CORNELL 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 THE 
 WORDSWORTH COLLECTION 
 

 ATTEMPTS 
 
 VERSE, 
 
 " Long have I loved what I behold, 
 The night that calms, the day that cheers 
 The common growth of mother earth 
 Suffices me— her tears, her mirth, 
 Her humblest mirth and te-ars," 
 
 Wordsworth. 
 
 LONDON: 
 GEORGE MANN, CORNHILL. 
 
 M.DCCC. XXXVI. 
 
A 
 
 I RIVfC 
 
 
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH, ESQ., M. A., F.R.S. 
 
 ETC. ETC. ETC. 
 THIS HUMBLE OFFERING FROM A VOTARy, 
 
 WHO HAS BEEN SO MANY TEARS 
 
 HIGH- PRIEST OF THE TEMPLE, 
 
 IS MOST GRATEFULLY AND RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED 
 
 BY HIS OBLIGED AND FAITHFUL FRIEND, 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 
 Annabelle 1 
 
 Sonnet, on a Butterfly saved from Death by the 
 
 Author 9 
 
 10 
 
 " I would we worshipped as our sires of old" 1 1 
 
 " Joy of my soul, I would that thought had 
 
 power" 12 
 
 -" The moonlight rests upon three new made 
 
 graves" 13 
 
 " I am the resurrection and the life" 14 
 
 15 
 
 Sonnet — The Ter-Centenary 16 
 
 The Broken Lyre 17 
 
 The Death-Knell 20 
 
 Stanzas 22 
 
 The Morning Hymn 24 
 
 " Farewell —if there can be farewell" 25 
 
IV CONTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 
 Lines written at Richmond 26 
 
 The Stoneless Grave 28 
 
 A Mother's Dirge 30 
 
 The Passing Bell 32 
 
 Editha the Fair 33 
 
 " O can my heart-strings cease to give" 34 
 
 Loneliness 35 
 
 " Men feed the body with the nicest care" 37 
 
 " 'Tis the fresh spring-time" 38 
 
 " 'Tis the blue midnight" 40 
 
 The Spirits' Midnight-Song 41 
 
 " In Ccelo Quies" 45 
 
 The Virgin's Shrine 46 
 
 Address to Death 56 
 
 Stanzas — " I care not for the sunlight" 59 
 
 The Death of the Poet 61 
 
 Sonnet — " It was a vision" 65 
 
 To an Indian Beggar 66 
 
 " Ye rocks and valleys ! mountains, woods 
 
 and streams !" 67 
 
 " Go to the fields and gaze upon" 68 
 
 Question and Reply 69 
 
CONTENTS. VU 
 Page 
 
 " Heaven gave the bee desire for sweets" 70 
 
 The Trials of the Innocent 71 
 
 " 1833" — " There was a wailing in the land" .... 75 
 
 Stanzas 77 
 
 The iEolian Harp 78 
 
 The Morning Star 79 
 
 The Sabbath Morn 80 
 
 A Fragment 81 
 
 83 
 
 2)er aSaterlanb 84 
 
 The First Breath of Spring 88 
 
 Ballad 90 
 
 Stanzas — ' ' Sweet morn, so cool, so calm, so bright" 9 8 
 
 The Morning Star 1 00 
 
 TheOldBeggar 102 
 
 The Hills 105 
 
ATTEMPTS AT VERSE. 
 
 ANNABELLE. 
 
 '"T IS the middle of night by the castle clock," 
 
 And the moonlight sleeps on the flinty rock ; 
 
 Sleepeth the moonlight on the grave, 
 
 And the moonlight fair doth sleep in the air, 
 
 And it sleepeth on the wave : 
 
 Rocked to calm and silent sleep 
 
 By the swelling wave of the sounding deep, 
 
 As some fair child to sleep beguiled 
 
 By the heave and the sob of the mother's breast, 
 
 Whose tears do flow so faint and low. 
 
 For fear they mar her infant's rest ! 
 
 A beauteous sight it is I deem, 
 
 As holy as an angel's dream. 
 
 When the infant's gentle sleep is o'er. 
 
 To see it lift its innocent eye 
 
 To the mother's brow as clear as the sky, 
 
2 ATTEMPTS AT VERSE. 
 
 While the mother loves it more and more. 
 O what the fair and lofty sky 
 Is to the pious mother's eye, 
 A consolation, and a charm 
 To shield her from all woe and harm, 
 A thing to pray to, when the fear 
 Of sorrow or of danger 's near. 
 E'en thus to the fair and guileless child 
 Is the mother's brow o'erbending mild. 
 * * * 
 
 The lady Annabelle doth weep 
 In the silence of her sleep : 
 Asleep and, weeping piteously, 
 Many a tear bedews her eye ! 
 Her arms are crossed upon her breast 
 As two fond infants at their rest. 
 Entwined together to share all harms : 
 Thus are the beauteous maiden's arms. 
 Why weepeth the lady Annabelle ? 
 Hath one so fair and good a sorrow ? 
 Perchance on the morn 't will all be well. 
 Ah, well-a-day ! 'tis sad to tell 
 But the grief of the night is the grief of the morrow. 
 
 Pale sorrow leads the soul to prayer ; 
 So in her sleep the maiden prayeth. 
 
ANNABELLE. 
 
 But what the gentle maiden sayeth 
 
 Is mingled with the blessed air. 
 
 And holier is the air, I deem, 
 
 For the prayers of a virtuous damsel's dream. 
 
 'Tis over now, and the dream is past ; — 
 
 'Tis over now : she awakes at last. 
 
 The maiden slowly unrolled her eyes, 
 And a sighful moan from her bosom broke, 
 As tho' she wist, when she awoke. 
 Some frightful dream had bound her soul ; 
 And silently a tear 'gan roll. 
 Then suddenly the lady knelt — 
 And in a silence prayed full long. 
 I ween, as holy thoughts 'gan melt 
 Upon her fluttered heart, she felt 
 As happy as a seraph's song ; 
 For sorrow, anguish, fear, and woe, 
 And all that wrings the heart below. 
 Will fade, as fades away the mist 
 When the bright-eyed Sun, in heav'n uprist. 
 Looks forth in glory and in mirth 
 Upon the green and dew-robed earth. 
 E'en so doth Sorrow fade away. 
 When on our bended knees we pray. 
 The lady rose, and she felt depart 
 The cloud of sorrow from her heart. 
 
4 ATTEMPTS AT VERSE. 
 
 Sweet Annabelle, the maiden fair, 
 Wendeth to the oak-tree wood — 
 She loved to breathe the fresh-born air. 
 And feel in all things God is good ; 
 That he giveth to man a world so full 
 Of all that is pure and beautiful : 
 The green earth beneath, and the blue sky above, 
 Which bends o'er the earth as tho' bending in love ; 
 The green earth beneath, with her star-like flowers 
 
 Glist'ning with the sparkling dew ; 
 
 And then, above, the countless stars 
 
 Blooming like flowers in the sky so blue. 
 
 The sky it is a holy thing, 
 
 But lovelier in the hour of night ; 
 
 For then the glorious stars do spring 
 
 From the blue sky, as flowers of light 
 
 Springing in silent joy and mirth. 
 
 To glad the eyes that gaze from earth ; 
 
 For in the glare of the noon-day reign 
 
 The sky is a desert azure plain : 
 
 But when, at one impetuous stride, 
 
 The darkness comes of eventide, 
 
 'Tis then the glorious stars have birth. 
 
 Springing in heaven as flowers spring on earth ! 
 » * * 
 
 Upon a gentle slope there stands 
 A tree, and eke another : 
 
ANNABELLE. 
 
 They twine their topmost boughs as hands 
 
 Proffered by loving brother — 
 
 They twine their topmost boughs together. 
 
 As holy friends to brave the weather. 
 
 Fair Annabelle each mom would come 
 
 And sit beneath these loving boughs. 
 
 This quiet scene was never dumb. 
 
 For on this lone and lovely spot. 
 
 She listened to her own knight's vows. 
 
 O could it then be e'er forgot ? 
 
 And when the even-star 'gan rise, 
 
 Still was she at this silent spot. 
 
 And, gazing on the deep'ning skies. 
 
 She saw fair scenes of beauty glide 
 
 As some fair landscape in th' unstable tide ! 
 
 Steadfastly gazed fair Annabelle 
 On the fields before her spread ! 
 " Ah, gentle scene," the maiden said, 
 '^?Vho will there be, when I am dead, 
 To love thee — as I love thee — well?" 
 And from the depth of her pure soul 
 A tear arose and gently stole. 
 Kissing her cheek as it descended ; 
 And, ere it kissed itself away 
 Upon the cheek of Annabelle, 
 A very fair and silvery ray 
 
b ATTEMPTS AT VERSE. 
 
 From the brightest star she loved so well, 
 Glid from the fluttering star and with the tear-drop 
 blended. 
 
 The maiden felt the dear starlight 
 Fall on her face so pale yet bright. 
 " Ah me !" quoth gentle Annabelle, 
 " 'Tis thus I've heard the friar tell, 
 That blessed piety will cheer 
 The tearful hour of sorrow here. 
 Shedding a comfort and a light 
 In darkest gloom of the wintry night ! 
 * * * 
 
 I would," quoth Annabelle, " I were 
 
 A gentle tone that I might roam 
 
 A happy thing upon the air. 
 
 Having the blue sky for my natural home : 
 
 And then the heavens that hang above 
 
 Would compass me in arms of love. 
 
 Looking on me with piteous eye — 
 
 With piteous eye of fondest love. 
 
 And tho' the stars are above our reach. 
 
 Like luminous words of Deity 
 
 They speak to us, and thus they teach : — 
 
 Do they not tell, when the world's proud eye, 
 
 Flasheth the blaze of prosperity, 
 
 That the stars of our life, which our Virtues are. 
 
ANNABELLE. 
 
 Glimmer unseen — unheeded — afar. 
 But when the sun of joy has gone. 
 And we feel as tho' it never had shone, 
 Then rush out the Virtues, a starry host. 
 
 if the sun had always shone. 
 
 It would in the sky have been bright alone, 
 And the light-flashing stars had all been lost. 
 * * * 
 
 Ah me ! I would that I were laid 
 At rest beneath the yew-tree shade, 
 
 1 do not wish a tear should flow 
 "When I am laid in silence low. 
 
 I would not mar one smile of mirth. 
 
 When I am shrouded in the earth ; 
 
 For I have lived uncared-for here, 
 
 And would not to the living owe 
 
 A single sigh or sorrowing tear, 
 
 Tho' on my grave that tear should flow. 
 
 The soft blue sky will look as clear 
 
 As when I strayed beneath it here ; 
 
 The merry bells of Langdale proud 
 
 Will sing as merrily and loud ; 
 
 The gladsome birds as blithely sing, 
 
 As when I roamed, a living thing. 
 
 And listened to their carolling. 
 
 Oh ! when the heart is sad with care. 
 
 Go 'mong the rocks and woods and streams. 
 
O ATTEMPTS AT VERSE. 
 
 Go, as a breeze of vernal air. 
 
 And wander as the soul in dreams. 
 
 Liveth there one who hath not felt 
 
 While gazing on a lovely scene. 
 
 The quiet landscape softly melt, 
 
 Into her heart till it hath been. 
 
 As calm as the still sky— as beauteous — as serene ? 
 
 But if these scenes no comfort yield, 
 
 Then mortal aid is vain to save. 
 
 Go, seek some lone and silent field. 
 
 And make that silent spot thy pillow and thy grave ! ' 
 
ATTEMPTS AT VERSE. 
 
 SONNET 
 
 ON A BUTTERFLY SAVED FROM DEATH BY 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 
 Go forth and feel the sky, thou golden thing ! 
 
 I give thee to the balmy air again, 
 
 And tho' rude hands have dimmed thy gorgeous wing, 
 
 soon wilt thou repair the fading stain. 
 A voice within doth tell me not in vain 
 
 1 wandered forth the fresh-skyed morn to greet. 
 There must have been a spirit in my feet 
 Which led me up this else unlovely lane. 
 
 Go, sunny thing, I feel that I am bound, 
 By some strong bond invisible to sight. 
 To all that creeps upon the lowly ground. 
 To all that wanders in the fields of light : 
 And tho' their souls may perish 'neath the sod, 
 Birds, Insects, Beasts and Men, have we not all One 
 God? 
 
10 ATTEMPTS AT VERSE. 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 Washington Irving, in his Life of Columbus, relates, that long ere the 
 mighty continent of America was visihle to the eyes of the adventurous 
 chief, its existence was developed by the exquisite odours borne on the 
 morning breeze sent by the Spiritual Power of the universe from the spice- 
 groves and flower-meads of the new world, as a message of Hope and Glory. 
 Even so, to the Christian, is the existence of the eternal and spiritual world 
 revealed by the fragrant zephyrs of holy thoughts and peaceful joys, to- 
 gether with the godlike consciousness of undying energies w ithin him. Thus, 
 on the voyage of life, are we strengthened and guided by the spiritual fra- 
 grance wafted from the thought-groves and prayer-meads of Heaven, on the 
 breezes of Faith and Hope. 
 
 As once to him, who his adventurous keel 
 
 Urged through Atlantic waves (a man I ween 
 
 Full rich in evidence of Things Unseen, 
 
 "Which to his soaring spirit made appeal), 
 
 The wished-for continent did itself reveal. 
 
 Not by its towering hills nor groves of green — 
 
 For still an ocean wide did intervene — 
 
 But odours on his senses 'gan to steal 
 
 Wafted from the New World, more sweet than aught 
 
 In that he left behind ; and now he felt 
 
 (With what delight !) that he on Truth had built ;— 
 
 So he, who long his heavenward course hath held. 
 
 Finds, as he nears the port, his voyage fraught 
 
 With sweetest sense of things yet unbeheld. 
 
ATTEMPTS AT VERSE 11 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 I WOULD we worshipped as our sires of old, 
 Beneath the bright blue sky and waving trees ; 
 And not confined to plastered walls and cold, 
 That Hymn which ought to wander on the breeze, 
 And call on Nature for her harmonies 
 To swell the song, and bid her take her part 
 In Prayer, that choicest music of the heart: — 
 But now to modern church, or chapel trim, 
 In newest fashions men and women go, 
 And in a languid accent worship Him, 
 The God of Nature,— and the Man of Woe, 
 And the mysterious Spirit — Three in One, 
 Joyful to think their irksome task is done ! 
 No : rather let us 'neath One Roof, the Sky, 
 Pray with all humankind in love and charity ! 
 
12 ATTEMPTS AT VERSE. 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 Joy of my Soul, I would that Thought had power 
 
 To bring thee to me at this gentle hour — 
 
 Now while the moonlight, streaming thro' the trees, 
 
 Blends with the music of the evening breeze ; 
 
 Shedding on sound the loveliness of light, 
 
 Breathing on light the melody of sound, 
 
 Till a melodious moonlight floats around, 
 
 And music seemeth as a part of sight : 
 
 But dearer far the starlight of thine eyes. 
 
 And the fair music of thy gentle lips. 
 
 And 'neath thy gaze I look on bluer skies 
 
 Than those above ; but absence flings eclipse 
 
 On all around me ; Earth and Sky seem drear 
 
 Since thou art not, my heart-prized Spirit, here. 
 
 May 1th, 1835. 
 
ATTEMPTS AT VERSE. 13 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 The moonlight rests upon three new-made graves. 
 And heart-wrung tears, like clustering lustrous dew. 
 Glisten upon the grass, which dirge-like waves 
 With a sad quiet tune, which through and through 
 Pierceth the mourner's bosom — who can gaze. 
 And muse on what they were — -and what they are ? 
 And then reflect that when the pale moon-rays 
 Next slumber on these three and new-made tombs — 
 That our own grave the blessed light may share. 
 Oh ! these are awful times, when men arise, 
 And drink in Heaven's fair light thro' weeping eyes ; 
 When a dark shroud o'er deathless Nature glooms. 
 Yet — what if storms about our head do roll, 
 If a bright sunshine floods the inmost soul? 
 
 August 19, 1834. 
 
14 ATTEMPTS AT VERSE. 
 
 "I AM the Resurrection and the Life," 
 Saith the Lord Jesus, and I longed to lay 
 My weary spirit on my Saviour's breast, — 
 But then I pondered on His majesty. 
 His glory, and His kingdom, and His power : 
 And I would fain in deepest awe retire, 
 To hide my sorrows in the quiet grave : 
 But as I bent my fainting footsteps thence, 
 A gentle voice of majesty and love. 
 Stole as fair music on a starry night. 
 And lo ! I heard my Saviour's cheering voice, 
 " Come unto me, ye weary and distrest — 
 Come unto me, and 1 will give you rest." 
 
ATTEMPTS AT VERSE. 15 
 
 " I AM the Resurrection and the Life, 
 
 And whoso trusts in me shall never die." 
 
 My heart was wearied with the world's vain strife, 
 
 And the dark tear was gathering in mine eye, 
 
 When, as a stream of music clear and strong, 
 
 These glorious tidings burst upon my soul; 
 
 Then far away the clouds of anguish roll, 
 
 And I was happy as an angel's song. 
 
 Eye, cease to weep — what hast thou for a tear ? 
 
 Lip, cease to murmur at thy sorrows here ; 
 
 Far, far, from thee the accents of despair. 
 
 Give every breath to thanksgiving and prayer. 
 
 Sept. 5, 1835. 
 
16 ATTEMPTS AT VERSE. 
 
 THE TER-CENTENARY. 
 
 Three Centuries, great God, this day have rolled. 
 
 Since first thy word was spread to all mankind ; 
 
 Since first was given to the four-tongued wind 
 
 Thy gracious summons to our Saviour's fold. — 
 
 Shall we in bondage these glad tidings hold ? 
 
 No ! To all nations be thy mercy told — 
 
 To every land thy wond'rous praise rehearse, 
 
 Who took from man the deep — the primal curse — 
 
 For the dear sake of Him who dared the grave, 
 
 A sinful and a murderous race to save. 
 
 Lord, grant that we, who know thy sacred word, 
 
 May waft its tidings to each Pagan home ; 
 
 That wheresoe'er a Christian's foot may roam, 
 
 Christ's and Jehovah's praise may evermore be heard. 
 
 October Ath, 1835. 
 
17 
 
 THE BROKEN LYRE. 
 
 Upon the cleft of a tall rock, that frowned 
 Above the billows, hung a broken Lyre. 
 Untouched by human hands, no gentle Sounds 
 
 The chords inspire : 
 Silent, save when the wirlwinds of the deep 
 
 Its sad strings wildly sweep. 
 
 And then I heard it mourn in these sad words — 
 
 "A hapless fate is mine, lone lyre, to dwell 
 Hidden from mortal vision, for my chords 
 
 Can only swell 
 The echoes of the thunder, as it rolls 
 
 To the far distant Poles. 
 
 Lone and neglected, many a year I've hung 
 
 Upon this senseless rock begirt by waves ; 
 And tho' I to the deep my woes have sung 
 
 And silent caves, 
 Yet there was none to answer me, and fling 
 
 Back a kind murmuring. 
 
18 ATTEMPTS AT VERSE. 
 
 " Wild fitful wind, why dost thou touch my strings? 
 Thou canst not wake the music that 's concealed 
 Within my frame, — the rushing of thy wings 
 
 Has but revealed 
 A few wild murmurings — low, grief-like tones, 
 
 Like the sad dying's moans. 
 
 " And must I moulder on this rock away? 
 
 Will none awake the passion of my strain ? 
 Must I with all my hidden powers decay ? 
 
 My gifts all vain ? 
 Is there no kindly voice to bid arise 
 
 My slumbering melodies ? 
 
 ' For there were treasured in these broken chords 
 The glowing songs of glorious Victory ; 
 They waited long to breathe heart-thrilling words 
 
 That never die, 
 But when once uttered live, for ever shrined 
 In the undying mind. 
 
 " And love, which is the poetry of life, 
 The music of our being, gentle tones 
 Which steal amid the world's tumultuous strife, 
 
 Till the heart owns 
 Their soothing influence ; and Grief and Care 
 No longer tenant there. 
 
THE BROKEN LYRE. 19 
 
 ' And there are mournful dirges sleeping on 
 
 The silence of my strings ; and well they suit 
 My dreary doom. Soon these will all be gone. 
 
 For ever mute 
 The music of my being — the last string 
 
 Is e'en now quivering 
 
 With the expiring tone. Farewell, deep sea ! 
 
 Wild winds, farewell, that often wrung the tone 
 Of bitter agony. Farewell to ye ! 
 
 I 've mourned alone ; 
 And my last sigh in death is given to thee, 
 
 Thou melancholy sea." 
 
 Snapt the last chord — and as the echo died. 
 
 And blended in the howling of the blast, 
 "Ah ! like too many a human heart (I sighed) 
 
 Thy lot was cast. 
 How many live to bury in the tomb 
 
 Their music and their bloom ! 
 
 Those who have feelings, like the fine lute-strings 
 
 A single touch will break, are doomed to strive 
 
 With the fierce whirlwind and his iron wings ; — 
 
 If they survive. 
 They live with withering hopes — and every day 
 
 Wears some fair charm away." 
 
20 , ATTEMPTS AT VERSE. 
 
 THE DEATH-KNELL. 
 
 Hark ! now tolls the passing bell. 
 O there 's music in the knell : 
 All the other sounds we hear 
 Flatter and delude the ear. 
 These sad tones alone impart 
 Choicest comfort to the heart. 
 For they tell of joyful rest 
 To the sorrow-tortured breast. 
 List again ! the passing bell 
 Tolls some pilgrim's last farewell. 
 
 O it is a sound which seems 
 Like the music of our dreams. 
 When in slumber's trance we rove, 
 'Mong the tombs of those we love. 
 'Tis a message from the dead. 
 When the voice of life has iied, 
 Saying slowly, " Hither, haste, 
 Life is but a dreary waste ; 
 Misery has no boon to crave 
 In the quiet of the grave !" 
 List again ! the slow death-knell 
 Is booming from the passing bell. 
 
THE DEATH-KNELL. 21 
 
 'Tis the voice that bids depart 
 Human passions from the heart. 
 Stills the bosom's maddening strife, 
 Calms the troubled sea of life ; 
 As our Saviour on the wave, 
 So these blest tones from the grave. 
 May the echo never die 
 In the listener's memory ; 
 But for ever may it roll 
 Solemn warning o'er the soul ! 
 
 Hark ! again the passing bell : 
 
 O there's music in the knell. 
 
 And a heavenly joy is found 
 
 By the afflicted in the sound. 
 
 'Tis the Harbinger of Peace ; 
 
 Soon it whispers, " Sorrows, cease ! " 
 
 Soon we burst the bonds of clay. 
 
 Soon we feel th' eternal day. 
 
 Hark ! 'tis o'er, the knell has past 
 To blend its breathings with the blast. 
 
22 ATTEMPTS AT VERSE. 
 
 STANZAS. 
 
 Spring on long-deserted tomb 
 Flowers in their freshest bloom ; 
 Breathing o'er the mouldering gloom 
 Their chiefest gift, a sweet perfume. 
 
 Clingeth to the tottering tower 
 Ivy through the wintry hour : 
 When the ruins strew the ground. 
 Still the ivy there is found. 
 
 Shineth the sunlight warm on all, 
 Mountain, vale, and waterfall : 
 The withered herb and waving tree 
 Share his blessing equally. 
 
 The moonlight sleepeth on the grave. 
 
 As a fond and faithful slave, 
 
 That ever since his master died 
 
 Will not quit his grave-bedside : 
 
 But when his heart the last sigh sigheth, 
 
 With a silent prayer dieth. 
 
23 
 
 Doth the landscape fold its bright 
 Garment of melodious light 
 To the poor way- wanderer's sight? 
 Do the stars that shine above 
 Look less fair to those who weep, 
 Than to eyes that gleam with love ? 
 Shine they not when man doth sleep ? 
 
 Tell me, Man, why doth thine heart 
 Shine alone upon a part ? 
 Answer, Man, and tell me which 
 Is that part — the poor or rich ? 
 Of all things below — above — 
 Man alone has partial love. 
 
24 ATTEMPTS AT VERSE. 
 
 THE MORNING HYMN. 
 
 The lofty forests toss their heads in light, 
 Flinging the sparkles of the starlike dew. 
 As a fond offering on the grave of night, — 
 That glorious grave which is the morning bright;— 
 Now all is vocal 'neaththe sky's deep blue — 
 Murmur the rills — the rivers roll in song — 
 The gleaming waves beat time upon the shore, 
 And sing loud anthems as they bound along; — 
 From rocks and caves the streams of gladness pour 
 In one vast swelling tide; — from waving trees 
 Rustle sweet tones of sunlight and of breeze ; 
 All join the Morning Hymn — save silent hills, 
 Which in a glad repose do breathless lie. 
 While o'er them bends the more than silent sky. 
 To hear the song which Air, Earth, Ocean, fills. 
 
ATTEMPTS AT VERSE. 25 
 
 " Neath the pallid moonlight, and in the still church yard, 
 a man stood on the grave of the Loved one, and he bared the 
 strings of his heart to the breeze, and it thus spake :"— 
 
 Farewell— if there can be farewell 
 To sorrows graven on the heart. 
 
 Or Memory cease to hear the knell 
 Of all it prized depart, — 
 
 Farewell, farewell, if there can be 
 Farewell, to Memory. 
 
 Thou wast the sun of life to me. 
 
 The gladdener of my gloom ; 
 Now thou art sleeping peacefully. 
 
 Pale jewel of the tomb : 
 While I upon the spot must gaze 
 'Neath which thy once-clasped form decays. 
 
 When round me raged the waves of strife, 
 And dark the tempest frowned, 
 
 Thou camest on the sea of life. 
 And gladness smiled around. 
 
 The memory of the storm may cease. 
 
 But not of thee who smiled the peace. 
 
26 ATTEMPTS AT VERSE. 
 
 LINES WRITTEN AT RICHMOND. 
 
 The sky is blue — the sun shines bright — 
 
 A Sabbath morn in spring ! 
 A music seems within the light 
 
 To slumber murmuring. 
 The blossoms waver in the breeze 
 To and fro upon the trees, 
 The gentle air is floating round 
 With all the witchery of sound. 
 The blue-waved river glides along. 
 And blends his tones to swell the joyful song. 
 
 So calm — so still — the Sabbath hour : 
 
 A lovely thing this sacred morn — 
 It cometh with a healing power. 
 
 To bathe the weary heart, long torn 
 
 In battling with the cares of life. 
 O I could lay me down, and mourn, 
 
 In' thickly rushing tears, the strife 
 Which leaves the soul, at last, exhausted and forlorn. 
 
LINES WRITTEN AT RICHMOND. 27 
 
 I would I were the noiseless cloud 
 
 That now is sailing in the sky ; 
 
 It seems as tho' it were the shroud 
 
 Of some departed melody 
 
 That, earth-born, was about to rise. 
 
 And mingle with the song — the music of the skies. 
 
 A happy life that gentle cloud must lead — 
 
 Now hovering o'er the meads — now lingering o'er 
 
 the stream — 
 Catching the showers ere they fall on the flowers — 
 Now drinking in the sun's fresh morning beam. 
 And the moonlight pale, and the starlight fair, 
 Ere they have fallen on this sinful earth — 
 Ere they have lost their freshness in the air — 
 Fall on that happy cloud and linger there. 
 And Love's fond sigh and Music's softest tone 
 Rise to that gentle cloud, and make their joy its own. 
 
28 ATTEMPTS AT VERSE. 
 
 THE STONELESS GRAVE. 
 
 O TELL me, lone and nameless tomb, 
 
 Who sleeps within thy fold? 
 Sayj awful sepulchre of gloom. 
 
 Whose ashes dost thou hold? 
 Perchance the very feet have trod 
 Their destined grave, and o'er the sod 
 
 'Neath which they now lay cold, 
 In mirthful mood have often prest, 
 Unthinking they, their own grave's breast. 
 
 Was it some fair and faithful bride. 
 
 As pure as dawning day, 
 The father's hope — the husband's pride — 
 
 So innocently gay ? 
 When she has glimpsed the rising morn 
 Of holy rapture, to be torn 
 
 From all she loved away — 
 While he on this drear earth must dwell. 
 To muse upon her last farewell. 
 
 Or was it, Grave, some maiden fair, 
 Thus blasted in her spring; 
 
THE STONELESS GRAVE. 29 
 
 Her sweetness wasted on the air, 
 
 A thankless offering ? 
 Her lover on her brow has gazed, 
 Till his sight-tortured eyes were glazed. 
 
 To see her withering. 
 Earth's latest link at last o'ercome, 
 She sank a victim to the tomb. 
 
 Perchance some bard beneath thee sleeps : 
 
 Are thus his hf)pes repaid ? 
 No tributary marble keeps 
 
 Note where his form is laid, 
 His " thoughts that breathed, his words that burned," 
 His mind that time and limit spurned. 
 
 Rest they beneath this Shade ? 
 No : bom for Heaven, his bonds of clay 
 Once burst, his spirit soared away. 
 
 The moonlight slumbers quietly 
 
 Upon this peaceful spot ; 
 Nor, when the sun is in the sky. 
 
 Is this meek grave forgot. 
 The stars, too, beautiful and bright. 
 Shine on it with their gracious light : 
 
 Ah, calm and blessed lot, 
 Tp rest in such a dreamless rest 
 AVith throbless brain — and throbless breast I 
 
30 ATTEMPTS AT VERSE. 
 
 A MOTHER'S DIRGE. 
 
 My child was generous and brave, 
 
 An opening flower of spring ; 
 He moulders in a distant grave, 
 
 A cold forgotten thing. 
 Forgotten, aye by all, save me. 
 As e'en the best beloved must be. 
 
 Methinks 't had been a comfort now, 
 To have watched his parting breath, 
 
 And from his damp and pallid brow 
 To wipe the dews of death : 
 
 With one long lingering kiss to close. 
 
 His eye-lids for their last repose. 
 
 Could I have thought such wish to prove, 
 
 When, cradled on my breast. 
 With all a mother's tender love 
 
 His sleeping eyes I prest ? 
 Alas ! alas ! his dying head 
 Was pillowed on a colder bed. 
 
A MOTHER S DIRGE. 
 
 But soon this throbbing heart will cease 
 
 To beat, and I shall lie 
 Like thee, my first-born child, in peace — 
 
 But 'neath my native sky ; 
 Whilst thou must slumber on a strand, 
 Far from thine own — thy native land. 
 
 And yet, poor child, I cannot weep : 
 No soft refreshing drop appears. 
 
 My anguish is too dread — too deep — 
 For the refreshing gush of tears. 
 
 Tho' from my lids no drops will start, 
 
 They fall down burning on my heart. 
 
 Farewell, my child ! I'll not repine ; 
 
 Perchance God's gracious chastening Will 
 In mercy does to death consign, 
 
 To save thee from some future ill : 
 And, while I mourn my first-born son, 
 Mourn to my God — whose will be done ! 
 
32 ATTEMPTS AT VERSE. 
 
 THE PASSING BELL. 
 
 Hark ! 'tis the bell that tolls for the dead : 
 Some one hath passed from his sorrow. 
 
 'Tis over — and even the echo has fled. 
 
 And his friends will forget him to-morrow. 
 
 'Tis thus when a pebble is flung in the tide, 
 It ruffles awhile the smooth face of the main ; 
 
 In a moment the eddying circles subside. 
 
 And the blue vault of heaven is mirrored again. 
 
 Or e'en as an arrow that passeth thro' air, 
 
 That leaveth no trace as it flieth, 
 For the air closeth over — and nothing is there — 
 
 And thus will it be when man dieth. 
 
 For a moment a tear-drop may moisten the cheek, 
 For an instant the smile may be broken ; 
 
 But to-morrow will come — and the lips then will speak 
 As tho' sorrow had never been spoken. 
 
33 
 
 EDITHA THE FAIR. 
 
 They bore him in the moonlight pale. 
 
 They bore him to his grave ; 
 A silence deep o'er all did sleep. 
 
 Silence on shore and wave. 
 
 The moonlight pale slept on the grave ; 
 
 Another rested there : 
 It was the dead man's faithful bride, 
 
 'Twas Editha the fair. 
 
 The morning rose — the moonlight 's gone 
 The faithless moonhght 's fled. 
 
 But still the fair bride slumbers on. 
 And slumbers with the dead. 
 
 The birds around do blithely sing. 
 
 The trees with music stir, 
 The breeze with fragrance passeth by— 
 
 But they are nought to her. 
 
34 ATTEMPTS AT VERSE. 
 
 Her eye will never look again 
 On mountain or on stream — 
 
 Her heart has now no earthly care — 
 Her brain no earthly dream. 
 
 O CAN my heart-strings cease to give 
 Response to love's sweet breath ? 
 
 No : not till its throbbings are over, and I 
 Am at rest in the dreamless death. 
 
 Can the wind-wooed lute, 
 
 With its music-sobbing chords, 
 
 To the gentle breeze be mute. 
 Nor awake to its kindly words. 
 
 When the spirit of melody springs. 
 
 As a fresh- souled cherub, from the strings, 
 
 Wakened by its mother's kisses 
 From a dream of fairest bhsses .'' 
 
35 
 
 LONELINESS. 
 
 Ik I have crushed the tear within mine eye, 
 
 That it the fiercer on my heart might rain ; 
 
 If I have battled with my agony, 
 
 Till Thought became a dread — benumbing pain — 
 
 A shuddering panging in the sleepless brain ; 
 
 If in this anguish I have longed to die, 
 
 And breathed a prayer in this unhallowed strain. 
 
 To you do I appeal — Earth — Ocean — Air, 
 
 For ye have seen my grief — have felt my dread despair. 
 
 Ye were the elements to which I flung 
 The music of my being ; and I feel 
 That they who loved you most, the least have sung. 
 There is a Passion words cannot reveal : 
 And tho' the eye, the soul-flasher, may steal 
 A portion of the mysteries which shroud 
 Your else too vivid forms — it dares not breathe 
 Its fond sense of your loveliness aloud 
 In uttered words — it can but gaze and think 
 On what it loves — and, gazing, fresh love drink, 
 c 2 
 
36 ATTEMPTS AT VERSE. 
 
 My heart is bowed with sorrow, when I see 
 Two youthful beings love in silentness 
 Of adoration. None, alas ! loves me. 
 And then my lone heart in its loneliness 
 Retires into itself, and wooes distress. 
 And hateth all things in this Love's excess : 
 And then I sigh for that long dreamless sleep. 
 From which there is no wakening to weep, — 
 And muse in rapture on that silent rest. 
 When I shall slumber in the Earth's green breast. 
 
 Yet why to me should night refuse to give 
 
 The calm and moonlight quiet of her sky ? 
 
 I wish not long in this cold world to live — 
 
 I only wish to love — and then to die. 
 
 Now in the quiet fields at eve I lie. 
 
 And look upon the heavens that roll above 
 
 In the still music of serenity : 
 
 And I can fancy that those bright stars love. 
 
 And blend their rays together, as they roll 
 
 In music and in light of their own making ; 
 
 For love — light — music — seem to me their soul : 
 
 And when I think that none loves me on earth. 
 
 This lonesome truth doth set my spirit aching 
 
 And men do marvel that I have not mirth. 
 
37 
 
 Men feed the body with the nicest care, 
 And for the mind prepare a rich repast : 
 But O they let the immortal spirit fast, 
 Or feed on dread of anguish and despair. 
 They will not deem its sustenance is prayer, 
 Nor listen to the inward voice which longs 
 For Jesu's precious words, and Sion's sacred songs. 
 O did they hsten to the small still voice. 
 Which as a crystal fountain flows within 
 To its own melody ; which nought save sin 
 Can crush, or still the note which bids rejoice. 
 Earth soon is o'er : its torturing cares soon fade, 
 And their bright Heaven, to our sight display' d. 
 Opes to receive us ; and the saintly throng 
 Swells the whole universe with Holy Song, 
 The song of joy for those who, led astray 
 From Jesu's path, regain the peaceful way. 
 
38 ATTEMPTS AT VERSE. 
 
 'Tis the fresh Spring-time : and the Spring-time is 
 
 The sweetest season in God's smiling year : 
 
 And this the Sabbath morn— a Sabbath morn— 
 
 The holiest portion of the beauteous spring. 
 
 It comes amid the discord of the world, 
 
 As soul-drawn music in a solemn strain, 
 
 Whose organ is the mighty visible world, 
 
 Blending its harmonies in one grand peal ; — 
 
 The deep blue skies unfretted with a cloud. 
 
 The vast cathedral whence the music rolls — 
 
 Swelling and rolling as the glorious sea ; 
 
 Till the whole soul and heart and mind become 
 
 A part and portion of the mighty song. 
 
 And ye green hills that lay in happy sleep, 
 
 Looking for ever on the lofty heavens, 
 
 And smiling, as tho' dreaming in your sleep 
 
 Of Spring's fair music and of Summer's bloom— 
 
 Ye hills, which are the swelling breasts of earth, 
 
 O'er which the clouds do hang so lovingly, 
 
 Now floating o'er your summits, and anon 
 
 With a soft thrill dissolving in a shower 
 
 Of soul gushed rapture,- — O that I could fling 
 
 My spirit on some radiant-tinted cloud, 
 
ATTEMPTS AT VERSE. 39 
 
 And hover o'er you with a fixed delight, 
 
 To drink deep pleasure from you, and at night 
 
 To rest and slumber on your lofty brows, 
 
 To catch the latest ray of lingering light. 
 
 And meet the sun upon the eastern hills. 
 
 Ye cannot be the dead and senseless things, 
 
 Which men do deem ye. O it cannot be, 
 
 That ye which are the source of living springs. 
 
 And healing waters, and of deep-toned strains, — 
 
 That ye, whose crowns are the majestic woods 
 
 "Whence flows your music to the sleeping world. 
 
 The mighty harp on which the breezes play 
 
 With their fresh delicate breath ; or when, at night, 
 
 The mountain blasts bring anthems from the boughs, 
 
 In nature's wildest rapture, while the peals 
 
 Of living thunder leap from hill to hill. 
 
 Gathering terror to appal the world. 
 
 And rouse it from its slumber of deep sin, — 
 
 O can it be, that ye, on whom the light 
 
 First rests when streaming from the morning sun, 
 
 Or from the stars that tremble into light, 
 
 That ye, the sources of our strong delight, 
 
 Are but the dead undreaming things of clay. 
 
 Which man's proud nature would degrade ye to ? 
 
40 ATTEMPTS AT VERSE. 
 
 'Tis the blue midnight : and the silent stars 
 Walk forth in beauty 'mong the fields of Heaven : — 
 A pleasant coolness breathes so sweetly round, 
 As tho' it -were the bright stars' gentle breath 
 In their soft slumber, as an innocent babe, 
 Which scarcely moves in its celestial dreams. 
 Fair dreams made up of Heaven and of its mother. 
 Bright are the stars above me : e'en as bright 
 As when they first flashed forth their dawning light, 
 To glitter in the fountains on the hills 
 Which look into the Heavens, and sprang forth 
 Midway from earth to catch the earliest light. 
 Man crumbles into dust and nothingness ; 
 Tho' now he scans the infinite expanse 
 Of the Starr' d firmament, and bids the stars 
 Move to his own proud theories, and frames 
 Laws to direct them in their mighty course. 
 Their light shall shine upon his quiet grave, 
 Blessing the clay that wraps him. 
 
 Even so. 
 The day shall come when they, the stars, shall fade, 
 And all except God's words shall pass away. 
 
41 
 
 THE SPIRITS' MIDNIGHT SONG. 
 
 Mortal ! that weepest when weeps the night dew, 
 And sigh'st to the stars what earth never knew, 
 
 Hears't thou no sound? 
 Midst the shadows that change and that flit around, 
 And the thin cloud-like mists that rise from the 
 ground, 
 
 No form dost thou view ? 
 
 Holds the grave none who live to thee still. 
 Hast thou no thought that time may not kill. 
 
 Nor pleasure can charm? 
 Throbs not thy breast, tho' fearless of harm, 
 And has reason a power that throb to calm. 
 
 Or Comfort instil ? 
 
 ' Live there not yet in thy memory 
 Those who would quit even Heaven for thee, 
 
 Altho' grief to share? ^^ J0t 
 
 And hast thou no hope thou -^ art their care, /* 
 
 No belief that affection from time we bear. 
 To Eternity ! 
 
42 ATTEMPTS AT VERSE. 
 
 " If their spirits could rise to thy sorrowing eye, 
 Would'st thou tremble to look at those loved ones 
 nigh. 
 Thou moumest as gone ? 
 Could' St thou not list to their gentle tone, 
 E'en now, — dost thou know thyself alone ? 
 Hear'st thou no sigh ? 
 
 " We are near thee, we watch thee, we love thee yet, 
 Our happiness still upon thine is set, 
 
 In Heaven thou art dear ; — 
 In thy pleasure our smile of gladness is near, 
 Our sympathy still descends with thy tear. 
 
 We never forget. 
 
 "'; A " Hear us ! we come whence no tears are shed. 
 Hear us ! our hearts as thine own have bled, 
 . _ y And thy doubts have known ; — 
 
 ;i^-=-4-jfi}iJt^ We have cursed the destruction that Earth has shewn. 
 We have mourned for its sins, we have writhed at its 
 groan. 
 We have fallen with its dead. 
 
 " Hear us ! we 've hung o'er the blighted flower. 
 And the leaf devoured in its earliest hour, 
 And the first-born slain ; 
 
 ^, /-Ct iU^.x t,-^-/ , e^'i' I £•■'■' "-■■■■ 
 
THE SPIRITS MIDNIGHT SONGS. 43 
 
 And we, too, have witnessed the long life of pain, 
 And dared question the mercy of Him whose reign 
 Shewed such fearful power. 
 
 Hear us ! our hearts have in penitence flown, 
 
 Our proud and weak hearts, to that heavenly throne 
 
 Round which Angels bow ; — 
 And our anguish there claimed that He would endow 
 Our souls with the hopes that thou cravest now ; — • 
 
 Thy thoughts were our own. 
 
 ■ As thine, have our hearts with sorrow been riven. 
 Like thee we have loved, — like thee we have striven 
 
 With life's weight of woe, 
 We have shrunk from the Death that layeth all 
 
 low. 
 And our souls, as thine, in affection's glow. 
 Found earnest of Heaven. 
 
 ' Hear us ! we 've known, we have felt all this, 
 Earth's bitterest grief and Love's farewell kiss 
 
 By us have been shared. 
 Yet we live ! — by that mercy that we had dared 
 To doubt, we are pardoned, consoled, and spared 
 To a life of bliss. 
 
44 ATTEMPTS AT VERSE. 
 
 " Heir of that bliss, we may not reveal 
 What spirits can see, what spirits can feel 
 
 Of eternal joy ; 
 But we promise thee pleasures without alloy, 
 We promise a life Death dares not destroy : 
 
 Universal Weal. 
 
 " Doubt not, yet man's doubts are pardoned ; nor 
 grieve 
 Though Earth yet has trials that thou must receive, 
 
 And her pleasures are past. 
 Fear not ! 'tis thy Maker thy lot hath cast, — 
 Earth's trials will end. Heaven's raptures must last : 
 Hope and believe !" 
 
 '.C 
 
45 
 
 "IN CGELO QUIES." 
 
 Life has its pleasures ; — many and varied joys 
 
 Soften or hide its sharp and cruel woes ; 
 
 Love, Friendship, Fame on some, and meaner toys 
 
 On others it confers ; on none repose. 
 
 The throb that bliss creates, that bliss destroys ; 
 
 The pain of pleasure who that feels but knows ? 
 
 Or who, excitement struggling in his breast. 
 
 But feels how diff'rent mortal joy from rest ? 
 
 Is there no home then for the weary mind. 
 No respite from the war of ceaseless thought, 
 No chain that may the roving spirit bind, 
 No dreamless sleep for those who long have sought ^ 
 yto rest — for those who would repose to find, 
 Give every pleasure with which life is fraught ? 
 Ah yes ! the rest, denied to Earth, is given 
 As the supreme felicity of Heaven. 
 
46 ATTEMPTS AT VEESE. 
 
 THE VIRGIN'S SHRINE. 
 
 Up, lady Margaret 1 doff your weeds, 
 
 And put on your velvet so fine ; 
 And braid up with jewels your bonnie black haire, 
 And chase from your sweet brow each token of care, 
 For he, in whose eye alone thou 'dst be faire 
 
 Is returned from far Palestine. 
 
 ' Smile, lady Margaret ! God's good grace 
 Hath sheltered in peril and fight ; 
 The way has been long, and with danger was rife, 
 And many have lost there both fortune and life ; 
 But thy knight is spared to his ladie and wife 
 And will rest in her arms to-night." 
 
 Lady Margaret hears, and she doffs her weeds. 
 
 And puts on her velvet so fine ; 
 And with jewels she braids up her bonnie black haire' 
 And with smiles she replaces each token of care. 
 To meet him for whom alone she 'd be faire, 
 
 Her own knight from Palestine. 
 
THE virgin's shrine. 47 
 
 And the lady now goes in her bridal array. 
 
 At the shrine of the Virgin to bow ; 
 The mild virgin, upon whose knee there' sate 
 The faire child of God, whom early and late, 
 She had prayed to watch over her deare lord's fate. 
 With tears, humbly bending low. 
 
 Three times a day, Holy Mother ! here," 
 
 Did the ladie now gladly say ; — 
 Three times a day, when, a youthful bride, 
 I saw him depart in his warrior's pride, 
 I implored thee to bring him once more to my side, 
 
 Let me praise now where oft I did pray. 
 
 Three times a day as each weary moon 
 
 Rose, waxed, and waned old ; 
 When the pledge of our loves heaved beneath my lone 
 
 breast, 
 I besought thee for courage, for comfort, for rest; — 
 I made thee my vows in my widow's weeds drest ; — 
 
 I pay them in crimson and gold." 
 
 Hollah ! Hollah ! let the drawbridge down. 
 
 Ye knaves that have wassailed at home ; 
 Ring a peal for your fellows, who've travelled from far. 
 
48 ATTEMPTS AT VERSE. 
 
 Have fought with the Paynims, have conquered in war, 
 Give honour, give welcome, ye loons without scar ; 
 Your lord and his brave men are come." 
 
 Clang, clang, tramp, tramp, the drawbridge is down. 
 And fast flock the vassals at home ; 
 
 And loud rings the peal for the travelled from far. 
 
 Who've fought with the iPaynim, have conquered in 
 war ; 
 
 Have brought back some honour, and many a scar. 
 Tramp, tramp, in the court-yard they come. 
 
 " Give thanks unto heav'n and a gift to the church, 
 
 "Well fed let our noble steeds be ; 
 Let the aged have help, and the weary have rest. 
 The joyful a smile, and a boon the distrest, 
 Our tables groan under the weight of the best ; 
 
 But an hour with my ladie for me." 
 
 He has followed -his bride to her nuptial bower. 
 
 He has hfted his casque from his head ; 
 He has called her the fairest of all he has seen. 
 He has told what he suflfered and where he has been, 
 He has told her — but ah ! it were toilsome, I ween. 
 To say but the half that he said. 
 
THE virgin's shrine. 49 
 
 And she has replied, with her head on his breast, 
 And with joy's happy tears in her eye ; 
 
 Soft whispers, short speeches, she pours in his ear ; 
 
 What smiles cannot tell him, he reads in her tear ; 
 
 Whilst her sighs — but, ah me ! it were still worse, I 
 fear, 
 To say what said tear, smile and sigh . 
 
 Where is our babie, my Margaret, where ? 
 
 Hast thou taught him to lisp yet my name ? 
 Has he got thy dark eyes, and thy bonnie black haire ? 
 Does he promiseto be half as bold as thou'rt faire ? 
 Come, bring the young squire, that a knight may 
 declare 
 Him worthy his ancestor's fame." 
 
 ' Wake thee, my babie ! my bonnie boy rise ; 
 
 No more to a mother's sad love ; 
 To the fulness of joy, to my spring of delight ; 
 To one constant in love, as valiant in fight, 
 As gentle as brave ; to a father's glad sight 
 
 I bear thee, his transports to prove. 
 
 ' See ! he smiles at thee. Lord, tho' in warrior-array. 
 And would spring to thy arms, tho' from mine. 
 O moment of bliss ! when our infant I see, 
 
50 ATTEMPTS AT VERSE. 
 
 Where my heart has oft placed him — his loved father's 
 
 knee ! 
 Your blessing, dear knight, for your child and for me ; 
 Heaven's blessing from thee upon thine." 
 
 " Now bless thee, my babe, and the mother that bore, 
 Take my love with the life that I gave ; 
 Bright, pure be thy youth, unsullied thy prime, 
 Unsullied by sorrow, unsullied by crime ! 
 God shield thee, and save thee, and give thee, in time, 
 To find a knight's glory or grave ! 
 
 " And now, let me spell o'er this loveliest page 
 That Nature e'er gave to my view. 
 O the wee tiny hands ! will they e'er grasp a sword? 
 Thy bonnie limbs answer, ' Yea, 'o' my word. 
 Yet, fie I what a soft velvet lip for a lord ! 
 Such a lip for a ladie might do. 
 
 " But whom art thou like, my own pretty boy? 
 
 Come lift me thy mother's bright eye; — 
 Nay, seek not, in play, on my shoulder to hide ; 
 Bright, dark must they be, or thou art not allied 
 To thy sire's tavvTiy race, or thy sire's sunnie bride, 
 
 Come, turn thee, my babie so sly. 
 
THE VIRGIN S SHRINE. 61 
 
 Ha ! — but I see not the likeness here ! 
 
 Whence got'st thou thine eyes' clear blue ? — 
 Thou art /aire, pretty minion! the snow 's not more 
 
 faire, 
 Thy skin has no shade, as thy brow has no care. 
 And the silk-worm has spun thee thy silvery haire; — 
 
 He is faire, dame, as thou hast been true. 
 
 Here, take him ; he longs for his mother's soft breast, 
 That shines dark to his lilie face ; — 
 
 No other than he that pillow might share ; 
 
 It heaveth right quickly . Nay, why shouldst thou care, 
 
 He is faire, sunnie ladie, thy child is most faire ; 
 Thou palest ! God send me his grace ! 
 
 How old is the boy? — And thou answerest not, 
 
 But tremblest like aspen leaf. 
 Is my full eye too dark for thine own to bear ? 
 Or my brow that is deepened by travel and care ? 
 For one who has watched over babie so faire. 
 
 He is faire. — "What 's thy cause for grief? 
 
 ' Yet speechless and trembling. — Now, by my soul! 
 'T is a long way from Palestine. 
 A castle 's but dull when its master will stray, 
 And the night must be long as well as the day ; 
 
ATTEMPTS AT VERSE. 
 
 There are matrons will play when their lords are 
 away. 
 False woman ! your child is not mine !" 
 
 He has thrust her away from his armed knee, 
 And he heeds not her sob-broken words; 
 
 He turns from the truth' df that soft-pleading eye, 
 
 From her love, from her woe, from her heart-break- 
 ing sigh. 
 
 From all — for in all, he perceives but the lie 
 With which ladies betray their lords. 
 
 Out of my sight ! In the world so wide. 
 
 There are faire knights with eyes so blue — 
 
 Nay, want not. There 's gold, there are jewels and 
 gold-. 
 
 No death do I wish thee by famine and cold — 
 
 Live, eat and be merry — go buy and be sold.— 
 So lovely, O God, and not true !" 
 
 She is gone — and she goes to the pure virgin's shrine 
 
 With her babie in anguish to bow ; 
 The mild virgin, upon whose knee there sate 
 
THE virgin's shrine. 53 
 
 The faire child of God, whom early and late 
 She had prayed to watch over her dear lord's fate, 
 With tears sadly bending low. 
 
 She prayeth ; but not with lip or with voice ; 
 
 Yet, Virgin ! incline thine ear : — 
 'T is the prayer of a heart in its agony, 
 Of a woman's heart in its purity, 
 Of a heart that has nothing but Heaven and Thee, 
 
 Of a mother ; — 4j(|weet Mother, hear ! 
 
 She prayeth in silence, she prayeth in woe. 
 She is rapt in that prayer profound ; 
 A host might have past unheeded, I ween, 
 The thunder's loud echoes unnoticed have been. 
 Or the lightning have fallen or flashed unseen, 
 
 She would feel neither sight, touch, nor sound. 
 
 She prayeth, and hears not the quick heavy tread 
 
 Of one who comes also near ; 
 Of her Lord, who now enters that long hallowed pile, 
 And who marks that deep woe that not earth may 
 
 beguile. 
 And who marks that baAe's smile from kind Heaven 
 the while ; 
 He is used to hia mother's tear. 
 
54 ATTEMPTS AT VERSE. 
 
 And the knight pauseth now in grief and in love : 
 
 No statue more breathless may be. 
 He pauseth before the bright Virgin so mild. 
 And Heaven seems to enter that bosom so wild. 
 As he looks on the Saviour, and looks at his child ; 
 O Jesus ! now what may he see ? — 
 
 Has the Saviour come down from his bright mother's 
 arms, 
 
 In sad Margaret's arms to rest? 
 Is the image here heaving with colour and life ? 
 Or is the faire child of that desolate wife. 
 There image-like sheltered from sorrow and strife ? 
 
 Which babe to her bosom is prest ? 
 
 She prayeth, in heart ; and now from that prayer 
 In words she has strength to pray ; — 
 " Three times a day, Holy Mother," she cried, 
 " When I 'd seen him depart in his warrior-pride, 
 I besought thee to bring him again t^ my side ; 
 I brought thee my praises to-day. 
 
 " Three times a day, as each coming moon 
 Rose, waxed, and waned old 
 When the pledge of our loves heaved beneath my 
 breast, 
 
THE VIRGIN S SHRINE. 55 
 
 I besought thee for courage, for comfort and rest ; — 
 
 I made thee my vows in my widow's weeds drest ; — 
 
 And I paid them in crimson and gold. 
 
 Thou knowest me pure, thou knowest me true. 
 Thou knowest each thought of mine ; 
 
 From the hour when in anguish I saw him depart, 
 
 Thy holy child Jesus alone filled my heart ; 
 
 It is broken and pierced with grief's sharpest dart ; — 
 I bring it again to thy shrine. — 
 
 And three times a day. Holy Mother ! still 
 I will turn me in prayer to thee ; — 
 And tho' far he must wander, and much he must 
 
 bear 
 For his father, my babie shall first lisp a prayer. 
 That Heaven may preserve him from sorrow and 
 care. 
 Whatever becometh of me." 
 
 She ceasethTO she is sinking in grief, 
 
 When her knight's arm is round her throv/n ; 
 His arm is around her, his ladie so deare, 
 His kisses have dried up each desolate tear, 
 His kind words have banished each womanish feare. 
 
 Her child is reclaimed as his own. 
 
56 ATTEMPTS AT VERSE. 
 
 Thou art faire, child," he cries, " as thy mother's 
 pure fame, 
 
 As the Saviour to whom she did live ; 
 O gain me once more her dear pardon and grace, 
 In ev'ry past doubt I her virtue may trace ; 
 Her soul was with God, and He shines in thy face, 
 
 Ye dear ones, O love and forgive !" 
 
 ADDRESS TO DEATH. 
 
 Death ! to whom so many pray 
 Thou wouldest yet thy stroke delay ; 
 Whilst some view thee as the friend, 
 Who alone their woes can end, — 
 Alike from those who hope or fear. 
 Churlish, thou turn'st away thine ear ; 
 
ADDRESS TO DEATH. 57 
 
 Or, should'st thou attention give, 
 
 Thou sparest the wretch that loathes to live. 
 
 And pluckest for the nearest grave 
 
 Him who willed his life to save- 
 
 Come ; perverse as thou mayest be, 
 
 Thou shalt hear a prayer from me ; 
 
 I ask no long protracted stay, 
 
 Tho' life were fair as summer's day, 
 
 Nor does my heart, from fear, demand 
 
 Respite at thy griesly hand. 
 
 Nor, from sorrow, do I crave 
 
 Refuge in an early grave, 
 
 Nor, in disgust at things below. 
 
 Desire that thou thy dart should'st throw. 
 
 Blest with health, with ease, with friends, 
 
 All that to human comfort tends, 
 
 With competence, that 's gaily earned, 
 
 In loving where my love 's returned. — 
 
 Were not my heart at others' woe 
 
 Prompt to melt, my tears to flow 
 
 When others mourn, I had not known 
 
 Sorrow I could call my own. 
 
 Even thus supremely blest. 
 
 Death ! to thee I make request. 
 
 Leave me not too long to live '. 
 
 Let me not my joys survive! 
 
58 ATTEMPTS AT VERSE. 
 
 Point a sure unerring dart, 
 
 Whilst youthful blood yet warms my heart 
 
 Whilst my eye its glance can throw 
 
 Round the world, nor find a foe ; 
 
 Whilst my warmest sympathy 
 
 Follows human misery, 
 
 And my hand its little store 
 
 Spreads to those who want it more ; 
 
 Whilst my soul at others' joy 
 
 Feels a bliss without alloy ; 
 
 Whilst my sins, tho' many, crave, 
 
 And hope, a pardon ere the grave, 
 
 E'en from him who wills to save ! 
 
 Come then. Death ! midst every pleasure. 
 
 Thou, to me, wert greater treasure : 
 
 Ere earth fail to see me blest. 
 
 Take me to thy dearer vest ! 
 
 1826. 
 
59 
 
 STANZAS. 
 
 I CARE not for the sunlight, 
 
 Unless the sunlight lay- 
 On forest-trees, and meadows green, 
 
 From cities far away. 
 
 Nor do I love the moonlight, 
 Unless the moonlight sleep 
 
 In rocky glen and quiet dell. 
 In silence calm and deep. 
 
 Nor care I for the morning breeze, 
 
 Unless it rustles by 
 When I am laid 'neath spreading trees. 
 
 And gazing on the sky. 
 
 For then I feel its quiet ghde 
 So gently through mine eye, 
 
 As tho' it were a soothing draught 
 Of silent poetry. 
 
60 ATTEMPTS AT VERSE. 
 
 And then I seem as tho' I were, 
 
 Of Nature's self a part, 
 And that I had her glorious pulse. 
 
 And felt with her own heart. 
 
 'T is then the ocean-billows rise 
 With playful mirth, before 
 
 My half-shut eyes ; 't is then I hear 
 The waves beat on the shore. 
 
 The waves make music to the shore ; 
 
 The shore awakes the hills ; 
 The hills arouse the mountain streams, 
 
 And their ten thousand rills. 
 
 The rills flow down into the sea. 
 With a soft pleasant sound. 
 
 And thus sustain the wondrous song 
 Of Nature all around ! 
 
61 
 
 THE DEATH OF THE POET. 
 
 The dying Poet sleeping. Sara, his wife, watching 
 over him. Time, sunset. 
 
 Sara. 
 He sleeps ! Perchance it is his last last slumber ! 
 His dreams may be of heaven, and his eyes 
 May never open on this world again. 
 E'en now the angels may have loosed the bonds 
 That pressed his heaven-born spirit to the earth, 
 And tho' his mortal form rests here, his soul 
 May swell the anthems of the sainted choirs. 
 He smiles! he lives ! e"en in his earthly dreams 
 He speaks to angels, and they speak to him 
 Sweet words of consolation and delight. 
 Angelic tones of welcome yet to be. 
 
 The Poet (waking). 
 My well-loved Sara, ever thus I find 
 Thee watching o'er me. Ah ! my love, I thought 
 When first my eyelids opened on thy face 
 Thou wast an angel ; for my dreams have been 
 
62 ATTEMPTS AT VERSE. 
 
 Of heaven and fair angels : I have roamed 
 
 In a bright Paradise, where murmuring streams 
 
 Were rolling waters of immortal song ; 
 
 And crystal fountains gushed in melody, 
 
 Where the green meadows rest in silent bliss, 
 
 Spangled with flowers and herbs (their fragrant 
 
 thoughts) ; 
 And, ever and anon, a wave of joy 
 Came through the air in thrilling unison. 
 All was delight — an atmosphere of love. 
 And when at length 1 stretched my weary limbs 
 Beneath a tree upon a gentle hill, 
 A fairer and a softlier music glid 
 Thro' every pore, and woke within my soul 
 The heaven I found without — and all was peace. 
 
 Open the casement, Sara, let the breeze 
 Fan over my brow, the grave-damps even now 
 Are rising on it, and that simple harp 
 Which, sidelong placed upon the window sill. 
 Delights to feel the kisses of the breeze 
 Caress its innocent chords — Ah ! that soft tone ' 
 'Tis as the breathing of melodfbus thought 
 In a soft stream, to satisfy the soul. 
 My spirit drinks those echoes : — thinkest thou 
 They die upon the passing wind ? Ah no ! They blend, 
 And live for ever in their element. — 
 
DEATH OF THE POET. 63 
 
 Those deep low whisperings of the trembling chords 
 Are as the voices of the dead, which now 
 Awake refreshed from their long-silent sleep, 
 To give a welcome in the invisible world 
 To my departing spirit. 
 
 Farewell now, 
 My faithful Sara, I shall linger still 
 Hallowed in memory ; and at that still hour, 
 When the glad angel, Death, shall loosen thee 
 From the dark fetters of thy mortal flesh, 
 My spirit will be with thee to sustain 
 Thy fleeting life, and waiting to embrace 
 Thy new-born being in eternal love. 
 Farewell ! now leave me ; I would be alone 
 With Nature in this last, this farewell-hour. 
 
 [Sara leaves him. 
 O gladsome glorious Sun ! 
 I never more upon the grassy bank, 
 Shall fling my limbs to feel thy kindly warmth, 
 When I have pressed my heart unto the earth 
 To blend my throbbings with its mighty pulse. 
 And feel myself a fibre of its frame. 
 O Nature ! I have lived in loving thee : 
 To thee have I flung forth my boundless thoughts. 
 And revelled in thy grandeur, till my heart 
 Thrilled tremblingly with silentness and joy. 
 
64 ATTEMPTS AT VERSE. 
 
 I worshipped thee till I had lost the power 
 Of loving aught save thee ; and now I go 
 To mingle with thee, and become a part 
 Thro' which thy life-blood rolls. 
 
 Nature and Nature's God ! 
 The deep-toned worship of my heart dared not 
 Approach to thee, but thro' thy glorious works ; 
 And now the veil that dimmed the lustrous stream 
 Of hght, which blazoned round thine awful throne. 
 Is fading mistily away; and soon 
 I shall behold thy Face, the Eternal One ! 
 Bright Sun, farewell — farewell ! and yet, O pause, 
 E'en but an instant, ere the wave shall hide thee. 
 Let thy dear light but glad one moment more 
 These eyes, which soon must roll in vain for light, 
 Then close for ever on the world I love. 
 Farewell, thou bright-eyed Sun ! Thy glance to-morrow 
 "Will shine upon my grave. 
 One star is visible : it seems to bring 
 An old remembered face to gaze on me. 
 And look a farewell at my dying hour. 
 Another ! and another ! welcome ye ! 
 Unnumbered Systems ! ye that walk the skies 
 In nightly majesty— To ye I've breathed— not man. 
 
65 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 It was a vision ; or ray spirit stray'd 
 To the fair clime of blue-skyed Araby ; 
 For while the congregation round me prayed, 
 My weary soul was 'neath a tall rock's shade 
 With eyes intent upon a cloudless sky. 
 The boundless waste of ocean rolled before, 
 And pilgrim-billows pebbly offerings brought, 
 As a fond tribute to the embracing shore. 
 The joyful air, with freshest odours fraught, 
 Bathed my bare forehead ; — Nature seemed to steal 
 All worship to herself — apart I trod 
 From all mankind, as tho' no more to feel ; 
 When, at one bound, the organ's solemn peal. 
 Brought me from Nature, back to Nature's God! 
 
66 ATTEMPTS AT VERSE. 
 
 TO AN INDIAN BEGGAR. 
 
 WEARY wanderer ! is there aught on earth 
 To bring a sorrow or a joy to thee? 
 
 Or have the feelings given thee at thy birth 
 
 Been crushed beneath thy stedfast misery ? 
 
 Wins the blue sky its way into thy soul ? 
 
 Rests thine eye still in joy upon the hills ? 
 
 Drinks yet thine ear the music- gushing rills ? 
 
 Or do these glorious things in darksome silence roll ? 
 
 Art thou alone ; — an outcast from the rest ? 
 
 Or cling'st thou still unto some human heart, 
 
 Making thy pillow in a kindred breast ? — 
 
 1 read thy tale — thou art from all apart. 
 Yet O remember, wheresoe'er you roam, 
 
 Christ died for thee, and God has made thy home ! 
 
67 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 Ye rocks and vallies ! mountains, woods, and streams ' 
 
 Ye I revisit oft in gentle sleep. 
 
 And live among ye in my silent dreams. 
 
 Yea : oft I stand upon the lofty steep, 
 
 And hear the music of the billowy deep — 
 
 A far-off murmuring, which seems to glide 
 
 Into my spirit as a voiceless tide 
 
 Of melody, too fair for outward ear. 
 
 Oft when I stand amid the crowded scene, 
 
 My soul is wandering 'neath the shaded green, 
 
 Or breezy meadows, some fresh fountain near. 
 
 From which the crystal waters bright and clear. 
 
 Gush into air — a water-harp — and make 
 
 Sweet song to cheer me for dear Nature's sake. 
 
68 ATTEMPTS AT VERSE. 
 
 Go to the fields and gaze upon 
 
 The lilies — simple flowers ! 
 They toil not — spin not — nor consume 
 
 In care their passing hours ; 
 But gazing on the soft blue sky, 
 Delight the weary wanderer's eye. 
 
 Yet Solomon in all his state 
 Was not arrayed like them, 
 
 Tho' vested in his gorgeous robe 
 And glittering diadem. 
 
 And throned e'en as a god on high. 
 
 In all the blaze of majesty. 
 
 Will he who breathed upon the flower 
 
 Its fragrancy and bloom, 
 Unpitying see thee drop and sink 
 
 Unaided to the tomb : 
 Go to the meadows — bend thine eyes 
 Upon the lilies — and be wise. 
 
 MMMBMIilllWiiiiiMimi iiMi i 
 
69 »* 
 
 QUESTION. A 
 
 There were mists in the morning ;— they fade from the 
 
 hill.— 
 There was song in the woods ; — they are cheerless and 
 
 still.— 
 There were flowers on earth's bosom ; — their leaves are 
 
 all shed. — 
 There were hopes in my youth ; — they are withered 
 
 and dead. — 
 There is change, there is death, spread on all here below. 
 The fairest is frail as the vanishing snow. — 
 Thou art fairer and dearer than all that I view ; 
 But ah ! dare I hope time will find thee more true ? 
 
 THE REPLY. 
 The mists of the morning may fade from the hill, 
 The once vocal groves may be cheerless and still, 
 The fair leaves may fall from the withering tree. 
 But the heart thou hast won shall be faithful to thee — 
 All on earth may be frail as the bright snowy wreath. 
 That melts as it feels the young summer's soft breath ; 
 There is change, there is death in the joys by Earth 
 
 given — 
 For they are of earth ; but lorw is from Heaven. 
 
70 
 
 ATTEJirTS AT VERSE. 
 
 Heav'n gave the bee desire for sweets, 
 Nor heav'n denies her flowers ; 
 The thirsty land for moisture waits, 
 Nor heav'n withholds its showers. — 
 Nor sooner are the babe's alarms 
 To mother's ears exprest, 
 He finds a shelter in her arms, 
 His solace at her breast. 
 
 Nor are the instincts of the heart 
 
 Less subjects of heaven's care ; 
 
 Nor would it sympathies impart 
 
 Merely to perish there ; — 
 
 The heart that yearns for kindred mind. 
 
 To share its bliss or pain ; — 
 
 That knows to love, — shall surely find 
 
 A heart that loves again. 
 
71 
 
 THE TRIALS OF THE INNOCENT. 
 
 Christian ! if ever a doubt should rise 
 
 Of that holier world beyond the skies, 
 
 Whose hope is man's only reality. 
 
 In this land of visions, that flitting by. 
 
 Aye mock and leave us, — if life's dark hour. 
 
 The tempter, the world, or thy treacherous heart, 
 
 That clings to the shadowy forms that depart. 
 
 Would snatch from thy grasp that buckler of power, 
 
 Which alone can shield from the fiery dart. 
 
 Or would lead thee away from thyrock and thy tower, — 
 
 If, in the awful hiding of His face, 
 
 Whose smile of love is this world's only light. 
 
 Hard thoughts arise of His eternal grace. 
 
 Or daring question leaves its searing trace : 
 
 That doubt has been that the world's Judge does right. 
 
 O wouldst thou strengthen this thy failing trust, 
 And lay the gathering clouds of earthly dust. 
 That rushing crowds raise up before our road, 
 Blinding our eyes till they lose sight of God ;— 
 
72 ATTEMPTS AT VEHSE. 
 
 Seek not the holy strengthening of thy faith 
 
 In the red bolt that deals out certain death, 
 
 Where justice seemed uncertain ; — seek it not 
 
 Where daily blessings mark the good man's lot, 
 
 And peace and hope inspire his dying breath. — 
 
 (Yet this might teach thee.) Seek it not alone 
 
 In the all glorious sun, or starry zone 
 
 Which girdles round the grand majestic course 
 
 That he has daily held, unchanged, untired. 
 
 Since first he sprung from chaos, by the force 
 
 Of that one mighty word of The First Cause, 
 
 Whose meaning grasped the whole of Nature's laws. — 
 
 No ! tho', once more, with glad ethereal voice 
 
 The morning stars should, as at first, rejoice ; — 
 
 And, even now, undying echoes thrill, 
 
 From their far spheres, the music "Peace, be still" 
 
 As mourners turn to those pure rays, inspired 
 
 With holy powers to make their heaven desired; — 
 
 Seek not your faith from these, altho' their line, 
 
 Gone forth thro' the whole earth, proclaims, " Divine 
 
 And uncreated light has made us shine." 
 
 And seek not comfort for thy wounded soul. 
 In the earth's lower wonders, tho' each part, 
 The smallest, bids the uncorrupted heart 
 Believe supernal mercy made the whole ; 
 
THE TRIALS OF THE INNOCENT. 73 
 
 Seek it not chiefly there ; for the full grain 
 May yet lie blackened on the smiling plain. 
 And the sweet glories of the opening flower 
 Fail to complete the moments of its hour. 
 Seek it not there ; nor in the mighty mind 
 Of kindred mortals, who have stolen a fire 
 Kindled in Heaven, that with strong desire 
 For ever pointeth upward Heaven to flnd ; 
 And might well teach us, who can thus inspire. 
 
 No : seek it rather in the life consigned 
 To sorrow, ere there yet was time for sin ; — ■ 
 Doomed to renounce earth's joys, as they begin 
 To charm, before, they have been found to pall ;— 
 As innocent, to feel the guilt of all ; 
 As full of kindly feeling, child-like trust, 
 Hope, love, and song, to have each power thrust 
 Back coldly on the heart ; — and yet to live resigned. 
 O there is Heaven here ! — It cannot be 
 That He, the source of every sympathy, 
 The planter of each instinct seeking joy 
 As if it were our birthright, should destroy 
 
 All pleasure, all that 's prized beneath the sun, 
 
 Except the hope of Heaven ;— and that hope fail. 
 
 All that was born in meekness, to avail 
 
 Nothing to win the long-expected goal 
 
74 ATTEMPTS AT VERSK. 
 
 Of rest and joy to the confiding soul. 
 O this be far from Him, the Holy One .' 
 
 Christian ! here bring thy doubts of that just Heaven, 
 Repaying all of sorrow or of strife 
 That in mysterious mercy may be given 
 To those who thus have borne the woes of life ; 
 Not borne unheeded, not with scorn or pride, 
 Nor with the sullen wish from man to hide 
 The heart that God hath broken, but not riven 
 From any sympathy to man allied : — 
 A heart still open to another's care. 
 Reflecting still the joys it may not share. 
 And meekly yielding, whatsoe'er betide, 
 Sweet illustration of "Thy will be done," 
 Learning each grief with patience to beguile ! 
 And seeing in the darkest hour a father's smile. — 
 Weak Christian ! here lay down your doubts of Heaven : 
 Come for new faith ; love, hope, and be forgiven. 
 
75 
 
 "1833." 
 
 There was a wailing in the land, 
 
 A wailing o'er the sea, — 
 And every breath of air that stirr'd, 
 
 Pulsed strong with agony. 
 For lo ! there passed a Pest along 
 
 As a fierce and rushing surge ; 
 And it changed old England' s merry song 
 
 To a dark and funeral dirge. 
 
 I heard the widow's broken sob — 
 
 The father's stifled moan ; 
 And then amid these awful sounds 
 
 There came the dying groan. 
 From every tongue, or old, or young, 
 
 The voice of gladness fled ; 
 O'er every house the Pest had breathed - 
 
 The dying watched the dead ! 
 
76 ATTEMPTS AT VERSE. 
 
 And there sprang up in each church-yard 
 
 The graves — like Earth's quick sighs, 
 Yea ; wheresoe'er the footsteps trod. 
 
 Were funeral obsequies ! 
 And men and vs^omen walked in dread. 
 
 And moved as tho' they were 
 In shroud and winding sheet arrayed, 
 
 Shut from the blessed air. 
 
 And they who with the morning rose 
 
 In health and strength and bloom. 
 Were, ere the midnight bell had tolFd, 
 
 Pale dwellers in the tomb. 
 And they who followed mourning them. 
 
 And tears of sorrow shed. 
 Were, ere another day had gone. 
 
 Themselves the silent dead. 
 
 The Pest pass'd by — the scourge was stayed- 
 
 The world forgot to weep, 
 And men with lighter hearts began. 
 
 To court the nightly sleep. 
 On wassail, vice, and thoughtlessness. 
 
 Again the world is bent, 
 And care not for that awful Pest— 
 
 A Nation's punishment. 
 
77 
 
 STA.NZAS. 
 
 All silently pass through the harp that is stringless, 
 The delicate breeze, and the gale in its fury. 
 No murmurs of music are flung from their touches, — 
 The harp rests in stillness ! 
 
 The landscape of earth, and the verdure-robed moun- 
 tains. 
 The aye-changing face of the earth-girdling ocean. 
 The glorious sun in the blaze of the noontide 
 Are dark to the sightless. 
 
 The blue sky above with the stars thickly studded, 
 The moon that looks round in the light of her beauty, 
 All these are to him both a pang and a sorrow. — 
 Dark is the moonlight ! 
 
 The murmurous sound of the soft-falling spring rills, 
 The rustle and song of the dark-waving forests, 
 The beautiful music of sabbath bells calling 
 All nature to worship, — 
 
78 ATTEMPTS AT VERSE. 
 
 O these are all lost on the deaf — the unhearing. 
 And e'en so of life are the joys and the sorrows 
 To him who is godless : but all these are plain to 
 The truth-loving Christian ! 
 
 THE iEOLIAN HARP. 
 
 The harp in my window, the simple ^olian, 
 Doleth forth sounds, as the deUcate breezes 
 Steal thro' its chords, and the soft music wreathing 
 A garland of musical flowers round my spirit, 
 Dirge-like and soul-like, — so soothingly mournful. 
 How mournfully now are the strings overflowing 
 With music, so gentle, so dove-like, so sigh-like ' 
 As tho' the wind thirstlike had drank all the wailings 
 The sighs, and lamentings of widows and orphans, 
 And poured all the sadness in one gush of song ; 
 Till the chords of the harp, the dear simple ^Eolian, 
 Are thrilling and sobbing with son'ow and song. 
 
79 
 
 THE MORNING STAR. 
 
 Fainter and fainter shines the star of morn, 
 Fair lingerer of the night, as tho' it stay'd 
 "Waiting to see the glorious sunlight born. 
 In all the pomp of purple skies arrayed. 
 E'en while I look, that beauteous star doth fade 
 And mingle with the quiet of the sky ; 
 And yet, methinks a paler blue appears 
 Around the spot where died that lingering star : 
 Or does fond Fancy cheat the gazing eye. 
 Or paler seems the colour thro' my tears ? 
 Bright star, farewell ! I never more may view 
 Thy face — light-flasher — breaking through the blue 
 Unbroken stillness of the dawning hour ; 
 But not the less thy gentle light will shower 
 Its beauty on my grave when I shall rest 
 With quiet brain upon the earth's cold breast. 
 
80 ATTEMPTS AT VERSE. 
 
 THE SABBATH MORN. 
 
 The sacred quiet of the sabbath morn 
 Glides o'er my heart, like music gently stealing 
 Into some mourner's breast which hath been torn 
 With deepest grief, but now is slowly healings- 
 Note upon note a holier joy revealing. 
 Till a new being at the close seems born. 
 E'en so to me this calm and holy morning, 
 " I feel a music which no ear can measure. 
 And a fair beauty which no eye can see ;" 
 I know that peace is more than earthly treasure. 
 For love and peace will form eternity. 
 The birds sing holier songs, as tho' the power 
 That spreads a quiet over shore and sea. 
 Whispered to them, that, at this sacred hour. 
 They should trill forth a sweeter melody. 
 And would man quell the passions in his breast, 
 He too would shai-e this Paradise of rest ; 
 But this dark world of flesh must pass away, 
 Ere we shall feel the Eternal Sabbath Day. 
 
81 
 
 A FRAGMENT. 
 
 One summer's eve when lingering twilight seemed 
 
 All loth to leave so calm — so fair a scene, 
 
 I sat within the porch of Ashtead church : 
 
 And as I gazed upon the mounded earth, 
 
 'Neath which reposed the mouldering forms of those 
 
 Who oft perchance had trod the very spot 
 
 Where now they slumbered — or had even sat 
 
 Within the humble porch — sad thoughts arose 
 
 And glided in my soul, like to wan ghosts 
 
 Silently stealing from their quiet tombs, 
 
 As tho' they fear'd to rouse the sullen owl 
 
 Or wake the slumbering bat : and these sad thoughts 
 
 Came deeper o'er my spirit, as the shades 
 
 Of evening o'er the earth, until my soul 
 
 Seemed as the shrine of sorrow and deep awe. 
 
 There is a majesty in grief which bends 
 
 All feelings to itself, like Joseph's sheaf. 
 
 Then all the world was blotted from my heart, 
 
 I felt the Passions die, and Feeling rise 
 
 As a pure spirit from its bonds of flesh. 
 
 The vile pollutions of the sinful earth 
 
 Fell from my being, and my spirit soared 
 
 E2 
 
82 ATTEMPTS AT VERSE. 
 
 Like to the bird whose wings before were bound 
 By heavy chains, which would not let him spring 
 Into his native element — so seemed I 
 Another creature. All the bonds of clay 
 And the misleading senses were dissolved ; 
 And things which were impalpable before 
 To outward vision, now became distinct 
 And tangible to hearing, sight, and touch. 
 Then Nature's wonders burst upon my mind 
 Like to a heavenly landscape, that before 
 The funeral curtains of the night had veiled ; 
 But now I saw with eyes inscrutable 
 The air was painted with divinest shapes 
 Of spiritual beings ; heavenly sounds 
 Floated around me ; e'en the simplest flower, 
 The meanest insect, and the waving trees — 
 All that had life or motion was instinct 
 With untaught prayer and thanksgiving to God. 
 Man seemed alone to be the only thing 
 Who walked the earth forgetful of his God : 
 He will not join with Nature in the full 
 And glorious chorus which she ever pours. 
 O who can gaze on Nature, and not long. 
 To mix his being with her elements ; 
 E'en, as a viewless wind to roam the world 
 And fan the lofty mountain's fev'rish brow, 
 
A FRAGMENT. 83 
 
 When basking in the sun's meridian rays ? 
 Or swell the canvas of the homeward barque, 
 Which bears a husband to his sorrowing wife. 
 Who sits and counts the minutes as they crawl ? 
 
 A FRAGMENT. 
 
 O SPEECH it is a wondrous thing, 
 
 As beautiful as strong, 
 It clotheth every living thought 
 
 In the melody of song. 
 
 'Tis as the blessed light from heaven 
 
 Upon the hills and streams, 
 It does not make them — but they owe 
 
 Their beauty to its beams. 
 
 In vain the bending skies would hang 
 
 Enamoured o'er the Earth, 
 Which looketh up with looks of love, 
 
 Too fond for even mirth. 
 
 And even thus the glorious mind 
 Would brood o'er chaos thought, 
 
 Had not the light of speech sprang forth 
 And love and music wrought. 
 
84 ATTEMPTS AT VERSE. 
 
 0"/t^ ^frSSaterlanb. 
 
 Where is the German's Fatherland ? 
 Suabia, Prussia, which of these ? 
 Is it where the purple vine 
 Blossoms on the beauteous Rhine ? 
 Is it where the seagulls rest 
 Their bosoms on the Baltic's breast? 
 
 No : ah no ! 'tis none of these. 
 
 Greater far his Fatherland. 
 
 Where is the German's native land ? 
 Bavaria, Illyria — which of these ? 
 Tell me, tell me, does it lie 
 Beneath the fair Westphalian sky ? 
 Is it in the gloomy mine, 
 Where the gold and iron shine ? 
 No : ah no ! 'tis none of these, 
 Nobler is the Fatherland. 
 
" DER VATERLAND." 85 
 
 Where is the German's Fatherland ? 
 Pomerania ; is it here ? 
 Is it where the flying sand, 
 Windblown, ranges o'er the land? 
 Is it where the roaring river 
 Of the Danube rolls for ever ? 
 
 No : ah no ! it is not these. 
 
 Greater is the Fatherland ! 
 
 Where is the German's native home ? 
 
 Name to me the glorious land. 
 
 Is it where the freeborn Swiss 
 
 Roam in plenty ? Is it this ? 
 
 Or where the gay Tyroleans dwell ? 
 
 Tho' land and people please me well, 
 
 Yet no : yet no ! 'tis none of these. 
 
 Nobler is his native land ! 
 
 Where is the German's Fatherland? 
 Breathe to me the glorious name ? 
 Is it Austria, fair and bright. 
 Rich in honours, great in fight. 
 And where love and music roll 
 All their witchery o'er the soul 1 
 
 No : ah no ! it is not there. 
 
 Greater is the Fatherland ! 
 
} ATTEMPTS AT VERSE. 
 
 Where is the German's Father-Home ? 
 
 Name to me the glorious realm. 
 
 Is it the ill-fated land 
 
 Snatched by Gallia's treacherous hand, — 
 
 Robber of a nation's right 
 
 By the villany of might ? 
 
 No : ah no ! it is not here. 
 
 Nobler is the Father- Home ! 
 
 Where is the German's Fatherland ? 
 Breathe that spirit-stirring spell. 
 Where'er a German's freebom speech 
 Is uttered, or where it can reach : 
 Where'er by German's pious tongue 
 The grateful hymn to God is sung. 
 
 'Tis there ! 'tis there ! hail, land divine ! 
 
 That, brave German, that call thine. 
 
 There is the German's Fatherland, 
 Where vows are pledged, yea — hand in hand ; 
 Where truth and freedom light the eye, 
 And love is pure fidelity. 
 
 'Tis that ! 'tis that ! hail, land divine ! 
 
 That, brave German, that call thine. 
 
 That is the German's native home, 
 Where warm sincerity is known ; 
 
" DER VATERLAND." 87 
 
 "Where ne'er is heard a foreign tone ; 
 Where every cold unfeeling heart 
 Is bidden as a foe depart ; 
 Where every warm and noble mind 
 Is as a friend by Heaven assigned 
 To share our joy and ease our strife, 
 The ebb and flow of human life. 
 
 'Tis there ! 'tis there ! land of the Free '■ 
 
 It shall be all — all Germany ' 
 
 The whole of Germany shall be 
 Our Fatherland ; it shall be free. 
 O God of Heaven, enthroned above, 
 Bless it with thy benignant love ! 
 With German valour, German truth, 
 Fill every soul — and fire our youth, 
 That every harp and tongue shall tell 
 They served it faithfully and well. 
 
 'Tis here ! 'tis here ! land of the free ! 
 
 It shall be all — all Germany. 
 
ATTEMPTS AT VERSE. 
 
 THE FIRST BREATH OF SPRING. 
 
 There are voices in heaven, and voices on earth. 
 And some call to sorrow and some call to mirth — 
 But death breathes a whisper thro' all from our birth. 
 
 There 's a voice in the city, a voice in the waste, 
 From the full rush of life, from the ruin defaced — 
 In midnight's deep silence a murmur is placed. 
 
 There 's the voice of the trumpet, the clarion shrill, 
 And who hears, but feels in the answering thrill. 
 That the stream of his life rose from warrior riU ? 
 
 There 's a voice in the field, when the battle is o'er ; 
 
 A voice of last groans and of slow-ebbing gore, 
 
 And the drum's muffled roll, that is answered no more- 
 
 There 's a voice of distress, a cry in the land ; 
 
 And it speaks to the Christian his father's command, 
 
 " From a brother in sorrow withdraw not thy hand." 
 
THE FIRST BREATH OF SPRING. 89 
 
 And Joy has its voice, on the bright holiday, 
 
 When old and young answer " We come forth to play; 
 
 Our toil is forgotten, from toil we 're away." 
 
 And the gold-waving harvest a glad voice can raise, 
 Whilst earth shouts an answer of gladness and praise, 
 " O God, thou art bounteous in all thy ways." 
 
 There are voices from heaven and voices from earth. 
 
 And man answers still in sorrow or mirth : 
 
 But Death has his whisper to each from his birth. 
 
 E'en the first softened breeze that sweeps the glad sky, 
 When spring just begins her fair garlands to tie, — 
 That speaks to the heart, and the heart breathes a sigh. 
 
 It comes as it came, when the bright eye cast round, 
 
 The dear smile of friendship so constantly found, 
 
 Or exchanged the stolen glance that made the heart bound . 
 
 It comes as it came, the pure breath of spring — 
 Soft, buoyant and glad, as the bird's tender wing 
 When it leaves the dull nest to soar and to sing. 
 
 It comes as it came; — but the virtuous, the brave, 
 The beloved, that I knew when it first pleasure gave, 
 They are gone, and it whispers, "I breathe o'er their grave .' ' 
 
90 ATTEMPTS AT VERSE. 
 
 BALLAD. 
 
 " O LADY, say but one gentle word, 
 Or bow but that lovely head; 
 And to-night at thy casement will I be found. 
 And will bear thee, when all shall be hushed around, 
 To the friar who will us wed. 
 
 " Hast thou not owned that thy heart is mine, 
 
 And wilt thou but give thy hand, 
 Thou shalt bless for ever the midnight hour 
 That saw thee depart to thy true love's bower, 
 
 Tho' humble his state and land. 
 
 " I h'ave wooed thee long tho' thy mother has frowned, 
 And thy father abused me sore ; 
 And long had I loved, e'er I dared to impart 
 That thou wast the hope, the sweet heart of my heart, 
 The blessing all blessings before. 
 
91 
 
 O yield thee, fair Agnes, thy father did say 
 
 Mjy poverty made him refuse ; 
 And despite of the wrath in thy proud mother's 
 
 eyne. 
 She owned that had jewels and gold been mine, 
 
 No other for thee would she choose. 
 
 Then, lady, say but one gentle word. 
 
 Or bow but that lovely head ; 
 And to-night at thy casement will T be found, 
 And will bear thee, when all shall be silent around, 
 
 To the friar who will us wed." 
 
 Sir knight," said the lady, "thou counsel' st me 
 ill; 
 
 I cannot away with thee ; 
 For the' I love better thy humble bower 
 Than stateliest castle or princely dower, 
 
 My virtue is dearer to me. 
 
 ' Thy wife would I be in homehest garb, 
 And for thee would I toil and spin ; 
 And glad would I live on the coarsest fare 
 If only thy love and thy smiles were there; _ . . 
 But I cannot be happy and sin. 
 
92 ATTEMPTS AT VERSE. 
 
 " Let US wait till my father will list to thy suit, 
 
 Or my lady mother relent ; 
 Some happier hour for us may be bom, — 
 But ah, if we still must have reason to mourn, 
 
 No cause let us have to repent. 
 
 " No other knight shall receive my vows, 
 Whilst thou keepest love and life ; 
 And tho' wrongly and vainly this day thou may'st 
 
 sue, 
 O deem that the maid to her parents so true 
 Will make thee a faithful wife. 
 
 " Go where thine honour most loudly calls, 
 Tho' far it must lead thee away ; 
 For God, for thy country, be drawn thy good sword, 
 As a knight who is true to his lady and word ; — 
 For me — I will go and pray !" 
 
 " To what saint," quoth the knight, " canst thou offer 
 a prayer, 
 So much of a saint as thou ? 
 i go, but my heart will e'er be thy shrine, 
 And on none but that faire and dear hand of thine. 
 Shall my lips ever breathe a vow." 
 
93 
 
 The knight he has taken a long embrace, 
 
 As he bade Lady Agnes farewell ; 
 And quickly did heave her gentle breast, 
 As in love and in sorrow to his 'twas prest. 
 And quickly the sad tears fell. 
 
 And when he had mounted his trusty steed, 
 And was gone from his lady's sight; 
 
 Long, long did she gaze where her lover had been 
 
 And many a tear she let fall unseen. 
 
 And short was her sleep that night. 
 
 Yet was there solace with sadness mixed. 
 
 And a smile would yet follow each tear ; 
 For she trusted in Him who no trust deceives. 
 Who hallows all joy, and all sorrow relieves 
 And who watches o' er all we hold dear. 
 
 And calmly she looked in her father's face. 
 
 Or stood at her mother's side ; 
 And happy she felt when her duteous cares. 
 Made them call her the joy of their silver hairs, 
 
 That she had no error to hide. 
 
 And well did she feel the Lord can requite. 
 As tidings and travellers tell, 
 
94 ATTEMPTS AT VERSE. 
 
 That her own knight is famous in field and in hall, 
 And in battle and siege and counsel — in all 
 Sir Eyrick had quitted him well. 
 
 Ah, sweeter than all save his present smile. 
 
 Was the sound of his distant fame ; 
 And no doubt ever shadowed his loved idea, 
 She felt her own truth, and how could she fear 
 
 That his should not be the same. 
 
 And she said in her heart, as it followed him far, 
 
 And fancy viewed all he might see, 
 " He will meet with more wealthy, will look on more fair. 
 Brighter charms — to which mine I should vainly compare, 
 
 But on none who can love like me." 
 
 PART THE SECOND. 
 
 There is justice in heaven, and justice on earth. 
 
 God's children with pleasures are blest ; 
 There are moments of bliss, tho' they vanish away, 
 But O there is rapture so deep whilst they stay, 
 
 As if Joy in our hearts had found rest. 
 
95 
 
 But it resteth not;- — that our rest in heaven 
 
 On earth may not be forgot ; 
 For the joy that is formed of kindness and love 
 Is the heaven of earth ; — should we prize it above, 
 
 How bitter would be our lot ! 
 
 There were moments of bliss for Sir Eyrick's bride. 
 
 There were moments of bliss for her knight ; 
 They were their's, the glad pulses of health and of youth, 
 They lived in the light of their virtue and truth, 
 They lived in their Maker's light. 
 
 And they knew that their cup of blessings was full. 
 And praised Him who made them blest : 
 
 And sweet Agnes would whisper, unconscious of ill, 
 
 " I am happy: O can I be happier still. 
 When our babie is at my breast ? " 
 
 Woe ! woe ! for the hopes and the pleasures of earth. 
 
 Woe ! woe ! for its love so dear. — 
 O look ye to Heaven for comfort and rest. 
 Sweet Agnes' fair image is laid on her breast, 
 
 And Agnes is laid on her bier. 
 
96 ATTEirPTS AT VEKSE. 
 
 Woe ! woe ! for the hopes and the pleasures of earth, 
 Grief, anguish, and heart-rending care ; 
 
 For Joy's shining morn there is Sorrow's dark night ; 
 
 For the loved one — a corpse he must hide from his sight, 
 But not for the Christian despair. 
 
 "Woe ! woe ! for the joys that will never return, 
 
 For the thought of each rapture past ; 
 For the meek pious words that the sufferer said. 
 For the prayers that had hallowed her dying bed, — 
 For the first kiss of love and the last. 
 
 But joy in the thought of the love and the truth 
 
 That had lived to this parting hour ; 
 In the trust, and the honour and purity, 
 That had hung o'er their home like the cloudless sky ; 
 
 O'er that Death can have no power. 
 
 And joy in the thought of the Saviour's might. 
 
 For those in their Saviour who trust ; 
 For the bright, bright world where we meet again, 
 Where no sorrow shall be, no sin and no pain. 
 Yes, joy from this lifeless dust. 
 
 And joy in the close of each lonely year, 
 That leads to the l|fe to come ; 
 
97 
 
 In the life that is spent to her mem'ry so dear ; 
 In tears, yet in drying another's tear ; 
 In the virtues that hallow her tomb. 
 
 And peace for the hour when Sir Eyrick is laid 
 
 By her whom he loved so well ; 
 And the cold marble forms that are sculptured there, 
 And their hands that are clasped together in prayer. 
 
 Of heaven and its peace seem to tell. 
 
 And if any who know not that peace, demand 
 
 What reward to their virtue was given ; 
 
 O practise that virtue, and learn by its worth 
 
 That, even in woe, they were blessed on Earth, 
 
 And are blessed for ever in Heaven. 
 
98 ATTEMPTS AT VERSE. 
 
 STANZAS. 
 
 " All things perish, save Virtue." 
 
 "Sweet Morn — so cool, so calm, so bright; 
 
 The bridal of the earth and sky. 
 The dew shall weep thy fall to-night, 
 For thou must die." 
 
 Sweet Rose — whose fragrance now I crave 
 
 To glad my sense and joy mine eye, 
 Thy root is ever in its grave, 
 And thou must die. 
 
 Sweet Spring — so full of shine and showers, 
 
 It makes the weary spirit sigh. 
 To think, with all thy herbs and flowers. 
 That thou must die. 
 
 Sweet Music — e'en the lovely song 
 
 Which from my harp in window nigh, 
 Is floating on the breeze along. 
 E'en thou must die. 
 
99 
 
 And all the bright and glistering train 
 
 Of stars, that stud the deep blue sky, 
 Must they all perish — none remain 
 To glad the eye ? 
 
 And vales and fields, and rushing streams. 
 
 And mountains that invade the sky, 
 Are they as baseless as our dreams ? 
 And must they die ? 
 
 And all that 's beautiful and fair 
 
 On Nature's face, Love's melody, 
 That makes sweet music of the air. 
 All — all must die. 
 
 And man, frail form of senseless clay, 
 
 Tho' now his glance is proud and high, 
 Perchance upon this passing day, 
 He too mav die ? 
 
 But the bright soul? — That, shrined within, 
 
 The quenchless light in mortal form, — 
 Tho' dimmed by misery and sin. 
 Defies the worm. 
 
100 ATTEMPTS AT VERSE. 
 
 "When all the stars shall fade away. 
 
 And suns in their own blaze expire, 
 And trackless comets cease to stray 
 With wand'ring fire, 
 
 The soul shall ever live, nor know 
 
 The lapse of time, but dwell on high, 
 And share, in endless joy or woe, 
 Eternity. 
 
 THE MORNING STAR. 
 
 My heart was dark and desolate. 
 And sorrow dwelt its lonesome mate. 
 When o'er the Eastern hills, afar. 
 My soul discerned a beauteous star. 
 It seemed a symbol of the night, 
 I found it heralded the light : 
 Faint ruddy gleams first streak the sky ; 
 At length arose Day's glorious eye. 
 I saw that bright star fade away 
 And mingle in the light of day : 
 
THE MORNING STAR. 101 
 
 Then all around was bright and fair, 
 And music seemed the soul of Air. 
 The glorious landscape slept around. 
 The rocks, which erst drear horror frown'd, 
 Now added beauty to the scene, 
 And flung a shade on meadows green, 
 'Neath which the weary limbs might lay 
 Secure against the heat of day. 
 
 Prayer is the spirit's Morning Star 
 That speaks salvation from afar, 
 Sure herald of the coming ray, 
 " Which shineth to the perfect day." 
 Then darts away Sin's gloomy night. 
 Quick as God's word, " Let there be light '. '' 
 Then all is beautiful and clear. 
 The rocks of life — our trials here — 
 But add a beauty to the span 
 Which maketh up the days of man. 
 And shade us from the blazing eye 
 Of the false world's idolatry. 
 Then prayer, that star of brightest ray 
 AVhich heralds in the " undying day," 
 Fades 'mid salvation's deathless rays. 
 And mingles with the light of praise. 
 
102 ATTEMPTS AT VERSE. 
 
 THE OLD BEGGAR. 
 
 There was an old and wretched man, 
 Who swept a crossing, where 
 
 It was my wont each mom to pass 
 In weather foul or fair ? 
 
 He seemed so bowed with wTetchedness, 
 
 I thought, as I passed by, 
 That it must be a pleasant thing 
 
 For such a man to die. 
 
 For in the rain, or scorching sun. 
 In winds both cold and keen. 
 
 With head all bare and naked feet, 
 This wretched man was seen. 
 
THE OLD BEGGAR. 103 
 
 He was so very wan and cold 
 
 That as 1 nearer drew. 
 Each morn and night, to where he stood, 
 
 A sadness pierced me through. 
 
 And if 1 chanced to catch his look 
 From eyes so sunk and pale, — 
 
 I never read in any book 
 So piteous a tale. 
 
 And then again I inly said, 
 
 As 1 was passing by, 
 " Great God, O what a joyful thing 
 
 For such a man to die ! " 
 
 It was upon that happy morn 
 When Sabbath bells do ring ; 
 
 And call us all both old and young 
 To praise our Heavenly King, 
 
 That, as with contrite heart and soul, 
 
 To prayer I slowly trod, 
 This wretched man was also bent 
 
 To go and praise his God. 
 
104 ATTEJIPTS AT VERSE. 
 
 ■J5ut what a change ! — His lace was gay, 
 
 And he was cleaner drest ; 
 His eye shone bright with cheerfulness, 
 
 He seemed so truly blest. 
 
 It was my chance that morn to stand 
 Near him in the church aisle, 
 
 And at each pause to hear his voice, 
 And see his happy smile. 
 
 His voice was full of thankfulness, 
 Of prayer — and peace — and joy, 
 
 And in his eye I saw the hope 
 This world cannot destroy. 
 
 And as I heard him pray and sing, 
 
 I thought, with tearful eye, 
 " Great God, O what a joyful thing 
 
 For such a man to die! " 
 
THE HILLS. 105 
 
 THE HILLS. 
 
 L 
 
 The Hills ! the Hills ! the everlasting Hills ! 
 High towers of Earth yet stretching towards the skies ; 
 First lighted beacons of the Sun, that fills 
 The world, aye telling that his beams arise ; 
 Aeries to which the wearied spirit flies ; 
 Pure regions of the fresh untainted gale ; 
 Type of the Heaven to which I raise mine eyes, 
 When Earth and earth-born pleasures fade and fail ; 
 Companions of the clouds, and shelterers of the vale. 
 
106 ATTEMPTS AT VERSE. 
 
 n. 
 
 The Hills ! the Hills ! the ever snow-clad Hills ! 
 The first to ovi^n each influence of Heaven ; 
 Deep treasures of the pure translucent rills. 
 That to man's health and gladness have been given, 
 Dark nurses of the earthquake that has riven 
 The proudest mole-hill palaces of man, 
 When his weak might with Time itself hath striven, 
 And vainly made Eternity his plan ; 
 Ve stand as ye have stood since first the world began. 
 
 III. 
 
 The Hills! the Hills! the freedom-breathing Hills 
 Mothers and nourishers of glorious deed ; 
 Inspirers of the patriot's love that fills 
 The heart, and makes his common thoughts the seed 
 Of acts the slave will tremble but to read. 
 For still the mountain-born at Freedom's shrine 
 (Freedom that dwells not on Italian mead), 
 Lisps his first prayer. Freedom I the Hills are thine ! 
 Upon their brow thou stand' st, the deathless and divine! 
 
THE HILLS. 107 
 
 IV. 
 
 The Hills ! the Hills ! the firm and steadfast Hills ! 
 E'en now the homes of Friendship, Truth, and Love 
 And Virtue rolling down the heavy ills, 
 Of Vice, that ever to the plains must move — 
 " The cities of the plain" — that still approve 
 God's judgment just, when Sodom was laid low. 
 Sink of base minds that raise no thought above ; — 
 Upon the Hills ! the Hills ! the Virtues glow. 
 While still infest the plains, Vice, Luxury, and Woe. 
 
 V. 
 
 The Hills ! the Hills ! the high and holy Hills ! 
 From ye the Almighty to the sage of old 
 Gave forth those wondrous tablets. He that fills 
 Earth — Ocean — Heaven — Him did ye behold! 
 Sole awful witnesses, as, slow unrolled. 
 His softened glories passed the prophet's eyes, 
 High holy mountains ! O what sights untold 
 Have ye not seen, calm gazers on the skies, 
 Enthroned amid the clouds, and crowned with mysteries ? 
 
108 ATTEMPTS AT VERSE. 
 
 VI. 
 
 The Hills! the Hills ! the ever-blessed Hills! 
 'Twas to your lone and rugged breast, the Lord, 
 Who now again his Father's bosom fills, 
 Went in the silent midnight to record 
 His love for man — for sins that he abhorred — 
 'Twas here he died : upon the hallowed sod 
 Fell his last pard 'ning prayer — and ere he soared 
 To share for ever the high throne of God, 
 Yours were the latest steps the blessed Saviour trod. 
 
 • VII. 
 
 The Hills ! the Hills ! emblems of holier hills, 
 Not to be moved when ye on earth must fade. 
 E'en as the mists now hovering o'er the rills; 
 When Heaven and Earth — all save the words he said 
 Shall pass away — then, conquerors undismayed. 
 The saints, that in your clefts once cherished pure 
 Their sore-tried faith, upon the heights arrayed. 
 Once more shall stand — thence sky -vfaxd rise — secure, 
 •Midst the dread crasjjjjf worlds,— the Hills ! the Hills ! 
 endure. 
 
109 
 
 " DIVINE LOVE. 
 
 " Then Jesus beholding him loved him, and said unto him, One thing 
 
 thou laekest : go thy way, sell whatsoever thou hast, and give to the poor, 
 
 and thou shalt have treasure in heaven ; and come, take up the cross, 
 
 and follow me. And he was sad at that saying, and went away grieved," 
 
 Mark x. 21, 22, 
 
 Alas ! that one whom Jesus saw and loved, 
 And yearned to make his follower and friend — 
 One who in virtue's path so nearly moved, 
 And knew at virtue's holiest shrine to bend,— 
 That he should e'er draw back, abashed, reproved. 
 But uncorrected, and, toe lavish, s Qgnd^ . 
 
 /t^ iii» wealth and powers on earth, whom mvoring Heaven ^d^ 
 Asked but to save the treasures it had given ! 
 
110 ATTEMPTS AT VERSE. 
 
 And, if our mortal thought may dare to look 
 
 Into the breast of spotless Purity, 
 
 Following feebly where the Blessed Book 
 
 Leads us to high and holy mystery, 
 
 How often the mild Saviour, when He took 
 
 Each human sorrow and each sympathy 
 
 Into His glorious being, must have known 
 
 Those whom almost He could have called His own ! 
 
 He who fiftft-read the secret of all hearts. 
 
 And feel each mortal craving and desire ; 
 
 Who best could know the bliss that Love imparts. 
 
 As primal fount of that celestial fire ; 
 
 He who could pierce beneath the subtle,>^arts 
 
 That false and fading Friendship can inspire ; 
 
 How often must His pure and righteous soul 
 
 Have mourned the plague-spot poisoning the whole ! 
 
 Yet did He choose Him friends, nor did He spurn 
 Their feeble love, because that love was weak; 
 His prescience did their after-truth discern, 
 His lip indulgent comfort deigned to speak ; 
 When their faint hearts from Him would basely turn, 
 He did not strive nor cry ; his accents meek 
 Told His soul's heaviness ; and when they^ed, 
 Great God ! 'twas then thy drops of blood were shed. 
 
DIVINE LOVE. Ill 
 
 He who had taken from that bounteous hand 
 The morsel kindly shared, he went and sold 
 His Lord and Master ! He who vowed to stand 
 Firm to the Death the thrice-heard note hath told 
 Of his defection. He who could command 
 
 The Saviour's bosom as his rest Behold ! 
 
 Of all that He hath loved there is not one ! 
 All trembling stand aloof. He dies alone ! 
 
 But O, Thou Framer of the human breast, 
 
 Inspirer of the high and holy mind 
 
 Of Love, that fiercest torture could not wrest 
 
 From the beloved one, tho' he were consigned 
 
 To shame or death, — Thou that couldst choose the best ! 
 
 O wherefore didst Thou not these nobler find ? — 
 
 Why not, on Earth, thy life and love impart 
 
 To those whose truth was " after Thine own heart ?" 
 
 Why, when the pulses of thy mortal frame 
 Throbbed for a mortal breast whereon to lay 
 Thy sacred uncrowned head, — O wherefore came. 
 Of all the human souls that own thy sway. 
 None whose true life might breathe that holy name 
 That sheds on sorrow's night the glow of day? 
 Why hadst Thou not a. friend who would have cared 
 For all thy care, and even Death have shared ? 
 
112 ATTEMPTS AT VEESE. 
 
 Thou that canst read the secret of the soul, 
 Thou knowest Friendship is no idle sound ; 
 Thou knowest years of trial vainly roll 
 Over such hearts of truth, as may be found 
 Even on Earth ; — Thou that canst see the whole 
 Of life's sad desart — this its holy ground, 
 Rose it not brightly to thy tearful eye, 
 And couldst Thou, blessed Pilgrim, pass it by ? 
 
 Was it. Thou destined Lamb of God, ordained 
 Before the Earth had sinned, her sins to bear, 
 To lave in thy heart's blood the sinner stained 
 "With spot of earthly love and earthly care, 
 That the full cup of woe had not been drained 
 Had friendship claimed the privilege to share ; 
 Or that affection fervent, pure like this, 
 Had chaa'mcd the bitter chalice Into bliss ? 
 
 Or was it, holy Friend of all mankind — 
 Friend of the friendless, of the sinner lost 
 Almost to human feeling, and consigned 
 To lone remorse by the self-righteous host 
 Of judging sinners — that thy steadfast mind 
 Purposed to ransom all at such high cost ; 
 Shunned the communion of such righteous one. 
 Lest the beloved one should be loved alone ? 
 
DIVINE LOVE. 113 
 
 O Thou, the Christian's pattern, sent to those 
 Who, like their Master, bear the heaviest cross — 
 Who claim of Earth's inheritance her woes. 
 And count her richest gains to be but loss, 
 That they may rise to Heaven as he arose ! — 
 When storms arise, and cruel tempests toss. 
 And they are lonely upon life's dark sea. 
 The Christian feels 'twas lone and dark to Thee. 
 
 And when our mortal nature yearns to feel 
 
 The answering throb of a devoted breast — 
 
 The one fond heart our woes might soothe or heal- — 
 
 The sympathy would make our bliss more blest — 
 
 When our own lieaj±3=©f hearts to us reveal 
 
 The truth and love on which we long to rest. 
 
 And yet of all that look and pass us by. 
 
 He passeth not for whom our bosoms sigh — 
 
 When some, who, lingering in love, appear 
 From Friendship's holy shrine to be not far. 
 And yet may never enter, tho' so near — 
 When others brightly shine as falling star 
 To expire as soon — and some we could revere 
 Betray the hidden vices that can mar 
 Virtue's own form — when all we hoped is not, — 
 Jesus ! we feel we only share thy lot. 
 
114 ATTEMPTS AT VERSE. 
 
 And, following thy footsteps, we repair 
 E'en with the void no earthly friend may fill. 
 To Him who makes that void his dearest care, — 
 To Him, who can alone the heart-pulse still 
 That he hath taught to beat. — In secret prayer 
 To Him our hearts are given — and, answering, thrill 
 The tokens of His love, as low we bend, 
 And know thro' endless time our God shall be our 
 Friend — 
 
115 
 
 NIGHT AND DAY. 
 
 I. 
 
 Now the Young Night divine * 
 Hath crowned the dying day 
 With throbbing stars of light, 
 And beneath the pale moonshine, 
 She slowly bends her way] 
 To meet the morrow bright, 
 Doffing, as she nears the dawn. 
 Her spangled vest, and gradually 
 She putteth on a purple sky 
 To meet the dew-lipped Morn. 
 
 II. 
 
 There is the harbinger of Day, 
 
 Bright Phosphor ! O'er the Eastern throne 
 
 He pauses to announce his King — 
 
 He shineth now with dimmer ray. 
 
 And sees, and O he sees alone. 
 
 The God of Light come triumphing. 
 
116 ATTEMPTS AT VERSE. 
 
 Day has caught the dying Night, 
 And o'er her pale and moon-cold brow. 
 He bends in silent love to throw 
 His mantle of the rich sunlight. 
 
 III. 
 
 Night glorifies departing Day — 
 The morrow folds in her blue shroud 
 The Night, which totters to the brink 
 Of a new morn, then dies away — 
 Dying upon some crimson cloud — 
 How softly the light flushes sink 
 From the still clouds that darker low'r ; 
 Till gathering on the mountain's brow 
 Stern diadems of horror grow 
 To gloom the midnight hour. 
 
117 
 
 LINES WRITTEN IN ASHTEAD CHURCH YARD. 
 
 They sleep — the green turf wraps them round, 
 
 The turf is green throughout the year, 
 And violets grow upon each mound 
 To tell us spring is here. 
 
 Yet vain to those who rest below 
 
 The hills rejoicing in the spring. 
 And silent all to them the flow 
 Of rivers murmuring. 
 
 The early lark for them no more, 
 
 Shall open morning with her song, 
 Teaching to all great Nature's lore — 
 To weak and strong — 
 
 To rise up heavenward from the spot, 
 
 "Which God has made our earthly home, 
 Never to leave one tie forgot. 
 Nor wish to roam. 
 
 But ever on the unchanging sky 
 
 To fix the soul — the mind — the heart, 
 And, when it is our time to die. 
 With joy depart. 
 g3 
 
118 ATTEMPTS AT VERSE. 
 
 To . 
 
 Sing, Minstrel, sing that song again, 
 Fojr a sweet dream of joyaunce gone, 
 
 Revives once more in heart and brain 
 And lives in every warbled tone. 
 
 It lives with all its byegone fears, 
 
 Its trembling hopes and smiles and tears. 
 
 'Tis thus, they say in poesie. 
 
 That the fond tuneful Orpheus led 
 
 His own beloved Eurydice 
 From the drear mansions of the dead : 
 
 Awaked to life and love again 
 
 By the strong magic of his strain. 
 
119 
 
 TO MY GODCHILD, 
 
 Clara, my spiritual child: a prayer, , 
 
 Framed in the blessedness of Sabbath hour, 
 
 I breathe for thee. It is not for a dower 
 
 Of rank or potent wealth, or genius rare: 
 
 Nor would I have thy form or face too fair. 
 
 For beauty is a gift of fatal power, 
 
 The fruitful source of many a bitter shower 
 
 Of tears that end in madness and despair. 
 
 Far other gifts I suppHcate for thee, — 
 
 A heart which sanctifies the daily way 
 
 Of human life ; a spirit meek yet free — 
 
 Like to the waters of a quiet bay, 
 
 Which have the strength and freshness of the sea, 
 
 On whose transparent breast serenely lie 
 
 Mirrored the splendours of the lofty sky ; — 
 
 So may the glories of thy future state 
 
 Be dimly shadowed on thy mortal fate, 
 
 In the deep Sabbath calm of sainted charity. 
 
120 ATTEMPTS AT VERSE. 
 
 TO 
 
 Lady ! I mourn not that my days are spent 
 
 In the drear town, where sea nor mountain air 
 
 Comes not, nor morning's breath so fresh and fair — 
 
 But rather I rejoice that meek content 
 
 Mantles my spirit wheresoe'er 'tis pent. 
 
 And that the inner feehngs are as sweet 
 
 As tho' I wandered with far-straying feet 
 
 O'er grassy meads, or mountains high and hoary, 
 
 With streams of murmuring spring-rills flowing near : 
 
 Tho' far away — those glorious sounds I hear 
 
 Which breathe o'er life its loveliness and glory — 
 
 E'en as the Bard who sang the Holy City 
 
 Rescued from thrall — tho' in a prison drear 
 
 Without one human heart to love or pity — 
 
 Had visions for his sight, sweet music for his ear. 
 
121 
 
 SYMPATHY. 
 
 I KNEW your sister! her soft voice e'en yet 
 
 Is lingering on mine ear ; and memory 
 
 Brings her fair form as present to the eye. 
 
 The dead sleep on — the living ne'er forget, 
 
 But oft in after years the cheeks are wet 
 
 With fresh-wept tears for those who silent lie. 
 
 All things around conspire to wake the sigh 
 
 And fill the musing heart with fond regret. 
 
 The common fields and flowers — the steadfast sky- 
 
 The fleeting clouds — all speak of perished years ! 
 
 For one long dead these tears of sorrow flow ; 
 
 And yet a hope amid my sadness cheers. 
 
 Haply when I am laid in silence low, 
 
 Some thoughtful Soul will think on me with tears. 
 
122 ATTEMPTS AT VERSE. 
 
 TO A FAIR COUSIN. 
 
 Lady ! I've watched thee from thine infant years. 
 
 And seen thee as a bud expand, till now 
 
 The pride of womanhood is on thy brow — 
 
 Yet in that pride no haughtiness appears, 
 
 But a meek consciousness of maiden power. 
 
 Rightly thou deemest virtue is a dower 
 
 More to be prized than rank or golden treasure. 
 
 Cherish that sacred gift ; that every hour 
 
 Still left thee be as cheerful and serene, 
 
 As now thy present is — thy past hath been ; 
 
 For thou hast bloomed beneath a mother's eye. 
 
 Whose wondrous love for thee no thought can measure ; 
 
 And thou hast felt o'er every youthful pleasure, 
 
 A father's presence shed its sanctity. 
 
123 
 
 SAINT. STEPHEN. 
 
 It is a cheering thing, Great God, to hear 
 
 How the first martyr bore that ruthless deed, 
 
 Which from the flesh his gentle spirit freed 
 
 And gave it unto thee. The lesson's clear, 
 
 And teaches when the dark world's spite and wrong 
 
 Dashes its wrath against the steadfast mind 
 
 Of the meek Christian, he in faith more strong 
 
 Than rocks amid the shifting waves, can find 
 
 A rapture in the agonies which wrest 
 
 His spirit from its prison. And he feels, 
 
 A glowing joy which language not reveals, — 
 
 Yea, in his dying pangs more sweetly blest 
 
 Than poets in their dreams ; for as Earth dies 
 
 On his rapt sight. Heaven opens on his eyes. 
 
124 ATTEMPTS AT VERSE. 
 
 CONSCIENCE, 
 
 The mind is its own Heaven, or Hell — within 
 
 Play the soft airs of peace, or rave the blasts of sin. 
 
 What tho' the body writhe in fiercest pain, 
 
 And tides of torture throb in every vein. 
 
 Still if within remain the conscience void 
 
 Of wilful sin, — say is not all enjoy'd ? 
 
 Throned on the rock of Faith, the Christian soul 
 
 Heeds not the storms that round the basement roll, 
 
 But with meek confidence, and glowing heart 
 
 Awaits that moment when the Angel Death 
 
 Loosens the chains of fiesh, and bids depart 
 
 All earthly sorrow with the earthly breath ; 
 
 Then into life the undying Spirit springs. 
 
 Borne to the Throne of God by radiant Seraph wings. 
 
125 
 
 THE POET AND HIS BRETHREN. 
 
 " Take hence the world," said Sovran Jove 
 
 To mortals, from his lofty height, 
 " She shall be yours." A fairer gift 
 
 Ne'er blessed the human sight. 
 Launched from the great Creator's hand, 
 
 The pond'rous globe was swung on high. 
 And, cloth'd with vernal glory, took 
 
 Its orbit in the sky. 
 
 " The world is yours ! ye living men. 
 
 Without reserve do I impart, 
 Therefore the same among yourselves 
 
 Share with a brother's heart." 
 Forth rushed them all — both old and young- 
 
 The farmer seized the fruitful field, 
 While the proud Squire the forests claimed, 
 
 And all their coverts yield. 
 
 The plodding tradesman took the stores. 
 And cried " These warehouses are mine"- 
 
 The jolly abbot laid his hands 
 On venison and on wine. 
 
126 ATTEMPTS AT VERSE. 
 
 Then came the king : with lofty gates 
 He barred the roads and bridges too. 
 
 And said, " I must be paid for these ; 
 A Tenth to me is due !" 
 
 Long after, when the whole was shared, 
 
 From distant clime the Poet came ; 
 All had its Lord — there was no spot 
 
 The hapless bard could claim. 
 " O woe is me !" the Poet cried, 
 
 " Shall I forgotten be alone, 
 I thy most faithful Son ;" and straight 
 
 Fell at Jove's awful throne. 
 
 " If in the lands of shadowy dreams. 
 
 Thou musing stayed," the God replied, 
 " How canst thou blame mankind or me — 
 
 Thou hast thyself to chide. 
 Where strayed thy steps when human kind. 
 
 Shared 'mong themselves this Earth so fair ? 
 Perchance thou roamed amid the stars 
 
 Seeking thy birthright there ? 
 
THB POET AND HIS BRETHREN. 127 
 
 " O Sovran Jove," the Bard rejoined, 
 
 " To thy bright presence was I near; 
 And heaven's Eternal harmonies 
 
 Were swelling on mine ear. 
 And on the radiance of thy brow 
 
 My raptured eyes in strongest trance 
 "Were fixed — nor could I pluck my sight 
 
 From thy bright countenance. 
 
 " Pardon ! O pardon ! to that soul 
 
 That, with thy glorious light o'erfraught. 
 Lingered among the heavenly groves. 
 
 Nor earthly treasures sought." 
 Jove beamed a gracious smile, and said, 
 
 " Since to thy brothers Earth is given,. 
 Come dwell with me ; and from henceforth 
 
 Thy home shall be in Heaven." 
 
128 ATTEMPTS AT VERSE. 
 
 ODE TO THE EARTH. 
 I. 
 
 Earth ! glorious Earth ! calm gazer on the skies! 
 
 Mother of cataracts and crystal springs, 
 
 Upon thy breast the throbbing Ocean lies. 
 
 And the clouds fan thee with their dewy wings ! 
 
 Now flushed with sunrise, now o'erfraught with noon 
 
 And her effulgent blaze of solar beam ; 
 
 Now gentle twilight is thy dower — 
 
 Anon thy form is steeped in silvery shower 
 
 Of light, sweet offering from the placid moon : 
 
 Now thou art silent as a dream 
 
 In the deep stillness of the starry hour. 
 
 II. 
 
 And thou wilt be our Tomb ! and therefore Man 
 Hath a strong natural longing for the grave, 
 Deep 3^earnings — for thou art his mother Earth — 
 Yea ! well he feels from thee he had his birth — 
 He has been nurtured on thy verdant breast, 
 And with a child's strong love, his heart doth crave 
 For thy maternal arms, and sighs to be at rest ! 
 
ODE TO THE EARTH. 129 
 
 O thou hast ever been a bounteous mother ; 
 
 To thee his daily debt is infinite — 
 
 Thou pour'st upon him through each sense, 
 
 Touch — hearing — smell — and sight, 
 
 An everflowing flood of unalloyed delight ! 
 
 In every passing sound, he feels 
 
 Some token -which its note reveals ! 
 
 Some common feeling woven with his frame. 
 
 Till every atom is a part 
 
 Of Soul, endowed with brain and heart. 
 
 Imbibing at each pore a share 
 
 Of Nature's joyaunce, which around 
 
 Is flowing as a part of common air. 
 
 Till it seems thrilling into happy sound. 
 
 He too is grateful for the peaceful sleep, 
 
 Ere from thy quiet womb, great mother Earth, 
 
 He issued into mortal birth. 
 
 Called to this world by some mysterious thrill ! 
 
 Ev'n then his infant eyes begin to weep 
 
 For that blest moment, when the Angel Death 
 
 Shall touch his weary form and say, " Be still I" 
 
 III. 
 
 Thy crystal fountains gush from silent hills. 
 With a sweet silver- toned voice, which fills 
 
130 ATTEMPTS AT VERSE. 
 
 Some quiet cave, where frolic Echo lingers, 
 
 And dallies with the ripply tone. 
 
 While ever and anon she weaves a song 
 
 With these, and the sweet notes which shepherd'; 
 
 fingers 
 Mould with creative breath in simple pipe, 
 The admiration of a rustic throng 
 Who gather round, for love and dancing ripe ! 
 And thou hast lofty mountains for thy child. 
 To nourish him in high and holy daring, — 
 And floral meads in-isled 
 In quiet vales, to temper his proud bearing, 
 And chasten him, till in his mind, 
 Strength, thought — and gentleness combined 
 Mould his ethereal spirit. 
 Till it is worthy to inherit 
 Its wondrous birthright — Endless Being ! 
 O glorious gift ! — O joy unspeakable ! 
 When the whole Soul is deathless and all-seeing. 
 Secure from sense of weariness or change. 
 With no sad Hng'ring thought of bye-gone Earth, 
 As a dark cloud to float in our heart's heaven, 
 And intercept the sunlight of our mirth. 
 Or fling a shadow o'er the lidless eye ; — 
 But all serene with an untiring range 
 
ODE TO THE EARTH. 131 
 
 Borne on the wing of strong Eternity, 
 Thro' the deep-bosomed realms of space, 
 Threading the starry wonders of the sky 
 And feeling that its vastness is our Home. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Ye mountains ! hallowed by the tread 
 Of patriot Tell, whose Heaven-directed hand 
 Smote the red apple from his infant's head. 
 Urged to the deed by Tyrant's foul decree ! 
 Ye saw him then perform th' Avenger's part. 
 And wing with righteous speed to Gesler's heart, 
 The arrow ravenous for the monster's blood! 
 The crowning deed is done — his Fatherland 
 Re-echoes to his voice, " My country now is free !" 
 Helvetian Hills ! his daily life was spent 
 Upon your summits ! Ye have seen 
 The patriot- hero full of calm content 
 Toil thro' the sultry day with soul serene: 
 Ye had his parting words — his closing eyes 
 Rested on you, ere opening on the skies ! 
 His bones are in thy dust — O sacred shrine ! 
 There, Freedom, rear thy brow — the deathless — the 
 divine. 
 
132 ATTEMPTS AT VERSE. 
 
 Freedom ! for thee, the hills have ever been 
 
 A refuge when the tempest-roar was loud — 
 
 Oft thou hast fled the madden'd crowd, 
 
 And dwelt beneath their trees of sunlit green ! 
 
 Of thee ! and thine 
 
 O Nymph divine, 
 
 Each dell and crag and mountain peak 
 
 Yet in their fond traditions speak — 
 
 The ruined tower — the gloomy cave 
 
 Re-echo still with many a stirring song 
 
 Which in the glorious days of yore 
 
 The martyr-band were wont to pour 
 
 In freeborn utterance strong, f 
 
 Here oft has swelled the dirge o'er hero-grave, 
 
 And here in after years the pilgrim throng 
 
 Have bent their steps and mourned the mighty dead. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Freedom is not what restless men devise, 
 A fierce virago, ravening for change, 
 Such as of late beneath foul Gallia's skies 
 Was wont in blood-smeared vest to range ! 
 With drunken leer, and hideous revelries. 
 
ODE TO THE EARTH. 133 
 
 Pouring from lurid lips her flood of hate, 
 
 Of lust, and rage, and loathsome blasphemies ! 
 
 Why paused your lightnings, ye insulted slcies. 
 
 When the mad Nation danced around 
 
 The shameless Harlot, by its suffrage crowned 
 
 Goddess of Liberty! by crime made great? 
 
 VII. 
 
 Fair Freedom ! in thy sacred name, 
 
 What deeds of madness, woe and crime. 
 Have stained th' Historic page of Time, 
 And dimmed in man's unthinking eyes thy fame 1 
 But thou for ever art the same, 
 Calm — firm — enduring — meek yet strong ! 
 And with a soul-like and a deep-toned voice 
 For ever chaunting the same cheerful song, 
 Calling on prostrate nations to rejoice 
 In their drear night, and bide that dawning sign. 
 The morning star of Truth — which o'er the Hills 
 Will soon in glory and deep gladness shine ; 
 Then forth the rosy morn, with opening ray, 
 Shines more and more unto the perfect day ! 
 But Goddess, tho' thy soul be meek, 
 And steeped in golden-hearted charities, 
 Yet there are deadly lightnings in thine eyes, 
 
134 ATTEMPTS AT VERSE. 
 
 And thy strong voice can in dread thunders speak ! 
 While thy most gentle form, that oft has bound 
 The bleeding bosom of some patriot-saint. 
 And ever at the call of mercy found, 
 Yet has a spirit of a marvellous power — 
 Calm — and undaunted in the trying-hour! 
 Invincible in glorious fortitude! 
 And with a Heart at once to dare and die. 
 Can gaze on Torture with unshrinking eye, 
 By pain — want — treachery — by death e'en unsub- 
 dued. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Star-girdled Earth 1 what scenes untold. 
 Have o'er thy plains and mountains rolled ! 
 Such as when Moses upon Pisgah's height 
 
 With the Eternal in high converse stood ; 
 
 Twas not alone on meadow — stream and wood. 
 Nor turrets glittering with morning light ! 
 Nor waving cornfields, nor green olive tree — ^ 
 
 Not upon these alone 
 
 The prophet's eye was thrown. 
 But all the marvels wrought in after-days, 
 — The wondrous future blazed upon his sight ! 
 He saw the Star that hymned a Saviour's birth — 
 The baffled fiend-howl in the desert heard : 
 
ODE TO THE EARTH. 135 
 
 He saw the righteous head of Jesus bow. 
 
 With sorrow laden in the garden-scene : 
 Beheld the Crown of Thorns that tore his brow 
 
 While the blood trickled down that face serene ! 
 Then dawned upon his eyes the closing scene of all — 
 
 The Cross was reared upon Mount Calvary; 
 He heard Messiah in his anguish call, 
 
 " Why hast thou, O my God, forsaken Me ?" 
 Thus, ere the prophet's eyes were closed in night, 
 The Manger and the Cross were bared to bless his sight. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Star-girdled earth ! how thrilled thy rock-ribbed frame, 
 When from the eternal throne 
 Where triune Godhead shone, 
 The blessed Saviour as an infant came ! 
 
 No regal pomp, no earthly pageantries. 
 But sweet tones, flowing from the waving wings 
 
 Of radiant angels, filled the skies 
 With music sweeter than from fine harp-strings. 
 And lo ! behold a new-born star on high 
 Tells to the shepherd-sages watching nigh. 
 The Prince of Peace is near — the Eternal King of kings ! 
 How little deemed the myriad throng 
 
 That trod thy plains that solemn night, 
 Intent on fraud, or force, or wrong— 
 
136 ATTEMPTS AT VERSE. 
 
 Tortured by grief, or joyant with delight ; 
 That He, before whose brightness the flashing stars are 
 dim. 
 Had laid aside his wondrous blaze of glory — 
 Dismissed the warlike Cherubim 
 And holy Seraphim, 
 And made a manger his first dormitory ! 
 Oh ! when his infant feet on earth first trod, 
 
 Sin groaned aloud — Death bowed his grisly head ; 
 Hell's power was shaken, and the ransomed dead 
 Thrilled in the vanquished grave, and recognised their 
 God! 
 
 X. 
 
 Star-girdled earth ! how groan' d'st thou in that hour, 
 When on the cross a meek unmurmuring man, 
 
 Midway between two malefactors bled ; 
 
 And his last words were — " It is finished !" 
 Straight through thy blood-stained frame, 
 
 Strong guilty tremors ran ; 
 And the bright sun stood darkened in the sky : 
 At one impetuous stride the giant horror came, 
 
 "While nature writhed in her agony ! 
 
 Slowly from ancient graves 
 
 Uprose the buried dead ; 
 By thy stern earthquake-pangs disquieted ! 
 
ODE TO THE EARTH. 137 
 
 Once more the pallid glare 
 Of lightning-gleam laid bare 
 Their shrouded forms as solemnly they trod ; 
 Then nature smote the sky 
 With her remorseful cry, 
 " Yea, of a truth, this was the Son of God !" 
 O who would deem it true — the wondrous story, 
 That He, the King of kings ! the Lord of glory ! 
 Would die for man ! torn, agonised, and gory ! 
 Singled from the countless train 
 Of shining orbs that gem the azure plain ; 
 For the fulfilment of this marvellous deed, 
 On thy wide breast, O earth, th' Eternal had decreed, 
 That Christ for universal man should bleed ! 
 Yet, who can tell but through the boundless sky, 
 To stars remote, untouched by human eye. 
 There pulsed the throbbing of his agony ! 
 Stained as thou art with Jesu's blood, O earth, 
 Thou wast the altar where he laid — 
 The Spotless Lamb — and where He made 
 The atonement, and thus ransomed human birth ! 
 
 XL 
 
 Star-girdled Earth ! the crowning scene 
 Has yet to dawn upon thy plains ; 
 h3 
 
138 ATTEMPTS AT VERSE. 
 
 When all the buried dead 
 Shall once more raise their head, 
 Once more in human form and breathing life be seen ! 
 From every shore where ocean beats ; 
 
 Each spot on which the sunlight shines ; 
 From ancient churchyards' still retreats ; 
 
 From great sea-deeps, and from the gloomy mines ; 
 Yea, from the clouds and viewless air, 
 (For subtle dust — once human life — is there !) 
 It comes ! it comes ! as billows by ; 
 
 Ages on ages rushing roll ! 
 The vision now lives on mine eye, 
 And that concluding day is present to my soul ! 
 The starry systems rest 
 On space's silent breast. 
 Stopped in their whirling orbits by a word. 
 And hark ! the rustling wings 
 Of Cherubim and Seraphim 
 Proclaim the King of kings. 
 And now that awful sound — the trumpet-blast is heard ! 
 Forth from the countless stars. 
 Bursting death's prison bars. 
 Unnumbered myriads rise at that awakening sound : 
 The glittering orbs have passed ; 
 For ever in that blast, 
 The strong material world like mist has died away ! 
 
ODE TO THE EARTH. 139 
 
 Soul- stirring thought, to feel that all 
 
 That ever wore a human form, 
 
 Shall triumph o'er the insatiate worm ! 
 And be a sharer in this wondrous day — 
 A conqueror in this glorious victory ! 
 
 It stirs my spirit like a call. 
 
 From God's own voice, to know mine eye 
 "Will then behold the first of human race ! 
 Gaze on the Patriarchs, face to face ! 
 Hold converse with the chief who led 
 The tribes of Israel through the riven wave ! 
 And him, who tasted not the grave. 
 But rode in fiery car triumphantly ! 
 And also him, who from the dead 
 Was called by Jesu's voice divine ! 
 And him, the soul-entranced, who trod 
 The star- wrought pavement of the sky, 
 And with unquenched eye, 
 Gazed on the living God ! 
 
 In awful trance his spell-bound soul was brought 
 From the recesses of the skies 
 Where blazing on the sapphire throne, 
 Apparell'd in His trinal mysteries, 
 Jehovah reigns alone ! 
 (He, earth-returned, with light o'erfraught, 
 Revealed, in glowing words, a part 
 
140 ATTEMPTS AT VERSE. 
 
 Of ecstasies, that e'er informed his heart) ; 
 
 But, hoUer far than all, the thought 
 
 Of sweet communion with the Man who died 
 
 For me — for all ; that all might be 
 
 Restored to immortality: 
 
 Man saved — and yet Jehovah justified 1 
 
 XII. 
 
 But ere the dying sun shall rise, 
 
 To gaze his farewell on the skies, 
 
 (Dying to give that morning birth, 
 
 In which thou perishest — O Earth ! 
 
 Thou and thy sister stars — that now 
 
 Seem everlasting as they throng 
 
 In living clusters round the brow 
 
 Of night — the solemn queen — in stars and darkness 
 
 strong!) 
 Ere this shall be, a race shall tread 
 Thy plains, far mightier than the dead ; 
 Far greater than thy present race, 
 Nobler in feature, form, and grace. 
 Still in the future lies unrolled 
 The age of love, by prophet-bards foretold. 
 
ODE TO THE EARTH. 141 
 
 XIII. 
 
 It is a cheering thing to trace 
 
 The triumphs of one human mind, 
 
 The noble works it leaves behind, 
 
 A glory and a blessing to his race. 
 
 O Earth ! if every son of thine 
 
 In gentle union would combine 
 The mazy paths that lead to knowledge tread — 
 Track science to its fountain-head; 
 The unknown world of thought explore, 
 And where one now ascends, should all thy myriads 
 
 soar — 
 Then the great saving faith divine 
 In every human heart would shine; 
 And all the nations with glad voices sing, 
 " Hosanna to the Lamb ! our Saviour and our King !'■ 
 
142 ' ATTEMPTS AT VERSE. 
 
 TO * ■>!■ •» * 
 
 I. 
 
 They tell me, lady, that the roseate bloom 
 Of thy peerless beauty fades. 
 And that the lustrous light. 
 Wherewith thine eyes were bright. 
 Wanes dim, as though they felt the coming shades 
 Of death, whose power will seal them in the tomb. 
 O must the glorious stream of thought. 
 To richest, rarest music wrought. 
 By the sweet magic of thy full-lipped voice — 
 O must this die away. 
 Like some forgotten lay. 
 That once charmed wearied minds, and made sad hearts 
 rejoice 1 
 
143 
 
 II. 
 Grieve not, dear spirit, that a drear eclipse 
 
 Steals o'er the brightness of the mortal creature. 
 And that the ruby pales upon thy lips ; 
 
 I trace a holier grace in every feature ! 
 And in that fading eye, 
 A calmer majesty. 
 Which hath its birth-flash in a loftier sphere ! 
 What though the love-song on thy lip be dumb ! 
 
 I hear amid the Babel-roar of life, 
 
 Between the pauses of our mortal strife, 
 A voice vrhich breathes of anthems yet to come. 
 Therefore, rejoice, as faint decrepitude 
 
 Steals o'er the motion of each feeble limb ; 
 As flesh decays, the spirit is renewed, 
 
 And gains in splendor as the world grows dim. 
 E'en as the morning star that fainter fades. 
 As sunrise nears the kindling earth, 
 Till, lost in that surpassing birth, 
 It melts away into th' unfading sky ! 
 So, lady, do thy peerless charms, earth-born. 
 Grow dimmer, as the everlasting morn 
 Spreads her bright mantle o'er eternity ! 
 
144 ATTEMPTS AT VERSE. 
 
 WRITTEN IN THE LAST DAY OF THE YEAR. 
 
 Another year is past, and I am still 
 
 A dweller in the flesh, whose chains will thrall 
 
 The soaring spirit, till life's curtain fall, 
 
 And my tired bones the sacred coffin fill ! 
 
 — God speed the time when earth with her swee^ 
 
 flowers. 
 Shall cover ashes, that are wont to thriU 
 Too tremblingly to human joy and ill ! 
 Yet deem me not unthankful for the hours 
 Of gentle quiet I have tasted here — 
 The blessed Sabbath hours ! but rather say. 
 That I rejoice o'er every passing year. 
 As the poor traveller (condemned to roam 
 Towards his dwelling through a dreary way) 
 Beholds each mile-stone as he travels by, 
 "With deeper thankfulness of heart and eye, 
 He knows they tell him he is nearer home. 
 
145 
 
 LINES WRITTEN IN THE BIBLE OF THE 
 AUTHOR'S GOD-CHILD. 
 
 Clara ! my little nursling in the Lord ! 
 
 I feel, when gazing on thy placid brow. 
 
 No idle form is the baptismal vow ; 
 
 But one by Jesus and his Father heard ; 
 
 And well I know, that in th' Eternal Book, 
 
 By angel pen is written every word ! 
 
 Let me take heed I tremble not to look, 
 
 When summoned to the awful Judgment Throne, 
 
 How far the promise and the deed agree ! 
 
 —But near its end my earthly journey draws — 
 
 And long — aye long — ere thou art maiden grown, 
 
 I shall have passed away ; yet not will cease 
 
 The pious love my spirit bears to thee 1 
 
 But in this volume of Jehovah's laws, 
 
 I call on thee, yea, from the sacred grave, 
 
 With love's deep-pleading earnest energy ! 
 
 " Be Christ's glad servant, not sin's leprous slave; 
 
 So shalt thou find in these thy mortal days. 
 
 That the meek ways of piety are ways 
 
 Of pleasantness, and all her paths are peace !" 
 
146 ATTEMPTS AT VERSE. 
 
 ON VISITING THE SCHOOL-ROOM OF EARLY 
 YOUTH. 
 
 What voice was that which made my spirit start ? 
 
 The long-past-over feelings of my youth 
 
 Come as a tide returning to my heart, 
 
 Urged by the strong resistlessness of truth. 
 
 Strong magic is at work ; for one by one 
 
 My playmates throng around me, and J hear 
 
 Their jocund shoutings full of hope and cheer ! 
 
 — I look around me— lo I I am alone — 
 
 The spell is over, and the vision 's fled! 
 
 Where are those happy voices ? where the forms 
 
 That peopled a thought past my solitude ? 
 
 — Go ! seek for some among the shrouded dead — 
 
 Some few, perchance, the blood of life yet warms. 
 
 Who o'er their daily wrongs, like me, may vainly brood ! 
 
147 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 That touch of human kindness stirred my heart. 
 
 And woke a music on its trembling strings, 
 
 Which, even now, prolongs its murmurings. 
 
 Sighs, smiles, and tears, can all alike impart 
 
 A power to charm us into harmony ! 
 
 So that our heart, though nursed in solitude, 
 
 Can feel its share in every human sigh. 
 
 And take its portion of all human mirth ; 
 
 Can look on all things with a loving eye. 
 
 Oh ! kneel and press your bosom to the earth ! 
 
 Then gaze and gather glory from the sky, 
 
 Which binds all nature in one holy bond. 
 
 Making all things that are, one brotherhood ; 
 
 And kindling in our hearts a world beyond 
 
 All mortal visioning — in Heaven above ; 
 
 But which we ne'er can reach unless our life be love!