Sonnets 
 
 R.E. EGERTON-WARBURTON 
 
 
/\.a'73 05 
 
 liiLTpJL3_ 
 
Cornell University Library 
 PR 4649.E5 1883 
 
 Twenty two sonnets. 
 
 3 1924 013 455 351 
 
Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of this bool< is in 
 the Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013455351 
 
TWENTY-TWO SONNETS 
 
 P 
 
 J 
 
 r: e. egerton-warburton 
 
 WITH ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 LONDON 
 PICKERING AND CO. 
 
 1883 
 
LONDON : 
 
 PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED, 
 
 STAMFORD STREET AND CHARING CROSS. 
 
THESE SONNETS 
 
 ARE DEDICATED BY THEIR AUTHOR 
 
 TO THE MEMORY 
 
 OF THE BELOVED ONE IN WHOSE SWEET COMPANIONSHIP 
 
 THEY WERE MOSTLY WRITTEN 
 
FTTIMES he whom pleasure leadeth 
 
 Through the woodlands wandering on, 
 Thankless thinks not as he speedeth 
 On the sun till sunk and gone ; 
 
 But when by night's shadows clouded 
 Lone and cheerless is the way, 
 Then he thinks in darkness shrouded 
 On the joyfulness of day, 
 
 On the leaves in sunshine glowing. 
 
 On green glade and azure sky. 
 On the flowers which round him growing 
 
 He had passed unheeded by ; 
 
 So fond thought again discloses 
 
 Joy when passed to hearts forlorn. 
 While to life's remembered roses 
 
 Self-reproach adds many a thorn. 
 
SONNETS 
 
 On (^mixxKi^ ^dxcxxt^^B gouee 
 
 ARY ! when we to Arqua's village came, 
 
 Saw the rear'd tomb, the fountain's hallow'd 
 
 rill, 
 And climb'd the summit of that verdant hill 
 Where Petrarch's dwelling bears the poet's 
 name; 
 When I beheld the crowded page proclaim, 
 In varied tongue, unchanging homage still, 
 The deathless praise that shall all ages fill, 
 I sigh'd myself to share the poet's fame. 
 Yet, ah ! when I remember'd how in vain 
 His lyre he strung to soften Laura's pride, 
 Doom'd to a life of unrequited pain ; 
 Ah! Mary, then thy yielding hand I prest, 
 
 Turn'd from that book to gaze upon my Bride, 
 Nor car'd for Fame who was in Love so blest. 
 
SONNETS 
 
 t^i Ml 
 
 LORY of flowers ! pre-eminent o'er all, 
 
 Thou white-rob'd lily, decked with pendant 
 
 gold. 
 What blest remembrance/ as thy leaves un- 
 fold, 
 
 To pure and gentle hearts dost thou recall ? 
 Discarded Emblem ! o'er degenerate Gaul 
 Weep we vain tears ? no longer as of old 
 Her regal banner to the winds unroll'd. 
 Waste we vain sighs o'er chivalry's downfall ? 
 No! thy unsullied leaves nor strife, nor din. 
 Of worldly warfare to the mind suggest ; 
 To meekness and humility akin 
 Hues which betoken purity invest 
 Thy fragrant beauty, see we not therein 
 The Virgin-mother of all nations blest ? 
 
SONNETS 
 
 (napfe0 at ^mui 
 
 APLES! where Virgil found his last repose, 
 
 Where first his lyre the youthful Tasso 
 
 strung, 
 The sun's low radiance, o'er the waters 
 
 flung, 
 
 A golden halo round thy city throws. 
 He sinks — and now each distant mountain glows 
 Like purple drops from its own vintage wrung; 
 Can the wide earth her fairest shores among 
 A scene more lovely to his smile disclose ? 
 And Ocean lies submissive at thy feet, 
 
 Won by thy charms unceasing homage pours, 
 Loath to encroach, and powerless to retreat ; 
 His gentle waves, which but in whispers speak, 
 Clinging as though enamour'd of thy shores. 
 Like Love's fond lips to Beauty's witching cheek. 
 

 ,d'^o 
 
 
SONNETS 
 
 t^t t^mticin (triixtt^t in t^t Mmum 
 
 " CHRISriANOS AD LEONES" 
 
 HRISTIAN, come forth ! the hungering Hons 
 crave 
 Thy flesh ; impatient waits assembled Rome, 
 Athirst to drink the blood of martyrdom ; 
 Christian, come forth ! and death unshrink- 
 ing brave ; 
 Whether, within the walls of that vast grave, 
 Torn limb from limb, or in the narrower tomb. 
 Thy flesh foul worms and creeping things consume, 
 A God thou hast omnipotent to save. 
 Watch we and pray, lest us like foes o'erpower. 
 Such, though unseen, do not the less exist ; 
 Here stand we not in jeopardy each hour? 
 That roaring lion, wheresoe'er he list. 
 
 He walketh, seeking whom he may devour ; 
 Him may we, steadfast in the faith, resist ! 
 
SONNETS 
 
 ^n Croeeing i^t ^intpfon 
 
 'ER the bleak pass huge Alps their shadows 
 throw, 
 With lingering steps I climb the mountain 
 
 way, 
 While, lessening to their view, mine eyes 
 sui-vey 
 With fond regret the sunlit vale below ; — 
 There, 'neath Italian skies ripe vineyards glow. 
 Here scathed pines a leafless grove display — 
 There living streams through fruitful meadows stray, 
 On barren crags here sleeps eternal snow. 
 Alas ! e'en thus the path of life we tread, 
 
 Where pleasure lures us to the flower-strew'd plain, 
 While virtue points, the rough ascent we dread. 
 O ! that my soul unto my God were given, 
 Cleans'd by His mercy from all earthly stain. 
 Pure as yon snow that cleaves the vault of Heaven ! 
 
■^- „ 
 
 
SONNETS 
 
 On t^t ®eaf? of a C?ifb 
 
 TRANSLATED FROM CARLO PEPOLI 
 
 IGHT veils not with a cloud the stars on high, 
 From care reposeth every creature now, 
 Unstirred each flower and motionless each 
 
 bough. 
 Now wrapp'd in slumber ocean, earth, and 
 sky. 
 Lone mother sable clad, with weeping eye. 
 With hair dishevell'd and uplifted brow. 
 By death bereaved unceasingly dost thou 
 O'er thy lost child in bitter anguish sigh. 
 Lady, that star to which thy fixed eyes cling. 
 That mystic brightness which absorbs thy gaze. 
 It is thy child — a star in Paradise ; 
 It is thy child who on angelic wing 
 ' The air thou breathest to thy lip conveys ; 
 A sigh from him which to thine own replies. 
 
SONNETS 
 
 On a ^teuxcifii C^apef neat %<xm(xxiU 
 
 NOW USED AS A STABLE 
 
 WAYSIDE Chapel stands, such seems it still, 
 Hard by a brook whose stream Lake 
 
 Leman feeds, 
 But there no longer ere he onward speeds 
 Kneels the wayfarer on its hallow'd sill. 
 The faded cross with rude but reverent skill 
 Traced on its wall no more the peasant heeds. 
 His toil-worn oxen when he thither leads. 
 At noon descending from the sun-scorched hill. 
 If with such joy rejoiced the angels, when 
 The ox was loosed in Bethlehem's lowly shed, 
 His crib the cradle of the Virgin-born ; 
 How must they weep to see, despised of men 
 The spot His presence blest, worn by the tread 
 Of beasts that floor hoof-trampled and uptorn ! 
 
.£^^' 
 
SONNETS 
 
 On t^t Cfoca in ^itaeButg tai^t'i>td 
 
 UE praise be his whose skill to Strasburg 
 gave 
 This masterpiece of mechanism rare, 
 More precious wisdom theirs whose daily 
 
 care 
 
 Is on their heart its homilies to grave. 
 Peter at cockcrow wept — like him we have 
 
 Denied our Lord, though sworn His cross to bear ; 
 Blest they who with him weep, and with him share 
 The contrite spirit, which alone can save ! 
 Work ere night cometh, nor the time prolong ; 
 That voice which speaks in every ringing chime, 
 Of mercy now, warns still of vengeance due. 
 How many join that transept's mid-day throng 
 With curious eye to mark the step of Time, 
 To ponder on Eternity how few ! 
 
lO 
 
 SONNETS 
 
 On a ®raS3ing of t^t Ctudfijcion 
 
 STILL VISIBLE ON A DUNGEON WALL IN THE CHATEAU 
 DE CHILLON 
 
 HERE, lake reflected, Chillon's turrets shine. 
 Where treacherous pitfall lin'd with spike and 
 
 blade, 
 Beam, ring and pillar lurk in dreary shade. 
 Of faith and hope, mark one enduring sign ; 
 Though faint, the eye may scan each lingering 
 line, 
 Trac'd by some hand which galling chain o'erlaid : 
 The dying Saviour on the cross pourtray'd, 
 Converts that cell into a holy shrine. 
 Nor lone, nor friendless, such a captive deem, 
 Fill'd with His image, whose abiding love 
 To him was father, brethren, kindred, all ! 
 And still, while gazing on the narrow gleam 
 Of azure sky, seen through the grated wall, 
 Hope pointed heavenward to his home above. 
 
SONNETS 
 
 II 
 
 On a Barft SSgic^ h^ (^^capeb frcmt 
 
 $10 C(KC(<t 
 
 CHERISH'D captive, ere thy tender wing 
 As yet was fledg'd ; through many a sum- 
 mer's day 
 Thy song hath charm'd me with its thrill- 
 ing lay ; 
 
 Still seem its echoes round thy cage to cling. 
 In this thy narrow realm, a tiny king! 
 
 Fierce warfare waging with thine insect prey ; 
 Crest, beak, and spur — crown, sword, and sceptre they, 
 A turf thy emerald throne — say pamper'd thing. 
 Yon flood of glory can thy sight sustain ? 
 
 With wing unpractis'd canst thou heavenward soar? 
 Unaw'd by space renew thy wonted strain ? 
 Or, like some spirit unprepar'd to quit 
 
 Its cage, the body, dost thou earth deplore? 
 Thy voice, thy pinion, for the skies unfit? 
 
12 
 
 SONNETS 
 
 On i^t (P«er tepe 
 
 WRITTEN AT THE FREUNDSCHAFT SAAL, CARLSBAD 
 
 RIENDLESS I came, but friendless now no 
 more ; 
 Thy voice, sweet river, greets me, and I trace 
 A smile of welcome in thy sparkling face. 
 When early morn invites me to thy shore ; 
 Thy sunlit waters to fresh life restore 
 The fragrant flowers that gild the mountain's base ; 
 LuU'd by the rippling music of thy race. 
 With tranquil happiness my heart runs o'er. 
 The hues of heaven are mirror'd in thy stream ; 
 O ! teach me so to live, that hope sublime. 
 From Heaven reflected, on my path may beam ! 
 Thy ceaseless current runs to reach the sea ; 
 Teach me in wisdom to redeem the time. 
 Still hastening onward to Eternity. 
 
SONNETS 
 
 13 
 
 On i^t ^(KxkxK C<x^tUu Catf^Bab 
 
 NE silver star with evening's twilight strove ; 
 Mid the dark pines, which base and summit 
 
 hide, 
 A lone lamp glimmer'd on the mountain side. 
 As 'twere that star reflected from above ; 
 The chapel of the Virgin ! cold in love, 
 And proud of heart, forbear ye to deride; 
 Judge not his conscience, nor a brother chide, 
 Though to yourselves a stumbling-block it prove. 
 On this pure spot, its shrine with offerings hung, 
 Its rock by knees of suppliant pilgrims worn, 
 Intruding — dare I prayerless hence depart ? 
 " Hail ! Virgin-mother, highly blest ! " my tongue 
 Repeats the salutation, while my heart 
 Bows down in worship to the Virgin-born. 
 
14 
 
 SONNETS 
 
 %(imt 
 
 HO hath not seen in some fair southern clime, 
 The moon above the mountains — ^wood and 
 
 stream 
 And vineyard shining in her silvery beam, 
 As in the sunlight of the morning prime ; 
 When falls her midnight radiance on the lime. 
 Where sings the nightingale, then doth it seem 
 Of fairyland a visionary gleam, 
 By poet pictured in delusive rhyme. 
 Though mist and darkness wrap our northern grove. 
 No nightingale to charm the listening ear. 
 Nor vine-clad hills, nor cloudless moons above. 
 For such I sigh not ; this dark atmosphere 
 
 Home gilds and gladdens with the light of love ; 
 There brighter skies, but fonder hearts are here. 
 
SONNETS 
 
 15 
 
 On a ^idmt of (x ^ipcixde^ Bab^ in 
 i2}t ^(xUtxi at (niabtib 
 
 OST gifted limner ! lifelike thus to trace 
 
 That witching form I see before me yet, 
 Unmask'd those features none can e'er forget 
 Who once have gaz'd upon that Spanish face. 
 The close white vest o'erlaid with sable lace, 
 The large dark eye, the hair of glossy jet. 
 One simple rose within its tresses set ; 
 A portrait of rare loveliness and grace ! 
 Still, though amid its dignity be shown 
 A latent look of unobtrusive mirth. 
 Though scarce those lips can from a smile refrain, 
 Erect she stands, as from Olympian throne 
 Majestic Juno would have stood on earth — 
 That glorious Lady of the land of Spain ! 
 
i6 
 
 SONNETS 
 
 @bbte00eb ^0 a Babp 
 
 IVJHO TOLD ME THAT, BEING IGNORANT OF BOTANY, I COULD NOT 
 ENJOY MY GARDEN 
 
 LOVE my garden, though I dare confess, 
 
 While wandering free its fragrant flowers 
 
 among. 
 To me is pedantry that unknown tongue 
 With which vain science mocks their loveli- 
 ness. 
 Perfume and flower I love, nor love I less 
 
 The fluttering insect, whose light wings are hung 
 With gold and purple, and the sweet lay sung 
 By thousand birds who their protector bless. 
 Think thou, who wrong'st me thus, how fondly I 
 Gaze on thy features, though unskill'd to speak, 
 In learned phrase, of their anatomy; 
 I love the blush that mantles o'er thy cheek, 
 I love the smile of welcome in thine eye. 
 Nor how, nor whence, they come care I to seek. 
 
SONNETS ' 17 
 
 t^e t5)5o (Jloeeer 
 
 HESE roses take, which rival hues invest, 
 
 They tell how York and Lancaster of yore 
 Their chosen badge to many a conflict bore, 
 When England wept her bravest and her 
 best. 
 
 That strife is past, in peace those warriors 
 rest ; 
 Waste not thy grief their struggles to deplore. 
 Thy pity keep for that which needs it more — 
 The strife now raging in my troubled breast. 
 On thy fair forehead is the white rose shown. 
 Thy lips the fragrance of its leaves impart, 
 Its purity an emblem of thine own ; 
 When will that cheek reveal what I am seeking, 
 The blush that tells me of thy yielding heart, 
 The red-rose there love's victory bespeaking .' 
 
i8 
 
 SONNETS 
 
 On t^t BO00 of i^t ^^^^enget 
 
 ++ 
 
 1847 
 
 HAT heart ujjmov'd, what eye without a tear, 
 The fated ship can follow in her flight? 
 As shoots a transient star through azure 
 
 night, 
 Such, on the treach'rous wave, her brief 
 career. 
 That bell's last tone awoke no boding fear ; 
 'Mid busy thoughts, 'mid visions of delight, 
 Wrapt in the past, or with the future bright. 
 No sound, no sign, to warn that death was near. 
 O fearful moment ! stricken as she sped. 
 
 Her keel rock-pierc'd, her hull asunder riven, 
 Sunk the good ship into her ocean grave. 
 An hour shall come more fearful still, her dead 
 The sea shall yield again ; in mercy. Heaven, 
 Then let their cry come unto Thee, and save ! 
 
*i.iK:..:-. 
 
 
 ^' 
 
 pr.^^^#f 
 
 If? 
 
SONNETS 
 
 19 
 
 C§e <ttucifi;c 
 
 FIX devoutly on the Cross mine eyes, 
 
 Where with bent head, with arms extended 
 
 wide, . 
 Thorns on His brow and spear-wound in His 
 
 side. 
 
 The bleeding body of the Saviour lies. 
 Thoughts of past sin in sad remembrance rise, 
 While on the image of the Crucified 
 My tear drops fall ; " Thou who for sinners died 
 Have mercy, Lord ! " my guilty conscience cries. 
 His strength upholding may it be my care 
 To read the teaching of His Cross aright. 
 And joy to suffejr all He bids me bear ; 
 Not trials only and afflictions light, 
 
 Those keener sorrows may I love to share 
 Which still more closely to Himself unite. 
 
20 
 
 SONNETS 
 
 
 IGH the old barn one Autumn noon I stood, 
 Huge ribs of oak its grey-stone roof upheld, 
 Shaped in rude fashion by the axe which 
 
 fell'd 
 That giant timber from the neighbouring 
 wood. 
 From waggons tossed, ripe sheaves the floor bestrew'd, 
 Loud mirth and laughter weariness dispell'd ; 
 " Home, harvest home ! " the rustic chorus swell'd. 
 And mingling voices still the strain renew'd. 
 That barn now stands a village school, therein 
 Christ's little ones are taught how blest are they 
 Who hear His word, and to His guidance cling. 
 Among this wheat no tares may Satan win. 
 
 But reap'd and hous'd in heavenly garners, may 
 " Home, harvest home ! " their guardian angels sing. 
 
SONNETS 
 
 21 
 
 (^finbneef0 
 
 O rising sunbeam cheers me with its ray, 
 
 'Tis as though light had ne'er created been, 
 As though this world and all that is 
 
 therein, 
 Still without form and void, in darkness 
 lay. 
 One from my side has pass'd unseen away, 
 
 Snatched from this world of darkness and of sin ; 
 My prayer, my hope that I may likewise win 
 And share with her the light of endless day. 
 As on my way a friendly arm I need 
 
 To guide my steps, lest they some peril meet, 
 Some snare encounter as I onward speed. 
 My soul a guide in its Redeemer hath ; 
 Lord ! be Thy word a lantern to my feet, 
 A light to light me on my heavenward path. 
 
22 
 
 SONNETS 
 
 t^t e^apef (gm 
 
 EFORE my hall I stood ; with sated eye 
 And heavy heart, upon the pile I gaz'd, 
 Which care, and cost, and years of toil had 
 
 rais'd, 
 From turrets' base to glittering vane on 
 high. 
 Cold critics came well pleased its faults to spy, 
 Those very faults which smooth-tongued flattery prais'd, 
 While country folk stood silent and amaz'd ; 
 "All," my heart whisper'd, "all is vanity." 
 Hark ! yonder bell bespeaks the hour of prayer, 
 Far down the vale its gentle echoes steal, 
 Bid youth from sport, and age from toil abstain ; 
 Won by that sound, if but one sinner kneel 
 With humble heart, and contrite spirit there — 
 Glory to God ! — not all, not all is vain. 
 
'J £• I-- -H..^ 
 
SONNETS 
 
 23 
 
 Z^t ©epar^eb 
 
 HEN, Gracious Lord, Thy Holy Name I bless 
 For those departed in Thy faith and fear. 
 When, ere Thine altar venturing to draw 
 
 near, 
 With heart-felt sorrow I my sins confess ; 
 With the same look of loving thankfulness 
 As when on earth, that form to memory dear 
 Doth meekly kneeling at my side appear, 
 E'en while Thy chalice to my lips I press. 
 Let not that vision. Lord, Thy presence wrong. 
 May it assure me that before Thy throne 
 Her prayer for my forgiveness intercedes. 
 And may I, following the example shown 
 
 By that pure soul now with the sainted throng, 
 Win, through Thy merits, that for which she pleads. 
 
24 
 
 E from whom the sun is hidden, 
 
 Blind to all that gladdens day, 
 He to whom alike forbidden 
 
 Moon nor stars their light display ; 
 
 Smiles of innocency telling, 
 
 Features cast in beauty's mould, 
 
 While on earth in darkness dwelling 
 Never may his eye behold ; 
 
 Whose the face when night is o'er, he 
 Will with raptured eye first see. 
 
 Will it not, enthroned in glory, 
 Will it not his Saviour's be. 
 
 Here then let him so endeavour 
 Patiently to run his race. 
 
 That for ever and for ever 
 He may gaze upon that face. 
 
25 
 
 NOTES 
 
 The works of the Clock in Strasbourg Cathedral wpre reconstructed by 
 J. B. Schwilgue, in 1842. As it strikes twelve, the cock, which surmounts one 
 of the turrets, crows and extends his wings. Under a canopy in the centre are 
 statuettes of the twelve apostles, which revolve round a figure of our Blessed 
 Saviour. 
 
 The following account of the loss of the "Avenger" is extracted from the 
 " Morning Herald" 
 
 " We were running at the rate of ten knots an hour, from Lisbon to Gibraltar, 
 bound to Malta, when, on the night of December 20th, at four bells (10 o'clock), 
 in the first watch, the ship suddenly struck on a reef of rocks. At this moment 
 Captain Napier was on the paddle-box, talking to the master. Lieutenant Rooke, 
 one of the survivors^ was in his cabin, in the act of taking off his coat. The 
 gunner (another survivor) ran on deck in a state of nudity. Immediately she 
 struck, all hands rushed on deck ; as they did so, she heeled over on her broad- 
 side, the mainmast fell across the paddle-box boat, and no doubt a number of 
 those engaged in clearing it away were killed. The crew appeared completely 
 paralysed ; nothing was heard but now and then an exclamation, ' Oh, God ! 
 Oh, God ! we are all lost.' Heavy seas swept over the vessel, and scarcely a 
 man could retain his hold. The last seen of Lieutenant Marryat was his being 
 washed from his hold, and carried away, with some twenty more, to leeward. 
 At last. Lieutenant Rooke, the purser, second master, gunner, and four others, 
 contrived to get into a quarter-boat. Here Providence interposed to save them ; 
 in lowering the boat the foremast fall got jammed, and the after one going freely, 
 the boat had her stern in water and her bows in the air, when a jacket belonging 
 to one of the men fortunately got into the sheave-hole of the after-fall, stopped 
 it, and enabled them to cut the falls adrift. After pushing off from the wreck, 
 they endeavoured to regain her, to render such assistance as was possible, and 
 to pick up any of the crew : to approach her they found impossible. The wind 
 
 E 
 
26 NOTES 
 
 blew a gale from the southward. The sea was very high, and breaking com- 
 pletely over her. After remaining as near as they could get for two hours, they 
 bore away for Galita, distant about fourteen miles ; an hour after they had done 
 so, the wind suddenly shifted to the north, and blew harder than it had done 
 from the other quarter. This compelled them to bear up again, which they did, 
 for the coast of Barbary. On their way they passed the wreck, over which the 
 sea was making awful sweeps. Soon after day-light they made the coast of 
 Barbary, having run aU night under a small lug-sail, and steered with an oar. 
 In running the boat in, she grounded on a reef, and all hands were thrown out ; 
 the boy, however, regained the boat, kept to her, and drifted ashore alive. Of 
 the remainder, only Lieutenant Rooke, the gunner, and steward, were saved. 
 The others perished in the surf. The Arabs treated them kindly, dried their 
 clothes, and gave them warm milk. After a repose they walked thirty-six miles, 
 till they could procure horses, on which they rode to Biserta. Here they received 
 every hospitality from the governor and the consuls. A boat took them to Tunis, 
 whence Sir T. Reade, the British Consul, sent a despatch to Malta. The Hecate 
 started immediately for the fatal spot, whither the Bey of Tunis had already sent 
 vessels, but not a vestige of the wreck remained. It is supposed that, with the 
 shift of the wind, she heeled over into deep water and sunk. There are from 
 thirty to fifty fathoms all round these rocks, which are steep to within a ship's, 
 length. The total number lost is 253." 
 
 LONDON : PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED, STAMFORD STREET 
 AND CHARING CROSS- 
 
•'^-i 
 
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