funeral knell ! But in my heart, while time moves on. Shall live our last Farewell, THE WORLD OF DREAMS. The world of fairy, wreath, and song, And elfin heaven of pearly ray. Oh, not to night alone belong Visions of beauty fair as they ! They come by morn, they come by even, Where'er the young heart's pulses bound ; Where love in love has found its heaven, There is the spirit's magic ground. Where souls are mingling into one. Life's flowers young foreheads garlanding ; Where truth's sweet lyre awakes its tone. There is the spirit's magic ring. The treasured wealth of blissful dreams, The rich and glorious gift of youth — Oh false are they who say its beams Fade in the morning light of truth ! Beyond Telesme's* haunted shade. And wizard stream, whose sluggish flow Murmurs from out the darkness made By leaves the day ne'er shines below ; * For a description of the enchanted mountain Telesm^, from which the word alisman is derived, vide Beauchamp. THE WOBLD OF BREAMS. 151 Far in the east, wliere oats have frowned For ages o'er untrodden wastes, Where human step ne'er prints its ground, Nor human lip its waters tastes ; A mountain rises, dark and lone. And 'mid its rooks, so legends say, Where nothing but the wild air's moan Is heard through all the dreamy day ; There springs a fount whose waves are nought But drops of spell-encircled dew, That gives the drinker's brow and thought The glow of youth's unfading hue. Go search thy heart, a spring is there Whose hidden wave that spell will be- Go seek it, if thou wouldst youth's fair And holy lights should burn for thee. Drink deeply of the sparkling fount Of passionate feeling, strong and true ; Gather its waters as they mount Like moonlit drops of charmfed dew ; — ^ Cherish it — youth's fair world of dreams ! Cherish it even by love's excess ; And feed its warm and rosy beams With trusting faith, devotedness. XII. Cherish the vision lest it part. And bind it by affection's chain ; Ay ! lean upon a kindred heart Too trustingly — 'tis not in vain. 152 THE MABTYE8 OF BOYAL-LIEU. XIII. For it will shed o'er years to come The rosy glow of life's first light, And in its glad and guarded home. Will keep the lyre of feeling bright. XIV. Then tell ns not the dream will fade ; Tonth's fairy world, with glowing sky — Go drink the wave in the heart's deep shade ; And life's romance will never die. THE MARTYRS OF ROYAL-LIEU. The Abbess of Boyal-Lien fell a victim to the revolutionary madness. She and her numerous sisterhood were led to the scaffold ou the same day. On their way from the prison to the guillotine, ihey all chanted the Veni Creator. Their arrival at the place of execution did not interi'upt their strains ; one head fell, and ceased to join its voice with the celestial chorus — but the song continued. The Abbess suffered last ; and her single voice still raised the devout versicle. It censed at once — and the silence of death encued. — Madame CamparCs Memoirs. Daek clouds are hurrying through the sky, 'Tis autumn's fitful eve ; And the dying breeze is murmuring by, With a sound that makes one grieve ; A stifling heat is in the air ; Like the sultry breath of a lion's lair ; And Tin seen fingers weave A giant shade of shadows dun. Around the broad red sinking sun ! Bursting with wrath, yon angry cloud Seems to pause in its mid career, As the striving steps of the crushing crowd To one gory spot draw near : — What mean their yells of horrid glee ? Those tossing heads, like a stormy sea. Clenched hands and brows severe ? Whence come that savage, tiger brood, To glut their demon-lust for blood ? THE MABTYBS OF BOYAL-LIEU. 153 III. What, sateless still ! must still the stream From noble hearts be poured, Will Pity never shed its gleam On that remorseless horde ? Must still some guiltless victim bleed, And " Freedom" sanctify a deed To latest times abhorred ? 0, Liberty ! our pride, — our shame, What scenes are acted in thy name !* IV. But hark what thrilling sounds arise From yon slow-moving throng j Floating like incense to the skies In one rich tide of song ! And see, where opening to their tread Those threatening forms give back, and led By faith serene, yet strong, A patient band, with tireless breath. Prolong that prelude note of death ! Theirs is no hope forlorn, — they wend Exulting on their way ; Reckless how soon their course must end, Their life-blood ebb away. They seem to share one thought, one breath And marshalled thus by faith to death, In beautiful array, Those martyr- sisters glide along. Breathing their parting prayers in song ! No fears have they ; — the savage crowd May scowl on them in vain ; Their step is firm, their bearing proud, Unfailinjj still their strain ! * " 0, Liberty I what crimes are committed in thy name I" was the apostrophe of Madame Eoland to the statue of Liberty, as she passed it on her way to the guillotine. .154 THE MABTYBS OF BOYAL-LIEV. They view the reeking scafBoM nigh, With dauntless heart, untroubled eye, Their blood so soon must stain, — Lift up their vesper-hymn on high, Swan-hke, resolved to sing and die ! See how she bends her to the block. The foremost of that guiltless throng, And sings, till 'neath the headsman's stroke. Is stayed at once her breath and song ! Yet still the angelic strain peals on More thrilling sweet ; till, one by one. Is hushed- each tuneful tongue ; And to that sainted band 'tis given, To join seraphic choirs in heaven ! 'V Ilafxtral aub g^smpttb. Who can paint Like Nature ? Can Imagination boast Amid its gay creation, liues like hers ? Or can it mix tliem with that matchless skill, And lose them in each other, as appears In every bud that blows. Thomson. These is a lesson in each flower, A story in each stream and bower ; On every herb o'er which we tread Are written words which, rightly read, Will lead us from earth's fragrant sod. To hope, and holiness, and God ! Allan Odnningham. Not a flower But shows some touch, in freckle, streak, or stain, Of His unrivalled pencil. He inspires Their balmy odours, and imparts their hues. And bathes their eyes with nectar, and includes In grains as countless as the sea-side sands. The forms with which he sprinkles all the earth. Happy who walks with Him ! whom what he finds Of flavour or of scent in fruit or flower. Or what he views of beautiful or grand In Nature, from the broad majestic oak To the green blade that twinkles in the sun, Prompts with remembrance of a present God. COWPEII. In the vast, and the minute, we see The unambiguous footsteps of the God Who gives its lustre to an insect's wing, And wheels His throne upon the rolling ■woklds. luiD. 156 TO TUB SUN. Oh, how canst thou renounce the boundless store Of charms, which Nature to her vot'ry yields ; The warbling woodland, the resounding shore, The pomp of groves, and garniture of fields ; All that the genial ray of morning gilds. And all that echoes to the song of even ; All that the mountain's sheltering bosom shields. And all the dread magnificence of heaven ; Oh, how canst thou renounce, and hope to be forgiven. IBEA-LTI3. These are Thy glorious works, Parent of Good, Almighty, Thine this universal frame. Thus wondrous fair : Thyself how wondrous then ! Unspeakable, who sitt'st above these heavens. To us invisible, or dimly seen In these Thy lowest works ; yet these declare Thy goodness beyond thought, and power divine. Milton. Studies in Nature lead us to cherish the idea of a God, who created, who regenerates, who preserves this universe by invariable laws, and by a continued chain of similar causes, producing similar eflfects ; who pervades all Nature with His Divine Spirit, as a universal Soul, which moves, directs, and restrains the fabric of this world. The blissful idea of a God sweetens every moment of our time, and embellishes before us the paths of life ; invites us delightfully to all the beauties of Nature, and associates us with everything that lives or moves. Yes, the whisper of the gales, the murmur of waters, the peaceful agitation of trees or shrubs, would concur to engage our minds, and afiect our souls with tenderness, if our thoughts were elevated to one Universal Cause, if we recognised on all sides the works of Him whom we love, if we marked the traces of His august steps and benignant intentions, if we believed ourselves actually present at the display of his boundless power, and the magnificent exertions of His unlimited goodness, M. Nekee, in Bucke's Hwrmonies and SuhlimiUes of Nature. TO THE SUN. Emblem of Him that made thee, source of light. Heat, vegetation, beauty, and defence ! Let not the unbelieving sons of night Scoff at our notion that Omnipotence Cares for the meanest worm that crawls the earth. SUNBISE. 157 Even as the aureate tide thou pourest forth Ou all sides equally at every point, Flooding creation with thy boundless beams. And yet with thine own image dost anoint Each individual daisy's head ; so teems Pull on the universe through all its round The radiant power of the Divinity ; But still with special aim is resting found Upon the lowliest of the lowly — me. SUNEISB. Night hurrying sails away across the waters, To seek repose in her own distant isles, And slow retire the moon's all-radiant daughters, But young Aurora lingers with her smiles. From the deep dell and dark grove's heaving breast, The misty forms that nightly slumber there. Ascending to the mountain's snowy crest. Expand their wings, and part into the air ; And forth from out the eastern hall. Gilding Nature's sable pall, The lovely light descends to deck With dewy pearls young Morning's neck. The lark is up in the dewy sheen ; — Oh, the little saint, with harp unseen. Is trilling a hymn on her skyed tower, Whose cherub tones and airy power Hold the ear of heav'n, that listens above In trembling trance of silent love. The zephyrs pass by on their downy wings. With harps, from whose iEolian strings A requiem quivers adown the vale To the moon there sitting, all sad and pale. And o'er yon eastern fields of blue Tall filmy shapes of amber hue Wave their bright robes around the car Of the slow retiring Morning Star. Sweet looks the infant day above Like the rich and rosy smile of love. 1S8 mVOOATION OF THE EAETH TO MOENHSTG. Wake from tty azure ocean-bed, Oh, beautiful sister, Day ! Uplift thy gem-tiaraed head. And, in thy vestal robes arrayed. Bid twilight's gloom give way ! Wake, dearest sister ! the dark-browed night Delayeth long her drowsy flight. Most glorious art thou, sister Day, Upon thy chariot throne ; While, sitting supreme in royal sway, Thou holdest thy high effulgent way, In inajesty alone ; Tin into thy cloud-pavilioned home. In the burning west thy footsteps come. When last thy parting look I caught, Which turned to smile good-night. With all a lover's fondness fraught, There seemed not in the universe aught So precious in thy sight As thy own dear Earth, while to her breast She folded her slumbering babes to rest. I hear the sparkling midnight sphere, Eehearse the choral hymn, Which j'et, ere earth was stained with tears. Burst on the joy-entranced ears Of holy seraphim ; While the lofty blue empyrean rang. As the morning stars together sang. Oh, many a joyous mountain rill. And many a rustling stream. Calm lake and glassy fountain still, Tall grove and silent, mist-clad hill. Long for thy coming beam ; Uprouse thee, then, fairest sister dear ! For all are pining thy voice to hear. With trembling and impatient wing. My birds on every spray. Await thy welcome forth to sing With many a melting lay ! Then wherefore, beautiful, linger so long ? Eiirth sighs to greet thee with shout and song.' THE EVENINQ STAB. 159 Thy flower, her vigil lone hath kept With love's untiring care ; Though round her pinks and violets slept, She wakef uUy hath watched and wept, TJnto the. dewy air ; And like a desolate bride she waits For the opening of her lover's gates. Oh, then, arise, fair sister dear ! Awake, beloved Day ! For many a silent, trembling tear. Falls on my breast like diamond clear. In grief for thy delay. From the rosy bowers of the orient skies. Then up, sweet sister, arise, arise ! S UK SET. It is the hour when winds and waves Scarce heave one sigh around their caves ; It is the hour to musing sweet, When sun, and sea, in glory meet. The sinking orb seems in his flight Pausing, to bid the world good-night ; No funeral waters o'er him swell. And peal afar his parting knell ; But though he's gone beneath the sea, A pensive glow like memory. That beauteous light of suns long set. In softened radiance lingers yet. THE EVENING STAK. Stab of the Evening ! How I lovfe to mark Thy beam thus gleaming tremulously bright. Upon the ocean wave ! How brightly dark_ Shines thy lone ray, thou herald of the night ! ) Thou lovely star ! I've sometimes gazed at thee Till I have almost wept, I knew not why ; Tell me, my heart, what can that feeling be Which makes thee at those moments throb so high ? 160 TO THIS EVENING STAB. It is &joy where sadness hath a part, A melancholy, worth whole days of mirth, The eyo in tears, indeed, but with a heart Which bounds as if 'twould break the bonds of earth. Thou lovely star ! methinks thy herald-ray Speaketh of rest beyond our hour of time ; And seemeth to invite the soul away To seek for refuge in a happier clime. TO THE EVENma STAR. Once more, thou radiant star, Hail to those fires that nightly burn, Heaven-kindled in thy sacred urn. Sending their light afar. When twilight walks the earth And bids the virgins of the sky Lift their celestial lamps on high, And call the dew-drops forth. Then comest thou, loveliest one — The fondly sought of many eyes, That watch and wait for thee to rise Like Ghebers for the Sun. Love claims thee as his own ; And well thy " tender light" accords AVith the half-sighed, half -whispered words Sacred to love alone. His stolen interview He may not trust to babbling day. But when did thy mild beam betray The tender and the true ? And thou art toil's delight ; When day deserts the fading west, He hails the harbinger of rest, And home-restoring night. Yet these unconstant be ; Love leaves thee for the yellow torch, And casts aside, at Hymen's porch, His last fond thought of thee, THE EVENINO HOUB. 161 Toil, for the rustlight's Maze : When turned he from the cottage fire Through the closed casement to admire The splendour of thy ra.ys P Not thus pale silent Grief ; Prom cheerful hearth and torch-light gay. She glides to welcome thy first ray, And finds thy stay too brief. Loathing the "garish" snn, It soothes her, while the happy sleep. Through thy lone reign to watch and weep O'er joys for ever gone. Shine on, kind star of Even ! Light love to joy, and toil to rest, And oh ! in the lone mourner's breast Enkindle thoughts of heaven ! THE EVENING HOUE. Sweet evening hour ! sweet evening hour ! That calms the air and shuts the flower. That brings the wild bee to its nest. The infant to its mother's breast. Sweet hour, that bids the labourer cease. That gives the weary team release, And leads them home, and crowns them there With rest and shelter, food and care. season of soft sounds and hues. Of twilight walks among the dews. Of feelings calm and converse sweet. And thoughts too shadowy to repeat ! Yes, lovely hour ! thou art the time When feelings flow and wishes climb. When timid souls begin to dare, And God receives and answers prayer. Then trembling, through the dewy skies. Look out the stars, like thoughtful eyes, Of angels, calm reclining there. And gazing on the world of care. M 162 HYMN TO THE MOON. Sweet 'hour ! for heavenly musing made, When Isaac walked and Daniel prayed, When Abram's offering God did own, And Jesus loved to be alone. HYMN TO THE MOON. How lovely is this silent scene ! How beautiful, fair lamp of Night 1 On stirless woods, and lakes serene, Thou sheddest forth thy holy Ught, With beam as pure, with ray as bright. As Sorrow's tear from woman's breast, When mourning over days departed, That robbed her spirit of its rest, And left her lone and broken-hearted. Refulgent pilgrim of the sky, Beneath thy march, within thy sight, What varying realms outstretching lie ! Here, landscape rich with glory bright ; There, lonely wastes of utter blight : The nightingale, upon the bough Of cypress, there her song is pouring ; And there, begirt with mounts of snow. For food the famished bear is roaring ! The exile on a foreign shore Dejected sits, and turns his eye To thee, in beauty evermore, Careering through a cloudless sky : A white cloud comes, and passing by, YeUs thee a moment from his sight ; Then, as he rests beneath the shadows. He thinks of many as sweet a night. When glad he roamed his native meadows. Enthroned amid the cloudless blue, Majestic, silent, and alone, Above the fountains of the de^. Thou glidest on, and glidest on. To shoreless seas, and lands unknown. The presence of thy face appears. Thou eldest born of Beauty's daughters, A spirit traversing the spheres. And ruling o'er the pathless waters. 163 THE SEASONS. The changing seasons, as they pass o'er earth, Bearing bloom, brightness, beauty, and decay, The winter's chill, the summer's festive mirth, The autumn's sadness, and spring's verdure gay, — These are all imaged in the inner world ; In the mind's unknown depths their shadows lie, As a clear lake, by careless breeze uncurled, Eefleots the changes of the varying sky. Hope is the spring-time of the soul, when life Wakes into beauty, blossoms scent the air. And gives the promise of a season ripe With Nature's choicest bounties rich and rare. Joy is the summer, when the hopes fulfilled, Gladdens the mind, and bids all care depart ; Beams in the eye, and, with rich pleasure thrilled, Sunshine and music overflow the heart. Memory is autumn, shedding softened light O'er the dear scenes of other happy years — Bobing e'en sadness in a vesture bright. And decking mirth with half -regretful tears. Sorrow is winter, when the flowers die, The leaves are scattered by the wind's rude breath. And white and pure the fallen snow-flakes lie O'er field and valley, like the robe of death. It may be that some tender floweret hides. In its warm covert, 'neath the mantling snow ; Thine eye, perchance, some straying sunbeam guides To look on high, from these drear realms below. Thus sorrow keeps some germ of future good. To bloom in beauty at some happier day ; Thus light from heaven, in thy gloomy mood. Sheds o'er thy spirit its inspiring ray. And as the sunshine melts the summer snow. So hope's bright rays revive the drooping heart ; As spring's young buds in fresher beauty glow. So joy awakes, and grief and care depart. And if not here the winter's ojiains are riven, There is a land where they will melt away ; Perpetual spring and summer dwell in heaven, And autumn's brightness freed from its decay. M 2 164 THE NOETHEEN SEAS. Up ! up ! let us a voyage take, "Why sit we here at ease ? Find us a vessel tight and snug, Bound for the Northern Seas. I long to see the Northern Lights, With their rushing splendours fly. Like living things with flaming wings, Wide o'er the wondrous sky. I long to see those icebergs vast. With heads all crowned with snow ; Whose green roots sleep in the awful deep. Two hundred fathoms low ! I long to hear the thundering crash Of their terrific fall, And the echoes from a thousand cHfis, Like lonely voices call. There shall we see the fierce wild bear. The sleepy seals aground, And the spouting whales that to and fro Sail with a dreary sound. There may we tread on depths of ice, That the hairy mammoth hide, Perfect as when in times of old. The mighty creature died. And while the unsetting sun shines on Through the still heaven's deep blue, We'll traverse the azure waves, the herds Of the dread sea-horse to view. We'll pass the shores of solemn pine. Where wolves and black bears prowl, And away to the rocky isles of mist. To rouse the northern fowl. And there in wastes of the silent sky. With silent earth below. We shall see far off to his lonely rock The lonely eagle go. LINES 8U00ESTED. 165 Then softly, softly will we tread By inland streams to see, Where the cormorant of the silent north. Sits there all silently. We've visited the northern clime. Its cold and ice-hound main ; So now, let ns back to a dearer land, To Britain back again ! LINES SUGGESTED BY THE BRILLIANT AUROEA, January 15th, 1820. From TJie Iforth Georgia Gazette and Winter Chronicle^ a weekly newspaper, which waa edited by Captain Sabine, and got np for the crews of Captain Parry's Arctic Expedition, when wintering in Winter Harbour, North Georgian Islands. High quivering in the air, as shadows fly, The northern lights adora the azure sky ; Dimmed by superior blaze, the stars retire. And heaven's vast concave gleams with sportive fire. Soft blazing in the east, the orange hue, The crimson, purple, and ethereal blue. Form a rich arch, by floating clouds upheld, High poised in air, with awful mystery swelled ; From whose dark centres, with unceasing roll. Rich coruscations gild the glowing pole. Their varied hues, slow waving o'er the bay. Eclipse the splendour of the dawning day ; Streamers in quick succession o'er the sky From the arc's centre far diverging fly ; Pencils of rays, pure as the heaven's own light, Dart rapid upward to the zenith's height. Transfixed with wonder on the frozen flood. The blaze of grandeur fired my youthful blood ; Deep in th' o'erwhelming maze of Nature's laws, 'Midst her mysterious gloom, I sought the cause ; How vain the search ! inscrutable to man Thy work.s have been, O God ! since time began, And still shall be. Then let the thought expire ; As late the splendours of Aurora's fire To dark oblivion sunk, in wasting flame ; Like the dim shadows of departed fame ! 166 THE APPROACH OF SPRING. The -winter has passed witli its frowns away. And tlie beautiful spring is coming ; The children are ont in the field at play, And the bees ronnd the flowerets humming. It seems as if spring, with her balmy breath. Hath wakened all things from their sleep of death. The trees which so lately were bleak and bare. And by mighty blasts were shaken, They seemed as an emblem of human care When by fortune's smile forsaken ; But now in their glory and pride are seen, Rfe-clothing their branches with robes of green. The mill-stream's no more bound in icy rest, But down through the glade is pourmg ; The swallow now laves in the stream his breast, And now through the air is soaring ; The stream is hastening fast to the sea. So doth life hnrry on to eternity. But dismantled again will the trees be found ; And the birds will again cease singing ; The streams will by winter again be bound, And no more wiU the flowers be springing ; Ought we not therefore to raise our oreath In prayer, that prepared we may be for death P But, though the seasons again roll by To the wicked with speed appalling, And we see the emblem that all must die In the leaves which are round us falling. As in winter we hope for the spring's bright bloom. So we hope for a heaven beyond the tomb. A SPRING EVENING. The glorious Heaven its golden tinting throws On young flowers filled with dew. The vernal landscape's trembling image glows Through waves of clearest blue. TEE FIRST OF MABOH. 167 The mountain streamlet, — ^the brigit-blossomed hedge, — Woods bathed in sunlight streams, — The evening star, that on the purple edge Of yonder soft cloud beams ; — The meadow green, — ^the shrubby valley cool, — The lull with verdure clad, — The alder-shadowed brook, — the lilied pool, — All, all are fair and glad. Oh ! how encircleth everlasting Love Creation with its band, The glowworm's light, — yon fiery orbs above, — Are kindled by one hand. At Thy command, Almighty ! from its place Drops the frail leaflet here : At Thy command, through realms of boundless space Is hurled the falling sphere. THE FIRST OF MARCH. The bud is in the bough, and the leaf is in the bud, And earth's beginning now in her veins to feel the blood. Which, warmed by summer suns in the alembic of the vine, From her founts will overlain in a ruddy gush of wine. The perfume and the bloom that shall decorate the flower. Are quickening in the gloom of their subterranean bower, And the juices meant to feed trees, vegetables, fruits, Unerringly proceed to theit pre-appointed roots. The summer's in her ark, and this sunny-pinioned day Is commissioned to remark whether winter holds her sway ; Go back, thou dove of peace, with the myrtle on thy wing ; Say that floods and tempests cease, and the world is ripe for spring. Thou hast fanned thfe sleeping earth till her dreams are aU of flowers, And the waters look in mirth from their overhanging bowers ; ^ ^ ^^ The forest seems to listen for the rustle of its leaves. And the very skies to glisten in the hope of summer eves. The vivifying spell has been felt beneath the *ave, By the dormouse in its cell, and the mole within its cave ; And the summer tribes that creep, or in air expand their wing. Have started from their sleep at the summons of the spring. 168 WOBENFBIBE'S SONG. The cattle lift their voices from the valleys and the hills, And the feathered race rejoices with a gush of tuneful bills ; And if this cloudless arch fill the poet's song with glee, thou sunny first of March be it dedicate to thee. THE SUMMER COMBS ! She comes ! she comes I with her flashing eyes, And her cheek of passion's hue, 'Mid a train of aSrial symphonies. In a garment of cloudless blue. She comes, and her spell is on earth and skies, Over land and over sea, In her warm maturity. She comes ! the summer comes ! WODENPRIDB'S SONG. The sun, and season in each thing, Revive new pleasure, the sweet spring Hath put to flight the winter keen. To glad our lovely summer queen. The paths where Amargana treads. With flowery tapestry Flora spreads ; And Nature clothes the ground iu green. To glad our lovely summer queen. The groves put on their rich array. With hawthorn blooms embroidered gay. And sweet perfumed with eglantine, To glad our lovely summer queen. The silent river stays his course, While along his crystal source The silver-scaWd fish are seen To glad our lovely summer queen. The wood at her fair sight rejoices. The little birds with their loud voices In concert on the briers convene. To glad our lovely summer queen. THE HERDSMAN'S HAPPY SONG. 160 The fleecy flocks do scud and skip, The wood-nymphs, fauns, and satyrs trip, And dance the myrtle trees between. To glad our lovely summer queen. J600. THE HBRDSMAJST'S HAPPY LIFE. What pleasures have great Princes More dainty to their choice. Than herdsmen wild — who careless In quiet life rejoice ? And fortune's fate not scorning. Sing sweet ia summer morning. Their dealings plain and rightful Are void of all deceit. They never know how spiteful It is to kneel and wait, On favourite presumptuous. Whose pride is vain and sumptuous. All dajr their flocks each tendeth, At night they take their rest. More quiet than he who sendeth His ship into the East, Where gold and pearl are plenty, Bat getting very dainty. For lawyers and their pleading Ttey esteem it not a straw ; They think that honest meaning Is of itself a law ; Where conscience judgeth plainly They spend no money vainly. Oh ! happy who thus Hveth, Not oaring much for gold, With clothing which sufiiceth To keep him from the cold ; Though poor and plain his diet. Yet merry it is and quiet. 170 SOLITUDE. High on tlle bare bleak hills tte stepherd lies, Watching his flocks which spot the green below ; Above him spread the grey and sullen skies, And on the mountains round the unbroken snow. What voice instructs him there P The winds that blow. What friend has he ? His dog. Yet with these twain He grows a prophet of the frost and rain; And well the fox's cunning learns to know. There lies he, and through coming years must lie, More lonely than the lonely hills, for they Have mute companions, like themselves in form ; But Tie must live alone tiU life decay, See nothing save his dog, the flocks, the sky. Hear nothing save the old eternal storm. SONQ FOR MAT-DAY. It is May ! it is May ! And all earth is gay, For at last old Winter is quite away ; He lingered awhile in his -cloak of snow, To see the delicate primrose blow ; He saw it, and made no longer stay — And now it is May ! it is May ! It is May ! it is May ! And we bless the day When we first delightedly so can say ; April had beams amid her shbwers. Yet bare were her gardens, and cold her bowers ; And her frown would blight, and her smile betray- But now it is May ! it is May ! It is May ! it is May ! And the slenderest spray Holds up a few leaves to the ripening ray : And the birds sing fearlessly out on high, For there is riot a cloiiil iii the Cillm blue sky. And the villagers join in their roundelay — ■ For, oh ! it is May ! it is May ! SUMMER HYMN. 171 It is May ! it is May ! And the flowers obey The beams which alone are more bright than they : Up they spring at the touch of the sun, And opening their sweet eyes, one by one In a language of beauty, they seem all to say — And of perfumes — 'tis May ! it is May ! It is May ! it is May ! And delights that lay Chilled and enchained beneath Winter's sway, Break forth again o'er the kindling soul ; And soften and soothe it, and bless it whole ; Oh ! thoughts more tender than words convey Sigh out— It is May ! it is May ! SUMMER HYMN. God of my sires ! yon arch of blue, The balmy breeze, that verdant hue, And this warm glow of summer's prime Transport me o'er the bounds of time ; To Fancy's gaze new worlds arise And people yonder orient skies ; The boundless realms of 'erial space Have many a bright and beauteous place That earth-born eye may never see ; That earth-bom thought, howe'er so free, Can image not nor shadow out, Even with the misty trace of doubt. Yet there, God ! like ocean's sand, Strewed on the shelving, surf-beat strand, Innumerous hosts-^a countless throng. Spontaneous swell the choral song Of endless praise ; for there, as here, All that asks worship, love, or fear ; All above, around, below. To Thee, Eirst Cause, their being owe. Thy fiat gave them instant birth ; Thou, Thou from chaos called them forth. Vast, awfal, measureless, immense Thy power and Thine omnipotence ! But, oh ! thy gehtle Love, Softly streaming from above ; Warm as the solar beam of day, Yet calm and sweet as Hesper's ray. 172 SUMMER. As far — to space's utmost ends, In one glad reign of bliss extends ! Before thy strength, — before thy power, "lis felt, — oh ! even in childhood's honr. Or e'er the mind hath garnered thought, Instinct to worship that hath taught ! 'Tis that which gave you gushing stream, "Tis that which gave this gladdening beam. This flowery mead, yon spreading lawn, The healthful breeze of early dawn, The yellow broom, yon heather-bell. The primrose blushing in yon dell. The pearly dew that crowns each stem, Each flower, each leaf with many a gem Fairer than decks a diadem. And, nor the last nor least, with praise And swelling heart, in artless lays, Griv'st me to kneel before Thy throne. Here, in this temple of Thine own : Its roof yon arch of azure hue, A clear, calm, holy, cloudless blue : Its altar yon steep hUls that rise In misty grandeur to the skies ; Its incense that one fleecy cloud. Stainless as infant beauty's shroud ; Its matin hymn that swelling note That warbles through the lark's clear throat. This humble love, yet strong, sincere. This pensive joy, this happy tear Its worship all. Its priest the thought. With prostrate adoration fraught. That Thou art all in all ! — that man, what is he ?- nought ! SUMMER. I'm coming along with a bounding pace. To finish the work that Spring begun ; I've left them all with a brighter face — The flowers in the vales through which I've run". I have hung festoons from laburnum trees. And clothed the lilac, the birch, and broom ; I've wakened the sound of humming bees. And decked all Nature in brighter bloom. SUMMER. 173 I've roused the laugh of the playful child. And tired it out in the sunny noon ; All Nature at my approach hath smiled. And I've made fond lovers seek the moon. For this is my life, my glorious reign. And I'll queen it well in my leafy bower ; All shall be bright in my rich domain ; I'm queen of the leaf, the bud, and the flower. And rU reign in triumph tiU autumn time S haU conquer my green and verdant pride ; Then I'll hie me to another clime. Tin I'm called again as a sunny bride. SUMMER. 'Tis Summer, 'tis Summer, the wild birds are singing. The woods and the glens with their sweet notes ai-e ringing ; The skies are aU glotving with crimson and gold. And the trees their bright blossoms begin to unfold. The cushat is breathing his murmurs of love. The stars are adorning the blue skies above, "While the moon in her beauty is shining on high. And soothing the heart, while she pleases the eye. 'Tis Summer, 'tis Summer, — and Winter no more Is heard in the winds, or the ocean's wild roar ; But so calm are the waves over all the great deep. That their murmurs might lull a young infant to sleep. The streamlets are gUdiag all lovely and calm — And the zephyrs come laden with fragrance and balm ; Then, oh ! let us bow to the merciful JPower, Who lives in the sunbeam, the tree, and the flower. Who stills the wild tempest, and bids the vast sea Unruffled and calm as a placid lake be — Let us bow to that Grod, who gave Summer its birth, And who scatters His treasures all over the earth. 174 A THOUGHT IN SIPTBMBEB. We watch the summer leaves and flowers decay, And feel a sadness o'er the spirit thrown, As if the beauty fading fast away From Nature's scenes, would leave our hearts more lone, More desolate, when sunny hours are gone — And much of joy from outward things we find. But more from treasures that may be our own, Through winter's storm the higher hopes of mind — The trust which soars from earth— earth has no chains to bind OOTOBEB. The year is now declining ; and the air — When morning blushes on the orient hills — Embued with icy chillnesa. Ocean's wave Has lost the tepid glow, and slumbering fogs On clouded days brood o'er its level plain ; Tet, when tte day is at meridian height. The sun athwart the fading landscape smiles With most paternal kindness, softly sweet. And delicately beautiful — a prince Blessing the vealma whose glory comes from him. The foliage of the forest, Drown and sere ; Drops on the margin of the stubble field, In which the partridge lingers insecure. And raises oft, at sombre eventide. With plaintive throat, her dull and tremulous cry 1 The sickle of the husbandman hath ceased. And left the lap of Nature shorn and bare ; The odorous clover flowers have disappeared ; The yellow pendulous grain is seen no more ; The perfume of the bean-field has decayed ; And roams the wandering bee o'er many a path, For blossoms which haye perished. Grassy blades. Transparent, taper, and of sickly growth. Shoot, soon to wither, in the sterile fields. The garden fruits have mellowed with the year. And, save the lingering apricot, remains Nor trace por token of the summer's wealth 1 Yet, on the wild-brier stands the yellow hip ; And, from the branches of tho mountain-ash, AUTUMNAL DEGAY. 175 The clustering berries drop their crimson beads Descending. On tbe dark laburnum's sides, Mix pods of lighter green among the leaves, Taper, and springleas, hastening to decay : And on the wintry honeysuckle's stalk The succulent berries hang. The robin sits Upon a mossy gateway, siaging clear A requiem to the glory of the woods. And, when the breeze awakes, a frequent shower Of withered leaves bpstrews the weedy paths. Or from the branches of the willow whirl. With rustling sound, upon the tnrbid stream. AUTUMNAL DECAY. Thotj desolate and dying year ! Emblem of transitory man. Whose wearisome and wild career. Like thine, is bounded to a span ; It seems but as a little day Since Nature smiled upon thy birth. And spring came forth in fair aiTay, To dance upon the joyous earth. Sad alteration ! — ^Now how lone. How verdureless is Nature's breast ; Where ruin makes his empire known, In autumn's yellow vesture drest : The sprightly bird, whose carol sweet Broke on the breath of early day — The summer flowers she loved to greet — The bird — the flowers — oh, where are they ? Thou desolate and dying year ! Xet lovely in thy lifelessness. As beauty stretched upon the bier In death's clay-cold and dark caress ; There's loveliness in thy decay. Which breathes, which lingers round thee still. Like memory's mild and cheering ray Beaming upon the night of iU. Yet — yet the radiance is not gone Which sheds a richness o'er the scene. Which smiles upon the golden dawn When skies were brilliant and serene — 176 MORAL REFLECTIONS ON AUTUMN. Oh ! still a melanolioly smile Gleams upon Nature's aspect fair, To charm the eye a little while, Ere ruin spreads his mantle there ! MORAL REFLECTIONS ON AUTUMN. Sweet Sabbath of the year. While evening lights decay, Thy parting steps methinks I hear Steal from the world away. Amid thy silent bowers 'Tis sad, but sweet, to dwell, Where falling leaves and drooping flowers Around me breathe farewelL Along thy sunset skies Their glories melt in shade. And like the things we fondly prize, Seem lovelier as they fade. A deep and crimson streak Thy dying leaves disclose ; As, on consumption's waning cheek, 'Mid ruin, blooms the rose. Thy scene each vision brings. Of beauty in decay ; Of fair and early faded things. Too exquisite to stay ; Of joys that come no more ; Of flowers whose bloom is fled ; Of farewells wept upon the shore ; Of friends estranged, or dead; Of all that now may seem, To memory's tearful eye, The vanished beauty of a dream, O'er which we gaze and sigh. 177 ODE TO WIKTBR. Forth from his cell of frost hoar Winter comos And stalks in sullen majesty abroad ; He shakes his silvery locks And scatters wide their snows. Though oft the storm, at Winter's stern behest, Flaps hia rude pinions through the passive air And robs the smiling land Of Spring's benevolence, Still can the 'sire a placid mien assume, And oft, as melancholy o'er the mind, O'er Nature's saddened face He oasts a tranquil gloom. He, too, instructs ; he paints to moral eye, In tints expressive, portraitures of woe ; And what more meet to teach Humanity to man ? He gives the redbreast confidence in him, Whom native instinct teaches it to shun, And from the hand it fears It takes its daily dole. When in his grasp he chains the obedient earth, And Nature bids him for awhile refrain. He smiles beneath the sun. And melts away in tears. Winter ! thou fittest season fftr the mind To drink at Erudition's fostering spring, Be hailed thy sombre rule, Nor deemed tyrannical ! Can I forget the social evening tale. When, round the blazing hearth, the kindred group Sat, where no cares were rife. Telling their dreams of joy ? Now, where thou visit'st not, I roam,* estranged From all that's dear to me, beheld no more. For me thou hast a charm. Which Summer never owns. • This was written in Inclia. N 178 MORNING. Summer, although perpetually she wears Her spangled vest, nor shades her brows with frowns. Can never be esteemed As, social Winter, thou. WINTER MAKES SPRING. Mantled in storms ; — attended by the roar Of whirling winds, and flight of showery snows, Dread Winter comes, and all around him throws Wide desolation. From his northern store Tempests of haU, and dark-robed thunders pour. The gurgling rivulet no longer flows When he with icy breath upon it blows : The naked trees and shrubs look gay no more. Shall Winter rage for ever ? No ! the sound Of his rude car shall rouse the slumbering Spring; Beneath the kindling sun, the verdant ground Shall bloom again ; the groves with music ring. Child of distress ! — when life's black storms are fled. The rays of heavenly Spring shall crown thy head. MORNING. Theee is a parting in night's murky veil, A soft pale light is in the eastern sky ; It steals along the ocean tremblingly. Like distant music wafted on the gale. Stars, one by one, grow faint, and disappear. Like waning tapers, when the feast is o'er ; While, girt with rolling mists, the mountains hoar, High o'er the darkling glens their tops appear. There is a gentle rustling in the grove, Though winds be hushed : it is the stir of wings, And now the skylark from the nest upsprings. Trilling, in accents clear, her song of love ; And now heaven's gate in golden splendour burns- Joy to the earth, the glorious sun returns. 179 TWILIGHT. Come, gentle Twilight, come ! And spread thy purple wings Along the shore, with fairy hum And mystic murmurings ; Come while the lake is still. And mute the breezes play — And birds with many an artless trill Shall sing thy roundelay. Ton little golden star Hath filled his urn anew. To aid thy stealthy flight from far Amid the depths of blue ; Abroad the glowworm hies. With living lamp to greet Thy light fall from the balmy skies. And hither guide thy feet. The lily's ivory bowers Have lost their elfin queen. The fays have left the dear-loved flowers To trip it on the green ; And now the merry crew. In quaintest revelry, Are scattering odours o'er the dew, And welcome dance to thee. A little longer, then, Sweet Twihght, linger here. Till one sole songster 'mid the glen Enthrals the raptured ear ; Then in the tangled grove. Beneath the g-reenwood tree. Oh ! I will think of my lady love, And she wiU think of me ! EYENING THOUGHTS. 'TwAS eve. The lengthening shadows of the oak And weeping birch swept far adown the vale ; And nought upon the hush and stillness broke, Save the light whispering of the springtide gale N 2 180 THE SWALLOW'S BETtJUN. At distance dying ; and the measured stroke Of woodmen at tlieir toil ; the feeble wail Of some lone stock-dove, soothing, as it sank On the lulled ear, its melody that drank. The suu had set ; but his expiring beams Yet lingered in the west, and shed around Beauty and softness o'er the wood and streams, With, coming night's first tinge of shade imbrowned. The light clouds mingled, brightened with such gleams Of glory, as the seraph-shapes surround. That in the vision of the good descend, And o'er their couch of sorrow seem to bend. 'Tis thus in solitude ; but sweeter far. By those we love, in that all-softening hour, To watch with mutual eyes each coming star. And the faint moon-rays streaming through our bower Of foliage, wreathed and trembling, as the car Of night rolls duskier onward, and each flower And shrub that droops above us, on the sense Seems dropping fragrance more and more intense. THE SWALLOW'S RETURIT. Welcome, welcome, feathered stranger ! Now the sun bids Nature smile ; Safe arrived, and free from danger, Welcome to our blooming isle ; Still twitter on my lowly roof, And hail me at the dawn of day, Bach morn the recollected proof Of time that ever fleets away ! Fond of sunshine, fond of shade. Fond of skies serene and clear, Even transient storms thy joys invade In fairest seasons of the year ; What makes thee seek a milder clime ? — What bids thee shun the wintry gale P — How knowest thou thy departing time ? Hail ! wondrous bird ; hail, swallow, hail ! Sure something more to thee is given Than myriads of the feathered race, Some gift divine, some spark from heaven. That guides thy flight from place to place ! THE BEAD LARK. 181 Still freely come, still freely go, And blessings crown thy vigorous wing ; May thy wide flight meet no rude foe, Delightful messenger of spring. TH"B MIGRATION OF BIRDS. Whbee the Northern Ocean in vast whirls, Boils round the naked melancholy isles Of furthest Thule, and the Atlantic surge Pours in among the stormy Hebrides ; Who can recount what transmigrations there Are annual made ? what ]iations come and go ? And how the living clouds on clouds arise ? Infinite wings ! till all the plume-dart air, And rude resounding shore are one wild cry. THE DEAD LAEK. Ah ! there it falls, and now 'tis dead. The shot went through its pretty head. And broke its shining wing ! How dull and dim its closing eyes ! How cold, and stiff, and still it lies, Poor harmless little thing ! It was a lark, and in the sky In mornings fair it mounted high To sing a merry song ; Cutting the fresh and healthy air. It whistled out its music there. As light it skimmed along. All night beneath her pretty breast She warmed her young ones in her no&t. Hid in the springing corn ; And when she saw the sun arise, She flew up singing to the skies. Ah, never to return ! Poor little bird ! her helpless brood, Who cry in vain for care or food. Will die when dark night lowers ; Nor shall we see her mounting wing, Or hear her song that told of spring, And budding leaves, and flowers ! 182 ON SEEING A BUTTBEPLT JUST ESCAPED FROM ITS CHRYSALIS. Wht, lovely insect, dost thou stand. And wave thy quivering ■wing. As, half afraid thou wert, aloft On fields of air to spring ? But now has reached thy slender form A sunheam warm and bright. And instant thou hast upward sprung Towards the source of light. Thus in the portals of the tomb The trembling soul shall stand. Till beams of faith and mercy point It to the promised land. The land of peace ! the land of love ! Where sorrow is unknown, And songs of joy for ever float Around th' Almighty's throne ! DEW. Sweet is the early dew Which gilds the mountain tops. And decks each plant and flower we view With pearly glittering drops. But sweeter far the scene. On Zion's holy hill ; When there the dew of youth is seen Its freshness to distil. Sweet is the opening flower Which just begins to bloom. Which every day and every hour Fresh beauties will assume. But sweeter that yohng heart, Where faith, and love, and peace, Blossom and bloom in every part. With sweet and varied grace. 183 LINES WEITTEN EST A SBVEEB PBOST AND STRONG HAZE, ON SUNDAY MORNING. How drear and awful is tHs solitude ! Nature herself is surely dead, and o'er Her cold and stiffened corse a winding sheet, Of bright unsullied purity, is thrown. How still she lies ! she smiles, she breathes no more ; Yon drooping elm, whose pale and leafless boughs O'erhang the stream, hath wept itself to death. The stream that once did gaily dance and sing The livelong day, now, stiff and silent, lies ImmoTable — congealed to glittering shingles, 'Tis beautiful in death ! That grove, which late Did woo the merry stream with ceaseless music, Erom morn till eve, with notes of thousand songsters, And all the night with those melodious strains "With which lone Philomela tells her love, Now silent stands a bleached skeleton. The sky itself is shrouded ; now no more The rosy blush of health, the glow of rapture. Or cheerful smile of peace her face illumines ; One sickly livid hue is spread o'er aU. The veil of air, wont not to hide, but show With mild and softening azure tint more sweet The beauteous aspect of the varying heaven, Is now become a foul and dense disguise. The sun, that glorious source of warmth and light, Arrested in his course, flares through the dun And turbid atmosphere, as if expiring. Nought else appears — it seems as though this spot Were all creation, and myself the sole Survivor. Oh ! how awful thus to find Myself alone with God — to know and feel That His aU-seeing, His all-searching eye. Surveys my inmost thoughts ! How little, now. Appears the mighty joys, the hopes and fears. Pursuits and pleasures of a transient world ! A world within, till now, like other men, I've toiled and grieved, with many anxious cares, But where I too have loved and been beloved, With more of happiness than oft is found In this probationary state. With Him Who gave me all and day by day, hath still, With kind parental care, my life preserved ; To stand alone is awful, but not dreadful. 184 FBOST. Nay, sure, 'tis more than earthly bliss, here, thus To hold communion with my heavenly Father. Witness this heart, with gratitude o'ercharged. Which pleads and presses to present its thanks : Witness these tears which thus uncalled obtrude. And haU congealed, fall to the frozen earth, An humble offering at the throne of grace : Witness this sweet, serene, and holy calm. At once bespeaking and befitting for The presence of my Maker, semblance faint Of happiness to come, when bliss supreme Shall be the portion of these ransomed saints, Who through eternity shall join to raise Loud hallelujahs to their heavenly King. FEOST. The frost looked forth one stOl clear night, And he said — " I shall soon be out of sight, So through the valley, and over the height, In silence I'll take my way. I wiU not go on like that blustering train, The wind and the snow, the hail and the rain. Who make so much bustle and noise in vain, But I'll be as busy as they." Then he went to the mountain, and powdered its crest, He climbed up the trees, and their boughs he drest With diamonds and pearls, and over the breast Of the quivering lake he spread A coat of mail, that it might not fear The downward point of many a spear. Which he hung on the margin far and near Where a rock could rear its head. He went to the windows of those who slept, And over each pane, like a fairy, crept ; Wherever he breathed, wherever he stept, By the light of the moon were seen Most beautiful things ; there were flowers and trees, There were bevies of birds and swarms of bees. There were cities, thrones, temples, and towns — and these All pictured in silver sheen. But he did one thing that was hardly fair — He went to the cupboard, and, finding there That all had forgotten for him to prepare j " Now, just to set them thinking. THE RAINBOW. 185 I'll bite this basket of fruit," said be, " This bloated pitcher I'll burst in three, And the glass of water they've left for me Shall crack to tell I've been drinking '" THE RAINBOW. Tub skies, like a banner in sunset unrolled. O'er the west threw their splendour of azure and gold, But one cloud at a distance rose dense, and increased. Till its margin of black touched the zenith and cast. "We gazed on the scenes, while around us they glowed. When a vision of beauty appeared on the cloud ; 'Twas not like the sun, as at mid-day we view. Nor the moon, that rolls nightly through starlight and blue. Like a spirit, it came in the van of a storm ! And the eye, and the heart, hailed its beautiful form, For it looked not severe, like an Angel of Wrath, But its garment of brightness illumed its dark path. In the hues of its grandeui', sublimely it stood. O'er the river, the village, the field, and the wood. And river, field, village, and woodlands grew bright, As conscious they gave and afforded delight. 'Twas the bow of Omnipotence ; bent in His hand, Whose grasp at Creation the universe spanned ; 'Twas the presence of God, in a symbol sublime ; His Vow from the Flood to the exit of Time ! Not dreadful, as when in the whirlwind He pleads. When storms are His chariots, and lightnings His steeds ; The black clouds His banner of vengeance unfurled, And thunder His voice to a guilt-stricken world ; — In the breath of His presence, when thousands expire, And seas boil with fury, and rocks bum with fire. And the sword, and the plague-spot with death strew the plidn, And vultures, and wolves, are the graves of the slain. Not such was that Rainbow, that beautiful one ! Whose arch was refraction, its key-stone the sun ; A pavilion it seemed which the Deity graced. And Justice and Mercy met there, and embraced. 186 FLOWJBBS. Awhile, and it sweetly bent over the gloom, Like Love o'er a deatii-couch, or Hope o'er the tomb ; That left the dark scene, whence it slowly retired, As Love had just vanished, or Hope had expired. FLOWERS. Oh ! they looked upward in every place Through this beautiful world of ours, And dear as the smile on an old friend's face Is the smile of the bright, bright flowers ! They tell us of wanderings by woods and streams ; They tell us of lanes and trees ; But the children of showers and sunny beams Have loveUer tales than these — The bright, bright flowers ! They tell of a season when men were not, When earth was by angels trod. And leaves and flowers in every spot Burst forth at the call of God ; When spirits singing their hymna at even, Wandered by wood and glade. And the Lord looked down from the highest heaven. And blessed what he had made — The bright, bright flowers ! That blessing remaineth upon them still. Though often the storm-olond lowers. And frequent tempests may soil and chill The gayest of earth's fau- flowers. When Sin and Death, with their sister G-rief, Made a home in the hearts of men. The blessing of God on each tender leaf — Preserved in their beauty then — The bright, bright flowers ! The lily is lovely as when it slept On the waters of Eden's lake ; The woodbine breathes sweetly as when it crept In Eden, from brake to brake. They were left as a proof of the loveliness Of Adam and Eve's first home: They are here as a type of the joys that bless The just in the world to come — The bright, bright flowers I 187 SPRING FLOWERS. The loveliest flowers the closest cling to earth, And they first feel the sun : so violets blue, So the soft star-like primrose, drenched in dew. The happiest of Spring's happy fragrant birth. To gentlest touches sweetest tones reply : Still humbleness, with her low-breathed voice, Can steal o'er man's proud heart, and win his choice Prom earth to heaven with mightier witchery Than eloquence or wisdom e'er could own. Bloom on, then, in your shade, contented bloom. Sweet flowers, nor deem yourselves to all unknown. Heaven knows you, by whose gales and dews ye thrive ; They know, who one day for their altered doom Shall thank you, taught by you to abase themselves and " THE FORESTER. " FoEESTEK ! leave thy woodland range. And hie thee hence with me ; For brighter scenes and pleasures strange. Forsake thy greenwood tree. Come, gather thy cloak above the knee, And take thy tall staff down, I'll show thee what delights they be That dwell in tower and town." " Nay, stranger, check thy bright bay steed. To sojourn with me here. And turn him forth at large to feed. Amongst these dappled deer : And thou, while summer skies are clear. Within my greenwood bower, Shalt scorn the pleasures once so dear. That dwell in town and tower." " Well may I find a better home, My steed a warmer stall ; I know full many a lordly dome. Full many a palace-hall : Where stately rows of columns tall. The fretted roof sustain, Then, forester, yield thee to my call. And follow me o'er the plain." 188 THE WIND IN TSE WOODS. " Doth lofty roof delight thine eye, Or stately pillar please ? Look, stranger, at yon azure sky. And pillars snch as these — Where, wreathing round majestic trees. The verdant ivy clings ; The pillared roofs the peasant sees Are fit to shelter kings. " Stranger, the woodman's frugal fai'e No sickly riots stain ; Nor ever hautboy's artful air Oould match yon throstle's strain ; And, if the stores of ample gain, Thy useful avarice crave, Go, stranger, teach the ruddy grain O'er yonder wastes to wave. " Falsehood in beauty lies concealed, GuUt haunts the deadly fight : Here woods a harmless warfare yield, And maids their true love plight — Such simple joys of rustic wight, To thee 'twere vain to tell ; But heavily fall the shades of night — Now, stranger, fare thee well." THE WIND IN THE WOODS. 'Tis a pleasant sight, on a vernal day. When shadow and sun divide the heaven, To watch the south wind wake for play ; — Not on the sea, where ships are riven, — Not on the mountain, 'mid rain and storm. But when earth is sunny, and green, and warm. O woodland wind, how I love to see Thy beautiful strength on the forest tree ! Lord of the oak, that seems lord of the wild, Thou art shaking his crown and thousand arms With the ease of a spirit, the glee of a child. And the pride of a woman who knows her charms ; The poplar bends like a merchant's mast, His leaves, though they fall not, are fluttering fast ; And the beech, and the lime, and the ash-crowned hill, Stirs to its core at thy wandering will. THE ME ABO W GO WAN. 189 The pines that uprear themselves dark and tall, Black knights of the forest so stately and old. They must bow their heads when they hear thy call ; Ay, bow like the lily, those Norsemen bold : And every tree of the field, or tlie bower, Or single in strength, or many in power, Quiver and thrill from the leaf to the stem, For the unseen wind is the master of them. It is gallant play ; for the sun is bright, And the rivulet sings a merrier song ; The corn in the meadow waves dark and light As the trees fling shade, or the breeze is strong. And over the hills, whether rocky or green, Troops of the noonday ghosts are seen ; The lovely shadows of lovelier clouds. With the gleam of the mountains amongst their crowds. The birds as they fly scarce use their wings. They are borne upon those of the wind to-day ; Their plumes are ruffled, like all green things. And flowers, and streams, by his noisy play. One hour — and valley, and wood, and hill. May be sleeping and shining all bright and still ; Not a wave, not a leaf, not a spray in motion, Of all which now looks like a vernal ocean ; — Beautiful that ; — yet I love to see Thy strength, O wind, on the forest tree ! THE MEADOW GOWAN. " O UNTIE, blythevoiced lintie," Sang the happy -heartit wren. To its neebour on the auld aik tree That grows i' the Hazelglen ; " O lintie, gleefu' lintie, I' yer ain clear accents tell Whiik o' the blossoms ye like the best, In field or flower-gemmed fell?" " O sunshine-lovin' birdie,'' Sang the siller-toned lintie gay, " I lo'e the flowers o' the green-gilt bowers, An' I lo'e my ain sweet May ; An' noo that she busks the meadows. In vestures o' fairy green, Pu' mony braw buds i' the lanely woods Bloom rosily serene. 190 TEE WILD FLOWER. " The sky -Hue glow o' the violet Shines oot frae its cosy nook, An' the harebell's pride nods owre the side O' the crystal-rinnin' brook ; The snaw-white virgin lily, The yellow-frilled daffodil, Bestud the knowe an' the huntin' howe. An' the emerald-tinted hill. " But o' a' the shinin' colours O' purple an' azure dye, That paint the flowers o' the woodland bowers Sae fair an' sae ruddily, I lo'e the white o' the gowan, A' modest-like an' mild, Wi' its spotless face o' maiden grace — 'Tis the meadow's bonniest child. " gowan, gowd-lipt gowan, Wi' yer rosy-spangled crest, An' yer stainless lips, whaur the clear dew drips, 'Tis you I lo'e the best." THE WILD FLOWER. Stop, pretty stranger, stop and see The modest flower, wild, and free — That sips of Nature's draught divine, Nor envies man's oft boasted wine. Oh, what delight to kiss the morn, Perhaps some other, floweret born, To add companions to the vale. To cheer the ever-stirring gale ! And hark ! dost hear the lively song, That with its echo wafts along. To lull my stationary hours. And charm my sister budding flowers. Nay, do not go without a kiss. Salute me, sweetest. Ah, what bliss ! The nectar from thy Ups, behold, Has left on mine the tints of gold. 191 TO THE EOSB. The star of love on evening's brow hath smiled, Showering her golden influence with her beam ; Hushed is the ocean wave, and soft and mild The breathing zephyr ; lulled is every stream. Placid and gentle as a vestal's dream. The bard of night, the angel of the spring, O'er the wild minstrels of the grove supreme, Near his betrothed flower expands his wing — Wake, lovely rose, awake, and hear thy poet sing ! The night is past; wake. Queen of every flower. Breathing the soul of spring in thy perfume ; The pearls of morning are thy wedding dower. Thy bridal garment is a robe of bloom ! Wake, lovely flower ! for now the winter's gloom, Hath wept itself in April showers away ; Wake, lovely flower ! and bid thy smiles assume A kindred brightness with the rosy ray That streaks the floating clouds with the young blush of day. THE GUELDEE EOSB. Thott full-blown comely creature. Say, what is thy sudden stound. That flushes thy cheek's white feature. In the guise of Love's own wound ! Wert thou but of human fashion. Like me, with a burning heart, I'd say, 'twas the tint of passion, Tet cold as ice thou art. " I may have no heart within me, I may be ice-cold quite ; Tet joy would a cheek-flush win me. As longing doth paint me white. " To earth, my fond mother, I'm fleeting. And -death is to lead the way ; I think of his yesternight's greeting. And blush for delight to-day." 192 TO THE PASSION FLOWER. What though not thine the rose's brilliant glow. Or odour of the gifted violet, Or dew with which the lily's cheek is wet ; Though thine would seem the pallid streaks of woe, The drops that from the fount of sorrows flow. Thy purple tints of shame ; though strange appear. The types of torture thou art doomed to wear; Yet blooms for me no hue like thine below, For from thee breathes the odour of a name, Whose sweetness melts my soul and dims my eyes ; And in thy mystic leaves of woe and shame I read a tale to which my heai't replies In voiceless throbbing and devoted sighs ; Death's darkest agony and mercy's claim. And love's last words of grief are written in thy dyes. THE HAREBELL AND THE FOXGLOVE. In a valley obscure, on a bank of green shade, A sweet little Harebell her dwelKng had made : Her roof was a woodbine, that tastefully spread Its close-woven tendrils, o'erarchiug her head ; Her head was of moss, that each morning made new ; She dined on a sunbeam, and supped on the dew ; Her neighbour, the nightingale, sung her to rest ; And care had ne'er planted a thorn in her breast. One morning she saw, on the opposite side, A Foxglove displaying his colours of pride ; She gazed on his form that in stateliness grew, And envied his height and his brilliant hue : She marked how the flowerets all gave way before him. While they pressed round her dwelling with far less decorum ; Dissatisfied, jealous, and peevish she grows, And the sight of the Foxglove destroys her repose. She tires of her vesture, and swelling with spleen. Cries, " Ne'er such a dowdy blue mantle was seen !" Nor keeps to herself any longer her pain. But thus to a Primrose begins to complain : " I envy your mood, that can patient abide The respect paid that Foxglove, his airs and his pride ; There you sit, still the same, with your colourless cheek, But you have no spirit,— would I were as meek." TEE KEQST-FLOWEBING 0ERBU8. 193 The Primrose, good-liumoiired, replied, " If you knew More about him — (remember I'm older than you, And better instructed, can tell you his tale) — . You'd envy him least of aU flowers in the vale j With all his fine airs, and his dazzling show. No blossom more baneful and odious can blow ; And the reason that flowerets before him give way, Is because they all hate him and shrink from his j:ay. " To stay near him long would be fading or death, For he scatters a pest with his venomous breath ; While the flowers that you fancy are crowding you there, Spring round you, delighted your converse to share ; ffis flame-coloured robe is imposing, 'tis true ; Yet, who likes it so well as your mantle of blue ? For we know that of innocence one is the vest. The other, the cloak of a treacherous breast. " I see your surprise — but I know him full well, I've remembered his victims as fading they fell ; He bHghted twin-violets, that imder him lay. And poisoned a sister of mine the same day." The Primrose was silent — the Harebell, 'tis said, Inclined for a moment ber beautiful head ; But quickly recovered her spirits, and then Declared that sbe ne'er should feel envy again. THE NIGHT-FLOWEEING CEEEUS. "The night-flowering Cereus, or Cactus grandijlorus, is one of our most splendid hothouse plants, and is a native of Jamaica, and some other of the West India Islands. Its stem is creeping, and thickly set with spines. The flower is white, and very large, sometimes nearly a foot in diameter. The most remarkable circumstance with regard to the flower, is the short time which it takes to expand, and the rapidity with which it decays. It begins to open late in the evening, flourishes for an hour or two, then begins to -droop, and before morning is com- pletely dead." — Sacred Harp of American Puetri/. Now departs day's garish light — Beauteous flower, Hit thy head ! Else upon the brow of night ! Haste, thy transient lustre shed ! Night has dropped her dusky veil — All vain thoughts be distant far, While, with silent awe, we hail Flora's radiant evening star. o 194 TEE mOET-BLOWING 0EBEU8. See to life her beauties start, Hail ! thou glorious, mat&hless flower f Much thou sayest to the heart. In the sofeniu fieeting hour. Ere we have our Bojnage paid. Thou wilt how thijae head and die ; Thus our sweetest pleasures fade. Thus our brightest blessings fly. SoWow** i-Hgged stem, like thhie. Bears a flower thus purely bright ; Thus, when, sunny hours decKne, Frtendehip sheds her eheering light. Eeligion, too, that heavenly flower. That joy of never-fading worth. Waits, like thee, the darkest hour, And then puts all her glories' iarth. Then thy beauties are surpassed, Splendid flower, that blooin'st to die; For Friendship and Beligion last, When the morning beams on high. THE NIGHT-BLOWING GEEEUS. Can it be true ? so fragrant and so fair, To^ye thy perfume to the dews of night r Can aught so beautiful shrink from the glare, And fade and sicken in the coming light r Yes, peerless flower ! the heavens alone exhale Thy fragrance ; while the glittering stars attest, And incense, wafted from the midnight gale, Untainted rises from thy spotless breast. Sweet emblem of that faith, which seeks, apart From human praise, to love and work unseen ; That gives to heaven an undivided heart — In sorrow steadfast, and in joy serene ! Anchored on God, no adverse cloud can dim ; Her eye, unaltered, still i;? fixed on Him ! 195 THE HBLIOTBOPE. Thbkb is a flower -whose modest eye Is turned witla looka of light and lore, Who breathes her softest, sweetest sigh, Whene'er the sun is bright above. Let clouds obscure, or darkness veil. Her fond idolatry is fled, Her sighs no more their sweets exhale. The loving eye is cold and dead. Canst thou not trace a moral here. False flatterer of the prospftrous hour P Let but an adverse cloud appear, And thou aart faithless as the flower. gONGf OF THE GRASS. Hebe 1 Come creeping, creeping everywhere ; By the dusty roadside. On the sunny hill-side, CJloSe by the noisy brook,. In every shady nook, I come, creeping, creeping everywhere. In the noisy city street. My pleasant face yoTi'll' meet, Oheering the siet at heart, Toiling his busy part. Silently creeping, creeping everywhere. You earanot see me coming. Nor hear my low SWeet humming ; For in the starry night. And the glad morning light, I come, quietly creeping everywhere. When you're numbered with the dead In your still and narrow bed. In the happy spring I'll come. And deck your silent home, Creeping, silently* creepisg everywhere, o 2 196 YELLOW LEAVES. My htunble song of praise. Most gratefully I raise, To Him at whose command I beautify the land ; Creeping, silently creeping everywhere. YELLOW LEAVES. Tee leaves are falling from the trees. The flowers are fading all ; More chill and boisterous is the breeze. More hoarse the waterfall : The sky, o'ermantled now with clouds. Looks grey, and waned, and pale ; The mist fog spreads its hoary shrouds O'er mountain, grove, and vale. How lapse our years away ! how fade The raptures of the,mind ! Onward we pass to storm and shade. And leave blue skies behind : Like yellow leaves, around us fall The friends best loved and known ; And when we most have need of all. We oft are most alone. Still more alone ! blithe Spring comes round. Rich Summer-tide smiles by. And golden Autumn paints the ground. Till Winter's storm-blasts fly. One after one, friends drop away. As months on months roll on : And hour by hour, and day by day. The old are more alone. Still more alone ! alas ! 'tis vain New hopes, new hearts to find. What magic can restore again The visions of youth's mind ? Age walks amid an altered world, 'Mid bustling crowds unknown : New scenes hath Novelty unfurled, And left the old alone ! ON AN AUTUMNAL LEAF. 197 " Sere leaves that dangle from. Life's tree," The old might well nave said, " A relic of the past are we ; A remnant of the dead ; Like emblems of forlorn decay We linger till the last ; But death's long night shall turn to dsy, When Time itself is past!" ON AN AUTUMNAL LEAF. That autumn leaf is sere and dead, And soon will seek its wintry bed ; Tet many a lesson can supply To fancy's ever watchful eye. It once was green, and fair, and yonng, Heaven's brightest beam was on it flung. With many a friend that round it grew. It danced in every breeze that blew. But now old age has stolen on — Its youthful beauty all is gone ; And now it dreads the zephyr's play, Which only bears its friends away. And, trembling on its parent stem. It scarce can bear the dewy gem ; Its former strength and vigour past, It meets each moment as its last ! The brightest sun may shed its ray. The fairest moon upon it play. The balmy air may pass it o'er. Bat never can its life restore. Its lot was this — to bloom awhile, And give to Nature's face one smile ; The voice of Heaven in autumn calls, Its part is done ! — and see, it falls. 'Tis thus with man — youth yields to age, And sad reflection fills the page Of former times and hopes now fled, — Of early friends, and vigour denrl. 198 THE HAWTHOBN. Tkus, like the leaf, te dwindles on, But Ijte is cheered for what is gone ; For whoij he seeks his winti-y feed, 'Tis but the body that is dead. THE WINTES BOSS, Hail, and farewell, thou lovely guest, I may not woo thy stay. The hues that paint thy blushing vest . Are fading fast away. Like the returning tints that die At evening from the western sky, And melt in. misty grey. The mornlag stin thy beauties hailed. Fresh from their inossy cell ; At eve his beam, in sorrow veiled, Bade thee a sad farewell ; To-morro*'s rays shall gild the spot Where loosehed froni their fairy knot The withering petals fell. Alas ! on thy forsaken stem My heart shall lotig recline, And mourn the transitory gem. And make the story mine ; So on nijf..joyless wintry hour Hath ope'd some bright and fragrant flower With tints as soft as thitie. Like thee the vision came and went, Like thee it bloomed and fell, In momentary pity Bent Of fairer climes to tell. So frail its form, so short its stay. That nought the lingering heart could say. But hail, and fare thee well ! THE HAWTHOEF. On Summer's breast the hawthorn shines In all the lily's bloom, 'Mid slopes where the evening floek reclines, Where glows the golden broom. 'i'UE FUliZE. iS& Whea jeUovf 4.«tumn decks tbe plain, The hawtkorn'g bougks are gneeil, Aroid the liijenijig fields of grain, 1b emerald brightness seen. A night of frost, a day of wind. Have strips the forest bare : The hawtharn too that blast shall fiM, !N^or shafl that spoiling spare. But red with frnit, that hawthorn bough, Though leafless yet will shine ; The blackbird for its hues shall know. As lapwing knows the vine. Be j;hus thy youth as lilies gay. Thy manhood vigorous green ; And thus let fruit bedeck thy spray, 'Mid age's leafless scene. TO THE WITOH HAZEL. MTSTBaiOTJs plant ! whose golden tresses wave With a sad beauty in the dying year. Blooming amid November's froSt severe, Like the pale corpse-light o'er the recent grave ! If shepherd s tell us true, thy woBd has power. With gracious influence, to avert the harm Of ominous planets, and the fatal charm Of spirits wandering at the midnight hour; And thou canst point where burjed treasures lie. Bat yet to me ihoa art AA teMbleili high Of patient virtue, to the Christian given. Unchanged and bright, when all is dark beside ; Our shield from wild temptations, and our guide To treasures for the just laid np in heaven. THE FUEZB. 'Mid scattered foliage pale and sere, Thy kindly floweret cheers the gloom. And ofltier«! to the waning year The tribute of its golden bloom. THE FROSTED TREES. Beneath November's clouded sky, In chill December's stormy hours. Thy blossom meets the traveller's eye. Gay as the buds of summer bowers. Flower of the dark and wintry day, Emblem of friendship, thee I haal. Blooming when others fade away. And brightest when their hues grow pale. THE WILD BRIAR. The woods are stripped to the wintry winds. And faded the flowers that bloomed on the lea, But one lingering gem the wanderer finds, 'Tis the ruby fruit of the Wild Briar tree. The strong have bowed down, the beauteous are dead, The blast through the forest sighs mournfully ; And bared is full many a lofty head, But there's frtiit on the lowly Wild Briar tree. It has cheered yon bird that so gentle and well Sings — What are the gaudy flowers to me ? For here will I build my nest and dwell, By the simple, faithful, Wild Briar tree. THE FROSTED TREES. What strange enchantment meets my view, So wondrous bright and fair ? Has heaven poured out its silver dew On the rejoicing air ? Or am I borne to regions new To see the glories there ? Last eve when sunset filled the sky With wreaths of golden light. The trees sent up their arms on high, AU leafless to the sight. And sleepy mists came down to lie On the dark bi-east of ni^ht. TO THE NIOETINGALB. 201 But now the scene is changed, and all Is fancifully new ; The trees, last eve so straight and tall. Are bending on the view, And streams of living daylight fall The silvery arches through. The boughs are strong with glittering pearls, As dewdrops bright and bland. And there they gleam in silvery curls, Like gems of Samarcand, Seeming in wild fantastic whirls The works of fairyland. TO THE MORNING LARK. Feathered lyric ! warbling high, Sweetly gaining on the sky — Opening with thy matin lay Nature's hymn, the eye of day. Teach my soul, on early wing. Thus to soar, and thus to sing ! While the bloom of Orient light Guides thee in thy tuneful flight, May the day-spring from on high. Seen by Faith's religious eye. Cheer me with his vital ray, Promise of eternal day ! TO THE NIGHTINGALE. Hakk ! in the vale I hear thy evening song. Sweet Nightingale ! It soothes my pensive soul. Dost thou from day's gay flatterers retire, As I from tumult of the busy world, To pour thy sad note on the evening gale. P Night and this still serene full well accord With feelings such as ours. It is a calm Healthful and sweet to Nature, when the soul Plumes all her powers, and imps her drooping wing For other climes. Yes, songstress of the shade, 202 THE PHEASANT. We both alike are here ferief sojourners, Waiting the season of our happier change. Tet from the lone spray cheer the vale awhile. And listening 1 will learn content from thee. THE THRUSH. SoHGSTBB of ihe russet coat, Pull and liquid is lAiy note ; Plain thy dress, but great thy skill, Captivating at thy will. Small musician of the field, Near my bower thy tribute yield. Little servant of the ear, Ply thy task, and never fear. I will learn from thee to praise God, the Author of my days ; I will learn from thee to sing, Christ, my Saviour and my King, Learn to labour with my voice. Make the sinking heart rejoice. THE PHEASANT. Close by the borders of the fringfed lake. And on the oak's expanded boligh, is seen. What time the leaves the passing zephyrs shake. And gently murmur thi-ough the sylvan scene, The gaudy Pheasant, rich in varying dyes. That fade alternate, and alternate glow : Eeceiving now bis colour from the skies. And now reflecting back the watery bow. He flaps his wings, erects his spotless crest. His flaming eyes dart forth a piercing ray ) He swells the lovely plumage of his breast, And glares a wonder of the Orient day. 203 THE HALOYOIT. The mariners with ligljtsome heart From their late sheltering cove depart, Spreading with joy the snowy sail To catch the favourable gale ; And why ? Because their curious sight Had marked the Halcyon's landwiasd flight; Heralds of peace, to seamen dear, They go thejr tender brood to rear. The fearless bird in patience broods. Till fourteen suns have gilt the floods. And fourteen nights their dews have shed Upon her unprotected head : Then, from their silver prison free, Her nestlings seek the tranquil sea ; And soon, in azure plumage drest, Forsake the shelter of the nest ; But till those watching hours are past, Lest sudden swell or angry blast Destroy the Halcyon's fragile brood, The God of Nature stills the flood. Oh, Christian pilgrim ! mark the care Bestowed upon the fowls of air ; And learn to check each anxious thought, That would a Father's mercy doubt. The clouds of earth are round thee now. The storm is high, thy hopes are low ; But raise thy drooping head and see, By faith the rest reserved for thee ; Ser^-ant of Christ, to thee are given The endless halcyon days of heaven. ■ THE KINa-FISHER. The Halcyon flew across the stream. And the silver brooklet caught the gleam j The glittering flash of his dazzling wpgs Was such as the gorgeous rainbow flings. In broken rays through the tearful sky. On a sunny eve in bright July : His radiant sheen the trees between, Like the spangled scarf of a fairy queen, Was rich to the view, as the gayest hue Of the brightest flower that ever grew. TEE OWL'S BEVENGE. Its blended beam was brighter than The Orient lilies of Shushan, Twining around the brightest rose In Sharon's scented vale that grows : The diamond drops from the brook that flashed. As along the crystal wave it dashed, Showed like the sunbeam glancing through The morning gems of pearly dew. A type of Hope it seemed to be, So soft, and fresh, and fair to see. THE OWL'S REVENGE. Theee sat an owl in an old oak tree, Whooping very merrily ; He was considering as well he might, Ways and means for a supper that night ; He looked about with a solemn scowl, Yet very happy was the owl. For, in the hollow of that oak tree, There sat his wife and his children three ; She was singing one to rest, Another, under her downy breast 'Gan trying his voice, to learn her song ; The third (a hungry owl was he) Peeped slyly out of the old oak tree. And peered for his dad, and said, " You're long ;" But he hooted for joy, when he presently saw His sire, with a fuU-grown mouse in his claw. ■Oh what a supper they had that night ! All was feasting and delight ; Who most can chatter, or cram, they strive, They were the merriest owls alive. What then did the old owl do ? Ah ! not so gay was his next too-whoo ! It was very sadly said, For after his children had gone to bed (He did not sleep with his children three, For truly, a gentleman owl was he, Who would not on his wife intrude. When she was nursing her infant brood) ; So not to invade the nursery. He slept outside the hollow tree. TSE OWL'S REVENGE. 205 So when lie woke at tlie fall of the dew, He called his wife with a loud too-whoo ; " Awake, dear wife, it is evening grey. And our joys live from the deati of day." He called once more, and he shuddered when No voice replied to his voice again ; Yet stiU unwilling to believe, (And should it be, how he would grieve). That Evil's raven wing was spreaS, Hovering over his guiltless head. And shutting out joy from his hollow tree. " Ha — ^ha — tiiey play me a trick," quoth he, " They will not speak — well, well, at night They'll talk enough, I'U take a flight." But still he went not in nor out, But hopped tmeasUy about. What then did the father owl? He sat stiU, until below He heard cries of pain and woe. And saw his wife and children three. In a young boy's captivity. He followed them on noiseless wing, Not a cry once uttering. They went to a mansion taU ; He sat in a window of the hall. Where he could see His bewildered family ; And he heard the hall with laughter ring. When the boy said, " Blind they'll learn to sing ;" And he heard the shriek when the hot steel pin Through their eyeballs was thrust in ! He felt it all ! Their agony Was echoed by his frantic cry, His scream rose up with a mighty swell. And wild on the boy's fierce heart it fell ; It quailed him as he shuddering said, " Lo, the little birds are dead !" — But the father owl ! He tore his breast in his despair. And flew — ^he knew not, recked not, where. But whither, then, went the father owl, With his wild stare and deathly scowl ? — He had got a strange, wild stare ; For he thought he saw them ever there ; And he screamed as they screamed when he saw them fall Dead on the floor of the marble hall. 206 THE OWL'S UTiVEKGB. Many seasons travelled he With hia load of misery, Striving to forget Us pain Which was clinging to his brafft. Many seasons, many years. Numbered by his burning tears. Many nights his boding cry- Seated the traveller passing by ; But all in vain his wanderitigs were. He could not from his memory tear The thiiigs that had been — stiH were there. One m^bt — very, very weary, He sat in a hollow tree. With his thoughts — ah S all so dreary, For his only company. He heard something like a sound Of horse-hoofis through the forest bound. And full soon he was aware, A stranger and a lady fair Hid there, motionless and mnte. From a husband's swift pursuit. The cheated husband passed them by, The owl shrieked out, he scarce knew why ; The spoiler looked, and by the light. Saw two wild eyes that, ghastly bright. Threw an unnatural glace around. The spot where he had shelter found. Starting, he woke from rapture's dream, For again he heard that boding scream, And " On — for danger and death are nigh When drinks mine ear yon dismal cry," He said, and fled through the forest fast ; The owl had punished his foe at last. For he knew in the injured husband's foe. Him who had laid his own hopes low. Sick grew the heart of the bird of night. And again and again he took to Bight, But ever on his wandering wing He bore that loa;d of suffering ! Nought could cheer him ! The pale moon, In whose soft beam he took dehght, He looked at now reproachfully, That she conld smUe and shine, while he Had withered 'ueath such cruel blight. He hooted her, but stiH she shone ; And then away — alone ! alone ! TEE OWL'S BEVBNGE. 20? The wheel of time went i-ouad once Move, And his weary wing him haekward bore, Urged by some strong destiny. Again to the well-known forest tree ; Where the stranger he saw at nJght, With the lovely lady bright. The owl was dozing — but a stroke Strong on the foot of the stui-dy oak Shook him from his reverie. He looked down, and he might see A stranger close to the hollovy trefj ! His looks were haggard, wild, and bad. Yet the owl knew in the man, the lad Who had destroyed him ! — he was glad ! And the lovely lady tea was there. But now no longer bright nor fair ; She was lying on the ground. Mute and motionless ;; no sound Came from her coral lips, for they Were sealed in blood ; and, as she Ia.y, Her looks, of the sxm'^s most, golden gleam, Were dabbled in the crimson stream* That from a wound on her bosom white — (Ah ! that man's hand could such impress On that sweet seat of loveliness) — Welled, a sad and ghastly sight. And ran all wildly forth to meet And cling around th« murderer's. feet- He was digging a grave ; the bird Shrieked aloud, the murderer heard Once again that boding soi-eam. And saw again those wild eyes gleam — And " Ourse on the Fiend!" he cried, and flung His mattock up — it caught and hung ; The felon stood awhile aghast. Then fled through the forests-fast, fast, fast ! The hardened murderer had fled, But, the owl kept watch by the shroudless dead. Until came friends with th© early day. And bore the mangled corse away ;• Then, cutting the air all silently. He fled away from his hollow tveo. TO THE OCEAN. Why is the crowd so great to-day, And why do the people shout " Huzza ?" And why is yonder felon given Alone to feed the birds of heaven P Had he no friend, now all is done. To give his corse a grave ? Not one ! Night has fallen, what means that cry ? It descends from the gibbet high — There sits on its top a lonely owl. With a staring eye, and a dismal scowl ; And he screams aloud, " Revenge is sweet !" His mortal foe is at his feet. ON A BUTTERFLY. TnoTJ coloured vringlet, floating in the ray Of June's most gladsome hours, whose gorgeous vest Was woven in the rainbow ; little rest Thou knowest, in the long bright summer day : Sipping the fragrant honied dew, away Thou flyest from flower to flower, and blest With buoyant thoughts, and spirits full of zest. Through fields of ether lies thy airy way. Yet wast thou once a reptile in the mire Unsightly : having slumbered in thy cell, IVansformed and drunk with thoughts that bliss inspire Thou camest forth : — and I shall break the shell Of dull mortality, and clad in fire, Burst on immortal wings, in fields of light to dwell. TO THE OCEAN. How oft enchanted have I stood, Gazing on forest, field, and flood ; Or in the busy breathing vale, With hamlet gemmed and turret pale ; Ne'er dreaming (till another hour) That more of beauty, more of power. Than earth, in stream, vale, wood, or tower. Could boast her own, existed still In one broad scene of vision, tfll That moment when I mutely bent O'er thee, imperial Element ! TO THE OOEAN. 209 I saw them, and in shade or sun, Thy armies of dark waves roll on ; In fierceness and in strength they bore Their plumfed heads — -till on the shore Each thundered, and was known no more. But still where'er the glancing eye Spans the wide sweep of shore and sky, Yet other hosts are gathering near, Yet other hills of foam appear ; And onward o'er the deep they roar, To seek their brethren on the shore- Like them to thunder, and be seen no more ! Yet once I saw thee in a mood So gentle, smiling, and subdued, That scarcely might a streamlet lie More calm beneath a summer's sky ; The winds were sleeping on thy breast, Thy distant billows were at rest ; And every breaker (fierce no more). Just sparkled, and then kissed the shore ; While neaven'g arched brow was azure bright, And all its watchers shone that night ; And where thy waters seemed to swell, A meek and trembling radiance fell, For like a virgin-spirit stood The crescent moon above thy flood. And snowing clouds around her stole, Like dreams upon a youthful soul ! Who then that saw thee, giant king ! So silent and so slumbering, Had dreamt that once thy waters ran, O'er whelming every haunt of man ; That sun and star long rose and set Alone on thy dark waters, yet And but for one small sacred ark Had found no living thing to mark This world, as from her sister earth Called into being ere their birth ! 'Tis past ! Thy biUowy pride no more May sweep beyond the girdling shore ! 'Tis past ! Thy mountain waVes still rage, But at thy Maker's word assuage ; And meek and trembling as a child. At His commasd art thou, the wonderful, the wild ! p 210 THE SEA-SHELL. Upon a rock's extremest verge. Round which the foaming billows beat, I sat and listened to the surge, Which threw its white spray o'er my feet. Long, long I lingered, lost in thought, Still gazing on the boundless sea ; In whose unceasing flow is wrought An emblem of eternity. I gathered from the pebbled shore A shell, with rainbow beauties tinged ; And home my ocean prize I bore, With many-coloured sea-weed fringed. As to my listening ear I held The shining gem the billows gave. Within its fairy cavern swelled The mimic murmur of the wave. Though distant far my footsteps strayed. Through shady grove or sunny plifh. Still the fair cadence ever made An echo of the roaring main. 'Tis thus the agfed seaman dreams, When anchored in his tranquil home ; In wandering fancy still he seems Through dark and stormy seas to roam. He slumbers in a laud of peace ; He hears no more the water's strife ; But faithful memory still will trace The dangers of his early life. THE BOTTOM OF THE SEA. The floor is of sand like the mountain-drift. And the pearl-shells spangle the flinty snow ; From coral rock& the sea-plants lift , Their boughs -Wheve the tides and billows flow. THE INHABITANTS OF THE WATERS. 211 The water is calm and still belo\y, Foi- the winds and waves are absent there ; And the sands are bright as the stars that gli. w In the motionless fields of upper air. There, with its waving blade of green, The sea-flag sti'eams through the silent wat ir ; And the crimson leaf of the dulse is seen To blush like a banner bathed in slaughter. There, with a light and easy motion, The fan-coral sweeps through the clear deep sea ; And the yellow and scarlet tnfts of ocean Are bending like corn on the upland lea. And life, in rare and beautiftil forms, Is sporting amid those bowers of stone, And is safe when the wrathful spirit of storms Has made the top of the wave his own. And .when the ship from his fury flies, Where the myria;d voices of ocean roar ; When the wind-god frowns in the murky skies. And demons are waiting the wreck on store, — Then far bdow, in the peaceful sea, The purple mnllet and goldfish rove ; Where the waters murmur tranquilly Through, the bending twigs in the coral grove. THE INHABITANTS OF THE WATERS. Each rising charm the bounteous stream Bestows, The grass that thickens, and the flower that blows. And while the vale the humid wealth imbibes, The fostering wave sustains the finny tribes ; The carp, with golden scales, in wanton play j The trout in crimson-speckled glory gay ; The red-finned roach, the silver-eoated eel j The pike, Whose haunt the twisted roots conceal ; The healing tench, the gudgeon, perch, and bream } And all the sportive natives of tne stream. p2 •212 TO A LADY, GAZING ON A BEAUTIFUL LANDSCAPE; Lady, the earnest smiles of living light That kindle on thy lips, and in thine eyes, At the fair landscape which surrounds thee, — slc'cs. Groves, glades, and fountains, — all that fairy sight Of beauty and of bliss, — will take their flight, And vanish with the scene from whence they rise. Not so their secret influence. When youth flies. Ceasing to spread its mantle of delight O'er this mysterious world, that sight shall seem Like the remembered face of a dead friend. To smile on thee from heaven. It shall blend "With thy best thoughts, and, like a happy dream, Bepeat its silent music, till the stream Of thy pure life hath reached its peaceful end. Gaze on, then, gaze thy fill ! These silent shows Of all-sufficing Nature, speak with voice More eloquent than books, bidding rejoice. With purest joy, the heart that wisely knows To trust them. As life's rapid river flows. In sunshine or in shade, be but its course Through scenes where Art has not put rude divorce Between thy heart and Nature's, sweet repose Shall ever be within thee and about, — Smiling away all ills. The rabble rout Of the world's vulgar pains, and vapid pleasures. Shall never dare approach thee ; while new treasures Of thought and feeling, to thy pure soul given, Shall change this fair earth to another heaven. A BEAUTIFUL MAIDEN. Whence that completed form of all completeness ? Whence came that high perfection of aU sweetness ? Speak, stubborii earth, and tell me where, oh where ! Hast thou a symbol of her golden hair ? Not oat-sheaves dropping in the western sun ; Not thy soft hand, fair sister ! Let me shun Such f oily in g before thee — ^yet she had, Indeed, looks bright enough to make me mad ; THE SLEEPING BEAUTY. 213 And they were simply gordianed up and braided, Leaving, in naked comeliness, unshaded, Her pearl round ears, white neck, and orbfed brow ; The which were blended in, I know not how. With such a paradise of lips and eyes, Blush-tinted cheeks, half-smiles, and faintest sighs. That when I think thereon, my spirit chngs And plays about its fancy, till the stings Of human neighbourhood envenom all. Unto what awful power shall I call ? To what high fane P — Ah ! see her hovering feet. More bluely veined, more soft, more whitely sweet Than those of sea-born Venus, when she rose From out her cradle shell. The wind out-blows Her scarf into a fluttering pavilion ; 'Tis blue and over-spangled with a million Of little eyes.as though thou wert to shed, Over the darkest, loveliest bluebell bed, Handfuls of daisies. THE SLEEPING BEAUTY. 'Tis said in a bower, by fairy hands wrought, Onoe Beauty in slum'Ger reposed ; And morn, noon, and even, ho waking time brought, For her eyes were by magic spell closed. But time did the charm of this witchery break. And though ages had passed o'er her now. The rose and the lily were fresh on her cheek, And no wrinkle was seen on her brow. For softly she slept, and her dreams were so sweet, Spotless innocence reigned in her breast, And passion was still in her silent retreat. And unbroken by care was her rest. When Beauty awoke, and had looked on the scene. This dark scene of sorrow and sin — She returned to her bower, so lone and serene. And peacefully slumbered again. 214 TO A YOUNG LADY. The moon's full splendour on the waveless sea ; — A towering lily sleeping in the night, Lulled by the music oi the honey-bee ; — A rose, dew-laden, bending to the night, Taint with a sense of its own ecstasy ; — A prottd, white lotus, floating on a late ; — A tall magnolia ; — a violet, small, But so intensely sweet, that it doth take The full sense like a passion ; — Lady, all That I behold, of calm, rich, natural grace, Disturbs me less with joy than gazing on that face. All blessings be upon thee, lady ! though They cannot make thee richer than thou ait. Need we wish peace for one who ne'er can kuow Its opposite ? Ask calmness for a heart. Calm as the deepening light of summer eyes, Or sound of rills that, o'er their pebbled wa}', Murmur, harmonious with the rustling leaves, A soft quietus to the fading day ? Call melody to lips that only meet To breathe forth sounds, so musically sweet That all the honeyed syllables they say Dance to the heart like marriage-bells in May. What spirit in thy bosom's rise may dwell, What the bright forms that animate thy sleep. Or minister by day, or lend their spell To guard those eyes from sorrow when they weep. What fit exproHsion for the dreams that lie, Shrined in the light (that we must feel not see), Brightening the world of passion in thine eye ; — All these are things that Poesy defy, To put them into words, yet cannot die But live for ever ! Beauty is but breath ; These are immortal, beautifying Death ! COUNTRY LIFE. The merchant tempts me with his gold, The gold he worships night and day ; He bids me leave this dreary wold. And come into the city gay. BEN NEVIS. 215 I will not go ; I wont be sold j I scorn his pleasures and array ; I'll rather bear the country's cold, Than from its freedom walk away, What is to me the city's pride P The haunt of luxury and pleasure ; Those fields and hills, this wild brookside, To me are better beyoijd measure. 'Mid country scenes I'll still abide ; With country life and country leisure ; Content, whatever may betide, With common good instead of treasure. GLENCOE. Keep silence, lest the rocks in thunder fall 5 Keep silence, lest ye wake the hapless dead, Whose blood is crying from the ground to call The doom of justice on the murderer's head ! Dark and more dark, ye shades of evening lower ; Wide, and more wide, ye gathering tempests, spread. Thick clouds and waters round the Avenging Power Whose malison is here ! The river moans ; The wind, with deepening sigh from hour to hour, Saddens the gloom, a curse is on the land ; Prom every oaverned cliff sepulchral groans Appal the desolation ; and around, The melancholy mountains loathe the sun. And shall, till the career of Time be done. BEN NEVia. We climb, we pant, we pause ; again we climb ; Frown not, stern mountain, nor around thee throw Thy mist and storm, but look with cloudless brow O'er all thy giant progeny sublime ; While toiling up the immeasurable height We climb, we pant, we pause ; the thickening gloom Hath palled us in the darkness of the tomb : And on the hard-won summit sound nor sight 216 THE SONG OF THE 8TBEAM8. Salntes hb, save fhe snow ajid chilling blast, And all the guardian fiends of Winter's throne. Snch too is lue — ^ten thousand perils past. Our fame is vaponx, and onr mirth a groan. But patience ; till the veil be rent away, And on onr vision flash celestial day. THE SONG OP THE STREAMS. We trill a hynm to the evening dim. When the golden snnset dies. And the sweet-voiced praise of the song we raise Ascends to the starry skies. We Inll to rest on the earth's green breast The blushing, bright eyed flowers. Where Nature weaves, with her festooned leaves, Her home in the summer bowers. Our strains are heard when the forest bird No more to the echo sings. While the lover's tale in the silent vale To the fond heart rapture brings. When the fairy queen to the woodlajid green Hath gone with her maidens gay. To dance awhile in the silver smile Of the bright moon's mystic ray. They one and all in their forest hall. Whose lamps are the stars above. Glide round and round o'er the dewy ground. Like a dream of joy and love ; And ours the song of the unseen throng In their wanton mazy whirls. As they lightly pass o'er the trembling grass. Adorned with its liquid pearls. When the golden rays of the orient blaze Come over the purple hUls, And sunshine looks on the dancing brooks, And smiles to the laughing riUs, Our lay ascends till its music blends With the lark's song sweet and rare, TUl wafted far, where the morning star Shines dim through the crystal air. Then the fair light beams till the matin dreams Of the silken blossoms die. As the wild bee's hum and the zephyrs come. And mirthfully murmur by. THE SONG OF THE STREAMS. 217 Where the greea trees wave and the fountains lave We dance to a merry tune. When beauty showers on the fleeting hours The light of the joyous noon ; And Nature's smiles with the sweetest wiles Of sweetest song we woo. When the leaves are tinged and the bright flowers fringed With the sun's own golden hue ; While choral notes from tiny throats Of the woodland minstrels swell. And come to the ear all soft and clear As a lingering, heaven-toned spell. When childhood strays in the sunny daya Ey one flowing, silver tide, We fondly sing to the gentle thing A song that he lists with pride. Then visions rise to the longing eyes Of the lovely cherub boy. As our tones impart to his dreaming heart Bright hopes of the future's joy ; But oft he hears in his after years Our strains to his memory come. When deep griefs rest in his aching breast, Where the voice of hope is dumb. And oft we breathe of a bright, bright wreath When the poet, wandering, dreams. Where all is mute save the sweet bird's lute And the song of the silver streams. And the hoary sage in the path of age WiU list to our murmurs sweet. And commune oft with our voices soft Away in some lone retreat. We bring relief to the heart of grief When its woes to us are given, For we whisper tales in the silent vales That lead the soul to heaven. We bound away, and our roundelay With the light-winged zephyr trills ; We joy to leap from the sunny steep And dance-on the distant hills. Away, away ! we are glad and gay As the brightest things of earth ; No voice have we but the voice of glee — 'Tis the music of Nature's mirth. 21fi THU DEWDROP AND THE STVEAM. We love to sing to the fair young spring In the glen and the forest dim, And the year's bright prime, and the antumn time, Are themes for our choral hymn. THE DEWDROP AND THE STREAM. The brakes with golden flowers were crowned. And melody was heard around, When, near the scene, a dewdrop shed Its lustre on a violet's head. And trembling to the breeze it hung ! The streamlet, as it rolled along. The beauty of the morn confegsed. And thus the sparkling pearl addressed : — " Sure, little drop, rejoice we may. For all is beautiful and gay ; Creation wears her emerald dress, And smiles in all her loveliness. And with delight and pride I see That little flower bedewed by thee ; Thy lustre with a gem might vie, While trembling in its purple eye." — "Ay, you may well rejoice, 'tis true," Replied the radiant drop of dew ; " Ton will, no doubt, as on you move. To flocks and herds a blessing prove. But when the sun ascends on high. Its beams will draw me towards the sky ; And I must own my little power — I've but refreshed a humble flower." — " Hold !" cried the stream, " nor thus repine ; For well 'tis known a power divine. Subservient to His will supreme, Has made the dewdrop and the stream. Though smaU thou art (I that allow), No mark of heaven's contempt art thou — Thou hast refreshed a humble flower, And done according to thy power." All things that are both great and small. One glorious Author formed them aU : This thought may all repinings quell — "What serves Hia purpose serves Him well. 210 SUNSHINE AXD SHOWER. Two children stood at their father's gate. Two girls with golden hair ; And their eyes were bright, and their voices glad, Becanse the mom was fair. For liey said, " We will take that long, long walk To the hawthorn copse to-day. And gather great bnnches of lovely flowers From off the scented May ; And oh ! we shall be so happy there, 'Twill be sorrow to come away !" As the children spoke, a little clond Passed slowly across the sky ; And one looked np in her sister's face With a tear-drop in her eye ; But the other said, " Oh, heed it not ! 'Tis far too fair to rain ; That little clond may search the sky For other clouds in vain." And soon the children's voices rose In merriment again. But ere the morning hours had waned The sky had changed its hue. And that one cloud had chased away The whole great heaven of blue. The rain fell down in heavy drops. And wind began to blow. And the children, in their nice warm room. Went fretting to and fro ; For they said, " When we have aught in store, It always happens so !" Now these two fairhaired sisters Had a brother out at sea ; A little midshipman, aboard The galliint " Victory ;" And on that self-same morning. When they stood beside the gate. His ship was wrecked ! and on a raft He stood all desolate, With the other sailors round him. Prepared to meet their fate. 220 A STOmi. Beyond, they saw the cool green land — The land with her waving trees, And her little brooks that rise and fall Like butterflies to the breeze ; But above them the burning noontide sun With searching stillness shone ; Their throats were parched with bitter thirst. And they knelt down one by one. And prayed to God for a drop of rain And a gale to waft them on. And then that little cloud was sent. That shower in mercy given, And as a bird before the breeze. Their bark was landward driven. And some few mornings after. When the children met once more, And their brother told the story. They knew it was the hour ' When they had wished for sunshine. And Grod had sent the shower. A STORM. The sun went down in beauty ; but the eyes Of ancient seamen trembled, when they saw A small black ominous spot far in the distance : — It spread, and spread — ^larger and dark — and came O'ershadowing the skies ; — the ocean rose ; The gathering waves grew large, and broke in hoarse And noUow sounds ; — ^the mighty winds awoke. And screamed and whistled through the cordage ; — ^birJs, That seemed to have no home, flocked there in terror. And sat with quivering plumage on the mast; Flashes were seen, and distant sounds were heard — Presages of a storm. — The sun went down in beauty — ^but the skies Were wildly changed. — It was a dreadful night ; No moon was seen, in all the heavens, to aid Or cheer the lone and sea-beat mariner ; — Planet nor guiding star broke through the gloom ; — But the blue lightnings glared along the waters. As if the Fiend had fired his torch to light ON SAILING. 221 Some wretches to their graves. — The tempest-winds Having came next, and in deep hollow sounds — Like those the spirits of the dead do nse When they would speak their evil prophecies — Muttered of death to come. Then came the thunder, Deepening and crashing as 'twould rend the world ; Or, as the Deity passed aloft in anger And spoke to man — despair ! The ship was tossed. And now stood poised upon the curling billows. And now 'midst deep and watery chasms — that yawned As 'twere in hunger — sank. Behind there came Mountains of moving water, — with a rush And sound of gathering power, that did appal The heart to look on ; — ^terrible cries were heard — Some of intemperate, dark, and dissolute joy — Music and horrid mirth — ^bnt unallied To joy ; — and madness might be heard amidst The pauses of the storm — and when the glare Was strong, rude savage men were seen to dance In frantic exultation on the deck, Though all was hopeless. Hark ! the ship has struck. And the forked lightning seeks the arsenal ! — 'Tis fired — and mirth and madness are no more ! 'Midst columned smoke, deep red, the fragments fly In fierce confusion — splinters and scorched limbs, And burning masts, and showers of gold, — torn from The heart that hugged it even till death. Thus doth Sicilian Etna in her angry moods. Or Hecla, 'mid her wilderness of snows, Shoot up its burning entrails, with a sound Louder than e'er the Titans uttered from Their subterranean caves, when Jove enchained Them, daring and rebellious. The black skies. Shocked at the excess of light, returned the sound In frightful echoes — as if an alarm Had spread through all the elements : then came A horrid silence — deep — ^unnatural — like The quiet of the grave ! ON SAILING PAST CAPE TEAPALGAB, IN THE NIC TIT. Have you sailed on the breast of the deep. When the winds had all silenced their breath, And the watei-s were hushed in as holy a sleep. And as calm as the slumber of death, 222 ON SAILING. When the yellow moon beaming on high, Shone tranquilly bright on the wave, And careered through the vast and impalpable sky. Till she found in the ocean a grave, And dying away by degrees on the sight. The waters were clad in the mantle of night ? 'Twould impart a delight to thy soul, As I felt it imparted to mine, And the draught of affliction that blackened my bowl, Grew bright as the silvery t)rine. I cai-elessly lay on the deck. And listened in silence to catch The wonderful stories of battle or wi-eek That were told by the men of the watch, Sad stories of demons most deadly that be. And of mermaids that rose from the depths of the sea. Strange visions my fancy had filled, I was wet with the dews of the night ; And I thought tliat the moon still continued to gild The wave with a silvery light. I sunk by degrees into sleep, I thought of my friends who were far, When a form seemed to glide o'er the face of the deep. As bright as the evening star. Ne'er rose there a spirit more lovely and fair. Yet I trembled to think that a spirit was there. Emerald green was her hair, Braided with gems of the sea, Her arm, like a meteor, she waved in the air, And I knew that she beckoned to me, She glanced upon me with her eyes. How ineffably bright was their blaze, I shrunk and I trembled with fear and surprise. Yet still I continued to gaze ; But enchantingly sweet was the smile of her lip. And I followed the vision and sprang from the ship. 'Mid the waves of the ocean I fell, The dolphins were sporting around. And many a triton was tuning his shell. And ecstatic and wild was the sound ! ON VISITING THE BUIN8. 223 There were thousands of fathoms above, And thousands of fathoms helow, And we sank to the caves where the sea-lions rove, And the topaz and emerald glow ; Where the diamond and sapphire eternally shed Their lustre around on the bones of the dead. And well might their lustre be bright, For they shone on the limbs of the bravei Of those who had fought in the terrible fight. And were buried at last in the wave. In grottos of coral they slept. On white beds of pearl around, And near them for ever the water-snake crept, And the sea-lion guarded the ground. While the dirge of the heroes by spirits were rung, And solemn and wild were the strains that they sung. ON SBBING BURLBiaia CASTLE. In reverend guise this ancient pile survey. Girded with oaks whose tinted foliage gleams With Autumn's golden hue. Now tengtheiiing streams Between their hoary trunks the western ray. As smiles the slowly parting orb of da^y Bull on these lofty halls are flung his beams. Where Time's Ennobling touch has furnished themes, That rouse the soul through centuries to stray. I see our maiden queen beside me sweep — I shrink beneath Ae lightning of her glance. Or view that lofty form relaxed in sleep, Her mind's vast powers bound up as in a trance, TiU all these splendid scenes in dimness fade. Lost in the glory of that awful shade. ON VISITING THE EUINS OB KSNILWORTH CASTLE, WARWICKSHIEE. On priiiCety Kemlworth's i-omantic site , I stand, enwrapped in shadows of the past ! Those time-clad remnants!, y^t suhlimely vast, Memorials of magnificence and might, 224 NATURE. Tell us a tale of wonder. They recall To Fancy's vision many a lordly scene, What time chivalrous England's virgin qtieen Graced martial tournament, and festive hall, A sovereign and a guest ! Instructive pile ! We learn, while musing 'mid thy ruined maze, The story of thy former greatness — while On every breeze there comes a voice which says, "Though earthly grace and grandeur have their day, Their niglit, like thine, will come — their darkness and decay !" NATURE. • I LOVE to sit upon some steep That overhangs the billowy deep, And hear the waters roar ; I love to see the big waves fly. And swell their bosoms to the sky, Then burst upon the shore. I love, when seated on its brow. To look o'er all the world below. And eye the distant vale ; From thence to see the waving corn. With yellow hue the hills adorn, And bend before the gale. I love far downward to behold The shepherd with his bleating fold, And hear the tinkling sound Of little bell and mellow flute. Wafted on zephyrs, soft, now mute. Then swell in echoes round. I love to range the valleys too, And towering hills from thence to view, Which rear their heads so high ; When nought beside, around, is seen But one extended space between. And overhead the sky. I love to see, at close of day, Spread o'er the hills the sun's broad ray, While rolling down the west ; When every cloud in rich attire And half the sky, that seems on fire, For purple robes is drest. BVBN!rn>:S!. 225 I love when evening veils the sky, And the moon shines with silver ray, To cast a glance around. And see ten thousand worlds of light Shine, ever new, and ever bright, O'er the vast vault profound. I love to let wild fancy stray. And walk the spangled milky way. Up to the shining height, Where thousand thousand burning rays, Mingle in one eternal blaze, And charm the ravished sight. I love from thence to take my flight, Far downward on the beams of light. And reach my native plain. Just as the flaming orb of day Drives night, and mists, and shades away. And cheers the world again. EVENTIDE. O SWEET is Natui'e's quiet hour, When twilight shadows peaceful fall Around the scene, while soft repose And hallowed thoughts are felt by all. The busy din of work is stilled, And wearied men their labours cease. For pleasant thoughts of those at 'home. Like twilight hours bring dreams of peace. So from the outer world our home Like twilight's peaceful calm should be, Eor why should aught save sweet content Our fireside circle ever see. When avaricious thoughts preclude The better feelings of man's breast, To kindly feelings he is dead. And mammon ne'er will give him rest. Q 223 THE GEAFEL BY TEE SEOBE. There is a little cosy nook, A somebody that waits for me ; That for whose smile of sweet content. The heartless miser I'd ne'er be. Tor his proud dwelling I'd not change My hunSjle cosy little cot, And for his wealth I would not give One merry laugh from Little Dot. THE CHAPEL BY THE SHORE. By the shore a plot of ground Clips a ruined chapel round. Buttressed with a grassy mound. Where day and night and day go by, And bring no toiich of human sound. Waahiug of the lonely seas. Shaking of the guardian trees, Piping of the salted breeze : Day and night and day go by To the ceaseless tune of these. Pr when as wind and waters keep A hush more dead than any sleep, StiU morns to stiller evenings creep, And day and night and day go by- Here the stillness ig ?nost deep. And the ruins, lapsed again Into Nature's wide domain, Sow themselves with seed and grain As day and night and day go by — And hoard June's sun and April's rain. Here fresh funeral tears were shed ; And now the graves are also dead. And suckers from the ash-tree spread As day and night and day go by, ' And stars move calmly over head. Ilatiniml, %athx\, anb ^amtBtu. " Breathe's there a man -tntli soul so dead, Who never to himself hath said, This is my own, my native land !" Scott. " The love of home, or that attachment to local objects which have been intimately associated with the pleasures and afEections of opening life, is a feehng, or rather, indeed, a passion which has been found to exist, in a greater or less degree, in every age and nation, and may therefore be deemed natural to, and, for the most part, inherent in man. It is, moreover, the basis of all the charities and virtues of our nature, and ever bums brightest in the breast of him who is the inost tender, philanthropic, and humane. It may, in fact, be asserted that he who has not strongly felt this domestic tie, will never, in any of the relations of life, be either happy in himself or useful to others ; for on the love of home is founded that of his country and of his species, and without the first of these affections, which includes all the nearest and dearest affinities of our common kind, the heart must ever remain selfish, desolate, and cold, and consequently void of all those sympa- thies which can stimulate to any social or patriotic feeling The love of home may indeed be considered as a test of the goodness of the human heart, for without it, we again repeat, neither the domestic nor patriotic virtues can be said to exist. It is of all our feelings the most generous and amiable, and, if duly cherished, will ever prove one of the best preventatives of vanity, selfishness, and dissipaition ; of discontent, turbulence, and disaffection. Home is the haven to which, after all the storms and vexations of life, we return with the added conviction, that if happiness be anywhere resident on earth, it is only to be found within its still retreats, where vice and folly stand aloof, and when the soul, uncontaminated by its passage through the world, can prepare in peace, and in the sunshine of domestic love, for that not dreaded hour when the frame it now inhabits shall mingle with its parent dust."— Dbake's " Wiktee Nights," (j2 228 IMITATION OF BTEON'S "MODEEN GEEEOE," AS APPLIED TO SCOTLAND. Know'st thou the land where the hardy green thistle, The red-blooming heath, and the harebell abonnd P Where oft o'er the mountains the shepherd's shrill whistle Is heard in the gloaming so sweetly to sound P Know'st thou the land of the mountain and flood. Where the pine of the forest for ages has stood, Where the eagle comes forth on the wings of the storm, And her young ones are rocked on high Cairngorm P Know'st thou the land where the old Celtic wave Encircles the hills which its blue waters lave P Where the virgins are pure as the gems of the sea, And their spirits are light as their actions are free ? 'Tis the land of thy sire ! — 'tis the land of thy youth. Where first thy young heart glowed with honour and truth ; Where the wild fire of genius first caught thy young soul. And thy feet and thy fancy roamed free from control ! Then why does that fancy still dwell on a clime Where Love leads to Madness, and Madness to Crime : Where courage itself is more savage than brave ; — Where man is a despot, and woman a slave P Though soft are the breezes, and sweet the perfume, And fair are the " gardens of Gul" in their bloom ; Can the odours they scatter — the roses they bear, Speak peace to the heart of suspicion and fear ? Ah, no ! 'tis the magic that glows in thy strain. Gives life to the action and soul to the scene ! And the deeds which they do, and the tales which they tell, Enchant us alone by the power of thy spell ! And is there no charm in thine own nativeearth? Does no talisman rest in the place of thy birth ? Are the daughters of Albion less worthy thy care. Less soft than Zuleika, less bright than Gulnare ? Are her sons less renowned, or her warriors less brave, Than the slaves of a prince who himself is a slave P Then strike thy wild lyre, let it swell with the strain. Let the mighty in arms live and conquer again ; Their past deeds of valour thy lays shall rehearse. And the fame of thy country revive in thy verse. The proud wreath of victory round heroes may twine, 'Tis the poet who crowns them with honour divine ; And thy laurels, Pelides, had sunk in the tomb. Had the bard not preserved them immortal in bloom ! 229 SCOTLAND. O Scotia ! land of hill and dell, Of daughters fair and sons I trew, Whose Scottish blood their pnlse would swell The stern oppressor's power to queU, For they to Freedom's cause are true. Brave Caledonia 'gainst great Mars Has struggled oft through mighty wars ; Tet ever braved them all that she Might gain for her posterity A glorious blood-bought liberty. Brave, brave old Isle amidst the main, May'st thou still fiourisi, and maintain Thy freedom, and thy wonted might. Thy spirit bold, and honour bright, Trusting thy God to guard thy right. A SONG- OF THE SEA. The sea, the sea, is England's, And England's sbaU remain, Though the might of France, a,nd the world advance. To contest our ocean reign ! Quoth gallant Blake, as he spread his sails, And his cannon shook the waves : Fire away, boys ! for the day is ours, Or here, lads, foam our graves. Fire away, boys ! quoth he again. For the sea, the sea, is England's, And England's shall remain ! The fresh winds blowing loud and strong, The Spaniards fled — which rare is — And we chased them far, and we chased them long, Till they anchored in Canaries. Quoth our admiral as their castles blazed With guns like a stormy night, Do they think to frighten us P Pii-e away, boys, For old England's might and right ! Fire away, boys ! quoth he again For the sea. the sea is England's, And England's shall remain ! 230 THE SHAN VAN VOGHT. We sank and burned, and we took them all, With gold and spices laden, And OTir sweethearts each had a jolly, haul. For each loved his English maiden ; But as home we came, quoth our admiral, I'm going, lads, aloft ! And he died with a smile, but his dying word Was, Mre away, boys ! now board her ! soft ! Fire away, boys ! quoth he again, For the sea, the sea, is England's, And England's shall remain. THE SHAJSr YAN VOOHT. O ! THE French are on the say, Says the Shan Van Vocht ; The French are on the say. Says the Shan Van Vocht ! O ! the French are in the bay. They'll be here without delay. And the Orange will decay, Says the Shan Van Vocht. ! the French are in the bay^ They'll be here by break of day, And the Orange will decay. Says the Shan Van Vocht. And where wiU they have their camp ? Says the Shan Van Vocht; Where will they have their camp ? Says the Shan Van Vocht ; On the Ourragh of Kildare ; The bovs thej will be there. With their pikes in good repair, Says the Shan Van Vocht. To the Curragh of Kildare The boys they will repair. And Lord Edward will be there, Says the Shan Van Vocht, Then what will the yeomen do ? Says the Shan Van Vocht; What will the yeomen do P Says the Shan Van Vocht. LOUDHON'S ATTACK. 231 What should the yeomen do P But throw off the Eed and Blue And swear they will be true, Says the Shan Van Yocht? What should the yeomen do ? But throw off the Eed and Blue And swear they will be true, Says the Shan Van Vooht. And what colour will they wear ? Says the Shan Van Vooht ; What colour will they wear ? Says the Shan Van Vocht. What colour should be seen, Where our fathers' homes have been. But our own immortal Green ? Says the Shan Van Vocht. What colour should be seen. Where are fathers' homes have been, But our immortal Green ? Says the Shan Van Vooht. And will Ireland then be free ? Says the Shan Van Vocht ; Will Ireland then be free ? Says the Shan Van Vocht. Tes, Ireland shall be free. From the centre to the sea ; Then hurrah for liberty ! Says the Shan Van Vocht. Tea, Ireland will be free. From the centre to the sea ; Then hurrah for liberty ! Says the Shan Van Vocht. LOUDHON'S ATTACK. A HUNGAEIAN WAR-SONG. Rise, ye Croats, fierce and strong, From the front and march along ; And gather fast, ye gallant men. Of Nona and of Warrasden ; Whose sunny mountains nurse a line Generous as her fiery wine ; 232 LOUDEON'S ATTACK. Hosts of Buda, hither bring The bloody flag, and eagle wing ; Banks of Agria, head and heel Sheathed in adamantine steel. Quit the -woodlands and the boar, Ye hunters wild on Drara's shore ; And ye that hew her oaken wood, Brown with lusty hardihood, The trumpets sound, the colours fly, And Loudhon leads to victory ! Hark ! the summons loud and strong- " Follow, soldiers — march along ;" — Every baron, sword in hand, Eides before his gallant band ; The vulture, screaming for his food, Conducts you to the field of blood. And bids the sword of valour seek For nurture to his gory beak ! Men of Austria, mark around, Classic fields and holy ground ; For here were deeds of glory done, And battles by our fathers won — Fathers who bequeathed to you Their country and their courage too ; Heirs of plunder and renown. Hew the squadrons — ^hew them down. Now ye triumph — slaughter now Tears the field with bloody plough ; And all the streamy shore resounds With shouts and shrieks and sabre-wounds ! Now your thunders carry fate ; Now the field is desolate — Save where Loudhon's eagles fly On the wings of victory ! This is glory, this is life ! Champions of a noble strife, Moving like a waU of rock To stormy siege or battle-shock ; Thus we conquer might and main. Fight and conquer o'er again : Grenadiers, that, fierce and large. Stamp like dragons to the charge ; Foot and horsemen, serf and lord. Triumph now with one accord ! T«ars of triumph shall repay Death and dangers' troubled day ; KOSCIUSKO. 233 Soon tlie rapid shot is o'er, But glory lasts for evermore — Glory whose immortal eye Guides us to the victory ! KOSCIUSKO. Thaddeits Kosciusko was bom in Lithuania, in 1736, of an ancient and iioble family. He was educated at the military school of Warsaw, and afterwards became a student in France. There he became acquainted with Dr. Franklin, and was by him recommended to General Washington. Before leaving Poland he had eloped with a beautiful lady of high rank. They were overtaken in their flight by her father, who made a violent attempt to rescue his daughter. The young Pole had either to slay the father or abandon the young lady. Abhorring the former a«t lie sheathed his sword, and soon after obtained permission of his Sovereign to leave his country. He went to America, and presented himself to the commander-in- chief. He answered the inquiry of his -Excellency, " What do you seek here ?" by saying, "I come to fight as a volunteer for American independence," "What can yon do ?" asked Washington. " Try me," was Kosciusko's laconic reply. Greatly pleased with him, Washington made him hig aide. In October, 1776, he was appointed engineer by Congress with the rank of Colonel. He was greatly esteemed by the American ofiicers, and admitted a member of the Cincinnati Society. At the close of the American Eevolution he returned to Poland and was made a Major-general under Poniatowski. He commanded judiciously and fought bravely, and when, in 1794, a new revolution broke out in Poland, he was made generalissimo, and vested with the power of a military dictator. In October of that year he was overpowered, wounded, and taken prisoner. In reference to this event, Campbell, • in his Pleasures of Hope, says — " Hope for a season bade the world farewell, And Freedom shrieked when Kosciusko fell." He was kept in prison in St. Petersburg until the death of the Empress Catherine, when he was liberated by Paul, loaded with honours, and offered a command in the Bussian service. The Emperor besought him to accept the proffered honour, and presented him with his own sword. But bitterly reflecting that his country had been annihilated, he refused to I'eceive his sword, saying, " J no longer need a sword, since I have no longer a country to defend," He visited the United States in 1797, and received from Congress a grant of land for his services. He returned to Switzerland towards the close of his life, and died them October 16th, 1817. His remains were taken to Cracow, and at Warsaw a public funeral was made for him. A SACRED grief sublime and bright Descends o'er Kosciusko's bier ; It mourns not that his soul of light, No more confined in mortal night. Has sought its native sphere ; The hallowed tear that ghstens there, By purest loftiest feelings given. Flows more from triumph than despair, And falls like dew from heaven ! 234 K08GIV8K0. Thus oft around the setting snn Soft sLowers attend his parting ray, And sinking now, his journey done, His matchless course to evening run — They weep his closing day. Who hath not watched his light decline. Till sad, yet holy feelings rise P Although lie sets again to shine. More glorious in more cloudless skies. As proudly shone thy evening ray,_ As in that contest bright and brief. When patriots hailed thy noontide day. And owned thee as their chief ! Thou wert the radiant moming star. Which bright to hapless Poland rose. The leader of her patriot war, The sharer of her woes ! What though no earthly triumphs grace The spot where thou hast ta'en thy sleep ; Yet Glory poiuts thy resting-place, And thither Freedom tarns to weep. The pompous arch, the column's boast. Though rich with all the sculptor's art. Shall soon in time's dark sweep be lost ; But thou survivest in the heart. And bright thy dwelling still shall be Within the page of Liberty. And o'er the turf where sleeps the brave Such sweet and holy drops are shed — Who would not fill a Patriot's grave. To share them with the dead ? The laurel, and the oaten bough. Above the meaner great may bloom. And trophies due to Freedom's brow May shade Oppression's tomb ; — But Glory's smile hath shed on thee The light of immortality ! 235 PALMYRA. Palmyra was formerly a magnificent city of Asia, in the deserta of Arabia, abont 6U miles east of Damascus, and above 20 miles west of the Euphrates, surrounded on the east, north, and west sides by a long chain of mountains. It is the Tadmor in the desert, built by Solomon — 1 Kings ix. 18. Here lived the famed critic Longiuus, and here Odenatns, and Zenobia his queen, formed a small kingdom, and performed wonderful exploits. The queen held out long against the Komans, but was at length taken captive, and led in triumph through the streets of Borne about A.D. 273. Its stupendous ruins are sufficient to astonish every judicious beholder. The present inhabitants have erected their mud cottages within the spacious court of a once magnificent temple of the sun. Sad city of the silent place ! Queen of the dreary wilderness ! No voice of life, no passing sound. Disturbs thy dreadful calm around. Save the wild desert-dweller's roar, Which tells the reign of man is o'er. Or winds that through thy portals sigh TJpon their night course flitting by ! The eternal ruins frowning stand. Like giant spectres of the land ; Or o'er the dead like mourners hang. Bent down by speechless sorrow's pang ; Where time, and space, and lonehness. All, o'er the saddened spirit press. Around in leaden slumbers lie The dread wastes of infinity, Where not a gentle hUl doth swell. Where not a hermit shrub doth dwell ; And where the song of wandering flood Ne'er voiced the fearfnl solitude. How gently sad our pensive tears Plow o'er each broken arch that rears Its grey head through the mist of years ! And where are now the dreams of fame. The promise of a deathless name ? Alas ! the deep delusion's gone ! And all except the mouldering stone. The wreath that decked the victor's hair, Hath like his glory withered there. And Time's immortal garments twine O'er desolation's mournful shrine. Like youth's embrace around decline. O'er Beauty's dark and desert bed Ages of dreamless sleep have fled. 236 POMPEII. And in tlie domes where once she smiled, The whispering weeds are waving wUd. The prince's court is the jackal's lair — He peeps through Time's cold windows there; Broken the harp, and all unstrung — Perished the strains the minstrel sung ; The moss of ages is their pall, And dull oblivion hides them all. Yet there, though now no mortal eye Looks forth upon the earth and sky. The evening star steals out as m!!J, Above the lone and mighty wild, As when young lovers Tiailed its light, Far in the dark-blue fields of night ; And dews as brightly gem the ground As when a garden smiled around. Gro read thy fate, thou thing of clay. In wrecks of ages rolled away ! Bead it in this dread book of doom, A city crumbled to a tomb ! Where the lorn remnants of the past Shed deeper sadness o'er the waste, Where Melancholy breathes her spell. And Chroniclers of ruin dwell. POMPEII. Pompeii, a town in Italy, at the foot of Mount VesTivius, was to Eome what Brighton is to London. It was suddenly overwhelmed by an eruption of the mountain, 23rd August, a.d. 79. In the halls of Pompeii resounded the song. And the lovely were there, and the brave, and the strong ; From the minstrel's sweet lyre flowed the measure of gladness. And far, far away fled the demon of sadness. But an hour — and crushed was the might of the bold, And the heart that just bounded lay senseless and cold ; The paaan no longer was heard in the grove. And hushed was the choir in the temple of Jove ; For there burst from the deep-yawning caves of the mountain, A torrent of fire, like the stream of a fountain, Like the wide-flaming flood of the terrible rain. Which the Lord in his wrath poured on Sodoma's plain : — Ay, rent was the womb of the mountain asunder. Crash pealed upon crash like the deep rolling thunder. TSE PRISONER OF ST. HELENA. 237 And the waters of Sam, and the waves of the ocean Were lashed into foam by the dreadful commotion ; And the caves of Oaprei were felt to rebound, And the rooks of Misenum re-echoed the sound, — The black heavens lowered, and the pestilent air Was filled with wild tumult and shrieks of despair. In vain the bold rider urged forward his steed — In vain the fl.eet courser exerted his speed, For the blast of destruction came fast as the wind, Or the dreadful simoom in the desert of Ind. There the warrior lay stretched in the midst of his pride. And the bridegroom fell dead by the corpse of his bride ; TJnswept was the lyre, and forsaken the lute. And the lips of the minstrel for ever was mute. But who can describe the wild anguish and sorrow, And the sighs and the tears that were poured on the morrow. When the horrible night of destruction was past. And the dawn sadly smiled on the desolate waste ? Or who can describe the poor wanderer's despair, When with heart fuU-of love and bright visions so fair. He turned to his house, all his wanderings o'er. But found his poor home and his country no more ? What a feeling of lonely desertion came o'er him. As he gazed on the soul-rending prospect before him ! And the heart at that moment remembered too well His wife's sad adieu, and his children's farewell ; And he struck his sad breast in the depth of his woe, And the big drops of anguish burst forth from his brow. And he turned once again from the land of his birth To wander forlorn on the face of the earth. THE PBISONBB OF ST. HELENA. Pbkched on a rock and caged afar From Europe's peace, or Europe's war, Left to myself, to groan and smart, But gifted with a marble heart ; I still can live— and free from pain, Dream all my battles o'er again. Walk in the sun, and breathe the air, Enjoy my bed and daily fare. And having won and lost the earth. Reflect how little it is worth. 238 NAPOLEON'S LAST BEQUEST. You drivelling, wretched rascal race, Who gravely struts upon its face, Te shallow dolts, and half-bred knaves. Who for a time have been my slaves, I have not grudged to make you bleed, Nor spared the thinning of your breed. Soon sprout up tares to fill the ground ; The wheat, alas ! I've seldom found ; And if amongst you any grew, "Ks better mown than mixed with you. To scourge your tribes I ne'er refused. But man was all the scourge I used ; The hope of plunder manned my line, And your ambition pimped for mine. No kingdom did I overthrow, But would have served its neighbour so; For peace no canting monarch sued, But would have swaggered if he could ; And that proud isle across the sea. Wished, in her heart, to rule like me. Then fare you well ! I scorn your hate, Nor fear, nor care, for Europe's prate ; But men shall read in after days, WTio shook her gimcracks to the base. Alone I did it ! — for I rose, From nothing, against sceptred foes. •NAJPOLEON'S LAST BEQUEST, j^H ! bury me deep in the boundless sea, Let my heart have a limitless grave. For my spirit in life was as fierce and free As the course of the tempest wave ; And as far from the reach of mortal control Were the depths of my fathomless mind; And the ebbs and the flows of my single soul Were tides to the rest of mankind. Then my briny pall shall engirdle the world, As in Hfe did the voice of njy fame. And each mountainous billow that skyward curia Shall to fancy re-echo my name ; — TEE CAPTIVITY OF FBANOIS I. 239 That name shall be storied in record sublime, In the uttermost comers of earth, And renowned tni the wreck of expiring time, Be the glorified land of my birth. Yes, bury my heart in the boundless sea, — It would burst from a narrower tomb. Should less than an ocean my sepulchre be, Or if wrapped in less horrible gloom. THE CAPTIVITY OF FEANCIS I. FROM THE PRENCH. When the King, from France departing, Other lands to conquer sought, 'Twas at Pavia he was taken, By the wily Spaniard caught. " Yield thee, yield thee straight, King Francis, Death or prison is thy lot." " Wherefore call you me King Francis ? Such a monarch know I not." Then the Spaniard raised his mantle, And beheld the Pleur-de-lys ; Then they chain him, and, full joyous, Bear him to captivity. In a tower where moon nor sunlight Came but by a window small. There he lay, and, as he gazes. Sees a courier pass the wall. " Courier, who art letters bringing, Tell me what in France is said." " Ah ! my news is sad and heavy, For the King is ta'en or dead !" " Back with speed, oh, courier, hasten, Haste to Paris back with speed ; To my wife and little children, Bid them help me at my need ; " Bid them coin new gold and silver, All that Paris has to bring ; And send here a heap of treasure. To redeem the captive King." 240 THE 8BA-FIG-HT IN XCII. The great naval victorj- intended to be celebrated by this excellent old soug, "was determined, after a running action of several days, off Cape La Hogue, on tho coast of Normandy, the 22nd of May, 1692, in favour of the English and Dutch combined fleets, consisting of 99 sail of the line, under the command of Admiral Eussel, afterwards Earl of Oxford, over a French squadi'on of about half that number commanded by the Chevalier Tourville, whose ship, Le Soldi Royal, carried upwards of a hundred guns, and was esteemed the finest vessel in Europe. This last fleet was fitted out for the purpose of restoring King James II. to his dominions ; and that prince, together with the Duke of Berwick, and several great officers, both of his own court and of the court of France, and even Tourville him- self, beheld the final destruction of the French ships from an eminence on the shore. It is now certain that Eussel had engaged to favour the scheme of his old master's restoration, on condition that the French took care to avoid him ; but Tourville's impetuosity and rashness rendered the whole measure abortive. And the distressed and the ill-fated monarch retired, in a fit of despondency, to mourn his misfortunes, and recover his peace of mind, ainid the solitary gloom of La Tiappe. TnuKSDAY in the morn, the ides of May Recorded for ever the famous ninety-two. Brave Kussel did discern, by dawn of day. The lofty sails of France advancing now ; All hands aloft, aloft, let English valour shine, Let fly a culverin, the signal for the line, Let every hand supply the gun ; Follow me. And you'll see That the battle will be soon begun. Tourville on the main triumphant rolled To meet the gallant Russel in combat on the deep ; He led a noble train of heroes bold. To sink the English admiral and his fleet. Now every valiant mind to victory doth aspire. The bloody fight's begun, the sea itself on fire ; And mighty Fate stood looking on ; Whilst a flood, All of blood. Pilled the scuppers of the Boydl Bun. Sulphur, smoke, and fire, disturbing the air, With thunder and wonder affright the Gallic shore ; Their regulated bands stood trembling pear. To see their lofty streamers now no more. SIB JOHN FRANKLIN. 241 At six o'clock the Red the smiling victors led, To give a second blow, the fatal overthrow ; Now death and horror equal reign ; Now they cry, Run or die, British colours ride the vanquished main ! See they fly amazed o'er rocks and sands, One danger they grasp at to shun the greater fate ; In vain they cry for aid to weeping lands : The nymphs and sea-gods mourn their lost estate ; For evermore adieu, thou Eoyal dazzling Sun, From thy untimely end thy master's fate begun : Enough, thou mighty god of war ! Now we sing, Bless the king, Let us drink to every English tar. , SIR JOHN FRANKLIN. The Polar clouds uplift — a moment and no more, - And through the snowy drift we see them on the shore, A band of gallant hearts, well-ordered, cahn, and brave, Braced for their closing parts, — their long march to the grave. Through the snow's dazzling blink, into the dark they've gone : No pause : the weaker sink, the strong can but strive on. Till all the dreary day is dotted with their dead. And the shy foxes play about each sleeping head. Unharmed the wild deer run, to graze along the strand. Nor dread the loaded gun beside each sleeping hand. The remnant that survive onward like drunkards reel. Scarce wotting if alive, but for the pangs they feel. The river of their hope at length is drawing nigh — Their snow-blind way they grope, and reach its banks to die ! Thank Grod, brave Franklin's place was empty in that band ! He closed his well-run race not on the iron strand. Not under snow-clouds white, by cutting frost-winds driven, Did his true spirit fight its shuddering way to heaven ; But warm, aboard his ship, with comfort at his side, And hope upon his lip, the gallant Franklin died. 242 AN ElILB'S DBEAM OF HOME. His heart tie'et ^ehed to see Bis iiiiiolirloved ssUors ta'en ; His sailors' pSiigs were free ffotn their loved captaiti's pain. But though in death sipart, they are together iiow — Calm each enduring heart,-^fefight each devoted brow ! Air EfXlLfi*g DBEAM OS* EOMfi. It Sag tfeefl ihj tot in foreign lands, 'ITeath sunlly sHes to roam, Where passing scenes hatve t6uche"d a ctord Itat wakefied thdiiglita of hoffle i A noisy b^bok — a silent shore — A bird — a flower^ — a tree ; Can bring to micid far distant friends. And days that ne'er can be. When worn and weary oft I've lain By Ganges' noble stream, And thoughts of home and happiness Would crowd my troubled dream ; How sweet on fancy's fairy wings O'er oceans wide to iiee, To wander where the Ugie flows In silence to the se*. I stood enraptured — yet aloiie When, lo ! as by a charm, Aaotlier gazed info' iny face. And le^fit upon my arm ; Oh. *eU that lovely forni I knew, MOie lovely now thaii ever, I pressed her to my swelling heart, Aiid vowed *'e iSe'er should sever. With eoA'frerse sweet the twilight hour Full s-(vifQy sped awSy, "1111 a golden stream of western light Proclaimed departing day ; Nor till the lintie sought the bu'sh — The laverock sought the brake — The rook the castle's ruined towef, — Our homeward course did take. We wandered by the lone footpath. And crossed the haunted stream, Where fairies midnight revels keep Beneath the moon's cold beam. tiOMA 243 I heard a lonnd-^I Kiew it well-^ It was {Be tigef's foaf ; I Started ttp— tSe' spell w^S Kf tffefe= My dream of home waS' b'et. HOlkll'. The traveller ploda his weary way Through many a distant scene ; Throiigi chilly night and burning day, Through pastures fair and green. " Home" is his never-ceasiug thought, " The end, when will it come ? I shall not feel thfe trials then. When I am safe at home." "Home !" sighs the anxiou* saUor/ as He paces to a/ud fro The narrow deck, but thoughts hahrff wings, And far away they go. They *each the moither, wife', Sfid ehJM, . And hdst^ning, bacli they cOffie : " I soon ahali be across the seis, And safe with them att hoiAe" F" " Home !" shouts the schoolboy; SS Ke throws Has cap into the air ; " Good-by to sfehoti Snd lessota^ tod,- GooiM:?^ to thought and cai^.- Good-by to Latin, Euclid, Greek, To exercise and stfmi ; Good-by to master, boqks, an,d cane. Hurrah ! I'm going home ?' " Home f" lisps the tender little ohild,- With toilsome pleasure spent ; And ^{'eai'ily lays down its head. And gives fatigue its vent. , But stifl the first soft words it says. When back its senses come. Are — " Oh, I am so very tired, mother take me home !" The poor man looks and longs for horHe", When all his -frork ig done ; It is the place of household Joys, The plaice he calls his own. e2 2-14 COME HOME. Among his little ones he sits, And welcomes aU who come With cheerful smile and hearty word- For is it not his home ? There is another blessed home Where pleasures never cease ; Where death and sorrow never come, And all is joy and peace. O may we make that heavenly home Of all our hopes the sum ; Kemembering, in our love for earth. We are not yet at home ! HOME. I KNEW my father's chimney top, Though nearer to my heart than eye. And watched the blue smoke curling up. Between me and the winter sky. Wayworn I traced the homeward track, My wayward youth had left with joy ; Unchanged in soul I wandered back — A man in years — in heart a boy. I thought upon its cheerful hearth. And cheerful hearts' untainted glee. And felt, of all I'd seen on earth, This was the dearest spot to mo. 00MB HOME. Come home. Would I could send my spirit o'er the deep, Would I could wing it like a bird to thee. To commune with thy thoughts, to fill thy sleep With these unwearying words of melody. Brother, come home. Come home. Come to the hearts that love thee, to the eyes That beam in brightness, but to gladden thine; Come where fond thoughts like hoUest incense rise, Where cherished memory rears her altar's shrine. Brother, come home. SHIPS AT SEA. 245 Come home. Come to the hearthstone of thy earlier days, Come to the ark, like the o'erwearied dove. Come with the sunlight of thy heart's warm rays. Come to the fireside circle of thy love. Brother, come home. Come home. It is not home without thee ; the lone seat Is still unclaimed where thou wert wont to he ; In every echo of returning feet. In vain we list for what should herald thee. Brother, come home. Come home. We've nursed for thee the sunny birds of spring, "Watched every germ a full-blown floweret rear. Saw o'er their bloom the chilly winter bring Its icy garlands, and thou art not here. Brother, come home. Come home. Would I could send my spirit o'er the deep, Would I could wing it like a bird to thee, To commune with thy thoughts, to fill thy sleep With these unwearying words of melody. Brother, come home. SHIPS AT SEA. I HAVE ships that went to sea More than fifty years ago. None have yet come home to me. But keep sailing to and fro. I have seen them in my sleep Plunging through the shoreless deep, With tattered sails and battered hulls, While around them screamed the gulls, Flying low, flying low. I have wondered why they stayed From me sailing round the world, And I've said, " I'm half-afraid That their sails will ne'er be fui-lo 1.'" 246 SHIPS 4T S^A. Grej.t the |;reasures that they hold, gilts, and plumes, ^^ Jjajr* qf gojd, WliJJe the apices whjch they ^gar Fill with fragraiice all thjB air, ' iis they Bail, as thgy ^IL Eveiy sailor in the port Eaows tiiat I h^ve rfjips at se^ Of the waves ani wiijoslEEp'spprt, And the sailors pity me. Oft they come and with me walk, Cliemng me with hopeful talk. Till I put my fears aside, And contented watch the tide Bise and fall, rise ajid fgj}^ J. have waited on the pier-s. Gazing fpr them down the bay, Day^ and Rights, for many years, TiU I turned heart-sick away. But the pilots, when they land, 3top an4 tak^ n^ by the hand. Saying, " Tpu will Ijye to see You;: Pi^§u4 vessels come from sea. One and all, one and all." So I never quite despair. Nor let hope or courage fail. And some day, when skies are fair. Up the bay my ships will sail. I can buy then ail I need, Prints to look at, books to read. Horses, wines, and works of^q,rt, EveryHiing except a heart — That is lost, tjjat is lost. Pnog, ffjj^jj I was pijye and young. Poorer, top, tlian 1 am now, l^pe a glofld if^a ft'pr mg flBBg, 0r ^ jyrifllf Je creased my brow. There was one whose heart was mine, But ske's sPHietJjipg now diyins, And, thpugh poijie my ships ffQm sea. They can bring no hesiy t tp me, ^Evermore, evermore. 347 THIE INPIAlf'S BBIDE. Wet is tliat graceful fgm^le here With yon red hunter of the deer f Of gentle mien and shape, she .seenja For civil halls designed, Yet with the stately savp.ge waljis, As she were of his kind,. Look on her leafy diadeni, Enriched with many a floral gem .: Those simple ornampnts about Her candid brow, disclose The loitering springs last violet, And summer's earliest rose ; But not a flower lies breathing tl^ere Sweet as herself, qx half so fair. Exchanging lustre with the sun, A part of day she strays, A glancing, living, human smile On Nature's "face she plays. Can none instruct me what are these Companions of the lofty trees P Intent to blend her with his Ipt, Fate formed hejr all j;hfl/t he was not ; And, as by mere ujalikeness, thoughts Associatg we see, Their hearts, from yery difference, caught A perfect sympathy. The household goddess here to be Of that pne dusky votary, She left her pallid countrymen, An eart.hlij}g most divine. And sought in this sequestered wood A splitary shrine. Behold them roaming hand in hand, Like night p.nd sleep, along the land ; Observe their movements : he for her Restrains his active stride, While she assutftes a bolder gait To ramble at his side ; Thus, even as the steps they frame, Their souls fast alter to the same; The one forsakep ferocity, And momeatly grpws mild ; The other tenjper^ more and inore The artful with the wild. She huinaai?;es hijn, and he Jiducates her to liberty. 248 TEE INDIAN'S BRIBE. Oh. ! say not they must soon be old, Their limbs prove faint, their breasts feel cold ! Yet envy I that sylvan pair More than my words express — The simple beauty of their lot, ' And seeming happiness. They have not been reduced to share The painful pleasures of despair ; Their sun declines not in the sky, Nor are their wishes cast. Like shadows of the afternoon, Bepining towards the past : With nought to dread or to repent, The present yields them full content. In sohtude there is no crime ; Their actions all are free. And passion lends their way of life The only dignity ; And how can they have any cares — Whose interest contends with theirs ? The world, for all they know of it, Is theirs ; for them the stars are lit ; For them the earth beneath is gi-een. The heavens above are bright ; For them the moon doth wax and wane. And decorate the night ; For them the branches of those trees Wave music in the vernal breeze ; For them upon that dancing spray. The free bird sits and sings. And glittering insects flit about Upon delighted wings ; For them that brook, the brakes among, Murmurs its small and drowsy song ; For them the many -coloured clouds Their shapes diversify. And change at once, like smiles and frowns, The expression of the sky. For them, and by them, all is gay. And fresh and beautiful as thpy: The images their minds receive. Their minds assimilate To outward forms, imparting thus, The glory of their state. Could ought be painted otherwise Than fair, seen through her starbright eyes ? BONALB'8 LAMENT. 249 He, too, because slie fills kis sight. Each object falsely sees ; The pleasure that he has in her Makes all things seem to please. And this is love ; — and it is life They lead, that Indian and his wife. EONALD'S LAMENT. Copyright. Contributed to Carpenter's " Penny Eeadings," vol. ili., and inserted in this collection by permission. " Oh ! for a last look, before I die. Of the sun that shines in my native sky !" Hnsh ! fair-haired stranger ! the morning sun The orient gates of the skies hath won ; Darkness and clouds have fled afar Before the wheels of his burnished car ; Along the empyreal pavement borne. His steeds career through the arch of mom ; And dewy gems he scatters around. Like diamonds glittering on the ground : Such beauty, such glory he never sent forth 'Mid the mountains and tempests and clouds of the North ! " Though the hills of my sires be dark and grey, And the sun sheds forth a sober ray, Though tempests across his path be borne, He rises in beauty and laughs them to scorn ; Ah ! dearer the hills where the grey mist reposes, Than aU these bright landscapes and gardens of roses. Oh ! for one breath of the breezes again, That moan through the woods of mine own lovely glcn !" The breeze of the morning is rich with perfume, Stolen from the orange and citron bloom ; The scent of the mango's balmy tree It bears on its wing, and breathes o'er thee : Such odours as these were ne'er borne on the gale That sighs 'mong the pines of thy desolate vale. " The heather that blooms on my native hills, To me a balmier scent distils ; Than orange and myrtle more fragrant to me Is the sweet-brier rose and the hawthorn tree In the land of my nativity. 250 RONALD'S JjAWWT- Oh, for a plupgs in jijis crystal wp,v,e Where my boyish limbs \ was wojit tp lave !" Clearly and brightly our ocean flows, In her bosom the gems of pearl repose ; Her caverns of co'fal are loyeljej- far Than thy sea-beaten oliHs in the Northern star ! " Though loudly and hoarsely the wild winds roar. And rude be the rock of my native shore ; Though a thousaod dariisome temfjests sweep 4-long the brow of that angry deep, The voice of th« wliirlwind would lull me to rest In the hall of my sires on my mother's breast. Oh ! for a view of that surf-begLt.e)^ stj-and — For a, last farewell to wf ijatiye land !" Hush, stranger ! hush ! and cast thine eye Where the tall palm reg-rs his crj^sj; on high ; Where the banyan and tamarind have woven a 'bowgr, That defies the sun in its fiercest hour ! Behold, the fruit of the plantain tree. And the golden mango gorgeously. With the giiaya and pine in our gardens smile-r- There bloom ijo such fruits in thy lonely isle. And lo ! the pagoda's towers are seen To shoot aloft from its top of green : This palace is glorious to behold, Its chambers are sparkling with jewelg .and gold. Bright shines the mosque, with its gilded dpme — Such scenes thou hast none in thy digtanj hpnji^ ! " Thy trees, an4 thy fruits, an4 thy sjia,dy bowers, Thy mosques, thy pajace, and all its towei-s — What are they to the waI^derer, who, wasted with pain, Sighs for the home of his childhood in vain ? On ! that this mosque were mine own village spire. And the gprgeous palg.oe the t^-U of my sirp ! Oh ! for the gl3.npe pf a sister's eyp. And a mother's hl3ssing ere I die !" A hiindred slaves attend their lord, And bow obsequious to his word : Each look, each nod, each motion scan. They mimic the breezeg with waving fjEij) ; To cool thy brow our dg,rk-haired (Jaughters Have robbed th^ fount qf its ple3;rpsti wiiters, Would thy sister so study thy waywa):4 >vin. Or thy northern mother ? Be ^\m. ! \i% stjll 1 THE NORWEGIAIf BOVEB'S ^NG, 251 " Dearer 3. motlter's sigh to me Than all the breezes of Araby ! Sweeter to me a sister's tear Than all the fountain of Iireod.eia,eTg ! Oh ! for a glajice of a aister's eye. And a mother's bie^sing ere I aie !" THE NOEWEGLAET EOyEE'S SONG. Give out, give ont fty silken folds, Unbosomed to the wind. Thou raven flag ! the tyrant's arm Thy wing may never bind. Lord of the brave ! — swoop onwards still 5 Wherever thou hast flown. The treasures of the land and sea Were numbered as thine own. Baise, Jarls ! raise high the battle chaunt. Our fathers' song of yore ; WhUe to the breeze ye give the sail, And to the'wave the oar. Of other days, when haughty plumes Were drenched in bloody it tells ; As high from every warrior's Up, The Dja,rtial me3.sure swells. Of hours, when through the parted foam, We held our bold career, — And ppean's stoutest rover^ quailed Before our sign of fear : When to the eagle on the deep. And to the wolf on shore, With swords that spa.red not — wh^p they smote. We spread a feast of gpr,e. The surge ! the bounding surge fpr nae. Where surfs may never come^ To spre94 Piy banner where I list. Where'er I list to rop-^R. There's music in its hollow voice. When the storm-nursed curlew. Amid the tempest's shroud of mist. Shrieks out its wild halloo ! 252 THE NORWEGIAN BOVEB'8 SONG. I wear no wreath upon my brow, Wrought by my father's hand ; I bear no wealth from other times, But shield and battle-brand. These be the only gifts I trow, Owned at my hour of birth ; No turret hailed me as its lord. No heritage on earth. My kingdom is the dancing wave, That bears me on its breast ; Like swart sea-hawk, upon its ridge, I rear my couch of rest. Abroad my sceptre from my throne, I wave o'er surge and shore, — The winds troop round me like a king. And answer with their roar. I twine no garlands for the looks Of E ngland's maidens fair ; I build no tower upon the deep. To shelter beauty there. I wear no silken raiment, rich "With gold and jewelled ring ; Oh ! gory is the mail I wear,— Stern is the strain I sing. With battle trumpetings I come. When the pale moonlight wanes ; The torch that lights me to my bark. Kindles their household fanes. High rolls my shout as on I sweep, 'Mid altars wrapt in flame ; " May Odin bold nerve this brown blade. And strike for Norway's name !" Ho ! spread your foam-wreaths out, ye waves ! Toss high your crests of pride ; The war-barks of a hundred earls Upon your bosoms ride. With thunder on our path above, And drifting foam below — Hurrah ! right on before the breeze, On eagle wing we go ! 253 THE ANGEL'S VISIT. It was about the feast of Christmas-tide, Wl^,en gentle love should tread on human pride, That Alfred, our great Saxon hero, lay Concealed within the isle of Athelney. The island was a lonely spot of ground, By quaking marshes and dark bogs shut round ; A grudging piece of earth, which only bore Fanged briers, and moss, and grasses lank and poor. Look where you would, no sight could you descry But the black fens, and the void wastes of sky, And the dull river, always loitering by. Alfred — constrained by Fate himself to hide From the Dane's legions, thick on every side — In this bare isle, and in as bare a hut. With a few comrades and his queen was shut. The iron winter stabbed them with his sword — Coarse were their robes, and meagre was their board — Bread, and the flesh of fowls, bitter and harsh. Caught with sore travail in the reedy marsh. - The King in this poor dwelling sat one night. Intently reading by a feeble light. His friends had all gone forth, in search of prey. Like hunted beasts that dare not walk by day ; And there was quiet all about the isle. In sacred peace sat Alfred for awhile. Until a knocking at the door at last Snapped short the sUenoe. The King rose, and passed Straight to the threshold, and beheld an old And ragged pilgrim standing in the cold, Who said : " Lo ! hei'e upon this ground I die For very hunger, unless presently Thou giv'st me food ! It is a grievous way That I have footed since the dawn of day ; And now I stagger Hke a man in drink, For weariness, and I must shortly sink. The stinging marsh-dews clasp me round like death, And my brain darkens, and I lose my breath. " " Now, God be thanked," cried Alfred, " that He sends To one poor man a poorer ! Want makes friends Of its own fellows, when the alien rich Fear its accusing rags, and in some ditch 254 THE ANGEL'S VISIT. Huddles it blindly. I have little bread — One loaf for iriainy fnoytlis ; but He that fed With five loaves and two fishes five thousand men, Will not leave us to perish in this den." • And witti these -VrtiidS he brought tfeg loaf *hi«h lay Alone betwfefett theM aiid ^ slow decay ; All that might save them in that desert place, Fropa the white famiriti that makes blank the face ; Aid, breaking it, gave half to the old inan. Lp f ere the sharpest eye could dSSerbtce atsiti 'Twist UgM and dark, the pilgrim standing ttSf6 Vanisied—aiidj seemed to. empty all the air From earth io' heaven, int the bread was leii ; And Alfred, of his reason nigh bereft. Rushed out, and stared across the leven fen. No humaii shape was there, nor trace of men ; But smooth, and void, and dark,, burdening the ffye, The gf eat Hank nlarsh answered the great blanE sky. The ghpstly titiems clanged among the reeds. And siirred, unseen, the ever-drowsy weeds Of the morass ; but all beside was dead — And a dull stupor fell on Alfred's head. He stumbled to the house — and sleep was strong And daa:k upon his eyelids ; but, ere long. An angel', with a face placid and bright. Filled all the .caver];iB of i^^ brain with light. " I am the pilgrim," said t\e shape. " I came To try thy heart, and found it free from blanne : Wherefore I'll make thee great above ihy foes, And like a planet that stUl speeds and gloT^S, Dancing along, the centuries for ever. But thou must aid me with all hard endeavour; And when thoii ^ast regained thy crown and steite. Make th«m no object of a nation's tate. Let men behold, within; thy sheltering bower. The tranquil aspects of benignant powers- Love armed with stvength ; and lop thou with 6rm hand, That many -headed hunger in thy land. Which casts its shadows on the golden walla Of the too prosperous, feasting in their halls. Make God thy God — not pleasure lightly flown ; And ,loye thy people better than thy throne. So shall all men forget th«ir ravenmg maws, Under' the even music of thy laws." THE LAY OF SlB WILLIAM WALLACE. ^SS The vision faded, like a subtle bloom, As the still dawii vfas *Mteiiiirg all the room ; And AlftStt,- starting up, -vfrith staring eyes, Saw his friends round hinl, laden with finpplies ; Who told him that the Danes had falleti feck Before the vigour of a firm aittfick ; And that the people, gathering' up their Heart, Called loudly foi' their King tot act his part, And take his sceptre and his throne again, — Now doubly his throtigh; wisdotn born of pain. THE LAY OF SIE WILLIAM WALLACE. The grey hill and the purple heath Are 'round me as I stand, The torrent hoar doih sternly roar. The lake li«s calm and grand; The altars oi the liviug rook 'Neath yon d1u«, sky are bare, And a thousand mountain-voices mock Mine accents on the air. land inOst lonely and beloved, Whethe* iit tedrtfs bright hues. Or in the vale, so soft, so pale, Woven by twUight dews. God's bounty pours from sun and cloud Beauty on store and wave, 1 lift my hands, I cry aloud, Man: shall n>ot natakei the slave ! Ye everlasting witnesses. Most eloqueiit, though duriit). Sky, shoroj and seas, hgh% misty and breeze. Receive me; when I come i How could I, in this holy place. Stand with unshamSd brow, How look on earth's accusing face. If I forget my vow ? Not few nof sli^t his btadeas are Who gives himself to stanid Steadfast and sleepless as a star. Watching his fatherland ; Strong must his will be, and serene, His spirit pure and bright, His conscience vigilant and keen, His arm an arm of might. 256 LINLITHGOW PALACE. From the closed temple of his heart. Sealed as a sacred spring, Self must be spurned and set apart As an unholy thing ; Misconstrued where he loves the best, Where most he hopes betrayed. The quenchless watchfire in his breast Must neither fail nor fade. And his shall be a holier meed Than earthly lips may tell : Not in the end, but in the deed, Doth truest honour dwell. His land is one vast monument. Bearing the record high Of a spirit with itseH content. And a name that cannot die ! For this, with joyous heart I give Fame, pleasure, love, and life ; Blest ; for a cause so high, to live In ceaseless, hopeless strife ; For this to die, with sword in hand. Oh, blest and honoured thrice ! God, countrymen, and fatherland. Accept the sacrifice ! LINLITHGOW PALACE. (bIHTHPLACE or MAEY STUAET.) How still and deep is the awful sleep That, like mist on a sea-girt isle. Broods o'er thy halls and thy crumbling walls. Thou deserted and lonely pile. Pale as the gloom of the cheerless tomb Is the light that shadows thee o'er, And cold as death seems the murmuring breath That sweeps by thy turrets so hoar. And yet from thee, all strong and all free. Long ago rose the sounds of mii-th. The merry laugh, that, lightly as chaff. The winds bore to many a hearth. TEE CAPTIVE QUEEN. 257 And sweetly tkere, -witli ier flowing hair, In her cmldhood's beautiful grace, Fair as a flower in its opening hour Shone the star of the Stuart race. But the joyous laugh in its cenotaph Slumbers stiU with the wassail's mirth, And lady bright and true-hearted knight Have long passed away from the earth. The flag that waved when the loud wind raved On thy turrets is seen no more ; The lights are fled, the bright fire is dead. All is changed since the days of yore. THE CAPTIVB QUEEN. Behim) the OchUs' verdant range Had sunk the orb of day. And from the east the fuU-orbed moon Held on her silent way : And lowly cot, and lordly pile, Were lit up with her radiant smile. Loch Leven, at that midnight hour. Lay calm beneath her beams ; While o'er the plain was faintly heard The music of the streams : The moon's pale orb and Mara' red crest Were mirrored in her tranquil breast. As chieftain from his place of power Oosmmands the vassal crowd. So o'er Loch Leven's smooth expanse, There frowned the fortress proud. Where Mary pined a captive lone. With peace and hope and honour gone. From out its halls no festive lights Gleamed o'er the waters clear ; No sounds of mirth and revelry Fell on the listening ear ; No royal standard, broad and fair. Waved in the silent midnight air. 258 THE GAGED LADY OF BUOBAN. The crown which, graced her infant head No longer sparkled there ; But on her brow were deeply carved The lines of anxious care. Who would not feel for all her fears ? Or mark unmoved the monarch's tears P The fairest of the fair; who late In festive circles shone, Now deep in dreary dungeon lay tjnpitifed and alone, With none to prove afBeotion's power, Or cheer her in the lonely hour. THE CAGED LADY OP BUOHAJST. John Comyn, the last of the Earls of Buchan, had married Isabel Sfacdnff, sister of the recusant Earl of Fife — one, along with her husband, of Edward*s adherents. This lady was as warmly attached to the cause pf the Bruce as her husband and brother were opposed to it. The honour of placing the Scottish crown upon the head of the sovereign at the ceremony of coronation belonged of hereditary right to her brother, Lord Fife i but when Bruce was to be crowned at Scone, her brother, by his desertion of the cause, had forfeited, or at least abandoned, this distinguished privilege oS his family. Determined that none but a Macduf should aspire to this honour, and in the enthusiasm of her own zeal for the cause, Isabel heroically assumed the office, and with her own hands raised the crown of Scotland to the brow of her rightful sovereign. Soon after this, Edward unfortu- nately became the arbiter of her future destiny. Isabel, having fallen into his hands, was kept shut up a prisoner, for seven years in Berwick Castle, in an iron cage; illustrating a friel^tful feature of the times, and of the chajracter of Edward in particular. — PraM^s Buchan. " Laot ! what cruel doom is thine, Like tameless monster caged, to pine Through the sweet prime of age ! Could aught but lust of power and pride, Have shaped this death, through years to bide. To glut a tyrant's rage ? " O stame to knighthood ! — shame to thee, Foul stain on England's chivalry, Thou rude and ruthless king ! Thou fledd'st before the northern foe, And yet didst stoop, with coward blow, To strike so fair a thing ! " Lady ! I see thee in thy pride, When setting woman's fear aside — TEE CAGED LADY OF BVCSAN. 259 deed of rare renown ! — With man's resolve, but woman's grace, Thou daredst on regal brow to place Old Scotia's sacred crown. " Thy recreant brother, Fife's proud heir, Had he possessed thy soul to dare Not England's king to fear, How great had he been in the deed Which gave the Bruce his rightful meed! "Then— hadat thou not been here ! " Not kindred — no, nor wedded love — Could thy high soul to treason move : Husband and brother he Who most could feel his country's woes. And best give back the foemen's blows. And set old Scotia free." " Stranger ! I would these bars might rot. And Buchan's countess be forgot. Might this remembered be ! That in the princely halls of Scone, The Bruce, in mounting Scotland's throne, Proclaimed his counti-y free ! " Whilst thus redressed my country's wrongs, Shall I forget pi'oud Edward's pangs In weeping o'er mine own ? For well I wot this deed of shame Shall married be to Edward's name, Where'er that name is known. " For me, then, weep not ; weep for those Who, leagued with Scotland's ancient foes Dishonoured traitors prove. And leave it to a woman's hand To fiU the story of their land With deeds of faith and love. " Then hie thee, stranger ! tell my foes That Isabel, 'mid all her throes, is high of heart, and leal ; Mothers henceforth shall proudly tell How caged and prisoned Isabel Did serve her country's weal !" s2 260 THE PROUESSE OE KYNGE EYOHAKDE. A EOMAUNT. This is supposed to have been sung by Bertrand de Born, the illustrious troubadour, and companion-in-arms of Bichard. What knight of them all upon Palestine's plain With the Lion of England his hundreds hath slain ? Whose sword with its lightnings such masses could pierce ? Whose curtle-axe clove down the turbans so fierce ? Whose martel so truly was flung from afar P Whose pennon so streamed 'mid the surges of war ? The Crescent he humbled, the Cross to enthrone ; Hurrah ! hurrah ! for Coeur-de-Lion ! Sour, Tripoli, Acre, and Solyma, too, The Soldan he taught at his BCoflB.ng to rue ; Bieu-donne he crushed, hke the Moslemin mail ; And taught Barbarossa before him to quail ! Your pride, Teuton Caesar, and Philip august. Like cravens ill-jousting, he rolled in the dust ! Te returned — he remained — and was victor alone ; Hurrah ! hurrah. ! for Coeur-de-Lion ! The cheek of the maiden would pale at his name, And the babe closer cling to the infidel dame ; , Were it screaming in anger, 'twas only to whisper — ' "King Richard !" — it stilled, like the grave, the young lisper Whenever the horse of a Turcoman shies In the forest, " Ah ! ah ! my fleet courser," he cries ; " Dost think 'tis King Richard P" he asks with a groan ; Hurrah ! hurrah ! for Coeur-de-Lion ! 'Twas once 'neath a plantain, where sweet waters rose, 'Mid Syria's sands did King Richard repose, With SIX gallant chevaliers forming his train ; When the Moslemin riders came fast o'er the plain ! " To horse, sirs," quoth Richard, " your lances in rest, " My crown to the knight who shall bear him the best !" Ten Turks he unhorsed, with the martel alone j Hurrah ! Hurrah ! for Coeur-de-Lion ! THE TIMES OF KINO LION-HEABT. 261 V. Five knights on tlie plain by that horde were laid low ; There rode but King Eichard and Will de Preaux ; " Spare — spare me, for Eichard of England am I," Quoth brave, loyal Will, and bid Eichard to fly. Rushed hundreds on Will, like the vast ocean's surge : "I'll smite them," quoth Eichard, " I will, by St. George." His curtle-axe gleamed, and the host was o'erthrown ; Hurrah! hurrah! for Coeur-de-Lion ! THE TIMES OE KING LION-HE AET. With the deeds of noble Englishmen When Lion-Heart was king, Though our chroniclers in prose and verse Have made the world to ring, I would have you know who listen, That the half has not been told, Of those good old times, those brave old times, Those merry times of old. Merry England, like a mighty sea. From end to end was stirred When " God help the Holy Sepulchre" From every tongue was heard ; And the tempest caught up Lion-Heart As o'er the realm it rolled. In the good old times, the brave old times, The merry times of old. Then the English king leaves England, And he hurries o'er the sea. And his fighting-men go with him. For Crusaders they would be. Thrice a hundred thousand pilgrims Does the Saracen behold. In the good old times, the brave old times, The merry times of old. They shall die upon a foreign shore — Their labour scarce begun : They shall leave their bones to whiten In the scorching Syrian sun ; But 'tis all in holy Jesus' name. And not for blood or gold, In the good old times, the brave old times. The merry times of old. 262 THE TIMES OF KING LION-HEAET. And for Bnglislinien at home the while, Their lawful king away, Let them UVe at large like princes all, As merry as the day ; For the roads are only few and bsld, Just fit for robbEirs bold, In \ihe good old times, the brave old timps, The merry times of old. O'er the marshy lands the fever Iwobds, The plague is in the town. But the king may give an orphan maid For wife to any clown ; , , And the working man, like horse or da^. So freely bought and sold, In the good old times, the brave old times. The me^ry times of old. There are bhurches, there are abbeys fine. Eight noble buildings all. And the shaven monks all fatten there. Like oxen in a stall ; And the priest who knows his letters Is a wonder to behold. In the good old times, the brave old times. The merry times of old. But, when sore beset, they surely have The ankle-bones of saints. And a hundred other relics To attend to their complaints. For religion leaves ihe conscience And the life all uncontrolled, In the good old times, the brave old times. The merry times of old. Then King Lion-Heart retiiming, Is in Austria waylaid, And a hundred thousand silver markai As ransom must be paid ; Let them levy it from sea td sea, For no man durst withhold, In the good old times, the brave old times. The merry times of old. Oh, we are not what we might be, Nor what England shall be yet, But for those old times, dear children, Only simpletons will fret j A NEW ENOLISH BALLAD. 863 For the school, the rail, the cheap white loaf Are hotter, fifty-foldj Than the savage times, the cruel times. The sad, dark times of old. Oh ! we are not what we might he ! But the Sunday School is here. And the laws will shield the humWest, And no king may interfere. And the Christian child is wiser far Than all the barons bold Of the savage times, the cruel times, The sad, dark times of old. A NEW ENGLISH BALLAD. It was merry once in England, Many years ago. Before all this ill-hlood was bred Betwixt the high and low ; Was room enough to live and die For every sort of men : It was merry of old in England — Shall it never be so again P There were none too many to plough then, There were none too many to sow ; And every man that would work Had work enough to do ; Was beef enough and beer enough For every person then : It was merry of old in England — Shall it never be so again ? English then were cheerful men, As cheerful might they be, And took their fill with right goodwill, Of love and jollity ; Wives were thought the better of For bearing children then : 'Till some of us are dead, I thinkj It will not be so again. Our fathers then paid their own debts, And none beside their own, Nor ever left the children's sweat In pledge for any loan ; 264 MARGE 21s2', 1871. They never dreamed of taxes To raise the price of grain, But bought then- bread at market-price — Shall it never be so again ? Tou know the rare old song, sirs. They sang of Eobin Hood, And many a jolly yeoman That hunted in Sherwood ; In spite of baron, earl, or king, Those men were all free men ; And merry it was in the forest green — Shall it never be so again ? Stand to it, noble Enghsh, And look you round about. And ready have your hearts and hands To keep your enemies out ; No battle yet for freedom Was ever fought in vain. In the bosom of merry England, Nor shall it be again. Be mindful what your fathers did, Be steady of cheer, and bold, For you and yours shall live yet Like Englishmen of old ; There's air, earth, water, and fire yet, There's flesh, and blood, and brain ; It was merry of old in England — And it shall be so again ! MARCH 21sT, 1871. March the twenty-first ! mark the day, Make as much of it now as you can, A Princess is to be given away To the son of the chief of the Campbell clan. Then hey, brave boys, for the happy pair. And hey, dear girls, for the marriage morn, And hey for the old folks who'll be there — At the wedding of Loo with her sweetheart Lome. Wonderful day ! — the boys run free, Grim policemen grow benign ; Old wives dabble in toast and tea. Counsellors feast on cake and wine. THE ORPHAN AND LORD LINSEY-WOLSEY. 265 Then hey for the holiday, hey for the snub Which the bobby gives to his wonted scorn, Hey for the.gossip and hey for the grub. And hey for the Lord and the Lady of Lome. Night in the city — rockets raise Shouts of wonder and wild acclaim ; Night in the country — bonfires blaze, And tell the tidings with tongues of flame. Then hey for the wedding of to-day, Long may the English Erose adorn The yellow-haired Laddie who bore it away, And sweetly bloom in the land of Lome. THE ORPHAN AND LORD LINSEY-WOLSEY. " Pity, my Lord, the wretched plight Of a lone orphan, faint and weary, No home by day, no bed by night. Exposed to tempests wild and weary ; " I have no friend — I have no food, Alas ! I know not where to wander ; But I was told you folks were good. Who roll in wealth and shine in grandeur." " Young gipsy, if your tale be true. Say — where your parents' life departed ?" " My father died at Waterloo, My mother drooped quite broken-hearted. " She sought my sire among the dead. And sunk upon his bosom gory." — " Oh — if they died on honour's bed, My child, they're covered o'er with glory !" "And what is glory, my good Lord ? Will it relieve the orphan's hunger ? A shelter, food, and clothes afford ? O say— or I can't live much longer !" " The Nation, child, will see you fed. Posterity will learn your story ; Your parents died in honour's bed — And they are covered o'er with glory." 266 TBE ORPHAN. He said — and with a hasty pace From the lone orphan whistling parted, The tears bedewed her pallid face — And down she sunk — ^half broken-hearted. Then to her aid a soldier flew, Who bad o'erheard her artless story, He knew her sire at Waterloo, And saw him eevered o'er with glory ! " Come, orphan, to my arms," he cried, " And I will screen thee from the Tteather, Close to my side thy parents died. And for their sakes we'll lodge together. " I have a pension and a cot, Where thou shalt live till I am hoary — Here — wrap thep in this old watch-Qoat — 'Tis warmer than his Lordship's glory .'" THE ORPHAN". Where shaU the child of sorrow find A place for calm repose P Thou Father of the fatherless. Pity the orphan's woes ! What friend have I in heaven or earth. What friend to trust but Thee ? My father's dead — my mother's dead ; My God remember me ! Thy gracious promise now fulfil j And bid my trouble cease ; From Thee, the fatherless shall fiid Pure mercy, grace, and peace. No secret care have I or pain But He that secret knows ; Thou Father of the fatherless, Pity the orphan's woes. 267 THE ORPHANS' VOTAGE HOME. The men could hardly keep the deck, so bitter was the night : Keen north-east winds sang through the shrouds, the deck was frosty white ; While overhead the glistening stars put forth their points of light. On deck, behind a bale of goods, two orphans crouched to sleep ; But 'twas so cold the younger boy in vain tried uot to weep ; They were so poor they had no right near cabin-dqors to creep. The elder round the younger wrapped his little ragged cloak, To shield him from the freezing sleet, and surf that o'er them broke •, Then drew him closer to his side, and softly to him spoke : — " The night will not be long," he said ; " and if the cold winds blow. We shall the sooner reach our home, and see the peat-fire glow ; But now the stars are beautiful — oh, do not tremble so ! " Come closer — sleep — forget the frost — think of the morning red ! — • Our father and our mother soon will take us to their bed ; And in their warm- arms we shall sleep !" He knew not they were dead. For them, no father to the ship shall with the morning come; For them no mother's loving arms are spread to take them home ; Meanwhile the cabin passengers in dreains of pleasure roam. At length the orphans sank to sleep upon the freezing deck,. Close hiiddled side to side — each arm clasped round the other's neqk ; With heads bent down, they dreamed the earth was fading to a speck. The Steerage passengers have all been taken down b,elow, And round the stove they warm their limbs into a drowsy glow ; And soon within their berths forget the icy wind and snow. Now morning dawns : the land in sight, smiles beam on every face ! The pale and qualmy passengers begin the deck to pace, Seeking along the sun-lit cliffs some well-known spot to trace. Only the orphans do not stir, of all this bustling train : They reached their home that starry night! they will not stir again ! The winter's breath proved kind to them, and ended all their pain. But in their deep and freezing sleep clasped rigid to each other. In dreams they cried, " The bright morn breaks ! Home, home is here, my brother ! The angel Death has been our friend !— we come ! dear father ! mother !" 388 THERE ABE TWA BONNIE MAIDENS. The lad that wore the -white band, I think they ca'd him Jamie Mather, He took the bride by the hand. And cried to play up Maggie Lauder. BIDE YE YET. (tin I had a wee house and a canty wee fire, A bonnie wee wifie to praise and admire, A bonnie wee yardie beside a wee bum, Fareweel to the bodies that yammar and mourn. Sae bide ye yet, and bide ye yet, Ye little ken what will betide me yet, Some bonnie wee body may be my lot. And I'll aye be canty wi' thinkin' o't. When I gang afield and cume hame at e'en, I'll get my wee wifie fu' neat and fu' clean ; And a bonnie wee bairnie upon her knee. That will cry papa or daddy to me. Sae bide ye yet, &c. I carena a button for sackfu's o' cash. Let wizened auld bachelors think o' sic trash ; Gie me my wee wifie upon my knee, A kiss o' her mou' is worth thousands to me. Sae bide ye yet, &c. And if there should happen ever to be A difference atween my wifie an' me. In hearty good humour, although she be teased, I'll kiss ifier and clap her until she be pleased. Sae bide ye yet, &c. THERE ARE TWA BONNIE MA«DENS. Hogg gives this song in his " Jacobite Eelics," as copied verbatim from the recitation of Mrs. Betty Cameron from Lochaber, who was noted for her great store of Jacobite songs. This song alludes to the escape of Prince Charles in female attire, to the Isle of Skye, under the guidance of the celebrated Flora Macdonald. There are twa bonnie maidens, and three bonnie maidens. Came o'er the Minoh and o'er the main. With the wind for their way, and the corrie for their hame. And they are dearly welcome to Skye again. TIME'S ALTERATIONS. OGJ Come along, come along, with your boatie and yonr song, You twa boimie maidens, and three bonuie maidens, For the nioht it is dark, and the redcoat is gone, And 3'ou are bravely welcome to Skye again. There is Flora, my honey, sae dear and sae bonnie, And ane that is tall and comely withal ; Put the one as my king, and the other as my queen. And they are dearly welcome to Skye again. Come along, &c. Her arm it is strong, and her petticoat is long, My ain bonnie maidens, my twa bonnie maidens. But their bed shall be clean and the heather sae green, And they are dearly welcome to Skye again. Come along, &c. There^s a wind on the tree, and a ship on the sea, My twa bonnie maidens, and three bonnie maiden?, ^On the lea of the rock shall your cradle be rocked. And you're welcome unto the Isle of Skye again. Come along, &c. TIME'S ALTERATIONS. When this old cap was new, 'Tis since two hundred year, No malice then we knew. But all things plenty were : All friendship now decays (Believe me this is true). Which was not in those days When this old cap was new. The nobles of our land Were much delighted then To have at their command A crew of lusty men ; Who by their coats were known, Of tawny, red or blue, With crests on their sleeves shown, When this old cap was new. B B 270 A WIFE'S APPEAL TO HER HUSBAND. Tou toot mei Henry, when a girl, into your home and heart. To bear in all your after-fate a fond and faithful parb ; And tell me, havte I ever tried that duty to forego, Or pined there was not joy for me when you were sunk in woe ? No, I would rather share your grief than other people's glee ; For though you're nothing to the world, you're all the world to me. You make a palaee of my shed, this rough-hewn bench a throne, There's sunlight for me in your smUe, and music in your tone. I look upon you when you sleep — my eyes with tears grow dim ; I cry, " ! Parent of the poor, look down from heaven on him ! Behold him toil, from day to day, exhausting strength and soul, Look down in mercy on him. Lord, for Thou canst make him whole!" And when at last relieving sleep has on my eyelids smiled. How oft are they forbid to close in slumber by my child ! I take the little murmurer that spoils my span of rest, And feel it as a part of thee I hold upon my breast. There's only one return I crave — I may not need it Iqng — And it may soothe thee when I'm where the wretched feel no wrong ; I ask not for a kinder tone, for thou wert ever kind ; I ask not for less frugal fare — my fare I do not mind. I ask not for more gay attire — if such as I have got Suffice to make me fair to thee, for more I murmur not ; But I would ask some share of hours that you in toil bestow ; Of knowledge, that you prize so much, may I not something know ? Subtract from meetings amongst men each eve an hour for me : Make me companion for your soul, as I may surely be ; If you will read, I'll sit and work ; then think, when you're away, Less tedious I shall find the time, dear Henry, of your stay. A meet companion soon I'll be for e'en your studious hours, And teacher of those little ones you call your cottage flowers : And if we be not rich and great, we may be wise and kind; And as Bay heart can warm your heart, so may my mind your mind ! 271 LINGER NOT LONG. Linger not long ! Home is not tome without thee, Its dearest tokens only make me mourn ; Oh ! let its memory, like a chain about thee, Gently compel aud hasten thy return. Linger not long ! Linger not long ! Though crowds should woo thy staying, Bethink thee, can the mirth of friends, though dear. Compensate for the grief thy long delaying Costs the sad heart that sighs to have thee here ? Linger not long ! Linger not long ! How shall I watch thy coming, As evening shadows stretch o'er moor and dell — When the wild bee hath ceased her busy humming. And silence hangs on all things like a spell ? Linger not long ! How shall I watch for thee when fears grow stronger. As night draws dark and darker on the hill ? How shall I weep, when I can watch no longer p Oh ! thou art absent — art thou absent still p Linger not long ! Yet though I grieve not, though the eye that seeth thee Gazeth through tears that make its splendour dull, For oh ! I sometimes fear, when thou art with me. My cup Cif happiness is all too full ! Linger not long ! Haste — chaste thee home unto thy mountain dwelling, Haste as a bird unto its peaceful nest ! Haste as a skifE — ^when tempests wild are swelling. Flies to its haven of securest rest !^ Linger not long ! THE DEEAM OF THE TOMBSTONE. Listen ! love of mine, listen. While thy dewy eyelids glisten. Let me press thy snowy forehead With a lover's holy kiss. 'Twas a chai-m, O gentle maiden. When my heart with grief was laden ; 272 TEE BBBAM OF THE TOMBSTONE. Yet I pray that God may never Send a vision like to this, Never plunge my dreaming spirit In 80 darksome an abyss. O, niethonght in this my dreaming That the icy moonlight, gleaming On my bosom white and naked, Did its ghastliness illume ; That my heart no more was beating, A.nd the tide of life retrealting Left me like a sculptured tablet. Like a cold and marble tomb. Like a column white and solemn In the ghostly graveyard's gloom. Love of mine, 0, press me nearer ! Let mine eyes thy love-look mirror. Let me feel thy heart's low beating ; Fondly echoipg mine own ; Give my heart the blest assurance That my dreaming soul's endurance Was a phantom of the midnight. From the holy morning flown, Let thy murmured blessings tell me Thou art mine, and mine alone, Coldly streamed the moonbeams o'er me, And a new-made grave before me Lay in loneliness and silence. With its withered flowerets spread. And a myrtle-wreath was braided Round the willow shrunk and faded. That with melancholy motion Waved above its grassy bed. Like a solemn priest, at midnight Swinging censers o'er the dead. Then methought that, fair and beaming, Thou didst come in radiant seeming From the shadowy groups of cypress That around the churchyard grew. But another's arm was round thee, And another's love had bound thee, And to him who loved thee truly, Was thy love no longer true, Then I I'elt my heart was breaking As to me yo nearer drew. BEMEMBEB ME. 273 Clasp me closer, loved and dearest, 'Tis a dream that now thou hearest. Yet my heart with fear is trembling, As its memory T recall. Though thine eyes are on me shining, Though thine arms my neck are twining, And thy murmured words of blessing. On my heart like music fall. Tet the memory of that vision Shrouds me like an icy pall. Thou and he whose arm upheld thee. Thou and he whose love had spelled thee, Stood together in the moonlight That revealed my marble breast. And with lips that faltered never. Thou didst swear to love for ever, Him who stood in pride beside thee. With his arms around thee prest. While beneath, all cold and silent. Lay the one who loved thee best. Love of mine, this dream of terror, God be thanked, is nought but error, Tet its memory oft hath darkened Like a cloud my sunny heart. For its phantom-thoughts betoken. How that heart, all crushed and broken, Would be Uke that marble tombstone. Should thy gentle love depart. And the cypress and the myrtle From the grave of hope would start. REMEMBER ME. Remember me, when summer friends surround thee, And honeyed flatteries gain thy willing ear ; When fame and fortune's glittering wreaths have crowned thee, And all is thine thy fickle heart holds dear : Then think of her whose changeless fortunes blessed thee, When hope was dark, and faithful friends were few, Who, when hard-gripping poverty depressed thee. And all beside seemed cold, was kind and true. OVEB THE SEA. Biemember me, in courtly hall and bower ; And when thou kneel'st at some fond beauty's shrine, Ask of the past,,i£ through life's varying liour, J<- Its joy and griefs, her, love can equal mine ! V,. And when thy youthful hopes are most excited, , Should she ptove false, and break her faith with thee. Think of the hopes thy wayward love hath blighted, And from that lesson learn to feel for me ! ' , Bemember me ; and oh ! when fate hath 'reft thee Of fame and fortune, friends and love, and bliss. Come back to one thou know'st would ne'er have left thee,' And still but chide thy falsehood with a kiss ! But ho, no, no, I feel that life is waning — That what I was I never more can be — That I am fast on that sweet haven gaining. Where there is rest for e'en a wretch like me ! Eemember me ! thou canst not, sure, refuse ine The only boon from thee I've sought, or seek ; Soon will the world, with bitter taunt, accuse me, Yet make no blushes on my bloodless cheek ! But I would have thee tender to my fame. When I have 'scaped life's dark tumnltuons sea ; And, howsoe'er unkmder spirits blame. As what thou kno*'st I was Bememler me ! OVER THE SEA. Over the sea, over the sea. Lies the land that is loted by mfe : A sunnier sky may be over my head. And a richer soil beneath my tread, And a softer speech in my ears be rung, Than the notes of my own wild mountain tongue ; But never, oh, never, so dear to me Can the loveliest spot in this wide world be As the bleak, cold land, where the heather waves Round the place of my birth, o'er my fatherB' graves. Ocean is vyide, and his storms are rude, And my heart feels faint in its solitude ^o think of the terrible gulf that lies Betwixt me and all that my sdul doth prize ; And, I gaze for hours on the measureless deep, 'JHll my heart could breilij though I cannot weep, THE PATBIOT WABBIOB. 275 And I feel the desire of my soul in vain, Tiat tie land of my sires I shall ne'er see again, That my tomb shall be hollowed out where now I stand, And my eyelids be closed by some unknown hand. Mark not the spot where my bones are laid, "Whether it be in the dark forest shade. Or fast by the beach where the wild wave lashes, Or deep in the pass where the hill torrent dashes. Or high on the cliff where the eagle sweeps — What matters it where the stranger sleeps P But over the sea, over the sea, How then shall my ohainless spirit flee Back to the land I love so well. To the craggy steep, and the heathy dell. THE PATEIOT WAEKIOR. The ship is by the shore, my love. And tarries biit for irie. Farewell for evermore, my love, To glory and to thee. " Oh, stay ! not yet too late to stay ; On yonder pennoned mast Sits hazard, like a bird of prey, To stoop and strike at last." Let dangers ride the troubled wave. More dark than thou canst name, An age of peril I could brave. But not an hour of shame. " Oh ! yet some few may live who bear Exalted hope and will ; The brave and worthy still to dare With thee to conquer still." Not to the worthy is the wreath. The battle to the brave ; A baffled sword I now must sheathe. But will not live a slave. " Thy land from mead to mountain brow, Stamped with the deathless lore Of glorioiis memories, wilt thou Forsake for evermore P" t2 276 BEBMOT'S PARTING. It shall be dear, dear as tte bride. To him who sees her borne, To wed another, from his side Upon their marriage mom. " Not yet, unclasp not yet thy hand. Though thou all else resign ; I dreamed that death alone should stand Betwixt thy life and mine." Dark is my path, no path for thee, A gloom without a gleam ; Yet speak again, and fuU and free, What I but dared to dream. " One path on eai-th alone I fear. The path that leads from thee ; The bleakest wild, so thou wert near. Were blest enough for me." Then come, the stormy splendour dies That lured and led so far ; But love within thy gentle eyes Now lights a purer star. DEEMOT'S PAETING. Oh, waken up, my darlin' — my Dermot, it is day, — The day, when from the mother's eyes the real light dies away; For what will daylight be to me, that never more will see The fair face of my Dermot come smiling back to me ? Arise, my son — the morning red is wearing fast away. And t^^rough the grey mist I can see the masts rock in the bay. Before the sea-fog clears the hill, my darhn' must depart — But oh ! the cloud will never lift that wraps the mother's heart! Sure, then, I'm old and foolish : what's this I'm sajring now ? Will I see my fair son leave me with a shadow on his brow ? Oh, no ! we'll bear up bravely, and make no stir, nor moan ; There wiU be time for weeping when my fair son shall be gone. I've laid the old coat ready, dear ; my pride this day has been That on your poor apparel shall no rent nor stain be seen. And let me tie that kerchief, too ; it's badly done, I fear. For my old hands tremble sadly, with the hwry, Dermot, dear. YOVNQ AGAIN. 277 And are you ready, darlin' P Turn round, and bid farewell To tte roof-tree of the cabin tbat bas sheltered us so well ; Leave a blessing on the threshold, and on the old hearth-stone — 'TwUl be a comfort to my heart when I sit there alone. And often at the twilight hour, when day and work are done, I'll dream the old times back again, when you were there, my son— When you were there, a little thing that prattled at my knee, Long ere the evil 'days had come to part my child and me. The dear ai-m is still round me, the dear hand guides me still ; 'Tis but a little step to go — see, now we've gained the hill ; Is that the vessel, Dermot, dear ? — the nvist my eyesight dims — Oh ! shame upon me now ! what means this trembling in my limbs ? My child ! my child ! oh, let me weep a while upon your breast ; Would I were in my grave ! for then, my heart wordd be at rest ; But now the hour is come, and I must stand upon the shore, And see the treasure of my soul depart for evermore ! I know, my child ! — I know it, the foUy and the sin, But oh ! I think my heart would burst to keep this anguish in — To think how in yon sleeping town such happy mothers be. Who keep their many sons at home, while I — I had but thee ! But I have done ; I murmur not ; I kiss the chastening rod. Upon this hiU — as Abraham did — I give my child to God ! But not, like him, to welcome back the precious thing once given-, rU see my fair son's face again — but not on this side Heaven ! YOUNG AGAIN. An old man sits in a high-backed chair. Before an open door. While the sun of a summer afternoon Falls hot across the floor ; And the drowsy tick of an ancient clock Has notched the hour of four. A breeze blows in and a breeze blows out. From the scented summer air ; And it flutters now on his wrinkled brow. And now it lifts his hair ; And the leaden lid of his eye droops down, And he sleeps in his high-backed chair. 278 LINES BY A YOUNG LADY BOBN BLIND. The old man sleeps, and the old man dreams j His head droops on his breast, His hands relax their feeble hold, And fall to his lap in rest : The old man sleeps, and in sleep he dreams, And in dreams again is blest. The years unroll their fearful scroll — He is a child again ; A mother's tones are in his ear. And drift across his brain; He chases gaudy butterflies Far down the rolling plain ; He plucks the wild rose in the woods. And gathers eglantine ; And holds the golden buttercups Beneath his sister's chin ; And angles in the meadow brook "V^ith a bent and naked pin ; '^.e loiters down the grassy land. And ioj the brimming pool j And a sigh escapes the parting lips, As he hears the bell for school ; Ai^d he wishes it were one o'clock, And the morning never dull. A mother's hands pressed on the head. Her kiss is on his brow — A summer breeze blows in at the door. With the toss of a leafy bough ; And the boy is a white-haii-ed man again, And his eyes are tear-filled now. LINES BY A YOUNG LADY BOBN i^LIND. If this delicious grateful flower. Which blows but for a little hour, Should to the sight as lovely be As from its fragrance seems to me, A sigh must then its colour show For that's the softest Joy I know ; And sure the Rose is like a sigh, Born just to soothe, and then — to die. THE BLIND GIBL'S LAMENT. 279 My father, wheTi our fortune smiled, With jewels decked lis eyeless child. Their glittering worth the world might see. But ah ! they had no charms for me. A trickling tear bedewed my arm — I felt it — and my heart was warm, And sure to me the gem most dear Was a kind father's pitying tear. THE BLIND GIRL'S LAMENT. It is not that I cannot see The birds and flowers of spring ; 'Tis not that beauty seems to me A dreamy, unknown thing ; — It is not that I cannot mark The blue and star-set sky ; Nor ocean's foam, nor mountain's peak — That thus I weep and sigh. They tell me that the birds, whose notes ' Eall full upon mine ear, Are not aU beautiful to sight. Though sweet their songs to hear. They teU me that the gayest flowers Which sunshine ever brings. Are not the ones I know so well. But strange and scentless things. My little brother leads me forth To where the violets grow ; His gentle, light, yet oareftir step And tiny hand I know. My mother's voice is soft and sweet. Like music on my ear ; ITie very atmosphere seems love When these to me are near. My father twines his arms around. And draws me to his breast, To kiss the poor, blind, helpless girl He says he loves the best. TEE BLIND BOY. "ris then I ponder nnknown things — It may be, weep or sigh — And think how glorious it mnst be To meet affection's eye. THE BLIND BOY. " Dbar Mary," said the poor blind boy, " That little bird sings very long ; Say, do you see him in his joy. And is he pretty as his song r" " Tes, Edward, yes," replied the moid ; " I see the bird on yonder tree." The poor boy sighed, and gently said— " Sister, I wish that I could see. " The flowers, you say, are very fair. And bright green leaves are on the trees, And pretty birds are singing there — How beautiful for one who sees ! " Tet I the fragrant flowers can smell'; And I can feel the green leafs shade ; And I can hear the notes that swell From those sweet birds that GoA. has made. " So, sister, God to me is kind. Though sight, alas ! He has not given ; — But tell me, are there any blind Among the children up in heaven ?" " No, dearest Edward, there all see ; Bnt why ask me a thing so odd ?" — " O Mary ! He's so good to me, I thought I'd like to look at God." Ere long. Disease his hand had laid On that dear boy, so meek and mild : His widowed mother wept and prayed That Grod would spare her sightless chUd. He felt her warm tears on his face. And said — " Oh ! never weep for me ; I'm going to a better place. Where God my Saviour I shall see. TSE BLIND GIBL TO HEB MOTHEB. 281 " And yon'll be there, dear Mary, too ; But, mother, when yon get np there. Tell me, dear mother, that 'tis you — You know I never saw you here.'' He spoke no more, but sweetly smiled, Until the final blow was given. When God took up that poor blind child. And opened first his eyes iu heaven. THE BhlXD GIEL TO HER MOTHER. iloTHEK, they say the stars are bright, And the broad heavens are blue — I dream of them by day and night, And think them all like you. I cannot tonch the distant skies. The stars ne'er speak to me — Yet their sweet images arise. And blend with thoughts of thee. I know not why, but oft I dream Of the ferir land of bliss ; And when I hear thy voice, I deem. That heaven is like to this. When my sad heart to thine is pressed. My follies are forgiven. Sweet pleasure warms my beating breast ; And this, I say, is heaven. O Mother will the God above Forgive my faults like thee ? Will He bestow such care and love On a blind thing like me ? Dear mother, leave me not alone ! Go with me when I die — Lead thy blind daughter to the throne. And stay in yonder sky. 282 THE DUMB CHILD. She is my only girl, — I asked for her as some most precious thing ; For all unfinished was love's jewelled ring Till set with this soft pearl. The shade that time brought forth I could not see, So pure, so perfect, seemed the gift to be. Oh ! many a soft old tune I used to sing into that deafened ear, And suffered not the slightest footstep near, Lest she might wake too soon ; And hushed her brothers' laughter while she lay — Oh, needless care — I might have let them play. 'Twas long ere I believed That this one daughter might not speak to me ; Waited and watched, God knows how patiently, How willingly deceived ; Vain love was long the untiiiiig nurse of faith. And tended hope until it starved to death ! Oh, if she could but hear For one short hour, that I her tongue might teach To call me mother, in the broken speech That thriUs the mother's ear ! Alas ! those sealed lips never may be stirred, To the deep music of that lovely word. My heart it sorely tries To see her kneel with such a reverent air Beside her brothers, at their evening prayer ; Or lift those earnest eyes To watch our lips, a,s though our words she knew, Then move her own as she were speaking too. I've watched her looking up To the bright wonder of an evening sky, With such a depth of meaning in her eye. That I could almost hope The struggling soul would burst its binding cords. And the long pent-up thought flow forth in words. The song of bird and bee. The chorus of the breezes, streams, and groves. All the great music to which natui-e moves, Are wasted melody To her — the world of sound a tuneless void, While even silence hath its charm destroyed. THE DOafB CHILD. 283 Her face is veiy fair. Her bine eyes beautiful, of finest mould Her soft white brow, o'er which iu waves of gold; Ripples her shiniiig hair ; Alas ! this lovely temple closed must be. For He who made it keeps the master-key. While He the mind within Should from earth's Babel-clamour be kept free E'en that His still smaU voice and step might be Heard at its inner shrine. Through that deep hush of soul with clearer thrill, Then should I gneve ? Oh, murmuring heart be still. She seems to have a sense Of quiet gladness in her noiseless play ; She hath a pleasant smile, a gentle way. Whose voiceless eloquence Touches aU hearts, though I had once the fear That even her father would not care for her. Thank God! it is not so ; And when his sons are playing merrily, She comes and leans her head upon his knee. Oh ! at such times I know By the fuU eye and tone subdued and mild. How his heart yearns over his silent chUd. Not of aU gifts bereft E'en now — ^how could I say she did not speak ? What real language lights her eye and cheek. In thanks to Hun who left Unto her soul, yet open avenues For joy to enter, and for love to use ! And Grod, in love, doth give To her defect a beauty of its own ; And we a deeper tenderness have shown. Through that for which we grieve ; Yet shall the seal be melted from her ear — Tea, and my voice shall fill it — ^but not here. When that new sense is given. What rapture will its first experience be. That never woke to meaner melody Than the rich songs of heaven. To hear the fall-toned anthem swelling round. While angels teach the ecstasies of sound. 284 ON GUARD. At midnight, on my lonely beat, When shadow wraps the wood and lea, A vision seems my view to greet Of one at home that prays for me. No roses bloom upon her cheek— Her form is not a lover's dream — But on her face, so fair and meek, A host of holier beauties gleam. For softly .shines her silver hair, A patient smile is on her face. And the mild, lustrous light of prayer. Around her sheds a moon-like grace. She prays for one that's far away, The soldier in his holy fight — And begs that Heaven in mercy may Protect her boy and bless the Right. Till, though the leagues lie far between, This silent incense of her heart Steals o'er my soul with breath serene. And we no longer are apart. So guarding thus my lonely beat, By shadowy wood and haunted lea, That vision seems my view to greet. Of her at home who prays for me. THE PATTER OP LITTLE FEET. Up with the sun in the morning. Away to the garden he hies. To see if the sleeping blossoms Have begun to open their eyes, Running a race with the wind. With a step as light and fleet, Under my window I hear The patter of little feet. Now to the brook he wanders. In swift and noiseless flight, Splashing the sparkling I'ippk'S Like a fairy water-sprite. THE PATTER OF LITTLE FEET: 28r. No sand under fabled river Has gleams like Ms golden hair ; No pearly sea-shell is fairer Than his slender ankles hare ; Nor the rosiest stem of coral, That blushes in ocean's bed, Is sweet as the flash that follows Our darling's airy tread. Prom a broad window my neighbour, Looks down on our little cot, And watches the " poor man's blessing" — I cannot envy his lot. He has pictures, books, and music. Bright fountains, and noble trees, Eare store of blossoming roses. Birds from beyond the seas ; But never does childish laughter His homeward footsteps greet j His stately halls ne'er echo To the tread of innocent feet ; This child is our " speaking picture,'' A birdling that chatters and sings, Sometimes a sleeping cherub, (Our other one has wings.) His heart is a charmed casket, Pull of all that's cunning and sweet, And no harpstring holds such music As follows his twinkling feet. When the glory of sunset opens The highway by angels trod, And seems to unbar the city Whose builder and maker is God ; Close to the crystal portal, I see by the gates of pearl, The eyes of our other angel — A twin-born little girl. And I asked to be taught and directed To guide his footsteps aright ; So to live that I may be ready To walk in sandals of light. And hear, amid songs of welcome, Prom messengers trusty and fleet, On the starry floor of heaven, The patter of little feet. 286 LITTLE SHOES AND STOCKINGS. Little shoea and stockings ! What a tale ye speak. Of the swollen eyelid, And the tear- wet cheek ; Of the nightly vigil, And the daily prayer ; Of the buried darling, Present eyerywhere ! Brightly plaided stockings; Of the finest wool ; Eonrided feet and dainty. Each a stocking fall ; Tiny ^hoes of crimson, Shoes that nevermore WiU awaken echoes From the toy-strewn floor. Not the wealth of Indies Could your worth eclipse, Priceless little treasures. Pressed to whitened lips ; As the mpther nurses, Frorb. the world apart, Leaning on the arrow, •that has pierced her heart. Head of flaxen ringlets ; Eyes of heaven's blue ; Parted mouth — a rosebud- Pearls, just peeping through ; Soft arms, softly twining Bound her neck at eve ;— Little shoes and stockings. These the dreams ye weave. "Weave her yet another. Of the world of bliss,—" Let the stricken mother Turn away from this ; Bid her dream beUeving Little feet await. Watching for her passing Through the pearly gate. 287 LITTLE MmNIE. Art thou weary, little Minnie ? Lay thy head upon my knee : It makes the old man's heart rejoice Thy sunny face to see. Well may the aged falter, Who tread life's rugged way, When even little Minnie Grows weary of her play. Tell thee a story, Minnie ? Nay, I am growing old. And all the stories of my youth Long since to thee were told. But if thou'lt listen, darling, There is something I would say, That you may oft remember When I have passed away. Minnie ! my sweetest thought for years, That's cheered me many a day. Is the memory of the mothet Who taught me first to pray. Minnie ! do you remember Tour gentle mother too. Whose only grief in dying Was the thought of leaving you ? Ah, child ! I mind me of the time — A tiny babe wert thou — When the pure baptismal water Was sprinkled oh thy brov^. Thy mother gave me one pet lamb One of Christ's flock to be : Now in the fields of ParadiBej She waiteth there for thee. Ah, Minnie ! little Minnie ! When at the close of day Ton kneel beside your little bed Tour evening prayer to, say ; Then pray to God to aid thee To kieep thy in'other's vo-iv. That sin's dark shadow thay not rest Upon thy fair young brow. MOTHER'S LOVE. " Remember thy Creator !" These words were kindly given, Even as a Father's hand, that leads His little ones to heaven. Ah, Minnie ! closely hold His hand As through life's path yon roam : Though rough and stormy be the way, 'Tmll safely lead you home. And when they lay me by her side. In the peacCTul churchyard there, And you sometimes gaze with tearful eyes Upon this vacant chair, These words, perchance, your lonely heart Win soothe 'mid grief and pain ; Think darling we who loved you here Will meet with yon again. Good-night, my little Minnie ! You're weary now, I know ; — - Tes, twine your ai-ms around me. And kiss me ere yon go ; Then hie thee to thy chamber — Another day is gone ; Good-night, my precious Minnie ! God bless thee, little one ! MOTHER'S LOYE. A popuIlAB legend. Faint and listless in its cradle Lies the babe, nor sleeps a wink. Will not bear to eat a morsel, WiU not ope its lips to drink. Ah ! its mother is departed. And the lips it loved are still, Lips that sung it into slumber, Kumb the breast it seeks and chill. Testerday the gloomy bearers Carried forth her bier from home ; Now the unthinking weeper's finger Beckons one who may not come. TO AN INFjU\T SMILINQ AS IT AWOKE. 289 And the hour of dusk is coming, Yet no more the babe can sleep ; By the door, with soundless gliding, Lo ! a woman's form doth sweep. Waving white, a gauzy mantle Falls the silent one to hide ; Sure she once hath known the chamber. Now she's by the cradle's side. There she rooks the child to slumber, Singing low no mortal tone ; Thrice she kissed and thrice she crossed it, Bent to bless it and was gone. Seven days in dusky gloaming Came that silent one again. Stilled the child's distress and weeping, Lulled with song its waking pain. When the eighth grey eve was falling, Still and mute the child was found ; Snowy white and crimson roses Had its cradle decked around. In the weird night, dumb with sorrow. Bear they ofi the babe to rest, To her new-made grave, and lay it Close beside its mother's breast. TO AN DSTFANT SMILING AS IT AWOKE. Aptee the sleep of night as some still lake Displays the cloudless heaven in reflection. And, dimpled by the breezes, seems to break Into a waking smile of recollection, As if from its calm depths the morning light Called up the pleasant dreams that gladdened night — So doth the laughing azure of those eyes Display a mental heaven of its own : In that illumined smile I recognise The sunlight of a sphere to us unknown j Thou hast been dreaming of some previous bliss In other worlds — for thou art new to this. 290 Oit A SLEEPING CHILI). Hast thou been wafted to elysian bowers In some blest star, wbere thoii hast pre-existed; Inhaled the ecstatic fragrancy of flowers ' About the golden harps of seraphs twisted ; Or heard the nightingales of paradise Hymn choral songs and joyous harmonies ? Perchahce all btfeathing life is but an essence Of the greiit Fountain Spirit in the sky, And hast thou dreamed of that transcendent Presence Whence thOu hast fallen — a dewdrop from on high — Destined to lose, as thou shalt mix with earth, Those bright recallinga of thy heavenly Ijirth. We deem thy mortal memory but begun ; But hast thou no remeinbrance of the past, No lingering twilight of a former sun Which o'er thy slutnbering faculties hath cast Shadows of unimaginable thin^^ Too high, or deep, for human fathomings ? Perhaps, while I'easoh's earlifest fount is heightening, Athwart thine eyes celestial sights are given. As skies that open to let out the lightning Display a transitory glimpse of heayen ; And thdli art wrapt in visions all too bright For aught but seraphim, or infant's sight. Emblem of heavenly JJUrity and bliss ! Mysterious type, which none can understand ! Let me with reverence then approach to kiss Limbs lately touched by the Creator's hand. So awful art thou, that I feel more prone To ask thy blessing than bestow miiie own. ON A SLEEPING CHILD. Oh ! 'tis a touching thing to make one weep ; A tender infant with its curtained eye. Breathing as it would neither live nor die, With that unmoving countenance of sleep, As if its silent dream, serene and deep, Had Uned its slumbers with a still blue iky-. So that the passive cheeks unconscious lie. With no more life than roses, just to keep TO JfT AIN AVLD WIFE. 291 The blushes warm, and the mild odorous breath. O blossom boy ! so calm is thy I'epose, So sweet a compromise of life and difeth, 'Tis pity those fair buds should e'er linclose, For memory to stain their inward leaf, Tingeing thy dreams with nnaoquellinted grief. TO MY AIN AULD WIFE. Mt ain auld wife, oh ! hoo it cheers. My heart tae see- ye there Sittin', my ae best frien' on earth, Within the auld arni-ohair. I look intU yer weel-kent face, I read yer patient smile. An' years o' life's way-wanderiiigs Seem dwindled til a mile. They say your locks are gi'ey, dear wife; Ah' dim yer ance brichte'e ; It may be sae tae ithers' e'en. But never sae tae me. Then dihna think, tny ain auld wife, O' thee I'm grown less fain ; Nae wrinkle on thy cheek bdt I Oould kiss, an' kiss again. When forty lang, lang years sin syne I took thee by the han', I then ca'd you niy dear guidwife, An' ye ca'd me guidinan. Oor love intil oor ain heart's bank We put it safe to keep, An* noo, at coinpound interest, It's grown a misfer's he^p. The blossoms o' our youtt's love tree, Whilk Seav'n ga'e to us twa, Thpre's some lie here, there's some lie there, But a' hae gane awa' Tae their blessed land o' peaoefu' rest, Bricht wi' eternal beams. Beckoning us tae follow them — I see them in my dreams. TJ 2 292 THE DESEBTED WIFE. It canna noo be lang, auld wife. Till we maun slip awa' ; We are but feckless servants here, And wait the Master's oa'. Like leaves upo' the self-same tree, We've shared alike life's weather, Through ilka range an' season's change. And noo we'll drap thegither ! THE DESERTED WIFE. He comes not — I have watched the moon go down, But yet he comes not. — Once it was not so : He thinks not how these bitter tears do flow, The while he holds his riot in the town. Yet he will come and chide, and I shall weep. And he will wake my infant from its sleep, To blend its feeble wailings with my tears ! Oh, how I love a mother's watch to keep, O'er those sleeping eyes, that smile which cheers My heart, though sunk in sorrow fixed and deep. I had a husband once who loved me — now, He ever wears a frown upon his brow. And feeds his passion on a wanton's life. As bees from laurel flower a poison sip ! But yet I cannot hate — Oh, there were hours When I would hang for ever on his eye, And Time, who stole with silent sadness by, Strewed, as he hurried on, his path with flowers. I loved him then, he loved me too — my heart Still finds its fondness kindle if he smile. The memory of our loves will ne'er depart ! And though he often sting me with a dart Venomed and barbed, and waste upon the vile Caresses, which his babe and mine should share ; Though he should spurn me, I will calmly bear His madness — and should sickness come, and lay Its paralysing hand upon him, then I would, with kindness, all my wrongs repay, Until the penitent should weep and say How injured and how faithful I had been. 293 THE SAILOR'S WIFE. On a smooth grassy knoll by the murmuring shore A woman was sitting, a child by her knee ; Her beautiful features a dark shadow wore As her eyes wandered wistfully out to the sea. The sun was just setting behind a dim wood, His golden rays gleaming upon the blue waves ; But she only looked out on the burnished flood, And thought of the thousands that there found their graves. The laverock clomb the blue steep of the sky. And she said, as she heard the sweet notes of his song : " O bird, thou remind'st me of evenings when I Was wooed by my sailor lad, handsome and strong. " Oh, well I remember that sorrowful day, When I stood on yon hillside and looked out to sea, Where a white-winged bark glided swiftly away, And bore my dear Donald from me — ah ! from me ] " He wrote of the beautiful islands abroad. Of their bright-coloured skies and their odorous flowers ; His letters with breathings of love overflowed. And he longed to be back to these thorn-shaded bowers. " There came a long letter, and in it I read — ' We will soon now weigh anchor, and sail for our home ; I will come when the sloe is with blossoms o'erspread.' But, alas ! of my Donald no tidings have come. " Donald, why comes not thy boat to the bay ? My heart^my poor, fluttering heart — be thou still ! Perhaps he will come to me some happy day. Oh, teach me, dear Grod, to submit to Thy will." And she bowed down her head o'er her sweet little child. That looked up in her face with its wondering eyes. Ah, woman ! 'neath Ocean's dark billows so wildi In Death's peaceful slumber, thy dear husband lies ! 294 THE YESSEL CQ¥rN& IN. BoRKE on the miglxty billows of the tide, rrom distant lands the sons of ocean come. Spreading their amplest sails, they quickly glide Over the deep, impatient for their home. See ! on the pier, a mother takes her stand, "With varied countenance of fear and joy. She in her arms, exulting, clasps her boy, Loilg ere he springs on his dear native land. The wif^, the tender partner of her care Expects, — and eager eyes the distant sail ; The prattlers point, and say, "My fathe^^'s there!" And all the infant group his coming hail. Dear is the hope — that pn a fairer shore, I too shall meet my friends — and part no more. OUTWARD BOUND. Here musing on the busy quay. Watching the seamen bound for sea, A scene, how like to life, we view, A meeting, and a parting too, A short while here, and then adieu. Far, far away to sea. The ship now leaves the harbour side, For she must on her mission glide, AnA as they gently pass the pier The sailors give a farewell cheer, The women drop a parting tear. And on the brave bark rides. Now ploughing through the deep with speed, She prances like some noble steed, And gaily bounding o'er the bay, She bravely steers her briny way. And dashes through the sparkling spray, As if from bondage freed. Now far out on the ocean wide She onward steers — may heaven guide — TEE HAPPINESS OF A WINTER'S FIRESIDE 295 On, ever on, until she seem Some petty speck in Phoebus' beam, Then vanishes, Hke passing dream, Across the silvery tide. And so the good ship disappears From eyes bedewed with parting tears. Whilst sweetheart, wife, and sister pray. That He who stills the tempest may Watch o'er them on their watery way, And guard them from all femurs. Thus do our hardy geaimen roam. Over the wild sea, far from home, 'Midst dangers of the mighty main They firmly strive — rlet's hope not vain, ijut that they m3,y retui-n again, Safe o'er the surging foam. THE HAPPINBSS OP A WINTEB'S FIEBSIDB. Wkteb, thou daughter of the storm, I love thee when the day is o'er. Spite of the tempest's outward roar ; Queen of the tranquil joys that weave The charm around the sudden eve ; The thickening footsteps through the gloom, Telling of those we love come horpe ; The candles lit, the cheerful bOard, , The dear domeatjc group restored ; TJie flrg that shows the looks of glee, The infants standing at qur ^nep ; The busy news, tlie spprtive tongue, The laugh that makes us still feel young ; The health to those we love, that now Are far as ocean winds can blow ; The health to those who with us grew, And still stay with us tried and true ; The wife that makes life glide away, One long and lovely marriajje day. Then music comes till — round us creep The infant listeners half asleep ; And busy tongues are loud no more, And winter, thy sweet eve is o'er. 296 GLOAMIN'. " At evening time it shall be light." " Mt day is dippin' in tte West, 'tis gloamiii' wi' me noo, I hear the sough o' Jordan's wave, that I maun travel through ; Yet 'tisna Jordan's \Yave I fear, nor tremble at the strife, But, oh ! this sunderin' o' hearts, this leavin' weans an' wife. " What though we ken o' better things, a fairer world abune, Where lost frien's are awaiting us, an' a' maun follow sune ; This rendin' o' the siller strings, that tether heart to heart — Oh ! it tries puir human nature sair, an' maks us laith to part. " Gae rax me bye the Bible, wife, while yet I'm fit to see. Ere death creep o'er my oauldrife back, and flap my failin' e'e ; An' let us sing a pairtin' sang afore we sundered be. For ye canna ha'e me lang noo, I ha'ena lang to dree. " There, pit the pillow to my back, an' ease me up a wee. An' hring them a' to my bedside to see their faither dee : Noo, raise the Bible up a thooht, it's ower laigh on my knee ; An' shift the Ucht a kennin' back, it's ower strong for my e'e." He waled, he sang the pairtin' sang — his voice was firm an' clear — An' read the fourteenth o' St. John, nor did he shed a tear : Sae is it wi' the man o' God, when life's day's wark is dune, Nae future fears disturb his mind, nae rueni' looks behin'. " Oh ! but it gaes me great relief, the singing o' that sang. My clay is crumbling fast awa', my spirit noo grows Strang : My wife, my weans, we a' maun pairt, so dinna sab sae sair, But dioht the tears frae aff you face, an' let us join in prayer " An' let us join in prayer to Him that's wantin' me awa'. That He may be a faithfu' Frien' an' Faither to ye a'." — He turned his glaizin' e'e to heaven, and raised his withered hand . Noo, safely through cauld Jordan's wave, he reached the better land. MIDNIGHT. " The darkest hour of night is the hour before the dawn," " Ay, ay ! I thooht it wad come to this at the last ! Deein' o' want, an' the bite o' the winti'y blast ; Deeiii' o' hunger an' cauld ; an' nane to see me dee — Nafi ane to grip my han', nae ano to steck my e'e. LINES BY AN ENGLISH OFFIGEB. 297 " Ell ! hoo the drivm' sleet oomes unbidden through the roof ; An' the cauld, cauld sweat is half frozen in my loof ; An' the win' howls wildly, as gin it cried for me — An' there's nane to grip my han', nane to steek my e'e. " Since my auld man was laid doon 'neath the sod last year (My man for forty simmers), I've grat my e'en blear : I think o' the days o' lang syne, an' my bairns three — But my bairns dinna grip my han', nor steek my e'e. " Deid, deid, a' deid ! an' I wus I were deid an' a', Sleepia' amang the daisies, aneath the saft snaw, Wha's here to bid me bide ? wha's here to care for me ? I hae nane to grip my han', I hae nane to steek my e'e." Stiff in the straw she lay, when the dull morning broke ; The redbreast chirruped without, but she never spoke ; For there entered One in the night, and lovingly He Laid her tired hand in His, and gently closed her e'e. LINES Written by an English Officer, the evening previous to parting with his brothers to join his regiment. When shall we three meet again — When shall we three meet again ; Oft shall glowing hope expire. Oft shall wearied love retire. Oft shall death and sorrow reign. Ere we three shall meet again. Though in distant lands I stray, Parched beneath a hostile ray ; Though the deep between us rolls, Friendship shall unite our souls ; Still in fancy's rich domain, Oft shall we three meet again. When the dreams of life are fled. When its wearied lamp is dead, When in cold oblivion's shade. Beauty, friendship, fame are laid ; Where immortal spirits reign, There shall we three meet again. FliOZEN TO DEATH. Fkozes tq de^/th, so young and fair — Regular features and large grey eyes, FlBiSen hair, Braided with care. Slender body, as cold as ice : Who knqwB her name, Her story, her fame : Had she a good or an evil fame ; And who in Charity's name's to blame. That a girl so young yields up her breath, Frozen to death ? Second Avenue — Fiftieth Street ? These are streets of a Christian city, Trodden each day by Christian feet, Of men who have stores of money and meat. And women whose souls arg pure and sweet. Filled with truth and ruth and pity : There is a church, with slender spire Pointing gracefully up to the sky, Pointing to somethiug better and higher Than anything open to mortal eye : All Sabbath time The sweet bells' chime Rings from the steeple. Calling the people To come to prayer and praise beneath : On Monday moru, A young forlorn And hapless girl yields up her breath, Frozen to death. There iq a mansion, costly and tall, Builded for pride and plenty and pleasure — Hark to the music that bursts from the hall. And watch the shadows that dance on the wall. As the dancers dance through their merry measure. The purple curtains are waved aside — Peep through the window and see the throng Of the young who amble and leap and glide, And the old who watch them with looks of pride ; There are junketing, jollity, jest, and song — Careless, thoughtless, happy thi-ong ; Careless of right, yet thinking no wrong, As the gilded hours Hash along : TO MY MOTHSB. 299 Why should they grieve On Monday ere, 11.' . li on Monday morn, Ax» , iate forlorn ! A fair young girl gave up her breath, Frozen to death ? TO MT MOTHBE. Said to have been written by a prisoner in the Oliio Penitentiary. I've wandei-ed far from thee, mother, Far from mj' happy home ; I've left the land that gave me birth. In other climes to roam ; And time since then has rolled its years, And marked them on my brow ; Tet I have oftait thought of thee — I'm thinking of thee now. I'm thinking on the day, mother. When at my tender side, Ton watched the dawning of my vQuth, And kissed me in your pride ; Then brightly was my heart lit up With hopes of future joy. While your bright fancy honours wove To deck your darling boy. I'm thinking of the day, mother, Whs'i with an anxious care, Ton lifted up your heart to heaven — Tour hope, your trust was there. Fond memory brings your parting word. While tears, rolled down your cheek ; The long, last loving look told more Than even words could speak. I'm far away from thee, mother, No friend is near me now. To sqothe me with a tender word. Or cool my burning brow. The dearest ties affection wove. Are all now torn from me ; They left me when the trouble came — They did not love Hke thee. 300 NJiJW ENGLAND' 8 ANNOYANCES. I'm lonely and forsaken now, Unpitied and unblest ; Yet still I would not have hhoe know How sorely I'm disti-eshjl. I know you would not chide me, mothei^ You would not give me blame ; But soothe me with your tender words, And bid me hope again. I would not have thee know, mother. How brightest hopes decay ; The tempter with his baleful cup Has dashed them all away. And shame has left its venom sting To rack with anguish wild ; Yet still I would not have thee know The sorrows of thy child. Oh, I have wandered far, mother. Since I deserted thee, And left thy trusting heart to break. Beyond the deep blue sea. Oh, mother, still I love thee well, And long to hear thee speak. And feel again thy balmy breath Upon my careworn cheek. But, ah ! there is a thought, mother, Pervades my bleeding breast, That thy freed spirit may have flown To its eternal rest ; And while I wipe the tear away. There whispers in my ear A voice that speaks of heaven and thee. And bids me seek thee there. NEW ENGLAND'S ANNOYANCES. "Wrilten towards 1630 j the oldest known composition in English verse by an American colonist." — W. M. Bossetti. New England's annoyances, ye that would know them, Pray ponder these verses which briefly do show them. The place where we live is a wilderness wood. Where grass is much wanting that's fruitful and good ; Our mountains and hills and our valleys below Being commonly covered with ice and with snow : NEW JSNGLAND'8 ANNOYANCES. 301 And when the north-west wind with violence blows, Then every man pulls his cap over his nose : But, if any'B so hardy and will it withstand, He forfeits a finger, a foot, or a hand. But when the spring opens, we then take the hoe, And make the ground ready to plant and to sow. Our com being planted and seed being sown, The worms destroy much before it is grown ; And when it is growing some spoil there is made By birds and by squirrels that pluck up the blade ; And, when it is come to full corn in the ear, It is often destroyed by racoon and by deer. And now do our garments begin to grow thin. And wool is much wanted to card and to spin, If we get a garment to cover without, Our other in-garments are clout upon clout. Our clothes we brought with us are apt to be torn ; They need to be clouted soon after they're worn ; But clouting our garments they hinder us nothing,— Clouts double are warmer than single whole clothmg. If fresh meat be wanting, to fill up our dish We have carrots and pumpkins, and turnips and fish : And, is there a mind for a delicate dish. We repair to the clam-banks and there we catch fish. 'Stead of pottage and puddings and custards and pies. Our pumpkins and parsnips are common supplies ; We have pumpkins at morning and pumpkins at noon ; If it was not for pumpkins we should be undone. If barley be wanting to make into malt. We must be contented and think it no fault ; For we can make liquor to sweeten our lips Of pumpkins and parsnips and walnut-tree chips. Now while some are going let others be coming. For while liquor's boiling it must have a scumming ; But I win not blame them, for birds of a feather By seeking their fellows are flocking together. But ye whom the Lord intends hither to bring, Forsake not the honey for fear of the sting ; But bring both a quiet and contented mind. And all needful blessings ye surely will find. 302 THE AMERICAN PATEIOT'S SONG. Hark ! hear ye the sounds that the winds oh their pinions Exultingly roll from the shore to the sea, With a voice that resounds through her boundless dominions ? 'Tis Columbia calls on her sons to be free ! Behold oh yon summits where Heaven has throned her, How she starts from her proud inaccessible seat ; With Nature's impregnable ramparts around her, And the cataracts thunder and foam at her feet ! In the breeze of het mountains her loose locks are shaken, While the soul-stirring notes of her wari-ioir-sohg From the rock to the valley re-echo, " Awaken, Awaken, ye hearts that have slumbered too long !" Tes, Despots ! too long did your tyranny hold us; In a vassalage vile, ere its weakness was knowii ; Till we learned that the links of the chain that Controlled us Were forged by the fears of its captives alonb; That spell is destroyed, and no longer availing. Despised as detested — pause well ere ye dare To cope with a people whose spirit and feeling Are roused by remembrance and steeled by despair. Go tame the wild torrent, or stern with a stra* The proud surges that sweep o'er the strand that confllies them ; But presume not again to give Eteemen a lavv, Nor think with the chains they have broken to bind t&em. To hearts that the spirit of Liberty flushes, Resistance is idle — and numbers a dream ; — They burst from control, as the mountafei-stream rushes From its fetters of ice in the warmth of the beam. THE PICKET OP THE POTOMAC. Said to have been foiuid in the pocket of a Confederate soldio: shot on picket duty. All quiet along the Potomac they say, Except here and there a stray picket Is shot as he walk^ to and fro By a rifleman hid in a thicket ; TEE PICKET OF THE POTOMAC. 30a "Tis nothing ; a private or two now and then Will not count in the tale* of the battle : Not an officer lost — only one of the men Breathing out all alone thfe death-taltle. All quiet along the Potomac to-night Where the soldiers lie peacefully dreaming ! Their tents in the ray of the clear autumn ihooil. And the light of the wa,tdhfires gleaming. A tremulous sigh from the gentle night-winds Through the forest-leaves slowly is creeping, And the stars up above with their glittering eyes Keep watch while the army is sleeping. There is not a sound, save the loiie sentry's tread. As he tramps from the rook to the fountain, And thinks of the three on the low truckle bed Far away in the hut on the mountain. His rifle falls slack, and his fafce, grim and dark. Grows gentle with meaiories tendfer, And he breathes a prayer for the children asleep, For their mother — may Heaven defend her ! The moon seems to smUe as serenely as then — The night when the love yet unspoken Broke forth from his lips, and when low murmured vows Were pledged never more to be broken ; Then drawing his sleeves roughly over his eyes, He dashes the tears that are welling. And gathers his gun closer up to his side, As if to keep down the heart swelling. He passes the fountaiuj the blasted pitie-ttee. The footstep is lagging and weary, Tet onward he glides through the broad belt of light Toward the shade of the forest so dreary ; Hark ! was it the night-wind that rustles the leaves ? Was it the moonlight so suddenly flashing ? It looks like a rifle. No — Mary, good night ; — His life-blood is ebbing and dashing ! All quiet along the Potomac to-night, No sound save the rush of the liver ; But the dew falls ttnseen on the face of tSie dead, The picket's ofi' duty — for ever ! 304 LADY BYRON'S EE^LY TO LORD BYRON'S "FARE THEE WELL." " Ab to the author of the reply, I have for years been trying to find out, but unsuccesafully. One or two gentlemen, whose opinions on this subject are well worthy of attention, have said in a joking way that the author must be Byron himself, as the lines are so very beautiful and appropi-iate. I certainly do not think Lady Byron was the author. From all that I can glean from the oldest inhabitants in this neighbourhood she was always held in the highest respect, a good, kind, domestic lady ; but no one seems to give her credit for much poetic taste, let alone faculty." — Correspondent Newcastle Weekly Chronicle, Yes, farewell : farewell for ever ; Thou thyself hast fixed our doom ; Bade hope's fairest blossom wither, Never more for me to bloom ! Unforgiving thou hast called me ; Didst thou ever say forgive ? For the wretch whose wiles enthralled thee, Thou didst seem alone to live. Short the space which Time had given To complete thy love's decay ! By unhallowed passion driven, Soon thy wishes wildly stray. Lived for me that feeling tender, Which thy verse so well can show ? From my arms why didst thoa wander — My endearments why forego ? Rcipt in dreams of joy abiding, On thy breast my head hath lain, In thy love and truth confiding — Bliss I ne'er can know again ! When thy heart; by me glanced ever, First displayed the guilty stain. Would these eyes had closed for ever. Not to weep thy crimes again ! But by Heaven's recording spirit May that wish forgotten be 1 Life, though now a load, I'd bear it For the babe I've borne to thee — THE 0BPEAN8. 305 In wtose lovely features (let me All my weakness here confess), Wliile the struggling tears permit me, AU her father's I can trace; His, whose image never leaves me. Whose remembrance yet I prize ; Who this bitterest feeling gives me — Loving where I most despise. With regret and sorrow, rather, When our child's first accents flow, I shall teach her to say " Father" — But his guilt she ne'er shall know. Whilst to-morrow, and to-morrow, Wake me to a widowed bed ; In another's arms no sorrow Wilt thou feel, no tears wilt shed. For the world's applause I sought not When I tore myself from thee ; Of its praise or blame I thought not — What is blame or praise to me ? He in whom my soul delighted. From his breast my image drove ; With contempt my truth requited. And preferred a wanton love. Thou art proud — and mark me, Byron ! Proud is my soul as thine own ; Soft to love — but hard as iron When despite is on me thrown. But, 'tis past ! — I'll not upbraid thee, Nor shall ever wish thee ill ; Wretched though thy crimes have made me. If thou canst, be happy still ! THE OfiPHANS. My chaise the village inn did gain. Just as the setting sun's last ray Tipped with refulgent gold the vane Of the old church across the way. 306 TEE ORPHANS. Across the way I silent sped. The time till supper to beguile In moralisiug o'er the dead ,/ That mouldered round the ancient pile. There many a humble green grave showed Where want, and pain, and toil did rest ; And many a flattering stone I viewed O'er those who once had wealth pbssest. A faded baech its shadow brown Threw o'er a grave where sorrow slept. On which, though scarce with grass o'ergrown. Two ragged children sat and wept. A piece of bread between them lay. Which neither seemed inclined to take ; And yet they looked so much a prey To want, the sight made my heart ache. " My little children, let me know Why you in such distress appear, And why you wasteful from you throw That bread which many a one might cheer?" The little boy, in accents sweet, Replied, while tears each other chased : " Lady, we've not enough to eat — Ah ! if we had we should not wEiste. But sister Mary's naughty grown, And will not eat, whate'er I say ; Though sure I am the bread's her own, For she has tasted none to-day." — " Indeed," the wan, starved Mary said, " Till Henry eat I'll eat no more ; For yesterday I got some bread. He's had none since the day before." — My heart did swell, my bosom heave, I felt as though deprived of speech ; Silent I sat upon the grave. And clasped the clay-cold hand of each. TEE 0BPSAN8. 307 With looks of woe too sadly true, "Witt lopta that spoke a grateful heart. The shivering boy then nearer drew, And did his simple tale impart : " Before my father went away, Enticed by bad men o'er the sea, Sister and I did nought but play — We lived beside yon great ash-tree. But then poor mother did so cry, And looked so changed, I cannot tell ; She told us that shq soon would die, And bade us love each other well. She said that, when the war wes o'er, ' Perhaps we might our father see ; But if we never saw him more, That God our Father then would be ! She kissed us both, and then she died. And we no more a mother have : Here many a day we've sat and cried Together at poor mother's grave. But when my father came not here, I thought if we could find the sea. We should be sure to meet him there, And once again might happy be. We hand in hand went many a mile, And asked our way of all we met ; And some did sigh, and some did smile. And we of some did victuals get. But when we reached the sea, and found 'Twas one great water round us spread. We thought that father must be drowned. And cried, and wished we both were dead. So we returned to mother's grave, And only long with her to be ; For Goody, when this bread she gave, Said father died beyond the sea. x2 308 THE OBFEAN GIBL'8 BE00LLEGTI0N8. Then since no parent we have here, We'll go and search for God aronnd ; Lady, pray can you tell ns where That God, our Father, may be found ? He lives in heaven, mother said, And Goody says that mother's there ; So, if she knows we want His aid, I think perhaps she'll send Him here." — I clasped the prattlers to my breast. And cried, " Come both and live with me ; I'll clothe yon, feed you, give you rest, And will a second mother be. And God shall be your Father still ; 'Twas He in mercy sent me here. To teach you to obey His will. Your steps to guide, your hearts to cheer." THE OEPHAN GIEL'S BECOLLEOTIONS OF A MOTHER. I HAVE no mother ! for she died When I was very young ; But stUl her memory round my heart. Like morning mists has hung. They tell me of an angel form. That watched me while I slept, And of a soft and gentle hand That wiped the tears I wept : And that same hand that held my own. When I began to walk. The joy that sparkled in her eyes When first I tried to talk. They say the mother's heart is pleased When infant charms expand ; I wonder if she thinks of me In that bright, happy land. WHAT IS TRUE POETRY? 309 I know ste id in heaven now, That holy place of rest ; For she was always good to me — The good Eilone are blest. I remember, too, when I was ill. She kissed my burning brow. The tear that fell npon my cheek — I think I feel it now. And I have got some little books. She taught me how to spell ; The chiding or the kiss she gave I still remember well. And then she used to kneel with me. And teach me how to pray, And raise my little hands to heaven. And tell me what to say. O mother, mother ! in my heart Thy image still shall be. And I will hope in heaven at last. That I may meet with thee. WHAT IS TEUB POETRY P Copyright. By permission of the Editor of the Imperial Spealcer. PoETEY — poetry ! What is true poetry ? Gems of the intellect, brighter than gold ; Such as the muses bring, New and astonishing — Glories the gifted alone can unfold. Beautiful — beautiful ! All that is beautiful. Seen in the stars as iu glory thoy roll — Images exquisite, Pictured as requisite — Giving a joy unexpressed to the soul. SlO 80BB0W AND SONG. Harmony^— harmotty ! Nature's sweet hacmony ! Hark how the melody rains from above ! Strains that are ringing clear, Through all the atmosphere, Telling of purity, beauty, and love. Glorious— glorious ! Tes, it is glorious I When in the paths that a Milton has trod, Upward the spirit springs, As upon seraph's wings. Mounting to glory, to heaven, to God. Poetry — ^poetry ! This is true poetry ; G«ms of the intellect, earth, and the sky ; Thoughts that are eloquent. Rare and magnificent, Brought from the sporit-mine never to die. GENIUS. What is genius ? — 'Tis a flame Kindhng aU the human frame ; 'Tis a ray that lights the eye. Soft in love, in battle high, 'Tis the lightning of the piind, Unsubdued and undefined : 'Tis the flood that pours along The full clear melody of song : 'Tis the sacred boon of heaven. To its choicest favourites given. They who feel can paint it well— What IB genius P — Byron, tell ! SORROW AND SONG. Wbep not over poet's wrong, Mourn not his mischances, SoiTOw is the source of song. And of gentle fancies. ON MILTON'S BLINDNESS. §11 Bills o'er rocky beds are borne, Ere they gush in whiteness ; Pebbles are wave-chafed and worn, Ere they show their brightness. Sweetest gleam the morning flowers. When in tears they waken ; Earth enjoys refreshing showers, When the boughs are shaken. Ceylon's glistening pearls are sought In its deepest waters ; From the darkest mines are brought Gems for Beauty's daughters. Through the rent and shivered rock Limpid water breaketh ; 'Tis but when the chords are struck That their music waketh. Flowers by heedless footsteps pressed All their sweets surrender ; Gold must brook the fiery test Ere it show its splendour. When the twilight, cpld, and damp, Gloom and sUenoe briugeth ; Then the glowworm lights its lamp. And the night-bird singeth. Stars come forbh when Night he±' shi-oud Draws as daylight fainteth ; Only on the tearful cloud God his rainbow painteth. Weep not then for poet's wrong. Mourn not his mischances ; SoiTOW is the source of song And of gentle fancies. ON MILTON'S BLINDNESS. I am old and bUnd 1 Men point at me as smitten by God*S frowil ; Afilioted and desei'ted of my find ; Tet I am not cast down. 812 ON MILTOirS BLINDNESS. I am weak, yet strong ; I mnrmnr not that I no longer see ; Poor, old, and helpless, I the more belong. Father supreme, to Thee ! merdful One ! When men are farthest, then Thon art most near; When friendspass by, my weaknesses to shun. Thy chariot I hear. Thy glorions face Is leaning towanLs me, and its holy light Shines in npon my lonely dweUing-plaoe, And there is no more night. On my bended knee I reoe^fnise Thy purpose, clearly shown ; My yision Thon hast dimmed that I may see Thyself— Thyself alone. 1 have nonght to fear ; This darkness is the shadow of Thy wing ; Beneath it I am almost sacred — ^here Can come no evil thing. Oh ! I seem to stand, Trembling, where foot of mortal ne'er hath been. Wrapped in the radiance of thy sinless land. Which eye hath never seen. Visions come and go — Shapes of resplendent beanty round me throng ; From angel Ups I seem to hear the flow Of soft and holy song. It is nothing now, When Heaven is opening on my sightless eyes. When airs from Paradise refresh my brow. That earth in darkness lies. In a pnrer clime My being fills with rapture— waves of thought Roll in upon my spirit — strains sublime Breat over me unsought. TEE PBINTEB8' 80N0. 313 Give me now my lyre ! I feel the stirrings of a gift divine, Within my bosom glows unearthly fire. Lit by no skill of mine ! THE PEESS. Thoughts flit and flutter through the mind. As o'er the waves the shifting wind ; Trackless and traceless is their flight As falling stars of yesternight, Or the old tidemarks on the shore Which other tides have rippled o'er, Tet art, by Genius trained and taught, Arrests — records the fleeting thought, Stamps on the minute or the hour A lasting, an eternal power. And to minds passing shadows gives An influence that for ever lives. But mightiest of the mighty means On which the arm of Progress leans, Man's noblest mission to advance. His woes assuage, his weal enhance. His rights enforce, his wrongs redress, Mightiest of mighty is the Press. THE PRINTERS' SONG. Peint, comrades, print ; a noble task Is the one we daily ply ; 'Tis ours to tell to all who ask The wonders of earth and sky. We catch the thought, all glowing warm, As it leaves the student's brain, And place the stamp of enduring form On the poet's airy strain. Then let us sing, as we nimbly fling The slender letters round — A glorious thing is our labouring. Oh, where may its like be found ? §14 SHAKSPEAUE. Print, comrades, print ; the fairest ttpugit Ever Killned. in painter's dream,. The rarest form e'er sculp'tol' W^trttght By the light of beauty s gleam, Though lovely, may not match the power which our proud art can claim — That links the past with the present hour, And its breath — the voice of fame. Then let ua sing, as we nimbly fling The slender letters round — A glorious thing is our labouring, Oh, where may its like bfei found ? Print, comrades, print ; God hath ordained That man by his toil should live : Then spurn the charge thdt -We disdained The labour that God would give ! We envy not the sbtis of ease. Nor the lord in princely hall, But bow before the wise dfecree^ In kindness meant fot all. Then let us sittg, as We hitttljly fling The slender lettets round— A glorious thing is Our labouring. Oh, where may its like be found ? SHAKSPiiAfeE. Centuries have rolled on centviries, years on years. The never-ceasing progress of decay Has swept the mighty and the mean away, Monarchs and multitudes ! but there appears. Towering above all tempests and all time, A pyramid more glorious and sublime Than those the imperishable Memphis rears Over her sandy TVjlderuess ; for theirs Are but unspeaking stones, where lies enshrined Eternal silence. But peerless Shakspeare Pours forth still from hisexhansileas stores of mind All truth — aU passion — and all poetry ; Mounting, with tirfeless wings, on every wind, And filling earth witt s-syeetest minstrelsy. 316 SOlsTNET, Written at the tomb of Shakspeare, Strat(ord-ou-Avon. A HUMBLE votary of the tuneful nine, To Shakspeare's tomb a pilgrim I repair, To yield the mind's deep adoration there. And DOW the knee at wisdom's proudest shrine ! Lo ! where hath lingered, lost in wonder's maze, The ken of princes, and the glance of peers — Lo ! where have paused, in reverential gaze, The good and great of other climes and years — Bend I, great shade ! submissively to pay The unfeigned homage of one grateful heart, To whom thy magic pages doth portray ' ' The boundless realms of nature and of art ! Allow this lowly tribute to the fame Which shall to every age transmit thy honoured name TO BURNS, WHILE LiyiNa. Dear BuknSj Unkind I lo'e your lays, In troth they merit mickle praise ; Weel may ye fare through a' your days, Ay pipe an' sing. An' ne'er want either brose or clais'. Or ohy thing. Wi' walth o' Greek and Latin lare Some chields can hammer out an air ; But ane like you afironts them sare. An' proves wi' birr. That nature can do ten times mare Than apes o' her. As Scotland's bard weel be ye kent, I hope frae her ye'U ne'er be rent. On proud Pafnassy's birsy bent Lang may ye shine, An' far an' near your famfe be sent Though ilkst clime. 316 TO BOBEBT BUENS. I wisli ye mony a happy year, Wi' lonth o' fame and with o' gear. Abundant health to crown your cheer. An' a' that's good; I wad be glad iirae yon to hear In merry mood. TO ROBERT BURETS. There was an impression abroad doring one period of Bnms' career, tliat his rustic manners Trere assumed, and that the statement of his being a plain, nn- tatored ploughman was a mere trick of the trade. " Tis education mates the genins bright." Rab, when ye crack abont the nine. And how to yon they hae been kin', By helpin' ay your day to shine Wi' weel waled wordies. Then ye work up a tale o'er fine For ScotUah worthies. Though prints, newspapers, and reviews, Frae time to time may still you rooze. And say ye're heaven-taught, and your views Are unco fair. And a' your ain, gi'en by the muse On bajoks o' Ayr. In faith, for a' the sough you've made I doubt ye are some sleeket blade That never handled shool, or spade, Or huik, or plough. But, for bauld ends, would hae that said For praise to you. You've surely noticed this yoursel' — Afore we resid we ay maun spell. An' till cock-chuckie brak* the spell "Whar he is hidden. He canna craw a momin' knell Upo' the middin. If grain ye t'ither month did saw, Te ken, a while 'twas smoored in snaw. MB. WATSON'S PICTUBE OF BUBNS. 317 An' simmer sous mann gar that blaw Which now is breerin', Ere autumn's yellowed leaf can shaw Ought hae't for shearin'. Nae learned Frenchified scrap, Through Mauchline's farrows ere could saep. Nor, winnowing i' your bam, escape A bland o' Latin ; Sae a' your wark's been put to gap — Tour bread's been baken. You've yoked your horse ahint your cart, Sae tak' advice, its weel your pairt To own what solid lore ye lear't And whare were bred. There's nane now bom maister o' art. Or manna fed. I'm no for riving aff your brow The laurel folks hae 'Qiocht your due. But gin a while you left the plough T' 'tend the college. Why should you smore the thing that's true, Wi' a' your knowledge F 1787. ON SEEING MR. STEWART WATSON'S PICTUEE OF BURNS. Bakd of our hearts, beheld again on earth ! Not now, indeed, as oft through fancy's eye. Following the plough, or by the rustic hearth. Or 'mid the woods— warbling thy melody ; But in the shrine of Ancient Masonry, Among " the favoured, the enlightened few,'' Who, by its " hieroglyphic bright," descry The wisdom hidden from the world's dim view. Oh, ever blessed be that art divine. Which, with creative power, can back restore The living look, each lineament and hue. Of loved familiar faces now no more ! Honoured the pencil that hath traced before Our eyes the imaged presence of the Bard, Whose name and fame have filled all space, and o'er His brow renewed the wreath — fond Masonry's award. 318 THE BIRTH-PLACE OP TASSO. Torqnato Tasso, born at Sorrento, 1544 ; died at Rome, 25th April, 1595. Ho was the author of " Jerusalem Delivered," and one of the most celebrated of the Italian poots. Bbautitul are the waves that flow Beneath Sorrento's walls ; With ripplmg swell, and foam of snow, And miirlnnnng sonnds, that come and go, Like fitfiil waterfalls. Beantifal are those skies that shine Above that sparkling bay, Where hang the rich, luxuriant vine. And thousand plants that climb and twine With light, fantastic spray. Beautiful are those shores, aaid meet For poet's charmed lay, Who traced the siren'g treacherous feet Upon those sands, and heard them greet The wanderer on his way. Beautiful is that sunbright scene For poet's cradle framed. Where scented flowers, and woods of green. And mountains blue are distant seen. His songs in childhood claimed. But why within that veVdant spot. So lovely and so still. By all the noisy world forgot, Where even the ocean waves are not More loud than mountain rill ; Why fiercely rose the warrior's crest Upon his early dream ; Was it that in his youthful breast, He loved the foam, the tumult, best. Of some enchanted stream ? And wherefore broke the clash of arms. The rattling shield and spear, With all the battle's wild alarms, The groan that chills, the shout that warms, Upon his listening ear ? TEE SONS OF STEAM. 319 Was it that in his fervent soul A. turning thirst arose To ^Txnk where troubled watejcs roll. And fill the intoxicating bowl With human joys and woes ? TeSi Thus he felt and thus he sung, For genius woke the fli'e. A warrior bard he proudly aprnng, While round his brows her wreaths she flung And tuned his virgin lyre. But not alone the battle-field, With skilful touch, he drew ; The waving plume, the glittering shield. Beauty in gentlest form concealed, AJid thus he painted, too. And not alone the conqueror's cry Of triumph, wild and strong. Inspired his numbers bold and high. But loftier strains he dared to try — The Christian's faith he sung. Wherefore ? Ask not. There rolled above His youthful head that sky. These glorious heavens, so far above All earthly change — the type of love And immortality. THE SONG OF STEAM. Harness me do^tvn with your iron bands, Be sure of your curb and rein, For I scorn the power of your puny hands. As the tempest scorns a chain. How I laughed, as I lay concealed from sight For many a countless hour, At the childish boast of human might. And the pride of human power ! When I saw an army upon the land, A navy upon the seas. Creeping along, a snail-like band. Or waiting the wayward breeze ; 320 THE SONG OF STEAM. When I marked the peasant faintly reel With the toil which he daily bore, As he feebly turned at the tardy wheel, Or tugged at the weary oar ; When I measured the panting courser's speed, The flight of the carrier dove, As they bore the law a king decreed. Or the lines of impatient love ; I could not but think how the world would feel, As these were outstripped afar, When I should be bound to the rushing keel. Or chained to the flying car. Ha ! ha ! ha ! they found me at last ; They invited me forth at length, And I rushed to my throne with thunder blast, And laughed in my iron strength. Oh, then ye saw a wondrous change. On the earth and ocean wide. Where now my fiery armies range. Nor wait for wind or tide. Hurrah ! hurrah ! the waters o'er The mountains steep decline ; Time — space — have yielded to my power — The world — the world is mine ! The rivers, the sun, hath earliest blest. Or those where his beams decline, The giant streams of the queenly west, Or the orient floods divine. The ocean pales, where e'er I sweep. To hear my strength rejoice ; And the monsters of the briny deep. Come trembling at my voice, I carry the wealth and the lord of earth ; The thoughts of the god-like mind j The wind lags after my flying forth. The lightning is left behind. In the darksome depths of the fathomless mine My tireless arm does play, Where the rooks never saw the sun decline Or the dawn of the glorious day. THE TWO BOSES. 321 I bring earth's glittering jewels tip From the hidden cave below, And I make the fountain's granite cup With a crystal gush o'erflow. I blow the bellows, I forge the steel, In all the shops of trade ; I hammer the ore, and turn the wheel, Where my arms of strength are made ; I manage the furnace, the mill, the mint ; I carry, I spin, I weave ; And all my doings I put into print On every Saturday eve. I've no muscle to weary, no breast to decay. No bones to be " laid on the shelf," And soon I intend you " may go and play," While I manage the world by myself. But harness me down with your iron bands, Be sure of your curb and rein, For I scorn the strength of your puny hands As the tempest scorns a chain. THE TWO HOSES. From the Italian. My Lilla gave me yester-morn A rose, methinks in Eden born. And as she gave it, little elf. Blushed like another rose herself. Then said I, full of tenderness, " Since this sweet rose I owe to yoti. Dear girl, why may I not possess The lovelier rose that gave it, too ?" y^x'k anb ytgenttErg. Hail, ye mighty masters of the lay; Nature's true sons, the friends of man and truth ; Whose song, sublimely sweet, serenely gay. Amused my childhood, and informed my yOuth : Oh ! let your spirit still my bosom soothe. Inspire my dreams, and my wild wanderings guide ; Your voice each rugged path of life can smobthe, For well I know, wherever ye reside. There harmony, and peace, and innocence ahide. Beattie. Song sweetens toil, however rude the sound ; All at her work the village maiden sings ; Nor, while she turns the giddy wheel around, BsTolves the sad vicissitudes of life. GiFPABD. Those venerable ancient Song enditers Soared many a pitch beyond our modem writers ; With rough, majestic strength they touched the heart. And TruUL and Nature made amends for Ait. EowE. ODE TO ELOQUENOl!. Heabd ye those loud contending waves, That shook Cecropia's pillared state H Saw ye the mighty from their graves Look up, and tremble at her fate ? Who shall calm the angry storm ? Who the mighty task perform. And bid the raging tumult cease ? See the son of Hermes rise ; With siren tongue, and speaking eyes. Hush the noise, and soothe to peace ! OBE TO ELOQUENCE. o2a See the olive branches waving O'er Ilissus' winding stream ; Their lovely limbs the Naiad's laving, The Muses smiling by, supreme ! See the nymplis and swains advancing, To harmonious measures dancing : , Grateful lo Peans rise To thee, Power ! who canst inspire Soothing woods — ^or words of fire, And shook thy plumes in Attic skies ! Lo ! from the regions of the North, The reddening storm of battle pours ; Rolls along the trembling earth. Fastens on the Olynthian towers. " Where rests the sword ? — where sleeps the bravo ? Awake ! Cecropia's ally save From the filry of the blast ; Burst the storm on Phocis' Vi?alls ; Eise ! or Greece for ever falls j Up ! or Freedom breathes her last !" The jarring States, obsequious now, Yiew the Patriot's hand on high ; Thunder gathering oh his brow. Lightning flashing from his eye ! Borne by the tide of words along, One voice, otie mind, inspire the tlirong ; — "To arms ! to arms ! to arms !'' t'ley cry ; " Grasp the shield, and draw the sword. Lead us on to Philippi's lord, Letus conquer him or die !" Oh, Eloquence ! thou wast undone, Wast from thy native country driven. When tyranny eclipsed the sun And blotted out the stars of heaven ! When Liberty from Greece withdrew, And o'er the Adriatic flew To where the Tiber pours his urn. She struck the rude Tarpeian rock — Sparks were kindled by the stroke — Again thy fires began to burn ! y2 32 1 TEE OHABM. Now, shining forth, thou mad'st compliant The conscript fathers to thy charms, Roused the world-bestriding giant, Sinking fast in slavery's arms ! I see thee stand by Freedom's fane. Pouring the persuasive strain. Giving vast conceptions birth ; Hark ! I hear thy thunders sound, Shake the Forum round and round. Shake the pillars of the earth ! First-born of Liberty divine ! Put on Religion's bright array ; Speak ! and the starless grave shall shino The portal of etei-nal day. Rise, kindling with the orient beam, Let Calvary's hni inspire the theme, Unfold the garments rolled in blood ! Oh, touch the soul — touch aU her chords — With all the omnipotence of words. And point the way to heaven — to God ! THE CHARM. From the Spa/iiieh. Wind the spell, bind the spell ; — What is in it ! Fond farewell ! Wreathed with drops from azure eyes, Twilight vows, and midnight sighs. Bind it on the maiden's soul ! Suns may set, and years may roll ; Yet beneath the tender twine All the spirit shall be thine. Oceans may between you sweep. But the spell's as strong and deep ! Anguish, distance, time are vain — Death alone can loose the chain. 325 FIDELITY. From the Spanish. One eve of beauty, wlien the sun Waa on the streams of Guadalquiver, To gold converting, one by one, The ripples of the mighty river ; Beside me on the bank was seated A Seville girl with auburn hair. And eyes that might the world have cheated, A wild, bright, wicked, diamond pair ! She stooped and wrote upon i.'ie sand. Just as the loving sun was going. With such a soft, small, shining hand, I could have sworn 'twas silver flowing. Her words were three, and not one more, What could Diana's motto be ? The Siren wrote upon the shore — " Death — not inconstancy !" And then her two large languid eyes So turned on mine, that, wonder take me, I set the air on fire with sighs. And was the fool she chose to make me. Saint Francis would have been deceived With such an eye and such a hand; But one week more, and I believed As much the woman as the sand. FATHER MATHEW. Ode to a Painter, about to commence a picture to illustrate the labours of Father Mathew. SnizE thy pencil, child of art ! Fame and fortune brighten o'er thee ! Great thy hand, and great thy heart. If well thou dost the work before thee ! 'Tis not thine to round the shield. Or point the sabre, black or gory, 'Tis not thine to spread the field. Where crime is crowned — where guilt is glory. BUSY, CURIOUS, THIRSTY FLY. Child of art ! to thee be given To paint, in colours all nnclouded, Breakings of a radiant heaven O'ei an isle in darkness shrouded ! But, to paint them true and well, Every ray we see them shedding, In its very light must tell What a gloom before was spreading. Canst thou picture dried-up tears — Eyes that wept no longer weeping — Faithful woman's wrongs and fears. Lonely, nightly, vigils keeping — Listening every footfall nigh — Hoping him she loves returning ? Canst thou, then, depict her joy, That we may know fhe change from mourning ? Paint in colours strong, but mild. Our isle's redeemer and director — Canst thou paint the man a child, Tet shadow forth the mighty victor ? Let his path a rainbow span. Every h/ue and colour blending — Beaming " peace and love" to man. And alike o'er all ertending ! Canst thou paint a land made free — From its sleep of bondage woken — Tet, withal, that we may see What 'twas hefore the chain was broken P Seize the pencil, child of art ! Fame and fortune brighten o'er thee ! Great thy hand, and great thy heart, If well thou dost the work before thee ! BUST, CURIOUS, THIESTT FLY. Bt/sy, cvirious, thirsty fly. Drink with me, and drink as I ; Freely welcome to my cup, Conldst thou sij), and sip me up. Make the most of life yon may. Life is short and wears away. FALSE, YET FAIlt. 327 Both alike are mine and thine, Hastening quick to their decline ; Thine's a summer, mine's no more, Though repeated to threescore ; Threescore summers, when they're gone, WiU appear as short as one. 1744, FALSE, TET PAIR. On ! she was hright and fair to see, Her tresses rippled to her knee, Her laugh it rang out merrily O'er hill and dale. I wandered with her many a day, In the sweet, blooming, month of May, Through many a devious flowery way. Till day waxed pale. She made sad havoc with her eyes, And breathed such dainty little sighs, Alas ! I was not over-wise — And she was fair ! She subtly wove her fatal spell Around my heart, and brain as well, Then calmly turned my heaven to hell, And spumed my prayer. Ah ! yes, they haunt me even now, Those cruel eyes, that regal brow — I shudder on remembering how I lived her slave 7 But that was years, long years ago, And now ray hair is white as snow ; With feeble tottering steps and slow, I near the grave ! 328 AN OLD-FASHIONED LOVE SONG. Faiker than thee, beloved, Fairer than thee — There is but one thing, beloved, Fairer than thee. Not the glad sun, beloved. Bright though it beams- Net the green earth, beloved, Silver with streams — Not the gay birds, beloved, Happy and free, Tet there's one thing, beloved, Fairer than thee. Not the clear day, beloved, Glowing with light : Not fairer still, beloved. Star crownfed night. Truth in her might, beloved, Grand in her sway — Truth with her eyes, beloved, Clearer than day. Holy and pure, beloved. Spotless and free, Is the one thing, beloved, Fairer than thee. Guard well thy soul, beloved, Truth dwelling there, Shall shadow forth, beloved. Her image rare. Then shall I deem, beloved. That thou art she, And there'll be nought, beloved. Fairer than thee. COME AWAY, COME, SWEET LOVE. Come away, come, sweet Love ! The golden morning breaks ; All the earth, all the air. Of love and pleasure speaks. Teach thine arms, then, to embrace. And sweet rosy lips to kiss, And mix our souls in mutual blis •. Eyes were made for beauty's grace, Viewing, rueing. Love's long paiu. Procured by beauty's rude disdain. Come away, come, sweet Love ! The golden morning wastes ; While the sun from the sphere His fiery arrows casts ; Making all the shadows fly ; Playing, staying in the grove. To entertain the stealth of love. Thither, sweet love, let us hie : Flying, dying, in desire. Winged with sweet hopes and heavenly fire. Come away, come, sweet love ! Do not in vain adorn Beauty's grace, that should rise, Like to the naked morn. Lilies on the river's side, And fair Cyprian flowers new blown. Desire no beauties but their own. Ornament is nurse of pride ; Pleasure measures Love's delight, Haste, tben, sweet Love ! our wished flight. About 1600. DAMETUS— HIS JIGGB IN PEAISE OF HIS LOVP. Jolly shepherd, shepherd on a hill. On a hill so merrily, On a hill so cherrily. Fear not, shepherd, there to pipe thy fill, Fill every dale, fill every plain. Both sing and say. Love feels no pain. 330 LOVE ME LTTTLE—LOVE ME LONG. Jolly sheplierd, shepherd on a green, On a green so merrily, On a green so cherrily, Be thy voice shrill, be thy mirth seen, Heard to each swain, seen to each tvul], Both sing and say, Love's joy is t'nll. Jolly shepherd, shepherd in the sun, In the sun so merrily.. In the sun so cherrily, Sing forth thy songs, and let thy rhymes run, Down to the dales, to the hills above. Both sing and say, no life like Love ! Jolly shepherd, shepherd in the shade, In the shade so merrily, In the shade so cherrily, Joy in thy life, life of shepherd's trade, Joy in thy love, love full of glee. Both sing and say, sweet Love for me ! Jolly shepherd, here or there. Here or there so merrily, Here or there so cherrily. Or in thy chat, or at thy cheer. In every jigge, in every lay, Both sing and say, Love lasts for aye ! LOVE ME LITTLE— LOVE ME LONG. Love me little — love me long, Is the bnrden of my song, Love that is too hot and strong Burneth soon to waste. Still I would not have thee cold, Not too backward or too bold ; Love that lasteth till 'tis old Fadeth not in haste. If thou lovest me too much, It will not prove as true as touch ; Love me little, more than such, For I fefir tho end. TILL DEATE I SYLVIA MUST ABOi:: I am with little well coiitpnt, And a little frotn thee sent Is enough with true intent, To be steadfast friend. Say then lov'at me while thou live, 1 to thee my love will give, Never dreaming to deceive While that life endures : Nay, and after death, in sooth, I to thee will keep my truth, As now, when in my JMay of youth, This my love assures. Constant love is moderate ever. And it will through life persever ; Give me that, with true endeavour I will it restore. A suit of durance let it be, For all weathers ; that for me, For the land or for the sea, Lasting evermore. Winter's cold or summer's heat, Autumn's tempest on it beat. It can never know defeat, Never can rebel. Such the love that 1 would gain, Such the love I tell thee plain. Thou must give, or woo in vain ; So to thee farewell. 1670. TILL DEATH I SYLVIA MUST ADOBE. Till death I Sylvia must adore ; No time my freedom can restore ; For though her rigour makes me smart. Yet when I try to free my heart, Straight all my senses take her part. And when against the cruel maid I call my reason to my aid ; By that, alas ! I plainly see That nothing lovely is but she ; And reason captivates me more, Than all my senses did before. 1726. UXHArPY LOVE. I SEE slie flies me everywhere, Her eyes her scorn discover ; But what's her scorn, or my despair. Since 'tis my fate to love her ? AVere she but kind whom I adore, I might live longer, but not love her more. 1726. LOVE KOT ME. Love not me for comely grace. For my pleasing eye or face. Nor for any outward part, No, nor for my constant heart ; For those may fail or turn to ill. So thou and I shall sever ; Keep therefore a true woman's eye. And love me still, but know not why— So hast thou the same reason still To dote upon me ever. FORGET-ME-NOT. To flourish in my favourite bower, To blossom round my cot, I cultivate the little flower They call Forget-me-Not. It springs where Avon gently flows In wild simplicity ; And 'neath my cottage-window grows. Sacred to love and thee. This pretty little floweret's dye Of soft cerulean blue, Appears as if from Ellen's eye It had received its hue. Though oceans now betwixt us roar, Though distant be our lot, Ellen ! though we should meet no more. Sweet maid, Forget-me-Not. 333 SONG OF AN ARABIAN GIRL. Ah ! would I were iu Araby ! For every splendour here 1 see Is far less lovely — far less fair Thau Nature's simplest treasures there. There, 'mid the burning desert's waste, The crystal fount how sweet to taste ; The cooling, shade of palmy tree How welcome in bright Araby. There the fierce sun shoots from his ray A blaze of glory o'er the day ; And moon and stars at soothing night Shed beams of softer, holier light. But, ah ! beyond e'eu charms like these. An Arab maiden's heart to please. My love is there ! — to him I'd flee, And live and die in Araby. THE INDIAN LOVER'S SONG. Hasten, love ! the sun hath set, And the moon, through twilight, gleaming. On the mosque's white minaret Now in silver light is streaming. All is hushed in soft repose, SUeuoe rests on field and dwelling. Save where the bulbul* to the rose A tale of love is sweetly telling. Stars are glittering in the sky. Blest abodes of light and gladness ; Oh ! my life ! that thou and I Might quit for them this world of sadness. See the fire-fly in the topef Brightly through the darkness shining. As the ray which heavenly hope Flashes on the soul's repining. Indian niglitingale. f Grove, or thick cluster of trees. 334 SONd OF THE FllEE LAXCES. Then haste ! bright treasure of my heart ! Flowers abound, and stars above thee, Alone must see us meet and part, Alone must witness how 1 love theo. SONa OF THE FREE LANCES. In the Middle Ages, Froobootera, so called, and aiknowledging n certain obedience to tUe laws of chivalry, abounded in many European couuti'ies. With a prancing steed, and a sword of proof. And a lance of five good ells, And a garment tough of iron woof, 'Neath the sky the Free Lance dwells. He wins his prize by the dint of arms — The Suzerain doth the same — Then, proud steed, prance 'neath the bold Free Lance, "Who reaps in the field of fame ! Let velvet knights, at the tournament, For the bright-eyed glance contend ; Let dullards the turbans charge among For fame in the Holy Land : 'Tis ours to seek for the golden prize, And tribute boldly claim ; Then, proud steed, prance 'neath the bold Free Lance, Who reaps in the field of fame ! From the Baron bold and the Burgher proud, All bloated up with wealth, We take but a part, as the leech lets blood, To reduce the frame to health ! But fat, sleek abbots and fr^res to make As Apostles poor we aim ; Then, proud steed, prance 'neatli the bold Free Lance, Who reaps in the field of fame ! And while against haughty men we war. To chivah-y's precepts true ; A flower of beauty we scorn to mar, Nor, save in honour, woo. Oh, crushed by some craven lance be he. Who would harm a tender dame ; Then, proud steed, prance 'neath the bold Free Lance, As he reaps in the field of fame ! 335 THE TINKER'S SONG. Prom a collection of tbe date of 1667. Eeprinted iu Mr. Mackay's interesting anthology of the songs and ballads of the London 'Prentices. Have you any work for a tinker, mistress ? Old brass, old pots, or kettles ? I'll mend them all with a tink, merry tink, And never hurt your metals ; First let me have but a touch of your ale, 'Twill steel me 'gainst cold weather. Or tinkers' frees. Or vintners' lees, Or tobacco, chuse you whether. But of your ale. Tour nappy ale, I would I had a firkin, For I am old, And very cold. And never wear a jerkin. COMB TO THE MAY-POLE. This song first appeared in " Westminster Drollery ; a choice collection of the newest songs and poems. London, 1672." It has long been a great favourite with the rustic population of England, and the words of it are said to be still sold in Seven Dials. Come, lasses and lads, get leave of your dads, And away to the May-pole hie. For every fair has a sweetbeart there. And the fiddler's standing by. For WiUie shall dance with Jane, And Johnny has got his Joan, To trip it, trip it, trip it, trip it. Trip it np and down. " Strike np,'' says Wat — " Agreed/' says Matt, " And I prithee, fiddler, play ;" " Content," says Hodge, and so says Madge, For this is a holiday. Then every lad did doff His hat unto his lass. And every girl did curtsey, curtsey, Curtsey on the grass. 3^6 GOME TO THE MAY-POLE. " Begin," says Hal— "Ay, ay," says Mall, "We'll lead up Pachmgton's Pound ;" " No, no," says Noll, and so says Doll, " We'll first have SelUnger's Bound." Then every man began To foot it round about. And every girl did jet it, jet it, Jet it in and out. " You're out," says Dick—" Not I," says Nick, " 'Twas the fiddler played it wrong ;" " 'Tis true," says Hugh, and so says Sue, And so says every one. The fiddler then began To play the tune again, And every girl did trip it, trip it, Trip it to the men. " Let's kiss," says Jane — " Content," says Nan, And so says every she ; "How many?" says Batt — "Why, three," says Matt, " For that's a maiden's fee." The men, instead of three. Did give them half a score. The maids in kindness, kindness, kindness, Gave them as many more. Then, after an hour, they went to a bower, And played for ale and cakes, And kisses too, — untU they were due The lasses held the stakes. The girls did then begin To quarrel with the men. And bade them take their kisses back, And give them their own again. Now there they did stay the whole of the day, And tired the fiddler quite. With dancing and play, without any pay, From morning until night. They told the fiddler then They'd pay him for his play, Then each a twopence, twopence, twopence, Gave him and went away. BOBm ABAIB. 83? "Good-night!" says Harry — "Good-night!" says Mary, "Good-night!" says Dolly to John ; "Good-night!" says Sue to her sweetheart Hugh, "Good-night!" says every one. Some walked and some did run. Some loitered on the way, And bound themselves by kisses twelve To meet ths next holiday. EOBIN ADAIR. Welcome on shore again, Eobin Adair 1 Welcome once more again, Eobin Adair ! I feel thy trembling hand ; Tears in thy eyelids stand, To greet thy native land, Eobin Adair ! Long I ne'er saw thee, love, Eobin Adair ! Still I prayed for thee, love, Eobin Adair ! When thou wert far at sea. Many made love to me, But still I thought on thee, Eobin Adair ! Come to my heart again, Eobin Adair ! Never to part again, Eobin Adair ! And if thou still art true, I will be constant too. And will wed none but you, Bobin Adair ! 338 SONG. Air — " I've been roaming." Stately towers ! Blissful hours I have passed beneaili your stade, When the flowers in your bowers Bloomed as though they ne'er could fade. Mouldering ruin ! Time is strewing Mosses o'er thy grey-bleached head, While the pattering leaves kre scattering Autumn s trophies o'er the dead. Falling towers ! Vanished hours Left ye old and found me young ; O'er your bowers fate now lowers, Silence dwells ybiiir halls attiong. Lofty towers ! Eitigly powers Met your buttressed walls within ; Through your portals proudest mortals Strode to join the battle's din. Crumbled arches ! Ruin marches O'er your pride of carved stone; Your foundation desolation Chooses for her silent throne- Fallen towers ! Peaceful hours Still I spend your courts among ; Bank weed flowers choke your bowers ; But each fragment has a tongue ! THE LAKE IS AT REST. The lake is at rest, love, The sun's on its breast, love ; How bi'ight is its water, how pleasant to see ! Its verdant banks showing The richest flowers blowing — A picture of bliss, and an emblem of thee. TEE FINE OLD ENGLISH GENTLEMAN. 339 Then oh ! fairest maiden, When earth is arra,yed in The beauties of heaveii, o'er iiibuhtain and lea ; Let me still delight in The glories that brighten, For they are, dear AhnS,, ^weet embleffi^ of thee. But, Anna ! why teddeh ? I would Hot, fair maiden. My tongue could pronounce what might tend to betray The traitor ; the demon Who could deceive woman. His soul's all unfit for the glories of day. Believe me then; fairest, To me thou art dearest ; And though 1 in raptures view lake, stream, and tree — ■ With flower-blooming mountains, And crystalline fountains, I view them, fair maid, but as emblems of thee. THE FINE OLD ENGLISH GENTLEMAN. This song is modelled lippn the exoellent ballad of " The Old and Young Courtier." I't.l sing you a good old song, Made by a good old pate, Of a fine old English gentleman Who had an old estate. And who kept up his old mansion At a bountiful old rate ; With a good old porter to relieve The old poor at his gate. Like a fine old English gentleman, All of the olden time. His hall so old was hang around, With pikes, and guns, and bows. And swords, Eihd good old bucklers Thttt had stood against old foes ; 'Twas there " his worship" sat in state. In doublet and trunk hose, Ahd quaffed his cujj of good old sack, To warm his good old nose. Like a fine, &o. z2 340 TEE LAND, BOYS, WE LIVE IN. When winter's cold brought frost and snow, He opened house to all ; And though threescore and ten his years, IIj featly led the ball ; Nor was the houseless wanderer E'er driven from his hall ; For while he feasted all the great, He ne'er forgot the small. Like a fine, &c. But time, though sweet, is strong in flight, And years roll swiftly by ; And autumn's falUng leaves proclaimed The old man — ^he must die ! He laid him down right tranquilly. Gave up his latest sigh ; And mournful stillness reigned around. And tears bedewed each eye. For this good, &c. Now surely this is better far Than all the new parade Of theatres and fancy balls, " At home" and masquerade ; And much more economical, For all his bills were paid ; Then leave your new vagaries quite. And take up the old trade Of a fine old Enghsh gentleman, &c. THE LAND, BOYS, "WE LIVE EN. Since our foes to invade us have long been preparing, 'Tis clear they consider we've something worth sharing. And for that mean to visit our shore ; It behores us, however, with spirit to meet them. And though 'twill be nothing uncommon to beat them. We must try how they'll take it once more. So fill, fill your glasses, be this the toast given — Here's England for ever, the land, boys, we live in ! So fill, fill your glasses, be this the toast given — Here's England for ever, huzza ! OH! FIRM AS OAK. 341 Here's a health to our tars on the wide ocean ranging. Perhaps even now some broadsides are exchanging — We'll on shipboard and join in the fight ; And when with the foe we are firmly engaging. Till the fire of our guns lulls the sea in its raging, On oar country we'U think with delight : So fill, fill your glasses, &c. On that throne where once Alfred in glory was seated. Long, long, may our Queen by her people be greeted ; Oh ! to guard her we'U be of one mind. May religion, law, order, be strictly defended. And continue the blessings they first were intended, In union the nation to bind ! So fill, fill your glasses, &c. OH! FIEM AS OAK. Oh ! firm as oak, and free from care. The sailor holds his heart at sea. If she he loves his cabin share. And Cupid page to Neptune be. Come night's deep noon, and ne'er a moon. Nor star aloft a watch to keep, The tar can be gay as landsmen in day, With a cheering glass and a smiling lass. While boon the wind blows, And smooth the tide flows. And the ship steady goes. Still steady, steady, steady, Through the boundless deep. When wintry gales blow bleak alarms. In turn he mounts the chilly deck ; But watch relieved, his Susan's charms All thoughts but those of pleasure check. Come night's deep noon, and ne'er a moon, Nor star aloft a watch to keep, The tar can be gay as landsmen in day. With a cheering glass and a smiling lass. While boon the wind blows. And smooth the tide flows. And the ship steady goes, Still steady, steady, steady. Through the boundless deep. 342 00MB, BUSTLE, BUSTLE. Come, bustle, bustle, drink about, And let us merry be ; Our can is full, we'll see it out. And then all hands to sea. And a sailing we will go, will go ; And a sailing we will go. Fine miga at dancing school is taught The minuet to tread ; But we go better when we've brought The fore-tack to cathead. And a sailing, &c. The jockey's called 1:0 horse, to horse. And swiftly rides the race ; But swifter far we shape our course When we are giving chase. And a sailing, &c. When horns and shouts the forest rend, The pack the huntsmen chegr. As loud we holloa when we send A broadside to Mounseer. And a sailing, &c. With gold and silver streamers fine. The ladies' rigging show ; But English ships more grandly ghine. When prizes home we tow. And a sailing, &c. What's got at sea we spend on shore With sweethearts and with wives. And then, my boys, hoist sail for more ; Thus sailors pass their lives. And a sailing. they do go, do go ; And a saiHng they do go. 1782. 143 A SONGS OF A FINE SKOTT. "A ssitire levelled against the numerous train of Scotch adventurprs who emigrated to England in the reign of James the First, in the in\l expeptfjtiou of being distinguished by the particular favour and patronage of their niltivo sovereign. So much, indeed, was the king annoyed with these suppliants, that he issued a proclamation at Edinburgh, dated 10th of May, 1610, stating, that the daily resort of idle Bpr^onSj of b^sp, sort and condition, was not only veiy unpleasaut and offensive to his Majesty, since he was daily importuned with their guits aud ■ begging, and his royal Court almost fUled with them, (they being, in the conceit of i3l beholders, but 'idle rascals and poor miserable bodies,') but their country was heavily disgraced by it, and many slanderous imputations given out against the same, aa if there were no persons ' of good rank, comeliness, or credit within it;* therefore it' was ordered that no captains of ships should transport any passenger to England without license of the Privy Council." — The Mirror, May 22nd, 1824. , . . The above is a note introductory to " Joclcie is gro^eni 9, Gentleman," published from Collets "Eelics of Literature," but we have chosen " The Songg of a, Pine Skott," as given also in The Mirr&r, which appears more likely to be frpin the original than that given by Collet, and regarding which is the following explana- tion, " extracted verbatim et literatim from the MS. diary of a Mr. John Sanderson, an English merchant, who, in the reign of Elizabeth, resided for many years in the East, as factor for the Turkey Company ; he returned to England in 16Q2, and his diary, which embraces a period of fifty years, 1560 to 16lti, is an interestirig" com- pendium of amusement and information, and is preserved an^ong the Lansdown M6S. in the British Museum At the top of the leaf which contains the ballad, he has written, 'A Songe of a Fine Skott, given me by Sir H. Boyer.' This, from its place in the MS., was probably in 1607, but there is no date on the page. "How now, Joky — whither awaye?— a woiirjis or t^fje, I pray thee staye— For thow arte in thy rich araye — moste like a gallai).t freshe and gaye. By my Pay — apd by Saipt .^nn, Joky will prove a d-entillman. " The Showes thow had on, when thow went to Plowe, was made of the Hide of some oiilde Oowe, la turned to Spanish Leather nowe — bedeot with Eosea I knows not howe. By my Fay, &o. " Thy Stockinges made of the Northern hewe — which scarce cost xijd. beinge newe. Is turned nowe to Silken blewe — which semeth strainge untoe my vewe. By my Fay, &o. " Thy Garters made of the List full graye— which yow from the Taylor didst s|;elo eche daye, ; ■, ^ Is turned nowe to Silke full gaye— with Tassells of Gould and Silver I says. By my Fay, &c. 344 4 80NGE OF A FINE 8E0TT. "Thy Hose and thy Dublctt, which were full playne— to weare would cause a beggar payne — . la turned nowe, well fare thy braine— that can by beggmge, this maintayne. _ By my Fay, &c. "Thy Jerkin made of the Northern Gray— which thowhast wore this manie a daye, •■ • -en Ib turned nowe to Spruce full gay — more sweeter than the Flowers m Maye, ^ By my Fay, &c. " Thy Gerdill made of the whitt-lether-whange— which thow hast wore who knows how lange. Is turned nowe to Velvett strange, imbrathered with Gould and Fearles amange. By my Fay, &c. "Thy Band, which thou didst use to weare — which scarce was washed iii times a yeare, Is turned nowe to Gambrioke clere — ^^with broad Bone Lace up to the Fare. By my Fay, &c. " Thy blewe Bonnet when thow came hether — which kept thy Pate from winde and wether, Is throwne away, and who can tell whether — and thou arte in thy Bonnet and Fether. By my Fay, &c. " The Breakfast thow gott every daye — was but Pease bread and kele fall graye. Is turned nowe to chere full gaye — served to thy Tabel in rich arraye. By my Fay, Ac. " Thy Diner thow gott at xii a clock — ^for wante of Meate went twise to the Pott, Is turned nowe — most happie lott — that such good luck lightii on a Skott. By my Fay, &c. ^'When Super time did come at night — yow wonte to bedd with Stomach lighte. But nowe a second course in sighte — is seene uppon thy Tabel righte. By my Fay, Ac. sow STANDS TEE GLASS ABOUND, 345 " Butt yf this happ doe still indure — Inglande att lengthe will growe Ml poore, Therefore, good Kinge, graunt them no more — for it afflicts thy subjects sore. Tf this be trewe — by Sweet St. Ann, Joky will be noe GentUlmau." HOW STANDS THE GLASS AEOUND? It is said that this song was sung by General Wolfe, the night before the battle of Quebec. How stands the glass around ? Por shame, ye take no care, by boys ! How stands the glass around ? Let mirth and wine abound ! The trumpets sound, The colours flying are, my boys. To fight, kill, or wound ; May we still be found Content with our hard fare, my boys, On the cold ground ! Why, soldiers, why Should we be melancholy, boys ? Why, soldiers, why, Whose business 'tis to die ? What, sighing? fie! Shun fear, drink on, be jolly, boys ! 'Tis he, you, or I, Cold, hot, wet, or dry. We're always bound to follow, boys. And scorn to fly. 'Tis but in vain (I mean not to upbraid you, boys), 'Tis but in vain For soldiers to complain ; Should next campaign Send us to Him that made us, boys. We're free from pain ; But should we remain, A bottle and kind landlady Cures all again. 3i6 A POT OF GOOD ALB. An Old English Song, 1661. The poor man will praise it, so hath he good cause. That all the year eats neither partridge nor quail, But sets up his nest, and makes up his feast With a crust of brown bread and a pot of good ale. And the good old clerk, whose sight waxeth dark. And ever he thinks the print is \op small. He will see every letter, arid say service better. If he glaze but his eyes vnth a pot of good ale. The poet divine, that cannot reach wine, Because that his money doth many times fail. Will hit on the vein to make a good strain. If he be but inspired with a pot of good ale. A KNAPSAOK ANB| A CHEEEFUL HEART. We soldiers drink, we soldiers sing. We fight our foes, loye Queen or King ; While all our wealth two wor(is impart, A knapsack and a qheerful heart. While the merry, merry fife and drum. Bid intruding care be ilumb ; Sprightly stfll we sing and play. And make dull life a holi4ay. Though we march, or though we halt. Or though the enemy we assault ; Though we're cold, or though we're warm, Or though the sleeping town we storm. Still the merry, merry fife and drum, &c. Are lasses kind, or are they shy. Or do they pout they know not why ? While fuU the knapsack, light the heart, Content we meet, content we part. For the merry, merry fife and drum, Ac. We sigh not for the toils of State — We ask not of the rich or great ; For be we rich, or be we poor. Are purses full, or duns at dooi". Still the merry, merry fife and drum, &c. A 80LDTEB, A SQLDIER FOB ME. ' 347 Thus we drink, and thus we sing ; We beat our foes, Ifivq Queen or -King, While all our wealth two words impart, A knapsack ancl a cheerful heart. "- For the merry, merry fife and drum Bid intruding care be dyinib ; Sprightly still -yg sjng an)J play, And make dull life a holiday. A SOLDIER, A SOLDIER FOR ME. A SOLDIER, a soldier, a soldier for me^ His arms are so bright, And he looks so upright, So gallant and gay When he trips it away, , Who is so nice and well-powdered as he ? Sing rub a dub rub ; a dub rab a dub ; a dub a dub dhb dub ; Thunder and plunder ! A soldier, a soldier, a soldier for me. Each morn when we see him upon the parade, He cuts such a flash. With his gorget and sash, And makes such ado, ; With his gaiter and queue. Sleeping or waking, who need be afraid ? Sing rub a dub, &c. Or else when he's mounted, so trim and so tall. With broadsword in hand, The whole town to command. Such capers, such prances. Such ogling, such glances. Our hearts g^llpp off, and are left at Whitehall. Sing taran tantaran ;' tantfiran tanturan tan — Trumpet and thu?r(p it — A soldier, a soldier, a. soldigr fc)r me ! A soldier, &c. 1786. 348 SUSSEX WHISTLING SONG. This is a countryman's whistling song, a great favourite, and very old. The tune is " Lillibulero," and is sung in this fashion : — The first line of each verse is given as a solo, the tune is then taken up by a chorus of whistlers, who execute fliat portion of the air which would be sung to the words " LillibiJero buUen a la ;" the singer then goes on with the tune, and completes the vei-se, the strain being again takeu up and concluded by the whistlers. This song is the " traditionary verses" upon which Bums founded his " Carle of KiUybm-n Braes." There was an old farmer in Sussex did dwell, ^Choi-US of whistlers.'] There was an old farmer in Sussex did dwell. And he had a bad wife, as many knew well. [_Ohoi'ns of whistlers.'] Then Satan came to the old man at the plough, " One of your family I must have now ; It is not your eldest sou that I crave, But it is your old wife, and she I will have." " O welcome, good Satan, with all my heart, I hope you and she will never more part." Now Satan has got the old wife on nis back. And he lugged her along like a pedlar's pack. He trudged away till he came to his hall gate. Says he, " Here take in an old Sussex chap's mate !" 0, then she did kick the young imps about. Says one to the other, " Let's try turn her out." She spied thirteen imps all dancing in chains. She up with her pattens, and beat out their brains. She knocked the old Satan against the wall, " Let's try turn her out, or she'll murder us all." Now he bundled her upon his back amain. And to her old husband he took her again ; "I have been a torai enter the whole of my life. But I ne'er was tormented till I met with your wife." IN THE SEASON OP THE YBAE. When I was bound apprentice In famous Lincolnshire, Full well I served my master For more than seven year ; Till I took up to poaching. As you shall quickly hear. Oh ! it's my delight on a shiny night, In the season of the year. OLD TOWLEB. 849 As me and my oomslrade Were setting of a snare, 'Twas then we spied the gamekeeper — For him we did not care ; For we can wrestle and fight, my boys, And jump o'er anywhere — For it's my delight on a shiny night, In the season of the year. As me and my comarade Were setting four or fire. And taking of 'em up again, We caught the hare alive ; We took the hare alive, my boys, And through the woods did steer — Oh ! it's my delight on a shiny night, In the season of the year. We threw him o'er onr shoulders. And then we trudged home ; We took him to a neighbour's house, And sold him for a crown ; We sold him for a crown, my boys, But I did not tell you where — Oh ! it's my deUght on a shiny night, In the season of the year. Success to every gentleman That lives in Lincolnshire, Success to every honest lad. May he not lack good cheer. And I must be a gamekeeper. And poachers then may fear — For it's my delight on a shiny night, In the season of the year. OLD TOWLBR. Bright chanticleer proclaims the dawn, And spangles deck the thorn, The lowing nerds now quit the lawn. The lark springs from the corn j 360 HEBE'S TO THE KING, SIB. Dogs, huntsmen, round the window throng, . Fleet Towler leads the cry. Arise the burden of my songj— This day n stag must die. With a hey, ho, chevy ! Hark forward, hart forward, tantivy ! Hart ! hark ! tantivy ! This day a stag must die. The cordial takes its merry routid, The laugh and joke prevail, The huntsman blows a jovial sound. The dogs snuff up the gale ; The Upland wUds they sweep along. O'er fields through brakes they fly ; The game is roused ; too true the song— This day a stag must die, With a hey, ho, &c. Poor stag ! the dogs thy haunches gore. The tears run down thy face, The huntsman's pleasure is no more. His joys were in the chase ; Alike the generous sportsman burns To win the blooming fair. But yet he honours each by turns, They each become his care. With a hey, ho, &c. HEKE'S TO THE KING, SIR,' Here's to the King, sir ! Ye ken wha I mean, sir ! And to every honest man. That will do't again. FUl, fill your bumpers high ; Drain, diain your glasses dry ; Out upon him ! fie ! oh, fie ! That winna do't again. Here's to the chieftains Of the gallant Highland clans ! They hae done it mail- nor ance, Aid will do't again. Pill, fill, &o. TEE VICAR OF BBAY. 351 When yoii hear the trumpet's sound Tuttie taitie to the drums ; Up wi' swords and down your guns. And to the loons again. Fill, fill, &c. Here's to the £ing o' Swede ! Fresh laurels crown his head ! Shame fa' every sneaking blade. That winna do't again ! FiU, fill, &c. But to make a' things right, now He that drinks maun fight, too. To show his heart's upright, too. And that he'll do't again ! FUl, fill, &c. THE VIOAE OF BEAY. The village of Bray, in Berkshire, was celebrated for the vacillation of prin- ciples displayed by one of its incumbents, and " The Ticar of Bray" has now become a proverMal expression for a man who can alter his opinions and views so as to snit the times. According to Thomas Puller, the Vicar of Bray retained his living under Henry VIII., Edward VI., Mary, and Elizabeth, being first a Papist, then a Protestant, then a Papist, then a Protestant again. This song is supposed to have been written by a soldier in Colonel Fuller's troop of dragoons, in the reign of George L In good King Charles's golden days. When loyalty no harm meant, A zealous high Churchman I was. And so I got preferment : To teach my flocks I never missed, Kings are by God appointed ; And damned are those that do resist. Or touch the Lord's anointel. And this is law I will r, aintain Until my dying day, sii', That whatsoever king shall reign, I'll be the Vicar of Bray, sir. When royal James obtained the crown, And Popery came in fashion, The penal laws I hooted down, And read the Declaration ; 352 THE riOAB OF BBAY. Tie Churcli of Kome I found would fit Full well my constitution : And had become a Jesuit But for the Bevolution, And this is law, &c. When William was our King declared. To ease the nation's grievance, With this new wind about I steered. And swore to him allegiance ; Old principles I did revoke, Set conscience at a distance ; Passive obedience was a joke, A jest was non-resistance. And this is law, &c. When gracious Anne became our queen. The Church of England's glory, Another face of things was seen. And I became a Tory : Occasional conformists base, I damned their moderation. Although the Church in danger was By such prevarication. And this is law, &c. When George in pudding-time came o'er, And moderate men looked big, sir, I turned a cat-in-pan once more. And so became a Whig, sir. And thus preferment I procured, From our new faith's defender ; And almost every day abjured The Pope and the Pretender. And this is law, &o. Th' illustrious House of Hanover And Protestant succession. To these I do allegiance swear — While they can Keep possession : For in my faith and loyalty I never more will falter. And George my lawful king shall be — Until the times do alter. And this is law, &c. 363 I MET TWA CROlSnBS. I MET twa cronies late yestreen Wham bljtLe I've aft been wi' ; And ilka mind soon felt inclined To taste the barley -bree : We sat sae late, a,nd drank sae deep, That roarin' fou' gat we ; And haith ! I found, when I gaed hame. My wife had ta'en the gee. AH lanely by the fire she sat. Her brows hung owre her e'e ; And wistful hushed she aye the bairn. Though sleeping on her knee — I saw the storm was masking 'fast, That soon wad fa' on me ; Sae quietly slipt I aff to bed. And left her in the gee. Neist day her looks were sour and sad. And ne'er a word spak she ; But aye the tear-drap gathered big, And dimmed her bonnie e'e : Quo' I, " My dear, what's past let gang, And frown nae mair on me. The like again I'll never do, Gin ye'U ne'er tak' the gee !" When this she heard, her brows she raised, And down beside me sat ; I kissed her, for her heart was fu'. And, puir wee thing ! she grat : Quo' she, " Gin ye'll but keep your word, And bide at hame wi' me — Hae, there's my han', that, while I Jiye, I'll never tak' the gee !" Then let us ca', and pay our drap. And toddle while we do ; For gin we drink anither bowl We'E a' get roarin' fou' ; My wifie's smile is aye sae kind, When blythe or pleased is she. To anger her wad be a sin, Or gar her tak' the gee ! A A 354 THE AULD MJlN'S LAMENT, My Beltane o' life and my gay days are gane, And now I am feckless and dowie alane : And my Lammas o' life, wi' its wearifa' years, Like Lammasy has brouglit me its floods and its tears. Enll threescore and ten years the gowan has spread, Since first o'er the greensward wi' light foot I sped; And threescore and ten times the blnehells Hae blawn, Since to pu' them I first spankit blyth^ o'er the lawn. The bnm-banks.I lo'ed when a callan to range. And the ferny clad braes, a' seem eerie and strange ; The bnm seems less clear, and the lift nae sae bine, But its aibhns my auld een that diana tell true. The mates o' my yonng days are a' wede awa', Thej are missed in the meadow and missed in the shaw ; Like the swallows, they've fled when yonth's warm days are gane, And I'm left like a winged aue a' winter alane. It seems short to look back since my Peggy was young. Then bonnie she lenkit, and blythely she sung ; But my Peggy has left me, and gane wi' the lave, And the night-wind moans dreary o'er Peggy's lone grave. See yon aged hawthorn that bends o'er the bnm ! Its wind-scattered blossoms can never return ; They are swept to the sea, o'er the wild roarin' linn. Like my friends wha hae flourished and died ane by ane. A' BODY'S LIKE TO BE MARRIED BUT MB. As Jenny sat down wi' her wheel by the fire. An' thocht o' the time that was fast fleein' by 'er. She said to hersel' wi' a heavy hoch hie. Oh ! a' body's like to be mariied but me. My youthfu' companions are a' worn awa'. And though I've had lovers mysel' ane or twa. Yet a lad to my mind I ne'er coxdd yet see. Oh ! a' body's like to be married but me. / BOW WEEL, MY BOATIE. 855 There's Lowrie, the lawyer, would ha'e me fu' fain. Who has baith a house and a yard o' his ain : But before I'd gang to it I rather wad die, A wee stumpin' body ! he'll never get me. There's Dickey, my cousin, frae Lunnun cam' down, Wi' fine yellow buskins that dazzled the town ; But, puir deevil, he got ne'er a blink o' my e'e. Oh ! a' body's like to be married but me. But I saw a lad by yon saiighie burn-side, Wha weel wad deserve ony queen for his bride; Gin I had my will sune his ain I would be, Oh ! a' body's like to be married but me. I gied him a look, as a kind lassie should. My frien's, if they kenned it, would surely run mad ; For tho' bonnie and guid, he's no worth a bawbee. Oh ! a' body's Hke to be married but rue. 'Tis hard to tak' shelter behint a laigh dyke, 'Tis hard to tak' ane that we never wad like, 'Tis hard tae to leave ane we fain wad be wi', Tet it's harder that a' should be married but me. 1802. EOW WEEL, MT BOATIE. Bow weel, my boatie, row weel, Row weel, my merry men a', Tor there's dool and there's wae in Glenfiorich's bowers. And there's grief in my father's ha'. And the skiff it danced light on the merry wee waves. And it flew ower the water sae blue, And the wind it blew light, and the moon it shone bright, But the boatie ne'er reached AUandhu. Ohon ! for fair Ellen, ohon ! Ohon ! for the pride of Stra,thcoe — In the deep, deep sea, in the salt, salt bree. Lord Reooh, thy Ellen lies low. 1816. aa2 856 DESTNA FORGET. O DINNA forget, lassie, dinna forget, Let's baitli look wi' joy to the day that we met ; Tho' it's lang, lang sinsyne, an' sorrow's been mine, Te're ne'er been forgotten, sae dinna forget. Do ye min' on the bumie that steals thro' the heather, Whaur ye sat on ae side an' me on the ither ? What our young hearts thocht then, after years canna ken, But we soon sat on ae side — sae dinna forget. Oauld, cauld's been the warld, an' far o'er 't I've been, Sin' the last time we parted wi' tears i' our een ; But amidst a' my cares ye've been aye i' my prayers — Te've ne'er been forgotten, sae dinna forget. To Him that watched o'er us our thanks let us blend, As we've lang been His care, may it last till the end ; Where life's morning arose we may see the day close ; Te've ne'er been forgotten — sao dinna forget. CAEGEN WATEB.. Nae mair in Cargen's woody glens. And rocky streams I'll lonely stray. Or where, meandering through the plains. It winds amang the meadows gay : Nae mair, slow wandering down its side, The sweet primroses I will pu' ; Nae mair amang the hazels hide. And bid the noisy world adieu. Nae mair beneath the spreading trees That shade its banks I'll roam along. To hear, soft swelling on the breeze. The hnnet tune its sweetest song : Nae mair, when gloamin' hides the hill, And thickening shades invade the glen, I'll hear its murmurs, slow and still, Far frae the busy haunts of men. Nae mair wi' gamesome youthfn' glee I'll sport yon lofty woods amang, Or view the distant swelling sea. Its foaming surges sweep alang. AN' THOU WEBE MY AIN THING. 367 Though distant far I lonely stray. And .heavy griefs my bosom, swell, On these fair scenes of life's young day Yet memory fondly loves to dwell ! WOULD TOU CHOOSE A WIPE. Would you choose a vrife for a happy life j Leave the court, and the country take, Where Susan and Doll, and Nancy and Moll, Follow Harry and John, whilst harvest goes on, And merrily, merrily rake. Leave the London dames — ^be it spoke to their shames - To lie in their beds tiU noon, Then get up and stretch, then pailit, too, and patch. Some widgeon to catch, then look to their watch, And wonder they rose up so soon. Then coffee and tea, both green and bohea,, ; Is served to their tables in plate ; Where their tattles do run as swift as the sun, Of what they have won, and who is undone, By their gaming and sitting up late. The lass give me here, though brov/n as my boer, That knows how to govern her house ; That can milk her cow, or farrow her sow. Make batter or cheese, or gather green peaa. And values fine clothes not a sous. This is the girl, worth rubies and pearl ; This is the wife that will make a ma» rich : We gentlemen need no quality breed To squander away what taxes would pay, In troth we care for none such. About 1740. AN' THOU WERE MY AIN THING. An' thou were my ain thing, Oh, I would lo'e thee, I would lo'e thee ; An' thou were my ain thing. How dearly would I lo'e thee ! 358 WITHIN A MILE OF EDINBUBGH TOUK Then I would clasp thee in my armB, Then I'd secure thee from all harms, For above all mortal thou hast charms — • How dearly do I lo'e thee. An' thou were, &c. Of race divine, thou needs must be, Since nothing earthly equals thee ; So I must still presumptuous be, To show how much I lo'e thee ! An' thou were, &o. The gods one thing peculiar have, To ruin none whom they can save ; Oh ! for their sake support a slave, Who only lives to lo'e thee ! An' thou were, &o. To merit I no claim can make. But that I love, and for your sake ; — What man can more, I'll undertake. So dearly do I lo'e thee ! An' thou were, &o. My passion, constant as the sun, Flames stronger stUl, will ne'er have done, Till fate ray thread of life has spun, Which, breathing out I'll lo'e thee, An' thou were, &c. WITHIN A MILE OF EDINBURGH TOUN. 'TwAS within a mile of Edinburgh toun, In the i-osy time of the year ; Sweet flowers bloomed, and the grass was down, And each shepherd wooed his dear. Bonnie Jockie, blythe and gay. Kissed young Jenny making hay : The lassie blushed, and frowning cried, " Na, na, it winna do; I canna, canna, winna, winna, mannna buckle to."* •^ Join in raavriage. ON ETTRIOK BANES. . 359 Young Jookie was a, wag that never wad wed, Thougli lang he had followed the lass ; Contented she earned and ate her brown bread, And merrily turned up the grass. Bonnie Jookie, blythe and free, "Won her heart right merrily : Tet still she blushed, and frowning cried, " Na, na, it winna do; I canua, canna, winna, winna, maunna buckle to.'' But when he vowed he wad make her his bride. Though his flocks and herds were not few, She gie'd him her hand, and a kiss beside. And vowed she'd for ever be ti'ue. Bonnie Jockie, blythe and free, "Won her her heart right merrily : At kirk she no more frowning cried, " Na, na, it winna do; I canna, canna, winna, winna, maunna buckle to." ON BTTBICK BANKS. On Ettrick banks, in a summer night. At gloaming, when the sheep drave hame, I met my lassie braw and tight. Come wandering, barefoot, a' her lane. My heart grew light, I ran, I flang My arms about her lily neck. And kissed and clapped her there fu' lang : My word they were na' mony freck. Said I, " My lassie, will ye go To Highland hills, the G-aelio learn ; I'll baith gie thee a cow and ewe, "When ye come to the brig o' Earn. At Leith auld meal comes in, ne'er fash. And herrings at the Broomielaw, Cheer up your heart, my bonnie lass, There's gear to win ye never saw. "All day when we have wrought enough, When winter frosts and snaws begin. Soon as the san gaes west the loch. At night when ye sit down to spin. 360 , JAMIE 0' THE GLEN. I'll screw my pipes, and play a spring. And thus the weary night we'll end, Till the tender kid and lamb-time bring Our pleasant summer back again. " Syne when the trees are in their bloom. And gowans glint o'er ilka field, I'll meet my lass amang the broom, And lead her to my summer shield. Then, far frae a' their scornfu' din. That make the kindly hearts their s^ort. We'll laugh and kiss, and dance, and sing. And gar the langest day seem short." JAMIE 0' THE GLEN. AuLD Eob, the laird o' muckle land. To woo me was na veiy blate. But spite o' a' his gear he fand He came to woo a day owre late. A lad sae blythe, sae fu' o' glee. My heai't did never ken. And nane can gie sic oy to me As Jamie o' the glen. My minuie grat like daft, and raired. To gar me wi' her will comply, But still I wadna' hae the laird, Wi' a' his ousen, sheep, and kye. A lad sae blythe, &.c. Ah, what are silks and satins braw P What's a' his warldly gear to me ? They're daft that cast themselves awa' Where nae content or love can be. A lad sae blythe, &c. I couldna bide the silly clash Came hourly frae the gawky laird ! And sae, to stop his gab and fash, Wi' Jamie to the kirk repaired. A lad sae blythe, &c. ARISE AND COME WI' ME. 361 Now ilka summer's day sae lang, And winter's clad wi' frost and snaw, A- tunefti' lilt and bonnie sang, Aye keep dnll care and strife awa'. A lad sae blythe, &o. AEISB AND COMB WI' ME. " Arise and come wi' me, my love, My sail is spread, and see, My merry men and gallant bark To breast the billows free. Green Neva's isle is fair, my love, And Saba sweet to see, The deep flood scenting far, my love, So busk and come wi' me." "I wad nae gie yon heathy hill "Where wild bees sing so soon — I wad nae gie that bloomy bush Where birdies lUt in June, — Yon good green wood, that grassy glen, This small brook streaming fiee, For all the isles of spice and slaves . Upon the sunny sea." " Thy kirtle shall be satin, love, All jewelled to the knee. The rudest wind that fills my sail Shall waft red gold to thee. And thou shall sit on seats of silk, Thy handmaids on the flooi-, The richest spice, the rarest fruits. Shall scent thy chamber door," " On lonely Siddick's sunward banks The hazel nuts hang brown. And many proud eyes gaze at me All in my homely gown. My fingers long and lily-white Are maids more meet for me. Than all the damsels of the isles. Who sing amid the sea." 362 THE FLOWUB OF YABBOW. He moved one step from her, and said, " How tender, true, and long, I've loved thee, lived for thee, and foughij Might grace some landward song ; My song maun be the soundiijg wave, My good bark breasting through — " He waved his hand — he could nae say My Jean a long adieu ! She was a sweet and lovesome lass, Wi' a dark an' downcast e'e ; Now she's a wedded dame and douce. With bairnies at her knee ; Yet oft she thinks on the sailor lad When the sea leaps on the shore. — His heart was broke— and a storm came on- He ne'er shall waken more. THE FLOWEB OF YARROW. In ancient times as songs rehearse. One charming nymph employed each verse. She reigned alone without a marrow, Mary Scott, the flower of Yarrow. Our fathers with such beauty fired, This matchless fair in crowds admired, Tho' matchless then, yet here's her marrow, Mary Scott, the flower of Yarrow. Whose beauty unadorned by art, With virtue joined attracts each heart. Her negligence itself wordd charm you. She scarcely knows her power to warm you. For ever cease Italian noise, Let every string and every voice, Sing Mary Scott without a marrow, Mary Scott, the flower of Yarrow, 363 SHIPWEBCK OF THE ABEONA. The good ship Abeona TJnreefg her flapping sail ; And many a heart ia aching, And many a cheek is pale. And now she weighs her anchor. And now she cuts the wave ; O dismal was the parting. And faint the shont they gave. " Art thou, too, sad and weeping. But yesterday a bride ? Cheer up, my bonny Mary, 'Tis "William by thy side ! " Fear not yon foreign country. He'll shield thee from alarms ; Fear not the tossing billows, Thos'rt safe within his arms ! " I know thou'st left a mother. But she has bairns beside, Who'll cheer her, while thy William Shall cheer his bonuy bride." Now swift across the ocean, The good ship heaves her way, Divides the dashing billows. And tosses high the spray. Long since to merry Scotland They've sighed their last adieu ; Even Europe's shores receding Have faded from their view. Beneath — around — above them. Are the ocean and the sky ; God shield the lonely vessel From any danger nigh ! " How swift we saU, my William I How cool's this evening breeze ; How could I fear with thee, love, To brave the roaring seas!" 364 8HIPWBEGK OF THE ABEONA. Now Mary smiles at danger, Heeds not the tossing wave, But views with hope yon country, Where the treasures she will save Shall take her home to Scotland, There in comfort to abide, And long to bless the hour, loVe Had made her William's bride. But see ! 'tis smoke ascending, Thick rolling from below ! And, oh ! this burning heat tool And hark ! those shrieks of woe ! See ! the crew on deck all rushing i Great heaven ! the flames pursue ! " save me, save me, WHliam ! Save thy Mary fond and true !" Who shall paint the scene of horror ? Not a hope beyond the skies ! Like lightning to the mast-heads The crackling flames arise ! They rise, and rage, and widen — Hark the shriek of wild despair, The cry of bitter anguish, The agony of prayer ! The boats ! — too soon they're crowded. Every mother, frantic, wild, Forgetting self in danger, Thinks only of her child ! Now.God have mercy on you, O ! hapless orphan crew ! See their little arms extended! See, they weep their last adieu. God have mercy on you, mothers ! For slow they raise the oar ; Slow, sad, they strike the billows — Ye will see your babes ho more ! The crackling, blazing timbers Cra.shing fall from side to side, All around — the flames devouring. All below — the rushing tide. ■PATIE'S WEBBING. 365 " William, hope is over, Thou canst swim — I do not fear." " What, leave thee, Mary P Never ! Cling closer to me, dear. " We'll trust the wave together. Together live or die ; Oh, Mary, fear not danger, For still thy William's nigh !" They plunge — and long does William Throw aside the dashing wave. Love and hope his arm have nerved. And the boat is nigh to save. Now nearer yet, and nearer — Almost he grasps the oar ; Another stroke — but William Can stem the wave no more ! " Mary," faint he whispers, " Pray to Him who sits above — Thou dost — oh yes — together — Together yet, my love !" They sink — the roaring billow Sweeps in thunder o'er their head — But Thou wilt not forget them When the " sea gives up her dead." PATIE'S WEDDING. As Patie cam' tip frae the glen. Driving his wedders before him. He met bonnie Meg ganging hame — Her beauty was like for to smoore him. " Maggie, lass, dinna ye ken That you and I's gaun to be married ? I had rather had broken my leg, Before sic a. bargain miscarried." " O Patie, lad, wha tauld ye that ? I trow o' news they've been scanty : I'm nae to be married the year. Though I should be courted by twenty !" 366 PATIB'8 WEDDING. " Now Maggie, lass, what gats ye taunt ? Is't 'cause that I ha'ena a mailen ? The lad that has gear needna waiit For neither a half nor a hale ane. " My dad has a gnde grey mare. And yours has twa cows and a filly; And that will be plenty o' gear ; Sae Maggie, be na sae iU-willy." " Weel, Patie, lad, I dinna ken ; But first ye maun spier at my daddie ; Tou're quite as weel bom as Ben, And I canna say but I'm ready." " We ha'e walth o' yarn in clews. To mak' me a coat and a jimpey. And plaidin' eneuch to be trews — ■ Gif I get ye, I shanna scrimp ye ! Now fair fa ye, my bonnie Meg ! I'se e'en let a smaekie fa' on ye : May my neck be as lang as my leg, n I be an iU husband unto ye ! " Sa^ gang your ways hame e'en now ; Mak' ready gin this day fifteen days, And tell your father frae me, I'll be his gude-son in great Kindness.'' Maggie's as blythe as a wran, Bodin' the blast o' ill weather; And a' the gaite singin' she ran. To tell the news to her father. But aye the auld man cried out, " He'll no be o' that mind on Sunday." " There's nae fear o' that," quo' Meg, ' " For I gat a kiss on the bounty." " And what was the matter o' that ? It was naething out o' his pocket, I wish the news were true, And we had him fairly bookit." A vefy wee while after that, Wha cam' to our biggin but Patie ? Dressed up in a braw new coat. And anow but he thooht himSel' pretty ! PATIE'8 WEDDING. 367 His tonnet was little frae rew, And in it a loop and a slittiej To draw in a ribbon sae blue, To bab at the neck o' bis coatie. Then Patie cam' in wi' a stend ; Cried, "Peace be nnder the biggin !" " You're welcome," quo' William, " Come ben, Or I wish, it may rive frae the riggin' ! Now draw in your seat, and sit down, And tell's a' your news in a hurry ; And haste ye, Meg, and be dune. And bing on the pan wi' the berry." Quoth Patie, " My news is na thiug ; Yesti'een I wag wi' his honour ; I've ta'en three rigs o' braw land. And bound myself under an honour : And, now, my errand to you. Is for Maggie to help me to labour ; But I'm feared we'll need your best cow, Because that our haddin's but sober." Quoth William, " To harl ye through, I'll be at the cost o' the bridal ; I'se cut the craig o' the ewe, That had amaist dee'd o' the side-ill; And that'll be plenty o' broe, Sae lang as our well is na reested. To a' the neebors and you ; Sae I think we'll be nae that iU-feasted." Quoth Patie, " 6 that'll do weel. And I'll gi'e your brose i' the mornin', O' kail that was made yestreen, For I like them best i' the forenoon." Sae Tarn, the piper, did play ; And ilka ane danced that was willin' ; And a' the lave they rankit through ; And they held the wee stoupie aye fillia'. The auld wives sat and they chewed j And when that the carles grew happy. They danced as weel as they dowed, Wi' a crack o' their thooms and a happie. 338 THERE ABE TWA BONNIE MAIDENS. The lad that wore the white band, I think they ca'd him Jamie Mather, He took the bride by the hand. And cried to play up Maggie Lauder. BIDE YE TET. Gix I had a wee house and a canty wee fire, A bonnie wee wifie to praise and admire, A bonnie wee yardie beside a wee bum, Fareweel to the bodies that yanunar and mourn. Sae bide ye yet, and bide ye yet^ Te little ken what will betide me yet. Some bonnie wee body may be my lot, And I'll aye be canty wi" lihinkin' o"t. When I gang afield and come hame at e'en, I'll get my wee wifie fa' neat and I'u" dean ; And a bonnie wee bairnie upon her knee. That will cry papa or daddy to me. Sae bide ye yet> && I carena a button for sackfa's o' cash. Let wizened anld bachelors think o' sio trash ; Gie me my wee wifie upon my knee, A kiss o' her mon' is worth thonsands to me. Sae bide ve yet, Ac And if there should happen ever to be A difference atween my wifie an' me. In hearty good hamonr, although she be teased, rU Uss her and dap her until .^e be x>leased. Sae bide ye yet, &c THERE ABE TWA BONNIE MAIDENS. Hogg gives this song in his " Jacobite Eelics," »s copied vertotim from the recitation of Mis. Betty Cameron from Lochaber, who was noted for her gr^at stoi« of Jacobite songs. This song alludes to the escape of Prince Charles in female attii«, to the Isle of Skye, vmder the gxiidance of the celebrated Flora Macdonald. There are twa bonnie maidens, and three bonnie maidens. Came o'er the Miiioh and o'er the main. With the wind for their way, and the corrie for their hame, And they are dearly welcome to Skye again. TIME'S ALTEliATIONS. ZQ'J Come along, come along, with your boatie and your song, You twa bonnie maidens, and three bonnie maidens, For the nicht it is dark, and the redcoat is gone. And 3'ou are bravely welcome to Skye again. There is Flora, my honey, sae dear and sae bonnie. And ane that is tall and comely withal ; Put the one as my king, and the other as my queen. And they are dearly welcome to Skye again. Come along, &c. Her arm it is strong, and her petticoat is long, My ain bonnie maidens, my twa bonnie maidens, But their bed shall be clean and the heather sae green. And they are deai-ly welcome to Skye again. Oome along, &c. There's a wind on the tree, and a ship on the sea, My twa bonnie maidens, and three bonnie maiden?, . On the lea of the rock shall your cradle be rocked. And you're welcome unto the Isle of Skye again. Come along, &c. TIME'S ALTERATIONS. When this old cap was new, 'Tis since two hundred year. No malice then we knew. But all things plenty were : AU friendship now decays (Believe me this is true). Which was not in those days When this old cap was new. The nobles of our land Were much delighted then To have at their command A crew of lusty men ; Who by their coats were known. Of tawny, red or blue. With crests on their sleeves shown, When this old cap was new. B B 370 TIME'S ALTERATIONS. Now pride hath banished all, Unto our land's reproach, When he whose means are small Maintains both horse and coach ; Instead of an hundred men. The coach allows but two ; This was not thought on then. When this old cap was new. Good hospitality Was cherished then of many ; Now poor men starve and die. And are not helped by any, For charity waxeth cold. And love is found in few ; This was not in time of old. When this old cap was new. Where'er you travelled then. You might meet on the way Brave knights and gentlemen, Olad in their country grey. That courteous would appear, And kindly welcome you : No Puritans then were. When this old cap was new. Our ladies, in those days, In civil habit went ; Broadcloth was then worth praise, And gave the best content : French fashions then were scorned. Fond fangles then none knew, Then modesty women adorned. When this old cap was new. A man might then behold. At Christmas, in each hall, Good fires to curb the cold, And meat for great and small : Then neighbours were friendly bidden, And all had welcome true. The poor from the gates were not chidden When this old cap was now. TIME'S ALTERATIONS. 371 Black Jacks to every man Were filled with wine and beer, No pewter pot, nor can. In those days did appear : Good cheer in a nobleman's house Was counted a seemly show ; We wanted no brawn nor souse When this old cap was new. We took not such delight In cups of silver fine ; None under degree of a knight lu plate drank beer or wii|fi : Now each mechanical man Hath a cupboard of plate for a show. Which was a rare thing then . When this old cap was new. Then bribery was unborn. No simony men did use, Christians did usury scorn. Devised among the Jews : The lawyers to be fee'd At that time hardly knew ; For man with man agreed When this old cap was new. No captain then caroused. Nor spent poor soldier's pay ; They were not so abused As they are at this day ; Of seven days they make eight, To keep them from their due ; Poor soldiers had their right When this old cap was new. Which made them forward still To go, although not prest ; And going with goodwill, Their fortunes were the best ; Our English then in fight Did foreign foes subdue. And forced them all to flight When this old cap was new. £ e2 372 THE HAUNTED LAKE. God save our gracious King, And send him long to live ; Lord, misoliief on them bring. That will not their alms give ; But seek to rob the poor, Of that which is their due : This was not in time of yore. When this old cap was new. THE HAUNTED LAKE. Thkre is a wood which few dare tread, So gloomy are the hoary trees : The vaulted chambers of the dead Scarce fill the soul with half the dread Tou feel while standing under these. Deep in its centre stands a lake. Which the o'erhanging umbrage darkens ; No roaring wind those boughs can shake. Ruffle the water's face, or break The silence there which ever hearkens. No flowers around that water grow, The birds fly over it in fear. The antique roots about it bow. The newt and toad crawl deep below, The black snake also sleepeth there. Pew are the spots so deathly still, So wrapt in deep eternal gloom : No sound is heard of sylvan rill, A voiceless silence seems to fill The air around that liquid tomb. The ivy creepeth to and fro, Along the arching boughs which meet ; The fir and dark -leaved mistletoe Hang o'er the holly and black-sloe. In darkness which can ne'er retreat. For there the sunbeams never shine, That sullen lake beholds no sky ; No moonbeam drops its silvery line No star looks down with eye benign : Even the white owl hurries by. THE HAUNTED LAKE. 373 The huntsman passes at full speed, The hounds howl loud and seem to fear it ; The fox makes foi- the open mead, Full in the teeth of man and steed — He will not deign to shelter near it. No woodman's axe is heard to sound Within that forest night or day ; No human footstep dents the ground, No voice disturbs the deep profound. No living soul dare through it stray. For shrieks are heard there in the night. And wailings of a little child ; And ghastly streams of lurid light Have flashed upon the traveller's sight, AVhen riding by that forest wild. For there hath human blood been shed Beside the tangling bramble's brake. And still they say the murdered dead, Else nightly from their watery bed, And wander round the Haunted Lake. 'Tis said she is a lady fair. In silken robes superbly dressed, With large bright eyes that wildly glare, While clotted locks of long black hair Drop o'er the infant at her breast. She speaks not, but her white hand raises. And to the lake with pointed finger Beckons the step of him who gazes ; Then shrieking seeks the leafy mazes, Leaving a pale blue light to linger. But who she is no one can tell, Nor who her miirderer might be, — • But one beside that wood did dwell. On whom suspicion darkly fill : A rich, unhappy lord was he, In an old hall he lived alone. No servant with him dared to stay ; For shriek and yell, a,nd piercing groan. And infant's cry, and woman's moan. Bang through those chambei-s night and day. 374 ST. BE'NICK'S WELL. He was indeed a wretched man, And wrung his hands, and beat his breast : His cheeks were sunken, thin and wan, Eemorse had long deep furrows run Across his brow, — he could not rest. He sometimes wandered round the wood, Or stood to listen by its side ; Or bending o'er the meadow-flood. Would try to wash away the blood. With which his guilty hands seemed dyed. He never spoke to living soul ; Oh, how an infant made him quake ! For then his eyes would wildly roll. And he would shriek, and curse, and growl. As if he felt the burning lake. ST. DB'NIOK'S WELL. A well in the Den of Ardo, Aberdeenshire, sacred to St. Devenick, In simple times, when simple folks Had faith in simple spell. How many sought thy healing spring, O good St. De'niok's Well! St. De'nick's waters still give back The sparkling rays of noon ; But who believes their mystic power. Or craves the mystic boon ? No more revered is Methlic's saint, Nor sought sweet Ardo's vale ; No trusting pilgrim comes to drink, Nor whisper forth his tale. For now the folks so wise are grown, They mock at holy rill ; And, scoffing at such simple creed, They pay the doctor's bill ! But though they hug their nostrums dear, In whispers let me tell — That, perhams, as happy cures were wrought At good St. De'nick's Well ! 37S LEGEND OP THE WINE TOWER. The Wine Tower is an old quadrangular building, rising from a rock wbieli overhangs tlio sea, about iifty yards east from tho Castle of Kinuaird's Head, Aberdeenshire. Love wove a chaplet passing fair, Within Kinnaird's proud tower ; Where joyous youth, and beauty rare. Lay captive to his power. But woe is me ! — alaol:: the day ! Pride spurned the simple wreath ; And scattering all those blooms away, He doomed sweet love to death. No bridal wreath, O maiden fair ! Thy brow shall e'er adorn ; A father's stern behest is there. Of pride and avarice born. What boots to him thy vows, thy tears ? What boots thy plighted troth p One rich in pelf, and hoar in years, Is deemed of seemlier worth Than he who with but love to guide, Keeps tryst in yonder bower ; Where ruffians — hired by ruffian pride — His stalwart limbs secure. Where rolls old ocean's surging tide, The Wine Tower beetling stands, Bight o'er a cavern deep and wide — No work of mortal hands. Dark as the dark expanse of hell,. That cavern's dreary space ; Whence never captive came to tell The secrets of the place. There bound ia cruel fetters, lies The lover fond and true ; No more to glad the maiden's eyes. No more to bless her view ! 376 LEGEND OF THE WINE TO WEB. No pitying hand relieves his want, No loving eye his woe ; A hapless prey to hnnger gaunt — He dies in torments slow ! Thus slept the youth in death's embrace : — Darkly the tyrant smiled ; The corse they dragged from that dread pUuo, And bore it to his child. "Ay, say," he cried, "what greets thy view ? Canst trace these whilome charms? Henceforth a fitter mate shall woo And win thee to his arms. " Didst think that these, my brave broad lands His love would well repay ? No, minion, no ! — for other hands Shall bear the prize away." These direful words the maid arrest, — A marble hue she bore ; Then sinking on that clay-cold breast, " We part," she cried, " no more ! " No more shall man his will oppose. Nor man the wrong abet ; Onr virgin love in fealty rose. In fealty it shall sot." Then clasping close that shrouded form. Which erst had love inspired ; Fearless she breasted cliff and storm, By love and frenzy fired. " Farewell, O ruthless sire," she crii d, " Farewell earth's all of good ; Our bridal waits below the tide," — Then plunged into the flood ! 377 DEATH OF WOODHULL. AN AMElllOAN BALLAD. " General WoodhuU coinmauded the Suffolk County Militia in the Battle of Long Island, in August, 1776, and is said to have been killed in that battle by n party of British dragoons, at the yeiy moment when he offered to surreudirr himself a prisoner of war, becaiise he refused to say ' God save the King.' This event took place at Carpenter's, a public-house, about two miles beyond .lamaicn, where he was stationed with his brigade, and where he was attacked and defeated. There is a very aged woman, who was then the mistress of the house, and saw tlr; tragical occurrence, still residing there, and in the habit of frequently telling ttii' story to travellers, who occasionally stop for refreshments. By lior, the following is supposed to have been spoken, and it perfectly corresponds with her usual naiTutive in every essential particular." — The Mirror, August 30, 1823. Stay ! traveller, stay ! and hear me tell A gallant soldier's fate ! 'Twas on this spot brave WoodhuU full ! Sad story to relate ! A stout brigade was his command, Of Suffolk's sons composed ; Thus far he led his patriot band, And here his life he closed ! That time Lord Howe, from Gravesend B:iy, His banner bold advanced. On that same dark and doubtful day. In evil hour it chanced. That Suffolk's raw, new-levied force, Surprised and overthrown. By sudden charge of furious horse, Took flight and left alone Their chief, exposed on battle-field. Without a troop or guard, For him to raise protecting shield 'Gainst Britain's vengeful sword ! He saw the desperate day was lost, He saw himself betrayed ; Not one remained of all his host To lend him needful aid ! Forthwith fierce horsemen gathering round, Cut off all hope of flight ; And soon his single arm he found With fearful odds must fight ! S78 DEATH OF WOOBEULL. Full twenty foes about his head Their glittering sabres flnng. And down, on his uplifted blade, Switt blows descending nmg ! But soon he ceased such fruitless strife, Ap.d now for quai-ter cried. Yet vainly begged a prisoner's life, For thus the foe replied : " "Who wiU not say ' God save the King,' No mercy here shall find ; These are the terms from George we bring ; Art thou to these inchned ? " If thou wilt straight pronounce these words, We grant thy traitor's prayer. And, peaceful sheathed, our loyal swords Thy rebel life shall spare ! " But if this offer thou refuse. Thy doom is instant death ; Then speak ! thy life to save or lose ! It hangs on thy next breath !" The chief, indignant, answering, spake, " Tour mercy then I spurn. On such base terms my life to take. Proud haughty foe I scorn ! " I freely say ' God save us all,' Those words include yonr Kong ; If more ye ask, then must I fall. Nought else from me ye'll wring." " No ! rebel, no, 'tis not enough," On every side he heard ; " And since thou art such stubborn stuff, Lo ! thus we keep our word !" Then straightway, showering thick as hail. Their cruel blows they dealt. Their countless weapons fiercely fell. And many an edge he felt ! Tet stiU he held his trusty sword Upraised above his head, And feebly strove his life to guard While he profusely bled ! SIB OLAFF ANB TEE EBL-KING'S DAUGHTER. 379 " Grod save the King," the horsemen said, At every stroke they gave ; " God save us all," he faintly cried, " And me, a sinner, save !" Till gashed with many a gaping wound. At length they smote him dead, And, prostrate stretched upon the groundj His generous spirit fled ! A more heroic, gallant end, No age nor chme can boast ; Yet History ne'er the tale hath penned, And but for me 'twere lost ! Had he thus died for ancient Rome, His now forgotten name, By poet's page, and sculptured tomb, Had well been known to Fame ! SIR OLAFF AND THE EBL-KING'S DAUGHTER. A DANISH BALLAD. We learn that the original of this capital specimen of the traditions of the legendary North appeared in the " Kiampe-Vuser," published upwards of a century ago at Copenhagen. It was translated into German, together with two other pieces by Herder, and included by him in his " Volksleider" — " The Voices of the Nations in Song." Matthew Gregory Lewis has translated the three Danish ballads, translated by Herder, into his collection. Lewis's translation of " The Erl-King's Daughter" in " The Tales of Wonder," is paraphrastic, Whereas the following version is made direct from the German translation, and is as close as the nature of the two languages will permit, preserving not only the metre, but the spirit of the original. Late rideth Sir Olaff — fast fadeth the west, To his wedding he biddeth the priest and the guest. The Elves are all dancing along the lone stand ; And the Erl-King's daughter holds out her white hand. " Oh, welcome. Sir OlafE ! why haste thee to flee ? Come join the gay ring — dance a measure with me !*' 380 SIB OLAFF AND THE EBL-KING'8 DAUOHTER. " Nay, lead thee a measure, nor will I nor may- To-morrow, at dawning, breaks m}' wedrling-day !" " Oh ! hear me, Sir Olaff, and dance here with me- The gold spurs of knighthood I'll give unto thee ! " And a shirt of the silk, so fine and so white. That my mother hath bleached in the full moonlight." " Nay, dance with thee, fair one, nor will I nor may, To-morrow, at dawning, wakes my wedding-day." VIII. " Oh ! hear me. Sir OlaiS, and dance here with me, A heap of red gold I will give unto thee." " The heap of red gold were right welcome to me, — But I cannot, I dare not dance, lady, with thee." " Thou wilt not ? Then happy thy bride shall be never, Sickness and sorrow shall follow thee ever !" Lightly she touched both his breast and his brow — In anguish he shrank from the death-giving blow. She raised him, all fainting and pale, on his steed — " Home ! home to thy maid with a doomed lover's speed !" Home, home rode Sir Olaff ; he reached his own gate, Where alone stood his mother, disconsolate. OLD VALE Oy WHITE HOUSE BALLAD. 381 " Tell, oh ! tell me, dear Olaff— my child, AVhy so pale is thy cheek, and thine eyes so wild P" "And should not my olieek wear the paleness of death P The Court of the Erl-King I've seen on the heath." " And oh ! tell me," she said, " my heart's only pride, What, what shall I say to thy sorrowing bride?" " Say her Olaff is gone to the dark pine wood. To try his staunch sleuth-hound, and charger good." The day it is dawning — red blusheth the east. The bride and the bi-idal- train come to the feast. XIX. They drink the gold mead, and they drink the red wine, " But where is Sir Olaff — ^dear bridegroom of mine ?" XX. " He is gone, he is gone to the dark pine wood, To try ms staunch sleuth-hound, and charger good !" But the faltering youiig bride drew the curtain red. And there lay Sir Olaii^ cold, pallid, and dead ! OLD VALE OF WHITE HORSE BALLAD. The following biillad is one of the popular songs of the peasantry in the locality to which it refers — in the county of Berkshire. It was taken down from the mouth of an old man in the neighbourhood. The old Vale of the White Horse was the scene of the Battle of Ashdown, between the Saxons and Danes. I COURTED a fair maid for many a long day, I hated all those who against her did say ; But now she's rewarded me for all my pain, She has given herself to another. 382 TEE MUIWIAN GAVALIEB. When I saw my love into the church go, The bridemen and maidens they made a fine show, And I followed after with a heart full of woe, Thinking what I should do to forget her. The priest at the altar aloud he did say, All you that forbid it, I pray you draw nigh. To tell you the truth, and a good reason why, It was in my mind to forbid it. When I saw my love in the church stand. The ring on her finger, her glove in her hand, I burst out a-crying, no longer could stand. To see how my false love was guarded. When first that I saw my false love as she sat down to meat, I sat myself by her, but nothing could eat ; I thought her sweet company better than meat, Although she was tied to another. When I saw my false love dressed out all in white. The tears in my eyes they quite dazzled my sight; I took ofi' my hat, and I bade her good night, Farewell to my false love for ever. I'll dig me a grave both long, wide, and deep, And strew it all over with flowers so sweet ; And then I'll lie down in it, and take a long slffip, For that's the best way to forget her. THE MUECIAN CAYALIEE. 'TwAS the Pentecost time of tournament At the Court of high Castile, And the first, among the Spanish knights. Was the Prince of proud Seville. And 'tis all to win Castile's fair Queen That they meet to break the spear ; The last, to-day, on the list of fight. Are Seville's famed Prince and a stranger knight, The Murcian Cavalier. THE MUBGIAN GAVAhlEB. 383 But the trumpets scarce had sounded clear, "IVas still but morning dawn, When the Queen was far from gay Castile, At the lone towers of Castellan. The hours, tiU even, she spent in prayer At the Holy Virgin's feet. And when the night's ungentle breeze Blew hollow through the orange trees. She stood to hear the torrent beat. And to the Courts of high Castile She turned her eyes, and sighed ! Far, far remote were revelry, And feast, and pomp, and pride. Who is the fairest of that circle ? Who was there fair but one P And she, upon a distant tower. By her heart-pulse counts the passing hour, Untended and alone " 'Tis a horse's hoof from the tournament ; Dost hear the tramp on the plain ?" " Lady ! 'tis but the waterfall On the rocks of Castellan !" " Inez ! Inez ! thou hearest nought But the tumbling waterfall ! My ear has caught the faintest sound, When the winds on the waters were loud around. And I beard them not at all." " Lady ! leave the battlement, For the night is drawing near. And the sighing of the forest trees 'Tis sorrowful to hear!" " I would, Inez ! 'twere sorrowful. But it is nought to me ! I would that my crushed heart had room For these unpainful fears that come From the rustling of a tree !" The Queen bent down her death-like cheek On the marble pillar stone ; And she waved her hand to Inez, That she would be alone ! Like a flame the moon was in the sty, As through the mist it shone ; In the Tagus' wave, as in a glass, Its face was red as burning brass, Or the sun a-going down. 38-i THE MURGIAN CAVALIER. Whether it had heen hope, or aought But the water's overflow ; The sound had passed away that came From the deep dell below. . . . The fairest face in Spain is wet With the falling dews of air ! That heart, for which so many pine, Is watching for a distant sign. As if life were treasured there ! . . . 'Tis the trampling now of horse's hoofs, For the river wave is still, Ihat scarce beyond the forest's edge Is gaining on the hill : . . . " Yester-morn," said that Lady, " I was Queen of high Castile ; But the hour is come that I must leave These princely towers, a fugitive, And a wanderer at will." The Queen has left the battlement Without a sigh or tear ! That horseman fleet that kneels at her feet Is the Murcian Cavalier ; But to his vows of love and truth She spoke not once again ; For her heart was swelling in her breast With grief subdued and fear supprest. As it would rend in twain. They have journeyed on by day, by night, Till behind them many a mile ; They left the wandering Tagus' course. And the plains of fair Castile ; . . . Soft and cool the eventide fell On the heats of the high-day noon ; The fiery sun's descending blaze Had covered with a purple haze The woods of dark Leon. These woods, so deep, or lone, and wild, The Queen surveyed, and sighed ! She turned to catch a distant gleam Of the Douro's yellow tide ; With intermingling tops, the trees An awful covering made ; And then that sky, of dusky red, The dead of night had been less dread Than that uncertain shade. THE MVBOIAN CAVALIEB. 385 Tar to the westward she had seen The winding Douro part ; And she paused, amid that solitude, To still her throbbing heart ! The Murcian Knight was by her side. But he spoke not now at all. . . . Her anxious thoughts he seemed to guess, And with mute and mournful steadiness He watched the dim night-fall. It came ! among these forests deep As the darkest midnight gloom ! It came ! . . . and nature seemed to be But one uufathomed tomb ! Many a rugged, trackless path. Amid that gloom they passed. Till close above a tree decayed A turret threw its spiral shade. Dim, desolate, and vast ! Between and the opened gleam, was plain That lonely oasiie's height ; The Queen's quick eye was traversing The JvoTfie of the Murcian Knight. All silently she gave her hand To mount the marble stairs ; A massy door she opened wide. But the lofty halls on either side "Were tenantless and bare ! Save the dull echoes of their feet, AU other sounds were dumb ! And she felt the hand that graspM hers Was stiff, and damp, and numb ! A strange and nameless terror ran Along her shivering brain ; Something like this her heart had known, When, alas ! she heard no voice but one. At the towers of OasteUan. They paused where, from an inner hall, A lamp was burning bright ; It streamed, with full and steady glare. On the face of the Murcian Kuight. O'er every feature clear she saw Unearthly beauty wave ! The purest white, the softest red ; The eye alone was glazed and dead. As the sleeper's in the grave ! c c 386 DONALD OF THE ISLES. Around and round her gazed the Queen, By the lamp's unshaken light ; On the roof, like a spirit's swathfcd form. Was the shadow of the Knight. On that thin shape her eyes were fixed. That she could not turii again, When it raised, with faint, unsteady strength, One stiflFened arm's unmeasured length, As it had moved in pain. Then with a crash that ran along, Till it rocked beneath her tread. That arm fell down upon the stone. And her stunned senses fled ! . . . The morning sun, with ruby tinge, O'er the woods began to peer, When the Queen was at the window tower ; But no more was seen, from that dread hour. The Murcian Cavalier! And still, upon the battlement. She walks at shut of even ; Her face is pale, her air is wild, And her looks are towards heaven ! And ever, when a deeper shade Hang on these forests rude, The Spanish shepherd ^rls will tell How they hear, far ofiF, m a desert dell, TheLady of the Wood! DONALD OF THE ISLES. It's of a young lord o* the Hielanda, A bonnie braw castle had he ; And he says to his lady mither* " A boon ye will grant to me : Shall I gang to Edmbruoh city. And fetch hame a lady wi' me P" " Te may gae to Edinbruch city. And fetch hame a lady wi' thee ; But see that ye bring her but flatterie. And court her in great povertie." DONALD OF THE ISLES. 887 r " My coat, mitlier, shall be o' the plaiden, A tartan kilt over my knee ; Wi' hosens, and brogUes, and the bonnet, I'll court her wi' nae flatterie." When he cam' to Edinbruch city, He played at the ring and the ba', And saw mony a bonny young lady, But Lizzie Lindsay was first o' them a'. Syne dressed in his Hieland grey plaiden, His bonnet abune his e'e-bree, He called on fair Lizzie Lindsay, Says, " Lizzie, will ye fancy me ? " And gae to the Hielands, my lassie, And gae, gae wi' me P gae to the Hielands, Lizzie Lindsay, I'll feed ye on curds and green whey. " And ye'se get a bed o' green bracken, My plaidie will hap thee and me ; Ye'se lie in my arms, bonnie Lizzie, If ye'U gae to the Hieland's wi' me." " how can I gae to the Hielands, Or how can I gae wi' thee. When I dinna ken whare I'm gaing, Nor wha 'tis I hae to gae wi' ?" " My father, he is an auld shepherd. My mither, she is an auld dey ;* My name, it is Donald Macdonald, My name I will never deny." " Donald, I'll gie you five guineas. To sit but ae hour in my room. Till I tak' aff your ruddy picture. When I hae it I'll never think lang." " I dinna care for your five guineas. It's you that's the jewel to me ; I've plenty o' kye in the Hielands, To feed you wi' curds and green whey. Bairywciinan. C C2 888 DONALD OF TEE ISLES. " And ye'se get a bonnie blue plaidie, Wi' red and green stripes through it a' ; And I'll be the lord of your dwelling, And that's the best picture o' a'. " And I'm laird of a' my possessions, The king oanna boast o' nae maivj And ye'se hae my true heart in icepiiig, There'll no other ane hae a share. " Sae gae to the Hieland's, my lassie, O gae awa' happy wi' me ; O gae to the Hielands, Lizzie Lindsay, And herd the wee lammies wi' me !" " how can I gae wi' a stranger, O'er hills and o'er glens frae my hame ?" " I tell ye I am Donald Macdonald, I'll ever be proud o' my name." Down cam' Lizzie Lindsay's ain father, A knight o' a noble degree ; Says, " If ye do steal my dear daughter. It's hanged ye quickly shall be !" On his heel he turned round sae quickly. And a light lauch he did gie : " There's nae law in your Edinbruoh city This day than can daur to hang me !" Then up bespak Liziie's bower-maiden — And a bonnie young lassie was she — " If I had but ae crown in the warld, It's Donald that I wad gae wi'." " Helen, wad ye leave your coffer. And a' your silk kirtles sae braw, And gang wi' a puir Hieland laddie, And leave father, mither, and a' ? " But I think he's a witch or a warlock. Or something o' that fell degree. For I'll gae awa' wi' young Donald, Whatever my fortune may be." DONALD OF THE I8LE8. 389 Tlien Lizzie laid down her silk mantle, And put on her waiting-maid's gown ; And a£ and awa' to the Hielauds, She's gane wi' this young shepherd loun. Thro' glens and o'er mountains they wandered. Till Lizzie had scantly a shoe ; "Alas, and O hone !" says fair Lizzie, " Sad was the first day I saw you ! I wish I were in Edinbruoh city ; For, sair, sair, this pastime I rue." " haud yer tongue now, bonnie Lizzie, For yonder's the shealing, my hame ; And there's my gude auld honest mither. That's coming to meet ye, her lane." " ye're welcome, ye're welcome, Sir Donald, Ye're welcome hame to your ain !" " ca' me na young Sir Donald, But ca' me Donald, my son." And this they hae spoken in Erse, That Lizzie might not understan'. " Te'U gae now and mak' to our suppei', A cup of the curds and green whey ; And ye'U mak' a bed o' green rashes. Likewise a happer o' grey." The morning was drumlie and drearie. They lay till 'twas lang o' the day ; " Win up, win up, bonnie Lizzie, And help at the milking the kye." " O slowly raise up Lizzie Lindsay, The saut tear blindit her e'e ; were I in Edinbruoh city. The Hielands should never see me !" , He led her up to a hie mountain. And bade her look out far and wide : " I'm Lord o' thae Isles and the mountains, And now you're my lady and bride. " Sae rue na ye've come to the Hidands, Sae rue na ye've come aff wi' me ; For ye're the Macdonald's braw lady. And will be to the day that ye dee." 390 THE STRATHSPEY OF THE MAECHIONBSS OF HITNTLBY. O' a' the rants, o' a' the reels, That please the heart or pain the heels, An' soak the sweat frae cheerfa' chiels. There's nane hke Lady Huntley. Aboon them a' it bears the clia,rm, Wi' raptures rare to work iis warm, When rosit rubs frae thrillin' thairm, The reel o' Lady Huntley. This night to baud auld Tule we meet. While cheerfu' cogs our weasands weot, Baith heel and hoch sal sweel in sweat, Wi' dancin' Lady Huntley. Sae glaiket fashion gang to Pram ?, Wi' monkey-mensed Munseer to priiuce. While we at hame delighted dai.^ .; The reel o' Lady Huntley. We're nane o' form or fashion's fules, Wha strut their mirth to stated rules, But hearty hame owre social souls, We'll loup to Lady Huntley. The German waltz and French quadrille, Wi' a' their scientific squeel. Can never heat the heart and heel Like lively Lady Huntley. Lat fiddler lads strike up the tune. An' lat us scour our Simda' shune, Hech ! I cud drive a dizen dune Wi' dancin' Lady Huntley. Loup lads and lasses ilka ane, ! tear na shin or shank to sprain, Come, gi'es the hearty Gome again, The reel o' Lady Hiiutley. Ay heaven sal hae our warmest thanks, Gin a' the folk by Bogie's banks, Hae got guid shune and souple shanks. To loup to Lady Huntley. 391 THE LAST TBI3E OF THE POEEST. "Whisper, thou trge, tjiou lonely tree. One, where a thousand stood ! Well might proud tales be told by thee, Last of the solemn wood. Dwells there no vqjoe amidst thy boughs, With leaves yet darkly green P Stillness is round, and noontide glowp — • Tell us what thou hast seen. " I have seen the forest shadows lie Where now men re3,p the corn ; I have seen the kiijgly chase rush by. Through the deep glades at morn. " With the glance of many a gallant spear, The wave of many a plume. And the bounding of a hundred deer. It lit the woodland's gloom. " I have seen the knight and his train ride past. With banner borne on high ; O'er all my leaves was brightness cast Erom his gleaming panoply. " The pilgrim at my feet hath laid His palm-branoh 'midst the flowers, And told his beads, and meekly prayed, Knfeeling at vesper hours. " The merry men of wild and glen, In the green array they wore, Have feasted here with red wine's cheer. And the hunter songs of yore. " The minstrel resting in the shade. Hath made the forest ring. With the lordly tales of the high pyusade, Once loved by chiefs and king. " But now the noble forms are gone, That ■ypalked the earth of old ; The soft wind h£),th a mournful tone. The sunny light looks cold. 392 GIN MY LOVE WERE YON BED ROSE " There ia no glory left us now, Like the glory with the dead : I would that where they slumber now, My latest leaves were shed !" thou dark tree, thou lonely tree. That mournest for the past, A peasant's home in thy shade I see. Embowered from every blast. A lovely and a mirthful sound Of laughter meets mine ear; For the poor man's children sport around, On the turf, with nought io fear. And roses lend that cabin-wall A happy summer glow ; The open door stands free to all, For it recks not of a foe. The village bells are on the breeze That stirs thy leaf, dark tree ! How can I mourn, midst things like these, For the gloomy past with thee ? GIN MY LOVE WBEE YON RED ROSE. O gin my love were yon red rose. That grows upon the castle wa'. And I mysel' a drap o' dew, Down on that red rose I would fa'. O my love's bonny, bonny, bonny ; My love's bonny, and fair to see ; "Whene'er I look on her weel-fared face. She looks and smiles again to me. GIN my love were a pickle o' wheat. And growing upon yon Kly lee. And I mysel' a bonny wee bird, Awa' wi' that pickle o' wheat I wad flee. my love's bonny, &c. gin my love were a coffer o' gowd. And I the keeper of the key, 1 wad open the kist whene'er I list. And in that coffer I wad be. O my love's bonny, &c. 393 HERE AW A', THERE AW A.' Hebe awa', there awa', here awa', Willie! Here awa', there awa', hand awa' hame', Lang have I sought thee, dear have I bought thee, Now I have gotten my Willie again. Through the lang muir I have followed my Willie ; Through the lang muir I have followed him harae ; Whatever betide us, nought shall divide us ; Love now rewards all my sorrow and pain. Here awa', there awa', here awa', WUHe ! Here awa', there awa', hand awa' hame ! Come, love, believe me, nothing can grieve m.e. Ilka thing pleases, when Willie's at hame. THE BONNIE BREIST-KNOTS. Het the bonnie, how the bonnie, Hey the bonnie breist-knots ! Blythe and merry were they a', When they got on their breist-knots. There was a bridal ia our town, And tUl't the lasses a' were boun', Wi' monie facings on their gowns. And some o' them had breist-knots. Singing, hey the bonnie, &c. At nine o'clock the lads convene. Some clad in blue, some clad in green, Wi' glancin' buckles on their sheen. And flowers upon their waistcoats. Forth came the wives, a' wi' a phrase. And wished the lassie happy days, And muckle thought they o' her claes. And 'specially the breist-knots. Singing, hey the bonnie, &c. The bride she was baith young and fair. Her neck outshone her pearlius rare ; A satin snood bound up her haii-. And flowers among her breist-knots. The bridegroom gazed — ^but mair I ween. He prized the glance of love's blue een, That made him proud o' his sweet Jean, When she got on her breist-knots. Singing, hey the bonnie, &c. 394 THOU ART GANB AW A'. TtfOU art gane awa', thou are gfine awa', Thoft art gaiie awa' frae me, lyLary ! Nor friends nor I could make thee stny — Thou hast cheated them and me, Mary ! Until this hour I never thought That aught could alter thee, Mary ; Thou'rt still the mistress of my heart, Think what you will of me, Mary. Whate'er he said or might pretend, ' That stole the heart of thine, Mary, True love, I'm sure, was ne'er his end, Or nae sio love as mine, Mary. I spoke sincere, nor flattered much : Had no unworthy thoughts, Mary ; Aflibitiop, wealth, nor naething sych : No, I loved only thee, Mary. Though you've beei) false, yet while I live, I'll lo'p nae maid but thee, Mary ; I^^t friends forget, aa I forgive. Thy wrongs to them and me, Mary ; So then, farewell ! of this be sure, ' Since you've been false to me, Mary ; For all the world I'd not gjidure Half what I've do^e for thee, Mary. EVBBT BULLET HAS ITS BILLET. I'm a tough true-hearted sailor, Careless and all that, d'ye see, Never at the times a railer — What is time or tide to me ? All miist die when f3,te shall will j.t, Proviaeiioe ordains it so ; Every bullet has its billet, — Man the boat, boys — Yeo, heave yeo ! " Life's at best a sea of trouble, He who fears it is a dupce j Death to me's an empty bubble, I can never die but once. TBE FAIRIEB' BONO. 395 Blood, if duty bids, I'll spill it ; Yet I have a tear for woe :" Every bullet has its billet, — Man the boat, boys — Teo, heave yeo ! Shrouded in a hammock, glory Celebrates the falling brave ; Oh, how many, famed in story, Sleep below in ocean's cave ! "Bring the can, boys — let us fill it ; Shall we shun the fight ? Oh, no ! Every buUet has its billet, — Man the boat, boys — Teo, heave yeo ! TKE PAIBIBS' SONa. We dance on hills above the wind, And leave our footsteps there behind, Which shall to after-ages last. When all our dancing days are past. Sometimes we dance upon the shore. To whistling winds and seas that roar ; Then we make the wind to blow, And set the seas a-dancing too. The thunder's noise is our delight. And lightnings make us day by night ; And in the air we dance on high To the loud music of the sky. About the moon we make a ring, And falling stars we wanton fling. Like squibs and rockets, for a toy ; While what frights others is our joy. But when we'd hunt away our cares. We boldly mount the galloping spheres ; And riding so from es-st to west. We chase each nimble zodiac beast. Thus giddy grown, we make our beds, With thick black clouds to rest our heads, And flood the earth with our dark showers. That did but sprinkle these our bowers. 396 IN PRAISE OF MELANCHOLY. Thus having done with orbs and sky. Those mighty spaces vast and high, Then down we come and take the shapes. Sometimes of cats, sometimes of apes. Next turned to mites in cheese, forsooth, We get into some hollow tooth ; Wherein, as in a Christmas hall. We frisk and dance, the devil and all. Then we change our wily features Into yet far smaller creatures. And dance in joints of gouty toes, To painful tunes of groans and woes. THE HUNTSMAN'S DIEGE. The smiling mom may light the sky. And joy may dance in beauty's eye, Aurora's beams to see ; The mellow horn's inspiring sound May call the bUthe companions round, But who shall waken thee, Ronald ? Thou ne'er wilt hear the mellow horn. Thou ne'er wilt quaff the breath of morn, Nor join thy friends with glee ; No glorious sun shall gild thy day, And beauty's fascinating ray No more shall shine on thee, Ronald ! IN PRAISE OF MELANCHOLY. Hence, all ye vain delights. As shoi't as are the nights Wherein ye spend your folly ! There's nought in this life sweet, If man were wise to see't. But only melancholy ; Oh, sweetest melancholy ! THE BRITISH 0BENADIER8. 397 Welcome, folded arms and fixed eyes, A sigh that, piercing, mortifies, A look that's fastened to the ground, A tongue chained up without a sound ! Fountain-heads and pathless groves, — Places which pale passion loves ! Moonlight walks when all the fowls Are wai'mly housed save bats and owls ! A midnight bell, a parting groan ! These are the sounds we feed upon ; Then stretch our bones in a still gloomy valley ; Nothing's so dainty sweet as lovely melancholy ! THE BEITISH GRENADIERS. Some talk of Alexander, and some of Hercules, Of Hector and Lysander, and such great names as these ; But of aU the world's brave heroes, there's none that can compare, With a tow, row row, row row, row row, to the British grenadier. Those heroes of antiquity ne'er saw a cannon-ball. Or knew the force of powder to slay their foes withal; But our brave boys do know it, and banish all their fears, Sing tow, row row, row row, row row, to the British grenadiers. Then Jove the god of thunder, and Mars the god of war. Brave Neptune with his trident, Apollo in his car. And all the gods celestial, descending from their spheres, Behold with admiration the British grenadiers. Whene'er we are commanded to storm the palisades. Our leaders march with fusees, and we with hand grenades ; We throw them from the glacis about the Frenchman's ears. With a tow, row row, row row, row row, for the British grenadiers. And when the siege is over, we to the town repair. The townsmen cry huzza, boys, here comes a grenadier, — Here come the grenadiers, my boys, who know no doubts or fears. Then sing tow, row row, row row, row row, for the British grenadiers. Then let us fill a bumper, and drink a health to those Who carry caps and pouches, and wear the looped clothes. May they and their commanders live happy all their years. With a tow, row row, row row, row row, for the British grenadiers ! 398 LIZZIE LINDSAY, " Will ye gang wi' me, Lizzie Lindsay ? Will ye gang to the Highlands, wi' me? Will ye gang wi' me, Lizzie Lindsay, My bnde and my darling to be ?' " To gang to the Highlands wi" yon, sir, I dinna ken how that may be ; For I ken nae the land that ye live in, Nor ken I the lad I'm gaun wi'." " O Lizzie lass, ye maun ken little. If sae that ye dinna ken me ; For my name is Lord Roland MacDonald, A chieftain o' high degree." She has kilted her coats o' green satin, She has kilted them up to the knee, And she's aff wi' Lord Roland MacDonald, His bride and his darling to be. OUR AIN FIRESIDE. My conntry, o'er thy mountains wild Though stotmy clouds may ride, There's mony a noble generous heart Sits round thy fireside. Her ain fireside, my friends, Her ain fireside ; May ne'er a tyrant's ruthless arm Rule o'er her fireside. How cheery round the ingle-cheek To hear cauld winter chide ; While happy ale an' hearty tale Gae round the fireside ! Otlr ain fireside, my friends, Our ain fireside ; I'm glad to see ye a' set round A social fireside. OUB AIN FlitESIDE. 399 The poisoned shafts that malice throws O'er harmless pastime slide, While honest worth an' cheerfu' mirth Sit round the fireside. Our ain iireside, my friends, Our ain fireside ; The warmest glbw, o' friendship's flame Shall heat the fireside. On human worth hy length of purse Let worldly slaves decide ; The heart to share the world's care Aye heats the fireside. Our ain fireside, my friends, Our ain fireside ; The sterling value o' the heart Aye gilds the fireside. Through rocks and sands to distant lands The sailor wanders wide. In hopes to shield his crazy eild By couthy fireside. The couthy fireside, my friends, The couthy fireside ; Heaven send the lyart pow o' age A couthy fireside. 'Tis Heaven that nerves the soldier's arm The battle's heat to hide ; He boldly dares the fiercest foe To shield his fireside. His ain fireside, my friends. His country's fireside ; Woilld ye but warm a coward's heart F — Insult his fireside. Gi'e luxury her painted domes, Her palaces ^i'e pride ; But be my lot a snug warm cot And canty fireside. A canty fireside, my friends, A canty fireside ; Be aye my lot a snug warm cot And canty fireside. When bairnies brattlin round oui' knees On chairs and stoolies ride. What joy heaves up a pareht'S heart To see his fireside. 400 BACK AGAIN. To see his fireside, my friends, His ain fireside ; May Heaven protect the rising sprouts Around his fireside. Misfortune dour, wi' cauldrife stour, A neighbour may betide ; We'll edge a bit and let him sit Just next the fireside. Our ain fireside, my friends. Our ain fireside ; May ne'er a cauld nor hungry heart Gae by your fireside. And, oh, may He whose powerful arm The steps o' mortals guides, Wi' health and wealth and length o' days Bless a' our firesides ! Our ain firesides, my friends, Our ain firesides ; The choicest blessings Heaven bestows Bless a' our firesides. BACK AGAIN. When Abercromby, gallant Scot, Made Britain's faes to tack again. To fight by him it was my lot ; But now I'm safe come back again. The cannons didna Donald fleg, — I'd like to hear them crack again ; My fears were for ray bounie Meg, Lest I should ne'er come back again. Our leader fell, — so died the brave, We'll never see his like again ; I was denied a soldier's grave, For I am safe come back again. It's true they've ta'en frae me a leg, But wha for that would mak' a maen ? Cheer up your heart, my bonnie Meg, I've brought a leal heart back again. BONNIE LADDIE, HIGHLAND LADDIE. 401 And though the wound it carried smart, And twitched me sair wi' rackin' pain, Wi' honour's scars I wadna part, Nor yet my leg take back again. Cheer up your heart since I am here, Wi' smiles your cheek gae deck again ; Cheer up, my lass, an' dinna fear. Tour Donald's safe come back again. Though mony a rattUn' blast has blawn, There's plenty in the stack again ; My wee lock siUer's a' your ain Now sin' I'm safe come back again. Now may the wars for ever cease, Tour heart nae mair to rack again ; And may we live in love and peace. Sin' Donald's safe come back again. But should my country call me forth Her freedom to protect again. Claymore in hand I'd leave the North, If I should ne'er come back again. BONNIE LADDIE, HIGHLAND LADDIE. Whekb hae ye been a' the day, Bonnie laddie. Highland laddie ? Saw ye him that's far away, Bonnie laddie. Highland laddie ? On his head a bonnet blue, Bonnie laddie. Highland laddie ; Tartan plaid and Highland trews, Bonnie laddie. Highland laddie. When he drew his gude braidsword. Then he gave his royal word. That f rae the field he ne'er wad flee, But wi' his friends wad live and dee. 402 SUGH A PARCEL OF BOGUBS IN A NATION. Weary fa' the Lawland loon Wha took frae him the British croun ; But blessings on the kilted clans That fbught for him at Prestonpans. Geordie sits in Charlie's chair, Deil tak him gin he bide there ; Charlie yet shall mount the throne^ Weel ye ken it is his o-vm. SUCH A PAKCBL OF BOGUES IN A NATION. Written on occasion o£ the Union between England and Scotland. f aMwbll to a' our Scottish fame, Farewell our dHcitent glory ; Farewell e'fen to the Scottish name, Sae famed in ancient story ! Now Sark rins o'er the Solway sands, And Tweed rins to the ocean. To mark where England's province^ stands : Such a parcel of rogues in a nation f What force or guile could not subdue Through many warlike ages. Is wrought now by a coward few For hireling traitors' wages. The English steel we could disdain, Secure in valour's station; tiut Biiglish gold ha,s be6n our bane: Such a parcel of rogues in a nation ! I would, ere I had seen the day That treason thus CQuld sell uSi My auld grey head had lain in olay Wi' Bruce and Ibyal Wallace ! But pith aiid power, to my list hour I'll make tms declardtidn,-^^ We're bought and sold for English gold : Such a parcel of rogues ia a nation ! 403 I HAE NAt) kiTH. I HAE nae kith, I hae nae kin, Nor ane that's dear to me ; For the bonnie lad that I lo'e best, He's far ayont the sea. He's gane wi' ane that was our ain. And we may rue the day When oiir ting's ae daughter came here To play sic foul play. Oh, gin I were a bonnie bird Wi' wiigs, that I might flee ! Then would I travel o'er the main. My ae true-love to see. Then I wad tell a joyfu' tale To ane that's deaf to rafe, And sit upoii a king's wiiidow And sing my melody. The addef lies i' the corbie's liest Aneath the corbie's wing, And the blast that reaves the corbie's brood Will soon blaw hame our king. Then blaw ye east, or blai* ye west, Or blaw ye o'er the f ^eibl. Oh, bring the Md that I lo'e best, And ane I d^rend. naMe. THE WHITE COCKADE. My love was born in Aberdeen, The bonniest lad that e'er was seen ; But now he makes our hearts fu' sad — He's ta'en the field wi' his white cockade. Oh, he's a ranting, roving blade ! Oh, he's a bfisk atd a bonny lad ! Betide what mdy, my heart is glad To see my lad wi' his white cockade. Oh, leeze me on the philaibeg. The hairy hough, and gartered leg ! But aye the thing that glads my e'e, Is the white cockade aboon the bree. D D 2 ADIEU FOB EVEBMOBK I'll sell my rook, I'll sell my reel, My rippling kame, and spinning wheel, To buy my lad a tartan plaid, A braidsword, and a white cockade. I'll sell my rokely and my tow. My gude gray mare and nawket cow, That every loyal Buchan lad May tak' the field wi' his white cockade. WHAT'S A' THE STEER? What's a' the steer, kimmer P What's a' the steer? Charlie he is landed, An', haith, he'U soon be hero. The win' was at his back, carle, The win' was at his back ; I carena, sin' he's come, carle, We were na worth a plack. I'm right glad to hear't, kimmer, I'm right glad to hear't ; I hae a gude braid claymore, And for his sake I'll wear't. Sin' Charlie he is landed. We hae nae mair to fear ; Sin' Charlie he is come, kimmer. We'll hae a jubilee year. ADIEU EOR EVERMORE. It was a' for our richtfu' king We left fair Scotland's strand ; It was a' for our richtfu' king We e'er saw Irish land, my dear. We e'er saw Irish land. Now a' is done that men can do, And a' is done in vain : My love, my native land, farewell ; For I maun cross the main, my dear. For I maun cross the main. TEE WEE WEE GERMAN LAIBDIE. 405 He turned him riclit and round about Upon the Irish shore. And ga'e his bridle-reins a shake, With, Adieu for evermore, my love, "With, Adieu for evermoi-e. The soldier frae the war returns, The sailor frae the main ; But I hae parted frae my love. Never to meet again, my love. Never to meet again. When day is gane, and nioht is come, And a' folk bound to sleep, I think on him that's far awa' The lee-lang night, and weep, my dear. The lee-lang night, and weep. THE WEE, WEE GEEMAN LMEDIB. Wha the deil hae we gotten for a king, But a wee, wee German lairdie ? And, when we gaed to bring him hame. He was delving in his kail-yardie : Sheughing kail, and laying leeks, But the hose, and but the breeks ; And up his beggar duds he cleeks ; This wee, wee German laivdie. And he's clapt dovfn in our gudeman's chair. The wee, wee German lairdie ; And he's brought fouth o' foreign leeks. And dibbled them in his yardie. He's pn'd the rose o' English loons, And broken the harp o' Irish clowns : But our thistle-tap will jag his thumbs, This wee, wee German lairdie. Come up amang our Highland hills, Thou wee, wee German lairdie ; And see the Stuarts' lang kail thrive. We dibbled in our yardie ; 406 ADIEU, MY NATIVE LAND, ADIEU! And if a stock ye dare to pu', Or baud the yoking o' a plough, We'll break your eoeptre o'er your mou', Thou wee bit German lairdie. Our hills are steep, our glens are deep, Nae fitting for a yardie ; And our Norland thjstles yinna pu', Thou wee Jsit German lairdie : And we've the trenching blades o' weir, Wad prune ye o' your German gear ; We'll pass ye 'neath the claymore's shear. Thou feckless German lairdie, Auld Scotland, thou'rt ower caul,d a hole For nursin' siccan vermin ; But the very dongs o' England's court They bark and howl in German. Then keep thy dibble in thy ain hand, Thy spade but and thy yardie ; Tor wha the deil hae we gotten for a king But a wee, wee German lairdie P ADIEU, MT NATIVE LAND, ADIEU! Adieu, my native land, adieji ! The veBS,^l spreads hej: swelling sails. Perhaps I never ijiore may view Your fertile fields, your flowery dales; Delusive hope can charm no more, Ear from the faithless maid I roam, Unfriended seek some foreign shore, Unpitied leave my peaceful home ! Adieu, my np.tjve land, &c. Pai'ewell, dear village, oh ! farewell, Soft on the gale tliy murmur dies, I hear thy solemn evening bell, Thyspires yet glad Jiiy aching eyes ; Though frequent falls the dazzling tear, I scorn to shrink at fate's depree, '' And think not, cruel maid, that e'er I'll breathe another sigh for thee. Adieu, my native land, Ac. KENMUBB'S ON AND AWA'. 4{)7 In vain, through shades of frowning night. Mine eyes thy rocky coast explore, Deep sinks the fiery orb of light, I view thy beacons now no more. Rise, billows, rise ! blow, hollow wind ! (Nor nigh|;, nor storpis, nor dentil, I fear), Be friendfy, bear me hence to find That peace which fate denies me here. Adieu, my native land, &c. ON THIS COLD FLINTY ROCK. On this cold flinty rock I will lay down my head. And happy will sing through the night ; The moon shall smile sweetly upon my cold bed, And the stars crowd to give me a light. Then, come to me, my gentle dear, Oh, turn those sweet eyes unto me ; To my bosom now creep, I will sing thee to sleep. And kiss from thy lid the sad tear. This innocent flower, which those rude cUffs unfold, Is thou, love, the joy of this earth, But the rock that it springs from, so flinty and cold. Is thy father that gave thee thy birth. ' Then, come to me, &c. The dews that now hang on the cheek of the eve, And the winds that do mournfully cry, Are the sighs and the tears of the youth thou must leave. To lie down in these deserts to die. Then, cftme tpme, &c. KBNMURB'S ON AND AWA,' WILLIE. Kenmtieb's on and awa', Willie, O Kenm.ure's on and awa' ; And Kenmure's lord's the bravest lord That ever Galloway saw. 408 WE'LL GANG TO KIBK AWA'. Success to Kenmure's band, Willie, Success to Kenmure's band ; There's nae a heart that fears a Whig That rides by Kenmure's hand. There's a rose in Kenmure's cap, Willie, There's a rose in Kenmure's cap ; He'll steep it red in ruddie heart's blude. Afore the battle drap. O Kenmure's lads are men, WiUie, O Kenmure's lads are men ; Their hearts and swords are metal true, And that their faes shall ken. They live or die wi' fame, WUlie, They live or die wi' fame. But soon wi' sounding victorie May Kenmure's lord come hame. Here's Kenmure's health in wine, Willie, Here's Kenmure's health in wine ; There ne'er was a coward o' Kenmure's bludc, Nor yet o' Gordon's line. Here's him that's far awa', Willie, Here's him that's far awa'. And here's the flower that I lo'e best. The rose that's like the snaw. WE'LL GANG TO KIEK AWA'. Mt lad's a braw and bonny lad, Good- tempered, kind, and free ; And, day and night, the bonny boy Is always wooing me : For, though they say we shanna wed, And make a mickle din. Still Jamie fondly whispers me, " Hoot ! dinna care a pin !" For we will gang to kirk, my love, We'll gang to kirk awa'. ORABLIE IS MY DABLINO. 4.09 My father's grown a crabbfed man, And baits us with his tongue, My raither too, wbo joins with him, Forgets when she was j'oung ; But let them scold, and let them frown. And make a mickle din, StiU Jamie fondly whispers me, " Hoot ! dinna care a pin !" For we will gang to kirk, &c. My granny's kind, and takes our part "Whene'er we are not by, And Jamie's hopes are joined to mine, To pray she may not die : For, while we have a friend in her. We fear no mickle din ; Still Jamie fondly whispers me, " Hoot ! dintia care a pin !" For we will gang to kivk, &o. CHARLIE IS MT DAKLING. CHORUS. ! Ohahlie is my darling. My darling, my darling ; ! Charlie is my darling, The young chevalier. 'Twas on a Monday morning, Right early in the year, When Charlie came to our town. The young chevalier. ! Charlie is my darling, &c. As he came marching up the street. The pipes played loud and clear. And a' the folk came running out To meet the chevalier. ! Charlie is my darling, &c. 410 ENGLAND, THE ANGROB AND HOPE OF THE WOULD. Wi' Highland bonnets on their heads, And claymores bright and clear, They came to fight for Scotland's right, And the young chevalier. O ! Charlie is my darling, &o. TheyVe left their bonnie Highland hills. Their wives and bairnies dear. To draw the sword for Scotland's lord. The young chevalier. O ! CJiarlie is my darling, &c. O ! there were monie beating hearts, And monie hopes and fears ; And monie were the prayers put up For the young chevalier. O ! Charlie is my darling, &c. ENGLAND, THE ANCHOR AJ^D HOPE OP THE WORLD. Undaunted in peril 0,nd fpreniost in danger. Ever ready the rights of mankind to defend. The guard of the weak and support of the stranger ; To oppression a foe, and to freedom a friend. Amid the rude scenes of dismay and commotion. Since Anarchy first her red banner unfurled. Still firm as a rock, in her own native ocean. Stood England, the Anchor and Hope of the world. Sweetest spot on the earth, where true honour combining With justice and truth, gives a strength to the whole ; Where the rose-bud of beauty, with valour entwining, Enlargeth the heart and exalteth the soul. O land of my birth ! yet shall peace be thy portion. And thy white sails in commerce again be unfurled j And still shalt thou stand, lovely rock ! in the ocean, The anchor of Europe, the hope of the world. 411 HAEK! THE HOLLOW WOODS RESOUNDING. Haek ! tlie hollow woods resounding, Echo to the hunter's cry, Hark ! how all the vales resounding. To his cheering voice reply ; Now so swift o'er hills aspiring, He pursues the gay delight. Distant woods and plains retiring, Seem to vanish from his sight. Flying, still and still pursuing. See the fox, the hounds, the men, Cunning cannot save from ruin, Free from refuge, wood, or den ; Now they kill hira, homeward hie them, To a jovial night's repast, Thus no sorrow e'er comes nigh them, Health continues to the last. ENGLAND, EUROPE'S GLORY. There is a land amidst the waves Whose sons are famed in story. Who never were, or will be slaves, Nor shrink from death or glory ! Then strike the harp, and bid it swell, With flowing bowl before ye, Here's to the land in which we dwell. To England, Europe's glory. Blest land, beyond all lands afar, Encircled in the voters, With lion-hearted sons in war, And beauty's peerless daughters. Go ye, whose discontented hearts Disdain the joys before ye, Go, seek a home in foreign parts, Like England, Europe's ^lory. 412 LOVE WILL FIND OUT THE WAY. Whether in sultry climes ye rove, A solitary stranger, Or seek the foreign fair one's love, Where lurk deceit and danger : Where will ye find domestic bliss, With social sweets before ye; A land so great, so good as this — Like England, Europe's glory ? WE BE THREE POOR EISHERMEF. A GLEE. We be three poor fishermen, Who daily troll the seas ; We spend our lives in jeopardy. While others live at ease. The sky looks black around, around, The sky looks black around. And he that would be merry, boys. Come haul his boat aground. We cast our lines along the shore In stormy wind and rain ; And every night we land our nets. Till daylight comes again. The sky looks black, &c. LOVE WILL FIND OUT THE WAT. Beneath the earth, in her lonely caves. And across the unsheltered moor. Above the rooks where the tempest raves. And along the wide watered shore ; And by tangled forest, and craggy hill. The haunts where the tigers prey, Through pain and peril, undaunted still, Love will find out the way ! CONQUDB! OB FALL, LIKE TBUE SIG3LANB MEN. 415 You may think him timid, so fast he flies, And speaks with a tone so mild ; Ton may deem that darkness has veiled his eyes, Or believe him a simple child ! But if she, whose beauty is love's delight, Be concealed from the beam of day, Set a thousand guards on that lady bright, — Love will find out the way ! Without a guide, and without a clue, Through the realms of unmeasured space,. Where the dove herself, that returns so true. Would be lost in her airy race j Though the night-wind sweep, or the chill rain fall. Or the sun dart his fiercest ray, Oh ! love, unconquered, will speed through all, Love will find out the way ! CONQUEE! OE FALL, LIKE TEUE HIGHLAND MEN. Beayb sons of the mountain, to battle away ! Behold, they wait us, in haughty array ! Though our number be small, We can conquer or fall. Like true Highlanders all ! Then away ! away ! Though the path may be gory, we'U on ! we'll on ! Since it leadeth to gloiy, we'll on ! we'll on ! Bright though sabres be gleaming. And death-shots be beaming, And the red blood be streaming. We'll on ! we'll on ! Say, where is the coward, who trembles or swerves ? Let him turn, and await the base death he deserves ! As for us, or to live or die, Ours be the battle-cry, Yengeance and liberty ! On, then ! on 1 114 THE TOPSAILS SBIVEB IN TEE WIND. By the aouls of our fathers, who sleep in their cairns ; By their blood which is in us, our wives, and 6nr bairns ; iSy all that cheer us, The proud foe shall fear us, As the ofEspring ot heroes ! We'U on ! then, on ! Then forth with J^our sword, and away -ysatrh your sheath, Prepare for the harvest of conquest or death ! Loud bid your pibrochs roar, Flourish each bright claymore. Shout for Macdallara More ! On ! on ! on ! THE TOPSAILS SHIVER IN THE WIND. The topsails shiver in the wind, The ship is cast to sea ; But yet my soul, ray heart, my mind, Are, Mary, moored with thee ; For though thy sailor's bound afar. Still love shall be his leading star. Should landmen flatter when we're sailed. Oh ! doubt their artful tales ; No gallant sailor ever failed. If love breathed constant gales : Thou art the compass of my soul, Which steers my heart from pole to pole. Sirens in every port we meet. More fell than rooks or waves ; But such as grace the British fleet. Are lovers, and not slaves : ' No foes our courage shall subdue, Although we've left our hearts with yon. These are our cares ; but if you're kind, We'll scorn the dashing main. The rooks, the billows, and the wind, The power of Prance and Spain : Now England's glory rests with you. Our sails are full — sweet girls, adieu ! 415 OH! SAILOE-BOT, SAILOR-BOY, PEACE TO THY SOUL. In slumbers of midnight the sailor-boy lay, His hammock swang loose at the sport of the wind, But, watch-worn and weary, his cares flew away. And visioAs of happiness danced o'er his mind ; He dreamt of his home, of his dear native bowers, And pleasureis that waited on life's meri-y morn. Whilst Memory stood sideways, talf-coTered with flowers, And restored evSif rose, but secrefed a thorn. The- jessamine clambers in flowers o'er the thatch. And the swallow sings sweet from the nest in the wall. All trembling, with transport he raises the latch, And the voice of beloved ones reply to his call : A father bends o'er hita with looks of delight. His cheek is'impearled with a mother's fotid tear,, And the lips of the boy in a love-kiss Unite With the lips of the maid whom his bosom holds dear. Oh ! sailor-boy, sailor-boy, never again Shall peace, love, or kindred, thy wishes repay ; Unblest and unhpnourSd, down .deep, in the main, i^ull many score fattom thy form shall decay. Days, months, years, and age's, shall circle away. And still the vasi waters above thee shall roll ; Earth loosens thy body for ever and aye. Oh ! saUor-boy, sailor-boy, peace to thy soul. I'LL GIVE THE LAND WE LIVE IN. The sparkling liquor fUls the glass, And briskly round the board it goes. We toast in turn each favourite lass* And drink confusion to our foes : — While each in turn, the catch, the glee. The song, the_ toast, is given ; And ever, as it comes to me, I'll give the land we live in. 416 SWEET ECHO WAKES SEB MIMIG SONG. Then all arise, and join in the glee, With a loud huzza, and three times throe ; Huzza ! I'll give the land we live in, I'U give the land we live in. Our captain always gives the king, His bosom, glows with loyal flame ; While all the deck in praises sing Of valiant Smith and Nelson's name. God bless the laud of liberty ! The song, the toast is given ; And ever as it comes to me, I'U give the land we live in. Then all arise, &c. Some folks may envy foreign parts. And wish to gain a distant shore ; But let them go with all our hearts. We shall be plagued with them no more. Grod bless the land of hberty ! The song, the toast is given ; And ever as it comes to me, I'll give the land we live in. Then all arise, and join in the glee, With a loud huzza, and three times tliree ; Huzza ! I'll give the land we live in, The glorious land we live in. SWEET ECHO WAKES HER MIMIC SONG. The portals of the east divide. The orient dawn is just descried. Mild and grey. The starry fires elude the sight, The shadows fly before the hght, Par away. Now, hark ! the woodland haunt is found, For now the merry bugles sound Their sylvan lay. As each sweet measure floats along, Sweet Echo wakes her mimic song, Far away. FAREWELL ! FORGET ME NOT. 417 The stag now roused, right onward speeds, O'er hill and dale, the moor and meads. He's fain to stray. His flight the shouting peasants view. His steps the dashing hounds pursue, Par away. All day untired his route we trace, Exulting in the joyous chase Of such a day. At length at mild eve's twilight gleam. He's taken in the valley stream. Far away. THE CHASE IS O'EE, THE HART IS SLAEST. The chase is o'er, the hart is slain, The stateliest hart that graced the plain ; With breath of bxigles wind his knell, Then lay him low in death's drear dell ! Nor beauteous form, nor dappled hide ! Nor branching horns can long abide ; Nor fleetest foot that scuds the heath ; Escapes the fleeter huntsman-^-Death. The hart is slain ; his faithful deer. In spite of hounds or huntsman near, Despising Death and all his train, Laments her hart, tmtimely slain ! The chase is o'er, the hart is slain. The gentlest hart that graced the plain ; Blow soft your bugles, — wind his knell. Then lay him low in Death's drear dell. FAREWELL ! FORGET ME NOT. I SEE the white sails of thy ship. The blue depths of the sea ; I hear the wind sweep o'er the wave That bears thee, love, from me, E E 418 FAREWELL! FORGET ME NOT. 'tky flag slimes in tte crimson sun, , Now Betting in trie brine, That siji,n willset to-morrow there, But light no sail of thine.! , Tet, with to-morrow's evening star. Again I'll seek this spot; 'Twas here Ijgave my parting chargej My last — Forget me not ! Around my neck there is a band, "Tis made of thy dark hair ; Its links guard my heart's dear prize, A broken ring they bear. A like pledge hangs upon thy breast. The last sweet gift love gave ; We broke that ring, we twined that hail, Upon a maiden's grave ! A girl who died of broken vows — (How can love be forgot P) A fitting shrine for faithful hearts To light — Forget me not ! Ho* can I bear to think oil all The dangers thou must brave P My fears will deem each gale a storm. While thou art on the wave. How my young heart will cling to all That breathes of thine or thee ! How I will plant thy favourite flowers. And nurse thy favourite tree ! And thbu, oh thou ! be shade or shine. Or storm or calm thy lot, Bear on thy heart our parting words-^— Our fond— Forget me not ! 'Sa.f, pray thee, mother, let me gaze Upon that distant sail ; What matters that my eye is dim. Or that my cheek is pale ? And tell me not 'tis vain to weep For him who is away ; That sighs nor tears will speed the flight Of bu^t a single day ; It is not that I hope to bring My sailor to our cot, But who can say, and yet not weep — Farewell ! — Forget me not ! 419 I'LL GANG NAE MAIE TO YON TOWN. I'll gang nae mair to yon town, Betide me joy, betide me pain ; I've tint my heart in yon town, And dare nae gang tlie gate again. The sun shall cease to thowe the snaw. The eorn to shoot wi' simmer rain. When I gang back to yon town, And see the gate my heart has gane. Ye^reen I went to yon town, Wi' heart in pleasure panting free. As stag won from the hunter's snare. Or birdie building on the tree ; But ae half- hour tint all my peace. And laired my soul in dool and pain, And weary fa' the witchcraft wit That winna let it free again. Had I but been by fortune's hand In the silt lap of grandeur thrown, And she had trimmed the humblest home That ever rose in Oaledon ; I'd clad her in a starry robe, And claspt her to my bosom fain ; And blest the happy hour I went To see the mirthsome town again. She's fairer than a summer mom, And purer than the spotless sky ; Far is the journey to her heart, She measures in her haughty eye. But she is sweeter than the rose New bathed^ amang the balmy rain^ — And I maun gang to yon town. And see the lovesome maid again. THE MARINER'S SONG. 'Tis a time of pride when the bark is prancing, Like an Arab steed, o'er the waste of waves. When her path behind in light is glancing, And the fire-white foam her bowsprit laves ; 420 THE PLEBGE. Then, then, is the time of proud emotion, — And if in the bosom a proud one sleep, 'Twill awake to dance to the music of ocean, And sweep, with the winds, o'er the weltering deep. With my bark through her own blue path careering, I never can envy the landsman's bhss ; No sun on the shore ever shone so cheering As it sparkles down on a world like this ! What music can make the heart so sprightly As the roll of the billows in the breeze ? What ball upon earth ever shone so brightly As the stirring dance of the sun-lit seas P THE PLEDGE. A SONG. Come pledge me ! eee the sparkling glass With ruby foam-bells shine ! They bid us snatch them ere they pass : Come pledge me in the wine ! When I behold thy smiling lips To that bright draught incline, Methinks young love his pinions dips With them to meet the wine. The kind good wish those lips express, Warm from the heart benign. It hath a tenfold power to bless. Breathed o'er the mantling wine. And hark ! with sweet and silvery clink, Thy glass lings clear on mine ! Of hearts accordant thus we think, While pledging in the wine. CANZONET. 421 V. To fist, the streams, — to flowers supply Their dewdrops clear and fine, — Give nectar to the gods on high ; My share be rosy wine ! Then qnafi life's joys, while sparkling up. They bid thee make them thine, — And let thy red lip kiss the cup To pledge thy love in wine. CANZONET. Love dwells not in the sparkling blaze. When noon rests on the stream ; His tender flowerets dare not raise Their bosoms to the beam : When gleams the moon through latticed bowers. And stars are shining bright. He communes with the shadowy hours, And wooes the silent night. The dreamy perfume of the rose, The violet's deeper sigh. The music of the rill, that flows In liquid cadence by ; The sweet tones of some village chime On sweeter echoes borne, — These, these are joys of evening time, Wliich scarcely wait the morn ! in. Not in the rich and courtly hall The heart's pure faith is given ; But where the greenwood shadows fall Beneath a twilight heaven. 422 ^ au^bf run AUTUMN. Life's crowded pomp and pageant show May darker passions movp, But solitude alone can kiio)v The incense-thoughts of loye. When worldly cares are hushed in sleep, Love wakes at such an hour, Young hopes their angel vigils keep, And joy resumes its power : Though night, in all its dusky state. Athwart the skies be thrown ; Yet Beauty's glance can then create A noontide all her own I A SONG FOE AUTUMN. 'Tis a fitting time for hope to die. When all is dying rounij iis ; When the floTvers in withered fragrance lie Whose wreaths so lately crowned us. 'Tip a fitting time for sorrow's shade To cast its darkness o'er us. When all in heaven and earth doth fade, And look so blank before us. The skies are grey, the winds are chill, The earth is' sad and dreary: And human bosoms feel the ijl, Ajid sigh till they are weary. All that is gay and bright and fair, In Nature's works is sleeping ; Then why should we escape from care, When 'tjs the time for weeping P Iitmnraws* Bt cheerful wit and graptio tale, refreshening the harassed spirit. TUPPBE. DivEBsioNS are the most properly applied to ease and relieve those who are oppressed, by being too much employed. Those that are idle have no need of them, and yet they, above all others, give themselves up to them. To unbend our thoughts, when they are too much stretched by our cares, is not more natural than it is necessary; but to turn our whole life into a holiday, is not only ridiculous, but destroyeth pleasure instead of promoting it. — Savelle. THE OXFORD STUDENT TO HIS MOTHER. Deak mother, your anger to soften, At last I sit down to indite ; 'Tis clear I am wrong very often. Since 'tis true I so seldom do write ! But now I'll be silent no longer, Pro and con, all my deeds I'll disclose ; All the pros in my verse I'll make stronger, And hide all the cons in ray pros ! Tou told me, on oomjng to College, To dip into books and excel ; Why, the tradesmen themselves must acknowledge I've dipt into books pretty well ! The advice yoji took pleasure in giving ' To direct ;ne is sure to snoceed, And I think you'll confess I ani living With very great credit indeed ! I wait on the reverend doctors. Whose ft-iendship you told me to seek ; And, as for the two learned proctors. They've called for me twice in a week ! 424 THE OXFORD STUDENT TO HIS MOTHER. Indeed, we've got intimate lately. And I seldom can pass down the street. But their kindness surprises me greatly, For they stop me whenever we meet ! My classics, with all their old stories, I now very closely pursue, And ne'er read the Remedia Amoris Without thinking, dear mother, of you ! Of Virgil I've more than a smatter, And Horace I've nearly by heart ; But though famed for his smartness and satire, He's not quite so easy as Smart. English bards I admire every tittle. And dote on poetical lore ; And, though yet I have studied but Little, I hope to be master of Moore ! You'll see, from the nonsense I've written. That my devils are none of the blues. That I'm playful and gay as a kitten. And nearly as fond of the muse ! Bright puns (oh ! how crossly yon bore 'em I) I scatter while logic I cram ; For Euclid and Eons Asinorum We leave to the Johnians of Cam. My pony, in spite of my ohidings, Is as skittish and shy as can be ! Not Yorkshire, with all its three Bidings, Is half such a shier as he ! I wish he were stronger and larger. For, in truth, I must candidly own He is far the most moderate charger In this land of high chargers I've known ! My doubts of profession are vanished ; I'U tell you the cause when we meet ; Church, Army, and Bar I have banished. And now only look to the Fleet ! Come down, then, when summer is gilding Our gardens, our trees, and our founts ; I'll give you accounts of each building, — How you'll wonder at all my accounts ! TEE ANSWER OF TEE EGYPTIAN MUMMY. 425 Come down wMle the soft winds are sighing ! Come down — oh, you shall and you mnst ! Come down when the dust-clouds are flying ! Dear mother, — come down with the dust ! FASHION. I STOOD amid the glittering throng, ■piddle de dee, fiddle de dee ! And there I stood confoundedly long. Like the fine folks whom I stood among, Fiddle de dec, fiddle de dee. I stood and stared, and stared and stood. Fiddle de dee, fiddle de dee ! To have seen me stood would have done you good, For I stood just like a log of wood,- Fiddle de dee, fiddle de dee ! And I stood, and I stood till the dawn of day. Fiddle de dee, fiddle de dee ! Then I stood amid the throng so gay ; Tea ! I stood till at last — I went away ! Fiddle de dee, fiddle de dee. THE AifSWER OF THE EGYPTIAN MUMMY. Vide Horace Smith's "Address to the Mummy in Belzoni's Exhibition.'" Child of the latter days ! thy words have broken A spell that long has bound these lungs of clay, For since this smoke-dried tongue of mine hath spoken, Three thousand tedious years have rolled away. Unswathed at length, I stand at ease before ye,— List, then, oh! list, while I unfold my story. Thebes was my birthplace — an unrivalled city. With mamj gates, but here I might declare Some strange plain truths except that it were pity To blow a poet's fabric into air ; Oh ! I could read you quite a Theban lecture. And give a deadly finish to conjecture. 426 THE ANSWER OF THE EGYPTIAN MUMMY. But then yon would not have me throw discredit On grave historians — or on him who sung The Iliad — ^true it is I never read it. But heard it read when I was very young ; An old blind minstrel, for a trifling profit. Recited parts — I think the autlwr of it. All that I know about the town of Homek, Is, that they scarce would own him in his day ; Were glad, too, when he proudly turned a roamer. Because by this they saved ihmr parish-pay ; His townsmen would have been ashamed to flout liim. Had they foreseen the fuss since made about him. One blunder I can fairly set at rest, He says that men were once more big and bony Than now, which is a bouncer at the best, I'U just refer you to our friend Belzoni, Near seven feet high ! in sooth a lofty figure ! Now look' at Tne and tell me am I higger ! Not half the size ; bnt then I'm sadly dwindled ; Three thousand years, with that embalming glue. Have made a serious difference, and have swindled My face of all its beauty — there were few Egyptian youths more gay, — behold the sequel. Nay smile not, you and I may soon be equal ! For this lean hand did one day hurl the lance With mortal aim — this light fantastic toe Threaded the mystic mazes of the dance ; This heart hath throbbed at tales of love and woe. These shreds of raven hair once set the fashion. This withered form inspired the tender passion. In vain ! the sMlful hand, and feelings warm. The foot that figured in the bright quadriUe, The palm of genius and the manly form. All bowed at once to Death's mysterious will. Who sealed me up where mummies sound are sleeping, In cere-cloth and in tolerable keeping. Where cows and monkeys squat in rich brocade. And well-dressed crocodiles in printed cases, Bats, bats, and owls, and cats in masquerade. With scarlet flounces, and with varnished faces. Then, birds, brutes, reptiles, fish, all crammed together, With ladies that might pass for well-tanned leather. THE DATS OF CHIVALltY. 427 Where Ritmeses and Sabacon lie down, And splendid Psammis in his hide pf ci'pst ; Princes and heroes, men of high renown, ^Vho in their day kicked up a mighty dust, — Their swarthy mummies kicked up dust in numbers, "WheJi huge Belzoni came to scare their slumbers ! Who'd think these rusty hams of mine were seated At Dido's table, when the wondrous tale Of " Juno's hatred" was so well repeated ? And ever and anon the queen turned pale ; Meanwhile the brilliant gas-ligKts, hung above her, Threw a wild glare upon her shipwrecked lover. Aye, gaslights ! mock me not ; we men of yore Were versed in all the knowledge you can mention ; Who hath not heard of Egypt's peerless lore ? Her patient toil ? acuteoess of invention ? Survey the proofs, — our pyramids are thriving, — Old Memnon stiU looks young and I'm surviving. A lapd in arts and sciences prolific. On blocks gigantic building up her fame ! Crowned with signs and letters hieroglyphic. Temples and obelisks her skill proclaim ! Yet though her art and toil unearthly seem, Thoqe hlochs luere hrotigld on kailroads and hy steam ! How, when, and why, our people came to rear The Pyramid of Cheops, mighty pile ! This and the other secrets thou sh3,lt hear ; I will unfold if thou wilt stay awhile, The history of the Sphinx, and who began it. Our mystic marks, and monsters made of granite. Well, then, in grievous times, when Bang Cephrenes — But, ah! what's this ? — the shades of bards and kings Press on my lips their fingers ! What they mean is, I am not to reveal these hidden things. Mortal, farewell ! TilL Science' self unbind them. Men must e'en take these secrets as they find them. THE DATS OF CHIVALET. Alas ! the days of chjvalry are fled ! The brilliant topmament ejfists no more ! Our loves are cold, and dull as ice or lead. And courting is a mostjenormous bore ! 428 THE DAYS OF GHIVALBY. In those good " olden times," a " ladye bright" Might sit within her turret or her bower,_ While lovers sang and played without all night, And deemed themselves rewarded by a flower. Yet, if one favoured swain would persevere. In despite of her haughty scorn and laugh, Perchance she threw him, with the closing year, An old odd glove, or else a worn-out scarf. And he a thousand oaths of love would swear, As in an ecstasy he caught the prize, 1'hen would he gallop oflp, no one knows where. Telling another thoiisdnd monstrous lies ; All picturing her matchless beauty, which He might discern, I ween, not much about, Seeing he could but see her 'cross the ditch As she between the lattice peep&d out. Oflf then, away he'd ride o'er sea and land. And dragons fell and mighty giants smite, With the tough spear he carried in his hand ; And all to prove himself her own true knight. Meanwhile a thousand more, as wild as he, Were all employed upon the self-same thing ; And when each knight had rode hard for his " ladye," They all came back and met within a ring. Where all the men who were entitled " syr" Appeared with martial air and haughty frown. Bearing " long poles, each other up to stir," And, in the stir tip, thrust each other down. Aiul then they galloped round with dire intent, Each knight resolved another's pride to humble ; And laughter rang around the tournament As oft as any of them had a tumble. And when, perchance, some ill-starred wight might die, 'I'he victim of a stout, unlucky poke. Mayhap some fair one wiped one beaiiteous eye, The rest smiled calmly on the deadly joke. Soon, then, the lady, whose grim stalwart swain Had got the strongest horse and toughest pole. Bedecked him, Ivnoeling, with a golden chain. And plighted ti'oth before the motley whole. THB GABELES8 COUPLE. 429 Then trumpets soimded, bullocks whole were dvest, Priests with shora heads and lengthy beai'ds were seen ; 'Midst clamorous shouts the happy pair were blest, For chivalry won Beauty's chosen queen. And when fair daughters bloomed like beauteous flowers, To bless the gallant knight and stately dame. They shut them up within their lonely towers, That squires might fight for them and win their fame. But maidens now from hall and park are brought, Like Covent Garden flowers, in lota, to town ; No more by prowess in the lists 'tis sought. Beauty's the purchase of the wealthiest clown ! Alas ! the days of chivalry are fled ! The brilliant tournament exists no more ! Men now ai-e cold, and dull as ice or lead. And even courtship is a dreadful bore ! THE OAEELESS COUPLE. Jenny is poor, and I am poor. Yet we will wed, so say no more ; And should the hairns, you mention, come. As few that marry but have some, No doubt but Heaven will stand our friend. And hreoA as well as children send. So fares the hen in farmer's yard. To live alone, she finds it hard ; I've known her weary every claw, In search of corn among the straw ; But when in quest of nicer food, She clucks among her chirping brood. With joy I've Seen that self-same hen, That scratched for one, could scratch for Icn. These are the thoughts that make me willing To take my girl without a shilling ; And for the self-same cause d'ye see, Jenny's resolved to marry me. 430 HOW SHALL I DINE ? ■ GUNiLt blow and stir the fire, Lay the mutton down to roast, Dress it nicely I desire. In the dripping put a toast, That I hunger may remove : Mutton is the meat I love. On the dresser see it lie. Oh ! the charming white and red ! Finer meat ne'er met my eye, On the sweetest grass it fed : Let the jack go swiltly round. Let me have it nicely bi owned. On the table spread the cloth. Let the knives be sharp and clean : Pickles get and salad both, Let them each be fresh and green : With small beer, good ale, and wine, ye gods ! how I shall dine. HOT DAY. What a plague's a summer breakfast. Eat whate'er you will ! A roll is but a nasty thing, And toast is nastier still. Then how to pass the time away Tin dinner — there's the doubt : You're hot if you stay m the house — Your hot if you go o%t. When dinner comes, oh, help us all ! Such frying ! such a stew ! You're hot if you don't touch a bit — Your hotter if you do. Then after dinner what to do ? No knowing where to rove — The gentlemen are hot below. The ladies hot above. GOLB WATER. 43i And now the kettle comeB a^ain ; That's not the way to cool one : Tea makes an empty stomach hot, And hotter stiU a full one. Well now the supper's come, and come To make bad worse I wot ; For supper, whilst it heats the cool, WiU never cool the hot. And bed, which cheers the cold man's heart, Helps not the hot a pin ; For he who's hot when out of bed, Is ten times hotter in. SATUEDAY. In glowing terms I would this day indite (Its mom, its noon, its afternoon and night), The busiest day throughout the week — the latter day ; A day whereon odd mattefs are made even. The dirtiest, cleanest too, of all the seven, The scouring pail, pan, plate, and platter day; A day of general note and notability, A plague to gentlefolks and prime gentiKty, E'en to the highfest ranks — nobility ! » And, yet a day (barring all jokes)' Of great utility, Both to the rich as well as the mobility. A day of din — of clack — a clatter day ; For all, howe'er they mince the matter, say This day they dread ; A day with hippish, feverish, frenzy fed, Is that grand day of fuss and bustle, — Saturday. COLD WATER. Some sing the peaceful pleasures of the plains. While other bards invoke the groves and Woods ; But I, enamoured of incessant rains. Will make my theme cold water and the floods. Let others sit beneath the leafy shade, While murmuring breezes softly float about ; But I in purling brooks delight to wade. Or stand beneath some friendly water-spout. 433 COLD WATER. "Ks sweet the nectar of the gods to quaff. And very pleasant is the rosy wine ; Befreshing is the taste of " half-and-half," But of all drinks cold water shall be mine. The verdant turf is grateful to the feet. And some recline upon the mossy vale ; But smoothest lawns yield not so soft a seat As that aSorded by a well-filled paiL Before another century has fled. Water ! thy virtues none wiU dare deny ; Posterity wiU humbly bare its head. When thou in rain descendest from the sky. The workman, when his daily labour's done — Eager alike for luxury and rest — Will to his water-butt impatient run, The spigot turn — lie under — and be blest ! No longer to the couch will idlers fly. When the siesta they would fain invite ; But 'neath the pump will indolently lie While lackeys work away with all their might. No more will builders try their utmost skill. As now, to render houses waterproof; But ali their tiles in little holes they'll drill. And make a shower-bath in every loof. Economists will search in every street For friendly watcr-spouts supplied with rain ; Where, gratis, they may with uie luxury meet- Ay, luxury ! — of water on the brain. No more shall watering-pots their blessings shed Alone on vegetables, fruit, and flowers ; But man, reclining on a water-bed. Shall be refreshed by gently falling showers. Umbrellas, also, will be only known By specimens in old museums seen. Which, as barbaric relics, will be shown Of customs curious that once had been. And when 'tis read in history's faithful page. That pickpockets were pumped on, now and then. Our children will despise a foolish age. That so much honoured such unworthy ranu. HOM(EOPATBIG SOUP. 433 Then hail ! all hail ! to hydropathic sKll, Upon whose principles it stands confessed, That he who cisterns vast will freely swill, May dropsy cure — or water on the chest. For nauseous drugs no use there soon will be ; For salts, magnesia, senna, no pretence ; Dispensing chemists, all men will agree To view as things with which they can dispense. Physic to agriculture they'll apply. And write prescriptions for a sickly crop ; With fever mixtures, when the land's too dry, Inflammatory action they will stop. In every farm, so modem savants say, A chemist will be always needed near ; For, if the com nnhealtmness display, He'Jl dose it for diseases of the ear. HOMCEOPATHIC SOUP. Takh a robin's leg (Mind ! the drumstick merely), Put it in a tub Filled with water nearly ; Set it out of doors. In a place that's shady. Let it stand a week (Three days if for a lady) ; Drop a spoonfal of it In a five-pail kettle. Which may be made of tin Or any baser metal ; FiU the kettle up. Set it on a boiling. Strain the liquor well, To prevent its oUing ; , One atom add of salt, For the thickening one rice kernel, And use to light the fire '' The Homoeopathic Journal." Let the liquor boil Half an hour, no longer, (If 'tis for a man Of course you'll make it stronger). F P 434. A KINTBA S0BULEMAI8TEE. Should yon now desire That the soiip be flavoury, Stir it once around, With a stalk of savory. When the broth is made, Nothing can excel it : Then three times a day Let the patient smell it. If he chance to die, Say 'twas Nature did it : if he chance to live, Give the soup the credit. A EINTEA SOHULEMAISTBR'S FAEBWBEL TAB THE RIGHT SIDE O' HIS BLACK GOAT. Eakeweel, my auld an' trusty frien', Te're no the day as ye hae been. When ye were glossy, black, and sheen As raven's wing; But at yovi noo ilk ane, I ween. Maun hae his fling. I've had you on at mony a rockin', Where there was fiddlin', fun, an' jokin'. An' nae a ane sat slum or croakin' Amid the thrang, But ilk ane laid aside his mopiu' For dauce an' sang. At kirk an' market, or the fair, Eeint a coat was brawer there ; But noo ye're turnin' broon an' bare, An' wearin' thin. So fare- ye-w eel for evermair, I'll turn you in. When first I wore you on my back, I then could baud a twasome crack With that douce magnate. Bailie Blflck, Or Rich, the banker ; Na — even the Provost kindly spak, Withoot a hanker. A GOUNTBY SCHOOLMASTER. 4S5 I'm jist the same as I was then, But shared the fate o' better men; I've lost the village " Upper Ten ;" That luckless coat, It gars my bosom heave an' sten When thinkin' o't. When baskin' 'neath Dame Fortnne's rays, She'll bring you meat, she'll bring you olaes, She'll bring you hollow-hearted praise — The very best o't ; The wheel gaes roun', and then come faes, An' a' the rest o't. The Bailie gies a distant boo, Nae cracks wi' Eioh the banker noo ; The Provost gies, with his pooh-pooh, The cut direct ; But poortith may be noble too. By self-respect. If ance yer elbows are but clooted, Or your coat turned, then ne'er dispute it, Te'll find yer credit sairly dootit By ane an' a'. An' maybe on the causey hooted — That's warst ava. A COUNTRY SCHOOLMASTER. i TALE. A couNTKY schoolmaster, named Jonas Bell, Once undertook of little souls, To furnish up their jobbernowls—^ In other words, he taught them how to spell, And well adapted to the task was Bell, Whose iron-visage measured half an ell : With huge proboscis, and eyebrows of soot, Armed at the jowl just like a boar, And when he gave an angry roar. The little school-boys stood like fishes mute. Poor Jonas, though a patient man as Job, (Yet still, like Job, was sometimes hfeard to growl,) Was by a scholar's adamantine nob, Beyond all patience gravelled to the soul ! P P 2 436 JOHN DAVIDSON. I question whether Jonas in the fish Did ever dine on a more bitter dish. 'Twas thus — a lady who supported Bell, Came unexpectedly to hear them spell : The pupil fixed on by the pedagogue, Her son, a little round-faced, ruddy rogue, Who thus his letters on the table laid — M, I, L, K— and paused — " Well, sir, what's that ?" " I cannot tell," the boy all trembling said — " Not tell ! you little blind and stupid brat P Not tell !" roared Jonas, in a violent rage. And quick prepared an angry war to wage — " Tell me this instant, or I'll flay thy hide — Come, sir ! Dost thou this birchen weapon see ? What puts thy mother in her tea?" With lifted eyes the quaking rogue replied — " BUM, sir ! ! !" JOHN DAVIDSON. John DAvmsotf and Tib his wife, Sat toastin' their taes ae nioht. When something startit on the floor, And blinkit by their sicht. " Guidwife," quoth John, " did ye see that moose ? Whar sorra was the cat P" " A moose P" — " Ay, a moose." — " Na, na, guidman, It wasua a moose, 'twas a rat." " Oh, oh, guidwife, to think ye've been So lang aboot the hoose, An' no to ken a moose frae a rat ! — Ton wasna a rat ! 'twas a moose !" " I've seen r-iair mice than you, guidman — An' what think ye o' that ? Sae hand yer tongue an' say nae mair — I tell ye it was a rat." " Me baud my tongue for you, guidwife ! I'll be maister o' this hoose — I saw't as plain as e'en could see, An' I tell ye it was a moose." JOHN DAVIDSON. 437 " If you're the maister o' the hoose, It's I'm the mistress o't ; An' I ken best what's in the hoose — Sae 1 tell ye it was a rat." " Weel, weel, guidwife, gae mak' the brose, An' ca' it what ye please." Sae up she rose and made the brose, While John sat toastia' his taes. They suppit, and suppit, and snppit the brose, Ajid aye their lips played smack ; They suppit, and suppit, and suppit the brose. Till their lugs began to crack. " Sic fules we were to fa' out, guidwife. About a moose." — " A what ! It's a lee ye tell, an' I say again It wasua a moose, 'twas a rat." " Wad ye ca' me a leear to my very face ? My faith, but ye craw croose ! I tell ye, Tib, I never will bear't— 'Twas a moose." — " 'Twas a rat." — " 'Twas a moose !" Wi' that she struck him ower the pow* — " Ye donrf auld doit, J tak' that — Giae to your bed, ye cankered 3umph§ — 'Twas a rat." — " 'Twas a raoose !" — " 'Twas a rat !" She sent the brose-caup at his heels As he hirpled|| ben the hoose ; Yet he shoved out his head as he steekit^ the d jor, And cried, " 'Twas a moose, 'twas a moose !" But when the carle** fell asleep, She paid him back for that. And roared into his sleeping lug, ft " 'Twas a rat, 'twas a rat, 'twas a rat !" I am mista'en sair if I think It was a beast at a' — Next mornin', when she swept the floor, She found wee Johnnie's ba' ! Kea.d. f Stubborn. % Dolt. § Ill-natured tool. Crippled. H Shut. * * Man. 1 1 Ear. 438 THE PICTURE. Matches are made for many reasons — For love, convenience, money, fun, and spite ! How many, against common sense, are treasons ! How few the happy pairs who match aright ! In the fair hreast of some bewitching dame, How many a youth will strive fond love to waken, And when, at length, successful in his aim. Be first mis-led and afterwards mis-taheii ! Then curse his fate, at matrimony swear. And, like poor Adam, have a rib to spare ! How many ladies — speculating dears ! — Will make six matches in so many years. So fast, sometimes, the amorous gudgeons bite ! Others, like bungling housemaids in the dark, Will fret and fume, and lose full many a spark, And never, never get a match to light, Nor think their want of skill the job could hinder, Bat lay the fault upon the plaguy tinder. Old men young women wed — by way of nurses ; Toung men old i^omen — just to fill their purses ; Nor young men only — for 'tis my belief (Nor do I think the metaphor a bold one). When folks in life turn over a new leaf, Why very few would grumble at a gold one 1 A worthy knight, yclept Sir Peter Pickle, By love, was made to look exceeding clumpy ; The maid whose charms had power his heart to tickle, Was Miss Cordelia Carolina Grumpy ; This said Sir Peter was, as you shall hear, Although a knight, as poor as any poet ; But handsome as Apollo Belvedere, And vain Sir Peter seemed full well to know it. No wonder, then, that Miss Cordelia Grumpy Could not, unmoved, hear such a lovpr sue ; Sweet, sympathetic maiden, fat and stumpy. Green-eyed, red-haired, and turned of sixty two ! But tell me. Muse, what charm it was could tickle The once invincible Sir Peter Pickle ! Was it her eyes, — that so attached to one day, Looked piously seven different ways for Sunday? Was it her hump, that had a camel suited P Her left leg, bandy ? — or her right, club-footed ? Or nose, in shape so like a liquor funnel ? Or mouth, whose width might shame the Highgate tunnel P TBE FIGTURE. 439 Waa it the beauties of her face combined — A face — (since similes I have begun on) Not like a face tliat I can call to mind, Except the one beneath the Begent's cannon ! No, gentle friends ; although such beauties might Have warmed the bosom of an anchorite, The charm that made our knight all milk and honey, Was that infallible specific — Money ! Peter, whom want of brass had made more brazen. In moving terms began his love to blazon ; Sigh after sigh, in quick succession rushes. Nor are the labours of his lungs in vain. Her cheek soon crimsons with consenting blushes, Eed as a chimney-pot just after rain ! The licence bought — he marries her in haste ; Brings home his bride, and gives his friends a gay day ; All his relations, wondering at his taste, Vowed he had better had the Pig-faced. Lady ! Struck with this monstrous lump of womankind, The thought of money never crossed their mind. The dinner o'er, the ladies and the bride Retired, and wine and chat went round jocosely ; Sir Peter's brother took the knight aside. And questioned him about the matter closely. " Confound it, Peter ! how came yoii to pitch On such an ugly, squinting, squabby witch P A man like you, so handsome and so knowing : Tour wits, my friend, must surely be a-going ! Who could have thought you such a tasteless oaf, To wed a lump of odd-come-shorts and bits, That Madame Nature in her merry fits, Had jumbled into soniething like a face ! With skin as black as if she charcoal fed on, Crooked and crusty, like an outside loaf; A remnant of an ourang-outang face — Eve's grandmother, with the serpent's head on ! What spell could into such a hobble throw you ?" " Just step upstairs," says Peter, " and I'll show yon." Upstairs they went f — " There, there's her picture say. Is it not like her, sir ?* — Tour judgment, pray." — " Like her. Sir Peter ! — take it not uncivil, 'Tis like her — and as ugly as the devil ; With just her squinting leer : — but, hang it ! what A very handsome Frame it's got ! 440 T0UJ0UB8 LES FEMME8. So richly gilt, and so superbly wrouglit !" " You're right," says Peter, " 'twas the I'rame that caught : I grant my wife is ugly, squabby, old, But still she pleases — being set in gold ; Let others for the Picture feel a flame, I, my good brother, married for the Frame .'" T0UJ0UR8 LES FBMMES. I THINK it was a Persian king Who used to say, that evermore In human life each evil thing Comes of the sex that men adore ; That nought, in brief, had e'er befell To harm or grieve our hapless race, But, if you probe the matter well. You'll find a woman in the case ! And then the curious tale is told How, when upon a certain night A climbiQg youngster lost his hold. And, failing from a ladder's height. Was found, alas ! next morning dead, His majesty, with solemn face. As was his wont, demurely said, " Pray, who's the woman in the case ?" And how a lady in his Court, Who deemed the royal whim absurd, Bebuked him while she made report Of the mischance that late occurred ; Whereat the king replied in glee, " I've heai'd the story, please your grace. And all the witnesses agree There was a woman in the case ! " The truth, your ladyship, is this, (Nov is it marvellous at all,) The youth was climbing for a kiss. And got, instead, a fatal fall. Whene'er a man — as I have said — Palls from a ladder, or from grace. Or breaks his faith, or breaks his head, There is a woman in the case !" THE SECllET. 411 For sucli a churlisi., carping creed As that his majesty professed, I hold him of unkingly breed — Unless, in sooth, he spoke in jest ; To me, few things have come to pass Of good event, but, I can trace — Thanks to the matron or the lass — Somewhere, a woman in the case. Tet once, while gaily strolling where A vast Mnsenm stiU displays Its varied wealth of strange and rare, To charm, or to repel the gaze — I — to a lady (who denied The creed by laughing in my face) — Took Tip, for once, the Persian's side About a woman in the case. Discoursing thus, we came upon A grim Egyptian mummy — dead Some centuries since. " 'Tis Pharaoh's son — Perhaps — who knows P" — the lady said. No ! — on the black sarcophagus A female name I stooped to trace ; " Toujours les femmes ! 'Tis ever thus — There is a woman in the case .'" THE SEOBET. In a fair lady's heart once a secret was lurking, It tossed and it tumbled, it longed to get out, The lips half-betrayed it by smiling and smirking, And tongue was imj^atient to blab it, no doubt. But honour looked gruff on the subject, and gave it In charge to the teeth, so enohantingly white. Should the captive attempt an elopement, to save it By giving the lips an admonishing bite. 'Twas said and 'twas settled, and honour departed, Tongue quivered and trembled, but dared not rebel. When right to its tip secret suddenly started. And half in a whisper escaped from its cell. Quoth the teeth, in a pet, " We'll be even for this," And they bit very smartly above and beneath. Bat the lips at that instant were bribed with a kiss. And they popped out the secret in spite of the teeth. iLl CBOSS PUBPOSES. " CirrtD !" said the bard, " dost thon wander c w To gather fresli flowers for thy sunnj brow • Vr twin' St thou a garland pure and lair 'J'o fix in thv sleeping broiher's hair ? That when he wakes he may smile to see The nodding roses all placked by thee r TeU me, thou child :" '• No," said the child, with accent dear, '■ I comes just now wi" ma feyther's beer'"' " Thy father's bier? has he left thee, child. To the world's cold blasts and its tempests wild? Has he left thee beside a deserted hearth With no one to guard thee on all the earth ? Has he sunk in his pride 'neath the hand of Fate, And left thee, thon lone one, desolate ? Tell me, thou child!" " 2\ o" said the child with that sunny brow, " He's been all this momin" arter the plough !" ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS "WELL. A FBiEXD of mine was mamed to a scold. To me he came, and all his troubles told. Said he, " She's like a woman raving mad." '■ Alas ! my friend," said 1, " that's very bad !" " Xo. not so bad," said he ; " for, with her, true, I had both house and laud, and money too." ■■ That was well," said I ; " No, not so well," said he ; ■' For I and her own brother Went to law with one another ; I was cast, the suit was lost. And every pennv went to pav the cost." " That was bad," said" I; " Ko, not so bad," said he : " For we agreed that he the house should keep. And srive to me four score of Yorkshire sheep ; All fat, and fair, and fine, they were to be.'" '■ Well, then," said I. " sure that was well for thee ?" PARAMOUNT PUNNING. 443 " No, not 80 well," said lie ; " For, when the sheep I got, They every one died of the rot." " That was bad," said I ; " No, not HO bad," said he ; " For I had thought to scrape the fat And keep it in an oaken vat ; Then into tallow melt for winter store." " Well, then," said I, " that's better than before ?" " 'Twas not so well, said he ; " For having got a clumsy fellow To scrape the fat and melt the tallow ; Into the melting fat the fire catches, And, like brimstone matches. Burnt my house to ashes." " That was bad," said I ; " No ! not so bad," said he ; " for, what is best. My scolding wife has gone among the rest." PARAMOUNT PUNNING-; ON SETTING UP AND SITTING DOWN. A CHAP once told St. Patrick's Dean, While rising from his seat, " I mean To set up for a wit." " Ah," quoth the Dean, " if that be true, The very best thing you can do Is down again to sit." Too many, like that would-be wit. Bet wp for what they are not fit. And always lose their aim ; — Bet up for wisdom, wealth, renown. But end the farce by sitting down, In poverty and sname. A middling farmer thinks he can Bet Mp to be a gentleman. And then sit down content ; But after inany a turn and twist, Is set down on the pauper list, A fool, not worth a cent ! 444 JOE WOOD. When farmers' wives and daughters fair Set up -with silis and Leghorns rare. To look most wondrous winning ; They set upon a slippery stand, Till indigence, with iron hand. Upsets their underpmning. Some city ladies, too, whose gear Has made them to their husbands dear. Set up to lead the ton ; Though they sit high on fashion's seat. Age, death, or poverty, albeit Will set them down anon. Some fools set up to live by law, And though they are " all over jaw," Soon fail for lack of brains : But had the boobies only just Known where they ought to sit at first, They'd saved a world of pains. A quack sets up the doctor's trade, But could he use the sexton's spade No better than his pills, The man might toil from morn to night, And find his match with all his might To bury half he kills. Tou may set up for what you choose As easily as wear old shoes. If e'er so low at present ; But when you have set up in vain. And find you must sit down again, 'Tis terribly unpleasant. JOE WOOD. Joe Wood he was a carpenter, A straight-edged man of rules ; A cold once seized upon his chest, And a thief upon his tools. He called his wife in through the panes. And, though much pained, he kissed her ; She placed a blister to his chest. And for her pains he blessed her. GAELIC 8PEEGH. 4i5 Next day he found his pain removed. His tool-chest likewise gone ; " 'Tisjplain I cannot plane," he 'plained, " For planes now I have none." To quench Ms grief and taste relief He drank a pint of gin ; His wife she thought a screw was loose When he came hammering in. " You're on the beer,'' she quick exclaimed ; " Not so," said Mr. Wood ; " But being in so great a strait, I've got a little screwed. " Tou know I have no compass now. Though compassed round with care ; My square is also stolen away. And hence I'm ofE the square. " I ne'er again shall see my saw, Nor mend your chairs and stools ; 0, may the thief be braced to bits Who chiselled all my tools. " I am, indeed, a hard-ruled man, If I ain't ruined, axe me ; The thought that I can't cramp a frame Cramps all my frame and racks me. " And now I sit upon the bench. And on my panels gaze ; No rays of hope within me rise Another pint to raise. " To dream of being a gentlemaa I must henceforth forbear ; For if I cannot drive a nail, I cannot drive a pair." &AELIO SPEECH; OE"AULD LANG SYNE" DONE UP IN TAETAN. Should Gaelic speech be e'er forgot. And never brocht to min', For she'll be spoke in Paradise In the days of auld langsyne. 446 NUMBER ONE. When Eve, all fresh in beauty's charms, First met fond Adam's view, The first word that he'll spoke till her "Was " cumar achum dhu." And Adam in his garden fair. Whene'er the day did close. The dish that he'll to supper teub Was always Athole brose. When Adam from his leafy bower Gam oot at broke o' day, He'll always for his morning tenk A quaich o' usquebae. An' when wi' Eve he'll had a crack, He'll teuk his sneeshin' horn, An' on the tap ye'll well micht mark A pony praw Cairngorm. The sneeshin' mull is fine, my friens — The sneeshin' mull is gran' ; We'll teukta hearty sneesh, my friens, And pass frae han' to han'. When man first fan the want o' does. The wind an' cauld to fleg, He twisted roon' about hia waist The tartan philabeg. An' music first on earth was heard In Gaelic accents deep, When Jubal in his oxter squeezed The blether o' a sheep. The praw bagpipes is gran', my friens. The praw bagpipes is fine ; We'll teukta nother pibroch yet, For the days o' auld langsyne ! NITMBER ONE; OE, THE NEW "CHIEF END:" OH) gmphahd's advice to his son. JoHNNY) man ! ye're gaun to dwall Far, far awa' frae hame ; Noo, johnny, be na turnin' caul' Tae a' the fowk at hame. NUMBER ONE. 447 J ohnuy, man ! 3"e'll min' yom- prayera, When ye gang far frae hame ; But, Johnny, diuna ye split hairs — We dinna dee't at hame. Johnny, man ! yer Bible read. As we aye dee at hame : But, Johnny, aye keep clear yer held, Te'll need it far frae hame. Johnny ! min' yer Cafritches, Whan hine awa' frae hame ; But, Johnny, min' yer parritch is 0' consequence frae name. (Johnny, man ! I mean to say. Whan laddies lea' their hame, Johnny's duty's jist to hae A steady e'e to hame.) Oh, Johnny ! ye maun sUler mak' — We've aye said that at hame ; An' a' within yer minta tak' — As we aye dee at hame. Ech, Johnny ! keep yer lugs on en', Whan ye're awa' frae hame ; For, Johnny, ye maun trust to nane Te didna ken at hame. An' aye say wi' the powerfu' fowk — We contar nane at hame ; A chiel that tells his min's a gowk ! An' we've nae gowks at hame. An', Johnny ! ye maun boo yer neck (For, lad, ye'U be frae hame) ; An' aye be at the rich man's beck — Ye'll profit by't, frae hame. An', Johnny ! whan ye seek a wife To set np i' yer hame. Be sure she has a tocher rife. To mak' a couthy hame. Syne, Johnny ! if ye bairnies hae. To brichten up yer hame. Teach them this " New Chief En' " to say : The " auld" keep frae yer hame. 448 OWED TO MY GBEBITOnS. At)' whan at last ye wear awa' Frae a' yer hoose an' hame — Endow a kirk, or maybe twa — 'Twill aiblins help ye hame ! OWED TO MY CREDITORS. Ik vain I lament what is past, And pity their woe-begone looks ; Thongh they grin at the credit they gave, I know I am in their best hooks. To my tailor my breaches of faith. On my conscience now but lightly sit. For such lengths in his measures he's gone. He has given me many slJU. My bootmaker finding of hxst That my sotd was too stubborn to snit. Waxed wroth when he fonnd he had got Anything but the length of my foot. My hatmaker cunningly /eZf He'd seen many like me before, So irimful of insolence, vowed On credit he'd crown me no more. My baker was crusty and burnt, When he found himself quite overdone By a. fancy hred chap like myself — Ay, as cn'oss as a Good Friday's hun. Next my laundress who washed pretty clean. In behaviour was dirty and bad ; For into hot water she popped All the shirts and the dickies I had. Then my butcher, who'd little at siaJce, Most surlily opened his chops, And swore my affairs out of joint, So on to my carcase he pops. In my lodgings exceedingly high, Though low in the rent, to be sure, "Without warning my landlady seized, Took my things and the key of the door. Thus cruelly used by the world, In the Bench I can smile at its hate ; For a time I must alter my style. For I cannot get out of the gate. 449 BOXIAJTA. I HATE the very name of hose : It fills me full of fears ; It minds me of the woes I've felt Since I was young in years. They sent me to a Yorkshire school, Where I had many knocks ; For there my schoolmates boxed my ears, Because I couldn't box. I packed my tox, I picked the locks, And ran away to sea ; And very soon I learned to box The compass merrily. I came ashore, I called a coach And mounted on the box ; The coach upset against a post. And gave me dreadful knocks. I soon got well, in love I feU And married Martha Box ; To please her will at famed Box Hill I took a country box. I had a pretty garden there. All bordered round with box; But, ah, alas ! there lived next door A certain Captain Kaox. He took my wife to see the play ; — They had a private box : I jealous grew, and from that day I hated Captain Knox. I sold my house, I left my wife, And went to Lawyer Fox, Who tempted me to seek redress All from a jury box. I went to law, whose greedy maw Soon emptied my strong box ; I lost my suit, and cash to boot, All through that crafty Fox. 450 CELIBACY VEBSU8 MATRIMONY, The name of box I therefore dread, I've had so many shocks ; They'll never end ; for when I'm dead They'll nail me in a hotii CELIBACY VERSUS MATRIMONY. " My bane and antidote are both before me." — Addisoji. bachellor's rAB.K Peequentlt whining, and always repining, Vexed a,lid perplexed at not having a wife, Thinking to marry, decided to tarry, So pass the days of a bachelor's life. His mind ever ranging, unconstant and changing. It's fraught with anxiety, trouble, and care. And fed with vain wishes, poor pitiful dishes ! But most that's delicious in bachelor's fare. How cheerless and lonely is te that has only Himself to have thoughts for, himself to maintain : No one to regale him when sorrows assail him. And none to bewail him in sickness and pain ! Though majriage brings trouble, its comforts are double. As all happy husbands can truly declare, To all that the single state ever did arrogate. Hence do we reprobate bachelor's fare. Who call women evils, new, old, or blue devils, Convince one they're acting the comic part o'er Of the fox in the fable, which not being able To pluck and to suck the sweet grapes, calls them sour^ To love a sweet creature with grace in each feature. Not even a bachelor's self can forbear ; But such to neglect, and fain to reject. Those fools may expect that want bachelor's fare. It can't be denied that sometimes wives will chide, As they ought when they see there's occasion ; And those who do blame them for this, and defame them, Deserve a severe flagellation : To have an adviser each day growing wiser, A true bosom friend, is the married man's share ; But tkough 'tis distressing and spirit depressing, To lack tnis great blessing is bachelor's fare. GULIBAGY VEBSUS MATRIMONY. 451 /hough children, too truly, are often unrnly. And boys may be sometimes too lavish of treasure, Yet few, rich or poor, ever lived I am sure. That did not afford to their parents much pleasure. If all men of this, and of aU other bliss That wedlock contains, were but fully aware, Not one in a score, the nation all o'er, Would wish any more to have bachelor's fare. THE MAKRIED MAU's TARE. Happy and free are a married man's reveries ; Cheerily, merrily, passes his life ; He knows not the bachelor's revelries, devilries. Caressed by, and blessed by, his children and wife. From lassitude free too, his home still to flee to, A pet on his knee too, his kindness to share, A fireside so cheery, the smiles of his deary, — Oh, this, boys, this is the married man's fare. "Wife, kind as an angjel, sees things never range iU, Busy promoting his comfort around, DispeUing dejection with smiles of affection. Sympathising, advising, when fortune has frowned. Old ones relating, droU tales never stating. Little ones prating, aU strangers to care ; Some romping, some jumping, some punching, some m.unching, Economy dealing the married man's fare. Thus is each jolly day, one lively holiday : Not so the bachelor, lonely, depressed — No gentie one near him, no home to endear him. In sorrow to cheer him, no friend if no guest ; No children to climb up — 'twould fiU all my rhyme up. And take too much time up, to tell his despair ; Cross housekeeper meeting him, cheating him, beating him, BiUs pouring, maids scouring, devouring his fare. He has no one to put on a sleeve or neck button — Shirts mangled to rags — drawers stringless at knee ; The cook to his grief too, spoils pudding and beef too. With overdone, underdone, undone is he ; No son, stiU a treasure, in business or leisure ; No daughter, with pleasure, new joys to prepare ; But old maids and cousins, kind souls ! rush in dozens, Eeheving him soon of his bachelor's fare. 452 A HUSBAND'S BBBAM. He calls cMldren apes, sir, (the fox and the grapes, sir,) And fain wonld be wed when his looks are like snow ; But widows throw scorn out, and tell him he's worn out, And maidens deriding, cry " No ! my love, no !" Old age comes with sorrow, with wrinkle, with furrow, No hope in to-morrow — none sympathy spares ; And, when unfit to rise up, he looks to the skies up — None close his old eyes up — he dies — and who cares ? A HUSBAND'S DBBAM. I DREAMT one night, not many months ago, A fairy episode of social life ; Perhaps 'twas through pork chops — I hardly know — Perhaps it was the scolding of my wife ! Whatever cause, 'tis useless now to show, I needn't mention such domestic strife ; But leave it doubtful 'twixt the chops and woman : They both are pills — medicinal and common. Not that I mean against the sex to rail ; Their tongues and tempers are what Nature gave ; And, were I so inclined, my words would fail : Last month I laid my Julia in the grave ! Well might I mourn — ^her sad release bewail ; But, in your presence, I'll my sorrows save : Simply remarking, that my absent treasure Had such a tongue ! — I never knew its measure. How happy he — how well may he rejoice — Who, having loved, and been " beloved again," Catches a fairy, whose ecstatic voice Governs its music in the social strain. I had, alas ! the object of my choice, I loved, and doubtless, was beloved again ; Oh ! when I think upon my Julia's charms, The wish will rise — " Oome, tongueless, to my arms !" But to the di'eam — the mist, in which I saw A land Elysian, boasting nought of kings ; Where malice never came — where common law And common plunder were uncommon things ; Where labour fed its children ; where I saw A group of cherubs, on Empyrean wings. Chanting and carolling in mirth and jollity, All to the tune and measure of Equality ! A EUSBAND'S BBEAM. 453 Anothei" group descending from the skies, Boasted tlie glories of primeval state, And singing to the tune of " Fraternise ;" Dubbed every man the equal of his mate ; Which plainly heralds to perception's eyes That such an age -will come — despite of fate. When dustmen, gents, and grandees shall take arms. And ringed exquisites wring the chummy's palms. How rich the sight ! to see the scented beau Press with dehght the milkmaid's brawny waist ! Or tri]:) it gaily on the nimble toe, With some fair dame who Billingsgate has graced ! Striving by practice to assert and show There's not the least Equality in taste. And only hoping that the next pas deux May bring some unbleached goddess of the flue. I thought, that is, I dreamt— and dreams are thought — That Liberty was fruitful of herself. And shook her cap, and laughed, and joked in sport. Like a young widow, or a jovial elf; For widows are but courteous to be caught ; Although I say this, 'tis but to myself. While many fancy that the sombre cap Is but the widow's matrimonial trap ! And other joys I saw, and partly shared — The fair domain was rich in verdant life. And not a citizen who thought or cared About the shrill falsetto of his wife. But those who happily, or sadly, paired, Need not, like uncouth doves, engender strife ; The law, with wisdom, gave a quick divorce. And ladies all grew amiable — of course ! Oh ! lovely sex ! how happy were your fate. If such a law were forcible but now ! Te who are left until the day be late, To bind the virgin's wreath upon your brow ! Or, while your beauty fades, supinely wait Till some old Benedict presumes to bow ; Then take the dotard, and become a nurse, " For better," if he's rich, if not, " for worse !" However, while I lay enwrapped in sleep. Viewing these glories of Elysian plains. And taking at futurity a peep, Methought some monster wreathed me in his chains ! 454 THE HUSBAND'S COMPLAINT. I heaved a sigh, most sadly, darkly, deep, To think me disenchanted by his pains ; I turned aside — once more I closed my eyes — And ti-ied again -with dreams to fraternise ! When suddenly the monster — as I thought — Again disturbed me by a fearful shake ; I saw its head — I heard its voice distraught; I felt myself awakened and awake. I gazed with awe — my eyes the monster sought — When thus what seemed its form, arose and spake : — " Ton nuisance ! Mr. B. — no peace in life, What with yonr dreams and schemes !" — It was my Wife ! THE HTTSBAITD'S COMPLAINT. "Will she thy linen wash and hosen dam ?" — Gat. I'm utterly sick of this hateful alliance Which the ladies have formed with impractical science ! They put out their washing to learn hydrostatics, And give themselves airs for the sake of pneumatics. They are knowing in muriate, and nitrate, and chlorine. While the stains gather fast on the walls and the flooring — And the jellies and pickles fall wofuUy short. With their chemical use of the still and retort. Our expenses increase (without drinking French wines), For they keep no accounts, with their tangents and sines — And to make both ends meet they give little assistance, With their accurate sense of the squares of the distance. They can name every spot from Peru to El Arish, Except just the bounds of their own native parish ; And they study the orbits of Venus and Saturn, While their home is resigned to the thief and the slattern. Chronology keeps back the dinner two hours. The smoke-jaok stands still while they learn motive powers ; Plies and shells swallow up all our every-day gains. And our acres are mortgaged for fossil remains. They cease to reflect with their talk of refraction — They drive us from home by electric attraction ; And I'm sure since they've bothered their heads with affinity, I'm repulsed every hour from my learned divinity. THE OLD BAOHELOB. 455 When the poor stupid husband ia weary and starving, Anatomy leads them to give up the carving ; And we drudges the shoulder of mutton must buy, While they study the line of the os humeri. If we 'scape from our troubles to take a short nap. We awake with a din about limestone and trap ; And the fire is extinguished past regeneration, For the women are wrapped in the (ieep-co^l formation. "Tia an impious thing that the wives of the laymen Should use pagan words 'bout a pistil and stamen ; Let the heir break his head while they foster a dahlia. And the babe die of pap while they talk of mammialia. The first son becomes half a fool in reality, While the m.other is watching his large ideality ; And the girl roars unchecked, qiiite a moral abortion. For we trust her benevplence, order, and eaution. I sigh for the good times of sewiijg apd spinning. Ere this new tree of JsuOTyledge hacj set thew a-sinning ; The women are mad, and they'll build female colleges. So here's to plain Englisl) ! — a plague on their 'ologies ! THE OLD BAOHELOB. When I was a schoolboy, aged ten. Oh ! mighty httle Greek I knew ; With my short striped trousers, and, now and then. With stripes upon my jacket too. When I saw other boys to the playground run, I threw my old gradus by ; And I left the task I had scarce begun— " There'll be time enough for that," said I. When I was at college, my pride w^s dress, And my groom, and my bit of blood, But as for my study, I must confess, That I was content with my stud. I was deep in my tradesmen's ]?oqks., I'm afraid, Though not in my own, by-the-by ; When clamorous creditors came to be paid, " There'll be time enough for that," said I. 456 TEB OLD BAGHELOB. I was just sixteen when I first fell in love. And I scribbled a deal of rbyme, And I talked to myself in a shady grove, And I thougbt I was quite sublime. I was torn from my love — 'twas a dreadful blow — And tbe lady she wiped her eye ; But I didn't die of grief— oh, dear me, no ! " There'll be time enough for that," said I. The next was a lady of rank — a dame With blood in her veins, you see ; With the leaves of Peerage she fanned the flame That now was consuming me. But though of her great descent she spoke, I found she was still very high ; And I thought looking v/ptoa, wife no joke — " There'll be time enough for that," said I. My next penchant was for one whose face Was her fortune, she was so fair ; Oh ! she spoke with an air of enchanting grace, But a man cannot live upon air ; And when poverty enters the door, young love Will out of the casement fly ; The truth of the proverb I'd no wish to prove — " There'U be time enough for that," said I. My next was a lady who loved romance. And wrote very splendid things ; And she said, with a sneer, when I asked her to dance, " Sir, I ride upon a horse with wings." There was ink on her thumb, when I kissed her hand. And she whispered, " If you should die, I will write you an Epitaph, gloomy and grand 1" " There'U be time enough for that," said I. I left her and sported my figure and face At opera, party, and ball ; I met pretty girls at every place. And I found a defect in all. The first did not suit me, I cannot tell how. The second, I cannot tell why. And the third, bless me, I wUl not marry now — " There'll be time enough for that," said I. I looked in the glass, and I thought I could trace A sort of a wrinkle or two ; So I made up my mind that I'd make up my face, And come out as good as new. MIZIE'8 COMPLAINT. 457 To my hair I imparted a little more jet, And I scarce could suppress a sigh. ; But I cannot be quite an old bachelor yet, _ " No, there's time enough for that," said I. I was now fifty-one, yet I still did adopt All the airs of a juvenile beau ; But somehow, whenever the question I popped, The girls, with a laugh, said " No." I am sixty to-day, not a very young man. And a bachelor doomed to die ; So youth be advised, and marry while you can— " There's no time to be lost," say L MIZ];B'S COMPLAINT. It's very hard, you must admit, That at the needle I must sit. And stitch away from day to day. And not a beau will come my way. The reason I can not divine Why I am left to sit and pine ; While every other girl I know Goes sporting every night her beau. It's not my fault, that I am sure ; I'm not bad tempered, sad nor sour ; But always cheerful and well pleased. Though I am sometimes sadly teased. I'm sure I'd keep my house as clean. As Mary Eae or Maggie Oheyne, Who married were the other day. And why not I, as well as they ? And I could cook a dinner, too. Yes, better far than they can do ; And plan and make old things look well. That they among their rags would sell. I'm not a beauty, that I know, Nor ugly either ; I can show Lads have admired me, oh ! how nice ! But they have never asked my price. 458 TEE IRISH TBAVELLEB. I'm just about a medium size, Black hair I have, and large dark eyes ; And thougli some say that I am vain, I never dress but very plain. With all these qualities combined, A husband I must surely find ; For an old maid I will not be, Although I'm nearly twenty-three. Sol my case make known to you ; For this is all that I can do; I hope some one wiU gallant be, And come at once and marry me. And mind I am not ill to please, I do not wish for wealth or ease ; A husband sober, good, and kind. Is all that I would wish to find. And now I'll tell you where I dwell — It's very near the Corbie Well, I'm sure the house you must have seen ; And mind to ask for Mizie Green. THE lEISH TKAYELLEE. An Irishman travelling (though not for delight) Arrived in a city oue/cold winter's night. Found the landlord and servants in bed at the inn. While standing without he was drenched to the skin. He groped for the knocker, no knocker was found. When turning his head accidentally round, He saw, as he thought, by the lamp's feeble ray, The object he searched for right over the way. The knocker he grasped, and so loud was tjie roar, It seemed like a sledge breaking open the door ; The street, far and wide, was disturbed by the clang, And resounded aloud with the Irishman's bang. The wife screamed aloud, and the husband appears At the windpw, his shoulders shrugged up to his ears ; " So ho ! honest friend — ^pray what is the matter ! That at this time of night you should make such a clatter " Go to bed, go to bed," says Pat, " my dea^r honey, I am not a robber Jo ask for your money, I borrowed your knocker, before it is day, To waken the landlord right over the way." 459 IRISH ANGLING. An Irishman fishing one day in the Liffey, "Which runs close by Dublin's great city so fine, A smart shower of rain falling, Pat, in a jifiey. Crept Tinder the arch of the bridge with his line. "That's never the way to accomplish your wishes," Cries Dermot, " there never a bite will you get." " Sure my honey," cries Pat, " don't you know that the fishes Will swim under here, to fceep out of the wet." "ONE GOOD THEN DESERVES ANOTHER." Willie Wag went to see Charlie Quirk, More famed for his books than his knowledge. In order to borrow a work He had lookpd for in vain over college. But Charlie replied, " My dear friend, Tou must know I have sworn and agreed, My books from my room not to lend ; But, pray, sit by my fire and read !" Now it happened by chance on the morrow. That Quirk, with a cold, shivering air. Came his neighbour WUl's bellows to borrow. His own being out of repair. But Willie replied, " My dear friend, I have sworn and agreed you must know. That my bellows I never will lend ; But, pray, sit by my fire and blow !" THE ILL WIND. Iw debt, deserted, and forlorn, A melancholy elf Resolved, upon a Monday mom. To go and hang himself. He reached the tree, when lo ! he views A pot of gold concealed ; He snatched it up, threw down the noose, And scampered from the field. 460 WANTED— A G0VEBNE88. The owner came — fotind out the theft, And, having scrfitohed his head, Took up the rope iLo other left, And hung himself instead. THE WAGER DECIDED. Such little hopes I'd always found. Of gaining Betsy for my wife, That I had wagered Dick a pound, I should not win her all my life. But, thanks to heaven ! my anxious care la all removed ; the knot is tied. And Betsy — fairest of the fair, Consents at length to be my bride. To Dick, then, as in honour bound. Well pleased I hold myself in debt ; Thus, by the oddest luck, 'tis found I lose my wager — win my het. WANTED— A GOVERNESS. A GOVEBNESS wanted — well fitted to fill The post of tuition with competent skill — In a gentleman's family highly genteel. Superior attainments are quite indispensable. With everything, too, that's correct and ostensible ; Morals of pure unexceptionability j Manners well formed, and of strictest gentility. The pupils are five — ages, six to sixteen — All as promising girls as ever were seen — And besides (though 'tis scarcely worth while to put that in) There is one little boy — but he only learns Latin. The lady must teach all the several branches Whereunto polite education now launches : She's expected to teach the French tongue like a native. And be to her pupils of all its points dative ; Italian she must know au fond, nor needs banish Whatever acquaintance she may have with Spanish; Nor would there be harm in a trifle of German, In the absence, that is, of the master, Von Hermann. The harp and piano — cela va sans dire, BILLY DIP. 461 Witli thorough bass, too, on the plan of Logier. In drawing in pencil, in chalks, and the tinting That's called Oriental, she must not be stint in ; She must paint upon paper, and satin, and velvet ; And if she knows gilding, she'll not need to shelve it. Dancing, of course, with the newest gambades, The PoUsh mazurka, and best gallopades ; Arithmetic, history, joined with chronology. Heraldry, botany, writing, conchology. Grammar, and satin-stitch, netting, geography, Astronomy, use of the globes, cosmography, 'Twas also as well she coidd be oalisthenical. That her charges' young limbs may be pliant to any call. Their health, play, and studies, and moral condition. Must be superintended without intermission : At home, she must all habits check that disparage, And when they go out must attend to their carriage. Her faith must be orthodox — temper most pliable — Health good — and reference quite undeniable. These are the principal matters. Aw reste. Address, Bury Street, Mrs. General Peste. As the sala/ry's moderate, none need apply Who more on that point than on comfort rely. BILLY DIP. Chxob, a maid at fifty-five. Was at her toilette dressing : Her waiting maid, with iron hot. Bach paper-curl was pressing. The looking-glass her eyes engross, While Betty hummed a ditty ; She gazed so much upon her face. She really thought it pretty. Her painted cheeks and pencilled brows She could not but approve ; Her thoughts on various subjects turned. At length they fixed on love. " And shall," said she, " a virgin life Await these pleasing charms ? And wjU no sighing blooming youth Receive me to his arms P — 462 BILLT BIP. Forbid it, Love !" She scarce had spoke, When Oupid laid a trap ; For at the chamber-door was heard A soft and gentle rap. Cried Betty, " Who is at the door ?" "Ay tell," quoth Chloe, " true :" When straight a tender voice replied, " Dear ma'am, I dye for yon.'' " What's that !" she said, " O Betty, say ! A man ! and die for me ! And can I see the youth expire — Oh, no ! — it must not be. " Haste, Betty — open quick the door ;" 'Tis done ; and, lo ! to view, A little man with bundle stood. In sleeves and apron blue. " Te powers !" cried Ohloe, " what is this P What vision do I see ? Is this the man, O mighty Love — The man that dies for me ?" " Yes ma'am ; your ladyship is right," The figure straight replied ; " And hard for me it would have been If I had never dyed. " La ! ma'am, you must have heard of me. Although I'm no highflyer ; I live just by at No. 1 , I'm Billy Dip, the dyer. " 'Twas I, ma'am, Betty there employed To dye your lustring gown ; And I not only dye for you. But dye for all the town." 463 DR. JOHNSON'S GHOST TO MRS. PIOZZL "The following poem appeared immediately aftor the publication of Mru. Piozzi's book of iTohnsonian Gossip. Being merely an ephemeral piece, it seems to have been thrown aside; as soon as the personal interest of the subject expired. But it is too good to be lost ; and we considered om'selves fortunate in being enabled to recover a copy of it. The original was embellished with a curious print, representing Dr, Johnson's ghost addressing Mrs. Piozzi vei-y solemnly, with a purse dangling in its hand." — Bell. Madam, my debt to Nature paid, I thought the grave with hallowed shade, WoTjld now protect my name ; Tet there in vain I seek repose, My friends each little fault disclose, And murder Johnson's fame. First Boswell, with officious care, Showed me as men would show a hear, And called himself my friend ! Sir John with nonsense strewed my hearse, And Courtney pestered me with verse ; You torture without end. "When Streatham spread its plenteous board, ^ I opened learning's valued hoard, And as I feasted prosed ; Good things I said, good things I eat, I gave you knowledge for your meat. And thought the account was closed. If obligations still 1 owed, You sold each item to the crowd, — I suffered by the tale ; ■ I pray you, madam, let me rest. Nor longer vex your quondam guest, I'll pay you for your ale. SHADOWS. Deep ! I own I start at shadows, Listen, I will tell you why (Life itself is but a taper. Casting shadows till we die). 464 SHADOWS. Once in Italy, at Florence, I a radiant girl adored ; When slie came, she saw, she conqnered, And by Oupid I was floored. Round my heart her glossy ringlets Were mysteriously entwined — And her soft, sweet, loving glances All my inmost thoughts divined. " Mia cara Mandolina ! Are we not, indeed !" I cried, " AU the world to one another?" Mandolina smiled and sighed. Earth was Eden, she an angel, I a. Jupiter enshrined — Till one night I saw an odious Double shadow on her blind ! " Fire and fury ! double shadows On their bedroom windows ne'er, To my knowledge have been cast by Ladies virtuous and fair. " False, abandoned Mandolina ! Fare thee well for evermore ! Vengeance," shrieked I, " vengeance, vengeance ! And I thundered through the door. This event occurred next morning ; Mandolina staring sat, Stark amazed, as out I tumbled. Raving mad, without a hat ! Six weeks after I'd a letter, On its road six weeks delayed — With a dozen re-directions. From the lost one, and it said : " Foolish, wicked, cruel Albert ; Base suspicion's doubts resign ; DoiMe lights throw double shadows ! Mandolina — ever thine !" " Dear me, what an ass !" I muttered, " Not before to think of that !"— And again I rushed excited To the rail, without a hat. A EOT WIND BBVEBIE IN NOVEMBEB. 465 " Mandolina ! MandoHna !" When her house I reached, I cried ; " Pardon, dearest love !" she answered, " I'm the Russian consul's bride !" Thus by Muscovite barbarian, And by fate, my life was crossed, Wonder ye I start at shadows ? Types of Mandolina lost. A HOT WIND EEVERIB IN NOVEMBEB. The dust flies fast through the murky air, The sun shines fierce with a lurid glare ; Where shall we fly to avoid the heat — • Where, oh where ! drag our weary feet ? Where shall we lay the suffering head. To shield ourselves from the rays so red ? This dust, this dust, this horrid dust, 'Twill choke us some day — it will and must. When care or sorrow oppress the heart. And its tendrils keen with anguish start. Away — far away — let us swiftly flee From the town in its depths of infamy — Hiding ourselves in some shadowy nook. With pencil to sketch, or pleasant book — A " wee-tappit hen" from which to quaff In foaming tankards shandy-gaff. In some sylvan glade, by the Tarra's side, _ Let us stretch our limbs in the fierce noontide, Musing on days that are long gone by, Ere we left our homes with purpose high — Ere yet unravelled was Life's dark skein, With its hope and sorrow, its joy and pain — Mournful, we think of the friends afar. And treat ourselves to a mild cigar. There's one sweet face, with a laughing eye, For ever pushes those fancies by ; There's a sunlit smile remembered well As first on our vision its gladness fell — H H 46^ TEE TILQUTM. A peach-red cheek, with a dimpledchin, And a loving heart, oh ! so pure -within — How sweet to sit once more beside her. Calmly sucking a brandy spider. Cunningly twisted, and curled, and braided, Her brow with its golden hair is shaded ; In every gesture a sparkling grace Lights up with rapture the maiden's face ; And the birds themselves burst into song As her tiny feet tripped gay along ; Bat we — quick slipped from that bright spot, And, trembling, called for something hot. She, too, is gone, and I still remain Dragging along at my weary chain ; No more I'U bask in her eyes' sweet glance, Nor v^atch.her forin through the mazy dance ; I backward glance at those memories green, Aud satdly mSirmtir, " It might have been" — It might have been*, oh ! it might have been, But a patent stern stepped in between. Fast gathered home to his fellow clay. That parent stern hath passed awdy ; ' His peach-cheeked child, with the laughing eye, Cares little, I ween, for my doleful sigh; For her hair's as curled — her cheek's as red, As when at her feet my vows were shed — While I to a shadow vile am grown, She'd kick down the beam at fifteen stone ! THE PliiGMM. The night was dark, and drear the heath, And sudden howled the wind, When o'er the wold a pilgrim strayed, Some friendly inn to find. He hastened to a feeble light, That ghmmered from afar. By which he viewed a sign project, And found it was the Star. Good fare was there for man and horse. And rest for weary bones ; A famed and loi^g established housei. And kept by Mary Jones. TEE PILGEIM. 467 Three gentle taps the pilgrim gave, When Mary ope'd the door, And ushered in her weary guest. Not knowing lie was poor. But Mary's eyes were ratter dim. Or else she might have kenned He was not much of wealthy wight The widow to befriend. No cockle-shell or cowl had he, Nor pilgrim's stafE so tall; Nor sandal shoone had he, I ween, If any shoes at all. He ate, he drank, he praised the ale — Most sumptuously he fed ; And when he heard the clock strike twelve, He marched upstairs to bed. Next morning breakfast was prepared. Of which he ate his fill ; When Mary Jones, in neat array. Brought in the pilgrim's bill. He heeded not the items there, But unto Jones did say, " I bear a pilgrim's ancient nartie, And ne'er bring cash to pay. " To touch the vile polluted ore, My conscience would offend ; I neither borrow cash nor plate. Nor either do I lend. " Daughter, I liked thy supper much, And much I liked the dressing ; Therefore, for all I have received, I leave thee, child, my blessing." Poor Mary Jones astonished stood, To see the good man pray ; At length the hostess silence broke, And thus to him did say ■- " I ne'er a pilgrim housed before, Nor such like holy folk ; But,' as you say the custom's old, I bend beneath the yoke. n H 2 468 MONSIEUR KANIFEB8TANE. " No doubt you have a conscience good, Nor do I mean to shock it ; But pilgrim, when you call again. Bring money in your pocket." MONSIEUR KANIFEESTANB. Once on a time a little French marquia For travel felt a mighty inclination. To show himself, and foreign parts to see. He undertook a bold peregrination. At Dieppe he found a sloop just under weigh, By Dutchmen manned, and bound for Amsterdam ; Wind and tide serving, off he sails away. And soon sea-sick, beyond finesse or sham. Close in the cabin he preferred to nestle ; There, faint and languid, for a space he dozed. Till from the increased commotion in the vessel. That land might be in sight he well supposed ; So to the deck he climbed, with empty maw. And sure enough Dutch terra firma saw. While in the cabin sick and sad he lay. Though a true Frenchman, he ne'er dreamt of talking; But when on deck, his spirits grew more gay, And his blood 'gan to circulate with wallong ; He recollected that he had a tongue. Now though a Frenchman French with ease can jabber, And doubtless thinks all other ears are hung Like those he left at home, yet a Dutch swabber Is apt enough no other speech to know Than that which first he learned from Mother Frow. Such was the case with all the trunk-hosed crew : The marquis, struck with wonder and delight. Enraptured gazed on objects all so new. At length a sumptuous palace caught his sight. Which, proudly rising from the water's side. Showed its new-painted front, with flowerets gay. While trim responsive gardens, spreading wide. Displayed Dutch taste in regular array. Anxious to know who owned the pleasing scene, The marquis, bowing with a grinning face, Demanded of a tar, in French I ween, To whom belonged that most enchanting place. M0N8IEUB KANIFEB8TANB. 469 The tar, who knew as much of French as Greek, Eyed him at first with something like disdain ; Then, as he shifted round his quid to speak, With growling voice, cried, " Ik Jeom nick verstaan."* " Oh, oh !" replied the marquis, " does it so ? To Monsieur Kaniferatane, lucky man ; The palace to be sure lies rather low, But then the size and grandeur of the plan ! I never saw a chateau on the Seine !Kqual to this of Monsieur Kcmiferstane." "While thus he spoke, the sailors anchor cast. As the marquis descended on the quay. He saw a charming frow that chanced to pass, In liveliest bloom of youth, and beauty gay, Bedecked with all the Amsterdam parade Of gold and silver, pearls and jewels rare. On the marquis she much impression made ; His tender breast soon owned a pleasing flame : Stopping a passenger, he bowing said, " Monsieur, pray tell me who's that lovely dame." The civil Dutchman bowed to him again. And gently answered, " Ik kan nick verstaan." " What, Monsieur Kaniferstane's wife !" the marquis cried ; " He who has got yon gay and sumptuous house ? Well, that some men have luck can't be denied; . What, such an edifice, and such a spouse ! Ma foi, I think I never should complain. Had I the lot of Monsieur Kaniferstane." As on the morrow through the streets he passed. Gazing on all the pretty sights about. On a large open hall his sight he cast, Where bustling crowds were going in and oat. Joining the throng, he entrance soon obtained, And found the people much engaged to see The numbers which the blanks and prizes gained In their high mightinesses' lottery. Some laughed, some wept, some groaned, and some exclaimed. In aU the spirit of true castle-builders ; When on a sudden a loud voice proclaimed The sovereign prize of twenty thousand guilders. "I do not understand you." 470 A LAXDLOEB'S CARD. •■ And who," the marquis cried to one close b^, " Who has the luck this mighty prize to gain r"' The man snrreved him with a donbtfal eye. And slowly answered, " Ik kan nick verstaan." " What, Monsienr Kaniferstane got the prize !" The marqnis cried ; " he's Incky, on my life ; He who has got a house of snch a size. And such a garden, too, and snch a wife ; My good sir, yon may very well be vain. With all these treasures. Monsieur Kanifersiane." A week or two elapsed, when as he strayed. On novelty intent, he chanced to meet. Adorned with solemn pomp and grave parade, A sumptuous burial coming up the sti«et ; " Monsieur," said he, as bowing to a baker Who left his shop the pageantry to see. And just had nodded to the undertaker, " Pray, Monsieur, whose grand burial may tjiis be ?" The baker, as he turned to shop again, Seplied most gravely, "' Ik kan mdi verstaan." " Ah ! me,'' exclaimed the marquis, " what a pity. Monsieur Kaniferstane ! wh^t surprise ! He had the nobl^ palace in this city. And such a wife, and such a glorious prize. Alack, alack, good fortune smiles in vain ! So rest in peace, good Monsieur KanifersUrnvJ' A LANT)LOBD'S CAED. Sobett De»th, a^ .the Falcon, near Sewell's Folly, Eattersea Kse, on the Kinffitpu Spiu), dealer in spirituous liquors, wholesale and retail. Oh ! stop not here ye sottish wights. For purl, nor ale, nor gin, For if you stop, whoe'er alight By Death is Uiken in. Where having eat and drank your fill. Should ye (oh ! hapless case) Neglect to pay your landlord's bill, Bt'iith stares you in tlie face ! FRANK HAYMAN. 471 With grief sincere I pity those Who've drawn themselves this scrape in ; Since from, his gripe, and dreadful woes, Alas ! there's no escaping ! This one advice, my friends, pursue. Whilst yet ye've lite and breath. Ne'er pledge your host ; for if you do, You'll surely drink to Death ! FEANK 5ATMAN, Feahk. Hayman once, a brother of the brush. Had talents much distinguished in his day. But for his art he hardly cared a rush. If some odd mischief stumbled in his way. This wag was deemed by all the social tribe A jovial, easy, careless, pleasant fellow. Fond of a frolic, ready at a gibe. And sometimes in his cups a little mellow. There was a, famous place, yclept Vauxhall, Where cits, good folks, regaled with merry hearts, And oft to busy waiters eager bawl For fresh supplies of ham, and beef, and tarts. There might yon see of boxes many a row, For such as like to sup in state designed. With pictures decked, that made a goodly show ; Now in these pictures Hayman's skill we find. Frank Hayman, tempted by a pleasant day, After a long contention with the gout, A foe that oft besieged him, sallied out. To breathe fresh air, and while an hour away ; It chanced aa he was strolling, yoid of care, A drunken porter passed him with a hare. The hare was o'er his. shoulder flung, Dangling behind in piteous plight, And as he crept, in zig-zag style, Making the most of every mile. From side to side poor pussy swung, As if each moment taking flight. 472 FRANK HAYMAK A dog, who saT\' the man's condition, A lean and hungry politician, On the look-out was lurking close behind, A sly and subtle chap, of most sagacious smell, ■ Like politicians of a higher kind, Ready to snap at anything that fell. The porter staggered on, the dog kept near. Watching the lucky minute for a bite. Now made a spring, and then drew back with fear. While Hayman followed, tittering at the sight. Through many a street the tipsy porter reels. Then stops — as if to solemn thought inclined — The watchful dog was ready at his heels. And Hayman hobbled on, not far behind. Then rolling on again, the man surveyed One of those happy mansions where A cordial drop imparts its cheering aid To all the thirsty sons of care. The sight of this refreshing place. The scent that hails him from, the door. Arrest at once his rambling pace — As they had often done before. Straight on a bench without he stretched along, Regardless of the passing throng. And soon his weary eyelids close, While Somnus soothes him to repose. The hare now prostrate at his back, This was the time to get a snack. The dog, unable longer to refrain, Gazed at the hare. Who caused his care, Jumpt and bit, jumpt and bit, jumpt and bit, and bit again. At length, when he had cleared away the rest. The sated spoiler finished on the breast. Then having made a hearty meal. He careless turned upon his heel. Nor thought of asking " What's to pay ?" But scampered at his ease away. ECONOMY. 473 At length, our porter's slumber o'er, He jogged on, tottering as before, Unconscious any body kind Had eased liim of his load behind'. Now on the houses turned his eye. As if his journey's end were nigh. Then read the paper in his hand, And made a stand — Hayman drew near, with eager mien, To mark the closing of the scene. Expecting straight a furious din. His features ready for a grin. And now we need but mention one thing more, To show how much he must have liked the whim; Though drunk, our porter hit at last the door, And Hayman found the hare was sent to Mm. THE WHIMSICAL MAL-ENTENDEE. A POOH simple foreigner, not long ago. Whose knowledge of English was simply so-so, At a shopwindow reading, " Good pickles sold here," To the shopwoman said, " Vat is pickles, my dear?" " Why pickles," says she, "is a sort of a name Like preserves, and the meaning is nearly the same. For pickling preserves, though not quite the same way. Yet 'tis much the same thing, as a body may say." The foreigner bowed, and gave thanks for his lesson. Which the next day at dinner he made a fine mess on ; For a loud clap of thunder caused Miss Kitty nervous To start from her chair, and cry " Mercy preserve us ;" While he, keeping closely his lesson in view, Cried " Mercy preserve us and pickle us too." ECONOMY ; OE, THE LADY AND THE CARTER. O'er economy some have such perfect control, They make the one half go as for as the whole : You need not be told that in what I relate, I ^lude not to those who now govern the State ! No, I speak of a Dame, an old woman 'tis true. But still with the Government nothing to do ! 474i THE SPORTSMAN'S BISTBESS. In her household a pattern of saving you saw, . For she could with ease make her bricks without straw. Roast and boiled at her table she had every day, For potatoes, you know, can be cooked either way : And at feasts a plum-pudding with her wasn't rare, For 'tis a^fciH-pudding, when one plum is there! Certain rubbish it chanced 'twas expedient to clear, And the job being over, to give John some beer : — A tankard was drawn — " "Tis my brewing," said she, " Malt and hops — ^nothing else ;" — " Tes, ma'am, to be free," Said the man, "something else — I believe a slight matter" — " What else ?" she exclaimed — " Why," said John, "madam, water .'" "Ay, true," was her answer — " Tes, that I forgot" — " No," said John with a grin, " No, ma'am, you did not .'" THE HORSE-DEALER AND HIS GROOM. A HOKSE-DEALEK, famous for nags with long tails. Of which he oft made pretty well hy his sales. Was once served a trick by a rogue iii the night. Who broke into the stable, and then, without light. Out off every tail of the ijags that were there, To the horse-i^ealer's terror and utter despair — Who came in the morning, and with him his groom, Lamenting most sorely his sorrowful doom. The groom was a wag, as this story will show. For when his poor master was weeping with woe. He cried, " My good sir, prithee take this advice, And then you'll get rid of your nags in a trice, Sell them wholesale." — " How wholesale?" the master exclaimed. At this seeming impudence vastly inflamed; " Why yes, sir, 'tis best, since your first plan has failed, For certain it is they can ne'er be retailed !" THE SPORTSMAN'S DISTRESS. I've lost my friend, my dog, and wife. Saved only horse and purse ; Tet whn I think on human life. Thank heaven it is no worse. TOBACGO. 475 My friend was sickly, poor, and old. Was peevisli, blind, and crippled ; My wife was ugly and a scold, — I rather think she tippled. My dog was faithful, fond, and true. In sporting gave me pleasjire ; I shotddn't care for t'oUjer two. If I had saved thjs treasure. geajU^sjatical tautology. T't.t. prove the word that I have made my theme Is tM,t that may be doubled without blame ; And that that that, thus trebled, I may use. And that that that that critics may abu^e May be correct. Farther — the dons to jjother — Five thats may closely follow one another ! For be it known, that we may safely write Or say, that that that that that man writ was right : — Nay, e'en, that that tlMt that that that followed Through six repeats, the Grammar's mle has hallowed; And that that that (that that that that began) Eepeated seven times is right! — Deny'J; who can. TOBACCO. This Indian weed now withered quite, Though green at noon, out down at night. Shows thy decay ; All flesh is hay ; Thus think, and smoke tobacco. The pipe, so lily-like and weak, Does thus thy mortal state bespeak ; Thou art e'en such, Gone with a touch : Thus think, and smoke tol>acco. And when the smoke ascends on high. Then thou behold' st the vanity Of worldly stuff. Gone with a pufif : Thus think, and smoke tobacco. 476 THE CASE ALTERED. And wlien the pipe grows foul within, Think on thy soli defiled with sin ; For then the fire It does require : Thus think, and smoke tobacco. Thou seest the ashes cast away. Then to thyself thou mayest say. That to the dust Return thou must : Thus think, and smoke tobacco. THE CASE ALTBEED. Hodge held a farm, and smiled content While one year paid another's rent ; But if he ran the least behind. Vexation stung his anxious mind ; For not an hour would landlord stay. But seized the very quarter-day. How cheap soe'er or scant the grain. Though urged with truth, was urged in vain. The same to him, if false or true. For rent must come when rent was due. Tet that same landlord's cows and steeds Broke Hodge's fence, and cropped his meads. In hunting, that same landlord's hounds — See ! how they spread his new-sown grounds ! Dog, horse, and man alike o'erjoyed. While half the rising crop's destroyed ; Tet tamely was the loss sustained. 'Tis said the sufferer once complained : The squire laughed loudly while he spoke. And paid the bumpkin — with a joke. But luckless still poor Hodge's fate ; His worship's bull had forced a gate. And gored his cow, the last and best ; By sickness he had lost the rest. Hodge felt at heart resentment strong — The heart will feel that suffers long. A thought that instant took his head. And thus within himself he said : " If Hodge, for once, don't sting the squire. May people post him for a Uar !" TEE CLOWN AND TEE VICAB. 477 He said — across his shoulder throws His fort, and to his landlord goes. " I come, an't please you, to unfold What, soon or late, you must be told. My bull — a creature tame till now — My bull has gored your worship's cow. 'Tis known what shifts I make to Uve : Perhaps your honour may forgive." " Forgive !" the squire replied, and swore ; " Pray cant to me, forgive, no more ; The law my damage shall decide, And know, that I'll be satisfied." — " Think, sir, I'm poor — poor as a rat." — " Think I'm a justice, think of that !" Hodge bowed his head, and scratched his head ; And recollecting, archly said, " Sir, I'm so struck when here before ye, I fear I've blundered in the story. 'Fore George ! but I'll not blunder now : Yours was the bull, sir; mdne the cow!" His worship found his rage subside. And with calm accent thus replied : " I'll think upon your case to-night ; But I perceive 'tis altered quite !" Hodge shrugged, and made another bow : "An' please ye, where's the justice now?" THE CLOWN AND THE VICAR. Hodge, a poor honest country lout. Not over stocked with learning, Chanced on a summer's eve, to meet The Yicar home returning. " Ah ! Master Hodge," the Vicar cried, " What, stUl as wise as ever ? The people in the village say That you are wondrous clever." "Why, Master Parson, as to that, I beg you'll right conceive me, I do na' brag, but yet I know A thing or two, believe me." 478 TEE OLOWN' AND THE VIOAB. " We'll try your skill," the parson cried, " For learning what digestion ; And this you'll prove or right or wrong, By solving me a questioU. "Noah of old three babies had, Or grown-up children, rather ; Shem, Ham, and Japhet, they were called. Now, who was Japhet's father ?" " Eat it !" cried Hodge, and scratched' Eis head, " That does my wits belabonr ; But howsome'er I'll homeward run. And ask old Giles my neighbour." To Giles he went, and put the case With circumspect intention ; "Thou fool," cried Giles, "I'll make it clear To thy dxill comprehension. " Three children has Tom Long, the smith. Or cattle doctor, rather ; Tom, Dick, and Harry they are called,. Now, who is Harry's father?" " Adzooks ! I have it," Hodge replied, , " Right well I know your lingo, Who's Harry's father ? Stop — here goes — Why, Tom Long Smith, by jingo !" Away he ran to find the priest. With all his might and main. Who with good humour instant put The question once again. " Noah of old three babies had. Or grown-up children, rather ; , Shem, Harp, and Japhet, they v^ere called, Now, who was Japhet's father P" " I have it now," Hodge grinning cried, " I'll answer like a proctor ; WTio's- Japhet's fatter p' — now 1 know — Why, Tom Long Smith, tie doctor." 479 THE DEXTEROUS THIEF. A cuN^'ING wit, but graceless sinner, Who oft by swindling got a dinner. And who in all things had a way To beg, steal, cheat, or anything but pay ; Sauntered into a chemist's shop one day In gleaning mood. The shopman, bowing, asked his pleasure. " Sir," quoth the rogue, " 'twould be a treasure, Indeed it would. If I could buy strength, or by weight or measure ; My stomach fails at such a rapid rate, I go on weekly in more weakly state ; "What shall I do ? What do you recommend P" " Steel lozenges," was answered by the attend- ing minister of drugs. Just then Some one came in to buy a pen- nyworth of something or another ; The shopman turned his back — and t'other , (The rogue I mean), Noting the well-filled lozerige-boxes as they la,y Upon the counter, stole one, and then stole away, He thought unseen ; — But 'twas not so — the shopman's eye Had glanced upon him timorously, Quick as a shot from shovel ran Close at his heels, the druggist's man. Who soon did catch him. " When taken (doctors say) to be well shaken," And just so fared our rogue. Yet not forsaken By impudence, or tricks, to save his bacon (There few could match him) He cleared his throat, and then, to clear his honour, Spoke thus : " Hold, hold ! I'll not be put upon, nor Abused for placing on yowr words too much reliance ; Ton said ' steal lozenges' — I did so, in compHance ; And, as I took them from the counter, it Was no real taking, but a counter-feat !" This pleading proved the rogue no fool. And quite sufficed to over-rule The shopman's anger — who, like many a one. Urged to a length, forgave the mischief done. And with a caution half pathetical Dismissed his rogueship, lozenges and all ; And even, lest his stingy master should , /, Whine at the knave's bad action, made it good'i 480 RETALIATION. A PEW years since, at some provinr-ial college (Places which always rhyme, if nothing else, with knowledge), A wight was educated, whose discerning, When added to an extraordinary mass of learning. Distinguished him on every occasion. As worthy of a first-rate situation, Above his fellow-scholars, and his fellow-men, Thus thought a genius — ergo, he grew lazy, ^'>'go, grew poor — what then ? Pressed by privation. Ergo, he grew crazy. He'd strut about the street sometimes, and speak, In English incoherently, 'tis true ; But in the learned languages, Latin and Greek, His wits were sound again ; and well he knew How to interpret them in darkest mood, And prove in answering that he understood. Thus through his madness sometimes shone A glance of wit, Like light through darkness ; and for one Witness the following hit. He had another Old academic brother. Who, though well learned, had too much sense To think of living by his wits ; and hence Set up in business as a seller (Industrious fellow !) Of brittle glasses And earthenware. With vessels rare. Procured fi-om Staffordshire and other places. One day, while raining fast as it could pour, The shopman, standing just within his door. Perceived our crazy scholar passing by, With not a thread upon him dry. Not wet himself, wishing to have some sport. And scholar-like retort, He hailed him in the Latin tongue, And flung A query, which, to those who do not know. Is rendered into English just below. A DBAU6HT TO GUBE. 481 Pluit tantum, Nescio quantum, Soisue tu ? That it rains hard I am aware, How much it rains I cannot swear, Pray, sir, can you ? The ovazeJ man tuniecl, and flung a huge stone, dashing Through window-panes, producing direful crashing; And further, gave his tit for tat, in The following doggrel Latin : Fregi tot, Nescio quot Soisne tu ? A heap of things a/re gone to pot. How many truly I know not. Pray, sir, do you ? A DBAUaHT TO OtJEE. Jack Dash, in town a first-rate beau, Some time ago, For near a month had never ventured out : 'Twas wise, for Jack was poor, and what bespoke it Was, that he had no money in his pocket ; And, therefore, was not quite prepared to meet A friend of his, who slyly in the street To tap him on the shoulder lurked about. A doctor's wife hard by. Who much delighted in his company (For Jack to please the ladies had the skill), IBegan to think him ill ; So sent her servant Thomas to assure him, If he by any illness was assailed. And would but freely tell from what he ailed. She'd get some draughts that very soon should cure him. This message hearing, thus replied young Dash : " Friend Tom, then tell your mistress I will thank her, As my disorder's only want of cash. To let the drafts be — on her Ivushand's banher .'" 482 THE EETORT. A STJPEKCILIOTJS nabob of tbe East, Haugbty and grave, and purse-proud, being rich, A Governor, or General, at least, I have forgotten which. Had in his family a humble youth, Who went to India in his patron's suit. An unassuming body, and, in truth A lad of decent parts and good repute. This youth had sense and spirit. Yet with all his sense, Excessive diffidence Obscured his merit. One day at table, flushed with pride and wine, His Honour — proudly free, severely merry — Conceived it would be vastly fine To crack a joke upon his secretary. " Young man," said he, " by what art, craft, or trade, Did your good father earn his livelihood!" " He was a saddler, sir," Modestus said, " And in his line was reckoned good." ■' A saddler, eh, and taught you Greek, Instead of teaching you to sew ! Pray why, sir, didn't your father make A saddler, sir, of you ?" Each parasite as in duty bound The joke applauded, and the laugh went round. At length, Modestus bowing low. Said, craving pardon if too free he made, " Sir, by your leave, I fain would know Your father's trade." "My father's trade ? why that's too bad, My father's trade ? why, blockhead, art thou mad ? My father, sir, did never stoop so low ; He was a gentleman, I'd have you know !" " Excuse the liberty," Modestus said, " I take," With archness on hia brow, " Pray, sir, why did not then your father make A gentleman of you." 483 INDECISION. " Evils as many and as great belong To judging slowly as to judging wrong." A Chancellor, wlio in every case Judged sloiu, witli sad and solemn face, Doubts upon endless doiihts renewed As fast as eacli could be subdued ; Fatigued, at lengtb, with noise and brawl. Left for a time tte wrangling Hall, To taste the joys of calm retreat, With spousy at his country-seat. Though tittering scandal did declare No calm could be if she were there. My Lord, one hot September morning, Beoeived his prudent Lady's warning ( The larder was than usual thinner,) To shoot some partridges for dinner t Behold him now the fields o'erstride, With Tray and Sancho by his side ; The pointers, with unwearied pace. Did many a close and common trace, In every liue of subdivision. With mathematical precision. My Lord lagged on with toil and pain For many a weary hour in vain. At length to compensate his trouble They found a covey in the stubble. With wary step near and more near, By slow degrees advanced the Peer ; And gained at length his proper station. Prepared for death and desolation ; The whirring covey upward flew, Full in the lewfned sportsman's view, Who straight began a deep dispute, Which of these birds 'twas best to shoot. He paused — for doubts o'erwhelmed his mind- The dogs supposed their master blind. The birds in different ways divided, And left the Chancellor undecided. " Friend Tray," quoth Sancho in derision, " Behold this master of decision, Would'st take this man of doubts and flaws, For an expounder of the laws, An arbiter of quibble mooters ? Goodness defend his Lordship's suitors % ii2 484 TEE CLEVER IDIOT. Justice this once doth, well repay To Mm the fraits of" his delay, For see the vacillating sinner Has spoiled his sport, and lost his dinner." THE CLBVBB, IDIOT. A BOY, as Nursery records tell, Had dropped his drumstick in a well ; He had good sense enough to know He would be beaten for't, and so Slyly (though silly from his cradle) Took from the shelf a silver ladle. And in the water down it goes. After the drumstick, I suppose . The thing was missed, the servants blamed. But in a week no longer named ; Now this not suiting his designs, A silver cup he next purloins, (To aid his plan he never stopped) And in the water down it dropped. This caused some words and much inquiry. And made his parents rather i/ry ; Both for a week were vexed and cross, And then — submitted to the loss. At length, to follow up his plan. Our little, clever, idiot man. His father's favourite silver waiter. Next cast into the watery crater. Now this, indeed, was what the cook And butler could not overlook ; And all the servants of the place Were searched, and held in much disgrace. The boy now called out, " Cook, here — Nell; What's that so shining in the well ?" This was enough to give a hint That the lost treasures might be in't j So for a man with speed they sent. Who down the well directly went. They listen with expectant ear. At last these joyful words they hear : " Oh here's the ladle, and the cup. And waiter too — so draw me up." TEE BVKE AND TEE PIG. 485 " Hold," quoth the boy, " a moment stay. Bring something else that's in your way," Adding, with self- approving grin, " My dnunstick, now your hand is in." THE DTJKB AOT) THE PIG; OR, PAYING THE RENT. A CEKTAET Viceroy in the Emerald Isle, Some fourscore years ago, Just thereabouts or so — Resolved, as 'twas the balmy summer-time. To mate a gay provincial tour, And view the country in its blooming prime. As many other Viceroys did before. His Grace was very fond of smoking. Drank like a fish — laid all wine-bibbers low. Who had great drinking fame Before he came : Therefore they could not stand this blow. Which was provoking. His travelling equipage was all arrayed. He handed in his Duchess — yet afraid That something might have been forgotten. He to his footman called — " John ! John ! Is my Egyptian pipe within the coach p" " It is, my lord." " John ! John ! that is well thought on- That's right — there's nothing else — now we'll be gone ; To leave my pipe behind were a reproach." They travelled rapidly ; admired each scene That met their sight— the hills of verdant green — The wood — the water — rising to their view ; And thought if landlords did as they should do. Live in their country — stimulate the toil Of peasant industry to till the soil ; Consult his comforts, and promote his peace ; — Ireland would be a very different place. 'Twas fading afternoon, while up a hill The carriage slowly went ; The Egyptian pipe his Grace began to fill. And on a smoke intent, He sought a cabin near the roadside way. To get a light, and puff all care away. Now, in the Emerald Isle it is not odd 486 THE aOUTY MBBOHANT. To see a stagnant pool by way of moat. To guard the cabin pass ; Besides a pig in nmd — or straw about a wad ; Such picturesque additions you may note ; 'Tis quite aa true — that Catholics go to mass : With careful steps his Grace had reached the door ; Uprose the pig, astonished at his sight ; A woman almost double swept the floor ; While his Grace asked her — " Could he have a light." "Your honour shall, with pleasure, sure," says she. Just then the pig — ^inquisitive, no doubt. To know what all this matter was about, Entered the cabin, to see what he could see, And rubbed himself against his Grace's knee. The woman then, with curses )oud and long. Condemned the pig for sideling up so free ; Turned to the Duke and said, " Don't think it wrong That piggy here Should enter without fear : He thinks he has a right — do harm is meant : Because at the year's end, he pays the rent I" The Duke was overcome with hearty laughter. And told the story oft to many after. He left ten pounds — the woman blessed his sight ; And Piggy long enjoyed his Entry -Eight. THE GOUTY MEECHANT AND THE STEANGEE. In Broad Street Buildings, on a winter's night. Snug by his parlour fire, a gouty wight Sat all alone, with one hand rubbing His leg rolled up in fleecy hose, While t'other held beneath his nose The Fuhlic Ledger, in whose columns gmbbing, He noted all the sales of hops. Ships, shops, and slops, Gum, galls and groceries, ginger, gin. Tar, tallow, turmeric, turpentine, and tin ; When lo ! a decent personage in black Entered, and most poUtely said, — " Your footman, sir, has gone his nightly track To the King's Head, And left your door ajar, which I Observed in passing by. And thought it neighbourly to give you notice.'' MY OLD HAT. 487 " Ten thousand thanks — ^how very few get In time of danger Such kind attentions from a stranger. Assuredly that fellow's throat is Doomed to a final drop at Newgate ; He knows too, the nnconsoiojiable elf, That there's no soul at home except myself." " Indeed !" replied the stranger, looking grave, " Then he's a double knave. He knows that rogues and thieves by scores Nightly beset unguarded doors ; And see how easily might one Of these domestic foes, Even beneath your nose Perform his knavish tricks, Enter your room as I have done, Blow out your candles — thtis — and thus, Pocket your silver candlesticks. And walk off r ' So said — so done — he made no more remark, Nor waited for replies. But marched off with his prize, Lea.ving the gouty merchant in the dark. MT OLD HAT. I HAD a hat — it was not all a hat. Part of the brim was gone — yet still I wore It on, and people wondered as I passed. Some turned to gaze — others just cast an eye And soon withdrew it, as 'twere in contempt. But still my hat, although so fashionless In complement extern, had that within Surpassing show — ^my head continued warm ; Being sheltered from the weather, spite of all The want (as has been said before) of brim. A change came o'er the colour of my hat. That which was black grew brown — and then men stared With both their eyes (they stared with one before). The wonder now was twofold ; and it seemed Strange that a thing so torn and old should still Be worn by one who might but let that pass ! I had my reasons, which might be revealed But for some counter-reasons, far more strong, Which tied my tongue to silence. Time passed on, 'J88 MY OLB EAT. Grreen spring, and flowery summer, antnmn brown, And frosty winter came, — and went and came. And still throngh. all the seasons of two years. In park and city, yea, at parties — balls — The hat was worn and borne. Then folks grew wild With curiosity, and whispers rose. And questions passed about — how one so trim In coats, boots, ties, gloves, trousers, could insconce His caput in a covering so vile. A change came o'er the nature of my hat. Grease-spots appeared — but, still in silence, on I wore it, and then family, and friends Glared madly at each other. There was one Who said — but hold — no matter what was said ; A time may come when I away, away Not till the season's ripe can I reveal Thoughts that do lie too deep for common minds- Till then the world shall not pluck out the heart Of this my mystery. When I will, I will ! The hat was now greasy, and old, and torn. But torn, old, greasy, still I wore it on. A change came o'er the business of this hat. Women, and men, and children scowled on me — My company was shunned — I was alone ! None would associate with such a hat — Friendship itself proved faithless for a hat. She that I loved, within whose gentle breast I treasured up my heart, looked cold as death — Love's fires went out — extinguished by a hat. Of those who knew me best, some turned aside, And scudded down dark lanes ; one man did place His finger on his nose's side, and jeered ; Others in horrid mockery laughed outright ; Tea, dogs, deceived by instinct's dubious ray, Fixing their swart glare on my ragged hat. Mistook me for a beggar, and they barked. Thus women, men, friends, strangers, lovers, dogs, One thought pervaded all— it was my hat. A change, it was the last, came o'er this hat, For lo ! at length the circling months went round : The period was accomplished — and one day This tattered, brown, old greasy coverture (Time had endeared its vileness) was transferred To the possession of a wandering son Of Israel's fated race — and friends once more TEE MAGPIE. 489 Greeted my digits with tlie wonted squeeze : Once more I went my way, along, along, And plucked no wondering gaze ; tlie hand of scorn Withits annoying finger, men, and dogs, Once more grew pointless, jokeless, laughless, growllesr- - And at last, not least of rescued tlessings, love ! Love smiled on me again, when I assumed A bran new chapeau of the Melton build ; And then the laugh was mine, for, then out came The secret of this strangeness — 'twas a het, — A friend had laid me fifty pounds to ten, Three years I would not wear it — and I did ! THE MAGPIE; OR, BAD COMPANY. Let others with poetic fire. In raptures praise the tuneful choir, The linnet, chaffinch, goldfinch, thrush, And every warbler of the bush ; I sing the mimic magpie's fame. In wicker cage, well-fed, and tame, In Fleet Street dwelt, in days of yore, A jolly tradesman named Tom More ; Generous and open as the day. But -passionately fond of play ; No sounds to him such sweets afEord As dice-box, rattling o'erthe board ; Bewitching hazard is the game For which he forfeits health and fame. In basket prison hung on high, With dappled coat and watchful eye, A favourite magpie sees the play. And mimics every word they say ; "By Jove, he nicks us !" Tom More cries ; "By Jove, he nicks us !" Mag replies. The astonished gamesters lift their eyes, And wondering stare, and look around. As doubtful whence proceeds the sound. This dissipated life, of course. Soon brought poor Tom from bad to worse ; Nor prayers nor promises pi-evail To keep him from a dreary jail. 490 THE MAGPIE. And now, between each heartfelt sigh, Tom oft exclaims " Bad Company !" Poor Mag, who shares his master's fate, Exclaims, from out his wicker gate, " Bad Company ! Bad Company !" Then views poor Tom with curious eye. And cheers his master's wretched hours By this display of mimic powers ; The imprisoned bird, though much caressed, Is still by anxious care oppressed ; In silence mourns its cruel fate, And oft explores his prison gate. Observe through life you'll always find A fellow-feeling makes us kind ; So Tom resolves immediately To give poor Mag his liberty ; Then opes his cage, and, with a sigh. Takes one fond look, and lets him' ily. Now Mag, once more with freedom blest. Looks round to find a place of rest ; To Temple Gardens wings his way, There perches on a neighbouring spray. The gardener now with busy cares, A curious seed for grass prepares ; Tet spite of all his toils and pains. The hungry birds devour the gra.ina. A curious net he does prepare, And lightly spreads the wily snare ; The feathered plunderers come in view, And Mag soon joins the thievish crew. The watchful gardener now stands by. With nimble hand and wary eye ; The birds begin their stolen repast. The fiying net secures them fast. The vengeful clown, now filled with ire, Does to a neighbouring shed retire. And having first secured the doors And windows, next the net explores. Now, in revenge for plundered seed. Each felon he resolves shall bleed ; Then twists their little necks around. And casts them breathless on the ground. TRE MAGPIE. 491 Mag, who with man was used to herd, Knew something more than common bird ; He therefore watched with anxious care, And slipped himself from out the snare. Then, perched on nail remote from ground, Observes how deaths are dealt around. " By Jove, he nicks us !" Maggy cries, The astonished gardener lifts his eyes. With faltering voice and panting breath. Exclaims " Who's there?" — all still as death. His murderous work he does resume, And casts his eye around the room With caution, and at length does spy The Magpie, perched on nail on high ! The wondering clown, from what he heai-d, Believes him something more than bird ; With fear impressed does now retreat Towards the door with trembling feet ; Then says, " Thy name I do implore P" The ready bird replies — " Tom More." " Mercy !" the frighted clown replies, With hair erect, and staring eyes ; Half-opening then the hovel door. He asks the bird one question more ; " What brought you here P" — with quick reply, Sly Mag rejoins, " Bad Company !" Out jumps the gardener in a fright, And runs away with all his might ; And, as he runs, impressed with dread, Exclaims " The Devil's in the shed." The wondrous tale a bencher hears. And soothes the man, and quells his f«ars. Gets Mag secured in wicker cage, Once more to spend his little rage ; ■ In Temple Hall now hung on high, Mag oft exclaims " Bad Company !" 492 ELESSDlS. In a certain fair island, for commerce renowned, Wtose fleets sailed in every sea, A sect of fanatics, men say tiere was found. Who set up an idol and worship around, And called it by name Elessde. Many heads had the monster, and tails not a few. Of divers rare metals was he. And temples they built him right goodly to view, Where oft they would meet, and, like idolists true, Pay their vows to the great ElessdS. Moreover, at times would their frenzy attain ('Twas nought less) to so high a degree, That his soul-blinded votaries did not complain, But e'en laid down their lives his false favour to gain,- So great was thy power, Elessde. As for morals, this somewhat unscrupulous race Were lax enough, 'twixt you and me ; Men would poison their friends with professional grace, And of the fell deed leave behind ne'er a trace. For the sake of the fiend Elessdl. Then forgery flourished, and rampant and rife Was each form of diablerie ; While the midnight assassin, with mallet and knife, Would steal on his victim and rob him of life, And all for thy love, Elessde. There were giants of crime on the earth in that day. The like of which we may not see ; Although, peradventure, some sceptic will say There be those even now who acknowledge the sway Of the god of the world, £ s. d. A NEWSPAPER. Organs that gentlemen play, my boy. To answer the taste of the day, my boy ; Whatever it be. They hit on the key. And pipe in full concert away, my boy. A KEWSPAPEIl. iQ'i News from all countries and chimes, my boy, Advertisements, essays, and rhymes, my boy, Mixed up with all sorts Of flying reports. And published at regular times, my boy. Articles able and wise, my boy. At least in the editor's eyes, my boy, A logic so grand That few understand To what in the world it applies, my boy. Statistics, reflections, reviews, my boy, Little scraps to instruct and amuse, my boy, And lengthy debate Upon matters of State For wise-headed folks to peruse, my boy. The funds as they were and are, my boy. The quibbles and quirks of the bar, my boy. And every week A clever critique On some rising theatrical star, my boy. The age of Jupiter's moons, my boy. The stealing of somebody's spoons, my boy. The state of the crops. The style of the fops. And the wit of the public buffoons, my boy. List of all physical ills, my boy. Banished by somebody's pills, my boy. Till you ask with surprise Why any one dies. Or what's the disorder that kills, my boy. Who has got married, to whom, my boy. Who were cut off in their bloom, my boy. Who has had birth On this sorrow-stained earth. And who totters fast to their tomb, my boy. The price of cattle and grain, my boy, Directions to dig, and to drain, my boy. But 'twould take me too long To tell you in son^ A quarter of all they contain, my boy. 4.94 FOOLS. There are fools of pretension and fools of pretence, Fools that can't understand even other folk's sense ; There are high-finished boohies from every great school, And many worse fools in the world than " Tom Fool." For Tom was the merriest fool upon earth, But Folly brought twin greater fools at a birth ; Young Hope-fool and Will- fool, fools of the first water. And at last, to beat all, she bore Spite-fool a daughter. There are fools all for saving, and fools that all spend. And great fools that borrow, and greater that lend ; Fools that rush into crime to acouipulate wealth, Fools that squander the best of all treasures— their health. Fools that barter the best things of life for a song, Fools of lovers whose folly but seldom lasts long : There are fools that are single, and fools that are wed, And fools have writ volumes that never were read. There are fools, too, that read, and are never the wiser. And many's the fool takes the part of adviser : There are fools to bo wooed and still greater to woo. And fools to give roguery plenty to do. There are fools that abuse and fools that applaud. Great fools stay at home, and gTeat fools go abroad ; And great fools return greater fools than they went. Their morals all gone and their money all spent. There are fools that see diamonds in Derbyshire spar. And these are the fools found at every bazaar : Fools to be stared at, and fools too to stare, And mothers, great fools, let their daughters be there. There are fools in the city of pleasure and trade, There are fools, country gentlemen, all ready made : Great fools of great fortunes lose life and estate, For the hunting a fox and the leaping a gate. There are fools that are young, and fools that grow old, Some fools too gentle, some given to scold. Some fools that torment friends, children, and %yives, And greater that plague themselves out of their Iive.«' THE DIVISION OF THE EABTS. 495 . I could tell of more fools without number or end, That with all this my telling T never shall mend. And perhaps lose myself, both my sense and my labour, And perhaps I am quite as great fool as my neighbour. THE DIVISION OF THE EARTH. From the German. Take ye the world — thus, from his height subhme, Jove spake to men — take it, my boon is free ; 'Tis marked your heritage through endless time; Share it my sons, hke brethrefi, lovingly. Quick hies the busy race, athirst for gain ; To seek their portions young and old repair : The tiUer took the fields and golden grain ; The huntsman tracked the forest lair ; The merchant garners all his varied store ; The abbot claims the juice of purple hue ; The king has barred the stream and highway o'er. And cries, " A tenth of all is due." Ah ! last of all — ^too late — each part assigned, From some far distant scene the poet came ; No vacant spot his wandering glances find, No soil but owns a master's name. " Oh ! woe IS me ! for aU thy gifts abound, And portionless thou leavest thy faithful son !" Thus while his loud laments to heaven resound. He fell before the eternal throne. " If in the land of dreams, and Fancy's reign. Fondly thou lingerest, then reproach not me ; Where wert thou, Bard, when every share was ta'en ?'' " I was," the poet cried, " with thee! "My ravished eye thy glorious face surveyed, My rapt ear drank the music of the skies ! Forgive the soul by ecstasy betrayed. That lost earth's dull realities !" Then thus the Euler, from his lofty throne : — " Content thee, Poet ! thou hast failed to share One portion girdled by the aqueous zone j Take undivided empire of the Air !" 496 SUENAMES. Men once were surnamed for their shape or estate, (You all may from history worm it,) There waa Louis the Bulky, and Henrjr the Great,_ John Lackland, and Peter the Hermit : But now, when the doorplates of masters and dames Are read, each so constantly varies Prom the owner's trade, figure, and calling, surnames Seem given by the rule of contraries. Mr. Wise is a dunce, Mr. King is a Whig, Mr. Coffin's uncommonly sprightly, And huge Mr. Little broke down in a gig While driving fat Mrs. Golightly. At Bath, where the feeble go more than the stout, (A conduct well worthy of Nero,) Over poor Mr. Lightfoot, confined with the gout, Mr. Heavisido danced a bolero. Miss Joy, wretched maid, when she chose Mr. Love, Found nothing but sorrow await her ; She now holds in wedlock, as true as a dove, That fondest of mates, Mr. Hayter. Mr. Oldcastle dwells in a modern-built hut, Miss Sage is of madcaps the archest ; Of all the queer bachelors Oupid e'er cut, Old Mr. Younghusband's the starchest. Mr. Child, in a passion, knocked down Mr. Rook, Mr. Stone like an aspen-leaf shivers ; Miss Pool used to dance, but she stands like a stock Ever since she became Mrs. Eivers. Mr. Swift hobbles onward, no mortal knows how. He moves as though cords had entwined him ; Mr. Metcalf ran off upon meeting a cow. With pale Mr. TurnbuU behind him. Mr. Barker's as mute as a fish in the sea. Ml'. Miles never moves on a journey ; Mr. Gotobed sits up till half after three, Mr. Makepeace was bred an attorney. Mr. Gardener can't tell a flower from a root, Mr. Wild with timidity draws back; Mr. Ryder performs all his journeys on foot, Mr. Foot all his journeys on horseback. HOW-D'YE-DO, AND GOOD-BYE. 497 Mr. Penny, whose father was rolling in wealth. Consumed all the fortune his dad won. Large Mr. Le Fever's the picture of health, Mr. Goodenough is but a bad one. Mr. Omiokshank stept into three thousand a year. His figure attracted an heiress : Now I hope you'U acknowledge I've made it quite clear, Surnames ever go by contraries. HOW-D'YE-DO, AND GOOD-BYE. One day Good-bye met How-d'ye-do, Too close to shun saluting ; But soon the rival sisters flew, From kissing to disputing. "Away," says How-d'ye-do, "your mien Appals my cheerful nature ; No name so sad as yours is seen In sorrow's nomenclature. " Whene'er I give one sunshine hour, Your cloud comes in to shade it ; Whene'er I plant one bosom's flower, Yonr mildew drops do fade it. " Ere How-d'ye-do has tuned each tongue To hope's delightful measure, Good-bye in Friendship's ear has rung The knell of parting pleasure. " From sorrows past my chemic skiU Draws smiles of consolation ; While you from present joys distil The tears of separation." Good-bye replied, " Your statement's true. And well your cause you've pleaded ; Bat pray who'd think of How-d'ye-do, Unless Good-bye preceded ? " Without my prior influence Oould you have ever flourished ? And can your hand one flower dispense, But what my tears have nourished ? '4&8 WOMEW ABE BEST WHEN TSEY'BE AT BEST. " How oft, if at the Oourt oT Love ODncealnlent be the fashion, When HoifT-d'ye-do has failed to nlove, G-ood-bye reveals the passion ! " How oft, when Oujtid's fires deoluie. As ev6ry heart remembers. One sigh df mine, tad only mine; Revives the dying embers ! " G-o, bid the timid lover choose, And I'U resign my charter. If hfe fbr ten IfSid hoW-d'ye-does, One kind good-bye would barter. " From Love and Friendship's kindred source We both derive existence ; And they would both lose half their force Without our joint assistance. " 'Tis well the world our merit knows. Since time (there's no denjring) One half in how-d'ye-doing goes. And t'other in good-byeing." WOMEN ARE BEST WHEN THBT'EB AT BEST. Women are best when they're at rest ; But when is that, I pray .' By their "good *i]l they are never still. By night and eke by day. If the weather is bad, all day they gad. They heed not wind or ram ; And Wl their gay gear they ruin or near ; For why, they can't refrain. Then must they chat of this and that ; Their tongues also must walk ; Whoresoeverthey go, they must always do so, And of their bad husbands talk. When cometh the night, it is never right. But ever somewhat wrong ; If husbands be weary, they are so merry, They never cease their song. SYMPTOMS OF LOVE. 459 Then can they chide while at their side Their husbands strive to sleep ; " Why, how you do snore ! go ne oil the floor :" Such is the coil they kefep. So women are best when they're at rest, If you can catch them stiH ; Cross them, they chide, and are worse — I have tried-^ If yoii graiit them their will. Give them their way, they still say nay, And chtoge their mind in a tHoe ; Let them alone, or you will own That mine was good advice. SYMPTOMS OF LOTE. Once did my thoughts both ebb and flow^ As passion did them move ; Once did I hope, straight fear again, — '■ And then I was in love. Once did I waking spend the nightj And told how many minutes move j Once did I wishing waste the day; — And then I was in love. Once, by my carving true-love's knot. The weeping trees did prove That wounds and tears were both our lots,- And then I was in love. Once did I breathe another's breath, And in my mistress move ; Once was I not mine own at all, — And then I was in love. Once wore I bracelets made of hair, And collars did approve ; Once were my clothes made out of wax, — And then I was in love. Once did I sonnet to my saint, My soul in numbers move ; Once did I tell a thousand lies, — And then I was in love. KK 2 500 mi8E LOVE SONG. Once in my breast did dangling hang A little turtle-dove ; Once, in a word, I was a fool, — And then I was in love. lEISH LOVE SONG. Oh ! what a beautiful bit of mortality. Sweet Judy OTlannigan is unto me ; The world must allow her angelic reality. The like of my Judy I never shall see. Her manner is free from all low vulgaraKty, So politely genteel, unaffected, and free ; To see her and think of a moment's neutrality, You might just as welL go dance a jig on the sea. Oh smile on me, Judw^with some partiality, For the brains in/fflw^rowJl have been all set a-gee ; Ijlse I soon shall hMl^mlaha.t's an end to vitality. Broken-hearted 4Ecrmu(r^ered, yoxir Paddy will be ! And pray, where the dq^ce did ye get your morality ? Would you like your poor Paddy to hang on a tree ? Sure, Judy, that would be a bit of rascality. While the daws and the crows would be pecking at me ! Oh name but the day, without more hotheraUty, Then the happiest of mortals your Paddy will be ; Ere a year will go round, ye'U have more motheraUty, And that the whole town of Kilkenny will see ! Then we'll laugh, dance, and sing with true conviviality, While the rafters would ring to the noise of our spree ; And our hearts will be beating with congeniality. When Judy and Paddy they married shall be ! Oh ! what a beautiful bit of mortality. Sweet Judy O'Plannigari is unto me ; The world must allow her angelic reality, The like of my Judy I never shall see J 501 THE FRTJIT OF OLD IRELAND. Some sing of roast beef, and some sing of kail brose, And some praise plum-padding, the BngHsliman's dose ; Such poets, we think, should be counted our foes When they name not the fruit of old Ireland — the beautiful nice Irish fruit. This sweet little plant is the choicest of fruit. It grows not on branches, but Ues at the root ; So modest and humble, it's just at your foot — The elegant fruit of old Ireland-^the beautiful sweet Irish fruit. When evening sets in Paddy puts on the pot. To boil the dear praties and serve them up hot ; His sweet little hearth-stone is then the dear spot Where you meet with the fruit of old Ireland — the beautiful nice Irish fruit. And then he sets out fuU of praties and love. To court his own Judy, the sweet turtle-dove, One would think him inspired by young Cupid above. But its nought but the fruit of old Ireland — the beautiful nice Irish fruit. For down by her side he so boldly will sit, And tell how his heart has been bothered and smit, Peace or quiet in this world he can ne'er get a bit ; For she's loved, like the fruit of old Ireland — the beautiful nice Irish fruit. So the heart of poor Judy is melted like fat, While thus it's besieged by young flattering Pat, Och ! he swears that his hfe is not worth an old hat. For she's dear as the fruit of old Ireland — the beautiful nice Irish fruit. Have ye e'er been in Ireland, at Dublin or Clare, Or passed half a night at a wake or a fair ? Oh ! the beautiful fruit that we often see there. Is the pride and the glory of Ireland — the elegant nice Irish fruit. If e'er in that country you go to a feast, Or sit down to dinner with bishop or priest, Be assured, that at table there's one dish at least, Containing the fruit of old Ireland — the elegant nice Irish fruit. S02 SIMON BEOBIE. But to sing all the wonders produced by tliis root, How it's prized by eacli man, woman, child, and poor brute, Would require Homer's powers ; then, hurra, for the fruit, _ The beautiful fruit of old Ireland— the elegant nice I^iah fruit. SIMON BEODIE. Heabb ye e'er o' our gudeman, The gaucy laird o' braid Dunwodie, The wale o' cocks at cap or can ; Honest, canty Simon Brodie. Auld farran, canty bodie, Wingoine, pranksojne, gleegpme bpdift. The crack o' a' the kintr^ pide,_ Is auld cauty Simon Brodae." Simon he's a strappin' chiel, iPor looks wad meU wi' ony bodie. In height an ell but an' a span, An' twice as braid is Simon Brodie : Troth he is a canty bodie. An auld farran, canty bodie, An' tho' his pow's baith thin a,Ti,6, grey^ Ye'd hardly match me Simon Bro$e. Simon Brodie had a wife, I wat she was baith proud and bonny, He took tlie diaholout frae the bink, An4 preeut it till her cockernony ! Wasna she a thrifty bodie, The braw, braw lady o' Dunwodie, In claes sae fine to dress and dine, Wi' sic a laird as Simon Brodie. An' Simon had a branded cow, He tint his cow and couldna find her, He sought her a' the lee lang day, But the cow cam hame wi her tail ahind her Tet think na him a doited bodie, Think na him a davert bodie, " He li^'ein' walth o' warld's gear Maks men respect auld Simon Brodie. - 503 THE HUMBLE PBTiriON OF THE LETTER W TO THE INHAJBITANTS OF LONDON. Whekeas by you I have been hurled From the first station in the woi-ldj Oondemued in i;ice to find a place. And with the ■vnlgar show my face ; I humbly ask to be restored, In all that's proper, to a loord. But what I most complain of now, Is that the loomen cut me so ; When any girl becomes ^ wife, I'm turned away for all her life-r- And even in her widowhood I mayn't return to her abode. Therefore with reason I complain, Oh ! let me not be heard in 'yain ; And born within the sound of Bow, I trust I'm not your care below. Tour prayer is graciously received. But you can never be believed ; With v's you often spell yoiir :riame-r- Then is it just your dupes to blame ? As long as you act parts so double, We cannot deem you worth our trouble ; But rest assured that nought will hurt you, As long as you remain in ijirtue. A GBEOIAN FABLE, Once on a time, a son and sire, we're told, — The stripling tender and the father old, — Purchased a donkey at a country fair. To ease their limbs, and hawk about their ware ; But as the sluggish animal was weak, They feared if both should mount, his back would break. Up got the boy, the father plods on foot, And through the gazing crowd he leads the brute ; Forth from the crowd the greybeards hobble out, ' And haU the cavalcade with feeble shout : " This is the respect to feeble age you shoiv F And this the duty you to parents owe ? 504 THE 8IE0E OF EELGRABK He beats the hoof, and you are set astride ! Sirrah ! get down, and let your father ride." As Grecian lads were seldom void of ^race, The decent, duteous youth resigned his place. Then a fresh murmur through the rabble ran ; Boys, girls, wives, widows, all attack the man : " Sure ne'er was brute so void of nature ! Have you no pity for the pretty creature ? To your young child can you be so unkind ? Here, Luke, Bill, Betty, put the child behind !" Old dapple next the clowns' compassion claimed : " 'Tis strange those boobies are not quite ashamed ! Two at a time upon a poor dumb beast ! They might as well have carried him at least." The pair, still pliant to the partial voice. Dismount and bear the brute. Then what a noise ! Huzzas, loud laughs, low gibe, and bitter joke. From the yet silent sire these words provoke : " Proceed, my boy, nor heed their further call ; Vain his attempt who tries to please them all !" THE SIEGE OF BBLGEADE. Probably the most ingenlouB specimen of alliteration extant. An Austrian army awfully arrayed, Boldly by battery besieged Belgrade ; Cossack commanders cannonading come. Dealing destruction's devastating doom : Every endeavotir engineers essay For fame, for fortune — fighting furious fray. Generals 'gainst generals grapple — gracious God ! How honours Heaven heroic hardihood ! Infuriate — indiscriminate in ill. Kinsmen kill kinsmen — kinsmen kindred kill ! Labour low levels loftiest, longest lines — Men marsh 'mid mounds, 'mid moles, 'mid murderous mines, Now noisy noxious numbers notice nought Of outward obstacles opposing ought ; Poor patriots, partly purchased, partly pressed, Quite quaking, quickly quarter, quarter 'quest : Beason returns, religious right resounds, Suwarrow stops such sanguinary sounds. True to the Turkey — triumph to thy train ! TJnjvist, unwise, unmerciful Ukraine ! Vanish vain victory, victory vanish vain ! AJjLISTEB McALLISTEB. 505 Why wisli we warfare P Wherefore welcome were Xerxes, Ximenes, Xanthus, Xaviere ? Yield ye, youths, ye yeomen, — yield your yell ; Zeno's, Zarpeter's, Zoroaster's zeal, And all attracting — arms against appeal. JOCKT SAID TO JENNY. JocKY said to Jenny, " Jenny wilt thou wed p" " Ne'er a fit," quo' Jenny, " for my tocher-gude ; For my tocher-gude, I winna marry thee." " E'en's ye like," quo' Johnnie, "ye may let it be ! " I hae gowd and gear, I hae land eneuoh ; I hae seven good owsen gaugin' in a pleuch ; Gangin' in a pleuch, and linkin' ower the lea : And gin ye winna tak' me, I can let ye be ! " I hae a gude ha' house, a barn, and a byre, A stack afore the door ; I'll mak' a ranting fire : I'll mak' a ranting fire, and merry shall we be : And gin ye winna tak' me, I can let ye be. Jenny said to Jocky, " Gin ye winna tell. Ye shall be the lad ; I'll be the lass mysel' : Ye're a bonnie lad, and I'm a lassie free ; Ye're welcomer to tak' me than to let me be." ALLiSTEE McAllister. O Allistek McAllistek, Your chanter sets us a' astir, Then to your pipes an' blaw wi' birr, We'll dance the Highland fling. Now AUister has tuned his pipes. And thrang as bumbees frae their bykes. The lads and lasses loup the dykes And gather on the green. Allister McAllister, &o. The miller Rab was fidgin' fain To dance the Highland fling his lane, He lap and danced wi' might and main, The like was never seen. 506 TEE AULD GOOD-MAN. As round about the ring lie wtuds _ He cracks his thumbs and shakes his duda. The meal flew frae his tail like clouds, And blinded a' their een. O AUister McAllister, &g. Neist raucle-handed smiddy Jock, A' blackened o'er wi' coom and smoke, Wi' shauchlin bleer-e'ed Besa did yoke — That hairum-scarum quean. He shook his doublet in the wind, His feet hke hammers straok the ground. The very moudieworts were stunned, Nor kenned what it could mean. O AUister McAllister, &c. Now wanton Willie wasna blate, For he got baud o' winsome Kate, " Oome here," quo' he, " I'll show the gate To dance the Highland fling." The Highland fling he danced wi' glee. And lap as he were gaun to flee ; Kate becked and bobbed sae bonnilie. And tript it light and clean. AUister MoAlUster, &c. Now AUister has dqne his best, And weary houghs are wantin' rest. Besides wi' drouth tliey're sair distressed Wi' dancin' sae I ween. I trow the gauntrees got a lift, An' round the bickers flew like drift. An' AUister that very nicht Could scarcely stan' his lane. AUister McAlUster, &c. THE AULD GOOD-MAN. Late in the evening forth I went A little befpfe the sun gaed down. And there I chanced by accident. To light on a battle ne-vy begun : A m£^n and his wife were fa 'in' in a s^jrifo, 1 canna weel tell ye hoyr it began ; But aye she wailed her wrej;ched life, Crying, Ever aJake, mine auld good-man ! THE AULD OOOD-MAN. 507 HE. Thy aiild good-man, that thou tells of, The Gountry teas where he was horn, Was hnt a silly poor vagahond, And ilka ane leugh him to scorn. For he did spend and make an end Of routh of gear his fathers wan ; He gart the poor stand frae the door ; Sae tell nae mair of thy auld gqpd-man. My heart, alake! is hken to break, When I think on my winsome John, His blinken e e, and gait sae free, Was naething like thee, thou dozent drone ; Wi' his rosie face, and flaxen hair, And sliin as white as any swan. He was large and tall, and comely withal, Thou'lt never be like mine auld good-man, HE. Why dost thou 'plain ? I thee maintain ; For meal and mawt thou disna vant : But thy wild bees I canna please, Now whan our gear 'gins to grow scant ; Of household stuff thou hast enough ; Thou wants for neither pot nor pan ; Of siclike ware he left thee bare : Sae tell nae mair of thy auld good-man. Tes I may tell, and fret mysel'. To think on those blyth days I had, Whan I and he together lay In arms into a well-made bed : But now I sigh and may be sad ; Thy courage is oauld, thy colour wan, Thou f aids thy feet, and fa's asleep ; Thou'lt never be like naine a^ld good-man. Then coming was the flight sae dark. And gane was a' the hght of day; The carle was feared to miss his mark, And therefore wad nae longer stay ; 508 J0HN2TY SANDS. Then tip lie gat, and ran his way, I trow, the wife the day she wan ; And aye the owrewood of the fray Was, Ever alake ! mine auld good-man. JOHNKY SAJSTDS. A MAN whose name was Johnny Sands, Had married Betty Hague, Who, though she brought him gold and lands, Yet proved a shocking plague. ^or she was quite a scolding wife. Full of caprice and whim ; He said that he was tired of life, She — she was tired of him. Said he, " Then I will drown myself. The river runs below ;" Said she, " Pray do, you silly eH ! I wished it long ago." Said he, " Upon the brink upright I'll stand ; — run down the hiU, And push me in with all your might." Said she, " My love, I will." " For fear that courage I should lack. And try to save my life ; Pray tie my hands behind my back." "I will," replied the wife. She tied them fast, as you may think. And when securely done, "Now go," she cried, " upon the brink And I'll prepare to run." All down the hill his tender bride Now ran with all her force. To push him in, — he stepped aside. And she fell in of course. Then splashing, dashing, like a fish, " Oh, save me, Johnny Sands !" " I can't, my dear, though much I wish. For you have tied my hands." 509 THE DOCTOR AND HIS APPLES. What is a schoolmaster P Why, can't you tell? A quizzical old man Armed with a ratan ; Wears a huge wig. And struts about ; Strives to look big, With spectacles on snout. And most important pout, Who teaches little boys to read and spell. Such my description is of a man. If not a clergyman, a layman : — So much by way of definition, And, to prevent dull disquisition. Will shortly take a new position. A schoolmaster (it mostly follows) Who keeps a school, must have some scholars. Unless, indeed (which said at once is) Instead of scholars, they are all dunces : Or if this fancy more should tickle. Suppose them mixed — like Indian pickle. One Dr. Larrup, as depicted here, Who little boys had flogged for many a year — Not that they wouldn't learn their ABO, Their hie, hose, hoc — Syntax, or Prosody, But that, despite Of all his might, And oft enforced rules of right. They would contrive, by day or night. To steal — oh ! flinty-hearted sparhs, Worse than to little fish are sharks, — (Alas ! to tell it my muse winces,) To steal — his apples, pears, and quinces. Put them where'er he would, alike their dooms. His efforts proved as fruitless as his rooms. As a pert dunghill cock, infiamed with ire. Erects his feathers and his comb of fire. When of some grains, his own by right. He's robbed by foes that take to flight — So stood the doctor .- With face as red As coral bed, 610 THE BOGTOB AND HIS APPLES. TTig wig cocked forward in his eye. As if it there the cause would spy. Had his wife been there, I do declare. It wotdd hayie shocked her. After long buffeting in mental stonn, TTJH brain's, thermometet fell from hot to warm : At many ^laiis by turns he grapples, To save his 4nin(%s, peai^, and apples : Wh^ lucHfy, into his noddle, TTia recollection chanced to toddle. This sage informant told poor Laarnp, If he'd convey his fruit so far up. That on his house's top there stood, A rooiiii well-floored, I think — with wtxwL Twas what some folks a loft would call ; The entrance through a tiip-door small. Fixed in the ceiling of his chamber; To which he up a rope must clamber; Unless a ladder was prepared. And then the rope's end might be spared ; But he'd a long) well-practised knack. Of sparvng neither rope nor hack. Te who in proper titles glory. Will think, I hope, as I have oft. That, as this Story's of a Loft, It should be called a " Lofty Story." "Well, Larrup, without more £spnt)£g. Fixed on this loft to put his frnit in. And quickly had it thither moved. How far securely, must be proved. From one apartment so erected That with the very trifling risk Of dislocating neck or shoulder. Which boys ne'er think of in a frisk (Nay, oft it makes the urchins bolder). Adventurous spirits might contrive To reach the Doctor's apple-hive. In this room rested four or five Of these young pilferers, undetected. Whilst leaden sleep sat on the Doctor's shutters (By shutters, I would here imply. The lids that shut light from the eye.) These daring rogues exijlored the tiles and gutters In search of tiup or casement — but alack ! They found not e'en a small, a gracious crack. TEE DOGTOB AND HIS APPLES. 511 When one, 'gainst every disappointment proof, Proposed that they shonld just — untile the roof ; At least, sufficient space t' admit A basket, in which, one might sit ; And thus, by rope to handle tied. Be lowered down with gentle ride. This being approved of, 'twas decided. That, 'gainst njsit night, should be provided A basket and a rope ; Wbich being in due time effected, A snperiSar^ was selected. Who, raised by hope. Was gradually lowered through the hole. From whence he sent up apples by the shoal. This plan they often put in force (Not oftener than they coxild — of course). And when their pilfering job was ended, The nntiled roof they always mended. The Doctor frequent visits inad^. And soon perceived his apples strayed ; And offc upon the school-room floor. Lay many a pear and apple core : With grief he viewed these sad remains, Of what to keep, he took such pains. Despair now made his heart its prey, — When, entering tbe loft One day. Has ears had pretty ample proof. The rogues were breaking through the roof. He wisely then concealed himself, — When, lo ! down came one little elf ; But be no sooner reach the groxmd did. When at hitn, out the Doctor bounded. And threatened, if he said a sentence, lS.e'i. give him cause for year's repentance. The boy stood inute as pewter pot, While Larrup in the basket got ; When being seated snug and steadjr. He made his prisoner cry, "All's read.y." The boys above began to pull, — " Bless me ! the basket's very full." " He's got a swingiiig lot this time," " And rU be bound he's picked the prime." " To it again With inight and main. Another haul will do the job," — " Yo ! yo ho ! Up we go !" 512 TEE FISHEBMEN. Wien lo ! up popped the Doctor's nob ! How they all looked 1 can't express, So leave that part for you to guess ; But you, perhaps, may think it right To know the end of Larrup's flight. Well ! when they'd drawn him to the top, Where he, most likely, wished to stop. The wicked rascals — let the Doctor drop ! THE FISHERMEN. TJIOOT AND TKOT. Tom Tegdt, by native industry was taught The various arts — how fishes may be caught. To baskets oft he'd pliant oziers turn. Where they might entrance find — but no return, But when he would a quick destruction make, And from afar much larger booty take. Through the quick stream he'd very shrewdly set. From side to side, his strong capacious net. And then his rustic crew, with mighty poles. Compelled the fish to quit their oozy holes ; And then pursued them down the rolling flood, Gasping for breath, and almost choked with mud. Dick Trot, who lived below — ne'er thought his beer Was good, except he had his water clear — He goes to Trout, and thus begins his tale : — " Ah ! if you knew but how the people rail ; They cannot boil, nor wash, nor brew, they say, With water, sometimes ink, and sometimes whey; According as you meet with mud or clay. Now is it not a dismal thing to think How we Old Trots must live, and have no drink ? Therefore, my friend, some other method take Of fishing, were it only for our sake." Says Trout, " I'm sorry it should be my lot. Ever to disoblige my neighbour Trot ; The fault's not mine — 'tis Fortune that thus tries one ; Ton know, ' what's one man's meat's another's poison.' Therefore, in patience rest, though I proceed : There's no ill-nature in the case — ^but need. Though for your use this water may not serve, I'd rather you should choice than I should starve. 513 THE NEGRO'S BETOET. As lately returned from tlie Isles of the West, Lorenzo, with health and prosperity blest, And surrounded by friends, at his table presided. Where all the good things of the world wore provided, A domestic, with Africa's hue on his skin, A basket of apples and chestnuts brought in. Lorenzo, with wine and good fellowship warm, To laugh at poor Mungo conceived it no harm ; And exclaimed, as he held up the fruit to his view, " This apple's a white man, this chestnut is you." " Ah ! Massa," said Mungo, " acknowledge I must The connexion is good, the comparison just; But negro, like chestnut, though dark is his skin, Is white, firm, and sound, as the kernel within ; While though beauteous, like apple, is Buckra, so smart, He has oft many little black grains at his heart." THE TUEBOT. A TALE. Lord Endless walking to the hall. Saw a fine turbot on a stall. " How much d'ye ask, my friend, for this fish P" " Two guineas, sir." — " Two guineas ! tush !" He paused, he thought, " Two guineas ! zounds I" " Few fish to-day, sir." — " Come, take pounds. Send it up quick to Bedford Square, Here's a pound note ; — now mind, when there, Ask for one pound, and say that's all — My Lady's economical." The fish was sent, my Lady thought it Superfiuous, but— my Lord had bought it. She paid one pound and cried " drat it I" Yet could not think the fish dear at it. A knock announcing Lady Tatter, Come for an hour to sit and chatter ; At length, — " My darling Lady E. I'm so distressed — you know Lord T. Can't dine without fish, and 'tis funny There's none to-day for love or money." "Bless us !" cried Lady E., "two hours Ago, a turbot came, 'tis youw, L L 514 TEE IRISH BOY AND THE PRIEST. I paid but thirty shillings for it. You'd say it was cheap, if you saw it." The bargain struck — cash paid — fish gone — My Lord and dinner came anon ; He stared to see my Lady smile, 'Twas what he had not seen some while ; There was hashed beef, and leeks a boat full, But turbot none— my Lord looked doubtful — " My dear ! — I think — Is no fish come ?" " There is, love-cleave the room, John — mum !— I sold the fish, you silly man, I make a bargain when I can ; The fish which cost us shillings twenty, I sold for thirty, to content ye — For one pound ten to Lady Tatter — My Lord, you stare ! why, what's the matter ?" My Lord stared wide with both his eyes, Down knife and fork dropt with surprise : " For one pound ten to Lady Tatter ! If she was flat, ma'am, you were flatter. Two pounds the turbot cost — 'tis true — One pound I paid, and one pound you." " Two pounds ! Preserve us ! Why then say It cost but one pound ?" — " Nay, ma'am, nay, I said not so — said nought about it ; So, madam, you were free to doubt it." " Two pounds ! Two pounds ! Why who could doubt That the fish coat what I laid out ? 'Tw:ould have been madness (you may rate) In such a case to hesitate." '" Tis never madness," he replies, " To doubt. I doubt my very eyes. Had you but doubted the prime cost. Ten shillings would not have been lost. Tho' you and all the world may rate. You see 'tis best to hesitate." THE lUISH BOY AND THE PEIEST. A PEETTY Irish boy, whose parents went By different roads to word and sacrament — To mother's church an inclination had, But father unto mass would force the lad. Yet still the boy to church on Sunday stole, And evidenced a wish to save his soul. THE QABBEKEB'S SONO. 615 The rector eyed the youth, his zeal approved, And gave a Bible, which he dearly loved. This made the enraged father storm and curse, Lock up the hooh, and use his sou the worse. At length, one Sunday morn, it came to pass. The father dragged the struggling boy to mass ; The zealous Papists helped to force him in. And begged the priest to pardon all his sin. '■' No, by the mass," he said, " I cannot bless Nor pardon — till the culprit first confess." " "Well," said the boy, " supposing I were willing, What is your charge ?" — "I'll charge yoit- but a shilling." " Must all men pay, and all men make confession ?" " Tes, every man of Catholic profession." " And to whom do you confess P" — " Why, the dean." " And does he charge you i" — " Tes, a white thirteen." "And do your deans confess?" — "Yes, boy, they do Confess to bishops, and pay sharply too !" " Do bishops. Sir, confess, pay, and to whom ?" "Why, .they confess, and pay the OHtracH 01' Eome." " Well," qnoth the boy, " all this is mighty odd ! — But does the Pope confess ?" — " O yes — to God." " And does God charge the Pope ?" " No," quoth the priebt, " He charges nothing." — " O, then God's the best — God's able to forgive, and always wilHng ; To him I shall confess, and save my shilling !" THE GAEDBNEE'S SONG. Stmg at the Anniversary Dinner of the Horticultural Society in DubUn in 1817. When the tendrils of love once strike root in the heart, They shoot freely without cultivation ; If the sun of encouragement warmth but impart ' To the soil of a sweet inclination. Yet in this wide world's borders, wherever 'tis found, The Bindweed of interest gets seed in ; Anymoney and Marygold cover the ground. While beneath the sweet Eose, Love lies bleeding. L l2 516 THE FAIBY AND TEE S0ISS0B8. Thougli single for some time an Adonis may keep. Sagely railing at wedlock so witty ; While in Venus's Looking-glass, at every peep, A Narcissus appears K one so pretty. At last if lie spies, 'mong the fair Queens of the Mead, A good Shepherd's Parse full of bright money ; His Bachelor's Buttons then hegin to look dead. And he longs to be Suckling the Honey. Of raking now tired (though as chill Cucumber cold. The fair daughter should prove to their union). His eyes gaily glisten at the thought of her gold. And you'd think he'd been slicing an Onion. In for love, laok-a-daisies, he ruefully pines, Of a Willow he talks and his Garters, Ev'n the Sultan's Imperial Crown he'd resign, To be saved from the fate of love's martyrs. Thus I, when a trenching the stiff heart of my dear. So well drilled, and lined out my whole carriage. That fair words (though they butter no Parsnips 'tis clear). Full soon buttered her over to marriage. When I had Cabbaged her heart, and got her to wed, O ! this rare Nonpareil, thought so oft on ! A Briar (not a sweet one) I found in my bed, A Crab good for nought but to graft on. THE PAIB,Y AND THE SCISSORS. APABLE. The world at length this truth respects " From little causes great effects :" Small acorns buried in the earth. To mighty branching oaks give birth : A spark of fire destroys a town, And silk- worms' bags become a gown ; But he who doubts of what I say, May find it true some future day : And as it is in prudence right. To guard against a stormy night, Let him peruse my tale alarmed, The proverb says " forewarned forearmed." TEB FAIBY AND TEE SGIS80B8. 617 It happened on a summer's day, Wlien balmy breezes lightly play, A !Pairy in a gamesome mood, Eesolved to quit the mazy wood ; And not determined where to stray, At once to Ohanoe commits her way ; And Chance that ever has a spite, And is to lovers unpolite. Conducts the elf where Lucy lives. And entrance to her chamber gives. Yet some daresay that I defame. That Chance was not at all to blame : For zephyr bore her on his wing, And through some inlet safe did bring — But be this as it pleases Fame, She into Lucy's closet came ; And looking round with eager eyes, A tambour frame she soon descries. Doubtful for what it could be meant. Bather than on some mischief bent ; The Fairy takes a nearer view, And while she looked more curious grew ; Had Lucy luckily been near. The whole affair had ended here ; The Muses too had had no need To linger o'er the little deed ; But she who lets not toil oppress. Was gone away in time to dress. And left her tools some here, some there. Sure token of the giddy fair. The elf some time admired the foil. The nice extended silken toil, The pencil line, so neatly faint, And shades of silk that vied with paint. Till all in rapture at the sight, She went to work with all her might. In hand she takes the mounted steel. The scissors too, and tight wound reel. And if report for once say true, It was a reel of rosebud hue ; But in her hurry to begin, She of her finger cut the skin ; And now her project at a stand, Pown dropped the seissors from her hand, 518 THE ONE GRAND POINT. Her little breast with fury beat, Her reddening cheeks with ire replete, And eyes that glistened through a tear, All showed that just revenge was near; A small shrill voice the silence broke, And thus the scissors she bespoke : " ni-fated things, my foes to be. Take now a curse severe from me ; A fatal present ye shall prove, Aud cut the sOken bands of love ; Where'er the fairies' power extends. Shall part the dearest, kindest friends, And all who take such gift shall wail. The issue of my suffering tale." This said, a gentle breeze she sipped. And from the fatal closet tripped : Through woods and vales to seek around, A balmy leaf to heal the wound, 1780. THE ONU. GRAND POINT. When man and wife. As oft in life. Both equally in fault we see. It needs must strike That so alike It's wonderful they can't agree ! But Dr. Johnson, moral sage. Reviewed the past and present age, And ventured to declare. That marriage (such is hapless fate) Was clearly an unnatural state. Which none could calmly bear. " For mark," said he, " what laws are made, How binding, nothing can evade, When strifes arise, and stormy weather ; Yet, spite of all the law's dominion. Custom and force of old opinion Can scarcely keep the two together." THE DOSE. 519 A wedded pair there once existed, 'Twixfc whom these doctrines were divided; The husband in the last persisted. The wife was for the first decided. Constant their squabbles all day long. Their nightly theme, their morning's song — Their faith was this — whatever is, is wkong. One day, the nsual storm subsiding, (For, breathless, all must leave ofE chiding) The dame began to smooth her brows. And thus addressed her peevish spouse : " Really, my dear, I can't conceive Why little things should mate us grieve, And put our tempers out of joint. When neither cares how these succeed, And we are perfectly agreed About the main, the one grand point." "Agreed !" the man exclaimed — " what stuff! In what grand point, I pray ?" " The grandest point — 'tis clear enough. As you," said she, " shall say : Agreed in this, which not a fool Will venture to deny — You, wish to rule. And so do I!" THE DOSE. Mistakes are common all through life, A man Miss takes, and she becomes his wife ; In this perhaps they're both mistaken, So never claim the iiitoh of bacon : But such mistakes I'll let alone, And now begin in serious tone. An ofB-cer in quarters lay At Dublin — that you'll say, Is nothing very strange or sad : True — but he was taken very bad. And though there's nothing new in that. Yet the prescription that he took to cure His malady, I'm sure, 520 TEE DOSE. Was new, was wonderful, was strange ! And you may range The pharmacopoeia o'er and o'er, You'll not find anything that's pat, Though you should all your lifetime pore. His case was fever, raging, burning, He took to his bed. With fiery eyes and aching head, And tossed as if on glowing cinders turning. The doctor came— ('twas very needful), And he displayed his skill most heedful ; He wrote for pills and draughts to drive The devil out— dead or alive ; And as the gentleman might still be worse. He ordered, too (Quite right, you know), A steady, careful, good old nurse ; And quickly to the patient came, As recommended, the old dame : She curtsied, looked him in the face. Shook her grey looks, and much deplored his case ! " Ooh, honey ! you are very ill, But never mind, We soon shall find. All your complaint By the good Saint Patrick and the doctor's skill." After this wise remark, I need not say, Yqu must not wonder Should you commit a blunder In the Irish way. I prithee, gents, make no objection ! I do not mean the least refiection. You'll recollect this is a case quite serious, The patient lay in bed almost delirious. The fever raging in his veins : When soon arrived a draught to do him good. And pills to quell the boiling of his blood, And ease him of his pains. Nurse poured the draught into a cup. And soon the sick man drank it up ; The box of pills with care she placed Where various things the mantel graced. Because two hours must pass away To let the potion have fair play. TEE BOSH. 521 That time elapsed, nurse made all speed, The patient with the pills to feed ; She opened the box and gave him two, He gulped them down without ado ; Two more, and then two more must follow. These rather stuck within his swallow. " Good nurse, some drink." — He drank, and then Boldly attacked the pills again. Two more went down, and then two more. Which made the number half a score. " More drink — so many is provoking — My throat is full — I'm almost choking," " Arrah, my jewel, let me tell Ton, these wiU shortly make you well. Whether you will or not — be easy And make a dozen up, an't please ye.'' Two more he took.—" I prithee say. Good nurse, how many there remains ?" " Two, four, five, seven, nine, ten, twelve — aye. By Shelah, good St. Patrick's cousin. The box contains Exact another dozen !" " A dozen more !" the sick man cries (Trembling with fever and surprise), " I thought apothecaries vended By retail, till the patient mended ; But this ! by Bsculapius good. By all that ever medicine understood. This sells the poison wholesale !" This boisterous gale Of angry passion o'er. She coaxed him to get down two more. And thus at length he swallowed twenty-four ! Worn with fatigue some time he lay. To pain and angry thoughts a prey ; But soon his agony increased, For lo ! the pills lay undigested : Hard at his stomach, there they rested, And filled with dreadful pains his breast. The doctor must be called — ^he came. Inquired each symptom, — shrugged his shouldoi's. He, apprehensive for his fame. And for the patient one or two beholders — " Did you administer the draught ?" " Oh, yes." " The pills P" " Tis they have caused all this," S-22 CONTBABIOTION. Exclaims the officer — " Did you suppose I was a horse, that you sent such a dose ? I've four-and-twenty bullets lying In my stomach, and I'm dying." "Bullets !" repeats the doctor with surprise, " Sir, I'm a man of peace, and either pill I sent, was meant to cure — ^not kill. Besides, I sent but two," he straight repUea. — " I've swallowed twenty-four .'" the sick man cries. A squinting servant of the house stood by. And towards the shelf she cast an eye ; She opened the doctor's box, and there The pills both snug and safe appear. Another box upon the shelf remained Empty. " Why, nurse !" she squalls. And at the doctor like a fury bawls, " This box, now empty, once contained What the poor gentleman has taken ; Were he an ostrich, or the prince of gluttons. You'd scarcely save his bacon, For, by heaven ! Ton have given Him two dozen round shirt buttons !' CONTEADIOTION. In Anster, long since, in the shire of Fife, There lived a man who wanted a wife ; A fisher was he, most stout and bold, With a temper much, more hot than cold ; And he often said that whoe'er married him Should be somewhat like his wherry trim, Obedient in all things to the lawful force With which he as steersman should guide her course, And that with her tongue she should not afflict him. Nor yet for her life onCe contradict him, But whatever he might do or say. She should look on it as law, aaid let it have way. In time, as things will come to pass. This fisher heard of a Dysart lass, Who was most modest, mild, and meek, With lips that looked as they scarce coiild speak ; In short the very thing he wanted ; So love was soon asked, and soon was granted. OONTBABIOTION. 523 The pair were wedded, and he with pride Brought home in his boat his gentle bride ; But, as they were cruising along the shore. He saw what he had not seen before ; For she, when asked by the jolly bridegroom To sit aside a little for room. Had scarcely moved from her place a minute, When back again he saw her in it ; And this in so quiet and mild a way, As if she both would, and would not obey. The act was a trifle — might mean no harm, But yet it gave him a little alarm. And full soon its meaning came plain to view, . And fuU soon our fisher began to rue, For ere the first month was past and gone, Thb lady's voice had changed its tone, And to everything he did or said An opposition flat she made ; Till finding himself so greatly thwarted. He swore he was almost broken-hearted. A wrangling year had passed away. When going one morn at break of day. To launch to the fishing, he found that his boat, Which only last night he had left afloat. Was out and run, out of sight at sea. Leaving only a stump of the rope on the quay. Some Ul-willing neighbour had done the deed — At least this was part of our fisher's creed. So he hastened home to tell his wife How some rogue had cut loose his boat with a knife ; The stump of rope at the same time he rears — "My dear," said she,' "you must mean with shears ; The cut is of that kind clear and plain," " The knife say I," quoth the husband again. And to it they went on this nice little matter, TiU he swore she would kill hi m outright with her clatter ; And enraged at last beyond all enduring. He wouM try her, he said, with a new mode of curing ; So straight to the pier he dragged her down. And, holding her o'er by the skirts of her gown, He dipped her into the brimming flood, And kept her there for a minute good ; Then di-awing her up, he asked her how She thought the rope had been sevei-ed now ? Quoth she all gasping, " By shears, by shears !" — Down again she went over head and ears. 524 TEE ONE-LEGGED GOOSE. And this time lie vowed she should have a good sup Of the bitter brine ere he drew her tip ; So he kept her in for two minutes at least, So that when she came up all speech had ceased. Still, still, however, speaking or dumb. She would not to her man succumb : So, when the question again was put As to how she thought the rope was cut. She just held up her finger tip. And made it against the next play clip — A sign that truly, dip as he will. She was of the same opinion still. , That sign was the snap of the scissors of Fate, For down again she was plunged by her mate. And left to float away on the Firth, And never was seen again on earth. Now all you wives from Stirling to Crai), Take warning by this dismal teue. And if with your husbands you would have your way. See that you don't the design betray ; Do nothing with them against the grain, Or speak what will make them speak again ; You may rule, I assure you, without restrictioili But never, oh ! never, by contradiction. THE ONE-LEGGED GOOSE. A WEALTHY gentleman in Hertfordshire, Not troubled with an overplus of brains. Like many a worthy country squire. Whose craniums give them very little pains. Lived quietly upon his own estate. He was a bachelor, but whether that Argues in favour of his understanding. Or mitigates against it, is a question That I would wish to have no hand in. But leave it to your cool digestion. Ho ne'er perplexed his pate With the affairs of state. But led a calm, domesticated life. Far from the noise of town and party strife. He loved to smoke his pipe with jovial souls. Prided himself upon his skill at bowls. At which he left nis neighbours in the lurch; On Sundays, too, he always went to church !PEE ONjU-LEGGED GOOSE. (As should each penitential sinner). Took, during sermon-time, his usual snore. And gave his sixpence at the door, And then ■walked comfortably home to dinner. As there are many, I daresay, Who into such affairs have never looked, I think I'd better mention, by the way. That dinners ere they're eaten, should be cooked ! At least our squire's were so before he took them. Now, as I shall have work enough For this most gracious queen of kitchenstuff, It may not be amiss to tell you that (Of lusty beauty quite a masterpiece) This modern maid of Fat Surpassed the famous dames of &reeca. Of course, then, she had lovers plenty — Ay, that she had, sir, nearly twenty ! But none she did so doat upon As our squire's lusty gardener, John. It chanced one year, as almanacs can tell, St. Michael's Day on Sunday fell ; The squire, the night before, as was his use. Gave Peggy orders to procure a goose ; Then went to church next morning cheerfully And ordered dinner to be done by three. 'Twas half-past-two — ^the cloth was laid, • Peggy the apple-sauce had made. The bird was done, and she for master wishing ; When, lo ! attracted by the luscious gale, And somewhat elevated with strong ale, John popped into the kitchen. " What, cookie, got a goose ! well, come, that's nice, Faith, cookie, I should like to have a slice ; And apple-sauce, too ! there's a darling Peg, Do take a knife and out me off a leg." " Out off a leg P that would be pretty fun ; What ! serve it up to squire with only one ?" " Aye, to be sure ; why, master durstn't kill you ; I'll cut it off." " Adone ! adone, now ! will you ?" What arguments he used I cannot say ; But love — whose sceptre's all-commanding sway Cookmaids, as well as countesses, obey — Ordained it so, that, spite of all her reasoning, John stole the leg, with lots of sauce and seasoning. 526 TJSE ONE-LEGGED GOOSE. Though Peg, poor girl, was rather vexed At this unlooked-for sad disaster, She was not quite so much perplexed As you may think : she had heen used to gull The squire, and knew the thickness of his skull ; And, consequently, to this conclusion fell — They who could do a goose so well, Would not he troubled much to do her master. Home came the squire, to the moment true. And raag for dinner in a hurry ; She browned the mutilated side anew. And put it on the table in a flurry. Soon as it met his eye, the squire Exclaimed with wonderment and ire, " Why, what do you call this. Peg ? Where, where, girl ! where is the other leg ?" Peg curtsied and replied, in modest tone, " An't please you, sir, it never had but one .'" " Only one leg ! Where did you buy it, pray P" "At Farmer Grain's, sir, across the way ; And if to-night, sir, you will go with me, I'll pledge my life that you shall see A number of the farmer's geese. Which, like this bird, have only one a-piece." " Well, prove it, and that alters quite the case j But if you don't, mind, you shaU lose your place." He ate his dinner, and began to doubt it ; And grumbled most excessively about it ; The place was brown, like all the rest, he saw ; " Confound it ; she surely never ate it raw !" Evening arrives, Peg puts her bonnet on, And with her master to the farm is gone ; With expectation big, they softly creep Where Farmer Grraiu's geese are fast asleep. Now to your recollection I would bring. That when these pretty creatures go to roost They draw up one leg close beneath their wing, And stand upon the other Kke a post. " There, sir," cries Peg, " now pray cease your pother ; There, sir, there's one ; and there, sir, is another !" " Pooh, nonsense, stuff!" exclaims the squire, " now look ye— Sh, sh-^there, now, they've got on two legs, cookee." " Aye, sir," cried Peg, " had you said that at home Nor you nor I had e'er had cause to roam ! But recollect, su-, ere you think I'm beaten. Ton didn't say sli, sh, to the one you've eaten.'' 527 NINA TO HER LAP-DOG. O T E U so I cold Dear Bean to my caress ; Can you not I plainly told Thereby my love's X S P Whene'er I R A of light I plunge U in the ; Or q Z if U B at night With thirst I give you T. From your D K of mirth or rise Of joy I take my Q ; And Pincher's M T charms despise In size though W. B T or P might S A, To paint your PEG-; For ne'er from L M IST tal clay Came such an N T T ! Dismiss the P Q O my bird, He must X Q Z B, 'Twas Jane, the maid, taught him that word Of strife O B T. N V makes puss your N" M E, For when your form is nigh, Her D coat can scarcely B A P's worth in her I. And should X U V E so good E'er tempt the day thieves' snare, Despite X: P D N C would I Q N B where. Such X L IT merits well The pencil of H B, When dead I'll write to L, E. L, To write your LEG. 5-28 WATERLOO. It was here that the French cavalry charged, and cut to pieces the English squares. — Narrative qfa French Tourist. Is it true, think you? — Winter's Tale. At, here suot valorous deeds were done As ne'er were done before ! Ay, here the reddest wreath was won That ever Gallia wore : Since Ariosto's wondrous knight Made all the Pagans dance. There never dawned a day so bright As Waterloo's on France. The trumpet poured its deafening sound- Flags fluttered on the gale ; And cannon roared, and heads flew round As fast as summer hail : The sabres flashed ; with rage and fear The steeds began to prance ; The English quaked from front to rear, — They never quake in France ! The cuirassiers rode in and out, As fierce as wolves and bears ; 'Twas grand to see them slash about Among the English squares ! And then the Polish lancer came, Careering -with his lance ; — No wonder Britain blushed for shame. And ran away from France. The Duke of York was killed that day— The King was sadly scarred ; — Lord Eldon, as he ran away, Was taken by the Guard. Poor Wellington, with fifty Blues, Escaped by some strange chance ; Henceforth, I think he'll hardly choose To shew himseU in France. WATERLOO. S29 V. So Buonaparte pitclied his tent That day in Grosvenor Place ; And Ney rode straight to Parliament, And broke the Speaker's mace. " Vive L'Empereur," was said and sung, From Peebles to Penzance ; The Mayor and Aldermen were hung. Which made folks laugh in France. VI. They pulled the Tower of London dowij ; They burned our wooden walls ; They brought his Holiness to town. And lodged him in St. Paul's. And God and Magog rubbed their eyes, Awaking from a trance ; And grumbled out, in great surprise, " O mercy ! we're in France !" m. They sent a Regent to our Isle, — The little King of Eome ; And squibs and crackers all the while Blazed in the Place Veuddme. And ever since, in arts and power They're making great advance ; They've had strong beer from that glad hour, Aud sea-coal fires in France. My uncle, Captain Flauigan, Who lost a leg in Spain, Tells stories of a little man. Who died in St. Helene. But bless my heart ! they can't be true, I'm sure they're all romance ; John Bull was beat at Waterloo — They'll swear to that in France ! 630 "LAUGH AND GET PAT!" " Lack we motives to laugh ? Are not all things, any thing, every thing, to be laiifhed at ? And if nothing were to be seen, felt, heard, or understood, we would laugh at it too!" — JUSftp Beggars. I. There's notiing here on earth deserves Half of the thought we waste about it. And thinkitg but destroys the nfefres, When we conld do so well without it : If folks would let the world go round, And pay their tithes, and eat their dinners, Such doleful looks would not be found, To frighten us poor laughing sinners. Never sigh when yon can sing. But laugh, like rae, at every thing ! One plagues himself about the sun, And pnizzles on, throWtgh evftry Weather, What tune he'll rise, — how long he'U run, — And when he'll leave us altogether : Now matters it a pebble- stone. Whether he shines at six or seven P If they don't leave the sun alone, At last they'D plague him out of heaven ! Never sigh when you can siBg, But IM^, like me, at evety thing ! m. Another spins from out his brains Fine cobwebs, to amuse his neighbours. And gets, for all Hs toils and pains. Reviewed, and laughed at for his labours : Fame is his star ! and fame is sweet ; And praise is pleasanter than honey, — I write at just so much a sheet. And Messrs. Longman pay the money ! Never sigh when you can sing. But laugh, like me, at every thing ! My brother gave his heart away To Mercandotti, when he met her, She married Mr. Ball one day — He's gone to Sweden to forget her ! TEE LETTER E's PETITION. 531 I tad a charmer, too — and sighed, And raved all day and night about her ; She caught a cold, poor thing ! and died. And I — am ju^t as fat without her ! Never sigh when you can sing. But laugh, like me, at every thing ! For tears are vastly pretty things. But make one very thin and taper ; And sighs are music's sweetest strings, But sound most beautiful — on paper ! "Thought" is the Sage's brightest star. Her gems alone are worth his finding; But as I'm not particular, I'll better keep on "never-minding." Never sigh when you can sing, But laugh, like me, at every thing ! Oh ! in this troubled world of ours, A laughter-mine's .a glorious treasure; And separating thorns from flowers, Is half a pain and half a pleasure : And why be grave instead of gay ? Why feel athirst wliUe folts are quaffing ?- Oh ! trust me, whatsoe'er they say,' There's nothing half so good as laughing ! Never sigh when you can sing. But laugh; like me, at every thing ! THE LETTER H's PETITION. Whekbas, I have by you been driveh From house, from home, from hope, from heaven. And placed by yottr most learned society In exile, aUguish, and anxiety. And used, without onejust pretence. With arrogance and insolence ; I here demand full restitution. And beg you'll mend yonr elocution- 532 MY MOLLI ANNI. Whereas we've rescued you, lugrate, From handcuff, horror, and from hate, Prom hell, from horse-pond, and from halter. And consecrated you in altar ; And placed you where you ne'er should be. In honour, and in honesty ; We deem your prayer a rude intrusion, And will not mend our elocution. MY MOLLI ANNI. AN laiSH BAtLAD. O PATEO tulia aras cale fel 0, Hebetis vivis id, an sed, " Aio puer vello !" Vittis nox certias in erebo de nota olim, — A mite grato sinimus tonitus ovem : " Prae sacer, do tellus, hausit," sese, " Mi Molle anni cano te ver aegre ?" TJre Molle anu cano te ver aegre ; Vere truso aio puellis tento me ; Thrasonis piano " cum Hymen (heu sedit), Diutius toga thyrsa," Hymen edidit. Sentior mari aget O more nautis alter id alas ! Alludo isto terete uro dari spousas anas. " O pater hie, heu vix eu," ses Molli, and vi? Heu itera vere grates troche in heri. Ah Moliere arte fere procaoiter intuitis ; Vos me ! for de parte da vas ure arbuteis. Thus thrasonis planag vel huma se, Vi ure Molle anu cano te ver aegre. Betoe Molle indulgent an suetas agile — Pares pector sex, uno vimen ars ille ; " Quietat ure servis Jam," sato heras heu pater, " Audio do missus Molle, an vatis thema ter ?" Ara mi honestatis, vetabit, diuse, — O mare, mi dare, cum specto me : Ago in a voe oestuare, vel uno more illio mare, mi dare, cum pacto ure pater hie." Beavi ad visu civile, an socia luse, Ure Molle an huma fore ver segre. BUONAPABTB AND THE EOEO. 533 Key. O Paty O'Toole is a rascally fellow, He beat his wife's head, and said — " I hope yoa are well, !" With his knocks, sir, she has in her body not a whole limb, — A mighty great sin I must own it is of him. " Pray say sir, do tell us, how is it," says he, " My Molly and I cannot ever agree ?" Tour Molly and you cannot ever agree, — Very true : so I hope you will listen to me : The reason is plain, " come. Hymen (you said it) Do ye tie us togather ;" so Hymen he did it. Sioce your marriage to Mary now 'tis altered, alas ! All you do is to irate your spouse as an ass. " O Patrick, you vixen," says Molly, and why ? You hit her a very great stroke in her eye. Ah, Molly ! her heart I fear proke as 'twere in two it is ; Woes me ! for departed away sure her beauty is. Thus the reason is plain, as well you may see. Why your Molly and you cannot ever agree. Be to Molly indulgent, and swate as a jelly, — Pay respect to her sex, you know women are silly. " Quite at your service I am," say to her, as you pat her : " How d'ye do, Missus Molly, and what is the matter ? Arrah my honey ! stay 'tis, wait a bit, d'ye see, O Mary, my dary, come spake to me : Agoing away is't you are, well you no more I'll lick, O Mary, my dary, come pack to your Patrick." Believe, I advise you, and so shall you see. Your Molly and you may for ever agree. Notes and Queries. BUONAPAKTB AND THE ECHO. (a TKA.NSLATION.)* Alone, 1 am in this sequestered spot not overheard. Echo — Heard ! 'Sdeath! Who answers me ? What being is there nigh ? I. Now I guess ! To report my accents Echo has made her task. Aslc. * The original publication, it is said, exposed the Bookseller Palm, of Nuremberg, to trial by Court Martial. He was sentenced to bo shot at Brauiian, in 1807.— iV. # Q; Jas. J. Scott, 634 DIALOGUE BETWEEN EOEO AND A GLUTTON. Knowest thou whether London will henceforth continue to resist P Whether Vienna and other Courts will oppose me always P Always. 0, Heaven ! what must I expect after so many reverses ? Beverses. . What ? should I, like a coward vile, to compound be reduced ? Beduced. After so many bright exploits be forced to restitution P Bieetitution. Restitution of what I've got by true heroic feats and martial address P Yes. What will be the fate of so much toil and trouble ? Trouble, What will become of my people, already too tinhappy P Happy. What shall I then be, that I think myself immortal P Mortal. The whole world is filled with the glory of my name, you know. No. Formerly its fame struck this vast globe with terror. Error, Sad Echo, begone 1 I grow infuriate ! I die 1 Die. DIALOGUE BETWEEN ECHO AND A GLUTTON. 1609. Who curbs his appetite's a fool. Ah, Fool. I do not lilce this abstinence. Hence. My joy's a feast, my wish is wine. Swine. We epicures are happy truly. You lie. May I not, Echo, eat my fill P 111. Will it hurt me if I eat too much P Mtich. Thou mook'st me, nymph ; I'll not believe it. Believe it. Dost thou condemn, then, what I do P I do. Is it that wuich brings infirmities P It is. LIKES ON TIPPEIIAJ2Y. Then sweetest temperance, I'll love thee. I love thee. J£ all be true, which thou dost tell, To gluttony I bid farewell. Farewell. a' A EHYMING DIKECTIOK Fly postman ! with this letter ran To Carter, baker, Edmonton — To Nancy Carter, there convey it ; This is the charge, with speed obey it. Remember, my blade, The postage is paid. LETTER DIRECTED IN VERSE. When yon this letter C You'd better letter B, For it is going over Unto Tom Mac Gree, In the town of Dover, State of Tennessee. LmES ON TIPPEEAET. These lines were said to have been addressed to a Dr. Fitzgerald, on reading the following couplet in his apostrophe to his native village : — Ajjd thou ! dear village, loveliest of the clime, Fain would I name thee, but I'm scant in rhyme. I subjoin a tolerably complete copy of this " rime doggreU :" A Bard there was in sad quandary. To find a rhyme for Tipperary. Long laboured he through January, Yet found no rhyme for Tipperary ; Toiled every day in February, But toiled in vain for Tipperary ; Searched Hebrew text and commentary, But searched in vain for Tipperary ; Bored all his friends at Inverary, To find a rhyme for Tipperary ; LINES ON TIPPEBAET. Implored the aid of " Paddy Carey," Yet still no rhyme for Tipperary ; He next besoiTght his mother Mary, To tell him rhyme for Tipperary; But she, good woman, was no fairy, Nor witch — though born in Tipperary ; Knew everything about her dairy, But not the rhyme for Tipperary ; The stubborn Muse he could not vary, For still the lines would run contrary, Whene'er he thought on Tipperary ; And though of time he was not chary, 'Twas thrown away on Tipperary ; Till of his wild-goose chase most weary. He vowed to leave out Tipperary j But, no — the theme he might not vary. His longing was not teniporary. To find meet rhyme for Tipperary ; He sought among the gay and airy. He pestered all the military, Committed many a strange vagary, Bewitched, it seemed, by Tipperary. He wrote post-haste to Darby Leary, Besought with tears his Auntie Sairie, But sought he far, or sought he near, he Ne'er found a rhyme for IHpperary. He travelled sad through Cork and Kerry, He drove " like mad" through sweet Dunbary, Kicked up a precious tantar-ara, But found no rhyme for Tipperary ; Lived fourteen weeks at Straw-arara, Was well-nigh lost in Glenfegary, Then started " slick" for Demerara, In search of rhyme for Tipperary, Through "Yankee-land," sick, solitary, He roamed by forest, lake, and prairie — He went per terrem et per mare — But found no rhyme for Tipperary. Through orient climes on dromedary, On camel's back through great Sahara— His travels were extraordinary — In search of rhyme for Tipperary. Fierce as a gorgon or chimfera, Fierce as Alecto or Megaara, Fiercer than e'er a love-sick bear he Eaged through " the londe" of Tipperary ; His cheeks grew thin, and wondrous hairy, His visage long, his aspect " eerie," FA8BI0NABLE WEDDING. 637 His tout ensemble, faitk ! 'twould scare ye, Amidst the wilds of Tipperary. Becoming hyppcon-dri-aiy, He sent for his apothecary, Who ordered " balm" and saponary — Herbs rare to find in Tipperary. In his potations ever wary, His choicest drink was " home gooseberry." On swipes, skim-milk, and smallest beer, he Scanted rhyme for his Tipperary. Had he imbibed good old Madeira, Drank "pottle-deep" of golden sherry. Of Falstaff sack, or ripe canary, No rhyme had lacked for Tipperary. Or had his tastes been literary, He might have fonnd extemporary, Without the aid of dictionary. Some fitting rhyme for Tipperary. Or had he been an antiquary, Burnt midnight oil in his library, Or been of temper less " camsteary," Rhymes had not lacked for Tipperary. He paced about his aviary. Blew up sky-high his secretary, And then in truth and anger sware he, There was no rhyme for Tipperary. GEORGE KING'S PETITION. About the second year of King George's reign, a man of the name of George, King was convicted in Dublin of a capital felony. He drew up a memorial to the King, which he forwarded with the following lines : — George King to King George sends his humble petition. Hoping King George will pity poor Geoi-ge King's condition, If King George to George King will grant a long day, George King for King George for ever will pray. The man was pardoned. FASHIONABLE WEDDING. FouE-AND-TWENTY groomsmen, all in a row; Four-and-twenty dandies dressed from top to toe ; Four-aud-twenty grimaces, four-atid-twenty smiles. And the carriages extending four-and-twenty miles, 538 THE SHAVERS, Fonr-and-twenty bridesmaids dressed in hoop and featlior, Bight-and-forty flunkies standing all together, The bride ringed and jewelled, The groom gloved and glum. And both of them look foolish, And both of them are dumb ; A thousand spectators To see the pretty matoh,_ A thousand tongues to whisper, " He's made quite a catch. Eight-and-forty ninnies Marching out of church, Like so many schoolboys Running from the birch. Oh, what a sight to look upon as ever I did see. The world makes a great fuss for nothing, seems to mo. RETURN UNDER THE INCOME ACT. I A. B, do declai'e, I have but little money to spare, I have 1 Little House, 1 Little Maid, 2 Little Boys, 2 Little Trade ; 2 Little Land, 2 Little Money at command : — Rather 2 little is my little all, To supply with comfort my little squall. And 2 little to pay taxes at all. By this you sec, I have Children 3, Dependent on me, A. B. THE SHAVERS. An old rhymster says ; — The barber shaves with polished bjade, The mercer shaves with ladies' trade, The broker shaves at twelve per cent., The landlord shaves by raising i'ont. A LITTLE MORE. o39 The doctor shaves in draughts and pills. The tapster shaves in pints and giUs, The farmer shaves in hay and oats. The banker shave's in his own notes. The lawyer shaves both friends and foes. The pedlar shaves where'er he goes. The wily merchant shaves his brother. The people all shave one another. BLANK VEBSE. TO THE SUSPEXSHITN BBIDUE, NliGABT BIVBB. AsoEmrs stmctnr ! Whar, I'de like to know. Did the constrnckturs stand as bilt this rode Eite throo the air ? Say, gentle Mews, Wot had they to hold on to ? But alas ! The Mews ses nuthnn. O, Jerusalem ! Wot boyed 'em up ! Imadginashun's flored — Kant get the hang of it! I have it now — They did it in balloons ? A LITTLE MOEE. {At Thirty.) I'lVE hundred dollars I have saved — A rather moderate store — No matter : I shall be content When I've a little more. (At Forty.) Well, I can count ten thousand now- That's better than before ; And I may well be satisfied When I've a little more. {At Fifty.) Some fifty thousand — pretty well — But I have earaed it sore ; However, I shall not complain When I've a little more. 540 '2TiSf ALL ONB TO MB. (At Sixty.) One hundred thousand — sick and old — Ah ! life is half a bore : Yet I can be content to live When I've a little more. {At Seventy.) He dies — and to his greedy heirs He leaves a countless stare ; His wealth has purchased him a tomb— And very little more. 'TIS ALL ONE TO ME. A SONS BY A CONTENTED PELLOW. Oh, 'tis all one to me, all one, Whether I've money or whether I've none. He who has money can buy him a wife. And he who has none can be free for life. He who has money can trade if he choose. And he who has none has nothing to lose. He who has money has cares not a few. And he who has none can sleep the night through. He who has money can squint at the fair, And he who has none escapes from mu( h care. He who has money can go to the play. And he who has none at home can stay. He who has money can travel about. And he who has none can do without He who has money can be coarse as he will. And he who has none can be coarser still. He who has money can drink the best wine, And he who has none with the gout will not pine. He who has money the cash must pay. And who has none says " Charge it, 1 pray." PENNY POSTAGE. 541 He who has money must die some day, And who has none must go the same way. Oh, 'tis all one to me, all one. Whether I've money or whether I've none. PENNY POSTAGE. The Penny Postage commenced on the 10th January, 1840. The following squib, which was issued during the same month, has an abiding interest : — THE TJNIYERSAL PENNY POSTAGE. Fkom universal suffrage some Say every blessing's sure to come, As clear as one and one make two ; But others say it's all a hum, And there's no blessing like the TJ- niversal Penny Postage. Of all the penn'orths Nature gave — A penny show, a penny shave, There's blacking for a penny too, A penny biscuit — all must waive Their claims in favour of the U- niversal Penny Postage. For all things now there's some new way — To write, to seal, to fold, to pay ; And you must talk in idioms new, And when you mean Post-paid must say, " Prepaid," by order of the U- niversal Penny Postage. If aught's not new the wonder's great, The tables are so turned of late. E'en useful tables, though so true : Your half-ounce makes one penny-weighi. According to the school of U- niversal Penny Postage. Who'd think our great authorities Would do a thing so (penny) wise ? (Pound foolish things we know they do !) How now in history they'll rise ! — The Government that gave the U- niversal Penny Postage. 642 A MODERN VALENTIN]!:. Oh, Rowland Hill, immortal man, How can we pay you for your plan ! To you our thanks, our pence are due ; It was the Emperor of Japan As much as they that gave the U- niversal Penny Postage. Send up a column to the sky, rive thousand office-inkstands high ; Take for a basement fair to view, ^s many reams of " wove demy;" Write—" To the author of the U- niversal Penny Postage." A MODERN VALENTINE. DEAii, girl, I send Iny lote to thee, As pure and true as love can be ; Of course ypu'U know from whom this camo. But if you don't, it's afl the same. ^ItQlUL The plaintive Elegy, in mournful state, Dishevelled weeps tlie stern decrees of fate ; Now paints the lover's torments and delights ; Now the nymph flatters, threatens, or invites : But he who would these passions well express Must more of love than poesy possess. BOILEATJ. Whom the gods love die young, was said of yore. And many deaths they do escape by this : The Death of Friends, and that which slays even more. The Death of Friendship, Love, Youth, all that is, Except mere breath ; and since the silent shore Awaits at last even those whom longest miss The old Archer's shafts, perhaps the early Grave Which men weep over may be meant to save. BYKOjr. Thou khow'st, 'tis common ) all that live must die. Passing through Nature to Eternity. Shakspeaee. ELEGIAC STANZAS. The queen of night shone from her starred domain. And o'er the scene her silver splendour threw. When homewards, as I passed "the tranquil plain. Towards the drear mansions of the dead I drew. It was the hour when shrotided spectres rise To summon guilt, or cheer some weeping friend. When, lo ! a female met my wonderiiig eyes. As o'er a tomb I saw her pensiVO bend. Secluded from the rabble's giddy noise, O'er the remains of one to memory dear, She paused to muse on past and fleetiiig joys, And pay the tribute of affection's teiir. 544 BURIAL OF A PILGRIM FATHER. Arrayed in garment wtite as Alpine snows, Forlorn and pallid was the lovely niaid; Her lap contained eacli flower that wildly blows, To deck the grave where him she mourned was laid. Wild and unsettled was the virgin's look. And as the chaplet for her tresses fair, She'd stole the wiUow from the murmuring brook ; Her languid eyes seemed sunk in deep despair. And now she sung : not e'en sweet Philomel E'er warbled half so mournful, sadly sweet ; While from her lily hand the flowerets fell, And strewed the grassy tomb beneath her feet. And now her bosom wildly throbbed with woe, Nor longer could the nymph her sorrows speak, Save by the tears which from her eyes did flow, And washed with Misery's dew each faded cheek. Convulsed she stood, then sunk upon the grave, I flew and snatched her from the icy sod ; But vain ray efforts Anna's life to save. Her spirit pure had flown unto her God. BURIAL OF A PrLGRIM FATHER DST AMERICA, 1630. We anxiously hallowed the frozen ground. And heaped up this lonely barrow. For the Indian lurked in the woods around. And we feared his whistling arrow. When the surf on the sea-beach heavily beat. When the breeze in the wilderness muttered. We deemed it the coming of hostile feet. Or a watchword cautiously uttered. Above, frowned the gloom of a winter's eve. And around, the thick snow was falling ; And the winds in the dreary branches did grieve. Like spirits to spirits calling. As we looked on the spotless snowy sheet. O'er the grave of our brother sweeping, It seemed to us all an emblem meet Of him beneath it sleeping. MY GRAVE. 546 As we gazed, we forgot our present pain ; And followed our brother's spirit, Unto that fair heaven we hoped to gain, "Which the good after death inherit. And we left the dnst of our brother to lie In its noisome habitation ; With the trust that his spirit had flown on high, To its heavenly destination. MY GRAVE. Shail they bury me in the deep, "Where wind-forgetting waters sleep P Shall they dig a grave for me Under the greenwood tree ? Or on the wild heath, Where the wilder breath Of the storm doth blow ? Oh, no ! oh, no ! Shall they bury me in the Palace Tombs, Or under the shade of cathedral domes P Sweet 'twere to lie on Italy's shore ; Yet not there, nor in Greece, though I love it more. In the wolf or the vulture my grave shall I find ? Shall my ashes career on the world-seeing wind P Shall they fling my corpse in the battle mound. Where coffinless thousands lie under the ground ? Just as they fall they are buried so — Oh, no ! oh, no ! ITo ! on an Irish green hillside, On an opening lawn — but not too wide ; For I love the drip of the wetted trees — On me blow no gales, but a gentle breeze, To freshen the turf : put no tombstone, there, But green sods decked with daisies fair. Nor sods too deep ; but so that the dew, The matted grass-roots may trickle through — Be my epitaph writ on my country's mind, " He served his country, and loved his kind." Oh ! 'twere merry under the grave to go, If one were sure to be buried so. 5di6 ON THE DEATH OF LOED BYRON. The liarp of the Poet is silent in deatli (That harp which bo oft with love's witchery rung), Ne'er again sl^all it waken, in magical breath, Or sing in ihat grandeur which lately it sung. Yes, the bard has " fell pale" in a far, foreign land, "With " no mother to weep" o'er the patriot bier, Though honoured his corse by each freeman's command- Though hallowed his tomb by Achaia's cold tear. He has left us all lonely in sorrow and sadness. As the Sun shall depart when earth's reign is no more ; He has left us in Spring without one thought of gladness. To wean us away from the " Ohilde" or the " Giaour." Ah, long shall the lyre hang mute in the hall. Ere it soar in those strains that in " Lara" it soared, Ah, long shall it rest in the " canopied fall," Ere it burst forth again as a conqueror's sword. His name " for all time" shall be wreathed with green. And to Britons be dear as their country and kin — While the maid shall oft weep o'er his " Haidee" unseen, Thpugh they tell her the measure be woven in sin. THE LAST EAEBWELL. Come, my brother, nearer, nearer. For my limbs are growing cold ; And thy presence seemeth dearer When thy arms around me fold. I am dying, brother, dying ; Soon you'll miss me in your berth, For my form will soon be lying 'Neath the ocean's briny surf. Heai'ken to me, brother, hearken, I have something I would say, Ere the veil my vision darken, And I go from hence away : I am going, surely going ;— But my hope in God is strong ; I am willing, brother, knowing That He doeth nothing wrong. TEE LAST FABEWELL. 547- Tell my father, when you greet him, That in death I prayed for him ; Prayed that I might one day meet him In a world that's free from sin. Tell my mother — (God assist her, Now that she is growing old) — Say her child would glad have kissed her Where his lips grew pale and cold. Listen, brother, catoh each whisper, 'Tis my wife I'd speafe of now : Tell, oh tell her, how I missed her When the fever burned my brpw ! Tell her, brother — (closely listen, Don't forget a single word) — That in death my eyes did glisten With the tears her memory stirred. Tell her she must kiss my children. Like the kiss I last impressed ; Hold them as when last I held them, Folded closely to my breast : Give them early to their Maker, Putting all their trust in God ; And He never will forsake her, ' Por He's said so in His Word. O my children ! Heaven bless them. They were all my life to me ; Would I could once more caress them. Ere I sink beneath the sea ! 'Twas for them I crossed the ocean — What my hopes were I'll not tell ; But I've gained the better position ; For He doeth all things well. Tell my sisters I remember Every kindly parting word ; And my heart has been kept tender By the thoughts their memory stirred. Tell them I ne'er reached the haven Where I sought the precious dust ; But I have got that better land. Where the gold will never rust. Urge them to secure an entrance Por they'll find their brother there ; Faith in Jesus, and repentance, Will secure for each a share. N N 3 648 I AM DYING. Hark ! I hear my Saviour speaking — 'Tis His voice, I know it well, When I am gone, oh ! don't be weeping- Brother, here's my last farewell. I AM DYING. Raise my pillow, husband dearest ; Faint and fainter comes my breath, And these shadows stealing slowly, Muat, I know, be those of death. Sit down close beside me, darling ; Let me clasp your warm, strong hand — Tours, that ever has sustained me. To the borders of this land. For your God and mine — ov/r Father — Thence shall ever lead me on, Where, upon a throne eternal, Sits his loved and only Son. I've had visions, and been dreaming O'er the past of joy and pain ; Year by year I've wandered backward, 1111 1 was a child again — Dreamed of girlhood, and the moment When I stood your wife and bride — How my heart thrilled with love's triumph In that hour of woman's pride ! Dreamed of thee — and all the earth-cords Firmly twined about my heart — Oh, the bitter burning anguish When I knew that we must part ! It has passed, and God has promised All thy footsteps to attend ; He, that's more than friend or brother. He'll be with you to the end. There's no shadgw'o'er the portals Leading to my heavenly home ; Christ hath promised life immortol And 'tis He that bids me come, THE MOUENEE. 549 When life's trials wait around thee, And its chiUing billows swell, Thou'lt thank heaven that I am spared them, Thou'lt then feel that " all is well." Bring our boys nnto my bedside ; My last blessing let them keep — But they're sleeping ; do not wake them.— They'll learn soon enough to weep. Tell them often of their mother, Kiss them for me when they wake ; Lead them gently in the pathway ; Love them doubly for my sake. Clasp my hand still closer, darling, This, the last night of my life ; " For to-morrow I shall never Answer when you call me " wife." Pare thee well, my noble husband ; Paint not 'neath this chastening rod ; Throw your strong arm round our children ; Keep them close to thee — and God. THE MOURNER. Haep-UNBeiieving doth my heart remain of its great woe; I waken, aud a dull dead sense of pain ia all I know. Then dimly in the darkness of my mind I feel about. To know what 'tis that troubles me, and find my sorrow out. And hardly with long pains my heart I bring its loss to own : StUI seems it so impossible a thing that thou art gone — That not in all my life I evermore, with pleased ear. Thy quick light feet advancing to my door again shall hear — That thou not ever with inquiring looks or subtle talk Shalt bring to me sweet hindrance 'mid my books or studious walk- That whatsoever else of good for me in store remain, This lieth out of hope, my child, to see thy face again. 550 LOST. My sad tears flow, and weep lost worth, My grief-filled bosom heaves with pain. To think, ah, bitter thought, — on earth I ne'er shall see his face again. Ah, never more his manly voice WOl mingle with the children's glee, Nor e'er again may I rejoice At thought of him come back from sea. For in the cold dark deep he lies. Who was so gentle, free, and brave. O'er his lone grave the sad wind sighs Where rolls the wild Atlantic wave. Yet sweet consoling thought, that He Who " takes but what He gave away" Has vowed by His sure word to be The widow's help, the orphan's stay. Still tears will come when memories sweet Recur of him I mourn in vain. But, ah, the happy hope to meet — To meet — ne'er more to part again ! THE DYING BOY. I KNEW a boy, whose infant feet had trod Upon the blossoms of some seven springs. And when the eighth came round, and called him out To gambol in the sun, he turned away, And sought his chamber, to lie down and die ! 'Twas night — he summoned his accustomed friends, And on this wise bestowed his last bequest :— " Mother ! I'm dying now ; — There is deep suiFociition in my breast. As if some heavy hand my bosom pressed ; And on my brow TSE DYING BOY. 551 " I feel the cold sweat stand ; My lips grow dry and tremulous, and my breath Comes feebly up. Oh ! tell me, is this death P Mother ! j-our hand — " Here— lay it on my wrist, And place the other thus, beneath my head, And say, sweet mother ! — say, when I am dead, Shall I be missed ? " Never beside your knee Shall I kneel down again at night to pray, Nor with the morning wake, and siag the lay Tou taught to me ! " Oh, at the time of prayer, When you look round and see a vacant seat, Tou will not wait then for my coming feet— You'll miss me there !" — " Father ! I'm going home ! To the good home you speak of, that blest land Where it is one bright summer always, and Storms do not come.- " I must be happy then : From pain and death you say I shall be free — That sickness never enters there, and we Shall meet again !" — " Brother ! the little spot I used to call my garden, where long hours We've stayed to watch the budding things and flowers Forget it not ! "Plant there some box or pine — Something that lives in winter, and will be A verdant offering to my memory. And call it mine !" — " Sister ! my young rose-tree^ That all the spring has been my pleasant care, Just putting forth its leaves so green and fair, I give it thee. " And when its roses bloom, I shall be gone away — my short life done ! But will you not bestow a single one Upon my tomb ?" 652 TEE LOST LITTLE ONE. " Now, mother, sing the tune Ton sang last night — I'm weary and must sleep ! Who was it called my name ? — Nay, do not weep, You'll all come soon !" Morning spread over earth her rosy wings — And that meek sufferer, cold and ivory pale. Lay on his couch asleep ! The gentle air Came through the open window, freighted v-jith The savoury odours of the early spring — He breathed it not ! The laugh of passers-by Jarred like a discord iu some mournful tune, But marred not his slumbers — He was dead ! THE LOST LITTLE ONE. We miss her footfall on the floor. Amidst the nursery din ; Her tap-tap at our bedroom door. Her bright face peeping in. And when to Heaven's high courts above Ascends our social prayer, Though there are voices that we love. One sweet voice is not there. And dreary seems the hours, and lone, That drag themselves along. Now from our board her smile is gone. And from our hearth her song. We miss that farewell laugh of hers. With its light joyous sound ; And the kiss between the balusters. When good-night time comes round. And empty is her little bed. And on her pUlow there Must never rest that cherub head With its soft silken hair. But often as we wake and weep. Our midnight thoughts wiU roam, To visit her cold, dreamless sleep. In her last narrow home. A MOTHER'S BIBGE OVEB SEB OHILD. 553 Then, tVien it is Eaitli'a tear-dimmed eyes See througli ethereal space, Amidst the angel-crowded skies. That dear, that well-known face. With beckoning hand she seems to say, " Thongh, all her sufferings o'er, Tour little one is borne away To this celestial shore. " Doubt not she longs to welcome you To her glad, bright abode ; There happy, endless ages through, To live with her and God." A MOTHER'S DIRGE OYER HER CHILD. Being me flowers all young and sweet. That I may strew the winding-aheet. Where calm thou sleepest — baby, fair, With roseless cheek, and auburn hair ! Bring me the rosemary, whose breath Perfumed the wild and desert heath ; The lily of the vale, which, too, In silence and in beauty grew. Bring cypress from some sunless spot, Bring me the blue forget-me-not. That I may strew them o'er thy bier With long-drawn sigh, and gushing tear ! Oh ! what upon this earth doth prove So steadfast as a mother's love ! Oh ! what on earth can bring rehef. Or solace, to a mother's grief! No more, my baby, shalt thou lie With drowsy smile, and half-shut eye. Pillowed upon my fostering breast, Serenely sinking into test ! The grave must be thy cradle now ; The wild flowers o'er thy breast shall grow, While still my heart all f uU of thee, In widowed solitude shall be. 5St DBATE AND BUBIAL OF A GfflLB AT SEA. No taint of earth, no thought of sin, E'er dwelt thy stainless breast within ; And God hath laid thee down to sleep, Like a pure pearl below the deep. Tea ! from mine arms thy sonl hath flown Above, and found the heavenly throne, To join that blest angelic ring, That aye around the altar sing. Methought, when years had rolled away. That thou wouldst be mine age's stay, And often have I dreamt to see The boy — the youth — the man in thee ! But thou hast past ! for ever gone, To leave me childless and alone. Like Rachel pouring tear on tear. And looking not for comfort here ! Farewell, my child, the dews shall fall At morn and evening o'er thy paU ; And daisies, when the vernal year Revives, upon thy turf appear. The earliest snowdrop there shall spring. And lark delight to fold his wing. And roses pale, and lilies fair. With perfume load the summer air ! Adieu, my babe ! if life were long. This would be even a heavier song, But years like phantoms quickly pass. Then look to us from memory's glass. Soon on death's couch shall I recline ; Soon shall my head be laid with thine : And sundered spirits meet above, To live for evermore in love. DEATH AND BURIAL OF A CHILD AT SEA. My boy refitsed his food, forgot to play. And sickened on the waters, day by day ; He smiled more seldom on his mother's smile ; He prattled less in accents void of guile. DEATH AND BURIAL OF A CHILD AT SEA. 555 Of that wild land, beyond the golden wave, Where I, not he, was doomed to be a slave ; Cold o'er his limbs the listless languor grew ; Paleness came o'er his eye of placid blue ; Pale mourned the lily whei'e the rose had died, And timid, trembling, came he to my side. He was my all on eart.h. Oh ! who can speai The anxious mother's too prophetic woe. Who sees death feeding on her dear child's cheek. And strives in vain to think it is not so ? Ah ! many a sad and sleepless night I passed O'er his couch,^ listening in the pausing blast. While oil his brow, more sad from hour to hour. Drooped wan Dejection, hke a fading flower ! At length my boy seemed better, and I slept — Oh, soundly ! — ^but methought my mother wept O'er her poor Emma ; and, in accents low. Said, " Ah ! why do I weep, and weep in vain For one so loved, so lost ? Emma, thy pain Draws to a close ! Even now is rent in twain The loveliest link that binds thy breast to woe- Soon, broken heart, we soon shall meet again !" Then o'er my face her freezing hand she crossed, And bending, kissed me with her lip of frost. I waked : and at my side — oh ! still and cold ! — Oh ! what a tale that dreadful dullness told ! Shrieking, I started up, in terror wild ; — ■ Alas ! and had I lived to dread my child ? Eager I snatched him from his swinging bed ; His limbs were stiff — he moved not — he was dead ! Oh ! let me weep ! — ^what mother would not weep, To see her child committed to the deep ? No mournful flowers, by weeping fondness laid, Nor pink, nor rose, drooped, on his breast displayed, Nor half -blown daisy in his little hand : — Wide was the field around, but 'twas not land. Enamoured death, with sweetly pensive grace, Was awful beauty to his silent face. No more his sad eye looked me into tears ! Closed was that eye beneath his pale cold brow ; And on his calm lips, which had lost their glow. But which, though pale, seemed half unclosed to speak, Loitered a smile, like moonlight on the snow. I gazed upon him still — not wild with fears — Gone were my fears, and present was despair ! But, as I gazed, a little lock of hair, Stirred by the breeze, played, trembling on his cheek ;— G-od ! my heart ! — I thought life still wag there. 556 TEB DYING SOLDIEB. But, to commit him to the watery grave, O'er which the winds, unwearied mourners, rave, One, who sti'ove darkly sorrow's sob to stay. Upraised the body : thrice I bade him stay ; For still my wordless woe had much to say, And still I bent and gazed, and gazing wept. At last my sisters, with humane constraint. Held me, and I was calm as dying aftint ; While that stem weeper lowered into the sea My ill-starred boy ! Deep — buried deep, he slept. And then I looked to heaven in agony, And prayed to end my pilgrimage of pain. That I might meet my beauteous boy again ! Oh, had he lived to reach this 'wretched land, And then expired, I would have blessed the strand ! But where my poor boy lies I may not lie ; I cannot come, with broken heart, to sigh O'er his loved dust, and strew with flowers his turf — His pillow hath no cover but the surf ; I may not pour the soul-drop from mine eye Near his cold bed : he slumbers in the wave ! Oh ! I will love the sea, because it is his grave ! THE DYING SOLDIER. The tumult of battle had ceased — high in air The standard of Britain triumphantly Tvaved ; And the remnant of foes had all fled in despair, Whom night, intervening, from slaughter had saved : When a veteran was seen, by the light of his lamp. Slow pacing the bounds of the carcass-strewn plain ; Not base his. intent, — for he quitted his camp To comfort the dying, — not plunder the slain,. Though dauntless in war, at a story of woe Down his age-furrowed cheeks the tears often ran ; Alike proud to conquer or spare a brave foe, He fought like a hero ! — " but felt like a man !" As he counted the slain, — " Ah, conquest !" he cried, " Thou art glorious indeed, but how dearly thou'rt won !" " Too dearly, alas !" a voice faintly replied — It thrilled through his heart, 'twas the voice of his son ! TEE FUNERAL OF TEE DUKE OF WELLINGTON. 5S7 He listened aghast ! — all -svas silent again ; He searched by the beams which his lamp feebly shed, And found his brave son amid hundreds of slain, The corse of a comrade supporting his head ! " My Henry !" — the sorrowful parent exclaimed, " Has fate rudely withered thy laurels so soon ?" The youth ope'd his eyes as he heard himself named. And awoke for awhile from, his death-boding swoon. He gazed on his father, who knelt by his side. And seizing his hand, pressed it close to his heart ; " Thank heaven, thou art here, my dear father !" he cried ; " For soon ! ah, too soon, we for ever must part ! " Though death early calls me from all that I love ! From glory, from thee, yet perhaps 'twill be given To meet thee again in yon regions above !" His eyes beamed with hope as he fixed them on heaven. " Then let not thy bosom with vain sorrow swell ; Ah ! check, ere it rises, the heart-rending sigh ! I fought for my king ! — for my country ! — I fell In defence of their rights : and I glory to die !" THE FUNERAL OF THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON. This poem on the day of the funeral of the late Duke of Wellington in 1852, was published anonymously. It was dated frum " Oriel College, Oxford." " I'he Duke of Wellington left to his countrymen a gi'eat legacy — greater even than his glory. He left them the contemplation of his character. I will not say his conduct revived the sense of duty in England, I will not say that of our country. But that his conduct inspired public life with a purer and more masculine tone I cannot doubt. His career rebukes restless vanity, and reprimands the irregular ebullitions of a morbid egotism. I doubt not that among all orders of Englishmen — ^from those with the highest responsibilities of our society to those who perform the humblest duties— I daresay there is not a man who in his toil- and his perplexity has not sometimes thought of the Duke, and found in his example support and solace. Though he lived so much in the hearts and minds of his countrymen — though he occupied such eminent posts and fulfilled such august duties — it was not till he died that we felt what a place he filled in the feelings and thoughts of the people of England. Never was the influence of real greatness more completely asserted than on his decease. In an age whose boast of intellectual equality flatters all our self-complacencies, the world suddenly acknowledged that it had lost the gi-eatest of men ; in an age of utility, the most industrious and common-sense people in the world could find no vent for their woe and no representative for their sorrow but the solemnity of a pageant ; and we — we who have met here for such different purposes — to investigate the sources of 558 TEE FUNEBAL OF THE BUKE OF WELLINGTON. the wealth of nations, to enter into statistical research, and to encoimter each other in fiscal controversy — we present to the world the most sublime and toncLing spectacle that human circnmstances can well produce — the spectacle of a senate mourning a hero!" — Disraeli's Speech on the Death of the Duke of WelUngton. No sounds of labour vexed the qtiiet air From morn till eve. The people all stood still, And earth won back a Sabbath. There were none Who cared to buy or sell and make a gain For one whole day. All felt as they had lost A father, and were fain to keep within. Silent or speaking little. Such a day An old man sees but once in all his timei The simplest peasant in the land that day Knew somewhat of his country's grief. He heard The knell of England's hero from the tower Of the old chnrdi, and asked the cause and sighed. The veteran who had bled on some far field Fought o'er the battle for the thousandth time. With quaint addition ; and the little child. That stopped his sport to run and ask his sire What it all meant, picked out the simple tale, — How he who drove the French from Waterloo, And crushed the tyrant of the world, and made His country great and glorioiis, — he was dead. All, from the simplest to the stateliest, knew But one sad story, — from the cottar's bairn Up to the fair-haired lady on the throne. Who sat within and sorrowed for her friend ; And every tear she shed became her well, . And seemed more lovely in her people's eyes Than all the starry wonders of her crown. But as the waters of the Northern Sea (When one strong wind blows steady from the pole) Oome hurrying to the shore, and far and wide As eye can reach the creaming waves press on Impatient ; or, as trees that bow their tops One way when Alpine hollows bring one way The blast wbereat they quiver in the vale, So millions pressed to swell the general gi-ief One way ; — ^for once all men seemed one way drawn ; Or if, thi-onn-h evil hap and unforeseen Some stayed behind, their hearts,' at least, were there The whole day through — could think of nothing else — Hear nothing else — see nothing ! TEE FUNERAL OF TEE DUKE OF WELLINGTON. 559 In hia cell The student saw the pageant ; spied from far The long-drawn pomp which reached from west to east Slow moving in the silence — casque and plume And banner waving sad ; the marvellous state Of heralds, soldiers, nobles, foreign powers, With baton or with pennon : princes, peers. Judges, and dignitaries of Church and State, And warriors grown grey-headed ; every form Which greatness can assume or honour name. Peaceful or warlike, — each and all were there, Trooping in sable sorrow after him Who slept serene upon his funeral car In glorious rest ! .... A child might understand That 'twas no national sorrow, but a grief Wide as the world. A child might understand That all mankind were sorrowing for one ! That banded nations had conspired to pay This homage to the chief who drew his sword At the command of Duty ; kept it bright Through perilous days ; and, soon as victory smiled, Laid it unsullied, in the lap of Peace. Such things, and more, the student spied ; as dull Of heart were he who, hearing through the day Thp doleful clang from many a tower and spire, (As if in every college one were dead !) Could sit with slumbering fancy ; hear no strains Of melancholy music : see no shade Cast (as by nodding plumes) across his book, And hiding all the sense ; yea, pour no prayer "Voiceless, yet hearty as ineloquent ; Unconscious to himself of what he said ; — " God, rest his gallant spirit ! give him peace ! And crown his brows with amaranth, — and set The saintly palm-branch in his strong right-hand ! Amid the conquering armies of the skies Give him high place for ever ! let him walk O'er meads of better asphodel ; and be Where dwell the single-hearted and the wise, The saviours of their country ! — ^faithful men, And loyal to their Prince, and true and brave ; Men like himself; severely, simply good. Who scorned to be ambitious, — scorned the snares Of office, station, rank, but stood sublime In natural greatness, . . . O Eternal King — O Father of all spirits,— give him peace !" 560 THE DEATH OP THE DKOMEDAEY DEIVEE. In vast and boundless solitude he stands, Around him, Heaven and the Desert meet; It is a naked universe of sands That mocks his gaze, and burns beneath his feet. Stillness, — deep stillness reigns, — and he, alone, Stands where drear solitude has reared her throne. Look on the ground, behold the moistless bed. Where lies his faithful Dromedary dead ; Mark his despairing look, as his wild eye Stretches its aching sight, as if, alas, to try To pierce between the desert and the sky. See him now turn his agonisfed gaze Upon the dead companion of his way ; And, grasping the fallen carcass, strive to raise Again to life, the cumbrous weight of clay — Quick thought, remembrances, hopes deep and strong, The Arab maid that wept a fond adieu. And wished and prayed he might not tarry long. And said she loved him, and she would be true; And home and all the scenes of early days. Come with a rushing sickness o'er his soul, — Eor he sees life fast shrinking to its goal, — He casts around a last despairing gaze O'er the wide wilderness of burning sand. And strikes his forehead with his clenched hand ; And now he hurries on with rapid stride. As if, vain hope, to pass the boundless sands. And reach some clime where gentle waters glide Through smiling valle3's and green shady lands.^ But still the desert rises on his view. And still the deep sand sinks beneath his tread, — Fainting, he stops exhausted — but anew Onward in frenzy runs — his dizzy head Turns round, at last — his tottering knees give way. He falls, — and dying lies, the fell hyena s prey. '^h epigrams. What is an epigram ? A dwariiah whole, Its body brevity, and wit its soul. EUSSIAN EPIGRAM. What is man's history ? Born, living, dying — Leaving the still shore for the troubled wave — Struggling with storm winds, over shipwrecks flying, And casting anchor in the silent grave. ANTAGONIST SYMPATHIES. On his death-bed poor Lubin lies. His spouse is in despair ; With frequent sobs, and mutual cries. They both express their care. A different cause, says Parson Sly, The same effect may give ; Poor Lubin fears that he shall die — His wife, that he may live. CANDLE-END ECONOMY. To mate your candles last for aye. You wives and maids give ear, O ! To put them out's the only, way, Says honest John Boldero. POETUNB. FoETUNB, men say, doth give too much to many : But yet she never gave enough to any. o 562 EPIGEA3I8. ENCOURAGEMENT TO MAREY. " Tour wife is beautiful and young, But then her clapper ! How 'tis hung ! Had I a wife with such a tongue, I'd pack her off to Prance, sir." " Pshaw ! You're too much afraid of strife ; Would you improve your present life. Look out for such another wife, I'm sure you'li. find her answer." A BREAKFAST OF LEARNING. As lately a sage on fine ham was repasting (Though for breakfast too savoury, I ween). He exclaimed to a friend who sat silent and fasting, " What a breakfast of learning is mine !" " A breakfast of learning !" with wonder he cried. And laughed, for he thought him mistaken. " Why, what is it else," the sage quickly replied, "When I'm make large extracts from Bacon?" WARNINGS. Let him who hates dancing ne'er go to a ball. Nor him to the ocean, whom dangers appal ; Nor him to a feast, who already has dined. Nor him to a Court, who will speak out his mind. THE LAWYERS. Two lawyers, when a knotty case was o'er, Shook hands, and were as good friends as before. " Zounds !" says the losing client, " how came you To be such good friends, who were such foes just now P" "Thon fool," says one, " we lawyers, though so keen. Like shears, ne'er cat ourselves, but— what'a between." EPIGBAM8. 563 THE DISTINCTIOIT. At a public school, by ebance there wei'e two lads Of the same name, but boasting different dads. One's father kept a tavern, famed for cheer, The other's was 'ycleped an auctioneer : Mistakes to end, their schoolfellows so knowing, Called the one, quaintly, coming, t'other going. ON A MISER NAMED MORE. Ieos" was his chest, Iron was his door; His hand was iron, And his heart was More. CRIME. It is enough for crime to once begin, One fall (error) is sure to draw another sin : Honour is like an isle with craggy shore, Deserted once — we enter there no more. ON SEEING A PLY BURNED IN A LAMP. See how around the glowing flame The giddy insect flies. Till, fluttering on with fatal aim, It drops, at last it dies. Just so, in pleasure's siiltry maze, The victim courts his doom ; Awhile he wantons in the blaze, Then sinks into the tomb. HIS ALL! A BAILIFP once, a sentimental man. To seize a cobbler went, and thus began : " Depart, I must have all." " If that's the case, thon stupid fool," The cobbler said, and handing him a tool, " Depart, thou hast my awl." oo2 EPIGBAMS. "WIT AND GENIUS. True wit is like fhe brilliant stone Dug from the Indian mine, Whicn boasts jwo different powers in one- To cut as well as shine. Genius, like that, if polished right. With the same gifts abounds, Appears at once both keen and bright, And sparkles while it wounds. PEGGY'S WILL. Kind Peggy kissed her husband with these words — " My own sweet WUl, how dearly I love thee!" " If true," quoth Will, " the world none such affords ; And that 'tis true I dare her warrant be : For ne'er was woman yet, or good or ill, But always did love best her own sweet will." THE EMPTY " GTHST." As Dick and Tom in fierce dispute engage. And face to face the noisy contest wage, " Don't cock your chin at me," Dick smartly cries ; " Eear not, his head's not charged," a friend replies. TO A PRETENDED EEIEND AND REAL ENEMY. Thy hesitating tongue and doubtful face, Show all thy kindness to be mere grimace. Throw off the mask ; at once be foe or friend ; 'Tis base to soothe when malice is the end. The rock that's seen gives the poor sailor dread, But double terror that which hides its head. THE PEEE AND THE TINKER. A MEMBER of the modern great Passed Sawney with his budget ; The Peer was in a oar of state, The Tinker forced to trudge it. EFI0BAM8. S65 But Sawney shall receive the praise His Lordship would parade for : One's debtor for his dapple greys, And t'other's shoes are paid for. ON SEEING A TOUNG LADY WEITING VEESES WITH A HOLE IN HBB STOCKING. To see a lady of such grace, "With so nrach sense, and such a face. So slatternly, is shocking ! O ! if you would with Venus vie. Your pen and poetry lay by. And learn to mend your stocking. MATRIMONY. " My dear, what makes you always yawn?" The wife exclaimed, her temper gone, " Is home so dull and dreary ?" "Not so, my love ?" he said, "not so; But man and wife are one, you know ; And when alone I'm weary." THE WEEPING WIDOW. Lady Bel, who in public bewails her dead spouse, _ While in private her thoughts on another are turning, Reminds us of lighting a fire with green_ boughs, Which weep at one end while the other is burning. PROM THE ARABIC. The morn that ushered thee to life, my child, Saw thee in tears, whilst all around thee smiled ! When summoned hence to thy eternal sleep, Oh ! mayst thou smile, whilst all around thee weep. Its EPIGBA2I8. ON CONTENT. Ii is not youth can give content. Nor is it wealtli's decree ; It is a gift from heaven sent, Though not to thee or me. It is not in the monarch's crown. Though he'd give milhons for't ; It dwells not in his Lordship's frown, Or waits on him to Court. It is not in a coach and six. It is not in a garter ; 'Tis not in love, or politics, But 'tis in Hodge the carter. A MODERN SAMSON. Jack, eating mitey cheese, did say, " Like Samson, I my thousands slay." " I vow, quoth Eoger, so you do, And with the self-same weapon too." ON GOD'S OMNIPOTENCE. When Egypt's host God's chosen tribe pursued, In crystal walls the admiring waters stood ; When through the dreary wastes they took their way, The rocks relented, and poured forth a sea ! What limit can the Almighty goodness know, Since seas can harden, and since rocks can flow ? THE WORLD. The world's a hook, writ by the eternal art Of the great Author ; printed in man's heart; 'Tis falsely printed, though divinely penned; And all the errata wUl appear at the end. INEAMT. When men of infamy to grandeur soar, They light a torch to show their shame the more. EPIGBAM8, 667 WHAT'S HONOUE? Not to be captious ; not unjustly fight ; 'Tis to confess what's wrong — and do what's right P THE DOCTOE AND HIS PATIENT. " Slept you well ?" " Very well." " My draught did good." " It did no harm ; for yonder it hath stood." TO A YOUNG GENTLEMAN. Natuke has done her part ; — do thou but thine ; Learning and sense let decency refine. Eor vain applause transgress not Virtue's rules : A witty sinner is the worst of fools. OCCASIONED BY THE WOEDS " ONE PEIOE" IN BUENET'S HISTOEY. One Prior ! — and is this, this all the fame The poet from the historian can claim ? No ; Prior's verse posterity ^shall quote, When 'tis forgot one Burnet ever wrote. A EHAPSODY. As I walked by myself, I said to myself, And myself said again to me, Look to thyself, take care of thyself, Eor nobody cares for thee ; Then said I to myself, and thus answered myself, With the self-same repartee. Look to thyself, or look not to thyself, 'Tis the self-same thing to me. SHOES. Our bodies are like shoes, which off we cast ; Physio their cobbler is, and Death the last. EPIGRAMS. ON THE WEDDING EING, This precious emblem well doth represent 'Tis evenness that crowns ns with content, Which, when it wanting is, the sacred yoke_ Becomes uneasy, and with ease is broke. TO A BAD FIDDLER. Old Orpheus played so well he moved Old Nick, But thou moved nothing but thy fiddlestick. Ton beat your brow and fancy wit will come; Knock as you please, there's nobody at home. PINS. See a pin and pick it up. All the day you'll have good luck. See a pin and let it lay, Bad luck you'll have all the day. THE EOSE. As the rose of the valley, when dripping with dew, Is the sweetest in odour, and brightest in hue : So the glance of dear woman most lovely appears, When it beams from her eloquent eye through her tears. THE CUPBEARER. (feom the akabic.) Come, Leila, fill the goblet up, Reach round the rosy wine. Think not that we will take the cup, Prom any hand but thine. A dratight like this 'twere vain to seek. No grape can such supply, It steals its tint from Leila's cheek. Its brightness from her eye. ^pitap^s. WHr all tjiis toil for triumplis of an hour ? Wiiat thougli we wade in wealth or soar in fame ? Earth's highest station ends in " Here he lies :" And " Dust to dust" concludes her noblest song. Young. The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power, And aH that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, Await alike the inevitable hour ; The paths of glory lead but to the grave. Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the fault. If memory o'er their tomb no trophies raise, "Where, through the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault, The pealing anthem swells the note of praise. Can storied urn, or animated bust. Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath P Can honour's voice j)rovoke the silent dust. Or flattery soothe the dull cold ear of Death ? G-kay's "Elegy." Heee are the Prude severe, and gay Coquette, The sober Widow, and the young green Virgin, Cropped like a rose before 'tis fully blown. Or half its worth disclosed. Strange medley here ! Here garrulous Old Age winds up his tale; And Jovial Youth, of lightsome, vacant heart, Whose every day was made of melody. Hears not the voice of mirth : the shrill-tongued Shrew, Meek as the turtle-dove, forgets her chiding. Here are the Wise, the Generous, and the Brave ; The Just, the Good, the Woi'thless, the Profane ; The downright Clown, and perfectly Well-bred ; The Pool, the Churl, the Scouudi-el, and the Mean. Blair, 570 EFITAPH8. ON AN INFANT. On Life's wild ocean, sorrowful and pained, How many voyagers their course perform ! This little bark a kinder fate obtained, It reached the harbour ere it met the storm. ON JOHN UNDERWOOD. Ah. cruel Death! that dost no good, With thy destructive maggots, Now thou hast cut down Underwood, What shall we do for faggots ? IN LTMINGTON CHUROHYAED. Live well, die never : Die well, live for ever. IN GREENWICH CHURCHYARD. ON TWO yOTJNG CHILDJJEN. Eke sin could blight, or sorrow fade. Death came with friendly care, The opening buds to Heaven conveyed. And bade them blossom there. FROM THE FRENCH. Careless and thoughtless ail my life, Stranger to every source of strife, And deeming each grave sage a fool. The law of Nature was my rule, By which I learnt to duly measure My portion of desire and pleasure. 'Tis strange that here I lie, you see. For Death must have indulged a whim ; At any time to have thought of me. Who never once did think of him. EPITAPHS. 571 ON A TOMBSTONE AT GUNWALLAW, NEAE HBLSTONE, IN CORNWALL. It may be read backwards or forwards. Shall we all die ? We shall die all. All die stall we ? Die all we shall. IN HIGH WTCOMB CHUBOHYARD. Death is a fisherman — ^the world we see A fish-pond is, and we the fishes be ; He sometimes angler-like doth with ua play, And slyly takes us one by one away. IN ALLHALIiOWS GHUEOH (OXFORD). What others singly wish, age,'wisdom, wealth, Children to propagate their names and blood, Chief place in city oft, unphysicked health, And that which seasons all, the name of good ; In Levens were all mixed, yet all are gone, Only the good name lasts ; that look upon. ON A YOUNG LADY. Beneath this stone a mouldering virgin lies, Who was the pleasure once of human eyes. Her sprightly wit the gravest sage admired. Her blaze of charms the coldest stoic fired ! Wisdom applauded, virtue well approved, The gay admired her much, the gallant loved ; Amidst which triumphs Death untimely came. And of this wonder only left a name. ON A MAN NAMED STONE. Jeeusalum's curse was not fulfilled in me, For here a stone upon a Stone you see. 572 BTITAFE8. ON THE TOMB OF A MAN FAMED FOE DEEDS 03 CHAEITT. While soiourning on earth, he filled up the measure Of Time that to mortals is given So well, that he's gone to inherit the treasure That in life he exported to heaven. IN RIPON CHUKOHTAED. Bold infidelity turn pale and die, Beneath this stone six infants' ashes lie, Say, are they lost or saved P If death's by sin, they sin because they're here ; If heaven's by works, in heaven they can't appear. Eeason, ah, how depraved ! But search the Scripture's sacred page the knot's untyed, They died, for Adam sinned ; they live, for Jesus died. ON A MISEE. Hbee lies one who for medicines would not give A Little gold, and so his life he lost. I fancy now he'd wish again to live. Could he but know how much his funeral cost. ON A VIOLENT SCOLD. My spouse and I full many a year Lived man and wife together : I could no longer keep her here. She's gone — the Lord knows loliHher. Of tongue she was exceeding free, I purpose not to flatter ; Of all the wives I e'er did see. None sure like her could chatter, EPITAPHS. 573 Her body is disposed of well, A comely grave doth hide her ; Her soul ? I know not, but can tell. Old Nick could ne'er abide her. Which makes me guess she's gone aloft, For in the last great thunder, Methought I heard her well-known voice Bending the sides asunder. ON A BEAUTIFUL AND VIRTUOUS YOUNG LADY. Sleep soft in dust, wait the Almghty's will. Then rise unchanged, and be an angel still. ON A COBBLER. Death at a cobbler's door oft made a stand, And always found him on the mending hand. At last came death in very dirty weather. And ripped the sole from ofE the upper leather. Death put a trick upon him, and what was't ? The cobbler called for 's awl. Death brought his last. ON AN INFANT IN WISBEACH CHURCHYARD. Beneath a sleeping infant lies ; To earth her body's lent ; More glorious she'll hereafter rise, Though not more innocent. When the Archangel's trump shall blow, And souls to bodies join. Millions will wish their lives below Had been as short as thine. 574 EPITAPHS. TEOM A GBAVESTONB IN THE CHURCHYARD OF DINTON, NEAR AYLESBURY. ON A PAKMEB. I've ploughed my land and sown it too ; I've cleaned it, dressed, and drained it through. My landlord sends me word to quit : To him in duty I submit. He hids me seek another soil In pastures green and free from toil, And tells me through His Son to stand The occupant of better land. No matter whether clay or sand. At first I thought it hard to leave ; My heart's now changed ; I cease to grieve. l!n Christ's my faith ; I hope to rise, And reap my harvest in the skies. FROM A GR AYE STONE IN SAME CHURCHYARD. I've plodded through life's weary way. In various callings of the day. A plonghboy first in Sufiblk born, I turned straight furrows for the corn, In days when farmers lodged their men. And held their conduct under ken. The squire's chariot next I drove ; By industry to rise I strove. I then, alas ! engaged an Inn, Temptation strong to vice and sin. Ere long I left the revel scene' For purer ways and more serene. And village children next did train. And aimed subjection to maintain To God, to Parents, Pastors, Masters, And guide them thus through life's disasters. Now my works in death are ended, Worthless all with error blended. In penitence and faith, O Lord ! I lean on Christ, the Incarnate Word. At the Archangel's thrilling blast. Oh ! take me to Thyself at last ! EPITAPHS. 57!: IN UTTOXETER CIIUEOHTARD. If upright souls in Heaven are blest, Theu tne deceased enjoys eternal rest : For truth and justice did his actions guide, He lived beloved, and much lamented died. nr HUESTPIBEPOINT CHUEOHYAED, SUSSEX. When dire disease obstructs the labouring breathy When the heart sickens and each pulse is death, Even then Eeligion shall sustain the just, Grace their last moments, nor desert their dust. ON THE BAEL OE KILDAEB. Who Icilled Kildare ? who dared Kildare to Mil ? Death feiJZed Kildare ; who dares hill him who will. IN BAEEOW-UPON-SOAE OHUEOHYAED, LEIOBSTBR. as CAVE. Heee, in the Grave, there lies a Cave, We call a Cave a Grave — If Cave be Grave, and Grave be Cave, Then, i-eader, jiidge, I crave, Whether doth Cave here lie in Grave, Or Grave here lie in Cave ; If Grave in Cave here buried be. Then, Grave, where is thy victory ? Go, reader, and report, here lies a Cave, Who conquers Death, and buries his own Grave. IN FETTEEESSO CHUEOHYAED. Pain was my portion. Physic was my food ; Sighs were my devotion ; Drugs did me no good : 576 EPITAPHS. Till Christ my Eedeemer, Who knows what is best ; To ease me of my pain, Has taken me to my rest. IN FETTEBESSO OHUEOHTAED. OuE life is short, and 'tis Pull of sorrow, We're here to-day and straight Are gone to-morrow. IN COWIE CHUECHYARD. Heee lies the man, for aught we know, That lived and died without a foe. Now mouldering here, beneath that clod — " An honest man's the noblest work of G-od." IN COWIE CHUEOHTARD. This little spot is all our lot, And all that kings acquire ; Our homes above, a gift of love — Oh, reader ! there aspire. ON AN INFANT. Heee lies a spotless child — profane our smile, For him — but for yourself let sorrow flow. For had he lived he might have been as vile, He might have been as profligate as you. IN SBLBT CHURCHY AED, YOEKSHIRE. Here lies the body of poor Frank Eowe, Parish clerk and gravestone cutter ; And this is writ to let you know. What Frank for others used to do Is now for Frank done by another. I1FITAPE8. 577 ON JOHN SULLEN. Hebe lies Jolin Sullen, and it is God's will, He that was Sullen should be Sullen still ; He still is Sullen, if the truth ye seek, Knock unto, doomsday. Sullen will not speak. IN EIPON OHURCHTAED, YORKSHIRE. Reader, who gazing on this lettered stone. My fate displaying, thoughtless of thine own, On this important truth thou mayst rely. To thee both death and judgment may be nigh. Oh ! let this solemn thought, whoe'er thou art, Find place within, and regulate thy heart. IN THE CHURCHYARD OF HATEIELD, HERTS. The world's a city full of crooked streets ; And death the market-place where all men meet. If death were merchandise, that men could buy. The rich would always live, the poor must die. IN THE CHURCHYARD OE LANGTOWN, CUMBERLAND. Life's like an inn where travellers stay : Some only breakfast and away. Others to dinner stay, and are full fed — The oldest only sup and go to bed ; Long is his bill who lingers out the day. Who goes the soonest has the least to pay 578 EPITAPHS. ON A FIDDLEK. Behold how in time all tMngs come even : Stephen beat time, now Time's beat Stej^en. INDEX OF FIRST LINES. pAaB ABAED there was in a sad quandary . 535 A bailiff once, a sentimental man . . . . . . .563 A boy, as nursery records tell ........ 484 A certain Viceroy in the Emerald Isle 485 A Chancellor who in every case ........ 483 A chap once told St. Patrick's dean 443 A country schoolmaster named Jonas Bell 435 A crown of glory bright ......... 23 A cunning wit, but graceless sinner 479 A few years since, at some provincial college . .... 480 A friend of mine was married to a scold 442 A governess wanted — well fitted to iill .... , 460 A horse-dealer, famed for nags with long tails ...... 474 A humble votary of the tuneful nine 315 A maiden walked at eventide . . . . . . . . 268 A man whose name was Johnny Sands . . . . . I' ' . 508 A member of the modem great ........ 564 A poor simple foreigner, not long ago ........ 473 A pretty Irish boy whose parents went ....... 514 A sacred grief sublime and bright 233 A shadow moving by one's side 75 A soldier, a soldier, a soldier for me ....... 347 A supercilious nabob of the East 482 A wealthy gentleman in Hertfordshire ....... 524 Above — below — where'er I gaze 15 Accursed be the hour I ventured to roam 141 Adieu, my native land, adieu ! 406 After the sleep of night as some still lake 289 Ah ! bury me deep in the boundless sea 238 Ah ! cruel death that dost no good 570 Ah ! there it falls and now 'tis dead 181 Ah ! would I were in Araby 333 Alas ! the days of chivalry are fled 427 All quiet along the Potomac they say 302 Alone, I am in this sequestered spot not overheard ..... 533 An Austrian army awfully arrayed 504 An Irishman fishing one day in the Liffey 459 An Irishman travelling, though not for delight 458 15 Tt 9. 680 INBHX OF FIRST LINES. An old man sits in a high-backed chair . An thou were my ain thing . Another week has passed away Anormus structur ! whar, I'd like to know Arise and come wi' me, my love Art thou weary, little Minnie ? As Dick and Tom in fierce dispute engage As I walked by myself I said to myself . As Jenny sat down wi' her wheel by the fii'e As lately a sage on fine ham was repasting As lately returned from the Isles of the West As Vatie cam' up frae the glen As the rose of the valley when dripping with dew At a public school by chance there were two lads At midnight, on my lonely beat Auld Bob, the laird o' muckle land Ay ! ay ! I thocht it wad come to this at the last Ay, here such valorous deeds were done • EAED of our hearts, beheld again on earth ! . Be kind to the old man, while strong in thy youth Be kind to thy father, for when thou wast yoiuig Be Thou, God ! by night and day Beautiful are the waves that flow . Behind the OchiU' verdant range . Behold how in time all things come even Behold my Servant I see him rise Behold this ruin ! 'Twas a skull Behold what witnesses unseen Beneath the earth, in her lonely caves . Beneath a sleeping infant lies Beneath this stone a mouldering virgin lies Beside the river's brink .... Bide your time ! the mom is breaking . Blest hour of childhood ! then, and then alone Bold infidelity turn pale and dye . Borne on the mighty billows of the tide . Brave sons of the mountain, to battle away Bright chanticleer proclaims the dawn . Bring me flowers all young and sweet . Busy, curious, thirsty fly . . . By the shore a plot of ground CAN it be true ? so fragrant and so fair . Careless and thoughtless all my life . Centuries have rolled on centuries, years on years Child of the latter days ! thy words have broken " Child !" said the bard, " dost thou wander now Chloe, a maid at fifty-five .... Christian ! seek not yet repose Close by the borders of a fringed lake . '. PAQK . 277 . 357 • 27 • 539 ■ 361 . 287 . 564 . 567 354 562 513 365 568 563 284 360 296 528 317 92 91 19 318 257 578 30 130 37 412 673 571 47 116 93 572 294 413 349 553 362 226 194 570 314 425 442 461 77 202 INDEX OF FIRST LINES. 581 pi.ax Gome away, come, sweet love ! j 329 Come, brethren, don't ^ow weary 21 Come bustle, bustle, dnnk about . . 342 Come, gentle twilight, come . . . . ' 179 Come, Holy Ghost, our souls inspire 25 Come home ............ 244 Come lassies and lads, get leave of your dads ...... 335 Come, Leila, fill the goblet up 568 Come, lovely, gentle peace of mind . 94 Come, my brother, nearer, nearer 546 Count not the days that have idly flown . . ... 132 Come pledge me ! see the sparkling glass 420 DAEK clouds are hurrying through the sky Dear Bums, unkind I lo'e your lays Dear girl, I send my love to thee . "Dear Mary," said the poor blind boy . Dear mother, your anger to soften . Death at a cobbler's door oft made a stand Death is a fishei-man — the world we see . Deep ! I own I start at shadows . Delightful hour of sweet repose 152 315 542 280 423 573 571 463 86 EACH rising charm the boundless stream bestows. Emblem of Him that made thee, source of light Ere sin could blight or sorrow fade .... Ever lovely and benign . ... 211 156 570 54 FAINT and listless in its cradle Fairer than thee, beloved ! Fare thee well, thou fitful dream Farewell, my auld, an' trusty frien' Farewell to a' our Scottish fame Father of all, eternal mind Father of all ! Eternal mind . Father of love and power Father, Thy will, not mine, be done Feathered lyric ! warbling high Five hundred dollars I have saved Fly postman, with this letter run Forester ! leave thy woodland rangi Forth from his cell of fi'ost hoar Winter comes Fortune men say doth give too much to many Four-and-twenty groomsmen all in a row Frank Hayman once, a brother of the brush Frequently whining, and always repining From universal suftage some Frozen to death, so young and fair 328 149 434 402 17 18 39 19 201 539 535 187 177 661 537 471 450 541 298 INDEX OF FIB8T LINES. pENTLY blow and stir the fire . . . • ■ IX Gtently, gently, fall sweet sleep . . •_ _ ■ George King to King George makes his hnmhle petition . Gin I had a wee house, and a canty wee fire . Give out, give out thy silken folds Go when the morning shineth . . . . . God is good, each perfumed flower God of my sires ! yon arch of blue HALF-UNBKLIEVING doth my heart remain of its great woe Happy and free are a married man's reveries . Hail, and farewell, thou lovely guest . ■.-..■ Hark ! hear ye the sounds that the winds on their pinions Hark ! in the vale 1 hear the evening song Hark ! the hollow woods resounding Harness me down with your iron bands . Hasten, love ! the sun hath set Have you any work for a tinker, mistress ? Have you sailed on the breast of the deep He comes not — I have watched the moon go down He left his native land and far away Heard ye e'er o' our gudeman Heard ye those loud contending waves Heart gazing mournfully Hence all ye vain delights Here awa', there awa', here awa', Willie ! Here I come creeping, creeping, everywhere Here in the grave there lies a Cave Here lies a spotless child, profane one such Here lies John Sullen ; and it is God's will Here lies one who for medicines would not give Here lies the body of poor Frank Eowe Here lies the man for aught we know Here musing on the busy quay Pore's to the King, sir . Ptey the bonnie, how the bonnie . High quivering in the air, as shadows fly High on the bare bleak hills the shepherd lies His head is cold, his head is low . Ho ! ye that thirst approach the spring . Hodge, a poor honest country lout . Hodge held a farm, and smiled content . How blest is he whose tranquil mind How drear and awful is this solitude How lovely is this silent scene How lovely shines the liquid pearl . How now Joky — whither awaye ? — How oft enchanted have I stood . How painfully pleasing the fond recollection How stands the glass around How still and deep is the awful sleep INDEX OF FIB8T LINES. How strange is life, how changeful time ! How swift the pinions Time puts on 583 PAGE 102 134 I A. B. do declare I am far frae ray hame, an' I'm weary aftenwhiles I am old and blind I ask not wealth ; — ^the glittering toy I beheld a golden portal in the visions of my slumber I courted a fair maid for many a long day I dreamt one night, not many months ago I hae nae kith, I hae nae kin I had a hat^t was not all a hat I hate the very name of box . I have no mother ! for she died I have ships that went to sea I heard that negro on his lowly bed I knew a boy whose infant feet had trod I knew my father's chimney top I love to gaze upon the face . I love to sit upon some steep . I love to uteal a while away . I mean to be a soldier . I met twa cronies late yestreen I said to Sorrow's awful storm I saw a maid let fall a tender tear . I see she flies me everywhere I see the white sails of thy ship I sing the Doers of the Word I stood amid the glittering throng . I think it was a Persian king I wish I were a little bird If this delicious grateful flower If upright souls in heaven are blest If you cannot on the ocean I'll gang nae mair to yon town I'll prove the word that I have made my theme I'll sing you a good old song . I'm a tough true-hearted sailor I'm coming along with a bounding pace . I'm utterly sick of this hateful alliance In a certain fair island, for commerce renowned In a fair lady's heart once a secret was lurking In a valley otscure, on a bank of green shade . In ancient times as songs rehearse . In Anster, long since, in the shire of Fife In Broad Street Buildings on a winter's night In debt, deserted, and forlorn In earlier days, in happier hours . In glowing terms I would this day indite In good Eng Charles' golden days In hope a king doth go to war 584 INDEX OF FIRST LINES. In reverend guiee this ancient pile survey In schools of wisdom all the day was spent In simple times when simple folks . In slumbers of midnight the sailor-hoy lay In the east the shadows deepen In the halls of Pompeii resounded the song In the palace, in the cottage . In vain I lament what is past In vast and boundless solitude he stands Iron was hia chest ... Is solitude a burden to thy soul It has been my lot in foreign lands It is enough for crime to once begin It is May ! It is May ! . . . It is not that I cannot see . It is not youth can give content It is the hour when winds and waves It is their summer haunt : — a giant oak It should be brief, if lengthy, it will steep It was a' for our riohtfu' king It was about the feast of Christmas-tide . It was merry once in England It's of a young lord o' the Hielands It's very hard you must admit I've been among the mighty Alps . I've pleasant thoughts which memory brings I've plodded through life's weary way . I've ploughed my land, and sown it too . I've lost my friend, my dog, and wife I've wandered far from thee, mother JACK eating mitey cheese did say Jack Dash, in town a first-rate beau Jenny is poor, and I am poor Jerusalem's curse was not fulfilled in me Jocky said to Jenny, " Jenny wilt thou wed f ■ Joe Wood, he was a carpenter John Davidson and Tib his wife . Johnny, man, ye're gaun to dwall . Jolly shepherd, shepherd on a hill . Just as a mother with sweet pious face TT'EEP pushing — 'tis wiser than sitting aside Jjl Keep silence lest the rocks in thunder fall Kind Peggy kissed her husband with these words Knell of departed years ! . . . . Know'st thou the land where the hardy green thist' LADY BEL, who in public bewails her dead spouse Lady, the earnest smiles of living light . Lady ! what cruel doom is thine .... F1.GI 223 72 374 415 131 236 184 448 560 563 127 242 563 170 279 566 159 118 144 404 253 263 386 457 268 131 574 574 474 299 566 481 429 571 505 444 436 446 329 58 138 215 564 60 228 565 212 258 INDEX OF FIRST LINES. 585 Laml where the bones of our fathers are sleeping . Late in the evening forth I went . .■ . . Late rideth Sir Olaff— fast fadeth the west . Let him who hates dancing ne'er go to a ball . Let others with poetic fire .... Let this album bright-souled maiden Life's like an inn where travellers stay . Linger not long ! Home is not home without thee . Listen ! love of mine, listen .... Little shoes and stockings .... Live well, die never ..... Long the sun hath gone to rest Lord Endless walking to the Hall .... Lord, give me freely to rejoice Love dwells not in the sparkling blaze Love me little, love me long . Love not me for comely grace Love wove a chaplet passing fair . Lovely, lasting peace below .... MADAM, my debt to Nature paid Mantled in storms : — attended by the roar March the twenty-first ! mark the day Matches are made for many reasons Men once were surnamed for their shape or estate 'Mid scattered foliage pale and sere Mistakes are common all through life Morn's earliest blush with frowning dyes Mother, they say the stars are bright My ain anld wife, oh ! boo it cheers My Beltane o' life and my gay days are i My boy refused his food, forgot to play My chaise the village inn did gain . My country, o'er thy mountains wild My day is dippin' in the west My dear, what makes you'always yawn "My God !" the beauty oft exclaimed My lad's a braw and bonnie lad . My Lilla gave me yester-morn My love was born in Aberdeen My sad tears flow and weep lost worth My spouse and I full many a year . Mysterious plant ! whose golden tresses wave . "VTAE mair in Cargen's woody glens 1.1 Nature hath done her part : do thou but thine . New England's annoyances : ye that would know them Night hurrying sails away across the waters . No courtly halls for me 356 567 300 157 126 586 INDEX OF FIB8T LINES- No Bounds of labour vexed the c|;U,iet air Not to be captions ; not unjustly fight Now departs day's garish light PAGE 558 567 193 0' a' the rants, o' a' the reels O Allister McAllister . Charlie is my darling . dinna forget, lassie, dinna forget . gin my love were yon red rose God who metest in Thine band O Kenmure's on and awa', Willie lady fair these silks of mine lintie, blytbe-voiced lintie . pateo tulis aras cale fel . Scotia ! land of bill and dell sweet is Nature's quiet hour ! the French are on the say Y R U so I C cold . Observe what wisdom shines in that decree O'er economy some have such perfect command Oh, could I find from day to day Oh, firm as oak, and free from care Ob, for a last look before I die Ob, for the dreamless rest of those Oh, nane I trow in a' the earth Oh, she was bright and fair to see , Ob ! stop not here ye sottish wights Oh ! tell me, mother, said a fair young child Oh ! they looked upward in every place . Ob, Thou who bast Thine altar made Oh, 'tis a touching thing to make one weep Oh, 'tis all one to me, all one . Ob, waken up, my darlin' — my Dermot, it is day Oh ! what a beautiful bit of mortality Old Orpheus played so well . On a smooth grassy knoll by the murmuring shore On earth, while onward Time doth roll . On Ettrick's banks in a summer night . On his deathbed poor Lubin lies On Life's wild ocean, sorrowful and pained On princely Kenilwortb's romantic site . On Summer's breast the hawthorn shines On the bank of a river was seated one day On this cold flinty rock .... Once did my thoughts both ebb and flow . Once more, thou radiant star. ■ Once on a time, a little French marquis . Once on a time, a son and sire we're told One day Good-bye met How-d'ye-do One eve of beauty when the sun ■ Only waiting till the shadows INDEX OF FIRST LINES. 587 Open now Thy gates of beauty . . 14 "One Prior!" and ia this, this all tlie fame . . . . 667 •Organs that gentlemen play, my boy .... . 492 Our bodies are like shoes -wliich off we cast ... . 567 ■Our darling is baptized to-day . . 71 Our life is short and 'tis 576 Out from tower and from steeple rang the sudden New- Year bells . 146 PAIN was my portion Perched on a rock and caged afar . Pity, my lord, the wretched plight . Play on, my little one ! fair is thine hour Poetry — Poetry ! . Print, conu-ades, print : a noble task EAB, when ye crack about the mire Raise- my pillow, husband, dearest . Header, who gazing on this lettered stone Eemember me, when summer friends surround thee Kemember thy Creator now .... Eeturn, and come to God Rise, ye Croats, fierce and strong . Eiver, river, little river Row weel, my boatie, row weel SAD city of the silent place . Save when the sun's resplendent ray Say, watchman, what of the night ? Say, why should friendship grieve for those ? See a pin, and pick it up See how around the glowing flame . Shall they bury me in the deep ? . Shall we all die? . . . . . She comes ! she comes ! with her flashing eyes She is my only girl Should Gaelic speech be e'er forgot ? Sieze thy pencil, child of art . . . . Since our foes to invade us have long been preparing Sleep soft in dust : wait the Almighty's will . Slept you well ? " Very well." My draught did good' Some sing of roast beef, and some sing of kail brose Some sing the paoeful pleasures of the plain Some talk of Alexander .... Something should remain unseen Songster of the russet coat Speak it not lightly ! 'tis a holy thing . Spirit of God, that moved of old Star of the evening ! How 1 love to mark Star of the mom, whose placid ray . 588 INBHX OF FIB8T LINUS. Stay ! traveller, stay ! and hear me tell ^j^ Stately towers ! blissful horns °^° Still nigh me, my Saviour stand . ™ Stop, jjretty stranger, stop and see ^9^ Such little hopes I'd always found .....-•• *°" Sweet evening hour ! Sweet evening hour ! 161 Sweet infant, when I gaze on thee ....■•••''' Sweet is the early dew 182 Sweet is the last, the parting ray 28 Sweet Sabbath of the year ... 176 TAKE a robin's leg Take ye the world — thus, from his height sublime Tell me, ye viewless spirits of the air That autumn leaf is sere and dead . That setting sun — that setting sun The barber shaves with polished blade . The brakes with golden flowers were crowned . The bud is on the bough, and the leaf is in the bud The camp may have its fame, the Court its glare The changing seasons, as they pass o'er earth . The chase is o'er, the hart is slain . The curling waves with awful roar . The day is past and gone The dreamy night draws nigh The dust ilies fast through the murky air The flight of years — how soft, how fleet ! The floor is of sand like the mountain drift The frost looked forth one still clear night The glorious heaven its golden tinting throws . The good ship Abeona .... The grey hill and the purple heath The Halcyon flew across tlie stream The harp of the Poet is silent in death . The judgment was at hand. Before the sun The lake is at rest, love .... The last sand from Time's hour-glass . . The leaves are falling from the trees The lost days of my life until to-day The loveliest flowers the closest cling to earth The mariners with lightsome heart The men could hardly keep the deck The merchant tempts me with his gold . The moon's full splendour on the waveless sea The morn that ushered thee to life, my child . The night was dark, and drear the heath The Polar clouds uplift — a moment and no more The poor man wiil praise it, so hath he good cause . The portals of the east divide The promised seed is born, no Ishmael now The Psalmist cried 433 495 80 197 54 538 218 167 269 163 417 59 26 112 465 135 210 184 166 363 255 203 546 45 338 42 196 74 187 203 267 214 214 565 466 214 346 416 47 76 INDEX OF F.nt8T LINES. 689 The queen of night shone from her starred domain The rich are poor, or vainly stored The scene was more heautiful far to my eye The sea, the sea, is England's . The ship is by the shore, my love . The skies like a banner in sunset unrolled The smiling morn may light the sky The solemn shadow that be'ars in his hands The sparkling liquor fills the glass The star of love on evening's brow hath smiled The sun and season in each thing . The sun went down in beauty, but the eyes The topsails shiver in the wind The traveller plods his weary way . The tumult of battle had ceased high in air The way seems dark about me The winter has passed with its frowns away The woods are stripped to the wintry winds The world's a book writ by the eternal art The world's a city full of crooked streets The world.at length this truth respects . The world of fairy, wreath, and song The year is now declining, and the nir . There are fools of pretension and fools of pretence There are twa bonnie maidens, and three bonnie maidens There is a flower whose modest eye There is a land amidst the waves . There is a parting in night's murky veil There is a stream which issues forth There is a tongue in every leaf There is a wood which few dare tread . There is a world we have not seen . There is an hour of heavenly rest There is an unseen power around . There is folly in all the world There sat an owl in an old oak tree There was an old farmer in Sussex did dwell There's nothing here on earth deserves . There's nothing lost. The tiniest flower Things of high import sound I in thine ear This cool and fragrant hour of prime This Indian weed now withered quite This life is but a game of cards This little spot is all our lot . This precious emblem well doth represent Those eternal bowers . . . , ThoQ art gane awa', thou art gane awa' Thou art the Way, and he who sighs Thou coloured winglet, floating in the ray Thou desolate and dying year Thou full-blown comely creature Thou hidden love of God 590 INDEX OF FIRST LIKES. Thou wto scornest ti-ntli divine Thoughts flit and flutter through the wind Through the rugged march of time Thursday in the mom, the Ides of May . Thy hesitating tongue and douhtful face Thy neighbour ? It is he whom thou . Till death I Sylvia must adore Time is the changeful shore of life . 'Tis a fitting time for Hope to die . 'Tis a pleasant sight on a vernal day 'Tis a time of pride when the bark is prancing 'Tis said in a bower by fairy hands wrought . 'Tis summer, 'tis summer, the wild birds are singing 'Tie sweet to see the opening rose To flourish in my favourite bower' . To Him that loved the souls of men To make your candles last for aye . To see a lady of such grace . " To your homes," said the leader of Israel's host To-day man lives in pleasure, wealth, and pride Tom 'Trout, by native industry, was taught True wit is like the brilliant stone . 'Twas eve, the lengthening shadows of the oak 'Twas on a Monday morning 'Twas the Pentecost time of tournament 'Twas within a mile o' Edinburgh town . Two children stood at their father's gate Two lawyers when a knotty case was o'er 7A.O]? 79- 313 14S- 240 564 140 331 61 422- 188 419 213 173 59 332 39- 561 565 49 182 512 564 179 409 382 358 219 552 UNDAUNTED in peril, and foremost in danger ... . 410 Unknown, untended, and alone ....... 123 Up with the sun in the morning 284 Upon a rook's extremest verge 210 Up ! up ! let us a voyage take 164 TTOYAGER upon life's sea, to yourself be true 117 WAEE from thy azure ocean bed Wake when the mist of the blue Walk in the light and thou shalt own We anxiously hallowed the frozen ground We be three poor fishermen . We climb, we pant, we pause : again we We dance on hills above the wind . We miss her footfall on the floor . We saw Thee not when thou didst tread Wo soldiers drink, we soldiers sing We trill a hymn to the evening dim mountains sleeping climb 158 84 19 544 412 215 395 552 41 346 216 INDEX OF FIB8T LINES. 591 We 'watcli the summer leaves and flowers decay Weep not over poet's wrong . Welcome on shore again Welcome, welcome, feathered stranger Wha the deil hae we gotten for a king What a plague's a summer breakfast What is a schoolmaster? why, can't you tell? What is genius ? 'Tis a flame What is man's history ? Born, living, dying . What is the body ? fragile, frail What knight of them all upon Palestine's plain What others singly wish, age, wisdom, wealth What pleasures have great princes What strange enchantment meets my view What though do flowers the fig-tree clothe What though not thine the rose's brilliant glow What's a' the steer, Mmmer ? ... When dire disease obstructs the labouring breath When Egypt's host God's chosen tribe pursued When Abercromby, gallant Soot . When I was bound apprentice When 1 was a schoolboy, aged ten . When is the time for prayer .... When love and friendship both were young When man and wife ..... When men of infamy to grandeur soar . When morning's first and hallowed ray . When, on the midnight of the East When shall we three meet again ? . When the King from France departing . When the tendrils of love once strike root in the heart When this old cap was new .... When you this letter C . Whence that completed form of all completenesss Where hae ye been a' the day ? . . . Where is he ? ask his emblem Where shall the child of sorrow find Where the Northern Ocean in vast whirls Whereas by you I have been hurled Whereas 1 have by you been driven Whether we smile or weep .... While sojourning on earth, he filled up the measure Whisper thou tree, thou lonely tree Who curbs his appetite's a fool Who killed Kildare ? Who dared Kildare to kill ? Why is that graceful female here ? Why lovely insect dost thou stand? Will ye gang wi' me, Lizzie Lindsay ? . Willie Wag went to see Charlie Quirk . Wind the spell — bind the spell Winter, thou daughter of the storai With a prancing steed, and a sword of proof . 593 INDEX OF FIRST LINES. With the deeds of noble Englishmen Women are best when they're at rest Would you choose a wife for a happy life Wouldst thou he there to meet those long-lost faces Wouldst wed for gold ? seek yonder palace gate PA.GB 261 498 357 76 119 TE who the name of Jesus hear .36 Yes, farewell, farewell for over ....... 304 You cannot pay with money 124 You took me, Henry, when a girl, unto your home and heart . . . 270 Your wife is beautiful and young 562 THE END. I'RINTED HV BALLANTYNE AND HANSON LONDON AND EDINBURGH THE CHANDOS LIBRARY, AiScries of Standca-d. WorU in all Classes of Literature. in crown 8 vo, price Ss. 6d. eacb, cloth gilt. TBC!E PEBCT AITEoi)OTBS, , „,. . - By ^iBOBEirand Shoito Filer, Verbatim Beprint of Onginal Edition. 'Introaaotion by JoHi TiKBS. Original SWfel Portraits, and daez. Three - Vols,, each Complete in itself, PEPYS' DiART AKD COBRESPOBTDEITCB. ; - \V'ith.Seven Bte'el Portraits arranged as a Frontispiece, S£emoir, Xntrodaetorf,.- Pieface, andFnll Index, ABBEYS, CASTLES, AND ANOrBNT, HALLS OP '*:;^ aiHGLAH-D ABTD WAIiES. v ,^L-33Pl^eir 'l^pend^ Iiore, gnd Popalac. Histoiy — Sooih, Midland, Iforth. By 1. £ /j^xBjr'l^vBS, tma. Ai,sxaiipbb finirir> B'eir fyohtiapi^.) Three Tola. Bach i^-j$<>lffih^Con;pteie in itself, , , ^i ,. JO&BTiOW'B iirSTES OP THE ploETS. With Critical Otiservations on their Worln,_and a Sketch of the Antbot's life by Sib Waltbb Scott, Steel Frontispiece. iEVELnr-S BIART AlTD COBBESPOBTBElTOE. J^ditedbyBsAT. 7Slpp. With Frontispiece and full Inde&. (jiBBOBrS DECLINE AND PALL OP THfe BQIf^N-^ '_- .:■''. -^MFIBE. *x- i "^;!p!pfiortjBlt.* Three Vols. A GENTTJEy OP ANJICDOTE. ' ■ 'Compiled and Edited by JoBlf TX3IB9, With Frontispiec6i JPOPE'S HOMEB'S ILIAD iND - ODTSSBT. . . FLAXKAH'sHlnstrations. -, - •,. THE SPANISH BAMiADS, Translated by J. B. lio'ditniHi, Lt J. , And THE CHEOmCLB OF THE CID, by BoBBBi SbvTBBV. With PortrMts,/ ~ DON QUIXOTE (LiiWain'd Adventures of). By OBBViiifTBs. With lustrations. , Q-IL BLAS (She iiidventures of), . By IiB Saqb, WitiS;jIb>stratioh3, THE KOBAN. A Verbatim Beprint. •By Sale, ..With Maps and Plins, ,. THE^,TALMTJD (Selections from). - . By H. PoLAKo. ,,. , ( ' THE BOOK OP ATJT^OftS, ■ A CJolleotion of Criticisms, Ans, MCls, Fersphal Bescription, &e. By W. Ct\BK BVSSEBV CAEPENTEB'S PtTBLIO-SOHOOL SPEAEBE. With Portrait. WALTON AilD COTTON'S ANGLES, Ediced, with ITates, by O, Chrib'^opbbs Patiis, *rHE PENiNStrtiAB VirAB AND THE CAMPAIGNS OP ■WELLIUGTON IN PBA.NCB AND BELeUXJM, By H. E. CiXKioif, PUGITIVB POETBY of the LAST THEEE CENTITBIE^.* FREDEHICK WARNE & CO., BtopoBd STrIbt, Stband. THE LANSDOWNE POETS. A Series of carefully Edited^ well-printed, with Oxford Red- line Border, Original Notes, Steel Portraits, and full-page Illustrations, liiirge crown Svo, cloth, extra gilt, gilt edges, price 3s. 6(1. each ; or in morocco elegant, 8s. sha2:spbake's poetical ■wokks. LOirGFELLOW'S POETICAL 'WOBKS. BTEOBTS POETICAL 'WdKKS. . > ' ELIZA GOOE-S POEMS. ~ i ' SCOTTS POETICAL "WOBSS. '.,"r"-,' BTJElfS' POETICAL TWOBKS. '' " . SONGS, SACRED AND DEVOTIOITAL. GDLDEir LEAVES FKOM THE AMEBICAlir POETS. LBaEHDART BALLADS OF EWaLAIiTD & SCOTLAWD, Jl'dOBE'S -POETICAL "WORKS. COWPER-a POETICAL ■WORKS. MILTOBTS POETICAL ■WORKS. ■WORDS-WORTH'S POETICAL -WORKS. MRS. HEMAITS" POETICAL WORKS. THE POETS' -TEAR. HOOD'S POETICAL -WORKS. CAMPBELL'S POETICAL -WORKB, •KEATS' POETICAL "WORKS. COLERIDGE'S POETICAL "WORKS. SHELLEY'S POETICAL ■WORKS. MACKAY'S COMPLETE POETICAL -WORKS. POPE'S POETICAL 'WORKS, GOLDSMITHS POETICAL ■WORKS. DODD'S BEAUTIES OF SHAKSPEARE. - _ MONTGOMERY'S (J.) POETICAL 'WORKS. JOHNSOIT'S LIVES OF THE POETS. HEBEB'S (BISHOP) POETICAL WORKS. HERBERT'S (GEORGBj POEMS AND PROSE. ■ MJCHELL'S NATURE AND LIFE. ' . ' ; LAUREL AND LYRE. AUo, uniform .in size, witltout Red-line Border. SONGS, SACRED AND DEVOTIONAL. GOLDEN LEAVES FROM THE AMERICAN POETS. LEGENDARY BALLADS O'F ENGLAND & SCOTLAND. THE POETS' YEAR. ' CAMPBELL'S POETICAL 'WORKS. KBAIS' POETICAL WORKS. COLERIDGE'S POETICAL WORKS. MICHELL'S NATURE ■ AIJD LIFE. LAUREL AND. LYBE. FREDERICK WABNE & CO., Bedford Sieeet, Stbakb. fe(tM ;'.;|;:^- Ji*»7a5SiS3B>r— -— "