"^- I P PR A./syaJz •? ^^//fa? PR5499.s°5MTl86r»^^''''''^ Cornell University Library The original of tiiis book is in tine Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013555606 ^^yk^^^A^ y:<^^^ki>t^^-tr^-y^ THE MIND OTHER POEMS. THE MIND: POWERS, BEAUTIES AND PLEASURES. mfftx Sottas. BY CHARLES SWAIN. AUTHOR OF " DRAMATIC CHAPTEES," " ENGLISH MELODIES," ETC., ETC. FOURTH EDITION. LONDON: LONGMAN, BBOWN, GREEN AND LONGMANS 1860. K '■^^1 dz. t\.\S-\o'i-w ROBERT SOUTHEY, ESQ., L.L.D., $a;t %nuxsiU, THIS VOLUME MOST RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED. CONTENTS. Page. The Mind. Part I. . . . . 9 Part II. .... 45 Part III 67 Part IV. .... 95 Notes to The Mind . . . . 127 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. Dryburgh Abbey . . • ■ .135 The River ..... 142 The Slumberers . . . . .143 The Mother . . . . ■ 147 The Better Wreath . . ■ .151 Maid of Saragossa .... 154 VI CONTENTS. Page. The Shepherd's Daughter . . . .159 Painting . . . . . 161 The British Bow . . . . .169 To the Night Wind . . . . 172 Let us Love one Another . . . .174 The Prince of the Storm ... 176 La Mexicana ..... 178 The Days gone by . . . . 182 The Schooner . . . . .185 Hope ...... 192 The Suliote .... 193 The Young Cottagers . . . . 196 The Visionary ..... 198 The Ships of England .... 201 My Own ...... 204 The Village of Scheveningen . . . 206 The Last Letter ..... 209 On the Death of C. T. Swain . . . 212 The Home-bound Bark . . . .217 The Chamois Hunters .... 220 The Village Queen . . . .221 Forgive and Forget .... 225 If thou hast lost a Friend .... 226 Eudocia ..... 228 CONTENTS. VU Page. The Peasantry of England . . .2.31 Boyhood ..... 233 Old Friends together . . . .235 The Leek ..... 237 The Lyre ...... 238 The Buccaneer's Song . . . . 241 Beautiful Day . . . .243 King Frost ..... 244 I wooed Thee ..... 246 It was the Early Winter . . . 247 Poor Man's Song . . . . .249 Meet me There . . . . • 251 The kind old Friendly Feelings . . .252 What 's a Fair or Noble Face ? . . . 254 The Bride's Father . . . . .255 Forest Trees . . . • . 257 The Mariner's First Lesson .... 262 The Voice of Night . . . ■ 271 The Death of Eucles . • • .273 Good Fortune ..... 278 No More 279 Elspeth of the Craigburnfoot . . • 281 Love's Remonstrance .... 285 Better Days ..... 287 Vm CONTENTS. Page. To a Mother . . . . .289 The Fisherman's Children ... 292 The Bird of Hope . . . . .297 The Tree of the Valley . . . 299 Sweet Eighteen ..... 300 Give me the Night .... 302 The First Prayer . . . . .303 Song ...... 305 Canzonet ...... 306 Reminiscences ..... 307 Notes to the Miscellaneous Poems . . .311 THE MIND, IN FOUR PARTS, PART FIRST. ANALYSIS—PART I. Invocation to the Mind — its divine and imperishable nature — creative faculties — dominion over all animate and inanimate objects Eloquence; — ^its power over the passions, — Cicero and Demosthenes — Chatham and Sheridan. Painting: — Emotions of the Mind produced by the beautiful, sublime, or melancholy character of scenery. — Masters of the imita- tive Arts ; Angelo, Raphael, Corregio. Influence of the productions of Art upon the imagination. Remembrances connected with the Portraits of deceased relatives and friends. Poesy : The beauty and elevation of its impressions upon the heart. Invocation to Shakspeare, Milton, Byron, Hemans, and Landon Whatever is beautiful in creation must perish ere the feeling of Poesy shall become extinct. Episode : — Fatal consequences of Dissipation upon the Mind. INTRODUCTION. Voice of the human heart ! Thou voice divine ! — First-born of love and beauty — Poesy ! — Once more I bend, a votary at thy shrine ; My wild-flower wreathes I dedicate to thee : — And all ungraced and simple as they be, Embalm their leaves and they shall ne'er decay ; But live a token and a memory With those I love, when I am far away. And set — for ever set — my young life's fleeting day ! J ^-.r^iSt'^i^^ As in the presence of the Sun — grown blind In contemplation of this Light supreme, This mystery and this majesty of Mind — The glory and the vastness of its beam — I bend ! — Yet trust that He who can redeem Mine eyes from darkness, and my heart make strong, Will sanctify my spirit to the theme ! — Will lend an inspiration to my tongue, That it may language win immortal as my Song. 16 THE MIND. 11. To breathe of beauty and eternal youth, To sing the Mind's perceptions and its power, Its grandeur, grace, divinity, and truth ; The triumphs of its genius — which o'ertower The stars in glory ! — and record each hour Improvement celebrates in every clime ! — Lending a foretaste of that heavenly dower. When this immortal visitant of Time Shall speak with angel-minds in angel-worlds sublime. III. We seek not with the scholiast to dissect This subtle frame of matter ; — how 't was wrought : Can finite sight infinity inspect ? — This organ of intelligence, and thought, We know with sympathies supernal fraught ; But how to trace, or how their source define, Vainly, as yet, Philosophy hath sought : God, in his own creations, sets the line. Nor sun, nor star, nor Mind, beyond that bound may shine. THE MIND. 17 IV. But, oh ! the world of wonder and delight Our God hath portioned us ! — how much for prayer- For praise — for gratitude — should we unite ? — To taste this fount of loveliness, — this air Of life to breathe, — this golden earth to share 1 — The Poet's heart may find abundant store. It needs no metaphysic wing to bear The Mind in search of a remoter shore, Here Nature's living fruit shows Heaven at its core ! Love Poetry — for she is Heaven's growth ! Wisdom's sublimer spirit, — made alone For man, and man for her ; — Nature for both : — Affection makes her glowing heart its throne, — Beauty meets music on her lips — her tone Gives life to thought when all save thought 's expired ! Love Poetry, and make her charms thine own : She loves thee ; — never spirit more desired To bless and grace mankind than she — the God-inspired. 18 THE MIND. VI. Neglect her not — but cultivate her joy ! — And she will lead thee to each classic shrine ; Show thee her Works, which Time could ne'er destroy :- Paintings — where taste and genius combine, And Colours speak with eloquence divine ; Lead thee where o'er her kingdom of the dead, Sculpture sits throned : — oh, make her treasures thine ! Love Poetry ! — she comes with angel-tread. With heart for all mankind ! Blessings for every head ! — VII. Devotion reigns wherever she has trod ; For she is Virtue's and Religion's friend ! Unto the footstool of a listening God Upon her wings the Sabbath Hymns ascend ! Her steps to all sublimer regions tend, Man's dark and still repining doubts to quell ; She 'gainst Oppression's front her bow did bend ; She struck for Freedom in the shaft of Tell, And Brutus heard her voice when the last Tarquin fell !- THE MIND. 19 VIII. Ray of the living God ! — Ethereal Mind ! — Immortal image of the Deity ! — Spirit ! by whatsoever name defined, My young adoring lyre would sing of thee ! — For thou art of the Great Sublimity A portion and a sign ; — the mighty seal Of an Almighty writer : — hence, to be A glory round the throne where Angels kneel. Or festering in the woes which tongue may not reveal ! IX. Thou hast dominion over space and time ! The treasures of all nations are thine own ; Whate'er of vast — or noble — or sublime Lies stretch'd within the shadow of each zone. Is thine — ^imperishably thine — alone ! The destiny of worlds affects thee not ; — Age may consume the monarch and his throne — Oblivion whelm the palace and the cot — But thou wilt still survive when these are all forgot. 20 THE MIND. X. Thou art the strength of Freedom — and the light That animates the Patriot to declaim Against the venders of his country's right, And stamp their deeds with everlasting shame ! Upon thy pinions soars the bard to fame, And emulates the grandeur of the sky ! — His sole ambition to deserve a name Within his Island's records, pure and high ; To win one fadeless wreath — then bless his lyre — and die ! XI. Were there no stone in Rome, left to record The splendour and the grace of Cicero's name. Language must perish, wither every word, Ere fate could all annihilate his fame : And Athens, thou hast an immortal claim, A spell to wake the reverence of song ; — Where Philip, baffled, — foiled in every aim, — Fell 'neath Demosthenes, — whose gifted tongue Lent vigour to the weak, and valour to the strong !- THK MIND. 21 XII. And shall the mind of Sheridan expire ? — Must Chatham's voice be soundless as the grave ?- Is there no atom of a quenchless fire — Is there no charm in memory to save The eloquence of genius from the wave Of dull oblivion — echoless decay ? — Oh, whilst one pulse remains that nature gave, Whilst feeling beats within a breast of clay — Not thus shall virtue fall, and genius pass away. XIII. Oh my own land ! my beautiful free land ! — Soil of the gifted — mother of the brave — I love the very shells that gem thy strand — I gaze with pride upon thy bounding wave : Though o'er my head the thunder storm may rave, Thus do I greet the elemental ire — Rage on, and strike ! — if thou canst find a slave, A heart that doth not glow with freedom's fire — Strike ! — These are Albion's shores — we bend but to thy sire ! 22 THE MIND. XIV. The dust we tread is portion of the bold — The heroic ashes of the charnell'd dead, Whose arms were mighty in the days of old : Chivalrous days ! — Brave hearts ! — for ever fled ; — For this — for this their gallant bosoms bled ; No selfish honour — but a nation's gain ! — That free might be our shrines — the homes we tread- Free, — free the mountain and the vernal plain — And shiver'd every link of Gaul's despotic chain. XV. Thine are, oh Mind ! — the colours which delight The artist in his visionary mood ! — Thou art the inspiration and the might — The deep enchantment of his solitude ! What time nor breath, nor sounds of life intrude — Where Alps on Alps eternally seem piled Then is thy best — thy holiest impulse wooed ! Amid the grand, the wonderful, the wild. For ever have thy loftiest revelations smiled. THE MIND. 23 XVI. The mighty and immortal energies That crown'd the genius of young Angelo, And steep'd his spirit in the richest dyes That nature's wealthiest fountains could bestow ; The tastes, the passions, sentiments, which show The eloquence of colours — and those fine Mysterious sympathies that thrill and glow, Like stars which burn and tremble as they shine,- Gifting the painter's sight with glories all divine. XVII. Who may behold the works of Raphael's hand And feel no mountings of the soul within ; Find not his sphere of intellect expand. And the creations of the pencil win His thoughts towards heaven, — to which they are akin ! Ennobling his whole being, — touching chords Of holiest sweetness, — purifying sin — Raising a deathless moral that records The majesty of truth, in tints surpassing words! — 24 THE MIND. XVIII. Hues which are immortalities ! — for age, That moulders the high hand which gave them birth, Consigns to dust the painter, poet, sage. Increases but their glory and their worth : — They are the gifts which dignify the earth ! — Exalt humanity, refine, inspire ; And lend a charm to grief — a grace to mirth ! — That wake the finest echoes of the lyre — And stir the kindling heart with Hope's Promethean fire. XIX. What, though pale penury may haunt the spot That genius hallows with its earliest flame, Correggio lives while princes are forgot — The canvass speaks when kingdoms lose their name. Where lie the great whose gold was all their fame ?- May costly cenotaph — can sculptur'd tomb — Save titled ashes from oblivion's claim ? — Yet there be names that years may not consume, Nor misery corrode — nor death despoil their bloom. THE MIND. 25 XX. West,'*' Reynolds, Wilson, Lawrence — these are names My country ! — dear — ay, doubly dear, to thee ; Gems of thine own heart's mine, whose lustre shames The earlier record of thine history ; — High denizens of immortality, — Enduring pillars of their native shore, — Whose memories are a people's legacy ! — A rich bequeathment, and beloved the more. For they were good as great, brave spirits born to soar. XXI. 'T is not alone the poesy of form — The melody of aspect — the fine hue Of lips half blushing, odorous and warm, Of eyes like heaven's own paradise of blue ; Nor all the graces that encharm the view And render beauty still more beautiful ; But the resemblances that can renew Past youth, past hopes, past loves, no shade may dull ; Affections, years may dim — but never quite annul ! — 26 THE MIND. XXII. Wresting from death and darkness, undecayed, The kindred lineaments we honoured here ; The breast on which our infant hrow had laid, The lips that kiss'd away our first brief tear — The all we lost, ere yet the funeral bier Convey'd to our young souls how great a blow Laid desolate the homes we loved so dear ; — Oh, heart ! — too early wert thou doom'd to know The grave that held thy sire, held all thy hopes below ! XXIII. Then, ah ! — for ever sacred be the Art Which gave me all the grave had left of mine ! I gaze upon this portrait 'till my heart Remembers every touch and every line ; And almost do I deem the gift divine, Direct from heaven, and not from human skill : — Instinct with love, those noble features shine — The eyes some new expression seems to fill — And half I know thee dead — half hope thee living still ! THE MIND, 27 XXIV. Through all the orphan loneliness of years The lyre breath'd first to glad my silent way ; Dispell'd the gathering night of doubts and fears, And, like Aurora, wreath'd the wings of day ! — No longer drooped my heart to gloom a prey : That charm smiled o'er me, even in my dreams — The source and spirit of all harmony — Touching the future with romantic beams And pouring freshness forth as from exhaustless streams. XXV. Spirit of Poesy ! whom love first sought Beside the founts of truth — the living springs Of Beauty infinite : — Spirit of thought. Of youth, hope, joy ! — Angels array'd thy wings In glory, and endow'd thy harp's bright strings With power, with music, and sublimity — Enwreath'd thee with immortal oiFerings — Stretch'd out the heavens before thee far and free, And sent thy genius forth through all immensity ! — 28 THE MIND. XXVI. First ftom the mount thou saw'st the sea launch'd wide Through the unfathom'd channels of the earth ; Thou saw'st the Light flash from Jehovah's side — The primal wonders of the world burst forth ; Thou heard'st the Word, that call'd the skies to birth, And woke the planets to their watch of years ; — Thou heard'st creation sing His boundless worth. While like the flashing of ten thousand spears Out-sprung the blazing sun amidst the heavenly spheres ! XXVII. For ever hast thou been a gift of light, — A voice in the eternity of days, — A presence in the everlasting sight, Soaring where even seraphs fear to gaze — Snatching the secret fire of heaven's own rays Wielding the thunders in thy fearless hold ; The awful hand alone, that made thee, stays Thy vast ambition — thine aspirings bold, And with its touch of might bids thy wild pinions fold. THE MIND. 29 xxviir. Who hath not proved the power of poesy, When from the sepulchres of greatness fled, He wateh'd the clouds of centuries roll by, And stood and spake with the illustrious dead ! — Oh ! who with Shakspeare could regardless tread — Unmov'd behold the handmaids of his muse Dispensing beauties, as their garlands shed Innumerable blossoms of all hues, Rich with the breath of morn and spring's celestial dews. XXIX. And He ! who built his temple in the clouds And made the Heavens his altar — at whose feet The stars lay dreaming in their misty shrouds. And angel-echoes sigh'd in music sweet From many a solemn shrine and high retreat ! He, Bard of Paradise, whose inward sight Surpass'd all outward vision — so replete, That blindness foUow'd that unbounded light, s clouds grow doubly dark where broods the lightning's might. 30 THE MIND. XXX. There was a genius in that mighty man, A portion of the present and the past, And of the future, more than thought may scan ; An immortality which shall outlast The monuments all ages have amass'd, Till Fame weeps o'er the skeleton of Time, And Earth lies like a shadow fading fast ; — Then lovelier far, than in its earliest prime, That genius from its wings shall scatter rays sublime. XXXI. Is the sound fled that whisper'd of the grave ? — Pass'd are the tears from Memory's mournful cheek ? — Furl'd lie the funeral banners of the brave ? — Are the hills silent — doth the ocean speak No more of him, whose passion was to seek Communion with their nature — and to feel An interest in the lonely sea-bird's shriek ; A language in the elemental peal That struck the zenith dark — made earth's foundations reel ? THE MIND. XXXII. 31 Yes ; there is sadness on the brow of earth — Still must we mourn that Bard's untimely doom, Whose mind, like a volcano, seatter'd forth Its lava depths of mystery and gloom ; Whose passions — terrible as the Simoom, Fed upon ruin — and 'mid darkness sought Stern spectres, demons from unholy tomb — He from all breasts the fiercer feelings caught And threw a shade of guilt o'er every scene he wrought. XXXIII. Magnificent in daring soar'd that mind — Proud in dominion — its majestic tone Still vibrates through the spirit of mankind : He reign'd o'er human hearts as on a throne, Making their inmost secrets all his own — Bared every movement to his earnest eyes — Reveal'd all agencies that power hath known ! — And lives not Byron still ? — 't is dust that dies ! His genius walks the world, and time and death defies ! 32 THE MIND. XXXIV. Forget them not ! oh, still forget them not ! The bards whose spirit hath inspired their page ; Be not the memory of the dead forgot, Whose genius is a nation's heritage ! Alas for life ! what bosom might presage The shadow of the grave was with each name ? Some, gray and lonely at the door of age ! Some in the golden morning of their fame — Yet on the path of death all stricken down the same ! XXXV. The voice of Spring is breathing ! where art thou, Daughter of Genius, whose exalted mind From Nature's noblest and sublimest brow Snatch'd inspiration ? thou, whose art combined Passions most pure, affections most refined ; Whose muse with silver clarion wakes the land, Thrilling the finer feelings of mankind ! — Thine is the song to arm a patriot hand, — Or start a thousand spears midst Freedom's mountain band ! THE MIND. 33 XXXVI. Thine is the song to fill the mother's heart, Whose children bless thee — Hemans — round her knee :- Thine is the gifted page that can impart A beauty bom of immortality ! The temple — shrine — and trophied urn — to thee Were themes enduring ! where'er Grief had trod, Or Hope fled tired from human misery, Thou stood'st with song uplifted to thy God, Thou sooth'dst the mourner's tears e'en by the burial sod. XXXVII. The beauteous spirit of the minstrel dead Comes with the harmonies and hues of morn ; Sits with my sorrowing heart when day hath fled. And folds her glorious wings — Elysian born ! A broken rose and violet dim adorn With their expressive grace her silent lyre : But, oh ! the wreath by that immortal worn ! The inspiration and the seraph fire, Which light those pleading eyes that unto heaven aspire ! 34 THE MIND. XXXVIII. Still mourns Erinna — ever by that coast, Whose dismal winds shriek to each weeping cloud, Whose waves sweep solemn as a funeral host, Still mourns she Love's own minstrel, in her shroud ; The Sappho of that isle, in genius proud ; The Improvisatrice of our land ; The daughter of our soil — our fame endowed ; For her Erinna seeks the fatal strand, And lifts to distant shores her wo-prophetic hand ! XXXIX. The blighted one ! the breast, whose sister-tear Sprang to each touch of feeling, heaves no more ! Our Landon, silent on her funeral bier. Far from our heart, sleeps on a foreign shore ; The voice of her — the song-inspired — is o'er ; Oh, she who wept for others found no tone To soothe the many parting griefs she bore ; None had a tear for that sweet spirit lone — All sorrows found a balm save that far Minstrel's own ! THE MIND. 35 XL. Thou, who receivedst her rose-encircled head, Our Minstrel in the bloom of her young fame, Give back our lost and loved ! Restore our dead ! Return once more her first and dearest name ! We claim her ashes — 'tis a Nation's claim ! Her — in her wealth of mind — to thee we gave ; Yet — plead we for the dust of that dear frame : Oh, bear our world-lamented o'er the wave ! Let England hold at last — 'tis all she asks — her Grave ! XLI. The feelings stirr'd to utterance by death, Refin'd by memory — may freely burn ; There is a vital freshness in the breath That consecrates the laurel round the urn ! — And fondly would my admiration turn To living heirs of Song's immortal crown. But, ah ! where beats the heart that 's yet to learn Their mighty names, whose memories shall float down The tide of unborn years, in honour and renown ? 36 THE MIND. XLII. Yielding the meanest stream that idly strays By sedgy bank, or mountain copse along, A charm to fix the pilgrim's lonely gaze, As though each passing ripple were a tongue : Vesting the woods and flowers and all in song ! — Leaving great Nature's self their monument And record of their being ! while the throng Of human lives like aimless waves are spent ; And pride's forgotten tombs lie mould'ring, void and rent. XLIII. Thou art, oh Poesy ! — the heart that speaks, And will speak on for ever — whilst one chord Holds true to feeling, — and ere that charm breaks, The rose shall perish, ne'er to be restored, — The lark soar hence in silence — the fond word Of love and early friendship be unknown — All harmonies of beauty be unheard — All holy inspirations lose their tone — And man forsake his home to fade and fall alone ! THE MIND. 37 XLIV. Say, have ye watched the early hue of Morn Slow rising o'er the darkness of the hour, 'Till ray by ray the God of Light was born. And outshone hill and forest — vale and tower ? — Such is the dawn of Reason — such its power — Filling the mind with loveliness and light ; Unfolding thought by thought, like flower by flower, 'Till soaring to its full meridian height It pours upon the soul the splendour of its might. XLV. Have ye beheld the glory of that day Dethron'd by sudden tempest — 'till the skies Seem one vast sepulchre of black decay, Where, in her funeral shroud dead nature lies ? — So lowers the sphere of mind when Reason flies : Without one spark to light that dreadful gloom Where Judgment wanders, blind ; — where Memory dies ; Where Truth is lost ; — where Hope no more may bloom ; And all the powers of thought lie dead, as in a tomb ! — 38 THE MIND. XLVI. And whence this awful ruin of the brain — This wreck of mental elements — this fall Of man's majestic faculties — this chain Which links him to the grave ? — Alas ! of all The myriad ills which may the mind enthral, Vice stands the first and last ! — the fiend whose wings Scatter destruction like a deathly pall ; That o'er each orb of faith her shadow flings And poisons with her lips God's noblest, holiest springs. XLVII. I do remember one whose early days<^> Were radiant with the light that genius sends ; He was the favoured of his country's gaze — The loved of all — the idol of his friends — For there 's a charm in intellect which lends ' An added glory to the gift of birth ; And royalty, 'mid all its grandeur, bends Before that spring-tide of the soul on earth — And yields to Mind its due, — its high acknowledged worth ! THE MIND. 39 XLVIII. He loved : — Love is the poetry of youth — Its music and its worship — 'tis the star That seeks the altar of eternal truth — The hope of days whose dawn is yet afar ! — Oh youth and love, how eloquent ye are — How glorious the affections ye create : The maid, the wife, the mother — who would mar The sweets which blossom on the brink of fate— And leave life's Eden dark — despoiled and desolate ! XLIX. And she he loved was fair, a very Grace, A form half radiant with divinity ; 'Twas beautiful to gaze upon her face ; So gently gay — so innocently free ! Well might she win his heart's idolatry. For virtue and affection were her dower ; And joy sang round her by love's own decree ; Oh, not alone in beauty lived her power — No : charms less fleeting far enwreathed that peerless flower. 40 THE MIND. Oft would they wander where the moonlit dell, A dreamy picture of contentment lay, — And silence, like an angel's blessing, fell O'er rock and mountain, shore and quiet bay ; And far-off ships upon their homeward way : Filling their fancies with a thousand sights Of future happiness ; one bright, glad day, One long reciprocation of delights — One cloudless smile of home to consecrate their nights. LI. For, oh ! the bliss to love and to believe Ourselves beloved ! — to linger o'er each dream Of happiness, we cannot choose but weave, — To breathe but only in the beauteous beam Of Love's own dear, delicious eyes ! — to deem One form the paragon of earth ! — Oh, fair As moonlight upon lilies of the stream ! — Those water jewels — delicate and rare — Those chaste and fitting wreaths for Beauty's raven hair. THE MIND. 41 LII. Months pass'd — and found them a connubial pair : An ancient mansion peeping through the trees, White as the silver blossoms shining there ; Young roses that enrich the loitering breeze With perfum'd gifts — with summer memories — Laburnums sparkling 'neath the graceful dome, Like golden treasures under azure seas, And singing streams, that blithe as minstrels roam. Reveal their favourite spot, their own sweet summer home. LIII. One little cherub blessed their happy eyes, — A lovely flower among the flowers at play ; With eyes that imaged the cerulean dyes Of the germander — ringlets like the ray Of sunset on the pale hills far away ; Hands, white as snowdrops midst the bloomy wild. And mouth where kisses laughed like buds of May ; The very traveller blessed the babe, and smiled ; He was so fair a hope, so beautiful a child. F 42 THE MIND. LIV. And from this paradise, young Love had charm'd With all the gifts his presence may impart, This home, with every rare attraction formed — Grace without pride — and beauty without art ! — What spell could lure the father to depart ? — Seek not to trace how, shade by shade, the gloom Of dissipation darkens o'er his heart ; — The revel and the wine his hours consume. And for the gambler's joy he quits domestic bloom. LV. It is the morn ; — the judgment waits in wrath Some sudden aberration of the brain Strikes the lost parent on his homeward path ; Horrors beset his track, a ghastly train, And demon shadows haunt the vernal plain Where sports his child ; — still burn his frenzied eyes ; Rages insanity in every vein ! — One blow ! — 'tis o'er ; — his child, — the loved one — dies ! And on his guilty head glare down the threatening skies ! THE MIND, 43 LVI. From his delirium, as from some brief dream Of direful influence, woke the wretched sire : — The hapless mother heard her infant's scream — Rush'd forth to save — and saw her child expire ! — She clasped him to her heart — her brain was fire : — She looked upon the father as he stood, While for an instant. Reason — as in ire — Showed to his trembling soul that deed of blood. Then fled — and never more its banished light renewed. LVII. The universal face of things grew blank — Identity was lost — and vision made A sphere of shapeless fancies ; — memory sank For ever into chaos ; — and that shade In which the mind's proportions shrink and fade, Gather'd around him ; — the proud shrines whereon The treasures of a poet's heart were laid Fell into dust and ashes, one by one, — Till 6i the mind's pure flame the last faint glimpse was gone ! 44 THE MIND. LVIII. Unheeded, to the mother, came all change ; May's genial heat, December's blasts severe ; O'er lonely mountains 'twas her wont to range Without a path to guide her wanderings drear ; And oft, half kneeling, in the moonlight clear Upon the bleak snow would she trace a cot ; A few wild flowers, and one sweet infant dear. And many a trait of beauty unforgot ; — Then upwards would she start, and shrieking flee the spot ! END or FIRST PART. THE MIND. PART SECOND. fn^i^f ANALYSIS.— PART II. The subject continued. The source of the sublimity and beauty of external nature, — the simple perception of any object insufficient to excite high emotions, unless accompanied with the operations of the Mind — without the gift of Mind, it were impossible that we should have had any conception of grandeur, sublimity, delicacy, or beauty. The Poetry of Sculpture. Its antiquity and spendour — Angelo — The tomb of Julius II the Apollo Belvidere — the creation of Canova. — Music. Its influence upon the Mind. Episode. Instance of heroic fortitude in Woman. The Science of the Stars Newton — the sublimity and intel- lectual splendour of his theory. — Declare his name, ye stars, who set His everlasting covenant in the sky " O ye Heavens, bless ye the Lord : praise him, and magnify him for ever.'' The fine associations of the Mind, With their own loveliness, invest each hue And form of nature ! — Unless thus combined With feelings holy, — eloquent, — and true. What were this gorgeous firmament of blue — These floating mountains of a vapoury sphere — This commonwealth of flowers, — this vast review Of worldly splendour, bursting far and near ? Oh ! what were Earth itself, unless the Mind were here ? G 50 THE MIND. II. There 's beauty in the soft, warm, summer morn, When leaves are sparkling with the early dew ; When birds awake, and buds and flowers are born. And the rich sun appears, half trembling, through The crimson haze, and dim luxurious blue Of the far eastern heav'ns : — there 's beauty deep From mountain-tops to catch the distant view Of quiet glen — wood path — wild craggy steep — Or cool sequester'd coast where lonely waters sleep. III. There 's beauty in the noontide atmosphere ; When willows bend their graceful bows to meet The fountain waters — delicately clear ; — When mid-way heaven the wild lark carols sweet : There 's beauty in the tender traits which fleet Along the sMey shores and isles of gold, — That seem just formed for holy angels' feet, — Gleaming with gifts of an immortal mould ! God! — could thy name be lost, while men such scenes behold ! THE MIND. 51 IV. There 's beauty in the still, blue hour of night, When streams sing softly through the moonlit vale ; When, one by one, shoot forth the stars to light, Dreamy and cold, and spiritually pale : — There 's beauty on the ocean, when the gale Dashes the merry billows to the strand ; When like a phantom flits some wand'ring sail. White as the moonbeam on the glittering sand. And distant flute-notes rise, touched by some skilful hand. There 's beauty on the quiet lake afar. When wild-birds sleep upon its voiceless breast ; — The lonely mirror of a single star. Pale shining in the solitary west ; There 's harmony and beauty in that rest — So placid — stirless — lonely — and so deep — We scarcely move, or dare to whisper — lest A word should break the magic of that sleep, And start the spirit nymphs who watch around it keep ! 52 THE MIND. VI. There 's beauty on the mountains — when the snow Of thousand ages on their forehead lies ; Purple and glittering in the sun-set glow, The gala light of the Italian skies : — When gorgeously the clear prismatic dyes Illumine ice-built arches — crystal walls That, like the Mirrors of the Spheres, arise ; Or proud magician's visionary halls. Arrayed for merry masques — ^for pomps and carnivals. VII. There 's beauty in the old monastic pile, When purple twilight, like a nun, appears Bending o'er ruin'd arch — and wasted aisle — Majestic glories of departed years, — Whilst dark above the victor-ivy rears Its sacrilegious banner o'er the shrine. Once holy with a dying martyr's tears ; Yet amidst dust — and darkness — and decline, A beauty mantles still the edifice divine ! THE MIND. 53 VIII. But, ah ! bereft of Mind — which is the light That melts the shadows of faturity ! — Nor early morn — nor noon — nor summer night — Nor the wild billows of the lonely sea — No — nor the sweet and plaintive melody Of distant flute-notes on the moonlight shore, May touch one heart with beauty ! — If the free, And god-like spring of thought could act no more ; Dark were the past to Man, and dark his path before !- IX. All beauty is the Mind's ! — The dews of earth. Her loveliest breathings — her serenest skies Ne'er warm'd such noble feelings into birth. As from our own imaginations rise ; The bright, illuminated memories Which are the rays of the soul's world ! — the gay, And fond creations of our youthful eyes : — Beauties which set not with the setting day ; But hold a life within — a charm against decay ! — 54 THE MIND. X. Approach the tomb of Julius^'^ — and behold The might of human intellect — view, grace And saintly majesty in marble mould : — There stands the Prophet, as before the face Of his Eternal Master,— there we trace The source and strength of inspiration — there Our feelings grow too mighty for the space That earth may yield them — and far onward bear The soul to loftier spheres to which that form seems heir. XI. Sculpture is Mind enchanted into stone ! A voiceless record — a mute harmony — Omnipotent in grandeur all its own ; Majestic shrine of a World's memory ; — Whose shadow rises from antiquity Girt by the genius of proud empires dead ! — All forms heroic, eminent, and free ; Spirits, whose good or evil names have shed Dishonour or renown upon the earth we tread. THE MIND. 55 XII. Can it be marble upon which we gaze ? That brow is burning with intelligence ; Language alone its melody delays, As loth to leave a lip whose excellence Surpasseth mortal beauty ! — stir not hence, — 'Twill breathe — 'twill move — the spell will be unbound That chains the magic of its eloquence ; Thy heart be ravished with the gifts of sound, For, oh ! if truth 's on earth — here is Apollo found !— XIII. Wonder of Art — Immortal statue — Thou, Whom the transcendent genius of man Endow'd with glory ! — unto thee we bow, Thou look'st indeed eternal ! — here we can Compress all loveliness into one span Of inspiration — 'tis the glance, the mould. The impress of divinity ! — began And finished, ere the glorious thought grew cold That gave the Sun- God birth, — and bade the world, behold! 56 THE MIND. XIV. Canoval^"" — at thy well-loved name I leap The antique splendours of the past — to see Thine elegant creations — and to weep, Rejoice, applaud, or venerate : to be Mirthful or pensive, as the poesy Of thy harmonious marbles may inspire ; — Thou hast revealed the grace, the mastery Of virtue kindled with heroic fire, — Expression all must feel, and all alike admire. XV. Warm from his couch of rose — there Cupid springs Radiant with love, — fair, as a star new born ; Like moonbeams glitter his ethereal wings ; — Ah ! who the witchery of those wings may scorn ! — See, Venus rising like the bashful morn Upon her lover's gaze ; with curls half bound — And brow that nature could no more adorn ; With how divine a step she treads the ground. Less soft the light dews press the amorous leaves around. THE MIND. 57 XVI. Here could I gaze — forgetting that I gaze ! — Rapt in the glory of the Sculptor's themes, And gathering in my soul their gifted rays Like a pale dreamer who recks not he dreams ! Oh ! could my spirit fix these wandering beams That float around me, — could it but convey One half the charm with which its vision teems, This verse should live unto a later day. This page enshrine my heart when life had passed away. XVII. Where lives the power to touch — to soothe — to charm — To animate — depress — appal — inspire The human Mind ! — its energies to warm With all a Hampden's patriotic fire ? — To stir the bosom with unquench'd desire Of war's triumphant glory and renown ? — Hark ! — 'tis the sound of clarions and the lyre — Banners are waving through the festal town — The Hero comes ! — he comes — with his victorious crown ! 58 THE MIND. XVIII. Feel ye it not ? — 'tis Music's matchless spell Thrilling from nerve to nerve — gushing the sight With tears of feeling indescribable, — With sensibility's refined delight ! — List ! — Hear ye, through the still and lonely night, The distant hymn of mournful voices roll, Solemn and low ? — It is the burial rite : — How deep its sadness sinks into the soul, As slow the passing bell wakes its far, lingering knoll ! XIX. Yes ; Music is the Memory of the heart ; And Memory is the Melody of love ! — How many dear aflFections round us start. How many social pleasures do we prove. When Music — like a Spirit from above — Hallows the hour until it seems divine ! — When voices in melodious feeling move, When Poesy and Harmony combine. To soften and subdue — to gladden and refine ! THE MIND. 59 XX. Oh, when the Rans des Vaches no more with tears, The spirit of the exiled Switzer fills ; When the shrill Pibroch the young Clansman hears, Without one blessing to the " Land of Hills ;" Oh ! — when a British heart no longer thrills. To the bold Anthem of his native shore ; When Music's breath no sentiment instils Of reverence — love — or honour ; — nevermore May Memory lift the soul, and bid the heart adore ! XXI. The intellectual beauty of the soul Ne'er beams more lovely than from Woman's eye ; Her softness hath a natural control O'er the dark feelings of humanity : — And when in Woman's gentle breast we see Affection, firmness, and devotion dwell, With that best, noblest spirit — Constancy ! — That strength, not ev'n calamity may quell ; Our hearts must owe the praise, the tongue may fail to tell ! 60 THE MIND. XXII. I look upon the Past — into the gray And silent heart of Time — and I behold A City in its grandeur, like the day, Emerging from the East in lines of gold ! — I look again — and what doth Time unfold ? — A shapeless ruin — and a wasted crowd — The young — the ag'd — the beautiful — the bold ; — All, by some strange o'erwhelming ill, seem bowed, And pale and wild rush on — and shriek and weep aloud. XXIII. All — all save one — and she bends by his side, Whose arms were first to clasp her with a love, Fond as a bridegroom's for his blushing bride — Strong as a parent's heart alone may prove ! And she is there, beside him, like a dove. Tending his drooping form with pitying care ; — And oft her tearful eyes she lifts above, — And offers to her God a quiet prayer — With looks that heaven-ward seem to meet the Angels there ! THE MIND. 61 XXIV. I turn once more — 'tis midnight — and the sound Of arms and revelry burst on mine ear ! — Some sudden horror hath profaned the ground — Slaughter and wreck ! — the shivered sword and spear ! Oh, gentle Love ! — so young, so true, so dear, — Could she not 'scape the Victor's wrath — ^for this Sought she her sire — while thousands fled in fear, To calm his anguish with a daughter's kiss ; To tend his dying form — and soothe his soul to bliss ? XXV. Alas ! there is no chord of human life, Whose natural tone breathes not of woe ! — there seems Even in boyhood, when the world is rife With buds and birds — with flowers and sunny beams — Along our being's course, where'er it streams, Some haunting fever of decay — some shade From whose destructive taint, no aid redeems ! Woe, that it reached thy generous heart, sweet maid ; Woe ! that so white a breast should be so darkly laid ! 62 THE MIND. XXVI. In that distracting — agonizing hour, Thou reap'dst the grief, which seem'd for ages sown ; What then sustain'd and gave thy spirit power, To wrestle with the horrors round thee thrown ? — It was the Mind — the god-like Mind — alone 1 — That rock of virtue 'mid a stormy sea ; — That spell which lends to truth its noblest tone — Shatters the chain and sets the captive free ; — And mitigates the throes even of Mortality. XXVIl. What penetrates the mystery that lies. The splendid azure and the spheres beyond — Explores the depths of the religious skies — Opens the vault, as with a Prophet's wand ! What comprehends the ever-during bond — The imperishable law — the chain of might Which links each secret feeling — fast and fond Connects the finite with the Infinite — Save thou — resplendent Mind — our Spirit's guide and light ! THE MIND. 63 XXVIII. Thou art the temple of thy God ! — the home Of sacred truth ! Religion's vital shrine ! — How far — how wide soe'er beliefs may roam, Still thou'rt the glass that mirrors the divine ! — The hope round which unsetting glories shine ; — The seal of immortality : — the scroll On which is writ the everlasting line Of an Almighty love ! — Death may control, Destroy the outward form — but never reach the soul. XXIX. 'Tis sweet to look upon the stars, and deem A spiritual influence breathes around ; That we are nearer heaven than we seem And mission'd seraphs make earth hallowed ground ; That our own nature with yon sphere is bound In mystic harmony — in link divine — Celestial correspondence, — that when found 'Twixt soul and star — our coming fate define And shape our horoscope with Truth's unerring line. 64 ' THE MIND. XXX. Come, view the golden fabric of the spheres ! Read the majestic volume of the sky ! — . Mark the grand dial of eternal years The rounds of ages ever wheeling by ! — The watch of worlds ! — the index set on high To teach the proud how little is their pride : Let them regard the planets, — and forth try To sum the time — myriads of ages wide — Their cycle may be made : — then, number all who've died ! XXXI. Alas for life ! — but we will on with those Who have an age beyond their being's day, — Mount with our Newton where Light ever flows ; See him unveil its marvels — and display The hidden richness of a single ray ! — Unfold its latent hues like blossoms shed. Or flowers of Air, outshining flowers of May ! — A luminous wreath in rainbow beauty spread, The noblest Fame could leave round starry Newton's head. THE MIND. 65 XXXII. Ascend the spheres to yonder world remote — Millions of leagues beyond the race of thought, And from Uranus bid thy fancy note The Sun — a speck ; — this giant globe as nought In the immense of space — as though unwrought ! Its pomp of thrones and titles — where are they ? — If Power allures thee, here it should be sought, Here, where the movements of the heavens convey Truths 'neath whose calm rebuke Man's theories decay. XXXIII. The architects of intellectual worlds,— Mortal imagination ne'er contained The opening grandeur which yon vault unfurls ; Yet Newton's mind that wondrous frame explained. Revealed the secret influence which retained The planets in their orbits : — his bold hand The gloomy gates of superstition chained. The boundless firmament triumphant spann'd. And traversed without chart the Works which God had plann'd ! i 66 THE MIND. XXXIV. Then, in the glorious company of spheres, Confess His glory who conceived their birth ; — Let not the splendour which around appears Eclipse the splendour whence they drew their worth ; Nor let proud Earth hide Him who made the Earth ! Who, in supreme intelligence enthroned. Called Nature forth from dark and utter dearth. No ! — still 'mongst human errors unatoned — In God's Creations still be never God disown'd ! END OF SECOND PART. THE MIND PART THIRD. ANALYSIS.— PART III. Imagination and Fancy. The Fairy Mythology, its spiritual beauty and gracefulness ; delightful associations awakened by the influence of flowers upon Memory and Imagination. The pleasure and im- provement derivable from an intimate study of Nature. Science. In the scientific department the creative genius of man appears to the highest advantage. Picture of a Ship at Sea Commerce : viewed as an instrument destined to humanize the whole world ; extending instruction and intelligence to the most remote and uncultivated shores; linking mankind in one vast bond of mutual benefit and interest. The victories of Commerce para- mount to the Conquests of the Sword. Tributes to Franklin, Dalton, and Watt. A'wf. Earth, Air, Sky, Ocean — are the elements Through which the images of mind appear : The robes of beings, Fancy still invents ! — Homes of the Muse that ages yet revere ! — For what is each dominion but the sphere In which the Mind's august creations shine ? — Come Earth, our mother : — Air, thou sister dear ;- And Sky — thou Prophecy of Worlds divine ! Come Nature to our souls and make us wholly thine 1 72 THE MIND. II. The streams of thought and fancy never rest But quick the ocean of the mind supply Like tribute currents of the sun-loved west ; — Now flowing as from banks where violets lie ; — Or now from mountain summits speeding by Heave their tumultuous waters o'er the soul ; — Anon, from forest scenes discursive hie, Radiant with life, — and singing as they roll ; — Now — stained by evil track, all tainted reach their goal !- Ill, The Mind its revolutions hath, — its change, — Its conquests — its defeats — and its decay ! — Its revolutions, — past all History, strange : — Its conquests, — Science bid thy worlds display ! — Defeats, — Hope's armies scatter'd in a day, Ambition's mighty wrecks hurled on Fate's strand ; — Oh, Earth upon thy sons how weighs thy clay ! — The Ruins of the Mind, as of the Land, Spread dark through ages gone — a sad and spectral band ! THE MIND. 73 IV. Yet e'en decay and darkness have their world ! Nothing is lost, — nothing forsaken here : In dull, rank weeds unnumbered hosts lie curled ; — Root, branch, stem, flower — have each their insect sphere ; Even darkness hath its population drear ; Each turf impregnate with existence heaves ! — More countless metamorphoses appear — More marvels haunt our feet than thought conceives, While worlds of insect tribes hang quivering on the leaves. From the bright chamber of the vestal rose No more the fairies to their revels bound ; The lily's ivory halls no more disclose Their elfin tribe — nor fays, with goss'mer crowned. Slow float on silver blossoms to the ground : No more we hear their viewless minstrels play, As when in emerald rings they danced around, — The vision and the grace have left our day, And England's fairy world passed, with its youth, away ! 74 THE MIND. VI. The bright mythology of vanished days ! — We are too learn'd its credence to allow ; Science hath oped too wide our colder gaze : — But are we better — wiser — happier — now That we fair fancy's birth-right disavow ? — No more believe the midnight eyes behold Shapes, born of air, to which the planets bow ? Nor longer seek the fairy palace old Which elves chivalrous guard, with straw-like spears of gold. VII. Hither, ye fays ! — fantastic elves ! — that leap The slender hare-cup, — climb the cowslip bells — And teaze the wild bee as she lies asleep ! Hither from shrines of bloom, and glow-worm cells, — From leafy halls — and flowery citadels, — Hither, bright fairies ; — hither to my breast ! Lead me once more where childhood's memory dwells In its believing beauty — heaven imprest ! — Bring innocence and faith, — be each again my guest ! THE MIND. 75 VIII. Visions of immortality ! — that show The longing of the mind for something more Than mortal being ! — the deep wish to know The things of other worlds, — the angel store Of mystery learnt but on the spirit-shore, Where mid-way fairies sport on fancy's track ! — Glad elves ! our season of romance restore, — Come, our Aladdin-years we '11 wander back, — See fairy-hunters gay, and their bold insect-pack ! IX. We have breasts, now, in which affections dead Have left their "withered rings" around the heart ! And bosoms whence the child of hope hath fled. Although no fairy in its loss had part ! The cup o'erturned, though by no elfin art ! The rifled chalice, and the broken bowl, Where memory by the fount whence sorrows start, Keeps green the old mythology of soul, — Those fairy realms of youth o'er which Time's death-wheels roll !_ 76 THE MIND. X. Have we not tasted of the fairy dew ? — Do we behold things as they really are ? Or, like Titania, gaze with spell-bound view, And lavish love on what were best afar ? — Proves that not oft a stone, we deemed a star ? — Alas, each bosom hath its Oberon too ; — Susceptibility — which seeks to war With what it loves, and most desires to woo ; Yet urged — unknowing why — to wound, and still pursue ! XI. Oh, Queen of Fancy what an empire 's thine I — What classic loveliness pervades thy shore ! — Creations which the bard hath made divine — Idols and gods — all creeds alike adore — The mental deities of ages hoar ; Harmonious moulds where deathless paeans sound Sole consecrate to genius evermore ! — Where every step finds intellectual ground. Thronged by the kings of mind, that time, and fame have crowned. THE MIND. 7( XII. Have not the flowers a language? Speak, young rose. Speak, bashful sister of the footless dell ! Thy blooming loves, — thy sweet regards disclose ; Oh, speak ! — for many a legend keep'st thou well ; Old tales of wars — crusading knights who fell, And bade thee minister their latest sighs I — Speak, grayhaired daisy ! — ancient primrose, tell ! Ye, vernal harps I ye, sylvan harmonies I — Speak, poets of the fields ! — rapt gazers on the skies ! — XIII. Mark, how like modesty, with drooping grace, The violet veils her breast ; the sister young Of hope, that lifts to ruder hours her face. The lonely snowdrop I earliest of the throng To call the truant Spring with leaves and song ! — See, zephyr-nursed, and cradled in the grass. Slumbers, like innocence, — the lily long ! — And there, sweet flattery, — flower few maidens pass Without one sidelong glance ! — 'tis Venus' looking-glass ! 78 THE MIND. XIV. Lo, type of pride, the amaryllis blooms ; Whilst humbler friendship with the wall-flower stays ; There vain Narcissus, like self-love, consumes The hours, enamour'd of his own fond gaze ! — And there the myrtle, — love ! — with coy delays Reveals her heart's young perfume ! Flower most dear ; Blest be thy modest leaves to endless days ! — Oh, never come the inconstant primrose near, But heart's-ease be thy zone — and orange wreaths sincere ! XV. Seek we the forest's quiet pathways deep. And nature's flowery page together read : — How ocean-like the billowy branches sweep ! — This mild, green gloom is just the light we need. And the young fawns — how silently they feed, — How stUl and statue-like, — half life, half dream ! Slow mounts the wood-dove, like a spirit freed ! And now a swan comes sailing up the stream. And o'er the waters dark floats like the morning beam !- THE MIND. 79 XVI. Ye, poetry of woods ! — romance of fields ! Nature's imagination bodied bright ! Earth's floral page, that high instruction yields ! For not — oh, not alone to charm our sight, Gave God your blooming forms — your looks of light : — Ye speak a language which we yet may learn — A divination of mysterious might ! And glorious thoughts may angel-eyes discern, Flower-writ in mead and vale, — where'er man's footsteps turn. XVII. Linger we yet — unmindful of the length Of this our theme — the simplest Song may find ! — Simple? — Simplicity is Nature's strength/ — And Flowers the imprints of the Eternal Mind ! — The wood-bom Savage, — though to god-head blind. Stayed his dark foot to mark the Jloweret bend, And culled it for his Indian-maid to bind Within her plumed tresses ! — 'twas Love's friend Since Hours commenced their march — and will, till they shall end. 80 THE sriND. XVIII. Hearts — cold amidst the beautiful and grand, When Spring her leaves and dewy garlands throws And hangs her rainbow-banners o'er the land In triumph o'er her oft defeated foes ! — Yes, hearts — shut to the fragrance of the rose, To which the stars are silent from their dome, — Still throb to bliss — to poetry — with those Sweet infant-flowers — from whom their thoughts ne'er roam. The cherub kiss — the love — the poetry of Home I — XIX. What rock so rugged but gives life to some Lone blossom on its stern and sterile head ? — Is there a breast where feeling's flowers ne'er come ? Where love is mute ? — where poetry is dead ? — No : — though thou 'dst smile, gray shepherd, if we said Thou wert romantic ! — yet, lone sire, 'tis true ! — List I — was not that thy beauteous daughter's tread ? — In what sweet fancies — dreams — didst thou not view The maid the wise should praise — the good be proud to woo ! THE MIND. 81 XX. Yes, hear it Earth ! be witness thou vast sky ! There's not a foot which treads this living sod, — There's not a brow that heavenward lifts its eye Of weariest toiler that may homeward plod, But feels the poetry of Nature's God ! — 'Tis in some corner of his soul confest Though all unconscious of its source he 's trod, 'Tis with his cottage fire, — his evening rest, — Breathes in his wife's fond voice, — his children's kisses, blest ! XXI. Disparity ? — why, 'tis through Nature found ! — Some drops the nettle meet — and some the rose ! — Some, wedding dust, are trodden with the ground, - Others sweep on where Ocean grandly flows ; With stream, or river, glide where beauty glows, — And thus the chain of circumstance obey ! — Not every bud to ripened sweetness blows, — Not every leaf may reach the topmost spray, — Yet all harmonious take their own allotted way ! — L 82 THE MIND. XXII. No ; in the mystic balance of our fate. The chance incomprehensible of birth, One, heir to ancient honours and estate ! Another, to the toils and tears of earth ! One, nursed upon the golden lap of Mirth — The other an unwelcome care and cost Left hard to struggle on by dint of worth : — Still 'midst disparity of fortunes crost Each human state 's alike — if happiness be lost ! XXIII. One step from rectitude — one single vice — Though but Extravagance may be its name — Is selling Happiness at Satan's price. And buying hours of sin with years of shame ; — Most men their own Improvidence may blame For nearly all they suffer ! By degrees More and yet more beyond their means they claim, 'Till Ruin counsels desperate remedies, And never more they know that bliss — a mind at ease ! THE MIXD. 83 XXIV. What are unseen — ideal forms — compared With the quick springs and energies of man ! Feelings, aflFections, sympathies, unspared, — The human, breathing, elements we scan To rocks or hiUs — how huge so e'er their plan ! — 'Midst men — ^not trees, pass thou thy studious hours ; Leave pastoral valleys and their flowery clan ; Towns find the sinews of a poet's power — And proffer fitter themes than woodland hall or bower. XXV. Shall Indolence enchant the poet's lyre, Yet Industry awake no kindred song ? Spirit of Commerce, hear ! — thy son inspire ! Show him thy seas where masts, like forests, throng ; Thy sails each breeze of heaven impels along, An universal presence o'er the tide ! Tell him where'er mankind hath heard thy tongue, Intelligence hath march'd with rapid stride, — And mental freedom sprung rejoicing by thy side ! 84 THE MIND. XXVI. And thou, whose spirit walks the firmament, Speeding hef track where human sight must fade ; Inspiring Science I to whose arm is lent A skill no earthly rival ere display'd : Oh ! — who, save thou, bright Science hath essay'd To measure space, and sound the depths of time ; Snatch unregarded knowledge from the shade : Direct the winds, — ascend the spheres sublime, — Or search the mines of thought through every age and clime. XXVII. Thou, true Prometheus ! — that endow'st the rude^^^ Inanimate materials of the earth, With motion — order — power ! — that hast endued With a perpetual life, with active worth. The meaner things that 'neath the soil have birth !- Opening new worlds for mental enterprize ; Revealing riches, where before lay dearth ! — Who may discern where thy vast limit lies, Who count thy works to come, thy future victories ? THE MIND. 85 XXVIII. The elements most subtle in their range, Fire, — water, — are thy servants ; and the Jiir — The boundless air obeys thee ! — thou canst change The barren dales of earth, to valleys fair ! — Touch the bleak waste, and leave a garden there !— From stagnant marshes drain the vernal rill ; — Give to confusion, beauty ! — and repair The scathe of years with grace-directed skill ; — Even from noxious herbs the dews of life distil ! — XXIX. Thine is that mighty fountain of the Mind^^' Whose universal waters, like a sea, Spread forth their blessings to all humankind ; — Source of all knowledge — present, or to be : — The arbiter of immortality ! — The visible embodyment of thought ! — Was this the only boon we owed to thee, — This, Science, this thy just renown had wrought ; Still hadst thou been a name with inspiration fraught. 86 THE MIND. XXX. Far as existence glows thy gifts are thrown Like stars art)und creation — thou dost raise Forth from the valley and the desert lone Kingdoms whose stately beauty is the gaze And marvel of the world ! — a theme of praise To after ages, and for each, a name That while the last recording stone decays Shall light the memory with as proud a flame As when supreme they stood, the idolized of fame ! XXXI. Greece, Egypt, Syria — ^from the antique dome. To the colossal pile whose fragments rise Like mountains on the classic plains of Rome ; Whose treasures are the wonders of all eyes ; — The miracles of human faculties ! — Rivers are spann'd, — and mighty oceans shrink Before thy mightier skill ; thy grasp defies All known impediment, and link by link. Connects creation's tribes to earth's remotest brink ! THE MIl^D. XXXII. A glorious object breasts the stately main ! — A winged wonder of the sunny air ! — With loveliness to make a seraph vain, — With strength the armament of kings to bear ; To front the tempest in his treacherous lair, And dash the ruin, smiling, from her wings ! — Oh gaze upon her, looks she not most fair Of all terrestrial, perishable things. Save only that which from the eternal Godhead springs ? XXXIII. Onward to distant climes — romantic lands — Where'er the glowing waves of ocean roll. The queenly ship conveys her wide commands From realm to realm — from pole to utmost pole — Reckless of danger — vanquishing control — She seems the agent of a throne divine ; A living creature with a dauntless soul, — A form in which the finer powers combine. And, Science, this great gift — this noble work is thine !- 88 THE MIND. XXXIV. Throw wide thy gates — oh, Commerce ! — teach mankind The wondrous good which from thy bosom glows ! Bid Industry thy golden kingdoms find ; — Lift thou Mechanic Arts before their foes, And challenge Pride to speak but what it knows ; Display thy vast establishments of trade ; Thy railways, — wharfs, — canals, — whence fortune flows, — Match the derided shuttle 'gainst the spade ! — The weaver's humble thread — against the warrior's blade ! — XXXV. Nor England scorn the Loom ! from its abode Heroes have led thine armies to the plain ; Statesmen, from whose majestic genius flowed Wit to aspire, and wisdom to attain The loftiest rank and rule thy sons may gain ! — Scorn not Mechanic Art ! — Be it thy pride Its universal franchise to obtain ! — Ne'er from thy grateful acts its hopes divide, — For Franklin, Dalton, Watt — have crown'd thee from its side. THE MIND. 89 XXXVI. Franklin, whose hand in lines of lightning wrote A name illustrious on the heavens' blue page ! — And though the flash his daring sight had smote — He'd welcomed death, — to live in after-age I^'' A poet's vision did his soul engage ; — The electric god sublime on tempests rode, And devastating elements might rage — From cloud to cloud he with the lightning strode, And struck the thunder mute even in its own abode !- XXXVII. Yes, he — whose philosophic genius joyed To chain the lightning in its own domain — To face the flash, which kingdoms had destroyed ; And scatter'd wreck and ruin o'er the main ! Whose blaze had lighted Superstition's fane, And held in bigot awe the trembling sight ! — He — broke that wing of fire, — and did restrain With iron-rule its wild, destructive flight ; — And left a guardian shield amidst the storms of night. M 90 THE MIND. XXXVIII. In Science as in Literature — the same Creative spirit elevates the tone ! — Philosopher and Bard must mount to fame Each by Imagination's power alone ;'^' The first conception Dalton's mind made known Of the Atomic Theory — was then A vision beautiful as Fancy's own ! — A fine poetic thought — worth Milton's pen ! — Waiting a Mind to grasp, and give its form to Men. XXXIX. The laws which regulate the starry height — These planetary masses, as they sweep Immeasurable space — 'twas Newton's right The fame of their discovery to reap ! — The Worlds of Atoms in their systems keep Laws as defined as those the stars that guide ! — And Dalton triumphed with a power as deep. When he the Atomic Theory applied, As Newton when his mind the Laws of Worlds descried. THE MIND. 91 XL. Where lies the wealth of nations ? — can we rate The statesman's genius in the highest grade ? Is it the Sword which leaves a Nation great ? How then was Rome o'erthrown ? — or Greece betrayed ? No : — by a Watt's — a Newton's — Dalton's — aid A Nation's truest fame and wealth are found, The sons of Science have our greatness made ! For they the Sovereignty of Commerce crowned ; And shed its prosperous light on every shore around ! — XLI. Wintry and pale the gray-eyed Day awoke And drew the cloudy curtains of his sleep ; Dawn — like a smile — upon the cold town broke, — The footless pavement — and the silence deep : — Yet there watch'd One who ceaseless thought did keep Upon the movement of an iron rod ; — As though fame, power, and fortune, at one leap Would reach the spot that pale mechanic trod, — There — where his Engine moved like some organic-god !— 92 THE MIND. XLII. 'Twas Watt — whose eye the breaking day first caught Flushed with victorious science ! — Watt, whose hand A conquest over time and tide had wrought, And held the Elements in his command ! Magician of Mechanics — whose Steam-wand Annihilated space, and gave to Mind Dominion over matter ! — Sea and Land, Like vassals which his mighty will could bind. Acknowledging his power as first of humankind ! — XLIII. Oh ! thou mysterious and eternal Mind ! — Haply I sing of thee but as a bird, Whose lonely notes float feebly on the wind, Passing away unnoticed or unheard : — But, oh ! had I the energy of word — The eloquence to utter all I feel — The gift — the power to grasp Thought like a sword. And what I know as I could wish reveal ; — My song should find a voice deep as the thunder's peal ! THE MIND. 93 XLIV. Exquisite Spirit ! — if thine aspect here Is so magnificent ; — if on earth thou art Thus admirable : in thy sainted sphere, What newer glories wilt thou not impart ? What powers — what unknown faculties may dart Like sunlight through the heaven of thy mould ! What rich endowments into life may start ! — What hidden splendours mayst thou not unfold, — Which earthly eyes ne'er view'd — which human tongue ne'er told. XLV. When Time stands mute before Eternity, And the god-gifted Mind, new filled with light From living fountains, glorified and free, Soars in transcendent majesty and might ; An Angel in its first immortal flight I — Gazing upon the heaven of heavens, to find The bliss of wings ! — the ecstacy of sight ! — A glory amidst glories of its kind ! — A disembodied Soul ! — a re-created Mind ! — 94 THE MIND. XLVI. Then — and then only — may the clouds that hide The stars of inspiration burst away ; Then may the gates of Knowledge open wide, And Genius find its own eternal ray : — Oh ! for the coming of that future day ! — The Spirit-light — the Intellectual dower — The melody of that undying lay — The bliss — the bloom of that Elysian bower — When Time shall breathe no more ! — when Tombs have lost their power ! END OF THIRD PART. THE MIND. PART FOURTH. ANALYSIS— PART IV. The subject continued. The Mind metaphysically considered. Thought — the divinity of its source : allusion to the sceptical philo- sophy of Hume. Memory, Perception, and Reflection illustrated. The influence of Christianity upon the destiny of Man. The Power of the Mind when fortified by Religion ; — its conquest over difficulties, — its triumph amidst torture and death. Episode. Knox before the Lords of the Congregation. The sublime impressions of a Sabbath-morn, — the increased refinement, gentleness, and loveliness observable upon the Lord's Day : — Sab- bath on the Seas: — Christ walkiiig upon the waters. Episode. Consolations of the Mind in approaching death ; — the insufficiency of all earthly Hope. Apostrophe to the Star of Bethlehem. Conclusion. Whether the Mind be merely substance — earth, That may again to native earth decline, Or spirit, — essence of ethereal birth — That, despite death, above the stars shall shine ; It hath been hitherto no aim of mine To question, or propound : — to nobler things I would this long continued theme confine ; — Nor rashly soil the Mind's exalting wings With that scholastic dust the wrangling sophist flings. 100 THE MIND. II. Whether indeed the particles of brain, By mere vibration of each atom ball, Engender thought ? let casuists explain : — How thought's produced, and present at what call ? Or if what we term Thought, be thought at all ? I leave for speculation to dispute. Nor bury Faith 'neath Doubt's sepulchral pall ! — For if the Mind's a tree, and Thought's the fruit, Oh, still beyond the grave I trust to find its root ! — III. All substance must have limits, — who may trace The limits of the Mind ? what pedant lore Fix its expansion ? — the autumnal tree Its leaf, flower, fruit, complete ; — its end is o'er ! — Its principle of life effects no more ! — But how compute the intellectual height ? — What powers, desires, ideas, may it store ? — Is there an autumn for its fruitage bright, A product it must bear ; — then moulder dark in night ?- THE MIND. 101 IV. No : — measureless as God's own nature is ! Its spirit limitless and unconfined ! — Seek first to span the heaven's sublimities, Ere fix the attributes and powers of mind To forms material : — seek to grasp the wind, And count its undulations : — 'twere as vain I — Oh, deaf to harmony, — to beauty blind, — That would the destiny of mind constrain ; — Darken its glowing hopes ; its soaring pinions chain ! V. Whether the Mind external things perceives, Or but their mirror'd images arrayed ; — Or, as some say, the mind the body leaves. And comes in contact with each shape and shade, 'Twere weak to argue : — if the brain be made A vacant hall for outward sense to fill. And our perceptions through the nerves conveyed. Are vassals prompt and active at our will. Still there is something more, — we want a Master still ! 102 THE MIND. VI. That which directs the senses — wills, and thinks ; — The storehouse gives no order for its store, It but receives : — say, what connects those links ? Combines, — selects, — arranges, — and goes o'er Things, eyes have never seen ? — nor hand yet bore ?- That in-creation is of right divine ! Its essence never science may explore, Nor compass reach ; — nor balance, rule, nor line Guess at its form or end ; — nor origin define ! — VII. Come, let us measure feelings by the square ! — Pain must be triangle — and pleasure round; — Our sentiments are but a change of air ; Emotions are the growth of foreign ground ; — Motion is Thought ! — oh, science most profound ; Research most learned ! — why not with Hume agree. And seek the simple with it to astound : That " objects may exist yet nowhere be " Say all is not — and doubt thine own identity ! — THE MIND. 103 viir. Ask what is Mind when from all thoughts, and dreams, Passions, emotions, pains, — it stands alone ? — First say what is the Sun without its beams ? — What 's sight to those confined till death in stone ? The mind may only by its powers be known : — If to identify we must bereave The mind of all by which the mind is shown ; The narrow sophist will his search deceive. Entangled in the web his brains bewildered weave. IX. The thing remembered brings not Memory too ! — Dungeon'd in darkness eyes could know but night. Yet to the captive should morn rise to view ' The scene that blessed him would not bring him sight : Thus Memory is an innate gift of light. Not an induction ; but 'tis fruitless aim To follow Truth through Doubt's deluding flight ; — To question and distrust, seems Learning's claim : — And Doubt, Philosophy, is thy dark child of shame ! — 104 THE MIND. X. The morning Wind that lingers o'er the rose, — Plays with the willow, — or the harp-string finds, — Wakes perfume, — music, — grace ; — but where are those Would say grace, perfume, music — were the Winds ? — So are there agencies of many kinds Waking intelligence by thousand ways ; — But fancy, taste, and feeling, — are the Mind's ! The agency is but the wind that plays Over our spirit's chords ; and nature's law obeys ! — XI. The low, gray stone — within the church-yard gate — She loves it well, old Malpas, deaf and blind ; — There oft on Sabbath eves she used to wait To meet his glance ; and list those whispers kind, WTiich won, — ere half her heart seem'd love inclined ;— Now fourscore years, like spirits, haunt that stone ; Blind, — yet she sees ! — can there be eyes in Mind ? — Deaf, — yet she hears of lips beloved the tone The spirit-language sweet of children once her own ! THE MIND. 105 XII. Each name above the burial sod appears ; And pitying voices round poor Malpas rise : — But not a sound of human tongue she hears ; — Not one graved letter meets those night-shut eyes ; — Yet still she hears — the voices of the skies ! — Still views bright forms, green lanes, and summer leaves ; If hearing to the Deaf — the Mind supplies ; — If sight unto the Blind — the Mind conceives ; — What but a present God the miracle achieves ! — XIII. Perception and Reflection, — godlike gifts, — Like Memory, are ingenerate in soul ; — The first the mind to Nature's knowledge lifts ; The second regulates and tests the whole : — That power which keeps all others in control ; — And these — whate'er the rest — are not of earth ; — But God their source ! and Paradise their goal, — Since Revelation taught angelic worth ; — And Christ, the Saviour, gave to Man a second birth, o 106 THE MIND. XIV. Oh, cross of Christ, first reared 'mid scoff and scorn, Cherish'd in secret 'gainst a bad world's hate ; Now, on the neck of maiden beauty worn — Blazing 'mid arms and banners of the state — The flags of navies — crowned and consecrate ! — Erst, type of persecution, shame, and blood : — Now the bowed knees of nations on thee wait ; And kings adore where burning martyrs stood, Like Faith amidst the flames — unchanged and unsubdued. XV. Oh, blest of Heaven, Religion, God-born guide ! — Not thine the torture and the bigot chain, — Not thine the unsparing creed, — the zealot pride. That would through persecution Christ attain ! — Thou hast no heavenly joy in human pain ! — But ever com'st by love and mercy led ; — Yet wert thou parent called by many a Cain Who from the altar struck his brother dead. And prayed with gore-stained hands — as if 'twere incense shed ! — THE MIND. 107 XVI. Come to our souls and make us all thine own ; Come with thy brow of Truth, — thy lip of grace, — Thy peace — which is the light of Jesus' throne : — Thy hope — which beameth like an angel's face : — Oh, come. Religion, all the world embrace ! — For all are brothers, and God's home would seek ; — Back to thy breast our erring footsteps trace. Teach us with Christian charity to speak ; Nor crouch to high estate ; — nor trample on the weak. XVII. Swords in the crowded chancel, — armed feet Trampling the solemn aisle ; — whom serve they here ?- Terror is in the wild and anxious street. Where gleams the holy church with axe and spear ! Where Crichton, Napier, Rutherford, appear To list the voice which menaced death defies ; — The intrepid Knox ! who sees not, — owns not Jear, But to the Gospel lifts his heaven-ward eyes. Content to yield his life if for God's Word he dies ! — 108 THE MIND. XVIII. Fear ? He had known captivity untamed ; Had worn the dungeon's fetters undismayed ; Fear ? Though the martyr's death had round him flamed, Or rack inquisitorial been displayed, His heart — unconquerable firm — had made A crown of glory from the thorns of hate ! — Fear ? — 'Twas not man could make his soul afraid. God was his sword — his shield inviolate, And fenced by these, his Mind could stand and smile at fate. XIX. But not alone that bounded spot of earth. His sin-denouncing thunders smote each land Where Rome's idolatries and crimes had birth ; — Her mitres shook 'neath his indignant hand ; Though offered titles, sent at Kings' command. To win his silence ; — still no Judas he To vend his Saviour for a bribe, — and brand The immortal conquest of a Gospel free, For rank ambition craves, and godless bends the knee !- THE MIND. 109 XX. Then vain was Hamilton's remorseless threat, That dared he mount the pulpit — even there Should he by sword and arquebus be met ; Shot like a wolf within his safest lair ! — And spake the preacher — " For His sake I dare Not only thine — but all Sin's champions armed ! — Thou of a creed that knows not how to spare, Shalt learn how Truth can face thee unalarmed ; And prove from bolt and brand this book of life is charmed.' XXI. And forth the lightning of his spirit flew. Striking the superstitions of his day ; The relics, images, and saints o'erthrew ; — Rending the veil which hid corruption's way ! — And from that hour the pomp and the array Of mitred mammon lost their regal pride : — The cross of Christ again assumed its sway : God's book to all the world was opened wide, And Nations blest His name who for redemption died !- 110 THE MIND. XXII. Light of the Sabbath — soul awakening Morn, Thou mirror of the mystery above ! — Oh ! sainted day, on prophet pinions borne. How waits the heart thy solemn rest to prove ;— How longs the soul with Deity to move And drink thy deathless waters ! — and to feel Thy beauty, and thy wisdom, and thy love. Sublimely o'er the soaring spirit steal. Till ope the heavenly gates Jehovah to reveal ! — XXIII. Whilst, mounting and expanding, the Mind's wings Thus, like a seraph's, reach eternal day ; — Futurity its starry mantle flings And shrinks the Past an atom in its ray ! — So mighty — so magnificent — the way Which leads to God ! — so endless, — so sublime, — The skies grow dark, their grandeur falls away Before the wordless glory of that clime Which feeds with light the suns and thousand worlds of Time. THK MIND. Ill XXIV. Light of the Sabbath — soul awakening Morn ; — Take me, Religion, on thy holy quest ; Lead me 'mid desert hills, the wild and lorn, To mark the lowly shepherd hail his guest And bless that Day, which ever leaves him blest ! — Makes his rude cot an altar to God's praise ! — Where 'neath a mother's pious bosom prest, His child, with lifted hands, and upward gaze. Pleads for its parents' weal, and happy length of days !- XXV. Sun of the Sabbath — lead me to the vale Whose verdant arms enfold yon village fair ; — Afar from towns where passions stern prevail, — Afar from Commerce and her sons of care — Guide me where maidens young for Church prepare In cottage grace — and garments Sunday-white ! — With reverend step, and mild submissive air. Oft let me hear their tuneful lips unite, To hail with humble hearts the Sabbath's sacred light. 112 THE MIND. XXVI. Oh, sight the loveliest human eyes e'er found ! To view two sisters o'er the same page bend, Their lovely arms each other's waist around — Their soft, bright hair in careless ringlets blend — Their mingling breath like incense sweet ascend Over God's Book, — His angel-book of Truth ! — Their hearts, minds, feelings, all emotions lend A vision of that paradise of youth Ere Adah's beauteous form droop'd 'neath the serpent's tooth ! XXVII. Hail Sabbath hour ! — Hail comforter and guide ! — Hour when the wanderer home a blessing sends ; Hour when the seaman o'er the surges wide To every kindred roof his heart extends ! — Hour when to all that mourn thy peace descends : When e'en the captive's griefs less sternly lower : — Hour when the Cross of Christ all life defends ; — Hour of Salvation ! God's redeeming hour ! — Eternity is thine ! — and Heaven-exalting power ! — THE MIND. 113 XXVIII. Prayer on the waters, — o'er the wintry sea Where, like a spire, the lonely mast appears Lifting the seaman's thoughts to Deity ! — Prayer on the waters ! Prayer to Him who hears All human wrongs, — all human sorrow cheers ; — Prayer the best anchor of a soul deprest ; — Though sunk in doubt the shipwreck'd spirit fears The grave to come, with horrors unconfest ; — Yet shall that anchor save clasped to a drowning breast. XXIX. Morn, noon, or eve — oh. Sea ! — solemn or wild, I list the myriad echoes of thy tongue — Thy first low matin to the morning mild. Thy chorus to the sun-god, deep and strong. Thy lonely vesper to the starry throng : — The poetry of waters ! — blending free All harmonies of beauty, grace, and song ! — Awakening thoughts of melodies to be Beyond thy sounding shore, thou reverential sea !— p 114 THE MIND. XXX. Thy breathings are the eloquence of sound ; Wordless, yet touching more than words, that wake The finest, noblest influences around ; — Whether fierce storm thy mountain billows shake, Or, calm and cloudless as a summer lake, Thy waters ripple to the distant shore, Still never should my heart thy ways forsake ; But love thee in each mood yet more and more ; Thou oracle of Time, whose mysteries all adore 1 — XXXI. AH in their turn have sacrificed to thee ! — Jew, Greek, Venetian, savage or untaught ; — From heathen hordes to Christian chivalry. What battles on thy confines have been fought ! — How many generations passed to nought Since found the Ark a desolated land ! — How many glories lost since first God brought Thy waters in the hollow of his hand. And bade them know their place, and mark his high command. THE MIND. ] 15 XXXII. Thou art the link and union of all time ! — For men have gazed on thee, and felt and heard The music of thy tones in every clime ; — Thou art the same wild sea which at the word Of the Redeemer, trembling like a bird, Folded thy stormy pinions, and grew still ! Thou art the same which erst the world interred ! — Full well thou know'st, through His mysterious will. To conquer without arms, and without wounds to kill !- XXXIII. Long hast thou borne the sorrows of mankind Upon thy broad and agitated breast ; Since hearts first cast their hopes upon the wind ; Since Home's sweet hearth lost many a lovely guest To seek that solace for a mind deprest * Their native clime denied them ! — One I knew Whose grace — oh, poet's feeling ne'er exprest ; — Whose semblance painter's pencil never drew ; — Droop ! fall ! — as from the rose fades soft the vermeil dew. 116 THE MIND. XXXIV. Dying in tints of beauty — leaf by leaf! 'Twas whisper'd Love first called the canker there :- But if she grieved, none ever saw her grief; — The thought were torture — should a breath declare That unkind Love had left her cheek less fair ! — And thus she fed on Hope, who said away From scenes too dear ; that 'neath a foreign air No more the worm within her breast should prey ;— No more her spirit faint — her little strength decay ! XXXV. Love ? I will tell thee what it is to love ! It is to build with human thoughts a shrine, Where Hope sits brooding like a beauteous dove ; Where Time seems young — and Life a thing divine. All tastes — air pleasures — all desires combine To consecrate this sanctuary of bliss. Above — the stars in shroudless beauty shine, — Around — the streams their flowery margins kiss,— And /^there's heaven on earth, that heaven is surely this. THE MIND. 117 XXXVI. Yes, this is love, — the stedfast and the true : — The immortal glory which hath never set ; The best, the brightest boon the heart e'er knew : Of all life's sweets the very sweetest yet ! Oh, who but can recall the eve they met To breathe in some green walk their first young vow Whilst summer flowers with moonlight dews were wet, And winds sighed soft around the mountain's brow, — And all was rapture then, which is but memory now. XXXVII. Her's was a form to dream of — slight and frail — As though too delicate for earth — too fair To meet the worldly conflicts which assail Nature's unhappy footsteps everywhere ! — There was a languor in her pensive air, A tone of suffering in her accents weak. The hectic signet, never known to spare, Darken'd the beauty of her thoughtful cheek. And omen'd fate more sad than even tears might speak. 118 THE MIND. XXXVIII. The angel-rapt expression of her eye — The hair descending, like a golden wing, Adown her shoulders' faded symmetry ; — Her moveless lip — so pined and perishing, — The shadow of itself; — ^its rose-like spring Blanched ere its time : — for morn no balm might wake ; Nor youth, with all its hope, nepenthe bring ! — She looked like one whose heart was born to break ; A face on which to gaze made every feeling ache ! XXXIX. And, oh ! that wreath — the last her sister twined — Whose heart-shaped leaves, slow falling, seem'd to say Thus shall the friends forsake thee — left behind, — Thus pass thy memory from their souls away : Or, but in transient thought, unlovely, stray, Like a poor flower that welcomeless appears ! — But, no, she wronged them ; where they used to play, Oh, many yet would speak of her with tears ; And think of all her love, her truth, in those gone years. THE MIND. 119 XL. Still, still she drooped, although the heavens shone warm; And every hour her beauty shed some leaf, — And every day still slighter waned her form, — Those mild blue eyes seem'd but the founts of grief; — Whilst they who might have soothed and brought relief Were all afar ; and seas between rolled high : — Yet, oh ! for but one glance — however brief — But once to see the faces loved come nigh. She 'd say — " Thy will be done !" — nor weep so young to die ! XLI. The peasant, hastening to the vine-ripe fields. Oft turned with pity towards the stranger maid, Whose faltering steps approach'd yon mount, which yields A view from shore to farthest sea displayed ; — And there, till setting day, the maiden stayed ; Watching each sail, if haply she might find The distant ship which her dear friends conveyed ; And still Hope gave her wings to every wind. And whispered " See, they come !" — till ached her wearied mind. 120 THE MIND. XLII. O human heart ! when may thy feelings find As fond return, — when thine emotions claim Response as fervent, tenderness as blind. Or friendship which is something more than name ? Ah me ! — the sum of life is still the same. Affections which should serve our latest years Grow ashes on the altar of youth's flame ; — And all too soon Experience appears The history of our hearts to register with tears. XLIII. The minstrel Morn called to the woods, and they Shook their green tresses, and from slumber rose ; — The merry Morn, still singing on her way. Called bud, and flower, and streamlet from repose : Who could behold, and dream of earthly woes ? — From dewy bloom to darkened chamber turn — Mark the dim eyes lift upwards to their close, — Gaze on the wasted cheek, and inly learn. Vainly for human hearts the lamp of Hope may burn. THE MIND. 121 XLIV. I saw a star upon the vault profound, A star of Mercy, lending blindness sight ! Twelve names of glory wreath'd it round and round ; Luminous altars, sanctifying night ! — Whilst from the centre — each a cross of light — Beams, on celestial missions, mounted far ! And all the Hierarchs of Heaven's vast height From the eternal portals raised the bar. And hailed Salvation's hope — all hailed the Bethlehem Star. XLV. Then from that living firmament there grew A shape — a shadow infinite — which shed Perpetual happiness where'er it drew ; Crowns of all thrones and worlds moved o'er its head ! — Whilst 'neath the might tremendous of that tread The bruised Serpent fought in flaming war ! And, as at each rebellious coil it bled. The glorious companies of saints afar Sang « Hail Salvation's light! All hail the Bethlehem Star !" Q 122 THE MIND. XL VI. Eastward gleamed forth a thousand gates divine, From which their flight myriads of Angels took ; Ranging their hosts in glittering line on line ; Till high in heaven the wings of seraphs shook A blaze intense of grandeur o'er that " Book" — God's " Book of Life !" Oh, language may but mar Each grace celestial, — each adoring look, — As hosts on hosts of angels, shining far. Sang "Hail Salvation's light! All hail the Bethlehem Star!" XLVII. Through ranks of cherubim the steep was won ; — Where, led by Faith, the dizzy verge I sought. And worlds ten thousand down — beheld the Sun, — The Sun of Mind ! — with beams omniscient fraught ! — Around the Powers and Ministers of Thought Battled with Demons ; — that, around, a war Of endless passion, sin, and darkness, fought ! Yet there a Voice, not hosts of hell might jar, Still breathed Salvation's hope ! — still hailed the Bethlehem Star. THE MIND. 123 XLVIII. Beyond the " Book," — the mystic shrine beyond, — Beyond the Mercy Seat, — the Seraph-zone, — Truth, Holiness, and Love, — in triple bond — Held the Eternal Veil before HIS throne ! A presence everlasting — yet alone ! — Seen in all glories whencesoe'er they are ; Known in all being ; — yet unseen ! — unknown ! — There, borne on wings as on triumphal car. One sate August in Might — and hailed the Bethlehem Star. XLIX. Then glorified in God appear'd the Seven — The beautiful, imparadised to sight ! Then burst revealed the mysteries of heaven The mover, mind, and miracle of light ! That Hand — whose shadow is the throne of night ! — And in the midst the face which never smiled, For ever sorrowful where all was bright ! Still pleading for the erring feet, beguiled ; Still smileless though in heaven — for Man, the guilt-defiled! 124 THE WIND. What — weeps the Saviour midst the hosts of God — And can Eternity blanch out the stain ? May Christ forget the path his foes have trod, Forgive the thorn and thong — the cross and chain ? Oh Nature, blush for Man ! — who can remain Unmoved whilst Angels tremble in their spheres ! Still grasping gold whilst Death confounds his gain — Still deaf — though universal Pity hears ! — Tearless ! though 'midst God's hosts he draws a Saviour's tears ? — LI. Without Redemption — Mind were like the night Which finds no morn ! — a sea that seeks no shore !- If soaring, without Hope to aid its flight ; And to oblivion doomed for evermore ! All its exalted visions quenched and o'er, Its noblest feelings but as fragrance shed ; No Saviour's hand its perfume to restore ; No Voice to call the slumberer from his bed, — But everlasting dust and darkness on the Dead ! — THE MIND. 125 LII. Oh, what were Man's majestic faculties — His genius as of Deity a spark, — Though, like the sun of morning o'er the seas, Mind rose supreme, of gazing worlds the mark ; If born to be cast down to endless dark ! — Thought, — Learning, — Genius, — all that loves to climb. Predestined for the Grave ; — no saving Ark To bear the fallen from the gulph of time ; — Nor show that Angel-step from tombs — to worlds sublime. LIII. Oh, Mind immortal ! — Mind ineffable ! — Infinite Wisdom of the Godhead known ; Soul of all spheres wherever Life may dwell ; Eternal Intellect ! — Thought's first, grand throne ! — Thou, who dost stretch thy hand from zone to zone. And hold'st the fate of empires at thy feet ; We bless thee, God, for boundless mercies shown ! We bless thee that the Grave holds promise sweet That we, through Death's dread night, thy saving Morn shall meet. 126 THE MIND. LIV. Salvation ! — bid the Earth resume the sound ! — Sing it — ye Forests — lift your boughs in song ! And thou — vast Ocean — to thine utmost bound Swell the bright tidings of the Cross along ! And you — ye giant mountains — with a tongue Majestic as the thunder-harp above, Sound forth Salvation to the World's wide throng ! Again the Ark is saved — by Christ, the Dove ! — And Mind redeemed through God's almighty, endless Love ! END OF FOURTH PART. NOTES. (1) P. 25. L. 1. West, Reynolds, Hogarth, Lawrence, these are names. My country I — dear, ay, doubly dear to thee ; Benjamin West was born in America ; but it is to England, and to English encouragement, that the noblest productions of his genius may be ascribed. In fact I am only following the steps of Allan Cunningham, in placing West among the British Painters. (2) P. 38. L. 10. / do remember one whose early days Were radiant with the light that genius sends. This melancholy instance of the criminal consequences of dissipation, is no imaginary picture ; — not many years ago a similar event occurred in the North of England. A gentleman of family and fortune, highly esteemed and beloved, gradu- ally fell a victim to the unhappy vice of inebriation j and during a temporary aberration of intellect, committed that crime for which he now languishes within the walls of a Lunatic Asylum. 128 NOTES. (3) P. 34. L. 1. Approach the tomb of Julius — and behold The might of human intellect — • Not in one point of view only is Angelo's genius to be contemplated. Sculptor of the Moses, painter of the Last Judgment, architect of the Cupola, — we behold him in the greatest of the works of art. The Moses, on the tomb of Julius II., amid the creations of genius, rises a solitary and matchless monument ! Without a model in the productions of antiquity, it has remained inimitable and unimitated in modern times. (4) P. 56. L. 1. Canova I — at thy well-loved name I leap The antique splendours of the past. " The compositions of Canova have enriched modern art with the most glowing conceptions of elegance and grace ; raised, and yet more refined, by the expression of some elevating or endearing sentiment. Here, indeed, has been allotted his peculiar and unapproachable walk. In the monu- mental series of works, Canova displays all the practical excellencies of his genius, with more perhaps of originality and simplicity than generally characterize his other labours. This class consists of architectural eleva- tions, supporting colossal statues, and of tablets in relievo. Of the former, the tombs of the Popes of Rome, of Alfieri at Florence, and of the Arch- duchess Maria Christina at Vienna, are magnificent examples." — Memes. (5) P. 84. L. 10. Thou, true Prometheus ! that endow'st the rude Inanimate materials of the earth With motion — order — power I — " Science has increased the sum of human happiness, not only by calling new pleasures into existence, but by so cheapening former enjoyments as NOTES. 129 to render them attainable by those who before never could have hoped to share them. Nor are its effects confined to England alone ; they extend over the whole civilized world ; and the savage tribes of America, Asia, and Africa, must ere long feel the benefits, remote or immediate, of this all-powerful agent." Lardner. (6) P. 85. L. 10. Thine is that mighty fountain of the Mind. " The early appearance and the universality of traditional learning seems to establish the opinion, that the love of knowledge is among the first and most irresistible desires of the human heart. That many of the noblest efforts of ancient genius, though committed to writing on a substance so frail as papyrus, and so subject to erasure as the waxen tablet, should have reached the present age, is an event only to be accounted for by supposing, that their conspicuous beauties occasioned uncommon vigilance and solici- tude in their preservation. To the Art of Printing may be attributed that change in the manners, sentiments and information of the people, which has taken place within the interim of a century or two, and which cannot escape the most superficial observer." Knox. (7) P. 89. L. 4. And though the flash his daring sight had smote — He'd welcome death, — to live in after-age I " Franklin perceived an analogy between the effects of thunder and elec- tricity, which struck him greatly. He conceived the idea of an apparatus, by means of which, he proposed to interrogate the heavens ; he makes the experiment, and the answer fully confirms his conjectures. Thus the cause of lightning is now known : its effects, so ruinous, so irregular in appearance, are not only explained, but imitated. " We at length know why the lightning silently and peaceably follows certain bodies, and disperses others with a loud noise ; why it melts metals, K 130 NOTES. sometimes shivers to atoms and sometimes seems to respect those sub- stances which surround it. " But it was but little to imitate the thunder, Dr. Franklin conceived the audacious idea of averting its vengeance. He imagined that a bar of iron pointed at the end, and connected with the ground, or rather with the water, would establish a communication between the clouds and the earth ; and thus guarantee or protect the objects in the immediate neighbourhood of such a conductor — the success of this idea was fully commensurate to all his wishes." Condorcet. (8) P. 90. L. 4. Philosopher and Bard must mount to fame Each by Imagination's power alone ; " The gift of a lively fancy is an important requisite to every physical observer. This faculty has accordingly been conspicuous among all the great discoverers. The imagination of the Philosopher differs from that of the Poet, only because it calls forth less vivid images ; but it is equally creative, and equally alert in seizing the flitting scenes of Nature." Sir John Leslie, Prof, of Nat. Phil. CONCLUSION. Humbly — sweet Spirit of harmonious Song ! — Soul universal ! — Angel born of thought, — Truth — feeling — love ! — whose rapture-breathing tongue High inspiration from the godhead caught ! — Humbly thy chosen temple have I sought, Low at thy feet mine offering to resign : — And if^as hoped — 'tis with right feeling fraught, With import dear to thee — thou. Muse divine, — And no degenerate son pays homage at thy shrine, — Then grant me audience with the good and wise : And let this seed of Verse, if deem'd of worth, Bloom forth to other days — and other eyes — A flower to grace my grave ; — when mute in earth ! Let me not leave an unrecorded birth : — But should this theme of Mind prove worthy thee, If its immortal visions shadow forth A power — a presence of divinity — Then yield me yet aname, that Time may love to see. "Jiivatque novos decerpeie flores; Insignemque meo capiti petere inde coronam, Unde prius nuUi velanint tempora musae.'' Xua'etius. ■ Omnes enim res Virtus, fama, decus, divina humanaque pulchei' Divitiis parent." Horace. " His mind was a thanksgiving to the power that made him." Wordsworth. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS DRYBURGH ABBEY. And Scott — ^that Ocean 'mid the stream of men ! That Alp, amidst all mental greatness reared ! — 'TwAS morn — but not the ray which falls the summer boughs among, When beauty walks in gladness forth, with all her light and song; 'Twas morn — but mist and cloud hung deep upon the lonely vale. And shadows, like the wings of death, were out upon the gale. 136 DRYBURGII ABBEY. For He whose spirit woke the dust of nations into life — That o'er the waste and barren earth spread flowers and fruitage rife — Whose genius, like the sun, illumed the mighty realms of mind — Had fled for ever from the fame, love, friendship of mankind ! To wear a wreath in glory wrought his spirit swept afar, Beyond the soaring wing of thought, the light of moon or star; To drink immortal waters, free from every taint of earth — To breathe before the shrine of life, the source whence worlds had birth ! There was wailing on the early breeze, and darkness in the sky, When, with sable plume, and cloak, and pall, a funeral train swept by ; Methought — St. Mary shield us well ! — that other forms moved there, Than those of mortal brotherhood, the noble, young, and fair! DRYBURGH ABBEY. 137 Was it a dream ? — how oft, in sleep, we ask, " Can this be true?" Whilst warm Imagination paints her marvels to our view ; — Earth's glory seems a tarnish'd crown to that which we behold, When dreams enchant our sight with things whose meanest garb is gold ! Was it a dream? — methought the "dauntless Harold" passed me by — The proud " Fitz-James," with martial step, and dark in- trepid eye ; That " Marmion's" haughty crest was there, a mourner for his sake ; And she, — the bold, the beautiful ! — sweet " Lady of the Lake." The " Minstrel" whose last lay was o'er, whose broken harp lay low, And with him glorious " Waverley," with glance and step of wo; And " Stuart's" voice rose there, as when, 'mid fate's dis- astrous war. He led the wild, ambitious, proud, and brave " Vich Ian Vohr." s 138 DRYBURGH ABBEY. Next, marvelling at his sable suit, the " Dominie" stalk'd past, With "Bertram," "Julia" by his side, whose tears were flowing fast ; " Guy Mannering," too, moved there, o'erpowered by that afflicting sight ; And " Merrilies," as when she wept on Ellangowan's height. Solemn and grave, "Monkbarns'' appeared, amidst that burial line; And " Ochiltree" leant o'er his staff, and mourn'd for " Auld lang syne!" Slow march'd the gallant " Mc. Intyre," whilst "Lovel" mused alone; For once, " Miss Wardour's" image left that bosom's faithful throne. With coronach, and arms reversed, forth came " Mac Gregor's" clan — Red " Dougal's" cry peal'd shrill and wild—" Rob Roy's" bold brow look'd wan : The fair "Diana" kissed her cross, and bless'd its sainted ray; And " Wae is me !" the " Baillie" sighed, " that I should see this day !" DKYBURGH ABBEY. 139 Next rode, in melancholy guise, with sombre vest and scarf, Sir Edward, Laird of Ellieslaw, the far-renowned " Black Dwarf;" Upon his left, in bonnet blue, and white locks flowing free — The pious sculptor of the grave — stood " Old Mortality !" " Balfour of Burley," " Claverhouse," the " Lord of Evan- dale," And stately " Lady Margaret," whose wo might nought avail ! Fierce " BothweU" on his charger black, as from the con- flict won ; And pale " Habakkuk Mucklewrath," who cried " God's will be done !" And like a rose, a young white rose, that blooms mid wildest scenes. Passed she, — the modest, eloquent, and virtuous " Jeanie Deans ;" And " Dumheidikes," that silent laird, with love too deep to smile. And " EiBe," with her noble friend, the good " Duke of Argyle." 140 DRYBURGH ABBEV. With lofty brow, and bearing high, dark " Ravenswood" advanced, Who on the false " Lord Keeper's" mien with eye indignant glanced : — Whilst graceful as a lonely fawn, 'neath covert close and sure, Approached the beauty of all hearts — the " Bride of Lam- mermoor ! " Then " Annot Lyle," the fairy queen of light and song, stepped near. The " Knight of Ardenvhor," and he, the gifted Hieland Seer; " Dalgetty," " Duncan," " Lord Monteith," and " Ranald," met my view ; The hapless « Children of the Mist," and bold " Mhich- Connel Dhu!" On swept " Bois-Guilbert" — "Front de Boeuf" — " De Bracy's" plume of wo; And " Coeur de Lion's" crest shone near the valiant "Ivanhoe;" While soft as glides a summer cloud "Rowena" closer drew. With beautiful " Rebecca" peerless daughter of the Jew ! DRYBURGH ABBEY. 141 Still onward like the gathering night advanced that funeral train — Like billows when the tempest sweeps across the shadowy main; Where'er the eager gaze might reach, in noble ranks were seen Dark plume, and glittering mail and crest, and woman's beauteous mien ! A sound thrill'd through that length'ning host ! methought the vault was clos'd, Where, in his glory and renown, fair Scotia's bard reposed ! A sound thrilled through that length'ning host ! and forth my vision fled ! But, ah ! — that mournful dream proved true, — the immortal Scott was dead ! The vision and the voice are o'er ! their influence waned away Like music o'er a summer lake at the golden close of day : " The vision and the voice are o'er ! — but when will be forgot The buried Genius of Romance — the imperishable Scott ? THE RIVER. Thou art the Poet of the Woods, fair River, A lover of the beautiful ! — and still Wand'rest by wildest scenes, while night-stars quiver, The only voice that haunts the desert hill : — Thou art the Poet of the Woods, whose lay Charms the dim forest on thy sylvan way. Thou art the Artist of the Vale, bright River, That paint'st the glowing hues of earth and sky On thine own pure and placid breast for ever ; Two worlds of beauty on thy waters lie ! — Thou 'rt Nature's boldest Painter — broad and free — And human genius ne'er surpasseth thee ! Thou art the Minstrel of the Fields, sweet River, Whose music lingers like an angel's tongue — A voice that sings the glory of the Giver ! Creation's first, sublimest, birth of song ! Still let my soul thy liquid music hear, Oh, sweet Musician ! — voice for ever dear ! THE SLUMBERERS. Gaze thou upon this mental dome — This mortal palace of the mind — This spirit-dweUing — this soul's home — To dreamy slumber now resigned : The fringed and ivory doors are closed Upon the azure world below ; The ruby hall, where Love reposed, Hath lost its soft, its minstrel flow. To the land of dreams hath fled Music sweet as incense shed ! 144 THE SLUMBERERS.' II. Tranquil rest the small white feet ; How unmoved the graceful hand ! Yet, in measured circles fleet Dance they in the visioned land ! Calmly, as the frozen snow, O'er her arm of beauty rare. Droops that pale enchanted brow 'Neath its long and shadowy hair ; Not a smile the lip surrounds. Yet she laughs where mirth abounds ! III. Round the damask curtains fall, Soft the silken pillow bends. Nothing save the watcher's call To the ear Time's echo lends ; Yet, beneath the living green Of the ancient woods and hills. Where the timid fawns are seen Trooping by the forest rills ; Thousand flowers around her beaming. Walks she in the land of dreaming ! THE SLUMBERERS. 145 IV. Strange that the closed eye should see !- That the stirless feet should dance To a magic minstrelsy, Heard but in the sleeper's trance. Strange the voiceless lip should sing ! — That the curtain fold on high, With the branching leaves of spring, Should delude the Dreamer's eye ! Mirthful — yet without a smile ! Mute — yet singing all the vphile. To a darker couch we tread, Where a maiden lowly lies ; Solemn light the tapers shed. O'er the cold and shrouded eyes ! On her white, unheaving breast, As the sculptor's marble fair, One pale, wasted hand doth rest. Half upcurved as still in prayer : To the land of souls have flown Feelings sweet as angels' own. T 146 THE SLUMBERERS. VI. Mark how wan the sombre brow ! Sadly dark the fallen cheeks ; Yet, she soars a seraph now, Where the morn of Heaven breaks. Silent in her virgin shroud, Silent on her funeral bed ; Like a lily crushed and bowed. Ere its brief spring-hour had fled : Silent — yet she sings — she hears The host of God's seraphic spheres ! VII. Strange the lifeless eye should know Glories hid from living gaze ; Strange that form of saddest wo Lifts to God rejoicing praise. Strange that hand so meekly laid On the sunk and wearied breast, Clasped by Christ — in Faith arrayed — Is guided to immortal rest. Lost — yet with Jehovah found ! Dead — yet with the deathless crowned ! THE MOTHER. ■' Oh thou ! with whom my heart was wont to share, From Reason's dawn, each pleasure and each care." Rogers. A SOFTENING thought of Other years A feeling link'd to hours When Life was all too bright for tears, — And Hope sang, wreath'd with flowers ! A memory of affections fled — Of voices — heard no more ! — Stirred in my spirit when I read That name of fondness o'er ! 148 THE MOTHER. Oh Mother! — in that early word What loves and joys combine ; What hopes — too oft, alas ! — deferr'd ; What vigils — griefs — are thine ! — Yet, never, till the hour we roam — By worldly thralls opprest. Learn we to prize that truest home — A watchful mother's breast ! III. The thousand prayers at midnight pour'd Beside our couch of woes ; The wasting weariness endured To soften our repose ! — Whilst never murmur mark'd thy tongue— Nor toils relaxed thy care : — How, Mother, is thy heart so strong To pity and forbear ? THE MOTHER. 149 IV. What filial fondness e'er repaid Or could repay the past ? — Alas ! for gratitude decay'd ! Regrets — that rarely last ! — 'Tis only when the dust is thrown Thy lifeless bosom o'er ; We muse upon thy kindness shown- And wish we 'd loved thee more ! 'Tis only when thy lips are cold — We mourn with late regret, 'Mid myriad memories of old — The days for ever set ! And not an act — nor look — nor thought- Against thy meek control, But with a sad remembrance fraught Wakes anguish in the soul ! 150 THE MOTHER. TI. On every land — in every clime — True to her sacred cause, Fill'd by that effluence sublime From which her strength she draws, Still is the Mother's heart the same — The Mother's lot as tried : — Then, oh ! may Nations guard that name With filial power and pride ! THE BETTER WREATH. What mortal plant that grows Should wreathe immortal fame ? The Rose ? it darkens ere it blows ; Its glory 's but a name ! — Its blush, which meets the Morn's young beams, Must bear Night's tears ere long ; Find fitter emblem for Fame's dreams. The poet's soul and song ! 152 THE BETTER WREATH. II. The Laurel? Shall its sombre leaves Fame's lofty brow entwine, Which living light from heaven receives, And mirrors thoughts divine ! No ! Cast it o'er some dismal wave. Where human hopes ne'er breathe ; The glorious songs the poet gave May ask a nobler wreath. III. The Bay ? Oh ! still its hues proclaim The same prophetic mark ; All things that speak of after fame, Are gloomy, stern, and dark ! The lovelier still the briefer lot ; They blossom and depart ! Their dead leaves lingering o'er the spot Like memories round the heart. u THE BETTER WREATH. 153 IV. Away ! of human feelings twine The garland that shall live ; Hopes, thoughts, affections — all divine. Be these the wreath ye give ! The Heart's the flower that sweetest glows, And bears the dearest name : What other mortal thing which grows Should wreathe immortal fame ! MAID OF SARAGOSSA. ** The two sieges of Saragossa were the most distinguished displays of Spanish intrepidity during the war. The assault on the last day, the 28th, was renewed with still greater fury. It was preceded by a terrible blow. Whether by treachery or accident, the powder-magazine in the centre of the city exploded, tearing away fourteen houses, and burying above two hun- dred of the people. While the citizens, startled by this sweeping disaster, were crowding to dig their dead and dying friends out of the ruins, the French batteries opened a tremendous discharge, and the columns of assault advanced under it to the gates ; in that moment, Agos- tina, a woman of the humbler classes, sprang into the battery, calling on her countrymen to follow, seized the burning match, and fired off the cannon ; then, jumping on it, loudly made a vow to ' Our Lady of the Pillar," never to quit it till either she was dead, or the enemy were driven away." There were murmurs through the night, As of multitudes in prayer ; There were tears of wild affright. And the wailing of despair : For Invasion's gory hand Scatter'd havock o'er the land. MAID OF SARAGOSSA. 155 II. The startled morn arose To the trumpet's fierce acclaim, To the ringing steel of foes, And the battle-bolts of flame ; Whilst the Gallic wolves of war Round were howling, and afar. III. The matron armed her son. And pointed to the walls : " See, the carnage hath begun, 'Tis thy bleeding country calls ! Better, son, the patriot's tomb, Than a slave's ignoble doom." IV. The gray-haired father took His time-worn brand and shield ; The pale monk closed his book, The peasant left his field ; And daughters, e'en a scar had grieved, Now deeds of dauntless heart achieved. 156 MAID OF SAKAGOSSA. Right onward dash'd the foe, O'er the red and reeking ground, 'Till the giant gates below Burst with an earthquake sound ; And the rocking walls yawned deep, 'Neath the cannon's shattering sweep. VI. Yet ne'er with tyrant warred A firmer, bolder band : Again the gates were barred — Again the walls were manned ; Again, as with prophetic sight, The hallowed Cross advanced the fight. VII. But heavier woes befel The still unvanquish'd brave, 'Mid sounds that seem'd the knell Of freedom's hopeless grave : A hurricane, a blazing shower, Swept shiver'd rampart, rock, and tower ! MAID OF SARAGOSSA. 157 VIH. In that appalling hour, When Fate with Gaul combined To quell the freeman's power, To crush the valiant mind — When e'en the last defence had died, Who braved the storm ? who stemm'd the tide ? IX. No steel-girt knight of fame, No chief of high emprise ; A maiden's soul enshrined the flame Which lit Hope's darkening skies ; A maiden's valour dealt the blow. And stepp'd 'tween conquest and the foe. — Stood on that fatal brink. Defying pain and death ! And could Napoleon's legion shrink Before a woman's breath ? Could Gaul's proud eagle, from its height, Stoop to a mean, disastrous flight ? 158 MAID OF SARAGOSSA. XI. Yes : that fair arm withstood The chivalry of France, And pour'd destruction, like a flood. On quailing helm and lance : Leonidas in maiden's stole, A woman's breast with Curtius' soul. xn. Heroic heart and true ! Thy deeds shall find a voice To bid usurping tyrants rue, And freedom's sons rejoice : The loved of Time, the prized of Fame, Spain's noblest boast, and Gallia's shame ! THE SHEPHERD'S DAUGHTER. Where the golden hand of morn Touches light the singing fountain, There a maiden, lowly born. Guides her flock along the mountain ; Bashful as the fawn, and fleet, She invests the world with beauty ; Simple grace, and manners sweet, Dignify her humble duty. 160 THE shepherd's DAUGHTER. II. Sudden light has wreathed the earth, Robed the fields and flowers in gladness ; New delights, too deep for mirth ; Gentle griefs, too sweet for sadness : Who this sudden charm hath wrought ? — Sent this flow of bright revealings ? — Mind, that springs with joyous thought! Heart, that glows with heavenly feelings ! Surely, 'tis some angel strayed. Not a shepherd's daughter solely. Who hath earth like heaven arrayed. In a light and love so holy ! Oh ! when stars, like drops of pearl. Glimmer o'er the singing water. There I '11 woo my mountain girl, Proudly wed the Shepherd's Daughter ! PAINTING. INSCRIBED TO GEORGE BURY, ESQ. Deep in our spirit-nature rise The eternal forms of things — The dim, reflected mysteries Of mind — whose worlds have wings ! The presence of the Beautiful Takes inward shape of every kind ! As Music — which leaves language dull- Is Painting to the Blind ! X 162 PAINTING. II. That mental worM — whose mystic glance Shows glories all would win — Which colours outward circumstance ■ ,? ];r:k With beauty from within, — ' That inner pencilling of thought .,./;;, . ;>, Lends genius to each varied page ; "■ And with it, as the soul is fraught. Are great — bard, painter, sage ! in. In words, far more than they express, A secret painting lies ; As Venus pictures loveliness E'en to our reading eyes ! Yet, once should fancy's power be gone, And more than spirit-form required. Turn to the Goddess — crowned by one Whom Genius hath inspired ! PAINTING. 163 IV. Transfigured in the soul of man, The image of that time — Ere God's created earth began To darken heaven with crime — Dwells, like a life within a life, A something known and loved before ; A dream — yet oh, than dream more rife With things seen nevermore ! v. When first from heaven the King of light Call'd beauty into birth. He painted on the waters bright The images of earth. The trees in lofty glory drew, Beside the low and bending flower, And o'er its living surface threw Sublimity and power ! 164 FAINTING. What morn unconscious Love strayed near, She started all amazed ; Advanced — retired — in bashful fear — Then, trembling, blushing,— ^gazed ! She moved — a form, yet nobler graced, The magic waters swift did yield ; A mirrored hand stole round her waist — And Painting stood revealed ! Thus Love, immortal Art first found. And sought her colours true. From every bud and blossom round That slumbered 'neath the dew : Yet vain she toiled, until she brought Her untaught pencil to that tide, And deeper inspiration caught Along the river side. PAINTING. 165 For frail was Painting's hand, and rude, Imperfect to her will ; And Nature's awful magnitude Frowned at her mimic skill. But softened — mellowed — in the stream The majesty of Nature moved, More like the visions of a dream, When dreams were what she loved ! Thus Science nursed by Beauty grew, Its mighty leaves unfurled ; Its fame-ascending branches drew A grandeur round the world. And mute must Poetry appear, Dethroned and crownless stand apart ; And Sculpture seem but Death when near Love's miracles of Art. 166 PAINTING. For Time, who never spent an hour So blest as in Love's clime, Taught her — to aid the pencil's power- To snatch a grace from Time ! And faithful to the voice that made His golden sands in music run, O'er painting Time ne'er cast a shade But it some feeling won ! XI. A universal language spread Its eloquence afar — Grand as the living Scripture read In every burning star : From shore to shore the marvel ran, And every holier impulse woke ; And every passion known to man Unrivalled Painting spoke ! PAINTING. 167 XII. All feelings — sympathies full fraught With truth, great Art, were thine I The illumination of all thought. Or earthly, or divine ! The fine creations of the sense Took bodied form and life from thee ; The vision and the influence Of Present Deity ! XIII. Behold ! the dreadful whirlwinds toss ; The rocks from earth are torn ; See, — Jesus bleeds upon the cross. And Horror hides the morn ! We turn again, — 'tis Raifaelle brings The risen Saviour to our eyes : Oh, for those archangelic wings That mount Jehovah's skies ! 168 PAINTING. XIV. Still may that Lyre whose chords are hues, Whose language Nature finds, Its mighty influence diffuse To charm and teach all minds ! May Painting, whose delights sublime Exalt each land where man hath trod. Still Inspiration, through all time, Seek from Creation's God ! THE BRITISH BOW. I. Hurrah ! the Bow, the British bow, The gallant, fine old English bow ! Never flashed sword upon the foe. Like arrow from the good yew bow ! What knight a nobler weapon wields ? Thou victor of a thousand fields, — Are lances, carbines, thy compeers ? No : vouch it, Cressy and Poictiers ! With hearts of oak and bows of yew, And shafts that like the lightning flew. Old England wore her proudest crown. Nor bolt nor brand might strike it down ! Hurrah ! 170 THE BRITISH BOW. Hurrah ! the bow, the British bow, The merry, true old English bow ! Where fed the stag or sprung the roe, There bent the ready stout yew bow ! What hoof of speed dared scorn its might ? What plume outsoar its glorious flight ? Oh ! joyous was the greenwood then, And matchless all her own bold men ; Her rovers rude by mount and flood, Her king of outlaws, Robin Hood ! Right daring, reckless, wild, and free. Great champion of the brave yew-tree. Hurrah ! III. Hurrah ! the bow, the British bow, The stately, firm old English bow ! What souls with freedom's spirit glow, That love not thee, heroic bow ? When haughty Gaul deem'd all-secure The victor's wreath at Agincourt, THE BRITISH BOW. I7l Thy shafts, triumphant from the string, Bore fate and vengeance on their wing ; And well the serried ranks might reel, When, like a hurricane of steel. They saw ten thousand barbs assail Their horse and horsemen, helm and mail ! Hurrah ! Hurrah ! the bow, the British bow. The graceful, light old English bow ! What island of the world may show Aught like our own unconquer'd bow ? The guardian of our native wild. When Liberty was yet a child ; Ere yet were launch'd our ships of war, Our thunderbolts of Trafalgar ; When Nelson was no magic word — Drake, Hawke, St. Vincent's fame unheard ! Then oh ! — whilst freedom's bounties flow, Thrice honour'd be the bow ! the bow ! Old England's bow ! Hurrah ! TO THE NIGHT WIND. Art thou a lover, wandering the green lanes, And murmuring to thyself some legend old — Strange tale of Knight, from dungeon-tower and chains, Led by some spirit from the vaulted mould ? Art thou a lover, through the moon's fond hours, Fancying thy bride's cheek in the blushing flowers ? Or mourn'st thou now some faithful heart and dear. That in the church-yard gray thou stay'st so long ; Leaving upon the tall rank grass a tear, Sighing thy wild and melancholy song ? Art thou a mourner, thou mysterious Wind, O'er beauty lost — aifections left behind ? TO THE NIGHT WIND. 173 Or com'st thou from the distant vessel's side, With blessings laden, to the widow's cot ? Her Sailor-Boy ! her buried husband's pride ! Still his lone mother's home forgets he not ? Say ; art thou herald of the thousand tongues That pour on thee their joys, griefs, hopes, and wrongs ? Yes ; sighs are on thee — musical as love ; Hopes which are half immortal in their flight ; Joys which, like angels, waft the soul above ; Wrongs that call heaven to vindicate the right ! The cherished secrets of each heart and mind Lie bared to thee, thou unrecording wind ? All things of earth are radiant with romance ; A spiritual language breathes around ! Even thou, lone Wind ! that touchest few perchance. Art still the very poetry of sound ! From thy soft rising to thy wildest hour, Thou sirif' St of life, eternity, and power ! LET US LOVE ONE ANOTHER. Let us love one another, — not long may we stay ; In this bleak world of mourning some droop while 'tis day, Others fade in their noon, and few linger till eve : Oh ! there breaks not a heart but leaves some one to grieve ; And the fondest, the purest, the truest that met, Have still found the need to forgive and forget ! Then, ah ! though the hopes that we nourished decay, Let us love one another as long as we stay. * LET US LOVE ONE ANOTHER. 175 II. There are hearts, like the Ivy, though all be decayed That it seemed to clasp fondly in sunlight and shade ; No leaves droop in sadness, still gaily they spread, Undimm'd 'midst the blighted, the lonely, and dead : But the mistletoe clings to the oak, not in part. But with leaves closely round it — the root in its heart ; Exists but to twine it, — imbibe the same dew, — Or to fall with its lov'd oak, and perish there too. III. Thus, let 's love one another 'midst sorrows the worst. Unaltered and fond, as we lov'd at the first ; Though the false wing of pleasure may change and forsake. And the bright urn of wealth into particles break, There are some sweet affections that wealth cannot buy, That cling but still closer when sorrow draws nigh, And remain with us yet, though all else pass away ; Thus, lef's love one another as long as we stay. THE PRINCE OF THE STORM. I WAS born in a cloud of sulphureous hue — * Darkness my mother, and Flame my sire ; The earth shook in terror, as forth to its view I sprang from my throne like a monarch of fire ! My brother, bold Thunder, hurraed as I sped ! My subjects laugh'd wild, till the rain from their eyes Roll'd fast, as though torrents were dash'd over-head. Or an ocean had burst through the bounds of the skies ! I am Prince of the Storm — of the Cloud — of the Air — I strike the firm oak that doth ages defy ; And lo ! in an instant 'tis shatter'd and bare — For the Lanceman of Death, the red Lightning am 1 1 THE PRINCE OF THE STORM. 177 II. Hurrah ! what a whirling and rush o'er the land ; Like the cannon of battle the dark mountains roar ; Whilst around, with my lances of fire in my hand, I scatter wild havoc behind and before ! — Hurrah for the forest ! with sounds like the ocean, The boughs heave in billows and groan in the blast : Then, silent as death, not a branch seen in motion. They breathless look up when the tempest hath pass'd. Oh, I'm Prince of the Storm — of the Air — of the Cloud, I strike the tall rock that doth ages defy. And lo ! in an instant 'tis shiver'd and bowed — For the Lanceman of Death, the red Lightning am I !" LA MEXICANA. SUGGESTED BY AN INTERESTING PICTURE BY J. BOADEN. A VISION from the world of thought — A dream of golden bowers ; When Youth and Time, like happy friends, Were wandering 'mid the flowers : When Love came like an angel down. His radiant spells to weave ; And Hope sang like the lark at morn — The nightingale at eve. LA MEXICANA. II. Within the mirror of the past, How beautiful arise The long-lost hues of early life — The stars of Memory's skies ! When one bright beam of maiden's eye Was sunlight to the mind ; One voice, a melody more sweet Than Poesy may find ! III. Our painter's hand hath caught the power And spirit of romance ; How graceful that declining head ! How soft the downcast glance ! She lists ! — 'tis not the vesper-hymn Along the valley borne, Nor distant voice of forest-streams — 'Tis for her hunter's horn ! 180 LA MEXICANA. Her hunter's horn ! — at break of day, She heard his signal sound ; She saw across the misty hills His own proud courser bound : With rifle, lance, and bended bow, To hunt the Llamma there ; Or chace, perchance, a nobler foe — The panther from his lair. V. Why stays he yet ? — the lonely moon Looks o'er the mountains blue ; The wild swan seeks her reedy nest ; The stars gleam faint and few ; The deer lie slumbering by the stream, Half hid their crested brow ; And dreary chime the midnight bells :- Where stays her hunter now ? LA MEXICANA. 181 VI. Why spring the startled deer afoot ? Why wake the wild birds near ? She lists ! — but, save the midnight chime, No whisper meets her ear. Hark ! — hark ! they are his bugle-notes That up the river glide ! And, swift as echo to the sound. Her hunter 's at her side ! THE DAYS GONE BY. " Then would she sit And think all day upon the past." — Southey. The days gone by, — 'tis sad, yet sweet, To list the strain of parted hours ; To think of those we loved to meet When children, 'mid a thousand flowers ! The scenes we roved — romantic — lone — Ere yet our hearts had learned to sigh — The dreams of glory once our own — In days gone by — in days gone by ! THE DAYS GONE BY. 183 11. The days gone by — oh ! is there not A charm — a feeling in those words — A music ne'er to be forgot — Struck from the memory's sweetest chords ! With many a tone to wake a tear, And many a thought we fain would fly ; Oh ! still to every heart are dear The days gone by — the days gone by ! The days gone by — they have a spell To burst the cerements of the grave ; And from oblivion's deepest cell, The forms we loved and lost — to save ! Time may not fade those looks of light, — Still beauteous to the mental eye As the first hour they blest our sight. In days gone by — in days gone by ! 184 THE DAYS GONE BY. IV. The days gone by — Man's best essay — One fadeless work to leave behind — Before their might hath passed away Like dust upon the desert wind : The very mountains have grown grey — And stars have vanished from the sky — The young — the fair — oh ! where are they ?- With days gone by — with days gone by ! T. The days gone by — from shore to shore Their ever lengthening shadows spread On — on — 'till Time shall breathe no more- And Earth itself be with the dead : Each brief — unnoticed — minute bears The mandate of its God on high : And death and silence are the heirs Of days gone by — of days gone by ! THE SCHOONER. " Fourquoi ces sons effreiix, ces longs rugUsemens, Ce tumulte confus, ce choc des Clemens ? — O puissance f^conde ! O nature immortelle ! — Des Etres animus mere tendre et cruelle ! — Faut il done qu' aux faveurs dont tu les as combI6s, Succddent les fl^ux dont ils sont aecabl6s ?" St. Lambert. The misty sun sank fast O'er the long and gloomy main. And the hollow moaning blast Swept like a burial strain. 2a 186 THE SCHOONER. II. Yet swift the vessel flew, In the spirit of her pride ; And the surges dashed lilce dew From her bold, majestic side ! III. The dim horizon shed A thin and sickly ray ; The dull, black vapours spread Like a pall along her way. Yet lovely 'midst the storm — As a rainbow on the deep — Did the Schooner's stately form O'er the bursting billows sweep ! Blacker and blacker set The wild, portentous night ; The winds and waters met. Like demons in their might. THE SCHOONER. 187 VI, The tempest rode the main, With death-denouncing speed ; And the giant mast was snapt in twain, As a child would break a reed ! VII. Then paler fell the cheek — And dimmer grew the sight — And lips that wished, yet dared not speak, Turned cold and ghastly white. VIII. On — on the vessel ran, — Trembling, and wild, and bare — The skill and strength of man Were dust upon the air. IX. On — on the vessel burst — No helm — no cheering ray — Like a dying thing accurst. She held her dreadful way ! 188 THE SCHOONER. The breakers girt her round ; One fierce wild shout of fear — And the roaring waves were the only sound That reached the landsman's ear ! XI. 'Twas a blue and moonlight night, With a mild and shoreward breeze ; When a lonely wreck hove first in sight, On the far JEgeari seas. XII. No signal sound arose From the solitary deck ; She seem'd alone amidst her foes — That miserable wreck ! THE SCHOONER. 189 XIII. From helm to prow no sound Of living thing was there ; — Some gallant crew a grave had found, Unblest by earthly prayer I XIV. Deep silence reigned above ; But, ah ! — the berth below Displayed a scene of human love — A scene of human wo ! The beautiful — alas ! — The bright — the better flower Is ever thus the first to pass From Love's domestic bower ! XVI. A youth, in sickness deep. Lay breathing weak and low, As soon the everlasting sleep Would settle on his brow. 190 THE SCHOONEK. XVII. And there — in all the pride Of early bloom and grace, A fair-haired girl knelt by his side, With meekly beauteous face. XVIII. With blue, beseeching eyes, In stedfast hope upraised ! — She seemed a sister of the skies, — So holy was that gaze ! XIX. And smote the hand of Death Thus mildly in its might ? Lived there on that sweet lip no breath- In those blue eyes no light ? XX. , Oh ! lovely and not dark, Death, is thy mild decay. When the immortal spark Yet radiates our clay ! THE SCHOONEH. 191 XXI. A gleam of daylight set, May gild the cloud of eve ; And the soul's light linger yet O'er the form it sighed to leave ! XXII. Serene she knelt in death. Beside the sufferer's bed ; The youth lay warm with life's free breath !- The weary watcher dead ! 192 HOPE. HOPE. What is Hope ? — The beauteous sun, Which colours all it shines upon ; The beacon of life's dreary sea, The star of immortality ! — Fountain of feelings young and warm ; A day-beam bursting through the storm : A tone of melody, whose birth Is, oh ! — too sweet — too pure for earth ! — A blossom of that radiant tree Whose ^MiY the angels only see ! — A beauty and a charm, whose power Is seen — enjoyed — confessed — each hour ! A portion of that world to come. When earth and ocean meet the last o'erwhelming doom. THE SULIOTE. ' Le ladie craint la mort, et c'est tout ce qu'U craint." — Racinh. I nvE for Immortality, And Time to me is nought ; Death hath no torture for the free, No power with terror fraught ! Beyond the fetter and the brand. The tyrant's red control ; I seek the everlasting land ! — The Sabbath of the Soul ! 2b 194 THE SULIOTK. n. Ye urge me to betray the friends, For whose brave blood ye thirst ; Show me the bribe your tyrant sends To purchase deed so curst ! Display the wealthy argosy, This treachery to win ; To blast the counsels of the free — And steep my name in sin ! III. Away 1 — the gold was never found That yet might shake my faith : Bring — bring your felon racks around- A Suliote fears not death ! — His home is like the eagle's nest. Inviolate and high ; Freedom the idol of his breast, For which 'tis dear to die ! THE SULIOTE. 195 IV. List ! — 'tis the war-cry of the brave ! Hear ye that thrilling cheer ? — They come — whose every step 's a grave, For each assembled here ! Marshal your stern and countless hordes ! Oh, vain and powerless show ! There lives a spirit in our swords That slavery ne'er may know ! v. OflF! — I have heard a voice that fills With treble strength these veins ; Back, — back ! — the fire that lights our hills Shall melt the tyrant's chains ! God of the Just ! be thou my shield ! My fate be in thy hand ! — He dashed amidst the hostile field, — He gained his native land ! THE YOUNG COTTAGERS. ' Soft pity never leaves the gentle breast." — Sheridan. The blue streams know them — and the birds Have grown familiar to their voice ; The echoes of the woods rejoice In the glad music of their words ! Blithe creatures of the summer air, Companions of the flower and bee ; Whose homeless feet find every-where The free sweet rest of liberty : THE YOUNG COTTAGERS. 197 My weary spirit leaps to see, Their young forms in my wanderings ; Lone seated by some ancient tree — Or brook that through the valley sings A pleasant melody ! II. Their voice my heart to gladness stirs, Amid its utter loneliness ; And, half unconsciously, I bless The young, the mountain cottagers ! True, they are poor — but He, whose power Hath dressed the floweret of the vale, Will not forget them in that hour When tempest-winds prevedl ! His eye — that rank nor wealth prefers. But on earth's humblest children falls. Bright as though born in palace-halls — Will shield the mountain cottagers ! THE VISIONARY. * But for those obstinate questionings Of sense and outward things, Fallings from us, vanishings ; Blank misgivings of a creature Moving about in worlds not realized, High instincts, before which our mortal nature Did tremble like a guilty thing surprised !" Wordsworth. He had been superstitious from a child ; Haunted by fancies strangely beautiful — Visions and thoughts magnificently wild — Rendering earth's splendours valueless and dull : The common air — sunless and vast and dim — Opened a sphere of loveliness to him ! THE VISIONARY. 199 11. A spiritual world ! — of which the eyes Imaged no portion — oft and oft he sought By gazing on the glad green fields, the skies, To lose the phantasies his brain had wrought : Flashes of mind and madness ! — but in vain — They lived — till loftier influence burst the chain ! III. He loved — and, oh ! what language may the truth, The full devotion of his soul impart ? She was the melody of his lone youth ! — The light — the poesy of his young heart ! The ring-dove of the birds — rose of the flowers — The music and the idol of his hours I IV. Yet, to the gentle spirit of his love. The richness of his voice was all unknown ; Perchance her lineage rank'd high above The fallen power and station of his own : And pride — for he had pride few might control — Kept all untold the passion of his soul ! 200 THE VISIONARY. A glance — a brief — a transient glance hath made His young lips tremble with unuttered bliss : She was the star 'neath whose pure light he strayed — And, oh ! what light 's so exquisite as this ? His proudest aspirations after fame, Sprang from one hope — that she might breathe his name ! VI. And lives he now ! — remains the lady yet The mirror of his musings ? — and the light Of his lone life — or have they never met ? Like streams that wander near but ne'er unite ! Still breathes unknown the sweetness of his word, Or hath his long, deep love at last been heard ? The moon is shining on the quiet leaves Of the dim cypress, whose low drooping head — (Like one who through the midnight bends and grieves !)- Shadows a tomb ! — his tomb ! — the young — the dead : The secret of his death, who may declare ? — Enough to know — he perished — and sleeps there ! — THE SHIPS OF ENGLAND. The ships ! — the ships of England I — how gallantly they sweep By town and city, fort and tower, — defenders of the deep ! We build no bastions 'gainst the foe, no mighty walls of stone ; Our warlike castles breast the tide — the boundless sea 's their own ! The ships ! — the ships of England ! What British heart is cold To the honour of his native isle, to the deathless deeds of old?— From quenched Armada's vaunted power, to glorious Tra- falgar, — From Philip to Napoleon — when set Britannia's star ? 2c 202 THE SHIPS OF ENGLAND. The ships ! — the ships of England I Where'er the surges roar, — Along the dark Atlantic, by the wild East- Indian shore — Where icebergs flash destruction down, or sultry breezes play— The flag of England floats alone, and triumphs on her way ! Where sweeps the wind, or swells the wave, our vessels glad the view; The wondering savage marks their decks, and stays his swift canoe : The Greenlander forsakes his sledge to watch each distant sail Pass, like a spirit of the deep, beneath the moonlight pale ! Oh, wives, that love your cottage-homes ! oh, maids, that love the green ! And youths, in whose firm, fearless limbs, a free-born grace is seen, — Give honour to the noble ships, that fame and freedom lend. And bid your songs of gratitude from hill and vale ascend ! THE SHIPS OF ENGLAND. 203 What horrors of the midnight storm our reckless seamen know, When thunders rattle overhead, and billows plunge below ; When howls the long ferocious blast, like some funereal strain, And fast and far the vessel drives along the dreadful main ! How oft the cannon of the foe hath struck their dauntless breast. While ye smiled o'er the social fire, or found the balm of rest ! How oft the shriek of drowning men the startled vulture caught. When ye had closed your doors in peace, and home's sweet pleasures sought ! Then wake your songs of gratitude to those who brave the sea, And peril life that ye may live, and still prove fair and free : Amidst your harvest-fields, oh, bid this earnest prayer pre- vail : — " God guard the ships of England, o'er whatever sea they sail !" MY OWN. "A solitary bliss thou ne'er couldst find. Thy joys with those thou lov'st are intertwin'd." Hannah More. My own — my own — oh ! breathes there one To whom that simple word 's not dear ? Beats there a heart so drear and lone, That holds not some loved object near ? Whose spirit like the arkless bird, From all companionship hath flown ; — And finds no gladness in that word, My own ! — my own !- MY OWN. 205 II. Who dull to every finer tie, To every soft affection cold, Lives on in cheerless apathy. And in his very youth seems old! Though frequent cares my mind enthral. Could wealth, mere earthly 'wealth, atone For the sweet beings lost ! — I call My own ! — my own ! III. No ! — Time may still but speed to show How false is Hope's delicious song, And many a sorrow I must know ; But, oh ! — sweet Heaven — may it be long Ere those I love from me are gone ; And life a wilderness hath grown, And of earth's millions there is none. My own I — my own ! THE VILLAGE OF SCHEVENINGEN. " And life, — alas ! allows but one ill winter's day." — Cowley. A STARTLING sound by night was heard, From the Scheveningen coast ; Like vultures in their clamorous flight, Or the trampling of a host. II. It broke the sleepers' heavy rest. With harsh and threat'ning cry ; Storm was upon the lonely sea ! Storm on the midnight sky ! THE VILLAGE OF SCHEVENINGEN. 207 III. The slumberers started up from sleep, Like spectres from their graves ; Then — burst a hundred voices forth — The waves ! — the vyaves ! — the waves ! IV. The strong-built dykes lay overthrown : And on their deadly way, Like lions, came the mighty seas. Impatient for their prey ! Like lions, came the mighty seas — Oh, vision of despair ! — 'Mid ruins of their falling homes. The blackness of the air. VI. Jesu ! it was a fearful hour ! The elemental strife, Howling above the shrieks of death — The struggling groans for life ! 208 THE VILLAGE OF SCHEVENINGEN. VII. Fathers beheld the hast'ning doom, With stern, delirious eye ; Wildly they looked around for help, — No help, alas ! was nigh. VIII. Mothers stood trembling with their babes. Uttering complaints — in vain — No arm — but the Almighty arm — Might stem that dreadful main ! No mercy — no relapse — no hope — That night — the tempest-tost Saw their paternal homes engulphed- Lost ! — oh, for ever lost ! Again the blessed morning light In the far heavens shone ; But where the pleasant village stood. Swept the dark floods alone ! THE LAST LETTER. '' And all my hours of brief delight Flew, like the speedy winds of night, Which soon shall veil their sullen flight Across my grave." Stranopord's Camobns. They tell me, I am greatly changed, From that which I have been : So changed, it would have passed belief, Had they not known — not seen : They tell me, my once graceftil form Is waning — pale and thin — Alas ! these blighted looks scarce speak The deeper blight within ! 2d 210 THE LAST LETTER. II. They tell me, in one little month, I seem to have lived years ; My ringlets have the shade of age. My eyes are worn with tears : They say, the beauteous cheek you praised, Now wears a deathly hue ; And, oh I I feel within my breast, My heart is dying too ! III. I do not wish to send one pang Of sadness to thy soul ; But there are feelings — deep and strong- We may not quite control : I do not — do I, love — reproach ? — Oh ! if — forgive — forgive — 'Tis wo to think of thee — and die ! 'Tis worse than wo — to live ! THE LAST LETTER. 211 IV. My sleep is wild and dark to me, My dreams are of the dead ; I wake — and bless the light of day ; Though day brings its own dread : The visions and the tongues of home. Haunt all my steps with pain ; Till fire is in my aching sight — And madness in my brain ! This may not — will not — long endure ; I know death's hour is nigh, — And, oh ! 'tis all on earth I ask, — To see thee — ere I die ! Is it too much for all my tears, For all my anguish past, To grant me this — my parting prayer — My last — my very last ! ON THE DEATH OF CHARLES T. SWAIN. Born April 4th, 1828 ; died November 21st, 1833. I LOOK around, yet see thee not I — I list, but hear no more The welcome of thy joyous voice that bless'd my heart of yore: Thy chair stands empty by my side — and yet I scarce may deem But that my senses wander wild in some dark, deathly dream, Till starts conviction with the thought of all that thou hast borne : Our long sad watchings through the night, 'midst doubt and anguish torn ; Our broken prayers — and hopes deferr'd that darkened into fears — And steep'd the only food we eat in deep, heart-breaking tears ! ON THE DEATH OF CHARLES T. SWAIN. 213 I mark thy struggles yet for life — they haunt my soul with pain; And, oh ! the misery of heart to feel all help is vain. I could have borne thy loss my child ; but thus to watch thee go — In lingering pangs of agony — lent torture to my wo ! Oh, I was all too vain of thee — too proud of thy fair frame, Thy spirit, which seemed born to grace thy hapless father's name; And 'twas to warn — to punish my presumption and my pride. That Heaven hath claimed thee ; — but for me, perchance, thou hadst not died ! Or was it, nearer to his God to call thy father's breast, To show on what frail things his thoughts and best aifections rest ? — How insecure his loved of earth — his proud views to control ; And fix upon immortal hopes his own immortal soul ! 214 ON THE DEATH OF CHARLES T. SWAIN. Oh ! wherefore should I wish thee back to tread this weary earth — To taste the sick'ning consciousness of evil from thy birth — To find how vain the long pursuit of happiness — and sigh ; — Or haply, like thy sire, to wed — and watch thy children die! No ! — no ! my boy — thou 'st well escaped the mournful lot we win — Fled, ere the whiteness of thy mind was shadowed by a sin ; As radiant from the touch of God — as stainless as when given First to our fond and grateful arms — thy soul returned to heaven. And guardian angels teach thee now an angel's part to fill — Feed thy young mind with heavenly light, and shield thy sight from ill ; — And whilst celestial love illumes thy sweet and beauteous face. They train thee for eternal bliss — thy heritage of grace I ON THE DEATH OF CHARLES T. SWAIN. 215 Then, though I miss thee from my side — though lonely sinks my heart ; And bitter — bitter as it is to love thee so — yet part ! — Still would I not recall thee from the glory thou hast won, Nor seek to gain thy spirit back — my own, my angel son ! Thou wert the first sweet bond of love our happy arms received ; Thou art the first sad loss our hearts — bereaved hearts — have grieved ; — So may'st thou be the first to hail our spirits to their God, When our desponding pilgrimage of life and time be trod ! And when the final pang may come — as come it shall to all — Let thoughts of thee direct our souls, and burst earth's weary thrall ; — Plead at Jehovah's feet whilst we are wandering towards the grave, — And as thou wert the first to leave — oh, be the first to save ! 216 ON THE DEATH OF CHARLES T. SWAIN. Though tears imprint each mournful word — I could not part, my boy, Without some token of our love — our brief and vanished joy; I could not bear to lay thee low, beneath the cold, dark earth, With no memorial of thy fate — no record of thy birth ! 'Twere some sad solace to my breast Time's wasting touch to stay, And on the altar of our minds embalm thee from decay ; — 'Twere sweet, in after years, to hear thy sister's voice impart A feeling to this page — and seal thy name within her heart ! Farewell, my child ! in other hours it is my trust to find Thy seraph light to lead me on, and sanctify my mind ! — Like incense from the perished rose — oh, let thy spirit still Linger around thy sire, and soothe his soul to Heaven's own will! THE HOME-BOUND BARK. 'Tis the winter deep ! And the sea-fowl sweep Afar o'er the gloomy tide ; And the wild waves dash, 'Neath the signal's flash, Where the foamy tempests ride. II. And dark and drear. On the seaman's ear, Hangs the vulture's ravening cry ; Like the startling breath. Of some fiend of death, In wait for the souls that die. 2 E 218 THE HOME-BOUND BARK. III. The sails are rent — The stout mast 's bent — And the helm and bowsprit gone ; And fast and far, 'Midst the billowy war, The foundering bark drives on. IV. The shriek and prayer, And the wan despair, Of hearts thus torn away. Are seen and heard By the ravening bird In chase of his drowning prey. v. Oh, many a sire. By the low red fire, Will wake through this night of wo- For those who sleep 'Neath the surges deep, Ten thousand fathom low ! — THE HOME-BOUND BARK. 219 VI. And many a maid, In the lonely glade, For her absent love will mourn ; And watch and wail For the home-bound sail That will never more return ! VII. Mourn not^r the dead, On their sandy bed, Nor their last long sleep deplore ; But mourn for those, In their home of woes, Who weep for evermore ! THE CHAMOIS HUNTERS. Away to the Alps ! for the hunters are there, To rouse the chamois, in his rock-vaulted lair. From valley to mountain, see ! — swiftly they go — As the ball from the rifle — the shaft from the bow. Nor chasms, nor glaciers, their firmness dismay ; Undaunted, they leap like young leopards at play ; And the dash of the torrent sounds welcome and dear. As the voice of a friend to the wanderer's ear. II. They reck not the music of hound or of horn — The neigh of the courser — the gladness of morn. The blasts of the tempest their dark sinews brace ; And the wilder the danger, the sweeter the chace. With spirits as strong as their footsteps are light. On — onward they speed, in the joy of their might : Till eve gathers round them, and silent and deep — The bleak snow their pillow — the wild hunters sleep. THE VILLAGE QUEEN. " Com'st thou to weep with me ? — for I am left Alone on earth, of every tie bereft." Hbmans. The nuts hang ripe upon the chestnut boughs ; And the rich stars send forth their clear blue Ught, O'er glistening leaves, and flowers that, fond as love, Perfume the very dew that bows their heads, And lays their sweet and quiet beauty low ! And dream-like voices float upon the ear, With mingling harmony of birds and trees, And gushing waters ! Beautiful is night — 222 THE VILLAGE QUEEN. And beautiful the thoughts she calls to birth ! — The hopes which make themselves immortal vdngs ; The memories that slow and sadly steal, Like moonlight music, o'er the watching heart ; Yet, with a tone thus light, stirring the mind To themes beyond a trumpet's breath to rouse ! My spirit wakes 'mid sad remembrances Of one who shone the beauty of our vale — The idol of our homes — our Village Queen ! Methinks I see her now ! — the graceful girl ! The shadowy richness of her auburn hair Half parted o'er a brow white as the bloom Of the wild myrtle flower : and eyes whose hue Was like the violet's, with more of light ; A silent poetry dwelt in their depths — "*" A melody inaudible ! — Her neck — Oh, elegant and fair as the young dove's ! — Gave to the mild expression of her form The grace that artists study. Thus she looked. Ere early blight had wasted her fine bloom, And dimmed the gladness of her starry eyes ! Her home was small, but very beautiful : A pastoral cot — midst mountain, rock, and vale. THE VILLAGE QUEEN. 223 And pleasant water — all that constitutes A picture of romance — a summer home ! There, like a rose, she grew from infancy, The blessing of a widowed mother's heart — Light of her eyes — the dial of her mind, Round which her thoughts revolved ! An orphan youth. The offspring of a distant relative. Dwelt with the aged matron and her child. And rose to manhood 'neath their generous roof: Alas, for the return ! — 'Tis strange that one So mild and gentle in her loveliness, Whose life was simple as the wilding broom. And happiest in the shade, should nurse so fond. So deep a passion for a youth whose moods Were ever wayward, gloomy, wild, and bold. Jealous and proud — the passionate reverse Of her sweet, guileless self! And yet she loved. With that intense affection, that deep faith. Which knows no change, and sets but o'er the tomb ! 'Twere vain to trace how, step by step, he fell — How, deed by deed, he darkened into guilt. And perished in his crimes ! 224 THE VILLAGE QUEEN. Sweet Eleanor! — Pale, blighted girl ! — she withered fast, like those Who have no earthly hope ; yet still she smiled, And said she should be happy soon — and breathed, Like a young dying swan, her music tones Of parting tenderness, into that fount Which might not hold them long — a mother's heart ! Oh ! youth is like the emerald which throws Its own green light o'er all ! — even to the last. She spoke of brighter hours, of happier days. Of nights that bring no sorrow — no regret ; That she would love none but her mother now, And she henceforth should be the world to her. Do you behold where the lone rising moon Tinges vdth holy light the village spire, And braids with silver the far cypress boughs. Bending, like Mercy, o'er the sorrowing brow. And lonely heart, the weary and the worn ? — There, in her early tomb, reclines the pride And beauty of our vale — The Village Queen ! FORGIVE AND FORGET. Forgive and Forget ! why the world would be lonely, The garden a wilderness left to deform ; If the flowers but remember'd the chilling winds only, And the fields gave no verdure for fear of the storm ! Oh, still in thy loveliness emblem the flower, Give the fragrance of feeling to sweeten life's way ; And prolong not again the brief cloud of an hour, With tears that but darken the rest of the day ! II. Forgive and Forget I there 's no breast so unfeeling But some gentle thoughts of aflection there live ; And the best of us all require something concealing. Some heart that with smiles can forget and forgive ! Then away with the cloud from those beautiful eyes. That brow was no home for such frowns to have met : Oh, how could our spirits e'er hope for the skies. If Heaven refused to Forgive and Forget. 2 F IF THOU HAST LOST A FRIEND. If thou hast lost a friend, By hard or hasty word, Go, — call him to thy heart again ; Let Pride no more be heard. Remind him of those happy days, Too beautiful to last ; Ask, if a word should cancel years Of truth and friendship past ? Oh ! if thou 'st lost a friend, By hard or hasty word. Go, — call him to thy heart again ; Let Pride no more be heard. IF THOU HAST LOST A FRIEND. 227 Oh ! tell him, from thy thought The light of joy hath fled; That, in thy sad and silent breast. Thy lonely heart seems dead ; That mount and vale, — each path ye trod. By morn or evening dim, — Reproach you with their frowning gaze. And ask your soul for him. Then, if thou 'st lost a friend. By hard or hasty word. Go, — call him to thy heart again ; Let Pride no more be heard. EUDOCIA. " The passion of a Syrian youth completed the ruin of the exiles of Damascus. A noble- man of the city, of the name of Fhocyas, was betrothed to a wealthy maiden ; but her parents delayed the consummation of his nuptials, and their daughter was persuaded to escape with the man whom she had chosen. They corrupted the nightly watchmen of the gate Keisan : the lover, who led the way, was encompassed by a squadron of Arabs ; but his exclamation in the Greek tongue — ' The bird is taken/ admonished his mistress to hasten her return. In the presence of Caled, and of death, the unfortunate Fhocyas pro- fessed his belief in Mahomet. When the city was taken, he flew to the monastery where Eudocia had taken refuge ; but the Apostate was scorned ! " ^ Gibbon. Away ! — Speak not to me of days Of hopes that erst have been ; Speak not to me — nor mock my gaze With tears, as false as mean ! I tell thee — but, oh ! words are vain— Thou traitor to thy land — thou stain- Would I had never seen The hour which paralyzed thy fame. And gave thee an Apostate's name ! EUDOCIA. 229 II. Oh, hadst thou foremost led the fight, Where Syria's banners wave. In aid of thine own country's right. To perish — or to save ! If thou hadst crushed the Moslem foe That dared to lay our altars low — True to the vow I gave, I would have loved thee to the last ; But, go ! that hope is lost— is past ! III. Still stand' st thou here with breast and brow Thus servilely arrayed ; Where is the light of honour now. The pride thou once displayed : Thine eye is dim — thine arm is weak — The dastard's hue imbues thy cheek — Thou shameless Renegade ! Speak'st thou of my recorded vow ? He was a Man I loved — not Thou ! 230 EUDOCIA. IV. Go ! — Scorned by all, thy monument Shall register thy shame ; Thou delegate of evil — sent To scourge with sword and flame ! False to thy God ! thy Country's wo ! Oh ! grief, that I should ever know Thy miserable name ! Would when this day arose, its gloom Had burst upon Eudocia's tomb ! THE PEASANTRY OF ENGLAND. The Peasantry of England, The merry hearts and free ; The sword may boast a braver band- But give the scythe to me ! Give me the fame of industry, Worth all your classic tomes ! God guard the English Peasantry, And grant them happy homes ! 232 THE PEASANTRY OF ENGLAND. II. The sinews of old England ! The bulwarks of the soil ! How much we owe each manly hand, Thus fearless of its toil ! Oh, he who loves the harvest free. Will sing where'er he roams, God bless the English Peasantry, And give them happy homes ! III. God speed the plough of England ! We '11 hail it with three cheers : And here 's to those whose labour planned The all which life endears ! May still the wealth of Industry Be seen where'er man roams ; , A cheer for England's Peasantry ! God send them happy homes ! BOYHOOD. I. The dreams of early youth, How beautiful they are — how full of joy ! When fancy looks like truth, And life shows not a taint of sin's alloy. II. When every heart appears The temple of high thought and noble deed ; When our most bitter tears Fall o'er some melancholy page we read. 2 G 234 BOYHOOD. III. The summer morn's fresh hours — Her thousand woodland songs — her glorious hues : Oh ! life's so full of flowers, The difficulty then, is where to choose ! IV. The wonderful blue sky — Its cloudy palaces — its gorgeous fanes ; The rainbow tints which lie Like distant golden seas near purple plains ; V. These never shine again, As once they shone upon our raptured gaze : The clouds which may remain Paint other visions than in those sweet days ! VI. In hours thus pure — sublime — Dreams we would make realities : life seems So changed in after-time, That we would wish realities were dreams ! OLD FRIENDS TOGETHER. Oh, time is sweet, when roses meet With Spring's sweet breath around them ; And sweet the cost, when hearts are lost, If those we love have found them ! And sweet the Mind, that still can find A star in darkest weather ! But nought can be so sweet to see, As old friends met together ! 236 OLD FRIENDS TOGETHER. II. Those days of old, when youth was bold, And Time stole wings to speed it. And youth ne'er knew how fast time flew — Or knowing, did not heed it ! Though gray each brow that meets us now- For age brings wintry weather — Yet nought can be so sweet to see As those old friends together ! The Jew long known, that years have shown, With hearts that friendship blesses ; A hand to cheer — perchance, a tear To soothe a friend's distresses ! That helped and tried — still side by side — A friend to face hard weather ; Oh, thus may we yet joy to see. And meet old friends together ! THE LEEK. Up with the leek ! 'tis the emblem of honour, The symbol which Cambria in victory bore ; When the brands of the Saxons were rushing upon her, And Cadwallon stood firm as a rock on the shore. Up with the leek ! 'twas a record of glory, Ere roses or shamrocks were famous in song ; 'Twas the light of the bard, and the spirit of story. The darling of freedom, the pride of each tongue ! II. Up with the leek ! and the lip that would scorn it Had better scorn death on the edge of the grave ; For heroes, and statesmen, and minstrels have worn it. The daughters of beauty, the sons of the brave ! Up with the leek ! while its green leaf shines o'er us. Whilst Nature rejoices to welcome its birth ; We will cherish it still, as our sires did before us. An emblem, the proudest, and noblest on earth ! THE LYRE. *' There is a IWing spirit in the Lyre." — Montgomery. A SOUND came floating by, O'er the still beauty of the moonlight air ; Soft as a spirit's sigh, Soothing the death-couch of the young and fair. A sound came floating free, A wild, and low, and melancholy sound ; A wandering harmony, Haunting the slumber of the woods around. THK LYILE. 239 III. " Whence art thou?" murmured I — " Lone visitant of this deserted shrine, Whence art thou ? — speak, reply ; Answer, thou voice, this troubled heart of mine !" IV. " Ere yet the shadowy woods Waved their green honours to the breath of morn ; Ere yet the solitudes Echoed the song of thunders — I was born ! " My voice was known and heard, When Paradise grew glorious with the light Of Angels ! — and the Word Spake 'midst the stars of first created night ! VI. " My voice Wdsjelt, when first The gathering murmur of the deluge woke ! When, like creation's burst, Proud forests fell — and giant mountains broke ! 240 THE LYBE. " Mine was the breath that drew The Patriot forth to guard his native shore ; When lances wildly flew — And cities trembled to the cannon's roar ! VIII. " Upon my wings the prayer Of countless millions sought the Saviour's throne ; My power is everywhere — In every heart — in every language known ! IX. " Still ask'st thou what am I ? — Go, ask the Bard whose visions I inspire : And, oh ! he will reply, The Lyre — the Lyre — the soul-exalting Lyre !" THE BUCCANEER'S SONG. I LOVE the Night, when the gale sweeps high, And the summer-calms are o'er ; When the ship, like an Ocean-steed, leaps by Where the midland breakers roar ! I love the Night, and the startling light Of the Spirit of the Storm ; And better the blast, and the rocking mast, Than the sun-set irdld and warm ! 2 H 242 THE buccaneer's song. II. No love have I for the starry eve — No joy on the breezeless main — But I long to hear the tempest grieve, And list the thunder-strain ! Let the gondola glide o'er the moonlight tide, And the mandolin wake its song ; I love the bark, when the seas are dark. And the midnight wild and long ! HI. I turn away from the lover's lay — 'Tis weariness to hear The lisping note, and the warbling throat, Of the sighing Cavalier ! Oh ! the Ocean-shout, when the Storm is out. Is a nobler strain to me ; Here would I sleep, where the billows leap. On the bold, unconquer'd Sea ! THE BEAUTIFUL DAY. Day on the mountain, the beautiful Day, And the torrent leaps forth in the pride of his ray ; The chamois awakes from her wild forest dream, And bounds in the gladness and life of his beam ; And the horn of the Hunter is sounding,— away ! Light, light on the hills — 'tis the beautiful Day ! Day in the valley, — the rivulet rolls Cloudless and calm as the home of our souls ; The harvest is waving, and fountain and flower Are sparkling and sweet as the radiant hour ; And the song of the reapers, the lark's sunny lay. Proclaim through the valley — Day ! beautiful Day ! Oh, solemn and sad his far setting appears, When the last ray declines, and the flowers are in tears,- When the shadows of evening like death-banners wave. And darkness encloses the world like a grave ; Yet, the sun, like the soul, shall arise from decay, And again light the world with Day, beautiful Day ! KING FROST. King Frost galloped hard from his Palace of Snow To the hills whence the floods dashed in thujider below ; But he breathed on the waters, that swooned at his will, And their clamour was o'er, for the torrents stood still ! " Ho ! ho !" thought the King, as he galloped along, " I have stopp'd those mad torrents awhile in their song." With pennons high streaming, in gladness and pride, A fair vessel moved o'er the billowy tide ; But whilst bold hearts were deeming their perils all past, King Frost struck the billows, and fetter'd them fast ! " Ho ! ho !" cried the monarch, " their homes may long wait Ere aught, my fine vessel, be heard of your fate !" KING FEOST. 245 III. Through the Forest rode he, and the skeleton trees Groaned, wither'd and wild, 'gainst the desolate breeze ; And shook their hoar locks as the Frost King flew by, Whilst the hail rattled round, like a volley from high ! " Ho ! ho !" shouted he, " my old Sylvans, ye 're bare. But my minister. Snow, shall find robes for your wear !" IV. By the convent sped he — by the lone, ruin'd fane. Where the castle frown'd wild o'er its rocky domain ; And the warder grew pallid, and shook, as in fear, As the monarch swept by with his icicle spear ! Whilst his herald, the Blast, breathed defiance below. And hurrah'd for King Frost and his Palace of Snow ! I WOOED THEE. I WOOED thee, I wooed thee, my love, For charms more endearing than speak In thy soft beaming eye — like the dove — Or the exquisite grace of thy cheek. For a heart by each feeling refined, And pure as a seraph's above ; For the beauty and grace of thy mind, I wooed thee, I wooed thee, my love. When the spring-tide of beauty is o'er. And the grace of thy young cheek decay'd. The Mind will a new spring restore. Whose loveliness never may fade ! For there the true fountain is giv'n, Life's charm and enchantment to prove ; Not only for Earth, — but for Heav'n, — I wooed thee, I wooed thee, my love. IT WAS THE EARLY WINTER. It was the early winter, The snow was on the ground, When first my beauteous maiden. My flower of love I found : She passed me with a timid step, A soft and downcast eye ; My feelings mounted to my cheek, When first my love pass'd by. 248 IT WAS THE EARLY WINTER. I saw her gain the cottage, And yet I linger'd near ; Around me breathed a magic — Life never seem'd so dear ! My spirit in a golden ring Of beauty had been bound : It was the early winter, The snow was on the ground. III. I saw her on the Sabbath, I ventured near her side ; Oh, how I pray'd to Providence That she might be my bride ! And soon my fondest hopes were blest, Whilst bells did sweetly sound : It was the early winter, The snow was on the ground. POOR MAN'S SONG. Oh ! better be poor and be merry, Than rich as a lord and be sad ; For good beer laughs louder than sherry, Which never such happy friends had ! There 's a tale for each drop in the tankard, A song for each fresh fiUing-up ; Time may chide if he will, — here we 're anchor' d- Whilst Friendship goes round with the cup. For better be poor and be merry, &c. 2 I 250 POOR man's song. II. "i. The Baron may arrogate loudly • The splendours of lordship and land ; And why not the Peasant as proudly The skill of his wealth-making hand ! Oh, liberty 's not for the Knightly — The poorest are often more free ; And he who thinks well, and acts rightly, Who 's richer or nobler than he ? Then better be poor and be merry, &c. III. Here 's the strength of old England, my hearties. The vigour that lies in good beer ! Political changes and parties Keep outside the door whilst we 're here ! May the plough and the loom thrive together ; May Industry ne'er know a sigh ; And the times that bring darkest of weather Still show us a brighter day nigh ! Then better be poor and be merry, &c. MEET ME THERE. I. When the lingering daylight closes O'er the lily's graceful breast ; When the moonbeam on the roses Glitters like a bridal vest ; By the stream through Devon flowing Like some faint and fairy strain, Meet me, in thy beauty glowing. Meet me there — my own sweet Jane ! n. For the daylight first shall perish Ne'er to bless my waking sight. And the moonbeam fail to cherish Love's own roses through the night ; And the stream be mute for ever Through sweet Devon's lonely plain,- Heart and soul and feeling sever — Ere I cease to love my Jane ! THE KIND OLD FRIENDLY FEELINGS. The kind old friendly feelings ! We have their spirit yet — ' Though years and years have passed, old friend, Since thou and I last met ! And something of gray Time's advance Speaks in thy fading eye ; Yet 'tis the same good, honest glance I loved in times gone by ! Ere the kind old friendly feelings Had ever brought one sigh ! THE KIND OLD FRIENDLY FEELINGS. 253 II. The warm old friendly feelings ! Ah, who need yet be told, No other links can bind the heart Like those loved links of old ! Thy hand I joyed in youth to clasp The touch of age may show ; Yet, 'tis the same true, hearty grasp I loved so long ago ! Ere the last old friendly feelings Had taught one tear to flow ! III. The kind, old friendly feelings ! Oh, seem they e'er less dear Because some recollections May meet us with a tear ? Though hopes we shared, — the early beams Ambition showed our way, — Have fled, dear friend, like morning dreams Before Truth's searching ray ; — Still we 've kept the kind old feelings That blessed our youthful day ! WHAT'S A FAIR OR NOBLE FACE? What 's a fair or noble face, If the mind ignoble be ? What though Beauty, in each grace, May her own resemblance see ! Eyes may catch from heaven their spell, Lips the ruby's light recall ; In the Home for Love to dwell One good feeling 's worth them all. II. Give me Virtue's rose to trace. Honour's kindUng glance and mien ; Howsoever plain the face, Beauty is where these are seen ! Raven ringlets o'er the snow Of the whitest neck may fall ; In the Home for Love we know One good feeling 's worth them all ! THE BRIDE'S FATHER. The last kiss is given — the last adieu sigh'd — The bridegroom 's away with his beautiful bride ; Alone sits the father — alone in his years ! The mansion is silent, the old man in tears ! He thinks of her sweetness, which soothed every care, And he fondly looks up, as expecting her there. Ah ! when was the time he such sorrow had shown, And she came not ? — but now the old man weeps alone. 256 THE bride's father. II. And could she remember his fondness, that threw Fresh flowers o'er her path every moment she knew — That granted each wish her light heart could prefer — Who in the wide world had but her — only her ! Oh, Nature ! how strange and unfeeling appears This breaking of all the aifections of years, For one who a summer ago was unknown ! Yet that one has her heart — the old man weeps alone ! III. No, not for a crown — as an emperor's bride — Had I quitted a father's affectionate side ! I 'd have thought of his evenings, long, lonely, and dim. And priz'd not a love unconnected with him ; Deem'd the one who 'd have sooth'd not my father's decline, Howe'er he might love me, unworthy of mine ; Nor chang'd the affections 'neath which I had grown. Nor left a fond father — old, cheerless, and lone ! FOREST TREES. '' There is a pleasure in the pathless woods." — Byron. Ye trees, ye forest trees, In beauty mantled by the touch of God — Ye hand-marks of his love — high monuments Of his eternal power — bulwarks of Time — Great archetypes of Nature's majesty ! — That, to the sun-smile of the summer, lift Your wreathed branches — green and beautiful, And strong, as when the living breath of God 2k 258 FOREST TREES. First brought you forth — ye trees — ye forest trees !- Imagination spreads her hundred wings, From desert coast to alpine solitude, And fleet as light pursues her devious track ; But whither may she speed and find Thee not, Thou great first cause — Supreme, Almighty Lord !- The wilderness is vocal with thy name — The solitudes are conscious of their God ! Glory of Egypt and the Temple's pride ! Thou Titan of the woods — whose stately form Assumes an air of immortality — Cedar of Lebanon, begin the theme : The gusts of centuries dash o'er thy head — The thunders strike thy foot — yet all unharmed Thou stand' st superior to the elements. Firm in thine own unmatched magnificence ; And lift'st thy branches in triumphal song, A song of praise and power ! — thy regal boughs. As eastern velvet — smooth, luxurious, soft ; Thy tufted leaves, low drooping — like a veil — Glossy and green, and delicately curved. Gracing the vigour of their parent stem, Like Beauty round the neck of Hercules ! FORKSTTKEES. 259 Proud tree, from out whose glorious heart were formed Temples and palaces and statues vast ;<'' And ships, whose mighty prows defied the storm, Still be thy presence honoured, and thy name A stirring record to all after-time ; A chronicle of greatness — desolate ! Linger the mountain waters on their track. Charmed by thy modest beauty — weeping Birch — Lone Widow of the Woods — sad monitress — Bending like Piety before the shrine Of holy Nature ! — thou divinest tree ! — Well may the waters linger 'neath thy glance, And kiss thy pendant tresses with cool lips, And float around thee in perpetual song ! And thou, That midst the mountains of Calabria tow'rst Thy hundred heads, thy continent of leaves. Thou model of the picturesque, that won The soul of him whose genius lit the world With visions of the wonderful and grand ! — Pride of Salvator Rosa — whose high name Evokes a sound familiar to our ears, 260 FOREST TKEES. And gladsome to our thoughts ; brave Chestnut tree ! — The sun-rise sheds its glory on thy leaves, And sun-set robes thee still ; on every shore Fertile or barren art thou resident ; The hunted stag beneath thy covert hides — And the gaunt wolf and spotted panther howl Through the long watch of night, scared by the gleam Of spectral moonlight on thy forked crest ! Come forth, Spring calls thee forth, beautiful Elm, — Thy purple blossoms ope the first to hail The April sun-beam, and thy foliage, light As ocean spray — swells first to wreath the air : — Come forth. Spring calls thee forth, beautiful Elm — Thou and thy sister, the luxuriant Larch — The Grace of the young Grove ! — whose taper boughs Robed in their proud prosperity of leaves, O'ertop the shadowy level of the woods Like a rich obelisk of beryl ! — Rise ! Come forth ! and glad the birds — and glad the sun — And fill the heart with meditative joy ! And ever be thou consecrate — dark Yew, Whose shadow, like a midnight spectre, stands FOREST TREES. 261 Close by the mouldering chancel, whose drear sigh Falls like the voice of graves — low, startling, deep : Whose branches through the long, cold, wintry night. Spread like dim shrouds — precursors of the tomb ! Oh ! ever be thou consecrate — thou wert A sacred symbol in the olden days ; And art a moral, and shalt be a guide To future ages, when the living crowd Have glittered — smiled — exulted and decayed! THE MARINER'S FIRST LESSON. 'TwAS on the coast of Alderney In the quiet morning hour, When Autumn shed her richest ray O'er lingering leaf and flower, Four children by their grandsire grey Were taught the shipwright's power. " 'Tis merry on the ebbing tide To launch your shallops free, Mid sunny ripples mark them glide, And shout with boyhood's glee : Ye 've felt no storms," the old man cried, " Lone o'er the midnight sea ; THE mariner's FIRST LESSON. 263 III. " Nor heard the stern and startling blast Through wildering darkness cry, While masts and sails to ruin cast Midst warring waves dashed by ; Nor seen that dreadful strife — the last Fierce struggle not to die ! IV. " 'Tis sport for ye when waves sink low The dimpled shore to roam, And watch your fairy-streamers flow 'Neath heaven's unclouded dome ; Or when the rising tempests blow, To shelter safe at home. " But gather round, and ye shall hear Of different shores from these. When I, a young man, knew not fear, Nor cared for wreck nor breeze : Ah ! riper years have taught me dear The sorrows of the seas ! 264 THE mariner's first lesson. VI. " 'Twas in the spring of sixty-four, Whilst boarding fresh supplies, Our captain shipped a precious store Of gold and merchandise : — When will the plundering waves restore The wealth that 'neath them lies ? VII. " Scarce three brief days had shone and set, With all our canvass free. Ere adverse winds the vessel met And drove her under lee ; And all that week we tossed, and yet No haven might we see. " Then burst the storm, the billows leapt Like living beasts of prey. Our rudder from her fast'nings swept. And rent our sails away : It was a woful watch we kept From dreary day to day. THE mariner's FIRST LESSON. 265 IX. " A weary watch 'mid sleet and rain, Yet hard we strove to clear, Though showed the seams at every strain How much was still to fear ; And day, declining dark, left vain Hope's frail essay to cheer ; " For all night through the lightnings flew. The deafening thunders rolled, The reeling mainmast crashed in two As the ravening waters shoaled. And the blinding foam around us blew, While paler drooped the bold. XI. " Eight hundred leagues we labour'd on And held her still afloat, But e'en the captain's heart was gone When our only mast lay smote ; So the skiff was filled, and forty-one All crowded in the boat. 2 L 266 THE mariner's first lesson. XII. " When biscuits, wine, and oil were lowered Our weary lives to keep, And what of all that treasure-hoard Availed for food or sleep, We saw the ship, so richly stored. Drift crewless o'er the deep. XIII. " The rich silks and the costly wine, The bars of gold she bore. Went drifting o'er the fatal brine Afar from any shore ; And not a wreck, or relic fine, Were ever heard of more. XIV. " Morn came ; but vapoury and drear ; No cheering sunlight spread ; The showering firmament severe Frowned o'er our naked head ; And on our hopeless hearts press'd fear Heavy and cold as lead. THE mariner's FIRST LESSON. 267 XV. " The wild rain poured, the bleak wind roared, Our boats yet made no speed ; So lots were cast, though all deplored The dark and guilty deed, — Tliat five should be thrown overboard To save the rest in need ! XVI. " 'Twas done ! and lighter on we rolled : Three chilling midnights passed. And fiercer, keener grew the cold, Still sharper the shrill blast ; Thus wo and suflFering, hourly told, Reduced our numbers fast. XVII. " Our ears with shrieks and bowlings rang. Hoarse wailing prayers for sin ; Whilst some, delirious, outward sprang, A speedier grave to win ; ^ome famine, like a tiger's fang. Gnawed savagely within. 268 THE mariner's first lesson. XVIII. " Cold ! — cold ! — drift ice came floating far, Our sail was frozen white ; No sun, nor ray of twinkling star, But the moon shone day and night ! The ice, like ocean's endless bar, ^ Spread ever on our sight. XIX. " A miserable lot we found Upon that ocean frore. Where icebergs split with thundering sound, And barred our passage o'er ; Yet evening saw our boats aground. Moored on a desert-shore. " But seven, of all that gallant crew, Remained to dash the tear Upon a coast no creature knew. So desolate and drear. Where tree, nor shrub, nor grass e'er grew Within its blighting sphere. THE mariner's FIRST LESSON. 269 XXI, " Our hands were blistered with the frost ; Our eyes shrank 'neath the glare Of ghastly snows in mountains tost That hemmed us everywhere ; Yet food we found, whenever cross'd The red fox or the bear. XXII. " Three years upon that dreadful strand We dwelt in wo and pain, And never thought to see the land. The homes we loved again ; But God held forth that saving hand Man never seeks in vain ! XXIII. " A whaler that had lost her way Beheld us, and hove near : When, when shall I forget that day ? The sudden hope — the fear — The anguish of each brief delay, — A moment seemed a year ! 270 THE MARINER S FIRST LESSON. XXIV. " Since then I've weather'd many a breeze, From many a wreck been cast, And should praise heaven upon my knees For all its mercies past ; Though ray first lesson on the seas Had well nigh been my last." THE VOICE OF NIGHT. " Night is the tune to muse ; Then, from the eye, the soul Takes flight, and, with expanding views Beyond the starry pole. Descries athwart the abyss of night The dawn of uncreated light." Montgomery. How beautiful the heavens look to-night ! — So calm, transparent ; and the starry crowd, — Those exquisite embodyments of light, — Could ye not almost fancy they were proud Of their own loveliness ? — that they had bliss In beaming forth on such a night as this ? 272 THE VOICE OF NIGHT. II. For ever and for ever there is set In the enduring sky, a seal and sign, A voiceless evidence of God ! — which yet Unchanged shall live, when this frail form of mine Hath mouldered from the bosom of the earth, Leaving no record of its mortal birth. III. The elements of which we are composed May perish ; they are finite : but the soul Bursts from the frame in which it lived enclosed, Beyond the grasping reach of Time's control ! — That spirit which within us swells and speaks. Shall Jind the immortality it seeks/ IV. Oh, thou ! — Creator ! — God ! — and can it be That man is heir to thine own glorious heaven ? — 'Tis so ! — the light, which is sublimity, — The essence, which is thought, by Thee were given !- The fear and heaviness of doubt are o'er — I muse, and feel — and tremble — and adore ! THE DEATH OF EUCLES. Immediately after the battle of Marathon, Euclea, an Athenian Soldier, still reeking with the blood of the enemy, quitted the army and ran to Athens, to carry his fellow- citizens the happy news of the victory. "When he reached his wife and children, he only uttered two words, " We triim^hl" and fell down dead at their feet. All cloudless gleamed the day, O'er mountain, vale, and tree, Where the Persian army proudly lay, By the wild ^Egean Sea : Ten times ten thousand hostile brands Flash'd from their dark barbarian hands. 2 M 274 DEATH OF EUCLES. II. Like leopards, ere they spring, The Grecian warriors stood, — Like vultures, hovering on the wing, Ere they track the gory flood ! Each roughly grasped his quivering blade. And eager for the signal, stayed ! HI. " Hellas— for Hellas on I" Upon that word, like light, Athena's bravest hearts are gone : — And what shall tame their might ? — Darius' chains'^' — or Persia's spears ? Away ! — breathe that to coward ears ! IV. "Hellas!— for Hellas on!" It was a sound to feel. When rush'd the Greeks, at Marathon — ' A cataract of steel ! — When Datis' legions, pale with dread, Like ruffians fought — like recreants fled ! — DEATH OF EUCLES. 275 V. O, Alale I^^' — bring now Your fetters for the brave ; Vain boast ! — your haughty hosts lie low — Your ships drink deep the wave ! — The honour of your arms is stained, And Greece — victorious Greece — unchained. VI. O, Alale !— Then rush'd Brave Eucles from the fight ; While from his breast the warm blood gushed, And dizzy grew his sight : With cloven helm, and shiver'd crest, Onward the dying warrior pressed. VII. " Oh, for one moment's breath ! — One look — ere sight be o'er ! Oh, to behold — though but in death — The home I love once more ! But once to hear the proud acclaim Of victory, and Athena's name ! " 276 DEATH OF EUCLES. VIII. Wounded, and wild, and worn. Pale Eucles hurried on ; The sire that blessed him ere that morn Had known not then his son : The pallid brow, the startling mien, Seem'd but the wreck of what had been. IX. But lo ! the gates were passed — The warrior's haven won ! He saw his own dear home at last— His wife — his lovely one ! " Hail — hail " — he cried, " Greece, Greece is free ! We triumph ! — shout for Victory ! " X. With eager arms he turned To clasp them to his breast ; Whilst all the father in him burned, And glory wreathed his crest : But back the dying hero fell. With triumph in his last farewell. DEATH OF EUCLES. 277 XI. Yet to the death he bore The Persian standard high, — Won 'mid the battle's fiercest roar, When spears were flashing by — When sword 'gainst sword was dash'd in twain, Through the red harvest of the slain. XII. Oh, War ! upon thy shrine, How many hearts are piled ! — How many orphan-homes are thine — Dark graves and mourners wild ! How many hopes hath thy dread name Struck blind — as with the lightning's flame ! GOOD FORTUNE. Good Fortune's hard to overtake, And then 'tis coy to greet us ; But Ill-luck every turn we make Runs half the way to meet us ! Then let us fence ourselves around With friends whose smiles may cheer us ; For Sorrow ne'er so keen is found, When Friendship's hand is near us ! Oh, Good Fortune's hard to overtake, &c. II. That Power which gave the Sun its plan. Its laws to light and warm us. Fixed in the breast the Heart of man, Like nature's sun, to charm us. Then let us bask beneath its light. Its warmest rays of feeling ; And prove no orb of day nor night Hath beams like these revealing. For oh, Good Fortune's hard to overtake, &c. NO MORE. No more, dear valley of my youth, I breathe thy free inspiring air ; — Romance hath yielded now to Truth, Dark droop the hopes that once bloom'd fair ! The poetry of soul that threw Its fine and rich enchantment o'er The valley, and each scene I knew, Is felt no more I 280 NO MORE. II. No more, beside the clustering vine, My sister, may'st thou smile and sing ; — Yet, oh ! if ever song 's divine It is when Memory wreathes the string !— I left thee, but with looks that gave No coining sorrow to deplore ; — And now — I weep above thy grave ! — Thou sing'st no more ! — III. It is not that the Vale is changed. The change is in my own sad heart ; Still smile the very scenes we ranged. But where 's the charm they could impart ? Ah, thus looks youth to Man as born For all that nobler minds adore ; And man looks back to Youth's brief morn And smiles no more ! ELnoawmrtl ELSPETH OF THE CRAIGBURNFOOT. Elspeth. " Then I "11 unlade my mind, come o' t what will. ' ' Scott's Antiquary. Old Elspeth sits in the Fisher's cot By the wood-fire's ghastly ray ; The sea-wind shrieks, but she hears it not — Her thought is far away 1 With a haunting voice from a distant grave, Shrieking more wild than the wild sea wave ! 2n 282 ELSPETH OF THE CRAIGBURNFOOT. II. Old Elspeth sits in the fisher's cot — And a weary mind hath she ; A dismal deed in a dreary spot Is with her memory ! Haggard she sits, with each guilty hand Wrinkled and hard as the old sea sand ! For ghostly forms in the red-light sit, And trace on the cottage floor The name that her conscience oft had writ On her quailing heart before ! " Years cannot clear it," the beldam cried; " Fathoms of seas cannot Guiltiness hide! IV. " Our first-born in his crib -j^s burned, Our boat wrecked in calm light ; All things from weal to wo have turned Since that accursed night ! Wind, wave, and fire, their parts have sought — Nothing can thrive 'neath that withering thought. ELSPETH OF THE CRAIGBURNFOOT. 283 " Proud blood — it hath a cruel spring ! It flows not through the heart ; 'Twas hard to break that poor dove's wing With none to take her part. And yet Sin wove her shroud, and Pride ! What knew we of Glenallan's bride ! " VI. A hideous form 'twixt life and death Old Elspeth rose, and said " Quick ! — tell me where is he who saith That Joscelind is dead ! Lands, lordships, lineage gone ? — who made The tomb wherein such Pride was laid ? " VII. " In the ruins of ^St. Ruth she rests" — Auld Ochiltree replied — " Where Pomp and State receive their guests Till worms their claim divide ! The Countess sleeps where prince and crown. Beggar and scrip, alike lay down ! " 284 ELSPETH OF THE CRAIGBURNFOOT. VIII. " Hie to Glenallan's lord my suit — And with this ring, long known, Say Elspeth of the Craigburnfoot Hath speech for him alone ! Charge him to speed — ere fast and well Death hides the secret I would tell !" IX. Nor answer more gray Edie made — But on his mission sped ; Old Elspeth, like a corpse outlaid. Or vision of the dead, Her old accustom'd seat slow found — Nor heard the winds which howled around. LOVE'S REMONSTRANCE. What ! for a word — an idle word ? And more in jest than earnest spoken ? Were I to note each breath I heard My heart would soon be changed — or broken ! 'Tis not when words are sweetest said, Love's living flower blooms there to meet us ; The flower of love may still be dead, Although it& fragrance seem to greet us ! Then weigh not thou a word so slight, Nor keep thy gentle bosom grieving ; The tongue that finds things ever right, Believe me, love, 's a tongue deceiving. 286 love's remonstrance. II. Oh, if my heart had sought thee less, Mine eyes loved less to wander round thee. That word of wounded tenderness — That hasty word — had never found thee. The dew that seeks the Sun's fond gaze, His golden lips in gladness beaming ; Meets death within his smiling rays — His gilded fondness is but seeming ! Then weigh not thou a word so slight Nor keep thy gentle bosom grieving ; The tongue that finds things ever right. Believe me, love, 's a tongue deceiving. BETTER DAYS. 'TwAS said she had known hetter days ! Sad words — how old on earth ! The voice which fortune here obeys Is but of fickle birth ! How oft we mark some faded dress, Where decent pride betrays Still mournfully, 'mid all distress. An air of better days ! 288 BETTER DAYS. 11. Ah, poverty hath many a shape To make the thinking weep ! The little hat whose scanty crape Turns pale the widow's cheek ! They touch me most who fain would hide Their fall from fortune's ways ; I can respect — nay love their pride Who have known better days ! III. When we our trifling cares reveal — Cares which too oft we seek ; Could we but feel what others feel Our lips would shame to speak ! To see the morn but not the means — How dread that morning's rays ! Alas, they bear life's hardest scenes, Who have known better days ! TO A MOTHER. Mourn ! for thy boy, so beautiful, is dying ! — Dim close the eyes no light may e'er relume : Mourn for thy flower, thy precious flower, now lying Broken and bowed — and ne'er on earth to bloom ! II. Weep for the little breast that heaves with anguish ! And plead where Misery never pleads in vain : Better that he were dead than thus to languish. Whilst life feeds but the hopeless pulse of pain ! 2 o 290 TO A MOTHER. III. Peace ! — 'tis the last — the last convulsive feeling — The lip yet quivers, but the heart lies still ; The parting soul is onward — heavenward stealing — Far from the wo and weight of worldly ill ! Rejoice ! thy boy, so beautiful, no longer Droops 'neath disease ! — Rejoice, his throes are o'er ! Thy bowed and broken flower is raised, and stronger Blooms, where the storms of sickness beat no more. Bid not a tear ungratefully be given ; Let not a murmur linger where he trod ; Thy child of earth is now the child of heaven ! Thy heir, oh mother ! is the heir of God! VI. Lift up thy spirit with this seraph vision. That he so pure, so beautiful, hath fled From our dim home, unto a home Elysian ; The paradise that waits the sinless dead ! TO A MOTHEK. 291 VII, And yet, forget not, but when early morning Like a bright bird lifts up her golden plumes, Think of thy child ! — think, thus his soul, returning, Glows in the heavenly east, as morning blooms ! VIII. And still forget not ! But when flowers are sighing. And evening sunset fades along the west, Think of thy child ! yet, oh ! not pale and dying : But living, smiling, radiant 'mid the blest ! THE FISHERMAN'S CHILDREN. " But to hear The roaring of the raging elements, To know all human strength, all himian skill, Avail not ; to look around, and only see The mountain wave incumbent, with its weight Of bursting waters, o'er the reeling bark, — O God 1 this is indeed a dreadful tiling !" SOUTHEY. I. Slowly the melancholy day, In cloud and storm passed o'er ; Fearful and wild the tall ships lay, Off the rude Northumbrian shore ; 'Mid the thunder's crash — and the lightning's ray. And the dashing ocean's roar ! THK FISHERMAN S CHILDKEN. 293 II. And many a father's heart beat high, With an aching fear of wo : As he gazed upon the ghastly sky, And heard the tempest blow ! Or watched with sad and anxious eye, The warring waves below ! III. Oh ! many a mournful mother wept ; And closer, fonder prest The babe, that soft and sweetly slept Upon her troubled breast ; While every hour that lingering crept. Her agonies confest ! IV. And one upon her couch was laid, In deep and helpless pain ; Two children sought her side, and played. And strove to cheer — in vain : Till breathlessly, and half afraid. They listened to the rain ! 294 THE fisherman's children. " 'Tis a rough sea your father braves !" The afflicted mother said ; " Pray that the Holy arm that saves, May guard his precious head ! May shield him from the wrecking waves, To aid ye, — when I 'm dead ! " VI. Then low the children bended there, With clasped hands, to implore That God would save them from despair, And their loved sire restore : And the heavens heard that quiet prayer, 'Mid all the tempest's roar ! VII. 'Twas eve ! — and cloudlessly at last. The sky in beauty gleamed ! O'er snowy sail and lofty mast The painted pennon streamed ; The danger and the gloom had past. Like horrors — only dreamed! THE fisherman's CHILDREN. 295 VIII. Swift to the desolated beach The Fisher's children hied ; But far as human sight could reach, No boat swept o'er the tide ! Still on they watched — and with sweet speech, To banish grief they tried ! IX. Long, long they sat — when, lo ! a light And distant speck was seen, — Small as the smallest star of night, When night is most serene ! — But to the Fisher's boy that sight A sight of bliss had been ! " It comes !" he cried, " our father's boat ! See I — sister — by yon stone ! Not there — not there — still more remote — I know the sail's our own ! Look ! — look again ! — they nearer float ! Thanks ! — thanks to God alone ! " 296 THE FISHERMAN S CHILDREN. XI. Four happy, grateful hearts were those, That met at even-fall ; The mother half forgot her woes, And kissed and blessed them all ! " Praised ! praised," she said, " be He who shows Sweet mercy when we call ! " THE BIRD OF HOPE. A GOLDEN cage of sunbeams Half down a rainbow hung ; And sweet therein a golden bird The whole bright morning sung !— The winged shapes around it, grew Enchanted as they heard : It was the bird of Hope — my love — It was Hope's golden bird I 2 p 298 THE BIRD OF HOPE. II. And ever of to-morrow The syren song began ! — Ah, what on earth 's so musical As love and hope to man ? — I listened, thinking still of thee. And of thy promised word : It was the bird of Hope — sweet love- It was Hope's golden bird ! III. Though ours should be a cottage home, From pride and pomp apart ; The truest wealth for happiness Is still a faithful heart. And thus it sung — " unloving wealth Would never be preferr'd!" — It was the bird of Hope — sweet love — It was Hope's golden bird ! THE TREE OF THE VALLEY. The tree of the valley Waves gracefully round, Its green leaves in beauty Adorning the ground ! But dark 'neath its verdure The broken bough grieves ; And deep are its storm-wounds, Though hid by the leaves ! II. 'Tis thus with ourselves — To the world we appear All smiles, as unknowing A sigh, or a tear ! And little they think, Whom the light laugh beguiles. That hearts which are breaking Hide sorrow 'neath smiles ! SWEET EIGHTEEN. Sweet eighteen ! — graceful eighteen ! Bring me roses — the birth-day flower — Bathe them in dews where the fairies have been, To wreathe a charm for my natal hour : Time will show me his magic glass — Future life in each varied scene — Lights and shadows which come and pass Over the heart when it 's turned eighteen ! SWEET EIGHTEEN. 301 II. Mother, oh ! sing me again to rest, Tender and fond as thy bosom of yore ; Father, I kneel, to again be blest Over my prayers as thou bless'd me before ! Nature half grieving, half glad, appears ; Tears and smiles on the skies have been ; Just as I feel when I call past years. And think that I now am — oh, sweet eighteen ! Summer hath brought me a bridal dress, Lilies all gemm'd with the treasures of morn ; Woodbines that twine, with their fondest caress. Round the old cottage where they were born ! Thus will I cherish, thus hallow the spot. Passing the moments your loves between ; For what are the pleasures my home has not ? Oh, what other years are like sweet eighteen ? GIVE ME THE NIGHT. Give me the Night, love, the beautiful Night ! When the stars in the heavens are glittering bright ; When the flowers are asleep on their pillow of leaves, And no murmur is near, save the sigh the heart heaves ; When the spirit of tenderness hallows each scene. And Memory turns fondly to days that have been; When the valley's sweet waters reflect the moonlight — Oh ! give me the Night, love, the beautiful Night ! II. Give me the Night, be it starless and long. When the gay hall is sounding with music and song, — When the genius of poetry breathes her deep power. And, oh ! Love itself is more lovely that hour ; When the dark curls of beauty more gracefully shine. And the eyes, bright by day, are at evening divine ! When all is enchantment that blesses the sight — Oh ! give me the Night, love, the beautiful Night ! THE FIRST PRAYER. Tell me, oh ! ye stars of night — In the ages ye have seen, Aught more gentle, mild, and bright, Aught more dear to angels' sight. Hath there been ; Or more innocent and fair. Than an infant's earliest prayer ? 304 THE FIRST PRAYER. II. Tell me, oh ! ye flowers that meet By the valley or the stream, Have ye incense half so sweet, — Fragrance in your rich retreat, — That ye deem Half so dear to Heaven's care. As an infant's quiet prayer ? III. Speak, and tell me, thou, oh I Time, From the coming of the Word, Aught more holy, more sublime, From the heart of any clime. Hast thou heard. Than the voice ascending there, Than that lowly infant's prayer ? SONG. The winds are blowing winterly ! Lonely o'er the midnight sea, Frozen sail and icy mast Shiver in the northern blast ! Wild birds to their rock-nests flee, For the winds are blowing winterly ! O'er the moor the cotter strides — Drifting snow his pathway hides ; Stars keep trembling in and out, As though too cold to look about ! Glad he '11 see his own roof-tree — For the winds are blowing winterly ! By the fire the cotter's dame Sits, yet scarcely feels the flame ; Often looks she from the door, Fearing sad that dismal moor, And weeping for her son at sea — For the winds are howling winterly ! 2a CANZONET. The flower thou lov'st — the flower thou lov'st — Oh ! would I were that blessed flower ; To be with thee where'er thou rov'st, Thine own young breast, my beauteous bower : To feel thy warm lips, soft and sweet, Breathe fondly o'er my crimson bloom : 'Twere bliss to die if thus to meet So kind a death — so fair a tomb ! II. The flower thou lov'st — oh ! 'twere indeed A fate of unalloyed delight ; Thus on thy beauty's breath to feed, And gently fade in thy loved sight : For, oh ! when every leaf was gone. That once thine eyes with light could fill ; In spirit I would linger on. And float, in fragrance, round thee still. REMINISCENCES. * That breathless agoniz'd suspense, From whose hot throb, whose deadly aching. The heart hath no relief but breaking !" MooRB. I KNOW it is not beautiful ! That in the vale below, Far gayer gifts of summer bloom, . And brighter waters flow ; I know it is not beautiful ! But, oh ! unto my heart. It breathes a charm of vanished days, No other scenes impart. 308 REMINISCENCES. II. The days once eloquent with tones, They never more may bring, Sweet as e'er wooed a woman's lip To Love's delicious spring ; Deep as the distant clarion's breath Upon the moonlight air, Inspiring high and glorious deeds, It were a pride to share ! III. The form whose beauty imaged forth The vision of my sleep, The painting of a youthful heart, Romantic, warm and deep ; The voice — that music of my mind ! — Are with the spells of yore. On which the morn may brightly rise. But never waken more ! REMINISCENCES. 309 IV. No gift of thine, love, meets my gaze — No token fond and fair ; No, not — to soothe me in my tears — A single lock of hair ; Thou 'st passed, my love, like some pale star We look in vain to find. Nor left to cheer my blighted path One lonely ray behind ! They tell me I am waning fast, That leaf by leaf I fade, They bear me forth with wreathed hair. In jewelled robes arrayed ; They deem the festive dance may woo My memory from this spot. But, ah ! amidst the courtly crowd, Thou art the least forgot. 310 REMINISCENCES. My eyes are wandering fast and far To other shores away, My soul is with thee in thy grave ! How can I then he gay ? I perish in their festive light — I die amidst their mirth — Oh ! take me to thine arms, dear love, From this cold cheerless earth ! NOTES. (1) P. 259. L. 2. Temples and palaces and statues vast ; And ships whose mighty prows defied the storm. The ships of Sesostris the Egyptian Conqueror was formed of this timber, as also the gigantic statue of Diana in the temple of Ephesus. (2) P. 274. L. 11. Darius' chains, or Persia's spears f — Away I breathe that to coward ears ! Darius immediately sent away Datis and Artaphernes, whom he had appointed generals in the room of Mardonius. Their instructions were to give up Eretria and Athens to be plundered, to burn all the houses and temples therein, to make all the inhabitants of both places prisoners, and to send tliem to Darius : for which purpose they went provided with a great number oi chains aafi fetters. Rollin. (3) P. 275. L. 1. O Alale! — The Greek shout of victory. PRINTED BV WILLIAM SIMPSON, MARKET STREET. :'^' \i