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 The career of Franklin, an ode; with othe 
 
 3 1924 013 204 999 
 
Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of tliis book is in 
 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013204999 
 
THE CAREER OF FRANKLIN, 
 
 %n ®k; 
 
 WITH OTHER POEMS; 
 
 CHANDOS HOSKYNS AERAHALL, 
 
 AUTHOR OF " ARCTIC ENTERPRISE," " LEARN AND TEACH," SfC. 
 
 LONDON : 
 JOSEPH MALLETT, 59, WARDOUR STREET, W. 
 
 1860. 
 
TO 
 iADY FRANKLIN, 
 
 IK HONOE OF 
 
 HEK LAMENTED HUSBAND 
 
 WHO DIED IN THE SERVICE OF HIS CODNTKT, 
 WHILE ENGAGED IN THE DISCOVERT OF 
 
 THE NORTH-WEST PASSAGE, 
 
 THE FOtlOWING POEM 
 IS EESPEOTFULLT INSCRIBED 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 THE CAREER OP FRANKLIN-AN ODE. . . 5 
 
 PATRIOTISM— AN ODE 21 
 
 CHARITY— AN ODE 29 
 
 ODE 35 
 
 MONODY ON THE POET BURNS 39 
 
 STANZAS • . . . 47 
 
ERRATA. 
 
 Page 8, line 13, for man read muse. 
 Page 9, line 12, for instinct read instincts. 
 Pape 27, line 13, for honour'd read immortal. 
 
THE 
 
 CAREEE OF FRANKLIN, 
 
 OTHER POEMS. 
 
THE CAREER OF FRANKLIN, 
 
 %a @be. 
 
 * Disce, Paer, virtutem ex me, verumque laborem, 
 Fortunam ex aliis ! " Viegil. ^n. 
 
 Otf Thou ! who, in the stormy field 
 ' ■: Of Nelson's awful fame, 
 Didst first aspire thy hopes to build, 
 And cull what laurels it might yield, 
 
 To deck thy name : — 
 Thou, who from earliest youth hast been 
 Nursed in a wild, tumultuous scene ; 
 A boy upon the deep,* 
 School'd in the billowy sweep, 
 To brave the twofold foe of strife and storm. 
 And dare the tyrantDeath, whate'er hisfearful form ! — 
 
 •* Sir John Franklin entered the Eoyal Navy in the year 18G0, 
 as a quauter-deck petty officer, and served, as a mere hoy, on hoard 
 the Polyphemus, in the great action hefore Copenhagen in 1801. 
 
6 THE CAKEEE OF FRANKLIN. 
 
 Oh, Chieftain ! whom each act endears. 
 The achievement of succeeding years ; 
 Boots it to tell upon what various wave. 
 
 Stung by what patriot-impulse to the toil. 
 Thou didst go forth thy Country's strength to save. 
 Or guard her sea-borne wealth from Gallic spoil ?* 
 Or, swift on deeds of Battle done. 
 And wreaths of conquest nobly won, — 
 To say what wilder impulse waked thy soul ; 
 What new ambition urged thy spirit forth ; 
 Afar, through realms of ceaseless frost 
 That ia Spitzbergen's mists lie lost, 
 To rend the ice-lock'd chambers of the North, 
 And pierce the Pole ! — f 
 Or, launch'd through torrid suns, to notej 
 What shores are swept by storm remote, 
 
 * After Buffering shipwreck, on Ms return from the Australian 
 seas, Franklin obtained a passage'in the Earl Camden (Commodore 
 Dance), one of a Fleet of East Indiamen which had put to sea from 
 the Canton River. While making for the Straits of Malacca, they 
 were intercepted by a French Squadron of Men-of-war, commanded 
 by Admiral Linois in the Marengo of 74 guns. The result was, the 
 retreat of a French fleet, fully equipped, before a fleet of armed 
 English merchant-ships ! 
 
 t Franklin served, as Lieutenant, on board the Trent, discovery 
 brig, in the expedition undertaken by Captain' Buchau, to strike a 
 passage to the Pacific, and India, across the North Pole. The de- 
 termined daring of such an attempt needs no comment. 
 
 J The Expedition of Captain Flinders for exploration round the 
 Australian shores. The disaster at Torres' Straits occurred on its 
 vetui-n. 
 
THE CAREER OP FRANKLIN. 
 
 'Midst wilds of waTe, an endless space 
 For keel to plough, or eye to trace ; 
 Where, in Antarctic sphere, his court 
 Great Winter holds, but hars resort ; 
 And from his southern throne defies 
 The onslaught of man's enterprise. — 
 
 Yet not unmindful of the day 
 
 When, fat from Mercy's helpful hand, 
 
 Thy bark an ocean-outcast lay 
 
 On Torres' sea-encompass'd sand, — 
 
 The Muse hath now a tale to say. 
 The meetest stiU for Memory's tears. 
 
 Of 'tales that rise in dark array 
 Through all-discoveriag Time's eventful years. 
 
 But why that path of saddest pain* 
 Should cruel Record yet unfold. 
 And caU on Pity to deplore ? 
 How thou wast caught in Polar main. 
 
 " Our young Sailor now found himself, one of ninety-four souls, 
 on a sandbank very little more than a wash, and 400 feet long, 
 with the then inhospitable shores of Australia 180 miles distant." — 
 The Career, last Voyage, and Fate of Sir John Franklin, ly Captain 
 Sherabd Osboen, C.B. 
 
 * The appalling journey of 5550 miles, undertalien by Franklin, 
 in company with Back, Richardson, and the ill-fated Hood, along 
 the Polar shores of North America, during the years 1819, 20, 21, 
 and 22. 
 
8 THE CAREER OF FRANKLIN. 
 
 By Winter's unrelenting hold, 
 
 Upon Columbia's utmost shore ? — 
 There to recall, in Famine's scar,* 
 The honourable wound of War ; 
 Where Want, with all her ghastly train. 
 The handmaids fell of mortal pain ; 
 Disease, that wastes the vital fires, 
 And he who comes when Hope expires ; 
 (Howe'er the yet-unyielding soul 
 Might hold the Demon in control) ; 
 
 With dreadful schemes the enfeebled thought surprise; 
 Or worse (as once thy lot befeU), 
 Too fearful all for man to tell ! 
 Where, in the comrade at thy side,t 
 Is seen, thou think'st, the faithful guide, — 
 Prompt to pursue, with murderous wrath. 
 The sad companion of his path, — 
 
 A watchful fiend is there, in Friendship's fatal guise 1 
 
 But ye, whose gentle souls retain 
 From tale of woe no transient pain ; 
 Oh ! would ye ask what direr ill 
 Than Death, whose utmost is to kill. 
 To him who fears not death, — 
 
 * Taking part in the disastrous attempt to capture New Orleans, 
 Franlilin was, for the first time, wounded. 
 
 j The murder of poor Hood, by Michel, the Iroquois Indian. 
 
THE CAEEER OF PKANKLIN. 9 
 
 Might goad the restless rover forth, 
 To waste in joyless toils his manly worth, 
 And yield his breath ? — 
 
 A mystic tale the answer tells 
 Of that LQsatiate lust of range, 
 
 Which oft in purest bosom dwells, 
 
 Prompting the soul to venture strange. 
 For deedless day a blest exchange : — 
 
 The answer teUs a dreadful tale ; 
 
 Yet who shall challenge Fate to show 
 What wilder charm might yet avaU, — 
 When Battle's furious instinct fail, — r 
 
 To sate the lust that seeks a foe. 
 And forcedly urge on to scenes of deeper woe ? — 
 
 A ghastly tale it tells of men 
 
 Who wander evU wastes ; — or when 
 
 The labouring bark, sea-swept of all her store. 
 Falls on some isle accurst, where wait 
 In howUng bands the fiends of Fate ; — 
 
 Or, 'scaped the capture foul, wander, bewilder'd, o'er 
 Seas by prow unpierc'd before ; 
 
 Thence to be dash'd, with aU her human freight. 
 On wilds of voiceless shore. 
 
 Left, from the dawn of time, a chaos uncreate ! 
 
10 THE CAREER OF FRANKLIN. 
 
 There, in ungenial soil 
 
 With Nature's wreck o'erstrown, 
 Wide wastes without a spoil, 
 Which e'en the iastiactive Savage doth disown,- 
 Worn with vain search, and wild mishap, 
 FeE Want assumes the hideous shape 
 
 Of that foul hunger ; 
 That comrade (fearful but to name !) 
 Eyes his wan fellow's famish'd frame 
 
 With love no longer ; 
 And one doth rise against the other. 
 And fall upon his human brother ; 
 Or casts the chance (sad destiny !) 
 To kUl, or — ^better far — ^to die ! — 
 
 Scarcely less strange the Fates that bore 
 
 Thy steps where Furies fierce arose, 
 To hale thee through a ruthless shore. 
 
 In lingering life 'midst Polar snows ; — 
 But in thy breast a voice Divine, 
 With all its hoKest instincts thine. 
 Forbade the Chieftain to repine ! — 
 Then 't were an idle boast to show 
 Thy triumph in that walk of woe ; 
 And vainly-mournful were the strain 
 Would raise its tragic scenes again. 
 
THE CAREER OF FRANKLIN. 11 
 
 Yet, after years of stern achievement past, 
 To trace again the wild amazing round, — 
 
 And fall at last. 
 In "Winter's desert-world profound ! — 
 There, in unworthy field, to lie, 
 The sport of iLl-stai;r'd destiay 
 To skies of storm, and seas of ice, 
 A sad, yet glorious sacrifice. 
 
 Oh ! — ^though in Virtue's mighty mail complete. 
 And holy Trust unshrinking, arm'd sublime, 
 With dauntless brow, unmoTed, to meet 
 The terror of the time ; 
 Why seek'd'st thou, in that deadly field. 
 
 That field which Nature still denies. 
 To assert a path thou yet must yield. 
 And grasp a visionary prize ? — 
 Was't not enough that latest Time shall tell 
 
 How, ever-foremost in thy Coimtry's cause, 
 To thy fair lot, immortal Chief! it fell. 
 
 To bear her standard through that day renown' d. 
 When Conquest stiU her ancient greatness crown'd? 
 That day whereon a tempest rose,* 
 Disastrous, o'er the Iberian main 
 A storm of fire that swept her foes, 
 
 The banded hosts of France and Spain ! — 
 
 * Within a year after Dance's gallant victory over the French 
 Squadron, Franklin became Signal-Midshipman on board the 
 Bellerophon, 74, and on the ever-memorable 2lBt of October, 1805, 
 fought again with Nelson, at Trafalgar. 
 
12 THE CAREEE OF FKANKLIW. 
 
 A moment there, while Victory beam'd. 
 
 Thy path of promise lay ; 
 For thine the auspicious mom that seem'd 
 Prophetic of the day. 
 When, throned in his meridian power, 
 High Triumph should confirm the hour 
 
 Thy fortune promised fair ; — 
 But whence doth rise the envious storm. 
 His radiant glory to deform ? 
 Why doth he sink beneath the frown 
 Of evil clouds, disastrous, down, 
 
 And leave thee there ? — 
 Oh ! — why his ripeniag splendours bring 
 Such harvest from so bright a spring ? — 
 
 We marvel not thou didst not fear 
 The Fate, whose shaft flies everywhere, — 
 Thou, of the gentle yet undaunted breast ! 
 But 't is a thought to awe the soul. 
 
 That thou thy life could'st freely give. 
 To run the race, and gain the goal 
 With Death, whose terrors stiU control 
 The mightiest, and appal the best, — 
 Yet never fear to live. 
 
 The goal was gain'd, the race was run ; 
 While Death hath left, of all he won. 
 
THE CAREER OF FRANKLIN. 13 
 
 Nought but a spectral witness there;* 
 For, with that secret hand he slew, 
 That hides its victim from the view, 
 
 And stills the tongue that should declare. 
 
 Yet, was there left a scroll to teach 
 With words, of power surpassing speech, 
 
 How thou, triumphant, yet undone. 
 Unyielding to thy stubborn foe, 
 Was't fell'd by Fate's invidious blow. 
 
 E'en on the field thy virtue won. 
 
 But, oh ! the Hps should speak thy doom ; 
 The eye should guide us through the gloom, 
 
 To seek thy grave unknown ! 
 How might their secret be reveal'd ? 
 Those eyes are dim, those lips are seal'd. 
 And sUent as thine own ! 
 
 Yet recks it aught that to the deep 
 They did consign thee, in thy sleep, 
 
 Or on the shore ? 
 A Hfe, like thine, of love and grace, 
 Doth consecrate the resting place. 
 
 When life is o'er. 
 
 * The skeletons disccjfyered, in the deserted boat, and on the 
 snow-shore, by M'Clinwck'a people, were, in truth, a spectral 
 witness, only too sadly portentous of the fate of the many others, 
 to be hidden from human eye, in all probability now, for ever. 
 
14 THE CARBBB OF FKANKLIN. 
 
 Mutely they haled thy bones away ; 
 Alas ! they had not much to pay 
 
 Even for such a dead ; 
 Perchance, not much ; and this was all,- 
 A few stem comrades bore thy pall, 
 
 A few stern tears were shed. 
 
 No sound of wild lament 
 With thy sad burial went ; 
 But grief that hath no words — ^best tribute to the 
 brave : 
 Yet, hearsed in car so rude. 
 Amid such sohtude. 
 Chieftain, like thee endued. 
 Ne'er found a grave. 
 
 There, in eternal cell, 
 Cold-laid, without a knell ; 
 Unwept by kindred grief, by kindred prayer unblest ! 
 No reft affection near 
 To watch thy lonely bier. 
 Or guard thy rest ! 
 
 And in that dreary waste, 
 Where thy meek spirit pass'd. 
 
THE CAREER OE FRANKLIN. 15 
 
 No mound reveals thy peace, no beacon marks thy 
 tomb ! 
 Thou must be sought below 
 The eternal ocean's flow — 
 No grave of earth had'st thou * 
 For thy doom ! 
 
 Yet, should some pilgrim strange. 
 In wandering instinct range 
 Again the mazy horrors of that death-devoted scene ; 
 Within that ocean fell, 
 Some wilder tongue shall tell 
 Where thou hast been : 
 
 For, ever from that surge, 
 A sorrow shall emerge, 
 Borne by the howling blast, and sigh where thou art 
 laid! 
 While spirits from the deep 
 Their holy vigil keep 
 O'er thy shade ! 
 
 * This ever-to-'be-lamented Hero died ia his sliip, while beset with 
 the ice in its passage through the Strait leading directly to the open 
 waters which had been navigated previously by himself, and 
 latterly by Captain CoUinson, during that officer's route of search, 
 in the Enterprise, from Behring's Straits. 
 
 It cannot be known positively, but may be presumed, as a 
 moral certainty, that Sir John Franklin was buried in the drifting 
 ice, in-as-much-as his death occurred on June 11, 1847, at the time 
 the ships were beset by the ice In its slow transit through the 
 current to Victoria Strait, on the coast of King William's Land. 
 
16 THE CAREEK OF FRANKLIN. 
 
 But, in that land, thy own, 
 Where thou art loved and known, 
 There's a love that will not rest, though love's debt 
 be canceU'd all ; 
 There, kneU of deepest sound, 
 A grief, that knows no bound, 
 Wails thy faU ! 
 
 And there, one lingering part of thee 
 
 That breathes, though thou hast ceased to be. 
 
 Is broken on the shore ; 
 The storm, that threaten'd long, hath burst ; 
 The omen ill fulfill'd its worst ; 
 Yet, 't was a deadlier thought that first 
 
 Came that struck spirit o'er ; 
 When the wild-long time went silent on. 
 And friendly breeze came not, and none 
 Of aJl the heroic host to tell 
 What, fear had long forebode, befeU. — 
 The storm that wreck'd hath left her there. 
 With broken heart and bosom bare. 
 To Resignation's meek despair; — 
 Meek, but mth that fine majesty 
 That feels the stroke, yet may not die 
 
 TiU He who gave shall take ; 
 That, human, owns the human strife 
 Of agony, yet keeps the life 
 
 For the great Giver's sake. 
 
THE CAREER OF FRANKLIN.' 17 
 
 But, oh ! the anguish of the thought, 
 
 That, in a dark disquiet, brooded still 
 Over each aggravated ill. 
 
 To lonely-waMng breast, bynight andterror brought; — 
 HI of the death, in various-fearful guise 
 Of Famiae, gaunt Disease, and Winter's fierce 
 surprise ! 
 
 That thought ! the harrowing anguish there ! 
 Yet who, save thou, poor Mourner ! knows 
 Of that dread thought the piercing throes, 
 
 Where Expectation breathes despair ? 
 
 But the wild hope that springs from woe. 
 And cannot yet its cheer forego, 
 O'erpast — ^the Kngering doubt, the pain, 
 That lives with those who hope in vain ; 
 Now that these spectres of thy fear, 
 TJnmask'd, in hideous truth appear ; 
 Alas ! 't would but thy ills increase. 
 For kiadliest love to bid thee peace. 
 
 Or pity to complain ; 
 What peace can earthly love impart, 
 Thou lone one ! to thy widow'd heart ? — 
 
 What pity end thy pain ? 
 
 And Thou, ia coldest grave entomb'd ! 
 Thy country's Hero, darkly doom'd ! 
 
18 THE CAREER OE FRANKLIN. 
 
 Thou, who, alas ! content to fall 
 Still, at that country's sacred call — 
 Coulds't leave her scenes of fulness, where, 
 'Midst fields with genial blessings fair, 
 Thy acts a kindlier promise gave ; 
 Thy faith had earn'd a holier grave ; 
 Thy toils, a surer rest ; thy age, 
 A refuge from the tempest's rage ; 
 Thy gentle soul, that calm of life 
 Which should succeed to angry strife ; 
 Thy worth, in all becomes a man, 
 For days yet left a peaceful span : — 
 What worthiest rite might yet be paid. 
 Meet tribute to thy honour'd shade ? 
 What tear of pride or pity shed 
 For thee, — the loneliest of the dead ! 
 
 Oh, Thou ! most skill'd Discovery's path to scan ; 
 And all too prone to trace the impervious way ; 
 Or lead infuriate Battle's van. 
 
 The foremost in the fray ; 
 How art thou, far from land and home, 
 Fall'n in a mournful martyrdom ! — 
 
 FaU'n ! — fall'n, alas ! — ^yet, in thy death 
 
 There is a something lives ; 
 A deathless thing of other breath — 
 
 A Power that still survives. 
 
THE CAREER OF FRANKLIN. 19 
 
 And there's a Pride, lamented Chief ! 
 
 From all thy suffering won ; 
 A pride that mingles with our grief, 
 And ponders, with a fond relief. 
 
 The deeds that thou hast done : — 
 And, as from History's pictured page, 
 
 She hears the Muse relate 
 How rival hosts, from age to age. 
 
 Regardless of their fate. 
 Successive strove, a mighty Band, 
 
 With ineffectual toil, 
 To wrest from Winter's iron hand 
 
 The long-disputed spoil ; — 
 How, after many a might o'erthrown. 
 
 And many a perU past. 
 Fate hurl'd again the gauntlet down ; 
 And while the gUttering Prize was shown, 
 How, by thy hand, sad Chief ! alone 
 
 The treacherous die was cast ; — 
 T6 thee, each thought shall fondly turn ; 
 
 For thee, each breast, responsive, sigh ; 
 To think how dearly thou didst earn 
 
 Thy palm of fruitless victory ! — 
 But, if impartial Record teU, 
 How, in that fight, her Hero fell. 
 
 When Death with Triumph came; 
 Justice shall stand thy sentinel. 
 While Truth, stern guardian of the Patriot's fame. 
 Points to the fatal field, and sanctifies thy claim. 
 
PATRIOTISM, 
 
 ADDRESSED TO 
 
 ******* 
 
 'Nil desperaQdum, Teucro duce, et auspice Teucro," 
 
 HoftACE. 
 
 Oh ! Thou, who com'st like one inspired, 
 In Honor's richest vest attired, 
 Amidst a world's disguise ; 
 The fairest grace to mortal giv'n. 
 The first and best endow'd of Heaven, 
 
 And purest from the skies. 
 
 • 
 
 See ! priceless blessings without end. 
 On man's bewilder'd path attend, 
 
 iaunch'd through the vast profound ; 
 While, faithful to the allotted time. 
 They take their silent course sublime. 
 
 And hold the eternal round. 
 
21^ PATEIOTISM. 
 
 But thou, the great, the central soul. 
 Whose light gives lustre to the whole, 
 
 And wakes them into day ; 
 Thou, through whom aU their glories shine. 
 How should we name thee, Gift diTine ! 
 
 Or fix thy earthly sway ? 
 
 Oh ! stiU the Arbiter supreme, 
 
 To souls that are, and souls that seem. 
 
 To award the impartial share ; 
 A trust, to reassure the true. 
 To the self-seeker's servile crew 
 
 A terror and a snare. 
 
 Thine is the searching eye pervades 
 With god-like glance the secret shades, 
 
 Where Disaffection dwells ; 
 To thee the affrighted laws retire. 
 When Tumult comes, and Chiefs conspire 
 
 In Treason's midnight cells. 
 
 But, heavenly Power ! how dost thou stand, 
 The Guardian of thy trampled land, 
 
 When Rehel-hosts unite ? 
 Then wakes the Patriot in thy breast. 
 And thou dost stand a god confess'd. 
 
 The saviour of the right : 
 
PATRIOTISM. 23 
 
 Oil ! then in Danger's wildest hour, 
 Truth yields to thee, majestic Power ! 
 
 Her violated laws ; 
 To thee she gives the inspiring cry. 
 Greatly to live, or greatly die, 
 
 In her eternal cause. 
 
 Lo ! injured Justice looks to thee, 
 And Freedom, who would still be free. 
 
 Their sacred cause to plead ; 
 Thy judgments then, in words that move, 
 Hurl'd, like a mandate from above. 
 
 Denounce the hated deed. 
 
 And should fell War, unwelcome guest. 
 With bristling brow and mailed breast 
 
 His threatening ranks display ; ^ 
 How wilt thou — first to meet the foe — 
 Thy milder strife at once forego, 
 
 And mingle in the fray ? 
 
 By.t, most thy forceful power is shown 
 Wnen Freedom trusts to thee alone, 
 
 Her last devoted band ; 
 Even such the Spartan felt in thee. 
 When upon stern Thermopylae 
 
 He took his fatal stand. 
 
24 PATRIOTISM. 
 
 And though the soul of Greece be fled, 
 Her worth but of the distant dead, 
 
 Her greatness but a name ; 
 Her halls, a petty tyrant's sway, 
 In Ruin's mournful pomp betray 
 
 Where Patriots wrought their fame. 
 
 There Solon framed the eternal rule; 
 There once, in Wisdom's noblest school. 
 
 Could Plato reason well ; 
 There, crown'd with an unfading wreath. 
 The god-Uke Sage who welcomed death. 
 
 For Truth triumphant fell. 
 
 Yet there, though Freedom found a grave, 
 Sunk not with her the zeal to save. 
 
 The spirit to aspire ; 
 Pure still the stream of honour flows. 
 And many a soul of Britain glows 
 
 With more than Grecian fire. 
 
 'T is here in fearless strength survives 
 The Patriot-Chief who greatly gives. 
 
 Prompt at a Nation's caU, 
 Justice to each, in measure true. 
 To each the impartial tribute due, 
 
 And liberty to all. 
 
PATRIOTISM. 25 
 
 Oh Thou ! in Virtue's trust secure, 
 Thy Country's greatness to assure, 
 
 When meaner spirits fail'd ; 
 The firm, uncompromising friend, 
 The ever-foremost to defend 
 
 Her sacred rights assail'd : 
 
 When Hatred loos'd her legions all, 
 To mar thy counsels, and recall 
 
 The reign of partial rage ; 
 Their banded wrath how didst thou brave. 
 And to impatient Freedom save 
 
 Her holiest heritage : 
 
 But when the distant-gathering storm, 
 That would her peaceful fields deform, 
 
 Thy Country's calm o'ercast; 
 How could'st thou, with a matchless skill, 
 Turn to her proudest triumphs stiU, 
 
 The drama of the past. 
 
 Yet not her dearest rights alone, 
 Though powerful most, thy influence own. 
 
 And ask thy guiding hand ; 
 In thee her humblest hopes repose, 
 And prostrate Want forgets her woes, 
 
 Erect, at thy command : 
 
26 PATRIOTISM. 
 
 And while applauding Senates raise 
 The tribute of a nation's praise, 
 
 And ask the impassion'd lyre ; 
 Ne'er might the minstrel wake in vain, — 
 Albeit iu less exalted strain, 
 
 And with a feebler fire — 
 
 For thee the votive string to bend, 
 Who — still the father and the friend 
 
 To penury oppress'd, — 
 Could'st pause amid the storms of state, 
 To lift the suppliant at thy gate, 
 
 And staunch the bleeding breast. . 
 
 But Time, who saps the noblest pile, 
 Howe'er the buoyant heart beguile 
 
 His stern and sullen sway, 
 Where least he pUes his silent power. 
 Doth but postpone the evil hour. 
 
 And flatter to betray ; 
 
 And thou must yield to envious age, 
 Must change — alas ! this stormy stage 
 
 For Evening's calm serene : 
 But who shall stay, time-honour'd Chief! 
 The torrent of a people's grief. 
 
 When thou hast left the scene ? — 
 
PATRIOTISM. 27 
 
 Oh, gracious Power ! whose fires impart 
 Each wish that prompts the Patriot's heart 
 
 His Country still to bless ; 
 To assert her rights, her wrongs to feel, 
 And grasp at once the avenging steel. 
 
 That shall those wrongs redress ; 
 
 By all who lov'd thy righteous laws, 
 
 And fought for Truth's or Freedom's cause,-^ 
 
 The Great of ancient fame ; 
 By aU who felt, and aU who feel, 
 And look to thee for virtuous zeal, 
 
 Aad venerate thy name ; 
 
 By all who fell, the honour'd dead, 
 AU who would bleed as others bled, 
 
 While 'Virtue yet survives; 
 By aU who still thy influence pray, 
 Or ovm the calm and steadfast sway, 
 
 That holy influence gives ; 
 
 Receive his rite, — oh, Power divine ! 
 Who seeks, obscure, thy hallow'd shrine, 
 
 To humblest fame unknown : 
 Long may thy grandest force of soul 
 Thy Britain's destinies controul, 
 
 And guard her sacred throne. 
 
CHARITY. 
 
 ADDRESSED 10 * * * * * 
 
 '* Supplex tua numina posco." 
 
 Virgil, ^n. 
 
 Oh Thou ! the most esteem'd ; 
 
 Saint ever holiest deem'd ! 
 Whose power o'er mortal ills shall yet prevail ; 
 
 For whose sweet sake below, 
 
 Eternal mercies flow, 
 From springs of bounty stiU that never fail : 
 
 When He, who came on earth 
 
 From more than mortal birth. 
 Herald and Minister of Peace divine, — 
 
 Gather'd his saints around 
 
 On Judah's holy ground. 
 For thee he ask'd their zeal, and bade their hearts 
 combine I 
 
30 CHARITY. 
 
 And, as He gave Ms breath 
 
 Upon the Cross of death ; 
 And rais'd with pitying soul his prayer to Heaven ; 
 
 In that deep and mystic hour, 
 
 When Darkness had a power, 
 That prayer of agony for thee was given! — 
 
 Oh, fairer form than e'er 
 
 To sainted maid, or seer, 
 From bower of bliss in raptured dream arose ! 
 
 Thou, who art all from God, 
 
 And mak'st thy bless'd abode 
 There, only there, where gentlest feeling flows ; 
 
 When came two Spirits meek. 
 
 The Apostle's choice to seek, 
 With thee in holy sisterhood combia'd ; 
 
 Still greatest of the three. 
 
 He gave the palm to thee. 
 To thee supreme, the worthiest seat assign'd ! 
 
 Hope, that her cheer receives 
 
 Froioa Faith, who still believes, 
 And still maintains her trust through every change ; 
 
 But Thou, great Power ! hast sway 
 
 O'er mightier spheres than they ; 
 From earth to highest Heaven, — a boundless range. 
 
CHAKIXY. 31 
 
 Yet, while I lift to thee, 
 
 Oh god-Hke Charity ! 
 Whate'er of wither'd feeling yet remain ; 
 
 To One, thy votary true, 
 
 A holier debt is due, 
 Than all the incense of the loftiest strain. 
 
 And whUe to him I bend. 
 
 As to Misfortune's friend. 
 And feel the glow his generous worth inspires ; 
 
 'T is at thy hidden shrine 
 
 I seek him. Nymph diTine ! 
 There tends his spirit still, and feeds thy fires. 
 
 What though by souls of earth 
 
 Unprized that boastless worth. 
 That opens wide the hand, yet keeps unseen ; 
 
 Yet likest God's the power 
 
 That doth its bounties shower, 
 Obscurely great, in secret peace serene. 
 
 Meek in munificence. 
 
 Content, without pretence. 
 To do, from noblest love, the gracious deed ; 
 
 Sweet Mercy to regard 
 
 As her own rich reward, 
 And feel and succour for no higher meed. 
 
32 CHARITY. 
 
 When Fear and sleepless Care 
 
 Urged Anguish to Despair, 
 'T was Thou could' st reassure the faltering breast ! 
 
 When Destitution came, 
 
 To lay her vulture-claim, 
 Thou — thou alone, her ruthless arm arrest ! 
 
 Oh I worthy of most praise, 
 
 That a sad heartcan raise. 
 With its hopes blighted, save for thee alone ; 
 
 Thine be the homage, VTrung 
 
 From no obsequious tongue ; 
 No verbal incense to the heart unknown. 
 
 Could fulsome lay impart 
 
 In specious phrase the heart. 
 The unworthy strain would meet a heedless ear ; 
 
 Thou didst not think to earn 
 
 Aught save that poor return. 
 Yet rich, if truly given, the bosom's tear. 
 
 But if, in hour unbless'd, 
 
 A thought were once express'd. 
 Unmeet to win the soul of genuine worth ; 
 
 Oh, think ! in anguish shaped, 
 
 That hapless thought escaped 
 From one self-deem'd the lowliest child of earth. 
 
CHARITY. 33 
 
 And how — for pity, tell ! 
 
 Should breast uninjured dwell, 
 Where Want and all her tempting fiends assail? 
 
 For her, whose mild controul 
 
 Doth most possess thy soul, 
 How, scathless stand, where Virtue's self might fail? 
 
 How should that thing of clay 
 
 Pursue his dubious way. 
 By fault, or fraU mischance unsullied still ? — 
 
 And in mercy, oh, beheve ! 
 
 How the wanderer's heart shall grieve, 
 Whose step hath err'd, unconscious of the ill. — 
 
 Hail, then ! that bringest peace. 
 
 And plenteous love's increase, 
 Sweet Charity ! meek messenger from Heaven ! 
 
 Deputed here below, 
 
 God's blessings to bestow. 
 High steward of the wealth his Grace hath given ! 
 
 Stni to its season true. 
 
 As faUs the gentle dew 
 Upon the lap of earth, nor e'er forsakes ; 
 
 So comes thy gift of love 
 
 Like the bounty from above, 
 " And blesseth him that givesj and him that takes." 
 
34 CHARITY. 
 
 By helpless Want undone, 
 
 What though the power be none, 
 There Pity still survives who most can feel ; 
 
 Albeit of hope bereft, 
 
 The tear of love is left, 
 If but to balm the wound it cannot heal. — 
 
 Oh Thou, whose powerful charm 
 
 Can every hate disarm. 
 And calm each care that agitates the breast ; 
 
 Come, gentle Spirit, come ! 
 
 And make his heart thy home. 
 Who asks thee to its ceUs, a welcome guest ! 
 
 There be thou ever nigh. 
 
 And bid him see, and sigh, 
 While spirits shrink that have the power to bless ; 
 
 Gome to his lonely call, 
 
 Oh, Thou! of Virtues all 
 That hast the most of might, yet most of gentleness. 
 
ODE 
 
 ADDRESSED TO 
 
 'Nod, si plura velim, tu dare deneges." 
 
 HORAOE. 
 
 Oh, name ! for ever most reyered ; 
 Patron confess'd, and friend endear'd ; 
 Endear'd by all those ties sublime. 
 
 That bind the bosom, as of old ; 
 That change not with the changing time, 
 
 Save but to take a firmer hold. 
 Oh, Thou ! of soul that inly glows, 
 Bless'd in the mercy it bestows ; 
 Thou, that with spirit meek endued, 
 Think'st it no merit to be good ; 
 But that to give doth render best 
 A bounty to the giver's breast ; 
 Wondering what human heart can feel. 
 Unmoved, Affliction's wild appeal. 
 
36 ODE, ADDRESSED TO * * * 
 
 Thou ! whose unboasted acts of love 
 Are seen but by the Bye above ; 
 Ne'er might the stricken spirit fail, 
 When Care distracts, and ills assail. 
 The genuine friend in thee to find, 
 Who, friend alike to all mankind, 
 Look'st on the unworthiest pilgrim there 
 As stUl deserving of thy care ; 
 And see'st in "want a sacred tie 
 That knits it to thy sympathy. — 
 Bless'd name ! whose virtues most appear 
 When Memory wakes the fruitless tear ; 
 Though love her kindliest power infuse, 
 I feel how feeble were the Muse, 
 Her efforts how unequal stiU 
 The measure of thy worth to fill : 
 Then let the simplest accents teU 
 The thoughts that in my bosom dwell ; 
 The soul her secret force combiue. 
 The incense of the heart be thine. 
 
 Oh ! refuge to my lonely thought, 
 Ever by fond reflection brought 
 From scenes that rise — ^the phantom-power 
 Of reckless manhood's wasted hour, — 
 And pass before the searching eye 
 Of ever-ranging Memory ; — 
 E'er Time shall sear this withering breast, 
 And calm its tumults into rest ; 
 
ODE, ABDRBSSED TO * * * 37 
 
 As on life's downward path I bend, 
 And struggle to my journey's end ; 
 Amidst a future dark and stern, 
 To earlier years and thee I'll turn ; 
 To thee look back with spirit true. 
 Thy acts with grateful eye reyiew ; 
 To thee, alas ! whose counsels sage 
 Might still have smooth'd the path of age ; 
 And sav'd me from remorse and shame. 
 Perchance, for honourable fame. — 
 
 But, vain lament ! the die is cast ; 
 Redemption's hour, perchance, o'erpast; 
 Yet, oh ! though it be mine to stray 
 A wild expanse, and devious way, 
 And with a fruitless anguish mourn 
 O'er days that never can return ; 
 In the world's desert lonely left. 
 Where I, of wanderers most bereft, 
 No haven for my hope can trace. 
 For my sad step no resting-place ; — 
 I'll bend me to the Chastener's hand. 
 Ail-meekly meet his dread command. 
 And cherish his most stem decree, 
 As yet a mercy left for me ; — 
 Secure, whatever ills betide, 
 To find in thee a faithful guide ; 
 In Heaven, where'er my footsteps roam, 
 A bless'd repose, and welcome home. — 
 
3& ODE, ADDRESSED TO * * * 
 
 But as I trace this mournful strain, 
 That turns the past into a pain ; 
 Thy form in faithful truth appears, 
 Rescued, where long-departed years 
 Melt in Oblivion's misty Ught, 
 Like landscape fading iuto night : — 
 I feel and own the powerful speU, 
 As still thy voice, rememher'd well, 
 Asserts, — yet now, alas ! too late 
 To turn the forceful tide of fate — 
 With aU a parent's mild controul, 
 A holy influence o'er my soul. — 
 
 Oh, then ! — if theme for loftiest song 
 To lowliest minstrel may belong, — 
 Though he who sues, ia heedless day. 
 Too poorly prized thy gentle sway. 
 And most to thee a recreant proved, 
 Whose counsels he should most have loved ;- 
 Yet, oh ! this humble tribute take, 
 For a returning truant's sake ! — 
 t Though rude the lay, 't would yet impart 
 The truthful language of the heart ; 
 If unadorn'd with courtly phrase, 
 'T is all a strengthless voice can raise. 
 
MONODY ON THE POET BURNS. 
 
 " Here pause, — and through the starting tear 
 Survey this grave I" 
 Burns. 
 
 While Britain, conscious of the hero's claim, 
 Or sternly-zealous for the patriot's fame, 
 Wakes forth the impassion'd poean o'er his tomb. 
 And hymns his triumphs, as she mourns his doom ; 
 Shall Genius' humbler son no rite demand ? 
 But sleep — ^the glory of a voiceless land ? — 
 Shall He who, mindful of his country's meed. 
 Proclaims in words of fire the immortal deed 
 Of those stern champions of her rights assail' d, 
 Who feU with Wallace, or with Bruce prevail' d, — 
 Foremost in danger's ranks, the intrepid Scot — 
 Shall aU be honour'd, but their Bard forgot ? 
 Or Fame, repentant, sigh as she returns 
 From loftier glories to the lyre of Burns. — 
 
40 MONODY ON THE POET BURNS. 
 
 Unrivall'd Bums ! still must the mountain-air 
 Sweep with thy song, and shall the Muse forbear ?* 
 Or, recreant still, her gentler sphere disown. 
 And yield to wilder claims a partial crown. — 
 
 Fond Bard of chequer' d life ! thy charms engage 
 The sympathies alike of youth and age ; 
 'T was thou could' st deck thy muse in lore's attire, 
 Or to the world's cold truths confine the lyre ; 
 Could'st mould thy plastic thought, and shape thy 
 
 song. 
 So to enchain the world, a listening throng : 
 
 * " Those who desire to feel in their full force the songs of Bums 
 must not hope it from scientific singers in the theatre. The right 
 scene is the pastoral glen ; the right tongue for utterance is that of 
 a shepherd lass. * * * j have listened to a country 
 girl singing one of his songs, while she spread her webs to bleach 
 by a running stream — ignorant of her audience — with such feeling 
 and effect as were quite overpowering. This will keep the feme of 
 Burns high among ug; should the printers' ink dry up, ten 
 thousand melodious tongues -will preserve his songs to remote 
 generations." — lAfe and CorrespondeTice of £urm, hy Allah Cuk- 
 
 HIKOHAM. 
 
 " Would, we have often breathed the wish, that this Poet could 
 look up from his grave and witness the estimation in which his 
 genius is now held ! In this case, he would not turn to the 
 monuments that perpetuate more, perhaps, the pride of their 
 founders than his memory ; * * * But the sound of 
 his immortal songs, echoing from bank to brae, from town to 
 farm, of his beloved land, would be a welcome praise to his ear." 
 — Critical Dissertation on the Genius and Poetry of Burns, by The 
 Eev. G. Gilhllan. 
 
MONODY ON THE POET BTJENS. 41 
 
 Souls most unyielding at thy magic bend, 
 Cynics enraptur'd smile, and kings commend ; 
 WMe priests, approving, learn to scorn no more 
 The truthful picture of that trenchant lore. 
 Whose spirit-stirring numbers yet shall be 
 The rallying call, and watchword of the free ; 
 To slavery's palsied breast new life impart, 
 But strike, electric, to the tyrant's heart. 
 
 And shall these truths, thy manly soul's defence, 
 And all these bursts of fearless eloquence, — 
 The unstudied sallies of a buoyant mirth, 
 Yet bold invectives that bespoke thy worth, — 
 Still live within that many-pictured page, 
 The charm at once, and wonder of thy age ; 
 And can thy coimtry rest, her debt unpaid. 
 Nor yield her genius to protect thy shade ? — 
 Shame to thy soil ! — and must it then be said 
 The minstrel's art is with the Master fled ? — 
 Breathes there no soul of freedom, skill'd to feel 
 The kindling spirit of that sacred zeal. 
 That fill'd the sons of ancient Rome with fire. 
 And rais'd to loftiest sweep the Grecian lyre ? — 
 Is there no voice thy Scotia's hills among, 
 (Those hills so pregnant once with patriot-song). 
 In love's untutor'd accents to commend 
 The Muse's favourite child, and Nature's friend ? — 
 Yes ! — each proud day that wakes her sons shall bear 
 Thy name, thy welcome name, to every ear ; 
 
42 MONODY ON THE POET BURNS. 
 
 Congenial bosoms echo thee, and raise 
 
 The enthusiast-plaudits of a nation's praise. — 
 
 What though a tomb in piUar'd pomp declare 
 That Scotland's matchless Bard lies mouldering there ; 
 Though stiU remain a consecrated place 
 The earth that holds thee in its cold embrace ; — 
 What though thy fame be as a guiding star 
 To pilgrim still who seeks thee from afar ; 
 Thy verse a spell, thy name a charmed sound. 
 Thy every haunt of life a holy ground ; — 
 What though 't is ours thy pictured form to see. 
 Where the warm canvass almost breathes with thee ; 
 What though the graver's hand thy features give, 
 With truth so life-like that they seem to live ; 
 Though History recall thy tale of pain. 
 And the skiU'd chisel bring thee back again ; — 
 Though Wealth, who pass'd thy living anguish by 
 With the cold scorn of heartless apathy, 
 Lavish his treasure on thy lifeless bust. 
 And yield obse![uious homage to thy dust ; — 
 Fruitless their hopes, vain ail their efforts prove. 
 Thy fittest shrine is in thy country's love ; 
 Thy grave of earth let fond enthusiasts trace, — 
 This is thy temple, and true resting-place. 
 
 Thus, as we hail thee in each festive scene, 
 Nor pause to ponder what thy fate hath been ; 
 Eemembrance of that fate no cloud shall cast 
 Upon the fairy-influence of the past, 
 
MONODY ON THE POET BURNS. 43 
 
 Affection mourn thy mortal form destroy'd, 
 Yet universal homage fill the void. — 
 Thiae is a priceless crown ; to thee belong 
 The ever-blooming wreaths of deathless song; 
 Lips, yet unborn, shall bless thy cherish'd name, 
 And endless time; perpetuate thy fame I 
 
 And who would urge, Oh, injured Shade! to say 
 What passions swept thee in life's wintry day ? 
 Or probe thy bosom's anguish, and rehearse 
 Those heart-felt pangs, the magic of thy verse? — 
 
 Unhappy Burns ! 't was ia that day to show 
 What sorrows spring from seeds of early woe. 
 Science' fair hope, yet Want's unheeded child, 
 Rear'd in the blast, and cradled in the wild ; 
 TJsher'd by tempests to this scene of strife, 
 (Tempests prophetic of thy stormy life) ;* 
 What wonder if, while wakening nature bade. 
 Congenial laws thy conscious breast betray'd ? 
 
 * " Robert Burns * * * ^aa bom 25th January, 
 1759, in a clay-built cottage, raised by his father's own hands, on 
 the banks of the Boon, in the district of Kyle, and county of Ayr. 
 The season was ungentle and roiigh, the walls weak and new : — 
 some days after his birth, a wind arose which crushed the frail 
 structure and the unconscious Poet was carried, unharmed, to the 
 shelter of a neighbouring house. He loved to allude, when he 
 grew up, to this circumstance ; and ironically to claim some com- 
 miseration for the stormy passions of one ushered into the world 
 by a tempest." — Life and Correspondence of £wm, by Allan 
 
 CUNNINQHAH. 
 
44 MONODY ON THE POET BUKNS. 
 
 What, if thy soul, on Nature's storms intent. 
 
 Grew like her own impetuous element ? 
 
 And early led her wildest steps to share, 
 
 Chose the like course, and caught the tumults there? — 
 
 Then let us learn, oh, ever-honour'd Youth ! 
 To spare thy errors, yet proclaim thy truth ; 
 Think of the perils that beset thee here, 
 And wonder that thy path was kept so clear ; 
 Blend all our hopes, our brightest hopes, with thine. 
 And in our heart of hearts thyself enshrine. — 
 
 Lamented Bard ! long may thy rivers flow 
 With plaint responsive to their Poet's woe ; 
 Long every haUow'd haunt thy spell possess. 
 The mountains claim thee, and the glens confess ; 
 Yet, for an endless day, thy Muse inspire 
 With freedom's holiest theme thy native lyre ; 
 While still in Scotia's waste the beU shall bloom, 
 In meek remembrance of thy early doom. 
 
 Arm'd in such hopes, and in such visions blest, 
 Oft at thy grave we'U bid thy spirit rest ; 
 With reverential step that grave of clay 
 Still seek, and ponder on thy earthly day ; — 
 There shah the morn her earliest incense bring. 
 There the first blossoms of the year shall spring ; 
 While shepherd-bands with duteous zeal entwine 
 Wreaths of immortal love to dress thy shrine ; — 
 There Memory, lingering where she loves to dwell. 
 Waives the warm tear, and prompts the mute farewell; 
 
MONODY ON THE POET BURNS. 45 
 
 Bids US all-humbly at thy altar kneel, 
 Thy influence own, and emulate thy zeal ; 
 Thy past with many a fruitless sigh bewails, 
 With many a holy hope thy future hails ; 
 And with the ofi'ering of her heart returns, 
 Her fondest offering, to the grave of Burns. 
 
STANZAS. 
 
 Poor little helpless human thing, 
 
 That sweep'st the way ! 
 Oh ! as I see thee suffering, 
 Thou mak'st me think that, while I sing, 
 
 'T were best to pray. 
 
 I wonder what a home hast thou. 
 
 Thou poor outcast ! 
 And what a pillow to thy brow. 
 When thou dost seek its portals low. 
 
 Within, thou hast ! 
 
 While Summer breathes her season sweet, 
 
 'T is well for thee; 
 But — mercy on those bleeding feet ! 
 Thou shouldst, when tempests sweep the street, 
 
 At least be free. 
 
48 STANZAS. 
 
 And, lo ! when skies are soft and clear, 
 
 Want is thy storm : 
 Alas ! but thou hast much to fear. 
 When Winter comes, and finds thee here 
 
 A shrinking form. 
 
 The blast that brings the snoivy cloud, 
 
 Is whistling wild ; 
 And is there of yon pageant proud 
 Not one, throughout the sweUiag crowd. 
 
 Will help thee, child? 
 
 What ! shall not one wayfarer then 
 
 From aU the band 
 That traverse there in guise of men. 
 Pause, on their frequent transit when 
 
 Thou tak'st thy stand?— 
 
 Yes — and shall yield, though but in pride 
 
 Perchance, or shame, 
 Some little aim to cheer the guide, 
 A tiny suppliant at his side, — 
 
 And own thy claim. 
 
 And there might chance some casual store 
 
 Fall on thy path ; 
 A salvage blown the billows o'er, 
 And left for thee upon the shore. 
 
 As 't were in wrath. — 
 
STANZAS. 49 
 
 But there is charity abroad, 
 
 And faith, and love ; 
 And kindly spirits pass thy road. 
 And men who do the works that God 
 
 Approves above. 
 
 It is the cross thou hast to bear, 
 
 That little broom ; 
 And if that narrow path thy share. 
 Remember this — ^they have more care. 
 
 Who have more room. 
 
 The cares of Wealth thou canst not see 
 
 From thy low distance ; 
 And think'st 't is by a hard decree, 
 That God hath meted out for thee 
 
 This cold existence : 
 
 And think'st — if e'er thou think'st — but no ; 
 
 Within thy breast 
 There is a buoyant mirth doth grow. 
 That leaves no room for thought or woe ; — 
 
 In this thou'rt blest : 
 
 Here is a little piece of earth. 
 
 Lent me awhile ; 
 Take it, and let it feed that mirth ; 
 Take it, — thou pay'st more than its worth. 
 
 In that poor smile. 
 
50 STANZAS. 
 
 With yearning tear I see thee toss 
 
 That broom on high ; 
 And — thine the gain, and mine the loss- 
 Methinks thou bear'st thy little cross 
 
 Better than I : 
 
 Yet is thy lot less wild than mine, 
 
 Thou hast some joy ! 
 While I in secret soul repine 
 At ills may not be felt by thine, 
 
 Poor orphan boy ! 
 
 And yet I cannot choose but weep, 
 
 To watch thee there ; 
 Condemn' d, in tender years, to sweep 
 A path for heartless man, and keep 
 
 His footsteps clear. 
 
 Yet I learn something — and 't is this — 
 
 From thy kind toil : 
 That — so to cleanse what is amiss — 
 It may with zealous souls be bHss 
 
 To sweep the soil. 
 
 Then I, like thee, wiU hence fulfil, 
 
 As best I may. 
 Life's lowliest task with all my skill ; 
 And point the heedless wanderer still 
 
 The purest way. 
 
 THE END. 
 
JUST PUBLISHED, 
 
 (second edition, post 8vo. gilt, 53.) 
 
 DEDICATED, BY PERMISSION, TO LADY FRAKKLIN; 
 
 ARCTIC ENTERPRISE, 
 
 IN SEVEN PARTS, 
 
 BT 
 
 OHANDOS HOSKTNS ABRAHALL. 
 
 TO BE HAD OP THE AtlTHOE, AT 
 
 No. 79, HIGH STREET, CAMDEN TOWN, N.W. 
 
 AND OF 
 
 J. MALLETT, PRINTER, 59, WARDOUR STREET, W. 
 And sent, Post free, to all parts of the United Kingdom. 
 
 OPINIONS OF THE PRESS. 
 
 " The Arctic Enterprise, by Mr. Abrahall, is a work of careful 
 researcli, of general information, and unusual metrical merit. 
 * * * * As a narrative, it is replete with instruction; 
 as a poem, in which the poet reasons, reflects, and adorns his 
 pictures with the warm colour of his intellect, it is correct and 
 graphic. * * * "With such materials, a very ordinary 
 poet might have excited an interest in a poem ; but Mr. Abrahall is 
 not an ordinary poet, and the interest is thereby increased. We 
 have in this volume a very faithful narrative of the "daring 
 exploits of all ages and nations in the remote seas of the north ;" 
 but the poem is written chiefly to commemorate the achievements of 
 our own British seamen. Such a poem cannot be read without 
 pleasure and proflt ; and we are delighted with the opportunity to 
 make it known to our readers." — Critic. 
 
 " The gloomy scenes of Arctic nature, and the perils of naviga- 
 tion in the Arctic seas, are fit themes for the poet, and the writer of 
 the naval Epic in the volume before us has done full justice to 
 them. The plan of his poem comprises the entire history of Arctic 
 adventure and discovery, from the days of the Sea-Mngs of Scandi- 
 navia to our own time, and more especially of Arctic exploration 
 by British navigators, among which Sir John Franklin deservedly 
 occupies the chief place of honour. * * * Many of the 
 passages fully come up to the dignity and tragic solemnity of the 
 topic which his muse has selected for immortalizing at once the 
 bard himself and the heroic seamen whose exploits he sings." — 
 John Bull. 
 
63 
 
 " The merit of excellence in descriptive and didactic portions 
 cannot, even by the most captious, be denied to the above-named 
 volume." — Dispatch. 
 
 " With powers of versification worthy the attempt, the author 
 displays a profound knowledge of the entire range of the subject, 
 which he has evidently studied very extensively, and reflected upon 
 as seriously. Hia notes, referring to the text of the poem, are 
 exceedingly numerous, and many of them supply valuable informa- 
 tion, which the author has been at great pains to collect from a long 
 list of authors. His division of the subject is natural, and the 
 treatment easy, graceful, and unostentatious. * * Altogether, 
 it is a book of great merit, and will repay an attentive perusal." — 
 Morning Advertiser. 
 
 " ' The Arctic Enterprise' is an elaborated historical poem in 
 seven parts, commencing with the discovery of Iceland, and pro- 
 gressing to the loss of Sir John Franklin. There is considerable 
 power of language and vigour of thought in the work." — Sim. 
 
 " The object of this poem is to celebrate the various expeditions 
 to the Polar regions, which terminated in the grand discovery of 
 the North-west passage by Captain M'Clure, in 1853. There is a 
 strange mixture of the poetical and the practical in the volume, 
 which, however, acquires a touching interest from being " Dedicated 
 by permission to Lady Franklin, in admiration of her patience, 
 perseverance, and fortitude, under trials unexampled in the annals 
 of her country." * * * Mr. Abrahall writes in a style the 
 very opposite of the modem " spasmodic school," his manner being 
 that which prevailed through the greater part of last century." 
 — Leader. 
 
 " A very delightful book; a rich vein of poetry runs through all 
 its pages. Mr. Abrahall bids fair to take rank with the choicest 
 poets of the age. The author has with great taste and good feeling 
 introduced the names of all the distinguished Arctic voyagers ; and 
 in an easy flow of verse has chronicled their claims to the lasting 
 gratitude of their country. We regret that our apace will not admit 
 of onr giving extracts fiom this interesting volume; but we can 
 safely promise to all those lovers of our own language who possess 
 themselves of this work, a rich poetical treat ; and we hope the 
 success of the poem may be such as to bring Mr. Abrahall again 
 and again before the public." — United Service Gazette. 
 
 " In this poem (which ia appropriately dedicated to Lady 
 Franklin) the Author commemorates "the daring exploits of all 
 ages and nations in the remote seas of the north," frem the earliest 
 voyagers in those icy regions, to the days of Franklin. He appears 
 to be well acquainted with his subject ; and in the copious notes 
 which illustrate the poem we find many interesting anecdotes of 
 " arctic enterprise." As a poem the work has great merit. The style 
 is serious, as becomes the subject ; but the versification is frequenily 
 mellifluous, and the interest, though the poem ia long, never flags." 
 Naval and MiKta/ry Gazette. 
 
64 
 
 " Tlie title and dedication of the work now before us had 
 engaged our Bympathy even before we could appreraate the deep 
 research and versatility of learning that its pages exhibit. * * 
 * * Besides the great interest of its subject, Mr. Abrahall's poem 
 has much to recommend it to the British public. The versification 
 is smooth and fluent ; the imagery, though not profuse, true and 
 apposite ; the style earnest. The author goes to work in a regular 
 business-like manner, and seems to think rightly that the story he 
 has to tell is good enough for poetry. Thus, there is no affectation 
 of omitting technical terms, slurring over facts, or disguising them 
 in half-intelligible phraseology. We applaud the impartiality of 
 the poet in treating the relative merits of his heroes. 
 
 We confidently recommend this book to the perusal of all who 
 are interested in the late Arctic expeditions, and we sincerely wish 
 it that success which its subject and composition deserve." — Naa>al 
 Chronicle. 
 
 " This is a poem containing some four thousand lines of good 
 versification, and supplying the most copious information on the 
 subject of which it treats. * * * The closing portion 
 is devoted to the Expedition of Franklin, of the disastrous termina- 
 tion of which the last lingering doubt has now been removed. The 
 author touches feelingly on the sorrows of Lady Franklin, and 
 endeavours to ^ve utterance to the nation's lament for 
 "The great, the brave, yet unreturning Clhief." 
 
 -^ScoUman. 
 
 " This poem, issued while the fate of the Franklin Expedition was 
 in doubt, will be found peculiarly interesting at the present time. 
 It is of rather an ambitious order ; and while there is considerable 
 merit in the poetry, we can commend the contents as one of the 
 most concise, yet complete, histories of Arctic investigation from 
 the earliest times." — Standard. 
 
 " A poem on anything like a solid foundation, and decorated in 
 a dress free from tinsel, extravagant variety of simile, forced meta- 
 ' phor, and a perpetual straining after effect, differs so much from 
 the productions of our modern versifiers, that a reader imagines, 
 during the perusal of such a work, that Dryden, Pope, Cowper, or 
 Byron must have taken the pen, in order to call back these tedious 
 modem versifiers from the regions of frippery and rant, to the paths 
 of simple nature and truth ; where his mind can be inspired by 
 salutary sentiments, developed in intelligible, forcible, and har- 
 monious language. « * * * Those who are interested in the 
 proceedings of the various achievements and fates of the explorers 
 of the more northern portions of our globe, in the many adventur- 
 ous attempts to reach the great Pacific Ocean, either by a north-east 
 voyage upon the old continent, or a north-west route upon the new, 
 will derive much gratification and information by an attentive 
 perusal of this very elegant poem, " Arctic Enterprise." * * * 
 Mr. Abrahall has not confined himself to one event, or to the ad- 
 venturers of our own time ; his work embraces a narrative of all 
 the leading expeditions, which, historically known, have been con- 
 nected with northern navigation, bearing, of course, more copiously 
 
55 
 
 upon the late British sufferings, and undertakings, which contain so 
 melancholy an interest to the whole civilized world. The poem is 
 written with so much care, judgment, and poetic beauty, that the 
 making a few extracts for the expectant reader, is an easy task, 
 inasmuch, as there is not a passage in the entire work that might 
 not serve for the purpose. The versification is as firm and fluent as 
 that of Dryden or Pope." — Kentish Mercury. 
 
 "This poem is more extensive than its title would lead us to ex- 
 pect. It opens with an apostrophe to home, and shows the effects 
 of home and its associations on the mind of the lover, the exile, the 
 captive, the soldier, and the sailor. Some of the finest passages of 
 the poem are to be found in this part, and which are little, if any- 
 thing, inferior to analogous scenes in Campbell's "Pleasures of 
 Hope." ****** The author has treated the subject in 
 a very comprehensive manner, by turning aside here and there to 
 portray the achievements of science by the invention of the com- 
 pass, the telescope, the balloon, the steam-engine, and galvanic 
 apparatus, &c. He also describes the devotion and heroism of Lady 
 J^anklin in rendering every assistance in the search which was 
 made for her lost husband." — Portsmouth Times. 
 
 NOW READY, 
 
 (post 8vo. gut, 5s.) 
 
 Dedicated, et permission, to The Eight Honourable 
 
 THE EAUL OF CARLISLE, K.G. 
 
 LEARN AND TEACH, 
 
 % ^arsa, in Sfeo ^srls, 
 By CHANDOS HOSKYNS ABRAHALL. 
 
 TO BE HAD or THE AUTHOR, AT 
 
 No. 79, HIGH STREET, CAMDEN TOWN (N W.) ; 
 
 AND OP 
 
 J. MALLETT, PRINTER, 59, WARDOUR STREET. (W.) 
 And sent, Post free, to all parts of the United Kingdom. 
 
 CRITICAL NOTICES. . 
 
 " The author of this little work is earnest in his aspirations, 
 and fervent in the expression of his sentiments. The object of his 
 poem is to set forth the great duties of mankind — to learn, from the 
 
66 
 
 constant study of virtue and knowledge, how to advance in the path 
 of human progress, and to enlighten and encourage those who are 
 without, a guide on the road. This idea he embodies in a sort of 
 allegory, in which a youth, wandering amid the mountains, hears 
 in their mighty solitudes a voice of warning and instruction. 
 
 The moral of the work is best expressed in two of its own 
 lines, — 
 
 " Learn, and impart to all within thy reach ; 
 But practice still the precepts thou dost teach." 
 
 " The conclusion of the first part of the poem thus expresses the 
 same thought amplified :" — 
 
 " Learn then, and Teach ! nor pass that precept by, 
 
 Ever the sternest, — 
 How best to live so as the best to die ; — 
 
 Teach, and be earnest ! 
 This is the sum of wisdom ; a rich treasure 
 Hath he who metes his conduct by this measure. 
 
 And so guides his going. 
 That still some sweet spring up his path to bless. 
 In every step throughout life's wilderness 
 
 For ever growing. 
 
 But above all, a few brief truths instill. 
 
 In life's young day, 
 Ere, if thou canst, the thought of action ill 
 
 Hath sway ; 
 Point to the time, and give this truth to know. 
 
 As its moments fly, — 
 " Virtue alone is happiness below," 
 
 Vice, misery ; 
 Contentment, the true wealth, in every station : 
 Unbounded hope, a mere infatuation." 
 
 — Sun. 
 
 " ' Learn and Teach ' is a didactic poem on things in generai. We 
 Cannot give a better idea of its merits than by extracting a stanza 
 bearing on a subject which has been frequently discussed of late in 
 the pages of the Press." 
 
 " Great States that have no cause for quarrels. 
 Should be good neighbours ; 
 Then be faithful, France ! and lay up your laurels, 
 
 And sheath your sabres ! 
 And be true to thy own chosen Chief! 
 And ne'er let it be thy future grief, 
 
 Or fatal sin. 
 To raise the rebel-victor's shout. 
 And reckless, exchange the war without 
 For war within." 
 
 "Wp approve the sentiment." — Press. 
 
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