A. \^^f'T> Itl^i^ Cornell University Library The original of this book is in the Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013481753 THE VILLA BY THE SEA, AND OTHER POEMS. PUBLISHED BY JAMES MACLEHOSE, GLASGOW, MACMILLAN AND CO., LONDON. London, .... Hamilton, Adanis and Co. Cambridge.^ . . . Macmillan and Co. Edinhurgh, . Douglas and Foulis. MDCCCLXXXI. THE VILLA BY THE SEA AND OTHER POEMS. By JAMES HEDDERWICK, LL.D., AUTHOR OF "LAYS OF MIDDLE AGE." GLASGOW: JAMES MACLEHOSE, ST. VINCENT ST., ^iibUsIier to the ®ttit)£r«it)). PREFACE. Twenty-two years have elapsed since the author published his " Lays of Middle Age." Apology for a too rare intrusion into the domain of polite letters is about the last which any ordinary writer of verse is required, in these days, to make. Yet, by way of explanation to those who expressed an interest in his previous venture — some of them strangers to himself — the author desires to state that the exigencies of daily journalism have con- tinually prevented, on his part, that undivided atten- tion to the Muses without which no considerable vi PREFACE. success can, he believes, in this department of litera- ture be attained. The present pieces are the result merely of infrequent hours of relaxation, snatched from more urgent though less fascinating labours, supplemented by intervals of greater leisure only lately acquired. With regard to the "Villa by the Sea," exception has been taken by one or two critical friends to the manner in which it ends, or rather to the absence, or alleged absence, of an adequate or restful conclusion. The narrative, however, does not profess to be form- ally didactic ; nor does the author think that it would, under these circumstances, have been in conformity with any good canon of art to encumber it with an elaborate moral. Every such work ought to be viewed in relation to its aim. If elegiac, humour must not be looked .for; if setting forth some ludicrous phase of life or character, the absence of pathos must be excused. Now, what is sought to be presented in PREFACE. vii this instance is simply a picture, in poetic form, of an individual who has attained the otium cum dignitate for which most men toil, and for which not a few die, but who nevertheless finds, in the end, his spiritual ambitions unsatisfied, his surroundings mono- tonous and relaxing, his thoughts ill at ease and rebellious, his past loaded with the failures and ' regrets of youth, his future depressed with the dis- abilities and despairs of age, and altogether the true elements of human happiness, as far as he is con- cerned, accidentally or blindly missed. In assumed harmony with this conception, the panorama of his career, unfolded by the imaginary hero, opens in sunshine, and closes in a great darkness and stoim, against which he seeks to fortify himself, at least temporarily, by recourse to a physical solace, and by the exercise of a determined will. Of the smaller effusions in this volume, several are likewise constructed on the principle of dramatic viii PREFACE. monologue. A few, as their themes may perhaps indicate, were written in earlier and more buoyant years ; but they have all hitherto existed only among the author's private papers, and are selected and printed here for the first time. CONTENTS. THE VILLA BY THE SEA, PAGE I-IOI (Bthet ^fltms. UNDER A CLOUD, HOOTED AND HISSED, PARTED, THE FANCY BALL, DOWN IN THE WORLD, A HOME HERO, . THE DROWNED CHILD, A LOVE LYRIC, . TO THE RIVER CLYDE, DEVOTION, AMATEUR HAYMAKING, HOUSEHOLD WORDS, AFTER THE FEAST, THE BROKEN TRYST, A WIFE'S ANGUISH, HESPERUS, ANY MAN OF HIMSELF, LOVE, 122 1 54 159 161 166 169 176 •77 184 189 190 199 203 205 208 CONTENTS. ^onitfts. ROSALIND, WORLDLY RICHES, TO A LADY, IN THE CITY, ON A COLD BE A UTY, . THE INITIA TIVE, DIES INFA USTUS, BETROTHAL, . IN EXTREMIS, LOVES DIVINITY, NOT NOW— NOT YET, CHARITY, WHOM THE GODS LOVE, ON A BOOK OF NA TIONAL SONG, FALLEN, A FA THER'S CONSENT, ON THE LA WN, . ONE TO ANOTHER, RETROSPECT, OLD LETTERS, DETRACTION, TO THE SOUTH WIND, LOVE'S HONEYMOON, SHE, TOO, GONE! A SUMMER DAY, SCOTLAND YET, TO TWO MEMORIES, PAGE 211 212 213 214 215 216 217 218 219 220 221 222 223 224 225 226 227 228 229 230 231 232 233 234 235 236 237 ^ke Wh bp the §^a. Ike liUa bg the ^ea. Could I paint like an Apelles, Or evolve a poet's skill, I, the unknown Walter Mellis, Might a goodly canvas fill. Mine is that delightful villa, Sweetly nestling by the sea ; Yet I sigh for a scintilla Of the bliss it promised me. A THE VILLA BY THE SEA. Though a pleasant cottage ornd, Rich in trellis-work and flowers, Here to sit and end my journey, How could I beguile the hours? Love of nature is a duty, And I fain would love it more. But I weary of the beauty I have seen for weeks before. Lofty are the hills and regal. Still they are the hills of old. And like any other sea-gull Is the sea-gull I behold. Hour by hour I've watch'd the glistening White sails of the outward-bound : Hour by hour I've ponder'd listening To the brooklet's trickling sound. THE VILLA BY THE SEA. Tiresome 'tis to be a dreamer — When will it be time to dine ? Oh that almost stand-still steamer, How it crawls across the brine ! Oh that ship so slowly sailing That the landscape 'Stiller seems ! Oh that brook so softly wailing That the silence deeper dreams ! From the leaves a linnet's treble On my ear a moment breaks : In the sea I cast a pebble, And I mark the rings it makes. Yonder man and boat at anchor — Wait they for a nibbling mouth ? Yonder yacht might prove a spanker If a wind came out the south. THE VILLA BY THE SEA. Sea and sky serenely plighted — All the glory of the noon — I might view with eyes delighted, Were this listless heart in tune. Not a child but may outrun me, Keen to launch his tiny skiflF! Ah i the pinch of age is on me, And my timid knees are stiff. Older I than was my father On the morn he called his horse, And went forth fresh health to gather. Till brought back a bleeding corse. Older than was my sick mother When her death-cry o'er me broke, Leaving me and my lame brother Frantic at the double stroke ! THE VILLA BY THE SEA. Briny pool ! where sea-weeds dangle, And the green Crustacea crawl In and out among the tangle, Is my little world as small ? Lack-a-day ! these limbs are fragile : Scarce can I my footing keep, I who fearless once and agile O'er the slippery stones would leap. Betty ! — on the road I've met her — Has the postman pass'd this way ? Not that I expect a letter, But he's surely late to-day. She, my decent old domestic. Meekly marketing has been ; Yet she moves with step majestic, In her quiet way a queen. THE VILLA BY THE SEA. Smooth-set hair, with silver gleaming, Of her age and neatness tells : Soft gray looks of kindly dreaming Show where resignation dwells. What is now the price of mutton ? These potatoes should be good : Betty knows I'm not a glutton, Yet is dainty with my food. Up that hill, past yonder wildwood. Once I climbed with breezy feet, Cheer'd by one who made my childhood Sweet as morning air was sweet : Annie, with her rippling yellow Golden curls, and ribbons blue. Like the eyes that seem'd to tell a Tale 'twas bliss to fancy true. THE VILLA BY THE SEA. In my bosom love had planted Sympathies made hourly suck That my boyish thoughts were haunted By the wonder of her touch. Oft my little cripple brother, Gilbert, she would gently guide : Oft I thought that such another Lived not in the world beside. For her hair was full of splendour, For her eyes could look no wrong, For her voice was pure and tender, Maidenly and meet for song. In her girlish frame reposing I could note the woman's power. As a bud we see enclosing All the fulness of the flower. THE VILLA BY THE SEA. And when by the shore she waded, With her limbs so boldly shown, Dian's self had scarce upbraided Innocence so like her own. Hark ! the lusty bellman bawling Herrings at the quay for sale ! On the turf a tinker sprawling, Drowsed with early drench of ale ! To the village I have saunter'd, How it smells of fish and tar ! With the boatmen I have banter'd, Simple souls they mostly are. With the blacksmith at his bellows, With the grocer at his till. Deeming they are worthy fellows, I have sought an hour to kill. THE VILLA BY THE SEA. Slowly glides their life of leisure, Lazily they win and wear : If they little taste of pleasure, Little do they know of care. All the night a calm pulsation, All the day a languid speech ! Not a thought above their station. Not an aim beyond their reach ! Listening half alert, half dozing. On the Sunday to the text ! In their ancient faith reposing With a spirit unperplex'd ! Twinklings of the twiUght tender Are to them but common sights. Marvels of the midnight splendour Only sailor-guiding lights. THE VILLA BY THE SEA. What to them is Bear or Lion Pictured 'mong the starry host, Virgin wing'd, or arm'd Orion With his girdle triple-boss'd ? What each strange fantastic creature Fancy-shaped from star to star? What the moon? and what the meteor With its flaming scimitar? Suns and systems high above them Wheel their course without their heed : Nearer orbs that know and love them Bind them to their fathers' creed. Time and space unending, neither May their finite fancies stir ; Nothing know they more of either Than your great philosopher. THE VILLA BY THE SEA. And they greet me, Mister Mellis, As a man of silvery hairs ; Yet as one who thinks it well is To indulge familiar airs : One who fun is fond of poking At the friends he likes to meet : One who thinks a little joking Keeps the social converse sweet. Now a tawny barefoot younker, Captain of a stranded boat, Hauls at the unheeding anchor, Fain to feel himself afloat. Striving still, though still defeated ! Would he half as happy be If, with his desire completed. He were drifting out to sea? THE VILLA BY THE SEA. Some one's petted imp or darling ! Be his future bright or dim, Why should cratbed age be snarling ? I will speak this prayer for him. Ne'er may he amid the rhythm Of his life-sea's lonely roar, Feel how well it had been with him Had he never left the shore ! At the pier a steamer standing Puflfs with scarce a breath to waste, While the passengers are landing, Huddling, stumbling in their haste. 'Tis a huge excursion party, And I guess their errand here By their laughters loud and hearty And their loads of homely cheer. THE VILLA BY THE SEA. 13 May I at some distance follow, Just for envy of their glee ? How they skip, and shout, and hollo ! Have they never known ennui ? O'er the road, my villa nearing, By the salt-sea freshness led, How tumultuous is their cheering As the wayside weeds they tread ! Honeysuckle takes their senses, Whinny glens make glad their eyes ; Reckless they of dykes or fences, All is open to the skies. Weary men, their world behind them, Sturt of steam and strain of tools ! How the blazing sunbeams blind them ! How the blessed sea-breeze cools ! 14 THE VILLA BY THE SEA. Men and mothers, boys and babies, Damsels in their merry teens, With their mockings and their maybe's, Brighter than all brightest scenes ! Soon on grass and rock they settle, And that nothing they may lack, Lo a fire, and. eke a kettle — Heavens ! to join their bivouac ! More to them than gold in caskets Is their still unfolded store — Bottles peeping out of baskets, Butter, bread, and brawn galore. Naught but heaven above them shining. Seem they now,' this merry day, Arabs by their wells reclining, Gipsies camping where they may. THE VILLA BY THE SEA. 15 But my dinner bell is ringing, And alone must I preside While these sunny groups are singing? Betty ! throw the window wide. Wafts of music may come hither From their voices mated well ; I may be with them together, They be with me where I dwell. Should they peeping in sigh after These the dainties on my board, I will envy them their laughter And the song they have encored. Proudly is my villa built on Site where sea-nymphs might resort : Tasty is this bit of Stilton, Full of gout this glass of port. 1 6 THE VILLA BY 7'HE SEA. But these strangers bivouacking, How they bolt their tea and buns, Naught of hvely relish lacking — Oh to hear their cranks and puns ! Were I but well through the summer, And where city lamps are bright, Dropping in to take a rummer Might be some old chum to-night. Say the Doctor bland and rosy O'er the glass he scorns to stint : Say the Major keen and prosy O'er the rhjrmes he burns to print : Rhymes which he repeats with unction. Martial staves wherein he deals Bloody blows without compunction, He the tenderest soul that feels. THE VILLA BY THE SEA. i-; Age is now the Major's master, V And his frailties grow apace, But the genial poetaster Wears his boyhood in his face Wears within his eye the gleaming Of the garland won at last, And he doubtless will keep dreaming Till his wondrous dream is past. Ah ! the many I remember Panting for the prize of fame. Flickering like the fitful ember That is never blown to flame ! Struggling for some grand alliance, Striving like the great of old, Straining up the heights of science, Stretch'd within the nameless mould ! B THE VILLA BY THE SEA. While I, Walter Mellis, loaded With the burden of the years, Still am ever onward goaded By the dreams that end in tears. Where's the paper? what is stirring? Naught is novel 'neath the sun — Earthquakes, storms, and wars occurring As they all of old have done. Nothing can be much absurder Than the news I dawdle o'er; Every tale of wrong or murder Has been told an age before. States whose pulse the war-drums quicken, But repeat, in savage breath, Deeds that only pall and sicken With their stale contempt of death. THE VILLA BY THE SEA. 19 Who may bear or brook description Of a land in crimson flood, As in that old plague Egyptian When the pools and streams were blood ? Soldier grim ! were all the water Of the world to run blood-red, Wouldst thou seek for further slaughter Or for crystal founts instead? Turn I with a soul pacific From the whirl of blood and rage, War and all its pomps terrific, To a more domestic page. Who is bom ? and who is married ? Who is dead ? name follows name — Living, marrying, dying, carried To the darkness whence they came. THE VILLA BY THE SEA. Jokes built up, a goodly column, Witty could I only laugh ! Jokes that might appear less solemn With a friend to share the chaff! Old jokes newly spiced and pickled, Where are the old laughs they gave? Ah ! that they whom first they tickled Should be now so ghastly grave ! Verses ! 'tis some bardhng jilted Mewing his melodious woe ! Songs as sweet were writ and lilted In the loves of long ago. Well I mind my own poor rhyming O'er a love too early lost. And must still the sickly chiming Chiefly tell of passion cross'd? THE VILLA BY THE SEA. Evermore is beauty cruel, Evermore is true love vain, Evermore is heap'd the fuel For the martyrs of disdain. Oft the war the tyrant wages Kindled is at woman's glance ; Oft from out the buried ages Bums the fire of love's romance. Oh the eyes so sorely blinded By a thought that wrings the brow ! Oh the hearts through life reminded Of a face that beams not now ! Oh my lame one vainly cherish'd ! Oh my loved one turn'd to clay ! Might I but with these have perish'd I had not been thus to-day ! THE VILLA BY THE SEA. Wearing out life's fitful taper, Weary with conflicting cares, Dreaming o'er this dreary paper With its medley of despairs. Death, alas ! from sheer starvation ! Rags and tears on every hand ! Talk we of our happy nation? Boast we of our Christian land ? Bargains offer'd at the hammer ! Acrobats of vast renown ! Gods ! what fierce competing clamour ! I will lay the record down. Tis as when at eve we enter Through the chaffering market-place : In the seething gas-lit centre What an ant-hill world we trace ! THE VILLA BY THE SEA. 23 But this life is all a juggle, Sad its martyrdom of soul : Fired with hope we onward struggle, Faint with fear we reach the goal : All our fervid aims forsaken. All our fires to ashes tum'd, All our earthly idols shaken, All our angel instincts spurn'd ! Hope, the chiefest pleasure yielding, In my villa I have felt : What a rapture in the building ! What a languor being built ! Out from city wars and worries, Girt with every rural charm. Grew the lively soul of Horace Sad within his Sabine farm? 24 THE VILLA BY THE SEA. Or was nature's late adorer, Wordsworth, doom'd the hours to count With a heart made daily sorer Through the ease of Rydal Mount ? Books, alas ! must they too tire me ? Heap on heap, an endless throng ! Oh for genius to inspire me With its own transcendent song ! Fresh from town the latest novel, Stuff some silly brain has wrought ! When will drones restrict their drivel To the limits of their thought? Dulness spins its dissertation Feeble as a fine drawn wire : Genius courts the concentration Of the diamond's eye of fire. THE VILLA BY THE SEA. Think of Milton's manly thunders, And let meaner songs succumb ! Think of Shakespeare's voice of wonders, And let babbling tongues be dumb ! Beauteous forms of famous Hellas ! Shapes grotesque by grove and stream ! Modern Minstrels ! deign to tell us If of such ye soothly dream. Are they gone, the gamesome Satyrs ? Are the startled Naiads fled? Must we weep by joyless waters, Fauns and Hamadryads dead ? Know we not where now the haunt is Of the wine-god young and fair, And of all the mad Bacchantes With the vine-leaves in their hair? 25 26 THE VILLA BY THE SEA. Perish'd quite is Pan the charmer, Lipping low his luscious reed, Pan the hoof'd and hom'd alarmer. Clanging thorough marsh and mead ? Lives there naught of mythic showing Underneath a magic sky, Or are only sad winds blowing 'Mong the dells of Arcady ? We are older, we are wiser. And must Aphrodite frown, Once the world's supreme enticer, Through the love that was her crown ? Seen no more are now the fairies, Mab and all her tricksy train, Where the moonlight's merry glare is, By the margent of the main ? THE VILLA BY THE SEA. What is sleep? a dreamless stupor, Emptied of the day's delight, If nor imp nor elfin trooper Puts a pulse into the night. Oh for any muse to make us List where Lydian lutes are strung ! — Any shell to catch the echoes Of the strains by seraphs sung ! Drifted into days prosaic, Science now so deftly sees, That alone in books archaic Live the fair mythologies. Yet while few the radiant fingers Harps of angels to entreat. Liquid notes of lowly singers May have uses true and sweet 27 28 THE VILLA BY THE SEA. If the heart of homely poet Beats the better for his strain, Were it well he should forego it For a more ignoble gain? One I know, gay, frank, and chatty, Wielder of an airy quill. Bright among the literati. But a mooning minstrel still. Wherefore loves he more his verses Than aught else his pen has writ? Haply for he there rehearses Feelings unprofaned by wit. He the critic's craft has chosen. He the cynic's bolt has hurl'd ; Racy stories by the dozen He has publish'd to the world. THE VILLA BY THE SEA. Policy of state or faction — AVho like him has given it life? Cry of onset or reaction — Who has so upstirr'd the strife ? And a rare success attends him In his unpoetic ways ; Fortune, ever gracious, sends him Guerdon more approved than praise. Still his prose he counts but lumber That has served its little day, While his many a tuneful number To his heart is joy alway : For in poems that he prizes He his better self has shown, Told his love in dear disguises, Feign'd the tears that are his own. 29 3° THE VILLA BY THE SEA. And to these, his heart's romances, Turns he from his gayer themes. In the languor of his fancies. In the sadness of his dreams. Then when pain has banish'd laughter, And the world seems nothing worth. Prophecies of fame hereafter In his secret heart have birth : And through toil and meditation. On unto the dawn of death, Spite of trial and prostration. To his kindling eye of faith — Ever is the glory coming To a rapture of Jiis rhymes, Happy as the honey'd humming Of a bee among the limes. THE VILLA BY THE SEA. Mock not him, nor yet the Major ! Where is any joy like his? Not on earth, I dare make wager, Blooms a brighter paradise. Where are any eyes so starry As the Major's in their glee ? Scarce his rich, thick voice can carry Half his soul of minstrelsy. Well, I too have had the vision Modest lips may ne'er avow, But 'twas in my years Elysian — What alas ! avails it now ? In Fame's Temple, where to dwell is Youth's delirious dream of pride, At the name of Walter Mellis Opes no golden portal wide? 31 32 THE VILLA BY THE SEA. Oh my boyhood orphan'd early ! Oh to hear the glad birds sing ! How my very tears grew pearly At the dewy gush of spring ! Surely that's a peerless sunset, Yet I saw it yesternight : On those viands what an onset ! When beheld I such delight? Look ho ! one has found a treasure 'Mong the shingly sea-weed toss'd ! Lo his bounding burst of pleasure ! Lo his riches won and lost ! What a mock is Eldorado ! Down the glittering glory dies, As beneath night's starry shadow Sinks the sunshine from the skies ! THE VILLA BY THE SEA. Undeterr'd by wedlock's trouble, See where sit a cooing pair, Deeming every joy made double By the oneness that they share ! Is the maiden fair and tender ? Yearns the youth to dry her tear? Owns she all her heart's surrender? Names he her his Annie dear ? What if they this moment lean them On a reed of fragile growth ! What if death should come between them With a ghastly pang for both ! Long subdued have been my pulses. Not for me the past returns; Passion now no more convulses, Hope no more delusive burns, c 33 34 THE VILLA BY THE SEA. Here my life with richest roses Blend I, yearning to be blest : Here where hope itself reposes Rest I querulous for rest. Yet — oh, not my tidy villa ! Let me taunt myself instead : Oft we blame the awkward pillow- Rather than the restless head. Scenes where once my childhood wander'd Show not now so fair as then : Joys of youth too lightly squander'd Come not to the heart again. With the old delights contrasted Of the days that once were mine, How the moments now are blasted, Childlike less and less divine ! THE VILLA BY THE SEA. Wherefore am I such a yawner? Were it wise to take a snooze ? Six o'clock ! upon my honour ! Betty, quick ! the tea infuse. Would the Doctor now were near me To come popping blandly in, Or the Major by to cheer me With his blithesome bays to win ! 'Mong the flowers a little strolling I will try, how sweet they are ! On this garden seat while lolling I will suck a slow cigar. Ah ! for my poor sickly brother This had been a blest retreat : Here, unenvying any other, He had found a rest complete. 35 36 THE VILLA BY THE SEA. Here he might have sat and ponder'd Over flower, and bird, and bee : Here he might have gazed and wonder'd At the mountains and the sea. Every passing sail or steamer Had been tranquil joy to him : Where is my unmurmuring dreamer? Wherefore is mine eyesight dim ? What if I had wedded Annie In the days of long ago ! Blessings might have crown'd me many Which I never more can know. She a matron faithful, stately. Might have hover'd near me now. Pausing 'mong the elms sedately With the sunset on her brow : THE VILLA BY THE SEA. 37 While perchance a daughter splendid Like herself might there have moved, By some happy swain attended, Lovely in the being loved. Shimmering cap or shy mantilla, Shining through the glittering hour. How she might have graced my villa. Showing like its perfect flower ! Once I thought our lives would mingle, Annie ! but 'twas not to be : Thou art dead and I am single, And the loss is most with me. And I think of when I knew thee In thy gay and girlish mood, ■ And of when I made to woo thee In thy trembling womanhood. 38 THE VILLA BY THE SEA. Sweet the fond unfearing whisper, Sweet the fervent clasp and kiss, Oft at eve, with only Hesper Witness of our utter bliss ! For she loved me, Walter Mellis, Loved me as a maiden may, Met me by the jasmine trellis. Too sincere to say me nay. Annie ! with thy tresses golden. Then didst thou an angel seem : Now beneath the grass enfolden. What thou wert; is but a dream. Love, oh why not love forever? Why should love that, strong of heart, Tempests could not bend or sever. Death so mercilessly part ? THE VILLA BY THE SEA. Still, sweet Annie ! though thy kisses Were a rapture on my lips, Soothing thoughts and sober blisses Have been mine since love's eclipse. Free from a vexatious nurture, Drifting oft to issues sad, Never have I known the torture That the royal Lear made mad. Never has a Rachel wailing Marr'd my villa's tranquil mood. Or a roused Medea railing Cross'd it with her cry of blood. Not a hand I love may tear me, Bleeding at the inner life : Not a tongue I taught may dare me In a wild unfilial strife. 39 4° THE VILLA BY THE SEA. Not i. deed my name disgracing May perplex or stain my line ; Not a wish for my displacing Basely bum in blood of mine. If no children round me gather, Not a night-cry wakes my fears ; If no prattler calls me father, Not a grave may claim my tears ; Save the grave of father, mother : Save the grave with flowers inlaid, Where my little, broken brother Found the peace for which he pray'd Save, indeed, the grave of Annie ! And so long a time has flown Since they laid her 'mong the many That my grief is skyward blown. THE VILLA BY THE SEA. Looking back, I only wonder At my helpless cry and start, When the earth they placed her under And its weight was on my heart. How could I forget her lying In her anguish glassy-eyed, When to know her pain of dying Fain would I myself have died ? Ah ! so fast I saw her sinking Like a bark beneath the wave ! Soon to my distracted thinking Would the grass be o'er her grave ! Peace for her and no emotion. While for me the earth would wear All the desert waste of ocean With the ship no longer there ! 41 42 THE VILLA BY THE SEA. Friends were near, but I was lonely, Thinking of the lonely dead — Thinking ever, thinking only Of the faint farewell she said. Was I of a wish forgetful That her lips or looks reveal'd? Was I ever stern or fretful, Stabbiijg^ where I should have heal'd? Lone within her grave-bed sleeping, Never more to wake or stir; When in any mood for weeping I had but to think of her. Thoughts of her I could not smother. And of all she said to prove How my always ailing brother Shared with me her dying love. THE VILLA BY THE SEA. Spoke she in a voice so laden With the love it so made known, That I swear no mortal maiden Ever spoke in such a tone. Oh the look meant to remind me Of the love that lived in Christ ! Oh the smile that seem'd to bind me To a spiritual tryst ! Oh the voice of music tender, Awful as an ebbing sea ! Oh the face of virgin splendour ! Would it ne'er float back to me ? Me, so lonely left beneath her ! — From her bright Elysian streams. From her worlds of winged ether. Float into my desperate dreams? 44 THE VILLA BY THE SEA. Fool no more, and too lymphatic Now to feel what then I felt! Nothing makes me now ecstatic, Nothing now my soul can melt. If I since have wrongly studied To pursue the rightful wayj If my eyes have oft been flooded For my footsteps fallen astray. Oh if I have sometimes yielded To temptations weak and vile. Where was she who should have shielded And restrain'd me with her smile ? Breathed one else on earth to guide me And subdue my rougher will, Bom to sit serene beside me And a nobler mood instil ? THE VILLA BY THE SEA. 45 With the sunshine of my being Stricken to a moonless night, Darkness only feeling, seeing, Whither could I turn for light? But the past is past forever, With the wilder joy it bore. With the struggling strong endeavour Barr'd and baffled evermore. Time this heart has long since harden'd To the fateful ills of life : Conflict fierce is past and pardon'd, More I cannot bear of strife. Soft as coat of the chinchilla Round me all my comforts press : Oh my kindly, cosy villa ! Through what chink should blow distress ? 46 THE VILLA BY THE SEA. If rebellious to life's crosses, Lo in every aged face Endless tales of loves and losses I Mine is but a common case. So, with this white smoke upcurhng, While I watch the day's decline. And I list the brooklet's purling, What should vex this life of mine ? Holies unrealised are holy After lapse of many years, And a tender melancholy Takes the silent place of tears. For when passions cease to madden And the pulses blandly beat, What remains the heart to sadden Save remembrance dim and sweet ? THE VILLA BY THE SEA. 47 Still these pallid puffs ascending Up into the upper air, Whither all my soul is tending, Vanishing I know not where ! When some poet's spell has bound me. Have I, walking, scann'd his book; While the objects lying round me Challenged many a sidelong look : Lest my careless steps should stumble, Lest I should forget my way, Lest while trudging blear and humble I should into quagmires stray. So when on life's pathway pacing, Wrapt in tasks intent and fond. Have I, wider circles tracing. Ever glanced at things beyond : 48 THE VILLA BY THE SEA, Now among the joyous soarers On the fearless wings of youth ! Now among the dull explorers Grasping worthless straws of truth ! Yet a butterfly zigzagging, Dallying 'mong the buds and flowers, Am I, vague, uncertain, lagging, Trustless of my truer powers. Rueful clouds are ever blending With our sunshines of the earth ; And the further we are wending. Life appears of lesser worth. Soon or late man always dieth, Spite of youth and spite of years ; Vanity, the Preacher crieth, All is vanity and tears ! THE VILLA BY THE SEA. 49 Oh the joys that I have tasted ! Oh the hopes that I have rear'd ! Oh the time that I have wasted ! Oh the term that I have near'd ! Walter Mellis ! Walter Mellis ! Breathing still a living breath ! Tell me where a deeper hell is Than the deadly dread of death ! Hence ! a truce to vapours dismal ! Shows my night no star-sweet ray? O'er my future, dark, abysmal, Breaks no gladdening glimpse of day? Surely man was made for action, Wherefore else his restless soul? Ease, so sweet in its attraction, Never seems the final goal. D 50 THE VILLA BY THE SEA. Witness lords of acres ample : They must up and join the chase, Rule the State, or madly trample On the grandeurs of their race. Why, then, barr'd from gross intrusions. All these moons have I been still, Heedless of the world's confusions, Doing naught of good or ill ? — Craven to all crown'd achievenient, Noting, as the years revolve, Naught but baffling and bereavement, Failure stifling high resolve? Heavens ! is this a course to covet — This a valiant life to lead ? Yet I long have tried to love it. As the . sum of human need. THE VILLA BY THE SEA. 51 Go ! let drones and dreamers prattle Of the green sequester'd shades, Far from cities' din and battle — How the painted picture fades ! Tiny insect ! tardy crawler O'er the bench on which I sit ! One more — infinitely smaller ! This a giant is to it. What is little, what is mighty. We but know when we compare : Weak my purpose is and flighty When I mark what heroes dare. When I spy not richlier gifted Victors on life's early tide, I, to age's white surf drifted, Idly pule and vainly chide : 52 THE VILLA BY THE SEA. Never once the harbour nearing Whither I was wholly bound — Only in the distance hearing Fame her sovereign trumpet sound. Brooding o'er a dead ideal, 'Mid my dearth of later days, Must I, grovelling 'neath the real, Mope in unromantic ways? 'Mong my wrecks of day-dreams perish'd Must I sink in aimless fret? Lives there naught of all I cherish'd For a song triumphal yet? Dotard ! driveller ! what is glory But the glamour of an hour? What the end of all life's story But the withering of a flower ? THE VILLA BY THE SEA. Yet if doom'd to perish sadly, Better flower of wholesome birth Than the plant whose juice is deadly, Or the weed that's nothing worth. Near me, full of promised blowing, Glints a rose beneath its thorn, Lessons of delight bestowing To the languid eye forlorn. O thou blushful bud of beauty ! To my higher gain conduce : Teach me all thy love and duty. Turn my days to wholesome use. In the sunshine showing gaily, Shedding in the shade a tear; Sweetest breath thou breathest daily. Wise within thy little sphere. 53 54 THE VILLA BY THE SEA. Fain but foolish moralising ! On the outer edge of thought Lies a darkness agonising, Into shapes of madness wrought. Who the unseen may discover? Who dare wring its secret out ? Must my soul forever hover In a seething sea of doubt ? All my upward-wing'd sensations Bounded by a steel-cold sky ! All my god-like aspirations Breaking to a helpless cry ! What a mock this puny reaching Where the stars like pulses beat ! Turn I to the dearer teaching Of the daisies at my feet. THE VILLA BY THE SEA. 55 These the planets move without me, Higher than my mind can move : Turn I to the things about me, Made for me to know and love. Slimy snail, of pulp elastic. With thy house, too, by the sea ! Are my stretchings like fantastic ? Art thou but a type of me? High and low, with interfusings, Mix in amities or feuds : Into all man's mighty musings How the meaner life intrudes ! Betty signals tea is ready, With a tinkle of the bell : Honest dame she is and steady, Doing all her duties well. 56 THE VILLA BY THE SEA. Lo the silver kettle shining — Everything to neatness charm'd ! Lo my gown of cosy lining, And my slippers duly warm'd ! Mindful ever Betty seeraeth Of my health and of mine ease, Yet I doubt if e'er she deemeth She has done enough to please. For, though free from fret or anger, 'Tis her way to steal apart, With a look of lofty languor, As if hardly well at heart. Maybe she has deeply sorrow'd In the days that long have been. And from trials past has borrow'd Something of her saintly mien. THE VILLA BY THE SEA. 57 Was she ever loved and loving, Fondled, flatter'd, clasp'd, and kiss'd, That she seems a shadow moving As with all her life-aim miss'd? Has she cool'd her love with sighing? Has she drown'd her grief with tears ? Are her fancies listless lying By. the graves of buried years? Dotes she on the gauds of fashion That her glass may once have shown ? Dwells she on the guileless passion That her girlhood may have known? Has she sinn'd and been forgiven That she wears so sweet a grace? Is't her perfect trust in heaven Puts such heaven into her face? 58 THE VILLA BY THE SEA. All ! so mute and yet so haunted By the early memories That with nothing wish'd or wanted Make a moisture in the eyes ! Gray her hair and meekly braided, Through the house unheard she goes, And her face serene and faded Like an antique picture shows. Seems as she had naught to live for Saving only to be good : Seems as she had ceased to strive for Passion of a stronger mood. With her Bible daily by her, She is safe whate'er betide : Vainly may misfortune try her, For her Lord is on her side. THE VILLA BY THE SEA. 59 Sometimes in the twilight lonely May be heard her timid psalm, When her work is done and only God is with her in the calm. Had she but the will to tease me With some insult or neglect, She perhaps might better please me At the price of less respect. Could she but, her place forgetting, Wax outrageous, bold, and strange, I might then have fume and fretting Only for a little change. What are skies of tranquil azure? What are sunbeams soft and warm? Give me for my higher pleasure Fitful crash of cloud and storm ! 6o THE VILLA BY THE SEA. Hail Charybdis ! welcome Scylla ! Saddest is a safe between : How to cheer my vapid villa ! — Oh for charmful Hippocrene ! Tea's a bore, but I'll be civil Spite of dulness in the cup : Betty, woman ! what the devil ! Canst thou keep the window up? Who commanded thee to shut it. In my face too? — This is brave, And full pompously I strut it, I a man, and she a slave ! Triiles ! would they thus disturb me Were not mine a trifling life? Were I more a man, to curb me Who would dare nor dread the strife? THE VILLA BY THE SEA. 6i Faugh ! than any water weaker ! Would'st thou but a moment think! Reach me wine, a roaring beaker, Fitted for the gods to drink ! Well, that patient look has chiding More for me than angry words : Pardon ! but no further hiding Of the hopping of the birds. Shut not out the gladsome carols Of the glowing eventide ; Shut not out the gay apparels Of the people in their pride. Let the air in, and the lustre Of the sun now almost down : Lazily the stragglers muster, Loth to bustle back to town. 62 THE VILLA BY THE SEA. Up the shore their shadows shooting Loiter on in lengthening lines : Now I list their loud saluting, Now I note their parting signs : Far — more far I hear their voices Shrinking off by slow degrees : Dumb at length are all earth's noises, Save the whiffling of the trees : Save of distant oars the throbbing Through: the twilight gray and chill: Save of weary waves the sobbing. As the night obscures the hill. Oh my snug inviting villa ! Oh. thou grandly-closing day! Oh that lingering white flotilla, Saddening into' shades of gray ! THE VILLA BY THE SEA. 63 Duller glooms the sky and darker, One by one the stars are lit; And the moon, how sweet to mark her Through her flying islands flit ! Strange that I should feel so yawny, 'Neath that moon that trembling came, Kiss'd the golden hair of Annie, And grew brighter at her name ! Listen'd to her silvery whispers When the day began to drowse, And the leaves, like infant lispers, Mix'd their murmurs with our vows. How I loved to very dotage Annie and her summer home ! How we kiss'd beside the cottage Where the starry jasmines clomb ! 64 THE VILLA BY THE SEA. Dreams we had of coming grandeur, In the greatly growing years, Ere the cloud that brought the thunder Broke to earth in storms of tears : When the world for us was tombless. Under always Eden skies. Ere the world for me was homeless, Having lost its Paradise. Then sufficed this happy planet, Not another heaven I sought; She, my star of many a sonnet. Such divine contentment wrought : She, my early-blighted blossom. Prized all beauteous things above, Clasp'd within this wayward bosom As its first pure pearl of love ! THE VILLA BY THE SEA. 65 Say, even now is mine the sprouting Of the grim sepulchral fir? Wherefore else this thinking, doubting, Dreaming of the past and her ? — Dreaming still of her who, living, Had such love to give away, Never weary of the giving For the life that struggling lay ? Ah my worn and wasted brother. Grateful though he could not speak ! How she kiss'd him like a mother^ — Kiss'd the death-bloom on his cheek I Kiss'd him when she thought him dying, With an anguish mutely borne, Soon to be herself low lying. Leaving him and me to mourn ! E 66 THE VILLA BY THE SEA. Leaving him with aspect solemn, Helpless to console or save, Standing like a broken column O'er a green untimely grave ! Shatter'd from that hour ot sorrow, Wreck'd with utter grief and tears. All the day and all the morrow Fiird with death's continual fears ! Soon to leave me doubly weeping, Weeping doubly quite alone. Bearing where they both lay sleeping One poor heart for burial-stone ! Yet, could prayer of mine restore her. Never should that prayer be said : I who once could well adore her. Only now can love her dead. THE VILLA BY THE SEA. 67 Woe it were to see her standing Staring at this wither'd face, All her startled tears commanding, Trying youth's old lines to trace. Out upon the necromancy That would mar her slumber deep ! Vision of my early fancy. Thine be God's unbroken sleep ! Sweet thy sleep ! thy struggle over ! Soothed the pangs we suffer'd then ! Not thy most adoring lover Would thy dying risk again ! No more fretting ! I'm contented : What's o'clock ? the darkness grows : Errors mourn'd and sins repented Make the burden of my woes. 68 THE VILLA BY THE SEA. O'er the hill in dreamy mazes Creep the shadows fold on fold : O'er the lawn the lessening daisies Nod with sleep or cower with cold. Oh for something still to sigh for, Something worth a yearning breath, Something still to live or die for ! Life each day is nearer death. Tender strophes transcendental Haunt me from the honey 'd years ; Mournful music instrumental, Song that has the joy of tears. Friends I count upon my fingers. Long since dead to life's despairs : In my heart their memory lingers 'Neath a load of later cares. THE VILLA BY THE SEA. 69 Drowsing I could drop to slumber, Spite of dreams of nameless dread : Stars ! how infinite your number ! Yet how cold the light you shed ! — Stars to very God ascending In majestic hierarchies, Drawing choral strains unending Up into the mounting skies ! Oh my little day of labour ! Oh my petty greed of pelf ! Oh that I could love my neighbour ! Oh that I could know myself! Lo where sink to sleep unheeding, Like the kine, the village folk ! Is there naught within them pleading 'Gainst that daily drudging yoke ? 70 THE VILLA BY THE SEA. Yet while pondering deep, dejected, On the mystic things of God, What have I of good effected More than the unthinking clod ? Well for me if pain distress'd me In the weak and helpless seen ! Well for me if poor men bless'd me Where my secret hand had been ! Where is now the fisher lonely All day anchor'd in my sight ? Darkling waves I witness only. Chafing into anger white. All my heart is fill'd with sorrow For that bark that, seaward bound, Sail'd into a vague to-morrow. O'er a wreck of sunset drown'd. THE VILLA BY THE SEA. Clouds go past or break in pity : Oh for brave companionship ! Back once more within the city Are the toilers from their trip. At their home-fires blithely seated I can picture them once moire, Merry 'mid the pranks repeated Of their pic-nic by the shore : Ready to renew by morning, With a joy from leisure won. Tasks too proud for petty scorning, Noble in the being done. Blest — oh blest whose hard employment Gives to holiday its zest ! For their one day's wild enjoyment I would give a year of rest. 71 72 THE VILLA BY THE SEA. Rest is mine, but recreation Comes not with the easy life : Grant me, heaven ! some great sensation. Be it pleasure, toil, or strife ! Had I but within my villa Half the friends I can recall, Jovial would I be to fill a Bumper to them one and all. Of what genial times and places Might we talk the livelong night, Friendship flashing from the faces That alas ! are faded quite ! Faces once with rapture glowing. Every glance of which I knew, One among them fairer showing. Soon to wear a whiter hue!- THE VILLA BY THE SEA. First, the face of my poor father Clotted with a spurt of blood I Then, of my death-stricken mother With her startled eyes in flood 1 Next, my dwarf'd and dwining cripple Brother, shrunk and frail of limb, With a head of golden ripple Glorious often over him ! One amid the sharp attrition Of the ice in Polar lands : One upon a bootless mission Sunk in Afrlc's burning sands. Some with eyes of sickly study Softly luU'd in Lethe's stream : Some with bosoms gash'd and bloody Where the hungry vultures scream. 73 74 THE VILLA BY THE SEA. One asleep beside the Ganges, One where Mississippi rolls, Some where only death estranges Under homely churchyard knolls. Gone like ghosts, uncared for lying, Lost to earth and all its ills, While I here am brooding, sighing, With a weight of thought that kills ! Time may never make revealment Of their secrets wrapt in clay, Never break the deep concealment Of their stillness of decay. Only in the cosmorama Of my lonely brooding heart, See I each through life's pale drama Playing out his piteous part. THE VILLA BY THE SEA. 75 Well, what need to sorrow o'er them? They are gone and wherefore fret? Had I haply died before them, Would their eyes have long been wet? Had I died, and lived my Annie, I^ived another love to breathe. Tears for me, alas ! would many Have bedimm'd her orange-wreath? Woman-grown she call'd me Walter, And the maiden roses flush'd, With a faith that could not falter Till the votive voice was hush'd. Would that voice of soft emotion All the old sweet words have said. Quivering with a new devotion, Heedless of my haunting shade? 76 THE VILLA BY THE SEA. Sad but vain our self-deceiving ! From oblivion who can save? Where would be surcease of grieving Did not grass o'ergrow each grave ? Tender grass that smooths all over, All the griefs we feel or fear — Man's last, certain, silent cover, Moisten'd by a fleeting tear ! Little lips are none to kiss me, Youth no more is mine to keep : Will there be a heart to miss me? Will there be an eye to weep? Must my aches be unattended. Save by sordid hireling hands? Must my bones be unbefriended, Save for what the grave demands? THE VILLA BY THE SEA. 77 Will no tender maid outstealing Seek my tomb some sleepless hour, And beneath the moon's revealing Hang the frail memorial flower? Flower that in its fragrant chalice May a casual teardrop show, While the name of Walter Mellis Marks the mouldering dust below? Misery ! and will my villa Trodden be by alien feet, Tended by some prim Priscilla, Or some Phoebe bhthe and sweet? Seized, possess'd, perhaps — who knoweth? — By some caitiff cold, austere ! What is it the future showeth? Me away and strangers here ! 78 THE VILLA BY THE SEA. Here where all my hopes were centred, Where my dream was crown'd at last, Other footsteps will have enter'd, But my shadow will have pass'd ! Wit may flow 'mid happy laughter, (Crackling fires and glasses stirr'd. But for me a mute hereafter. And a vanish'd voice unheard ! Not a lonely heart to languish ! Not a tongue to whisper where ! Not a sob of sudden anguish Breaking o'er an empty chair ! All the charms that I have vaunted Of my villa by the sea, Only flowers a moment planted On the edge of the to be ! THE VILLA BY THE SEA. 79 While the sun keeps rising, setting, Heedless of the gazer gone ! While the world, my name forgetting, Moves to vast oblivions on ! Then, of all my life's endeavour, Is the end no more than this — Shrinking from the far Forever, Fronted by the near abyss? From the chill my fancy weaning To the kettle hissing warm. Comes no soft persuasive meaning Of a finger on my arm? Comes no voice of sweet beseeching? Comes no hand with fondling ways? Comes no wile of wifely teaching To recall my vagrant gaze? 8o THE VILLA BY THE SEA. Voice less dead than living voices, How immortal seems the sound ! Not of all these years the noises Have its lightest whisper drown'd. Betty ! kindly close the shutters : Blotted out are all the ships, And the mad sea moans and mutters. Frothing at its myriad lips. Though may break a morrow brilliant. Like a great sky-flower in bloom, Boldest fears are little valiant In this awful hour of gloom. Shut the night out, and the wonders That the mind in vain explores, And the anguish of the thunders Breaking on eternal shores : THE VILLA BY THE SEA. 8i And the terror of the sweeping Of the clouds athwart the skies : Shut them out, the wail, the weeping, All the world's bewilder'd cries! Oh my soul! is no survival Thine of thy unsullied mood? Hand, once strong to crush a rival, Bear'st thou not some trace of blood? If I oft from love have started, Reckless of the blanching pain Of the bruised and broken-hearted, Have I 'scaped the brand of Cain? Have I ne'er, through bloated ledger. And the lust of Mammon wild. Struck to earth some sorry drudger. Struck to death his wife or child? F 82 THE VILLA BY THE SEA. Let not rashly-roused remorses Tease a tortured fancy now : Let not ghosts of buried corses Stamp a frenzy on the brow ! Why not, cower'd within my villa, Careless of the curse abroad, Case me like an armadillo In the strong content of God? May not wisdom lie in laughter? Half our ills are fancied all ! Time is past or comes hereafter : Life is but an interval. What is life? and what its issue? What is death? and why despond? What is that star-woven tissue? What the hope that bums beyond? THE VILLA BY THE SEA. 83 Dost thou, earth ! that moon resemble In the sorrow of thy face? Like those twinklers do I tremble At the infinite of space? Like that fitful vapour clouding All the high and pure serene, Is the fear my spirit shrouding, With but breaks of heaven between? Clouds upcoil'd in thick pavilions, Tell me what your gloom conceals ! Stars that count a million millions, Teach me what your light reveals ! Yield these filmy forms no token Of the love that I have known, More than spectres of the Brocken Born of shadows upward thrown? 84 THE VILLA BY THE SEA. Where, within that aiiy region, Flit the shapes our fathers knew ? Devils if their name be legion, Angels if their songs be true ! Gulphy gleams of Godlike pity ! Shimmerings of distant suns ! Lights of the Celestial City ! Footprints of the Shining Ones ! Is the past a proved romancer? False as fear are all its creeds? Flash not forth the stars an answer Meet for our immortal needs ? Father, mother ! who were fonder ? Whence the cruel doom you shared, Leaving me alone to wander, Burden'd with your frail one spared ? THE VILLA BY THE SEA. 85 O great God ! my good and duteous Little Gilbert crush'd with pain ! Oh my Annie bright and beauteous, In her virgin splendour slain ! How have I through life been sunder'd From the twain that gave me life ! How have I of all been plunder'd^- Father, mother, brother, wife ! Wife ? oh name once madly mutter'd, Only as a phantom prized, Now forevermore unutter'd — Never, ever realised ! Grave, vile grave ! why snatch my rarest, Leaving me with thee at feud? Death, stem death ! why stab my fairest, Drawing very tears of blood ? 86 THE VILLA BY THE SEA. Were there none for thy caressing, For thy murderous embrace, Whom to blot from earth were blessing To a frail afflicted race? Strange that thou should'st take my nearest From the home his patience blest ! Strange that thou should'st tear my dearest From the hearts that round her press'd ! What new loss must now befaU me? Break, black seal ! though break my heart Other grief may well appal me With a pang that will not part ! Died last night ! Ah me, my cronie ! Is the good old Major gone ? Are the starry eyes grown stony That with mirth and music shone? THE VILLA BY THE SEA. 87 Has he left his tuneful labour, And his purpose unfulfiU'd? Mute be every pipe and tabour, Now the minstrel's voice is still'd ! In the winter, in the summer, Where will be his merry laugh ? Who will paint his empty rummer? Who will pen his epitaph? Ended are his piques and quarrels, Mirth and moan for him are past; What though now the living laurels On his grave are idly cast? Had I tears, how sweet to shed them ! What a void through all the throng ! Thorns, if now I needs must tread them. Who will cheer me with his song? 88 THE VILLA BY THE SEA. Nothing has the world worth giving: All that's best is fugitive ! Life alas ! is't worth the living ? Ask tne not to die or live ! Day by day some death-cry harrows, Where the clinging hope has fled : How my living circle narrows Into phantoms of the dead ! Rung for all at last the knell is — Some with blessing, some with blame ! Which wilt be when Walter Mellis Sinks to nothing but a name? Yet despair, that fatal one word, I would shun like secret knife, And with visage burning sunward Grope into a clearer life. THE VILLA BY THE SEA. 89 Ann'd with telescopic seeing, We might ampler systems trace : Blest with souls of larger being, We might more the heavens embrace. Wherefore roars time's mighty river, Save to drown our human cares? Wherefore are the planets ever Silent save to list our prayers? In the depth of distance buried, Coursing through uncounted years, Have the bright-hair'd comets hurried To illume remoter spheres? Are they in their order'd places, Though so fitful to our sight. Wheeling 'mong the stellar spaces. Like flamingoes of the night ? 90 THE VILLA BY THE SEA. Bear they me in fancy thither, Whirl'd through constellations strange? Whither, O fleet Ariels, whither May your fiery pinions range? God of heaven ! is anguish shrieking Utterance fit thine ears to reach? Or the heart in secret breaking Dower'd with a diviner speech? Are we orphan'd of creation ? Must no more the soul rejoice In the heavens' supreme vibration, ' Vivid with a Father's voice? Dare we deem that grateful paeans In stupendous chorus rise From the worlds of all the aeons Up to cold unmeaning skies? THE VILLA BY THE SEA. 91 Is the soul a sky-bird captured, Struggling 'gainst its prison-bars, Till released it springs enraptured To a kinship with the stars? Nightly crown'd with heavenly nimbus Come the stars with tidings fraught, Like the birds that cheer'd Columbus Onward to the land he sought? Man than mortal man is greater: Hope, God's voice of prophecy, Tells it not how, soon or later. Breaks his deathless destiny? What but hell were hopeless languor? Better view the orbs o'erhead Bum with very eyes of anger Than despairing see them dead ! 92 THE VILLA BY THE SEA. All the figures traced in azure That astronomers beheld, Must they suffer blank erasure Like auroral lights dispell'd? Vans of faith aloft exulting ! Wherefore should you waver thus, In the mystic moonshine melting Like the wings of Icarus? Prostrate are our towers of Babel Rear'd the high serene to reach? Perish'd are our dreams unstable, With confusion of our speech? Is't no more to mortals given Jacob's wonder to behold Of a way 'twixt earth and heaven, Wing'd with splendours as of old? THE VILLA BY THE SEA. Where are they the unclasp'd angels, Heralds of the heavenly day? Can our boasted new evangels Brighter dreams of death display? Oh the thoughts that float like bubbles Up into the vasty night ! Hide me from their darker troubles ! Let me feel the nearer light ! Or, if spirits hover round me From the unreach'd realms of bliss, May not one I know astound me In the midnight with a kiss? May not my pale sainted mother Stretch white arms to clasp me round- Me, her sole remaining other. Earliest born and latest found? 93 94 THE VILLA BY THE SEA. May not one of saddest nature Half my mood of darkness chase, Straight of limb and tall of stature, With a glory in his face? Or, if one voice, one 'mid many, Wake me with a sudden thrill. Will it be the voice of Annie, Or the angel Israfil? Hush, oh hush ! a lonely measure I will drain and then to rest, Thinking of the vanish'd pleasure, Asking shall I e'er be blest? Sad my heart is turning townward : Oh for childhood's cheerful home ! Blast on blast is cleaving downward : Wave on wave is fierce with foam. THE VILLA BY THE SEA. Fire-flame in the far horizon, Unbeheld as soon as seen ! Lo the flash I fix my eyes on ! Lo the doubt if it has been ! Like to willow-wands the limpest Sway the elm-tree boughs on high, Touch'd to frenzy by the tempest Hurtling from the midnight sky. Gusts like strong-wing'd furies gather: Could the angry gods allow Passage for the name of Father Through the hell-wrath raging now? Ah poor Major ! not now, never, Shall we share the tranquil bowl : Silent are the lips forever That reveal'd the poet's soul. 95 96 THE VILLA BY THE SEA. High in air the waters mingle, Cataracts in conflict meet^ While — oh thanks ! — my well-stirr'd ingle Crackles to a blithesome heat ! Peace within, but whither scatter'd Have the ships distracted flown? Where 'mid cloud and billow shatter'd Is a nook of shelter known? Not a moon or mom awaketh At the shriek of shrinking decks ! Through the murderous blackness, breaketh Madness of o'erwhelming wrecks ! Was it such a night as this is Struck the godless Pharaoh pale, When upon his guilty blisses Crash'd the thunder and the hail? THE VILLA BY THE SEA. Forward how the storm-god urges These his white steeds of the sea ! Oh for Hira who still'd the surges On the waves of Galilee ! As a sea-bird at my casement Dash'd to death in middle flight, Seemeth now my soul's amazement Breaking 'gainst the heavenly light. Haply all might seem harmonious, Beauteous by a law divine. Heard I but one voice euphonious, Held I but one hand in mine ! Were she here my childhood's treasure. Were she mine my manhood's prize, Never storm might quench the azure In the Eden of her eyes. G 97 98 THE VILLA BY THE SEA. Night, oh ugly, black, and savage ! Give me strength to understand What denotes the roar and ravage Of the tempest on the land? Could I list her lips of gladness With the soul of music dower'd, How might all this midnight's madness By the sweetness be o'erpower'd ! Theme with theme thus interlacing, Lo the rhymes that I have made, Wildly one another chasing Like a fugue of music played ! Mart)T: to a fascination Shivering my scared window by ! Hideous turmoil of creation ! No true glimmer in the sky ! THE VILLA BY THE SEA. 99 As a whisper to the thund'rous Boom of that terrific sea, Is my spirit to the wondrous Measure of immensity. Awful Presence ! in the far light Throned the hurricane above ! Take the storm from off the starlight, And reveal the ample love ! Love that from the soundless sources Of the Everlasting Might, Rules the planets in their courses. Folds the darkness, bares the light : Hurls destruction, bids the blossom Burgeon at the zephyr's breath. Thrills with doom the shuddering bosom. Fires the hope that fights with death THE VILLA BY THE SEA. I am weary of the weeping, I am wilder'd with the pain : All the world to rest is creeping From the darkness and the rain. Why should I alone be warring With the night-fiends lash'd to life? Why a human discord jarring With the concert of the strife ? Bar the shutters, Betty ! stoutly 'Gainst the fury of the blast : Then, before my fire devoutly — Seeing Pictures of the past — Seeing well-remember'd faces Stricken to a marble calm — Musing on their vacant places, Fill'd with thought as with a psalm- THE VILLA BY THE SEA. I will whiflf a sad Manilla — Ere I seek my soothing star, In the sleep within my villa, In the dreams that nothing are — With a resolute composure, Born of signs, far off or near. That through Death's divine disclosure, All shall be at last made clear ! ©ther ^ocms. 105 WLnin a QLlonh. Not oft the guilty man has guilty art To escape the sequent penalty: yet they, Whose lives are of his life a living part, Through bond of kinship or a closer tie, Are chiefly marr'd or martyr'd for his sake : For the base deed, howe'er it brings dismay To the true doer, stabs with sorest ache Mother or wife who sits dementedly, Nursing a drained cheek and drowned eye. lo6 POEMS. Thus froward Frederick, scarce a brief month wed To one whose beauty and whose gentleness Carried with rosy grace a queenly head, Spurr'd with a purpose to endow his bride With fitting show of ornament and dress, And lift her to a sphere of bright saloons, Where every gaze she drew might wake a pride 'Mong dancers heedless of the waning moons. Took to bold ventures, perilous at best, Till, smit with growing loss on every side. Through panic of an Empire suddenly rent. He in an evil hour 'gainst truth transgress'd. And swiftly lapsing to those lower deeps Where lurk'd a vague alarm bf sharp arrest. Forsook his home, and all he could call his Save the remorse that sadly with him went, The curse and trouble of his broken sleeps, 'Mid visions of a vanish'd paradise, Leaving his wife half widow'd to lament. UNDER A CLOUD. 107 " How is't these orbs," she said, " are not yet dry Through their much weeping? will they ne'er give o'er? Idle to staunch their streams howe'er I try ! My only use of eyes is now to cry : And so are loosed the founts that evermore, Fresh bom of my so sleepless agony, Seem to relieve the heart that stUl ia sore. " heart of mine, if thou wouldst only deign To break at once ! Good friends have come and gone, Yet here I sit bewilder'd, pondering on Into the middle of the anxious night. With nothing to relieve the deadly pain That presses at my springs of past delight " How oft he moan'd and started in his sleep ! Even while he hid within his waking hours, Under a tranquil mask, the troubles deep, Which only now at last I know and weep. In lonely, silent, unavailing showers. io8 POEMS. " Poor Fred ! how sometimes, wooing at my side,' He sought to wean me from the land I love Out to a sunnier world, 'mong scenes more fair ! But friends were here to help should ill betide, Whose homes might be a refuge in despair; And oh ! I could not from the spot remove, Where shaping happy thoughts my girlhood strove To make delight a prophecy, and where Through golden hours I grew into his bride. "Now he has fled alone, compell'd to fly. Not from the poverty which is not shame. But from the crime that to his heart will cry, Starting the tears he never more may tame Who bears the burden of a guilty name. "Had he but boldly trusted me when first The tempter beckoning stood, my timely voice Might have restrain'd him from the ways accurst UNDER A CLOUD. 109 That lead where nevermore may love rejoice, If heaven had blest me with heroic breath To teach him in his frail despair that death Was nobler than dishonour in the choice. " Or had he perish'd while an innocent boy, It haply had been well for him and me : Maybe his early death had dimm'd the eyes Of her who by his cradle sat in joy, Shaping a future of Elysian years : Yet she at least had shared a memory Made sweet through tender kinship with the skies, And drawn celestial solace from the spheres That would have burn'd with glints of Paradise. " Or had he died a husband at my side. On the proud mom when. I became his bride, I might have tum'd a brave heart to the blow. And of his virtues talk'd in soothful mood : no POEMS. But now, alas ! I dare not call him good, Or only good to me : yet not even so : Has not his cruel ill wrought all my woe? " O Fred ! could I mrdo what has been done, I'd give this hand, the beauty of my faGe, Though that's not much, and less since this disgrace : These eyes I'd give that ne'er upon the sun May look as once they look'd — all I would give. And the most sorry lot well-pleased embrace, Could I but make thee innocent, and live As once we lived unshamed in any place. " But woe's the hour ! too late ! and Fred's away. Swift, meteor-like, the blackness following! Vaguely I stare with naught to which to cling, Uncertain what to do or What to Say — Whether to spurn and drive him from my heart. Adding to general scorn a keener sting. UNDER A CLOUD. u Or seek him where he may be wandering An outcast from the world and me apart, And blindly rushing turn the fatal dart, Or share the shame that never will take wing. "Had he but loved me less, or less reveal'd The love he bore ! nay, had he even reel'd A drunkard home, and with insensate tongue Struck where the inner pulses of my life Were tender as are cords too keenly strung ! But thus without a thought of personal strife, Or poignant memory to breed a hate. How to my doom can I regardless yield. Forget the clinging duty of the wife, The love to one ideal consecrate, And wrench with sense of rescue the close ties That bind me where the angels may despise, But where are fix'd my passion and my fate? 112 POEMS. "Here is the ring he gave, and here the lock Of his browii hair, and by this windovsr here, In languor of our too great happiness, We sat long hours unwistful of the clock. Ah ! never then arose a secret fear That time would bring such measure of distress; And sad to think, with so much power to bless, He should have stirr'd the never-ceasing tear ! " How is't, O heaven ! that one so true to me — So true at least in semblance of desire — To any could be false? What if to dire Pressure he yielded, not so much that he Might escape ruin, but that I might be A brief hour saved from its consuming fire ! Now in worse shape the worst has come at length. Bare of the fortitude that honour gives : He knew me in my weakness, not my strength. And made me wholly weak, like one who lives UNDER A CLOUD. 113 In thraldom of great fear, who panoplied With virtue only had all ills defied. " O terrible cloud in my great sky of blue ! How hast thou mock'd my once confiding gaze, And turn'd to dismal winter all my days ! Slowly the pale dawn peeps my window through, But never comes to me a ray of hope, A noon of rapture, a delicious eve, A night for love its sweeter dream to weave; Only in deepening gloom I idly grope. Forever idly grope and vainly grieve. " Tell me, ye Powers that know ! is the task vain A name once blighted to redeem and clear? Though gloat the vile upon a brother's pain, Forgetful of the sins that lie more near. From a frail life renew'd, its trespass dead. Surely of momentary guilt the stain H 114 POEMS. May be vvash'd out with some good angel's tear, Or with the bitter drops by true love shed. " Night and no sleep ! yet mercifuUest night, That shutt'st blind lids upon the scornful eyes. And still'st the mocking tongues of all the world ! Favour'd by thee I meet no savage slight, Nor aught can hear, save under lessening skies, Through thy near silences, a far keel's flight. With happy stranger waves around it curl'd. Bright playful wings amid their music whirl'd. And not a human breath to whisper spite. "Will he send letters telling where he is? And if he do, will I who own his name Have to reveal? Will I, his wife, still his, Be forced to set a torch upon his track. And see him dragg'd in bitter anguish back, Whence now he flies as if from flood or flame? UNDER A CLOUD. " If he has err'd, if he has err'd, O God ! Let not my sympathy excuse the guilt That sails with him beyond the ocean's rim, But only share the misery: the load Of guilt by sharing I could nothing ease : Still, if in pity of my woe Thou wilt To me show mercy, show it most to him : He needs it most : thus pray I on my knees. " Ah ! in his heart if terrible guilt there be, Perchance it may be dwarf'd and disappear, Or from his better self be bravely driven. When far from home he sheds the secret tear, Alone with God upon the lonely sea, Beneath the bare illimitable heaven. Ere yet he went, kisses that were despair He printed on my lips, or finding there Kisses that were my own, he madly tore IIS ii6 POEMS. And wrench'd them from me for a memory, Leaving my lips bereft and murmurous : Yet would I but have added to his store, And felt, through giving as a spendthrift thus, Made only richer for my poverty, And giving still have been enrich'd the more. " wild waves battling with his fleeing ship ! From his eyes backward strain'd, say are ye now Taking the tears of my poor fugitive? Or lash'd like foaming horses by the whip Of the resisting winds against the prow. Staggering from blow on blow, do your voices give, As of God's vengeance muttering in the gloom, Menace like thunder of approaching doom? Oh if you must in tempest lay him low, Be it enough that he has ceased to live, Hush for a season your remorseless boom. UNDER A CLOUD. 1 1? Cast your great silence over all his woe, And build the floating iceberg for his tomb ! "Such end perhaps were well, for then I could Wear garments like the colour of my fate, And silence savage jibes and storms of hate With the mute pathos of my widowhood. Even as it is, the world to harshness prone. And slowly moved to a forgiving mood, Seeing my tears and knowing of my moan. May thence infer lament for somethmg good, A broken life, o'ertried, misunderstood. And drop unflung the fierce uplifted stone. " Now break the heavens all sweet, for the pale star Of morn looks pity on my night of sighs. And maybe sheds its light o'er seas afar^ A heavenly comfort to my penitent — To him and me by the good Father sent, ii8 POEMS. Being twin children in our miseries. Ah Fred ! shall we e'er meet, or realise The dream that for the moment has been rent? If time may bring not peace, O Thou, All-Wise ! On earth if not, in pity to him lent, Take my grieved spirit pleading to thy skies ! "Fred, Fred ! my Fred ! art thou this hour awake Somewhere, and weeping for thy poor wife's sake? Alas ! so widow'd, it were simple boon A sweet asylum of the grave to make. From sorrow of my helpless honeymoon ; While thou, pale wanderer ! 'mid thy mad sea's foam, Musing on me and on our shatter'd home, Might nurse a thought to make the tempest tame. Good angels guard thee in thy piteous flight ! 'Tis not for me to listen to thy blame : So, while this heart of love is doom'd to live, Until with thee it springs to fairer light, UNDER A CLOUD. up Above all mortal term of tears and shame, Above all terrors dark and fugitive, Above the world, its murderous mocks and spites I would forgive thee as may God forgive ! " Day follow'd dawn, and lo ! another night Trail'd gradual languor o'er the sleepless hours Of that forsaken lady whose distress Sought the poor solace of renewed showers From eyes perplex'd and weak for weariness. Often she tried to ease her hapless plight, Through yearning recognition of the good That lay beneath the cold and cruel crust Of the great world in its regardless mood. This thought she then would inwardly rehearse, That God must be both merciful and just, For either attribute included both; And that this mighty planet, though a speck In the immeasurable universe, 120 POEMS. Was happy rightly used and understood, Nor fell for all its age to death or wreck, But ever cared for kept its punctual course. With the quick seasons diligent to deck Its isles and continents with perennial growth. So sigh'd, and wept, and hoped she evermore, Groping half blind for guidance heavenly. Yet with a heart deep sorrowing and sore, For him she- partly blamed but pitied most. Whom, as in prayerful love's forlorn despite. The crafty sirens of the fateful coast Had lured to a mysterious destiny: Still was she calm at times in some degree, As when, fear quell'd, her liquid orbs grew bright At shimmer of a moon that tinged her hair, And touch'd her wan face with unworldly light. That trustful moment in a trance of prayer, The wife bereaved through separation worse Than that of any huge dividing sea. UNDER A CLOUD. And more to be abhorr'd than death's divorce, Sat silent as a stonj Niobe, Yet breathing, breathing a diviner air, With her rapt looks illumined with a gleam, As answering to a spirit's felt caress, A newly waken'd hope, a lessening hate, The visible transport of a deathless dream, Most statuesque and pale, full passionate, Like Pity pleading for dear Charity, Ere kneeling breathlessly for God to bless. The poet Joe had a poet's heart, Though rugged might be his rhymes, And suddenly spite of himself would start The tears to his eyes at times; And the actor, who loved the poet Joe, Said — " Friend ! let us enter here. And, if you will sit for an hour or so, I'll stand you a glass of beer." Through good, through ill, with scarce a pause, Through misery and turmoil. They both had proved how hard it was Up fame's tough steep to toil : HOOTED AND HISSED. 123 They both had known some sore defeat, Yet still some triumph shared, And they were glad once more to meet To learn how each had fared. So down they sat, these cronies twain, In the hostelry dingy and snug, Old Joe to his glass of the amber stain, And his friend to his pipe and jug: Then the actor said — "It is death to fail, But Troubadour ! be you blithe. For though the critics your verse assail. They do not see you writhe." They never fail," quoth the poet Joe, " Wht> are pleased themselves to please ; " "But a hiss,'' cried the actor, "is like a blow To a heart that is ill at ease : 124 POEMS. I once was hiss'd and the pang remains Even now like a rankling sore, Nor the tardy cheers, nor the after-gains. Can efface it evermore." "Go on," said Joe, and the actor's eye Lit up like a glowing coal, As with stately phrase he said he'd try To unburden his full soul : " 'Twas a novel part I had to play. And I conn'd it many an hour, By the bed where my sick boy, Edmund, lay With his eyes in an eerie glower. In the stifling room I read with a strain, For the window was darken'd quite, Lest the eyes of my darling should feel the pain Of the least little glare of light; HOOTED AND HISSED. 125 And oft as I came to a comic bit, To be then so droll I tried, That a laugh o'er the languid face would flit And by turns we laugh'd and cried. But ah ! to me 'twas a time of woe : The wife of my soul was dead, The true mother of my cherub, Joe ! The sweetest that e'er was wed ; And my second wife, when my child fell sick, She would call him ' a whimpering brat ! ' Forgive me, heaven ! but touch'd to the quick, I threaten'd her where she sat. She yell'd and storm'd like any shrew. And the neighbours crowded in j And some cried out — ' What a shame of you ! ' And others cried — ' What a sin ! 126 POEMS. While my tiny sufferer screamed half-crazed. As close to his crib I stood, And his thin white hands were feebly raised To protect me if they could. You know I was never a man of strife, My weakness was still to yield. But even against a better wife I could not my child but shield : Thus the wrangling grew from day to day Till I scarce coiild learn my part, By the bed where my dying darling lay, And where lay my breaking heart. Ah Mabel ! she well had played the pagei And her limbs had a wicked grace: Besides, you know, I was twice her age, And youth has the swifter pace : HOOTED AND HISSED. 127 So she fled in her fiery shame and sin, With a fiend where the fiends rejoice, And a silence had fallen my house within Save for only one feeble voice. That voice I shall nevermore forget Should I live my hundredth year : How my brave boy hoped that health would yet With the sunshine re-appear ! How he tried to turn my wintry heart To the flowers and uplands green ! How he woo'd me, with his so childlike art, On his frail, frail strength to lean ! But Joe, man, good Joe ! nay, hear me still : 'Tis now many years alas ! Just pause until I my pipe re-fill, And they fetch you another glass. 128 POEMS. Ere I. tell, what I had nigh forgot, Of the night that I was hiss'd : Few words will serve : 'tis a simple plot : And some scenes may well be miss'd. It came, Joe ! the day, the eve, the hour. But my feelings I could not quell, And there broke from my eyes a bitter shower As I bade my boy farewell : He told me 'the piece would be a hit,' And gave me a cheery smile : Then added — ' I will not weary a bit, For you'll be but a little while.' Yet ere I went, with a nurse's care To raise his pillow I sought, And the cup of water upon the chair More near to his hand I brought : HOOTED AND HISSED. 129 ' I need,' he murmur'd, ' nothing more,' But he thank'd me for all I did, And his eyes such a look of patience wore That my own I tum'd and hid. One kiss — one more — how feeble he was ! But I pray'd him not to grieve, As I'd tell him anon of the loud applause That I would erelong receive ; And forth I stole with a tortured breast For the gaslight, the crowds, the cheers, Resolved for my boy to do my best, If that could be done for tears. Yet I paused at a voice ! was it his ? oh yes ! In the hush of his chamber dim, He was lightening the load of his loneliness By singing a little hymn, I 130 POEMS. Taught by his good mother long ago, His one dear angel and mine : My' God ! it was very touching, Joe ! But I dash'd from my eyes the brine. Still backward pull'd by a heart^strong tie I turn'd, and low listening heard From the lips of poor Edmund a faint good-bye — How the depths of my heart were stirr'd ! Again I listen'd, but all was hush'd, Except my own muttefd prayer, And out to the open air I rush'd, Like a madman who needed air. And in the street I caught the face Of the wretch who my wrong had wrought, And to strike him dead in the public place Was the frenzy with which I fought : HOOTED AND HISSED. 131 He crouch'd aside as if fain to shiin The eyes full well he knew, But every look, like a vengeance done. It stabb'd and stabb'd him through. There was a pause, a dreadful pause : What next I scarce could note : A rush : and then these nails like claws Had clutch'd the coward's throat: But the siren Mabel was bold and bad, And I shrank from a deed of blood ; So hurried on with a bosom sad, And eyes in a dreamy flood. I donn'd the dress of a mountebank, I dabbled my grief with paint. And I read till my eyes became a blank, For the print was confused and faint : 132 POEMS. And aye betwixt my eyes and the book Came features I could not chase — 'Twas now of the fiend with the bold bad look, And now of that thin pale face. But the stage was waiting, and on I went With a jest on my quivering lips, And I scarcely knew what the laughter meant In the depth of my eclipse, Until at length a hiss arose. For I could not speak my part : Oh ! I felt as if my throat would close, Through the bursting of my heart. Mute orchestra, and hissing pit. And gay boxes, tier on tier, And aloft where the gods in judgment sit. And footlights and chandelier, HOOTED AND HISSED. 133 In my stagger'd brain went whirling round, While each word my tongue could form Was but as a cry of the drowning drown'd In the roar of a mighty storm. Then a thought of dying struck me dumb, Though the prompter shouted loud: The words to my lips refused to come. And I look'd at the jeering crowd: They saw not the little piteous face, They knew not the torture here. They only mock'd at my meek grimace, And laugh'd at my helpless tear. Away, away, from the lights and the stare Of the gazers grade on grade ; Away from the spangles, and paint, and glare. Somehow my way I made; 134 FOE MS. With water offer'd me, and wine, Then home I was kindly ta'en : But your eyes, dear Joe ! have a liquid shine,'' And my story has given you pain." " Proceed," quoth Joe, and the actor strove To tell of each hiss and shriek : "They hiss'd me," he said, "for the holy love I could neither hide nor speak; But the hisses, Joe ! I thought might reach, And even into plaudits rise, Where silence might more avail than speech. Far up in the pitying skies ! Behind me was now the ruthless crowd, Behind me the tinsell'd stage, And gone was the wanton fierce and proud, And past were my shame and rage : HOOTED AND HISSED. 135 I only wept o'er the face so wan That an hour ago had smiled : I only sat like a palsied man, Alone with my stone-dead child!" " easeful death ! from earthly harms," Exclaimed the weeping bard, "God took your child into his arms His angel soul to guard. In pity, ere his eyes had swum With tears at your defeat : Ah ! well for him the end should come, While yet his dreams were sweet." The actor said — "It is all past now. The town I can draw at will; But sometimes a shadow comes o'er my brow, And my eyelids are fain to fill, 136 POEMS. As I think of the grief that choked my art, When I stood to be hooted and hiss'd, Ere I sobb'd my too, too tragic part In the wee cold ear I kiss'd." " Poor Motley ! " cried Joe, "I will hiss no more, As I've done in the bygone years, And the story you've told I will tell it o'er With a pen I will steep in tears: Only give me," he said, "but a little time, For I'm old and slow of wit : " But he vow'd he would put it all in rhyme, And this was the rhyme he writ. 137 Like a martyr with his flames around him burning, Like a castaway lone-shrieking to the sea, I am crying in my heart for thy returning, I am d)dng to return again to thee. If to love thee was to wrong thee 'twas an error That the magic of thy beauty in me wrought, And to thee I still am clinging in my terror, Though to shun thee and to shame thee I have sought. 138 POEMS. And I think of thee with wild unstable fancies, And thy features as a fiend's I try to trace, But the demon dies away among thy glances, And I only see the angel in thy face. Then lorever let me paint thee in thy splendour. In the day-dream of thy beauty let thee live, And the homage, cruel maiden ! I would render. Be the vengeance that would tell thee 1 forgive. For the lieart that can forgive when it is breaking, O thou pantheress of wondrous form and eye ! In the future, when thy memory is aching. May be worth the tardy tribute of a sigh. 139 ^he Jfanrg fall. It will cheer my spirits to go, they say, So I needs must go to the Fancy Ball; And they add I may choose what dress I may To make me the belle of the beauteous hall. The flower, the star, the beloved of all. If Roland were only here to plead ! No matter : my soft-eyed artist. Will, This hour has promised to prove at need A cousinly convoy, a guard from ill, A Cavalier ready to die or kill. 140 POEMS. But I'm not so full in the face of late, My colour has faded quite I know, And I own to my glass a look of hate, With only a one little touch of woe 'Neath the pride that defies a tear to flow. Of gaiety what have I now to diffuse? Of beauty, ah ! what have I now to boast ? 'Twere fitter I mope as a dull recluse. For the spirit I had is dead almost. And I look and move like a languid ghost. This is not well, nor will it be well That I be seen where the strings are loud : Yet must I thither, and, sooth to tell. Clothed as a beauty erect and proud, A ghost 'mong the jewell'd and joyous crowd. THE FANCY BALL. 141 And if like a Ghost I look and move, Should I not shroud me in sheet of white, And steal through the startled dance to prove If one proud cheek may blanch with affright, Or blush with the shame of a lost delight? For he will be there whom I thought I knew, But whom of late I have only known In the picture false that is painted true — The perjured Roland, and not alone, But with one to melt at his undertone. And will he bestow a glance on me ? And oh ! will he think of the golden hour. When under the bright laburnum tree He hearken'd in bliss to the falling shower. And I to his whisper of softer power? • 142 POEMS. Yes, he will be there with his lofty grace, As a Knight who at beauty's feet should kneel, But false as a mask will I brand his face. For your noble knight should be true and leal As his barb of fire or his blade of steel. They flatter, and say that so young and fair I should go as a May-Queen gay and glad, But the healthy blooms in my hand and hair Would be such a mock to my aspect sad That I would but look like Ophelia mad. Should I prank me as Summer, and paint its rose On my cheek to hide how my heart is wrung ? Or as Winter swathed in its swan's-down snows. As a freezing drift in his false face flung Till the blinding chill like a flame had stung? THE FANCY BALL. 143 Or should I show him a widow'd eye, A downcast look and a spirit quell'd, Or cower in a shape he might know me by, That of a slave by a tyrant held, A Nut-Brown Maid or a meek Griseld ? No, I'll be a Duchess tall with scorn, And wither his soul with an angry glance, Or the stare of a stately strangeness bom : Then icily touch his hand in the dance, Through the thrill of the gloves that meet by chance. And on my bosom, and in my hair, And on the bracelet that binds my wrist. The pearls he praised I will proudly wear, And note if he sigh for a rapture miss'd, At sight of the jewels his lips have kiss'd. 144 POEMS. II. The Ball is over and all is well : He walk'd among Kings and outshone them all, And wherever my eye might chance to dwell I caught the gleam of his white plume tall, And he was my Thane and I was his thrall. Did he avoid me ? perchance he did : At least he turn'd his regard away As through the maze of the dance I slid, But I mark'd his graceful and grand array. And plume like the curl of the white sea spray. And she was with him — the pert, the bold. The crafty Kate : how she aped the girl With her jeer and smirk ! but Sir Knight look'd cold. Till struck to a heat 'mid the magic whirl At sight of my shimmer of gem and pearl. THE FANCY BALL. "45 Then primly and proudly she toss'd her head, And with spirts of scorn I heard her speak : But I felt the flush that I knew was red, Go up in a flame to my neck and cheek To hide the pallor might prove me weak. And noted he me? The thought was bliss. And hope through my heart began to shoot, For surely I did not look amiss. As the crimson rose to my ringlet's root, And I blazed a Duchess from crown to foot I had my cousin as well as he, My Cavalier artist with dreamy eyes, A youth so comely and shy, while she — Well, well, I forbear ; yet ah ! time flies, And her show of youth was a queer surprise. K 146 POEMS. Sprightly she tripp'd in her pride of him Who tower'd at her side her stalwart slave. And aye as I paused a glove to trim, How I secretly mock'd the big, the brave, The carpet Knight with the clanking glave ! And saw I not on his cheek a shame At being so tangled in such a snare? How the conscious blood all went and came As he peer'd at his pert Vivandibre ! Oh mine was the joy of a vengeance rare ! Around me the motley dancers whirl'd, Purple in pomp or peerless in bloom, Yet only for one of all the world My eye went wandering through the room Till it caught the gleam of his princely plume. THE FANCY BALL. 147 At last— O heaven ! our fingers met — My Roland ! he made me a bashful bow : But the soft appeal can I e'er forget Of the uptum'd eye and the downcast brow, Or the thrill through the gloves that tingle now ? Then me he follow'd : I could not choose But mark how his tall plume floating white, Like the crest of a wave which the wind pursues, In the wake of a sail careering bright, Chased me through all the tumultuous night. Awhile I trembled from head to foot, And the talk of Willie I hardly heard : Idle, or earnest as urging his suit, I cared not to list to ever a word, While flutter'd my heart like a half-snared bird. I4« POEMS. Wavery and wild were the words I said : I could have sunk on a nerveless knee : Yet only I toss'd a queenly head, And laugh'd that Roland might list my glee, And look'd my brightest that he might see. But the crisis came 'mid the silken crush, And babble of queries of what to take : Dear Roland whisper'd, with pause and blush, The love that 'neath the laburnum brake From lips more sweet than the words they spake. III. Poor boy ! good cousin ! it must not be : Doubtless thou'rt far too much in love; But oh, dear child ! for the sake of me, The passion from thy young pulse remove Ere yet it a gnawing torture prove. THE FANCY BALL. 149 Midway in thy teens or little more, While I as thou knowest am out of mine : Fancy my features at — say threescore, Ere scarce a furrow has darken'd thine — Ah ! what if I then look less divine ! In tears? nay, keep them for other ill: Willie, poor laddie 1 I like thee well : But the melting heart, and the eyes that fill, May yet of a truer passion tell, When the time has come and thou feel'st its spell. We have parted in sorrow, Willie and I, And yet it was well we two should part, While each might the pitiful tear-drop dry, He in the glow of his matchless art, And I at the furnace within my heart. 150 POEMS. For comes my Roland once more to woo, A Knight to kneel at his Lady's feet : Oh ! surely a Duchess, with tender rue, May bend and bid him the tale repeat That 'neath the laburnum was strangely sweet. He .comes in his chivalry brave and just, Trampling a slander beneath his heel. Once more in the might of his manly trust. With a love in his heart as true and leal As his barb of fire or his blade of steel. And Kate ! ah -our pert Vivandifere ! Mourning the lapse of her cruel plot ! To speak to her more I will little care : So, just when I meet her — and wherefore not? — I will pass .in the pride of my rarer lot. THE FANCY BALL. 151 For I am his Duchess and he my Knight, And oft as we prate of the Fancy Ball, With its galliards gay and its damsels bright. He paints me the belle of the beauteous hall. The flower, the star, the beloved of all. I look in my glass and mark the hue Of the rose return to my faded face, For lo ! my Roland is here to woo, With his kindly glance, and his courtly grace, And kingly neck for mine arms to enlace. He is still my Knight, and his Duchess I, And as low he kneels at the thought of this, I raise him up till he towers so high That he needs must stoop to partake the bliss Of the pearls that warm at the lips that kiss. 152 POEMS. O life ! what a lustre on every side ! Even thou who would'st fain have changed its state, Forgive me and thee I'll cease to chide, For I feel the heart within me, Kate ! Too full of love to have room for hate. For daily my Knight his duty brings To the Duchess of that delicious hour, When bosoms beat to the twangling strings, 'And the new love woke with the old love's power — Oh ! ours is the prize of a priceless dower I And oft when the sun sinks low and red. And the dew steals down through the deepening gray, The love in our souls, like the light o'erhead. THE FANCY BALL. 153 Grows brighter and brighter as dies the day, Till midnight and sleep bid us both away. Then float my thoughts to the Fancy Ball, As the trembling stars on mine eyelids gleam, While ever as fades the beauteous hall. And the light breaks in of the morning's beam, I wake to the bliss that renews the dream. 154 Good gracious ! Thomas Jones ? the same I knew A boy at play, a stripling in the dance? Whither have fled thy cheek's immaculate hue, Thy step elastic, and thy fearless glance? No longer is there laughter in thy tones : And has it come to this, O Thomas Jones? Sit : thou art not the gymnast that thou wert : Even I methinks could beat thee at a run : At football thou would'st now be less expert Than when thy feats of boyish strength were done : Within thy grasp lay riches and renown, And now thy shaky hand craves half-£(.-crown ! DOWN IN THE WORLD. 155 Well, I will give it thee, but hear me first ! Art not ashamed of that sin-painted face ? Misguided wretch ! how stand'st thou self-accurst. Blood-shot and bloated, steep'd in foul disgrace. Despised, in rags, and prematurely old. With winter near and every friend grown cold ! Thou say'st thou hast no fire ! thou hast a fire. Burning and ever seeking to be fed, Within thee— nay, a hell with agonies dire For thee to every righteous feeling dead : Fie, Thomas Jones ! who might have scaled the height Where genius mounts with heaven's own stars for light. Tom, Tom, dost ever think of early days. When thy white brow was hung with chestnut curls— When thy calm eyes had a cerulean gaze — When thy soft cheek was tinted like a girl's? Fair wert thou ere thy downward course began : Alas, alas :! thou blotchy, blighted man ! 156 POEMS. What ! not a right to speak such words to thee ? I have a right — the right of all mankind To upbraid the wicked : thy iniquity Must needs all ties of fellowship unbind : But hopeless, Tom ! thy evil ways to stem, How much I pity thee while I condemn ! Doubtless thou wert, through a long course of years, And nights that never knew a wholesome end. King of some jovial crew, who, when keen tears Fell otherwhere, would each his rude voice blend With thine more eloquent, till time at last Brought fierce revenges for the misused past. O valiant orator ! oft pledged to die. With mouthing rapture of a martyr's grave ! Superb thy talk of heaven-born liberty. While thou thyself wert to thyself a slave ! O ever capable, presumptuous fool ! To rule the world, but not thyself to rule ! DOWN IN THE WORLD. 157 Where is the tongue that, once could warble song Till all thy comrades listen'd and admired? — That might have swayed at will the applauding throng Of shouldering theatres to rapture fired ? Old croaker ! scarcely hast thou hoarded breath To ask an alms to stand 'twixt thee and death. Thou canst sing yet ? thou'lt try ? well-taken phrase ! And voice, how like a memory it floats ! Pity the helpless master who essays To sound a broken instrument ! The notes Come not at call. Nay, spare the ravell'd strings : Not thou, 'tis but a ghost of thee that sings ! Dismal thy story, cruel Thomas Jones ! Thou had'st a mother who will no more weep, Unless may come moist sorrow from the thrones Of the enskyed saints — a wife whose sleep Thou never more wilt break with maniac oath, And children — tell me, do they love or loathe? 158 POEMS. Just so — they have deserted thee : ah Tom ! Besotted slave ! could it be otherwise ? How could they live with thee in such a home As thine became? Men make their miseries More than the gods do make them. But why tell Thee what thou know'st full bitterly- and well ? Were it not such a weakness to shed tears, Fool ! I could weep for thee, so much I feel The shame and anguish of thy wasted years : Enough ? well, well, enough : I am not steel ! The coin thou . beggest, freely I bestow: Take it, and make it — friend to thee or foe ! 159 Not to the nations a hero to be, But to the friends who are near thee and know thee, That is the fate that before thee I see, That the renown that the future should show thee. Well art thou fighting the fight of the brave, 'Mid trembling and trial, while round thee imploring The worth and the will that are giants to save Are the dear ones whose eyes are lit up with adoring. i6p POEMS. Oh ! men who have thews like the ribs of a ship, Oh ! men who have wills like the leaps of a lion, May list to their name growing loud on the lip 'Mid the clang of the fields that they triumph or die on. But for thee not a homage is heard from afar, Yet proud by the hearth is the praise of thy story, And large as the light of love's luminous star Is the light of the love that will lead thee to glory. i6i ■^he gratoiteli (Ehilb. " Open your gate, O gentleman ! here's a child snatch'd from the drowning ! " But he only cried, " No, take it to the Doctor in the town : " So with many a word of bitter blame, and many a look of frowning, They ran with it a mile or more, and laid their burden down. The Doctor inly mourn'd " too late," yet startled by the beauty Of the little cherub flaxen-hair'd, with lips of purple stain. 1 62 POEMS. He labour'd to bring back the life as much for love as duty, Till pausing with a sigh he said — "I fear it is in vain." Meanwhile among his flowery walks the gentleman went strolling, * And lightly call'd his little son to tell of that poor child : He would warn him not to go too near to where the stream was rolling, And " Cecil " call'd, but call'd, alas ! at length in accents wild. He search'd the house within, without : he search'd the garden thorough : He search'd his bosky play-haunts by the vague uncertain stream : THE DROWNED CHILD. 163 And every answering ripplet seem'd to sing a song of sorrow, As he "Cecil, Cecil, Cecil" call'd, and saw him but in dream. All night a stormy rain had blown, the leafy banks were flooded, And broken boughs went floating past with many a swirl and twist ; For these might little hands be stretch'd, too well he understood it, And choked while trying still to cry the name of him he miss'd. Of sliding feet a trace he mark'd — then, goaded by a terror. He flew towards the little town along the dripping track, 1 64 POEMS. Half tortured into madness by an aching sense of error, And a horror lying onward, with a dread of turning back. A mile or more he ran and ran until the town he enter'd. When around the Doctor's . dwelling he espied a doleful crowd : He fain had paused to gather strength, yet forward still he ventured, And o'er his little Cecil dead he fell and wept aloud. He kiss'd and kiss'd the clammy face in awful stillness lying, Kill'd by the cold and cruel brook the gallant boy had braved : THE DROWNED CHILD. I6S And what a torture in the thought that he had turn'd him dying, From the instant help and shelter that the darling might have saved! 1 66 No traits have I to trance thine eye, No splendours to allure; I only seek through life to try To hold my fealty pure : No slave am I to sue thee, No victor to subdue thee; I only sigh for thee to die, Or live to win and woo thee. No princely deed, no prancing steed. No doughty arms I boast; I only in thine eyes would read The promise prized the most : A LOVE LYRIC- 1(^1 No bard am I to inspire thee, No plumed knight to squire thee; I only plead my love to speed, And with its flame to fire thee. No name is mine, no fame divine. Yet prouder am I far, Than if upon my breast should shine A ribbon or a star, If only I may move thee, If only constant prove thee : For thee I pine, then call me thine. And let me live to love thee. No more I now will madly bow At glory's altar vain; I only bend beneath a brow That never wore a stain : 1 68 POEMS. No shadow makes me doubt thee, There's sunshine all about thee; And this I vow, fair angel thou ! Not heaven were heaven without thee. 169 SONNET I. Sweet stream ! whose infancy is 'mong the hills ! In joy of youth o'er many a crag thou leapest: Gladly thou drinkest of a hundred rills, Till growing strong thy seaward tryst thou keepest: 'Mid farms and orchards is thy pleasant way, Past wooded slopes, by pale and stately mansions: Old bridges span thee, and old ruins gray Are mirror'd in thy still and blue expansions : Lovely thou art, but natural loveliness May don a dress demure for deeds of duty : Drudge of the city! can I love thee less That thou art more for use and less for beauty? A prouder beauty, my own Clyde I is thine, That labour links thee with the mighty brine ! I70 POEMS. SONNET II. Peace from thy pastoral straths, delightful Clyde! By clash of hostile steel was scared of old : Clots of fierce blood have reek'd along thy tide : Thy ripples, now so innocently roU'd, Have bubbled with last breaths : the young and brave In thee have found swift doom : the torn of heart Have sprung to thee for mercy and a grave : Yet as thou always wert this hour thou art, Supremely passive like the silent years That hold their course though times and empires change : Cries of the drowning, crimson drops or tears. Thou overflowest leaving -nothing strange. Only the tender water tranquilly Making forever for the unreach'd sea! TO THE RIVER CLYDE. 171 SONNET III. Grim river ! where are now thy banks where grew The yellow broom? where now thy tawny islets? Thy little bays where lively fishers drew The silvery salmon, in the golden twilights? O happy scenes ! to happy boyhood dear ! How have you changed or fled with boyhood's fleetness ! No longer runs thy current rippling clear, Nor flows my life with half its wonted sweetness: But still my manlier life thy new life shares, Well pleased, Clyde ! to trace thy wondrous story, Enrich'd though freighted with a thousand cares. Though duU'd, illumined with the grander glory Of proudly scattering, from clime to clime. Great seeds of blessing to outgrow all time. 172 POEMS. SONNET IV. Upon thy banks, proud Clyde ! was nurst the dream, That moved the world as with an inspiration. That tamed for human good the tiger steam, And train'd its sinews to make strong the nation: Through giant forces seized and made thy slave. Hast thou not built thee fleets whose heart-blood burning With resolute fire has dared the adverse wave, Nor ask'd a wind to waft their sure returning? Fountain of infinite toil man's toil to ease ! Cradle supreme of mighty enterprises ! Even while thy breath of smoke pollutes the breeze, How like an incense up to heaven it rises ! Illustrious stream ! more famed than was erewhile The classic Tiber or the queenly Nile ! TO THE RIVER CLYDE. 173 SONNET V. Not for thyself thou workest but the world ; Nor distant shore nor clime thy fame confineth : Where commerce has her furthest flag unfurl'd Thy name, my native Clyde ! in splendour shineth : Moved by thy genius, with unwearying speed, A myriad magic wheels are whirling ever : Thine are the arts mankind to clothe and feed, First in the march of Time, majestic river ! Yet 'mid thy wharfs of ever-bustling toil. At garrulous pointmg of an old man's finger To where the grass-tufts graced the sandy soil And children play'd, my memory loves to linger, Till, with a far-back thought of perish'd daisies, I blend a sigh with thy maturer praises. 174 POEMS. SONNET VI. O mighty Clyde ! full-breasted like a sea ! Pure as at bubbling of thy grassy fountains ! Man may not subjugate what God makes free : Thy plighted ocean-waves, thy glens, thy mountains, Glow with the colours that our sea-king sires Pausing beheld amid their tameless forays : Unchanged the outline of thy rugged shires. Thy purple slopes, gray headlands, rocky corries. Sunshine and shattering storms: along thy marge The far-arm'd city sprinkles rare adornings, But Nature's features, unsubdued and large, Keep their old pomp as in the primal mornings When first with thee I dreamt delirious dreams. Thou peerless daughter of the clouds and streams ! TO THE RIVER CLYDE. SONNET VII. 175 Lo ! where thy ships career, or east or west, And bear from shore to shore exchange of treasure, What hearts are thine that will not be at rest ! What thrills of pain ! what days and dreams of pleasure ! What keen farewells ! what sudden eyes o'ercast ! What piteous tears let loose in secret places ! What heart-strung music of the straining mast To bring the wanderer back to love's embraces ! And still, dear Clyde ! are groups of white-limb'd youth With thy glad waves rejoicing in their gladness : But ah ! the feverous years, the fateful truth. The eye that penetrates the inner sadness ! Maybe I most have changed : yet through all changes Lives the strong love that only death estranges. 176 '§t\3sstxon. I saw her at her window sit, I saw her kiss a book and kneel, I saw across her features flit A prayer she did not speak but feel. Her form was of a simple grace. Her hair was of a golden twine, And oh ! the passion in her face ! To see it was to feel divine. Or right or wrong her creed might be. Enough, it fix'd her soul above : If beautiful the maid to me, How lovelier to the God of lovei 177 Clear before my sunny mansion, Lies the Frith whose mirror fills Half the landscape's veil'd expansion, Framed within a mist of hills. 'Twixt me and its rocky border Downward slopes a hajrfield rare, And obedient to my order Quite a gay quartette are there. First, my handy Jehu toiling With a scythe of lordly sweep, In the noonday splendour broiling, And an acre yet to reap. 178 POEMS. Then my dame, with sun-hat shielded, Dainty miss and blowsy lass. Rake and pitchfork deftly wielded. Sprinkling daylight through the grass. And I think 'twould tell a story Of a bright idyllic scene, Could I paint that liquid glory, And that lively group between : Could I but a canvas fashion To allure a loving eye With the rapture of a passion hx. the magic of its sky ! Cook and coachee, wife and daughter, Every movement, posture, glance. Makes a picture 'gainst the water. Through the happy art of chance. AMATEUR HAYMAKING. 179 Now a sea-bird wheels its whiteness Near them with famiHar ease : Now a yacht displays the brightness Of its sails to tempt the breeze. All the blue above is gleaming, Marl'd with clouds of airy fleece, As if heaven itself were dreaming O'er a beauteous world at peace : O'er a purple breadth of Highlands, Where the streams, from glens remote. Broaden to the drowsy islands That on sultry waters float ! And a sense of calm comes o'er me, As I sit and list the laugh Of the merry folk before me Making hay and making chaff. i8o POEMS. Oft they taunt me with the taking Of it easy, while I brood On the uses of hay-making For the tingling of the blood. Theirs the meed that crowns the merit, Working bravely as they can, Kindling in their breasts a spirit, Catching on their cheeks a tan. How that sonsie damsel pierces Each hay-heap as 'twere a heart, While her knitted forehead fierce is With the grandeur of her art ! Every joke my man endorses, Keeping still the end in view Of the feeding of the horses Cheaply all the season through. AMATEUR HAYMAKING. i8l For the meadow grass is mellow, With an odour fresh and sweet, And 'twill turn to deeper yellow Tedded in the July heat. Fain for ease, or fond for frolic, Pause they at each rattling jest, Tickled with their toils bucolic. Showing tired yet shunning rest. One has in a hay-rick tumbled, Youngest she of all the four : Only for a moment humbled, Soon to be alert once more. Girlish trills are now outringing, But with these my thoughts contrast, As I dream of other singing In a happy summer past. i82 POEMS. Ah the laugh that had been lightest On this day of work and fun ! Ah the face that had been brightest, Giving sunshine to the sun ! Sad to feel my step grown slower, Yet I own me sagely blithe. Through such rest as takes the mower As he stops to whet his scythe. Madcaps ! when your hearts are sinking With a weight that none may know, And an eerie inward thinking Spreads a tear o'er all below : When the deepening years have spoken Prophecies that strangely move, Of tjie links that must be broken 'Twixt you and the things you love : AMATEUR HAYMAKING. 183 Yea, when all your gladdest sunshine Age or failing eyesight mars, Till it melts into a moonshine Pale though touch'd with growing stars : Then, 'mid Hope's forlorn denials, Be it yours to bless the day When, for strength to bear life's trials. You made health in making hay. 1 84 Why should'st thou spurn thy sister's proffer'd kiss? And yet it may be mere shamefacedness, I being by: how else could'st thou despise What some would gladly prize? But Jack ! for she is taller for her years Than most tall girls, thou banterest her to tears, And call'st heir 'gawky,' with fiill many a name That sets her cheek in flame. Never a kindly word escapes thy lips To keep her young bright eyes from brief eclipse : Even when her playful arms are round thee flung, What scorn is on thy tongue ! HOUSEHOLD WORDS. 185 Now, merry trickster! thou dost greatly err, When thus thou triest to make a mock of her, Who ere a few short moons will wake a pride In thee thou scarce wilt hide. Gawky forsooth ! such is her beauty's dower, That at her motion she will yet have power To lay awe-struck adorers at her feet. With flatteries strange and sweet. What other damsel dost thou thus misery? One do I know, the terror of whose eye, Though less illumined with celestial gleam. Could hush thee into dream. Yet still, thou soul ot mischief! born to tease Thy guileless sister, half ashamed to please. Or call her 'Blanche dear,' save in mockery. Thyself thou dost belie. 1 86 POEMS. Should any dare to assail her, well I know Thy chivalrous rebuke would be a blow, Were he a giant that made fierce thy breath, And his revenge were death. Still mOre : despite thy rude and taunting speech, Should she be ta'en where love were frail to reach. Ah Jack ! thy heart would doubtless for her sake Like a big rain-cloud break. For, underlying all thy torturing jest. Is that deep well of goodness in thy breast. That makes thee everywhere a favourite For all thy jibing wit Then leave poor Blanche her gift of placid brow And tranquil pulse : let her be glad as thou : That happy thoughts of these her early days May be her joy always. HOUSEHOLD WORDS. 187 Let sweetest dreams of thee, in years to come, Blend with her memories of childhood's home- Its daisy-chains, its innocent delights, Its kisses and 'good nights.' Trial and sorrow will too soon appear. To stay the smile, nor spare the speaking tear: Then vex her not, but rather with thy play Make glad her life's young day. If age should lay its burden on thy head. And thou should'st mourn a wife or infant dead, Oh ! not in vain to her wilt thou repair In thy forlorn despair. Or should some hope o'erthrown thy spirit grieve. Some foe affront thee or some friend deceive. To whom wilt thou so turn to still thy fears, Or share thy blindest tears? 1 88 POEMS. This, too, believe : if ever fortune frown — Yea, even if sin or guilt should drag thee down, She still a sister's instinct will assert, And cling and cling to thee for what thou wert, Though all the world desert. 189 Jlftcr the Jfeaet. The sun arose with grateful shine, And all the day his radiance poUi-'d; At eve some friends came in to dine, And laughter circled round the board, As freely flow'd the wit and wine. And I forgot this grief of mine. The feast is o'er, the guests are gone, And I look out into the night : moon that for an hour hast shone ! If I could go where falls thy light, 1 would be near a pale grave-stone. That there I might be less alone ! 190 ^ke broken ^r^st. Come to me, love ! and ease the martyrdom Which now my spirit suffers for thy sake ! True to thy tryst I know thou yet wilt come, Else why, poor heart of mine ! forbear to break ? Here could I stay, and mark the mom awake, If I could only nurse, through all the hours, Dreams of thy gracious coming that would make The darkness lovely as the sleep of flowers. Come to me, maid ! and be my star of morn, More bright and dear than shines from saffron skies ! The heavens are cheerless and the fields forlorn, Yet vain for me would be the sun's great rise, THE BROKEN TRYST. 191 Flooding with flimsy gold the dew that lies On all the perfumed pathways of the wind, Without the light that lives within thine eyes, And not beholding which mine own are blind. Come to me, sweet, the night is lone and cold. The winds are still and not a leaf is stir'd : Darkness is here for blushes to be bold. Silence is here for whispers to be heard : Come to me, happy as a mated bird. With voice all feeling and with touch all speech ! Lowly I bend mine ear and catch no word, Idly I stretch mine arms and nothing reach. This night I had a purpose to fulfil : Methought to charm the angel in thy soul With honey-dew from famed Hymettus' hill : But thus abandon'd how can I outroU igz POEMS. Thy name in numbers such as Orpheus stole From the melodious gods by Delphic wells? With none to either listen or condole, Why voice the anguish that within me dwells ? Com'st thou not yet ? the night grows undivine : The air is fill'd with strange fantastic fears : The sickly glowworm has no heart to shine, The pitying moon can scarcely see for tears : Yet if my lady now on tiptoe nears To turn this moan to music exquisite, Still veil, ye heavens ! your joy till she appears, Then at her eyes let all your orbs be lit ! So shall she re-adom the universe. Through clothing with her beauty all the night ! So shall the vows that we once more rehearse Allure the stars to share our shy delight, THE BfiOKEN TRYST. 193 The while the unseen angels at the sight Fill their illumined haunts with songs of joy ! But oh, ye fiends ! ye phantoms that affright ! I picture visions that the Fates destroy. Is my love dead, or stray'd, or stolen away, That firom these eyes she hides her beauty rare ? How may my heart interpret this delay? Diana's self that came to glist her hair, Through her closed hood flings glances of despair : The echoes hold their breathing as they wait To take her lightest whisper to the air : O broken tryst ! O love more false than hate ! Come like the unveil'd moon, and vanquish death. With hopes immortal in compassion sent ! Not Cytherea with her pearly breath Could more imbue this soul with ravishment N 194 POEMS. Than thou, dear heart ! with heavenly graces blent, Shedding a silvery bliss on grove and stream : Shine forth, fair goddess ! ere the night be spent. And touch my spirit with Endymion's dream ! Have I not known of scorners whose frail vows Were fragile as the filmy gossamer? Deems not my love how all the drooping boughs Are heavy with the tears new fallen for her ? How start my pulses if a small bird stir, As mocking of the music of her foot ! O cruel sweet ! what fate may I infer ? Vainly I cry : the weeping world is mute. Faithless or dead ! were she long leagues apart, How could she choose, through sympathy of ear, But catch the beating of this frenzied heart. And on swift wings of love be hurrying near? THE BROKEN TRYST. 195 Are pledges hollow that she hies not here? Am I befool'd, or shamed, or made a show ? Should I with fires of rage burn dry each tear, Or shape excuses to console my woe ? Fain would I question of the moony beams If in their wanderings they my love have met : Is she asleep and clasps me in her dreams. Keeping her tryst in phantasy ? and yet Had I such happy slumber, with so set Before me all the rapture that I miss, How would I waking start, with eyelids wet, And cry for other than a phantom kiss ! What may I do to while the weary time? Translate my heart into an amorous phrase, Entwine her beauty with my constant rhyme. Invoke the unsleeping bird to sing her praise, 196 POEMS. 'Gainst her indifference cast a lover's craze, Confront her with the scorn of all my ills, Or keen to follow where her footstep strays, Bid Echo aid my quest through all the hills ? Ah ! if she now is wanton of my grief. Or lightly knows my waiting agonies, How will she prove an angel of relief When age and pain have waken'd wilder cries ? How will she soothe the anguish of my sighs In the despairing crisis of distress That comes to all at last, and only dies When Death, the healer, is at hand to bless? Could I but crush the memory of her voice, Or spurn at will the witchery of her smile, Then free once more I might once more rejoice. Nor own allegiance to her queenly wile : THE BROKEN TRYST. 197 Yet even when struggling most I all the while Cling to the matchless burden of her chains : Within these arms, or distant — mile on mile, Her slave am I who still my empress reigns. Were I a knight in martial trappings brave, And she a captive and in misery, How would I mount my steed and fly to save, Her hero slain or else her squire to be ! But ah ! 'tis I imprisoned am, while she Holds me in this drear dungeon of the dark : Nor horse nor lance I need to set me free, But only love's clear dawn to wake the lark. So, darling, come, and chase the sullen fear That drives ray wayward thoughts to fancies rude ! Float like a Naiad from the waters near, Trip like a Dryad from the distant wood ! 1 98 POEMS. Then will thy tarrying long be understood As making joy more joyful when we meet, But swiftly come, and with thy soothest mood Make all my clouded heaven serene and sweet The very owl has hush'd its tuneless note, The darkling bat has sought its obscure bed, And I am lonely in this lonely spot : Still doth remembrance of a rapture fled. Even like the last faint gleam of sunset shed, Keep lingering here unwishful to depart : Oh ! woe's the weird that mourns a splendour dead, A broken tryst — a bruised, a breaking heart ! 199 JV mUt's Anguish. He has grudged me what is needful for our living, He has taunted me with errors of my kin, He has spurn'd me when I sought to be forgiving. He has madden'd me by boasting of his sin. He has told me how he might have wedded higher. How I caught him in a snare that marr'd his life. Till I almost have been roused to call him 'liar,' Through despair that he had power to call me ' wife.' In the senselessness and frenzy of his passion. When to cross his word or will I did not dare. He has mock'd my Sabbath worship as a fashion, And has fretted at our little Charlie's prayer. 200 POEMS. Nay, dead as death to every sacred feeling, When I could not stand upright beneath my load, But sank for dear relief till I was kneeling, He has tried — oh shame ! — to tear me from my God. Can he blame if he has sometimes set me dreaming Of a lover whom in youth I left to pine. But who now is lord of one who has the gleaming Of a gladness in her eyes that once was mine? I see them pass with love-light in their faces. And I think the ways of fortune wondrous strange i; Of the pangs he suffer'd where are now the traces? From my own romance of madness what a change ! Oh I marvel if he reads aright my features : Has he mark'd where secret tears have ceased to flow? Does he deem I am the wretchedest of creatures? Does he sympathise or triumph in my woe? A WIFE'S ANGUISH. 201 'Too late' may be the words he has been saying. Light words which many a bitter woe express : What remorse may come from one brief day's delaying, From some little root of trifling what distress ! Is he now at his own fireside seated snugly? Does he look upon his young and winsome bride ? Does he talk of me as haggard grown and ugly? Is he happy that I am not by his side? Does he turn to her he loves with eyes that brighten ? Finds he thus from all his past a sweet relief? Does he fancy 'tis the years alone that whiten This hair of mine, unknowing of the grief? Let me clasp thee, bonnie Charlie ! nearer, nearer ! Thou hast heard thy father's bitter words to me: Having no one else to cling to, be thou dearer ! Oh my heart were very lonely but for thee ! 202 POEMS. Thou must love me so that should'st thou love another, When the growing years a man of thee shall make, Thou wilt think upon the anguish of thy mother. And be gentle and be noble for her sake. For Charlie ! if I thought thou couldst be cruel To the heart that should in thee place aU its trust, I could lay thee, O my darling ! O my jewel ! With thy little loves of ringlets in the dust. Yet no — no, no ! not that ! I could not bear it ! Forgive me, heaven ! the frenzy of the thought ! My one love left on earth, how could I spare it. Though by tender stooping angels upward caught ? But my twining fingers, child ! have set thee weeping. And strange to thee must seem the words I say: May the dear God hold thee ever in his keeping! And thy father — oh for him too I would pray ! 203 Pale Hesper, star of eventide, Shone clear in heaven above, When Phoebe warbled by my side A lay of hopeless love. The sickly bloom upon her cheek Foretold a weary time : Her heart's despair she tried to speak In sobs of ballad rhyme. It was a music sweet to hear. Though sad as e'er befell : My greeting fond, well meant to cheer, Was like a wild farewell. 204 POEMS. faltering voice ! O fervid vow ! O fair girl gone from me ! Why, Hesper ! shine so brightly now ? Does Phoebe live in thee? As thou return'st • my yearning gaze With calm consoling eye, Methinks my love of other days Is looking from the sky. Yet if to thy still realm, O star ! Her soul has wing'd its flight, 1 can but view thine orb afar. And sigh to share its light. So veil with clouds thy silver beam, For past is all my bliss — The dear voice dwindled to a dream. The mouth too dead to kiss. 205 ^ttg Jttan xrf ^imstlf. Only a fragment of clay Where my bones they may chance to lay ! Will nothing more be on the earth of me When my spirit has pass'd away? Some souls that I love will fret With the pangs of a useless regret, And I sorrow to wis that the lids I kiss Will awhile be weary and wet. But the weeping will not be long, For happy are laughter and song. And time as it flies will dry the eyes Alike of the old and the young. 2o6 POEMS. And the boys will grow up with the years, And the maidens be blithe 'mong their peers, And poets make moan sitting singing alone Their ballads of passion and tears. And the noons will be fierce in their heat. And the twilights be dewy and sweet, And the lamps of the night burn down with delight Where lovers in transport meet. And greetings will blend with farewells, And roses with asphodels, And steeples be stirr'd with the music Ijeard Of mourning or marriage bells. And wonders will burst on the ken. And thrill from the tongue and the pen. And the buzz of the crowd be low or loud With an endless trampling of men. ANY MAN OF HIMSELF. 207 And the trumpets will blow from afar To the startling of sunshine or star, And the hush of the Word or the flash of the Sword Be mighty for wisdom or war. It was so in the days long sped, In the years of the tears long shed, And so will it hap when in earth's cold lap They have laid my dreamless head. Oh ! then for the wind's no tone, And the thunder to me unknown, While the centuries pass as silent as grass, And the lichen is gray on the stone ! Deep rest for the relics beneath ! But the life that goes out with the breath — It will not be there ! then whither, oh where ? Being dead no answer has death. 208 'gone. O empty heart and aching ! What rapture should a kiss impart That dies in the partaking? With what a joy love thrills the heart ! How soon it leaves it breaking ! Divine are love's caresses, Yet, ah ! how cold and strange may prove The dainty lip that presses ! How often wears the flower of love A blight where most it blesses. §OnTt£tB. A maid there is who holds my heart in pawn : Though courtly-born, she dwells among the trees, Brightening the lordly forest like a breeze : Alert of wit, more sprightly than a fawn. As starlight tender, radiant like the dawn. Subtile to charm Orlando to his knees ! How doth she mock at love, yet coyly tease To adoration whom her wiles have drawn ! Her name I have noted carved with amorous skill On the quaint oaklings of the antique grove ; And it is Rosalind, the sweetest name That ever dropt from bard's mellifluous quill ! My paramour she'll be withouten blame. For I will love her as most like my love. 212 How are we prodigal for vulgar gain Of youth, health, strength ! — of ease which is the prize For which the spirit toils, and toiling dies — Of hopes of fame, regards of friends, the train Of virtues that 'twere glory to attain — Of all true wealth for meed of barren sighs ! Ah ! could we, through ambition false, unwise, Exchange the early ills we feel or feign, For sudden grandeur burden'd with the doom Of age and frailty, at their first fell ache, By pomp unheal' d, how gladly would we vary Back to our days of youthfulness and bloom, Resigning gold and kingdom for their sake. Like Peronella in the legend fairy ! 215 Lady! to say that thou art only human Is to admit that thou perchance may'st err: If faultless, thou would'st angel be, not woman ; And if thou should'st accept that character, By such acceptance thou a fault would'st show Of vanity that would straightway belie it : Therefore perfection thou may'st never know, And if thou did'st, detraction would decry it : But if in thee I witness some few blots Amid the marvel of thy many graces, In love's true eyes they are but beauty-spots. Or foils to make thy virtues shine the more. Like the quaint patches which our grandams wore, To lend new lustre to their lovesome faces. 214 In the ffitg. Within this stony labyrinth of change, What spot of old-world greenery durst appear? All things are alter'd that were homely here : In fields where once my steps were free to range, Lo ! tall-built tenements and faces strange ! Can sights like these a poet's vision cheer. Compared with flowers, the firstlings of the year, Clear brooklets, musical by thorpe or grange. Or uplands green with all sweet odours rife? Happy the bards who sing 'mong crowded ways, And soothe to joy a city's anxious life ! But happier they who invoke the rustic reed. And moved or melted link their love-tuned la}'s With deathless murmur of some native Tweed ! 315 (Dtt a Cfllii f cautg. Oh tax not thou my heart with heresy, If in her beauty I dare disbelieve ! What others see in her I too perceive — Blue eyes, complexion fair, a symmetry That might with that of any Hebe vie. I own her one for whom a bard might reave The garden of its white and red to weave Dainty comparisons to note her by. Yet her poor charms are but her outward show. Her beauty wiles me, yet unwon I am : The more I know her, less I care to know. 'Twas doubtless other fire that melted down Of Antony the armour and the crown, Or made the li^ht for which Leander swam. 2l6 '^Ike IttitiatiJjf. Though now, dear maid ! in formal phrase I sue thee, No stranger knight I kneel for leave to sue : Thy heart I won ere yet I sought to woo thee. For thou it was who wert the first to woo : What meant those eyes of pleading assignation. Unless to hint that we once more should meet? What meant that lingering touch of soft sensation. Unless to bid me clasp and kiss thee, sweet? Nay, do not fancy tjiat I mean reproving, If I recall what only rapture gave : Thine, charming lady! was the childlike loving That queen'd thee in my sight and made me slave : Yet ere debate has further difference bred, At the same moment let our loves be wed. 217 ^ie0 Ininnstns. Who talks of ill-luck days? Why, good and ill Are of all days. What impotence to feed The false and ignorant fear that lingers still, A superstition of Egyptian seed, About fix'd seasons, as if God had hung His curse upon the stars, and dimm'd the sky, With awful portents to the nations flung, And augurs uttering dismal prophecy ! It is the deed tliat makes or mars the time, The righteous deed that consecrates the day. The wicked act that points the certain way To the disasters of triumphant crime ! All days are good by goodly actions graced, AU days are bad by sin or guilt defaced. 2l8 fetrxrthaL With one delight we watch'd the day decline, Like a decaying fire in yonder west : Then didst thou, dearest ! give this bosom rest With the unfaltering pledge that made thee mine To all the worlds that listen'd. O divine Content of love ! how satisfied and blest Was I at those far-reaching words of thine ! An infinite beauty fill'd the universe : Hard by the leaves a tremulous joy confess'd, And the sweet stars, high up in heaven that dwell, Quiver'd in sympathy through all their spheres. That rapturous hour do I again rehearse, Till reassured that everything is well, : I scarce can stay the gush of happy tears. 219 Irt €xt«mi0. Distress'd he lay as in a troubled sleep, And leaning down his latest breath to share, I heard some mutter'd words that made me weep, Of pitiful petition. Did despair Of life fast fleeting prompt that utterance deep? Was it his helplessness that took to prayer? Had the thought struck him that his hour was come ? Were all things human darkening to his eyes ? Oh had he turn'd from earth and me to where Alone was refuge from his agonies? To my poor questions he was strangely dumb. But I could hear him giving God replies, As if in sight of heaven, and hurrying home, With praises breaking to the breaking skies ! Petrarch and Shakespeare in their sonnets fine Of love descanted with a loving heat : Love roll'd their verse in many a cadence sweet; Love breathed a beauty in each panting line. Was it a weakness in these souls divine That still they sang of love, and would repeat The dulcet strain as if their great hearts beat With but one echo of the tuneful Nine ? Love, in their hours of solitude and tears, Seem'd half their stay against the sullen strife And sad procession of the fateful years : Methinks they drew this comfort from above, That love is the divinest thing in life, That God has given us love to show his love. 221 £Lot j;oto— j:0t let. Not now, not now 1 I would not be consoled ! Oh leave me with my grief a little while: I can but contemplate that perish'd smile, That face so strongly calm, so strangely cold: In such dread presence, what need I behold More tlian thy mute unwhisper'd sympSthies ? Spare other speech ; thy voice is in thine eyes, And what these mean too sadly they unfold ! Silence is best : let sorrow have its will : A time may come when words will cease to fret, When thinking dimly of that darling dust, I from thy tones of soothing may distil Some true nepenthe of celestial trust. But oh this dead one ! not awhile, not yet ! A woman by affliction tried and proved, Her dark hair touch'd with gray of early grief, Sought me complaining, pleading for relief. She had been married to a man unloved, Now through his own misdeeds by death removed, And she had children, of all pangs the chief When want assails. Her words were low and brief, And me to gently aid it well behoved, For I had known her 'mong her girlish peers Ere time had starr'd her eyes with wrinkles grave. Yet still has charity when most divine Some selfish root; for in the far, sad years, Methought, O God ! perchance some child of mine Might need such kindly help as now I gave. 223 mhom the ®ol)0 gob«. Too early taken, thou art haven'd now Where all is hush'd about thee, with no pain ! Above thy bed the sunshine and the rain Fall softly as the shifting clouds allow: Yet hast thou other resting-place, for thou Embalm'd in tears within this heart hast lain, In reliquary peace remote from stain. Since thrice the Mayflower sadden'd on the bough. O much beloved ! O long and sternly tried ! When closed thy sorrow in that sleep divine, A portion of my being with thee died, For thy young life had grown a part of mine; And now that with the angels thou'rt allied, My sleep forsakes me and I envy thine. 224 ®tt a ^ook of £inixon-&l ,§01x9. All passions born of all the bygone years Are crystallised in song. Each varying scene Renews in rhyme its charm. The cheerful green Of perish'd summers with its dew appears Glistening and fresh, while the soothed spirit hears An antique minstrelsy of brook and bird. O buried bards ! full oft your strains are heard, While griefs long dead grow moist with later tears. The past is mournful as a moaning ocean, But here its pathos lives to be beloved. Well pleased I listen, and with rapt devotion Sway to the strains whose beauty time has proved. A nation's moments of supreme emotion Are in this book : what wonder I am moved ? 225 Jf alien. He fell, and all the blazon of his fame Blurr'd in a moment. The variable crowd To hisses turn'd their acclamations loud. How better never to have won a name If the sole end is more conspicuous shame ! How better born beneath the obscure cloud, With no estate to pamper or make proud, And only simple worth to shield from blame! Ah wretched he who, having once been great, Outlives his greatness I All the world is grieved And touch'd to a reluctant sympathy. O heaven ! how much more enviable a fate. Like Wolfe or Nelson gloriously to die In the hour of laurell'd victory achieved ! p 226 ^ Jfather'g (S-onetnt Take her : she is full worthy of thy love, And less than thy whole love would do het wrong. All I have made her will to thee belong, ' And to thee only should'st thou faithful prove. I watch'd her childhood, saw her girlhood move Up to consummate womanhood, and strong In graces fitted for a poet's song, And virtue that for higher virtue strove. Ere yet I knew thee she was all my care, And of that care the dear result thou haist. I fashion'd her indeed a jewel rare, And lo ! for thee alone she shines at last. The treasure take: then, happy bridegroom! dare Prove thoii unlike her, or with her contrast ! 227 ®n the Saton. Here sit I on this smooth-cut lawn alone ; My cottage panes are sparkling in the sun, Mid rain-wet roses up the walls that run ; Daisies and buttercups are round me strewn": Tall shrubs, with lilac blooms how fully blown, Sun-fed laburnums, golden hollies bright. And sombre yews, spring-tipp'd with fresh green light, Take the pleased eye: these trees in masses grown, Or singly with a careless grace of art, Make shady quires for many a happy bird: The blue vault dreams, nor cloud nor leaf is stirr'd. What rest is here, from toilsome life apart, As from yon smoky town the clang is heard Of hammers beating like the great world's heart ! 228 With thee to treasure I can feel no dulness, So be thou ever near me where I move: In thee my daily life has perfect fulness, And I am happy in thy constant love. Oh if in midst of this contentful pleasance I nurse a fear, 'tis of a sable hearse. And all things suddenly emptied of thy presence — These arms, these eyes, the tear-drown'd universe! Then, dearest ! in thy noble heart forgive me. If, in a faltering hour, I shape a prayer That thou most precious may at last outlive me, Nor I be fated to a great despair! My loss to thee the weeping years might smooth, But thine to me what time or tears could soothe ? 229 When pain'd and fretted with the strifes of men, And with the ills the ageing winters bring, I sometimes wish that I could be again What once I was when life was in its spring — That I could blot my term of manhood out, My vaulting boyhood and my veering youth — O'erbridge the gleams of hope, the glooms of doubt, The thoughts confused that daze the eyes of truth — Empty a hundred graves where grow the flowers That wear the dew of sad or bitter hours, And, turning back of time the sharp-tooth'd wheel, Renew the rapture of the innocent years. When it was bliss the very grief to feel That 'gainst a mother's breast could dry sweet tears. 23°- Old letters ! shall I burn them, or still keep? The inky characters, writ fine or bold, Are dim as epitaphs on gravestones old. Yet, as 'I con their meaning, I could weep Such serious tears as consecrate the sleep Of friends remembered in the churchyard mould. O fervid loves and scorns forever cold ! Joys that were few, and sorrows a full heap ! O words of patience from a sickly brain, Holding out cheery hopes though nothing eased ! O pleadings for small help, that make me pleased To think I may have met them with goodwill ! And O these weary sobs of utter pain — Cries of an anguish'd heart long hushed and still ! 231 'Bdtuiion. Greatness is ever mark'd of envious eyes. Hence it accnieth that achieved success Leaves unattain'd the phantom happiness Which still the nearer hail'd the further hies. Unto the very gateways of the skies Malignant tongues like sleuth-hounds wildly press, And hang detraction like a fierce distress On the grieved spirit that in grandeur flies. Yet the ill-judging world at last is true, And clears from cruel taint the slander'd name, Though not until it stands reveal'd to view. Carved on the stone invulnerable to blame, As if alone in dying lay the clue To the completed splendour of all fame. 232 Iff ike §onth WLini. Bland giver of all warmth ! that tenderly Whisperest of love, and hope, and happy things ! No more delay the healing of thy wings, With store of balmy smells that sweetest be. Welcome to many, precious most to me ! Not that the chilliest breeze discomfort brings To me, save only where this bosom clings, And meets sore breaths and broken sighs for thee ! But while endued with personal strength to throw Defiance to cold skies, I own me weak, And would to woo thee such true boon forego. Give lenient ear, then, to what now I seek : O dear south-wind ! put every flower in blow, And blow the roses Xo my darling's cheek ! 233 A heavenly halo gilds the happy past, And the glad future glows with hopefulness : A spell is in the air to soothe and bless : A sweetness fills the starry spaces vast, Waking no thought save love that still will last Through kisses ever new and numberless : Turn where I may, I witness no distress, Nor any shadow of a sky o'ercast : No living face reveals a look of care : Sighs but of joy are in the zephyr's breath : The bliss is endless of the hone/d month : Aching and tears are none, nor fell despair: The grave lies hid in flowers of amaranth. And love is victor over pain and death. 234 §h£, ioo, (§om ! When other days of trouble brought great tears, And hope sat crazed amid her weeping hair, Hers were the helpful presence and the air Of patient trust that still'd rebellious fears. Now that she, too, has gone from out the years, My very strength seems lost her loss to bear. Never before could she be otherwhere, With me unhappy. Death itself appears My death in hers. How strange that tears should drop From eyes of mine, and she no longer by ! What, can I do to live? In impotent grief I think upon the words 6f love and hope She would have said, but miss the old relief. My tears are dreams of her, and will not dry. 235 Jl (Summir gag. Be happy with me on this happy day ! The blue sky sees no trouble in the stream. Sleeps the far landscape lull'd in lazy dream. Athwart the shining pool the small gnats play. 'Tis high midsummer. From a leafy spray Some notes of love are trill'd. In clover fields The languorous kine take all the season yields Of sultry bliss. Would it were so alway, With only sweet relief of star-crown'd night, For night is needed to make noon more fair! Now scarce a shade gives shelter anywhere, Save where to cool alcoves the trees invite. While swallows like wing'd minnows of the air Swim in the sunshine with a swift delight. 236 ^fotlaitb let. When rude unfriendly rains are driving fast, And every face is wet with misery, When like the few last leaves upon the tree The rags of want hang shivering in the blast, I think how happy they whose lot is cast 'Mong the green olives by that Midland Sea Whither by north winds blown frail pilgrims flee To breathe a sunshine that will always last. Dear drowsy life! but still a landscape dead, Though steep'd in colours of the violet. Not shores Italian, nor the snowy head Of cold gray Alp in azure stillness set, Can match the shadowy grandeurs wildly shed Round the old glens and bens of Scotland yet! %o i;toff ^itmotits. 238 With stealthy step and playful pleading look, And winsome voice that might not be denied, Thee, my sick Florence ! found I at my side, In the still twilight of my studious nook. Toying to peep into my scribbled book, And scan the metres I was prompt to hide. Thy filial wish to check, yet not to chide. Took diverse strategy. I could not brook Before even thee my first crude strains to set. Or to o'er-cloud with dewy thoughts of eld Thy soft dark eyes and make my own eyes wet. Alas ! the Love that fear'd proved vain to save, And so these rhymes, from thee awhile withheld, I lay lamenting on thy maiden grave. 239 And yet, not yet ! The tributary lay, Meant for the sweetest tomb that ever drew From eyes parental the perennial dew, Must bear a double grief. My joy alway, The doting mother of that darling clay Which held the secret of our mutual tears. Has, with our dear delight of other years, Pass'd from the darkness to the cloudless day! Where fell her long moist gaze her ashes rest, The flowers she order'd for her Flory's bed Now deck her own as well ; and there are shed Such tears as only burst from widow'd eyes. As thus I dedicate, O still caress'd ! These leaves to two beloved memories. WORKS PUBLISHED BY i MR. MACLEHOSE, publisher to the Enibcrsitp of ^lasgolu. SAINT VINCENT STREET, GLASGOW. Published by JAMES MACLEHOSE,: GLASGOW, ^BtUsliJt to JIu anibewitB. LONDON : MACMILLAN AND CO. ' liondon, . ■ ■ Hamilton, Adams ic ( Cambridge, . • ■ MaemiUan & Go. Edinburgh, Douglas A Foulis. Mublin, W. B. Smith & Son. • MDCCCLXXXl. PUBLISHER TO THE UNIVERSITY OF GLASGOW. MR. MACLEHOSES Catalogue of Books. ARGYLL, Duke of^WHAT THE Turks are ; and how we HAVE BEEN HELPING THEM. Speech delivered in the City Hall, Glasgow, September 19, 1876. By His Grace the Duke of Argyll, K.T. With a Preface. Second Edition. 8vo. IS. ARGYLL, Duke of— Speech on the conduct of the Foreign Office during the Insurrection in Crete IN 1867. 8vo. 6d. ANDERSON — Clinical Lectures on the Curability OF Attacks of Tubercular Peritonitis and Acute Phthisis (Galloping Consumption). By T. M'Call Anderson, M.D., Professor of Clinical Medicine in the University of Glasgow. Crown 8vo, Illustrated with Wood Engravings. 2S. 6d. ANDREWS— The Psychology of Scepticism and Pheno- menalism. By James Andrews. Crown 8vo. 2s. 6d. BANNATYNE— Guide to the Regimental Examination FOR Promotion of Officers in the Infantry. Part I. — Containing what is required by Her Majesty's Regula- tions to qualify for promotion to the Rank of LIEU- TENANT. By Lieutenant Colonel Bannatvne.. Sixteenth Edition, carefully revised. 1 880. Small 8vo. 7s. BOOKS PUBLISHED BY BANNATYNE — Guide to the Regimental Examination FOR Promotion of Officers in the Infantry. Part II. Containing what is required by Her Majesty's Regulations, in addition to the subjects comprised in Part I., to qualify for Promotion to the Rank of CAPTAIN. Thirteenth Edition, carefully revised. 1880. Small 8vo. 7s. [In preparation. ' BANNATYNE — Instructions for the Payment of Troops and Companies in the Cavalry and Infan- try, founded on the Queen's and War Office Regulations. Small 8vo. New and greatly enlarged Edition. 6s. BANNATYNE — Brigade Drill, in the form of Question and Answer, founded on the Field Exercise and Evolutions of Infantry. Small 8vo. is. BATHGATE— Colonial Experiences ; Or Sketches of People and Places in the Province of Otago, New Zealand. By A. Bathgate, Dunedin. CrownSvo. 7s. 6d. "Anybody who may be desirous of getting an idea of the real state of matters in New Zealand, cannot do better than read Mr. Bathgate's pleasant, chatty, unpretending colonial experiences." — Leeds Mercury. BLACKBURN— The Pipits. By the Author of "Caw, Caw,'' with Sixteen page Illustrations by J. B. (Mrs.' Hugh Blackburn). 4to. 3s. -"This is a charming fable in verse, illustrated by the well-known J. B., whose power in delineating animals, especially birds, is scarcely inferior to I^andseer or Rosa Bonheiir." — Co-nrant. BORLAND HALL, by the Author of " Olrig Grange." See Smith. MR. MACLEHOSE, GLASGOW. 5 BROWN — The Life of a Scottish Probationer. Being the Memoir of Thomas Davidson, with his Poems and Letters. By the Rev. James Brown, D.D., Minister of St. James' Church, Paisley. Second Edition. With Por- trait. Crown 8vo. 7s. 6d. ' ' A charming little biography. His was one of those rare natures which fascinates all who come in contact with it." — Spectator. " It is an unspeakable pleasure to a reviewer weary of wading through piles of commonplace to come unexpectedly on a prize such as this." — Noii- ron/ormist, ' .\ very fresh and interesting little book." — Saturday Review. BUCHANAN— Camp Life in the Crimea as Seen by a Civilian. A Personal Narrative by George Buchanan, M.A., M.D., Professor of Clinical Surgery in the University of Glasgow. Crown 8vo. 7s. 6d. BUCHANAN— Inaugural Address. Delivered in the Uni- versity of Glasgow. By Professor Buchanan. 8vo. is. CAIRD, Principal— An Introduction to the Philosophy of Religion. By the Very Reverend John Caird, D. D., Principal and Vice-Chancellor of the University of Glasgow, and one of Her Majesty's Chaplains for Scotland. Demy 8\ o. IDS. 6d. " It is the business of the reviewer to give some notion of the book which he reviews, either by a condensation of its contents or by collecting the cream in the shape of short selected passages ; but this cannot be done with a book like the one before ivs, of which the argument does not admit of condensation, and which is all cream The most valuable book of its kind that has appeared." — Mr. T. H. Green in Tfie Academy. " It is remarkable also for its marvellous power of exposition and grace- ful subtlety of thought. Hegel's solution of the problem of religion is at length adequately represented in English literature. Hegelianism has never appeared so attractive as it appears in the clear and fluent pages of Princi- pal Caird." — Spectator. " This is in many respects a remarkable book, and perhaps the most important contribution to the subject with which it deals that has been made in recent years." — Mind, October 1880. "To many a student the reading of this book will mark an intellectual and spiritual epoch."— ?"*« Nation (New York). BOOKS PUBLISHED BY CAIRD, Principal — University Sermons and Lectures. 8vo. IS. each. 1. What is Religion ? A Sermon preached before the Uni- versity, at the Opening of the University Chapel. 1871. 2. Christian Manliness. A Sermon preached before the University, at the Opening of the Winter Session, 1871. 3. In Memoriam. a Sermon preached before the University on occasion of the Death of the Very Rev. Thomas Barclay, D.D., Principal of the University. 4. The Universal Religion. A Lecture delivered in West- minster Abbey, on the day of Intercession for Missions. 5. The Unity of the Sciences. A Lecture delivered at the Opening of the Winter Session. 1874. 6. The Progressiveness of the Sciences. A Lecture delivered at the Opening of the Winter Session. 1875. CAIRD, iProfessor E. — A Critical Account of the Phil- osophy OF Kant : with an Historical Introduction. By Edward Caird, M-A., LL.D., Professor of Moral Phil- osophy in the University of Glasgow, and late Fellow and Tutor of Merton College, Oxford. 8vo. i8s. " This book contains the most exhaustive and most valuable exposition of Kant's metaphysical system which has appeared in this country. The critical analysis is incisive and searching, and the exposition plain and un- ambiguous. The running commentary is the work of a man who both knows what he has to say, and knows how to say it forcibly and well. The style is attractive as well as clear. Without being ornate or rhetorical, it has about it a kind of quiet eloquence which comes of conscious strength and of genuine conviction." — Th& Times. "Mr. Caird's statement of the Kantian doctrine is singularly feUcitous. The simplification is at once full, accurate, and unbiased." — Me. T. H. Green in the Academy. "No account of Kant's Philosophy has ever appeared in England so full, so intelligible, and so interesting to read as this work by Professor Caird. It is i/ie EngUsh Book on Kant." — Contemporary Review. CAMERON— -Light, Shade, AND Toil: Poems. By William C. Cameron, Shoemaker. With Introductory Note by the Rev. Walter C. Smith, D.D. Extra fcap. 8vo. 6s. MR. MACLEHOSE, GLASGOW. CLELAND — Evolution, Expression, and Sensation, by John Cleland, M.D., F.R.S., Professor of Anatomy in the University of Glasgow. Crown 8vo. [/« the Press. DAVIDSON — Life of — See Brown's Life of Davidson. DEAS— History of the Clyde to the Present Time! With Maps and Diagrams. New Edition Enlarged. By James Deas, M. Inst. C.E., Engineer of the Clyde Naviga- tion. 8vo. los. 6d. "Mr. Deas tells his story in a very clear and concise way." — Saturday Krview. DERBY, Earl of— Inaugural Address, delivered to the University of Glasgow, on his Installation as Lord Rector of the University. By the Right Honourable The Earl of Derby. 8vo. is. DICKSON — Pleading in the Courts of Law of Scot- land. An Address delivered before the Glasgow Juridical Society. By W. Gillespie Dickson, LL.D., Advocate, late Sheriff of Lanarkshire. 8vo. is. DICKSON— Introductory Lecture. DeUvered at the Opening of the Divinity Hall, in the University of Glasgow, Session 1873-74. By WILLIAM Purdie Dickson, D.D., Professor of Divinity. 8vo. is. DODS — On Preaching, an Address delivered to the Students of the Free Church College, Glasgow, by Marcus Dods, D.D. Second Edition, 8vo. 6d. DOTTY AND other Poems by J. L. Extra Fcap. 8vo. 3s. 6d. 8 - BOOKS PUBLISHED BY EGGS 4D. A DOZEN, AND CHICKENS 4D. A POUND ALL THE YEAR ROUND. Containing full and com- plete information for successful and profitable keeping of Poultry. Small 8vo. Cheap Edition in Paper Covers. Seventeenth Thousand, is. ' ' No book has appeared for many years that discusses the subject so . explicitly and exhaustively." — Daily Review. EWING— Memoir of James Ewing, Esq., of Strathleven, Formerly Lord Provost of Glasgow, and M.P. for that City. By the late Rev. Macintosh Mackay, LL.D. Fcap. 4to. With Portrait. 21s. GAIRDNER— Fluctuations in Trade. A Lecture delivered to the Institute of Accountants. By Charles Gairdnek, Manager of the Union Bank of Scotland. Third Edition. Demy 8vo. is. GAIRDNER, Professor-r-Two Lectures on Books and Practical Teaching, and on Clinical Instruction. Being Introductory Addresses delivered in the University of Glasgovi', and in the Western Infirmary. By W. T. Gairdner, M.D., Professor of Practice of Medicine in the University of Glasgow, Physician in Ordinary to Her Majesty the Queen in Scotland. 8vo. is. GEMMEL— The Tiberiad ; or, The Art of Hebrew Accen- tuation. A Didactive Poem, in Three Books. By John Gemmel, M.A., Senior Minister of Free Church at Fairlie. Extra fcap. 8vo. 3s. GLASGOW — The Old Country Houses of the Old Glasgow Gentry. Illustrated by permanent Photographs. Royal 4to. Half Red Morocco. Gilt Top. Second Edition. Very scarce. £,\o, ids. This is a history of one hundred of the old houses in and around Glasgow, and of the families who owned and lived in them. To the local antiquary it is especially interesting as a memorial of the old burgher aristocracy, of their character and habits, and of the city in which they lived ; while to the descendants of the "old gentry" it is interesting as containing the history of their forefathers and the rise of their families. MR. MACLEHOSE, GLASGOW. GLASGOW — Memorabilia of the City of Glasgow Selected from the Minute Books of the Burgh, 1568 to I7SO. Fcap. 4to. Half Morocco, Gilt Top. Very scarce. 63s. GLASGOW UNIVERSITY ALBUM FOR THE NEW COLLEGE. With a Photograph of the New College. Edited by Students of the University. Crown 8vo. 7s. 6d. GLASGOW UNIVERSITY LOCAL EXAMINATIONS. Scheme of Examinations for 1881, and Report for 1880. Crown 8vo. 6d. GLASGOW UNIVERSITY CALENDAR FOR THE YEAR 1880-81. Published annually. Contains official information as to the University, the Classes, Graduation in all the Faculties, Examination Papers, University Fees, Bursaries, Scliolarships and Fellowships, and the list of Members of the General Council of the University. Crown 8vo. 2s. GOVETT — Christ's Resurrection and Ours ; Or I. Corinthians xv. Expounded. By the Rev. R. Goveit, Norwich. Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d. GRANT— Christian Baptism Explained. By the late Rev. William Grant, Ayr. i6mo. is. 6d. GRANT — The Lord's Supper Explained. By the late Rev. William Grant, Ayr. Seventh Edition. i6mo. 4d. GRAY, David — The Poetical Works of David Gray. Edited by Henry Glassford Bell, late Sheriff of Lanark- shire. New and enlarged Edition, extra fcap. 8vo. 6s. " Gems of poetry, exquisitely set." — Glasgow News. JACK — Inaugural Address. Delivered in the University of Glasgow, November 1879. By William Jack, M.A., LL.D., Professor of Mathematics in the University of Glasgow. 8vo. IS. lO BOOKS PUBLISHED BY JEBB— The Anabasis of Xenophon. — Book III., with the. Modem Greek Version of Constantine Bardalachos (for the use of the Greek Classes in the University of Glasgow), and with an Introduction by R. C. Jebb, M.A., Professor of Greek in the University of Glasgow. Crown 8vo. 2S. LEITCH — Practical Educationists and their Systems OF Teaching. By James Leitch, late Principal of the Church of Scotland Normal School, Glasgow. Crown 8 vo. 6s. "This capital took presents us, in a compact and well-digested form, with all that is of most value in the really practical methods of the greatest educationalists." — School Board Chronicle. LEISHMAN— A System of Midwifery, Including the Diseases of Pregnancy and the Puerperal State. By William Leishman, M.D., Regius Professor of Mid- wifery in the University of Glasgow. In one Thick Volume. Demy 8vo. Nearly 900 pp., with 210 Wood Engravings. Third Edition, revised. 21s. " Unquestionably the best modern book on the subject in our Xza- giiage."—Bntish and Foreign Medico-Chirurgical Jievieiu. " It is the best English work on the subject." — Lancel. " We should counsel the student by all means to procure Dr. Leish- man's work." — London Medical Record. " In many respects not only the best treatise on the subject that we have seen, but one of the best treatises on any medical subject that has been published of late years." — Practitioner. MACELLAR— Memorials of a Ministry on the Clyde. Being Sermons preached in Gourock Free Church. By the late Rev. Robert Macellar. With a Biographical Notice by the Rev. A. B. Bruce, D.D., Professor of Theo- logy, Free Church, Glasgow. With Portrait. Crown 8vo. 7s. MACE WEN— Sermons. By the late Alexander MacEwen, M.A.,D.D., Minister of Claremont Church, Glasgow. Edited by his Son. With a Memoir. Crown 8vo. 6s. MR. MACLEHOSE, GLASGOW. ir MACGEORGE — Papers on the Principles and Real Position of the Free Church. By Andrew Mac- GEORGE. 8vo. 6s. MACLEOD, NORMAN, D.D.— Sermons on the occasion of his Death, preached in the Barony Parish Church, and the Barony Chapel, by the Rev. Dr. Watson, Dundee; Rev. Dr. Taylor, Crathie ; Rev. Mr. Grant, St. Mary's, Partick ;, and Rev. Mr. Morrison, Dunblane. 8vo. is. M'KIN LAY, J. Murray— Poems. Extra fcap. 8vo. 3s. 6d. M'KENDRICK— Outlines of Physiology, in Its Rela- tions TO Man. By J. Gray M'Kendrick, M.D.,F.R.S.E.,. Professor of' Physiology in the University of Glasgow. Crown 8vo. 750 pages, and 250 Engravings. 12s. 6d. "We have much pleasure in confidently recommending this work to- students of medicine and'others, as being the one of all others of recent date, best suited for their requirements." — British Medical Journal, ' ' An admirable book on physiology, well adapted to the wants of the student, and of practitioners in medicine. Such books as this ouglit to be read, not alone by medical and biological students, but by all men of any pretensions to general culture." — British Quarterly Review. "The style is clear, and the illustratiQns numerous." — Practitioner. M'KENDRICK— Lectures on the Graphic Method of Physiological Research. Illustrated with numerous Engravings. Crown 8vo. [In preparation. MACMILLAN— Our Lord's Three Raisings from the Dead. By the Rev. Hugh Macmillan, LL.D., F.R.S.E.,. Author of " Bible Teachings in Nature.'' Crown 8vo. 6s. " He has written a book on tone of the most trying themes, which is at once edifying and instructive, full of devotional fervour as of fine thought." Nonconformist. ** A spirit of earnest piety pervades the book ; its language is simple and unaffected, and it abounds in apt and feUcitous illustrations." — Scotsman. MARTYNE— Poems. By Herbert Martyne. Extra fcap. 8vo. 6s. 12 BOOKS PUBLISHED BY MAXWELL — Address to the Senatus and General Council of the University of Glasgow. Delivered at his Installation as Chancellor of the University, on the 27th April, 1876. By the late Sir William Stirling Maxwell, K.T., Bart., M.P. 8vo. is. MORTON — The Treatment of Spina Bifida by a New Method. By James Morton, M.D., Professor of Materia Medica, Anderson's College, and Surgeon and Clinical Lecturer of Surgery in the Glasgow Royal Infirmary. Crown 8vo. With Six Illustrations. 5s. MUIR — The Expression of a Quadratic Surd as a Con- tinued Fraction. By Thomas Muir, M.A., F.R.S.E., , Examiner in Mathematics in the University of Glasgow. 8vo. is. 6d. MURRAY— Old Cardross, a Lecture. By David Murray, M.A., F.S.A. Scot. Crown 8vo, is. 6d. Large paper copies, on Dutch Paper, Parchment Wrapper, 6s. NEWTON — Sir Isaac Newton's Principia. Edited by Sir William Thomson, D.C.L., LL.D., F.R.S., Professor of Natural Philosophy in the University of Glasgow, Fellow of St. Peter's College, Cambridge; and Hugh Blackburn, M.A., late Fellow of Trinity College. Cambridge. Crown 4to. 31s. 6d. ' ' So far as we have compared it with other copies, this edition seems to he better than any of its predecessors. The printing and paper are excellent, and the cuts especially are greatly improved." — Nature. NICHOL — Tables of European Literature and History, FROM A.D. 200 to 1876. By JOHN NiCHOL, M.A., Balliol, Oxon., LL.D., Regius Professor of English Language and Literature, in the University of Glasgow. 4to, Cloth. 6s. 6d. ' ' The tables are clear, and form an admirable companion to the student of history, or indeed to any one who desires to revise his recollection of facts. ' ' — Times. MR. MACLEHOSE, GLASGOW. 13 NICHOL— Taiu.es OF Ancient Literature and History, FROM B.C. 1500 TO A.D. 200. By PROFESSOR NiCHOL. 4to, Cloth. 4s. 6d. ' ' They constitute a most successful attempt to give interest to the chronology of literature, by setting before the eye the relation between the literature and the practical life of mankind." — Observer. NICHOL— A New Volume of Poems. \ In preparation. OLRIG GRANGE. Sec Smith. PORTER— Christian Prophecy : Or Popular Exposi- tory Lectures on the Revelation to the Apostle John. By S. T. Porter. Post 8vo. 7s. 6d. PORTER— The Last Sermons in a 41 Years' Ministry, and in the 24th Year of Pastorate in the Independent Church, in West Bath Street, Glasgow. By S. T. Porter. Crown 8vo. is. 6d. PULSFORD— Sermons Preached in Trinity Church, Glasgow. By WilliAm Pulsford, D.D. Crown 8vo. Cloth, Red Edges. Cheap Edition. 4s. 6d. ' ' The sermons have much of the brilliancy of thought and style by which Robertson fascinated his Brighton hearers." — Daily Rrvicw. " The preacher we are made to feel, speaks to us out of the fulness of his own spiritual and intellectual life. He is a preacher, because he has been Hret a thinker." — Speclator. RANKINE— Songs and Fables. By William J. Mac- QUORN Rankine, late Professor of Engineering in the University of Glasgow. With Portrait, and with Ten Illus- trations by J. B. (Mrs. Hugh Blackburn). Second Edition. Extra fcap. Svo. 6s. "These songs are exceedingly bright, strong, and clever : quite the best we have seen for long. They are, in our judgment, far superior to those of Mr. Outram and Lord Neaves, and these are no contemptible singers. An admirable photograph is prefixed to the volume." — ■iberdcen Jom no!. 14 BOOKS PUBLISHED BY SMITH, Walter C— Raban ; OR, Life Splinters : a Poem. By the Author of " Olrig Grange." Extra Fcap. 8vo. 7s. 6d. \This day. SMITH, Walter C. — OLRIG Grange : a Poem in Six Books. Edited by Hermann Kunst, Philol. Professor. Third Edition. Extra fcap. 8vo. 6s. 6d. " This remarkable poem will at once give its anonymous author a high place among contemporary English poets. — Examiner. ' ' The most sickening phase of our civilization has scarcely been exposed Tvith a surer and quieter point, even by Thackeray himself, than in this advice of a fashionable and religious mother to her daughter." — Pall Mall Gazette. "The pious self-pity of the worldly mother, and the despair of the worldly daughter are really brilliantly put. The story is worked out with quite uncommon power." — Academy. SMITH, Walter C. — Borland Hall : a Poem in Six Books. By the Author of " Olrig Grange." Second Edition. Extra fcap. 8vo. 7s. " Songs of exquisite beauty stud the poem like gems in some massy work of beaten gold. Original and vigorous thought, rare dramatic instinct, and profound knowledge of human nature ai'e embodied in poetry of a very high class. The poem is not only notable in itself, but full of splendid promise." — Scotsman. " Lyell's mother, stem and unrepentant, even in death, is a terrible por- trait, in which we recognize the genius of the author of ' Olrig Grange.' . . . A style singularly brilliant and passionately fervent, a verse melodi- ous and various in measure, a command 'of language, unusually extensive and apt, and an exquisite sensibility to all natural loveliness." —English Independent, SMITH, Walter C. — Hilda ; Among the Broken Gods : a Poem. By the Author of " Olrig Grange.' Second Edition. Extra fcap. 8vo. 7s. 6d. ''That it is characterized by vigorous thinking, delicate fancy, and happy terms of expressign, is admitted on all hands." — Times. "A poem of remarkable power. It contains much fine thought, and shows throughout the deepest penetration into present-day tendencies in belief or no-behef." — British Quarterly Review. SMITH, Walter C — Bishop's Walk; and Other Poems. Extra fcap 8vo. 2s. 6d. MR. MACLEHOSE, GLASGOW. 15 STANLEY, Dean — The Burning Bush. A Sermon preached before the Glasgow Society of the Sons of Ministers of the Church of Scotland. By the Very Reverend Arthur Penrhyn Stanley, D.U., Dean of Westminster. 8vo. is. STEWART— The Plan of St. Luke's Gospel ; A Critical Examination. By the Rev. William Stewart, M.A., D.D., Regius Professor of Biblical Criticism in Glasgow University. 8vo. 3s. 6d. STORY — Creed and Conduct : . Sermons preached in Ros- neath Church. By the Rev. Robert Herbert Story, D.D., Minister of the Parish. Crown 8vo. 7s. 6d. " Characterized throughout by profound earnestness and spirituality, and written in a style at once graceful, clear, and nervous. Dr. Story has made a well-timed attempt to widen the theology, and at the same time to deepen and intensify the rehgious feeling of his countrymen." — Scotsman. STORY— On Fast Days ; With reference to more Frequent Communion, and to Good Friday. By the Rev. Robert Herbert Story, D.D., Minister of Rosneath. Svo. is. "A thoughtful and earnest discussion of a most important question."— Edinburgh Covrant. " A very able pamphlet." — Glasgow Herald. VEITCH— The History and Poetry of the Scottish Border, their Main Features and Relations, r.y John Veitch, LL.D., Professor of Logic and Rhetoric in the University of Glasgow. Crown Svo. los. 6d. " This is a genuine book. We can heartily recommend it to three classes of readers — to all who have felt the power of Scott's ' Border Minstrelsy ' (and who with a heart has not ?), to jul who care to visit and really to know that delightsome land, for no other book except the ' Border Minstrelsy ' itself wiU so open their eyes to see it ; to all dwellers in the Borderland who wish to know, as they ought to know, what constitutes the grace and glory of their Borderland." — Contemporary Review. " We feel as if we were hearing the stories, or listening to the snatches of song among the breezes of the mountains or the moorland, under the sun-broken mists of the wild glens, or the wooded banks of the Yarrow or tl^e Tweed. "^7V»«« " The fullest, most thorough, and most deeply critical work on Border history and poetry that we have." — British Quarterly Review. l6 BOOKS PUBLISHED BY MR. MACLEHOSE. VEITCH— Lucretius and the Atomic Theory. By Pro- fessor Veitch. Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d. " We have read this little volume with no ordinary delight. We wiirmly recommend it." — Nonconformist. VEITCH— Hillside Rhymes : " Among the rocks he went, And still looked up to sun and cloud And listened to the wind." Extra fcap. 8vo. 5s. " Let any one who cares for fine reflective poetry read for himself and judge. Next to an autumn day among the hills themselves, commend us to poems hke these, in which so much of the finer breath and spirit of those pathetic hills is distilled into melody." — Scotsman. VEITCH— The Tweed, and Other Poems. Extra fcap. 8vo. 6s. 6d. " Every page bears witness to a highly cultivated mind: every page is also marked by originality and a deep love for nature." — Westminster Rei'iew. ^'ILLAGE LIFE— A Poem. " He seems to be a stranger ; but his present is A withered branch, that's only green at top." Extra fcap 8vo. 6s. 6d. " These are simply the ripest notes that have appeared in Scotland for a time too long to calculate." — Examiner. " A remarkable volume of poetry, which will be read by all who have any keen interest in the progress of English literature." — Standard. WADDELL— OSSIAN AND THE CLYDE, FiNGAL IN IRELAND, Oscar in Iceland ; or, Ossian Historical and Authentic. By P. Hately Waddell, LL.D. 4to. 12s. 6d. WATSON — Kant and his English Critics, a comparison of Critical and Empirical Philosophy. By John Watson, M.A., LL.D., Professor of Moral Philosophy in Queen's University, Kingston, Canada. 8vo. \In the Press. Cornell university uorary PR 4779.H4V7 The villa by the sea, and other poemi 3 1924 013 481 753