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 Spring's immortality, and other poems; wi 
 
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 Library 
 
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 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31 92401 321 3081 
 
SPRING'S IMMORTALITY: 
 
 AND OTHEE POEMS. 
 
 NOTICES OP PIEST EDITION. 
 
 The Athenaeum :— " Has an unquestionable charm of 
 its own." 
 
 The Academy: — "There are poems in this volume 
 which will bring light and cheer to many a drooping 
 spirit. There are others — notably ' The Taking of the 
 Flag' and 'The Keeping of the Vow' — that will be 
 read with pleasure for the vigour with which they are 
 written. And there are others — more particularly, 
 perhaps, the sonnets — on which readers will dwell with 
 the delight which thoughtful verse, the genuine outcome 
 of true feeling, never fails to give. . . . Mr. Bell thinks 
 his own thoughts, and expresses them in his own style 
 and language. " 
 
 The Saturday Review: — "Mr. Bell's poems must 
 give pleasure to ears that are attuned to simple and 
 vmaffected song, and it is clear from the poet's sug- 
 gestive and vivid 'Pictures of Travel' — an attractive 
 section of the present volume — that he needs not an 
 exceptional incitement to sing, nor anything of a spur 
 at all. The poetic impulse, in fact, is a natural im- 
 pulse with Mr. Bell, and in the ' poems of places ' to 
 which we refer the truth and freshness of the picture 
 are due to the creative, rather than to the composing, 
 art. The saine directness of method may be noted in 
 the spirited poem of ' The Keeping of the Vow,' an effec- 
 tive example of narrative in verse, in which the writer 
 treats of ilobert Bruce and his crusading vow." 
 
 The Speaker: — "His cheerful outlook is always re- 
 freshing, " 
 
The Daily News : — " Throughout a model of finished 
 workmanship, and of that perfect sanity of the imagina- 
 tion which is the note of all our best work in this depart- 
 ment of literature." 
 
 The Review of Reviews : — " This graceful little 
 volumQ. . . . One or two of the poems in the ' Pict\ires 
 of Travel ' section are, owing to the very great success 
 with which the details of natural beauty are treated, 
 really notable ; while the religious poems breathe an 
 atmosphere of sincerity and devotion not a little re- 
 freshing." 
 
 Black and White : — " Both tuneful and charming." 
 
 The Bookman: — "Verse like Mr. Mackenzie Bell's 
 ... is sufficiently rare, and should be valued. These 
 selections from former volumes, and some new poems, 
 give one not a little pleasure. . . . His verse leaves 
 on us the impression that we have been in company 
 with a poet." 
 
 The Globe : — " Throughout one is struck by the 
 evidence given of a sympathetic personality expressing 
 itself in dear and well-turned strains. Everywhere the 
 workmanship is good, the spirit serene, the standpoint 
 generous. We have been attracted especially by the 
 sonnets on Shakespeare, Browning, and Kossetti. " 
 
 Publisher's Circular :—" Some of these poems have 
 the rare quality of remaining in the memory. The 
 volume contains much that lovers of genuine poetry 
 will cherish." 
 
 Western Morning News: — "His descriptive poems 
 are very fine, while his religious and historical efforts are 
 by no means lacking in noble sentiment and poetic power. " 
 
 M ethodist Recorder : — " All through there is abundant 
 evidence of true poetic gifts. The play of fancy is attrac- 
 tive, the sentiment usually elevating and free from all 
 sentimentality, and the descriptions of scenery effective. 
 The author has clearly a natural aptitude for seizing upon 
 and expressing the poetical in nature and in human life. 
 This is a refreshing Dook." 
 
SPEING'S IMMOETALITY: 
 
 AND OTHER POEMS. 
 

 AND ^ / / \ 
 
 OTHEE POEMS 
 
 By MACKENZIE BELL 
 
 AUTHOR OF "CHARLES WHITEHEAp : A FORGOTTEN GENIUS" 
 
 WITH NEW PEEFATOKY NOTE 
 
 SECOND EDITION 
 
 Honaon 
 
 WARD, LOCK, Am) BOWDEN, LIMITED 
 
 NEW TOEK AND MELBOTJENE 
 1895 
 
 <f /F_ 
 
A. \^1S%U 
 
To Edmund Clarence Stedman. 
 
 Severed from you by stiiidering seas I dwell — 
 Never have clasped your hand, nor heard your 
 
 voice — 
 Never have seen your eyes make loving choice 
 
 Of mine to tell the truths words may not tell. 
 
 And yet I know you — oft in tranquil mood 
 Tour welcome songs — your wealth of critic 
 
 lore — 
 To me have brought a joy unfelt before, — 
 
 Or letters from you cheered my solitude. 
 
 January 19th, 1895. 
 
Prefatory Note to Second Edition. 
 
 The first edition of " Spring's Immortality and 
 Other Poems" being exhausted, the volume has 
 been entirely reset. In preparing a second edition 
 for publication, I have made a few revisions, and, 
 in deference to an opinion sometimes expressed, 
 that the "Humorous Poems" were not in keeping 
 with the other contents of the volume, have 
 placed these in an Appendix. 
 
 One of my critics, to whose views I attach impor- 
 tance, has questioned the accuracy of my natural 
 history, because in " Spring's Immortality" I say: 
 
 " From many a stone the ouzels sing 
 By yonder mossy stream.'' 
 
 — his contention being that the bird under such 
 conditions merely says GMt ! I venture to refer 
 him to p. 71 of " British Birds in their Haunts," 
 
X Prefatory Note. 
 
 by the late Eev. C. A. Johns. There that well- 
 known naturalist, in the course of an interesting 
 narrative about its habits, remarks that the 
 dipper or water ouzel alights " on a wet mossy stone 
 rising but a few inches above the water, where 
 the stream runs swiftest and the spray sparkles 
 brightest. But for the roar of the torrent you might 
 hear his song, a low melodious strain." Perhaps 
 I ought to mention that I had not read the 
 passage just quoted when I wrote "Spring's 
 Immortality." 
 
 I have prefixed a poem addressed to my friend 
 Mr. Edmund Clarence Stedman (to whom the 
 book is dedicated), which originally appeared in 
 " The Literary World." It only remains for me 
 to express my gratitude for the favourable recep- 
 tion which " Spring's Immortality and Other 
 Poems " has received. 
 
 Mackenzie Bell. 
 
 London, Atigust, 1895. 
 
Contents. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 To Edmund Clarence Stedman vii 
 
 Prefatory Note to Second Edition ix 
 
 Spring's Immortality 1 
 
 The Lame Boy in the Woods 3 
 
 Aspirations 5 
 
 Sonnets. 
 
 Old Year Leaves 9 
 
 In Memoriam, W. E. Forster 10 
 
 At the Grave of Dante Gabriel Kossetti .... 11 
 
 An Autumn Eeminiscence 12 
 
 Browning's Funeral — 1 13 
 
 Browning's Funeral — II. ... 15 
 
 At Stratford-on-Avon 17 
 
 Poems founded on History. 
 
 The Taking of the Flag 21 
 
 The Keeping of the Vow 26 
 
 The Death of Captain Hunt 36 
 
 The Loss of H.M.S. Victoria 39 
 
xii Contents. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Pictures of Travel. 
 
 Palms by Moonlight at Alicante 43 
 
 Joao to Constanta 45 
 
 Francisoa to Jaspear 48 
 
 Christmas in the Summer Sunshine 52 
 
 Verses on a Vase filled with sub-tropical flowers . 55 
 
 On the Road to Camera de Lobos, Madeira ... 58 
 
 Sunday Morning off Mazagan, Morocco 60 
 
 On looking up the Vale of Cauterets, Hautes 
 
 Pyrto^es, by Night 63 
 
 The Southern Night 65 
 
 Lines on a Stone near the Summit of the Simplon 
 
 Pass 68 
 
 In the New Forest 72 
 
 \ 
 Eeligious Poems. 
 
 God's Peace 77 
 
 A Rallying Song 79 
 
 Morning Thoughts 81 
 
 A Song of Comfort 83 
 
 The Balance of Life 85 
 
 " Lord, teach us to Pray " 87 
 
 Holy Quietude , 89 
 
 Lyrics and Miscellaneous Poems. 
 
 The Unfulfilled Ideal 93 
 
 The Child Cowper at Berkhampstead . ... 95 
 
 In Ellington Copse 97 
 
Contents, xiii 
 
 PAGE 
 
 A Song of Early Summer 99 
 
 The Heart's Summer 101 
 
 The Autumn is Dying 103 
 
 December Daisies and Decemher Days .... 105 
 
 The Poet's Inspiration 106 
 
 A Memory and a Presence 108 
 
 " While the Sunset, slowly dying " . . . .111 
 
 The Bride's Song 114 
 
 The Hawthorn Spray 116 
 
 The Puritan's Farewell to his Betrothed ... 118 
 
 Passion's Slave 122 
 
 Two Lives 123 
 
 fo Sir Walter Scott .125 
 
 Solitude 126 
 
 Appendix. 
 
 Humorous Poems. 
 
 Moonlight on the Tagus .... 131 
 
 Waiting for the Dentist 133 
 
 Notes 137 
 
Spring's Immortality. 
 
 The buds awake at toucli of Spring 
 From Winter's joyless dream ; 
 
 Prom many a stone the ouzels sing 
 By yonder mossy stream. 
 
 The cuckoo's voice, from copse and vale, 
 
 Lingers, as if to meet 
 The music of the nightingale 
 
 Across the rising wheat — 
 
 The bird whom ancient Solitude 
 
 Hath kept for ever young, 
 Unaltered since in studious mood 
 
 Calm Milton mused and sung. 
 
Spring's Immortality. 
 
 Ah, strange it is, dear heart, to kaow 
 
 Spring's gladsome mystery 
 Was sweet to lovers long ago — 
 
 Most sweet to such as we — 
 
 That fresh new leaves and meadow flowers 
 Bloomed when the south wind came ; 
 
 While hands of Spring caressed the bowers. 
 The throstle sang the same. 
 
 Unchanged, unchanged the throstle's song. 
 Unchanged Spring's answering breath, 
 
 Unchanged, though cruel Time was strong. 
 And stilled our love in death. 
 
The Lame Boy in the Woods. 
 
 Each season hath its sadness, but for me 
 Summer hath most of all. I know not why, 
 But though its sylvan beauty soothes my soul 
 And brings sweet reveries — though the happy 
 
 birds. 
 Discoursing music, stir my mind with dreams, 
 With melodies, with thoughts of deep delight ; 
 Yet still there lurks within the Summer's heart 
 Or in mine own, a pain — a deep, wild pain — 
 Which, even amid still Autumn's ravages 
 I never feel, nor yet in Winter's storms. 
 Is it, I ask, that Summer's voiceless spell — 
 Her loveliness of copse and lea and flower 
 Is all too soon dissolved — that blossoms fade 
 
The Lame Boy in the Woods. 
 
 When Summer's glory dies? 
 
 Ah, no ; ah, no ! 
 It is that Summer's mocking gladness lends 
 To loss a sharper sting when I recall 
 The joy of buoyant health and tireless limbs 
 Which others feel — alas ! through all my life 
 A joy that knows not me. 
 
Aspirations. 
 
 O FOB the poet's voice and song — 
 
 Piercing, yet sweet and clear, 
 Eich as the cuBhat's note, yet strong 
 
 To reach, the great world's ear ! 
 
 for the visions that abide 
 
 "Within the poet's mind. 
 The thoughts which through his hosom glide 
 
 Leaving strange joy behind ! - 
 
 for the fruit — immortal fruit 
 
 Soiled by no earthly leav'n, 
 Not fame alone, nor vain repute. 
 
 But something caught from heav'n — 
 
Aspirations. 
 
 Assurance that my strain has cheered 
 
 One soul, if only one, 
 And shed on the dark path it feared 
 
 A passing glimpse of sun. 
 
The Late Miss Christina Rossetti : an 
 Interesting Forthcoming Volume. 
 
 Mr. Mackenzie Bell, who was a personal 
 friend of the late Miss Christina Rossetti, and 
 has a very intimate knowledge of her work, is 
 engaged upon a volume of which she is the 
 subject, and in which he will give not only 
 some personal reminiscences, but much that 
 is extremely interesting in regard to the extent 
 to which her poetry was the result of her 
 exceptionally striking personality. Upon the 
 inner meaning of " Goblin Market," for in- 
 stance, concerning which so many curious 
 questions have been asked, Mr. Bell hopes to 
 throw considerable light. His volume will 
 also contain a series of chapters which will 
 provide a detailed critical analysis of Miss 
 Rossetti's fourteen books of poetry and prose. 
 Mr. Bell holds that the development of her 
 genius is illustrated in the volume of 
 " Verses," printed privately by her grandfather 
 in 1847, when she was sixteen years old, as 
 well as in her contribution to The Germ, and 
 to these considerable attention will be devoted. 
 But while Mr. Bell's book will contain a great 
 deal that is new and interesting to the literary 
 public, his aim and hope is to make the volume 
 sufficiently popular to serve, in the hands of 
 those .who are at present insufficiently ac- 
 quainted with Miss Rossetti's work, as an 
 introduction both to her Prose and her 
 Poetry. 
 
SONNETS. 
 
Old Year Leaves. 
 
 Tossed by the storms of Autumn chill and drear, 
 The leaves fall auburn-tinted, and the trees 
 Stand reft and bare, yet on the silent leas 
 
 The leaves lie drifted still — while cold, austere, 
 
 Grrim Winter waits — ^while early snowdrops cheer 
 The woodland shadows — ^while the happy bees 
 Are wakened by the balmy western breeze. 
 
 And birds and boughs proclaim that Spring is here. 
 
 So lost hopes severed by the stress of life 
 Lie all unburied yet before our eyes. 
 
 Though none but we regard their mute decay ; 
 And ever amid this stir and moil and strife 
 Fresh aims and growing purposes arise 
 Above the faded hopes of yesterday. 
 
10 
 
 In Memoriam, W. E. Forster. 
 
 (Obiit April 5th, 1886.) 
 
 STAiwABT man and pure, whose earnest face 
 Mirrored thy fair-orbed soul, whose every deed 
 Made answer to thy word, who gav'st no heed 
 
 To selfish babble or the lust of place. 
 
 Who — grieving at thy country's perilous case 
 G-rown dire by lack of knowledge — in her need 
 Cam' st with thy succour — thou whose civic creed, 
 
 Too wide for party, dealt with all the race. 
 
 A year hath passed since thou wast laid to rest, 
 Tet fragrant is thy memory ; thy bequest 
 
 A work whose scope and grandeur Time shall 
 gauge. 
 Britain some day — her daughter-lands apart 
 No longer — will remember thee whose heart 
 
 Fired hers to win her world-wide heritage. 
 
11 
 
 At the Grave of Dante Gabriel 
 Rossetti. 
 
 April gth, 1883.' 
 
 Hebe of a truth the world's extremes are met ; 
 
 Amid the grey — the moss-grown tomhs of those 
 
 Who led long lives obscure till came the close 
 When, their calm days being done, their suns were 
 
 set — 
 Here stands a grave, all monumentless yet. 
 
 Wrapt like the others in a deep repose ; 
 
 But while yon wakeful ocean ebbs and flows 
 It is a grave the world shall not forget — 
 
 This grave on which meek violets grow and thyme. 
 Summer's fair heralds ; and a stranger now 
 Pauses to see a poet's restiug-place. 
 But one of those who will in many a clime 
 On each retiu-n of this sad day avow 
 
 Fond love's regret that ne'er they saw his face. 
 
12 
 
 An Autumn Reminiscence. 
 
 A BADiANT garden rises on my view 
 
 Wheretlirougli the glowing hours the sunray s fall 
 Gently through hazel boughs ; while brooklets 
 brawl 
 
 O'er beds where gleam the pebbles brown and blue. 
 
 Here, in that calm which never once they knew 
 On earth, dead heroes keep the slopes in thrall — 
 And russet ferns thereon, and dahlias tall, 
 
 And lilies white, and flowers of mingled hue. 
 
 Small wonder that these storied warrior forms 
 Should now in sculptured stone have rest, when I 
 Find here that Life's fierce conflicts seem to 
 cease — 
 Find respite here from all Life's rudest storms : — 
 Where still and silent 'neath a pale grey sky 
 Fair and contented Nature lies at peace. 
 
13 
 
 Browning's Funeral. 
 I. 
 
 Venice, December 15th, i88g. 
 
 "The body of Robert Browning was conveyed to a 
 gondola which had the figure of an angel at the prow 
 and a lion at the stern, and was covered with flowers. 
 The relations and friends followed in gondolas across 
 the lagoon, in the light of the setting sun, to the ceme- 
 tery." 
 
 JJow "past they glide," and bear the flower- 
 wreathed bier 
 
 Across the soundless waters, cold and grey. 
 Ere Night falls, sable-vestured and austere, 
 
 And Day dies in one roseate flush away. 
 While they who follow, tearful, in the train 
 
 See wonted sights with unfamiliar eyes ;— 
 Like dreams, amid the fevered sleep of pain. 
 
 Rich domes and frescoed palaces arise. 
 
14 Browning's Funeral. 
 
 Tet haply, mixed with sorrow, dawns the thought 
 How fit such obsequies for him whose pen 
 
 Hath given a wondrous poem,' passion-fraught, — 
 Breathing of love and Venice, — ^unto men : 
 
 And so hath added to her deathless glory 
 
 A shining scroll of pure and ageless story. 
 
15 
 
 n. 
 
 Westminster Abbey, December 31st, i88g. 
 
 The music of Croft and Purcell was used " as the Body 
 was brought into Church, and for the processional parts 
 of the burial service. This was followed by a ' medita- 
 tion,' composed for the service by Dr. Bridge, the words 
 from Elizabeth Barrett Browning's ' He giveth His be- 
 lovM Sleep.'" 
 
 Ceoft's solemn music swells ; then comes at last 
 
 The dim procession through the panelled choir ; 
 And in the cloistral gloom, so still and vast, 
 
 Many who loved him listen. Higher and higher 
 Eise Purcell's dirge-like tones, Grief's very soul, 
 
 Tet soon " He giveth His beloved Sleep " 
 Brings to our anguished hearts relief, control, 
 
 Memories of stately Morenee, and the deep 
 
16 Browning's Fwneral. 
 
 Love- sacrament wliich bound him to Hs spouse 
 Changeless through changeful years. And- now 
 in heaven 
 
 They meet in bliss — meet to renew their vows 
 Beyond the soiling touch of earthly leaven. 
 
 While England, as 'tis right, in sacred trust 
 
 Keeps through the centuries his hallowed dust. 
 
17 
 
 At Stratford-on-Avon. 
 
 Shakespbabe, thy legacy of peerless song 
 
 Reveals mankind in every age and place, 
 In every joy, in every grief and wrong : 
 
 'Tis England's legacy to aU our race. 
 Little we know of all thine inner life — 
 
 Little of all thy swift, thy wondrous years — 
 Tears filled with toil — rich years whose days were 
 rife 
 
 With strains that bring us mirth, that bring us 
 tears. 
 Little we know, and yet this much we know. 
 
 Sense was thy guiding star — sense guided thee 
 To live in this thy Stratford long ago — 
 
 To live content in calm simplicity ; 
 Greatest of those who wrought with soul aflame 
 At honest daily work — then found it fame. 
 c 
 
POEMS POUNDED ON HISTOEY. 
 
21 
 
 The Taking of the Flag. 
 
 The dawning light 
 
 Hath banished Night, 
 Breaking the ocean's sleep — 
 
 For all around 
 
 Is heard a sound 
 Of war upon the deep. 
 
 The Dutch and we 
 
 Are met at sea 
 On this blithe summer day, 
 
 To try at length 
 
 Our fighting strength 
 In battle's bloody fray. 
 
22 The Taking of the Flag. 
 
 See ! on tlie right 
 Two sHps in fight 
 
 In struggle long and hard, 
 And though so near. 
 They know not fear, 
 
 Close grappling yard to yard. 
 
 In Tery joy 
 
 An orphan boy 
 Speaks 'mid the battle's roar : 
 
 " Since morning's sun 
 
 The fight has run, — 
 When will it then be o'er? " 
 
 " 'TwiU never lag 
 
 TiU yon Dutch rag ' 
 Down from the mast-head runs. 
 
 No other sign 
 
 Along our line 
 Can silence British guns." 
 
The Taking of the Flag. 28 
 
 " If thus it be," 
 
 Then swift quoth he 
 With brightly flashing eye ; 
 
 " 'Twill soon be past. 
 
 Nor longer last. 
 Though if I fail, I die." 
 
 Hid by the cloak 
 
 Of sable smoke. 
 Full noiselessly he goes ; 
 
 Nor does he wait, 
 
 But springs elate 
 'Mid Britain's fiercest foes. 
 
 And up their mast 
 
 He clambers fast : 
 He grasps his precious prize : — 
 
 He knows no check — 
 
 He gains the deck. 
 With triumph in his eyes. 
 
,24 The Taking of the Flag. 
 
 And througli the roar 
 He botuids once more 
 
 To his appointed place ; 
 Fearless, serene, 
 Is now his mien, 
 
 Tearless, serene his face. 
 
 Our men with glee 
 Shout "Victory!" 
 
 WaTing the standard gay ; 
 And from each gun 
 The Dutchmen run 
 
 In wonder and dismay. 
 
 And while their chief 
 Seeks, wild with grief. 
 
 To rally them in vain, 
 With one accord 
 Our sailors hoard, 
 
 And soon the vessel gain. 
 
The Talcing of the Flag. 25 
 
 And of the youth 
 
 Who thus ia truth 
 Had won a worthy name, 
 
 Men spoke aloud 
 
 In accents proud, 
 And world-wide was his fame. 
 
26 
 
 The Keeping of the Vow.* 
 
 A.D. 1330. 
 
 Kino Eobeet Bbuce is dying now, 
 
 Heavily comes his breath, 
 And that last strife 'twixt death and life 
 
 WiU soon be won by death ; 
 
 Around his couch the liegemen stand ; 
 
 They heave full many a sigh. 
 In dire dismay and grief are they 
 
 To know their liege must die. 
 
 " Sir James of Douglas, come ! " he cries, 
 
 " Ever wert thou my friend. 
 And though we part, 'tis well thou art 
 
 With me unto the end. 
 
The Keeping of the Vow. 27 
 
 " When great my need I vowed to God 
 
 If He would grant to me 
 That war's surcease should bring us peace, 
 
 And Scotland should be free, 
 
 " His blessed banner I would bear 
 
 To holy Palestine, 
 With arms to quell the Infidel : 
 
 Such was your King's design. 
 
 " Sore grieved am I that here I lie — 
 Death's hand upon my brow — 
 
 In Tain, in vain, 'mid gnawing pain. 
 Do I recall my vow. 
 
 " Then promise me right faithfully, 
 
 Wlien I am laid at rest. 
 That with my heart thou wilt depart 
 
 To do my last behest ! " 
 
28 The Keeping of the Vow. 
 
 " My liege, I pledge my kniglitly word, 
 Thy bidding shall be done. 
 
 The work is sad, yet am I glad 
 Such favour to have won ! 
 
 " Safe in my bosom shall thy trust 
 
 Abide with me for ever. 
 Unless, perchance, in peril's hour, 
 
 'Twere best that we should sever." 
 
 The king smiles faintly in reply — 
 Then slowly droops his head. 
 
 And on the breast of him he loved 
 Robert the Bruce lies dead. 
 
 In fit array at break of day 
 Doth Douglas soon depart, 
 
 And in a casket carefully 
 He keeps that Kingly Heart. 
 
The Keeping of the Vow. 29 
 
 Crossing the main and sighting Spain, 
 
 He joins the truceless war 
 Of Moor and Christian — ^that fierce strife 
 
 Which rages as of yore ; ° 
 
 For straight he deems that here it seems 
 
 His devoir first should be, 
 And with his host he swells the boast 
 
 Of Spanish chivalry. 
 
 The armies twain on Tebas's plain 
 
 Outspread — a goodly sight ! 
 Eager they wait with hope elate, 
 
 Impatient for the fight ; 
 
 The summer sunbeams on the shields 
 
 Of warriors brightly glancing. 
 Illume the mail of many a man 
 
 And many a charger prancing, 
 And gallant crest that in the breeze 
 
 Full gaily now is dancing ; 
 
30 The Keeping of the Vow. 
 
 Each Moslem there with scimitar, 
 
 Upon his Arab horse, 
 Moves with a calm, a fearless mien, 
 
 Unswerving in his course. 
 
 Lo here at length the stately strength 
 The Cross and Crescent wield. 
 
 As deadly foes now darkly close 
 Upon this fatal field. 
 
 The Spaniards' stroke hath broken through 
 
 The dense opposing line ! 
 Tet none the less both armies press 
 
 Around their standard-sign, 
 
 While many a Paynim once so proud 
 
 Lies lifeless on the plain. 
 And many a jennet of Castile 
 
 Euns free with dangling rein. 
 
The Keeping of the Vow. SI 
 
 First in the van the Douglas rides. 
 
 With all his men-at-arms, — 
 A worthy company are they 
 
 To front the Paynim swarms. 
 
 With bloody spur and loosened rein 
 
 They break the stubborn foe. 
 So swift the chase they scarce can trace 
 
 The course by which they go. 
 
 Till, looting back upon their track. 
 
 The Paynim ranks they see 
 Have closed them in, 'mid dust and din 
 
 With shout of wolfish glee. 
 
 " We find full late the danger great," 
 
 Sir Douglas cries, " return ! 
 And charge the foe Kke Scots who know 
 
 The rout at Bannockbum. 
 
32 The keeping of the Vow. 
 
 " Surely the men who conquered then 
 
 Vain Edward's mighty host 
 Will never yield this sacred ° field 
 
 Nor let the base Moor boast." 
 
 So, boldly speating, quick he turns — 
 He gallops to the rear — [^ 
 
 This dauntless quest through fierce unrest 
 As gallant doth appear 
 
 As his who braves the foam-flated waves 
 To succour one most dear. 
 
 As Douglas passed the blows fell fast — 
 
 Stem was the conflict wild, 
 With steeds and men, who ne'er again 
 
 Would rise, the field was piled. 
 
 Tet, with his followers not a few, 
 
 Now he has* cleft his way 
 With flashing eye and flashing blade 
 
 Straight through the grim array. 
 
The Keeping of the Vow. 33 
 
 Once more he glances round, and sees, 
 
 Still in the thickest fight, 
 Walter St. Clair, his well-beloved, 
 
 A very valiant knight. 
 
 Full oft had they in tourney gay 
 
 Their chargers deftly wheeled. 
 Full oft were nigh in days gone by 
 
 On many a battle field, — 
 
 " Eide to the rescue ! " Douglas shouts, 
 
 " Eide on, and do not spare. 
 To save him from a woeful death 
 
 Which of you will not dare ! " 
 
 Urging his horse with headlong force, 
 
 He seeks to render aid. 
 And many a tunic's fold is cleft 
 
 By his resistless blade ; 
 
34 The Keeping of the Vow. 
 
 Yet is he left, of friends bereft. 
 
 Swart foemen all around. 
 Through the echoing strokes on helm and shield 
 
 Of help there comes no sound. 
 
 Now snatches he the jewelled casque 
 
 Where lies the Heart he lores, 
 ("Tis strange to see how tenderly 
 
 His mailed hand o'er it moves). 
 
 And flings it forward, forward yet. 
 
 With this his battle cry, 
 " Press on, brave Heart, as thou wert wont : 
 
 I follow thee, or die ! " 
 
 With lifted lance he makes advance 
 
 To where his treasure fell, 
 Each crash of blow — now fast, now slow — 
 
 Like a rude requiem kneU, 
 
The Keeping of the Vow. 35 
 
 And left alone, yet ne'er o'erthrown, 
 
 He grapples -with the foe, 
 Until a sword-thrust piercing him 
 
 At last doth lay him low. 
 
 Then gallantly he struggles stiU, 
 
 Half kneeling on the plain, 
 And there, o'erwhelmed by many a wound, 
 
 The peerless knight is slain. 
 
 So died the chief, his life well lost 
 
 In Scottish hero's work. 
 The stainless Douglas, he who sleeps 
 
 In mossy Douglas kirk. 
 
36 
 
 The Death of Captain Hunt/ 
 
 January 8th, 1761. 
 
 The watcli on board the Unicom 
 
 Look out at dawn of light, 
 The sails are here, the sails at last ! 
 
 The Frenchman heaves in sight. 
 
 And swiftly now the order comes 
 To give the Frenchman chase, 
 
 The Frenchman who is lost, we know, 
 K we can win the race. 
 
 Hurrah ! the coward's flight is vain, 
 
 The ships are drawing nigh. 
 Each man prepares to win the fight — 
 
 To win the fight or die. 
 
The Death of Captain Hv/nt. 37 
 
 And soon the cannons' smoke and boom 
 
 Are rolling all around, 
 Through two fierce hours of clangorous strife 
 
 Is heard the deadly sound ; 
 
 Wild scene of strange delirious joy, 
 
 Tet desolating woe, 
 For now a shot our captain feUs, 
 
 And he is borne below. 
 
 Two seamen gently bear him down. 
 
 And while the surgeon tries 
 To bind his wound, he looks on us 
 
 With tender, pityiug eyes. 
 
 The strife ne'er stays- — the bearers bring 
 
 Another blood-stained man. 
 " Surgeon," our captain says at once, 
 
 " Go, save him if you can. 
 
38 The Death of Captain Hunt. 
 
 " My woTond is mortal ; thus for me 
 
 Tour care is all in vaia. 
 Not so ■with him, then use your power 
 
 To ease his heavier pain." 
 
 Soon ebbed our captain's tide of life- 
 Short was the time for him — 
 
 Tet still his constant mind was clear 
 Although his eyes grew dim. 
 
 And in a while his heart was glad 
 
 For we had won the day. 
 His noble heart was satisfied — 
 
 His spirit passed away. 
 
39 
 
 The Loss of H.M.S. "Victoria." 
 
 June 22nd, 1S93. 
 
 Let England mourn for tjbese her gallant sons, 
 
 Who, seeing death was certain, yet remained 
 
 Steadfast to duty, all unconsciously 
 
 Grown to be heroes, — mourn for them whose souls, 
 
 Fired with immortal courage, conquered fear. 
 
 Let England griere with them who, silent, weep 
 
 A loss irreparable with bitter tears. 
 
 Let England grieve for him who, though he erred 
 
 Soon felt perchance, in feeling he had erred. 
 
 An agony more great than death itself. 
 
 ***** 
 Let England stiH rejoice, for now she knows, 
 Though Time and Science change the face of war, 
 The stufE of English hearts they cannot change. 
 
PICTUEES OF TEAVEI4. 
 
43 
 
 Palms by Moonlight at Alicante. 
 
 Palms by moonliglit ! waving palms, 
 
 How the thouglit of you embalms 
 In memory still the spot whereon I saw you last ! 
 
 Softly, wonderfully clear 
 
 On that night did you appear 
 Whose blissful hours, swift-winged, too soon, too 
 soon, were past. 
 
 Here the eye could range at will, 
 And of beauty take its fill. 
 Beauty so rare it soothed as soothes a heav'n-sent 
 dream — 
 Or a meUow Eastern tale 
 Where the genii ride the gale 
 And glide among such trees on many a moonlight 
 gleam. 
 
44 Palms by Moonlight at Alicante. 
 
 Tor the strange ethereal sight 
 Thrilled me with a new delight, 
 While still the full-orhed moon o'er leaf o'er 
 feathery bough 
 From a sky of purest blue 
 Silver glory gently threw. 
 Then rapturous visions came I know not whence 
 or how — 
 
 Visions, sweet and kind, that stole 
 
 Through my hush'd and happy soul 
 To strive against their power had been a vain 
 endeavour, 
 
 And, with ravished eye and heart, 
 
 Wished I never to depart, 
 Looking, I longed to live, and see these sights for 
 
45 
 
 Joao to Constanga. 
 
 (A Lest6° sunrise in Madeira.) 
 
 ToNDEE flusli across the sea 
 Brings the morning back to me 
 When you seemed to lend the light 
 That dispersed the lingering night ; 
 When I heard your step, and knew 
 Joy of joy ! 'twas surely you ; 
 When I turned and saw your face. 
 Saw you glide with girlish grace ; 
 Though before my heart was moved. 
 Then it was that first I loved. 
 
 Kosy cloudlets, lately dun, 
 Seemed as now to hide the sun ; 
 
46 Joao to Constanta. 
 
 Other cloudlets seemed to stand 
 Eeady -waiting Ms command. 
 Brighter, brighter grew the group, 
 Every tint was in the troop, 
 Eed, and blue, and rich maroon, 
 rieecy white appearing soon. 
 As at length we plighted troth. 
 Hallowed moments for us both. 
 
 O'er the peats the vapoury shrouds 
 Shifted with the shifting clouds ; 
 Faintly purpled clouds were spread 
 O'er the peaceful ocean's bed ; 
 Clouds empurpled now, and grand, - 
 Cast a halo o'er the land. 
 Every bird and opening flower 
 Eelt the gladness of the hour. 
 As the gentle landward breeze 
 Stirred the tall banana-trees. 
 
Joao to Constanta. 47 
 
 You remember how the day, 
 While dawn's freshness wore away, 
 Took a dimmer purple hue 
 As the clouds were changed anew. 
 You remember how we walked, 
 You remember how we talked. 
 How, beneath this trellised vine. 
 Oft you told me you were mine, 
 Each remembrance makes more clear 
 All the debt I owe you, dear. 
 
48 
 
 Francisca to Jaspear: 
 
 A Madeiran Idyl. 
 
 The ricli — the rich alone — may dream of death 
 As solace for their sorrow, not the poor. 
 Whate'er their grief, the poor have work to do 
 If they would not behold their dear ones starve. 
 Now were J dead there's none to pluck the fruit 
 And sort it on our stall o' market days. 
 Mother is ill, and through the scorching hours 
 Father is busy 'mid the sugar-canes. 
 
 It seems but yesterday since you and I, 
 Happy with thoughts of coming happiness, 
 Lived in the future, for the pleasant years 
 Stretched all before us, fraught with all the joy 
 
Francisca to Jaspear. 49 
 
 That only love which changes not can give. 
 
 Never shall I forget how once we sat 
 
 Here where the orange-trees yield grateful shade, 
 
 As with fond eyes of truth you told to me 
 
 Once and again the sweet familiar tale 
 
 That ever to a maiden's heart is new. 
 
 Far, far beneath me, shimmering in the sun. 
 Were palms with shapely branches, outlined now 
 More clearly by the strong light pouring down. 
 And nearer, on the left, an avenue 
 Of red and white camellias full in flower 
 Formed one long vista filled with varying hues. 
 While countless clustering vines and citron trees 
 G-leamed in a rare, a radiant mingled glow 
 Of gorgeous colour. The banana-trees. 
 Each with its fragrant load of luscious fruit. 
 The graceful guavas with their light-green leaves. 
 The loquats with their deeper verdant tints, 
 
50 Francisca to Jaspear. 
 
 The stately yam-trees with their Mossoms white, 
 Stood forth in all their loveliness together. 
 
 Delightful was it, when the sun declined, 
 
 To loiter with yon as the hreath of night 
 
 Conquered the sultry ardour of the day ; 
 
 To see the moon rise over silent seas ; 
 
 To see the summer heavens, now decked with stars. 
 
 Vie with the shafts of distance-mellowed light 
 
 From many a cottage on the lone crag-sides 
 
 In making a rich girdle round the bay ; 
 
 To hear the soft machete ^ play some air 
 
 Of gayest sound, perhaps a mazy dance. 
 
 Alas ! alas for me, such hours of bliss 
 
 Can nevermore return, for you are dead. 
 
 G-ood were it if I lay where you are laid 
 
 In that fair spot where one may hear the waves 
 
 Break idly on the shingle beach below 
 
 In noontide heat when scarce a lizard stirs ; 
 
Francisca to Jaspear. 51 
 
 Where scented roses cling around the tombs 
 Still blooming on throughout the sunny year. 
 
 # # # # * 
 
 Yes, mother, I am coming, you must look 
 At these my oranges, fresh plucked and ripe. 
 And at my custard apples, they will be 
 The finest in the market-place to-day. 
 
52 
 
 Christmas in the Summer 
 Sunshine. 
 
 (Funchal, Madeira.) 
 
 Cheistmas in tLe summer sunshine! O kow 
 
 wonderful it seems, — 
 Dowered with gladness are its moments, realizing 
 
 poet-dreams. 
 While its moments hasten from me, how I wish 
 
 they came to stay, — 
 How I wish their guileless pleasure nevermore 
 
 might pass away. 
 
 Softly play around my forehead breathings of the 
 
 seaward breeze. 
 As it stirs the swaying branches of the palms and 
 
 orange-trees, — 
 
Christmas in the Summer Simshine. 53 
 
 As it stirs the cactus growing on the gaunt uprising 
 
 cUfEs 
 Hanging o'er the gleaming ocean dotted with the 
 
 fishing sldfEs. 
 
 Nature here with slightest tendance grants her 
 
 gifts of loveliest hue — 
 Gives among the viae-clad ridges wild-flowers 
 
 purple, golden, blue, — 
 Here azaleas, rich gardenias ope their blossoms to 
 
 the air. 
 With the rose and trained geranium- — whose wild 
 
 types are also fair. 
 
 Pure and calm the moonlight radiance for the 
 
 people as they pass 
 On the eve of merry Christmas to and from the 
 
 midnight mass ; 
 While the jocund serenaders through the balmy 
 
 hours of night 
 
54 Christmas in the Summer Sunshine. 
 
 By their songs and sprightly music often bring a 
 brief delight. 
 
 Christmas in the summer sunshine ! neither frost 
 
 nor snow are here, 
 Buoyant health can welcome winter but it fills the 
 
 sick with fear — 
 Here the sick with friends around them spend a 
 
 cheerful Christmas day, 
 Thinking of but seldom pining for a chUl home 
 
 far away. 
 
55 
 
 Verses 
 
 On a vase filled with sub-tropical flowers grown in 
 the open air at Madeira, in December. 
 
 Most beauteous flowers ! 
 Come ye to tell of summer hours, 
 Of balmy breezes — lengthened days. 
 
 Of warblers' blithesome lays ? 
 
 Thus come ye not, 
 Tor not in summer lies your lot. 
 No lengthened days attend your birth 
 
 Nor songsters' vocal mirth. 
 
56 Verses on a Vase filled with Flowers. 
 
 Tet gentle gales 
 Are near, and sunshine still prevails, 
 As in frail loveliness ye lie 
 
 Too soon, alas ! to die. 
 
 Ah fair, how fair. 
 Here Nature working everywhere, — 
 If winter thus it makes to me, 
 
 What must the spring-time be ! 
 
 And yet, although 
 Each plant delights in southern glow, 
 Upon no zephyr is there spent 
 
 One breath of subtle scent. 
 
 'Tis England's flowers — 
 The my and rose of English bowers — 
 Eetain the perfume and the glow : 
 
 These blossoms only blow. 
 
Verses on a Vase'filled with Flowers. 57 
 
 'Tis England's spring 
 Whose every floweret seems to bring 
 New sweets to blend with every breeze 
 
 Among the budding trees. 
 
 Yet 'tis a power. 
 This glory of each plant and flower, 
 To make the poet's heart rejoice 
 
 And sing with gladsome voice. 
 
 The poet feels — 
 Yet rarely even he reveals — 
 The restful store of blissful thought 
 
 Such flowers to him have brought. 
 
58 
 
 On the Road to Camara de Lobos, 
 Madeira. 
 
 January, i8 — . 
 
 The sun that is setting aiar in the west 
 In raiment of glory goes down to his rest, 
 And, like a young maiden who wishes good-bye 
 To the lover when leaving her, blushes the sky ; 
 How fair is the picture as now in the west 
 In raiment of glory the sun goes to rest. 
 
 The clouds in apparel of sunset appear, 
 Apparel of beauty while Evening draws near, 
 While calmly they watch o'er the sl^ep of the sea 
 Unstirred by the breezes. How wondrous to me 
 Is the peace of the picture, as now in the west 
 In raiment of glory the sun goes to rest. 
 
On the Road to Camara de Lobos. 59 
 
 How peerless and perfect God's painting appears. 
 His delicate work never fades with the years ; 
 His painting now quiet, now wild beyond speech, 
 Man only can copy, man never can reach 
 In grandeur. So thought I, as now in the west 
 In raiment of glory the sun goes to rest. 
 
60 
 
 Sunday Morning off Mazagan, 
 Morocco. 
 
 A MAGIC city Fancy-dight, 
 
 Thou seem'st tMs tranquil Sabbath day, 
 Strange town all glittering, treeless, white, 
 
 Begirt with sand and seething spray- 
 Lit by the sun whose rays reveal 
 
 Each flat-roofed Orient dwelling-place, — 
 Each stately mosque, each well whose wheel 
 
 A camel turns with tireless pace. 
 
 Dark Moors in their fantastic dress. 
 In haste to reach us, leave the shore, — 
 
 They make the distance less and less. 
 So strong the stroke of each long oar. 
 
Sunday Morning off Mazagan. 61 
 
 Now they have reached us and with pride 
 Disdain the aid the steps afford, 
 
 Bare feet from heel-less slippers glide, 
 And, cat-like, quick they spring on board. 
 
 All speak at once, with gestures quaint. 
 And few but in an unknown tongue. 
 
 Those in the boats take up the plaint. 
 And on the deck still more have sprung. 
 
 A single ship is in the bay 
 Besides our own,— no others ride 
 
 At anchor. And she goes her way — 
 But not until to-morrow's tide. 
 
 And from her mizen-mast there floats — 
 Dear sight to every British heart — 
 
 That flag whose mingled hue denotes 
 A union naught should ever part. 
 
62 Sunday Morning off Mazagan. 
 
 A welcome standard ! 'tis a sign — 
 A welcome sign-— that some are here 
 
 Who worship at a common shrine, 
 Who pray like me — like me revere. 
 
63 
 
 On Looking up the 
 
 Vale of Cauterets, Hautes Pyrenees, 
 
 by Night. 
 
 Though night is here, 
 In outline soft I see 
 A vista throngh the gloom, where, mirrored clear, 
 Gleam rock and peak and tree. 
 
 The mountain forms 
 In solemn grandeur rise, 
 Each summit still the strength of countless storms 
 For countless years defies. 
 
 The dark-green pines 
 Clothe all the slopes around — 
 
64 The Vale of Cauterets hy Night. 
 
 How lone these slopes on which each cold star 
 shines ! 
 Nor doth a single sound 
 
 InTade the calm, — 
 Or by its presence change 
 The sense of Tastness, soothing like a balm, 
 From heaven so new and strange. 
 
65 
 
 The Southern Night. 
 
 (The Valley of the Gave de Pau.) 
 
 Ah ! lovelier comes the southern night 
 
 Than night of northern skies, 
 Where tedious twilight mocks the flight 
 
 Of day that slowly dies — 
 Here placid Evening's starry veil 
 
 O'er all is swiftly cast — 
 Here peace seems wafted on the gale — 
 
 And care awhile is past. 
 
 In southern summer's meUow night 
 
 How sweet it is to stray 
 'Mid fairest scenes which soft moonlight 
 
 Make fairer far than day ! 
 
66 The Southern Night. 
 
 How fair the widely stretcliing woods 
 
 That gird the spacious plain, 
 While watchful Silence, queen-like, broods 
 
 O'er them in sombre reign — 
 How fair the river's crystal thread. 
 
 Seen faintly from afar. 
 As silvery starlight now is shed 
 
 Prom many a tranquil star. 
 
 In southern summer's mellow night 
 
 How sweet it is to stray 
 'Mid fairest scenes which soft moonlight 
 
 Mate fairer far than day ! 
 
 How fair the crested mountains lie. 
 
 Distant, yet wondrous clear. 
 Their snow-capt peaks against the sky 
 
 Uprising tier on tier ; — 
 How fair the sleeping landscape seems, 
 
 While here and there are heard 
 
The Southern Night. 67 
 
 Sounds bringing Music's richest dreams 
 Or laughter-laden word. 
 
 In southern summer's mellow night 
 
 How sweet it is to stray 
 'Mid fairest scenes which soft moonlight 
 
 Make fairer far than day ! 
 
68 
 
 Lines : 
 
 Suggested by seeing, at the summit of the Simplon 
 Pass, a stone, fragment of some rude ancient 
 carving, brought perhaps from a neighbouring 
 valley for road-making purposes. The stone had 
 lain doubtless for a long time near the spot where 
 I saw it. 
 
 How strange perchance have been, qnaint carven 
 stone, 
 Tour harsh vicissitudes, how came you here ? 
 Change spares not even you, though you have 
 known 
 No soul-distress, nor Sorrow's blinding tear, 
 Nor deep unutterable heart- wrought fear. 
 
Lines. 69 
 
 Did you of some calm shrine once form a part 
 Where vesper hymns arose at close of day, 
 
 Where lovers true were linked heart to heart, 
 And humble villagers approached to pray. 
 Then, rising, went refreshed upon their way ? 
 
 And did fierce war destroy your place of peace 
 When some forgotten skirmish happened there 
 
 Ere yet the Austrian yoke was made to cease 
 By famed Marengo ? " Bullets did not spare 
 The lowly church, and fire soon laid it bare. 
 
 Maybe, when fickle Time had brought neglect, 
 When reverence was a thing of long ago. 
 
 When none in all the hamlet had respect 
 For its old ruined fane, they came to throw 
 Its remnants thus away, and used you so. 
 
 Near you, must oft have wandered weary men 
 'Mid dire storm-battles fought on wintry 
 nights ; — 
 
70 Lines. 
 
 Near you, perclianee, have happened now and then 
 More wondrous deeds, more awe-inspiring sights 
 Than sages know in whom the world delights. 
 
 What mighty tempests must have passed you by 
 When 'mid the riven mountains thunder pealed, 
 
 And storm-clouds came apace athwart the sky 
 In mad career, while Nature half revealed 
 The grandeur of the tumult, half concealed 
 
 Its majesty and power. The silent snows 
 
 Must oft have lain upon you, when the hands 
 
 Of Winter framed his lofty couch, and chose 
 His glacier lairs^when all the higher lands 
 Loomed ghastly, shuddering at his dread com- 
 mands 
 
 In solemn midnight hours when callous stars 
 
 Shine down on snow-drifts, on the glaciers lone, 
 And on snow-laden pines : when nothing mars 
 
Lines, 71 
 
 That spectacle to human eyes scarce known, 
 Where Nature rears 'mid rocks her frost-bound 
 throne. 
 
 Yet are you broken now to make a road — 
 Fallen from your pristine state, and haply too 
 
 You will be worthless in your chill abode. 
 
 And shrink from man's unfeeling, heedless view 
 In your small nook, ignoble, poor, and new. 
 
72 
 
 In the New Forest. 
 
 Most clear ! most fair ! 
 
 The swelling woodland lies, 
 
 Stretching in leafy glory everywhere 
 
 Before my wondering eyes. 
 
 Here mighty oaks. 
 Stalwart, and vast, and strong, 
 A thousand years have faced the tempest's strokes — 
 Have been the home of song. 
 
 Here wave the houghs 
 Of tall and sombre pines. 
 Here stands "the temple of beeches," made for 
 vows 
 Of love when softly shines 
 
In the New Forest. 73 
 
 The summer moon, 
 s 
 
 Here tremulous branches sway 
 Of sun-lit birches, — on the sward at noon 
 Their shadows seem at play. 
 
 I linger still 
 In this sweet solitude, 
 Wishing my care- sick mind could taste at will 
 The healing sylvan mood. 
 
EELIGIOUS POEMS. 
 
77 
 
 God's Peace. 
 
 ' The peace of God which passeth all understanding.' 
 
 Phil. iv. 7. 
 
 How oft amid the griefs of life — 
 
 Perplexed, misjudged, distressed — 
 Grod, I waver in the strife, 
 
 And long and cry for rest. 
 How oft I feel — so great my need. 
 
 My courage so outworn — 
 As though my griefs were now indeed 
 
 Greater than could be borne. 
 
 Yet oft will come in times like these — 
 
 Come like a gracious balm — 
 A sense of peace, of joy, of ease, 
 
 A sense of heaven's own calm. 
 
78 God's Peace. 
 
 Ah. ! then my heart would fain express 
 
 What I have felt hefore — 
 'Tis not I feel my griefs are less — 
 
 I feel Thy love is more. 
 
 And some are here, O God, to-day. 
 
 Here with their voiceless grief, 
 O give the aid for which they pray, 
 
 O give such sweet relief, 
 O give Thy peace, Thy calm. Thy joy, 
 
 Here as they humbly bow — 
 Such gifts nor Time nor Change destroy, 
 
 Give them, and give them now. 
 
79 
 
 A Rallying Song. 
 
 Sometimes trustful, often fearful, 
 In this world of shifting wrong ; 
 Sometimes joyful, often tearful, 
 Still be this our rallying song — 
 Aye, in sadness 
 And in gladness. 
 Nobly act, for G-od is strong. 
 
 When, oppressed by deep soul-sorrow, 
 
 Life beneath the darkest skies 
 
 Seems so drear that no to-morrow 
 
 Holds a threat of worse surprise — 
 
 In such sadness 
 
 As in gladness 
 
 Nobly act, for Grod is wise. 
 
80 A Rallying Song. 
 
 When our souls are tried, and tempted 
 
 Some ignoble end to buy, 
 From the coward's bonds exempted, 
 Let us resolutely cry — 
 Evil sow not, 
 That it grow not. 
 Nobly act, for God is nigh. 
 
81 
 
 Morning Thoughts. 
 
 Sweet-voiced songsters softly singing 
 
 Tell me of a day begun, 
 Its appointed portion bringing 
 
 Of the duty to be done. 
 
 Last day's deeds are gone for ever, — 
 Seems it not most passing strange 
 
 Their results remain, and never 
 Can be touched by time or change ? 
 
 Like a child, his pebble throwing 
 Prom the streamlet's sedgy marge. 
 
 Marking not the ripples growing 
 Though they one by one enlarge — 
 
82 Morning Thoughts. 
 
 So, with influence still increasing, 
 Widening o'er Life's mystic sea, 
 
 Man deals ont his actions, — ceasing 
 Only with Eternity. 
 
 Many yesterday, unthinting. 
 
 Chose the road which leads to night, - 
 
 While a few, with souls unshrinking, 
 Chose the pathway of the light. 
 
 Thus I muse with deep emotion 
 Whilst the moments melt away — 
 
 Muse upon the boundless ocean 
 Of the issues of to-day. 
 
83 
 
 A Song of Comfort. 
 
 Not always have we sorrow, there are seasons 
 
 When buoyant joy dispels all dreams of ruth — 
 Times when our thoughts of sorrow seem but 
 treasons 
 
 To king-like Truth. 
 
 Not always are we vext by cares and troubles, — 
 
 Often the griefs of Ufe appear no more — 
 Vanished, as on a lake the rain-drop bubbles. 
 When showers are o'er. 
 
 Not always feel we that our hopes are blighted ; 
 
 A glad fruition will they often gain, 
 When we perceive the good are aye requited 
 Who conquer pain. 
 
84 A Song of Comfort. 
 
 Not always should we grieve, each tribulation 
 
 Is sent to purify — to raise the soul, 
 To fit it for its glorious destination— 
 A heavenly goal. 
 
85 
 
 The Balance of Life, 
 
 'Tis false to say the world, thougli sad, 
 Hath no redeeming- feature, 
 
 'Tis false to say the world, though glad. 
 Can hold no hopeless creature. 
 
 The darkest life has oft a ray 
 Of sunshine on the morrow, 
 
 The brightest life has many a day 
 Whose hours are filled with sorrow. 
 
 No life with ceaseless grief is fraught, 
 None with aU bUss and beauty. 
 
 By varied teaching are we taught 
 The way to walk in duty. 
 
86 The Balance of Life. 
 
 If happy be our earthly lot, 
 And free of Sorrow's hurdeii, 
 
 G-reater the need to linger not ; — 
 Our work shall have its guerdon : 
 
 Yet richer guerdon comes to those 
 Whom heav'n hath not exempted 
 
 Prom pain, who quell the self-same foes 
 Although more sorely tempted. 
 
 Each grief that sweeps across the heart. 
 
 If sinless be its sadness. 
 In Life's long lesson bears a part 
 
 And yields us future gladness. 
 
87 
 
 " Lord, Teach us to Pray." 
 
 Luke xi. i. 
 
 A DARK enigma is our life 
 
 Without Tliy guiding ray ; 
 Then calm, O Christ, its sordid strife 
 
 By teaching us to pray. 
 Prayer is Heaven's torch when doubts and fears 
 
 With darkness cloud our way, — 
 Its holy radiance guides and cheers, — 
 
 What peace it brings to pray ! 
 
 Oft lies our path through pain and woe 
 
 While in Earth's night we dwell. 
 Yet prayer is still a light to show 
 
 That aye Thou leadest well ; 
 
88 " Lord, Teach us to Pray." 
 
 So when Life's mysteries distress. 
 
 And Sorrow bars our way, 
 We plead tliat Thou wouldst make it less 
 
 By teaching us to pray. 
 
89 
 
 Holy Quietude. 
 
 Spieit of holy quietude, 
 
 For thee my soul is sighing — 
 For thee in many a mournful mood 
 
 My soul is blindly crying — 
 But still a voice comes softly clear, 
 " That spirit seldom cometh here." 
 
 Spirit of holy quietude. 
 
 While, weary, I am breasting 
 
 Life's waves, bring with thee all things good- 
 Deep peace, and joy, and resting : — 
 
 Tet still the voice — " No, never here 
 
 Doth she thy soul would find appear." 
 
90 Holy Quietude. 
 
 Spirit of holy quietude, 
 
 Grrant me a single token — 
 Show me that Life's long conflict rude 
 
 By gleams of peace is broken ; 
 But the voice whispers in mine ear, 
 " That spirit never dwelleth here." 
 
 Spirit of holy quietude, 
 
 Mine earthly course is ending, 
 
 Now let thy peace within me brood. 
 Sin's strongest fetters rending ; 
 
 " In heaven," the voice says at my side- 
 
 " In heaven alone doth she abide." 
 
LYEICS AND MISCELLANEOUS 
 POEMS. 
 
93 
 
 The Unfulfilled Ideal. 
 
 When youthful Summer decks the sward 
 With flowers on plain and hill, 
 
 And Nature wins her meet reward 
 For working Winter's will, 
 
 Even then Life's music lacks a chord : 
 Something wanted still ! 
 
 In Autumn, when each searing leaf 
 
 With gentle sorrow fraught. 
 And every garnered golden sheaf 
 
 Yield fruit for mingled thought : — 
 We feel a void — there comes a grief — 
 
 Something vaguely sought ! 
 
94 The Unfulfilled Ideal. 
 
 When Winter lays an icy hand 
 
 Where Spring had kissed the ground. 
 
 And stiff and stark is all the land 
 Where Summer erst was crowned : — 
 
 We feel but do not understand : 
 Something still unf ound ! 
 
 When Spring returns with radiant grace 
 
 To fiU the earth with song. 
 And gladness smiles in every place, 
 
 And love and hfe are strong, 
 StiU comes the want we cannot trace : 
 
 Something wanted long ! 
 
95 
 
 The Child Cowper at 
 Berkhampstead. 
 
 " Where the gaid'ner Bobin, day by day, 
 Dtew me to school along the public way." 
 
 COWPEB, 3If/ ilothei's Pietwre. 
 
 Bbi&ht lieams of snnsliine lit the lawn. 
 And all the landscape seemed as draim 
 
 From some enchanter's treasure ; — 
 The birds were singfaig lond and clear. 
 Bat most perchance he lored to hear 
 
 The blackbird's cheery measure. 
 
 And while he loiter'd 'neath the trees 
 Soft scents were wafted by the bre^ 
 That blew across the hay-field 
 
96 Cowper at Berkhampstead. 
 
 Where village children then resorted, 
 And as among the swaths they sported 
 Transformed it to a play-field. 
 
 Did these dear visions fade away ? 
 They did — and for their death that day 
 
 He felt a throb of sorrow ; 
 But gladness came in sorrow's place 
 When Hope said with her smiUng face, 
 
 " 'Twill live again to-morrow." 
 
97 
 
 In Ellington Copse. 
 
 How lovely are these •woodland ways 
 
 Clad in their summer dress, 
 Where come not din and smoke to mar 
 
 Their evening loveliness ; 
 
 Where wild-rose and convolvulus 
 
 Are wov'n in every hedge, 
 And buttercups and foxgloves glow 
 
 By this clear brooklet's edge ; 
 
 Where breezes waft their balmiest scents 
 
 Adown the silent wood, 
 And scarce a songster sings to break 
 
 The hush of solitude ; 
 
98 In Ellington Copse. 
 
 Where shadows creep across my path 
 And softly dies the day — 
 
 And Summer's beauty holds the world 
 Within her gracious sway. 
 
 This evening every wild-flower here 
 
 More deeply stirs my heart 
 Than alien flowers or prodigies 
 
 Of man's botanic art ; 
 
 This sweet-brier, bough, that meekly sends 
 
 Its perfume on the air, 
 I would not give for any flower 
 
 The gardener deems most fair ; 
 
 I leave the rich their bowers of art 
 Wreathed with the rarest flowers. 
 
 Enough for me these woodland ways 
 In Summer's twilight hours. 
 
99 
 
 A Song of Early Summer. 
 
 Sweet is the time when tender leaves 
 Burst forth in all their perfect grace, 
 
 When swallows twitter from the eaves, 
 And Spring to Summer yields her place'; 
 
 When red and white the chestnut shows, 
 When fragrance from the hawthorn spreads. 
 
 When fair the blue wistaria blows. 
 And iris lihes lift their heads. 
 
 Tet soon the chestnut petals fade. 
 Wistaria blooms droop one by one. 
 
 Soon sigh the leaves for welcome shade. 
 Then fall with dews at set of sun. 
 
100 A Song of Early Summer. 
 
 Not so the spring-time of the heart, 
 That knows nor change nor swift decay, 
 
 The spring-time of our nobler part 
 Shall never fade or pass away. 
 
101 
 
 The Heart's Summer. 
 
 Sweet is the noon of a summer day 
 When, through the woodlands coming. 
 
 The village sounds seem far away 
 And drowsy bees are humming. 
 
 Sweet are the hours of a summer night 
 
 When kindly dews are falling, 
 And thoughts that come with the fading light 
 
 Are soothing, or enthralling. 
 
 Sweet are the tones of a friendly voice 
 When all seems gone but sorrow. 
 
 Bidding the heart once more rejoice. 
 For peace may come to-morrow. 
 
102 The Heart's Summer. 
 
 Sweet is the sound of the world's applause 
 When fame at last hath found us. 
 
 And (wage for toil in a righteous cause) 
 riings victory's wreath around us. 
 
 But sweeter far is a heart at rest, 
 A heart unsoured by sadness— 
 
 Which throhs within a blissful breast 
 With a God-imparted gladness. 
 
103 
 
 The Autumn is Dying. 
 
 The atitumn is dying, 
 
 And leaves that are still, 
 Grrief s tokens, are lying 
 
 On plain and on hill ; 
 My garden of pleasure 
 
 Lies withered and bare, 
 Oh the pitiless measure 
 
 Of ruin Trrought there. 
 
 In a hedgerow wind- shaken 
 
 To wildest unrest. 
 Forlorn and forsaken 
 
 I see a bird's nest, 
 
104 The Autvmn is Dying. 
 
 Its soft down decaying, 
 Its fledglings aU flown. 
 
 Naught save the shell staying 
 Deserted and lone. 
 
 Then the thought rises, cleaving 
 
 The depths of my mind. 
 Soon we too shall be leaving 
 
 Our loved homes behind, 
 Soon the grave will enclose us — 
 
 Life's pilgrimage o'er — 
 " And the place that now knows us 
 
 Shall know us no more." 
 
105 
 
 December Daisies and December 
 Days. 
 
 Ah, how the sight of these iiiitimely flowers 
 Brings dear remembrances of summer hours, 
 When the full heart in buoyant mood was filled 
 With happiness — when the swift moments thrilled 
 The soul with subtle thoughts no words express. 
 
 Kind halcyon moments ! How they soothe and 
 
 bless 
 And beautify my sordid Hfe. And here, 
 When this December day is stir-less, clear 
 At its brief twilight — when there shines afar 
 From out a cloudless heav'n yon evening star — 
 When southern breezes blow, nor storm nor rain 
 Disturb, — I dream 'tis summer come again. 
 
106 
 
 The Poet's Inspiration. 
 
 Tettb inspiration ever seems 
 
 A joy and yet a pain. 
 To light the poet's lofty dreams, 
 
 To purify his strain. 
 
 Its presence glorifies the line 
 Whose rhythmic measure halts, 
 
 Makes hackneyed thoughts seem half divine, 
 Till few perceive such faults. 
 
 And thus, although we sometimes find 
 
 Imperfect chords like these 
 In songs of many a master-mind. 
 
 How seldom they displease : 
 
The Poet's Inspiration. 107 
 
 But wlieii its presence is not felt, 
 Though smooth the verses roll — 
 
 Though cadences in sweetness melt — 
 They cannot' stir the* soul. 
 
108 
 
 A Memory and a Presence. 
 
 When clasping in mine own the hand 
 
 Of him I loved the best, 
 Whose converse cheered, as sight of land 
 
 Cheers mariners distressed. 
 How once I loved the darkening hour 
 
 Of Summer's happy day. 
 As gently from each leaf and flower 
 
 The daylight passed away. 
 
 For he had learnt to bear his part 
 
 In Earth's unending strife. 
 To labour with unflinching heart 
 
 Amid the ills of life — 
 
A Memory and a Presence. 109 
 
 To feel adversity and pain, 
 
 Hopes blighted, bitter wrong, 
 And yet, ere long, to find again 
 
 God's peace which makes men strong. 
 
 So would he talk of bygone years 
 
 In that hush'd eventide. 
 Of former hopes, delights, and fears. 
 
 Of early friends who died, 
 And wisely would my future trace, 
 
 Then leaving things of Time, 
 In raptured tones, with upturned face. 
 
 Would speak of themes sublime. 
 
 He had that wordless eloquence. 
 That strange, that wondrous power. 
 
 Which sways the soul with force intense 
 In calm of such an hour ; 
 
110 A Memory and a Presence. 
 
 And walking where the shadows steal 
 
 Across the garden here, 
 Alone with memory still I feel 
 
 His spirit ever near. 
 
Ill 
 
 " While the Sunset, slowly Dying." 
 
 While tte sunset, slowly dying, 
 
 Sheds a light o'er sea and strand. 
 And the night-chilled breeze is sighing 
 
 As the darkness wraps the land — 
 Come, with influence strong yet tender, 
 
 Mingled thoughts of Tanished years. 
 Waking soul-thrills that can render 
 
 Sometimes joy and sometimes tears. 
 All the past, returning, seems 
 Present with its living dreams. 
 
 When the kindly summer's glory 
 
 Filled the earth with myriad charms, 
 
 First I breathed a lover's story — 
 First I felt true love's alarms — 
 
112 "While the Sunset, slowly Dying." 
 
 Krst I pleaded with a maiden, 
 Hazel-eyed, and pure, and fair 
 
 As that eve whose gales love-laden 
 Wantoned with her auburn hair. 
 
 All the past, returning, seems 
 
 Present with its living dreams. 
 
 Now to me how swiftly thronging 
 
 Come the visions of the past — 
 Treasured past to me belonging — 
 
 Span of bliss too deep to last : 
 Still do I remember clearly 
 
 What I asked in trembling tone. 
 And her words, " I love you dearly, 
 
 Tours I am, and yours alone." 
 All the past, returning, seems 
 Present with its living dreams. 
 
 We were " wedded, happy-hearted," 
 And our future path seemed bright. 
 
"While the Sunset, slowly Dying." 113 
 
 Who could tell we should be parted, 
 Love's glad sun obscured in night ? 
 
 Yet one eve, when softly sighing 
 Summer breezes lulled the rose, 
 
 I beheld her, fainting, dying, 
 I beheld her dim eyes close. 
 
 Ah, how living, fraught with woe, 
 
 Rise the sights of long ago ! 
 
 Yet amid my sore dejection 
 
 Comes the comfort ever new — 
 Comes the balm, the sweet reflection, 
 
 To each other we were true. 
 For some end Grod sendeth sorrow, 
 
 When that end is gained at last. 
 In the radiant heavenly morrow 
 
 We shall meet — all sorrow past. 
 There, no longer fraught with woe. 
 Rise the days of long ago. 
 
114 
 
 The Bride's Song. 
 
 A TEW days more, a few days more, 
 
 And all the world will change ! 
 For I shall enter through Love's door 
 
 To something sweet yet strange — 
 To that new home where comes no fear 
 
 Unshared hy him I love — 
 And I shall always, always hear 
 
 His voice where'er I rove. 
 
 Ah then, ah then, my duty lies 
 
 With him, and him alone. 
 Less duty than delight, surprise, 
 
 To me before unknown — 
 
The Bride's Song. 115 
 
 Delight that I am ever nigh 
 
 To do each fond behest, 
 Surprise that I, and only I, 
 
 Can make his life more blest. 
 
 Oft does he praise my sunny hair, 
 
 The bloom upon my cheeks — 
 Would that I were indeed so fair 
 
 When thus my dear one speaks. 
 I feel myself unworthy, yet 
 
 He takes me for his wife. 
 But I will yield — to pay my debt — 
 
 The service of my life. 
 
116 
 
 The Hawthorn Spray. 
 
 Happy, -with that strange happiaess 
 
 Which Spring spreads o'er the land, 
 I see a girl, I see' a boy. 
 
 They are walking hand in hand. 
 I hear them as they gaily talk. 
 
 They heed no future care, 
 He plucks a flushing hawthorn spray 
 
 To deck her fairer hair. 
 
 " And let this be a token now," 
 
 The merry boy exclaims, 
 " That, some time in the coming years. 
 
 We two may link our names. 
 
The Hawthorn Spray. 117 
 
 The may-buds are a symbol meet 
 
 Of this our treaty pure, 
 So may our compact bring us joy 
 
 And evermore endure." 
 
 These two — though many years have fled- 
 
 Fled like a dream away, 
 Are still as true of heart as on 
 
 That unforgotten day. 
 And so together oft again 
 
 Amid the spring- tide's glow 
 They walk, remembering thankfully 
 
 Their love-pledge long ago. 
 
118 
 
 The Puritan's Farewell to his 
 Betrothed, 1642. 
 
 SHE 
 
 When Love arose and taught my heart 
 
 To hold thee first and chief, 
 I never dreamed that we should part 
 
 In pain beyond belief. 
 Then Wherefore bring this aching woe 
 
 To me, to thee, to all. 
 E'en though harsh Duty bids thee go 
 
 To obey thy faction's call ? 
 
 HE — 
 
 Nay, speak not so ; that sigh, that look. 
 
 Wound worse than blades of steel. 
 
The Puritan's Farewell. 119 
 
 Yet wliat were I if I forsook, 
 
 Because of thine appeal, 
 No " faction " but God's righteous cause, 
 
 No struggle of greed and shame — 
 One stern last stand for Right and laws 
 
 That win His high acclaim ? 
 
 Truth, Justice, Conscience plead with me. 
 
 Then wouldst thou have me, dear, 
 Tor calm and ease and joy with thee 
 
 To yield to craven fear — 
 To prove a recreant from the right — 
 
 A coward sore afraid — 
 A traitor in the coming fight 
 
 Where England needs mine aid ? 
 
 Thou murmur'st, " We shall meet no more : " 
 
 I know, I know thy pain. 
 Our life is brief, but when 'tis o'er 
 
 True lovers live again — 
 
120 The Puritan's Farewell. 
 
 They live again in that fair land 
 
 Where comes nor strife nor sword — 
 
 Where Truth and Joy go hand in hand- 
 And Love hath Faith's reward. 
 
 There, where each feeling stands confessed, 
 
 Wilt thou know all my sorrow — 
 Wilt know what pangs have rent my breast 
 
 Ere leaving thee to-morrow. 
 Lo, hearken to the distant chime. 
 
 To U8 a knell of sadness, 
 Then let us spend our span of time 
 
 In peace more deep than gladness. 
 
 SHE — 
 
 The weakness goes : oh, heed it not ! 
 
 My fears have done thee wrong ; 
 My pain is but my woman's lot, 
 
 And Love shall make me strong : — 
 
The Puritan's Farewell. 121 
 
 In these brave arms I mil be brave, 
 
 And -while thou still art here, 
 To God will lift my soul, and crave 
 
 The peace which casts out fear. 
 
122 
 
 Passion's Slave. 
 
 Blind passion ever showed its maddening power 
 Enthroned within him — a sin-gamered dower 
 Of quenchless loves and longings. That fierce 
 
 storm 
 Which breaks the houghs of Life, where sheltered 
 
 warm 
 Repose, like unfledged nestlings, Life's chief joys. 
 Swept o'er his soul — the wave that swift destroys- 
 Man's store of peace. What years of labour cost 
 He by one fatal step for ever lost. 
 
123 
 
 Two Lives. 
 
 A COTTAGE home : a peaceful place 
 Where Sorrow hides her pallid f ace ; 
 Husband and wife, a happy pair, 
 Who thankfully Life's blessings share ; 
 And living far from towns' turmoil, 
 They simply crave a " leave to toil ! " 
 
 A workhouse full of dreary din, 
 Full of the signs of want and sin. 
 A man and woman sinking fast. 
 Sinking, yet conscious to the last. 
 Their senses steeped in wrathful woe 
 None but the frugal poor can know 
 
124 Two Lives. 
 
 Wlien first, despite their care, is spent 
 
 Their all through sickness and the rent ; 
 
 When first, despite their abject grief, 
 
 No kindly landlord grants relief ; 
 
 When first, despite their abject gloom. 
 
 His agent comes — decrees their doom ; 
 
 When first mthin the workhouse gate 
 
 Silent they stand, how desolate ! 
 
 When first they feel, with sorrow bowed, 
 
 The loneliness amid a crowd — 
 
 When first they feel in their distress 
 
 That is the deepest loneliness ; 
 
 When first they feel they near their end, 
 
 Tet by their bed no former friend ; 
 When now, despite their struggles — struggles 
 
 long and brave — 
 Their death but fills — but , helps to fill — a 
 pauper's grave. 
 
125 
 
 To Sir Walter Scott. 
 
 (Written after reading his "Journal.") 
 
 Poet, 'twas no strange sun that shone on thee 
 Through thy pure life so crowned with dignity, 
 No sun with light now clouded, now intense. 
 But aye the unclouded sun of common sense. 
 
126 
 
 Solitude. 
 
 Amid the throng 
 Which, restless, moves along 
 With hurrying footsteps o'er the earth, 
 But few their noblest thoughts have known. 
 Seldom save when alone 
 Come thoughts of worth. 
 
 It needs the balm 
 Of soul-restoring calm 
 To purge the mind of LiEe's alloy ; 
 Thus yielding back Man's highest power, 
 His blessed pristine dower 
 Of peace and joy. 
 
Solitude. 127 
 
 And thus do men 
 Witii new and eager ken 
 Taste those rich joys that only live 
 In solitude — ^joys which uplift 
 Their souls to truth — best gift 
 That Life can give. 
 
APPENDIX. 
 HTJMOEOTTS POEMS. 
 
131 
 
 Moonlight on the Tagus. 
 
 The moon shines o'er the Tagus. Now a flood 
 Of soft-spun sparkling radiance clothes the scene 
 With dazzling splendour, save where shadows lie 
 Upon the river's bosom, sheltering there 
 The coward Darkness, here dethroned awhile, 
 By the moon's great though seeming gentle might. 
 Ah me, how beautiful ! Deep azure sky. 
 Deep azure sea, and steadfast-beaming stars, — 
 A dreamy blissful languor stealeth fast 
 Over my soul while musing pensively 
 On this fair vista steeped in rapt repose. 
 And I forget the busy throng of life 
 That it presents by day, — and almost now 
 I could imagine it some magic realm 
 Enchanted in far fairyland, beyond 
 The power of mortal reach. 
 
 But soon a voice 
 Says, " Supper's come at last, let's eat, and then 
 to bed." 
 
132 
 
 Waiting for the Dentist. 
 
 Though many dismal years I've been 
 To dull old Care apprenticed. 
 
 Of smaller woes the worst I've seen 
 Is — waiting for the dentist ! 
 
 How dreary is the cheerless room 
 Where pain must bide his pleasure, 
 
 The very chairs are steeped in gloom 
 And seem to grieve at leisure. 
 
 As if his patients' molar grief, 
 So uncontrolled its swelling. 
 
 For its fierce tide had sought relief 
 By, deluging the dwelling. 
 
 Books cannot soothe a rampant tooth 
 Though they enrich a table. 
 
 Sorrow alone seems kin to truth. 
 And joy a lying fable. 
 
Waiting for the Dentist. 133 
 
 When from the window you, perchance, 
 Behold sweet girlhood's gracps. 
 
 They only make you look askance 
 And think how sore your face is. 
 
 On many chairs and sofas, too, 
 More martyrs round you languish, 
 
 Tou glance at them, they glance at you. 
 And give a groan of anguish. 
 
 Tou deem it hard their turn arrives 
 
 Before you in rotation. 
 Or they wax wrath that yours deprives 
 
 Their case of consolation. 
 
 Tou muse upon the ruthless wrench 
 That buys a tooth's departing. 
 
 Or how the stopping-pangs to quench. 
 In which you may be starting ; 
 
 Or haply on these ivory chips 
 
 Harsh Nature may deny you. 
 But which the " golden key " equips 
 
 Man's genius to supply you. 
 
 No words your mood of mind express, 
 A mood devoid of quiet, 
 k2 
 
134 Waiting for the Dentist. 
 
 Where pain, deligM, and keen distress 
 Mingle in hopeless riot. 
 
 Tes, thoTigli nmch. sorrow one must know 
 While to old Care apprenticed, 
 
 The greatest tinheroic woe 
 Is — waiting for the dentist. 
 
135 
 
 Notes. 
 
 Note to "At the Grave of Dante Gabriel Bossetti." 
 
 1. Kossetti died at Birchington -on-Sea, Kent, on the 
 9th of April, 1882. 
 
 Note to "Browning's Funeral — /." 
 
 2. See Browning's poem, entitled " In a Gondola." 
 
 Note to " The Taking of the Flag." 
 
 3. The epithet " Dutch rag" is said to have heen the 
 actual phrase used by the sailor whom Hopson addressed. 
 The boy had only joined the fleet on the day before as a 
 volunteer, and had previously been a tailor's apprentice. 
 Vide " Sea Fights," p. 73. Professor Laughton, in " The 
 Dictionary of National Biography," expresses hi^ opinion, 
 however, that the incident on which this poem is based 
 has no historical foundation. 
 
 Notes to " The Keeping of the Vow.'' 
 
 4. When I first versified this incident, I was not aware 
 that the subject had been already dealt with under the 
 title of " The Heart of the Bruce," by Professor Aytoun. 
 
 5. It will be remembered that the struggle in Spain 
 between the Moors and the Christians lasted for cen- 
 turies. 
 
136 Notes. 
 
 6. It is evident, from what we know of his conduct, 
 that Douglas regarded the war as pre-eminently a re- 
 ligious one. 
 
 Note to " The Death of Captain Hunt." 
 
 7. See "Battles of the British Navy," vol. i., p. 210. 
 
 Note to " Jodo to Constanga." 
 
 8. The lesU is a south-east wind felt in Madeira, and 
 frequently prevalent for several days. At the beginning 
 or close of a lest6 the sunrises and sunsets are superb. 
 Purple is the colour particularly prominent. 
 
 Note to " Frandsca to Jaspear." 
 
 9. The Portuguese guitar. 
 
 Note to " Lines on a Stone near the Summit of the 
 Simplon Pass." 
 
 10. There was some desultory fighting in the Italian 
 Alpine valleys before Napoleon the First's decisive victory 
 of Marengo. 
 
 OHISWICK PRESS :— CHARLES WHITTINQH.VM AND CO. 
 TOOKS COURT, CHANCERY LANE, LONDON. 
 
CHARLES WHITEHEAD : 
 
 A FORGOTTEN GENIUS. 
 
 A MONOGRAPH 
 
 WITH EXTRACTS FROM WHITEHEAD'S 
 
 WORKS. 
 
 BY MACKENZIE BELL. 
 
 Netv Edition. 
 
 With an Appreeiaiion of Whitehead by 
 HALL CAENE. 
 
 Cloth, 3s. Gd. 
 
 Times : — " It is strange how men with a true touch of 
 genius in them can sink out of recognition ; and this 
 occurs very rapidly sometimes, as in the case of Charles 
 Whitehead. Several works by this writer ought not to 
 be allowed to drop out of English literature, and a pub- 
 lisher might do worse than by reprinting some of them. 
 They contain ever and again unquestionable evidence of 
 power. Mr. Mackenzie Bell's sketch may consequently 
 be welcomed for reviving the interest in Whitehead. . . . 
 Whitehead's verse attracted the notice of two very dif- 
 ferent men, Dante Rossetti and Christopher North ; while 
 one of his novels inspired a similar feeling in Dickens." 
 
 Contemporary Review: — "Mr. Mackenzie BeU has 
 done a good service in introducing us to a man of true 
 genius, whose works have sunk into mysteriously swift 
 and complete oblivion. Judging by the extracts furnished 
 by Mr. Mackenzie BeU, Charles Whitehead's poem, 'The 
 Solitary,' and his novel, ' Richard Savage,' were both very 
 remarlcable works. . . . Mr. Mackenzie Bell writes in 
 an excellent style, and his critical remarks are full of 
 thoughtful good sense." 
 
Atheneeum : — " Whiteliead was an interesting man, 
 and produced some good work. He is deserving or resur- 
 rection. " 
 
 Daily Chronicle : — " A kindly task has been executed 
 with loving care in this critical monograph." 
 
 Daily News :— " This fascinating book. . . . Mr. 
 Mackenzie Bell has done a peculiar service to letters." 
 
 Literary World : — " We cannot thank him too wajmly 
 for the labour he has bestowed in the cause of this re- 
 markable man, whose enthusiastic but yet discerning 
 champion he is. The critic who can see no faults in 
 his favourites is as blind as love, but no accusations can 
 be brought against Mr. Bell's critical acumen. He points 
 with impartial finger to the glory and the flaw ; he gives 
 extract after extract, both in prose and verse, with the 
 accompaniment of a commentary which is always sane." 
 
 Morning Post : — " No fault can be found with the 
 manner in which Mr. Mackenzie Bell has accomplished 
 his difficult task. He has been inspired by an enthusiasm, 
 which though some may feel it to be beyond the pathetic 
 merits of the subject that creates it, is none the less 
 honourable to the biographer's sense of justice and deep, 
 far-reaching sympathy. " 
 
 Globe : — " In rescuing Whitehead's memory from 
 quasi-oblivion he has unquestionably done good service 
 to literature. His monograph is carefully, neatly, and 
 sympathetically built up. It contains (with the new 
 preface and its appendix), all that is known about 
 Whitehead's career and character, and furnishes an in- 
 forming and readable estimate of his worth, — romancist, 
 humorist, and what not." 
 
 Black and White :— " Mr. Bell's excellent monograph. 
 This book deals with a fascinating man in a fascinatmg 
 manner." 
 
 Public Opinion : — " As a critical introduction to the 
 works of a man of genius, it could not be in better taste, 
 or exhibit clearer judgment and a more discriminating 
 sympathy." 
 
 Pall Mall Magazine: — "Mr. Mackenzie Bell's fascinat- 
 ing monograph." — Mr. I. Zangvmll. 
 
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