A. isi 136 i6^^/o^ The date shoWs When this volume was taken. All books not in use for instruction or re- search are limited to all ion'o.wers. Volumes of periodi- cals and of pamphlets '• . comprise so many sub" iects, that they are held in the library as much as possible. For spe- cial purposes they are given out for a limited time. ' i Graduates and sen- iors are. allowed' five volutnp^for two weeks. ' Other students may have two vols, from the circulating library for two weeks. Books not needed , during' recess periods" should.be rettirnedi to the library, qr drrange- ments made for their return during borrow- er'sabsence, if wanted. Bool^s needed by more than one person are held on the reserve ; list. ■ ■ I Books of special | I value and gift books, , when the giver wishes , it, are not allowed to (^circulate. Cornell University Library PR 4507.C8T5 Thoughts and fancles:poems and occaslona 3 1924 013 467 323 L U JQ ITHOVGHTSfe^FANjpiESij JOHN COTTON. Author of "Song and Sentimiint,' &c., &c. Deal gently with us, ye who read ! Our largest hope is unfulfilled, — The promise still outruns the deed,— The tower, but not the spire, we build. O. IV. Holmes. LONDON : SiMPKi.v, Marshall, Hamilton, Kent & Co. Limited. birmingham : Cornish Brothers. 1897. 7- /^ K\'i^r^ THE AUTHOR TO HIS BOOK. Faretcell, go forth — O book of mine I Till, by good-hap and chance benign, Upoji his shelves some gracious friend, Who loves the Muses well, may end Thy homeless plight, and place assign. To win his favoiir be it thine ; And though with tomes more tall and fine Thou may's f to no proud place ascend. Farewell, — go forth ! May some discovered worth commend Thy strain ; and many a reader bend With sympathetic heart and eyne To turn thy leaf and scan thy line : T'hat thou to such mafst pleasure lend, Farewell, — go forth ! CONTENTS. ( The title and illustrations, except tail-pieces, are by the author. A few of the poems are juvenile productions. ) THOUGHTS AND FANCIES. Who can Tell? - - . Page 3 Just Regard . . 4 Worthy Effort . 6 The Legacy .... y Content and Discontent - - y The Lesson of the Leaf 10 PfcRl'LKXlTY - . II Freedom ... -12 Heritage and Influence . ij Crime - • 16 Justice - - . 17 Murderous Vanity - . 18 Manly Intercourse The Thinker Love and Hate Avenging Fate 19 Thought and Conduct ... 20 Grace - - 21 Human Progress - 22 25 Care and Culturk 25 27 Philanthropy's Reward 28 29 'God is Love' - - 30 The Two Services • - . . Life and the Spirit 31 The Good Housewii-e Who Knows? Thought and Action Cleverness and STuriDiTv Superstition QUESTIONAllLE FrIENHS Passionate Love - Rejected Love Reai, AND Ideal - Joy and Pain Retrospect The I>ast Resort Page 31 32 32 33 33 34 34 34 35 35 36 ' 38 POEMS. Our Nameless Benefactors The Marriaoe ok Moses Lines to a Snowdrop Verses responsive to a Skylark's Song The Death Ship The Love-Sprite - A Sea-side Walk God and the Man Divine Insight The Dead Hand - An Evening Thunderstorm To the Divine Parent The "Job Lot" Storm-drift The Soldier's Death The Rat Princess Stanzas 40 42 54 58 64 66 72 82 84 8S 88 89 9J 93 95 98 104 OCCASIONAL VF-KSES. Birthday Lines to a Young Lady - - Page io6 Sonnet, "Whose was tiik kindly iieari'?" 107 A Dedicatory Hymn - - loS The Fugitive Slave - no The Bulgarian Massacres • - 112 The Battle ok Isandhlwana • 114 The Wild-Birds' Protection Act 117 High and Low, Flower and Wfkii iig "Found Dro\vned" ■ 120 "Lose the World, Keep the 1''rien'd" 123 ANNUAL GREETINGS. No, I. 1884.— The Missive 124 2. 1885.— The Faith ok Friendship 125 3. 1886. — New-Year Chances 126 4. 1887, — Friendship's Aid • 127 5. 1888.— Three Good Wishes i2g 6. 1889.— Old ('ustoms 129 7. 1890. — Past and Present 130 8. 1891.— The Wish - - 131 9. 1892. — The Joy of a Friend • - 132 10. 1893.— A Rhyme of New Year's Eve • 134 11. 1894.— A Message of Hope - 143 12. 1895.— Regard . 144 13. 1896.— A Carol ok F'arewell and Welcome 145 14. 1897.— Friendship's Call - 146 THOUGHTS AND FANCIES, DEDICATED TO MY FRIEND FRANCIS EDWARD CAWS, SUNDERLAND. ^^o §an ICeCC? y\ chance wind blows the seed away ! Perhaps, someday, A disregarded nook, or bower, May be the richer by a flower : Who can tell ? A wise word falls on Folly's ear. So aptly clear It wakes at last a better sense. And may have life-long consequence : Who can tell ? A kind deed brings to one in grief Benign relief; Makes strong the bruisdd heart to bear ; Prevents, perchance, a soul's despair : Who can tell ? The influence of a loving life — Made sweetly rife With gracious aims and promptings good — May leaven some vile neighbourhood : Who can tell ? The message of the poet's song. Or teacher's tongue. Though scorned perhaps when uttered, may Wake fruitful thoughts some after-day : Who can tell? JUST REGARD §ttsf 'Regard, TLI OW beautiful yon Flower ! Uplifting from the ground Its richly-coloured dower ; Gracing the summer hour, And breathing fragrance round. How beautiful yon Flower ! What of the winter snow, That screened the sprouting seed Lest frost should lay it low ? What of the showery flow, And spring-time's quickening glow. That served its budding need ? Let thought their help requite, Whenever flowers delight. That Building there, how grand ! How mighty that Machine ! Cunning of brain and hand Was he, whose genius planned. Were they who made, I ween. Such works, — so deft and grand. What of the dead ? Shall nought Reward the inventive stress Of those whose labouring thought At schemes creative wrought. And e'en by failure brought To others sure success ? If thou wouldst aught commend, To these some honour lend, JUST REGARD. That Man, how excellent ! Standing in reverend age Exalted and content ; His useful life well spent, A loved and honoured sage. That Man, how excellent ! What of the parent care That guarded his young years ? What of the teacher's share, Who trained life's tree to bear Blossom, and fruitage fair, Whose virtue now appears ? To these thy tribute raise. For else were nought to praise. That Criminal, how base ! Behold his hang-dog air ! What villainies disgrace The record of his race, If all could be laid bare ! That Criminal, how base ! What of his training ? What Of that corrupting fate Which brutally begot ? Mis-born to such a lot. What soul could live and not Fall from its high estate ? Therefore, let pity tame The harshness of thy blame. WORTHY EFFORT. How high that Nation stands ! For worth and liberty Admired of all the lands ; Its men in brother bands Unitedj brave, and free. How high that Nation stands ! What of the martyred throng Who died that right might live ? Who fought to curb the strong, And strove with pen and tongue To rid the law of wrong. And equal justice give ? Wouldst thou that Nation bless To these its debt confess. ^otrf^^ Effort. 'T'HEY well deserve who sow good seed, Or set a high example ; Who plant the herb, but on the weed And harmful reptile trample ; Who from the vulture save the dove. And cherish innocence and love : Their care shall make the earth more fair, And men through them more gladness share. THE LEGACY. (^UR Present is the creature of the Past, Which credit for our boasted progress claims, And still has power to animate our aims ; Its sum of gathered influence being cast Into our lives, which it exalts or shames. It dwells incarnate in us, guides our thought In many a wayward channel, and bestows Its wisdom on us, and that sense which grows From long experience and endeavour, brought Down to the day when our own lives uprose. But while bequeathing us its hard-earned store Of knowledge, and its rich material gain, It burdens us with a conflicting train Of dogmas, customs, and delusions hoar — A brood of evils the dark ages bore — And laws which like an incubus remain. It gives us of its good, and of its bad ; We reap what it has sown, both wheat and tares ; Yet though in its vast harvest each man shares. The profit falls unequal,— some have had Mainly the ill-bestowal that impairs. We in our turn are sowers, — every deed Is as a plant, which circumstantial showers May cause to yield good fruit, or choke hfe's bowers ; Let not our children, then, who will succeed. Find their lives burdened by ill-growths from ours. CONTENT AND DISCONTENT. gEonicnf axxb ^isconfettf. A RT thou happy with thy lot, Hast thou all thy wishes got ? Doth thy conscience never broach Some old subject of reproach ? Some good purpose, not begun ? Some grave duty, never done ? Something to awake regret ? Something that thou wouldst forget ? Need'st thou nothing to increase Thy complacency and peace ? "Nothing!" Then thou art endowed With more favours than the crowd ! He who of the gods desires Help nor grace, and least requires, Moves a master down life's ways ; And, as some wise ancient says, By his independence shows He himself toward godhead grows. Yet, bethink thee, such content May but mark the selfish bent Of a nature cold and dense ; Hardened to indifference ; Heedless, in its own repose. Of all others' wants and woes ; One perhaps but little tried. Or with trifles satisfied : If it be so, I opine. Such content is not divine. CONTENT AND DISCONTENT. There are many brethren here Out of concord with their sphere ; Toilers struggling with distress, Hosts whose wrongs demand redress. Murderous hands there are to stay, Kings and priests to sweep away : Superstition still controls, And degrades unnumbered souls. Only few have yet attained What of freedom may be gained ; Only few matured the powers And the gifts that birth makes ours ; Few found out what happy plan Offers most and best to man-, Or is likeliest to abate Evils of our present state. Therefore — till all wrongs are righted, And the heights of being sighted. And its happiest ways discerned, And true social wisdom learned. And the lowliest made a guest At life's banquet, with the best. Where the wine of rational pleasure Shall give all its fullest measure — I must fare on, — ill content. Waiting what Time may present. THE LESSON OF THE LEAF. %^e Wesson of f^e c^eaf. We all do fade as a leaf. — Isaiah. T chanced one autumn, in a musing mood, To wander through a sylvan glade whose trees On either hand like pensive giants stood. Their stillness broken only by the breeze ; And with each gusty current downward flew — In wild disorder, round about the way — Their leafy plumes of variegated hue, Stripped on a sudden from the sapless spray ; Some scarcely faded, some distained and grey. And as I saw them lying, spent and pale, Methought how much man's course resembles theirs ; Oft prematurely, as the greener leaf, the gale Of sad mischance life from the body tears, Or poverty o'erwhelms him with its cares. 'Neath fortune's sun one day he flaunts on high, In prosperous ease forgetting life is brief; The next, Destruction sweeps relentless by. And cuts him off, to perish like the leaf. Regard the lesson ! Manhood swiftly wanes ; From youth to age is but a stroke of Time ; The mean and mighty Death alike disdains. And smites down whom he will, 'neath every clime. To nobler purpose, then, and happier use, Let us devote the days that yet are ours ; And when the blow falls, which life's hold shall loose, Quit unrepiningly these earthly bowers ; Resigned, and trustful of the Almighty Powers. PERPLEXITY. A REVERIE. \VrHEN will this harassed heart of mine find rest? When will these storms of thought abate and cease ? My mind for Truth maintains an anxious quest, That, finding her, it may obtain release From all the questions that perturb its peace. As o'er the ocean driven, its reckoning lost. Some derelict to unknown shores drifts near ; So on life's darkened sea, by trouble tossed, My bark piirsues a dubious career. The Churches' martyr-fires, of bigot bale. Have clouded, not made clearer, reason's light ; Nor may their differing dogma-charts avail To point my path amid thought's brooding night. At times, too — with the winds — I seem to hear. Out of the gloom, mysterious Voices call ; Some warn me sadly of disasters near; Some bid me safety seek ere death befall; And some proclaim me as Perdition's thrall : Yet, though perplexed, I have more hope than fear ; I wait the light to make my course more clear, Or guidance from that Power which ordereth all. FREEDOM. §{iree&ottt. "VXT HO is entirely Free? The mind May map its kingdom as inclined, And in no limitation be, Save from self-incapacity. We come and go, and scatheless may Speak boldly out our yea ! or nay ! But where are wills and minds not found By prejudice and bias bound, — Bound to some false or narrow notion. Absurd belief, or wrong devotion ? Few have that balance which can station Great things and mean in right relation To others, or themselves ; and see. Through every strange complexity, The bearing, import, and degree. This matter may be over-rated, Or that too much depreciated : A thousand influences wind Their subtle meshes round the mind, And govern it ; so that — at most — Freedom is but an empty boast. HERITAGE AND INFLUENCE. 13 heritage and §«;f£«e»icc. CCARCE else than puppets are we, quick with breath; Each one of us the feature-sign displays Of ancestors, whose dominating traits, In us — their children — blent, from birth to death Affect our being in the subtlest ways. In form and mind affect us, and control Our conduct through the passions and desires, Folly or wisdom, drawn from them — our sires ; So that when Good hath mastery the soul, Sagely responsive, to great ends aspires : But when gross Evil holds the leading chains, — Setting our baser faculties a-tilt Till all the wine of life is spent or spilt, — Its springs of action, working in our brains. Prompt constantly to foolishness or guilt. We are what two things make us,— the live sum Of good or evil instincts and desires Transmitted to us by our line of sires ; And that which through external chance may come To modify — as circumstance inspires. 14 HERITAGE AND INFLUENCE. Yet not entirely are we these two things ; All have some free volition of their own In building up of self; for, when are known The better and worse courses, each one brings A power of choosing for himself alone. But none may choose his ancestors ; and he Is fortunate who with a frame well strung. And unto which no taints of blood belong, Derives a mind without infirmity, Or atavistic trend to Vice and Wrong. Yes, blest it is to be so well begot ; Though only he may reach the highest grade. Who, disciplined and trained by Wisdom's aid. His meaner-self suppressed, has so arrayed Each nobler faculty to grace life's lot That of his better gifts full use is made. Well born and fitly fostered, taught, and placed, How favoured are they who have been all these ; Yet none should lack such opportunities. For want of them involves life's saddest waste, And thwarts our race of its best destinies. What glorious strides to happier goals mankind Might take, if youth — delivered from the thrall. And baneful influence of the base — could fall Under the spell, alone, of those whose mind To great gifts joined high character withal ! HERITAGE AND INFLUENCE. 15 Who can assess the mischief, who declare The guilt of those who viciously divert Youth's course astray ; or purposely pervert The impressionable soul ; bidding it fare Forth to life's fight whilst weak from moral hurt ? Unending is the harm ! Let it be ours — Both for ourselves and others — to direct The mind on nought but things of good effect ; To kindle love thereof, and what empowers The reason to judge right, and well select. As dispositions naturally incline To seek their counterparts, for growth in grace Our constant gaze must rest on Virtue's face ; Nor may we let our worst selves undermine Our best, or leave us prey to the malign, And specious wiles of Evil's deadly race. Our best must be developed and sustained — Built up to higher levels — and our worst Transmuted into better ; weak wills nursed And strengthened, till wise self-control be gained, And Wrong rejected as a thing accursed. i6 CRIME. ^rtmc. C^ RIME comes of Vice, and Vice is a disease, Acquired or bred in those begotten ill ; Corrupted nature seeking to fulfil. Through such temptations as may chance to please. The baser instincts of a morbid will. Wherefore let him be pitied, not condemned. Who, weak and warped and criminally inclined, With no good influence to exalt his mind. Is by foul fate midst evil born and hemmed, And made a wastrel of the human kind. Victim of such sad circumstance, what blame Can he be fairly charged with to whom rude Fortune, refusing first derival good. To virtuous training next denies all claim, And gives no help for faults to be subdued ? Badly engendered, and to evil prone. Ill-born, ill-circumstanced, and vilely taught. With lewd exemplars to deprave the thought, How can a human stock, so grossly grown. With other than the worst of fruits be fraught ? JUSTICE. 17 gusitce. 'T'HE principle, that all before the Law Share with an equal guilt each like offence, Makes Justice, as we know it, a pretence : A vain presumption, founded on the flaw That all have equally the moral sense. Congenital endowments, good and ill ; The bias caused by teaching, wise or base j The influence of circumstance and place ; Temptation's force, and feebleness of will ; Are factors all in every mortal's case. Who shall assess them ; who discriminate ? Who measure in a truly fair degree — Made as he is by them part bond, part free^ A fellow-man's responsibility ? Who shall with comprehensive insight state. For crime, what a/wj-/ punishment may be ? Can we arraign the dead ; and make them share. Proportionate to their cause of it, our shame? We cannot ; and believers in God's name May well, seeing Justice faulty here, declare That some diviner court will mete the blame. THerefore, as Right may not be here attained, Let us considerate mercy show to those Unfortunates who evil traits disclose ; And while they are for others' sakes restrained. Reforming, and remedial plans impose. MURDEROUS VANITY. ■^ur&erous "g^anif^. 'T'HERE is — in Hindostan — a bird, possessed Of the vain liking to adorn its nest With glistening fire-flies; which it seeks to kill, And then disposes with conspicuous skill About its bower ; that by their glowing light It may the better view its nest by night. There are, in England, foolish women who. To catch men's eyes by day, the trick pursue Of feathering their heads with plumaged things — Such as the beauteous humming-bird's bright wings. And lovelier bodies — which their brutal pride Dooms wholesale to be snared and then destroyed. May no such flaunter of a borrowed lure A good man's notice or kind heart secure : Cruel or thoughtless she must be, and so Unworthy love, and profitless to know. The Weaver-bird of India, I adduce. Hath for its murderous arts more just excuse. To show the extent of this inhuman traffic in beautiful birds, there are sales, held about eight times a year in London, at which as many as 25,700 skins of humming birds, 1,939 birds of paradise, 5,000 jays, 14,800 kingfishers, and 46,000 parrots — besides large numbers of other brilliant species— have been offered by auction to milliners and others at one time. MANLY INTERCOURSE. 19 ^anC^ gnfercourse. T ET intercourse 'twixt man and man Be based on Truth's enduring plan ; And cordial, honest, frank, and free — Despite the station or degree — A friendly mood and aspect show, With courtesy, to high and low. Put on no domineering frown To scowl an humbler mortal down ; Nor, with the manner of a slave, Crouch to the loud and blustering knave : A bullying tone I scorn no less Than flunkeyish obsequiousness. Who sifts such attributes will find Them both but features of one mind ; The same in nature, and but made By circumstance of different shade. The mean man, when exalted, wears Before dependents haughty airs ; But, when he doth in low grades stir, Fawns on his betters like a cur : Riches he counts the supreme good, And personal worth — not understood — Despises ; so that gold, alone. To him is merit's touching-stone : Such dogs can never be exempt From self-respecting men's contempt ! THOUGHT AND CONDUCT. I^oug^f an& ^onbucf. TWr IND-trend moulds Character ! our deeds derive Impulse, and hue, and purpose, from the train Of thought we chiefly cherish and maintain ; To foster noble moods, then, all should strive, That nought dishonouring may the conduct stain. The guileless mind is as a mirror bright. Which, with the grace of sweet simplicity, Reflects all objects in their best degree ; But blurred by vice presents no image right. Distorting all things how so fair they be. Thoughts are the seeds of action ! those the mind Most harbours root there, and to habits grow Of good or evil ; let us, then, bestow Nurture on nought unlovely, or unkind ; And only germs of generous fruitage sow. Our baser instincts, robbed thus of their needs, Shall droop and die before our loftier thought ; Or stunted by suppression come to nought : Until, intent alone on gracious deeds. Our lives to higher levels may be brought. THOUGHT AND CONDUCT. Though mystery veils our being here, we all Doubtless have some set duty on earth's sod, Fitting our talents ; wherefore, till the rod Of fateful Death His hidden hand bids fall, Let us our best do — both for man and God. Let us our best do ; or what gifts and powers We yet possess may fail us and decay — Even as disused members waste away — And we, instead of building up life's bowers To ampler heights, some dwarfing part may play. ^race. AS the small dew-drop, with its little sphere Of crystal — pure and clear. Derives from heaven, and reflects when won The gleams of the great Sun ; So may the humblest heart, too, as a shrine — When set aright — obtain the Light Divine ; And manifest through life, in every place, Some cheering aspect of its hallowed grace. HUMAN PROGRESS. ^xxmaxi progress. TV/TAN is not ignorant, but yet he needs More wit in putting knowledge to account For the united good ; a sad amount Of wasted energy — and woe — proceeds From his too partial use of wisdom's fount. As yet he knows no training worth the name, But scrambles up to manhood as he may ; His fair companion, Woman, till to-day. Has been repressed ; and so the ideal aim Of race perfection has not yet had sway. His highest common, and best personal powers. Are not elicited ; what might be won By cultivated usage few or none Attain ; while effort, all cross-purposed, sours With strife what should be helpful unison. Accordant aim is needed, more goodwill ; A wider culture — to bring out the best That is by body and by mind possessed ; Love's choice should lighten toil and heighten skill, And mutual care a common cause attest. Our race is in its infancy to-day ; A season more illustrious and sublime Shall grace its riper intercourse with Time ; Beneath whose auspices it takes its way To the achievement of a nobler prime. HUMAN PROGRESS. 23 When Man has laid aside his childish toys — His bogey-gods and devils — on Time's shelf, Quelled caste restraints, sex bondage, lust for pelf, And grown in Nature's laws more learn'd and wise, He shall attain a god-ship for himself. Each year beholds him abler, happier, freer ; Knowledge has struck from him the crippling gyves Of Superstition, and now strongly strives To put a period to her curst career, Fast lapsing, save where stupid Ignorance thrives. As from a dismal nightmare — centuries old — Humanity has wakened ; Wycliffe first Removed in part the spell, then others nursed The monkery-crushed reason, made it bold. And from fresh founts of learning quenched its thirst, Shakespeare and Milton, Bacon, Locke, Voltaire, Strengthened the spirit and enlarged the thought ; Luther deliverance to religion brought ; Cromwell and Washington bade kings beware. And ways of freedom to the nations taught. Standards of Right are rising ; every day Corruption hides a more diminished head ; The Law becomes less partial ; men are led To view life's aims in a less selfish way ; And more and more are hopeful prospects spread. Science, with widening view and searching eyes. Has looked into the heart of things, and learned Great truths and principles, all undiscerned Till now ; and, made by Nature-knowledge wise. To human profit has the teaching turned. 24 HUMAN PROGRESS. Yes, Man progresses ! Once, if he gave voice To some idea past the common mind To comprehend, he was forthwith consigned To prison ; or, to make the Church rejoice, Silenced by death : he now is but maUgned. The priestly persecutor may no more Abuse man's trust, pretending God-given grace ; Or on the torturing rack each questioner place : His deadly domination now is o'er, Nor shall his dogmas long delude our race. Out of the mystic mummeries of the Past, A simpler worship, by no hell's pretence Sustained, but springing from a natural sense Of spirit-kinship, shall to God at last Rise with man's love, in hopeful confidence. Dead laws shall damn no more our newer ways ; Old creeds and doctrines have outrun their lease ; Truth clears our vision as the years increase ; Religion^now — a milder sceptre sways. And, looking to essentials, gently says, "Trust God, love man, do justly, be at peace !" THE THINKER. 25 ■gt^e "g^ittfier. pLOUT not the Thinker, The theory-builder, The man of ideas, The dreamer of dreams. From his conjectures, Born of his brooding, Out of his fancies, Grow mighty schemes. Widely his thought flies ; Columbus-like seeking, Beyond the known limits. Truth and fact new. He is the Seer, Diviner, Inventor, Reformer, Inspirer; One of the few. Who, siftijjg things through, Can better life's aims. And guide men to do. 26 CAKE AND CULTURE. gtare anb @uCfure. The canker galls the infants of the Spring, And in the morn and liquid dew of youth Contagious blastments are most imminent. Shakespeare (Hamlet). 'T' HE youthful mind is an unfolding flower, Which only by ascendance of the sun — The light of fair example — may be won To show the full grace of its hidden dower, And yield its best sweets ere life's day be done. Like plants and creatures of a lower kind, We are, by nature, changed in our degree With our environment ; if that be free From adverse influences and unrefined, So will our character and conduct be. Thus, man's career from birth to death depends On what development may be allowed The faculties with which he is endowed ; And discipline that checks his worst traits tends To make his worthier self the more avowed. Right training betters men as well as trees ; E'en to the baser sort, with blight at strife. Assuring fairer growth, with guidance rife To the full flower of being ; by degrees Adding the good fruits of a perfect life. LOVE AND HATE. 27 (To an amiable lady, who said it was wrong to hate.) "DECAUSE of love man needs must hate ; For love and hate are close allied, Though seeming widely separate. Love is but hate's diviner side ; And none may either passion bate, Whilst in the bosom they abide. Unless the other be denied : Hate thus hath a responsive weight. Because of love. If I esteem good things, perforce, I must hate evil things no less — As beauty loathes all ugliness. Let me so hate, and then, of course. Thy worth will more my mind impress \ Because of love. 38 PHILANTHROPY'S REWARD. SONNET. AS Love reveals a world renewed with joy, While Hope suggests a still more happy sphere, To those large-hearted, sanguine souls that here Have made man's betterment their life's employ ; So — surely — shall content without alloy Bless them, if heaven there be, when, through the drear Gate of the grave, grim Death conducts them near That realm where those abide whose deeds supply Example for their work of human love : For they shall enter into bliss above With all who stood for freedom, peace, and truth ; All that the world has known of Wise and Kind; By man remembered for their helpful ruth. And by God's grace eternal joy assigned. AVENGING FATE. 29 3lt>cngmg §?afe. SONNET. "The Past will not be gone I " Victor Hugo, ^^FT in the lone night hours, when all is still, The quenchless Spirit of the Past appears, And taunts us with the faults of bygone years. And frets us with forebodings of its will To blight the future, and all gladness kill; We view the prospect through a mist of tears, Vainly regretful ; while dark hosts of fears Rack our Procrustean bed in dreams of ill. Yes, folly brings its Nemesis at last, Charged with ill consequence ; whose vengeance fell Annihilates all peace : hope wanes, o'ercast With apprehensions that no charm can quell ; While thoughts 'what might have been' or 'will be' blast The brooding mind, and turn sleep's heaven to hell. 30 GOD IS LOVE. "^06 is c^otJC." SONNET. Everyone that loveth is born of God, and knoweth God, — God is Love. — I John iv. 7 and 8. God is a consuming fire. — Deut. iv. 24. Paul Heb. xii. 29. The Lord is a Man of War. — Ex. xv. 3. The sword of the Lord is filled with blood, it is made fat with fatness. — Isaiah xxxiv. 6. The Lord revengeth and is furious. Who can stand before His indignation ? and who can abide in the fierceness of His anger? His fury is poured out like fire. — Nahum. i. 2-6. Visiting the iniquity of the fathers upon the children, and upon the children's children, unto the third and fourth generation. — Ex. xxxiv. 7. — Numbers xiv. 18. Ye serpents, ye generation of vipers, how can ye escape the damnation of hell ? " — Matt, xxiii. 33. I make peace, and create evil. — Isaiah xlv. 7. He that believeth not shall be damned. — Mark xvi. 16. C AINT John says, ' God is Love ! ' I trust 'tis so, And not as some old Hebrew scribes aver ; For I would be no fearful worshipper : Each scheme of kindness makes my bosom glow With glad agreement, and I am not slow In fostering friendly fellowship ; they err Who think me cold, or my demeanour slur As that of one indifferent to woe. In pure affection's tenderer phase I see, When hearts and lives learn love's sweet happiness, The perfecting — in a divine degree — Of all, perchance, man e'er may know of bliss : For then seems realised that ' heavenly sphere ' Men talk and dream of, but oft miss whilst here. THE TWO SERVICES. 31 %^i ^xoo §err>tces. T^HERE are two services man renders man Which seem to me supremely great and grand; Two trusts which, truly kept, our praise demand ; Those of the Teacher and the Judge, who stand As guides and guardians of the human van, Leading the way, and making plain the plan Whereby most good may gladden life's short span, Most worthlessness be banished from the land. And aiding Right against Wrong's voice and hand. (^ife e. A S 'neath the sun's hot gleam the dew-drop glows To speedy dissolution, so the heart, When touched o'er-passionately with love's dart, Exhales its vital sweetness ; which outflows To swift exhaustion, in a burning smart. "glejecfeb JJoce. TRIOLET. A H cruel fate ! how vexed his lot Whose tender suit no favour gains ! When woman, loved, respondeth not, Ah cruel fate ! how vexed his lot, Who weaves for her the amorous plot And yet no meed of grace obtains. Ah cruel fate ! how vexed his lot Whose tender suit no favour gains. REAL AND IDEAL. 35 "gleaC oxib gbeaC. r\ the squalor all around, In the city slums ! From the dens that there abound What defilement comes ! How the dreariness profound Every feeling numbs ! Save the sense of joy estranged ; Save the wish that all were changed. Fancy pictures to the mind Parks and gardens nigh ; Beauteous buildings where men find Homes, and glad employ ; People happy, bright, refined, Living lives of joy : And the reason yearns to know Why such things may not be so. '^ovi axxb "^ain. A S mirrors that shine brightest Show soonest speck or stain ; So, oftimes, hearts the lightest Feel most the weight of pain. 36 RETROSPECT. ■glcfrospccf. The greater part of mankind employ their first years to make their last miserable. — La Biruytre. T IFE'S course oft runs awry : what hosts are foiled Of happiness, through lacking in their youth Discretion or wise guidance ! I, forsooth, Would rather have been born man, to die a child. Had it been possiblfe, than learn this truth. We most need knowledge when we have but least, And so are preyed on through our callow days By wanton Folly, in disastrous ways ; Acquiring wisdom, when, with years increased, Death makes all vain, and life's last hope betrays. Death makes all vain ! Ah, that we do not know ; It may be that the truths we learn whilst here. Through the sharp teaching of life's stern career, Will not be lost ; but serve us when we go Gravewards, as some think, to a greater sphere. He 'scapes much grief who, of youth's faults aware. Grafts wisdom on himself through some old guide ; Whilst age grows like new youth-time, glorified, In him who can his boyhood's spirit bear Through every phase of life, unsoured by care, Self blest, and blest by 'troops of friends' beside. RETROSPECT. 37 How enviable he, who, in life's eve. Can happily recall the days gone by. And think upon his past without a sigh ; Whom no sad fruits of former folly grieve, Nor barren records shame, nor cares annoy. Who feels, though humbly, he has been of use, Of some slight service to his kind below ; In works of worthiness not cold, nor slow ; But anxious ever evil to reduce. And lighten, when he might, all loads of woe. Who, with a will to welcome all things good. And serve the cause of Progress ; without cease Has nourished Knowledge, advocated Peace, And always, in a frank and friendly mood, Promoted Love, and bade Goodwill increase. Who — holding up the lamp of Being high, And living out his best self to the full — Has guided, and lent helpful hands to pull, Sad brethren from the slough to hope and joy ; To sweeter hfe, and heights more beautiful. Bitter his retrospect, in brooding age, 'Fore whom the years accusingly unroll Nothing but misdeeds on their blameful scroll ; While wasted opportunities engage, With all that ' might have been,' his sorry soul. 38 THE LAST RESORT. %^e S'O'&i "glcsovf. "VXTHAT though about earth's fair domains, The blast, proclaiming winter's rule. Roars like a wild, uncaverned ghoul, And binds the land with icy chains. Is there no spot retired, or vale, Whereto the frail may fly, and those Who yearn for quiet find repose ? Is there no refuge from the gale ? What though the brawling storms of life Distress man's spirit as they rage. May he not in the grave assuage Their bitterness, and end the strife ? POEMS. DEDICATED TO MY FRIEND WILLIAM DOUBLEDAY, BIRMINGHAM. 40 0671? NAMELESS BENEFACTORS. <^\xx "glatneCess benefactors. IV/r Y theme is not of titled Lords, great Kings, or Warriors bold ; These, and the famed in Art and Song, have had their triumphs told ; I rather would with gratitude men's heedless spirits touch, And bid them bless those humbler friends, to whom we owe so much. So much of Justice, Liberty, Enlightenment, and Power ; So much of Knowledge, dearly learned, and Wealth's availing dower ; The Worthy Sires who toiled for us, and for our freedom fought ; Who won us independence, and the right to speak our thought. Who in all ways beneficent have been the Pioneers — The Vanguard of Aspiring Souls through dark, enslaving years ; Rare Men of Great Ideals who, with lofty purpose trod The path of Progress, dangerous oft, in the cause of man and God. The Nameless Heroes who have dared the tyrant to his face ; Braving his persecuting power, the dungeon, and disgrace, Rather than, by surrender foul, some personal profit claim ; Or bring, by hateful treachery, a glorious hope to shame. The Fighters of the False, the men whose voice no bribe could drown; Defenders of the Truth, who died, yet won no martyr's crown ; Great Hearts who, loathing wrong and pledged for Liberty and Right, Staked all, that we and others might taste more of life's delight OUR NAMELESS BENEFACTORS. 41 Those Self-denying Spirits, who — beside the bed of pain, In city slum and leper-house, or on the battle plain — Have comforted the woful ones till death bestowed release ; Christ-natured Carers for their Kind, and Ministers of Peace. Wise Advocates of Reason's Rule against mere brutal Force ; Sweet Souls whose kindness into love has altered hatred's course ; Large Minds too great for jealousy ; contending but to stay The blight of ignorance and crime, and drive all woe away. Forgotten Poets who have sought by song sad hearts to cheer ; To rouse the race to worthier aims, and man to man endear : The Teachers, Preachers, Writers, All who helpfully have striven To heighten human happiness, and make earth more like heaven. These I would honour, these exalt, and bid my brethren bless With warm appreciative hearts, and reverent thankfulness ; Let courtly laureates laud the rich, and royal claims rehearse, The deeds of Nature's Noblemen shall grace my humbler verse. 42 THE MARRIAGE OF MOSES. j[i§e IJIarrtage of ^oses. (a scriptural sketch.) 'T'HE sun lay couched in splendour — it was eve ! And in the western firmament the clouds Upreared for him a gorgeous palace, graced With halls of lustrous opal, grandly domed. And made within superbly beautiful ; So that in fitting state he might take rest After the tedious circuit of the day. As from a lucent lake, all sapphirine And bridged with gold, the airy structure rose, Its crystal gates thrown open to the skies : Vistas magnificent, and widely vast, Sparkling with fair cascades and silvery streams. Stretched from the splendid pile ; amid whose halls. With silken curtains hung and paved with gems, The mighty orb reclined, in languorous ease ; Whilst his emblazoned banners, fringed with light. Flaunted their pomp about the breathless heavens, And taught pale reverence to the peeping stars. Dazzling in dye the floating cloudscape spread ; Topaz, cornelian, amethyst and pearl, Garnet and beryl — all of changeful hue — Blent their bright colours with the mellow haze That everywhere suffused the neighbouring void. And spread a picture too sublime for words. THE MARRIAGE OF MOSES. 43 Girdled with jewelled zones, and like a king Wrapped in his royal robes, the Lord of Light — His great heart glowing with a calm content — Watched with warm glances his dependant worlds ; And whilst the diadem that crowned his brows Set, like a halo, the near skies aflame, He waved his sceptre in a fond farewell, And solaced earth with benedictory beams. He seemed of glory the unfading fount — The quenchless source — but only for awhile ; For by degrees th' etherial pageant paled, His rays fell fainter and his brightness waned. Until, at length, the dull blue depths of heaven Shrouded his grandeur in a leaden tomb. Stretched like a dying giant o'er the west A cloudy wraith passed by, from whose torn side-^ Shorn now of all his late magnificence — ■ The sun ere long emerged, round, rayless, red ; Like a great blood-drop from a bleeding wound. And there was one — a woful traveller — Who watched with awe each weird suggestive change. As with the light he sped across the plain From Egypt's realm : — Moses the wanderer was ! Who, lost to favour at King Pharaoh's court — Where he had spent his youth and won renown— Fled now to foil the fury of his foes, And flying risked the life he sought to save. Beyond the marshy coast-land, by the drear Wild skirts of Shur he held his weary way ; Afaint for water, and with blistered feet Treading the scorching desert ; or with steps 44 THE MARRIAGE OF MOSES. Made difficult by thick and thorny briars — The ravenous hyaena's tangled lair, The leopard's den and venomed reptile's haunt — Proceeding painfully by stony tracks, In solitary dread, to some strange bourn ; But where he knew not. Often death seemed near ; For when with burning fury o'er the waste, The dread Simoom, uprising swift, sped past — Like a huge uncoiled python breathing gloom — And, in a frenzy of wild-writhing rage. Dragged from earth's rocky ribs the covering sands To whirl them in the blinded face of heaven, He sank down, as he deemed, upon his grave. Stifled beneath a winding-sheet of dust. The loneness, too, was maddening ; and at night The oppressive silence awful ; — voice was none Of human cheer : — there was not e'en a sound ; Save the wild wolf and jackal's ravening howl, Or when, perhaps, the mighty lion rose, And standing savage on some rocky height Roared out his bellowing challenge o'er the plain ; Where, crouched in some dark hollow, Moses lay In wretched helplessness and dread despair. Oft was he hungered, yet nor milk nor meat Availed him there ; the wilding vine and fig. Almond and lentil, — all but scantly found Amid the waterless wadies, — had to serve His stinted palate in that barren land ; On which the cloudy fountains of the sky. But seldom poured the sweet gift of the rain. THE MARRIAGE OF MOSES. 45 Thus day by day he wandered, with a mind By present cares distressed, but by remorse Afflicted more, for that dark deed of blood Which drove him as a branded felon forth, And exiled him from his despairing kin. Can he who slays his fellow-man suppress The haunting sense of guilt which Conscience wakes Within his brooding soul, unused to crime ? The silent monitor defies his hand, Unless his murderous self, self-murdered, meets The suicidal doom that hand conveys. Too dread a remedy ; and though the wretch Whom Moses had encountered was the foe Of every Israelite on Goshen's soil. Reproachful accusations made him mourn : For he had kept the god-faith of his sires, Nor bowed in worship to the sun and moon, Or mystic beasts, which the Egyptians served. He knew that to Elohim — the great God — Belonged the quickening mysteries of life. And the most dread prerogative of death : What He creates shall no man take away. Without a cause commendable to Him, Without a reason righteous past the sense Of passion-blinded mortals to discern ; Unable through inherent prejudice To guage crime's due, or rightly judge of wrong. Thus agitated with conflicting thoughts The son of Amram sorrowfully fled : The future like a hopeless blank ; and yet, At times, when worn by travel he reposed Neath the chance shelter of some caverned rock, 46 THE MARRIAGE OF MOSES. Or prickly bramble's miserable shade — Watched by the hovering vulture, or exposed To chilling night-dews, and the hungry teeth Of prowling jackals, or fierce beasts of prey- Sleep sweetly soothed him, and his spirit held A mystical communion with heaven. In visioned dreams he saw his suffering kin Redeemed from their sad bondage ; saw the tribes. By miracles, delivered from the hand Of him who knew not Joseph ; the harsh king Who, ruling Egypt, spent their lives in toil : He had some presage of the Lord's design. And of the mighty part he yet should play In leading Israel back to Canaan's vales ; Where prosperous liberty should bless his race. And God's goodwill to Abraham be fulfilled. Suns rose and set ; and o'er the looming tops Of Horeb — whose five peaks invaded heaven Like fingers of a hand that clutched the clouds — The moon shone nightly with a ghostly glare ; That had both waxed and waned since Moses first From far Raamses fled ; and still he held His quest across the desolate wilderness : Where rocks and boulders bleached with hoary age- Waste relics from the building of the world — In cumbrous heaps lay piled about the plain. Their jagg'd and crook'd escarpments weirdly cast Strange hieroglyphic shadows o'er the sands ; Shadows like mystic signs, by Jahveh's hand Writ large there on the earth as on a scroll, And blazoned with his signet — the red sun, Which down the far verge set its sealing disk. TUk marriage of MOSES. 47 For now 'twas eve again, — a sultry eve, And still the weary exile wandered on ; Though happily ere long his sight was cheered, For, as he reached the confines of the wild. He saw well pleased before him a green spot — A fair oasis fringed with trees — where springs Tempered to grateful coolness the parched air. And spread a verdant carpet all around. Dark waving o'er the ground, like outspread wings Of wild-fowl rising 'neath a pallid sky, The lofty date-palms swayed their plumy tops ; And, 'mid the under-greenth, the yellow flowers Of sittah-trees appeared, like golden stars ; As though a falling galaxy from heaven Had caught among the intercepting boughs. Ah, never sun-beam from storm-darkened skies Brought greater joy to the lorn way-farer Than, unto Moses, did this leafy dell After his wandering through the desert wastes. He gave God thanks for his deliverance, As at the crystal fount he soothed his thirst, And in the oozy waters bathed his feet. And laved his feverish forehead ; then, beneatl: A bowery myrtle's dense and dark green leaves. Mid beds of henna and the fragrant cane. Disposed his weary limbs to welcome rest. Not long had he reclined ere nearing sounds Of voices, and the noise of bleating kine Surprised his ears, and bred the cheering thought That he had reached a habitable land. Where haply he might dwell awhile in peace. 48 THE MARRIAGE OF MOSES. Across the plain approached in panting droves The thirsty cattle— oxen, sheep, and goats, Led by the hoar-horned patriarchs of the flock, And guardianed by shepherd-men and maids. First to the water-troughs came Jethro's herd — A priest of Midian he, whose daughters seven Tended their father's kine with pastoral care. Them, ere the cattle had their needs appeased, The surly shepherds drave back from the wells ; Bidding them wait until the rest were served: But Moses, rising, chid the churlish swains With apt rebukes for such discourtesy, And championed the damsels, whom, to help. He filled the troughs that so their flocks might drink. Then, kindly, to the eldest of the maids — Who stood near by, confused with pleased surprise At such a service from a stranger's hand — Addressed himself; concerned to know her name. She said it was Zipporah, — and her sire Jethro of Midian, whose tents were near ; While happy glances, than the warmest words More eloquent, conveyed to him their thanks. And Moses looked regardful on her charms. As, with averted eyes and head declined, She stood in modest bashfulness among Her younger sisters — like a lily flower Rising in stately grace above the press Of thronging roses — lovelier than them all. Like tendrils twining o'er the polished ridge Of some white marble rock, a loosened tress Adown the slope of her bare shoulder fell ; THE MARRIAGE OF MOSES. 49 Fell on her heaving bosom, parting there The palpitating spheres ; as when a swan — Smoothing its plumes — divides with dusky beak Its snowy front in twain. From either ear Hung an adorning jewel ; as depends The golden-bodied bee at some choice flower, Averse to quit those charms its brilliant self Makes yet more beautiful : and Moses marked With constant eye, so steadfastly, each fair And frank attraction of the Midian maid, That his rapt look drew blushes to her cheeks, And then — as 'twere — an inadvertent glance Of sweet Zipporah's overcame his own. It seemed, when their gaze met, as if young Love, Marking the dawn of a more dear regard. Had taken part as an interpreter. And ilashed the tender sign from eye to eye : But swiftly fell the maiden's lids again, Like wavering shadows from two fluttered wings. And veiled the shyness of the orbs beneath. Eager to win expression, Gratitude Drew to her mouth a throng of thankful words. Which seeking utterance pressed her lips apart, But died still-born, unevidenced by sound, Ere yet the rosy portal they had passed. Soon, homeward, she and her young sisters turned ; Driving the kine before them to the fold ; While Moses — loitering lonely by the wells — Looked sadly after till they sank from sight. Night was fast putting on her soft grey robe. And lighting up the starry lamps of heaven. so THE MARRIAGE OF MOSES. When messengers arrived by Jethro sent, Desiring Moses' presence, with profuse Assurances of hospitality. With them the wanderer wended till they reached A fertile valley, where before them rose — Like petty pyramids — the numerous tents Of Jethro and his clan. The sheikh came forth To greet, and welcome to his cheerful board. The stranger guest, with warm acknowledgments For kindness rendered in his daughters' cause ; While fair Zipporah, with her sister maids — In sweet solicitude to serve his needs And give him comfort — washed his wayworn feet, And brought him change of raiment. Then was killed And cooked for their repast the failing kid ; Ere long laid seething on the well-spread board With milk and wine, fresh olives, and a wealth Of luscious melons, figs, and dainty fruits ; Whereon they feasted with a glad content. Their supper done, the patriarchal chief Held converse with his visitor, and sought To learn by what compulsion he had dared Such dangerous journeying through the desert wild, And how escaped its perils. Moses told — With rising grief — the sufferings of his race At Pithom and Raamses ; how, abused By cruel taskmasters on Egypt's soil, They bore the yoke of a tyrannic king. Who, fearful of their increase, crushed their lives With labour past endurance. The Sheikh came forth To greet, and tvelcome to his cheerful board. The stranger guest ; with ■warm acknowledgments For kindness rendered in his daughters' cause. THE MARRIAGE OF MOSES. Ji Weary years, In building up huge storage-granaries, And quarrying mighty stones for temples vast To the enslaver's gods, his kin had toiled : Temples whose avenues great sculptured beasts Of human visage guarded — gazing all Horizonwards, with an eternal stare : And whose resplendent portals, high and grand, Pierced between pylons huge of pictured stone, Led through majestic halls and cloistered courts To sanctuaries dim, and hallowed shrines, By Mystery shrouded in an awful gloom : Where ever at day's end and morning's dawn Priests ministered to the great sun-god Ra, Whose sleep and re-arising they proclaimed. He told of his own rescue, when a child, From Pharaoh's murderous mandate ; and described How one day, chafing with indignant rage. He smote and slew, and buried in the sand, A merciless Egyptian ; whom he caught. Red-handed, beating in his brutal wrath A Hebrew brother ; and ere long was forced By speedy flight to save his threatened life. And ranging thus the wilds had wandered here. Much moved at his recital, Jethro spake Some cheering words ; and sweet Zipporah — led By sympathy or love — besought her sire To bid the exile welcome, should he choose Amid their pastoral regions to remain, Secure in the protection of the tribe. And so it came to pass that Moses dwelt With Jethro, in the Midianitish land ; 52 THE MARRIAGE OF MOSES. Till love, through charmed communion, ere long Attached him to ZippSrah, and her heart Made captive also in one blissful bond. Wherefore he asked her at her father's hands To be his wife and help-mate : and anon — Mid general joy and rare festivity — A gracious marriage sealed them soul to soul. To celebrate the bridal minstrels played About the tents with jobel-horns and lyres. With pipes and cymbals, and young men and maids Danced blithely, in the ardour of delight ; Wishing the pair much offspring and increase : While bounteous gifts of wine, and corn, and kine. With Jethro's blessing, crowned their happiness, And smoothed their passage to prosperity. Thus passed the wedding, and when severance came From sire and kinsmen, sisters, household, friends. The maidens raised a chorus of farewell, And this epithalamium fondly sang : — Our sister departs to the tent of the stranger I Let garlands be gathered to wreathe round her brow ! May the love that withdraws her unfailingly cheer her ; Love causes the tear-drops we shed for her now. Amen t^foy be theirs 1 Our sister departs to the tent of the stranger ! She leaves her own people to brighten his life ; His wooing has won her, our father bestows her. She goes to the exile's new home as his wife. Amen ! — Joy be theirs ! THE MARRIAGE OF MOSES. S3 Our sister departs to the tent of the stranger ! May never their love-kindled happiness cease ; Be the God of his nation benignant towards them, Protect and sustain them, and give them increase. Amen ! — Joy be theirs! Thus favoured, in the Midianitish land Dwelt Moses many a year a sojourner; Until Jehovah called him to the task. The desperate task, of braving Pharaoh's wrath, And freeing Israel from her slavish bonds. 54 TO A SNOWDROP. %o a §nott>6rop. "DALE floweret witli the drooping head, Why bends thy form so meek ? No care can burden thy fair brow, Nor shame distain thy cheek. Has brawling Boreas blindly struck Thy blanched yet lovely face. Soon shall his surly buffetings, Subdued by Spring, give place To gentler airs ; dispensed by her Who now, in Nature's woe, Sends thee — consoling messenger — Some comfort to bestow. Fair Flora, too, commissions thee To bid those flowerlings rise — Thy beauteous sisters — that to Earth, Last year, for dread of Winter's dearth. Shrank from the sullen skies : And, in her parent lap secure. Still hide in secret rest ; Like frightened children loth to leave A mother's sheltering breast. TO A SNOWDROP. SS To lure them from their lurking place Beneath the frozen ground, Thou hangest out thy glossy bells ; Like fairy lamps, whose charm dispels The dreariness around. Thou whisperest them of readiness For yielding to the bee, And butterfly, their choicest sweets ; When Spring shall set them free. To don their comeliest attire, And presently prepare To greet her ; whose bright advent hour Shall gender joys which thou, fair flower, Alas ! can'st never share. Encompassed by the snow-clad plain, I view thee, lovely gem, Poised like a living icicle Upon thy emerald stem. As from the breast of some fair maid A pearly jewel peeps, Pent there in close imprisonment Between the ivory heaps ; So thou thy silver-petaled head Dost timidly uplift Above the snowy hillocks round, Which, in their fleecy drift, 56 TO A SNOWDROP. Would enviously hold thy charms, And smother them from view, Whose whiteness mocks their own white front In purity of hue. Of all the flowers which deck the sod, None rank with me more high Than thou ; and yet I hail thy birth With pity-saddened joy. For when I view thee beaten down By frost-wind, sleet, and snow — That leagued assail thy tiny form As if thou wert a foe — It minds me of those human flowers, Chaste, delicate as thee, Too fragile to withstand the shocks Of harsh adversity. In country hut, or crowded court Within the city's pale — Where sickness, poverty, and crime So wretchedly prevail — Beside Man's way, where'er it wend. These flowerets may be found ; Gracing by sweet and loving lives The wastes of woe around. TO A SNOWDROP. 57 They win but little heed from him ; Nor care, nor welcome smile ; But die unblest beside his path Of selfishness and guile. Chilled by the icy breath of Want, Neglect, or cold Disdain, They bow themselves ; yet murmur not. But turn to hide their pain In earth's kind bosom ; where their cares They leave, and rest again. But shall this be their final fate ? Is such the doom of worth ? There are who say the Lord of Life Will gather them from earth ; And — in His magnanimity — Bestow a second birth ; A heritage in realms whose peace No sorrow shall molest ; Bright with the sunshine of His love. And with His bounty blest : The glorious spirit-land of Heaven, Where each shall be God's guest. S8 VERSES RESPONSIVE TO A SKYLARJCS SONG. "glesponsiue to a ^B^Car&'s §ong. lyr INSTREL of morning ! Bird of heaven ! Thy song, so sweet and clear, Arrests my moody steps again, And rouses my dull ear. Had I thy tuneful voice, and wings To mount amid the sky. My fellows I would greet like thee, And tell of realms on high. Some gleam, too, of diviner light Might there illume my mind ; Some aidful truth which, learned aright. Should serve to cheer and make more bright The travail of mankind. Could I but reach the gates of heaven. And make my utterance heard, To God, then, should the wish be voiced — Though blamed when once preferred In old times by the scribes to Christ — For some plain sign, or word, VERSES RESPONSIVE TO A SKYLARK'S SONG. 59 That should redeem from Doubt all souls Who with its questionings cope ; Some sure sense of regardful care, Something to overcome despair, And stay man's drooping hope. Some pledge that would conviction bring. And love's calm trust enhance; Some proof direct from Him, the King, That life is not an empty thing ; That all are warded by His wing. Nor left the sport of chance. That He befriendeth us, despite What seems our helpless lot ; And holds some plan for our delight. Whereby life's wrongs may be set right. Or bliss assured in realms more bright, Where sorrow entereth not. God hearkening, I might plead and say — If not too awed to speak : — " Of all the millions passed away, May none return to break The eternal silence ; and accord That knowledge which we seek ? " " Is there no soul, of all the hosts Deemed blest with Thee above. Willing to visit earth again ; And testify to yearning men What waits them through Thy love ? " 6o VERSES RESPONSIVE TO A SKYLARK'S SONG. " Some here there are, self-styled Thy ' priests,' Who threaten men with hell, Or bribe them with a promised heaven ; And so the mind suborn, and leaven With creeds too strange to tell." " For ages their presumptuous race Has wronged man's simple trust, By deeds done in Thy holy name Most cruel, and unjust ; Deeds that have brought the best to blame. Made questioning speech a guilty shame. To be suppressed by stake and flame. Or in the dungeon hushed." " Deeds that have fostered war and hate, Dissension, grief, and tears ; Made human spirits less elate. Caused damning dread on Death to wait. And burdened life with fears : Whilst they have posed in prideful state As Thy picked overseers." " Wherefore man's heart revolts, and doubts, And — of Thy pitying ruth — Would have from their vexed thrall release, And learn Thy laws at Nature's knees ; Or win from Thee, direct, the peace Of Thy self-spoken truth." VERSES RESPONSIVE TO A SKYLARK'S SONG. 6i Response obtained, or not, my song Should aim to make men glad ; For teaching them a greater joy Would render me less sad. And by my cheering ministry Drear lives, by toil made dull, Should hear of earth's delights ; and see What fair sights Nature proffers free. And know the Beautiful. Reverberant in every breast My happiest notes should dwell, Till, possibly, some thought of me Might there abide as well. Sweet bird ! I love to watch thee poised Aloft, on quivering wings ; When all the theatre of heaven With thy rich utterance rings. The shadowless pavilions, And palaces of air, Admit thee as a welcome guest — A favoured spirit — there. Thine is the pleasant morning land Of sunshine and of flowers ; And thine the amaranthine fields, Within whose fadeless bowers The gentle Zephyr lurks, and Spring Distils her balmiest showers. 62 VERSES RESPONSIVE TO A SKYLARK'S SONG. What though to birds of other climes More brilliant plumes belong, Thine is the poetry of sound, The sovereign gift of song. I love to see thee climb the clouds. And hear thy hymn convey Up to the high-throned Lord of Light Earth's homage for the day. My fond eye marks thy soaring flight Till, borne beyond its gaze. Thou fadest like a speck that dots A sea of silvery haze. And faltering vision may no more Discern thy far career, Through those bright, empyreal realms Where thy strong pinions steer. Yet, though thou art past following fled, Mine ear's dilated cell Drinks in that cataract of sound — Thy song it loves so well. For downward to the gladdened earth. Breeze-borne, there softly floats The liquid cadence, heavenly sweet, Of thy impassioned notes. VERSES RESPONSIVE TO A SKYLARK'S SONG. 63 And as the captivating strains Impel me to rejoice, My spirit, whispering, seems to say " It is Creation's voice ! " ExtoUing in no dubious vein, But with content and love. That unknown Source whence being springs. The Sovereign Sire above ! " So, tutored by thy happy song, I pass less troubled by ; And trusting the benignity Of the inscrutable Mystery That ordereth all, and what shall be. On His good will rely. 64 THE DEATH SHIP. (a CORNISH BALLAD.) C\^ the wind wailed shrill, o'er haven and hill, As the sun sank down to rest ; And the waves ran red where he laid his head On ocean's billowy breast ; And the cheeks grew pale of the fishermen's wives, As they trembled with fear for their loved-ones' lives, When the Death-ship entered the bay of St. Ives. That ship so dread, which comes for the dead, Sailed in there, close to shore ; But no crew, I ween, nor steersman was seen To govern the course it bore. Spite of wind and tide it seemed to glide Where it listed, over the wave ; The sails were black and its hull, alack. Like the gloom of a floating grave. Ah ! dim were the eyes of the fishermen's wives. As they tearfully prayed for their loved-ones' lives, When the Death-ship darkened the sea at St. Ives. THE DM4TH SHIP. 6S A mariner lay on that closing day In his bed ; and his end was nigh : A pirate fell, and a ' wrecker ' as well, Had he been in the days gone by. Now priest 'nor wife could soothe the strife Of his parting ; for the thought Of miscreant guilt, and blood misspilt, A damning prospect brought : And sad were the hearts of the fishermen's wives, As they waited and watched for their loved-one's lives, While the Death-ship lay in the bay of St. Ives. The ship stood o'er nigh the mariner's door. And the priest knelt down to pray ; But he saw when he rose with what dread throes The sinner had passed away ; And a woful wail made the fishermen's wives ; For, though spared to them were their loved-one's lives. The Death-ship sailed with a soul from St. Ives. 65 THE LOVE-SPRITE. %^e S^Toc-^Tpx'xU. "PHERE is a roguish little elf, Dan Cupid is his name, With torch and dart, and magic art, He sets men's souls aflame. One eve, in summer's pleasant prime, Beside the luring sea, I walked and talked with Isabel — A maid most dear to me. Far off, on the horizon's verge That shone with phosphorent leaven, The Sun — to rest on Ocean's breast — Sank, like the heart of heaven. And sublimated by his fires, Aglow grew all the main ; Like molten gold the waters rolled. With borrowed beauty vain. Towards the shore the wavelets bore Blithe tales of Titan bliss. And danced and pranced as they advanced, In gay delightedness ; THE LOVE-SPRITE. 67 Whilst, with a subtle touch, the wind Made harps of all the trees That fringed the land, and o'er the strand Poured music on each breeze. We sauntered on, we wandered far Along the shell-strewn shore, And as we stepped black shadows crept Behind us ; but, before, Our path was bright with rosy light, And glimmer of the sea ; Bright as a dream, and one might deem That dreamers there were we. Methinks I must have dreamt, or else My arm, with trespass bold. Would ne'er have fell round Isabel, And ventured to enfold ' Her yielding waist ; yet this it did, Whilst my free hand inclined. With many a clasp and lingering grasp. To hold her own enshrined. The closer we drew near, there seemed A sympathetic thrill To blend in one glad union The spirit and the will. How sweet was the elating bliss That filled my heart and mind. When— half afraid — the gentle maid Upon my breast reclined. 68 THB LOVE^SPRITB. I saw a wealth of golden hair, With aureolic grace, In the confusion of profusion Surmounting a fair face ; The gjory of a bursting star, Whose brightness seems to stun ; The whiteness of a dove, above. Before the gazed-at sun. Ah me ! what loveliness engrossed My captivated sight ! Through every sense its influence Diffused such dear delight That heaven seemed benignantly To bless me from her eyes ; Whilst every charm clasped by my arm Raised thoughts of paradise. But soon vague fears that checked my joy Established their control ; And like the smarts a pain imparts Discomforted my soul. In dumb enjbarrasment I gazed ; Until, with dazed surprise, I heard outflow, in accents low. As though with Is'bel's sighs, A voice, most musical and strange — • That seemed to mock the sea When to the shells it whispering tells Fond secrets — and to me THE LOVE-SPRITE. 69 It said, " Enamoured youth, if aught Constrain thee, or perplex. It is-^I wis — but bashfulness That doth thy spirit vex. " In swains susceptible, like thee. With governance unkind. Its frigid bent oft foils content, And frets the yearning mind. " But canst thou see fair bosoms heave With palpitating grace ? Or coldly view the tell-tale hue That warms a woman's face ? " Canst thou hold an unfolding flower And not its sweets enjoy ? The love-drouth on a maiden's mouth Perceive, and not employ " Thine own ? Ah me, embrace the girl ! Bid every doubt expire ! For with a kiss I boon you bliss Such as the gods desire !" Thus fell the soft, inciting sounds On my astonished ear ; And then my sight was dazzled quite. For, sprite-like, did appear A beauteous boy; with shining wings, Who 'fore us laughed and danced ; A bow had he, and arrows three. And blithely he advanced : 70 THE LOVE-SPRITE. Continuing, in like tones to those Which late perplexed each sense : — " Indulgence rare, O happy pair, To bless you, I dispense. " I wot 'tis not the lot of man — Except some favoured few- Like ye — heaven's denizens to see Revealed to casual view. " Disguised I wander through the world, Where mournful mortals pine ; Though I, forsooth, oft cure their ruth. And give them joy divine. " It is my pleasure to attract Young men and maids together ; And nymphs and swains, by golden chains, Unite in one charmed tether. "And it is my delight to paint. With fascinating grace, The ruddy flush and amorous blush On bashful Beauty's face. " As sunbeams cause the flowers to bloom, That bees their sweets may sip, To honied smiles my winning wiles Can coax the sternest lip. " And I can conjure up the soul's Allurements to the eyes ; My skill can light a flame so bright One flash electrifies. THE LOVE-SPRITE. Jt " Through me all gentle spirits win Companionship and gladness ; For I incline lone hearts to join, And soothe each other's sadness. " Then joy be yours that ye have met The bringer of such blisses ; Who bids you both, now nothing loth, To pledge him in fond kisses. " So shall your souls obtain content ; And by responsive suasion Blend, it may be, their destiny. Upon Time's fit occasion." He ceased, and, down a pathway which The sun o'er ocean threw. To our amaze — enveiled in haze — As if to heaven withdrew : And every breeze that stirred the trees, Or coursed the skies above, With glad acclaim extolled his name. And hailed him. Lord of Love ! 72 A SEA-SIDE WALX. ^ §ea#i6e ^afg. Gilbert ^OME with me, love! Come with me to Alice. To the softly calling Sea ! To the borders of the bay, Where the waves, with gambols gay. Leap along the sandy floor Of the shell-empearldd shore ; Kissing with their liquid lips Earth's extended finger tips ; Swimming in with splashing shocks. Dancing with delirious whirls. Through the boulder-stones and rocks ; Where their fondling touch unfurls The dank sea-weed's tangled curls. Linked together, hand in hand, Let us walk there by the waves ; Let us talk there on the strand Which the foamy current laves. Alice — Pleasant so to be with thee Morn or noon, but most at eve ; For,— Gilbert — Fond hearts can then best weave Dreams of sweet felicity. * * * Let us go, love ; lo, the Sun — All his daily pleasure done — With a dignity sublime Travels to some western clime. A SEA-SIDE tVALK. 73 See him past earth's bounds retire, Laying down his crown of fire On the waters welling nigher ; Till the melting tinctures leaven Ocean, and the bending heaven : And a sovereign splendour dyes Liquid waves and kindling skies. Alice — Downward now he sinks from sight, And the vision grows less bright ; Slowly fades his gorgeous sheen ; Sombre greyness dims the scene ; Yet the upward-flashing glare Of his aureolic light, Making luminous the air. Seems to check approaching Night ; At whose face, with angry aim, Fly some Parthian shafts of flame. To restrain her, and affright. Yet what darts he now may wield Only dint the moon's bright shield Held before her in the sky. Where, with many a trembling star Peering earthward from afar. She on dusky wings doth fly ; Deeming him sunk down to die. Gilbert — Ah ! I marvel not that men. In the childhood of our race, To the Sun paid worship, when They beheld his godlike face. 74 A SEA-SIDE WALK. Morn by morn they saw him rise, And on bright wings upward soar From his cloud-bed 'neath the skies ; Beating back the shades of Night, Flinging wide heaven's pearly door, Pouring out his favours free, And his world-enlivening light, With divine benignity. Alice — Basking daily in the gleams Of his warmth-bestowing beams, Mortals drank a golden measure Of life's sweet and natural pleasure ; And if he, by his strong heat In the glaring noontide hour, Made them for awhile retreat To some cave or leafy bower, They but shrank as from a friend Too profuse in kindly deeds ; Who his utmost self would spend Through devotion to their needs. Gilbert — Shelley — in a lordly line Of his comprehensive verse — Likens him unto an eye, Wherewith the vast Universe Looks on its own majesty ; Sees its mighty members shine, Sees, and knows itself divine. Alice — Prime sustainer — if not source — Of all being and all force. In his presence earth grows glad ; At his absence dark, and sad. A SEASIDE WALK. 75 Man and creature, great and small, Grass, herb, tree, fruit, flower, all Life that on the wide world teems, Making Nature seem so fair. Needs must, but for his blest beams. Perish in an unkind air ; In the cold gloom die outright. Reft of his life-giving light. Gilbert — Even in this later day I, to him, would homage pay ; Rather than let knee be bent To the god of poor content That some sorry sects present : And to whom with trouble shaken — Fearing they may be forsaken, Questioning the plenitude Of his power and will for good. And his loving fatherhood — They importunately pray. From their petty point of view Telling him what he should do. Bent — as their desire inclines — To amend his high designs. Or divert his wrath away. Not on his goodwill relying. But by piteous plaints implying Doubt of his benignant sway ; Want of faith and little trust, Counting him than man less just, Deeming him less wise than they : 76 A SEA-SIDE WALK. Fearful lest they may be crammed, With more pains than tongue can tell, And through all eternity — By their own Creator damned — Suffer in some horrid hell. For, though not themselves unkind Unto man or beast, they yet To their God ascribe a mind So vindictively inclined — And so cruel — as to set In perpetual misery those Who a different faith disclose. Such is not the god for me ; I desire — and require — For my worship and my love, All such bogey-gods above, Some conception nobler, higher. * * * Alice — Take this path, dear ! Let us rove Round the bay to yonder cove ; And upon those jutting rocks — Bitten by the teeth of Time, Smoothed by countless boulder-shocks — Sit and hear the tinkling chime Of the waved-tossed bell, that rings Where the warning shoal-buoy swings. Sit and view the sea's soft hands Wind about yon neck of sands, With an ever-changeful grace, Dappled scarves of foamy lace. A SEASIDE WALK, 77 Couched there, on a restful seat, In that sheltering retreat, We will watch the flowing tide Bring the fishers from afar ; See their boats in safety ride O'er the harbour's, billowy bar. Gilbert — As the ruddy sails are lowered What rich colours dye the deep ; While on deck the scaly hoard Lies in many a glistening heap. Often have my footsteps been, In the eve of golden days, Lured along the water-ways By the charm of such a scene. Alice — Round the boats in fearless flight. How the sea-gulls, dun and white. With their fleet wings fan the air ! Bent to taste the finny fare. How they gather, one and all. If by chance a fish should fall ! Swooping low, with plaintive ciries. To secure the passing prize. Nursed upon the ocean wave, Till its depths become their grave. What can match the vigorous sweep Of their pinions o'er the deep ? What surpass the buoyant ease Of their resting on the seas? Nought to them the drenching rain, Or the wrecking hurricane. 78 A SEA-SIDE WALK. When the howling storm-wind raves, And to whiteness whips the waves, Urging with a wrathful roar Surging onslaughts on the shore, They can either float or fly. Whether wind or wave annoy : Equally above the foam. As upon the sea — at home, Gilbert — Now a misty-mantled host. Gathering, dims the distant coast. Gleams the lighthouse lamp new lit. See the cheerful beam of it ! Welcome to the sailor's sight Are its flashes in the night. Shining from that foreland height. Both his dread and his desire Is the shore, whereon its fire Burns to warn his ship away, Or to guide him to the bay. Better than the faggot blaze Kindled in the ancient days — Lit by wreckers perhaps, to lure Vessels to destruction sure — Is the glare its glasses cast Far across the waters vast ; Pointing out where danger lies. And in darkness making wise Shipmen, in their hard emprise.* Alice — Commerce, now, for quicker modes Quits the tedious wagon roads ; Builds the railway, stems the tide. Sends it steam-ships far and wide. ..... the fagj^ot blaze Kindled in the ancient days, Lit by 'wreckers' perhaps, to lure Vessels to desiriiction sure. A SEA-STDE WALK. 79 Well may lighthouse-builders claim, And deserve to be enrolled, With the bridge builders of old, On the chronicles of Fame. Gilbert — ^Yet for Pharos-structures we May not scorn antiquity. Think of that one Egypt nursed, Reared by Ptolemy the first — Finished, some say, by the second — And the world's seventh wonder reckoned. Its bright beacon lit the bay — And for fifty miles away — Of that city, sea-surrounded. Which great Alexander founded. Sostratus — the Cnidian, Ptolemy's chief architect, Built it with a grand effect In white marble, square on plan, A hundred times the height of man ; And his vanity still lives In a story Lucian gives : For — when Ptolemy thought fit To command that there be writ His imperial name on it — The proud architect, 'tis said. Carved his own thereon instead : Filling up with plaster all The chased lettering on the wall ; So that nothing could be read But a surface legend, feigning Words of Ptolemy's ordaining. So A SEA-SIDE WALK. This way was the King obeyed ; But, when the cement decayed Which the roya:l claims enshrined, There was no name left behind On the time-defying stone, But the architect's, alone. To this inscription joined : — SOSTRATUS, THE CNIDIAN, SON OF DEXIPHANES, TO THE GODS— THE PRESERVERS, FOR THE SAFETY OF SAILORS. Alice — Of what tragic interest Are not some such piles possessed ! Heard you e'er of that old Khan, At Baku on the Caspian, Who, for love of maiden fair. And to hold her in his power, Built the stately Pharos there. Sometimes called the Virgin's Tower ? Built it so, with chambers bright, And strange stairways, that he might Taste in secret love's delight. But the maid liiced best another, And his mistress scorned to be ; So she plunged into the sea, Her despair and grief to smother : Mating lifeless with the deep, Rather than dwell there to weep, A caged wanton, in that keep. .4 SEA-SIDE WALK. 8i Gilbert — Kingdom of weird mystery ; Realm of marvel and romance ; Vocal with strange history Seems the solemn-sounding Sea. Restlessly its waves advance, Hailing Earth both far and near ; Pleading, whispering, threatening, sighing, With persistency undying ; Entering every cave and cell To gain access to her ear, And their secret message tell, — Secrets strange of wonderland, Secrets buried in the sand. Tales of direful shipwreck, and Stories none may understand. * * » Alice — Turn love, now ; — Time calls us home ! Night forbids us more to roam ; Darkness settles o'er the skies ; Moistening mists begin to rise. Gilbert — Yes, 'twere well to saunter back ! Let us take the village track ; Lulled, as home we wend along. By the Sea's entrancing song, Crooned as 'twas when Earth was young. *Among others, the Cornishmen and Scilly Islanders are reputed to have been terrible " wreckers." They were much attached to a certain St. Werna ; who, to reward their ' pious ' devotion brightened their deceptive beacons, and otherwise, as they fondly believed, greatly assisted in occasioning shipwrecks on their shores : Vjy which, of course, they were much enriched. 82 GOD AND THE MAN. ^06 coxb fBc '^an. T HAVE somewhere read an old eastern tale, Which tells how the pure of heart prevail With God — and sincerity's great avail. I do not remember the legend well, But it speaks of the angel Gabriel, And what through a pagan's prayers befell. It chanced that once, near the heavenly throne, The angel heard God speaking alone, In a fatherly manner and favouring tone, With a human Soul ; whose plaintive prayer Called trustingly up for His help and care. And told of its trials, its hopes, and despair. Desiring to know who, of mortal birth, To be so regardfuUy heard had worth, The angel left heaven and flew to earth, — Flew down on a beam of celestial light. Himself unbeheld of all human sight ; So dull are men's eyes in their present plight. Sped swift to Jerusalem, Mecca, and Rome j Looked down into many a king's grand home, And wherever a minaret rose, or a dome. By north and by south, from the east to the west He searched ; nor on land or on sea took rest ; Yet everywhere failed in his curious quest. GOD AND THE MAN. 83 Returning, quite baffled, he sought God's face, And asked Him who, of man's froward race, To speak with such freedom had gained the grace. Then the Spirit Omniscient said, " Go down, And alone — in a temple of yonder town, Thou shalt find him whose love is to Me avown ! " The wings of the angel soon wafted him where A pagoda arose, but with sorrowful stare He paused on beholding an idol there, And a suppliant being who bowed and bent On the threshold before it, with raiment rent ; Muttering, and making a strange lament. Astonished and shocked at a sight so dread, Came Gabriel back to God's presence, and said, " Thou hast on a pagan Thy tenderness shed ! " An ignorant heathen who, grovelling low On the ground, to an image doth shamelessly show Idolatrous honour, and worship bestow." Then the Father of all men, with brow serene. Replied to the angel of troublous mien, " He errs through no fault of his spirit, I ween ! " I count him My child, for his heart, set right. Yearns up through the dark for diviner light, And his virtuous wish shall I not requite ? " Quoth the Lord ; And the angel said, " Amen ! " 84 DIVINE INSIGHT. The Lord seeth not as man seeth. — /. Samuel, xvi. 7. Hebrews, iv. 12 and 13. TV/T AN oft regards his fellow man In bearing, garb, and face, With eye unkind, and cunning mind His frailer traits to trace. God too beholds us, one and all, But through each outward part His tender gaze, by mystic ways, Looks inward on the heart. He sees the secret cares which deep In many a breast abide ; The conflict strong 'twixt right and wrong In natures sorely tried. He knows the objects, great or mean, To which each soul aspires ; He knows the strife which makes true life A war with gross desires. The double lives some falsely lead — Though fair to public view — The mask of grace o'er actions base. His glance probes through and through. All features of our character He reads, and fain would see More Brotherhood, more Love, more Good, And larger Charity. To Him man's aspect is as nought ; So be it our delight To make the heart our better part, And worthier in God's sight. THE DEAD HAND. 85 (a legend of king OSWALD.) ■^HEN King Oswald, the Bretwalda— Overlord of all the land — Led to Wessex, from Northumbria, Aidan's Scottish mission-band, It is said he served the prelate As interpreter and guide ; Making plain the gospel message. Preaching Christ the Crucified. Wending thus through thorpe and hamlet, King and noble, monk and saint, Reached one Easter-eve a village. Where the people's sad complaint Of their winter-long distresses Moved the King to bid his thanes Portion out among the sufferers Food, to ease their starving pains. Then with Aidan, tired and hungry. He himself some solace sought ; Called for cups of sweet metheglin, And the deer their dogs had caught : But, 'ere yet the King had eaten, Came a still more woful throng Pleading, to the royal presence, Haggard-faced and parched of tongue. 86 THE DEAD HAND. So he took the bowl untasted, And the silver dish and meat, Giving all unto the poor ones Faint and famished at his feet ; All in pity — meat, drink, silver — ^Vhereon Aidan, glad and bold. Seized the monarch's hand and blessed it, Saying, " May it ne'er grow old ! " Never from such noble actions Falter, or through death decay, But of loving human kindness Be an instrument alway." So, to read the Saxon writings. When at length King Oswald died ; Slain at Maser-fight by Penda, Penda vvho the cross defied ; Of his mutilated body — Set on stakes about the field — One hand, white and uncorrupted. Many a wounded warrior healed. Long miraculously potent. In a casket, — free from taint. Piously the Church preserved it, And of Oswald made a saint. It is but a monkish story Of the credulous old times. Yet the tale suggests a lesson Fitted to these closing rhymes ; THE DEAD HAND. 87 For that ghostly hand o'er-reaching The dark ages, from the clay, Points my pen to this conclusion, Marks a moral apt for aye : — " Every kindly act is kinglike ; Good deeds hold a deathless sway ; And in memory shrined and cherished, Through the centuries dim and grey, Oswald, with a power unperished, For the poor still pleads to-day." It is doubtful what became of Oswald's body, but his head and hands are ?aid to have been removed from Maserfield the year after the battle, by his brother and avenger Oswy, who took the former to Lindisfarne and the latter to the chapel at Bamborough. The relics were subsequently deposited by Ostryth, the daughter of Oswy, in Bardney Abbey, Lincolnshire. In the reign of Henry I., when the tomb of St. Cuthbert was opened at Durham, the head of Oswald, King of the Northumbrians, is said to have been found beside Cuth- bert's body ; but how it was identified I do not know. I have also seen it stated that the " miraculous hand " of Oswald was preserved at Peterborough Cathedral, and that King Stephen on one occasion paid his respects to it ; leaving his royal ring as a memento of his visit, and as a gift to the shrine. (It is quite possible that the monks of Peter- borough had purchased the relic, as there was quite a trade in such things during the middle ages.) Stephen seems to have had an inclination for bestowing rings in this manner, for it is recorded that on a visit of his to Worcester he attended service at the cathedral (where was buried Oswald the Bishop), and left his ring upon the altar. It may be that the two saints named Oswald have got con- founded in these traditions. AN EVENING THUNDERSTORM IN WALES. Jltt gwentng 'g^un&ersform in ^aCes. TUT ARK ! hark to the roar of the thunder, Battling about mid the mountains ; Aweing the welkin with wonder, Bursting the sky's cloudy fountains ! See ! — like a spirit Titanic Roused in her naked-white starkness — The lightning, with fury volcanic, Leap from the depths of the darkness ! Her glance all obscurity leavens, As forth from her slumber she sallies ; She smites with her sword the high heavens, And flies like a flame down the valleys. Behind the loud tempest's black cover. Dismayed at a discord so horrid. The pale weeping star-worlds, above her, Let fall their cold tears on Earth's forehead. But swiftly a deluging torrent. From heights where the Storm-fiend has revelled, Beats down on her bosom, abhorrent. And leaves her all dank and dishevelled. Now the guns of the thunder cease firing ; Strange silence succeeds their loud riot ; In dense trailing vapours retiring They pass, and leave Earth to Night's quiet. TO THE DIVINE PARENT. 89 (a petition founded on the lord's prayer). y^LMIGHTY Father, heavenly Lord, Regard a suppliant child ; Thy strengthening grace to him afford, And all by sin beguiled. Oh may we, moved with filial fear, Thy great and holy name revere ; And none by loose words, vain and weak. Offend Thee, in whose ear we speak. Confirm Thy kingdom in our hearts ; That the sweet peace Thy rule imparts May win us here to love Thy sway. And walk on earth the heavenly way. Teach us to know and do Thy will — Not ours — that so we may fulfil Those high behests by which, alone. Our lives may magnify Thine own. Out of Thy nurturing plenitude. And fertile earth's abounding food. Grant to our toil that daily bread Wherewith our bodies may be fed. 90 TO THE DIVINE PARENT. As we forgive our enemies, Do Thou remit our trespasses ; With lenient eyes upon us look, And blot our failings from Thy book. Spare us in trial, make us pure. That we may shun temptation's lure. And like Him do no wrong, who died Our great Exemplar, Friend, and Guide. When danger threatens to befall. Or evil holds the mind in thrall. Regard our peril, use Thy power. And save us in that desperate hour. Lord, hear these pleadings, that we may Await with hope death's fateful day, And by Thy goodness, then forgiven. Be further blest in some glad heaven. Amen ! About 1862. THE "JOB LOT." 91 ^6e "§oB <^of." A large number of churches, chapels, and crosses in a town does not necessarily imply abnormal piety on the part of its inhabitants. At a seaside resort in the Isle of Wight, plentifully endowed with places of worship, was recently to be seen in a shop window a heap of crucifixes, boldly ticketed, " This job lot here from tenpence halfpenny each" " "T" HIS job lot here from tenpence halfpenny each ! Out with your purse and purchase I beseech ! You who love nick-nacks, note these nacks and nicksies, And buy one of our tip-top crucifixes. Not crosses merely, look you, but complete, With Christ's own image hung by hands and feet ; And tenpence halfpenny only is the price ! Yours is the bargain, ours the sacrifice ! A jet black cross — not ebony of course — And white upon it, with the artistic force Of contrast which from black white always borrows, A full presentment of the ' Man of Sorrows.' " Note the nailed hands and feet, the anguished eyes, The thorn-crown, too, which on his forehead lies ! Are they not natural ? and to cap the whole The Roman jest 'in ri ' upon the scroll ! All is complete and perfect, as you see ; No one can sell them at the price but me ! I overstocked myself with toys, and so This ' special line ' at any rate must go ! The whole ruck must be cleared, upon the tray ; Makes a cheap present ! Buy one, sir, to-day ? " 92 THE "JOB LOT." So the glib shopster ; but a swift disdain Sped me in silence on my way again. Commercial Judasism such as this Seemed like a new betrayal — save the kiss. The callous chaffering made my temper stir, For, though I may not be a worshipper Of Christ as God, I honour and revere His name and teaching and sublime career. I pondered on his labours ; how he tried To heighten life and help men, ere he died — Murdered by priests and temple hucksters, who Bartered him coldly as this knave would do His carven likeness, — so it jarred my thought To see him this way meanly sold and bought : Marked as a 'job lot,' traded as a 'toy,' By those who probably their prayers employ To do him homage, and, if faith's not fudge. Believe that he will one day be our judge. I humbly trust, in that event, we twain — The shopman and myself— may not sustain Such cheapening treatment ; or our fate will be As humanjob lots, worthless in degree. To go a begging — perhaps, eternally. 1895. STORM DRIFT. 93 §form 5>rtff. "pVE ! And a wail comes with the wind, A sobbing from the sea, And mournful motions in my mind Forebode calamity. The trees sway sadly by the shore, The starry lamps grow pale, While fretted clouds, fast hurrying o'er. Give warning of a gale. Heaven guard our fisher-folk to-night. Till day's eye opens wide ; Lift up the blazing beacon light To cheer them and to guide ! Night ! And with rolling thunder drums, And flag of lightning fire. The Demon of the Tempest comes To work his wild desire. The sea writhes madly 'neath his spell. Its billowy monsters rise, And leaping from their land-locked hell Hold conflict with the skies. With 'whelming, avalanche-like shocks. And hoarsely bellowing roar. They break the boats upon the rocks. And dash the drowned ashore. 94 STORM DRIFT. Morn ! With a gradual growing calm, And rifts of sallow light, And gentle rain — like heavenly balm — To solace earth's affright. But what shall cheer those sorrowing souls. By love's devotion led. Who, from their night-watch by the shoals, Now homeward bear the dead ? They go to weave the burial shrouds. And by lone hearths to sigh ; Whilst piteously the weeping clouds, Like parting wraiths, pass by. THE SOLDIER'S DEATH. 95 (INDIA, 1858.) 'T'HE fight was done ! the trampled plain, O'er which but lately trod Stern foemen, filled with fierce disdain, Owned many a mangled heap of slain ; And many a foul and gory stain Defaced its once green sod : The dead' and dying mixed were lain, And the hot sulphurous air Was burdened with loud groans of pain, And waitings of despair ; For Death held his demoniac reign In ghastly triumph there, * * * Supported by a cannon's breech A stricken soldier lay ; Whose few remaining moments here Were fleeting fast away. The bullets of the enemy, To their fell mission liege. Had pierced the bulwark of his breast. And to his life laid siege. With every breath the sudden wound His heart's warm current drained ; With every breath his manly strength And vital vigour waned. Exhausting sweats bedewed his brow ; His sight waxed dim apace ; And the cold touch of ghostly Death Spread pallor o'er his face. 96 THE SOLDIER'S DEATH. Beside him, with a mournful look, A kind companion knelt ; Whose quivering lip and glistening eyes Betrayed the grief he felt. And gently, but in vain, he strove To staunch the blood that ran ; Whilst, with unmitigated pain, Thus spake the dying man : — " Comrade," said he, " 'tis hard to die ! And I am loth to leave, But harsh and unrelenting Fate Permits me no reprieve. " I ne'er shall see my home again By Avon's willowy stream ; Nor those associates of my youth Who cheered its venturous dream. " Yet though my sojourn here grows short, A happier lot above Awaits ; where no embittering strife Can peril peace and love. "The pardoned soldier there may rest. Lulled by seraphic charms ; The quiet of his bivouac Unbroke by War's alarms. " No trumpet call shall mock his joy, Nor stern command control ; The songs of angel hosts instead Shall there delight his soul. THE SOLDIER'S DEA7H. 97 " So when life leaves its shattered shrine, The spirit having flown ; And ere about my shroudless form The covering cloak is thrown ; " Unclasp this medal from my breast, ^lemento of the fights Engaged in round Sebastopol, And Alma's deadly heights : " Though blotted with my bosom's blood, To my betrothed wife Convey it, with the constant love I pledged her through my life, " I would not be forgot by her, Though doomed with brethren brave To share a foreign sepulchre, And undistinguished grave. " She may — by constancy induced — When life's vain cares are o'er, Unite her heart again with mine Upon some happier shore. " Till then,"— but with a groan he paused While faintness overcame ; Yet holding close his comrade's hand He feebly breathed his name. " Farewell," said he, " the roll is called ! I may no longer stay 1 " And with a parting sigh escaped The soldier's soul away. 98 . THE KA T PRINCESS. "g^e "^af "princess. A JAPANESE FOLK STORY, FOR CHILDREN. T know a rare legend, — a tale tliat has come From the reahns of the royal chrysanthemum ; And, turned into rhyme, I have learned it to please Good children, who never their seniors tease. Ah ! why do you little ones gather around ? You want me to tell it to you, I'll be bound ! Well, sit by my side with what quiet you can, And hear this old story from pleasant Japan. There lived once in Fairy-Land, long ages back, Two Rats of a species no stoat dare attack ; Two Rats of a rank so exalted, I ween, That one was the King and the other the Queen, The pair had a daughter, the pride of her tribe. Whose beauty no language can fitly describe \ So I will content me by saying that she Was bright-eyed and pretty as pretty could be. Her parents, fond souls, thought her graces and worth Deserved a grand husband of eminent birth; And said she should marry, but not till they found Who was greatest of all in the universe round. By some means, however, they got to the sky. Ami found the Sun throned in his palace ok high ; Where he welcomed the King, and his escort no less. Ami beamed with delight when he saw the Princess, THE RAT PRINCESS. 99 Many meetings were held by the Rats, to decide What monarch should make dear Nedzumi his bride; At length an old counsellor, learned and wise, Said the mightiest being lived up in the skies ; That his name was the Sun, and his strength unsurpassed, While none knew the bounds of his kingdom so vast. Hearing this, they determined to go to the Sun ; But I know not and cannot tell how it was done. Or what way they managed — unless by balloon — To reach the far regions beyond the bright moon ; Nor how they climbed over the rainbow's high bars, And escaped being killed by the comets and stars. By some means, however, they got to the sky, And found the Sun throned in his palace on high ; Where he welcomed the King, and his escort no less, And beamed with delight when he saw the Princess. » Said he " Your long journey from earth to this sphere. Surprises me much, and much honours us here ; But tell me, what is there of mine that allures. Or what purpose prompts this kind visit of yours ? " Said the Rat King, " Your glory has everywhere spread, And moved us to bring you our daughter to wed ; My tribe will permit her to marry with none But the greatest, so give her to thee, mighty Sun ! " Then the Sun smiled and answered, "The maiden, I see, Is comely and plump, and as sleek as can be ; It troubles me much, when I view her bright face, To think she may ne'er my seraglio grace. It is true I am strong, and my influence great. But sometimes — as candour comjicls me to stale, — THE RAT PRINCESS. When I pour down my lustre to make the world bright, The Cioud-King defies me, and shuts out my light : He s]5reads his wide wings through the sky's airy ways. And boldly obstructs the warm reach of my rays. I cannot prevent it, and so must confess Am unworthy to marry your lovely Princess : He is greater than I it is plain, and endowed With a might beyond mine, so I yield to the Cloud." The Rats, whom the Sun at a banquet regaled. Declared themselves vexed that their mission had failed ; But gave him their heartiest thanks as, in state. He bade them farewell at his grand palace gate ; Whence, after discussing the distance and way. They started to find out where Cloudy-Land lay. The Sun helped them much to discover the track, By pointing, far off, to the Cloud-King's broad back : Whom at length they found camped on a mountain, much higher Than great Fuji-yama, which once flamed with fire. They entered his misty pavilions in fear — For the gloom was so dense they could see nothing clear — And passed on until a huge figure arose. Demanding in wrath who disturbed his repose. With much apprehension they crept to his side, Explained their strange errand, and showed him the bride. Having heard them the Cloud-King derisively laughed, And said that he thought all the Rats had gone daft. ' You are wrong," he exclaimed, " in supposing that none Are greater than I am, because from the Sun I sometimes enveil the world rolling below, And shut out the light-floods that monarch lets flow. THE RAT PRINCESS. There is," he continued, " a Phantom so strong That the veriest breath of him blows me along.. When roused he so beats me, with buffets unkind, That I waste to thin fragments — his name is the Wind ! He now lies asleep in the valleys near by ; Go to him, for he is much greater than I ; But do not incense him, be sure, lest you die." Though sad and discouraged at what the Cloud said. The rodents took leave with the king at their head, And — after consulting— decided to go And wait for the Wind in the country below. Descending the hills through a forest of pines They heard a low murmur, and saw certain signs Which told them quite plainly the ^Vind was awake, And even then crossing a neighbouring brake. They ran on to greet him, though somewhat afraid, And met him close by near the edge of a glade. He paused while they told him their purpose, and bowed To the ground when he saw what rare graces endowed The charming Nedzumi. " How fair," whispered he, " Is the Princess ! she seems, too, as sweet as can be ; I would I could wed her, but truth bids me say There are greater than I am, and not far away. I own I can scatter the clouds when I please ; Sweep down mighty forests and raise stormy seas ; But my power has its limits, and, if you demand For your son-in-law one who can all things withstand, I must tell you that, though I can many things maul, I seldom can manage to throw down a Wall. Tlie AVall stands my master, and stronger than I, Let him wed your daughter, and great be their joy." 102 THE RAT PRINCESS. Though troubled and doubtful, and longing for rest, The Rats were resolved to continue the quest ; But thought if might be, perhaps, prudent and wise To visit the Wall first of all in disguise. Having found they desired him to tell them whom he Considered most mighty of all things that be ? He said, "Only one thing is mightiei: than I ; The Wind's wildest hurricane I can defy, But the Rat undermines me, and causes my fall, Eats my heart out, and deep in my bowels doth crawl : There is no doubt the Rat is the monarch of all." Having heard his opinion, and thanked him, the Rats Retired to confer in a store-house of mats ; And loudly expressed their surprise and their pride At being proved lords of all beings beside. It was foolish, the King said, to now seek elsewhere. He would choose some smart Rat for his son and his heir. Nedzumi rejoiced when she heard what was said, For she had a playmate she wanted to wed — A noble young rodent, well whiskered and tailed, Who truly adored her and long had bewailed Her strange disappearance — so, when he knew this. Her father declared he would not thwart their bliss ; Therefore sent for the gallant, who feared she was dead, And gave them his blessing and bade them get wed. The joys of their nuptials I leave you to guess, For a laureate's pen is not mine to possess ; I can only remark that they lived many years The pride of their tribe, and beloved by their peers ; Becoming at length, when their good parents died, King and Queen of the Rat world and all things beside. THE RAT PRINCESS. 103 And now, my dear children, you wonder, no doubt. How all these strange feats of the Rats were found out. Well, it happenied that people who lived in a house Near the rice-fields the Rats loved, oft heard them carouse, And chatter, and gibber, and squeak 'neath the floor, As they vaunted their exploits a thousand times o'er. In this way their tribe-tales became known to man, Being brought by the Fairyland Rats to Japan ; And now unto England — across the wide sea — This story has come, to be told you by me. If you like it, and learn well your lessons, I may Perhaps tell you another tale some future day ; But now that the sun shines so bright, go and play ! I am indebted for this theme to a newspaper article reviewing some delightful legends (in prose), collected by Mr. Frank Kinder, in his book on "Old World Japan." My version is a very free and enlarged rendering of the folk tale of ' Nedzumj.' 104 STANZAS. (in time of trouble). /""OME, Courage ! nerve me for the fray ; I fight the fiends of Care, Who fain would steal my peace away, And drive me to despair. Harassed with numberless alarms By the insidious foe, My rallying soul would don thy arms To lay the leaguerers low. Thou, trusty \Visdom ! strengthen me With fortitude, to brave The troubles and adversity That hound men to the grave. The happiness for which I sigh No hard lot shall prevent, If thou but prove a true ally, And make me more content. And sweet-souled Love ! I pray thee bless My sad heart with thy cheer ; I hunger for thy fond caress And yearn to have thee near. The antidote 'gainst all annoy Shall be thy kindly kiss, And in the sunshine of thy smiles I'll build a heaven of bliss. OCCASIONAL VERSES. DEDICATED TO MY FRIEND WILLIAM SALT BRASSINGtON, F.S.A., STUATFORD-ON-AVOX. I06 BIRTHDAY LINES TO A YOUNG IAD Y. Wvi^bax} pities fo a "^Koung c^a&»?. T~\EAR maid, on this distinguished day — Your birthtime anniversary-r- Accept a rhymester's tribute, pray ! Whose fondest wish is for your bliss, And never-ending happiness. May peace assure to you through life Exemption from disturbing strife ; Contentment, too, benignly give Its constant comfort while you live ; And virtue on your steps attend To guard you, wheresoe'er you wend. With health may you be always blest, Since of all blessings it is best ; And may Life's golden cup provide Of loving cheer a teeming tide ; Until, all birthdays here being past, The bowl falls broken — drained at last ; And, consummating its desires, Your soul to heavenly realms retires : — Through life, till death, is asked of thee Thy friendship, and kind memory, For him who sends these lines — J. C. 1862. SONNET. ro7 §onnef. On receiving a chaplet of laurel, and a letter, from an anonymous lady friend on niy birth day. ■\17H0SE was the kindly heart, the gentle hand, Conceived and fashioned this faii- wreath for me ? And what shall be the mitigating plea, Should I presume to wear the leafy band On my unworthy forehead? Some command From Jove, or lord Apollo ; some decree Of scathing shame for my temerity Might haply follow ; and a reprimand Of such high utterance would distress me so That I must of all vanity beware. Yet know, fair lady, I would not forego Your flattering gift, but fit my brows to bear With better grace, anon, what you bestow ; — This complimentary crown you bid me wear. ■ Our head shall go bare, till merit crown it. No perfection in reversion shall have a praise in present : We will not name desert before his birth. " Shakespeare (Troilus and Cressiila.) 1869. io8 DEDICATORY HYMN. FOR THE OPENING OF A NEW CHURCH. r^ REAT God, behold, we meet to-day To praise Thy name, and reverence pay ; To seek the guidance of Thy grace. And proffer Thee this dwelling place) It has been our delight to rear A Temple, where Thy children here May in assembly worship Thee, And sing the hymn and bend the kriee. Our labours ended, crown, we ask. With rich results our finished task ; Accept it. Lord, and bless our plan For honoring Thee, and bettering man. When troubled souls draw near to speak Their grief, and consolation seek, Let them Thy kindliest comfort find, And soothe the contrite sinner's mind. When Thy devoted servant stands To tell of Thee and Thy commands, Inspire him, that he may impart Ennobling counsels to the heart : — DEDICATORY HYMN. 109 Counsels of thankfulness, and trust In Thee, who raised us from the dust ; Counsels with sweet persuasion rife, To worthier ways, and loftier life. Be with us. Lord ; nor here alone Thy goodness and regard make known ; But wheresoe'er our footsteps tend Be Thou our Father, Guide, and Friend. O may this dwelling, built for Thee, Of Truth, and Love, and Charity^ • And every Virtue — prove a shrine ; And spread around the, light divine. Grant Thou that all who honour pay Beneath this roof, when life's short day Is done, may sweetly rest ; And in that home not made by hands. With kindred souls and seraph bands Abide, — for ever blest. August, 1874. no THE FUGITIVE SLAVE. ■gC^e §fugtfi»c ^icvoe. In the autumn of the year 1S75, when Parliament was no longer in session, the Naval department of Mr. Disraeli's ministry issued to officers, commanding menof-war abroad, a code of directions regarding Fugitive Slaves. Among other instructions, so given, was the following \ — "Care should be taken that slaves are not misled into the belief that they will obtain their liberty by getting under the British flag afloat," &c. These instructions were, however, cancelled by the GovernmenI, in consequence of the indignation of the country. The matter was afterwards dealt with by a Parliamentary Commission. It was during the popular excitement that the following verses were written : — "V'E gods ! Has England's Lion grown So like a craven cur that he — Oblivious of past dignity — Can now but miserably moan ? Is he but fit to turn a spit And be the whole world's mockery ? When heard in olden times, his roar SufSced to tame the tyrant's might And fill oppressors with affright ; But now they heed his voice no more ; They say, 'restrained so long, and chained, He has forgotten how to bite ! ' THE FUGITIVE SLAVE. For Freedom once he led the van, To tear the fetters off the slave ; Now their redeemer is the Grave. Ignoring all the wrongs of man, In ' women's rights ' he now delights. And slights emancipation's plan. Once, on our soil or 'neath our flag, The hunted slave found liberty ; But now such solace may not be : No better than a gaudy rag— - Limp witness of the serf's distress — Our standard flies, but not to free. Shame on the renegades whose voice Would 'stablish such inhuman laws I Our fathers, in the nobler cause, Fought, and bade misery rejoice ! And taught each tyrant whom they fought Respect unto the Lion's paws. Ignoble lords, by whose misrule Dishonour thus attaints the Tory ; Professed defenders of our glory ; How bravely ye have played the fool ! The people's rage shall burn the page That desecrates our country's story : And ye shall learn the nation's will ; And know that on the boundless main. As well as on this island plain. Our banner floats for Freedom still ; Or else, at length, the Lion's strength Shall make its prowess felt again. THE BULGARIAN MASSACRES. %^ii ^uCgarian Massacres. AN APPEAL TO THE NATIONS. Ill ihc springtime of 1876, the Turks, while endeavouring to quell some disturbances provoked by their own intolerable misrule of the Danubian provinces, slaughtered in cold blood — often with horrible cruelty and outrage — upwards of 12,000 persons; and utterly destroyed as many as sixty towns and villages. Mr. Schuyler, an American consul and an independent eye-witness, reported that as many as 9,000 houses were burned, 72,000 persons deprived of all shelter, and 15,000 killed; many more dying from wounds, starvation, disease, and imprisonment. [Monstrous as these proceedings were, they pale into insignificance before the Turkish atrocities in Armenia during the present year (1896) ; the terrible nature and extent of which render the following verses doubly applicable.] A RISE ye Nations ! let your might with righteous rage go forth, To sweep the murdering Mussulman from off abhorrent earth ; As unconcerned spectators, how long will ye stand by, And tamely see your deeply wronged, appealing brethren die ? From where amid Bulgarian vales the happy hamlets stood, Embowered with vines, near corn-fields green, or by the mantling wood ; Beyond the Balkan mountain range, whose hoary heights aspire To greet the noon-day sun, and bask in empyrean fire ; From pleasant plains of Servia, whose rivulets and streams Like swords into one scabbard glide where silvery Danube gleams ; From shattered habitations, which mild Peace but yesterday Benignly blest, rings out a shriek of horror and dismay. THE BULGARIAN MASSACRES. 113 For wolf-like on the helpless folds the Moslem fiends descend, And murder, lust, and famine upon their steps attend; As a consuming fire, an earthquake, plague, or pest. The Demons of the Crescenr come, and Ruin stands confessed. Be witnesses ye innocents, slain in your parents' arms ! And you ye fair and martyred maids, with your polluted charms ! Be witnesses ye patriots, though quenched your vital breath ! Assemble all your ghostly hosts, and tell the tale of death ! Let your unburied bones invite the might of Europe near, To view their festering horror, and requite the savage leer Of the warriors of the Prophet, as they devastate with flame Your homes, and drag your orphaned ones to slavery and shame. ***** what a woful thing is War, and what a fool is Man ! The victim of its dire results, yet slighting every plan Designed to rid him of the yoke of vicious kings and creeds ; The mischief-mongering breeders of the hate whereby he bleeds. The whole world is our heritage as brethren, and the strife That would destroy our happiness, our liberty, or life. Demands — in the united cause of brotherhood and peace — That Justice stay its harmful course and bid the brawler cease. Wherefore I call the Nations now to put their potence forth. And sweep the sanguinary Turk from off the outraged earth ; Yet would I that the day were nigh whose wise grace shall prevent Sectarian rage, and bind all men in friendship and content. July, 1876. 114 ISANDHLWANA. OR THE SAFETY OF THE FLAG. Inscribed to the memory of Lieutenants Melville ami Cogliill, and those of their Comrades who fell at Isandhhvana and Rovke's Orift, Zululami. The massacre of Isandhlwana occurred on the 22nd of January, 1879. During the temporary absence of Lord Chelmsford with the main body, the troops in the British camp (which was negligently left unfortified), to the number of about 800 Europeans and 400 native auxiliaries, were surprised by a Zulu army of upwards of 15,000 warriors ; and, with the exception of a few men who effected an escape, our force was annihilated, and war material captured. During the desperate resistance made by our soldiers. Lieutenants Coghill and Melville, to preserve the flag of the 24th or Warwick- shire Regiment to which they belonged, valiantly fought their way through the ranks of the enemy ; but not without receiving mortal wounds. They succeeded, however, in saving the colours ; which were afterwards found with their bodies, some miles, from the scene of the conflict. A H ! who shall number England's brave, Or tell the noble story Of how they fought, and with what pride They conquered, or undaunted died, Enriching her with glory? On Afric soil their blood was shed Whose fate we now deplore ; O'erwhelmed by legions of the foe They sank beneath the crushing blow ; Struck down to rise no more. ISANDHL WANA. 1 1 S Like lions it was theirs to fight, Like heroes theirs to fall ; For crafty and relentless Death Ordained in savage shibboleth The massacre of all. One morn the dusky enemy — Like bees about a hive — Swarmed on our luckless camp, bereft Of cautious guardianship, and left No British soul alive. Of all who in that fatal fray Succumbed, no soldiers braved Their doom more valiantly than those Who bore from fifteen thousand foes The glorious flag they saved. The grand old standard, on whose folds A record shines revealed Of battle, in our country's right, From Egypt's plains to Orthez' height, And many a foreign field. It might not be of Kaffir hordes The trophy and the vaunt : Those colours, long by friendly fate Sustained, no foe shall desecrate, No rude barbarian flaunt. ii6 ISANDIHAVANA. Then lift ourbahner high: to heaven 1 The grace that it derives From past achievements, seems to me Grown sacred through their gallantry, Who crowned it with their lives. Ah ! who shall number England's brave, Or tell the noble story Of how they fought, and with what pride They conquered, or undaunted died. Enriching her with glory ? January, 1879. THE BIRDS' PROTECTION ACT. 117 qJlinesi on f^e "passing of ?e 35iC6=^ir6s' -^rofecfion Jlci. "V/E lovers all of Nature's charms Come join in joy with me ! And you, sweet warbling hosts of air, Be glad that ye are free : Free to explore on soaring wings The empire of the sky ; Free in your sylvan secrecies To live without annoy. No more, with sly ensnaring arts. Shall city knaves succeed In robbing you of liberlj', — The law forbids the deed ; And, righteously provoked, at length Directs its angry ban Against those murderous sports that shame The fairer fame of man. Protected from the fowler's gun. And the imprisoning cage. No dread shall mar the sweet delights In which you may engage. Instead of shunning, ye may learn To view without alarm His presence, who once spoiled your homes And brought your broods to harm. nS THE BIRDS' PROTECTION ACT. I would the bright-winged humming-bird — That builds its dainty nest In breeze-rocked blossoms on the wild Savannahs of the West- Might win like justice, ere its tribe All perish from the earth, To merely deck some empty heads, And mark their little worth. May ill befall the callous crew. Who, on the sunny plains Of far Columbia, hunt them down For Fashion's giddy gains ; And may that woman's beauty fade, Nor leave a winning trace, Whose vanity ordains their death. To rob them of their grace. I love the birds ; and scorn the man Whose ' sport ' would do them wrong ; Who would destroy them for their plumes, Or trap them for their song. The freedom he himself desires Let these bright creatures share ; That all may hear their joyous notes. And view their charms so fair. Unfortunately this Act protects birds during the breeding season only. 1883. HIGH AND LOW: FLOWER AND WEED. 119 On hearing a wizened bul gorgeously attired old lad)', at the West end, loudly and harshly rebuking her maid as tliey descended from a carnage. U ER ' ladyship,' to gloss her withered years, In scented silks and garlands gay appears ; Her own youth's bloom all fled, no charms succeed Of gentleness,— to serve her ugly need : With unkind words, and supercilious sneers, She proudly o'er her meek maid domineers ; Nor sees, so high her head, the grave she nears. Fine flowers, decaying, more than lowly weeds Revolt one's senses ; yet the same lot leads Both to the dust, and worm that therein feeds. London, 1892. "FOUND DROWNED." A CITY INCIDENT. A MORN of May in London ! All the sky Grey like blurred silver, with a disk of pearl— The sun^fast pressing.through the muffling haze Eastward of Paul's great dome. The busy streets, Throbbing through all their length like mighty veins. Pour their quick life-streams to the city's heart. Which I would enter too, so join the throng. Blackfriars Bridge, with vehicles and men Swarms, as it crosses the cold flood beneath— A zone of life o'er the still breast of death, For Father Thames below there clasps a corpse. " A corpse ?'' Yes ! Yonder ! Look behind that boat Rowed in the dusky shadow of the bridge ! See you not something girdled with a cord. Rising and falling with the waters, borne In the boat's wake — a figure clad in black ; A woman's figure, with the hair all loose And floating in a tangle round her head? " Ah yes !" I see, and with the speaker pause. The shrunken river, in its muddy course, Past grimy coal-barge islands darkly glides ; Or laps in eddying swirls the slimy piers ; Moaning impatient for the coming tide. " Why rests the boatman on his oars?" I ask. "FOUND DROWNED." " He waits there ifor a coffin !" answers one : . Another near declares that "The police Must come before the corpse is brought ashore ! " " Only a woman drowned !" a youth remarks ; " Some street-walker, most like !" a female sneers, And to a young companion shrilly shouts, " Don't waste time gaping there at a dead girl, Lest we be late at work and fined ! D'ye hear ? " So they.-^I ponder sadly on the scene. And wait events ; wondering what misery Or mishap gave the poor soul to the stream. The coffin comes, the constables arrive, Charon rows forward with his ghastly freight — The human flotsam he has chanced to find — Nor claims, good man, his ferrying obolus ; But draws the dead one gently to the strand, Where the black box lies mid the muddy ooze. With others' help he lifts the body in. Shutting it up— besmeared with sludgy filth, And loathsome from corruption's rotting touch — Out of inquisitive sight. The dead-house next Receives her, till the coroner grants a grave. A passing reference, from the news-sheet culled, Affords completeness to the sorry tale :— " The body of a female, dressed in black ; One Betsy Goldsmith, widow, thirty-nine ; Who lived at Fulham, and whose husband died Three months ago, was drawn out of the Thames Last Saturday, from just above Blackfriars." ''FOUND DROWNED." Deponents at the inquest briefly told, How, broken-hearted through her husband's death, The lonely woman piteously pined, And scarcely ceased from weeping day or night ; So that her strength was spent, and health declined. ' She had no wish to live,' she said, and ' hoped The Lord would take her soon to her lost mate ! ' Some time ago they missed her, but none knew When, from what cause, or where she met her death : And so the jury, by their office bound. Summed up the matter in the words "Found drowned!" Is such a love so usual ? such a fate Too common-place a matter to relate ? Are other men so cold as not to feel The sympathy that I may not conceal ? What gentle soul but will with warmth commend This wife's affection, and deplore her end ; Who, helped by none to bear her load of woe. To seek her husband through death's gate would go ? May she have found him ! May the Lord of Love, Of Death and Life, admit them both above To happier realms — if such indeed there be — And keep all true hearts here from severance free, Or parted, save from such calamity. May Sth, 1S94. "LOSE THE WORLD, KEEP THE FRIEND." 123 (lines in response to a ' NEW YEAR CARD.') T OSE ye the world,' sayst thou, but ' keep the friend ! Why it is well and happily expressed ; For one may be at issue with the world, And out of favour with it all life's days ; And those whose stake is largest love it least, Or have least cause to love it, inasmuch As they stand most in danger from its wiles, The ruinous results of its caprice. And disappointing pleasures ; so that Care Thrones himself soonest in their burdened breasts. Causing a cold constraint that stifles peace. But he who loses all the world can grant. Except the friend it never may estrange. Can best defy its humours : and till death Lives doubly recompensed, in that the joys That gratify his mate bless him as well ; While sorrow, through division 'twixt the twain, Is shorn by sympathy of half its sting. Such marriage of true hearts all loss doth mend, Ignore the world, therefore, but 'keep the friend!' January 1, 188 1. 124 THE MISSIVE. ANNUAL GREETINGS. / count myself in nothing else so happy as in a soul remembering my good friends. — Shakespeare (Rich. II.) It has been a custom with the author, for the past fourleen years, to address a few verses to his friends on each recurring New Year's Day. At the request of some of these friends, who desire to have the verses complete from the beginning, he has ventured to include the series in thjs volume. No. I. 1884. ■pRIEND, let my little missive witness be, This New Year's day, of my regard for thee ; And prove thee present in my memory. It cannot greet thee as I would it might, Yet, if it find thee in a prosperous plight, That shall suffice to fill me with delight. May it recall the pleasures of the past ; Point to a new year — happier than the last ; And keep in mind at least otie friend thou hast, John Corrox. Biriiiiiigham. THE FAITH OF FRIENDSHIP. 125 No. 2. 1885. %^e §latt^ of §frien&s^tp. Friendship is Etnother felemefit of X\{&.^Southern. 'T'HE seasons lapse, life wanes, and change prevails; With pitiless indifference Time assails Our persons and our projects, marring one And thwarting oft the other : — 'neath the sun, That smiles, on Youth's vain hopes and Age's fears, There comes scant comfort with the fleeting years ; Through which, with men and things, the records range, From life and death deducing tales' of change. But, though all else may alter, let us strive, In our brief term below, to keep alive The faith of Friendship ; and with kindly cheer Promote good will, and man to man endear. At this auspicious moment I would fain — ' Now the New Year inaugurates its reign — Direct a lifie of greeting to express My wannest wishes for your happiness. As through the future unknown ways you wend, May gracious Fortune on your steps attend ; Increase your pleasure, crown your best desires With every blessing to which hope aspires ; And favour me so much as to ordain That I may always your esteem retain. 126 NEW-YEAR CHANCES. No. 3. 1886. "DID him adieu ; the Old Year dies ! He goes the way of all the years ; And buried in his bosom lies The secret of our hopes and fears. Ring out his knell ; the Old Year dies ! He dies, but we are one with Time ; We live ! and may, if we are wise, The New Year's chances utilize. So as to better being climb. And let us all the hours suborn To yield what pleasures they possess ; And minister noon, night, and morn. To our good health and happiness. Then, for the troubles of the past, The coming days shall make amends ; Ah ! may they bounteous blessings cast On thee and thine, and all dear friends. FJilENDSfflP'S AID. 127 No. 4. 1887. God's benison go with you, and with those That would make good of bad, and friends of foes. — Shakespeare. AS dead leaves from a wintry tree Fall earthward, one by one, So from Time's lapsing custody. The years — when spent and done — ■ Drift to Oblivion. Man's life is, as the leaves and years, Time's frail and passing toy ; Yet we — to gladden our careers — • Can Friendship's aid employ. And Love, and social joy. Let these avail us, then, to dwell In kindliest amity ; Till Time, by Death's (divorcing spell, Shall launch us on the sea Of dim Eternity. Here's Happiness to thee 1 128 THREE GOOD WISHES. No. 5. ■^^ee ^006 "^ts^es. T WISH you " Good Health !" may the tide of your life, For years to come, heartily flow ; May it fill you with courage when troubles are rife. And strength 'gainst affliction's foul blow. I wish you " Good Fellowship ! " happy is he Whom genial companions attend ; How curst must the sour-souled misanthropist be, Who lives and dies cheered b)' no friend. I wish you " Good Fortune ! " may merit attain The success it deserves and desires; As for me, let me prosper so much as to gain That regard to which friendship aspires. OLD CUSTOMS. 129 No. 6. 1889. ^C6 ^wsfoms. CAY ! shall we let old customs die When they are worth retaining? No ! and for that good reason I — Now the old year is waning — Greet you again ; and wish you joy, With friendliness unfeigning. May all that hearty Health ensures, And strength the New Year through, be yours : Nor sorrow, want, or plaguy Care, The gladness of your life impair. May prosperous Fortune deign to bless Your efforts with a rich success ; While Happiness her presence lends To serve you, as the best of friends : And be it mine to live and pay Respect to you, next New Year's Day. 130 PAST AND PRESENT. No. 7. 1890. ■^ast axxb "present. A S time rolls on, thought wanders back To vanished scenes and days long sped ; To incidents that o'er life's track Some more than common sorrow shed ; Or pleasure that abruptly fled : The smiles and tears, The hopes and fears, The interests of other years Are linked with memories of the dead.* Dispirited and sad, as thought Thus drifts on retrospection's wave, We ask the Future, " Is there aught To yield the happiness we crave ; To give us heart and make us brave ? " It says, "The tears, The hopes and fears That wait upon the coming years, Will not concern you in the grave." Poor cheer to point towards the tomb, When death already fills the past ; Still more disheartening if with gloom The present, too, be overcast. Ah ! that thy days be kindlier classed. And smiles, not tears, And joys, not fears. Make brighter this and all thy years His wish is, whose regard thou hast. *The author's brother had died during 1889. THE WISH. No. 8. 1S91. ■©^e ^is6. "Take from my mouth the wish of happy years." T WISH you well ! With winter grey Has dawned another New Year's Day, And I, impelled again to bring In friendship's cause an offering, Would now my best respects convey. In votive verse, then, let me say That be the prospect grave or gay, Despite the croakers' quavering, I wish you well ! May loved associates cheer your way, .^nd all the powers of pleasure pay Full tribute, through a rosy ring Of happy years, till life takes wing ; So ending my brief roundelay, I wish you well ! 132 THE JOY OF A FRIEND. I No 9 1S92 @^c §01? of o §{ricn&. r^'ER the land, through the dark, from the bells in each steeple, A message hath sped ; A knell of the night-tide, a plaint to all people, 'TheOld Year is dead!' Passed away like a life that may ne'er be amended, Its course fully run ; Its record all written, and summed up and ended ; Its good and ill done. THE JOY OF A FRIEND. I33 O'er the land, with the dawn of a New Year, the chimes ring A jubilant strain, And I to my friends, by old custom, my rhymes bring To greet them again. The Past leaves its memories ; may they console us, And cheer and inspire ; The Present with hope's sanguine spell would control us. And charm our desire. May the promise with which it takes captive our fancies. As each hath a bent. Be fraught with that happy result which enhances The spirit's content. Then good things galore, and of bliss a full measure, To you Time shall send ; And for me, I shall feel at your prosperous pleasure The joy of a friend. Birmingham. No. 10. ^^v^r^^^e- "DESIDR the flickering fire I mused, On dull December's ending day ; Till drowsiness my thought confused, And subtle sleep imposed its sway. I dreamt ; and soon, with deep amaze. Beheld a phantom form appear, Which said unto my questioning gaze :- " I am the Spirit of the Year. A RHYME OF NEW YEAR'S EVE. 135 " I wait to pass the shadowy bound Allotted to my life by Time ; The bells will soon my exit sound, And fof my young successor chime." Ah, said I, would that thou hadst power, And inclination, to convey To Hades, with thee, all the dower Of ills which here beset man's way. To bear from earth those spirits dire, Hate, Envy, Malice, Fraud and Wrong, Whose discord in the human quire Has marred for ages Love's sweet song. To take away that proud Pretence Which makes a mock of simple lives ; The Creeds which war with common sense ; The Greed that on men's life-blood thrives. From bench and pulpit, press and mart. Corruption and false knaves to thrust ; And make, in hells of odium, smart All tricksters who betray their trust. To end the many Minor Woes That fret the mind, the ear, the eye ; And all those Blatant Powers depose Which scare away life's gentle joy. And we could spare the hideous host Of Advertising Fiends, who curse Our sight by land, and sea, and coast, To every natural charm averse. 136 A RHYME OF NEW YEAK'S EVE. In other regions let them cope With those that here their quackery kills ; Souse them in mustard, starch, and soap. Or poison them with their own pills. I had not mentioned half the things Which on remembrance seemed to dawn. When, turning from a draught's cold stings, I saw my visitor had gone. But at the door a youngster stood Who smiled a sort of " How d'ye do ?" As, peering from his fur-lined hood. He heard my greeting, "Who are you ?" " Oh" ! said he, " Dont you know me? why I'm Little New-year Ninety-threee ! You snored so loud I thought that I Had lit on a menagerie ; " And, as the door stood open, took A glance within to see the show ; But," — with a disappointed look — " There's nothing here but you, you know." ' Great Scott,' thought I, this ' takes the cake ! ' And might, with an expletive bang, Have said so, but example's sake Deterred me from the current slang. And therefore I rebuked him not, But told the 'sweet-faced youth ' to doff his Cloak, and come, and tell me what Would happen in his term of office. A RHYME OF NEW YEAR'S EVE. 137 Said I, Chicago's world-fair should — From this to future generations — Encourage peace and brotherhood, And help the commerce of the nations. " Ah 1 that," said he, " I do not know ! The prospect scarcely seems so pleasant ; Europe in arms, with wide-spread Woe, And Want, demonstratively present. " Oppression, too, and Bigotry, Have left, to try man's moral metal, A long-accruing legacy Of discord, which he has to settle. "And starving Toil with clamorous rage, For wrongs which Mammon shirks from righting, Demands redress ; and threats the age With lawless anarchy and fighting. ' Fighting ' I echoed, How did you Of such wild notions get your head full ? Suppose we take a happier view. And look for something not so dreadful ? Men will not always be the fools To shape, through strife, their own disasters ; Or play the part of servile tools For royal and exploiting masters. Not in the ruinous ways of War Will they contend, but win increase By friendly trial at the bar Of thrifty, wise, and genial Peace. 138 A RHYME OF NEH' YEAR'S EVE. Their nobler rivalry and strife Will be in quelling what is base ; In mapping out a larger life, And making free all means of grace. In ' pressing forward to the mark Of their high calling ' more and more ; Leaving the lower ways and dark To climb the brighter heights before. The day must soon and surely come, When, with our statesmen's morals mended, The voice of Right — no longer dumb — Not Might, will get our quarrels ended. And let us hope the Social plan May soon be well and wisely bettered ; That man may no more prey on man. Or Industry be starved and fettered. That generous aims may supersede The meanness of the narrow mind; And charity in thought and deed Make us forbearing, and more kind. The discontent that frets the age, And seems with great upheavals rife, Is but man's sense by woe made sage, And bent to shape a happier life. Advantage and success depend On how far — and in what degree — Such change may all our interests blend, Yet leave the personal genius free. A RHYME OF NEW YEAR'S EVE. 139 Well nourished, fostered, trained and taught, Man should attain his highest then ; None be to want and beggary brought. None lord it o'er their fellow men. Whilst working out life's problem here We all are duty-bound to try And solve it, so that our career May raise the general destiny. None wise but seek some remedy To cure the evils of their time : — Content with what may bettered be Were abject folly, if not crime. Already Comfort cheers the world With gifts the poor ne'er knew till now ; The flag of Freedom floats unfurled ; And Knowledge dignifies man's brow. Progress, that law of life, that power Which guides our race with god-like sway, Sees old Oppression slink and cower With Ignorance, its slave, away. The feudal lordling, king, and priest^ — 'Fore whom so long crushed man has bowed- Perturbed behold him self-released. And of an equal stature proud. His leagues they view with sullen frown, Their caste-assumptions prompt his call, Which, from their pompous places down Bids them, to join the march of all. 140 A RHYME OF NEW YEAR'S EVE. The forward march to that grand goal Which, with perfection in its span, — Wise mind, strong body, and brave soul, — Shall make of each a noble man. Old creeds by cleric Councils taught, With much of menace and pretence. Shall not put bounds to our free thought, Or gull our grown intelligence. Anathemas no more avail To hold in awe the human mind ; Of every ark it rends the veil, And sifts such truths as lie enshrined. It solves each symbolled mystery. Questions the spirit of each place. Compares the ' word,' and e'en would see, In all its ancient radiancy. The light of the Shekinah's grace. Upon her blood-stained altar stairs, 'Mid relics of a credulous past, Her dogmas laughed at, and her prayers. Old Superstition sinks, aghast. Her mystic claims are probed by Doubt ; Vain are her blessings and her curses ; Time puffs her flickering candles out. While Science 'whelms her with reverses. And, since they first to think began, Folk mind no more her priestly rod Or partial smile, nor heed her ban ; They trust in one all-saving plan : — The happy brotherhood of Man, And fatherhood of God ! A RHYME OF NEW YEAR'S EVE. 141 So you, my boy, have touched a time l-w ¥ot which great issues haunt the hours ; An epoch which may grow sublime If mortals, in their 'franchisee! prime, Use well their gifts and join their powers. " I hope so, heartily !" said he, " But pray excuse my longer stay ; The boys on all sides call for me, And ringers wait to cheer my way ! " On this, at least, you may depend," Exclaimed the volatile young elf, " Man's present grievances I'll end, Or give him time in which to mend And fairly settle them himself." My thanks, said I, yet prithee heed This last wish ere you quit my door ; — Grant to my friends a sumptuous tiieed Of all the good in Chronos^ store I Divert from them the many woes Which prove to mortals so distressing, And make me worthier, at the dose Of your regime, to add my blessing. Promote too, by a kind career. Such deeds as brighten History s page ; Events all human hearts to cheer. Deeds to'e.xalt and grace the Age. To those who seek for Truth, and strive For Uprightness, be thou a friend ; Let their ennobling influence thrive. And lead the baser sort to mend. 142 A RHYME OF NEW YEAR'S EVE. Appease the rage for war and strife Which frets our neighbours o'er the water ; The sword is but a murderous knife Made large enough for tvholesale slaughter. Speed the good day which shall relieve The Poor, and bring men happier birth ; And links of loving-kindness weave, From race to race, all round the earth. No answer ! but a startling clang Upon the midnight silence broke ; The knocker gave a thunderous .bang, And, jumping from the chair, I woke. I woke ! and on my hearing fell A voice, upstairs, which softly said, " Did I not hear the front-door bell ? How is it you are not in bed ? " My ' Annual Greeting,' I replied ; I must write something to the few Who care to hear from me ; then cried The Voice, " How do you know they do.' " Who troubles to acknowledge what You send, each year, in foolish blindness ? Plainly your lines delight them not, And are esteemed a doubtful kindness ! " Methinks, I said, there are some few Who in my message find a pleasure ; And I would our good-will renew, And wish them joy in ampler measure. A MESSAGE OF HOPE. 143 But when I sought to frame my verse, Last night, sleep led me from the theme ; And now, instead of something terse, I have but memories of a dream — A dream in which, with little reason, There is, I fear, too much of rhyme ; And that not suited to the season, A season more attuned to Time. So now this ' Yarn of Cotton ' 's spun, And little chance for shortening, deign To overlook it, as from one Who will not so transgress again. London. No. II. 1894. Jl Message of ^ope. " Heaven bless and prosper your affairs." (^LD Time repeats himself; and may not I Venture, again, a message as of yore ? A hope that, as the next twelve months speed by, You may of happiness be given a store As bounteous as the widow's cruse of oil ; To cheer the family jars— disaster foil — Love's unction on life's troubled stream to pour- And make friends' hearts, partaking of your spoil, Like conscious urns to ebb with gladness o'er. Oxford. 144 REGARD. No. 12. 1895. By heaven, I cannot flatter ; — I defy The tongues of soothers ; but a braver place In my Heart's Love hath no man than yourself. — Shakespeare. 'T'HIS New Year's day — while winter cold Broods drearily o'er weald and wold, And scarce a flower or tuneful bird In glade or bower is seen or heard, Whereby one's heart may be consoled — My pen in Friendship's cause enrolled. And made by past indulgence bold, Would write again a welcome word, This New Year's day. Regard — by seasons uncontrolled — No Nature-numbing frosts can hold From warm expression ; wherefore stirred To utterance now, be mine averred ; And lasting joy your heart enfold. This New Year's day ! Oxford. A CAROL OF FAREWELL AND WELCOME. 145 No. 13. 1896. ^ gittroC of gfareroeCC cmb ^eCcome. T ET us send a farewell to the weary Old Year, Where he languishing lies ; Let us beg a last boon of him while he can hear Our prayers and our sighs ; For Time hath ordained that on midnight's black bier, At the clock-stroke he dies : — God speed thee, God speed thee. Old Year ! O bear with thee hence human discords away, Nor of our repinings remembrance betray ; Save to prompt nobler effort, or make duty plain, Let no thought of past failures to vex us remain. Give us cheerful and satisfied spirits, that we May count up life's blessings continued through thee; And grateful to heaven, mankind, and all friends, For bygone short-comings make future amends : — God speed thee, God speed thee. Old Year ! * * * * T ET us sing a brief carol to greet the New Year, As earthward he flies : On the beams of the morning with smiles he draws near. Through the pearl-gated skies. Ah, what chance yet for all to grow worthier here His advent implies ! — God speed thee, God speed thee. New Year ! May wisdom come with thee, and — drawn from above. For man's happier guidance — the Spirit of Love ; That wrongs may be righted, and hearts be inclined To brotherly feeling, and services kind. So taught and incited, and raised by such leaven, The world shall grow more like the ' kingdom of heaven ' ; And true souls till death, as thy course that way wends, Win here (and hereafter) fresh joy and more friends : — God speed thee, God speed thee. New Year ! Oxford. 146 FRIENDSHIPS CALL. No. 14. 1897. §fvtcn&s^tp's @aCC. A NOTHER year has slipped away, Gone to the limbo of the Past ; Uttered its word in Time's long play ; Another year ! And we who after it wend fast Across Life's stage, — so full to-day. For us and all, of issues vast, — Let us some worthy rdle essay ; And act our best whilst yet we may ; For Fate will soon transform the cast, And leave us nothing to portray But ghostly parts. With those still classed Who live, and Friendship's call obey, I hope again its debt to pay. And wish you joys to exceed the last, Another year. Oxford, " Then let us take a Ceremonious Leave, And Loving Farewell of our several Friends^' J. I.. ALI.DAY I'RINTER, TilRM INGHAM.