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 THE EMIGRANT, 
 
 OTHER POEMS. 
 
 CHISWICK : 
 PRINTED BY C. WH1TTINGHAM. 
 
 MDCCCXXXIK. 
 

 205449 
 '15 
 
£5> 
 
 H 
 
 ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 As the following verses are not intended 
 for publication, prefatory remarks may be 
 deemed, and probably are, superfluous ; 
 especially as it is not in my power to 
 plead that established and universal excuse 
 for staining paper — c the request of friends.' 
 No friend has requested me to print, and 
 I have done so chiefly to gratify the affec- 
 tion one so naturally feels for the offspring 
 of his brain, uncouth and misshapen 
 though they be. Perhaps the foregoing 
 is a sufficient reason to assign, seeing that 
 
IV ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 I demand no one's coin in exchange for 
 my paper ; but I have also another. 
 
 Many of the following pieces originally 
 appeared in periodical publications, whence 
 they have been copied into several recent 
 collections of poems, and in almost every 
 instance, besides the blemishes chargeable 
 on my inexperience, inability, and occa- 
 sionally hasty composition, a few new 
 readings, for which I was entirely indebted 
 to the printer, have been carefully perpe- 
 tuated. I have therefore reproduced in 
 this Volume such pieces as I consider 
 worthy of the perusal of my friends, and 
 have endeavoured, by revision, to make 
 them less imperfect than formerly. 
 
 So much in explanation of having 
 printed. If I am asked, why, having 
 
ADVERTISEMENT. V 
 
 printed, I do not publish ? I answer, — that 
 which may be gratifying to the connexions 
 of an individual may be quite uninter- 
 esting to, and unworthy the attention of, 
 the Public; and, moreover, that I would 
 rather encounter the verbal strictures of 
 the fire-side than the more formidable 
 assaults of printed criticism. 
 
 With regard to the verses themselves I 
 have only to observe that, generally speak- 
 ing, they have not been perpetrated with 
 malice aforethought, but were produced 
 just as the whim and leisure of the moment 
 dictated and permitted. The tale which 
 gives a title to the volume must however 
 be excepted from this remark, being com- 
 paratively long. In making choice of a 
 theme I had not recourse to imagination, 
 but to events of not uncommon occurrence 
 
VI ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 in real life. I have endeavoured to treat 
 the subject with appropriate simplicity, 
 and have depended solely on the incidents 
 of the story to awaken the sympathy of 
 the reader. 
 
 N. HA1LES, Jun. 
 
 BROMPTON, 
 January I, 1S33. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 
 The Emigrant j 
 
 Cowslips 4q 
 
 Ode to Winter 42 
 
 Change 43 
 
 Retrospection 44 
 
 Son g • 47 
 
 The Betrayed 49 
 
 To the Stars 51 
 
 Welcome to Spring 52 
 
 Repose 55 
 
 To a Bee 57 
 
 Truth versus Poesy .... 58 
 
 Ode to Death .60 
 
 To Annie ...... gi 
 
 To my Infant Son 63 
 
 To my Daughter in Sickness • . . . qq 
 
 Ni S ht .' 68 
 
 For the Grave of Napoleon 70 
 
 Lucy May . 74 
 
 A Wish 7 q 
 
 Childhood jj 
 
 War • • ! 86 
 
Vlll CONTEXTS. 
 
 
 
 
 
 Page 
 
 I think of Thee . 89 
 
 The Town .... 
 
 
 
 
 91 
 
 A Comparison 
 
 
 
 
 . 93 
 
 Ocean 
 
 
 
 
 . 95 
 
 Ballad .... 
 
 
 
 
 . 97 
 
 From an unpublished Tale 
 
 
 
 
 . 102 
 
 Last Wishes 
 
 
 
 
 . 104 
 
 To the Redbreast 
 
 
 
 
 105 
 
 To the Violet .... 
 
 
 
 
 107 
 
 Lines written beneath a Portrait 
 
 
 
 
 108 
 
 Village Bells . 
 
 
 
 
 110 
 
 The Old Man's Lament 
 
 
 
 
 113 
 
 The Last 
 
 
 
 
 113 
 
THE 
 
 EMIGRANT, 
 
 AND 
 
 OTHER POEMS. 
 
 THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 I N that fair province of Britannia's isle, 
 Where Avon pours his limpid tide along, 
 
 Through vales that bask in nature's gentlest smile ; 
 Where first drew breath the bard supreme in song ; 
 
 Where yet, defying time, the hoary pile 
 
 Of stout Earl Guy attracts the gaping throng — 
 
 A maiden, pure as the transparent dew 
 
 She trod at morn, to woman's stature grew. 
 
 B 
 
THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 II. 
 
 No scion she of an ancestral race, 
 Ages had lent no halo to her name, 
 
 Yet she had that from nature which might grace 
 The pedigree most rich in rank and fame; 
 
 Nobility of soul is not of place 
 
 Nor station ; none by earthly patent claim 
 
 That which ennobles peasants, and which sheds 
 
 New honours upon coroneted heads. 
 
 in. 
 
 Simple were Mary's pleasures; o'er her flowers 
 To bend, and bathe their roots with mimic rain, 
 
 When summer skies withheld the needed showers; 
 To trail the climbing woodbine round the pane ; 
 
 To watch the bees, forth issuing from their bowers, 
 Or homeward speeding, laden, from the plain; 
 
 Or her loved bird to teud, that all day long 
 
 Repaid her care with oft repeated song. 
 
THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Such were her recreations; labours meet 
 
 In turn were hers, and both alike could please ; 
 
 To bread was metamorphosed homegrown wheat; 
 The snowy curd became a massy cheese ; 
 
 Pure wine was press'd from berries ripe and sweet, 
 Which left unwish'd for that from o'er the seas ; 
 
 And she, with temper meek and mind serene, 
 
 Flourished, the fairy of the rustic scene. 
 
 Hers was a frame from nature's finest mould ; 
 
 A cheek with pure blood tinged ; a step as light 
 As the wild deer's, when hunters' clarion bold 
 
 Startles him into half-contemptuous flight ; 
 Sweet smiles would oft her coral mouth unfold, 
 
 Displaying teeth as new-carved ivory white ; 
 Her voice was music's echo, and her words 
 Flowed free and artless as the notes of birds. 
 
THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 VI. 
 
 She had a large eye of the palest blue, 
 Or it might rather be a lustrous gray, 
 
 An orb o'erfill'd with light, that while it drew 
 Observance turn'd the keenest gaze away, 
 
 Dazzling and baffling the beholder's view, 
 Like the unclouded sun at noon of day; 
 
 And round a forehead nobly arch'd and fair 
 
 Loose natural ringlets flowed of auburn hair. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Her heart was quick, and sensitive, and gay, 
 Yet deem not therefore with light feelings fraught, 
 
 The stream that ripples brightest in the ray 
 May darkly flow in depths suspected not; 
 
 And Mary, even in her hours of play, 
 Had often intervals of sadder thought, 
 
 A second- sight that o'er her spirit cast 
 
 Shadows of ills, alas ! approaching fast. 
 
THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 But when at village wake the parted met, 
 And mingled joyous in the social glow; 
 
 When hospitable doors forgot to shut, 
 
 And nought might check of mirth the guileless flow, 
 
 None to the viol, among the rustic set, 
 
 On the green sward replied with nimbler toe ; 
 
 While o'er her features flitted smiles as bright 
 
 As the young spirit whence they drew their light. 
 
 IX. 
 
 When the fierce sun, 'mid skies serenely blue, 
 Tinged with autumnal gold the heavy grain, 
 
 Which springtide rain had fed, and summer dew; 
 And from the field came harvest's latest wain ; 
 
 And rose the whistle, song, and loud halloo, 
 Of the sunburnt and merry hearted train, 
 
 Hers was the housewife's toil, which only ceased 
 
 When on the huge board smoked the harvest feast. 
 
THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 And when the bells, heard all the valley round, 
 Drew old and young towards the village spire, 
 
 Among the earliest there was Mary found, 
 With sabbath mien, graceful but plain attire, 
 
 And wayside flowers within her girdle bound, 
 Perchance a rose from the uncultured brier, 
 
 Forget-me-not, or iris from the brook, 
 
 Or violets, pining for their shady nook. 
 
 XI. 
 
 She heard, nor wish'd to roam, of foreign climes; 
 
 Blue skies, rich vales, and noisy glittering towns; 
 Of orange bowers, and groves of shady limes ; 
 
 Yet never stray'd beyond the neighbouring downs 
 Or nearest market town, and if at times 
 
 Wild fancy roved 'mid hills with snowy crowns, 
 And plains whose summer reigns throughout the year, 
 Such dreams but made her happy home more dear. 
 
THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 XII. 
 
 It was a little farm house, in a vale 
 
 Border'd with gentle hills and spreading trees, 
 That smiled in beauty the new sun to hail, 
 
 Whose rays brought merry birds, and troops of bees 
 To rob the honey'd blossom on the pale, 
 
 Woodbine, or mossy rose, or fragrant peas ; 
 A green and tangled wood uprose behind, 
 A barrier 'gainst the surly northern wind. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 The ample garden's wicket oped before 
 
 On a small common clothed with stunted green, 
 
 By many a noisy brood besprinkled o'er ; 
 In sooth that pleasant site had lonely been 
 
 But that gray smoke around was seen to soar, 
 'Mid winter's stormy rack or summer's sheen, 
 
 In many a slender wreath, from many a roof, 
 
 And held all sense of loneliness aloof. 
 
THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 And there she grew, in innocence and joy, 
 To graceful womanhood, her pleasures those 
 
 Which satisfy the mind they cannot cloy ; 
 Useful employment, undisturb'd repose, 
 
 Were hers ; but there is ever some alloy 
 Of earthly happiness, and bitter throes 
 
 Will heave the heart that seem'd, but now, to glide 
 
 A summer skiff on life's unruffled tide. 
 
 xv. 
 
 The daisied turf through many a bygone year 
 Had lain upon her father's lowly grave ; 
 
 Though early lost to her he had been dear, 
 
 And when in evening's breeze the yews would wave 
 
 Their mournful branches, oft a secret tear 
 To his yet cherished memory she gave ; 
 
 And now again the grave must gape, and close 
 
 Upon her other parent's last repose. 
 
THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Deeply she niourn'd. Meanwhile the seasons four 
 Their circle ran, and if they failed to chase 
 
 Her grief, some pangs upon their wings they bore, 
 And to her sorrow-worn and pallid face 
 
 The rose's delicate tinting 'gan restore, 
 
 And lent her step once more its wonted grace ; 
 
 Again the tribes of field, and wood, and air 
 
 Could win her notice, earth again seem'd fair. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 It chanced that one, in years of infancy 
 
 Her playmate, left the city's smoke and din 
 
 To breathe once more beneath a clearer sky, 
 And from his native air the tint to win 
 
 That mantled on his cheek when he would hie, 
 What time glad larks to greet the sun begin, 
 
 With Mary o'er the fields, and through the w 7 ood, 
 
 And seize, despite her tears, the callow brood. 
 
10 THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Nature he loved, nor wrong 'd her as of old ; 
 
 But mark'd with joy the footsteps of the spring; 
 And loved to see the early flowers unfold 
 
 Their petals ; tribes of insects on the wing, 
 With instincts wondrous all yet half untold; 
 
 To hear the birds their natural anthems sing, 
 Piping their shrilly notes at eventide ; 
 Or when the ruddy morn the welkin dyed. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Playmates they had been, lovers they became, 
 And ranged with feelings new each favourite spot ; 
 
 On Mary's heart had none beside a claim, 
 
 All whom she loved, who loved her, now were not; 
 
 Youth's atmosphere was round them, and the flame 
 Of love thence brightness and full vigour caught; 
 
 Theirs seem'd a new existence, a charm'd life, 
 
 And earth an orb with sudden glories rife. 
 
THE EMIGRANT. 11 
 
 XX. 
 
 Young Love is fond of solitude, and straying 
 By moonlit river, when upon its tide 
 
 The ripples with the evening breeze are playing; 
 Love joys adown its silvery course to glide ; 
 
 Or in some smooth expansive bay delaying, 
 Where arboury trees bend down on every side, 
 
 To spend the hours in dalliance, on which day 
 
 Shall rise — and rise with an unwelcome ray. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Love roams in twilight paths when all is still, 
 Save the night bird, with his lorn plaintive tone; 
 
 The rustling leaves, and the unquiet rill ; 
 
 The coo of wild doves, and the beetles' drone ; 
 
 The homeward peasant's whoop, that hill to hill 
 Repeats; the call of owls that ponder lone; 
 
 And that low whisper heard, we know not whence, 
 
 Amid the lull of silence most intense. 
 
12 THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 Music is Love's own language ; not a bird 
 That sings but lends him some resistless note, 
 
 The one loved being's every eloquent word, 
 The mingled lays that through the ether float, 
 
 Eolian harpings, in the midnight heard, 
 The cause of all mysterious Love promote; 
 
 The brook's low murmur, as it devious roves, 
 
 The torrent's crash, the thunder's roar, are Love's. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 Love is a florist ; flowers are his delight, 
 Whether in garden or in field they grow ; 
 
 They are his symbols, thus the lily's white 
 Emblems his purity; the rose's glow 
 
 His fervour ; violets, that shun the sight, 
 His truth and timid tenderness may show, 
 
 And, when their petals by the breeze are wooed, 
 
 Their rifled fragrance is his choicest food. 
 
THE EMIGRANT. 13 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 With gauds and tokens Love his victim plies ; 
 
 Ringlets and rings are toys with which he plays; 
 Much he enjoys the sheen of merry eyes, 
 
 And sports and basks him in their pleasant rays ; 
 Yet is an epicure in tears and sighs, 
 
 And tells his passion oft in dolorous lays : 
 To all these things their native worth above 
 Love addeth value, and they nourish Love. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 Thus fed, Love in their hearts in stature grew, 
 And, specious tyrant, soon became supreme, 
 
 And tinted all around with his own hue, 
 Till this cold world a fairy-land did seem; 
 
 Hope o'er their path his arc of promise threw, 
 Whose vista's brighter than a poet's dream; 
 
 Ere young hearts realise their hopes, alas ! 
 
 Travellers the horizon's line shall overpass ! 
 
14 THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 One favourite walk they had ; through the still wood ; 
 
 Across the meadow ; by the winding brook ; 
 Past the old oak, which centuries had stood, 
 
 And still its leafy boughs in sunshine shook, 
 By tempests, as by time, all unsubdued ; 
 
 Until they reached a little peaceful nook, 
 The home of one who Mary's childhood nursed, 
 And led her footsteps in that pathway first. — 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 A cottage where clematis fiusher grew, 
 
 And roses blushed with a more conscious red, 
 
 And the rife violets caught a sweeter hue 
 From the more heavenly azure overhead, 
 
 Where heavier, and more silvery, clung the dew, 
 And merrier bees with richer fare were fed, 
 
 (It seem'd so) than elsewhere, and through the night 
 
 The tremulous stars shed down a keener light. 
 
THE EMIGRANT. 15 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 And they would wander o'er that pathway lone 
 In the sweet season of declining day, 
 
 When Silence marks the landscape for her own, 
 And in the pallid sky the filmy gray 
 
 Is darkening into night, and from her throne 
 The earliest star emits a timid ray ; 
 
 Or when the morning's first and freshest breeze 
 
 Crept with a gentle whisper through the trees. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 Hither one noon they stray'd when all was bright 
 And fervent, even as their fondest dream ; 
 
 Flowers spread their bosoms to the glowing light, 
 And silvery fish leap'd from the glassy stream 
 
 In the warm air, then plunged from human sight; 
 Sudden the sun's light grew a lurid gleam, 
 
 Masses of cloud weigh'd on the distant hill, 
 
 And every twig and leaf grew deathly stilL 
 
16 THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 The lightning now its jagged lances threw, 
 And now its ample banner of pale fire 
 
 Waved athwart heaven a moment, then withdrew ! 
 On rushed the bellowing thunder, louder, nigher ! 
 
 Through gaps of the rent air, that tremulous grew 
 As nature would in that wild throe expire ! 
 
 Then, chorusing the peal's retiring crash, 
 
 Of the big leaden rain was heard the plash ! 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 Mary with serious, not with timid, gaze, 
 
 Mark'd, from the cottage-window, the wild strife 
 
 Of elements — the deep boom and the blaze ; 
 
 Then spoke, her voice with deepest meaning rife ; 
 
 " Henry, is this an emblem of our days ? 
 Such as this morn was is our mutual life, 
 
 Shall future clouds its sunny calm deform, 
 
 And peace and gladness yield to gloom and storm?" 
 
THE EMIGRANT. 17 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 Twas a prophetic strain ! they saw moons grow, 
 And wane, and vanish; and ere yet the sun 
 
 Had lost his clear and chasten'd autumn glow, 
 Or the harsh wind to strip the trees begun 
 
 And lay the last flowers of the season low, 
 The village pastor made the lovers one. 
 
 The town received them; strangers trod the floor, 
 
 By gold made theirs, which she should tread no more ! 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 The village maiden in the city's maze, 
 Like a fair lily from its green retreat 
 
 Transplanted into arid dusty ways, 
 
 Seem'd then a flower not less supremely sweet 
 
 Than in her rustic and her maiden days ; 
 Yet was she an exotic, to her feet 
 
 The stones were hard, the endless walls awoke 
 
 Thoughts of a prison canopied with smoke. 
 
 c 
 
18 THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 Yet, loving, she was happy; the months flew 
 On rapid wings, till their amount was years, 
 
 And she the fondness of a mother knew — 
 A mother's anxiousness, a mother's fears; 
 
 A meek fair girl was hers, the tender blue 
 
 Of whose young eyes betoken'd frequent tears; 
 
 And a frank boy, her elder, o'er whose sleep 
 
 The mother oft would pensive vigil keep. 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 A mother's joy is sadness half, and smiles 
 
 Through warm tears glisten ; cares will blend with 
 shade 
 
 Love's sunshine, which thus temper'd more beguiles ! 
 Alas for Mary ! on the sea of trade 
 
 Their all was launch'd — and lost ! a villain's wiles 
 Wreck, havock, of the luckless venture made; 
 
 And left what but a little space might hold 
 
 The gaunt wolf, hunger, from their tender fold. 
 
THE EMIGRANT. 19 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 Their dwindling substance every hour grew less, 
 Their comforts hourly fewer and more few ; 
 
 Plainer their fare was, coarser was their dress, 
 And poverty more close and closer drew ; 
 
 Soon debt o'erbrim'd the cup of their distress, 
 Then famine, prisons, open'd on their view ; 
 
 A chilly hearth, a bed of thorny cares, 
 
 A gloomy and a zestless board were theirs ! 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 Ah, none can know, save whom experience dire 
 Hath taught the lesson, what a father's care, 
 
 When, all his efforts vain, his hopes expire, 
 While yet affection doth forbid despair ; 
 
 Oft-baffled hope the hardiest heart will tire, 
 
 And rouse the dormant hell-hounds from their lair ; 
 
 While penury its dark bleak shadow flings, 
 
 Freezing the source whence joyous feeling springs. 
 
20 THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 The stream of life is tainted ! on its shore 
 If flowers remain they bloom not as of old, 
 
 The soul of fragrance dwells in them no more, 
 No more with rainbow hues their leaves unfold ; 
 
 The radiance of the sun that fed them o'er, 
 The atmosphere wherein they grow is cold ; 
 
 And on the waters, in the honey's stead, 
 
 Of poisonous dew the noxious drops they shed. 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 His little daughter's every infant grace, 
 His boy's outbursts of merryhearted glee, 
 
 The smile upon his pensive partner's face, 
 Avail'd not from its thrall his mind to free ; 
 
 All their endearments, meant his gloom to chase, 
 But plunged to lower depths of agony ; 
 
 Once bliss, now torture, every act of love 
 
 The poison'd dagger deep and deeper drove ! 
 
THE EMIGRANT. 21 
 
 XL. 
 
 Exertion thwarted, on inaction grew 
 Accumulated woe. Beyond the main, 
 
 Where late the barb of the stark Indian flew, 
 Ere Britain peopled many a spacious plain, 
 
 His thoughts now wander'd ; for his fancy drew 
 That kindred land a paradise of gain, 
 
 A natural granary. — A few days o'er, 
 
 Henry will speed toward that distant shore ! 
 
 XLI. 
 
 Alas for Mary ! when afresh the thought 
 Came, and the fever mantled on her cheek, 
 
 She lean'd her head on Henry's breast and sought 
 The consolation which he could not speak, 
 
 And raised her eyes, with love and beauty fraught, 
 A ray of comfort in his eyes to seek ; 
 
 But nought was there, save the hot tears that clung 
 
 To the drench'd lashes, tears her grief had wrung. 
 
THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 XLII. 
 
 They sought the chalky coast; Mary to wait 
 Till he had won, he said, in that far place 
 
 A home, since that they had was desolate, 
 And means whereby across the liquid space 
 
 She, like a cage-freed dove to join her mate, 
 Might with her children flee. In Mary's face 
 
 His words found no reply, a faint smile there 
 
 Did but betray the depth of her despair. 
 
 XLIII. 
 
 The eve of parting came ; the wind was fair, 
 The crescent moon was up in the pale sky, 
 
 Canvass and streamers flutter'd in the air, 
 And oft was heard the sailor's cheery cry ; 
 
 Sorrow, profaneness, merriment, were there, 
 
 Oaths, laughter, passionate sob and stifled sigh : 
 
 From the coarse throng the sad group stood apart, 
 
 With livid lips, and each a throbbing heart. 
 
THE EMIGRANT. 23 
 
 XL1V. 
 
 She raised her eyes to the unclouded moon, 
 
 From their long lashes the big tears were streaming, 
 
 Like drops that fall from the warm sky of June, 
 When from the misty east the sun is beaming ; 
 
 Henry, when rose the signal sound — too soon ! 
 Started as one who has been wildly dreaming, 
 
 Press'd his white lips to lips as white as they, 
 
 Grasp'd her cold trembling hand, and rush'd away ! 
 
 XLV. 
 
 Glorious it is to bound before the breeze ! 
 
 To watch the busy waves, and hear them lash 
 The timbers that have weather'd stormy seas, 
 
 And now to foam the punier billows dash 
 That rear their heads, presumptuous; scenes like 
 
 Could once elicit the most ardent flash [these 
 Of Henry's spirit, but they could not now 
 Lure off one shade of sadness from his brow. 
 
24 THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 XLVI. 
 
 His mind was writhing on the' invisible rack, 
 While with unnoted hours sped on the day. 
 
 For ail his thoughts to Mary wander'd back ; 
 And when stars gather'd in the dusky gray, 
 
 He deem'd she follow'd the fleet vessel's track, 
 Pale and heart-broken, beckoning him away; 
 
 And, as the ship o'er the dark waves was thrown, 
 
 In every creak he heard her midnight groan ! 
 
 XLVII. 
 
 Sleep rain'd no poppy dews on Mary's head ! 
 
 With leaden feet the moments lagg'd along; 
 Damp was her pillow with the tears she shed; 
 
 And heavy sighs, that did her bosom throng, 
 Made her frame quiver, till the uneasy bed 
 
 Was shaken as an aspen. What a tongue 
 Hath silence ! and the night's weird darkness teems 
 With wild phantasma vivider than dreams ! 
 
THE EMIGRANT. 25 
 
 XLVIIT. 
 
 Nought is so awful as the breathless hush 
 
 Of night, when vague but dread forebodings shake 
 
 The fever'd nerves, and bid the chafed blood rush 
 Red from the heart, leaving a pallid wake 
 
 Where late it coursed with quick and hectic flush ; 
 Then with a creeping chill the flesh will quake ; 
 
 And the jarr'd heart beat audibly ; while the breath 
 
 In the throat flutters, as if sought by death ! 
 
 XLIX. 
 
 Such hours were Mary's ; and when morning broke 
 Lonely she wander'd on the level sand ; 
 
 Mist hung upon the distance as a cloak, 
 
 And the salt breeze her feverish forehead fann'd ; 
 
 New to her gaze, ocean no thought awoke 
 Or of the beautiful or of the grand ; 
 
 Sadness alone was hers, as through the haze 
 
 She toward the Atlantic bent her wistful gaze : 
 
26 THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 An act instinctive, but of no avail; 
 
 The waves that break and babble on the shore 
 No tidings bear of the far distant sail, 
 
 Which eyes that followed may behold no more 
 Reef d in the calm, or hollow 'd by the gale : 
 
 In vain she gazed ; no objects ocean bore, 
 Save fishing-boats that, like a laden horse, 
 Heavily labour'd in their homeward course. 
 
 LI. 
 
 Mary left not that coast, but waited there 
 Her fate ; and by her needle deftly plied 
 
 Earn'd, from the hardy cotters, humble fare, 
 What nature needed, and scarce aught beside; 
 
 But few her wants were if her meals were spare; 
 Lofty of soul, she felt no pangs from pride, 
 
 And knew no cause for shame; repining not 
 
 She bore the lonely burden of her lot. 
 
THE EMIGRANT. 27 
 
 LII. 
 
 When winds, invisible monsters, roam'd about, 
 With multitudinous voices, hoarse or shrill ; 
 
 Now like the lost benighted traveller's shout; 
 The yelp of demons now, intent on ill; 
 
 Now wolves' fierce yellings,from their dens forced out 
 By famine, seeking where to gorge their fill ; 
 
 And now the cry or low moan of the brave, 
 
 Wrestling for mastery with the giant wave; 
 
 LIU. 
 
 Then Mary in her arms her babe would lock, 
 While vagrant fancy roam'd across the main, 
 
 And shrink, with a mute fear, from the loud shock 
 That wrench'd each door and threaten'd every 
 pane, 
 
 Until the very walls did seem to rock ; 
 Thus Mary in her cottage oft hath lain, 
 
 The prey of airy phantoms, till the light 
 
 Scatter'd the dense gloom of the dreary night. 
 
28 THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 LIV. 
 
 Or if she slept, hers was that thoughtful sleep 
 Which on the careworn mind confers no rest, 
 
 Not a " restorer," sorrowiug hearts to steep 
 In Lethe — a dove nestling in the breast, 
 
 But a fierce vulture, with his talons deep 
 In the heart's fibres rooted, ruthless guest ! 
 
 Ills present, vanish'd joys or griefs, and gleams 
 
 Of the vague future, mingled in her dreams. 
 
 LV. 
 
 Who hath not sat beside a glowing fire 
 
 Some cheerless night, and watch'd the pageant 
 there 
 
 Of cities bristled o'er with dome and spire, 
 Red, as if glowing in the sunset glare; 
 
 Or marshal'd troops that rank by rank expire ; 
 Or steel-clad knight, or lady gay and fair? 
 
 The huge world mimick'd ! for its fair and great 
 
 Moulder to dust as surely, though more late ! 
 
THE EMIGRANT. 29 
 
 LVI. 
 
 So Mary sat, when done her daily task ; 
 
 In fancy wandering amid forests wide ; 
 Rivers like seas, where alligators bask; 
 
 Mountains whose summits scarce can be descried ; 
 Lakes that beneath their broad smooth surface mask 
 
 All-hideous monsters, huge and serpent-eyed; 
 And tangled woods which sunbeams never pierce, 
 The haunts of ravening monsters gaunt and fierce. 
 
 LVII. 
 
 In every scene one figure mingles ever, 
 
 In danger now, and now o'er smiling plains 
 
 Straying, whose soil the plough hath broken never; 
 Where as a giantess fair Nature reigns ; 
 
 She sighs to think that storms and billows sever 
 From him whose love her only wealth remains ; 
 
 At length the fabric fades — the dream is o'er 
 
 And all is darker, colder than before ! 
 
30 THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 LVIII. 
 
 Yet she would feel he was not wholly lost 
 As little Henry by her sleeping lay, 
 
 And hope and dread her mind alternate toss'd, 
 As waves a light skiff in a stormy bay ; 
 
 Though shadows o'er her heart too frequent cross'd, 
 Yet sometimes feelings that were almost gay 
 
 Broke through, as sunbursts through the sullen rack, 
 
 When drear November robes the sky with black. 
 
 LIX. 
 
 Even she had pleasures. When at close of day 
 Her merry-hearted boy and daughter fair, 
 
 Their ever-busy limbs fatigued with play, 
 For their untroubled pillow 'gan prepare, 
 
 And little Mary, yet untaught to pray, 
 
 Would kneel and lisp her brother's simple prayer 
 
 In the grave tone she heard, unconscious why, 
 
 Then tears would steal into the mother's eye ; 
 
THE EMIGRANT. 3i 
 
 LX. 
 
 Tears that were not of grief, yet pensive too, 
 
 The overbrimming of a gentle heart, 
 To which affliction only closer drew 
 
 Objects from which it could not beat apart, 
 By love's o'erwarmth urged from their fountains blue, 
 
 As drops from summer's surcharged ether start; 
 The pathos of enjoyment, sweet but brief, 
 For soon those founts were seal'd again by grief! 
 
 LXI. 
 
 One eve she at her chamber window sate, 
 Moulding the pliant twilight into forms 
 
 Of living things and things inanimate, 
 
 No more, far off, or scathed by the rude storms 
 
 That sweep o'er all in this sublunar state — 
 Of many beings to the hungry worms, 
 
 Prom the pure air and cheerful light, descended, 
 
 And with the cold clod of the valley blended ! 
 
32 THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 LXII. 
 
 Her native valley, to her mental gaze, 
 Outspread itself in all the summer glow 
 
 It used to wear in her young happy days, 
 
 Days that sped onward like the rivulet's flow, 
 
 So calm, so peaceful; and even now some rays 
 Of the heart's sunshine flicker'd o'er the snow 
 
 Of present grief, as through her memory pass'd 
 
 Scene after scene, each lovelier than the last. 
 
 LXIII. 
 
 Lilac, and sweetbriar, and cuckoo flower, 
 
 Cowslips, and harebells, and a thousand more 
 
 Flowers of all months, from field and garden bower, 
 Seem'd in succession on her sense to pour 
 
 Commingled sweets ; or in a snowy shower 
 
 The wind-swept trees shook down their blossomy 
 
 Around her, while on every side was heard [store 
 
 The mellow pipings of some happy bird. 
 
THE EMIGRANT. 33 
 
 LXIV. 
 
 Then in reap'd cornfields once again she stray'd, 
 A little gleaner darkening in the sun ; 
 
 Or mark'd, beneath the wood's o'erarching shade, 
 How Autumn's tints on summer's greenness won ; 
 
 Or in the fragrant hay a couch she made, 
 And idly nestled till the day was done ; 
 
 Or hail'd the teeming spring, and from the spray 
 
 Sever'd sweet burdens of the rosy may. 
 
 LXV. 
 
 Then rose a farm-house to her fancy's view, 
 With slated roof, and eke with paven floor ; 
 
 And burnish'd oak that from its surface threw 
 Reflections of the wide hall's motley store, 
 
 And mirror'd crackling flames, that monstrous grew 
 'Mid Christmas mirth ; and hearth that glow'd no 
 more, 
 
 Or gladden'd others with that cheery light 
 
 Which makes a summer of the dreariest night ! 
 
 D 
 
34 THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 LXVI. 
 
 Again she roved through field, and wood, and grove, 
 A happy maiden by her Henry's side, 
 
 Feeling it gladness to be loved and love ; 
 
 Then her thoughts wander'd over ocean wide, 
 
 And with their gloomy bent in vain she strove ; 
 Sad feelings flow'd like a resistless tide; 
 
 Tears from her eyes a moment gush'd like rain, 
 
 Then ceased, while thus she pour'dthe simple strain : 
 
 He told me we should meet again 
 
 Upon that distant shore ; 
 But my heart whispers hope is vain, 
 
 And we shall meet no more ! 
 He said that land should be to us 
 
 As England was of yore ; 
 But ah ! I feel 'twill not be thus, 
 
 For we shall meet no more ! 
 
 There is a prescience of the soul, 
 
 Untaught by human lore ; 
 I feel it, and can not control, 
 Yes! we shall meet no more ! 
 
THE EMIGRANT. 35 
 
 LXVII. 
 
 She paused — the open door a stranger's form 
 Admitted ; one whose honest open brow 
 
 And, manly cheek of many a raging storm 
 
 And stiff gale told, when scarce his bark might 
 plough 
 
 The battling billows, lash'd to fury warm, 
 
 That hurl'd their giant foam crests o'er her prow. 
 
 Dear, Britain, are thy ocean sons to thee, 
 
 Bold as the winds, resistless as the sea ! 
 
 LXVIII. 
 
 The stranger from his vest a packet drew, 
 
 And from his eyes the while the big tear stole, 
 
 For well the purport of that sheet he knew, 
 And his though rude was yet a gentle soul ; 
 
 His words of greeting honest were and few, 
 And skilless were his efforts to condole. 
 
 When to the wounded heart gave words relief? 
 
 Strange tongues profane the sanctuary of grief! 
 
36 THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 LXIX. 
 
 In transatlantic earth was Henry laid ! 
 
 Save that drear bourn no other " home" he 
 found ; 
 He saw his last hope like the twilight fade, 
 
 And night more dark and dreary gather round ; 
 Upon his jaded heart misfortune prey'd, 
 
 And like a noxious snake about it wound, 
 Crushing the life within it. Thus he fell ! 
 Far, far away from those who loved him well. 
 
 LXX. 
 
 One who had with him left his native shore, 
 And knew his story, tended his last bed, 
 
 And from the hand that ne'er should trace one more, 
 Received a letter, o'er which Mary shed, 
 
 Thereafter, many tears. When all was o'er, 
 And the freed spirit from its prison fled, 
 
 He wept a generous tear into his grave, 
 
 And sent the sad, sad tidings o'er the wave. 
 
THE EMIGRANT. 37 
 
 LXXI. 
 
 No sigh heaved Mary's heart that night, and day 
 Saw her a breathing statue, stony pale ; 
 
 Inflamed her eyes were, but no tears had they ; 
 No sob convulsed her, and she made no waii ; 
 
 Her children's earnest eyes and harmless play 
 Over her apathy could nought prevail ; 
 
 Life's tide seem'd in her veins to ice congeal'd, 
 
 And feeling's source within her bosom seal'd. 
 
 LXXII. 
 
 But storm to calm succeeds, and thaw to frost; 
 
 And soon in Mary's bosom passionate grief 
 Displaced that torpor wherein life seem'd lost ; 
 
 Pew were her intervals from tears, and brief; 
 But even tears at length their founts exhaust, 
 
 And yield to the worn heart a short relief; 
 Short, for those founts again and oft reflow, 
 Ere fails the reservoir of human woe. 
 
38 THE EMIGRANT. 
 
 LXXIII-. 
 
 The seal of death was on her; day by day 
 His chilling footsteps left their ghastly trace ; 
 
 Hourly the flesh shrunk from her frame away ; 
 Transparent grew her skin ; a wider space 
 
 Seem'd claim'd by her lit eyes, whose fearful ray 
 Spoke not of earth, but of that better place 
 
 Whither she tended; awful scene is this — 
 
 A spirit struggling from its chrysalis ! — 
 
 LXXIV. 
 
 A beauteous spirit, whose approach we see 
 To that eternal realm which never cloud 
 
 Of mortal life may shadow ! It may be 
 
 Tenacious nature shrunk from the dank shroud, 
 
 Yet hers had been calm joy to be set free, 
 But for her little ones, her pensive-brow'd, 
 
 Who felt reflected grief; for these she sigh'd; 
 
 But wherefore dally with the tale ? — she died ! 
 
 
THE EMIGRANT. 39 
 
 LXXV. 
 
 And where are they, the orphans? On the green, 
 Lowly and cheerless looking buildings spread, 
 
 Where penury's hapless victims aye are seen, 
 The infant visage and the hoary head — 
 
 The parish poorhouse ! There those babes have been 
 Since death assaiPd the humble cottage shed, 
 
 Where, 'mid their sport, oft from their mother's eye 
 
 They caught a moment's gloom, and marvel'd why ! 
 
40 
 
 COWSLIPS. 
 
 Favourites of my early hours, 
 Still I love your golden flowers ! 
 Not the way-side primrose, pale, 
 Shivering in the wintry gale ; 
 Not the daisy ; no, nor yet 
 The sweet-scented violet, 
 Though T love them all, can be 
 Ever half so dear to me. 
 
 Tales of olden time ye tell ! 
 Of the sweet-toned Sabbath bell, 
 Heard as through the mead we trod 
 To the distant house of God; — 
 Of the brook in verdure lost; — 
 Of the rustic bridge we cross'd ; — 
 Golden pathway — golden hours, 
 Then my very thoughts were flowers ! 
 
 I remember, when the day 
 Morning's dew had dried away, 
 
COWSLIPS. 41 
 
 I, one of an infant band, 
 
 With an eager eye and hand, 
 
 Sought and pluck'd your cluster'd bells 
 
 In the shady woods and dells, 
 
 IVor forgot that should be mine 
 
 Fragrant tea and future wine. 
 
 Days of infancy ! alas ! 
 Why do ye so quickly pass ? 
 What would I relinquish now 
 For that sunny eye and brow — 
 For that meek and unwarp'd will — 
 For that ignorance of ill, 
 Which were mine at five years old, 
 Ere I dreamt of crime or gold ! 
 
 Since I follow weightier things, 
 Vanish'd are my spirit's wings ; 
 Cloudless is my heart no more, 
 Care has flung its shadow o'er; 
 Never may it know again 
 The pure joy that warm'd it then, 
 When its highest hopes were crown'd — 
 Hopes a cowslip field could bound ! 
 
42 
 
 ODE TO WINTER. 
 
 Winter, enthroned on yonder treeless hill ! 
 
 Thy stern and wither'd front is wanly lit 
 By the sun's distant ray; piercing and shrill, 
 
 The east wind raves in many a gusty fit, 
 Wafting thy thin white locks and silvery beard 
 On its bleak pinions; thy nVd eye is cold 
 And glassy as the surface of the waves 
 
 O'er whom thy wand is rear'd, 
 To prison them within their courses old, 
 Thy temporary slaves ! 
 
 Thou lovest barrenness, and thy keen blast 
 
 Has swept all verdure from the sullen earth; 
 Yet, as it were in pity, thou hast cast 
 
 A sheltering mantle o'er the general dearth; 
 Where plains extend, vales sink, or mountains soar, 
 Is seen smooth, spotless, glistening in the ray, 
 The dazzling snow, 'neath which all hues are 
 Green are the woods no more, [lost; 
 
 But on each massy trunk and slender spray 
 Is spread thy feathery frost ! 
 
ODE TO WINTER. 43 
 
 Thou art a skilful artist; the fine wire 
 Of the industrious spider is o'erhuug 
 With thy far finer net-work ; I admire 
 
 Thy works, thou cold enchanter, and a tongue 
 To me they have of dreams, in boyhood sweet, 
 Of fairy grots and cities; ay, the trees 
 
 Seem branch'd with silver, carpeted the ground 
 
 With down for elfin feet; 
 Those dreams are almost realised in these 
 Thy wild creation's round ! 
 
 CHANGE. 
 
 It is pleasant, in spring-tide, to look from the door 
 Upon fields that are barren and dreary no more ; 
 On the opening leaves, and the myriads of flowers 
 That start into life beneath sunbeams and showers. 
 
 It is pleasant of summer to note the rich glow, 
 The blue sky that tinges the water below ; 
 The breeze that springs up at the close of the day, 
 And wafts to the sense the sweet odour of hay. 
 
44 CHANGE. 
 
 It is pleasant in autumn to mark, o'er the plain, 
 Asleep 'mid the poppies, the heavy brown grain ; 
 The trees with lithe branches, that tend to the ground, 
 Weigh'd down by the bursting fruit tinted and round. 
 
 It is pleasant in winter to witness, on high, 
 The sun beaming bright in a clear frosty sky ; 
 White smoke staining ether, else stainless and free; 
 And hoary frost spread over meadow and lea. 
 
 There is beauty in change ! Indestructible change i 
 Thou alone art eternal in matter's wide range ! 
 Thou art part of all things, present, past, and to be — 
 Worlds and atoms alike are the servants of thee ! 
 
 RETROSPECTION. 
 
 Hoary-headed man of gloom, 
 Tending downward to the tomb, 
 Thine all melancholy eye 
 Seems to dwell on years gone by, 
 
RETROSPECTION. 45 
 
 When thou play'dst the checquer'd game 
 Or of fortune, or of fame ; 
 Dazzling both to human eyes, 
 Happiness alike the prize. 
 How are now thy coffers stored ? 
 Tell thy winnings — count thy hoard — 
 Say what hath thine heart amass'd 
 In its threescore winters pass'd ! 
 
 Thou art mute ! Thou need'st not speak! 
 
 I can read it on thy cheek, 
 
 Pale, and worn, and wrinkled now ! 
 
 I can read it on thy brow, 
 
 Where the tempests of the mind 
 
 Many a scar have left behind ! 
 
 Plain they tell of wasting care ; 
 
 Haggard thought, and dull despair; 
 
 Disappointment's withering blight; 
 
 Cross'd ambition's rayless night; 
 
 Dreams the very soul that wring ; 
 
 Self-reproach's serpent sting; 
 
 " Bursting heart, and maddening brain ;" 
 
 Grief that time rolls o'er in vain, 
 
46 RETROSPECTION. 
 
 Or but nerves the soul to bear 
 With a somewhat sterner air ! 
 
 Where are all the gay ones now 
 Who made glad thy boyish brow ? 
 Some on couches rife with groans ! 
 Some among the churchyard stones ! 
 Cheeks then merry as the spring 
 Now are parch'd and withering ! 
 Iron limbs are feeble grown ! 
 Bounding hearts are chill'd to stone I 
 Cherry lips have faded, 'neath 
 The cold kiss of age or death ! 
 Eyes that then were bright have set ! 
 Worms have couch'd in locks of jet 
 That could every eye entrance 
 As they waved along the dance ! 
 Them thou never more shalt see, 
 Yet with them thou soon shalt be ! 
 
 Prizes for which life is spent, 
 Won or lost bring not content ; 
 If we lose, how keen regret ! 
 If we win, what cares beset I 
 
RETROSPECTION. 4? 
 
 Health for tempting gold consume — 
 It will purchase thee a tomb ! 
 Squander strength in search of fame, 
 Thou may'st find — when but a name !■ 
 Such alone has life to give, 
 Such is life, yet still we live ! 
 Hoard our pangs, and feverish breath, 
 Sighing live, yet shrink from death ! 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Leaves quiver in the balmy air, 
 
 The moon grows bright above ; 
 Beauty is beaming every where — 
 
 'Tis just the hour for love ! 
 So calm, so silent, I could deem 
 
 Beneath yon radiant blue 
 Breathe none beside myself, dear love, 
 
 The nightingale, and you. 
 
48 SONG. 
 
 The mazy brook is whispering now 
 
 A soft tale to the flowers ; 
 The night-breeze freshens on my brow — 
 
 How sweet these moonlight hours ! 
 And sweet the twilight path that guides 
 
 My footsteps through the dew, 
 Each eve, to this green dell, my love, 
 
 The nightingale, and you. 
 
 Now some seek halls of revelry, 
 
 Where flows the ruddy wine, 
 And merry may their banquet be — 
 
 A deeper joy is mine ! 
 Companions they choose many a one, 
 
 I am content with two — 
 The nightingale and you, my love, 
 
 The nightingale, and you. 
 
49 
 
 THE BETRAYED. 
 
 Thy bark is on the waters, 
 
 The wind blows strong and fair, 
 Go, traitor, and my malison 
 
 Go with thee every where ! 
 'Tis thine earth's every region 
 
 To traverse as thou wilt, 
 But neither clime nor distance 
 
 Oblivion brings to guilt. 
 
 Go, roam 'mid torrid deserts, 
 
 Afar from spring or tree, 
 The scorching air shall madden less 
 
 Than memory of me ! 
 'Mid Polar wastes go wander, 
 
 The thought shall not depart 
 Of wrongs that, like an iceberg, 
 
 Shall press upon thine heart! 
 
 E 
 
50 THR BETRAYED. 
 
 Thou found'st me free from sorrow 
 
 As lark upon the wing, 
 Thou found'st me young and beauteous 
 
 As blossoms of the spring ; 
 As day thou found'st me gladsome, 
 
 Within my lowly cot; 
 Thou found'st me such, deceiver ! 
 
 And thou hast left me — what? 
 
 Thine heart is not of iron, 
 
 Thy brain is not of stone, 
 And many a pang of bitterness 
 
 Already thou hast known; 
 And when I think how conscience 
 
 Consumeth thee like flame, 
 I'll cease awhile repining, 
 
 And smile amid my shame. 
 
51 
 
 TO THE STARS. 
 
 How beauteous ! how wondrous! fain, fain would 
 
 I see 
 Your myriads unrobed of their mystery ; 
 Fain would I cleave the dark dome of the night, 
 Soaring up, like a thought, to your islands of light; 
 Fain would I rifle your secrets divine, 
 With what forms ye are peopled, and wherefore ye 
 
 shine ; 
 By what laws ye are governed, and framed on what 
 
 plan, 
 I would know — but I may not — this is not for man ! 
 
 Great — glorious the day, when the Author of all 
 Having spake ye from nought — and ye sprung at 
 
 the call ! 
 Through the regions of space from his hand ye were 
 
 hurl'd, 
 Dark myriads of atoms — each atom a world! — 
 
52 TO THE STARS. 
 
 When each sped to his point in the boundless expanse, 
 And ye caught your first light from the light of his 
 
 glance ! 
 His power io one moment fix'd each in his spot, 
 One moment remitted — ye sink, and are not. 
 
 What a dot is this earth, 'mid ye orbs of the sky ! 
 And, compared with this earth, what a nothing am I ! 
 Shall my mind cast its gossamer plummet, and sound 
 That Mind that hath known nor creation nor bound, 
 And fathom the depths of His wondrous decree? 
 Can the fly grasp a world — a shell compass the sea ? 
 No : this to weak man is allow'd, and no more, 
 He may wonder and worship — admire and adore ! 
 
 WELCOME TO SPRING. 
 
 Welcome, Spring! thy tender green 
 Spreads where frost and dearth have been ; 
 Fervid beams and pattering showers 
 Strew the earth with leaves and flowers ; 
 
WELCOME TO SPRING. 
 
 Diamond-sprinkled by the sun, 
 Rippling streams more freely run ; 
 ? Mong the violets, white and blue, 
 Quaffs the wild-bee odorous dew ; 
 Trees are crown'd with golden bloom, 
 Every wind has caught perfume; 
 Music on each light breeze floats ; 
 Hark ! ten thousand varied notes 
 Pour, in one mellifluous song, 
 From the woodlands all day long ! 
 
 It is now man's spirit springs 
 Forth on joy's etherial wings ; 
 It is now his nature glows, 
 Expands, and blossoms, as a rose 
 Long by chilling winds and skies 
 Closely seal'd from human eyes, 
 Till at length a balmier air 
 Lays its inmost beauty bare ! 
 It is now that care and woe 
 Vanish with the clouds and snow ; — - 
 That each sorrow, like a scale 
 From the changing serpent's mail, 
 
54 WELCOME TO SPRING. 
 
 Disappears, while in its stead 
 Newer, brighter tints are spread ! 
 
 Autumn's glories ! what are they ? 
 Waning beauty ! youth's decay ! 
 While each charm beheld in thee 
 Tells of beauty yet to be ; 
 Every moment sees the earth 
 Teeming with some glorious birth, 
 Wheresoe'er thy footsteps stray, 
 Wheresoe'er thy breezes play, 
 Be it meadow, garden, hill, 
 Forest, marge of whispering rill, 
 Shady copse, or sunny slope ! 
 Thou art promise — thou art hope — 
 Joy begun, not taking wing — 
 Wealth unspent — then welcome, Spring! 
 
55 
 
 REPOSE. 
 
 Where shall we find thee, spirit of repose? 
 Not upon sultry beds, where walls enclose 
 And prison us from contemplation ; where 
 The blue sky is excluded, the pure air, 
 The sounds of nature, and her varied bloom, 
 Her sweet scents blent in one unmatch'd perfume ; 
 Where haggard dreams prevail and sleep unsound; 
 It is not there, meek spirit, thou art found ; 
 But among woods and fields, or where the corn 
 Is ripening, and the drone-bee's drowsy horn 
 Sounds scarce more faint than the far sabbath peal ; 
 Where fitful trills the hidden birds reveal; 
 Where the light thistle-down floats sluggish by, 
 And white clouds bask along the windless sky ; 
 Where the huge flappers of the neighbouring mill 
 As death itself are motionless and still; 
 Where in the hawthorn's shade recline the sheep, 
 And the shrunk streamlet moans, as if in sleep ; 
 
5G REPOSE. 
 
 While nature's many sounds, commingled, seem 
 But as a louder silence, or a dream. 
 
 And I have found thee here, in this sweet bay, 
 W here the calm waters stretch away — away ; 
 And ocean's breast heaves like a babe's in sleep, 
 As waves e'er form'd subside into the deep. 
 Vessels at anchor, undulating, play 
 With the small ripples that around them stray; 
 And light clouds, heap'd in many a vapoury wreath, 
 Seem gazing on their pictured selves beneath. 
 Yon jutting rock, which now the waters lave, 
 Has robed itself with briny weeds, that wave 
 To every fickle breath when breezes free 
 Fret the huge bosom of the mighty sea; 
 But now, like yon lank pennon drooping near, 
 Leadlike they burden the still atmosphere; 
 And on the smooth sands that beneath me lie 
 The tiny billows change to foam, and die. 
 
 
57 
 
 TO A BEE. 
 
 Whither, O whither, with song and with glee, 
 
 Art thou, meek minstrel, going? 
 To where the pink's bright blossoms be, 
 
 And the beauteous rose is blowing ? 
 
 Or tendeth thy wing to the daisied meads, 
 Or down where yon white brook, straying, 
 
 Reflects the flowers on whose drooping heads 
 The noontide heat is weighing? 
 
 Go, minstrel sweet of the jocund horn, 
 And wherever thy sunny course mav be, 
 
 Among clover fields, or the ripening corn, 
 This simple lore would I learn of thee : — 
 
 While the summer sun of my youth is bright, 
 And life's best flowers are springing, 
 
 To gather, and oh, to gather aright, 
 The honey those flowers are bringing. 
 
58 TO A BEE. 
 
 For soon the winter of life shall come, 
 
 The blossom must fade — the fruit must fall : 
 
 And what remaineth on earth? The tomb, 
 That opens alike for all ! 
 
 TRUTH VERSUS POESY. 
 
 Dearest, shall we to the woods? 
 
 Shall we bend our way 
 To the branchy solitudes 
 
 Where no footsteps stray ; 
 Where the wild birds rear their young, 
 
 Fearless of a foe ; 
 Where the flowers spring as they sprung 
 
 Ages long ago? 
 
 Ours a home with mossy floor, 
 
 In some arboury nook : 
 Ours the wild bees' luscious store, 
 
 And the limpid brook ; 
 
TRUTH VERSUS POESY. 59 
 
 Far from sorrow and from strife, 
 
 Far from din a&d glare, 
 Wilt thou lead the dryad's life, 
 
 " Fairest of the fair?" 
 
 Such the bliss the poet sings — 
 
 Bliss none ever knew ; 
 Poets tell us pleasant things — 
 
 Would they told us true ! 
 Clouds, I fear, would sometimes hide 
 
 Every skiey lamp, 
 And the underwood beside 
 
 Might be rather damp ; 
 
 We might rob the bees and yet 
 
 Feel a hungry still ; 
 We might find the rivulet 
 
 Somewhat weak and chill. — 
 Maugre all that bards have said, 
 
 Love may best abide 
 Where an ample board is spread — 
 
 Bv a snug fire-side ! 
 
60 
 
 ODE TO DEATH. 
 
 Great leveller! pale shadowy reaper! Death! 
 
 Thou that dost awe the brave, the lovely smite ! 
 Thou in whose desolating presence breath 
 
 Fades like a faint dream in the morning light ! 
 Thou stalkest through this earth a thing unseen; 
 Giant invisible ! and thy stealthy tread 
 
 Wakes not a sound to make thy coming known ; 
 
 But where thy steps have been, 
 Appears by wrinkled forms whence life hath fled , 
 And youth and flourishing beauty overthrown ! 
 
 Why shun we, Death, thy cold and withering kiss ? 
 
 Once we were nothing ! shall we nothing be 
 Again? And does the consciousness of this 
 
 Make nature shudder at the thought of thee ? 
 Xo ! 'tis the deathless soul's instinctive thrill, 
 As o'er it visions of the future flash, 
 
 Piercing the earthy veil that dims its glow; 
 
 While conscience, never still, 
 With terror's hues does the vague picture dash, 
 And crowd with shapes of never ending woe! 
 
ODE TO DEATH. 61 
 
 Where are the realms of spirits ? To what place 
 
 Are all the disembodied spirits sped, 
 From every peopled spot in boundless space? — 
 
 The myriads who have bow'd through ages fled 
 Beneath thine ebon sceptre, mighty Death ! 
 Thou as the grave art silent ! Be it so, 
 I shall ere long land on that unseen shore, 
 
 Yielding to thee my breath; [know 
 
 Then shall I know those things, and still shall 
 
 When thou, grim phantom, shalt exist no more ! 
 
 TO ANNIE. 
 
 Years, years have sped o'er us, dearest, 
 Since our hearts no more were twain ; 
 
 And, like me, some marks thou bearest — 
 Some tokens of grief and pain. 
 
 The fair and the fond are banish'd 
 From earth, or grown cold and sere ; 
 
 Some loved ones, alas ! have vanish'd, 
 Though some that were not are here. 
 
62 TO ANNIE. 
 
 The world is not what we deem'd it, 
 An orb full of joy and truth; 
 
 And life is not what we dream'd it 
 To be, in the days of youth. 
 
 Each day brings its care or sorrow 
 For us, dear Annie, to share; 
 
 And we know, each day, the morrow 
 Will bring, too, sorrow or care. 
 
 Glad eyes now are dimmer growing, 
 Glad voices no more are gay; 
 
 And locks that were bright and flowing, 
 Are dash'd with a tinge of gray. 
 
 Our looks too are somewhat colder, 
 The smile from our lips is gone ; 
 
 Our hearts — they are not grown older 
 Since our bridal morning shone ! 
 
63 
 
 TO MY INFANT SON. 
 
 Thy mother bade me weave a lay, 
 
 A lay of love for thee; 
 And I with willing mind obey, 
 
 Though tuneless all it be ; 
 Though words but mock the fond excess 
 Of joy, of hope, of tenderness, 
 
 Which thou hast wrought in me ; 
 And though my harp's degenerate chords 
 Faint echoes yield to powerless words. 
 
 O, could my heart, flown to my tongue, 
 
 Dissolve itself in sound ; 
 Or did my harp, now all unstrung, 
 
 With dulcet tones abound; 
 Then would I strike a chord should chain 
 The mind, and draw forth tears like rain, 
 
 When I am in the ground ; 
 But thou, should Heaven thy life prolong, 
 May'st value e'en this rugged song. 
 
64 TO MY INFANT SON. 
 
 But it may be, my boy, thy life 
 
 Is in its spring to cease ; 
 It may be, that e'er manhood's strife 
 
 Thou'lt find eternal peace ; 
 And ne'er should wish of mine be lent, 
 Were wishes potent, to prevent 
 
 Thy happy soul's release ; 
 He metes thy days, my little one, 
 Who gave thee life — His will be done ! 
 
 And this world many a peril hath ; 
 
 If thou shouldst tarry here, 
 Toils, cares, and griefs, will line thy path, 
 
 And manhood's rough career 
 Will dash the gladness from thy brow, 
 The freshness from thy cheek, and thou 
 
 Mayst shed the frequent tear 
 O'er loved ones whom the earth receives 
 Like spring-tide bloom or autumn leaves. 
 
 But ever pure may be thy breast, 
 
 In grief — in joy the same; 
 And never may dishonour rest 
 
 Its cloud upon thy name ; 
 
 
TO MY INFANT SON. 65 
 
 But may'st thou early learn to prize 
 The plaudits of the good and wise, 
 
 Alone as real fame ; 
 Nor let the race absorb thy soul, 
 But keep thine eye fix'd on the goal. 
 
 Thy mother! — never may her eye 
 
 Be wet with tears for thee, 
 Save for those little ills which try 
 
 Thy tender infancy; 
 And may'st thou to man's sterner worth 
 Join her warm heart — her guileless mirth — 
 
 Her frankness — constancy; — 
 Her love, which time doth not estrange, 
 Which knows no ebb — and knows no change. 
 
 And when at length into thy breast 
 
 Death's chilling tremors creep, 
 O may'st thou sink into its rest 
 
 As to a gentle sleep ! 
 Unreach'd by doubt, unchafed by pain, 
 Leaving behind thee not a stain 
 
 O'er which the good may weep; 
 But with thy spirit plumed to rise 
 To that pure world beyond the skies ! 
 
 F 
 
6G 
 
 TO 
 
 MY DAUGHTER IN SICKNESS. 
 
 Little pensive girl, 
 
 Filmy shadows gather 
 In thy blue eye, once 
 
 Bright as summer weather; 
 On thy shrunken cheek 
 
 Not a vestige lingers 
 Of the roses pluck'd 
 
 By Pain's sallow fingers. 
 
 Erst like the glad lark 
 
 From the mid-air stooping 
 To his meadow-home — 
 
 Now thou'rt dull and drooping; 
 Smiles as merry May 
 
 Radiant once and cheery, 
 Flicker faintly now, 
 
 Making gloom more dreary. 
 
TO MY DAUGHTER IN SICKNESS. 67 
 
 Spring is coming, sweet, 
 
 And her power may lighten 
 Thy clogg'd pulse's flow, 
 
 And thy dim eye brighten ; 
 She will tint the flower, 
 
 Burnish things the hoarest, 
 Summon forth the bee, 
 
 Clothe with leaves the forest — 
 
 Scatter mist and fog 
 
 From the green earth's bosom, 
 Scent the dewy air, 
 
 Robe the tree with blossom, 
 Breathe on wither'd stems, 
 
 Pouring life along them ; — 
 Will she then shun thee ? 
 
 Sweetest thing among them ! 
 
68 
 
 NIGHT. 
 
 Away ! away ! 
 
 See twilight gray 
 Her gauzy veil arraying, 
 
 There's not a sound 
 
 The village round, 
 Save yonder watchdog's baying : 
 
 There's not an eye, 
 
 Nor footstep nigh ; 
 Shepherds their flocks have tended; 
 
 The reaper's lay 
 
 Has died away; 
 The woodman's task is ended : 
 
 And Nature seems 
 
 A land of dreams, 
 Thin haze, like slumber, creeping 
 
 O'er leaf and flower, 
 
 Hill, meadow, bower, 
 And brook-side willow, weeping. 
 
 
NIGHT. 
 
 But, lo ! the birth 
 
 Of moonlight ! Earth, 
 Aside her mantle throwing, 
 
 Beams like a bride, 
 
 In all her pride, 
 In all her beauty glowing ! 
 
 On, onward through 
 
 Her realms of blue 
 Glides the orb'd moon ! Leaves quiver 
 
 For joy, and bright 
 
 Like liquid light 
 Flows yonder glassy river ! 
 
 Beneath her sway 
 
 A second day, 
 A milder radiance shedding 
 
 Than lately dyed 
 
 Yon mountain's side 
 With roseate hues, is spreading. 
 
 Night ! how divine 
 A power is thine ! 
 
70 NIGHT. 
 
 Deep founts of thought and feeling, 
 
 By day subdued, 
 
 Thy solitude 
 And silence are revealing ! 
 
 POXt THE GRAVE OF NAPOLEON. 
 
 A shallow pit, a stone, a tree ! 
 Conqueror, do these suffice for thee ? 
 Dost thou, whose shadow realms o'ercast, 
 Pill but this little space at last? 
 Yes, here thou liest, as mute and chill 
 As the most squalid child of ill, 
 When he descends to his last rest 
 Within the earth's maternal breast ; 
 As welcome to the worms as thou, 
 Though never crown oppress'd his brow ! 
 
 When, in the distant future, fame 
 Like snow shall gather on thy name ; 
 
FOR THE GRAVE OF NAPOLEON. 7i 
 
 Till, as a mighty alp, it rise 
 The wonder of all human eyes; 
 While fable lends to history's page 
 Some added marvel age by age. — 
 When men, wherever earth is trod 
 By man, shall deem thee demigod, 
 And rear thee trophies — what shall they 
 Avail thee, mouldering thing of clay? 
 
 And what avail thee states o'erturn'd, 
 Fair regions wasted, cities burn'cl, 
 Hearts crush'd, laws outraged, corses strown 
 Like autumn leaves through every zone ; 
 Till the earth groan 'd beneath the dead, 
 And blood from youthful veins was shed 
 Enough to float, for many a mile, 
 A fleet" around this rugged isle ! 
 
 I'd rather be a poet, bred 
 
 Beneath the humblest cotter's shed — 
 
 I'd rather be a poet, born 
 
 To brook the harsh world's heartless scorn, — 
 
 To writhe beneath its cruel fangs, 
 
 And feel its mockery of my pangs — 
 
72 FOR THE GRAVE OF NAPOLEON. 
 
 To have the wayward mood misthought 
 A maniac's wandering, meaning nought — 
 Than I would be, like thee, proud man, 
 Destruction's mate; enjoyment's ban; 
 A thing of conquest and of sway, 
 With power to blast, and will to slay, 
 And then — a petty wreath of clay ! 
 
 The tiniest star that eye hath scann'd — 
 The meanest shell that gems the sand — 
 The most neglected flower that springs— 
 The frailest thing that floats on wings — 
 The lightest sound, he knows not whence, 
 So light it scarcely warns the sense — 
 Will bid the thrill of rapture start 
 In each pulse of the poet's heart ; 
 Nor does he hoard his heavenly gain, 
 But spreads it o'er the earth like rain, 
 To make sweet thoughts, like flow'rets, spring 
 When that heart is a pulseless thing ! 
 
 His trophies are not realms destroy'd ; 
 In Nature's works he makes no void; 
 
FOR THE GRAVE OF NAPOLEON. 73 
 
 But in his mind's all glorious light 
 
 Fair grows more fair, and bright more bright ; 
 
 Its beams embellish all ; — each hue 
 
 His fancy freshens like the dew ; 
 
 Each graceful form, each gentle tone, 
 
 Acquires a beauty not its own ; 
 
 And things that else exist not start 
 
 To life, by magic of his art : 
 
 And when he falls he leaves behind 
 
 Xo gory name to scare mankind ; 
 
 But his thoughts live, as new and warm 
 
 As when they first began to charm ; 
 
 His page still draws forth smiles, or lies 
 
 Bedew'd with tears from beauty's eyes ; 
 
 In hall and hut his lays are sung, 
 
 His words still flow from beauty's tongue. 
 
 Then would I be a bard, and lie 
 Beneath inclement winter's sky ; 
 And quaff the brook, and seek my food 
 Among the berries of the wood ; 
 Rather than such as thou — the' first 
 Of warriors on earth's bosom nursed; 
 
74 FOR THE GRAVE OF NAPOLEON. 
 
 The topmost spirit of thine age ; 
 
 The reddest spot on history's page ; 
 
 With mind that carnage sought for food, 
 
 And fame whose hugeness grew by blood, 
 
 A potent will, ambition vast, 
 
 Fierce passions like the simoom's blast, — 
 
 And but an empty name at last! 
 
 LUCY MAY. 
 
 The beauty of the valley, 
 The pretty Lucy May, 
 
 Is chanting musically 
 
 Along her homeward way ! 
 
 She moves amid kind faces, 
 The dullest passer by 
 
 Turns, smitten by her graces- 
 The blue light of her eye, 
 
LUCY MAY. 75 
 
 Her features fair, and glowing 
 
 With maiden mirth and pride, 
 .And flaxen locks, o'erflowing 
 
 The charms they fail to hide. 
 
 A guileless thing I see thee, 
 
 And be thy future bright ! 
 May sin and sorrow flee thee, 
 
 As shadows flee the light ! 
 
 May wedded love, fair siren, 
 
 Thy heart's sure anchor be, 
 And a glad hearth environ 
 
 With miniatures of thee ! — 
 
 And shield thee from his wooing 
 
 Whose fiendish eyes are cast 
 On virtue but to ruin, 
 
 On beauty but to blast ! — - 
 
 Who friendship's guise would borrow 
 
 To cloak a heartless flame, 
 To cloud that brow with sorrow, 
 
 And tinge that cheek with shame! — 
 
76 LUCY MAY. 
 
 Who all without emotion 
 
 Would mark each beauty fade, 
 
 And, callous as the ocean, 
 Smile on the wreck he made ! 
 
 A WISH. 
 
 Would, thou fleet-footed fawn, 
 As cheery as the dawn, 
 
 That mine, as thine, might be 
 A life amid the trees, 
 Untainted by disease, 
 Innocuous as the breeze, 
 
 And as free ! 
 
 Forgotten brick and stone, 
 To woods a moment flown, 
 
 Fancy roams wild with thee ; 
 But cares and sorrows cling 
 Close as the falcon's string, 
 And back the vagrant bring, 
 
 Woe-is-me ! 
 
A WISH. 77 
 
 Yet well I mind the time, 
 Ere the world's viscid lime 
 
 Made prisoner of me ; 
 When wild as thou art now, 
 And scarce less fleet than thou, 
 Over yon green hill's brow 
 
 I would flee ! 
 
 CHILDHOOD. 
 
 Of the pallid starlight born, 
 Swathed in mist, behold the morn, 
 With the first faint tinge of light, 
 Maketh pale the brow of night ! 
 
 Fly, ye shadows murk and dim, 
 For the great sun's crimson rim, 
 From the near horizon's edge, 
 Cleaves the dull sky like a wedge ! 
 
78 CHILDHOOD. 
 
 Plants, of every form and hue, 
 < Bend beneath the cumbrous dew, 
 Scatter'd plentiful as rain, 
 Over hill and over plain ; 
 Flowers, whose leaves the night doth seal, 
 Now their thousand tints reveal, 
 Raising, in the dew's despite, 
 Each its little urn for light ; 
 Odours with the chilling air 
 Mingle into fragrance rare ; 
 Birds grow joyous, as earth's face 
 Brightens to the sun's embrace, 
 And a strain of blended notes 
 Heavenward in sweet music floats ! 
 
 Has the dawn arrived too soon ? 
 Thin and filmy, see the moon, 
 In her wane and late to rise, 
 Lagging through the western skies; 
 Like a reveller, pale and worn, 
 On whose haggard cheek the morn, 
 As he wends his homeward way, 
 Flings her cold upbraiding ray ! 
 
CHILDHOOD. 79 
 
 Glorious shall the zenith be 
 
 Of the day begun in thee, 
 
 Morn of promise, and I'll roam 
 
 Where the larks have made their home — 
 
 By the wildfowl's sedgy nest — 
 
 Where the dozing owl doth rest, 
 
 'Mid the forest shadows deep, 
 
 Whither scarce a beam can creep — 
 Where the corn is ripe and high — 
 Where the lazy cattle lie — 
 Where the fleet deer bound, or browze 
 'Neath the oak's majestic boughs : 
 Thus I'll wander till the day 
 Robes itself in twilight gray. 
 
 Now the dew is off, but no, 
 Not companionless I go ? 
 Beauty is not half so fair 
 If no eye our rapture share ! 
 Music loses half its tone 
 If it reach our ear alone ! 
 Incense is not half so sweet 
 If our single sense it greet ! 
 
80 CHILDHOOD. 
 
 Selfish joy I may not win, 
 
 " Happiness was born a twin !" 
 
 Farmer, not with thee I wend, 
 Different ways our feelings tend ; 
 When beside thee waves the grain, 
 Stacks and markets throng thy brain ; 
 Vainly o'er it skylarks sing, 
 Thou think'st what the crop will bring ! 
 Sheep and kine around thee stray, 
 Straight thou guessest what they weigh — 
 What their worth when meads and brooks 
 Shall give place to knives and hooks ! 
 Nature thus before thine eyes 
 As an arid desert lies, 
 Save where she doth stores produce 
 For thy traffic, or thy use. 
 
 Wealthy townsman, not with thee 
 Shall my wayward ramble be; 
 From thy toil, and gain, and care, 
 Not a thought hast thou to spare 
 For the myriad glorious things 
 Which to birth each moment brings ; 
 
CHILDHOOD. 81 
 
 " All is barren/' waste, and dry; 
 Nought hath language for thine eye ; 
 Thou dost walk 'mid blinding dreams 
 Of red lines, and debts, and schemes ; 
 Bales are round thee, cargoes lost 
 On some far and fatal coast 
 Witch thy fancy o'er the sea — 
 Thou no comrade art for me ! 
 
 Poet, of the pensive brow, 
 Nature's votary art thou ! 
 All her matchless wealth is thine ! 
 In thy heart she builds her shrine ! 
 Like a sunbeam is thy mind 
 Beauties ever new to find, 
 Or a stronger light to pour 
 On those dimly seen before ! 
 
 Poet, not with thee I stray, 
 Thine should be a lonely way, 
 When each thing around thee teems 
 With the ore of golden dreams ; 
 
 G 
 
82 CHILDHOOD. 
 
 Shrouded, in a mantle wrought 
 From the rarest woof of thought, 
 From the outward world, thy mind 
 Soon would leave discourse behind ; 
 Moulding some all- glorious rhyme 
 For the stores of after time. 
 Thou shouldst roam unmated ever 
 When thy thoughts flow like a river, 
 Bright and bounding, fresh and free, 
 Through the fields of poesy ! 
 
 Hither, merry hearted child, 
 As the alpine chamois wild ; 
 With an eye untaught in guile ; — 
 Cheek that never don'd a smile 
 To dissemble hatred's glow, 
 Nor wore mimicry of woe ; — 
 Brow whereon the world hath yet 
 Not a line of sorrow set : — 
 Hither, boy, with thee I stray, 
 Time is fleet, away, away ! 
 
 Not a line-o'ercrowded scroll, 
 Blurr'd and blotted, is thy soul ; 
 
CHILDHOOD. 83 
 
 But a spotless page, and white, 
 Where, in characters of light, 
 Each hour doth new matter write : 
 Or 'tis like rich earth that lies 
 In the dew 'neath morning skies, 
 From the share all fresh and new, 
 Hailing first their lustrous blue ! 
 All things lovely, pure and rare, 
 Seeds of thought are sowing there,— 
 May they, bright perennials, spring 
 Free from blight and withering ! 
 
 Yet will Time, with stealthy pace, 
 Youth's impressions soon efface ; 
 By his iron footsteps trod, 
 Like the press'd and fallow clod, 
 Unelastic, heavy, cold, 
 Changed from that it was of old, 
 May the mind become, that now 
 Lightens up thy radiant brow — 
 That through every eager sense 
 Gathers happiness intense, 
 Slurr'd not by the pedant's slime, 
 Numb'd not by the touch of Time ! 
 
84 CHILDHOOD. 
 
 Habit aideth age ! the soul 
 Stagnates 'neath their joint control; 
 Growing earthy, dull, and dead, 
 Changing like the heart to lead ! 
 Daily fed with light, the eye 
 Sees no sun within the sky ; 
 Near us caged, the sweetest bird, 
 Singing ever, ne'er is heard; 
 Flowers that in our sight have been 
 Blooming long, are all unseen ! 
 
 Time hath stifFen'd not thy limbs ; 
 Age not yet thine eyesight dims ; 
 Custom hath not made thy mind 
 To the charms of nature blind ; 
 But to thy unhackney'd view 
 All is beautiful as new ! 
 
 Creature full of life and joy, 
 Thou hast made me too a boy 
 By infection, and unseal'd 
 Heart-springs by life's frosts congeal'd, 
 Bidding my loosed feelings flow 
 As they coursed long, long ago, 
 
CHILDHOOD. 85 
 
 When the crow's nest tempted me, 
 Venturous, up the tallest tree, 
 And the butterfly could lead 
 Over dell and over mead ! 
 
 IVe companions had, than thou 
 Sager both of mien and brow, 
 Whose discourse, by schoolmen taught, 
 Was with less instruction fraught; 
 Rightly understood, thy speech 
 Wisdom to the wise may teach ; 
 He athwart whose features care 
 Long hath urged the restless share, 
 On whose patriarchal head 
 Seventy years their snows have shed, 
 Rich in knowledge though he be, 
 Much may learn from infancy ! 
 
86 
 
 WAH. 
 
 Morn ! and the flowers unfold, 
 
 Fragrant as bright, 
 Leaves that seem burnish'd gold, 
 
 Ether, or light ; 
 Mountain and forest green, 
 
 Valley and glade, 
 Glow, as that cloudless sheen 
 
 Never would fade ! 
 
 Where the pale willows bow, 
 
 Wanders a stream, 
 Calm as an infant's brow — 
 
 Still as a dream ; 
 Peals of sweet melody 
 
 Float on the gale, 
 Larks roam the sunny sky, 
 
 Finches the vale ! 
 
WAR. 
 
 Hark to the trumpet sound ! 
 
 Armed men are near ; 
 Forests and hills around 
 
 Echo their cheer ; 
 Rank upon rank, the brave 
 
 Press to their doom ; 
 Far as eye reaches, wave 
 
 Pennon and plume ! 
 
 Knee is opposed to knee, 
 Eye glares on eye, 
 
 Thunders of musquetry 
 Darken the sky ; 
 
 Chargers wheel— sabres clash- 
 Fierce grows the strife, 
 
 While from each ruddy gash 
 Gushes a life ! 
 
 Eve ! and wild havoc's din 
 
 Dies on the ear, 
 Stars overhead bedn 
 
 Fast to appear ; 
 
 87 
 
88 WAR. 
 
 See, 'inid the stilly hush, 
 
 Twilight, serene 
 As e'er the battle's rush 
 
 Alter'd the scene. 
 
 Bare is the forest bough, 
 
 Blood-stain'd the rill, 
 Birds — are they nigh us now ? 
 
 Flowers — bloom they still? 
 Xo ! — behold, near and far, 
 
 Carnage and death; — 
 Strong is thine arm, O War !— 
 
 Blasting thy breath ! 
 
89 
 
 I THINK OF THEE. 
 
 When morning's beam is springing, 
 New life to nature bringing, 
 And merry birds are winging 
 
 Their way from tree to tree ; 
 And the violet uncloses, 
 And fragrant dew reposes 
 Enamour'd of the roses, 
 
 I think then of thee. 
 
 When day's warm noon is glowing, 
 The sky more sultry growing, 
 And streams are calmy flowing, 
 
 And murmuring like the bee; 
 And not a breeze is sighing, 
 And not a bird is flying, 
 And flowers seem faint and dying, 
 
 I think then of thee. 
 
90 I THINK OF THEE. 
 
 When evening's sky is spreading, 
 And evening's star is shedding 
 Its light on lovers, treading 
 
 The paths that loneliest be; 
 And twilight round is stealing, 
 The muffled owl revealing, 
 And bat in circles wheeling, 
 
 I think then of thee. 
 
 When starry midnight's reigning, 
 The pale moon slowly waning, 
 And nightingales are plaining, 
 
 And cool airs wander free ; 
 And peace at length has found me, 
 And silence hovers round me, 
 And sleep's soft chain has bound me, 
 
 I dream then of thee. 
 
91 
 
 THE TOWN. 
 
 The noisy City's crowded ways 
 
 Are not the haunts I love ; 
 Be mine the yellow mead, the hill, 
 
 The forest, and the grove ; 
 Nature was ever dear to me, 
 
 E'en in her sternest mood, 
 And I feel like a prison'd bird 
 
 In this huge solitude ! — 
 
 x\ brick-piled solitude, where men 
 
 Their rayless courses run, 
 Scarce knowing that above them shines 
 
 The universal sun ! 
 Where gold is worship'd like a god, 
 
 And only want is vile; 
 Where envy uses friendship's garb, 
 
 And hatred wears a smile ! 
 
92 THE TOWN. 
 
 I've roam'd amid the fragrant heath, 
 
 And o'er the daisied plain ; 
 Have lain beside the rivulet, 
 
 And listen'd to its strain ; 
 I've mark'd the rising summer sun 
 
 Hail'd by the soaring lark; 
 All rural sights, all rural sounds, 
 
 It has been mine to mark ! 
 
 I've loved the wildest tempest's voice, 
 
 Exulting 'mid the crash, 
 While earth a moment seem'd to reel, 
 
 And redden'd in the flash ! 
 I've bounded, gaily as a bird, 
 
 Over the billowy brine, 
 Until its restless nature grew 
 
 To be a part of mine ! 
 
 How should I then love crowded paths, 
 
 And vapour-tainted air? 
 Where hunger jostles luxury, 
 
 And foppery despair ! 
 
THE TOWN. 93 
 
 Where hearts are callous as the streets, 
 
 And vice thrives far and near, 
 There flaunting 'mid a liveried throne, 
 
 Tu coarse rags rotting here ! 
 
 A COMPARISON. 
 
 Behold the slowly-opening bud— the infant on 
 
 the knee, 
 And pause, and think, how like they are,— how 
 
 like their course shall be ; 
 A rosy hue spreads o'er the flower, in many a 
 
 beauteous streak, — 
 The rosy flush of health adorns the infant's smiling 
 
 cheek. 
 
 The bud expands— the child, too, owns the ripening 
 
 hand of time ; 
 And both are gay, and wearing on towards their 
 
 sunny prime; 
 

 ■ 
 
 
 
 94 A COMPARISON. 
 
 
 The sky above them both is bright; 
 
 or if a cloud 
 
 appears, 
 
 
 The silvery shower soon passes by — 
 
 -soon dried are 
 
 boyhood's tears. 
 
 
 But after- storms will scathe the flower — tears pour 
 
 when manhood's brow 
 
 
 Is shadowed o'er with care, or fun 
 
 owed deep by 
 
 sorrow's plough ! 
 
 Then one its zenith bloom attains — his full endow- 
 ments one; 
 
 While fleet as dreams, and scarce observed the 
 hours, — the seasons run. 
 
 Stern winter comes — old age creeps on — decay 
 
 will now assail ; 
 The leaves are dropping one by one — the vigorous 
 
 senses fail; 
 A few brief hours — a few short years — have yet 
 
 to wear away, 
 Then what the flower? — pale scentless dust ! The 
 
 man ? — cold breathless clay ! 
 
95 
 
 OCEAN. 
 
 " Time writes no wrinkle on thine azure brow, 
 Such as creation's dawn beheld thou rollest now." 
 
 Lord Byrox. 
 
 Ocean, pour forth % multitude of waves, 
 
 To sport and glitter 'neath yon rising sun ; 
 Send up glad music from thy myriad caves, 
 
 As when thine earth-encircling course begun ; 
 Time harms not thee— his centuries pass thee by, 
 As flits yon cloud across the golden sky ! 
 
 When, as old chaos into form awoke, 
 
 Thou mirror'dst first that sky so young and fair, 
 And not a sound from living creature broke 
 
 The whispering stillness of the azure air, 
 The sun-lit waves as now career'd alon<r, 
 And rose as now thy undulating song. 
 
96 OCEAN. 
 
 Earth became peopled, race succeeded race 
 Till men had made their homes on every shore ; 
 
 In turn they occupied their points of space, 
 
 Play'd their brief parts, and then were seen no 
 more; 
 
 As waves an instant on thy surface glow, 
 
 Then fade into the darksome depths below. 
 
 Cities which have no name in history's page, 
 Of which e'en hoar tradition now is mute, 
 
 Grew in extent and grandeur, age by age, 
 And in their marble halls the dulcet lute 
 
 Aided the revel's flow of wild delight — 
 
 Now grass grows o'er each unsuspected site ! 
 
 Others of which Fame speaks are names alone, 
 And dust, — Thebes, Carthage, Babylon, and 
 Troy, 
 
 Are atoms, their wide palaces o'erthrown, 
 
 Their gorgeous temples, and their bowers of joy ; 
 
 But ruthless ruin hath no fang for thee, 
 
 Thou glorious symbol of eternity ! 
 
OCEAN. 97 
 
 Mutation is earth's law, hath ever been, 
 
 And shall be while her plains and mountains last ; 
 
 E'en thine own Isle's dense woods and valleys green 
 Nurtured barbarian hordes in ages past ; 
 
 And where her spires arise — her harvests swell, 
 
 The naked savage yet again may dwell ! 
 
 Let change to change succeed — let deserts grow 
 To populous nations, nations become waste — 
 
 The same in storm and calm, in ebb and flow, 
 No records of old time in thee are traced ! 
 
 Then roll as ever, vast and billowy sea ! 
 
 Till a new chaos alter even thee ! 
 
 BALLAD. 
 
 " Stay, stay, thou sun-burnt mariner! the glad- 
 some light that feeds 
 
 Thine eye, the song upon thy lip, but ill become 
 thy deeds ; 
 
 H 
 
98 BALLAD. 
 
 But darker one will be full soon, and silent one will be, 
 
 For never to thine ear again shall moan the restless 
 sea!" 
 
 Thus spake a stern and wrinkled crone, upon whose 
 brows the snow 
 
 Of age had gather'd, while undimmed glistened the 
 orbs below ; 
 
 A fiendish light within them gleamed — wild glances, 
 such as stray 
 
 From the rash madman's frenzied eye, but stead- 
 faster than they ; 
 
 Informed with subtler meaning, and a deadlier intent; 
 
 Serpents, in act to spring, they seemed; and to the 
 heart they wenti 
 
 The seaman felt their baleful force ; an instant, in 
 amaze, 
 
 Backward he shrunk — an instant — then returned 
 her gaze for gaze :~ 
 
 " Fierce hag, begone! go frighten babes, bid chil- 
 dren crouch and whine 
 
 Beneath they weird and hoary brows — that hideous 
 croak of thine; 
 
BALLAD. 99 
 
 But taunt not men ! I've roamed the deep when 
 
 howling storms were rife ; [strife ; 
 
 I've felt the war of elements, and mingled in their 
 I've fought and bled on many a deck, all slippery 
 
 with men's blood — 
 Till crimson grew the eddying foam that boiled along 
 
 the flood ! 
 Foemen have fallen beneath my steel, ashore and 
 
 on the sea ; 
 And darest thou, wither'd beldam, think my heart 
 
 will quail to thee ?" 
 
 " Hero! have none but belted foes by thy stern 
 prowess bled ? 
 
 Did all who died beneath thy hand bedeck a war- 
 rior's bed ? 
 
 Were men alone thy victims ? — Ah ! I mark thy 
 wild eyes roll : 
 
 Monster ! thou know'st there's other blood incrusted 
 on thy soul ! 
 
 Turn, turn thine eyes — for they may close in utter 
 darkness soon — 
 
 And note yon form that's gleaming, like a white 
 cloud, 'neath the moon ! 
 
100 BALLAD. 
 
 Mark from her silvery robe look forth a face as 
 
 silvery pale; 
 And note the stain her bosom wears What! 
 
 doth thy stout heart quail? 
 Tremblest thou at that purple taint, thou valorous 
 
 man of might ? 
 Did'stthou not tell me 'tis a hue familiar to thy sight? 
 
 " Ay ! rivet there thy straining gaze, her look is 
 
 fixed on thine ; 
 And darker, darker grows her brow, but not the 
 
 less divine ; — 
 For still her eye is calm and meek — anger it never 
 
 knew — 
 No light but that of tenderness suffused its heavenly 
 
 blue; 
 Yet there's a sadness and reproach in that once 
 
 beaming eye 
 That, if thou hast a heart, foul fiend !" She 
 
 paused for a reply. 
 The seaman gazed upon the sky, as she the picture 
 
 drew : 
 White clouds alone were there, but Conscience 
 
 owned the fiction true ; 
 
BALLAD. 101 
 
 Pale grew his cheek — " O God!" he cried, with 
 
 faint and failing breath : 
 Reeled, with a groan, to earth — then slept the icy 
 
 sleep of death ! 
 
 " So soon fulfilled the doom I spake !" the seeming 
 
 sibyl cried — 
 " I did but aim the shaft, thine own black heart the 
 
 point supplied; 
 Long years have passed,— the wide, wide sea, was 
 
 thy protection long, 
 But years stay not a mother's curse, and mine was 
 
 deep and strong; 
 The one wish of mine age was this — her blood 
 
 avenged to know; 
 Yet deemed I outraged law, not words of mine, 
 
 should lay thee low. 
 Mary ! I haste to join thee now — thee and thy babe 
 
 unborn ! 
 Life long hath had no flower for me — Death now 
 
 can have no thorn ! [to greet 
 
 One sole desire my life sustained — the hour I lived 
 Is here — is past — thy murderer's corse lies stiffen- 
 ing at my feet !" 
 
102 
 
 FROM AN UNPUBLISHED TALE. 
 
 Shades of evening, linger yet, 
 
 Hasten not the gloaming ; 
 Sun, ah ! not so quickly set, 
 
 Edgar yet is roaming ; 
 Eve, like thee he wears towards night, 
 
 Wears with gloomy thinking ; 
 Sun, like thee he once was bright, 
 
 Now like thee is sinking. 
 
 Not an hour I'd stay behind, 
 
 When at length we sever, 
 And the meteor-star his mind, 
 
 Fades from earth for ever ; 
 This world feels too bleak and bare, 
 
 When the stone is telling 
 That the loved one moulders there, 
 
 In the grave's dark dwelling. 
 
FROM AN UNPUBLISHED TALE. 103 
 
 Should the desert spring grow dry, 
 
 Nought is left to cherish, 
 But beneath the sultry sky 
 
 Travellers must perish ; 
 Should the sailor's beacon fail, 
 
 Over rough rocks hurried, 
 Soon he lies all cold and pale, 
 
 In the white wave buried. 
 
 When my guiding light is gone, 
 
 Darkness must receive me ; 
 When my spring of life is flown, 
 
 Life itself must leave me; 
 Shades of evening, ye are here ; 
 
 Sun, thy beams are hidden ; 
 And adown my cheek the tear 
 
 Makes its way unbidden ! 
 
104 
 
 LAST WISHES. 
 
 I would not descend in the ghastly shroud 
 To become the cold earthworm's guest; 
 
 I would not be borne by a formal crowd 
 To the place of my filial rest. 
 
 I loathe all the trappings which custom gave 
 
 To bedizen and mock the dead ! 
 What is death but a deeper sleep? — the grave, 
 
 But a drearier, colder bed? 
 
 Ye mummers, away from my lowly urn! 
 
 Where no hypocrite's tears descend, 
 May my dust to its parent dust return, 
 
 And my ashes with ashes blend. 
 
 Friends, lower me down in the garb I wore 
 When slumber stole into the breast, 
 
 Which the morning sun may arouse no more 
 From its dark and its dreamless rest ! 
 
 
LAST WISHES. 105 
 
 Yes, lower me earthward, cold clay to clay ! 
 
 Be funeral fopperies theirs, 
 Whose coffers have that will suffice to pay 
 
 For the pompous grief of their heirs ; 
 
 But rather give me what no wealth can buy, 
 What fame cannot win — tears that start 
 
 Unbidden, unseen, to a loved one's eye, 
 From their fountain, a guileless heart. 
 
 TO THE REDBREAST. 
 
 Thou'rt a chartered songster, Robin, 
 None aims at thy red breast ; 
 
 No murderous engines threaten thee, 
 No wanton boys molest. 
 
 There's a rural superstition 
 
 Which shields thy home from harm, 
 And invests thy tiny body 
 
 With safety, as a charm. 
 
106 TO THE REDBREAST. 
 
 When I listen'd to thy piping, 
 
 1 ever thought thine air 
 So meek and full of tenderness, 
 
 None with thee might compare. 
 
 When I spread the crumbs in winter 
 Beneath thy favourite tree, 
 
 I thought the dove of gentleness 
 Might yield the palm to thee. 
 
 But, alas ! like human creatures, 
 Whom since 'tis mine to know, 
 
 Thou hidest passions violent 
 Beneath a gentle show ! 
 
 Thus they scribble of thee, Robin, 
 
 In many a learned page: 
 They say that thou art quarrelsome, 
 
 And bloody in thy rage ! 
 
 But I'm sure they wrong thee, Robin ! 
 
 Those crabbed men of truth 
 For ever are diminishing 
 
 The sweet creed of our youth. 
 
TO THE REDBREAST. 107 
 
 The fairies have evanished, 
 
 No giants now we meet; 
 But I'll never be persuaded 
 
 Thou, Robin, art a cheat! 
 
 Nor can I part from the belief 
 
 That thou, in piteous mood, 
 Didst tend those hapless innocents 
 
 That perish'd in the wood . 
 
 TO THE VIOLET. 
 
 The snowdrop fair ; the fringed pink; 
 
 The woodbine on the cottage pale ; 
 The crowfoot, by the river's brink ; 
 
 The hawthorn, scenting evening's gale ; 
 Beauteous are these, and fragrant too, 
 Yet more I love the violet blue. 
 
108 TO THE VIOLET. 
 
 Clematis, with its wealth of bloom ; 
 
 The heartVease, and the daffodil ; 
 The red rose, rife with fresh perfume ; 
 
 The damask rose, more fragrant still ; 
 Sweet is each odour, bright each hue, 
 Yet more I love the violet blue. 
 
 The early crocus, spring's own flower ; 
 
 The lilac and laburnum tall ; 
 Geranium, pride of lady's bower ; 
 
 The lily, too, beloved by all; 
 Do not I value these ? — I do, 
 Yet more I love the violet blue. 
 
109 
 
 LINES 
 
 WRITTEN BENEATH A PORTRAIT. 
 
 No — it is not an angel's face, 
 Yet scarce can I believe it less ; 
 
 For it hath every charm and grace 
 A seraph's features should possess. 
 
 The polish'd chin — the open brow — 
 The cheek lit up with girlish bliss — 
 
 The full ripe lip, that even now, 
 On canvass, half invites a kiss. 
 
 Those sable locks the neck adorn, 
 
 And through the tresses, fair and white 
 
 The bosom peeps, like infant morn 
 Just stealing from the arms of night. 
 
 The long dark lash, that lends its shade 
 To curtain that too brilliant eye, 
 
 Seems kindly given the smiling maid, 
 
 Lest love, by lightning struck, should die. 
 
110 
 
 VILLAGE BELLS. 
 
 Sweet is your voice, ye bells, 
 
 In the dim eventide ; 
 While sunset's latest radiance dwells 
 
 Upon that green hill's side ; 
 Each pensive note that flings 
 
 Its cadence on the air, 
 Rouses a host of spectral things, 
 
 Beings of years that were ! 
 
 As now the evening breeze, 
 
 Scarce felt and faintly heard, 
 Steals with a whisper through the trees 
 
 Till every leaf is stirred, 
 The spirit of old time 
 
 On feelings dormant long 
 Breathes, summon'd by that well-known chime, 
 
 And wakes them into song ! 
 
VILLAGE BELLS. 113 
 
 Ether with voices rings, 
 
 Loved forms around me rise, 
 In my heart's core the fountain springs 
 
 That gushes from my eyes ; 
 Nor would I check the tear, 
 
 Though it in sadness flow — 
 Ah me, in what a fairy sphere 
 
 I lived long years ago ! 
 
 And though the sun shine bright 
 
 As in those years he shone, 
 To me less cheery is his light, 
 
 Since some it lit are gone ; 
 The earth is yet as sweet 
 
 And verdant as of yore, 
 But ah how many busy feet 
 
 Will press its sod no more ! 
 
 Not of the past alone, 
 
 Sweet bells, your pensive sounds ; 
 They tell of many a sculptured stone, 
 
 And lowlier grassy mounds ; 
 
112 VILLAGE BELLS. 
 
 And of a grave that soon 
 Must to them added be, 
 
 When yon slow rising summer moon 
 Shall have no beam for me ! 
 
 I am not one of those 
 
 Framed for long life, on whom 
 Old age shall shed its yearly snows, 
 
 Ere they lie 'neath the tomb ; 
 If now my locks a stain 
 
 Of boding silver show, 
 The fever of a restless brain, 
 
 Not years, has tinged them so ! 
 
 Ah cease not yet, ye bells ! 
 
 It is not oft I weep, 
 But now my heart is full, and swells 
 
 With feelings strong and deep ! 
 'Tis sad from scenes so dear 
 
 To turn, with alter'd brow T , 
 Back to the dreary atmosphere 
 
 That presses on me now ! 
 
VILLAGE BELLS. 113 
 
 I've communed with the dead ! 
 Not in rank cerements clad — 
 
 Not mouldering in their earthy bed- 
 But breathing, young, and glad! 
 
 Night warns, and silvery light 
 Pervades the silent air; 
 
 Adieu, ye haunts of past delight; 
 Ye are not what ye were ! 
 
 THE OLD MAN'S LAMENT. 
 
 The earth, how it changes ! 
 
 Since days I have seen 
 Less rife is its blossom, 
 
 Less vivid its green ; 
 The sky is less golden, 
 
 The lark is more tame; 
 Can Nature have alter'd ? 
 
 She seems not the same ! 
 1 
 
114 THE OLD MAN'S LAMENT. 
 
 E'en mirth is less joyous 
 
 And warm than of yore, 
 Less kindly is friendship, 
 
 And love is no more; 
 My days of rejoicing 
 
 Come not as they came, 
 The voices that gladden'd 
 
 Now sound not the same. 
 
 The paths are grown rugged, 
 
 The air is more chill, 
 The valley more tedious, 
 
 And steeper the hill ; 
 My hearth is less cheery, 
 
 Less genial its flame ; 
 Ah, /am the changeling I 
 
 I am not the same I 
 
115 
 
 THE LAST. 
 
 The last ! How much of dreary thought 
 
 These simple words convey ; 
 They are the knell of flitting joys, 
 
 Of pleasures pass'd away ; 
 Of happy hours too fleetly flown, 
 
 Like winter sunshine o'er ; 
 Of flowers that sprung within the heart, 
 
 And blossom there no more. 
 
 The exile, as his vessel bounds 
 
 Over the foamy wave, 
 Looks back towards that native land 
 
 Which shall not be his grave ; 
 And as he looks the tears gush forth 
 
 In big drops free and fast, 
 For well he knows the glimpse he gains 
 
 Of that shore is the last I 
 
116 THE LAST. 
 
 He in whose frame stern sickness works 
 
 A slow but sure decay, 
 When death is near, and o'er his brow 
 
 Its darkening shadows play, 
 Oh, who may know what thoughts are his, 
 
 As, ere the strife be past, 
 He gasps once more admitted air, 
 
 And feels that breath the last ! 
 
 The sailor, when the furious winds 
 
 Howl, and the waters dash 
 Their yelling waves around him, lit 
 
 By the red lightning's flash; 
 How dread, as from the reeling bark 
 
 On the wild billows cast, 
 To lift his last glance to the sky 
 
 And know it is the last ! 
 
 To lean o'er all we loved and love, 
 Stretch'd on the couch of death; 
 
 To mark the fix'd and glazing eye, 
 The short and gurgling breath ; 
 
THE LAST. 117 
 
 To press our quivering lips to those 
 
 Whose roses fade so fast, 
 To feel their faint and gentle kiss, 
 
 Their feeblest, and — the last ! 
 
 Yes, this is grief, and cares and griefs 
 
 All earthly-born must know; 
 But O, there is another land, 
 
 Where cares are not, nor woe ; 
 And he who feels his home is there, 
 
 When this frail life is past, 
 With a calm smile may welcome death, 
 
 His happiest hour the last ! 
 
 FINIS. 
 
 CHISWICK: 
 
 PRINTED BY C WHITTINGHAM. 
 
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