*rt-^.'V^/-tvPt7 •--t-Th' ---^j* A' x2> 3 &o c PR 5759. W4L9" ""'™"'"' """"* ,^te.?i!!?.?.,h.eart: With other poems. The original of tliis book is in tlie Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013568047 LYRICS or THE HEART: OTHER POEMS. )n' vV^"" ALAR I c A: Watts. Familiar matter of to-day ; Som.e natural sorrow, loss, or pam, That hath been, and may be again. WORDSWORTH. WITH FORTY-ONE ENGRAVINGS ON STEEL. LONDON : LONGMAN, P.ROWN, GREEN, AND LONGMANS. 1851. LONDON : Hrintf.l liy If. Mason, Ivy l.ami, rnternnstfi- Ron . V TO MRS. ALARIC WATTS, THIS VOLUME IS INSCRIBED BY HER AFFECTIONATE HUSBAND. PREFACE. Many of the poems of which the present vohuue is composed, have been long, and I think I may venture to add, favourably known to the public. Several of them, indeed, (originally published in illustrated perio- dical works of which I was the editor,) have attracted more notice, and obtained a wider circulation, than could reasonably have been anticipated for trifles of so unambitious a character. Independently of the kindness with which they were received, on their first appearance, by the critical press, and the commendations they have had the good fortune to elicit from a large majority of my literary contemporaries, they have been reprinted in most of the collections of modern poetry which have issued from the press in this country and in America' during the last quarter of a century. I allude more particularly to the poems entitled " The Death of the First-Born," "My own Fireside," "Ten Years Ago," VKBFACE. " Kirkstall Abbey Revisited," " The Sister of Caiarity,'^ "The Grey Hair," " Lines on Burning a Packet of Letters," "The Youngling of the Flock," and "The Wedding-Day." Nor has the favour with which they have been re- garded, been coniincd, altogether, to readers whose con- nection with literary pursuits, or personal knowledge of the author, might be supposed to have exercised some influence on their judgment. Among the cordial and encouraging testimonies they have, from time to time, called forth, was one from the virtuous and patriotic statesman whose recent melancholy death has been so deeply and universally deplored ; the more gratifying, because whollj^ unsought and unexpected by me. " It is " not," (said the late Sir Robert Peel, in a letter which I had the gratification to receive from him, in the year 1826,) "from mere courtesy that I assure you that your "name is respected by me. I have had the satisfaction " of reading many of your poems. I particularly call " to mind two — ' The Death of the First-Born,' and "'My own Fireside;' to have written which would be " an honourable distinction to any one." Eighteen year afterwards, his recollection of these poems induced him to s PREFACK. place at my disposal a Treasury appointment for my son; and only a few months previous to his lamented death, I received an additional and unsolicited proof of the interest he continued to take in my welfare. Without attaching undue importance to opinions that may have originated, in a great measure, in associations of thought and feeling which the simplest efforts of the poetical art will occasionallj' create; and with a full consciousness of the defects of the poems themselves, no less than of the objections to which they are liable as a class; I shall not affect to consider any apology necessary for their pub- lication in a less fugitive form than that in which they have so long been allowed to remain. Coniined, as for the most part they are, to appeals to the domestic affec- tions, conveyed in language which addresses itself to the heart rather than to the head; and asserting no claim to the more exalted attributes of purely imaginative poetry ; I seek to secure for them no appreciation which can be considered inconsistent with such very limited pretensions. The objections that have been ru-ged against poetry of a purely personal character have been answered by an abler pen than mine. " Egotism" (says S. T. Coleridge) PREFAOI?. " is only to be coiidemiifd when it offends against tunc '•' and place,— as in a history or an epic poem. To censure " it in a monody, or a sonnet, is almost as absurd as to " dislike a circle for being round. The communicativeness " of our nature leads us to describe our own sorrows; " in the endeavour to describe them, intellectual activity "is exerted; and from intellectual activity there results " a pleasure which is gradually associated, and mingles, as " a corrective, with the painful subject of the description. ' Holy be the lay, ' That, mourning, soothes the mourner on his way. " If I could judge of others by myself, I should not " hesitate to affirm, that the most interesting passages in " our most interesting poems, are those in which the " author developes his own feelings. By a law of our " nature, he who labours under any emotion is impelled "to seek for sympathy; but a poet's feelings are all "strong. ' Quiccjuid amat, valde amat.'" The success of such appeals must, however, always be determined by the power of the poet to produce in the mind of his reader sensations corresponding to those which have given an impulse to his pen. ? PRE'E''ACE. It may be asked why, with the gratifymg encourage- ments ah-eacTy referred to, I shoukl have withheld until now a collected edition of my poetical writings; the more especially as the engravings which accompany them were eomx^leted many years ago. To such an inquiry I cannot, in tliis place at least, offer the full and satisfic- tory explanation which the circumstances may appear to demand. Suffice it to mention, that the distraction of my mind, for upwards of ten years, from more congenial pursuits, by a laborious, harassing, and (to me) profitless rmdertaking, which, so soon as it seemed likely to reward me for the toil I had expended upon it, was violently wrested from my hands, was such, that during the whole of that period I scarcely wrote a line of verse; and my subsequent ruinous entanglement in the meshes of the Court of Chancery for nearly seven more years, left me little leisure or inclination for poetical studies: " Afany a yeav, ambition dulling, Irksome labour claimed my pen ; At the oar incessant j)\illiiig, Mid the stir and strife of men ; TliEFACE. From iiiuri.' calm pursuits diverted, To a task I plied in vain ; Tastes abandoned, haunts deserted, Which, though late, I seek again." Bat to turn from personal details to tlie chief object of this notice. In 182-i I published a small volume of poems, entitled " Poetical Sketches," of which four editions were exhausted in little more than two years. A sense of its imperfections, however, has deterred me from reprinting it since 1827; or from including more than about a third part of its contents in the present collection. Another portion of the poems comprised in the following pages were originally published in the ten volumes of the "Literary Souvenir," and the three volumes of the " Cabinet of Modern Art," which were edited by me from 1824 to lSo7. The remainder are of later, some of very recent date, and several of them are from tlic pen of my wife.* No clironological or other classification has been attempted ; and if the appearance of variety, which is sometimes fa^'oured by the absence of a formal arrangement, sliould not in some degree atone for the omission, I have nothing better to urge in its defence. * Fide p. 329. I'KEPWCE. The whole of the embellishments of the present volume were engraved expressly for its pages: but not the least evil created by the long delay of its publication is that three or four of them have been surreptitiously copied in other publications; although with such indifferent success as to detract but little from the value of the orio-inals. The subject of another plate has, with my permission, been engraved for a large print. Considerable difficulties present themselves to the painter who undertakes to illustrate poems of this description; a failure being almost inevitable whenever an attempt is made to identify a design with the incident rather than the sentiment of the poem. It is for this reason that several of the subjects of the engravings are rather emblematical of the poems they accompany, than representations of auy particular scenes they describe. It is not improbable that I may have rendered myself liable to an imputation, which I do not deserve, for having embellished, in an expensive manner, a series of trifles of so little real importance. My explana- tion is a very simple one. For upwards of foiu'teen years I was intimately associated with many of our PEKFACE. most eminent modern artists in the production of a scries of illustrated works, and the agreeable nature of that intercourse led to a desire on my part to connect myself with them in some volume which should be composed AvhoUy of my own writings. Hence the decorative form which these pages have assumed. TABLE OF CONTENTS. TO NINE SISTERS (NOT THE MUSES) TEX TEAES AGO .... THE PAINTER'S DREAII JIAY FLOWERS .... FOR EVER THINE WE MET WHEN LIFE AND HOPE WERE THE BIRTH OF THE FIRST-BORN . TO A PORTRAIT: SAID TO BE OF NELL GWYNN RUTH .... HE NEVER S.UD HE LOVED ME THEY ,AEE NO MORE . GREECE LEAVES FROM A POET'S AUTOBIOGRAPHY MY OWN FIRESIDE PORTRAIT OF A LADY IN" A FLORENTIN TO CAROLINE BOWLES THE WITHERED ROSE KIRKSTALL ABBEY REVISITED THE NAMELESS TOAST THE RETURN FROM INDIA . THE DEATH OF THE FIRST-BORN . THE WHARFE REVISITED 9 16 18 NEW . 20 22 GWYNN 23 26 27 29 .51 lY . . . .36 41 E COSTUME V> 47 .50 51 .55 5S 611 65 CONTEXTS. WE PLIGHTED VOWS TOGETIIEK . THE POET'S HOME THE SLEEPING CUPID (IE GUIDO . NEAPOLITAN EISHERMAN'S IIYJIX TO THE VIKGIX THE BACPIELOn'S DILEMMA . KING PEDRO'S REVENGE GUARD AGAINST A RAINY DAY HYMN OF TRIUMPH OVER BABYLON ON BURNING A PACKET OF LETTERS A PARAPHRASE .... THE TWIN SISTERS THE .EOLIAN HARP RICHMOND HILL CONSOLATION .... THE LAMENT OF EOABDIL EL CHICO A SKETCH FROM PRIVATE LIFE . LINES WRITTEN BENEATH A PORTRAIT .FTNA : A SKETCH ... TO A CHILD, AFTER AN INTERVAL OF A A REMONSTRANCE A SCENE FRO.M FAUST . LOVE AND SPRING THE DESERTED COTTAGE A PORTRAIT FROiM REAL LIFE THE REQUIEM OF Y^OUTH A MAIDE.S'S SOLILOQUY THE .MARTYRS OF ROY'AL-LIEU THE ANNIVERSARY THE Y'OUNGLING OF THE FLOCK EVENING .... lull lO.'i lOS 103 111 IF! 117 118 135 138 i::;i 1.5.5 138 141 IJC 117 LLI I. ".2 1.5:) 155 1,58 1.59 IC5 CONTENTS A WO-VIAS'S FAREWELL THE SISTEi; OF CHALITY TO MISS M. J. JEWSBUKY GUARDIAN ANGELS YOU ASK ME FOE A FLEDGE, LOVE :MY native VALE TO THE MEMOr.Y OF GEORGE DAIUSET A FAREWELL .... SCENES OF MY CHILDHOOD I THINK OF THEE THE GREY HAIR . TO A SLEEPING CHILD THE GIRL AND THE HAWK THE JIELODY OF YOUTH THE EXILES LOVE AND FRIENDSHir THE DEATH OF POMPEY' THE GREAT MUSIC MORNING: A SERENADE QUEEN VICTORIA AT SPITHEAD ON THE STATUE OF A CHILD BY' R. LANE, ESQ. ON THE DE.ATH OF A YOUNG FRIEND AT LAGUIRA FORGET THEE! NO, NEVER! TO A CHILD BLO^VIKG BUBBLES . A D.VY-DREAM MEET ME AT SUNSET .... INVOCATION TO THE ECHO OF A SEA-SHELL THE WEDDING-DAY' .... SAPPHO ...... TO OCTAVIA ..... 167 169 174 177 180 ISl )8j 188 190 191 19.') 198 •303 301 20li 207 20!) 214 317 320 22:i 230 238 229 231 2.3.'> 337 239 21.ur visions palpable as Ijright; 'Neath whose keen cj'e, and touch creative, shine Unnumbered shapes of wonder and delight; — Surpassing rivals in Fame's boruidless flight; Twin heirs of (Jenius and her broad domain; One, seeking sunshine in the realms of light. The other courting Horror's grisly train. And drawing strength from Hate, sublimity trom Pain ! 10 THE PAINTERS DREAM. Transcendent Eaifaelle, thy accomplished mind, Irradiate, teemed with beauty, love, and grace ! What pure simplicity, by taste refined. In all thy forms, the studious eye may trace ! What seraph brightness breathes from every face Thy glowing mind hath on thy canvass poured; How doth thy might his humbled heart abase, Who seeks, a votarj^ true, thy shrine adored. To -win a touch, a charm, — and his despair record! Nor less his fame, to whose proud hand 'twas given. The Judgment Day's terrific tale to tell; Who, if he sometmies caught his fire from Heaven, Woidd oftener snatch it from the depths of Hell; The fiercer passions owned his wondrous spell; Titanic grief that ■will not yield to Time; Revenge, Remorse, and Hate unquenchable, — The weltering ofTsjiring of Desjiair and Crime, — Touched by his wand, ujjrise in agony sublime ! 11 THE J'AIKTKR S IIREAAr. VI. But, lo! ■\vliat Vision bursts wpon my sight! ^A^llat sliajics, M'liat Imes, yon opening doors unfold! What rainbow forms arc glancing in the light Showered from )'on gorgeous roof of fretted gold ! \\ hence spring the dazzling tints I now behold f A\"here am I, where? — I live, I breathe again! AMiat glorious triumphs of the davs of old Are gathered 'round: Ausonia, Fraute, and Spain, "^ our brightest dreams I see; I have not toiled in vain! xn. There Guide's Mary looks in faith on high; There Salvi's Nun in silent jwayer doth bow; T'here C'laude's bright rippling ^Ya\c and sunset sk^^ Sahator's storm-rent rock and mountain brow. And Poussin's classic glooms arc gathering no'\v; — There Carlo Dolci's matchless anguish droops; There golden Titian's living beauties glow; There graceful AVatteau spreads his courtly groups; And 'neath his ponderous cross, Del Sarto's Saviour stoops ! 12 THE ]>AINTER's dream. VIII. There bright Giorgione's bhie-eycd consort shines, A rival star to Titian's ga}- Brunette; There pure Coreggio's reading mourner pines; And crystal Cuyp's delicious sun hath set; There Spagnoletto's dying Anchoret, And Caravaggio's slaughtered IMartjTS lie; There deep, clear Ruysdael's Twilight lingers yet; Romano's battle steeds are thundering by; And Cagliari's Feast salutes the broad blue sky! IX. There, too, Albano's Sea Nymphs float along; Guercino's Hagar sheds ujjbraiding tears; Pionibo's Lazar in his fiiith is strong; And Vinci's Judith still the charger bears; — There polished Teniers' festive evening wears; ^"elascjuez' Infant smiles in fadeless youth; Zampieri's Sibyl lifts the veil of years ; Hobbema's sunlit slopes, and mill-stream smooth. And Rembrandt's shadowy power, reflect immortal truth! 13 THE PAIXTEU S DISEAM. And more, yet more; the fierce Giotto there. Hi? victim tortured, triumphs in his pain; 'i'here Mazzuoli's Vision, hrio-ht and foir, From rohber-spoih'rs hath escaped again; And Berretino's Saliines shriek in vain! There fidl of faith, the good St. Bruno dies; 'i'here Snyders' yelling bloodhounds burst their chain: There gorgeous Kubens' cmljlcnied Triumphs rise; And Vandyck's ( Jharles u])lifts his mild, reproachfid eyes XI. The sun hath sunk behind yon city gay, AVhere purple hues are fleckering all the sky; And Tyilight -weaves her web of night and da^ ; yVnd one by one the stars look out on high; I)ut as the feathery clouds sail slo-\vly by The crimson flush that tracks their monarch's ^yay. Each snow-white billow takes a deeper dye, Each silvery wreath grows brighter in the ray. Till all lun-e shared the spell, and, snuling, passed away! 14 THE rAlNlER S UKEAJI XII. i\nd thus my heart, ^rhen I have ceased to gaze, Eiichanthig Phn'cnce, on thy fanes suldimc. Will stri\'e to trace the bvight, immortal Ijlazc That rises round thee from the depths of Time! And though I leave thee for a c'older clime ; Still memory's halo, lingering pensively. Shall steep my soaring visions as they climb ; Till many air aim, wish, feeling, hope shall Ijc To brighter issues touched bv thoughts of thine-and thee! MAY-FLOWEliS i^'OUl^U iiFI'bU! THE L^1-'3E UF YE/-.E;S iiJ j.. VuLUJZE L'2 •'l:ljR>:S/ LilV M-ciit u-rMiLjiiig With Nafuvc. llupc. ami L'ul'-i, \A'hen 1 wa-^ \ tam^. C'JLiHIDGE. Llciiional frail of ) uutliiul a'i. :iri<. Of hopes as ^^ild ami briylit as tliev, Thy faint, swcft pfvljiine calls up toars, I may not, cannot wish ;n\"a\"! Thv withered lea^■l■s art' as a spell To lii'ing the -ainted past belmx' nie: ^Vnd lon^'-lost scents, but loved too well, In all tlieir truth restori' nie. <^'old is lu.'c hand ^vlio placed thee here, 'J lion record sad oi' Love and Spring, lv,'e lil'e's IMay-ilowers, like thee, grc\v sere, Or Hope Inul \\-avcd her parting wing: W'Ir'II iloyhood's bnrning dreams A-\-ere niiue And !<'ancy's magic circlet crowni'd me ; And: i.oNC, "wlien lov(^ is half divine, S|)i'cad ;ts eneliautmeuts 'round me! Ki MAY-FLOWERS. How can I e'er forget the hour When thou wert glowing on her breast, Fresh from the dewy hawthorn bower That looked upon the golden West! She snatched thee from thy sacred shrine, — A brighter fate she scarce could doom thee. And bade a Poet's wreath be thine, — His deathless page entomb thee. That hour is past, those dreams have fled, — Ties sweeter, holier, bind me now; And, if life's first May-flowers are dead. Its summer garland wreathes my brow. Sleep on, sleep on! I would but gaze A moment on thy faded bloom; Heave one wild sigh to other days, Then close thy hallowed tomb ! 17 FOR EVER THINE. For ever tliiuc, wliate'er this heart betide; For ever mine, 'where'er our lot be cast; Fate, that may rob us of all wealth beside. Shall leave us love — till life itself be past. The "world may "wrong us ; \ye will brave its hate ; False friends may change, and falser hopes decline; Though bowed l>y cankering cares, "\^ e'U smile at Fate, Since thou art mine, beloved, and I am thine! For ever thine; -\\hen circling years have spread Time's snowy blossoms o'er thy plat id brow; U'hen youtli's rich glow, its " purple light," is fled. And lilies bloom where roses flourish uo'\a"; — Say, shall I love the fading licanty less AVhosc S2)ring-tide radiance has been wholly mine ? — No; come what will, th)- stedfast truth I'll bless. In youth, in age, — thine (n^■u, for ever tliine! 18 FOR EVER THINE. For ever thine; at evening's de'^vy hour, When o-enth^ hearts to tenderest thousrhts incline ; When balmiest odours from each closing flower Are breathing round me, — thine, for ever thine! For ever thine ; 'mid Fashion's heartless throng ; In coru'tly bowers, at Folly's gilded shrine; — Smiles on m.y cheek, light words upon my tongue, ]My deep heart still is thine, — for ever thine ! For ever thine; amid the boisterous crowd. Where the jest sparldes, with the sparkling wine; I never name thy gentle name aloud, But drmk to thee, in thought, — for ever thine! I would not, sweet, profane that silvery sound, — The depths of love could such rude hearts divine ; Let the loud laughter peal, the toast go round. My inmost thoughts are thine, — for ever thine ! For ever thine, whate'er this heart betide; For ever mine, where'er our lot be cast; Fate, that may rob us of all wealth beside. Shall leave us love,— till liic itself be past! in WE MET WHEN HOPE AND LIFE WERE NEW. "\V'c met when hope and life ^^'c^e new, AV'hen all we looked on smiled; — And Fancy's A\'and around us threw Enchantments, sweet as Avild: Ours were the light and bounding hearts 'ilie -^A'orld had yet to wring; — Tin' bloom, that -svheu it once departs. Can know no second spring. A\diat though oiu- love was never told, — Or breathed in sighs alone; Ih' signs that "woidd not be controlled. Its growing strciigth was shewn: — The touch, that tlrrilled us with delight ; The glance, by art untamed; In one short moon, as brief as bright. That ti'udcr truth proclaimed. 20 AVE MET WIIEX HOPE AND ].IFE A\'El;E NEAW AVc paitecl, cliilling looks among; My inmost soul Avas boAvcd; And l)lcssiiit>s died upon mv tongue, I dared not broatlie aloud: — A pensive smile, serene and bland. One thrilling glance — liow vain ! A pressure of thy yielding hand; — - AVe never met again! Yet still a spell ^\-as in thy name, Of magic power to me ; That bad me strive for wealtli and lixme. To make me worthv thee: And long through nrany an after-vcar, When boyhood's dream had flown. With nothing left to hope or fear, I loved, in silence, on! ]\Iore sacred ties, at leirgth, arc ours, As dear as those of yore; And later joys, like autumn-flowers, Have bloomed for us once more! 15ut irever canst thou be again. What once thou wert to me; — I glory in another's chain, — And tliou'rt no longer lre(\ 21 Tllli Kl)iST-l;OKN. Thy stream of life glides calmly on,- A prosperous lot is thine ; The brighter that it did not join The turbid waves of mine ; Yet oh ! might fondest love relume Joy's sunshine on my brow, Thine sca,rce can be a happier doom Than I may boast of now ! THE FIRST-BORN. Never did music sink into my soul So ' silver s-\\"cet,' as when thy first weak wail On my 'rapt ear iir doubtful murmurs stole, Tlrou child of love and j^roniise ! — "What a talc Of hopes and fears, of gladness and of gloom. Hung on that slender filament of sound! Life's guileless pleasures, and its griefs j^rofound, Seemed mingling in thy horoscope of doom. Thy bark is launched, and lifted is thy sail U]ion the weltering billows of the world : But oil ! may wiirds far genth^r than have hurled l\Iy striiggling vessel on, for thee prevail; — Or, if thy voyage must be rough, may'st thou Soon 'scape the storm and be — as blest as I am noAv! 22 TO A PORTRAIT. I'^INTED BY THE LATK G.S.NEWTON, ES'.,'., B.A., pi-;OJV[ AN OLIi MINIATDP.E, SAID TO BE OP I^ELL GWYNN. Beautiful and radiant girl! I have heard of teeth of pearl, Lips of coral, checks of rose. Necks and brows like thifted snows. Eyes, as diamonds sparkling bright. Or the stars of siuumer's night, 23 ■|(l A PORTRAIT. And expression, grace, and soul, Sottly tempering down the whole But a form so neai- divine. With a lirce so iair as thine. And so snnny bright a brow. Never met my gaze till now : Thon wert Venus' sister twin. If this shade be thint — Nell GwyNiN ! Cast that carcanet away. Thou hast need of no display. — Gems, however rare, to deck Such an alabaster neck. Can the brilliant's lustre vie With the glories of thine eye ; Or tire ruby's red compare With the two lips breathing there '. Can they add a richer gloiA- To thy beanties.'' No, sweet, no! Though thou bear'st the name of one Whom 'twas virtue once to shun, — It were siu'c to taste a sin. Now to pass thee by — Nell Gwynn. But they've wronged thee; and I swear By that brow so dazzling fair, — 24 TO V I'OKTUArr. By the chastened light that flashes From thy drooping 'lids' long laslies; By the deep blue eyes beneath them; By the clustering curls that wreathi' them ; By thy softly blushing cheek; By thy lips, that more than speak ; By thy stately, swan-like neck, Glossy white without a speck; By thy form, so passing fair. Modest mien, and graceful air; 'Twas a burning shame and sin, Sweet, to christen thee Nei,l G^vxxy. ! Wreathe for aye thy snowv arms, Thine can be no wanton's charms! Like the fa^ra's, as bright and shy. Beams thy soft, retiring eye; No bold invitation 's given From the depths of that blue heaven, Nor one glance of lightness hid 'Neath its pale, declining 'lid! No; I'll not believe thi/ name Can be aught allied to shame ! Then let them call thee what they will, I've sworn, and I'll maintain it still, — Despite tradition's idle din, — Thou art not, canst not be, Nell G^vynn ! RUTH. Intrcat me not to leave thee so. Or turn from foUowiug thee; Where'er thou goest I will go, Thy home my home shall be ! The path thou treadest, hear my vow, By me shall still he trod; Thy people be my people now; Thy God shall be my God ! Reft of all else, to thee I cleave. Content if thou art nigh; "Wnienc'er thou grievcst I will grieve, And where thou diest, die ! And may the Jjord, whose hand hath wrought This weiglit of misery, AfHict me so, and moi'e, if aught J)Ut deatli part tlux^ and mo! 26 HE NEVER SAID HE LOVED ME. He never said lie loved me; Nor hymned my beauty's praise; Yet tlieix' was something more than ^vords In his full^ ardent gaze : He never gave his passion voice; Yet on his flushing cheek, 1 read a talc more tender far Than softest tones could speak! He never said he loved me; Yet, when none else were nigh, How could I hear, and doubt the truth, His low, unbidden sigh! The throbs of his tumultuous lieart. That faint, sweet breath above; AVhat tongue could syllabic so well The tale of hope and love! JIK .\li\l-:i; SAID HE LOVKJ) MK. Hf never said he loved me; To silent worship vowed, The deep devotion of his soul He never breathed aloud ; — Though if he raised his voice in song, As s'\\elled cacli tenderer tone, It seemed as if designed to reach My ear and heart alone ! He never said he loved me; Yet the conviction came, Like some great truth that stirs the soul Ere yet it kiio"\\'s its name ! Some augel--whisper of a faith That long defied our ken. And made us almost feel that life Had scarce begun till then ! And have I said / love him; i'Vlas, for maiden pride, 'J'hat feelings he hath ne'er revealed, I have not learned to hide ! And yet chdnoyant Love ini'ornrs His notaries' hearts so well, That long before 'tis time ti) speak, Ihere's nothing left to tell! 28 THEY ARE NO MOKE. ILS NE SONT PLDS! L'LU FllliNL-H snNci. They are no more, they are no more, The ardent hopes and visions high, That filled my glowing heart of yore, And gave my fancy wings to fly; The love I thought would never die; The faith that every douht forbore; The stalwart arm and eagle eye; — They are no more, they are no more ! The trusted friends, companions gay, Who trod with me youth's pleasant road. Who cheered me on my 'venturous way. And lightened half the pilgrim's load; Where are they now? Estranged or dead. Or wanderers on some distant shore ; I5y fate impelled, or fancy led. To me, alas, they are no more ! 29 TllHy AltE KO jMOIM',. jViuI whc']-e arc now. oli, where are now, The buoyant tstep, and lighter heait; The coi'dial sniih', untroiihkd 1)io"\a', That once were of my life a pai't.' A\^ai'ped, withered, chilled by bitter wrong, My heart's best impulses arc o'er; Even fancy's spells, the power of Song, They are no more, they are no more ! AVith nothing left to live for here, I fain would pass in peace away; My heart and hopes alike grown sere. Why should I longer here delay; So that some being of kindred clay, — Life's wild and fitful fever o'er, — May of my fiiults but, sorrowing, say They are no more, they are no more ! 80 f..-:-a .y'^.>1 GREECE. - ■ WRITTKN IN DOCTim U. VvOUriSmORTH-R "GKF.ECF." Land of heroic deeds and deathless song; Thou Pharos bright to many a wondering ago ; What glorious shapes around me seem to throng, When'er I turn thy sad, eventful page ! Fall'n as thou art, thy form hath not yet lost The regal aspect that oi old it Aiore ; Ruined and ^^ronged, discrowned and tcnipest-tost, Ghost of the godlike thing thnu wert ol' vore ! wurrTi';^ in Docidi; r. wiiUKswoiri'ii s (:i;i:i/'i;. A li;ilo vcbts iqinii rui]i (■riinililiiiij; iinic. And ^l:ltll(■^ III lii;lil cMch iiiDinitinn ]iiiirin(lc : And tli\" liroad (icc;ni, ami tliv battle plain. Sleep in file f'wdi'jlit III' thy glorv stdl ' Thout^'li tower and temple, tomb and shiaiie detav, Till not a stone remains tlieir tale to tell; Time eannot wear the' eternal liills a'wav, Nor stay the riycn's from their sides that \\c\\ ! He eannot lilot irom ont thy i'ading I'aee riata;a's tiehl, the Plain of Marathon ; Tlie site of '"sea-liorn Salamis" erase; Or (dond tlie lame ihy dauntless eliiel's lia\'e won. Still Jove's Olympus eleayes the upper sky. And Peiuais ■\\iuds iiiir Tempe's "\"ale ahini^'i Parnassus lifts his forked head on lii^h. And Castaly still "weeps her tears of song. There too the j\[nses' mount, fronr whose pure breast. No noxious lierl) M'as oyer knoyn to spring; ^V'itll its twui f()milains in their bright unrest. And nuii-iniinm;" bees lor ever oir the Mdim". ^VKITTEX T\ nOCTOK 0. WORDSWORTH S " ORKEOE. And there Hymettus, "flo-svery hill," looks clown On Plato's haimts, the groTcs of Academe ; The' immortal city, with her marble crown; And smooth Ilissns' ever devious stream. And by her guardian Titans circled round, Its name a spell-word sweet that tvpifies Whate'er of peace on earth may yet be found, Thv verdant vale di^-ine Arcadia lies! Than war more ruthless, though the ]Mu.scs' bower, ("The great Emathian conqueror bid spare,") Hath felt, at length, Time's desolating power. And lifts its crownless head in "ruin bare;" He cannot chase the glo\A'ing forms from earth That people still each valley, hill, and stream ; He may not drive from our domestic hearth, The fond beliefs o'er which we love to dream : The old traditions; linking many a name With deeds, even now, that wake a wondering thrill : With tales of gentle hearts, and souls of flame. Whose loves and sorrows stir our pity still! ^^'l!IT'l'^;^' in doctor c. woi!DS-\\'okiti's " rnLKFCK. Tlicj'c Lesbian Sappho, from Lcucadia's steep, Darts, — in the deep her hurning heart to hide; There Hero loves her fruitless watch to keep, With waving' torch, by Hello's stormy tide! And by her rock on Naxos' desert shore. With streaming- eyes, and clasped beseeching hands Outstretched to one Tidro will return no more. The fond, too trusting Ariadne stands! Still Hero's love and faithful sorrow live; Leander's darincr heart and visjorous arm; — Still Sappho's wild, despairing griefs survive In Ivindred hearts as errint>' and as warm. And many an Ariadne, left to weep O'er broken vows her blighted life away; Her hopeless vigils still is doomed to keep ; For faith too deep the forfeit sad to pay. Beautiful di-eanis, though sorrowful as sweet, Cold is the creed that would your truth denv Is woman's deep, devoted love a cheat; Or nuni's caprice a thing of days gone by .' 34 AVUITTEX IN nOCTim C. WOlillSWORTu's "catEECE." Land of heroic deeds and deathless sono-; Thoua-h thou canst never be tliysell' again; Thoug'h parricidal hands have wrought the -svrong That makes all hope for thee but ^vild and vain; Till ^'alour, "Wisdom, Genius, Liberty, Stars of this nether sphere, have ceased to shine; Thy sacred name the trumpet-call shall be ; To wake ennoblini!' thouu'hts of thee and thine! LEAA'ES FROM A POET'S AUTOCIOGK.APHY. '.'KITTEN uN TH?; T'JFTIETH AKK' IVKRRAET UT TEE AUTHOR'S BIKTH Ij£7 ; n;-:r)EE CIL-:uai\'!STANCE3 OF GEEAT MP'.NTAL Dr^PP.ESSION. Tell me ncit a radiant morrow Follows oft the gloomiest night; That the darkest cloud of sorrow Sometimes hides a world of light ; If the heart hath long heen pining, Faint and sick witli hope's dela\", And tire star aliovc tis shining, A eils from earth its gniding ray. Evil days have overtaken. A\'^ith their storm-cliargcd clouds mv y\'Ay; 7\_nd mv soul, till now unshaken, Shriidvs -within its coil of clay: Even the iNInse, — invoked not often. Save to soothe the spirit's wrong, I'ridc to tame, or grief to soften,— Half withholds the power of Song! ■SO LEAVES FROM A POET's AUTOBIOGRArUA'. Foul Ojjprcssion, fiercer, stroiig-er. That her step I strove to stay. Till my feeble arm no longer IMight her trampling hoofs delay, — Treads me down: no more my trust is In my buoyant faith of old; What can Eeason, Truth, or Justice, 'Gainst the giant might of gold ! Stormy skies arc lowering o'er me; Eao-incf billows "ird me round; And the gloom that spreads before me Grows but more and more profound: Not a beacon -light is left mc. To my distant port a clew; Fate, at one fell swoop, hath reft mu Of both chart and compass too ! Like a gallant ship succumbing, That no more obeys her helm, Bide I now the tenth wave coming, With its mandate to o'erwlielm : O'er my hopes, a clean breach making, Sweeps that flood of wrack and wrong; Rending stays^ and bulwarks breaking, Which I once believed so strong ! 37 LEA^'ES FROM A I'OET S AT'TOBIOGRAPIIY. Whilst upon the scene of ruin. From his covert safe on high. On the storm his work is doing, Glares the Wrecker's balefiil eye ! As the stout ship goes to pieces, Torn each stahrart limb from limb, How his sordid joy increases, If some fragment drifts to him ! Once, of old, my glad way winning. Youth and Hope both led me on; Now, once more the world bcginniug, Hope and Youth alike are gone: Sad Experience, bought how dearly. Cruel, seldom to be kind; Like the stern-light, shows too clearly But the track we leave behind! Friends with whom in vouth I started On life's first adventurous way. Once so warm and genial-hearted, One by one have dropped away! Some, earth's vain turmoil exchanging For the land that knows no wrong; Others Fortune's smiles estranging From the weak, when tlii'ij grew strong! 38 LEAVES FKO>[ A POET S AUTOniOGKAPIIY. Slimmer friends, like swallows trooping, Come wlien sunshine warms the heart. But at winter's advent drooping, For less chilling skies depart: Foes, like stormy petrels flocking 'Round the doomed and labouring bark, Deepening woe, misfortune mocking. Come when heaven is wild and dark! Many a year, ambition dulling, Irksome labour claimed my pen; At the oar incessant pulling 'Mid the stir and strife of men ! From more calm pursuits diverted To a task I plied in vain. Tastes abandoned, haunts deserted. Which, though late, I seek again! Long Fate's adverse current cleaving. With a bold and sturdy stroke, Hoping still, and still believing, Did I bear that galling yoke ! Day and night, not seldom, toiling. Wanting that which sweetens toil ; Life of half its joys despoiling. Bartering peace for wild turmoil! ."59 LEAVKS FKOM A POETS AUTOBIOGRAPHY. Manhood's vigorous prime cxliaustocl ; All the Howering years of life; Health iinpaireil, acc|uireineiits wasted 111 tliat long and fruitless strife; Just as Fortune's tide was turning, And my respite all but won; For the hard-earned haven jrearning, Eut for others' sakes alone; Lawless llapine, liLindred-handed, Sordid, eunning, bold, and strong, With her base familiars banded. Falsehood, Fraud, Eevenge, and ^\'rong; Of that poor reward bereft me; Swept my household Gods a^va}-; Ravaged even mj hearth, and left me, Save in heaven, no single stay! But the great and just Iledresser, (Who may 'scape unscathed His frown,) That can strike the rich oppressor In his rampant triumph down; ilay vouchsafe me His protection. Sweeten even this bitter cup; And from "profitless dejection" Lilt my trampled spirit up! 40 MY OWN FIRE-SIDE. It is a mystic circle that surrounds Comforts and virtues never known bej'Ond Its hallowed limit. SOUTHEY. Let otlicr.s seek for empty joys. At ball, or concert, rout or play; Whilst, far from Fashion's idle noise, Her gilded domes and trappings gay, 41 MY OWN FIRE-Sinn. I while the wintry eve away, 'Twixt boolc and hite the hours dividr; vVnd marvel ho^v I f^'er could stray From thee — my own fire-side! My own lire-side ! Those simple words C'an bid the sweetest dreams arise ; Awaken feeling's tenderest chords, And fill ^\'itll tears of joy mine eyes. What is there my wild heart can prize , That doth not in thy sphere abide ; Haunt of my home-bred s}aripathics, My own — my own hre-sidc! A gentle form is near me no\'\'; A small, ^^diite hand is clasped m mine : I gaze upon her placid brow. And ask, what joys can equal tlrine: A babe, whose beauty's half divine. In sleej) his mother's eyes doth hide; Where may Love seelc a fitter shriin-. Than thou — nry own fire-side! What care I for the sullen roar Of winds without, that ravage earth; It doth but bid me prize the more The shelter of thy hallowed hearth; — 42 MY OAVN FIRE-SIDE. To thoughts of quiet bliss give birth ; Then let the churlish tempest chicle, It cannot check the blameless mirth That glads my OTni fu'e-side ! ]My refuge ever from the storm Of this world's passion, strife, and care ; Though thunder-clouds the skies deform. Their fury cannot reach me there; There all is cheerful, cahn, and frir; Wrath, Envy, Malice, Strife, or Pride, Hath never made its hated lair. By thee — my o"v\ti fire-side ! Thy precmcts are a charmed ring. Where no harsh feeling dares intrude; Where life's vexations lose their sting; Where even grief is half subdued; And Peace, the halcyon, loves to brood. Then, let the world's proud fool deride; I '11 pay my debt of gratitude To thee — my oato fire-side! Slirine of my household deities; Bright scene of home's unsullied joys; To thee my biu'thened spirit flies. When Fortime frowns, or Care annoys! 43 MY (IWN FIllK-SIDl';. 'I'lunu is the Ijliss that nuver cloys; The smile 'v\hose truth hath oft been tried; WHiat, then, are this world's tinsel toys, To thee — my own fire-side ! Oh, may the yearnings, fond and sweet. That hid my thoughts be all of thee. Thus e-s'er guide ni}' wandering feet To thy heart-soothing sanctuary! Whate'er my future' years may be, Let joy or grief my fate betide; f'e still an Eden l)right to me, My own — my own hre-side! 44 A LADY IN A FLORENTINIi; UOSTUMK, PAINTED BY HENEY HOWARD, ESQ., R.A. Art tliou some vision of the olden time; Some glowing type of beanty, failed long; A radiant daughter of that I'adiant clime. Renowned for sunshine, chivalry, and song.' A\'as it for thee that Tasso woke in vain The love-lorn 'plainings of his matchless lyre ; A\^as thine the frown that chilled him with disdain, — Crushed his wild hopes, and quenched his minstrel tire .' Or art thou she for ■whom yoiuig Guido pined; Whom Raffaellc saw in his impassioned dream; The ray that flashed, in slumber, on his mind. And o'er his canvas shed so bright a beam? No, iro; — a masquer m its gay attire, A breathing mockery of Ausonia's grace; — Thine is a charm as fitted to inspu'c, "With more than all their sweetness in thy face. 4,5 A LADY IN A FLOREXTIKE COSTUJIE. I see thee stand, in beauty's richest bloom, — In youth's first budding spring,- — before me now; A shade of tendcrest sadness, not of gloom. Tempering the brightness of thy jewelled brow! Thy dark hair clustering 'round thy joensive face. Like shado^ny eloiids about a summer-moon; Th)' fair hands folded -svith a queenly grace; Thy check soft blushing like the rose in June. Thine cyalid gently droopuig o'er an e}-e "Whose chastened light bespeaks the soiJ -within; Lips full of sweetness; maiden modesty, That awes the bosoms it hath deigned to win. There stand for aye; defying Time or Care To make thee seem less beautiful than now; Years cannot thin that darkly flowins' hair. Nor grief indent thy pure and polished brow. AA^hilst unto her from whom those lines had biith, A briefer span but brighter doom is given; To -wane and ■^\ ithcr like a thing of earth. And only kno\v immortal bloom in heaven. 46 TO CAROLINE BOWLES. KOW MRS. SOUTHET. I know thcc only in thy page Of simplest truth, by taste refined; — But though I ne'er have seen thy face. Not seldom, do I love to traec The features of thv mind! Pure as the calm, sequestered stream. That winds its way through flowers and f(>rn ; Now gliding here, now wandering there, Diffusing coolness everywhere, Refreshinsr all in turn : — So do thy strains, serene and sweet, Well from their calm, untroubled shrine A^^inning their way froin heart to heart. And healing many a mourner's smart. With balsam, half divine! 47 TO CAROLINF, nOWI,ES. ^\^hat fhoTigli I nc'cv liavc clasped thy liand I sec liicc ol't in Fancy'.s j^Liss; " Edwin" and " Rann'cr" in lliv train. Pacing across the viUage phiin, The " Ih-oken Bridge " to pass. And mark tliy devions footstcjis threading The " Churchyard's " green and grassy rise; Now, stopping by some frcsh-niadc grave, News of tlie timeless (k'ad to cra^'e. To make the livinL;' wise. (^r by the " open casement sitting," With " autumn's latest flowers" before thee; Drinkuig thy " Birdie's" merry notes. Or tracking the sun as he proudly floats To his hayeir of rest and o-lory. And when grey Twilight weayes her we1). And the sounds of day-life melt away; In thy " garden-plot " I see tln'c stand. Watching the " night-stock's" leayes expand, Or framing some soothing lay. 'IS ■]'(1 CAROLTXE BOWLES. Some low, sweet clivge, of softest power To stir the bosom's inmost strings; — "When friends cleiiarted, pleasures fled. Or a sinless infant's dying bed. Are the themes thy faney briirgs. Oh! niueh I love to steal away From garish strains, that mock my heart; To steep my sonl in lays like thine. And panse o'er each wildly-'^vitching line, Till ray tears, nubidden, start. For thoii hast ever l)cen to me A gentle monitor and friend; — And I have gathered from thy song, Thoughts full of balm for grief and wrong. That solace while they mend. Hence, have I sought in simple phrase, To give my gratitude a tongue ; And if one stricken heart I bring. For comfort, to the self-same spring, Not vainly have I sung. 49 ir A wrnmuED HOSE. Adieu! We ne'er may meet on earth, Yet I feel I know tliee passint^- well;- And when a pensive face I see, Fair as my cherished thoughts of thee, I'll deem it thine — Farb\\-et,i,! A WITHERED ROSE. IN A VOLUME Oi'' UNPIJELISHED POEMS, l.Y I'.IISS F. ROSrt. Nav, do not toncli that faded flower, Albeit both scent and line ha^'c flown, For it may still retain a power Some gentle heart may joy to o^\-n : Hidden beneath each ^rithered leaf, A chastening- spiell, to memory dear; INIay yield that burtheiied heart relief, "When Hoi'E itself is sere. There let it lie, 'mid records sweet. By feeling prompted, genins graced ; Type of their fate, memorial meet Of" young affections rim to waste!" Left on their stem — lioAV fugiti-\L — Those cherished leaves had soon been shed; But thus embalmed, will seem to live. Till Memory's self be dead! 50 KIRKSTALI. ABBEY REVISITED. The echoes of its vaults are eloquent ; The stones have voices, and the walls do live ; It is ijie liouse of Memory ! MATURI:^ Long years have passed since last I strayed. In boyhood, through thy roofless aisle. And watched the mists of eve o'ershadc Day's latest, loveliest smile; — And saw the bright, broad, moving moon Sail up the sapphire skies of June ! 51 KFRKSTALI, ABHEY REVISITED. The air around was Ini'atliinn' balm; The aspen scarcely seemed to s^^ray; And, as a sleeping infant calm. The river flowed away, Devious as error, deep as love. And blue and brinlit as heaven above ! Steeped in a tlood of golden light, — Type of that hour of deep repose, — fn wan, vild beauty on my sight, Tliy time-worn tower arose, — lirightening above the wreck of years, fake Faith amid a world (_)f i'ears. 1 (limlied its dark and dizzy stnii'. And gained its ivy-mantled lirow; Ihit broken — ruined — who niav (hire Ascend that pathway now ;■ Life was an npward journey then ; — ^V]len shall my spirit mount again ! The steps in youth I loved to tread. Have sunk beneath the foot of Tinie ; fjikc^ them the daring hopes that led Me, onci', to heights sublime, Andiition's dazzling dreams are o'er, And I may scale those heights no more! .52 KIRlvSTALL ABBEY KEVISlTEl). And years have fled, and now T stand Once more beside thy shattered fane, Nerveless ahke m heart and hand, How changed by grief and pain, Smce last I loitered here, and deemed Life was the fliiry thing it seemed! And gazing on thy crumbling ^\■■Ah, ^\liat ^-isions meet my mental e}'e ; For every stone of thine recalls Some trace of years gone by; — Some cherished bliss, too frail to last, Some hope decayed, or passion past! Ay, thoughts come thronging on my so id, Of sunny youth's delightful morn; ^VTien free from Sorrow's dark control, By pining Care unworn, — Dreaming of Fame, and Fortune's smile, I lingered in thy ruined aisle ! How many a wild and withering woe Hath seared nry trusting heart since then; AYhat clouds of blight, consuming slow The springs that life sustain, — Have o'er my Vv'orld-vexed spirit past. Sweet Kirkstall, since I saw thee last! 5,3 KIKKSTALL ABBEY KKA'ISITEi). How bright is every scene beheld 111 youth and hope's nnclonded hours; How darkly, youth and hope dispelled. The loveliest prospect lowers : Thou wert a splendid vision then; — When wilt thou seem so bright again ! Yet still thy turrets drink the light Of summer evenmg's softest ray. And iv)' garlands, green and bright. Still mantle thy decay; And calm and beauteous as of old, Thy wandering river glides in gold. But life's gay morn of ecstasy. That made thee seem so passing fair, — The aspirations ^Yil eries; — For I thou;:;'ht of all that I had borne, as I bent me down to kiss Thy eheiry lips, and sunny blow, my first-born bud of bliss! 60 THE DEATH OF THE FIIIST-BOKN. I turned to many a withered hope, to years of grief and pain , And the cruel wrongs of a bitter worhl flashed o'er my boding brain; — I thought of friends, grown worse than cold, of per- secuting foes, And I asked of Heaven if ills like these must mar thy youth's repose! I gazed upon thy quiet face, half blinded by my tears, — Till gleams of bliss, unfelt before, came brightening on my fears; — SAveet rays of hope that fair'er shone 'mid the clouds of gloom that bound them. As stars dart down their loveliest light when midnight skies are 'round them. ily sweet one, my sweet one, thy life's brief hour is o'er. And a father's anxious fears for thee ■ can fever me no more ! And for the hopes, the sun-bright hopes, that blossomed at thy birth, — They too have fled, to prove how frail are cherished things of earth ! 61 TUH DEA'Ill (II'' 'I'llI', l-'ll;S'l'-li()lt.>,'. 'Tis true thfit thou wcrt young, my child, but tliough brief thy span below, To me it was a little age of agony and woe; For, from thy first faint dawn of life thy cheek began to fade. And my lips had scarce^ thy ^relcome breathed, ere my hopes were wrapt in shade. Oh, the child in its hours of health and bloom that is dear as thou •wert then. Grows far more prized, more tbndly loved, in sickness and in pain; iind thus 'twas thiire to prove, dear babe, ■\'s-hen every hope was lost. Ten times more precious to my soul, for all that thou hadst cost ! Cradled in thy fair mother's arms, we watched thee, day by day. Pale like the second bow of Hea'S'en, as gently waste away; And, sick with dark foreboding fears "we dared not breathe aloud, Sat, hand in hand, in sjn'cehless gi'ief. to Mait death's eomnig cloud ! (12 TTIE DEATH OF THE FlliST-KOllN. It canic at length; — o'er thy bright blue eye the film -was gathering fast, — And an awful shade passed o'er thy brow, the deepest and the last; — In thicker gushes strove thy breath, — wc raised thy droop- ing head; — A moment more — the final piang — and thou wcrt of the dead! Thy gentle mother turned away to hide her face from me, And murmured low of Heaven's behests, and bliss attained by thcc;— She would have chid me that I mourned a doom so blest as thine. Had not her own deep grief burst forth in tears as wild as mine! We laid thee down in thy sinless rest, and from thine infant brow Culled one soft lock of radiant hair, our only solace now ; Then placed arormd thy beauteous corse, flowers, not more fiir and sweet, — Twin rose-buds in thy little hands, and jasmine at thy feet. 63 'I'lri-: IlKATII OF THE FIRST-BORN. Though other offspring stiff be ours, as ftiir perchance as tliou, AYith aff the beauty of thy cheefc, tlie sunshine of thy brow, — Tliey never can rcpfacc tfie bud our carfy fondness nurst; Tiiey may be fovefy and befoved, Ijut not, filvc thee, the FIRST ! Tfie first! How many a memory brigfit tliat one sweet word can bring, Of hopes tliat bfossomed, drooped, and died, in fife's dcf iglitfuf spring ; — Of fervid feefings passed away — tliose earfy seeds of bfiss Tfiat germinate in hearts unsered l)y sucli a world as tliis! ]\Iy sweet one, my sweet one, my fi^irest and my First! AA'lien I thinlc of -what tliou miglit'st fiave licen, m-^- fieart is fiivc to burst; But gfeams of gfadness tfirongfr my gloom their soothing radiance dart. And my sighs are liusfied, my tears are dried, wIk'u I turn to -wliat tliou art! 04 THE DEATH OF THE FIRST-BORN. Pm-e as the snow-flake ere it falls and takes the stain of earth. With not a taint of mortal life except thy mortal hirth, God bade thee early taste the spring for which so many thirst, And bliss, eternal bliss, is thine, my Fairest and my First! THE WHARFE REVISITED. Yet once again, bright river, once again, I come to tread thy wild and winding shore ! What blissful moments, and what hours of pain, Hath my soul numbered, since the Muses' lore Last on thy banks I conned. But not in vain Hath life for me its chequered page unrolled Of varied grief and joy; I now behold Its shifting scenes, and Iris-tinted train. With calmer eye, and less impassioned heart: True, I have seen full many a hope decay, And cherished visions like thy waves depart; Yet other dreams, as fair perchance as they. Unto my world-worn spirit have been given. Filled, like thy radiant face, Avith hues of light from heaven ! 66 WE PJjIGHTED VOAVS TOUETHEK! Wc plighted vows together. When all Nature 'round looked gay, In the bright and genial weather Of tlie merr}' uujnth of ^lay; When the buds had opened into fioA\'er, The euckoo taken wing, To herald, with her voice of poN\'er, To otiier lands the Spring! V>c plighted A'ows together, "When earth wore her richest green. On the birch-tree's silvery feather When a deeper shade was seen; The lahurnuni, spendthrilt of our bower. Its gold had dropped around; ^Vnd the hawthoi'u blossom's snowv shower AVas \\hlteninL; all the ground! ^VF. PLIGHTED VOWS TOGETHKli When wc plighted vows together, Slay ^^^■^s melting into June, And the smiles of that bright weathev Tanght the brook a lower tune; Whose music thoucjh it soothed mine env. And hade my soul rejoice. Was not so silver-sweet and clear As the heart-tones of thy voice ! When we plighted vows together, Scarce a sound beside was heard, Through the far and cloudless ether, Save the carol of a bird ; Or the honey-bee's glad humming. As she bore her sweets away; For she knew 'twas summer coming. And like all the world was gay! When we plighted vows together, No sad future met our ken, For we thought that sunny weather Would always smile as then; And, that if May gave way to June, Those laughing skies would Inst: Alas! how darkly, and how soon. Our heaven was overcast! 07 WF. FLIGHTED VOWS TOCKTHER ! Since wc plighted vows together. In tlie merry month of May, Oh, how stormy wild the weather That has crossed our onward way! Spring, Summer, Autumn, all are gone, With their chequered gloom and glow ; Yet, fill' off the goal in fancy won So many years ago ! The faith we pledged together Has known nor chill nor change. And wedlock's silken tether Has brought no wish to range ; For our hearts are warm as when of old. Love's trysting bower within, Our guileless passion to unfold. We never deemed a sin ! Since we trod life's path together. What wild changes have ■\\-e kno^\-n ; Hopes, that blossomed but to wither, Joys, unheeded, all, till flown! ])Ut can Winter freeze love's genial spriiii Tn hearts like ours that flows ! No; let him come, so he but bring- His wisdom with his snows! 68 THE POET'S HOME. Thus in this calm retreat so richiy frauijht With mental light and luxury of thought, His life steals on. 'Tis the " leafy month of June," And the faintly giimmerintc moon, In the East her cresset rearing. Shows that summer's eve is v.'caring; m THE POET S HOIIK. ]5ut the Sun is lingering still O'er the old ac:customccl hill; Twilight's shadows hovering 'round him, Like a king, when foes surround him. Gathering, since he scorns to fly. Life's last energies to die ! See, the parting god of day Tjeaves a trail upon his M'ay, Ijike the memory of the dead "When the sainted soul hath Hed; And it chequers all the skies With its bright, innumerous dyes ! Not a sound disturbs the hush, Save the silver streamlet's gush. As it leaps, with many a bound, From the depth of shades profound; Now throuo'h tano-led brushwood stra -'o .■ayms. Now o'er velvet moss delaying, But, while seeming most to stay. Gliding fast as bliss aw 't) J- Cooling zephyrs bathe the brow. With delicioirs fragrance now; Incense sweet from many a bower. Odours from each closing fiower, Breathed from yon sequestered vale. O'er the charmed sense prevail, 70 THE I'dET S HOME, Till the piilsc forgets to move, And the heart is drunk with love ! Where yon white clematis flings Far and wide its starry rings, Where the graceful jasmine's braid Makes a green, eye-soothing shade. And their shoots united rove High the trellised porch above. Deep embowered from vulgar ken. Seek we now a Poet's Den! Knock; no pampered menial there. Rising from his cushioned chair, With a supercilious eye. Will measure your gentility; And, if strange to rank and state. Entrance bar, or bid you wait ; For the gentlest tap may win Him you seek to let you in. If for gentle deeds your name Homage of his heart may claim : Though Ambition's gorgeous train. Welcome there may seek in vain; And full-blown Pride, whate'er her store, There, never finds an open door; Though Fortune seldom roams that way. And ne'er can lie beguiled to stav, 71 THK I'OET S HOME. And Wisdom, and hor sister lifasoii, /\rc yisitoi's Lnt once a season; Yet Genius, witli liis lani'el crown. Not seldom quits the madding town, Sick of its tumult, dust, and glare. To Ijreatlie a little country air; And there, with Taste his guide, aliglits To set his ruflied wings to rights; — Content, imtil he soars anew. There to find " audience meet though frw." Yes, it is sweet, from care and toil. The busy Babel's wild turmoil, The hollow and obstreperous crowd. Its lo Pieans long and loud. Its worthless idols, worshipped, 'till Deposed by idols baser still, — To steal away, and taste the bliss Of quiet, in a nook like this ! With all that can to earth endear one. And only kindred spirits near one; All that to life enjoyment lends, Books, leisure, health, and cherished friends With nothing in the world to do. But range yon ample garden through. Or loiter in the chequered shade. By these wide-spreading branches made; Suspend the dripping oar, and dream. Hour after hour, on yonder stream. That winds its flowery meads among, Ivadiant as Hope, when Hope was yountj "With all the rainbow colours rife That sometimes make a heaven of life. But bend your head, and pass between Yon cLunbing jasmine's tendrils green; Put thoughts of grandeur and of pride, "With its intrusive boughs aside. And, each sublimer fancy quelling. Enter a Poet's humble dwelling; Nor start, if 'neath that roof you find Some tokens of his heart and mind! Bright confusion revels there. And seldom had a realm more fair : 'Tis a wilderness of mind. Redolent of tastes refined; Tomes of wild, romantic lore. Culled from Fancy's richest store ; (Caskets full of gems sublime From the teeming sea of Time;) Poets, Fame herself hath crowned. People all the walls around: Plomer's Tale of Troy divine; Hough old Chaucer's racy line; 73 THE POET S HOME. Sweetest Spenser's honied rhymes; Shakspere's "mirror for all times;" Stately INIilton's lofty hymn Of embattled Seraphim; Drydcn's flood, that sweeps along Like a river broad and strong; Polished Pope's melodious wit, As summer lightning keen and bright; llecords of "sweet Auburn's" fate. Her primal bliss and ruined state. That 'round her blighted bowers have thrown A halo courts have never known, And made her name the cherished theme, Of many an exiled wanderer's dream; Pensive Collins' silvery lay; Thoughts that breathe of forceful Gray; Aja^'s proud peasant's words of flame, (Scotland's glory and her shame!) Pic who sang the fireside bright. Of the cotter's winter night. And the suppliant group that raise To heaven their notes of prayer and praise, A\^itli that deep and fervent zeal, Lo«'ly hearts alone can feel. iNIystic fragments strew the ground. Like the oracles profound 71 THK I'OET S HCIME. Of the Delphic prophetess, And as difficult to guess! Crystal vases filled with flo-^vers Fresh from evening's dewy ho^^'crs ; Knots of ribbon, locks of hair. Love-gifts- from his lady fair; Violets, blue as are the ej^es That awake his softest sighs, And reward his love-sick lays With their smiles of moi'e than praise : Here, a broken, stringiess lute; There, a masc^uer's antic suit; Fencing foils, a INIoorish brand. Trophies strange from many a land, Memory's lights to many a scene Where his roving steps have been: Armour bright of one who bore Chivalry's tried lairce of yore; Breast-plate rich, and shield of price. Veined with many a c[uaint device. Sword of proof, and mailed glove. With the crested helm above ; And many a jjictured form of grace. Many a sweet but pensive face, Stamped in Beauty's richest bloom, Sheds its halo through the room; 75 THE POET S HOME. Like the smile of primal Lia;ht, Making even Chaos bright ! RafFaelle's more than mortal grace; Guiclo's sad, imploring lirce; Dolce's ]Man of many woes: Claude's surpassing bright Repose; Stothard's woodland groups that seem Emanations of a dream; Such as sweetest Una, when "Compassed 'round by savage men ;" Or the "Lady" pure as fair, Who left unharmed the "enchanted Chair;" Howard's elfin forms that rise With the rainbow to the skies. In the "jjlighted clouds that play" Through the livelong summer day; Or with fair Sabrina, come From her coral palace home, 'Neath the "cool translucent wave," Innocence from guile to save; Or with priutless, flying feet. When, by moonlight, fairies meet. Tripping o'er the ribbed sea sand At the elfin queen's command. As the SM'ift waves ebb and flow, Dancin"', o'lancino', to and fro. THE roET 8 IIOJIH. Mark those infant twins that kneel, Side by side, in joint appeal To their Father, throned on high. And with song would glorify His exceeding Grace, that they Have been spared another day! 77 THE POET S HOME. Who can look on them, nor deem Heaven the fittest home for them! Turcst of ereated things, AVanting only angel-wings, To put off earth's coil and rise Into worlds beyond the skies, Hallelujahs there to sing Worthy Heaven's eternal King! Hark ! the Savioiw seems to sa\-, Suffer, nor forbid that they Come where I have led the way! I'eril not their lasting bliss, For of such my kingdom is ! Oh! if innocence so young. Heart unschooled, and simple tongue, To the bliss may thus attain "W'hich so many seek in vain ; What, Avith all their learned lore. Can earth's wise ones hoj^e for mort.' ! Lo! where yon uplifted eyes Seem to commune with the skies, And rebuke all human passion With their silent adoration; Penitential tears revealing- All the bruised heart is feeling! 78 THE rOET S HOME. Not in vain that heart is riven, She repents, and is forgiven! See that Virgin Mother niikl. Bending o'er her radiant ehihl. With affection so intense It absorbs each other sense; And, half unmindful of his birth, She loves him like a thing of earth; Till the light around him streaming. Straight dispels her low-born dreaming! Would you learn to suffer? Bow To yon thorn-encircled brow! Can earth's common griefs compare With the woe depicted there; Or its keenest tortures vie With that mortal agony? Bow the head, and bend the knee. Such the anguish borne for thee ! Look upon that sunset ocean. With its undulating motion, 'Neath the flood of radiance glowing. And with scarce a murmur flowing : Not a ripple but grows bright, In its own peculiar light; Not a tree or ruin hoary, But jjuts on its garb of glory; 79 'a • ruK roKT s iK):\iF. Not a ship or headland bokl, But is steeped in Ijiirnished ookl! I.ook! A garden trim, and fair, Exuding on the pearly air. Subtle odours that dispense "\"igour to each drooping sense. And can bid the soul uprise Like the lark into the skies! There, no drc^adful Dragon keeps Watch and ward, and never sleeps ; Nor are yon luxuriant trees, Guarded by the Hesperides: But a band, perchance as fair. Pleasure-bound, are loitering there, Plircking now a flower, or fruit. Training now some vagrant skoot; Here o'er dew-charged roses bending, There a broken lily tendiirg; And, on tip-toe, striving now To bring down tkc rickcst bougk; "VVkich, as old-world sages teack. Always grows beyond tke reach. Look again! A woodland scerre. And 'neatk its umbrageous screen. Where the sun's leaf-mellowed light Falls attempered on the sight, 80 THE POET S HOME. Like wind-troubled floAvers that bend Wheresoe'cr the breeze may tend, Swaying here, or stooping there, To each impulse of the air, Gay and graceful forms advance. Mingling in the mazy dance ! All as light of heart as though Death could never lay them low ! By the open lattice sitting. Fevered dreams of beauty flitting O'er his heart and o'er his brain, In one bright, unbroken chain; Drinking deep, through every sense, Draughts of pleasure too intense; Mark the Poet's glistening eye, AVandering now o'er earth and sky! 'Tis a blissful hour to him. Slave of feeling, child of whim. Builder of the lofty rhyme, Bard, Musician, Painter, Mime; Ever swayed by impidse strong. Each by turns, but nothing long! Still in search of idle toys. Pining after fancied joys; All that charmed his heart and eye. Sought — possessed — and then thrown by ! 81 THE I>OET S HOME. Doomed on shadows tlms to brood, AVhilst life's moro substantial good. All that wiser bosoms prize, Fades like day from yonder skies. smiAtimdiBiiit^ J 82 THE SLEEPING CUPID OF GUIDO. A SKETCH FROM THE WELL KNOWN PICTURE IN THE GALLEKT OF EARL FITZWILLIAM. I. 'Tis summer's softest eve; the winds are laid, Tlie jarring sounds of day-life are at rest, And all is calm and soothing; not a shade Mars the blue beauty of the skies: the west. Gathering its hues of splendour from the crest Of yonder setting sun, is changing fast From sapphire to bright gold; old ocean's breast Is one broad plain without a cloud o'ercast: 'Tis day's divinest hour, its loveliest, and its last. II. Tired of his sport, the wreck of human hearts. There, on his mother's couch in slumber bound, The God of Love reclines; — his idle darts. Those ministers of woe, lie scattered 'round: But that he guards, amid his dreams profound, 83 THE SLEEPING CUPID OF GUIDO. AVith SO much jealous care, his unstrung Bow, How might we now his vaunted strength confound; From his own quiver pay the debt we owe. And, with one keen, l)right shaft, pierce our unconscious foe ! III. But who woukl wound a breast so passing fair! Look! in immortal beauty where he lies: His flushed cheek pillowed on his hand; his hair Clustering, like sun-touched clouds in summer skies, Around his glorious brow; — his twice-scaled eyes "With silkeir-fringed lids, like flowers that close Their dewy cups at eve; — and lips whose dyes Ilival the crimson of the damask rose. Wreathed with a thousand charms, all sweetness and repose. IV. Hush! for a footfall may disturb his sleep; Hush even your breathing, for a breath may break His visioned trance! But no, 'tis deep, most deep; The last low sigh of evening fans his cheek. And stirs his golden curls; the last bright streak Of parting day is fading from the west; Dim clouds arc gathering round yon mountain's peak, Yet still he sleeps; and his soft-heaving breast. Bright wings, brow, lips, and eyes, are redolent of rest. 84 THE SLI5EP1N0 (:UriD OF GUIDO. V. Love, O yoims; Love, how beautiful thoii art! The brightest dream that ever poet feigned May scarce compare with thee! What thoiigli tliy dart The blood of many a gentle breast hath staiired; What thoirgh thy godlike powers thou hast profaned. And proved to some an evil deity; Yet, in thy softer moods, hast thou sustained Full many a sinking heart, and thoughts of thee Have often stilled the waves of this life's stormy sea! VI. Thou art, indeed, omnipotent — divine ! And the wide world is vocal with thy name : Princes and peasants bow before thy shrine; Whilst gentle Woman, in all lands the same. For good or evil, ofteiiest swells thy fame ! Noble and serf, the despot and the slave, (For even the slave, if Love his homage claim, May wear a double chain), thy shafts must brave. And own thy mighty power to ruin or to save ! 85 7t ■- »« THE FISHERMAN'S HYMN 'J^O THE VHIGHM. When the lightnmgs flash on high, And deep thnndcis rend the sky; When the frantic hurricane Makes all human efforts vain; AV^hen the mighty sliip is driven, Tempest tossed, irom earth to heaven. And, reeling then beneath the blow, Dives deep to ocean-caves below; — 86 THE FISHERIMAiN S HYMN TO THE VIRGIN. Thou the Fisher's bark can'st guide Safely o'er the raging tide! Star of the Sea, to Thine and Thee, All glory now and ever be! Ships with all their bravery on Have in stormlcss seas gone down; Some, 'neath "War's torpedo shocks, Others, pierced by hidden rocks, Have their timbers opened wide To the calm but treacherous tide; One, in Port that rode supine, Disappeared, and made no sign; Whilst the Fisher's bark will ride Safely o'er the fitful tide : Star of the Sea, to Thine and Thee, All glorj' now and ever be ! For His blessed sake, who chose, As his prime disciples, those Who upon the mighty deep Once the Fisher's watch would keep, But became, with purer ken. Fishers of their fellow men; — Bade them be of steadfast cheer. And nor blast nor billow fear; Holiest Mother, Virgin fair. Make my fragile bark thy care : 87 THE I-ISHKRMAN s HV:\[N TO THE VlRfUN. Star of the Sea, to Thine and Thee, All glory now and ever he! For His blessed sake, whose will Winds and waves at once could still, And the labouring bark transport Straightway to her destined port; To her trembling crew, who said, "It is I, be not afraid;" And when Peter trod the wave, Stretched his gracious hand to save ; Holiest Mother, Virgin fair. Make this little bark thy care ! Star of the Sea, to Thine and Thee, All glory now and ever be! For His sake who fishers three Up the Mountain led, that He Slight unto their favoured eyes Prove His mission from the skies ; And in raiment, dazzling white, Stood before their wondering sight. Bidding them reveal to men What no eye had marked till then ; Holiest IMother, Virgin fair. Make the Fisher's barlv thy care ! Star of the Sea, to Thine and Thee, All glory now and ever be! 88 THE BACi-lET.OR'S DILEMMA. By all the sweet saints in the Missal of Love, They are both so intensely, bewitchingiy tiair, That, let Folly look solemn, and Wisdom re])i-ove, I can't make up my mind which to choose of the pair. There is Fanny, whose eye is as blue and as bright As the depths of spring skies in their noontide array; Whose every soft feature is gleaming in light, Like the ripple of waves on a sunshiny day : 89 THE liACIIKLOR S DILEMMA. Whose form, like the willow, so slender and lithe, Has a thousand wild motions of lightness and grace ; l^^hose innocent heart, ever buoyant and Ijlithc, Is the home of the sweetness that breathes from her face. Tliere is Helen, more stately of gesture and mien, M^hose beauty a world of dark ringlets enshrouds ; "With a black, regal eye, and the step of a (|ueen. And a brow like the moon breaking forth from the clouds : With a bosom, whose chords a.re so tenderly strung. That a word, nay a hiok, will aA\'aken its sighs; With a face, like the heart-searching tones of her tongue, Full of music that charms both the simple and wise. In my moments of niirtli, amid glitter and glee. When my soul takes the hue that is Ijrightest of any. From her sister's enchantment ni}" spirit is free. And the bumper I cpiaff is a bumper to Fanny! Birt, when shadows come o'er me of sickness or grief. And my heart with a host of i\'ild fancies is swelling, From the IJaze of lier brightness I tiirn for relief To the pensive and peace-breathing beauty of Helen! 90 THE BACHELOK S DILEMMA. " And when sorrow and joy are so blended togetlier, That to weep I'm nnwiUing, to smile am as loth; When the beam may be kicked by the weight of a feather ; I wonld lain keep it even — by wedding them both ! " Bnt since I must fix or on black eyes or blue, Qnickly make np my mind 'twixt a Grace and a Muse; Pr'ythee Venns, instruct me that course to pursue ^^Tiich even Paris himself had been puzzled to choose ! " Thus mur-mrrred a Bard, — predetermined to marry; But so equally charmed by a INIuse and a Gi'acc, That though one of his suits might be doomed to miscarry. He'd another he straight could prefer in its place. So, trusting that ' Fortune would favour the brave,' He asked each in her turn, but they both said him nay ; Lively Fanny declared he was somewhat too grave. And Saint Helen pronounced hirn a little too gay! 91 KING PEDRO'S REVENGE. The followint; verses are foumlcd on a striking passage in the life of Pedro I. of Povtugal, the husband of the fair, hut ill-starred Inez de Castro. One of the first acts of Don Pedro, alter his aeeessiou to the throne of Portugal, was to compel the King of Castile to deli\'iT o\"er to his vengeance the murderers of his wife, who, on the death of his fjither, Alfonso, had tied to the Sjianish court fur protection. On the day on \\hich the pvisinicrs, w i(li llieir cM/iirt, wove expix'ted tit Santan^ni. the King commanded a stupendous itini-rtd \n\i- t(i lie ^'reetcd upun thr plain without the city, and a splendid hjiiHiUd tn be s[irL';id bcsidi' it. ( Mi tlir arri\ al id' the cavalcade from Castile, tlie p>'re \\ a.s kindled, and. alh-r aiMressing tn the murdi.Tcrs a lew words of eloquent invecti\e, in r(.'ply to their earnest h.ui)[ilications for mercy, he directed them to be cast into the 'lames; whil.st he and his assembled nobles sat down to the magnificent banquet that had been i)ie])ariMl Ibr tlh'ni. In the royal mausoleum of the monastery of Alcoba^a are the tondi.s t>l l'rili-(j and Inez. The sarcophagus of the King is surmounted by a recumbent (.'IIilc)-, wliiidi represents him with a severe countenance, in tlie act (d' drawing ills s;vurd. Oil Saiitarc'iu's I'ar s])rca(ling plain. There's a rush of hehn and spear, And the sudd(.'ii hurst of a "warHke strain Conies dancing' oa the ear ; — And the l)anners ^vi\\v, and the trumpets ^vail. And the sih'er eyiul.)als ehish ; And sounds are on th<' fitfnl i;'ah', Like a stormy oeeanV dash! KINO PKDRO S KEVENGE. A murmur rises I'roiu the crowd That girds King Pedro's throne, Like the thunder peal that from cloud to cloiul. In its o-atherino- mio-ht, rolls on: And the shout that cleaves the noontide sky. To a ■wilder shout gives birth; That swells, like an army's battle-cry, Till it shakes the solid earth. 'Tis the fierce, triumphant voice of hate; Of blood the eager call; 'Tis the tiger's yell for his slaughtered mate. Ere he springs to' avenge her fall ! And ten thousand hearts exult as one. When that welcome band draws near; And theii' cry, like the knell of mercy flo^^'n, Still rings on the doomed ear! What precious offering do they bring. To feed a monarch's pride? — A gift, nrore gratefid to their king Than aught iu the Avorld beside ! jSTor gems, nor gold, rich stores of art. Barbaric spoils of war, — But a treasure to his panting heart More prized — more precious far! »3 KING I'EUKO S REVEiNtiE. The murderers of the martyred Bride Who shouhl liave shared his ei'o^ii; The felon slaves that had defied So long his iron frown ; — Arc given to his red hand at last, — Stand fettered in his sight; And his kindling glance is on them cast. With a fierce and grim delight! "' Demons! Nay, bend no fawning knee, Your doom is fixed, your sentence said; And such mercy shall ye wring from me As ye vouchsafed the sinless dead! " There's blood upon j'our dastard brands That blood can only clear again; There's guilt on those remorseless hands. And fire, perchance, may cleanse the stain! " Call me not cruel: — ye who turned Your swords against a woman's breast ; Iler pleading tears and beauty spurned. And made her dying pangs your jest; Call nie not harsh, that thus [ wreak Late vengeance on your craven clav; ] lelp from a mightier jNIonareli seek ; — For mi'i'cy here 'tweic vain to prav! 91 KING PEUKO S REVENCi]';. " Sweet Inez ! hy thj guiltless blood, Unheeded wail, and fruitless tears; By the love, even death hath not subdued; By the cahn delights of our early years; By my "nddowed couch and withered heart ; By my broken hopes and burning brain; By the feeling, now of my life a part; By the vow, I never breathed in vain; — " My vengeance shall not sleep ; — and they Who deem thine earthly reign is o'er, >Shall yet to thee their homage pay, With awe they never felt before : — Shall see thee sitting by my side. Uprisen fi-om thy dreamless rest; The sharer of my ' place of pride,' — A queen, a saint by all confessed ! "But hark! the signal trumpet's peal; The pile is laid, the banquet spread; Why gleams so many a glittering steel Above each craven traitor's head? Put up your thir'sting swords; 'twere vain To give yon pyre a lifeless prey ; — I'll not abate a single pain To grult like theirs; — away! away!" 95 KiNf^ j'EDRo s ]:Ei,'F,Nrn.;. Mid Alcoba(ja's storied gloom, Two sculjitured effigies recline; A woman's one, in yontli's first l)loom; A queen — a saint bv many a sign! There's a crown ujion her placid hrow. And a regal rolie around her thrown ; And charms that bid the gazer bow, Are breathing from tliat simple stone. And a warrior king is sleeping near. With his sceptre by his side; With a knitted brow and a look severe, And a lip of scorn and pride ! His hand hath half unsheathed his sword. As if some mortal foe defied; He breathes some wild, revengeful word;- 'Twas thus Kinn- Pedro died! 90 GUARD AGAINST A RAINY DAY. Guard against a rainy clay; — Thoiigli the skies bo now so fair, Yet a little while and they May a gioomier aspect wear: 97 ra^AKi) A(;ArNs'i' a i;\in^' 1)A"i'. Fortune, too, so sHiilii)j4' now, ScomiiiL;' all tliy hopes to crown, Soon may show aji altered l.)l■(>^^■, And assiuiH' an ant;ry frown ! (inard against a raiji\" day; — What thongli liie ^\'ere al\\-ays Sprini: Even a smiling morn of ?»lay Unexpected >lio^\'ers may hring : Friendship, though so \\'arm f)f old. "Will not liear an aih'crse sky; E%'cn Love, for lack of gold, May unfold Ins -wings and fly! Gold our nuister, and our sla^'e, (.'an botli dictate and obey: AVliat is there on earth w c (rave, That will not confess its s^\'ay.'' Flonour, ifiendship, lo\'e, and lauie. Title, power, and men's respect. Fie who highest l)ids may claim. If he he Imt ciicumspect. Call not gold then Man'thless dross. That can pLirt'hase '\\-eallh like tins And lend \n-tuc's sell' a glo^s, I'ools nuglit else he lain to miss. 9S GUARD AGAINST A RAINY DAY. Jewels, to the vulgar ken. Though they be of price untold, Are but duly valued, when They are set in frames of gold. Prophecies of future sorrow, Who may venture to gainsay? Clouds may break in floods to-morrow. Gather honey whilst you may : Nor forget to lay up store. Where it ne'er can know decay; Spring and summer soon are o'er. Guard against a wintry day! 99 HYMN OF TRIUMPH OVER BABYLON. How hath the fierce oppressor fall'n. The Golden City ceased; The sceptre of his power been broke. The trampled heart released! The staff the wicked loves to wield. That long hath ruled the land, At length, by an almighty blow. Is shivered in his hand! And he who, in his wanton wrath, In heaven's and man's despite. His people, with continual stroke. For ever joyed to smite; A\^ho niled them, in his anger stern, With terror's iron rod. Now lies all prostrate 'neath the arm Of an avenging God! 100 HYMN OF TRIUMPH OVER BAliYLON. And tlie wliolc Earth rejoicctli. At length, to be at rest; The halcyon Peace, long scared away, Once more becomes her gnest; And, in the fulness of their hearts. In their deliverance strong. The gladness of all living things Is breaking forth in song ! Ay, even to her inmost heart. Creation owns the spell; The fir-trees bow rejoicingly That none come up to fell; The cedars dark of Lebanon At length have found a voice, And seem, through all their spreading boughs, To murmur forth "rejoice!" Hell from beneath is moved for thee, To bid thee welcome there. And stirreth up the dead once more To gaze on thy despair; The chief ones of the nations' choice, The mighty kings of earth. Are lifted up from their dread thrones To mock thee with their mirth! 101 HYMN OF TKIUIIPH OVEK UABYLOX, And they shall speak to thee and say. With cold, derisive smile. The pointed finger of their scorn. Slow-moving all the •while; Art thou, stupendous in thy guilt. Thus weak and powerless grown? AVhero is the sceptre of thy rule, And where thy vaiuited throne!' Thy pomp is brought down to the grave; 'S'oiees that hynnicd thy fame. Have died into an echo, Or but breathe another's name ; — Thy festal banquets all are o'er. And o'er thy prostrate form. Insatiate Death hath spread his board, The reveller the worm! Son of the Morning, Lucifer! How hast thou ceased from heaven ; A star so bright, at dawn of day. To be extinct at even! Thou, who didst strive, with impious pride, God's throne above to climb, From that empjTcan height to fall. With ruin more sublime ! 102 HVMN OF TllIUMPH OVEll BABYLON. Oh, who can look upon thee now. Nor ask is this the man Who made the mightiest kingdoms quake. The trembling earth grow wan; Who o'er her splendid cities passed Like a consuming flame. And of their primal grandeur left No record but a name! The kings of all the nations In their tombs of glory lie, Whilst thou art from thy grave cast out, The scorn of every eye; Despised, abandoned of the world. The passer by to greet, Like the corse of one untimely slain. And trodden under feet! Thou shalt not share their burial-place. Nor join in their renown, Because thou hast destroyed the land. And struck thy people down : For this iniquity a curse Shall to thy children cling, Far sharper than the serpent's tooth. Or Death's envenomed sting! 103 7-IYMN OF TKIUMPII OVER ByiBYLON. The seed of evil-doers Shall ne'er possess the land; Nor fill the world with cities. But shall di'op away like sand; Never again to reunite. In strength to be as one ; The name, the remnant, and the race, Forgot like Bab}don! 104 ON BURNING A PACKET OF LETTERS. Ami slii^ht withal miiy be the things that bring Back on the heart the weight which it would fling Aside fur ever. BTHON. Relics of love, and life's enchanted spring, Of hopes, boru rainbow-like of smiles and tears, AFith trembling hand do I unloose the string- Twined 'round the records of my youthful ye;irs 105 UN lilKNli\(i A I'ACKKT (IF l,i;rTEl;s. Yet why jiix'scrvt' iiicniorials (if a (licaiii 'I'od bittcr-sw'L'ct to lirt'atlic ofaii;^lit but pain; Why court ibiid inciHory lor a fitiul gleam Of faded bliss, that cannot Ijlooni again ! The thoughts and feelings these sad relics liniig 15a,ck on niy heai't, I -would not now recall: Since holier ties arxc to thv ke(>piui;'. That at length from thy eliaius it is stealing away, And nu'thiuks I mai/ learn to lose all without weeping! lOS THE TWIN SISTERS. Lilie to a doiiblo t-Uorvy, spLMiiin;.,^ pni'lorl, I^iit 3'Ct an viuiiin in parMtHiii; Twolovply herrii\s moulded on one sfcm; So, with two seeming bodies but one licaii. r:HAE:3PEF:E. I saw them when their bud of life "Was slowly opening into flowe:'. Before a cloud of care or strife Had burst above their natal bower; — Ere this world's blight had marred a grace That mantled o'er each smiling face. What were they then? Two twinkling stars. The youngest of an April fikj; — Far, far from earth, and earthborn jars. Together shining peacefully; — Now borrowing, now dispensing light; Radiant as Hope, and calm as bright. 109 THK TWIN SISTERS. What were they then ? Two limpid streams Through life's green rale in beauty gliding; Now, blent like half- forgotten dreams; Now, 'iieath the gloom of "^^'illows hiding; Now, dancing o'er the turf away, In playful -svaves and glittering spray. I see them as I saw them then. With careless brows, and laughing eyes ; They flash upon my soul again With all their infant witcheries; Two gladsome spirits sent on earth As envoys from the IMuse of jMirth. Su.ch fancy's dreams; but never more IMay fancy with such dreams be fed: The buds have withered to the core Before their leaves had time to spread! The stars have fallen from on high; The streams are now for ever dry ! When spring was brightening all the skies, 'Mid blooming flowers and sunny weathei'. Death came to them in gentlest guise, And smote them in liis love together; — In concert thus they lived and died. And now lie slumbering side by side ! 110 THE ^OLIAN HARP. Methinks it should have been impossible Not to love all things in a world like this, Where even the breezes and the common air Contain the power and spirit of harmony. COLEEIDGE. Harp of the mnds ! What music may compare With thy wild gush of melody; or where 'Mid this world's discords^ ™ay ^ve hope to meet. Tones such as thine — so soothino- and so sweet! o Harp of the winds ! When summer's zephyr wings Its airy iliglit across thy tremulous strings, As if enamoured of its breath, they move With soft, low mru'inurs; — like the voice of love Ere passion deepens it, or sorrow mars Its harmony wdth sighs. All worldly jars Confess thy soothing powder, when strains like these From thy soft chords are borne upon the breeze ! Ill TMK .T.OLIAN HARP. ])ut ^vhcn a more pcivading force compels Tlicir sweetness into strength^ and fpiickly SAvells Each tenderer tone to fulness, — ^Tllat a strange And spirit-stirring sense that fitful change Wakes in my heart, ^'isions of days long past, — Hope, joy, pride, pain, and passion, with the hla^t Come rushing on my soul; — till I believe Some strong enchantment, purposed to deceive. Hath fixed its sjjell upon Jiie; and I grieve I may not burst its bonds ! — Anon the gale Softly s\djsides, and whisperings low prevail Of inarticulate melody, that seem Not music but its shadow; — what a dream Is to reality; or as the s'well, — Those who have felt alone have j^ower to tell, — Of the firll heart ^vliere love was late a guest. Ere it recovers from its sweet imrcst. The charm is o'er; eacli warring thought flits by. Exorcised by that simplest minstrelsy; Each turbulent feeling owns its sweet control, And peace once more returns and settles on my soul! n2 RICHMOND HILL. Sweet scene of Ciiildhood's opcninj; bloom, Jbr sportive Youth to stray in, For Manhood to enjoy his strength, and Ago to wear away in. WORPSWOJ^TH. Let poets rave of Arno's stream, Aud painters of the Aviuding Rhine; I will not ask a lovelier di-eam, A sweeter scene, fair Thames, than thine; 113 RICHMOND HI], I,. As, in ;i sumiTi ! Oh! if 'tis brisfhtest fame to fill o Unnumbered hearts with ecstasy ; Such fame is thine, sweet Richmond Plill ! But lo ! the sun is sinking fast. Emblem how meet of man's decline, When, lite's obstructing shadows past, llis evening hour grows bright as thine; And one mild gleam, Faith's glorious sign, lake von bright liark that seems so still, (dides on the soul in light divine. And leads it far bom Richmond Ildl! IKi CONSOLATION. It is but pcrishabli? slutV that muulders in the grave. SOUTHET. Look up, look up, and weep not so, thy darling is not dead. His sinless soul is cleaving now yon sky's empurpled Ijed; His spirit drinks new life and light 'mid bowers of endless bloom; It is but perishable stuff that moidders in the tomb. Then hush, oh! hush the swelling sigh, and dry tlie idle tear ! Think of the home thy babe hath won, and joy that he is there ! When summer evening's golden hues arc burning in the sky, And odorous gales from balmy bowers are breathing softly by; When earth is bright "wdth sunset's beams, and flo^vcrs arc blushing near, And grief, all chastened and subdued, is gathering to a, tear; How sweet 'twill be at such an hoiu", and 'mid a scene so fair. To lift thy glistening eyes to heaven, and feel that he is there ! 117 THE LAMENT OF BOABDIL EL ClilCO: HIS "DEPaETUEE PH01V[ THE ALIJAMBRA, AFTEIl THE COl.-'QUEST OF GEANADA BY E E ED IN A ^■ D AIJD ISAEELLA. II was a nii^iit or duleful lamenting^ ^^-i(hiu thcMvall:^ uf tliu Alliamlira; lur the household of Boalidil were prcpaiing to take a last farewell ol' fliat deliglitful abode. Before the dawn of day, a motirnf ul cavalcade moved obseurelj' out of a postern gate of the palace, and departed through one of the most retired quarters of the cit}-. It ■was composed of tlie fiimily of the unfortunate BoahdiJ, %vho left thus privately that they might not he exposed to the eyes of scofl'ers or tlie exullation of the enemy. The mother of Boahdil, the Sultana Ay xa La Ilorra, rode on in silence, "with dejected 3'et dignified demeanour ; but his wife Zorayma indulged in loud lamentafions as she gave a last look at the Alhamhra. They were attended by a small hand of veteran ]\Ioors, who were loyally attached to the fallen monarch, and "who would ha^x- sold their lives dearly in defence of his family. The sun had scarcely begun to shed his beams upon the snowy mountains ^vhich rise abo\e Granada, when the Christian camp was in motion ^\ ith a ^iew to take pussc'^sion of the city. The signal of advance was a large silver cross, elevated on the Torre do la A'ela, or great watch-tower, and sparkling in the sunbeams. The splendid cavalcaile, composed of I\ing Ferdinand and Queen Isabella, and their chief nobles and attendants, was met by the unhappy Boahdil on the banks of the Xcnil, at a short distance from Granada. As he ap])roaclied the King he would have dismounted in token of homage had not Ferdinand prevented him. Hethen ofiered to kiss the King's hand, but this sign of vassalage was declined. Queen Isaliclla refused also to recei\'e this ceremonial of homage ; and to console him under his adveT^ify delivered to him his son, who hail remained as a hostage ever .since Boabdil's lilicratiun from capti\'ity. The iMoorish monarch pressed his child to his bosom with tender emution, and tliey seemed mutually endeared by their mis- fortunes. Having placed the ke;, s of the city in the hands of the King, Boabdil continued his course towards the Alpuxarras, that he might a^oid being a spectator of the entrance of the Christians into his capital. Having rejoined his family, they ascended an eminence, commanding the last \iew of Granada, where they paused to take a farewell gaze at their beloved city. The sunshine, so bright in that transparent climate, lighted up eacli tower and minaret, and rested gloriously on the crowning battlements of the AllKunbrn ; -whilst tlie Vega spread its enamelled bosom below, glistening with the silver windings of the Xenil. The Moorish cavaliers gazed with silent agony upon that delicious scene ; but whilst tliey yet looked, a light cloud of smoke burst forth from the citadel; and presently a peal of artillery, faintly heard, announced tlnit the cil\- was taken pos=^ession of, The hc^rf of Bordidil, soflcnedby IKS THE hA:\lENT OF BOABDIL EL CHICO. misfortunes and overcharged by j^riof, could no longer contain itself. "Allah Akbav ! God is great," he would have said; but the words of resignation died upon hislipy, and he burst into a Hood of tears. Ilis mother, the intrepid Sultana Ayxa La Hurra, \va.s indignant at this weakness. "You do well," .said she, "tu woL'p like a woman fur -what you I'ailrd to defend like a man." An inetleefual altenipt wasmadeto eonsule him, but his tears continued to flow, and he turned frum the scene, exclaiming. " When did misfortunes ever equal minu!" From this circumstance the hill luok the n;ime of "■El ultimo swipiro del Hloro," — the last sigh of the Muor. The unhappy I'.uabdil retired to the valley of Porchena, where a small but fertile territory had l)een alluttcd to him. The jealousy of Ferdinand, however, who felt hardly secure in his newly conquered territories whilst there was one within their bounds wlio might re\'ive pretensions to the throne, did not long permit him to remain in this retirement. A collusive arrangeraeni: between the Vizier of Boabdil and the King, by which the former was to receive !iO,OL)0 golden ducats for his territory, concluded without Boabdil's privity, drove him forth once more. Gathering togethei-, therefore, the wreck of his property, he set out for a neighbouring port, where a vessel was waiting to convey him to Africa. He was there hospitably reGei\"ed by his relative, iMuley Ahmed, king of Fez, and resided for many years on his territory. Thirty -four a ears after the conquest of Granada, he fell in an attempt to assist the King of Fez to quell a rebellion in his dominions; " an instance," sciys tire chronii.der, '■ of the scornful caprice of Fortune, dying in defence of the kingdom of another, after wanting spirit to die in the defence of his own." The fate of lioabdil is said to have bren revealed to him in a dream, to which it is presumed he alluded when, on deciding un the capitulation of Granada, he exclaimed, " Too surely was it written in the Book of Fate that I should be unfortunate, and that my kingdom should expire under my rule." The fall of his empire had, moreover, been prophesied by a dervise, ^\^lo, p(_'netrating to the foot of his throne some months before his downfall, exclainn.'d, " M"oe! woe! woe to Granada! its hour of desolation approaches ! my spirit tells mo that the end of our empire is at hand." Nearly all the events of his life appear to havi' ostiiblished his title to the soubn'iiuct, 'ElZo^oyhi, the unfortunate, or unlucky. The last words that burst spontaneously from the lips of the faithful few who witnessed his embarkation for Africa, were, "Farewell, Boabdil! Allah preserve thee, El Zugoybi!" iKrrwG'3 "CHKo:-:iCLES oi" gra:nada." AclieiT, proud palace of my sires! Home of my luckless youth^ adieu ! Still lingxTs on thy glittering spires The light theii- earlier grandeur knew; — The beams of evening gild them yet; Boabdil's brightest sun has set! 119 ■niE J.AMKN'I' (IF I!()A]!J)I1, EL CIIICO. A (leath-likc silence fills thy h:ills; Hushed is the voice of revelry; — And though on tliy emblazoned -walls Some stirring- records still I see, — 'L'heir splcndoru' serves hut to declare How bootless those brief triumphs -were. Still -winds the silver bright Xenil Granada's gorgcoiis bo-\vers among, — And wander " at their o-\\-n sweet Avill " The Darro's shining -svaves along; — Smiling in light as once they snnled Ere blood their crystal depths defiled. The Court of Lions still is there. But Musa's step is there no more; Its fount still gushes on; but where, Where are the lion hearts of yore.'' Broken or scattered, like the spray Borne from its marble mouths awa^^ And where arc now the j'outliful train Here schooled in Honour's knightly deeds! Who met on yon enamelled plain To try the festive tilt of reeds,'' — Swept from the flowery paths of life. lu ^\ildcr war — in sterner strife! 120 THE LAMENT OF JiOABDIL EL CHICO. Why did I brave the dream of blood That prophesied my hapless fate, Without the courage to be good, AVithout ambition to be great; — And wherefore like a woman weep O'er what I wanted strength to keep ! Woe, woe to thee, Granada proud. Thy star hath sunk to rise no more; And shouts of triumph long and loud Proclaim thy day of glory o'er; Upon La Vela's sun-touched brow The sign of conquest glitters now! It is the Cross that Christians call The emblem mild of faith and love ; — Of peace, and pure goodwill to all; — Of truth, all human truth above ; — Yet hath it ever proved to me The sign of hate and treachery ! Before our wasted Vegas knew That symljol red of strife and toil. Ere nursed by traitor arts it grew The scourge of our devoted soil; To me its saving grace did seem A glorious creed — a godlike dream! 121 Till'; J.AMKXT OF nOABDIL EL CIIICO. ])Ut I liave pr(")l)('d tlif g'ildt'd client Of all i\'lio 'lU'ath that baiuu'i' iii^'lit. The crai'ty friendship, cold deceit. With which they trustuii:^' heaits recjiiiite 'We fall; — 'tis tlieirs to strike the hloAV, By one dark rehel's sin laid low! Mij crime it ^"^'as invoked the ^'S'rath That on ni}' doomed race descends; A curse must ever dog my path; IFith me the Moor's broad empire ends ; I would my lieait's last lifc-di'op drain To win that birthright back again. I go to hide in)'' humbled head In some scrpiestered haunt of shame ; Some far and foreign land to tread. That hath not heard Boabdil's name: Perchance, slioidd Fate such peace deny, A dark, inglorious death to die! Yet, even to earn a fate like this, A weightier penance still remains; Tlie blood-staint'd, treacherous hand to kiss That fixed my fate and forged my chains And, howsoe\'r my st)nl rebel, ]\'Iy conqueror's bloated pomp to sM-ell! 122 THE LAMENT OF BOABDIL EL CHICU). To bend before his saddle-bow His kingly clemency to crave; The scoff, the scorn, the jest, the show Of every idle, gaping slave; — And thank his mercy for a son. Whose throne, realm, birthright, — all arc gone ! For what is left? A blunted spear; A broken sword and dinted shield; A crown he is not doomed to wear; A sceptre he may never wield; A blighted and dishonoured name; A monarch's pride — a vassal's shame! Oh, not for this his youth was trained To sports that best beseem a king; The foremost still where Beauty reigned To tdt the reed, or ride the ring; — And when the mimic strife Ai'as o'er. To nerve his soul for nobler lore ! But what avail the lessons now Kis soaring soul so quickly caught; That swelling heart and haughty brow Must soon a harder task be taught; — To bleed in silence, and to hide Grief's canker-worm 'neath looks of pride. 123 rirK LAMENT OF BOAliDII, EJ- ('HTf!(l A smile hath lit Zorayma's eye, She sees her hjiig-lost son draw near, And tearless, half forgets to sigh O'er tlie dark ehanee that brings him here: She knows, she feels, that come what will. She is a queen — a mother still! Whilst I \A'ho have so often burned To clasp my gallant boy again; Each gentler thought to anguish turned, Now meet his dauntless glance with pain : And filhHl with dreams of other years, ('an only welcome him with tears! A^-ay, a^svay, wild drops, away ! I must a sterner aspect wear; I would not to yon slaves betray The secret of my soul's despair; — No; let theu- sli(nits of triumph ring, I'll meet them like Granada's King! Throw Avide the gates, the hundred gates. That ne'er received a foe before; For, lo! the conqueror's pageant waits To tread the halls we tread no more; Lead on; at length I've burst the spell; And now, majestic ]iile, farcA-ixdl! 121 A SKETCH FROAT PRIVATE LIFE. I saw her in her morn of hope, in hfc's dehcious Spring, A radiant creature of the earth, just bursting on the wing; Ehrte and ioyons as the lark when first it soars on hic-h. AVithout a shadow in its path,— a cloud upon its sky ! I see her yet — so fancy deems, — her soft, nnl^raidcd hair Gleaming, like sunlight upon snow, above her forehead i'air; 125 A SKIOl'CII I'llOM I'HIVATE LIFE. ]Ier liw^v (lark evfs, of changing light, the "winning smile that played. In dimpling sweetness, ronnd a mouth Expression's sell had made ! And light alike of heart and step, she bounded on her ^vay. Nor dreanrcd the flo"\\'ers that round Irer bloomed ^"^'ouh.l ever know decay: — Slie had no M'intcr in her note, but evermore would sing, — A\^hat darker season had she kno^vn, — of Spring, of only Spring ! yVlas, alas! that hopes like hers, so gentle and so bright, The growth of manv a happy year, onr wa^'ward hour should blight; — Bow down her fair but Iragile form. Jier brilliant bro^\' o'creast, And make her beauty, like lier bliss, a shadow of the past ! ^'ears came and "\vent, -we met again, — but TS'hat a change ^\'as there ! The glassy crdmness of the eye, that whispered of despair; The fitful flusliing of thi> cheek, the lips compressed and thin. The clench of the attenuate haiuls, — proclainu'd the strife ■\\ ithin! 126 A SKETCH FROM PRIVATE LII-K. Yet, for each ravaged charm of earth, some pitying ]lo^vel• had given Scanty, of more than mortal birth, a spell that breathed of heaven ; — And as she bent, resigned and meek, beneath the chasten- ing blow. With all a martyr's fervid faith her features seemed to glow ! No wild reproach, no bitter word, in that sad hoiii- was sjjoken, For hopes deceived, for love bctraj-ed, and plighted pledges broken; — Like HIM who for his murderers prayed, she wept, but did not chide; And her last orisons were said for him for whom she died! Thus, thus, too oft, the traitor j\Ian repays fond Woman's truth ; Thus blighting, in his wild caprice, the blossoms of her youth : And sad it is in griefs like these o'er visions loved and lost. That the truest and the tenderest heart must always suffer most ! 127 LINES WRITTEN BENEATH A PORTRAIT. ET A. E. CHALON, R.A. Time cannot thiu thy llowing hair, Nor take one ray of light from tliee ; Fur in my Ianr> tliuu dost .sliare Tile gilt of immortality ! WOEDSWOKTB'. Thou wert lair when first we met, As a youthful poet's dream; Thou art lovely still, and vet, ^A'here, O where "s the venial gleam That around thy footsteps hung, AA hen our hearts and hopes Averc ^oung! Thou wort joyous ;is the bird. When its first 'wild fiight it tries ; And th}^ soi'tlie.st A\"hispered word Breathed tile mirth of Eiininier skies : Thou art silent now when glad; Serious ever — sometimes sad. 128 I.IXES WRTT'J'EN liEKEA'I'Il A I'OIlTltATT. Thou didst love in other years. Songs of light and joyous flow; Dut the strains that stir thy tears, Are thy cherished pastime now ; Thou hast learned to gather gladness From the very depths of sadness. Yes, thy blue eye's changing light, Shed a keener radiance then; And thy smile so dazzling bright, Ne'er can be so bright again; — Let each faitliless grace depart, Spring can never leave thy heart! It is warm as ever still, Fond and faithful to the core; Withering sorrow cannot chill, AFoiJd she ne'er might \vring it more! Years may dim the rose of )"oiit]),, So they spare the bosom's truth. Time and his twin-sister Cure, Have but lightly touched thy brow; And the lines imprinted there, Never lovelier seemed than now; For they breathe the spell refined Of a sorrow-chastened mind. 129 LINES AVIilT'l'KN BENEATH A PdRTllAIT, Wliercfore tlun should I repine That thou art not as of okl; Since niaturcr gifts are thine^ Precious treasures, wealth untold; Charms tliy youth could never knoiv, Graces, time alone bestow! If we are not what we were, We have not endured m ^ain; Since the present hour is fair. Why evoke the past again! Am not T, and art not thou, ( 'aimer, wiser, hap])ier no^^' ! 130 M T N A. A SKETCH. I looked, and sa\v the face of things quite cliaiiged PAFiADISB LOST. It was a lovely night; — tlic crescent moon (A bark of beauty on its dark blue seaj Winning its way amid the billowy clouds, Unoared, uupilotcd, moved on. The sky Was studded thick with stars, which eiittering streamed An intermittent splendour through the heavens. I turned my glance to earth; — the mountain winds Were sleeping in their eaves, — and the Avild sea, 131 A\ itli its inmimcrous billows, nifltod doAvn To one uiinioviii!^- mass, lay strotciu'd bcncatli In deep and tranced slunil)er; giving l)ack The host al)ove with all its dazzling sheen. To Fancy's ken, as though the luminous sky Had rained down stars upon its lireast. Suddenly, The scene grew dim: those living lights rushed ou( And the fair moon, with all her gorgeous train. Had vanished like the frost--\\-ork of a dream. Darkness arose; and volumed clouds swept o'er Earth aird the ocean. Tluough the gloom, at times, Sicilian ^Etna's hlood-red flame was seen Fitfully flickering. The stillness now Yielded to murmurs hurtling on the air From out her deep-voiced crater; and the winds Burst through their bonds of adamant, and lashed Tlie weltering ocean, that so lately lav Calm as the slumbers of a cradled child, To a demoniac's madness. The l)road wave Swelled into boiling siu-gcs, ^vhieh appeared, When(_''er the juountain's liu'id light revealed Their progi-t'ss to the eye, presumptuously To dash against the ebon roof of liea^ani. Then canu' a sound — a fearful, deafening sound — Sudden and loud, as if an eartlnpiake rent vHTIS'A. The globe to its foundations! Witli a rush. Startling deep IMidnight on her throne, rose up, From the red mouth of ^Etna's burning mount, A giant tree of fire, "ndience sprouted out Thousands of boimdless branches, that put forth Their fiery foliage in the sky, and showered Their fruit, the red-hot levin, to the earth. In terrible profusion. Some fell back Into the hell from which they sprang; and some, Gaining an impulse fi-om the winds that raged Unceasingly around, sped o'er the main, And, hissing, dived to an eternal home Beneath its yawning billows. The black smoke, Blotting the snows that shroud pale Cuma's height, Iv oiled clown the mountain's sides, girding its base With artificial darkness; for the sea, Catania's palaces and towers, and even The far-off shores of Syracuse, revealed In the deep glare that deluged heaven and earth, Flashed forth in fearful light upon the eye. And there was seen a lake of liquid fire Streaming and streaming slowly on its course; And widening as it flowed, like the dread jaws Of some huge monster ere its prey be fanged. At its ajjproach the loftiest pines bent down. And stre^\-ed its surface with their trunks; — the earth 133 Shook at its comino'.; — towns and villao'es. Deserted of their denizens, were 'whehneil Amid that flood, and lent it ampler force; The noble's palace, and the peasant's cot. Alike hut served to swell its fiery tide : Shrieks of wild anguish rushed uj)on the g^de. And universal Nature seemed to -^-iTcstle Witli the gaunt forms of Darkness and Despair. 134 TO A CHILD, AFTER AN INTERVAL OF ABSENCE. I miss tlice from my side. With, thy meriy eyes and bkie; From thy crib at morning-tide. Oft its curtains peeping througii; In the kisses, not a ic^^y, Thou -n-ert ^vont to give me then ; In thy sleepy sad adieu, When 'twas time for bed again! I miss thee from my side. With thy question oft repeated ; On thy rocking-liorse astride. Or beneath my table seated: Or, when tired and overheated With a summer-day's delight, jMany a childish aim defeated. Sleep hath overpowered thee cj^uite ! ro A CHILD, AF'I'KR AN IN'niin'AI, OF AllSKNCE. I miss tlice from my side, When brisk Piiiicli is at the door; A aiuly pummels lie his hridc, Judy's wrongs can charm no more ! He may beat her till she 's sore, She nwy die, and he may flee; Thougli I hned their squalls of )T)re, What's the j)ag'eant now to me! I miss thee from my side, "When the light of dav grows pale ; When with eyelids opened -wide. Thou wonldst list the oft-told tale. And the murdered babes bewail ; Yet so greedy of thy pain, That, when all niv lore 'would fail, I must needs begin again! I miss thee from ni-s' side. Blithe cricket of my hearth ! Oft in secret have I sighed For thy chirping voice of mirth : "When the low-born cares of earth f 'hill my heart, and dim my eyi'. Chief is stiiled in its birth. If my little prattler's nigh! 136 TO A CmiJ) AFTKR AX 1XTER\'\I, HP AUSUXCI.; I miss thcc from my side, With thy Ijiight, ingenuous smile ; A^'ith thy glance of infant pride, And the lace no tears defile: — Stay, and other hearts beguile, Hearts that prize thee fondly too ; I must spare thy pranks awhile ; Cricket of mv hearth, adieu! 1S7 A REMONSTRANCE 10 A FRIEND WHO COMPLAUs^FD TO TDE AOTHOl; THAT HE \^A3 "ALL ALONE!" Oh ! say not thou art all alone Upon this wide, cokl-hearted earth; — Sigh not o'er joys for ever flown, — The vacant chair, the silent hearth : Why should the world's luiholy mirth Upon thy C[uiet dreams intrude, To scare those shapes of heavenly bii'th. That people oft thy solitude ! nrough many a fervent hope of 3-outh Hath passed, and scarcely left a trace ; Thouo'h earth-horn lo^^-e, its tears and trutli. No longer in thy heart have place; Nor time, nor grief can e'er efface The l^rightcr hopes that now are tliinc ; The fadeless lo-s-e, all-pitying grace. That makes thy daikest hours di-v'ine ! 1,38 A KEMONSTKANCE. Not all alone ; for thou canst hold Communion sweet with saint and sage; And gather gems, of price untold. From man}' a consecrated pagi': Youth's dr-eams, the golden lights of age, The poet's lore, — are still thine own; Then, while such themes thy thoughts engage, Oh ! how canst thou be all alone ! Not all alone ; the lark's rich note. As mounting up to heaven, she sings ; The thousand silvery sounds that float Above, below, on morning's wings; The softer murmurs twilight brings, — The cricket's chir'p, cicada's glee; All earth, that lyre of myriad strings. Is jubilant with life for thee! Not all alone; the whispering trees, The rippling brook, the starry sky. Have each peculiar harmonies To soothe, subdue, and sanctify: The low, sweet breath of evening's sigh. For thee hath oft a friendly tone. To lift thy grateful thoughts on high. And say — thou art not all alone ! 139 A KEMONSTHANCJE. Not all alone; a A\'atcliful Eye, That notes tlie wandering sparrow's fall, A saving Hand is ever nigh, A gracious Po^^'er attends thy call; — When sadness holds the heart in thrall. Oft is llis tenderest mercy shewn; Seek tiien the halm vouchsafed to all. And thou canst never be alone ! HO A SCENE FROM FvVUST. She half enclosed him witli her arms. She pressed him with a meek embrace, And bendini^ back her head, looked up. And gazed upon his face. nOLEKIDGE, She liacL been waiting for him^ till her heart Was stirred, almost to bursting, with the strife Of hope and fear, the fondness and mistrust. That only lovers know: and she had vowed 141 A SCENE I'KOAr KAUST, To chid(! ]ier tniaiit for his lony delay; To frown, look cold and stately as a queen, Discourse of broken vows, dissevered ties; And ask if men were faithless all, like him! But, as she sat within her garden bower. She heard the music of his well-known step ; And all her firm resolves, resentmeirts, doubts. The pride of sliglited beauty, were dispelled. As if those sounds had power to exorcise All thoughts that did not minister to love ! And her eye caught the dancing of his plume, 'Mid the green branches, as he strode along ; Her quick ear drank his melody of voice. As its sweet accents syllabled her name. Till every echo round repeated it! What should she do? Go hide her from his search; Teach the gay laggard she too coidd be slow; And bid him feel, in part, what she had felt. To make their after-nieetmg nrore divine ! The fixncy pleased her; and she fled before him. Swift as a startled fawir, as graceful too; Gained their accustomed trysting-place unseen. And hid herself in sport behind the door ; ]\'Ieaning to dart to his unconscious arms, •Just as his brow was gathering to a frown, 112 A S(_:ENE FK0]\[ FAUST. That she coukl break her promises like him. She -n'oidd have stiHed the heating of her heart. That she might cateh the first, faint distant sounds Of his approaching footsteps; hut suspense Lent it a '^rikler impulse, and its throbs Gre-\r momently more loud. She gasped for breath. As the thick boughs that hid her summer haunt Eustled, the latch was lifted, and the words, " Margaret, dear Margaret!" in the faltering tones Of one who seeks but scarce expects an answei', Fell on her charmed ear. She rushed towards him, With all her sex's fervency and truth, Its willing faith, devotcdncss of soul, — Forgetful only of its proud reserve, — And, twining round his neck her snowy arms. Clung to his lips, as though the world and life Had nothing for her half so sweet beside ! And, in the pauses of that wild embrace. She breathed, in few and scarce articulate words, The love shut up in her deep heart till then. She had no thought that virtue might not own, No guile to mask, no purpose to conceal; So she poured forth the secrets of her soul With all the frankness of a woman's love, Who judges others by her own pure self 143 A ,SC:ENE from FAUST. And I'or the world, — what were its frowns to hci . Who hchl the all of wealth she wished her oM'n. In the small circle of her straining clasp. Alas, alas, that woman's gentler feelings Should ever be employed to work her woe! That those deep impulses which, were they left To take their natural course, must lead to bliss, Shoidd sometimes prove the ministers of ill, And, swelling to a wild and stormy sea^ O'erwhelm the virtues they were meant to nourish. They stood in deep entrancement, heart to heart. With not a breath to break the hush around them, Save tlie ■wild throbbings of each bounding breast, Half smothered sighs, and soft, low murmured -words, That told an endless tale of love, and love ! It was a rich, bright, trancpiil summer's eve; T^hc sun v^as resting on the horizon's ■\'crge; The distant mountains wearing crowns of gold, Like vassal kings arose to guard his tlxrone; And every object round appeared to grow Instinct with softer beauty. On the breeze. Through the half-open lattice, came the breath, The honeyed breath, of many a fragrant flower, Cdosing its SAveet eyes on day's farewell beam. All things conspired to make those moments yield 144 V SCENK FRO^r FAUST A full repajHTicnt for the grief of years ; — And Faust had half forgot the doom that hung, Like the huge avalanche a breath brings down, O'er his devoted head; until a laugh, A fiend-like laugh, a loud, harsh, bitter taunt, As if in mockery of a bliss too pure For e^-il spirits to behold uupained. Recalled Irini to a sense of what he was, And what he soon must be ! And devilish eyes Were leering on them, shedding baleful light On that sweet scene of more thair mortal passion ! Another kiss — another, and another; — AA^hen lo ! the fiend grew clamorous that his dupe Should dare resist his will, and burst upon him. Dragging liini forth from that bright paradise To shades where he might tutor him in guile. And bid him plan the ruin of a heart. Whose oirly fault was loving him too well! Alas, alas ! that Man so oft should be The slave of some dark, schenring fieird like this ! And, spuited by him to deeds of ill. Should pay dear Woman's fond confiding truth, — Blasting the beauty he was born to cherish, — With falsehood, treachery, despair, and death! 145 LOVE AND SPRING, 'TAvas the g'cnial moiith of flowers. Merry May, when first avo met; Youth, and Hope, and Love Averc ours. Love, and Hope are with ns yet ; — Time, and Care defy the Avill, ]]ut our hearts are spring-like stiU. Time may "thin the flovi'in"' hair;" Roh the eye of half its light; And the breath of lov4--born Care Hope may canker. Beauty blight; — Fate may frown and Friends grow chill, )So the heart be vernal still! Centred thus 'mid ^Ylpine snows. Storms above, and glaciers 'round. One green spot no "winter knows; Bat, like fairy-haunted ground. Holds A\ithin its charmed ring ilU the frt'shest hues of spring! 140 THE DESERTED COTTAGE. Whither thou goest I will go ; and where thou lodges! I will lodge; tliy people shall he my people, and thy God my God ; ivheie thou diest will 1 rlie, and there will I be buried. BOOK OF RUTH. They leave their native landj a mournful jsarting, Fortune to follow o'er the distant main; No loud lament is theirs, though tears arc startino- To dim the eyes that may not look again. For life hath had for them but changeful weather; Afar they seek sereiier skies to find; They go, and, blessed lot, they go together. And leave no fond and breaking heart behind : 147 ■I'ln-', 1)F,SKI:-| I'-.l) COTTAfiE. 'I'o count tlic l;ig,^'ing liours, too slowly dyint;', Till' luavtyi-'s ])onaiic<', l)ut -\\'ltlK>iit liis vow; To hear the qurstioii;, with no voice replying, '•Where can they be, what are they doing nowf I'eacc may be found upon a stormy billow, And soft rejiose upon a rocking sea ; Disquietude knows many a downy pillow; Where the heart rests, 'tis there its home will be. Jjricf gleams of gladness Grief herself may borrow: Joy is not linked to (nre peculiar spot; Thy climax this they kno"\^" who kno"\'i- thee Sorrow, The single heart and the divided lot! '\\^ho sends the sirtfering, knows the situation. Notes the heart's sigh, and listens to its prayers ; " In this (the ^\orldj ye shall have tribukition;" Their hearts are one, — oh, let one grave be theirs! 18 A PORTRAIT FROM REAL LIFE. \\\mt nuw to her is all the world's esteems ; She is awake, and cares not for its dreams ; But moves, while yet on earth, as one above 1 ts hopes and fears— its loathing and its love. CRABBE. 'Tis said she once was beautiful; and still, — For 'tis not Time that can have wrought the ill, — Soft rays of loveliness around her form Beam, as the rainbow that succeeds the storm Brightens a noble ruin. In her flice. Though somewhat touched by sorrow, you may trace How fair she was in life's untroubled spring. Ere joy grew sere, or earthly hope took wing. O'er her pure forehead, pale as moonlit snow. Her ebon lochs are parted, — and her brow Breaks forth like morning from the shades of night. Serene, though clouds hang over it: the bright And searching glance of her Ithuriel eye Might even the sternest hypocrite defy To meet it unajDpalled; — 'twould almost seem As though, epitomized in one deep beam, 149 \ I'Dinu \ i'i- i]i(ni i;kai, ijfi-:. Jlcr I'ull colk'ftcd soul Tipou tlie heart, AV'liatc't'i' its mask, she stro"\'e at once to dai't. Patient in sntfering-, she has learned the art To hleed in silence and conceal the smart; And ol't, thont)-h qnick of feeling, has been deemed Almost as cold and loveless as she seemed, Because to fools she never would reveal A\'ounds they vrould probe witliont the power to heal. No; whatsoe'er the visions that disturb The fountain of her thoughts, she knot's to curb Each outward sign ot sorrow, and suppress, Even to a sigh, all tokens of distress. Yet some, perhaps witli keener vision than The crowd, that pass her by unnoted, can, 'J'hrough "\vell-dissend)led smiles, at times discern A settled anguish, that would seem to burn The very brain that qiuckens it; and when This mood of pain is on he]-, then, oh! thiai A more than wonted paleness of the check. And, it may be, a flitting hectic streak, A tremulous motion of tlu^ lip or eye. Arc all that anxious friendship can descry. [inkinduess and neglect she knows to liear Without complaint, alnmst M'ithout a tear. Save such as hearts internalh" \\ill weep, And they n(_'\'r rise the burning 'lids to steep: A I'OKTll.Vn' FROJI UKAl, LIFE. But to those petty wrongs that half dely Human forbearanec, she can make I'eply With a proud lip and a contemptuous eye. There is a speaking sadness in her air, A shade of languor o'er her features fair. Born of no coninion grief; as though Despair Had wrestled with her spirit, been o'crthro^vn, And these the trophies of the strife alone. A resignation of the will, a calm Derived from true religion (that sweet loalm For wounded breasts), is seated on her brow; And ever to the tempest bends she now. Even as a drooping lily that the wind Sways as it lists. The sweet affections bind Her sympatlrics to earth; her peaceful soul Has long aspired to that immortal goal, Where pain and anguish cease to be our lot. And Avorldly cares and frailties are forgot. 151 THE REQUIEM OF YOUTH. Oh, whitluT does the sjjirit Hee That malces existence seem A clay dream of reality", Reality a dream? We enter on the race of life. Like prodigals we live. To learn how much the ^I'orld exacts For all it liath to give. The fine gold soon becometh dim. We prove its base alloy; And hearts enamoured once of liliss Ask peace instead of joy. Spectres dilate on every hand That seemed but tiny elves; We learn distrust of allj when most We should suspect ourselves. But why lament the common lot That all must share so soon; Since shadows lengthen with the day, That scarce exist at noon. 152 A MAIDEN'S SOLILOQUY. Silence in love bewrays more wue Than words, though ne er su witfy, A bof^f^ar that is dumb you know, May challenge double pity. 3IR WALTER RALETGH. I'll not believe I am not lovccl, Although his Avords are few; The deepest streams have ever proved As eold and silent too. 15;j A ^[,ul>K^; s snr,ii,(i(iUY. Ifo never sr.id my fonii A\'as fiiir; My cliC'ck iiiij^lit shanii' tlic rost'; And yet tlie smile that others share O'er him a sha(h)^\' thro'svs. Wit's arrows pass him harmless liy, A Cymon's self might move ; Each shaft diverted hy a si<;]i, — The eloquence of love. And when I sing the stirring songs That charm all other ears, His trembling- voice his purpose wrongs. He cannot praise — for tears ! But should another claimant rise. And gentle words bespeak. The lightning flashes to his eyes. The heart-blood to his cheek! I know I rule his bosom's chords, A despot on my throne; "When will he gi^'e his feelings words. And take me for his own ! 154 THE MARTYRS OF ROYAL-LIEU. The Abbess and Nuns of Royal-Lieu fell victims to the revolutionary madness. She and her numerous sisterhood were led to the scaffold on the same day. On their way from the prison to the guillotine, they all chanted the ' Veni Creator.' Their arrival at the place of execution did not interrupt their strains; one head fell, and its voice ceased to join the celestial chorus; but the song continued. The Abbess suflercd last, and her single voice still raised the devout canticle. It ceased— and the silence of death ensued. MADAME CAMPAN. Dark clouds are hurrying tlii'ough the sky, 'Tis autumn's fitful eve. And the dying breeze is murmuring by, With a sound that makes one grieve; — ■ A stifliag heat is in the air. Like the sultry breath of a lion's lair, And unseen fingers weave A giant veil of shadows dun. o Before the broad, red, sinking sun. Black, as with wrath, yon angry cloud Seems to pause in its mid career, As the trampling steps of the crushing crowd To one gory spot draw near: 155 u •ilLK MAKTYliS OF liOYAL-I.LF.r. AVliat mean their yells of horrid glee, Those tossing heads, like a stormy sea. Clenched hands, and hrows se\'erc-:' Whence ccjme tliat sa"\"age tiger Ijrood To "lilt their demon lust for blood? Jjiit hai'k! what thrilling sounds arise From yon slow-moving throng; Floating like incense to the skies. In one rich tide of song ! And see, where opening to their tread. Those ruthless men shrink back, — and led r)y Faith, sei'cne yet strong, A meek-cycd Ijand, with tireless breath. Prolong that prelude note of death ! Tlieirs is no hope forlorn ; they -wend Exulting on their wav; Keckless how soon their course may end. Their life-blood ebb away; They seem to share one thought, one breath. And marshalled thus by Faith to death. In Ijeaiitiful arra-\-, Tliose martyr Sisters glide along, Ureathing their parting prayers in song! 156 THE MARTYRS OF ROYAL-LIEU. No fears \va\c they; the savage crowd May scowl on them in vain; Their steps arc iirm, their bearing proud, Unfailing still their strain. They see the reeking scaffold nigh. With dauntless heart, untroubled eye, Their blood so soon must stain; And lift their vesper h}^nn on high, Swan-like, resolved to sing and die. Lo ! how she bends her to the block. The foremost of that guiltless tlrrong. And sings, tdl 'neath the headsman's strol Is stayed at once her breath and song ! A"ct still the' angelic strain peals on ]\Iore thjilling sweet; till, one by one, Is hushed each tunefid tongue; And to that sainted band 'tis given To join seraphic choirs in heaven! 157 THE ANNRfERSARY. Twenty chequered years lla^'e past, — Summer suns and wintry weather, — Sinee our lot, in eoneert east. First we " elimbed tlie liill together." And tlie -world before us lay. In its brightest colours dressed^ As we took our joyous way To select our place of rest. Fortune's smiles we could not boast; Fame, — we had not dreamed of Fame; Friendship, even wdien needed most. We had only known by name: Fate denying trappings rich, ^Ye decked our bower with humbler things. And, in Friendship's empty niche Love installed — without his "^vings. Tlicre, though twenty years have fled. Chequered o'er my good and ill, He lifts aloft his beaming head, The same yoxmg, household idol still ! 158 THE YOUNGLING OF THE FLOCK. Welcome, tliricc welcome to my heart, sweet harbinger of bliss. How have I looked, till hope grew sick, for a moment bright as this! Thoii hast flashed upon my aching sight when Fortune's clouds arc dark. The sunny spirit of my dreams — the dove unto mine ark! 159 rilli YDL'NaLJNIj OF THJi I'J.OCJv. Oil no ! not fven when life was ncv.', and Lo"\'c and Hope were young, And o'er the iirstHng of my flock with raptured gaze I hung. Did I feel the glow that tlirills me now, the yearnings fond and deep. That stir my hosom's inmost chords, as I -watch thy placid sleep ! Though loved and cherished be tlie flower that springs 'ncath summer skies, The l3ud that blooms 'mid wintry storms more tenderly we prize; One does but make our bliss more bright, the other meets our eye. Like a radiant star, M'hen all beside have ^'anishcd from the sky. Sweet blossom of my stoi'my hour, star of my troubled heaven. To thee that passing sweet perfume, that soothing light is givtm; And precious art thmi to my soul, l)ut dearer far that thon, A messenger of peace So fair, one can but look and grieve To thmk that like a lovely dream, A few brief, fleeting moments more Must see its reign of beauty o'er ! 'Tis evening: and a general hush Prevails, save when the mountain spring Bursts from its rock, with fitful gush. And makes melodious murmuring; — 165 X i<;vKNiN(;. Or wlien from C'orno's Lrow severe The echoes of its eon^'eiit hell Cjomc wafted on the far-off ear, With soft and diapason swell : 13ut sounds so A^ildly s-neet as they. Ah, who would ever wish away! Yet there are seasons wlien the soul, 'Rapt in some dear delicious dream, Hcc'dless what skies may o'er it roll. What rays of beautv round it heam, Shuts up its inmost depths, lest aiight TTowever wondrous, wild, or fair. Shine in, and intcrrnjit the thought. The one deep thought that centres there. 'Though with the passiorratc sense so shrined And canonized, the hues of grief I'erehance he closely intertwined, The lonely Ijasoni spurns relief! And could the hreathing scene impart A charm to make its sadness less, 'Twould hate the hahn that healed its smart. vVnd loathe the spell of loveliness 'I'hat ]iierced its cloud of gloom, if so It stirred the stream of thought helow. KiC A WOMAN'S FAREWELL. ADAPTED TO AN AIR BY MOZART. Fare thee well! 'Tis meet we part, Since other ties and hopes are thine; Pride that can nerve the lowliest heart. Will surely strengthen mine! Yes, I v,-i]l wipe my tears away, Repress each struggling sigh; Call back the thoughts thou led'st astray. Then lay me down and die ! Fare thee well! I'll not upbraid Thy fickleness or falsehood now; — Can the ^vdld taunts of love betrayed llepair one broken vow? But, if reproach may wake regret In one so false or weak, Thiirk what I was when first we met. And read it — on my cheek! 1G7 A WOMAN 8 K.VKEWEIJ,. rare thee well! On yonder tree One leaf is fluttering- in the Ijlast , Withered and sere — a type of nie — For I shall fade as fast: Whilst many a refuge still hast thou, Thy wandering- heart to save From the keen pangs that ^^-ring mine no-svj I have but one — the "rave ! \c,s THE SISTER OF CHARITY. "WRITTEN AFTER MEETING A YOUNG AND BEAUTIFUL MEMBEH OF THE OfiDEK IN THE HOTEL DIEU OF PAHIS. Art tlioii some sjDirit from that blissful land Wliere fever never burns nor hearts are riven? That soothing smile, those accents ever bland. Say, were they born of earth, or caiight fi'om heaven ? 169 THE Siyi'ER OF CHARITY Art thou some seraph-minister of grace, Whose glorious mission in the skies had birth ? An angel sure in bearing, form, and face. All but thy tears — and they belong to earth! (3h, ne'er did beauty, in its loftiest pride, A splendour boast that may compare mth thine; Thus bending low yon sufferer's' bed beside. Thy graces mortal, but thy cares divine. A woman, filled with all a woman's fears, Yet strong to wrestle with earth's wildest woe ; A tiling of softest smiles, and tenderest tears, That once would tremble did a breeze but blow: Leaving, perchance, some gay, and happy home. Music's rich tones, the rose's odorous breath. Throughout the crowded lazar-house to roam. And pierce the haunts of Pestilence and Death. For ever gliding with a noiseless tread. As loth to break the pain-Vi^orn slumberer's rest; To smooth the pillovi', raise the drooping head. And pour thy balsam on the bleeding breast. 170 THE SISTEli OF CHARITY. Or, in each calmer interval of pain, The Christian's hope and promised boon to shew ; And, when all hnman anodynes are vain. To nerve the bosom for its final throe. To lead the thoughts from harrowing scenes like this. To that blessed shore where sin and sorrow cease ; To imp the flagging soul for realms of bliss. And bid the world-worn wanderer part in peace. A creature vowed to serve both God and man. No narrow amis thy cherished cares control; Thou dost all faith, love, p)ity, watching can, To heal the body, and to save the soul. No matter who, so he thy service need; No matter what the suppliant's claim may be: Thou dost not ask his country or his creed; To know he suffers is enough for thee. Not e'en from guilt dost thou tliine aid withhold, Whose Master bled a sinful world to save; Fearless in faith, in conscious virtue bold, 'Tis thine the sick blasphemer's couch to brave; 171 THE SISTEll OV CHARITY. To note the anguish of desjiairiiig cjiiric, Lash the ^\ikl scorpions of the soul within; Those Avrithings hercc, those agonies subhni(\ That seem from conscience half tlreir force to win: Then stand l)efore the dark di'inoniac's sight,— The cup of healing in thy gentle hand; — A woman, strengthened with an angel's might. The stoi'm of pain and passion to conun;nid. To calm the throbhings of his fevered brow; Cool his parched lips, his bleeding wounds to bind; And, with deep faith, belbre the Cross to bow For power to still the tumidt of his mind. And it is given: thy softliest whispered ^vord There falls like oil on a tempestuous sea ; Hard as his heart may seem, there's yet a eliord Cnce touched, his ravings all are stilled by thee. I see thee stand and mark that -wondrous change. With more than mortal triuuiph in thine eye; Then blessed and blessing, turn with tears to range Where otlier claimants on thy pity lie. 172 THE SISTEK U¥ CHARITY. By many a faint and t'ecblc murmur led, A willing- slave, where'er the wretched call; I see thee softly flit from bod to bed, Each wish forestalling, bearing bahn to all. Performing hmnblcst offices of love For such as know no human love beside. Still on thy healing way in mercy move. Daughter of Pity, thus for ever glide! All peace to thee and thy devoted band, Vowed to earth's gloomy " family of pain;" Whose worth could e'en the'un^s'i'illing awe command Of blood-stained men who o^^^led no other claim. Long may ye live the cherished badge to wear. Whose snow-white folds might dignify a queen; To fainting souls your cup of life to bear. And be the angels ye have ever been. 173 STANZAS ADDRESSED TO MISS 3.1. J. .IF.WRPUfr,-. LATE 7.1EP. FLETCHEI^ ON" n-BR ''FAREWELL TO THE I'.IUSE." Gentle MiiLstrel, say not sn, Bid not thus the ]\Iuse faixn^'ell; Since to her 'tis thine to owe IMany a soft and sootliing spell ; Fraught with power to bring a train Of unbidden joys around thee: If she "lightens hours of pain," And when Fate's barljed arro-ws wound thee, Pours upon tliT bleeding heart Balsam s^A'eet to heal the smart; If thor^'st loved her " long and well," Wherefore l)id her uoav farewells Fame's proud steep is hard to climb : Never poet gained its brow. And its laurel wreath sublinu\. But with toilsome steps and s1oa\^ ; 171 STANZAS TO M. J. J. For the Muse is coy to yield To the first light vows we make her; Who would see her spells unsealed. To their inmost hearts must take her; Cherish her in weal or woe. And all other loves forego; Nor, when fiuicics wild impel. Bid her thus, like thee, farewell! Why pronounce her promise vain, And her name, ungrateful, wrong; Why declare in such a strain, In so wildly sweet a song. That she ne'er to thee hath given Gleams of her ethereal fire, — Foretaste of her native heaven. Now to soften, now inspire. Where, if not on hearts like thine. May she pour her rays divine; To whom may she her mysteries tell. If thou must bid her thus farewell! Then take thy Lute, and it shall be, — Betide what may of dark or bright, — Even as Aladdin's lamp to thee. The depths of thine own heart to light : 175 Y STANZAS TO M. J. I. To point where g-cms urmumbered shine, Wealth thou niav'st scarcely deem of now, And bid thee tlieuee a ciielet twine. To grace thy young, aspiring brow; A wreath of more than mortal birth. To keep thy memory green on earth, When thou hast Ijidden Song's sweet spell, Muse, Lnte, and Life, indeed farewell! 176 GUARDIAN ANGELS. Thuusand-s of ministering spirits walk ttto oarth Unseen, tjutli wlien \ e wake and \\ ]ien we sleep. MILTON. Cliilclren, ^v\w rosy rest Seek on a mother's breast. Know tlrat above you are otber arms spread; Love, a love stronger. Protecting you longer, Watcliing your footsteps, and guarding your bed. 177 (JUARDIAN ANGELS. Sorrow must dim your eyes, Caros will with years arise. Ambushed around you lie many a snare ; Angels, defend your charge; Let tlieni not roam at large ; Follow tor ever to bid them beware! A^oung heirs of sorrow. Whose hope is to-morrow, O'er you a banner ot love be unfurled; J\Iake you a sjicxial eare, Prompting the secret prayer " Not to ]-i'lease, but be kept ii'om the world." I5ody-guard lioly, To man bequeathed solely, Vainly to see )'ou our vision we strain; Asking of form and face, Shadov/s we seek to trace, Stretching our arms to enfidd you, in vain. Follow us in tlie strife. Guard 'nnd the throng of life, With each temptation fresh succour to bring; Closer and closer press. Innocence needs ye less; When was the streamlet as pure as the spring.'' 17S GUARDIAN ANGELS. Not with tlie set of siiii Labours of love are done ; Angels! a niglit-watcli to you hatk been given; Slumber give not your eyes, Till the glad morn arise. And your whole flock is safe folded in heaven ! 179 YOU yVSK ME FOR A PLEDGE, LOVE. You ask nic for a pledge, love, 1iut gaze upon my cheek, And let its hue, when thou art uear, my lieart's devotion speak; Look on my dim and tearful eye, my pale and rigid broir, List to my deep, unbidden sigh, — what need of pledge or vow ! You ask me for a pledge, love, some token of my truth; Take then this flower, an endjlenr meet of woman's lilighted youth ; The perfiune of its M'ithered leaves, triumphant o'er deeay, May whisper of my changeless love when I have passed a^\'ay ! What, yet another pledge, love; then mark ni" while I vow, Ey all this heart hath home fm- thee, hy all it sutlers now; Li grief ni- gladness, hope, (U'spair, in liliss or misery, I'll he, what I have ever been — to tliee, to only thi'e! 180 MY NATIVE VALE. My native yale, ray native vale ! How many a cliequercd year hath fled. How many a vision, bright and frail, My youth's aspiring hopes have fed, Since last thy beauties met mine eye. Upon as sweet an eve as this. And each soft breeze that wandered by, Whispered of love, repose, and bliss : I deemed not then a ruder gale. Would sweep me soon from ilalhamdale ! Who may the Poet's thoughts unfold Ere yet he pours his soul in song, — When hopes, all glowing but luitold. And passions, irumberlcss and strong, Are pent within his youthful breast. Or murmured but in secret sighs; Till Love, the foudliest cherished guest. His fettered tongue at length unties. And bids as wild a strain prevail As once I breathed in Malhamdalc. 181 MY NATIVE VALE. And she, ivlio listened to my lays, Witli downcast eye and blushing cheek. Her smiles Avere as the sunny rays That bad the lips of IMcmnon speak; Till all the feelings, wild and wavm. My swelling heart had nursed so long, Yielding to that all-poA\-erful chami. Burst forth in one full tide of song: Alas, that dreams so fair should fail; We met no more in iMalhanidale ! Ay, they whose fondness made thee seem A paradise on I'arth to nie ; The one bright star whose tender l)cam Shed light upon my destin)-; The kindly sympatliics of love. The old familiar forms are flown, Aud, sered in heai't, "tis mine to rove This cold and desert world alone : I, only I am left to wail O'er the hist joys of j\f alhanidale ! When toiling, 'neatli a foreign sky, For wealth that none are left to share, H(nv oft woidcl, ]Menior)-'s wistful eye, lie vert to scenes and hours move fair; 182 MY NATIVE VALE. The village church, my cottage-home. With all its clusteriii"' woodbine a s i S'^Y> The glades through which I loved to roam. In years that seemed but yesterday. Flashed on my soul, and told a talc Of youth, and hope, and jMalhamdule. I never closed my wearied eye But visions sweet as these were mine, Nor offered up a prayer on high That did not breathe of thee and thine : In di'eams by night, in dreams by day, In hours of gloom or revelry. Sweet scenes of youth's enchanted May, My thoughts were still of thine and thee ! What now can Memory's light avail; — What now to me is Malhamdale! And what am I? An exile j^ale. With wasted form and withered heart, Transplanted to his native vale. To droop awhile, and then depart; To think of all that might have been. Of joys, that gold could never buy; JuSt wander o'er each long-loved scene. Then seek me out a grave and die ; 183 MY NAl'lVE VALE. Slei'p — With 110 stone to tell my talc — By licr I loved, in MdUiaiudulo. j\'Iy native vak — my iiatiyc vale ! Even as I mark thy skadows ckaug'c. Sweet strains seem breatkiu"' on tke gale, I feel a tkrilling new and strange; A radiant form is rising uovi'. How fair, upon my waning siglit; I know ker ky ker starlike In-ow, Her loving eyes so Idue and brigkt; Ske beckons me, lil'c's pidses i'ail ; Adieu, adieu, my native vak' ! 184 TO THE MEMORY OF GEORGE BARTE One morn I missed him on tlio' accustomed hill, Along the heath, and neat his favourite tree ; Another came, nor yet beside the rill. Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he! GRAY Worthy disciple of his art divine, Whose golden sunsets, rich romantic shores. And pastoral vales, reflect fair Nature's fice. In every varying chami her beauty wears, 185 TO THE MEMOllY Oi'' GT'.OKOli ISARKKT. FTow liavc I lovod tliy pencil ! Not a gTacc Slicd over earth from yon Ijluo vault above. At Da'wn, Noon, Sunset, IVilight, or «"lien Night Draws o'er the sleeping worhl her silvery veil, But thou hast traced its source and made thint' own ! Nay, not an hour that circles through the day, But thou hast marked its influence on the scene, And touched each form with corresponding light; Till all subdued thi' landscape round assumes, — Ijikc visions seen through Hope's enchanted glass, — A beauty not its own; and '' c-loiul-capped towers," And gorgeous palaces, and temples reared. As if by magic, line the busy strand Of some broad sea, that ripples f)n in gold To meet the setting sim! Nor less I prize Thy solemn twilight glooms; when to mine eye. Indefinite, each object takes the shape That fancy lists; and in the crimsoned wi'st. Bright as the memoiy of a blissful dream. As nnsidjstantial too, th(> daylight fades. And " lea-^'es the world to darkness and to me." Prhnitive Painter! Neither age, nor care. Nor failing health, — though all ccuispired to mar The calmness of thy soTil, — could dim the power Thy pencil caught froui Truth. 'I'bou shonldst have lived, lar; TO THE MEMORY OF f;EORGE BARRET. Where sunny Claude his inspiration drew. By Arno's banks, in Tenipe's haunted vak=; Or learned Poiissin, 'ncatli the' umbrageous oaks Of some old forest, bad his sylvan groups. Goddess with Mortal, Fawn with Dryad joined, To Pan's untutored music circle round. For such the themes thy chastened fancy loved: But now thy sun has set, thy twilight sunk In deepest night, and thou hast sought a sky Where never cloud or shade can vex thee more. 187 A KAREWELL. Yew, I will join the A\urkl again, And mingk' Avitli tliu crowd; And tliougli my miitli may be l>iit pain, ]\ly langliter, wilderment of brain, At least it shall be lend. "i'is true, to bow before the shrine Of heartless revelr)', Is slavery to a sord like mine; Yet better thus in chains to pine, Than c'\'er crouch to thee. Ay, better fir to steep the soid In ])leasure's sparkling tide; 15id joy's unholy sounds control The maddeinng thoughts that ti'er it roll. Than wither 'neatk tky pride. ]SS A .FAREWELL. Yet I have loved thee — oh, lio-sv well! But words arc wild and weak; — The de^Jth of that pervading qicll I dare not trust my tongue to tell, And hearts may never speak. The stubborn pride, none else might rein. Hath stooped to love and thee; But, as the pine upon the plain, Bent by the blast springs up again, So shall it fare with me. Though thou hast wrapped me in a cloud, Nought now may e'er dispel, In silentness my wrongs I'll shroud. And love, reproach, pain, passion, crowd Into one word — Farewell! 'Tis done — -the task of soul is taught; At length I've burst the spell That, 'round my heart so firmly wrought. Fettered each loftier, nobler thought; And now. Farewell — Farewell ! 189 SCENES OF MY CHILDHOOD. Scenes of my childliood, once more I behold ye, ']Mid the green waving lindens that graced ye of j'ore ; Friends of my childhood, once more I enfold ye. What would my gloom-bo ding spirit have more ! Scenes of my childhood, in sadness I greet ye. Can yonr freshness and bloom youth's gay seasoir restore ! Friends of my cluldhood, in sorroM' I meet 3-e, For a welcome is wanting cair glad nre no more ! Scenes of my childhood, the breath of your flowers Is loaded with memories too painful for bliss ; Frieirds of my childhood, there 's gloom in yoiu' bowers. Oh, where are the brioht beaming glances I miss! Scenes of my childhood, let strangers possess 3-e; Can ye witness again what ye witnessed of yore? Friends of my childhood, in vain ye caress nie. For the kiss that Avas sweetest, can charm me no nrore ! 100 I THINK OF THEE ! I tliink of thee, I tJaink of tliee, And all tliat tliou hast borne for me ;- In hom-s of gloom, or heartless glee, I think of thee — I think of thee ! When fiercest rage the storms of Fate, And all around is desolate, I pour on life's tempestuous sea The oil of peace with thoughts of thee ! When Fortune frowns, and Hope deceives me. And summer-friendship veers and leaves me, A Timon from the world I flee ; My wreck of wealth, sweet di-eams of thee ! Or if I join the careless crowd Where laughter peals, and mirth grows loud. Even in my hours of revelry I think of thee, I think of thee! 191 1 THINK OF THEE! 1 think of thee, I think and sigh O'er blighted years and bliss gone by; — And mourn the stem, seyerc decree That hath but left me thoughts of thee ! In youth's gay hours, 'mid Pleasure's bowers. When all was sunshine, mirth, and flowers. We met ; I bent the' adoring knee. And told a tender tale to thee ! 'Twas summer's eve; the heavens above, Earth, ocean, air, were full of love ; Nature around kept jubilee. When first I breathed that tale to thee! The crystal arch that hu.ng on high Was blue as thy delicious eye; — The stirless shore, and sleeping sea, Seenred emblems of repose and thee ! I spoke of hope, I spoke of fear, — Thy answer was a blush and tear; — But this was eloquence to me. And more than I had asked of thee! 192 I THIISK OF THEE! I looked into thy dewy eye. And echoed thy half stifled sigh, — I clasped thy hand and vowed to be The soul of love and truth to thee ! That scene and hour have past; yet still Remains a deep, imjjassioned thrill, — A sun-set glow on memory, That kindles at a thouo-lit of thee. We loved; how wildl}^, and lioAV well 'Twere worse than idle now to tell: From love and life alike thou'rt free, And / am left — to think of thee ! Though years, long years, have darkly sped Since thou wert numbered with the dead. In fancy oft thy form I see, — In dreams, at least, I'm still with thee! Thy beauty, helplessness, and youth, — Thy hapless fate, tin tiring truth; Are spells that often touch the key Of sweet but mournful thoughts of thee ! 193 T THINK OF THEE! The bitter frown of friends estranged ; The ehilling straits of fortunes changed; All this, and more, were borne for me; — Then how can I be false to thee ! I never will : I '11 think of thee Till fades the power of memory: In weal or woe, in gloom or glee, 1 11 think of thee ! I '11 think of thee ! ly4 THE GREY HAIR. Come, let me pluck that silver hair Which 'mid thy clustering curls I see ; The withering type of Time or Care Hath nothing, sure, to do with thcc. 195 TIIK r;Kl:Y IIAIII. Years have not yet impaired the grace That cliarmed me once, tluit chains me now; And Envy's self, hn'e, cannot trace One wriid<;le on tliv ]ilacid brow. Thy features have not h)st the bloom That brightened them when fir^t we met : No; ravs of soitest light illunu- 'Their unambitions beauty vet. And if the passing clouds of Care Have cast their shadows o'< r thy face, T'hey have but left, triuniphaiit, there A holier charm — more ^^■il:chin^■ "race. And if thy A'oiee hath sank a tone. And sounds more sadly than of yore, It hath a s^^"eetness, all its owji, J\f ethinks I never marked before. Thus, young, and lair, and happv too,- If bliss indeed may here lie won. — In spite of all that C^are can do, In spite of all that 'I'inie hath done; lf)(i TirF. OHKY iiAii', [s yon white hnir a Inion nf love, To thee in mihh^st mercy p'iven ; A sign, a token from above, To lead tliy thonghts from earth to hea-\'en .' To speak to thee of life's decay; Of beauty, hastening to the tomb; Of hopes, that cannot fade away; Of joys, that never lose their bloom Z Or springs the tlxread of timeless snow With those dark, glossy locks entwined, 'Mid Youth's and Beauty's morning glow, To emblem thy maturer mind? It does, it does: — then let it stay; Even Wisdom's self were welcome now : Who'd wish her soberer tints away. When thus they beam from Beauty's brc 197 TO A SLEEPING CHILD. My fair-liaircd boy! as thus I gaze Upon thy calm, untrouLlcd sIc'C]"), I feci the hopes of other days, — The cheiishecl hopes for -avoids too decp,- Unfold within my heart again, Like flowers refreshed by summer rain! The brightness of thy dark blue eve Still peers its half-closed lids between, Like glimpses of an April skv Through clouds of sno'i^'y -s-idiitcncss seen ; And dimpling smiles are lingering no^^- Eonnd thy sweet month, and sunny brow ! The spirit of some genth> dream Hath kindled, sure, thy glowing cheek. And lent that half-shut eye the beam \\niich seems in furtive light to speak Of tameless glee, of antics i\i]d, Of 'nods and becks,' my sinless child! 108 TO A ST.ICICI'IXG CHI 1,11. October's winds are chill and drear, And ho^^'l our cottage home around. Whilst emblems of the TS'aning year In ceaseless eddies strew the ground : I gaze upon the leafless tree, And deem it but a type of me. But when I turn from Nature's waste, From thoughts those saddening sights can brinjj And look on thee, I seem to taste The freshness of a second spring ; And feelings, long repressed, arise. That whisper hopes of brighter skies. Oh, did not anxious cares alloy ]My bliss with thoughts of future ill, Now might I taste of perfect joy, jMy heart with sweetest rajitu-re thrill, As thus, with yearnings fond and deep, I watch my guileless infant sleep ! But bodings full of fear will throng. Unbidden, on my feverish brain ; And thoughts of sickness, blight, and wrong, Come back upon my heart again : And, sitting by thy side, I grieve O'er dreams I cannot choose but weave. 199 '10 A SLEErlN(.; (1111,1). T turn mc to the jjast, and moui-n That what has been at^'am maj- be; [ wce^i, k'st ills that I have borne Should be in store, my child, for thee; — 'I'o -warp tliy truth, to cloud thy bro"\v, And make thee all that I am now : The slave of anguish that has taught ]My harp the echo of my heart, — Of hopes, with bright enchantment fraught. To stir my soul and then depart, — Of gentle thoughts, inspired to bless. All turned to tenfold bitterness; — Of waning health, a wasted frame, A\'orn by the racking strife within; Of pride not even grief may tame. That weighs upon my heart like sin: Of glowing visioirs of delight Dimmed by their o'wti excess of light; 'i'lie dupe of e"\'e]'v sordid fool, With just euougli of sense t:> cheat A simple no'S'ice in the school Where souls grow kvirucd in di'ceil ; The victim of man's seliisli schemes, l''(ir d(-ciuiuL AND THF. HAWK. Tlioug'h an angel's grace is thine, Though the Hoht is half divine. That with chastened lustre flashes From beneath thine eyes' dark lashes ; Yet thj thoughtful forehead fair. And that sweetly pensive air, Speak thee but of mortal birth. An erring, witching child of earth ; In each varied mood revealing Human hope and human feeling ; Gladsome now — now vowed to sorrow'- Gay to-day if sad to-morrow! Huntress fair, the sport is over, Wherefore chain thy feathered rover ! Rich indeed the prize must be, That could lui'e him far fi-om thee ! AYhat to him those silken jesses. Tangled in thy glossy tresses ; Dazzled by thy beauty's light. Can he plume his wings for flight; Fettered by a smile so bland. Will he ever leave thy hand ! — No; — let him on thy beauty feed. And he'll no firmer jesses need. 203 T[IE :^'IELODY (W YOUTH. Delicious strain! ujioii mv cliarnicd eai', As evening's balmy breatli upon a brow Fevered with fruitless watchings, dost tho^i steal, To bid my world-worn heart retrace the scenes ^There first it drank thy s^vectness ! AVhat a cro^vd Of" home-bred joys, of visions loved and lost. That simple cadence brings; eacli lengthening note Fraught with its own peculiar memory ! Once seemed that song, so passing mournful now, fhiy as the dreams of boyhood, — and like them The source of blameless joy to all around; But when in after years, 'mid busier scenes. Again I listened to those wood-notes wild, ISIethought tluy sounded sadder than of yore: Yet were they soothing, for mv wayward heart. Though something tamed from wliat it once had been. Was still all hope ; and had not whoUv lr hini^ When lie came, and saw, and overthic^ , And kings bent down before liiiii : Not in his hour of regal pride, When his navies darkening Egyjil's tide, To fame and conquest bore him, — Did ever Ponipey's laurelled bro^v, To one fond heart seem bright as now. When a monarch, ay, almost a god, Eonre's fickle legions crowned him ; When nations waited on his nod. And myriads thronged around him ; 209 THE UEATH OF TOMPKY THE GREAT. Cornelia sat beside liis throne, His fame, wealth, honours, all her own, Her's the sole eliains that hoiincl him; But never did her lips avow Such deep, devoted lo^'o as now. Forlorn, deserted and betrayed, An exile on the Avave, Doomed of the satraps he had made Lifer's paltry boon to eravc; Of wealth, fame, power, even hope bereft. Spurned by his summer friends, and left No refuge but the grave, — What lifts his soul his fate above. What but Cornelia's chancreless love ! She looks upon Pclugium's strand. Fierce hosts are gathering there ; And she numbers each succeeding band. With a wild and troubled air; Proud ships are dancing in the bay; " Is it their homage thus they pay," She asks, " or but a snare, "Some dark device of Ca\sar's hate, "To seal my royal Pompey's fate?" 210 THE DEATH OF POMPEY THE GREAT. A boat comes tilting throiigh. tlie spray, To bear him to the sbore; One kiss, and then away, away ! One ^\"ord — and all is o'er! Vain her entreaties ; vainer now, The bodings wild that cloud the brow Her lips may press no more ; Bright prows are stirring in the bay; The die is cast, away — away! A slrriek is on that noon-tide wave, Despairing, loud, and shrill; Oh, that her love had power to save The blood they rush to spill! It may not be ; he looks his last, — One moment — and the struggle 's past ; Even now his heart grows chill; He draws his mantle o'er his eyes, And as he lived, great Ponipey dies 1 And shouts of triumph rend the air From the slaves who mark his fall; But the thi-illing voice of that deep despair Is heard above them all! 211 riiE ])]v\'ri! OF poMri'.^' riin cuhat. ''Tis the rcquit'iii wild of ^V'olllall'b loN'f, TIk' cry of blood (o hL'avoii aljovc, — May vciig-cancc note tlio call; — And j'ou dastard traitort;' tliocks y Music's stirring strains inspired, Turns him to deeds of glory done, To dangers 'scaped — and laurels won. Enchantress sweet of smiles and tears, Spell of the dreams of vanished years, I\rysterious kee])er of the key That opes the gates of Memorv ; 215 MUSIC. 'Tis thine to bid sad hearts be gay, Yet chase tlie smiles of mirth away ;— Joy's sparlding eye in tears to steep, Yet bid tlie monrner cease to weep ! To gloom or gladness thou canst suit The chords of thy dtlicioiis lute; For every heart thou hast a tone, ( 'an make its pulses all thine own ! 216 MORNING. Morn, Waked by the circling Hours, with rosy hand Unbars the gates ol'lighl. MILTON. Oh, burst the bonds of slumber, Beloved, awake, arise! Night's shades are furled From the breathing world. And 'tis morn in the Eastern skies: 217 MORNING. Flowers, fair and without number. Unfold their gorgeous dyes; Morn speeds apace On her glorious race. Then open thy star-like eyes ; Sweet Helen, awake, arise ! Rich, milk-white clouds are sailing- Like ships upon stornrlcss seas; The heavens grow hright With liquid light, And fragrance loads the breeze : Morn's melodies prevailing. Sweep through tlie trembling trees ; The lark's in the sky. And the linnet on high, And wilt thou be less blithe than these ? Sweet Helen, awake, arise! The dew-bent rose is baring- Its breast to the golden sun; New splendours shower On temple and tower. And the stir of day 's begun : 218 MORNING. We'll do a deed of daring Ere Pliffibus' race be run; Our bark 's below. And tlie breezes blow. And our goal will soon be won: Sweet Helen, awake, arise! What recks it to hearts like ours. Where wc resolve to flee? Not far we'll roam For a blissful home, Since Paradise dwells with thee ! We'll steer for Pleasure's bowers. With Hope, through Life's dark sea; And Love shall guide Lis through the tide, And our trusty Pilot be : Sweet Helen, awake, arise ! 219 QUEEN VICTORIA AT SPITHEAD. WEITTir.N ON THE OCCASION OF THE I.EVIEW, EY HEK MAJESTY, 0- THE EXIT.EIMENTAL FLEET UNT: E THE COMLIAj:r OF A.DillKAL HTDE P/vEKER, AT SPITHEAE, ON ^Ist OP JUNE ISti. " Britannia rules tlie waves!" Hark to that tluilling song, That tells eis there shall he no " slaves " Her stahvart sons among! Tliat, -wheresoe'er her flag may wave. Her "charter," won from heaven, she'll keep- Still potent to destroy or sa^'e — Her empire o'er the deep ! Hark to the eaniious' roar As the Island Queen sweeps Ijv! To the cheers from sea to sh(_ire, That would seem to rend tin' sky ! Hark, again! ^\'hat thund(.'rs peal. As those " A\'ooden AValls" reply! Till their decks begin to reel ^yith that burst of loyalty! 220 QUEEN VICTOKIA AT SPIXIIEAU. All hail our Ocean Queen! ■ Plail, too, our "Wooden Walls!" What dreams of glories that have been That gallant show recalls! What heroes of the mighty deep, That long have run their race. Uprise from their fame-hallowed sleep, In this familiar place ! Too Avar -worn to take part In yon heart stirring scene. Like some bright star that dwells apart, One ship afar is seen; Safe, in her honoured age, she sleeps From storms she once might well defy; And still the post of honour keeps. The eidolon of Victory ! And bearing many a glorious name Of hero-might, or battle-flood. Snatched from the brightest scroll of Fame, Are ranged yon gallant sisterhood. Meet spectacle for England's Queen ; Fit homage to her island reign ; Whose proudest boast hath ever been Her empire o'er the main ! 221 QlIi;HN AICTOUIA AT SJ'TTHEAJ). " Britannia rules the waves!" Hark to tliat tlirilling song That tells u.s there shall lie no " slaves " Her stalwart sons among ; That wheresoc'er her flag may wave, Her "charter," won from heaven, she'll keep- Still potent to destroy or save — Her emjoirc o'er the deep! ON A BEAUTIFUL STATUE BY RICHARD LANE, ESQ,. OF HIS DEAD CHILD. I saw tlicc in thy beauty, bright phantom of the jjast, I saw thee for a moment, 'twas the first time and the last; And. though years since then have glided by of mingled bhss and care, I never have forgotten tliee, thou fairest of the fair ! I saw thee in thy beauty, tliou wert graceful as the fawn, When in very wantonness of glee it sports upon the lav^'u ; I saw thee seek the mirror, and when it met thv sight. The very air was musical with thy burst of wild delight ! I saw thee in thy beauty, with thy sister by \\ij side, — She a lily of the valley, thou a rose in all its pride : 1 looked upon thy mother, there was triumph in her eyes. But I trembled for her happiness, for grief had made me wise. 223 ON A STATUE OF HIS DEAD f!HIf,D, I saw tlicc in thj beauty, with one hand among her enrls, Tlie othci-, with no gentle grasp, had seized a string of pearls; She f'lt the pretty trespass, and she chid thee though she smiled, And I Icnuw not wliich was lovelier, the mother or the child. I sa.Av thee in thy Ijeauty, and a tear came to mine eye. As I pressed thy rosy cheek to mine, and thought e'en thou could'st die; Thy home ^vns like a summer l;ower h\ thy joyoirs presence made. But I only saw the sunshine, and 1 felt alone the shade. I saAV thee in thy beauty, and a cloud passed o'er my brow. As I thought of one as passing fair, as fondly loved as thou; I remembered how at set of sun, I blessed him as he lav; I remendjcrcd, ere its rising, how his soul had passed away. I see thee in th)- beauty, for there thou seemest to lie. In slumber resting pcaccfidly, but, oh! that cliange of eye. That fixed serenity of brow, those lips that breathe no more, Proclaim thee l)ut a mockery fair of what thou T^'crt of yore. 224 ox A STATl'E OF HIS UEAl) (JIIILl). I see tliee in tlijr beauty, with thy waving hair at rest, And thy busy little fingers folded lightly on thy breast ; But thy merry dance is over, thy little race is rirn, And the mirror that r(_'flccted two can now give back but one. I see thee in thy beauty, with thy mother by thy side, But her loveliness is iaded, and quelled her glance of pride ; The smile is absent from her lijjs, and absent are the pearls, And a cap, almost of widowhood, conceals her envied curls. I see thee in thy beauty, as I saw thee on that dav; But the nm-tli that gladdened then thy home, fled ^vith thy life away; I see thee lying motionless upon th' accustomed floor. But my heart hath blinded both mine eyes, and I can see no more ! 225 ON THE DEATH OF A YOUNG FRIEND, OF FEVER, AT LAGUIRA. By furcigu hands thy dymg eyes were closed; By foreign hands thy decent limbs composed; By foreign hands thy humble grave adorned; liy strangers honoured, uiid by strangers mourned, POPE. He left his home with a bouucliug heart. For tlie worhl was all before him; And felt it scarce a pain to part, Such sun-bright dreams came o'er him: He turned him to visions of future years. The rainbow's hues were 'round them; And a father's bodings, a mother's tears. Might not weigh \yit]i the liopes that cro"\^'ned them. That mother's cheek is far paler no'w. Than when she last caressed him ; There's an added gloonr on that father's brow. Since the horu- when last he blessed him: Oh! that all human hopes should prove Like the flowers that will fade to-morro'\\-; And the cankering fears of anxious lo^'e Ever end in truth, and sorrow ! ■226 ON THE DEATH 01' A YOUNG FRIEND. He left his home with a swelling sail, Of fame and fortune dreaming, — With a spirit as free as the vernal gale. Or the pennant ahove him streaming : He hath reached his goal; — hy a distant wave, 'ISTeath a sultry sun they laid him ; And strangers bent above his grave When the last sad rites were paid him. He should have died in his own loved land, With friends and kindred near him; Not have withered thus on a foreign strand. With no cherished friend to cheer him. But what recks it now.'' Is his sleep less sound. Where the breezes wild have swept him, Than if home's green turf his grave had bound. Or the hearts he loved had wept him? Then why repine? Can he feel the rays That pestilent sun sheds o'er him; Or share the grief that must cloud the days Of the friends who now deplore him? No; his bark's at anchor, its sails are furled. It hath 'scaped the storm's deep chiding; And safe from the buffeting waves of the world, In a haven of peace is riding. 227 FORGET THEE, NO, NEVER! Forget thee, — no, never! AVhy cherish a thought To the friend of thy soul with injustice so fraught; Why embitter our tast fading moments of bliss By suspicion so "wild and unfounded as this ? Forget thee, — no, never! Among the hght hearted, Love nuiy droop and decay ■svhen the fond ones are parted. But affection like o\irs is too deep and sublime To be chilled in its ardour by absence or time. Then, gentle one, banish all doubt from thy breast; By the kiss that so late on thy lips I impressed ; By tlie griefs that have blighted the bloom of my years; By the hopt^ that still calls forth a smile through mv tears ; By the hour of our parting, thus sweetly delaved; By truth deejdy tried, and by trust unbetraved; — I will not forget thee ! — Till life's latest ray In the dark night of death shall have melted a"\vay, — ']\Iid ambition, fame, poverty, riches, or sadness, — Pain or peril, or hate, or contention, or gladness; TiCt changes the darkest or brightest betide, Thy memory shall still be my solace and pride! 228 TO A CHILD BLOWING BUBBLES. Visions of cliiklliooil ! ul't have j i- beguiled Lone manhood's cares, yet waking I'ondest sighs ■. Ah ! tliat once more 1 were a cai-eless cliild ! COLERIDGE. Thrice happy Babe! what radiant dreams are thine, As thus thou bidd'st thine air-born bubbles soar;— Who woukl not Wisdom's choicest i^'ifts resign To be, like thee, a careless child, once more. To share thy simple sports, and sinless glee; Thy breathless wonder, thy unfeigned delight. As, one l)y one, those siin-toiiched gloiies flee. In swift succession, from tjiy sti-;iiniiig sight! 22!) 'in A ciiil.l) i;l,(i\viNn i;i;bi;les. To fori a power witliiii hiniscll to mukc, Liko thee, a vainljow \vlieresoe'er lie S'O''^^ To druaiii of siiDsliiiie, and like thee to 'wake To hrightei- visions, from his eharmed repose. Who would not give his all of wijrldly lore, — The hard-earned frints of many a toil and care, — Might he but thus the faded past restore. Thy giuleless thoughts and blissful ignorance share. Yet Jjife hath bidjbles too, that soothe a while The sterner dreams of man's maturer years; Love — Friendship — I'ortunt — Fame — by tarns Ijcguile, But melt, 'neath Truth's Itliuriel-touch, to tears. Thrice happy (Jhild! a l)righter lot is thine; (What new illusion e'er can match the tirst.') IVe mourn to see each cherished hoiw decline ; Th// mirth is loudest when thy bubbles burst. 230 A DAY DREAM, WRITTEN AFTER THE AUTHOR'S RECOVERY FROM ILLNESS, O! it is iplcas:iut, with a lieai't at case, Just after sunset, ur by moonlight skies, Tu make the shifting clouds be what you please. 0'..'Lr:; RIDGE. Wliy, what a Paradise is earth to-day ! Some heavy torpor must have locked my soul In dull, unvarying listlessness till no-\^' ! Some envious film must sure have dimmed my eyes, And veiled this world of beauty from my sight. For long, long years! — Yon ever glorious sun Darts his life-giving beams upon my heart. And stirs it to a deeper sense of bliss Than e'er it felt before. My pulses gro-w Instinct with new existence, fresher life ; And all around me gathers as I gaze. Hues of a more pervading loveliness Than it was wont to wear ! The clouds above Flow on like molten silver; now and then Fretted M'ith crimson tinges, and anon Streaked with the dc^ep blue of the upper sky, 231 A DAY DKKAM. That spreads and sjivcads Ijcyoiul tliem in a sea (Jf living sapjiliire. Multitudes of forms, I'alpablv liriglit and beautiful, are nio\'ing Atli-\vart the depths ol' liea^'en ; and I see, — !So Fancy in lier A\-ayM'ard mood Avould deem, — File upon file of rich and gorgeous shajies Advancing, and advancing without end ! Throned in a car, inwoven of the Ijeanis Of the descending sun, A\hose flashing vheeh Lea\'e a long trail of glory as the)^ speed. Towers the mighty and majestic form Of the Imperial Captain; — Him -who led The forces of the' Omnipotent against The dark and daring Lucifer, and liurled The '' race rebellious" to " combustion down " And " bottomless perdition!" On his brow. His starry brow, a coronal is wreathed, Worthy the temph's of the King oi' kings ! Flis shining sword is sheathless, and its blade. Like a death-dooming meteor ere it falls In ruin upon earth, flashes in light. In terrible light, whichever way it turns! C'elestial scorn, defiance without pride, And all the wrath the son ol'Ciod may OA\n, Hath curled his lij) in beautifid disdain. A DAY DREAM. In tlic distaucf, A Inigc, slow moving mass appears to rise Darkening the sky. I look again, and lo ! iNIyriads of forms, in phalanx firm conjoined, Press on to ruin in one turbidcnt host 'Gainst the celestial Chief. In the van. The master Demon lifts his lordly crest In proud and insolent triumph, and abroad Waves his tremendous falchion! In his eye, Pride, hate, ambition, cruelty are glassed, .Vs in a mirror. O'er his lofty front His ebon locks. Medusa-like, are wreathed In many a snaky fold; and on his brow, Undiademed, are throned revenge sublime. Bloated defiance, lust of pomp and power, ^\-nd resolution not to be subdued. Those hostile bands advance, and now have gained Midway the arch of heaven! — They pause a while, — Then to the charge, and straight from pole to pole. The bray of battle rings ! The sun hath dropped Into the blushing bosom of the West, And with him the bright pageant too hath vanished! The clash of hcbn and shield, the sounds of -war, 23;3 A DAY 1)EEA:\1. Fancy Lad -wal'tcil on my dreaming car. Have sunk to silence. Not a breath disturbs The deep serene around nre; and above, Rises a lofty cupola of sky. In blue, eye-soothing beauty and repose ! No battling seraphim are there; but clouds Slow sailing on, in placid loveliness, Lilce pleasLire-bart|UCs upon a summer sea. No shields and helms shine forth in dazzling lustre; But where the Ciod (jf day hath left his smile, Are countless luu's canicleon-like that change As the glance strives to trace them, and become Momently deeper than before; anon, Twilight begins to weave her fairy web Of light and gloom, and, from the deepening East, Night spreads her elion arms to clasp the world. 234 MEET ME AT SUNSET. Meet me at sunset, the hour we love best, Ere clay's last crmison bkishes have died in the west; When the shadowless ether is blue as thine eye. And the breeze is as balmy and soft as thy sigh; AVhen giant-like Ibrnis lengthen fast o'er the ground From the motionless mill and the linden trees round; When the: stillness below, the mild radiance above. Softly sink ou the heart, and attune it to love. 2;i.5 MKE'L' ME AT SUNSET. Meet me at sunset, — oh! meet me once more, 'Neath tlie wide-spreading thorn where you met me of yore, When our hearts m'cic as caliu as the broad sunnner sea Tliat hiy gleaming l)el()re ns, l»-ight, liouiidless, and iree; And, with hand clasped in hand, we sat spell->)onnd, and (h'emcd That life wonld be ever the thing it then seemed: — The tree we then planted, green record, lives on. But the hopes that grew with it are faded and gone. Meet me at sunset, beloved, as of old, When the boughs of the chestnut are waving in gold; When the starry clematis bends down "with its bloom, And the jasmine exhales a more 'witching j^erfume. That s^•^'eet hour shall atone for the anguish of years. And though fortune still frown, bid us smile through our tears: Through the storms of the future shall soothe and sustain; Then, meet me at sunset — oh, meet me again! 2.36 INVOCATION TO THE SPIRIT OF A SEA-SHELL BIuimLirings from witliiii Wei'p heard, sonorous Ciidences, wherpli>- To his beliel' tlie monitor expressed Mysterious union witli its native sen, WORDSWORTH, Voice of the deep, illimitable sea, Discarded offspring of the wind and wave ! That, like a cajjtive struggling to be free. Thus ever moan'st in thy mysterious cave, — Art thou a syren, by some sea-god's spell. Prisoned in this smooth shell i Or, hut a spirit of the vasty deep, Called up to earth by some enchanter's wand? — Whose was the charm that broke thy long, cold sleep, And sent thee, murmuring, from thy parent sand? How wert thou ushered to the realms of day. Syren or spirit, say? 237 IN^'OCATION TO 'ITIK SFIIilT < 1 1' A SIvV-STF I'.I.I,. Yet iiiori.', — I would know more! I limn to pierce Tile liidden secrets oi' thine ocean iKtme; — AVliere are the victims of its surges iierce, Who dreamed of cahns, to wake amid their foam; The souls that perished 'ncath the stormy wa-sx, When none M'ere nigh to save.'' Where are the stately ship and gaUant crew, Whose haph'ss fate is seah'd to all beside: The warrior bold a I'ear that never knew; The gentler liearts that death could not divide ! Where are the lost and loved so many seek.'' Speak, I conjure thee, speak! How dost thou ansN\-er:' With a 1om\ sweet dirge, Sad as the booming of the sullen main, The I'ar-olF warnings of the restless surge, ^yheu storms are gi-owing into strength again! T'ercliance a refjuicni for the glorious dead. Youth, beauty, valour, fled. Whate'er thy source and purjwse, I rejoice To list thy mjstic murmurings, soft and clear: To me thou seemest like a still, small voice. By f'onsciencc whispered in my "\\orld-vexed ear. To lead my soul from groveling things of earth, To hopes of loi'tier birth! 238 I'l-IE WEDl^ING DAY. The last! tho lasl ! the lasl ! Oh, by that Utile vei-a, IIuw many thoiif^lits are stuTt^d ! CAROLINE SoaTHEY. Nay, cliide me not! I cannot chase The gloom that wraps my mouI away; Nor wear, as erst, the sniiHng lace That best beseems this hallowed day: Fain woidd my yearning heart be gaj', Its wonted Avelconie breathe to thine; But sighs come blended with my lay. And tears of anguish blot the line. I cannot sing, as once I sung Our bright and cheerful hearth beside; AV^hen gladness ruled my heart aiul tongu And looks of fondest love replied : The meaner cares of earth defied, ^Ye heeded not its outward din, How loud soc'er the storm might chide. So all was calm and fair within. ■|IH', -WEDIMKG DAY, A blight upon our bliss hath come ; AVi' arc not what wc were of yore — The music of our hearts is dumb; Oar iircside mirth is heard no more! Tlie little cricket's chirp is o'er That filled our happy home with glee ; The dove hatli fled whose pinions bore Healing and peace for thee and me. Our youngist born, our autunai flowei'. The best beloved, because the last; I'he star that shone above our bo\\'er. When many a cherished dream had passed; The one sweet hope, that o'er us east Its rainbow form of life and light, And smiled defiance on the blast. Hath vanished frinn our eager sight. Oh! sadden was tlie wrench that toi'e Alfection'o firmest links ajjart. And doubly l)arl)ed the shaft ^^L' ■\\ore Peep in each bleeding heart of heart: I'Vir who can bear irom bliss to ^'''H'tji 'W^ithout one sign, one warning token; 'ho sleep in peace, then wake, and start, To hnd life's liurest promise brokcm .^ 2 10 THK WEDDIKG ])AY. AVhen last this cherished day came rotind, What aspirations sweet were ours; Fate, long' unkind, our hopes had crowned. And strewn, at length, our path with flowers. How darkly now the prospect lowers; How thornjr is our homeward way; How more than sad the evening hours That used to glide like hliss away. Aud, half infected by our gloom. Yon little mourner sits and sighs; His playthings, scattered 'round the room, No more attract his listless eyes : Mutely his infant task he plies. Or moves with soft and stealthy tread; And called, in tones subdvied replies, As if he feared to Avake the dead. Where is the blitlie companion gone. Whose sports he loved to guide and share? Where is the merry child who won All hearts to fondness? Where, oh, Avhere! The empty crib, the vacant chair. The favourite toy, alone remain. To wliisper to oiu- hearts' despair Of hopes we cannot feel again. 241 TliF, AVl';Dl)IK(i ]IAY. yVy, joyless is oiii- ' iiiglc nook,' Its gonial light wc own no more ; Our fireside wcais an altered look, A gloom it never knew before ! The converse sweet, the cherished lore, That once could cheer our stormiest day; Those revels of the soul are o'er, Those simple pleasures passed away. Then chide me not, I cann(jt sing A soncr bcfittim>' love and thee ; " ]My heart and harp have lost the string " On which huug half their melody: Yet soothing sweet it is to me, Since fled the smiles of happier years. To know that still our hearts are free, Betide what nia}% to mingle tears. 212 w^^^w SAPPHO. It was her evil star aljnve. Not her sweet lute that wroui^'ht her wrun^ It was not song that taught her luve, But it was love that taught her song. L. E.L. Though many an age hath passed aAvay Fair Sappho smce thy birth. Thy name, as a familiar sound, Still lins with felon shall to smite. His innocence availed him not, they knew the C[iicnchless hate Pie bore that despot's iron rule, and dragged liini to his fate ; Tln'u stormed his undefended to^^'crs, and left of all his tiain Of fi'iends or vassals, kin or kind^ but one to soothe his piiin. And not in pity was she spared from tliat remorseless slaughter, 'Twas but to glut the rage refined of Austria's wolfish daughter ; But ere he'r vengeance was complete, she glided from her po^ver. And fiew to lighten with her prayers her Rudolph's parting hour. And liending o'er her dying lord that faithful woman stands, With pallid cheek, disheveled hair, and clasped, beseech- ing hands; 254 WOMAN S I.OA'K. The aid denied to her on eartli she craves from One above, And sure, if mortal prayers avail, hers Avill not bootless prove ! They brained her babe before her eyes, even smiling in its sleep; They wrenched her Rudolph from her arms, she shrieked, but did not weep; She heard the sentence of their hate, but still she shed no tear; They marred her beauty with their chains; she burst them, and is here! Awed by such more than mortal love, the ruthless slaves around. Even to the minister of death, are silent and spell-bound; They dare not for their souls approach A^'liat to their wondering eyes Shews like some radiant seraph form descended from the skies. Well may they deem her not of eai'th, for earth hath seldom seen Such holy love, such fervid faith, so suffering yet serene; 255 ^voJ\lA^; s J,()^'l^. But when the cloud of blight descends, of darkness and despair, Upon the trusted head and heart, what will not "Woman dare! That scene is all deserted now, that martyr's pangs no more ; And she ^\'ho soothed his parting hour, her vigil too is o'er; For when her last sad hope was gone, her stricken heart to hide, (She sought a covert ti'oni her foes, \N'i-enched out the dart, and died. 25(i AMIENS CATHEDRAL The House 01' (Jod is the Home of the sorrowful. ANNA MARIA POHTKR. The doors unfold ! I gaze with breathless thrill ; All that my fancy pictured there appears; Strange that stone walls should have the power to fill The heart with gladness, and the eye with tears : Like a tired child that gains its mother's breast, I enter in, and feel my soul at rest! 257 A^rr F.xs ( A'l'irv.DHAL. I mii^ht not speak, too sarrcd seemed the S2)ot; 1 coidd not sigh, for peace was with me then; The workl with all its idle cares forgot : Oil, Avere tliiuc architects but sinful men! An atmosphere of heaven seemed breathing 'round, Thy avails bade welcome, though without a sound. Silence descended like a brooding dove; IViiitih', procession, all had passed away; Motion was not, save that the hand of love Pointfxl from twilight to the jDerfect day ! I stilh d my heart, and held my breath to hear A\"ords that seemed wliispering in my dreaming car. ' Hath love of glory taught thine heart to sigh, Honour's bright wreath, the thirst for high renown. Lured thee, from step to step, to climb on high, Then dashed the chalice and the votary down.'' Foiled, crushed, and trampled spirit, draM' thee near, A world-rejected heart is cherished here! ' Tlath love licguiled thee with his promise fair, P>liss unalloyed, affection's self unchillcd. Won thy young heart to give thee back despair, — A poisoned cup from sweetest flowers distilled ! Tjcave withered hoj^cs for those that ne'er grow sere, A love unchangeal)le is promised ln're. 258 A3W1K.NS CATHEDKAL. ' Gifted of nature, spendtlirift of the mind, A golden idol is thy master-taste; Lot go each cherished sin, howe'er refined. The hidden talent, feelings run to waste : Dreamer awake, shake off thy coward fear. Gird up thy loins, and know thy strength is here! 'Regretful s^jirit, brooding o'er the past. Achievements high conceived, but never won; Draw near and clown thy heavy burthen cast, Remorse for "good received, and evil done:" Give passion utterance and free way the tear. Sorrow that worketh joy awaits thee here! ' Heart-broken prodigal, why stand alar; This House of Refuge, is it not for thee? World-spent and wearied with life's ceaseless jar, Shake off thy bondage, triumph, and be free : AVelconre awaits thee, plenteous is the cheer; Peace to thee, weary one, thy rest is here ! ' Sorrowful spirit, whatsoe'er the grief That forged thy fetter, make that grief thy plea; He who in suffering was the Martyr-Chief, Hath balm for all, whate'er the wound may be: A shadowy path leads to a cloudless sphere. But till ye gain it, know your home is here ! ' 259 J/*/-- thh; g losing scene. will) can !n-in^ liiviiiii;; to lii'r heart's tlespair, Ilei- whulc rirli sum ofbappinL'Ss lies there! GROLY Pale is his clicck Avitli deep, impassioned tlioiight, Save when a fe^'crish hectie crosses it. Flooding its lines with crimson. From beneath The long, dark fringes of its drooping lid Flash forth the fitful glances of his eye With an irnearthly brightness. On that lid The swelling brow weighs heavily, as thongli THE <;T,()STN(i SCPJNK. Bursting with thought for utterance too intense \ His lip is curled with something too of pride Which ill beseems the meekness and repose That shorild, at such an hour, within his heart, Spite of this world's vexations, be combined. 'Tis not disdain; for only those he loves Are irear him no"w, with soft, low-whispered words Tendering heart-offered services, and watching, With fond inquietude, the couch on which His slender form reclines. What can it be.' — Perchance some rooted memory of the past; Some dreanr of injured pride that fain would wreak Its force on dumb expression; — some fierce wrong That his young soul hath suffered unapipeased: But thoughts like these must be dispelled before That soul can plume its wings to part in peace. And now his glance is lifted to the face Of one who bends above him with an air Of fond solicitude, and props his head. With her own graceful arm, until at length The sliding pillow is replaced; but, ere His cheek may press on its uneven down, Her delicate hand hath smoothed it. Too well divineth he the voiceless woe That breathes in each unbidden sigh, and beams From her large, loving eyes ! Too Avell he knoAvs 261 ■|'iM': (:i,(]SiX(; sci^iSM-:. That grid' and kccu anxiety for him Have chased the rose from her once brilliant cheek. His qnivcring lips unclose, as if to pour The fond aclvno\\'ledgments of duteous love In that s^veet niouiiier's ear; but his parched tongue Its aid refuses. Cjathering then each ray, Each "\'ivid ray, of feeling from his heart Into a single focus, in his eye His inmost soul is glassed, and love, deep loyc, And gratefid admiration, beam confessed In one wild, passionate glance! The gentle girl Basks her awhile in that full blaze, then stoops, And, hiding her pale iace upon his In'cast, ]\[urmurs sounds inarticulate but syeet As the low wail of summer's evening lu'eath Amid the wind-lnn'p's strings. Then Inirsts the tide Of woe tliat m;iy no longer be repressed, Stirred from its source by chill, hope-withering fears. And from her clnirged 'lids big drops descend In swift succession. AVith more ti'emulous hand Clas])s she the sufferer's neck. Upon his brow The damps of death are settling, and his (yes (jiro\^- fixed and meaningless. She marks the change ^Yitli desperate earnestness; and staying even Her breath, that nothing may disturl) the hush. Lays her wan cheek still closer to liis heart, 202 THK CLOSING sriENK. And listens, as its varying pnlses move, Haply to catcli a sonnd betokening life. It beats — again — another — and anotlrer, — And now hatli ceased for ever! What a shriek, A shrill and soul-appalling shriek bursts forth. When the full truth hath rushed upon her brain! Who may describe the rigidness of frame. The stony look of hopeless misery With which she hangs o'er that unmoving clay? Not I; my pt^icil hath no further power, So here I'll drop the Grecian painter's veil! 263 ON K'EVISrriNG A SCENE OF EARLY LIFE. II is tlie s.-imc cU-av Llizzliir,' socm-, 1'imIi;i]is till' rrrass is scai'LH- as yia'cn ; r('ili;ii)> llie river's [ruuljlod vuici', Dues mil su plainly say ' UL'ji)i(a>.' W. B. P[-;OCTF.R. Sweet pastoral Aale! when hope was youn"-, And Hie looked green and bright as tlioii, Ere tins "world's toils or eares liad flung A. shade of sadness on my broA\', — A loiterer in thy sylvan bowers, I whiled away uncounted hours, And by thine o^A'n scc[uestered stream, Poured forth in song lo^e's first, m ild dream! Jh'ight River, as it lapsed along In glory on its winding "way. Like Youth's first hopes, rejoicing, strong. And full of hea^'en's o\mi hues as tlu'-\-. — I little thought that storms wiudd iling 'Idieir shadows o'er so lair a thing; Or that //(// course ■\\'oi.dd e^'er be IjCss calm than then it seemed to me. 2(i4 ON 1!E\IS1TING A SCENE OF EAKLV l.IFK. I came \vhen wintry Avinds were high. And storms were hurthng in the air; Thy river rushed a torrent by, Thy skies were dim, thy ti-ees were bare; And that lone ruin erst that rose An emblem of thy charmed repose, Seemed struoo-lincr with the fitful blast, Like some gaunt spectre of the Past. A change was in my aching breast. As dark as that I found in thee; Thoughts, as thy waves impetuous, pressed O'er my sad soul tumultuously. As gazing on that altered scene, I thought of what we both had been: I see thee calm and fair once more : Wlren will my stormier day be o'er? And thou art now a tairy dream To stir the source of sweetest tears; Thy sun-touched fane, and sparlvling stream, ]My beacoTi-lights to other years : Oh, might my world-worn spirit close Its weary pinions in repose, I would not ask more perfect bliss Than such a resting-place as this! 2(i,'5 ON THE DEATH OF A CHILD. >^\vi'rt ilu\v(.'rl witli Hovxl'Is I stirw tliv narrow bfti 1 Sweets lu the swrel ! FarrwcU '. A cloud is on my heart and bi'0"\v, Tlio tears are in my eyes. And wishes fond, all idle now, Arc stifled into sighs; — As musing on thine early doom, 'i'hou bud of beauty snatched to bloom, So soon, 'neath milder skies. 1 turn, thy paintul struggle past, From what thou art to Avliat thou wast! I think of all thy Avinning Avays, Thy frank but boisterous glee, I'liy arch, sweet smiles, thy coy dihn s. Thy step, so light and free; Thy sparkling glance, and hasty rim, 'Ihy gladness Avlien the task was done And gained thy mother's knee; — Thy gay, good-humoured, childish ease. And all thy thousand arts to please! ON THE DKATII OK A OlilLl). AVhere are they iio-w, and where, oil -where, The eager, fond caress, The blooming cheek, so fresh and fair. The lips all sought to press.'' The open brow, and langhing eye. The heart that leaped so joyously.'' Ah! had we loved them less! Yet there are thoughts can bring relief. And sweeten even this cup of grief. Thou hast escaped a thorny scene, A wilderness of woe. Where many a blast of anguish keen Had taught thy tears to flow; Perchance some wild and withering grief Had sered thy summer's earliest leaf. In these dark bowers below, Or sickening thrills of hope deferred. To strife thy gentlest thoughts had stirred! 'Thou hast escaped life's fitful sea Before the storm arose, ^Whilst yet its gliding waves were free From aught that niaircd repose; 267 i)N I'Hi; DlvVnl OV A (1111,11. Safe from the tliuusaiid throes of pain, Ere sin or sorro'w breatlicd a stain Upon thine opening rose; — And who can cahnly think of this, iSTor envy tliee tliv doom of l^lissf' I cnlk'd from liome's Ijclovcd Ijowers To deck tliT last h)ng sk'cp, The hriglitest-hued, most fragrant flowers Tliat summer's dews may steep: The roselnul, emblem meet, was there. The violet blue, and jasmine fair That drooping seemed to weep; — And now I add this lowlier spell: — Sweets to the passing sweet, farewell! 268 EGYPT UNVISI'I^ED. sao~ERTF,D BY ;,[K. DiVID aOM^RT.^'S EGYPTIA^C SKF.TCHl'^. The poetry of earth is lading' fast; It hath no region it eaii call its own; Tlie dim, religions light of old that cast Mysterious l)C'autv on its hannts hath flown! Science, with eye of microscopic power, And disenchanting lamp, from land to land. With railroad speed continues still to scour, Till scarce a spot on earth remains unscanned '2(','.) Kr.YPT |IN\'1SITF,11. Even the A'ast l'vr:mii(l hatli now IwcDmc A tliiiii;' wliDsc srtTcts all arc kno-\\'ii too well; The liar]! of INIcmnon is for ever diiinl); And e\'en the Spliinx hath nothing- lel't t(j tell ! The Nile, so loiii;' a ri\-er oi' tile heart, ITath now no mystic pro1)lcm to unveil ; And its drear desert, tnice a thing ajiart From common I'oads, ^vr soon mav cross ])\ rail! No gi'cen oasis jiom" enchants the eve, With its tall palms and fountains jjubltlinn' o'er; The desert ship we loved in days gone bv. Is lint a camel now. "and nothini!" more !" Then wh)- thi'ough Eg>'pt should I seek to I'oam, Fancy to feed "\\'ith scenes that will but mock it; A\'itli graphic Itoberts hir mv guide {at home). And jMurrav's trusty "Hand-Book"' in nn" pocket. THE AVALANCHE. 'Tis Niglit; and Silence with iinmoviiig wings Broods o'er the sleeping -s-i-atcrs; — not a sound Breaks its most breatldcss hush. The sweet moon flings Her pallid lustre on the hills around. Turning the sno-ws and ices that have cro\\"ned, Since Chaos reigned, each vast, untrodden height. To beryl, pearl, and silver; — whilst, profound. In the calm, waveless lake, reflected bright. And girt with arroM'v rays, rests her Ml orb of light. The' eternal mountains momently are peering Through the dark clouds that mantle them; on high Their glittering crests majestically rearing, More like to children of the infinite sky. Than of the daedal earth. Triumphantly, Prince of the whirlwind, ]\Ionarcli of the scene. Mightiest where all are mighty; from the eye Of mortal man half hidden by the screen Of mists that veil his base from Arve's dark, deep rapine, 271 ■I'lIK A^ AI. ANCniv Stands the iiingnificcnt IMontblanc ; his brow Scarred. ^\'ith iunuinerous thunders; — most snhHine, Even as thoui^h risen from the ■world hehiw To mark the progress ol'Deca}'; by chnie, Storm, bliglit, iire, earthqual-ce, lessened not; like Time, Stern chronicler of centuries gone by, Doomed by a liea"\'enly fiat still to climb. Swell and increase with years incessantly, Then vield at length to thee, most dread Eternity! Hark! theie art' sounds of tumidt and commotion Hurtling in muvnuu-s on the distant air, Like the 'wild music of a Avind-lashed ocean ; — They rage, they gather now; yon yalley fair Still sleeps in moon-bright lovtdiness, but there jMethiidvs a form of horror 1 behold ^A'ith giaut-sti'ide descending! 'Tis Despair, Eiding the rushing Avalanche; no\v rolled I'roui yon stee]i slojir — by when: — what mortal may unfold '. Perchance a breath from fervid Italv Unloosed the aii-hiuig thunderer; ox the tone Toured i'rom some hunter's horn; or, it may be. The echoes of the mountain cataract, thro^-n Amid its \(ii(((nl snob's, ha'\'e thus called do'wn THE AVALANCHE. The ovcrAvhelniing ruin on the vale. Howbeit a mystery to man unknown, 'Twas but some unseen power that did prevail, For an inscrutable end, its slumbers to assail. IMadly it bursts along, like a broad river That gathers strength in its most fierce career ; The black and lofty pines a moment cjuiver Before its breath, but, as it draws more near, Crash — and are seen no more. Fleet-footed Fear, Pale as that white-robed minister of wrath. In silent wilderment her face doth rear. And, having gazed upon its blight and scathe, Flies with the swift chamois from its death-dooming path 273 TO T'DKSY. Poesy! thou swcot'st content Tliat o'er Heaven to mortals lent, Tlioujilt for thy sake 1 am rrost. Though nry Iiest hopes I liave hjst, And I knew thou'dst make my troulilc 7^'n limes more than ten times douljle, I slmoMloie and kee|, thee too, S].ite ,dall tlie Morld eoold do. Tliiroi;h tlioo he to them a si-orn Tlial to n(iU'.;lil lint eartli are burn; Let m\ lite onlnOL'er IjO, Tlnin I am in hjie with tliee ! WITHER, I ahrays loved tliec gciitlo I'ocsy! And tliougli tliou oft liftst served to voi'k me ■\voe. Do love tliec still; — nurtured beneatli thine eye, "' For me the mealiest, simplest flowers that blow. Have often thoughts thdt lie too dei'p for tears." Not all the joys the nuiltitude ean know yiioidd e'er scduee my bosom to forego Thy sacred influence : yet from earliest years. Like that frail phint ^\'hosc shrinking leaves betray The ctireless pressure of an idle hand, Mv heart, nnsehooled in guile, could ne'er command Its hectics of the moment : — let thv ray, Then, thou sweet source of sorrow and delight. Beam on tliy votary's soul "with more tittcmpered light 1 R M . 1271 THE HOME OF TALIESSIN. The remains, consisting of little more than the foundation-stones, of the dwelling of the celebrated Welsh bard Taliessin, are still pointed out in a romantic gorge of the mountains near Llanrwyst, at no great distance from the Druid waves of Llynn Geiri- onedd. The view which is commanded from this spot is one of the most picturesque that can be imagined. I Stood on the spot "svhere the famed Taliessin, " The Prince of the Bards," had his dwelHng of old; Sad thoughts on my memory, unbidden, were pressing, Of hopes wildly thwarted, and friendships grown cold! Eve was yielding to twilight; yet still richly glowing, The deep skies reflected the sun that had fled; And below me, in musical murmurs, were flowing The bright purple waters of Llynn Geirionedd. I looked on the mighty hills gathered around it, — Like Titans they stood, with their cloud-girded brows; And I thought of the minstrel whose genius had crowned it, As I gazed on their summits of shadows and snows. 275 THE HOJIE OF TALIESSIN. I called on his name who had roused from lier slumbers Sweet Echo, how oft, in her deep-hidden lair; I asked, where, and oh where, breathes he now his wild nnmbers? And the mountains around answered, ^vliere, and oh where ? Tears have fleeted since then; — but in sickness and sadness. As I muse on the hopes that once promised so fair, I ask, where, and oh where, are those visions of gladness ? And my bosom's deep cell echoes, where, and oh ■where ? 27(> I WILL NEVER LOVE THEE MORE! I will never love thee more, Thongli I loved thee cmvc so well; Why, a prodigal, the store Of my hosoiu's inmost cell. Should I waste on one who ne'er Won a truthful heart Ijefore; Let who will thy favour share, / will never love thee more! I will never love thee more! Wherefore to an idol how. Why a deity adore, Heartless, hollow, cold as thou ! Fools the facile smiles may win, That 'twas mine to win of yore; AVorship misapplied, is sin; I will never love thee more ! J WILT, NEVKR IJ>YV, TIIKE MORe! I will never love tliee more, Though I loved thee once so well; Love's illusion now is o'er, Take then, take my last farewell! Should thy practised Avilcs again Touch some truthful bosom's core, JSe the thought not stirred in vain, lf''h[/ /ne'er can love thee more! 27S A LAMENT FOR THE FAIRIES. O, ye have lost, iVIuuntains. and moors, and meads, the radiant thrun^^ Tliat pt'upled jour green solitudes, and filled The air, the fields, with beauty and with joy Intense ; with a rich mystery that awed The mind, and flunfj around a thousand licarths Divinest tales, that through the enchanted year Pound passionate listeners ! CARKINGTUN. Beautiful lictions of our trusting youth^ (Visions we sigh that Ave have only drcamccl!) When Fancy mocked the searching gaze of Truth, And the whole earth with bright enchantments teemed ; 279 A I.AMHM'I' FOR TIIK FAIHIKS. Jiinv have we loved to i'ovest glades to flee; l!y haunted streams Tin thought) to talce our stand; To watch you circling round the greenwood tree, Or trace your gambols on the moonlit strand! Oi', when in gorgeous panoply arrayed, "J^o grace some pageant of the Elfin Queen, You pricked along, a gallant cavalcade, Paiutiu"- the verdant turf a li\'elicr "-reen! Nor less we loved )"(-Ui, vvdien, with pitying air, And hand beneficent, around you showered Gifts, might the world's and nature's spite repair. And leave tlie liomeliest maiden doubly dowered! But tlie bright realm of Faii}iaud is goue; Its Iris-tinted train hath passed away; And Ariel, Tilab, Titania, Oberon, Ijut grace the painter's scene, or poet's lay! Even Puck, dear imp of mischief and of mirth, "O'er hill and dale," at length, hath ceased to range; Though long-eared ISottoms eiuuber still the earth, ^\ hose " asses' uu"wls " he is not here to change ! 280 A I.AllEN'L' FOR THE FAIRIES. The " Sworcl of Sharpness" is no longer keen; The "Seven League Boots" we distance, now, at will; Our sole surviving "Giant" is the Spleen; Which we, like David, with a stone can kill !* No more, no more, upon the velvet mead, On mushroom tables, are your hanc|uets spread; No more, with flying feet, the dance you speed, 'Till dimming glow-worms hint 'tis time for bed! No "fairy favours" now reward the fair; Nor pearls nor diamonds from her lips are told; No elfin matron makes her bliss her care. With purse cxhaustless, fdled with lliiry gold! Your aid unseen, like angel-help, in vain. The toil-worn hind may, in his strait, implore; The " shadowy flail," to case his task, will rain Its stalwart blows in his behoof no more ! Virtue no longer, in her sorest needs, By fairy hands is rescued from her thrall; And rampant Vice, how dark soe'er liis deeds. Your well-earned frowns may now no more a[)pal ! •■ Fling liul 11 stone till' (Jimit lUrs !-~(_il'i hi'nh; And deepest sik'nce hung, Like a garment, o'er the hrnd; When a hjTxd and shrill re\'eille rung From a grisly drunnni r's Land! It rolled through the startled spaee. That wild, unea.rthly sound; "I'ill the martyred dead of a doomed raei', r prose, and eroAvded 'joiind ! I'rom the sleeping (,'ity near; Fi'iiui the hright and genial South; From the sauds of Egypt's deserts dreai'; Fi'om the l)auul)e's storm\ mouth; 2K'l JJAFOLEON S DREAM. From the ico-realms of the North; From devoted Moscow's plain; Burst the might of armed myriads forth To that stirring call again! From the depths of Lybian seas; From the Tyrol's mountains blue ; From the base of the snowy Pyrenees ; From the deadly Waterloo! For, many a far-off land, And man)' a -wandering wave, Had heard that loud and stern command, And had yielded up its brave! A trumpet-peal is blown ; Those scattered hosts combine; And the soldier-slaves of the Iron Crown Arise, and make their sign. On shadowy chargers mounted, ""A^ith swords uplifted high, Fi'om battle-fields uncounted, The' Imperial Guards draw nigh;- 285 NAPdIJ'.ON S DKF.AjM, A legion old and hoary, With cheeks all ghastly wliite; With bosoms gashed and gory, ])ut Eagles i>(ild(.'n hriyht; They raise tlieir pallid broAvs, In the wan moon's sickly glare; — But, vain the once-loved sight to rouse Napoleon's deep despair! Still, the Drummer 1)v his side Plies his bleached and fleshless arm; Till, sTirging on like the ocean tide, Those grislv spectres swarm! They shout no rirrits ]io«-. Tor the chieltain once so dear; Tor curses deep, though murmured low vVlone salute liis ear. Ida! whence that phantom throng 'I'hat lih' before him now, 7\u not to leave thee so. A paraphrase dl' verses IG and 17 of the first chapter of llie Book of Ruth. Page oS, line lo. •S'« i\l. Mason, Iv}- Laiic, i'ateriitistur lUiw. ERRAl'A. age -jQ, line 1 4, fi>r " gone," rcoil " flown.'' \'n, ., Vi, for " i.s," rciiil " arc." 1-"'H, ,, L>^, /"/■ "nj^," road "by." 17^, ,, 12, /o/' "claim," )Ti(d "chain." 237, title,/';/' "spirit," read " eclin." 28'^, line 17, for "earlier," read " \oTitliful/' 18.3, title of plate, fur "W. .Miller," read " W. H PREPARING FOR PUBLICATION, B/j tlic .''amc Author. I. IN ONE VOLUltE, CROWS OCTATO, C O M ]M O N SENSE. A rOIiM: IN THE IlEEOIC COUPLET. Of jjliiin sotmj sense life's current cuin is made. YUUNU. II. IN ONE VOLUME, CROWN OCTATO, HOUSEHOLD SONGS: FOUNDED ON ONE HUNDRED SELECT rilOVERES OE ALL NATIONS. WITH ILLUSTRATIONS. lU. BT MRS. ALARIC WATTS, THE BIETH-DAY COUNCIL; OP. HOW TO BE USEFUL. A TALE FOR YOUNG LADIES. I'ui' ye have tin.- pour ■with you always, and A\liensnijvcr yv Avill ye may do Ihcin f:ood. ^T. IMAllK, Xl\". m i