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THE 
 
 PILGRIM OF BEAUTY; 
 
 THE 
 
 COTTAGER'S SABBATH; 
 
 ©tfjer ^loemis, noto fast collected 
 
 By SAMUEL MULLEN. 
 
 " I run not to contend with those before me, but follow to applaud them. 
 
 Cowley. 
 
 WITH TWENTY-THREE VIGNETTES, 
 
 ENGRAVED BY W. R. SMITH, FROM DESIGNS BY II. WARREN. 
 
 LONDON: 
 CHAPMAN AND HALL, 186, STRAND. 
 
./13? 
 
 LONDON : 
 BRADBURY AND EVANS, PRINTERS. WHITEFRIARS. 
 
WILLIAM LEAF, ESQUIRE, 
 
 AS A TRIFLING BUT SINCERE TOKEN OF GRATEFUL REGARD, 
 
 Cijig Volume 
 
 IS RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED, 
 
 BY HIS OBLIGED SERVANT, 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 

PREFACE. 
 
 The Writer of the following pages is not an author 
 by profession, nor has he the slightest hope of profit, in 
 their publication. His experience justifies an opposite 
 inference, and he is not disposed to quarrel with the 
 judgment of the public. With a natural tendency to 
 the exercise of the imagination, his avocations, from a 
 very early age, have been of a most engrossing character ; 
 and the indulgence of his fancy has been allowed purely 
 as a relaxation from labours that have never claimed so 
 little as half of the twenty-four hours which compose 
 the day. The weariness of bodily fatigue has been 
 forgotten in the exercise of the mind, and the actual 
 sorrows of life have been subdued by imaginary griefs. 
 If perfection in the craft of authorship has not been 
 attained, it is still a source of gratification that no duty 
 of life has been neglected in its pursuit. 
 
 A portion of the contents of this volume has already 
 appeared. " The Pilgrim of Beauty " has been twice 
 printed, but in a very imperfect state, and at not half 
 
viii PREFACE. 
 
 its present length. " The Cottagers Sabbath " has 
 been once printed ; and, some few necessary correc- 
 tions excepted, re-appears in its original form. Among 
 the minor poems, some of the Songs have been set to 
 mnsic by my valued friend, John Thirlwall. The other 
 pieces have not till now appeared in print : some of 
 these are the productions of mere boyhood : others 
 have arisen from casual moods, and, thrown off with 
 little labour, are left unpolished as they came ; and the 
 rest have resulted from occurrences in a life neither 
 inactive nor unchequered. Such as they are, they now 
 appear before the bar of the Public, whose fiat I shall 
 abide without vanity and without impatience. If the 
 ability exists to make them better, the time is wanting ; 
 and while disposed to be grateful for honest censure, I 
 am far too proud to solicit praise. My hopes are not 
 sanguine; and, under any circumstances, the negative 
 comfort of the old proverb will remain to me : — " Blessed 
 is he that expecteth nothing, for then he shall not be 
 disappointed." 
 
 London, 
 November 28, 1844. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Dedication . ... . . . . . . v 
 
 Preface . . . . . . . . . . . vii 
 
 The Pilgrim of Beauty ...... 1 — 86 
 
 Songs and other Poems : — 
 
 Jubilate . 89 
 
 The New Creation 91 
 
 Ode to the Sun 104 
 
 The Inquiry 109 
 
 Flow on, thou shining River . . . . . .111 
 
 Spirit Divine ! Essential Good ! 112 
 
 On the Blank Leaf of a Bible . . . . .114 
 
 Epitaph . 115 
 
 on Four Children interred in One Grave . . 115 
 
 116 
 
 The Burial . . . .... . .117 
 
 On the Death of Gideon Ousely 118 
 
 Scene in Wexford Churchyard 119 
 
 The Sleeping Girl 120 
 
 To my First-born 122 
 
 Chaste as the Flower 123 
 
 To John Henry 124 
 
 Thy Home is in the Spirit-land . . . . . . 125 
 
 b 
 
x CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Songs and other Poems : — 
 
 Lines written on the Sea-shore . . . . .127 
 
 Written amid the Ruins of Helmsley Castle . . . . 128 
 
 To an Unbeliever . 1 30 
 
 On an eminent Lawyer Pleading . . . . . 131 
 
 The Last Bequest . . . . . . .131 
 
 The Maniac of Vinegar Hill 133 
 
 Farewell to the Five . 1 36 
 
 To Mary-Anne . . . . . . . . 139 
 
 To Harriet 140 
 
 To Maria 141 
 
 To Elizabeth 144 
 
 To Sarah . . 146 
 
 Childhood 148 
 
 To A. M. H . . 149 
 
 A Portrait 150 
 
 Waterloo 151 
 
 The FaU of Babylon 154 
 
 Oh Woman, Woman, ever kind . . . . . . 161 
 
 The Evening Fire 162 
 
 Oh Lady, fear not to trust my Bark 164 
 
 Mary, I think of Thee ! 165 
 
 The Old Owl . . . . . . .' ■ • • • 166 
 
 Isabel i '. . 167 
 
 Old Autumn 169 
 
 My Grandmother 170 
 
 The Fading Flower . "171 
 
 The Sunny Days of Childhood 172 
 
 The Grasshopper . ... . • • • • 173 
 
 Lady Jane . . . . 174 
 
 My Cottage Maid . . 175 
 
CONTENTS. x i 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Songs and other Poems : — 
 
 The jolly Wind 176 
 
 The gallant Flag of England 178 
 
 A Woful Ballad 180 
 
 I love Thee just the same . . . . . . . 181 
 
 My pretty Poll 182 
 
 The Housekeeper at Rufford Abbey . . . . . 183 
 
 My Father's Old Stick 184 
 
 The Cotter's Return . 186 
 
 The Old Holly Tree 187 
 
 Lord Thomas's Wedding 188 
 
 The Bogle . .189 
 
 Give me a homely rural Cot . . . . . . 1.91 
 
 The Din of the Battle died faint on the Ear . . .192 
 
 How brilliantly those Eyes of Thine . . . . . 195 
 
 Awake, awake, my sinless Child ! . . . .196 
 
 Broken Heart-strings . . . . . . . . 197 
 
 The Hour of Love * . .198 
 
 The Light of Hope '. . 199 
 
 The Lark that warbles in the Sky 200 
 
 How blest the Days . . . . . . . . 200 
 
 She sighed whene'er she heard Thy Name . . .201 
 
 The Rose that grew upon Thy Cheek 202 
 
 Her Heart is in the Minstrel's Grave . . . .203 
 
 The Dying Minstrel 205 
 
 The Exile . . . / 206 
 
 The banished Knight returns again ..... 207 
 William Tell . . ... . ... .209 
 
 The Maid of Arno Vale 209 
 
 Delights of Double-bedding : —an Ode . . . .210 
 The Pipe 213 
 
x [[ CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Songs and other Poems : — 
 
 The Meeting 214 
 
 Connaught ^ i4 
 
 The Singers of Street Chapel 216 
 
 The Sailor's Bride 217 
 
 An Acrostic ^*° 
 
 Weep, while I sing ! . "19 
 
 January 220 
 
 February . . ... . ..... 221 
 
 March 223 
 
 April 224 
 
 May 225 
 
 June 227 
 
 July 229 
 
 August 231 
 
 September 233 
 
 October 234 
 
 November 235 
 
 December 237 
 
 Christmas 238 
 
 The Cottagers Sabbath 241—335 
 
 Notes 337 
 
THE 
 
 PILGRIM OF BEAUTY. 
 
THE 
 
 PILGRIM OF BEAUTY. 
 
 CANTO I. 
 
 A gentle Pilgrim, in a lonely dell, 
 Where Druid oaks were mossed with hoary age, 
 Was bowed in prayer, and as he bowed there fell 
 A pleasant sunbeam on his features sage, 
 Which lit them like a missal's golden page. 
 Deep lines experience on his brow had traced, 
 And sober thought had cooled wild passion's rage ; 
 Long flowing locks his ample shoulders graced ; 
 His garb was humble grey ; a staff his hand embraced. 
 
 His noble brow was bare, and smooth, and high ; 
 His face was pale, its colour bright and clear ; 
 His lofty form rose graceful to the eye ; 
 His soft voice fell like music on the ear, 
 And cast a spell on all who chanced to hear ; 
 His mouth was small, lips delicate and thin ; 
 His eyes were blue, yet calm and free from fear ; 
 A curling beard descended from his chin ; 
 And his elastic step was buoyant from within. 
 
2 THE PILGRIM OF BEAUTY. 
 
 III. 
 
 "Where art thou, Spirit?" he cried; "I've sought thee 
 And called aloud on every beauteous thing, [far, 
 
 To Earth, to Ocean, Sun, and Moon, and Star, 
 To all that move beneath thy fostering wing, 
 The weary Pilgrim to thy feet to bring : 
 For years on years I 've sought thee far and near, 
 Thro' Winter's gloom ; amid the flowers of Spring ; 
 In life's dark-flowing streams of hope and fear ; 
 If sparkling in the smile, or glistening in the tear. 
 
 IV. 
 
 " Of thee in quest, my anxious soul hath sought 
 Thro' all the bounds where life or light might be ; 
 Where Sense fell feebly down, and mightier Thought 
 Swept boldly on, to grasp Infinity ! 
 To worlds ideal I have followed thee, 
 And tracked thy shadow through unbounded space, 
 If haply there mine eye might chance to see 
 Some form benign, some minister of grace, 
 Whose mystic lore could lift the veil that hides thy face. 
 
 " Where dost thou dwell, fair Essence uncreate ! 
 Primeval Beauty, uncorrupt and pure ! 
 Where hold thy court of everlasting state, 
 Enthroned in light that makes thee more obscure, 
 And clouded by the splendours which allure ? 
 Alas, alas ! I cry to thee in vain ; 
 My earnest pilgrimage must yet endure, 
 Till, nature purged from every darkening stain, 
 My spirit may perchance the blissful vision gain ! " 
 
THE PILGRIM OF BEAUTY. c c 
 
 VI. 
 
 He ceased to speak, but on his face remained 
 The strong expression of each anxious thought ; 
 For life had now its lasting colour gained, 
 And every feeling of his heart was brought 
 To bear the stamp one burning passion wrought ; 
 Awake, asleep, in motion, or at rest, 
 'Twas still the same : one only good he sought ; 
 And all his years were crowded and compressed 
 In passionate pursuit of this absorbing quest. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Full many a year his sandalled feet had paced 
 From clime to clime, amid life's shifting scenes ; 
 With careful thought each motley group had traced, 
 Where virtue's mask the face of knavery screens, 
 Or wisdom sleeps while folly intervenes. 
 In each, in all his anxious mind pursued 
 That fixed design to which his heart still leans 
 'Mid courts or camps, in polished life or rude, 
 Through cities vast and old, or this wild solitude. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 This one deep passion thro' his soul prevailed, 
 And tinged his life with its peculiar hue, 
 Toned all his thoughts, and on his heart entailed 
 The burning wish this phantom to pursue 
 In all which fancy traced or met his view. 
 If on some peerless flower his eye did rest, 
 'Twas not to note the form in which it grew, 
 But in its folds a living soul compressed, 
 The spirit of the flower, might smile upon its breast. 
 
4 THE PILGRIM OF BEAUTY. 
 
 IX 
 
 Thro' all his dreams the wish was still the same, 
 Their forms still varying, but alike their end, 
 Till sleep itself a different mean became 
 To reach that point where mingling visions blend 
 Their haloes rich, by waking eyes unkenned. 
 Thus day and night more visionary grown, 
 Life's devious lines in one direction tend, 
 Till fancy, feeling, sense, and thought are thrown 
 With concentrated force on this desire alone. 
 
 Not in one night, like Jonah's faithless gourd, 
 Had this strong passion grown to this great height ; 
 But years on years the fibrous roots still bored 
 The deeper down, and spreading left and right, 
 Grew on till it absorbed his nature quite. 
 Ere yet his powers expanded in the sun, 
 Before his infant eyes had seen the light, 
 The one great impulse in his soul begun, 
 And he had learned to love long ere he learned to run. 
 
 XI. 
 
 And while a child, in sunny fields he lay 
 And gazed delighted on the soft blue sky, 
 Where larks pursued their bright, melodious way, 
 Until he wished for wings, that he might fly 
 To lands unknown, or worlds dim-seen on high ; 
 For there he thought the beautiful, the bright 
 Would stand unveiled before his raptured eye ; 
 And haply one fair spirit, robed in light, 
 His playmate might become, and guide him in his flight. 
 
THE PILGRIM OP BEAUTY, 
 
 In those sweet hours, fair childhood's early prime, 
 The young heart heating free and warm within, 
 Ere life was shaded by a single crime, 
 Unborn the wish forbidden fruit to win, 
 And all unknown the very name of sin, 
 How oft he yearned some mystic sprite to find, 
 With whom life's earliest journeyings might begin 
 Thro' those bright climes, creations of the mind, 
 Where glorious shapes were seen, but dim and undefined ! 
 
 The fount of life ! a flowery, bubbling spring, 
 Fresh, pure, and cool, its waters un defiled, 
 Whose wimpling waves a low-voiced music fling, 
 Like songs of Eden while its garden smiled, 
 And man had all the feelings of a child, 
 Those pure emotions which at once impart 
 Their own bright sunshine to each floweret wild, 
 And throw far greater raptures o'er the heart 
 Than after years can buy in Pleasure's crowded mart. 
 
 In after years the memories of that time, 
 The time of childhood, played about his mind 
 Like fragrant breezes from a spicy clime 
 O'er some lone bark, so tossed by adverse wind, 
 That scarce a hope survives the shore to find. 
 Full oft the Pilgrim would those hours recall 
 Which he had spent among his playmates kind, 
 When all his wealth was simply hoop or ball, 
 Yet happier he with them than kings with crown and alL 
 
THE PILGRIM OF BEAUTY. 
 
 " Why should not man/' he asked, " be like a child 
 In feelings pure, and full of trust and love ? 
 Why wake the Passions, active, fierce, and wild, 
 To drive him on thro' lawless paths to rove, 
 Where guilt and pain still wait on each remove ? 
 Alas for him ! how dearly doth he buy 
 The fatal treasures which his manhood prove ! 
 No more, no more, with clear, undazzled eye 
 Can he look up and say f My home is in the sky ! ' " 
 
 In dreamy moods the Pilgrim's hours rolled on, 
 And his young spirit took a loftier tone ; 
 The common world, with all its scenes, was gone, 
 But he had formed a brighter, all his own, 
 Wnere lived the Pure, the Beautiful alone. 
 Mere earthly eyes ne'er saw such forms as played 
 In graceful movements thro' that clime unknown, 
 And led him on, a dreamer, in the shade, 
 To wander all alone thro' field or woodland glade. 
 
 xvn. 
 He loved to haunt the solitary stream 
 Which wound its quiet way thro' wood and dell : 
 On thyme-sweet banks for hours to he and dream; 
 While here or there a straggling sunbeam fell, 
 Which he would watch creep slow o'er mossy swell. 
 The birds grew tame, the fishes of the brook 
 The Pilgrim's gentle nature knew so well, 
 That they from him ne'er feared the treacherous hook, 
 But round his hand would play, and in his face would look. 
 
THE PILGRIM OF BEAUTY. 7 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Amid these scenes of sylvan solitude 
 The first fair vision of existence rose : 
 It might be wild and dreamy as his mood, 
 Yet pure and free from stain as Alpine snows, 
 And, though it stirred, broke not his deep repose ; 
 For round his path a Spirit walked unseen, 
 Whose smile he felt could endless bliss disclose. 
 Oh how he thrilled to meet that eye serene, 
 Or catch some whispered tone, behind the leafy screen ! 
 
 XIX. 
 
 But life rolled on as life will ever roll, 
 A headlong river, rushing towards the deep, 
 Bearing away, beyond weak man's control, 
 Each wish, each hope, in its resistless sweep, 
 To that dread bourne where all earth's children sleep. 
 Long ere the Pilgrim knew life's rapid waste, 
 His first bright dream expiring made him weep ; 
 For he was placed where now, with fearful haste, 
 The inexperienced rush sin's dreadful sweets to taste. 
 
 xx. 
 
 Up sprung the passions, while his youthful blood 
 Ran warm and swift along each throbbing vein, 
 Careering wildly 'round where Reason stood, 
 And cried aloud to warn, and cried in vain, 
 Of unseen danger or unending pain ! 
 The wild young steed snuffs up the vernal air, 
 And plunges headlong o'er the flowery plain, 
 Tossing on high his mane of flowing hair, 
 And, snorting loud with joy, thinks not of future care. 
 
THE PILGRIM OF BEAUTY. 
 
 The glowing season of impassioned youth 
 Brought forth at once life's choicest fruits and flowers 
 For then the mind dreamed not of that dark truth, 
 How grey-beard Time man's fleeting life devours, 
 With all the joys bespread o'er youthful hours. 
 Thus, while he revelled in that fairy clime, 
 Or hoped for bliss in youth's enchanting bowers, 
 His life had glided past its hour of prime, 
 Unheard the noiseless wings of unregarded Time. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 Yet thro' that season of impetuous joy 
 His heart still sighed to find that bliss unknown : 
 From all the burning raptures which employ 
 Youth's fervid hours he turned, to sigh alone, 
 Nor sighed for them, but Thou wert not his own ! 
 How oft his fancy traced thy awful form, 
 When some new glory o'er his vision shone ! 
 But while his heart with trembling joy grew warm, 
 The brightness died away, a rainbow in the storm. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 Still evermore to seek Thee did he vow, 
 Nor rest his foot till he had found thy shrine, 
 In valley sweet, or mountain's cloudy brow ; 
 Or in the deep and dark untrodden mine, 
 Where purest gems with useless lustre shine ; 
 Thro' ocean's caves, or thro' the desert drear ; 
 Or far beyond that dim ideal line 
 Which belts the world in circles here or there, 
 Shifts as we shift, and still surrounds us everywhere. 
 
THE PILGRIM OF BEAUTY. 9 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 First, thro' the schools — where mind rough-shaped its 
 In devious lines abstruse, yet glorious still; [course 
 Thro' darkness working with gigantic force, 
 To climb the future's steep-ascending hill, 
 Where Truth at last the thirsty soul should fill, 
 He wandered on and on, with eager pace, 
 Lured by the hope that learning might distil 
 Some precious drops, the gathering gloom to chace, 
 And thro' the might of mind disclose that fairest face. 
 
 He read old lore, where deep-involved there lay 
 Stupendous thoughts unpolished from the mine, 
 The first huge fragments man had torn away 
 From Truth's hard quarry, and o'er which the line 
 Was yet unstretched to give them shapes divine ; 
 Though rough, uneven, dark, and quaintly thrown 
 In strange confusion, or more strange design, 
 Yet still containing, like great Nature's own, 
 Those elemental truths which later times have known. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 He watched the mind with native strength endued, 
 Burst one by one the fetters which controlled 
 Its growing power to grasp infinitude, 
 And walk abroad the universe, more bold 
 With each succeeding and still firmer hold 
 It took of things yet tangible and sound, 
 Until at last with fearless wing it rolled 
 On thro' the vast, the trackless, the profound, 
 And measured in its flight infinity's dark round. 
 
10 THE PILGRIM OF BEAUTY. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 With reverend steps lie paced the solemn grove 
 Sacred, divine Philosophy ! to thee : 
 Heard from thy lips how he should Wisdom love, 
 And trace thy footsteps in simplicity, 
 If all those hidden treasures he would see. 
 Bnt flitting shadows led his feet astray, 
 And hollow words of jangling mockery; 
 Each new pretender found some newer way ; 
 And all before were wrong — in him true wisdom lay. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 Yet here and there some scattered lights arose, 
 Dispersing darkness in their little sphere : 
 A Socrates or Plato might disclose 
 Some half-born truth with hesitating fear, 
 Which gleamed awhile, and then would disappear. 
 On Ethnic error monkish fable grew, 
 Which darkened all Philosophy made clear, 
 And left the mind its progress to pursue 
 With cabalistic forms, and lines occult its clue. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 Till on the ground where Science took her stand, 
 And spoke of facts and principles of things, 
 Her rule and compass ever in her hand, 
 (For still to demonstration Science clings, 
 And clips Imagination's wandering wings,) 
 He paused awhile to listen to her speech, 
 And catch the flashing radiance which she flings, 
 Until he found even her unfit to teach 
 His labouring mind to gain the height he hoped to reach. 
 
THE PILGRIM OF BEAUTY. H 
 
 XXX. 
 
 Emerging slowly from the fettered schools 
 With thee, great prober of eternal truth, 
 Immortal Bacon, whose few simple rules 
 Were better far than all those forms uncouth 
 Which schoolmen used to curb the mind of youth, 
 With thee he learned all curious facts to scan, 
 Just as they rose in unadorned sooth : 
 Then side by side to place them as they ran, 
 And thus discern at last the mystery of Man. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 Yet while his heart exulted to behold 
 That giant hand each antique fetter break, 
 The big tears bursting thro' their sluices rolled 
 In plenteous streams adown his youthful cheek, 
 To see that mind so mighty, yet so weak ! 
 Blush, Nature, blush ! — thy paragon is nought ! 
 What humbling tales these Titan ruins speak ! 
 The man who grasped the universe of thought, 
 Like men of feeble minds by paltry bribes was bought ! 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 Beside great Newton, who with patient thought 
 Gazed on the stars and plummed the untrodden sky, 
 The Pilgrim watched, while he sublimely wrought 
 That wondrous scale of mighty orbs on high, 
 Where mapped and dotted down the planets he : 
 Each wandering star, its wanderings all designed, 
 However rarely seen by human eye ; 
 Even those strange fires, eccentric as the mind, 
 The comets yet to come, had all their paths defined. 
 
12 THE PILGRIM OF BEAUTY. 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 And what a book was spread before his eye ! 
 Thrice-glorious volume ! lettered all with light ; 
 Where every line that ran along the sky 
 Was teeming o'er with glory, full and bright ! 
 The sun by day, the moon and stars by night, 
 Sublimely eloquent of skill divine ; 
 Still holding forth, like missals, to the sight 
 The wondrous God, by whom they learned to shine 
 Prophetic of all joy — his ultimate design ! 
 
 xxxiv. 
 Yet though the book lay open to his view, 
 And living voices sang amid the spheres, 
 His earth-bound soul no inspiration drew ; 
 But sounds confused came tingling in his ears 
 Of prostrate hopes and overwhelming fears : 
 He felt how vast the universe must be 
 Where this dim world but like a speck appears ; 
 And sighed to think how little he could see 
 Of that sublime expanse overarched with mystery. 
 
 Then where the mind a mazy labyrinth lay 
 In soundless depths, or strange mysterious ties, 
 With virtuous Locke he strove to find his way 
 By Reason's torch and Truth's analogies. 
 But most of all the Pilgrim learned to prize 
 The stainless glory of that lofty mind, 
 Whose bright example shewed him how to rise 
 To intellectual beauty most refined, 
 With moral excellence and piety combined. 
 
THE PILGRIM OF BEAUTY. 13 
 
 For he had heard of some whose genius shed 
 The richest rays of elevating light, 
 But in whose hearts the darker passions bred 
 The baleful power to desolate and blight 
 Each rising joy, each flower, however bright ; 
 And thus the gold to worthless dross was turned, 
 The stately temple faded from his sight : 
 For Truth is pure, and soon the Pilgrim learned 
 That on her sacred shrine pure incense only burned. 
 
 These pale faint emblems of that perfect grace, 
 Which filled his soul with passionate desire, 
 Made small amends for lack of that loved face 
 Whose viewless glory kept his heart on fire, 
 And made each joy, however exalted, tire. 
 Wherefore he turned his weary steps aside, 
 To view those scenes his fellow-men admire, 
 Which though not all unstained with shades of pride, 
 Belong to Beauty still, save when to vice allied. 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 In those proud halls where eloquence unfolds 
 The soul-felt music of her magic strain, 
 Charms the rapt sense, the captive spirit moulds, 
 Or wakes each passion in its turn to reign — 
 Now raised to madness with ideal pain, 
 Or soothed to pitying tears by pictured woe — 
 With anxious ear he listened, to obtain 
 Some clue to guide, some hand the way to show ; 
 But evermore in vain : the path they did not know. 
 
14 THE PILGRIM OF BEAUTY. 
 
 Colossal piles, where Architecture reared 
 Huge emanations of gigantic thought, 
 In whose elaborate workmanship appeared 
 Exceeding glory to the skill which wrought 
 Such wondrous piles, by more than Nature taught ; 
 There, underneath the fretted dome, he trod, 
 To find the object he so long had sought, 
 But trod in vain ! Though they were built for God, 
 'Twas pride — mere human pride — first raised them from 
 the sod. 
 
 XL. 
 
 Immortal Genius o'er the canvas shed 
 A living radiance of his own, bright-hued ; 
 Waked up a glory which all time overspread, 
 And forms long dead with lasting life imbued. 
 Amid those groups the Pilgrim's eye pursued 
 The search protracted, happy yet to find 
 Some undiscovered glory, dark, subdued, 
 The proud creation of a master-mind, 
 In which that face unseen might dimly rise defined. 
 
 XLI. 
 
 On Titian's forms, with matchless grace endued, 
 Or RafFaelle's angels, floating in mid air ; 
 On dark Salvator and his outlaws rude, 
 Or Claude Lorraine amid his landscapes fair ; 
 On gems by names unknown, as rich as rare, — 
 He pored intent, if haply he might trace 
 Some shadowy clue, by which he might repair, 
 With reverend steps, but with redoubled pace, 
 To that unknown abode — to Beauty's dwelling-place. 
 
THE PILGRIM OF BEAUTY. 15 
 
 Where Sculpture raised her forms of marble life 
 His eye reposed with exquisite delight : 
 They stood so calm and still, so free from strife, 
 In their cold robes of pure, delicious white, 
 As if they joined the sense of touch to sight : 
 All round about them such deep silence dwelt, 
 That babbling language seemed extinguished quite ; 
 Yet in their looks great thoughts were inly spelt, 
 And fixed with rigid force, that passion could not melt. 
 
 A holy child was kneeling, bowed in prayer, 
 His fair young face turned upward to the sky : 
 Such soul-felt confidence was pictured there, 
 Such touching eloquence was in the eye, 
 That, though the Pilgrim smiled, he turned to sigh : 
 He smiled to see that child so near to heaven, 
 So full of God, so fit for bliss on high ; 
 He sighed to think that bark might yet be driven 
 Among those dangerous rocks where many a bark was 
 riven. 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 A little babe was sleeping as he lay 
 Beside his mother, who was sleeping too ; 
 His pouting lips appeared just turned away 
 From that fair fount whence life flowed warm and new; 
 And still he smiled as if the precious dew 
 Yet shed its balmy sweetness on his tongue ; 
 The mother to her breast the child still drew, 
 As if even sleep did but her love prolong, 
 That passion of her soul — that flame than death more 
 strong. 
 
16 THE PILGRIM OF BEAUTY. 
 
 One marble form the Pilgrim's heart did chill : 
 'Twas a young girl that seemed about to die ; 
 She looked as though her pulse was nearly still, 
 The film of death just creeping o'er her eye, 
 Which still turned up devoutly to the sky. 
 The resignation in her features traced 
 Rebuked the Pilgrim's weak, repining cry : 
 If she thus calm an early death embraced, 
 Why should his heart still bleed for his young hopes 
 defaced ? 
 
THE PILGRIM OF BEAUTY. \J 
 
 CANTO II. 
 
 Deep in the soul of all created things 
 The latent seeds of harmony abound : 
 From one great source the sum of Nature springs : 
 Hence woods and wilds and desert rocks are found 
 With mystic language filled and subtle sound. 
 Not false the fable which made trees rejoice, 
 But full of truth and wisdom most profound : 
 ? Twas Nature answering to her Maker's voice, 
 Responsive to his call, and glorying in his choice. 
 
 In trees and stones, in rocks and caves and dells, 
 In streams and seas, in fields and flowery meads, 
 A secret life, a mystic spirit dwells : 
 But who the language of their being reads, 
 Or spells the tones their varying nature needs, 
 Who but the Poet ? He, and he alone, 
 Gives voice and words to woods and worthless weeds ; 
 And thus interprets every secret tone 
 Which Nature would discourse, to make her feelings known . 
 
18 THE PILGRIM OF BEAUTY. 
 
 III. 
 
 Thus judged the Pilgrim of immortal song, 
 Where periods smooth with answering cadence twine, 
 Like confluent streams, harmonious, clear, and strong, 
 And fancy, feeling, truth, and nature join 
 To swell with sense the strong, full-flowing line. 
 When loftiest flights with lowliest truths agree, 
 And passions pure with rapturous warmth combine ; 
 When Nature speaks in language bold and free, 
 And sense and sound are one — this, this is Poetry ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 Thus to his eye the ancient poets rose, 
 Majestic men, high priests of Nature, all ; 
 Who first stood forth her secrets to disclose, 
 And wake the soul to sweet Apollo's call. 
 There Homer, Sappho, Virgil — names which fall 
 Like music, full of power to charm the ear, 
 And still hold fast the willing world in thrall, — 
 A world not won at first by sword and spear, 
 But by the power of Song — a triumph far more dear ! 
 
 Nor unobserved the lights of that dark age 
 When o'er the world a triple mantle lay, 
 And man displayed the worm's aurelian stage, 
 Ere yet the cumbrous crust is flung away, 
 Which gives the new-winged creature to the day. 
 He wept with Petrarch o'er fair Laura's tomb ; 
 With Tasso's knights he joined in war's array ; 
 He saw Boccaccio's magic gardens bloom ; 
 And dived with Dante down thro' hell's eternal gloom. 
 
THE PILGRIM OF BEAUTY. 19 
 
 But dearer far he loved the lays which filled 
 Each shady valley in his native clime : 
 His heart beat high as o'er the page he thrilled 
 Of those stern songsters of the olden time, 
 Who first built up the frame of English rhyme. 
 With Gower and Chaucer he sojourned awhile, 
 Not unforgetful of his quest sublime ; 
 O'er Skelton's humour he would faintly smile, 
 Or list to Lydgate's tale, his journey to beguile. 
 
 On Ida's hill the Muses long had pined, 
 Since Greece had lost her altitude of soul, 
 And lost her freedom when her slavish mind 
 Had made her fit for tyranny's control. 
 In vain the Muses winged from pole to pole, 
 To gain some spot where Freedom might be found : 
 Back to their silent groves abashed they stole, 
 For in their search o'er earth's extensive round 
 Dark ignorance prevailed, and slaves crawled o'er the 
 ground. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Until at length Britannia woke to life, 
 And reared her head majestic o'er the waves, 
 Proclaimed against all tyrants lasting strife, 
 And promised freedom to their trembling slaves. 
 Then thrilled the Muses in their distant caves, 
 And one and all came thronging to the land 
 Where men were Men, preferring glorious graves 
 To life, if shorn of liberty to stand 
 Secure in equal rights, where laws alone command. 
 
20 THE PILGRIM OF BEAUTY. 
 
 IX. 
 
 O'er every plain the gladsome Muses strayed, 
 By each clear streamlet, through each bosky dell ; 
 Now in some ancient wood or silent glade 
 They clapped their hands and danced, their joy to tell, 
 And cried aloud, " Here will we ever dwell ! " 
 They stretched away by dales and flowery hills, 
 And vales o'er which huge mountain-shadows fell, 
 Whose teeming breasts sent forth the leaping rills 
 Which fall in sylvan glens, and brawl thro' lonely mills. 
 
 Then Britain's isle grew full of gentle sounds ; 
 Harmonious voices thro' the air did sail ; 
 The fairies nightly danced their mystic rounds, 
 And shepherds piped in every leafy dale, 
 Arcadia not more fair, nor Tempe's vale : 
 Pierian springs gushed forth, and, babbling on 
 Thro' daisied meads, made music to the gale, 
 Which fell intranced, in whispering echoes gone, 
 And England's spacious isle was one wide Helicon. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Well might the Pilgrim gladden as he strayed 
 Along the fields immortalized by song, 
 Where every breeze that in his long locks played 
 Some glorious new-born roundel bore along : 
 In numbers sweet, in native genius strong 
 There Drayton, Drummond, Marlow, Raleigh, Brooke, 
 Old Breton, Vere, their wood-notes wild prolong, 
 Whose dark conceits, although they strangely look, 
 Yet quaintly well beseem an old worm-carven book. 
 
THE PILGRIM OF BEAUTY, 21 
 
 But most of all the Pilgrim loved to dwell 
 With gentle Spenser in his faery bowers ; 
 Or wander slowly thro' the shady dell 
 With Una and her lamb, to pluck wild flowers, 
 As fiery Sol drove on the fervid hours. 
 Sometimes a lonely knight came riding by, 
 Bound by his vow to seek those hostile towers 
 Wherein perchance his ladye-love might he, 
 For whose deliverance thence full gladly would he die. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Thy spells, great Shakspere, were around him thrown ; 
 His sighs, his smiles, his thoughts, thy magic lyre 
 The secret echoes of his soul made known, 
 And all his being bared ; each fond desire, 
 Each latent spark of that ethereal fire 
 Which thro' his nature glowed, was in thy lay ; 
 For all the mystery of man's soul entire 
 From thy far-seeing eye was torn away, 
 And Nature's lowest deeps were opened to the day. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Majestic Milton ! who like thee could soar, 
 Thou first of men ! Thy wing of matchless might 
 Upheld thee well whilst hovering boldly o'er 
 That awful throne " dark with excessive light," 
 Whence went the God-like Son his foes to fight ; 
 Or bore thee down in safety thro' the deep, 
 Beyond the dark domains of ancient night, 
 Where, vague and vast, hell's couchless chambers sweep 
 In fathomless profound, unknown to hope or sleep. 
 
22 THE PILGRIM OF BEAUTY. 
 
 With Waller oft, or Dryden, would he glide, 
 In numbers smooth, along the stream of song ; 
 Whilst hundreds more still swelled the sacred tide, 
 That spread its waves majestic, clear, and strong, 
 Still gathering greatness as it rolled along. 
 There Shenstone, Pope, and Addison, and Gay, 
 In polished lines the glorious theme prolong : 
 Nor hath the god, in this degenerate day, 
 Abandoned his abode, nor all-withdrawn his ray. 
 
 High names the Pilgrim knew as his compeers, 
 On which the Future will with reverence gaze, 
 When envy ceases with revolving years, 
 And nought survives the poet but his lays, 
 Each meaner passion merged in lofty praise. 
 'Twas ever thus ! Great Homer pined for bread ; 
 And Byron died in exile. Now the bays 
 Are idly placed upon the sculptured head, 
 And praise profusely heaped in mockery of the dead. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Thus poured the Muse her melodies of fire, 
 While Nature echoed from each lofty hill. 
 Is this a god that wakes the trembling lyre ? 
 Lo, heaven is moving — earth and ocean still ! 
 What ecstasies sublime the Pilgrim fill ! 
 " Ye mighty lords," he cried, a of deathless song, 
 Who strike thro' time this universal thrill, 
 Say if to you the mysteries belong 
 Of Beauty's high abode ; or must I still go wrong ? " 
 
THE PILGRIM OF BEAUTY. 23 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 The sons of song in sacred silence slept, 
 Unknowing each ; or, if they darkly guessed 
 The unborn truth, the solemn thought they kept, 
 Like fountains sealed or mystery unexpressed, 
 All treasured safe in each deep-feeling breast, 
 Though still at times mysterious rays of light 
 Broke forth in startling grandeur o'er the rest, 
 Like those broad lightnings on a summer night 
 Which seem to open heaven, yet blind our daring sight. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Reluctant, slow, from Faery-land he came, 
 Oft turning back with lingering looks, to gaze 
 Yet once again on scenes which now inflame 
 His dying hope that Fancy there might raise 
 Ideal forms to cheer his lengthening days. 
 The cherished fire still smouldering in his heart 
 Was thus sustained by dark prophetic lays, 
 That haply soon some bard to life might start, 
 Who would in flowing strains the lofty truth impart. 
 
 xx. 
 
 Along the broad, well-beaten track of life 
 The Pilgrim thence pursued his pensive way 
 All in the midst of that incessant strife 
 Where men turmoiled unwearying day by day, 
 Until old age crept o'er them, bowed and gray. 
 Immortal souls, with powers of endless might, 
 Dark, grand, unfathomed, whose ethereal ray 
 Was lost, he saw in that Cimmerian night 
 Sin o'er the spirit sheds when earth-born passions blight. 
 
24 THE PILGRIM OF BEAUTY. 
 
 xx r. 
 
 There Wealth was gloating o'er his heaps of gold, 
 With all his feelings gathered into one : 
 The charities of life in him lay cold, 
 And all the brotherhood of man was gone ; 
 Yet evermore the weary wretch toiled on, 
 To add increasing atoms to his store ; 
 Though child, or friend, or kindred he had none 
 For whom he learned to turn the metal o'er, 
 As twinkling his dull eye he still cried " Give me 
 more ! " 
 
 XXII. 
 
 The sons of Pleasure floated gaily by, 
 Their gaudy streamers dancing in the gale : 
 The waves ran smooth and brightly glowed the sky 
 As Wit flashed clear, or Humour told his tale, 
 While Music wantoned round the silken sail. 
 Scarce had the Pilgrim mark'd this joyous sight 
 When sudden tempest turned these revellers pale : 
 The long loud laugh was hushed in deadly fright ; 
 Upturned the rolling keel, and all was lost in night. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 The crowded mart with merchandise ran o'er, 
 And busy hands were bartering to and fro ; 
 They who had most most eager seemed for more, 
 As though enamoured of the cares which grow 
 More ponderous, till they crush the wretch below. 
 Each anxious face the love of wealth displayed, 
 Each heart one feeling only seemed to show : 
 'Twas how to clutch the doubtful gains of trade, 
 To which truth, justice, peace a sacrifice were made. 
 
THE PILGRIM OP BEAUTY. 25 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 The trump of Fame rung loudly in the wind, 
 And heaven's vast concave with the sound was filled : 
 With eager pace the Pilgrim ran to find 
 The precious truths which from her lips distilled, 
 And thro' the heart with deepest rapture thrilled. 
 But there lurked Envy with her poisonous breath, 
 By whom each new-born happiness was killed ; 
 And watchful Malice, with his eye of death, 
 Had withered up the crown and seared the hard- won 
 wreath. 
 
 xxv. 
 
 There great Ambition, in his fiery car, 
 Drove fiercely on to gain the gilded prize, 
 His crest illumined like a blazing star, 
 While eager passion sparkled in his eyes, 
 And his cold heart was closed to Misery's cries. 
 Far, far from him the Pilgrim turned away, 
 For in his heart he felt deep horror rise 
 That Man his fellows dared to mar and slay, 
 Forgetful that one God framed all of common clay. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 He saw a creature made of this same clay 
 Bedizened o'er with gaudy trappings fine : 
 The worm's dyed shroud upon his shoulders lay, 
 And round his head was bound a golden line, 
 Begemmed with stones dug from some dreary mine. 
 And then, forsooth, he called himself a King, 
 And taught the world his title was divine ! 
 " Alas ! " the Pilgrim cried, "that Man should fling 
 His birthright to the dust for this poor, paltry thing ! " 
 
26 THE PILGRIM OF BEAUTY. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 There Justice, by a power surnamed the Law, 
 In which nor truth nor equity can dwell, 
 Her aAvful scales was bidden to withdraw, 
 Or else her high behests for gold to sell, 
 And titles vain, which only puff and swell. 
 They who themselves her ministers did name, 
 With solemn looks unceasing lies did tell : 
 Their god was gain, and lucre all their aim ; 
 And their cold, stony hearts were dead to honest shame. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 Oh heaven-born Justice, whither hast thou fled, 
 Since in these temples, which still pass for thine, 
 A baneful pest is worshipped in thy stead, 
 And thy false priests themselves defile thy shrine 
 With mangled truths and lies that look divine ? 
 Here modest Worth sarcastic sneers oppress, 
 And God is mocked in purpose and design : 
 Theft, Murder, Rapine, Lust have free access ; 
 While Malice and Revenge like saintly Virtues dress. 
 
 " And this is Life ! " the pensive Pilgrim cried ; 
 " And these are men for endless life designed ! 
 Alas, how paltry is all human pride ! 
 What dark delusions mystify the mind, 
 Usurp man's thoughts, and strike his spirit blind !- 
 With half the pains these thoughtless mortals take 
 To catch vain shadows, they might surely find 
 Some tranquil bliss their fevered souls to slake : 
 But life is all a dream, from which in death we wake ! 
 
THE PILGRIM OF BEAUTY. 27 
 
 XXX. 
 
 " Ah what is Wealth, for which men fondly sigh, 
 And pine, and pinch, and toil, and sweat, and swear ? 
 A fearful trust for those who have to die, 
 And disenrobed before their God appear ! 
 What boots it then the pomp they used to wear? 
 Will Justice fail a strict account to claim ? 
 ( What mean/ she asks, ' the bitter cries I hear ? 
 Are these thy brethren, clothed in rags and shame ? 
 Here, bind the selfish wretch, and turn his gold to flame ! ' 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 " And what is Trade ? — A systematic code 
 Of legal theft ; an universal lie ; 
 A heartless form ; a deeply cunning mode 
 Of tricks and feints to catch the foolish fry, 
 Who rush in shoals where Fashion bids them buy. 
 What saintly forms, smoothed o'er with cool deceit, 
 Spread glittering wares, to tempt the wandering eye ! 
 While Cunning smirks like Candour robed complete, 
 Suspicion never dreams that he can be a cheat. 
 
 xxxn. 
 
 " And what is Pleasure ? Say, ye sons of Mirth, 
 When wine excites you, or when passion pleads, 
 Dies not each bliss untimely in the birth, 
 While sad regret the waste of time succeeds, 
 And, baulked of joy, the spirit inly bleeds? 
 But, grant the slight, the momentary joy 
 That may be found where smiling Pleasure leads, 
 Shall Man, immortal Man, his hours employ 
 In those low sensual scenes which loftiest hopes destroy ? 
 
28 THE PILGRIM OF BEAUTY 
 
 " And what is Fame ? A bubble on the stream, 
 One moment bright, then sinking whence it came ; 
 The airy phantom of an empty dream, 
 Which mocks the wretch who grasps it with his shame ; 
 A vapour on the hill — a breath — a name ! 
 Where is your Csesar, where your hero now, 
 Who once climbed highest up the mount of Fame ? 
 Alas, the bays have fallen from his brow ; 
 And his poor clay lies crushedbeneaththepeasant'splough! 
 
 " And what are Kings ? The ministers of God, 
 To deal out equal justice to mankind ; 
 The poor man's guardians from oppression's rod ; 
 The scourge and terror of each guilty mind ; 
 And in God's place to act like God designed. 
 This is the picture He who made them drew : 
 Hold up the glass ! Canst thou the likeness find ? 
 Alas, the world has never seen but two 
 Who sought the public good, and did what kings should do ! 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 " And what is War ? A dark and desperate game, 
 Where lives, and limbs, and hearts, and souls of men 
 Are staked for knaves who profit by our shame, 
 And filch our gold, and scorn and crush us then, 
 While millions fall for reasons few may ken. 
 The single murderer we devoutly hate, 
 And curse the felon pinioned in his den ; 
 But thousands slain, and realms made desolate, 
 Thenhimwho murders most we hail, andcall him Great \" 
 
THE PILGRIM OF BEAUTY. 29 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 With thoughts like these, half mournful, all too true, 
 The Pilgrim's eye surveyed Life's motley page ; 
 Nor could his mind disdainful thoughts subdue 
 When he beheld how madly men engage 
 In chase of woe, from giddy youth to age. 
 The rich; the poor, the master and the slave, 
 Deceived, deceiving, rush with equal rage 
 To grasp these bubbles dancing on the wave, 
 Which burst, and let them drop unpitied in the grave. 
 
 Yet scenes there were which half-redeemed the shame 
 Which, cloud-like, hung and canopied our race ; 
 And though not chronicled by earthly fame, 
 Yet they in heaven's fair records held a place, 
 Which angel-eyes delighted oft to trace : 
 For they were transcripts of that life above, 
 Where each pure thought, each life-ennobling grace 
 In high perfection all the dwellers prove 
 Who sojourn in that land, the bright abode of Love ! 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 A son was toiling for his mother's bread, 
 Though dire disease was feeding on his frame : 
 No couch had he whereon to rest his head, 
 Yet still he toiled, and ever smiled the same, 
 To cheer her heart ; and every night he came 
 His hard- won pittance joyfully to bring : 
 No grief of his, to grieve her, would he name ; 
 Nor let despair a moment's shadow fling 
 Along his pleasant face, though pain his heart did wring. 
 
30 THE PILGRIM OF BEAUTY. 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 In smiling groups, young happy children played 
 'Mid aged trees, whose sombre foliage flung 
 More pleasing lights by contrast, as they strayed, 
 Or lay to listen as the wild birds sung 
 Sweet, joyous tunes their leafy halls among. 
 Or, in the fields, with daisies dappled o'er, 
 Their fair young brows with coronals they hung. . 
 Old Time looked on — a smile his features wore ; 
 " Be happy now," he cried: " these days return no more. 
 
 XL. 
 
 A blooming maiden in her May of life, 
 While yet the world was loveliest to view, 
 And her accepted wooed her for his wife, 
 Her heart the while was fondly pleading too 
 To back his suit, for well his worth she knew, 
 Yet with her sire she unrepining stayed, 
 To soothe his griefs, which still increasing grew : 
 For he was old, and palsied, and decayed, 
 Peevish, and poor, and deaf, and she his only aid. 
 
 Two lovers sat beneath a broad old oak, 
 And watched the sun glide down the Western sky : 
 What music trembled in the words they spoke, 
 While heart gave heart the eloquent reply, 
 And tender passion brightened in each eye : 
 " My Eveline/' he said, " yon sun is blest, 
 Thus couched in splendours of celestial dye : 
 So would I live — so die in thy fair breast, 
 And cheer my last repose with dreams of endless rest." 
 
THE PILGRIM OF BEAUTY. 31 
 
 XLII. 
 
 A fond young mother to her bosom pressed 
 The first fair blossom of her virgin love : 
 With what delight that baby she caressed, 
 As his small hands in playful mischief strove 
 To pull her ringlets, dangling from above ! 
 His soft blue eyes laughed in their own sweet light 
 As feigning fear her head did backward move, 
 With half-closed eyes, and then with eager flight 
 She strained him to her breast with passionate delight. 
 
 XLIII. 
 
 One man the Pilgrim found whose heart was proof 
 To all the low temptations of the time, 
 An honest man complete in warp and woof, 
 Whose outside bearing was not made to chime 
 With mere observance, like a thoughtless rhyme. 
 The same in darkness and in light he stood, 
 God's noblest work, in moral worth sublime ; 
 A rock unmoved amid a sweeping flood ; 
 A truly honest man ; though poor, upright and good. 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 One priest he found, a meek and holy man, 
 Who had not learned the lordliness of power : 
 With artless zeal his simple course he ran, 
 Still anxious to improve each passing hour, 
 And save the flock which hirelings would devour. 
 To men he gave as God to him had given, 
 And gospel truths unglossed his lips would pour ; 
 His one sole wish to spread that holy leaven 
 Which, changing into love, prepares the soul for heaven. 
 
32 THE PILGRIM OF BEAUTY. 
 
 XLV. 
 
 Oft iii the chambers where the sick were laid. 
 Like shattered wrecks on life's tempestuous shore, 
 In whose torn sails the wild winds rudely played, 
 For now the noble craft could float no more, 
 Her tackling broke, her merchandize flung o'er, 
 There would he haste with zeal beyond control, 
 To save each fragment which the spent wave bore ; 
 And, ere she sunk where death's black billows roll, 
 Her cargo bring to land and save the parting soul. 
 
 Along the frozen regions of the North, 
 And in the fetid dungeon of a gaol, 
 He found the gentle Howard had gone forth, 
 Attracted solely by the prisoner's wail : 
 Beside the wretch he sat, to hear his tale, 
 And thence devise some elevated plan 
 To rescue him whose features, shrunk and pale, 
 Scarce left the trace by which even friends could scan 
 The being sunk so low, they scarce could call him man. 
 
 To loathsome cells, of guilt the foul abode, 
 Whose ponderous walls rose darkly to the skies, 
 The good man still would wend his ready road, 
 To teach the fallen from their fall to rise, 
 While tears of pity trembled in his eyes. 
 For he could feel what few beside could feel, — 
 That man, though sunk, was still a noble prize, 
 A brother still, for whom his love and zeal 
 Could never sleep or tire, while they could work his weal. 
 
THE PILGRIM OF BEAUTY. 33 
 
 XLVIII. 
 
 There Howard died — died in his high career, 
 A victim to Humanity and Love ! 
 Well might the Pilgrim drop a pious tear, 
 And at his tomb each soft emotion prove 
 And loftier thought which points to heaven above. 
 " To thee/' he cried, " great Howard, do we owe 
 This solemn truth, which every heart should move. 
 The one sole end of punishment below 
 Should be to win from vice, and save lost man from woe." 
 
34 THE PILGRIM OF BEAUTY. 
 
 CANTO III. 
 
 Hail, holy Nature ! — source sublime, and end 
 Of all that was, and is, and is to be ! 
 Mysterious Power, in whom all beings blend 
 Their secret life in silent sympathy. 
 What art thou, Nature ? Is not God in thee ? 
 Art thou not God made visible to all, 
 Save those whom pride or sin forbid to see 
 That hand; from which uncounted blessings fall, 
 Whose clear melodious tones for love and gladness call. 
 
 Say whence the Sun to shine first gained the power ; 
 How came the womb of Morning filled with dew ? 
 Who stored such fragrance in each lovely flower ; 
 And steeped the Sky in that delicious blue ; 
 And robed the Earth in garments ever new ? 
 Who taught the clouds to shed the fruitful rain, 
 And spread their gorgeous drapery to view ? — 
 If Chance first taught, Chance could not teach again, 
 Since always teaching right would end her fickle reign. 
 
THE PILGRIM OF BEAUTY. 35 
 
 III. 
 
 The mighty Sea unceasing ebbs and flows ; 
 The Seasons all roll onward in their turn ; 
 With constant warmth the cheerful Sunbeam glows ; 
 The Stars on golden thrones for ever burn ; 
 And Night succeeds as Day exhausts his urn. 
 What marvellous hand this sacred order keeps, 
 From whence th' obedient Universe doth learn 
 To walk her course ; and thus her glory reaps 
 By showing back the God from Nature's lowest deeps ! 
 
 Not with disgust or misanthropic pride, 
 That changes nature's milkiness to gall, 
 The lowly Pilgrim turned his steps aside 
 From those broad paths trod by his fellows all : 
 Yet o'er his heart a pensive shade might fall, 
 And tinge his life with melancholy hue, 
 As oft he thought how worldly customs thrall, 
 And shut the Spirit from that glorious view 
 Of Nature's lovely face, with beauty ever new. 
 
 Full well he deemed that, if he hoped to see 
 The form unveiled for which his spirit pined, 
 From evil purged his sinful heart must be, 
 And those dark passions which enslave the mind, 
 And, like Delilah's friends, both bind and blind. 
 Wherefore his heart to meekness would he school, 
 To lowliness, and truth, and love of kind, 
 That thus in peace and meditation cool 
 He might his life conform to Nature's holy rule. 
 
36 THE PILGRIM OF BEAUTY. 
 
 Yet sore the strife : for round his heart had grown 
 Long-fostered habits, hostile to his weal ; 
 And haply, too, the Pilgrim might have known 
 Those selfish ties the heart is prone to feel. 
 Yet still he plied the task with earnest zeal ; 
 For Hope exulting pointed to the prize, 
 Which crowned the heights whose glittering tops reveal 
 Bright, bland enchantments to his wondering eyes, 
 And long prospective blisses melting in the skies. 
 
 From Man he turned, and all the works of Man, 
 Great Nature's love new-wakened in his breast ; 
 With eager steps among her works he ran, 
 And saw them all with various beauty blest ; 
 Field, tree, and flower like living prophets dressed. 
 Mysterious footprints all around him lay, 
 And airy tongues his secret soul impressed : 
 " Lo, here," they cried, " what wonders strew the way 
 To that interior life where Truth alone bears sway ! " 
 
 The buxom air that blew among the hills, 
 The clouds that floated through the azure sky, 
 The rolling streams, the quiet-running rills, 
 The ocean stretching to immensity, 
 Each creature that could swim, or creep, or fly, 
 Awoke emotions exquisite and new ; 
 And by some strange and secret sympathy 
 They stirred those chords that lay too deep for view, 
 And made his heart rejoice his journey to pursue. 
 
THE PILGRIM OF BEAUTY. 37 
 
 Far from the city's roar and restless life, 
 He sought the rural quiet of the plain, 
 Where, safe from all the turbulence and strife 
 Which madden men in their pursuit of gain, 
 He hoped in solitude he might obtain 
 A secret clue to Beauty's blest abode : 
 But all his search and labour were in vain ; 
 For there had Sin her baleful poisons strowed, 
 Which half-destroyed the hope that in him lately glowed. 
 
 The frost, the blight, the mildew, and the storm 
 Oft spread their frightful ruin far and wide, 
 And still toiled on the lovely to deform, 
 The pure to soil, the beautiful to hide, 
 And desecrate fair Nature's holiest pride. 
 Yet Spring's young leaves again came green and fair, 
 A new-born beauty every flower supplied, 
 Refreshing odours filled the cooling air, 
 And Nature blandly smiled, each mischief to repair. 
 
 XI. 
 
 The trees, the fields, the flowers, all seemed so sweet, 
 So calm and pure, as if they feared no stain ; 
 The bliss in their communion so complete, 
 Such balmy beauty in the grassy plain, 
 As half restored his Eden back again. 
 And therefore did he run with hope renewed 
 To Nature, our great Mother, to obtain 
 Her friendly guidance to the long-pursued 
 Amid that populous world which men call Solitude, 
 
38 THE PILGRIM OF BEAUTY. 
 
 XII. 
 
 Through all fair Nature's works he sought for Thee, 
 Ethereal Spirit, from whom all beauty flows : 
 Why should he not thyself yet hope to see 
 In sunlight sporting, since with thee it glows, 
 Who lights the sky, and paints the blushing rose ? — 
 The pleasing hope gave vigour to the chase, 
 And led him still new ardour to disclose, 
 With each successive and more brilliant trace, 
 Thy hallowed footprints left deep sunk in every place. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Up with the ploughman, ere the lark arose, 
 Scattering the dew that lay along the ground; 
 Or when the shepherd bade his lambs repose, 
 While gentle Twilight softly drew around 
 Her solemn veil of mystery profound ; 
 'Mid sun-burnt reapers singing blithesome lays, 
 Whose harvest carols made the hills resound, 
 Where bright-winged song-birds on a thousand sprays 
 Made all the laughing landscape musical with praise. 
 
 He scaled the mountain at the early dawn, 
 As star-crowned Night her solemn exit made, 
 While jocund Day came tripping o'er the lawn 
 In tissued robes of silvery hue arrayed, 
 To sip the dew in greenwood glen and glade ; 
 And while the Morn her mellow radiance threw, 
 His eye delighted o'er the landscape strayed, 
 W T here hill and dale and woods of various hue 
 In one broad sheet of beauty burst before his view. 
 
THE PILGRIM OF BEAUTY. 39 
 
 There, on some craggy alp, whose bare, bald brow 
 Stands like Eternity overlooking Time, 
 Pillared amid accumulating snow, 
 The hoary chronicler of years sublime, 
 E'er since decrepid Earth was in her prime, 
 When Nature on such altars sung aloud 
 Exulting pseans ere the birth of crime ; 
 And Nature's God descended in the cloud, 
 And rocks and lofty hills before his presence bowed : 
 
 There would he stand, and wondering gaze around 
 O'er all the glorious earth, and sky, and sea, 
 Until his soul was full of awe profound, 
 And lowly whispered, " How can these things be ? 
 Oh God, the Lord, do they not tell of Thee, 
 Thy love supreme, Thy wisdom, and Thy might ? 
 And though Thyself these eyes may never see, 
 Yet Reason reads, if e'er she reads aright, 
 That all existence flows from Thee, the Infinite ! " 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Then o'er the bosom of this teeming Earth, 
 With heedful steps, he traced the opening day, 
 Pausing at times to watch the floweret's birth ; 
 And now to hear the linnet on the spray, 
 Or rising lark sing his first roundelay. 
 Then would he tread the daisy-shining field, 
 Or pluck wild roses in his flowery way, 
 Where each fair thing that Spirit still revealed 
 That prompts the bird to sing, the flower its sweets to yield. 
 
40 THE PILGRIM OF BEAUTY. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 To trace that Spirit in each varying scene 
 Became to him a passionate delight : 
 He found no place in which it had not been, 
 No creature not illumined with its light. 
 The things he saw, the very sense of sight, 
 Deep-schooled his heart in that diviner lore 
 By which his inner vision grew more bright, 
 And saw great truths all unobserved before, 
 Which made even common fields delightful to explore. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 For him no horn awaked the slumbering hound, 
 To chase the harmless creatures of the wood : 
 In pain and death no joy he ever found, — 
 His nature shuddered at the sight of blood. 
 Far better he the universal good 
 Rejoiced to spread, and help the stream which ran 
 From heart to heart, overleaping like a flood 
 Whatever withstands our common Father's plan, 
 Till Man shall learn to feel full brotherhood with Man. 
 
 The roadside seat, rough-hewn and rudely shaped, 
 Uneasy, hard, its back a sturdy oak, 
 From whose time-furrowed bark by chance escaped 
 Some ivy boughs in straggling freedom broke, — 
 This roadside resting-place a moral spoke, 
 And showed how love those things can sanctify, 
 However small, which would man's curse revoke : 
 This symbol rude grew graceful in his eye, 
 For in it he beheld love and humanitv. 
 
THE PILGRIM OF BEAUTY. 41 
 
 XXI. 
 
 The unfenced common, where each poor man's beast 
 Picked up a scanty living free from cost, 
 And thus preserved a show of right, at least, 
 To that equality now sunk and lost, 
 Until the Earth, once more by Justice crossed, 
 To all her sons alike her fruit shall yield, 
 And tyrant rank and feudal claims are tossed, 
 Like noxious weeds, to rot without the field, 
 And be trod down by those whose rights they long 
 concealed : — 
 
 XXII. 
 
 This rugged common to the Pilgrim's eye 
 Was not devoid of beauty : for he knew 
 'Twas still overarched by that impartial sky 
 Which, passed rich parks, its lofty glories threw, 
 And crowned the earth at large with heaven's own 
 Here shines the sun with his divinest ray ; [blue. 
 Here falls each night from heaven the cooling dew, 
 Just where the cotter's merry children play, 
 Beside the gabbling geese, as careless and as gay. 
 
 - XXIII. 
 
 Thence thro' the vale hemmed in by mighty hills 
 From boisterous winds that too unkindly blow, 
 Down whose steep sides the little, leaping rills, 
 The sires of nobler rivers now that flow, 
 Spring down and mingle, singing as they go. 
 On beds of thyme the golden sunbeams rest ; 
 The merry bees hum joyful to and fro ; 
 Exulting Nature spreads her fruitful breast ; 
 While Earth laughs loud with joy, and feels in blessing 
 blest. g 
 
42 THE PILGRIM OF BEAUTY. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 Sweet flowers — the children of the sun — became 
 His books, to read fair histories of Thy power : 
 Although, unlearned, he knew them not by name, 
 Yet would he watch them many a happy hour ! 
 With what delight he hailed the genial shower 
 Shed o'er the thirsty fields its blessed dew, 
 Distil new fragrance through each idol-flower, 
 Bring forth fresh lines of loveliness to view, 
 And steep the plants of earth in heaven's divinest hue ! 
 
 He marked them all in beauteous order rise, 
 Each in its own appointed hour to bloom, 
 Unfolding fast their variegated dyes, 
 And filling all the air with rich perfume. 
 If some decayed they made for others room, 
 Who thronged their beauties in such fair array, 
 That Earth rejoiced her valleys to illume 
 With these bright daughters of the King of day, 
 Who, glorying in their charms, smiled forth with warmer 
 ray. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 Each lonely nook, each green and rustic glade 
 Rejoiced in some fair floweret of its own; 
 And while the rich parterre its charms displayed, 
 The violet hid in shady banks alone, 
 And only by its sweetness there was known. 
 The grassy fields with flowers were spangled o'er ; 
 And long, green lanes with richest gems were strown : 
 Each dwarfy plant still added to the store ; 
 And even the broad brown heath bright belles of beauty 
 bore. 
 
THE PILGRIM OF BEAUTY. 43 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 Oft would he look within the rose's breast, 
 Among the graceful foldings of her leaves, 
 Where fairy elves beneath the petals rest 
 On beds of fragrance which their breathing heaves, 
 To view the bee, whose lance the blossom cleaves, 
 To reach the honey in her heart unseen ; 
 While on his thighs he piles the waxen sheaves, 
 Wherewith his home from wintry cold to screen, 
 And treasure up his stores to guard from hunger keen. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 And hence he learned that Wisdom to adore 
 Which several uses in one thing combined ; 
 And, though of all possessed, employed no more 
 Than might suffice the various ends designed, 
 All plain to sense, and simple in their kind. 
 Thus, while the Rose the air with fragrance filled, 
 She spread her blushing beauties to the wind, 
 And mixed the seeds with spousal raptures thrilled, 
 Where bees in murmuring bliss the honey-juice distilled. 
 
 " Oh, who could think," he cried, " this flowery Earth, 
 So rich in fragrance and so full of bloom, 
 Was yet the place where Sin gave Sorrow birth, 
 And now lies chilled by shadows of the tomb ! 
 Yet Mercy, smiling, tinged with light the gloom 
 That gathered darkly o'er man's mournful hours ; 
 And left these tokens, as she changed his doom, 
 To teach his faith that, while Earth yields such flowers, 
 He yet may hope to live in Heaven's ambrosial bowers." 
 
44 THE PILGRIM OF BEAUTY. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 Or by the side of fair, sequestered streams, 
 O'erhung with branches and begirt with flowers, 
 While Summer's sun shot strong his burning beams, 
 He sauntered slowly thro' the noontide hours, 
 To hear the thrush, whose music fell in showers, 
 Till echo answered echo in the grove, 
 Like lonely spirits whom deep grief overpowers : 
 Their ceaseless sighs, as constant as their love, 
 Still wailing o'er the wounds which time can ne'er 
 remove. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 He loved to watch the waters glide along, 
 In chequering lights, rejoicing on their way : 
 Their rippling waves to him were big with song, 
 And taught high truths, whose moral seemed to say, — 
 Great Nature's course will suffer no delay. 
 On, on they rolled, although their course might lie 
 Down rugged rocks which dashed them into spray : 
 A type of life ! The vapours hovering by 
 Still carried in the midst Hope's rainbow arching high. 
 
 The finny people, whose mysterious life 
 Most safely lives where other life would die, 
 Pursued their natural bent, in peace or strife, 
 All undisturbed beneath the Pilgrim's eye, 
 His only wish their habits to descry, 
 And thence to trace the links in that long chain 
 Whose close connexions every being tie 
 To one First Cause, who formed and doth sustain 
 Whate'er exists of life, while nothing lives in vain. 
 
THE PILGRIM OF BEAUTY. 45 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 Not even the flies who skim the water's face 
 When sinking suns shoot forth a feeble ray, 
 Whose lives are crowded in snch little space 
 That they live not to see a second day, 
 But with the evening come and go away : 
 Yet each of these He doth himself supply, 
 And myriads more of shorter life than they, 
 With all for which these little beings cry, 
 Who by His will come forth, and at His bidding die ! 
 
 xxxiv. 
 
 Deep in those caverns where great Nature hides 
 Her mystic operations, as she forms 
 The elements of being, and presides, 
 Like a fond mother, till the embryo warms 
 To full existence : sunlight, shadows, storms, 
 The thrifty handmaids who assist her care, 
 And nurse her children, while she still re-forms 
 The crude materials in her workshop rare 
 The variegated shapes of wondrous life to bear, — 
 
 He dived his way, with meditative thought 
 How that First Cause all other causes made 
 To work the ends He wills should still be wrought 
 For various use in varying forms arrayed, 
 Himself still hid, His works alone displayed ! 
 The earth brings forth the tree which sheds the seed, 
 And by that seed the line is still conveyed : 
 Yet not the less the last that Time shall breed 
 The Godhead will attest from whom they all proceed. 
 
46 THE PILGRIM OF BEAUTY. 
 
 He dared not make his puny thoughts the rule 
 By which great Nature's works should spread profuse ; 
 Nor send Eternal Wisdom to the school 
 Where she might learn her wonders to produce 
 For man's amusement, not for general use. 
 That sapient sage he took not for his guide 
 Who molehills carved, with careful brain obtuse, 
 And could from thence with nicest skill divide 
 The epochs of all time, and set the God aside. 
 
 From systems vain, which sputtering fools invent, 
 And puff with praises solemn and profound, 
 Where some few facts ingeniously are bent 
 To wear such shapes as in their heads abound, 
 The more abstruse the more sagacious found, 
 The Pilgrim turned ; and, if his fancy erred, 
 He lured no wanderer from the beaten ground ; 
 But nursed in secret those sweet hopes which stirred 
 At sight of tree or flower, or song of woodland bird. 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 To this great height the Pilgrim's heart had grown, — 
 To know that all he saw was born of love ; 
 The hand that fed and led but faintly shown, 
 Yet still he felt throughout his being wove 
 Mysterious links and drawings from above : 
 He felt the Presence round about him lay, 
 From which he could not, dared not wish to move : 
 Till even the stones which strowed the broad highway 
 Grew eloquent of love, and taught his heart to pray. 
 
THE PILGRIM OF BEAUTY. 47 
 
 And more and more within his heart there grew 
 The ardent wish that Spirit to behold, 
 Which, all aronnd him ever, now he knew, 
 And, though unseen, perchance might yet unfold 
 The means whereby communion high to hold. 
 " Thou Ever-present, show Thyself ! " he cried ; 
 " This shroud-like mystery from thy form be rolled ! 
 Why is the blessed vision still denied ? 
 Dread Spirit, hear my cry, and throw thy veil aside ! " 
 
 XL. 
 
 In solemn woods, thick-shaded from the day, 
 Where dreamy twilight mystic horrors shed, 
 By dryad haunted or the sylvan fay, — 
 Vast solitudes, where Superstition spread 
 Thin, shapeless phantoms, full of fear and dread, — 
 There would he stray : for there he hoped to find, 
 Where hoarded leaves formed many a bosky bed, 
 Unearthly forms, in happy hour reclined, 
 Screened from the noontide sun and fanned by cooling 
 wind. 
 
 XLI. 
 
 For those old woods, dark, mossy, tall, and grey, 
 Were ever grateful to the Pilgrim's eye, 
 Such solemn stillness in their presence lay, 
 So meek they reared their green heads to the sky, 
 As if they saw their Maker standing by. 
 The whispering zephyrs which among them strayed 
 Sang quiet tunes and holy minstrelsy ; 
 While passing shadows in the distant glade 
 Still peopled these old woods with forms his fancy made. 
 
48 THE PILGRIM OF BEAUTY. 
 
 XLII. 
 
 There one huge oak in naked grandeur stood, 
 Tall, broad, majestic, towering o'er the rest ; 
 For ages owned as monarch of the wood, 
 Whose hoary boughs, with antique glory dressed, 
 Had long forgot the leaves they once possessed. 
 The deep,rough bark, through which no life-sap flowed, 
 Was all embroidered with a mossy vest, 
 Which in the sun like molten silver glowed, 
 And on its age extreme a look of life bestowed. 
 
 XLIII. 
 
 And some there were just starting into life, 
 Young tender things, scarce higher than the ground, 
 Which looked too weak to bear the furious strife 
 Of warring winds, when tempests thundered round : 
 Yet these, the youngest, a protector found, 
 Who watched their weakness, and theirwants supplied, 
 Their early life with opening beauty crowned, 
 Upreared their stems and threw their branches wide, 
 Until upgrown they towered, the forest's strength and 
 pride. 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 There songs of birds were heard the livelong day, 
 In notes still varying, yet unvarying sweet, 
 From Morn's high herald, whose enlivening lay 
 Comes showering down with melody replete, 
 To Eve's last songstress, in her dark retreat 
 Complaining sad, in melancholy strains, 
 Of fabled woes, until those woes defeat 
 The very end for which she thus complains, 
 Since heaven and earth are both enamoured of her pains. 
 
THE PILGRIM OF BEAUTY. 49 
 
 XLV. 
 
 'Twas thus his heart grew larger day by day 
 In soft communion with the earth and sky : 
 He felt, where'er his wandering feet might stray, 
 In every scene evolved before his eye, 
 An universal Presence always nigh. 
 Nor those alone in conscious beauty dressed, 
 The tall green hills, the empyreal arch on high ; 
 But trackless wilds and barren rocks possessed 
 The tokens of that power in all His works confessed. 
 
 XL VI. 
 
 Even in the desert, where the shifting sand 
 Spreads like a shoreless ocean to the eye, 
 Where land no longer looks like common land, 
 But lies accursed beneath a burning sky, 
 And life lives not, or only lives to die ; 
 Even there are spots with living beauty crowned, 
 Where clumps of palms like lonely islets lie : 
 Beneath their shade the verdant grass is found, 
 And cool, delicious springs rise bubbling from the ground. 
 
 O'er granite rocks of haggard shapes and wild, 
 Huge, ponderous, drear, the storm-bird's lone retreat, 
 On whose hard breasts no floweret ever smiled, 
 Around whose base the wild waves madly beat, 
 And fret, and howl, and moan, as vexed to meet 
 The jagged cliffs which dash them into spray, 
 Like foes subdued beneath their conqueror's feet ; 
 Rough rise the rocks, resisting Ocean's sway, 
 Tall guardians of the land, which else were torn away ; — 
 
 H 
 
50 THE PILGRIM OF BEAUTY. 
 
 XLVIII. 
 
 Beside the troubled ocean, when the storm 
 Had waked the waters with a demon's rage, 
 Even in its wildest, most terrific form, 
 Foaming and furious, straining to engage 
 The earth in strife, or war with heaven to wage, — 
 The Pilgrim ventured trembling, pleased to see, 
 Upon the beautiful horrific page, 
 Sublimely charactered, that fixed decree 
 Which girdles the firm earth and binds the raging sea. 
 
 XLIX. 
 
 Or when that sea lay hushed, its large broad face 
 Reflecting all the calmness of the sky, 
 His pensive path along the shore he 'd trace 
 To some lone spot, where he unseen might lie 
 And ponder o'er the scene that filled his eye. 
 The feeble waves plashed gently on the strand ; 
 The lazy gulls in crowds wheeled slowly by ; 
 The joyous fish leaped up on every hand, 
 And all things breathed repose — the sky, the sea, the land. 
 
 L. 
 
 Oft on a hill which faced the South he lay, 
 And watched the Sun glide slowly down the sky ; 
 Some tall old trees were mellowed by his ray, 
 Through which a church and hamlet he could spy, 
 With thin white smoke upcurling lazily. 
 The snowy sheep were dotted o'er the plain ; 
 Some nibbling grass, some on the ground did lie ; 
 While in a lake, new-filled with copious rain, 
 Some oxen stood knee-deep, and cooled the throbbing vein. 
 
THE PILGRIM OF BEAUTY. 51 
 
 LI. 
 
 Half down the hill a field of beans in flower 
 With richest fragrance filled the evening air, 
 Their bells bespangled by the recent shower 
 With drops which glowed like jewels rich and rare, 
 And made their beauty still appear more fair. 
 Along the hills and in the valley lay 
 Broadfieldsofcorn,whosebright brown heads werebare, 
 ; er which the wanton zephyrs took their way, 
 In long and graceful sweeps, enamoured of their play. 
 
 LIL 
 
 The heavens are steeped in beauty — lines of light 
 Diverge, commingle, meet like playful things ; 
 Now in one blaze of power intensely bright, 
 And now a cloud its massive shadow flings, 
 From whose dark breast the vivid lightning springs, 
 And wakes the thunder, eloquent in vain, 
 To lure the soul to spread her heavy wings 
 In high attempts her birthright to regain, 
 And feel herself at home along the ethereal plain ! 
 
 LIII. 
 
 Among the clouds his fancy sallied forth 
 In wide excursive flights in quest of Thee, 
 Till, quite intranced, he rose above the earth, 
 And, gliding through their lucid drapery, 
 Behind the folds Thy form he hoped to see. 
 Majestic piles in pillared grandeur shone, 
 Magnificent and gorgeous ! These must be 
 The dwelling-place of deities alone, 
 Such majesty sublime o'er all the scene is thrown. 
 
52 THE PILGRIM OF BEAUTY. 
 
 LIV. 
 
 But lo, the sky ! — that volume of bright lore, 
 In which the poet's eye delights to read ; 
 And as he turns the hallowed pages o'er 
 He sees new wonders every hour succeed, 
 Which higher, higher still his spirit lead. 
 There did he seek Thee with unwearying wing, 
 Far as his sportive fancy could proceed ; 
 Oft catching strains which watchful seraphs sing, 
 Who warble round the throne of heaven's eternal Kim 
 
 For Thy sweet voice he listened in the sounds 
 That floated round him at the close of day, 
 When purest feeling in the soul abounds, 
 And selfish care and vulgar pride give way 
 To reason's rule, and mind alone bears sway. 
 Soft-whispering tones fell faintly on his ear, 
 And airy tongues mysterious things would say : 
 A hovering music wandered here and there ; 
 But Thou wert silent still, although he felt Thee near. 
 
 Up rose the Moon ! He loved her placid light, 
 Which slept so soft on streamlet, bower, and field, 
 Brought forth alone the beautiful to sight, 
 In fresher forms combined, and still revealed 
 Such magic tints as day could never yield. 
 The lofty mountain stretched up more sublime ; 
 Light fleecy clouds mysterious shapes concealed; 
 E'en roofs looked fair which soot and smoke begrime ; 
 And moonlight spread a charm o'er walls half- gnawed 
 bv Time. 
 
THE PILGRIM OF BEAUTY. 53 
 
 LVII. 
 
 He watched the night — the calm, the breathless night, 
 When all Heaven's sparkling eyes are broad awake, 
 And shed their myriad rays of loving light 
 O'er hill, and dale, and copse, and glen, and brake, 
 Or sleep within the bosom of the lake : 
 When Earth has hushed her noisy sons to rest, 
 And new communion with the skies doth take, 
 In moans and murmurs mourning how unblest 
 She still is doomed to feel, with Sin's dark curse 
 oppressed. 
 
 LVIII. 
 
 There slowly wandering thro' the silent night 
 He held deep converse with mysterious things ; 
 Trod, fancy-borne, around each orb of light ; 
 Or listened where heaven's watchful warder sings, 
 And from his harp unearthly music flings. 
 He chased the comet thro' its mystic dance, 
 Still led by Him from whom all being springs ; 
 Passed by those sightless shadows Fate and Chance ; 
 And circled unconfined the infinite expanse. 
 
 LIX. 
 
 Oh Night, how glorious is thy crown of stars ! — 
 Thou dark revealer of the things of light, 
 To which the Spirit thro' its prison-bars 
 Looks fondly up, and beats its pinions bright, 
 And strains and pants, all eager for its flight. 
 Stern, rugged Death, permit the soul to fly ! — 
 The cell dissolves — she bounds with full delight 
 Away — away ! — she seeks her native sky ! — 
 Oh Night, oh Heaven, it is a glorious thing to die ! 
 
54 THE PILGRIM OF BEAUTY. 
 
 CANTO IV. 
 
 Unwearying still, the Pilgrim sought, in vain ; 
 For still in forms material Thou didst hide, 
 Which well he knew such beauty could not gain 
 Without that living pulse, by Thee supplied, 
 To roll thro' space its universal tide. 
 " All, all are fair," he cried ; " but what art Thou, 
 Who canst afford thus largely to divide ? 
 Word, thought, mind, intellect express not now 
 The infinite, unclouded glory of Thy brow ! 
 
 " Where shall I find Thee — where Thy face behold ? 
 The living say not, and the silent dead, 
 If even they know, Death's secrets ne'er unfold ; 
 Each kindred feeling with their life has fled, 
 And all the mighty mystery is unread ! — 
 What if their silence eloquence should prove, 
 In which deep things are to the spirit said 
 By tongueless voices, on such missions sent ; 
 For mysteries sublime are with our being blent ? 
 
THE PILGRIM OF BEAUTY. 55 
 
 " What solemn beauty in the quiet dead ! 
 What utter stillness sleeps along the frame ! 
 How changed when once the restless soul hath fled ! — 
 Glows she in other worlds with quenchless flame ? 
 Perchance in that bright clime from which she came. 
 And where eternal freedom she will find : 
 For who can think that death has power to tame 
 That subtle essence of ethereal mind, 
 Which scorns this narrow earth, for wider range 
 designed ? 
 
 IV. 
 
 " Beneath the cypress/ in the funeral urn, 
 Repose the mouldering ashes of the dead : 
 These to their simple elements return 
 Apace, when once the living soul hath fled, 
 And left her playmate in its narrow bed ! 
 But where the soul ? Why here ? And whither gone ? 
 O dark enigma, still by man unread ! 
 Gray, awful shadows sullenly pass on, 
 Or speak in tongues unknown, or only known to One. 
 
 " What art thou, Death ? I see thy power, not thee ! — 
 The eye once sparkled — Thou hast quenched its light ! 
 The stern old warrior bends his iron knee, 
 And owns thee victor in th' unequal fight : 
 Even beauty bows beneath thy bitter blight, 
 And kings and conquerors crowd thy dusty bed. 
 No living thing withstands thy matchless might : 
 The huge earth groans beneath thy ponderous tread ; 
 And thy invisible path with ruinous wrecks is spread ! " 
 
56 THE PILGRIM OF BEAUTY. 
 
 He knew thee well, dread Peopler of the tomb ! 
 Transparent Horror, he had seen thee through ! 
 Knew that the grave was one prolific womb, 
 From whence should spring the Beautiful, the New, 
 Th' Undying, and the Glorious, to pursue 
 Those noble ends for which they were designed, — 
 In vain, it seemed, until from thee the clue 
 They learned at length, and thence uprose, to find 
 The full majestic sweep of unencumbered mind ! 
 
 For he had walked the chambers of the dead, 
 And found the Spirit he sought had thither been 
 In darkness and in shadows, and had shed 
 A soft, slow music thro' the solemn scene, 
 Which spoke of things which are, but are unseen, 
 And shall be, till redeemed from Error's way ! 
 Wherefore at last he learned to look serene 
 On Death, who holds a delegated sway 
 Below that mightier Mind, whom Death and Life obey. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 The grave was populous with those that held 
 A long, long empire o'er his loving heart : 
 The strokes fell fast, and at each stroke was felled 
 The one with whom he least could bear to part, 
 And whose removal gave the keenest smart : 
 Sons, sire, and friends — each comfort of his life, 
 Even when most precious to him, did depart ; 
 But deepest, dreariest, with all misery rife, 
 The blow collected came which tore away the wife ! 
 
THE PILGRIM OF BEAUTY. 57 
 
 IX. 
 
 She was his joy, his one unmixed delight, 
 In whom his heart, soul, being, all were tied ! 
 Life was not life, when absent from her sight ; 
 For all he wished her willing smile supplied, — 
 That loving smile which never was denied. 
 All gentleness and amity was she, 
 Who never gave him sorrow till she died, 
 And left him lonely as a blasted tree 
 On some cold, barren heath, storm-struck and sad to see. 
 
 Stunned and astonied by that fearful stroke, 
 Which thrilled intensely thro' the shuddering heart, 
 Tore down his bower of paradise, and broke 
 The feeling tendrils from each bleeding part, 
 Making live drops of agony to start, 
 And stand congealed in petrifying woe ; 
 Until at length, too exquisite the smart, 
 A dreary stupor on him seemed to grow, 
 And from his stony eyes no genial drops would flow : 
 
 XI. 
 
 Transfixed he stood, and round him seemed to flock 
 Tumultuous images of earth and sky, 
 As if all Nature had received a shock 
 Which made her shriek with wild, terrific cry 
 And ring thro' space her final agony : 
 Stars blazed, suns blackened, comets fiercely run, 
 Worlds crashed, Earth reeled, the vasty Deep was dry, 
 Great cities fell, graves yawned, and nought could shun 
 The Universal fate, for Nature's work seemed done. 
 
58 THE PILGRIM OF BEAUTY. 
 
 XII. 
 
 Then came a blank — a miserable blank. 
 Thought, sense, and feeling lost in chill and gloom — 
 A dreary pause, as if the soul had drank 
 Of Fate's Lethean wave, whose sullen boom 
 Fell wearily and sad, and full of doom — 
 A dreamy twilight, misty, vague and drear. 
 Overshadowed by the Spirit of the tomb, 
 Whose sightless features seemed to blast and sear 
 Life's loveliest flowers, which all lay blighted, withering 
 there. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 All, all was gone, save one small, lingering spark, 
 The last faint light of consciousness alone, 
 Which still lived on while all around was dark, 
 And in the darkness palpable still shone, — 
 As if the embers of existence, thrown 
 And raked together, fed that feeble ray, 
 By which the soul her pathway dark was shown, 
 Who lingered still as loth to wing away, 
 And quite desert its drear, sad tenement of clay. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 That solitary flame kept burning on, 
 An isolated feeling — a to be, 
 
 From which Joy, Memory, Love, and Hope were gone, 
 And nought remained to do, to feel, to see — 
 A mere existence left from all things free ; 
 And time, and things material, and space, 
 And heaven, and hell, and earth had seemed to flee ; 
 And sin and sinfulness, and God and grace, 
 All, all were gone and fled, and left of them no trace. 
 
THE PILGRIM OF BEAUTY. 59 
 
 XV. 
 
 Oh who may read the mystery profound 
 Of Man's interior being ? who divide 
 The subtle mixture where the deeps resound, 
 Unfathomed wonders echoing side by side, 
 And contrarieties are close allied ? 
 Who mark the confines where the mystic pair 
 Of soul and body each to each confide 
 The varying impulse of delight or care, 
 Which fill the house of life with pictures dark or fair. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 How like our waking is our sleeping thought ! 
 How far beyond the feeble grasp of Man ! 
 Both dark, both daring, both with mystery fraught, 
 Both fond of building without rule or plan, 
 And both disdainful of the narrow span 
 Of this existence in material pain, 
 Where all we know is only how to fan 
 That living flame which ever burns to gain 
 Communion with its source, unmixed with earthly stain. 
 
 Oh Sleep, thou dark, thou wonderful extreme, 
 Who closest up the weary gates of sense, 
 Whence dost thou bring the imitative dream, 
 With life-like incidents and feelings dense ? 
 Art thou the boundary of that station whence 
 The Soul first came, or of that clime where she 
 Will find her home, when, liberated hence, 
 She bounds delighted, from her thraldom free, 
 And stretches her broad wings to skim infinity ? 
 
60 THE PILGRIM OF BEAUTY. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Sleep hath a life peculiar, and its own, 
 With all its train of images entire, 
 Abstrusely dark, with grandeur in its tone, 
 And ever pregnant with ethereal fire. 
 Its wildest fantasies, though vague, conspire 
 To keep the passage open to that land 
 To which the soul will finally retire, 
 When Nature's weary wheels at last shall stand 
 By that dark bourne abrupt, sunk in its shifting sand. 
 
 And o'er that bourne at times the Soul will leap, 
 Her future dwelling darkly to explore : 
 While sense lies torpid, lost in trance or sleep, 
 She wings her way to that dim, distant shore, 
 Where sin assoils and pain assails no more. 
 Grief may awhile the feeble senses chill, 
 And paralyze them as if life were o'er ; 
 But on and on the Spirit liveth still, 
 For that exists not yet which can the Spirit kill. 
 
 xx. 
 
 The things beheld by man's exterior eye 
 May be less true than those which are unseen : 
 'Tis not the visual orb that spans the sky, 
 But thro' that sense the soul observes the scene. 
 This fragile barrier, interposed between 
 Each essence pure and man's beclouded mind, 
 Serves but the useful purpose of a screen, 
 To hide the glories which he dim behind 
 Its folds, until the soul by trial grows refined. 
 
THE PILGRIM OF BEAUTY. 61 
 
 How few can see the bitter medicine steal, 
 In healing virtue, thro' each secret pore ! 
 How few there are whose well-schooled hearts can feel 
 The sacred sweets of sad affliction's store, 
 Whose Gilead balm in agony runs o'er ! 
 He whom the Father loves, and loves to take, 
 With biting stripes is chastened more and more : 
 For better far the tortured heart should ache 
 All thro' our earthly course than sink in sin's dark lake. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 Nor did the Pilgrim, when his woe came down 
 In sudden storms, with blinding grief and pain, 
 Read aught therein except that awful frown 
 Which darkens hell, and strengthens Satan's chain. 
 Long time he wept, and beat his breast in vain, 
 Ere, faintly glimmering o'er his darkness, rose 
 A feeble light, that waked his hopes again, — 
 How He perchance who dealt these dreadful blows 
 Might yet behind the cloud a smiling face disclose. 
 
 Wherefore he cried, although his heart was torn 
 With grievous anguish all the time he cried, 
 " Oh God, thy will — thy heavy will — be borne — 
 Be meekly borne — whatever woe betide, 
 Nor lift thy hand till all is sanctified ! 
 Kind giver Thou of all I e'er possessed, 
 Well mayest Thou take what Thou alone supplied 
 But, oh ! how hard — more hard than all the rest- 
 To lose my light of life, of all thy gifts the best ! 
 
62 THE PILGRIM OF BEAUTY. 
 
 " All — all I knew of beautiful on earth, 
 Or in the sky, was treasured in that face ! 
 To her the love of beauty owed its birth, 
 When my young spirit first began to trace 
 Congenial sympathies in her embrace. 
 But she hath left me in this world alone, 
 With nothing here that can supply her place ; 
 And my spoiled heart, its only pleasure flown, 
 Refuses to rejoice, with many a dolorous groan. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 " Can I not see thee as thou art, my wife ? 
 Thou wilt not terrify my stricken soul : 
 Since thou art gone, oh what to me is life ! 
 A sea of sorrow, where the huge waves roll 
 Dark, troublous, swollen, and wild beyond control. 
 The rudder of my bark is torn away ; 
 My shattered ship is beating on the shoal ; 
 With my rent sails the savage tempests play ; 
 And, lo ! the sun is gone long ere the close of day. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 1 ' Thou dost not heed me, Thou ! who once couldst hear 
 No music equal to thy husband's praise ; 
 And I must shed the unavailing tear, 
 And pass a widowhood of dark, dark days, 
 Where Hope and Memory both refuse their rays. 
 Then be it so ! I still can think on thee, 
 And feed the melancholy thought that preys 
 Even on my vitals till the hour I see 
 That welcome, welcome hour which sets my spirit free ! " 
 
THE PILGRIM OF BEAUTY. 63 
 
 Long, long he lay in this distracted state, 
 Till, vision-like, there rose a wondrons thing, 
 That changed at once the colour of his fate, 
 And bade the soul to that existence spring 
 O'er which mysterious forms their shadows fling, 
 Whose outlines, tinged with bright and burning rays, 
 Display the strength of an archangel's wing ; 
 Wherewith the soul her loftiest flight essays, 
 And shoots the vast abyss, and lasting life displays. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 For from the breast of darkness sprang a light 
 Resplendent and sublime, and shining far : 
 The world's Restorer, clad in vesture bright, 
 Rode o'er the ruin like a blazing star, 
 With lightnings yoked as coursers to his car. 
 He spake — new worlds majestical did rise, 
 Harmonious and exact, without a jar, 
 Encanopied with most refulgent skies, 
 Of hallowed warblings full, and dulcet symphonies. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 A plain ethereal spread before his view 
 In one wide scene of hallowed beauty bright, 
 Where flowers of every form and scent and hue 
 Displayed their glories to his eager sight, 
 And filled each sense with exquisite delight. 
 And plants and shrubs, all odorous and divine, 
 Were glowing there, beneath that lucid light, 
 In which things lovely still more lovely shine, 
 And full perfection breathes complete in each design. 
 
64 THE PILGRIM OF BEAUTY. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 No stately dome, no gorgeous minaret, 
 No solemn arch, no chiselled pillar shone ; 
 No lofty hall in sculptured stiffness set ; 
 No palace there of ivory or stone : 
 But overhead a canopy was thrown 
 Of pure, divine, unmitigated Light, 
 In whose mild radiance evermore was shown 
 The holy image of that Form — how bright ! 
 The centre of desire — the Cause, the end of sight. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 Majestic trees, whose verdant branches flung 
 Long, graceful shadows o'er the flowery green, 
 Festooned with creepers, whose thin tendrils clung 
 All lovingly around the leafy scene, 
 As if with their fair forms they sought to screen 
 Their kind supporters from the bitter breeze, 
 Like some fond wife, who plants herself between 
 The coming danger, which her quick eye sees, 
 And him whom more than self her heart delights to please. 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 And hills amid the verdant scenery rose, 
 Like fair uprisings of a virgin's breast, 
 Whose undulation o'er the figure throws 
 The line of beauty, moving or at rest, 
 But brightest far by youthful love caressed. 
 And lovely dales ran sloping through the hills ; 
 Fit haunts for those of solitude in quest, 
 And that delicious quietude which fills 
 The spirit when she 'scapes from life's corrosive ills. 
 
THE PILGRIM OF BEAUTY, 65 
 
 XXXIH. 
 
 A river through the living landscape rolled, 
 With graceful sweeps meandering to and fro, 
 Whose sparkling waters glowed like burnished gold, 
 And made low music with their rippling flow : 
 Clear ran the wave — the golden sands below 
 With precious stones were studded, sparkling bright^ 
 That coruscations evermore did throw. 
 In flashing rays of many-coloured light, 
 Which, mellow' d by the wave, flung gladness o'er the sight. 
 
 xxxiv. 
 It was a garden of unnumbered sweets, 
 Without abound, spread through the whole champaign^ 
 With avenues and bowers and soft retreats, 
 'Mid sloping hills that rose around the plain, 
 And stirr'd the wish still distant sights to gain. 
 Each single scene was perfect and complete, 
 While o'er the whole such loveliness did reign 
 As led the mind, with highest bliss replete, 
 Exultingly to cry, " This — this is Beauty's seat ! n 
 
 xxxv. 
 Amid those living scenes of boundless bliss 
 Were forms of Life, but not of earthly mould : 
 One smile from them were worth a world like this s 
 Whose warmest hearts, alas ! are far too cold 
 To prove the joy we might, if uncontrolled 
 By passions warped to selfishness and care. 
 How strange that man, in drivelling folly old, 
 Forbidden poisons still to seek will dare, 
 And rush with headlong haste on Sin's seductive snare \ 
 
QQ THE PILGRIM OF BEAUTY. 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 But all that moved among those deathless groves 
 Were free from stain, nor did they ever sin : 
 Their looks were holy ; faultless were their loves ; 
 And all was peace and harmony within. 
 Thrice-happy hearts ! — they had not now to win 
 Their toilsome way through pain, and fear, and strife, 
 Amid the world's temptations, pride, and din ; 
 But with unmeasured joy their state was rife, 
 And, fearless of to come, they had immortal Life ! 
 
 xxxvn. 
 There he beheld the gathered gems of Time, 
 Bright lights that glittered in the vale of tears ; 
 New-moulded forms, with beauty stamped sublime, 
 Which bore no trace of former griefs or fears, 
 Or those deep furrows silent anguish wears. 
 The precious jewels of the widowed heart 
 Were treasured safe above the rolling spheres, 
 From which he felt such agony to part 
 As made his bitter tears like o'erfed fountains start. 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 And there were those of whom the world ne'er heard, 
 Whose gentle footsteps silently did glide 
 Along the lowly path, where they preferred 
 To walk the earth, by that meek Sufferer's side, 
 Whose Word their law, whose Spirit was their guide ; 
 In suffering or in sorrow still unknown, — 
 Content where'er He placed them to abide ; 
 To do His bidding when His will was shown, 
 Still mindful as they went to please their God alone. 
 
THE PILGRIM OF BEAUTY. 67 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 There, too, were forms of whom his ears had heard, 
 The awful fathers of a distant age, 
 Whose hallowed names posterity revered, 
 Whose deeds still glowed in the historic page, 
 And taught their sons heroic war to wage. 
 These at a glance his instant vision knew, 
 Each patriot firm and philosophic sage, — 
 Such wondrous power that holy climate threw 
 Across the mind to know, and always know, the True. 
 
 XL. 
 
 The jewels of his love were gathered there, 
 With each remembrance brightening o'er the past : 
 He saw their awful beauty void of fear, 
 For smiles of love they on the Pilgrim cast, 
 Rejoiced to see him in their home at last. 
 Familiar names and long-enduring ties 
 Endeared associations new and vast : 
 The family is one in earth and skies, 
 With greater scope of love and larger sympathies. 
 
 XLI. 
 
 He found 'twas easy, in that clime, to learn 
 Extremest knowledge from their spirit-lore ; 
 No ill-spelt pages there to turn and turn, 
 But full-filled fountains, ever flowing o'er, 
 From which the soul drinks freely evermore : 
 Unwritten chronicles of loftiest thought 
 Poured ever forth an intellectual store, 
 Where priceless wisdom without price is bought, 
 And, innate and inwove, sublimest Mind is wrought. 
 
68 THE PILGRIM OF BEAUTY. 
 
 XLII. 
 
 But though each knew whatever each wished to know, 
 And Mystery her veil had thrown away, 
 Yet Love, far more than Knowledge, seemed to throw 
 Around each form his exquisite array : 
 Love bore the full, the undivided sway ; 
 Each tone, each look, each act were full of love, 
 Pure, simple, sweet, sublime, without display : 
 The universal impulse seemed to move, 
 With simultaneous power, the mighty host above, 
 
 And 'midst the Gathered from the distant Earth 
 Were other forms, of fine ethereal mould, 
 Who, born in time, but not of human birth, 
 By earthly elements were ne'er controlled ; 
 But gathered now in that celestial fold, 
 They mingled with the creatures sprung from clay, 
 Rejoicing there communion sweet to hold 
 With those who once had walked the lowly way 
 Which, in their clime remote, thro' death's dark valley lay, 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 Amid each group his passing vision caught 
 All eagerly he gazed, that Form to find 
 So long the Ideal of sublimest thought, 
 The glory and perfection of all Mind, — 
 Essence Primeval ! and wherein combined 
 The hidden sources of all Beauty lie 
 With which the outward universe is lined, 
 From those soft hues which Spring's first flowerets dye, 
 To all the gorgeous lights that gem the deep blue sky. 
 
THE PILGRIM OF BEAUTY. 69 
 
 CANTO V. 
 
 'Twas on the borders of a shady grove, 
 Where graceful trees their tapering branches threw, 
 Emblems of that infinity of Love 
 Which still brings forth the Beautiful, the New, 
 And flings around each form His own bright hue, — 
 (For Love is still progressing more and more, 
 The branches still enlarging to the view, 
 The fruit still sweeter than it was before, 
 Until, all creatures filled, the universe runs o'er, — ) 
 
 ii. 
 When, lo ! a vision struck his ravished eye — 
 Embodied glory, palpable to sight, — 
 More radiant than the sun, when, throned on high, 
 He sheds around intolerable light, — 
 So luminous the Figure, and so bright ! 
 And yet his feeble sense could bear the rays 
 That glowed intense with concentrated might, — 
 As though the Form on which his eyes did gaze 
 Some secret power infused to bear its wondrous blaze, 
 
70 THE PILGRIM OF BEAUTY. 
 
 III. 
 
 He stood intranced — in fixed delight lie stood, 
 His wonder still increasing as the view 
 Grew more distinct. The Form seemed flesh and blood, 
 But so transparent, that the light shone through, 
 And shed a lucid glow of rosy hue. 
 The features were a memory of the Past, 
 The old most strangely blended with the New ; 
 As though the Human had again been cast, 
 And deeply stamped Divine, eternally to last. 
 
 IV. 
 
 The eyes were fixed intently on his face, 
 And all his nature trembled with their ray, — 
 A thousand splendours in a single grace, 
 Where Love enthroned held universal sway : 
 He could not see their shade, if shade had they ; 
 For all was light, ineffably outthrown, 
 Unmitigated glory in full play, 
 An intellectual mine, a spirit's throne, 
 Where Knowledge, Virtue, Love inmingledbeauty shone. 
 
 v. 
 The eyes were on him, and he felt their beams 
 Shoot thro' the very essence of his soul : 
 The long dark night with sudden daylight gleams, 
 And Truth unfolding her mysterious scroll, 
 Long-fostered Error bowed to her control, 
 And all the Past was present to his sight : 
 Page after page, he read through Memory's roll, 
 Where all the wrong of Time grew fully right, 
 As o'er it blazed sublime Eternity's broad light. 
 
THE PILGRIM OF BEAUTY. 71 
 
 VI. 
 
 Those eyes were full of eloquence and power, 
 Gaining and giving knowledge, bodying thought, 
 Sublimely charactered from hour to hour, 
 As circumstance successive changes wrought ; 
 Each varying glance with perfect meaning fraught, 
 Communicating volumes of bright lore. 
 And knowledge grew : for spirit spirit taught 
 With wondrous ease, where Wisdom's precious store 
 Lay open to the view — wide open evermore. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Those eyes were full of meaning, and no need 
 Had they of words their meaning to unfold : 
 Yet when the lips did open, and proceed 
 The balmy air in liquid speech to mould, 
 Such glorious tones along the spirit rolled, 
 In full-formed melody so sweet and clear, 
 That all his being by them was controlled ; 
 And such the music which those sounds did bear, 
 He wished his every sense concentred in the ear. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Each sound was fraught with harmony divine : 
 A liquid softness through the ear distilled, 
 That served at once to enlighten and refine 
 The ready heart, with rapturous glory filled, 
 Where Knowledge, Love, and Joy were all instilled. 
 A luminous halo with the very voice 
 In living music through the spirit thrilled, 
 Which silenced judgment — left the will no choice, 
 And made the according heart, impressed by Truth, 
 rejoice. 
 
72 THE PILGRIM OF BEAUTY. 
 
 IX. 
 
 He knew the Form that glowed before his gaze, 
 Earth-born and of the earth, yet, oh how bright ! 
 A concentrated glory, whose full rays 
 Fell inward, and increased the holy light 
 That streamed with pleasing mildness on the sight : 
 The eye, the brow, the mouth were still the same, 
 And not the same : for by the spirit's might 
 An intellectual glory filled the frame ; 
 And all the earthly seemed a memory and a name. 
 
 x. 
 " Hast thou/' he cried, " remembrance of the past, 
 When Joy lay smiling in the lap of Love? 
 Recall the spells which young affection cast 
 Around our hearts, and where we used to rove 
 Ere angels took thee to their home above ; 
 And by those holy vows exchanged in Time, 
 Whose influence evermore my heart must move, 
 Oh lead me forth, though sunk in care and crime, 
 To that delicious bower where Beauty dwells sublime ! ' 
 
 XI. 
 
 " Pilgrim of Earth," the Vision said, and smiled, 
 " I do remember well our earthly love, 
 Its very birth-time, in an evening mild ; 
 And birth-place, too, where we were wont to rove 
 ' Ere angels brought me to their home above/ 
 Think not this change th' unchanging can efface ; 
 That my fixed love or death or time can move : 
 In this bright world with fond delight I trace 
 The story of thy truth through all thy earthly race. 
 
THE PILGRIM OF BEAUTY". 73 
 
 " Thee have I watched in thy beclouded hours ; 
 And, still unseen, have hovered round thy way ; 
 Mixed with the fragrance of thy favourite flowers, 
 Or taught the birds inspiring things to say, 
 To cheer tlr^ heart when chilled in gloom it lay. 
 Long hast thou sought the source whence beauty flows, 
 But forms external led thy feet astray ; 
 The varying beauties which before thee rose 
 Have led thee to expect what sense can ne'er disclose. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 " Till thou canst penetrate the outward vail, 
 And view the inward with unclouded eye ; 
 Break through the fence, the thick, material pale, 
 And all that lies beyond it clear descry, — 
 Till then obscured in darkness thou wilt lie. 
 That sacred palace where the Spirit dwells 
 For thy enfeebled sight is far too high : 
 A mighty barrier o'er thy pathway swells, 
 That still thy eager hope and earnest aim repels. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 " Where, then," cried he, " fair Vision, shall I find 
 A guide to lead me from this dark abyss ? 
 Thou seest the fever burning in my mind, 
 And how I pant for the consummate bliss 
 Which lives in that estate, but not in this. 
 Wilt thou, all kindness as thou wert and art, 
 Instruct me now? Else shall I ever miss 
 That holy sight which only can impart 
 Beatitude of joy to my desiring heart. 
 
74 THE PILGRIM OF BEAUTY. 
 
 " Oh ! wilt thou lead me ? " earnestly he cried ; 
 An dwith a smile that thrilled him through and through, 
 In tones long loved she tenderly replied : — 
 " Ere thou canst bear the hallowed sight to view 
 Thy earthly heart must first be made anew : 
 But rise/' she cried, " from doubt, from error rise, 
 With surer guides thy upward path pursue ; 
 The scales shall fall from thy benighted eyes, 
 And thou shalt see that Form, the joy of earth andskies." 
 
 So saying, she stretched forth a gentle hand, 
 And raised him o'er a vast, expansive plain, 
 A barren desert, desolately grand, 
 Where dewdrops never fell, nor cooling rain : 
 No trace of verdure did the place contain ; 
 It was a wild, interminable moor, 
 Where Solitude grew sick, and pined to gain 
 Some slight communion with her kind once more, 
 And revel in the joys which were so stale before. 
 
 But in the midst of this unmeasured wild 
 A Fountain rose delightful to the view, 
 Around whose brink the fairest flowerets smiled 
 That ever yet in God's own garden grew, 
 Which from their breasts delicious odours threw, 
 That shed reviving freshness through the frame, 
 Awaking joys ineffable and new, 
 And lighting up within the heart a flame 
 Of love so high and pure, earth has for it no name. 
 
THE PILGRIM OP BEAUTY. 75 
 
 xvm. 
 Above that Fountain was a Holy Dove, 
 Whose spreading wings extended o'er its tide : 
 The eyes all softness, meekness, pureness, love, 
 Which in their dream-like beauty seemed to hide 
 The unmixed essence of the Sanctified : 
 Of uncreated light excessive rays 
 Were breaking forth, and fell on every side, 
 But streamed intensely where the sparkling sprays 
 In everlasting freshness flashed upon the gaze. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 It was a Laver of capacious mould, 
 Formed of a substance like embodied light, 
 Around whose sides deep mysteries were scrolled, 
 That one by one came clearly into sight, 
 And each succeeding scene grew still more bright. 
 The figures all shone out distinct and clear, 
 Without a shadow on the dazzling white : 
 To make the brightness still more bright appear, 
 A Spirit glowed within, and shed its radiance there. 
 
 xx. 
 
 He stood beside the Fountain, and his Guide 
 Bade him observe the limpid waters roll ; 
 And note each varying tablet on its side, 
 Wherein there lay the history of the Soul 
 Before and since it bowed to Sin's control. 
 Transfixed, intranced, in great amaze he stood, 
 And pondered o'er the dark, mysterious scroll, 
 Until he saw a life within the flood, 
 And saw its hidden source — the Fount was fed with 
 blood. 
 
76 THE PILGRIM OF BEAUTY. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 First to his view confineless space displayed 
 An infinite expanse of nothing, less 
 Than least of any form, blank, unarrayed, 
 The antipode of Being — a recess, 
 A void, the bodiment of emptiness ! 
 The very elements were all unborn, 
 And matter had no name, and thought no dress : 
 Not even Fancy had an image worn, 
 And all in that profound was empty, dark, forlorn. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 Next he beheld a company Divine, 
 With One majestic on a radiant throne : 
 Forth from his hand he threw a living line, 
 And lo ! at once an Universe upgrown, 
 Spontaneous birth, child of His Will alone ! 
 Huge orbs of light onward unerring rolled, 
 The ponderous globes, in true positions thrown 
 Far off or near, were equally controlled 
 By Him who made, and will the empire o'er them hold, 
 
 A pleasant garden spread in rich array, 
 Where sweet on sweet was most profusely piled, 
 And verdant glades in mellow beauty lay, 
 Where fruits and flowers in clustering glory smiled 
 Amid the trees that seemed for gladness wild. 
 And in that pleasant place two lovers dwelt 
 Embowered in bliss ; for love was undefiled, 
 And these the first its gentle sway who felt, 
 Ere passion taught the heart in lawless fire to melt. 
 
THE PILGRIM OF BEAUTY. 77 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 The next compartment shewed their early doom : 
 The unborn pair were wandering from their home ; 
 Above their heads a pestilential gloom, 
 Surcharged with clouds, and big with griefs to come, 
 Which muttered thunders through heaven's darkened 
 One solitary ray of straggling light [dome. 
 
 Broke through the distance where they had to roam, 
 Which just sufficed to keep the aching sight 
 From failing in the gloom of all-surrounding night. 
 
 And then he saw unnumbered hosts of men, 
 The guilty children of that fallen pair, 
 Spread o'er a globe far as his eyes had ken, 
 Where all the landscape bloomed in beauty fair. 
 When lo ! portentous darkness filled the air, 
 And the proud waters leaped upon the land : 
 That mighty host fell prostrate in despair, 
 And perished in the Flood; while, darkly grand, 
 An ark, which held new hosts, shot from the sinking strand. 
 
 A rocky mountain, forked, and lightning-scathed, 
 Its huge broad back against the sky did rear : 
 Large, heavy clouds its lofty summit swathed, 
 From whence loud trumpets terrified the ear. 
 A venerable Man, untouched with fear, 
 Toiled up the mount, and entered the dark cloud 
 Alone, while multitudes turned pale to hear 
 The oral voice of God, who there did shroud, 
 To utter forth The Law in thunders long and loud. 
 
78 THE PILGRIM OF BEAUTY. 
 
 The next division in that sacred Fount 
 Contained the likeness of a lonely man, 
 And his rude dwelling by a rugged mount, 
 Where from a rock a limpid streamlet ran. 
 His beard was long, his features pale and wan, 
 But in his eye a fire unearthly shone : 
 Strange thoughts came o'er him, and his glance could 
 Unborn events, and wonders yet unknown, [scan 
 Till Earth reveres the Truth, and Sin be overthrown. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 He then beheld a meek and lowly Form, 
 The type of weakness smitten and oppressed, 
 A reed blown wildly, broken by the storm, 
 Cast off unpitied, evermore distressed, 
 And all his sorrows nursed in his own breast. 
 His words were love, his actions pure and good; 
 From works of kindness never did he rest ; 
 But, by his fellows little understood, 
 Even then the men he fed were thirsting for his blood. 
 
 And they have seized him with unholy hands, 
 And through the public streets have rudely borne ; 
 Cast o'er his unresisting limbs their bands, 
 And on his head have thrust a crown of thorn, 
 And placed a sceptre in his hand in scorn ! 
 In mockery of justice Him they tried, 
 The Good — the Unoffending — the Forlorn ! 
 " Give, give us blood ! " the ravening rabble cried, 
 And on the Place of Skulls the Man was crucified ! 
 
THE PILGRIM OF BEAUTY. 79 
 
 XXX. 
 
 He looked again, and lo ! the scene was fired 
 With sudden glory streaming from the skies ! 
 The weak was now the strong : in light attired, 
 He saw the Crucified in triumph rise, 
 Immortal beauty beaming in his eyes. 
 The vail was rent asunder — forth he stood, 
 A living conqueror who had gained the prize ; 
 And through his weakness, agonies, and blood 
 His Majesty broke forth — the Everlasting God ! 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 Such were the tablets on that glorious Vase, 
 So various and so full ; so purely white, 
 That evermore upon its scenes to gaze 
 Would seem the proper object of the sight. 
 Still as he looked the crystal grew more bright, 
 And shed a glory o'er the heart and mind, 
 A waveless flood of exquisite delight, 
 Where each delicious essence was combined 
 In one unebbing tide of harmony refined. 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 And in the midst of that pure Fountain stood 
 A snow-white Lamb, whose spotless fleece was dyed 
 Just with one stain, a single stain of blood : 
 For he had once been wounded in the side, 
 From whence there ever flowed that living tide 
 Which filled the crystal Laver that he saw ; 
 And soon he learned that stream had purified 
 From each defilement of the broken Law, 
 Which now no longer frowned, but looked for love andawe. 
 
80 THE PILGRIM OF BEAUTY. 
 
 " Till thou art washed," said his seraphic Guide, 
 " In this mysterious Fountain, thou must be 
 Without the power, by this alone supplied, 
 Th' Unveiled, the Pure, the Beautiful to see. 
 All natures that unite have sympathy ; 
 And this shall work such wondrous change in thine, 
 That the Invisible shall be to thee 
 No longer wrapt in symbol or in sign, 
 But, cloudless and revealed, upon thy soul shall shine. 
 
 xxxiv. 
 
 " Plunge in ! " she cried ; and fearless he plunged in : 
 The gurgling waters rolled above his head ; 
 Even then he felt removed his nature's sin, 
 And all the ancient Adam in him dead. 
 A riving principle awoke instead, — 
 The Life within the Life, the Life of Soul, 
 Which new and mystic feelings in him bred, 
 That bade him spurn the Body's weak control, 
 Where long his Spirit toiled in darkness, like the mole. 
 
 Instant new light upon his vision shone ; 
 His feelings, hopes, desires were made anew; 
 Tlr' Invisible he felt was now his own ! 
 And through the Universe his spirit flew. 
 The great, the manifold mystery he knew, 
 How He that was, and is, and is to be, 
 To His own nature ever had been true ; 
 And though the eye His form could never see, 
 Yet had He loved him still, thro' all his miserv. 
 
THE PILGRIM OF BEAUTY. 81 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 Around his new-made heart he felt were cast 
 The sacred links of Love's stupendous chain, 
 Which clasps all life, the Future and the Past ; 
 Turns grief to joy, extracts the sting from pain, 
 And gives lost Man his Eden back again. 
 Mysterious tie ! by which all beings prove 
 The latent hope unending bliss to gain, — 
 A consummation in the state above, 
 When God draws home the chain of everlasting love. 
 
 <{ Now/' said that Voice so musical and clear, 
 " Since thou art washed from earthly sin and crime, 
 I can with joy thy eager spirit bear 
 To view that sight, beyond all words sublime, 
 The Spirit thou hast sought so long in time." 
 From that sequestered Fountain they withdrew, 
 And reached a land, at ( Morn's sweet hour of prime,' 
 Where every lovely plant spontaneous grew, 
 And hill and flowery dale were sparkling with the dew. 
 
 And oh ! what forms of exquisite delight, 
 Of godlike workmanship, of truth, and love, 
 Thronged in succession past his ravished sight, 
 By silvery streamlet or day-dusky grove, 
 Some in the shade, some in the skies above ! 
 A pure, ethereal lightness gave them power, 
 The wondrous power, with equal grace to move 
 In liquid air, to tread the sylvan bower, 
 Or, mingling with the clouds, bring down the rainbow 
 shower. m 
 
82 THE PELGRIM OF BEAUTY. 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 Onward they went, untired, and gliding soft 
 Through scenes of beauty, where to breathe was joy : 
 Now o'er some thymy hill they swept aloft, 
 Whose living green no winter could destroy ; 
 Now through some valley, where the sole employ 
 Of its glad inmates lay in songs of praise, 
 Spontaneous sprung from bliss without alloy, 
 Which still increased with their melodious lays, 
 More blest, and still more blest, through everlasting days. 
 
 XL. 
 
 And through a shaded vista he beheld 
 One blissful bower, beyond expression fair. 
 He would have entered, but his Guide repelled : 
 " Thou canst not yet," she said, " find entrance here, 
 Although thine own and mine inhabit there. 
 Our first, and last, and midmost, all are come ; 
 And thou, too, to our dwelling shalt repair : 
 But many a weary step thy feet must roam 
 Ere thou shalt rest with thine in this Eternal Home." 
 
 XLI. 
 
 With lingering looks from this abode he turned; 
 And up a lofty mountain they arose, 
 High o'er whose top a mystic glory burned, 
 Whiter by all degrees than sunless snows ; 
 And yet so soft, the eyes could there repose 
 With that delicious sense of full delight 
 Which floods the soul, till all its inlets close ; 
 And, in beatitude divinely bright, 
 The concentrated powers are gathered into sight. 
 
THE PILGRIM OF BEAUTY. 83 
 
 XLII. 
 
 Upon its highest pinnacle he stood, 
 And cast his eyes along* extended space, 
 O'er hill and dale, wide champaign, field, and flood, 
 On many a glorious, many a beauteous place : 
 Yet nothing like that mountain could he trace, 
 So pure, so spotless, so exceeding blest, 
 So fraught with beauty, perfectness, and grace. 
 " Now," said his Guide, " the Pilgrim shall have rest : 
 Gaze, if thou canst endure — the Spirit stands confessed! }> 
 
 XLIII. 
 
 Prostrate he fell, awestruck, nor dared to gaze 
 Unveiled upon the glory which he felt 
 Was shining on him with intensest rays, 
 Until his very marrow seemed to melt, 
 And one affection only in him dwelt, 
 A child-like feeling, holy and divine ; 
 And in the presence of The God he knelt, 
 With loftier thoughts than language can define, 
 Till Heaven and Earth unfold their Maker's full design. 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 « Forgive me, Father ! Oh forgive thy Child ! 
 Thee have I sought, unknowing it was Thou 
 That lured me onward where thy beauty smiled, 
 In opening flower or in the fruitful bough. 
 I knew Thee not — but well I know Thee now, 
 Sole source of Beauty, or in sense or mind, 
 Brightness and glory on my Guide's fair brow, 
 And faith and trust in hearts of humble-kind, 
 Sole source of all that 's good — or loving — or refined. 
 
84 THE PILGRIM OF BEAUTY. 
 
 XLV. 
 
 " Thy universal works are full of Thee, 
 The least, the greatest — each and all divine ! 
 While Nature, eloquent of Deity, 
 Holds everywhere her mild transparent sign, 
 Through which Thy everlasting glories shine ! 
 The changing seasons, and the march of time, 
 The flower, the tree, the field, the river Thine ! 
 Heaven, Earth, and Sea, in one harmonious chime, 
 Hymn forth thy Holy Name — the Beautiful! Sublime!" 
 
THE PILGRIM OF BEAUTY. S5 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 Years after this high colloquy divine 
 The Pilgrim trod the earth in lowly guise, 
 Though oft strange glories, half-subdued, would shine 
 About his face, and sparkle in his eyes, 
 As harmless lightnings flash in summer skies. 
 Like one prepared to tread a distant clime, 
 Where all he hopes in certain prospect lies, 
 He held his course, still looking for the time 
 When Death should set him free to reach his home sublime, 
 
 And in a space Death came as he desired, 
 Even in the place and time he wished to die ; 
 With all his friends around him, he expired 
 One summer's eve, just when the purple sky 
 Caught from the setting sun its richest dye. 
 -"Look there ! " he cried: "She's coming! " — and he lay 
 Serenely still, while glory filled his eye. 
 They looked, and saw the sun's expiring ray ; 
 And when they turned to him, his soul had passed away, 
 
86 THE PILGRIM OF BEAUTY. 
 
 XL VIII. 
 
 They made his grave beneath a hawthorn-bush 
 Which he had planted in a shady nook, 
 While from thick boughs all day a friendly thrush 
 Sung joyous songs, as he, with reverend look, 
 In rustic chair conned over some old book. 
 There, in that spot, which his still simple taste 
 Had decked with flowers, beside a running brook, 
 A pure white urn above his head they placed, 
 With roses richly carved, and this Inscription graced : — 
 
 XLIX. 
 
 " Beneath this Urn a Pilgrim's dust remains, 
 Who in his God all beauty sought and found. 
 His heart well knew our common nature's pains, 
 And thrilled beneath its own peculiar wound : 
 Yet deepest griefs with highest joys were crowned; 
 His blackest night emerged in brightest day ; 
 And here he sleeps, with Death's dark trophies round, 
 In certain hope that these shall pass away, 
 And Life and Beauty shine with everlasting sway." 
 
SONGS 
 
 OTHER POEMS. 
 
JUBILATE. 89 
 
 JUBILATE. 
 
 Lord of the balmy air, 
 
 Of Sunlight and of flowers, 
 Thy goodness wakes the morning fair, 
 
 And falls in evening showers : 
 All things are full of Thee — 
 
 Bright source of Life and Light ; 
 The lowly grass, the lofty tree, 
 
 The stars that gem the night. 
 Jubilate ! 
 
 Thro' Earth, and Sea, and Sky 
 
 Thou dost Thyself infuse, 
 Burn in the glowing orbs on high, 
 
 Or cool the earth with dews : 
 From Thee the ripening fruit 
 
 Its mellowing juice receives ; 
 And opening flowers from Thee recruit 
 
 The beauty of their leaves. 
 Jubilate ! 
 
 And all things pay Thee back 
 
 The tribute of rich praise ; 
 For tree and flower, from hour to hour, 
 
 Their silent anthems raise : 
 
90 JUBILATE. 
 
 High hills and lowly dales, 
 Old woods and hoary groves, 
 
 Are whispering sweet and pleasant tales 
 Of never-dying loves. 
 Jubilate ! 
 
 The streams of every land 
 
 Thy copious goodness show, 
 And gurgling rills down sloping hills 
 
 In measured music flow. 
 The never-silent sea 
 
 Still tells to every shore 
 How his huge basin, fed by Thee, 
 
 Keeps full, but ne'er runs o'er. 
 Jubilate ! 
 
 The ever-blushing rose, 
 
 The heath-bell on the hill, 
 In every opening leaf disclose 
 
 Thy beauty and thy skill. 
 Each tiny bursting bud, 
 
 Each tender spiral blade, 
 In every place unfold thy grace, 
 
 For Thou hast all things made. 
 Jubilate ! 
 
 Hark, how the joyous birds 
 
 Their unbought anthems pour ; 
 
 While sportive things on downy wings 
 Hymn thro' the sunny hour ! 
 
THE NEW CREATION. 91 
 
 The bright and blessed Sun 
 
 Flames forth thy glowing Name ; 
 While Moon and Star to spheres afar 
 
 The glorious God proclaim. 
 Jubilate ! 
 
 Thus Earth, and Air, and Sea, 
 
 And all that in them move, 
 Exulting, offer praise to Thee, 
 
 For all enjoy Thy love. 
 Their varying tones unite 
 
 In one harmonious song : 
 "To Him, the Giver of delight, 
 
 Our endless thanks belong." 
 Jubilate ! Jubilate ! 
 
 THE NEW CREATION. 
 
 A CANTATA. 
 
 PART THE FIRST. 
 I. 
 
 The last great day is come ! 
 
 The final close of all ; 
 When God his sons shall gather home, 
 And this old World, 
 To ruin hurled, 
 Shall totter, sink, and fall ! 
 
92 THE NEW CREATION. 
 
 II. 
 
 The Trumpet's awful blast, 
 
 The longest, loudest, last, 
 Thro' Heaven and Earth is pealing ! 
 
 With paralysing fear 
 
 It petrifies each ear, 
 While Nature's doom is sealing. 
 
 His hand uplifted to the skies, 
 
 The great Archangel cries, 
 " Let Time no longer be ; 
 
 Let Earth exist no more ; 
 Be dry the fountains of the Sea ; 
 
 The Grave its dead restore." 
 
 Earth reels, aghast, 
 Convulsing fast, 
 
 And Nature groans ; 
 The solid rock hath felt the shock, 
 
 And sobbing Ocean moans ! 
 The mighty wings of Time, 
 On which he rode sublime 
 
 Six thousand years or more, 
 Flap idly by his side, 
 Like signs of fallen pride, 
 
 Now his long reign is o'er ! 
 
 v. 
 What scenes majestic and sublime 
 Attend the final close of Time ! — 
 
THE NEW CREATION 93 
 
 Here cities, once Eternal named, 
 With granite ribs and iron framed, 
 
 Are crumbling into ruin, 
 Their massy stones, 
 Like warriors' bones 
 
 A field of battle strewing ! 
 There adamantine walls 
 
 By marble pillars lie ; 
 And lo ! the solemn temple falls 
 
 That pierced the lofty sky ! 
 
 The grassy hills are black, 
 The hoary forest burns ; 
 The marble mountains crack, 
 And fall like broken urns. 
 The daring eagle sinks, 
 
 The hardy ostrich falls ; 
 With fear the lion shrinks 
 Under the crumbling walls. 
 Peal after peal, long thunders roll ; 
 Red lightnings flash from pole to pole ; 
 Winds thro' hollow caves are rushing ; 
 Fiery streams from mountains gushing ; 
 Solid rocks asunder cleaving ; 
 Hoary alps their stations leaving : 
 Huge comets glare, 
 And fill the air 
 With pestilential vapours ; 
 The stars turn pale, 
 Then sink and fail 
 Like dim and burnt-out tapers ; 
 While fiery forms, with awful sternness, glide 
 Amid the vivid flames which glow on every side. 
 
94 THE NEW CREATION. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Ten thousand hills break forth 
 
 In simultaneous flames ; 
 And all the icy North 
 
 The burning tempest claims. 
 Exploding fast and loud, 
 
 The frozen poles expand ; 
 While vapours darkly crowd 
 
 Along the burning land. 
 The mighty rivers blaze ; 
 
 The Sea, the Sea 's on fire ! 
 Huge monsters in amaze 
 
 Look up, and then expire ! 
 Above the flaming tide 
 Majestic navies ride, 
 
 Consuming as they sail : 
 Their guns discharge their load ; 
 Their magazines explode ; 
 Amid the crackling shroud 
 The leaping tire sings loud, 
 Exulting fierce and fast 
 O'er tackle, sail, and mast, 
 
 Till all in smoke exhale ! 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Poor Nature's breasts are dry, 
 
 And cannot now supply 
 
 Her children, though they cry 
 
 In fear and pain, 
 
 Then cry again, 
 
 And then despairing die ! — 
 
 Here all distinctions end ; 
 
 The father — lover — friend 
 
 In deep oblivion fall ! 
 
THE NEW CREATION. 95 
 
 The timid mother, wild, 
 Forgets her new-born child ; 
 And darkness covers all ! 
 
 PART THE SECOND. 
 
 The Elements are all dissolved, 
 And Matter feels the blow, — 
 
 Air, Water, Fire, and Earth involved 
 In Nature's overthrow. 
 
 The free and buxom Air, 
 
 That wantoned through the grove, 
 Where every plant might share 
 
 His wide diffusive love ; 
 The fierce and furious gale 
 
 That roared along the sea, 
 And split the shivering sail, 
 Or tore the old oak tree ; 
 The gentle breeze, the rude tumultuous blast, 
 Shall never more be felt : the Air has breathed its last, 
 
 11. 
 From the sides of the mountain 
 
 The streams gush no more ; 
 The lily-decked fountain 
 No longer runs o'er. 
 The sweet little rill 
 At the foot of the hill 
 Now ripples no more in the light of the sky : 
 
THE NEW CREATION. 
 
 The rush of the river 
 Is silenced for ever : 
 The dew-drop or rain 
 Will not sparkle again ; 
 And the fathomless Ocean is empty and dry. 
 
 Thro' latticed windows, at the close of day, 
 The cottage-fires no more their cheering light display : 
 The twinkling rushlight in the sick-man's room 
 Lights up no more the deep surrounding gloom. 
 The blazing fires that crackled in the hall, 
 The beacon-lights above the watch-towers tall, 
 The sacred lamps that round the altar burned, 
 The dear domestic hearth, are all to ashes turned ! 
 And the faggot and stake, 
 Where the martyr was crying 
 
 For water to slake 
 His death-thirst when dying ; 
 And the watch-fires of War 
 That gleamed red on the hill, 
 
 While foemen from far 
 Came their brethren to kill ; 
 
 With the castle that fell 
 By the torch-kindled fire, 
 While its habitants yell, 
 And in madness expire; 
 And the blast of fierce levin, that scorched the blue heaven, 
 Now flashes no more : 
 On the living and dead the fire hath fed, 
 And died when the feast was o'er ! 
 
THE NEW CREATION. 9/ 
 
 IV. 
 
 The flower-bespangled Earth, 
 
 Robed o'er with living green. 
 Where Sin gave Sorrow birth, 
 
 Shall never more be seen. 
 Sunk are her lofty hills, 
 Her valleys green are lost ; 
 Each shady dell, 
 And grottoed cell ; 
 Each sylvan shade, 
 And woodland glade ; 
 Each fairy ring, 
 With every other pleasant thing, 
 In wild confusion tost. 
 The cultured soil, where Taste 
 
 Had clothed the pleasant land, 
 Sinks, with the wide and dreary waste 
 
 Of hot, unfruitful sand. 
 The classic fields, which lay 
 Where Science loved to stray, 
 
 Shall never bloom again. 
 The fields of slaughtered dead 
 Shall never more be red, 
 Nor covered with the slain, 
 The green shady lane, 
 Where the well-filled wain 
 Groaned under the grain, 
 When the harvest was o'er, 
 While the reapers were singing, 
 And church-bells were ringing, 
 Because they were bringing 
 The last load of all to the old barn-door, — 
 o 
 
98 THE NEW CREATION. 
 
 The lane, 
 The wain, 
 The golden grain, 
 And all the laughing, sun-burnt train, 
 Shall glad the earth no more. 
 
 So, like a parchment scroll, 
 The shrivelled World has fled ; 
 
 And all her ancient glories roll 
 Like dust of ages dead. 
 
 PART THE THIRD. 
 
 Shall this complete the tale? 
 Shall ruin thus prevail 
 
 O'er Air, and Earth, and Sea ? 
 Will Nature ne'er revive ? 
 Her dead be yet alive, 
 
 From Death and Darkness free ? 
 What though the Earth was stained 
 
 With crimes of foolish Man, 
 Shall God be thus restrained, 
 
 And Hell defeat his plan ? 
 Shine out, thou blessed Sun ! 
 
 Ye living Stars, awake ; 
 Your wonted courses run, 
 
 Your thrones of glory take ! 
 For lo ! the everlasting gate, 
 
 Self-opened, gives to view 
 That awful God who can create 
 
 And make the Earth anew ! 
 
THE NEW CREATION. 99 
 
 II. 
 
 Come forth, ye Sons of Light, 
 
 Who burn around his throne ! 
 Ye first beheld the wondrous sight 
 
 Which made his goodness known : 
 Come forth again to see 
 The wondrous Deity ; 
 For now his arm shall raise 
 
 What ne'er was seen before : 
 New worlds, that shall unfold his praise 
 
 For ever, evermore ! 
 
 in. 
 Arise, ye Cherubim; 
 Peal forth the lofty hymn, 
 
 Hosannah to the Lord ! 
 Potential Powers, arise, 
 Unpeople all the skies ; 
 
 For lo ! the Son 
 
 Hath now begun 
 His grand majestic march 
 Along the star-lined arch, 
 To form the Worlds anew, by his Almighty word ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 No pompous cavalcade 
 
 Displays its vain parade ; 
 
 No blazoned banners spread 
 
 Their colours overhead : 
 No fierce-consuming lightnings glare, 
 
 No awful thunders sound ; 
 But with a calm, majestic air 
 
 He looks around ! 
 
100 THE NEW CREATION. 
 
 " Let Ear tli again exist, 
 
 More perfect than before, 
 Where righteousness may still subsist, 
 
 And be destroyed no more \" — 
 A wondrous World uprose, 
 
 Obedient to his will; 
 And, fashioned as he chose, 
 
 Before his face stood still. 
 " Let none pollute thy breast ; 
 For here my Saints shall rest, 
 With everlasting joy and glorious beauty blest. " 
 
 FIRST ANGEL. 
 
 Thrice happy, happy Man, 
 
 Behold thy home divine ! 
 Here God completes his wondrous plan, 
 
 And this is thine. 
 See how yon flower-clad hills 
 Send forth their living rills ; 
 See how the renovated Earth 
 To every lovely thing gives birth : 
 Of all the beauties of its former day 
 Not one is now away, 
 Not one ! 
 While every ill, which Man's disgrace 
 Had scarred upon her lovely face, 
 
 Is gone ! 
 Hark, how those goodly trees 
 Make music in the breeze ! 
 While many a fearless bird 
 At intervals is heard ; 
 
THE NEW CREATION. 101 
 
 And graceful fawns 
 
 Trip o'er the lawns, 
 Amid their amaranthine flowers, 
 And wind among their perfumed bowers, 
 
 Where clustering fruit, 
 
 Each taste to suit, 
 Is bursting into life with all the laughing hours ! 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 To the Ancient of Days, 
 
 Of all things the Giver, 
 Be glory and praise 
 
 For ever and ever ! 
 
 SECOND ANGEL. 
 
 No wintry wind shall blow, 
 
 No darkening storms descend; 
 No fiery mountain glow, 
 
 No sullen earthquake rend ; 
 No withering blight shall fade, 
 
 No cankering worm devour 
 The Tree of Life, which God hath made 
 
 To yield both fruit and flower. 
 No barren, stony field 
 
 Shall need the ploughshare more, 
 But everywhere this Earth shall yield 
 
 A rich spontaneous store : 
 No blighting, withering curse 
 
 Lies heavy on her breast : 
 Her Maker, he hath blest her now, 
 
 And she is blest ! 
 
102 THE NEW CREATION. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 His Name, His wondrous Name, be evermore adored, 
 Who Earth to Man, and Man to Earth, has thus again 
 restored ! 
 
 VII. 
 FIRST ANGEL. 
 
 Here shall the Virtues dwell 
 Harmonious and complete, 
 Man's everlasting bliss to swell 
 Far higher than before he fell 
 
 From Eden's happy seat ! 
 Here dove-eyed Peace and radiant Truth 
 Shall dwell with him in endless youth ! 
 Here Charity divine 
 In every face shall shine, 
 And every loving heart in concord sweet combine ! 
 Here meek Humility 
 Shall bend the willing knee ; 
 While all the soft affections blend 
 That grew from father — brother — friend ; 
 And all the closer ties of life, 
 That centred soft in child or wife, 
 Refined and perfect now, shall never, never end. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 To the Wise and the True 
 Be the praise that is due, 
 Who hath sifted the Earth, and now made it anew. 
 
 VIII. 
 SECOND ANGEL. 
 
 No passion shall exist 
 
 Which Sin can turn awry ; 
 
THE NEW CREATION. 103 
 
 No evil thought shall here subsist, 
 
 No hopeless bosom sigh : 
 No envious tooth shall gnaw 
 
 His brother's well-earned fame ; 
 No dark, insidious impulse draw 
 
 The soul again to shame : 
 But as from Earth spontaneous springs 
 
 This green and flowery sod, 
 With all those bright and glorious things 
 Her Maker o'er her bosom flings, 
 So from the new-made heart shall rise 
 Affections worthy of the skies ; 
 
 For both are full of God ! 
 
 To the Ancient of Days, 
 Of all things the Giver, 
 
 Be glory and praise 
 For ever and ever ! 
 
 Thrones, Dominations, Powers, 
 The Princedoms of the skies, 
 Forsook their bright ambrosial bowers, 
 To strew his homeward path with flowers, — 
 A simple, but sincere and grateful sacrifice. 
 While Seraphim 
 And Cherubim 
 Upraised the loud harmonious hymn, 
 Which waked each shining star 
 To answer from afar, 
 Where wandering comets run 
 To many an unseen sun, 
 
104 ODE TO THE SUN. 
 
 And spread the pleasing sound 
 The vast creation round, 
 Till everything 
 Was heard to sing; 
 And God with pure delight could trace, 
 Through all the bounds of endless space, 
 That every living thing Avas happy in his grace. 
 
 GRAND CHORUS. 
 
 From valley and mountain, 
 By river and fountain, 
 Let anthems of praise to Jehovah arise ! 
 Where bright flowers are springing, 
 And young birds are singing, 
 Let praises be given ; 
 Till, filling wide heaven, 
 The melody beats back again from the skies. 
 
 ODE TO THE SUN. 
 
 All hail, thou blessed Sun, 
 
 Mysterious and sublime ! 
 Thy lengthening years still onward run 
 As bright as when thy course, begun, 
 
 Kept pace for pace with Time. 
 
 Six thousand rolling years 
 
 Have swept along the sky, 
 Yet not the slightest change appears 
 In Thee, young monarch of the spheres, - 
 
 No dimness clouds thine eve. 
 
ODE TO THE SUN. 105 
 
 Still in the jocund morn 
 
 Thy fair round face is seen, 
 While dew-drops thick, in darkness born, 
 Reflecting thee, bright flowers adorn, 
 
 And gem the valleys green. 
 
 Still, still the laughing day 
 
 Exults to own thy reign ; 
 Beneath thy far-extending ray 
 All Nature smiles with gladness gay, 
 
 As if she knew no pain. 
 
 Still like a monarch's throne 
 
 Appears the gorgeous West, 
 With purple clouds in masses strown ; 
 Or, nearer thee, are golden grown, 
 
 To deck thy place of rest. 
 
 The rolling Seasons still 
 
 Confess thy sovereign sway : 
 For Spring with verdure crowns each hill • 
 And Autumn's barns thy treasures fill, 
 
 To cheer the wintry day. 
 
 Whence comes thy ceaseless light ? 
 
 Who doth thy ray provide ? — 
 The Moon, sweet empress of the night, 
 With all her planet-sisters bright, 
 
 Are from thy urn supplied ; — 
 
 But thou art shining still : 
 
 No fuel feeds thy flame ! 
 While nations rise and thrones decay, 
 And mighty princedoms pass away, 
 
 Thy power is still the same, 
 p 
 
106 ODE TO THE SUN. 
 
 How grandly, how divine 
 
 Came forth thy first fair ray ; 
 While smiling bands, with looks benign, 
 Beheld thy first attempt to shine, 
 
 And cheered thee on thy way. 
 
 The wide expanse of space, 
 
 Lit np at once by thee, 
 Lay dotted thick, from place to place, 
 With new-made worlds, like steps to trace 
 
 The God we cannot see. 
 
 What wonder if each star 
 
 That instant fonnd a voice, 
 And, singing from their thrones afar, 
 Hymned round the grand majestic car 
 
 Where Grod might then rejoice ! 
 
 How laughed this world of ours, 
 
 When first thy pleasant light 
 Came shining o'er its fields and flowers, 
 And taught young birds in leafy bowers 
 
 To know the day from night ! 
 
 O'er Eden's smiling groves 
 
 What rays of glory shone ! 
 Where, sweeter-voiced than murmuring doves, 
 Our earliest parents told their loves 
 
 In that young world alone. 
 
 But soon thy piercing eye 
 
 Another scene might view : 
 While flaming swords were waving high, 
 The guilty pair were forced to fly 
 
 Thro' dangers dread and new. 
 
ODE TO THE SUN. 107 
 
 Where fled thy blessed light 
 
 While those fierce floods came down, 
 
 Whose waves overtopped the mountains' height, 
 
 And swept a rebel world from sight, 
 Before their Maker's frown ? 
 
 Once, in thy long career, 
 
 Thou lingeredst on thy way 
 O'er Gibeah's hills, surprised to hear, 
 While poised aloft his potent spear, 
 
 A mortal bid thee stay ! 
 
 What ailed thee, that sad morn 
 
 The world's meek Lord came by, 
 By blows assailed, o'erwhelmed with scorn, 
 With bleeding feet and crown of thorn, 
 
 For sinning Man to die ? 
 
 No planet crossed thy face, 
 
 To intercept thy ray ; 
 Yet, dimly in some secret place, 
 As if overcome by Earth's disgrace, 
 
 Thou hidd'st the struggling day. 
 
 No change since then has crost 
 
 Thy pleasant face serene ; 
 Crowns have been won, and kingdoms lost, 
 And states in wild confusion tost, 
 
 'Mid many a stormy scene. 
 
 The Roman eagle wild 
 
 Hath shrieked above his prey ; 
 Then hung his wings, with blood defiled, 
 While ruthless Goths the carnage piled, 
 
 And tore their spoils away. 
 
108 ODE TO THE SUN. 
 
 Fierce Arab hordes have spread 
 
 Their slaughtering triumphs wide, 
 Upheaping Earth with piles of dead, 
 Or slaves who crouched for paltry bread, 
 
 And lost their ancient pride. 
 
 Lo ! like a magic dome, 
 
 The sea-girt Venice rose ; 
 And while her fearless sons might roam 
 O'er every sea, she ruled at home 
 
 Despotic o'er her foes. 
 
 Or new-found worlds display 
 
 Barbaric pearl and gold ; 
 Where, 'neath the Spaniard's iron sway, 
 The ancient races melt away, 
 
 And mock his feeble hold. 
 
 O'er Europe's fertile plains 
 
 Fierce Gallic hordes have rushed, 
 Bestrewing Earth with human bones, 
 Destroying realms, o'erturning thrones, 
 
 Till they, in turn, were crushed. 
 
 Such changes ne'er affect 
 
 Thy calm and tranquil pace : 
 The passing storm the lakes reflect ; 
 The deep-blue skies with clouds are specked, 
 
 But nothing dims thy face. 
 
 Yet shall the period come, 
 
 To men and angels strange, 
 When shouts shall ring thro' heaven's wide dome, 
 And God his saints shall summon home : 
 
 Then shalt thou suffer change. 
 
 
THE INQUIRY. 109 
 
 Thy work will then be done ; 
 
 Thy last far journey o'er ; 
 Thy long, long race at last be run ; 
 Thy mighty lamp put out, O Sun ! 
 
 And thou shalt shine no more. 
 
 But when thy wondrous light 
 
 Shuts darkly o'er the sky, 
 A radiance more intensely bright 
 Shall burst upon the ravished sight, 
 
 And light up every eye. 
 
 Thy Archetype shall shine 
 
 In full, unborrowed rays : 
 No need of sun or star for sign, 
 When God's own Light flames forth divine, 
 
 Through everlasting days ! 
 
 THE INQUIRY. 
 
 What am I, God? Where do I stand? 
 
 Whence came I ? Whither go ? 
 Deep shadows droop on every hand, 
 
 And hide the deeps below. 
 
 I breathe, I feel, I laugh, I weep, 
 
 Have body, and have mind, 
 Wherein vast thoughts in volumes sweep, 
 
 Yet seem by sense confined. 
 
110 THE INQUIRY. 
 
 Here broken sunlights feebly shine, 
 
 There clouds of darkness roll ; 
 Uncounted jewels deck the mine, 
 
 While anguish racks the soul. 
 
 My panting soul flies past the sun, 
 
 And grasps unbounded bliss : 
 Then petty blows my feelings stun, 
 
 And snaky passions hiss. 
 
 Why are such boundless thoughts commixed 
 
 With sordid, selfish things ? 
 Why are these lofty hopes transfixed, 
 
 And shorn the spirit's wings ? 
 
 I know that Thou art ever nigh, 
 
 Yet know not what Thou art ; 
 Believe Thou hear'st the feeblest sigh 
 
 That struggles from my heart. 
 
 Still all is dark ! — I cannot pierce 
 
 These mysteries profound ; 
 'Mid feverish fears and feelings fierce 
 
 I blindly grope around. 
 
 A dark enigma is this life — 
 
 A Godhead and a breath ! — 
 How shall I close this bitter strife ? 
 
 Give me thy answer, Death ! 
 
 Yet what art thou ? A gloomy tomb — 
 
 Corruption and decay ! — 
 Can thought and mind with flesh consume, 
 
 And spirit fade away ? 
 
FLOW ON, THOU SHINING RIVER. HI 
 
 Tlie page is dark, the book is sealed, 
 
 The tale is not half told : 
 Yet what the past has not revealed 
 
 The future may unfold. 
 
 Here let me rest — I am — I love — 
 
 My soul exults in this : 
 For Nature draws my thoughts above, 
 
 And Death is endless bliss. 
 
 FLOW ON, THOU SHINING RIVER. 
 
 Flow on, thou shining river, 
 
 Through Salem's lovely land ! 
 Are they not blest for ever 
 
 Who tread thy golden strand ? 
 In amaranthine bowers, 
 
 That on thy borders bloom, 
 They glide through happy hours, 
 
 Unfearing future gloom. 
 
 How welcome to the weary 
 
 That land of joyful rest, 
 Who through this valley dreary 
 
 Have wandered long unblest ! 
 There smiles of love shall lighten 
 
 The doubting heart at last, 
 And each new day shall brighten 
 
 More lovely than the last. 
 
112 SPIRIT DIVINE! ESSENTIAL GOOD! 
 
 Oh who could bear the sorrow 
 
 Of Life's long gloomy day, 
 If Hope her bright to-morrow 
 
 Had taken quite away ! 
 The night may thicken o'er us, 
 
 The storm and tempest roll, 
 Yet Hope still sets before us 
 
 A refuge for the soul. 
 
 SPIRIT DIVINE! ESSENTIAL GOOD! 
 
 Spirit Divine ! Essential Good ! 
 
 Reveal thy glorious Self to me ! 
 What though I long Thy power withstood, 
 
 Yet now I pine, and sigh for Thee. 
 Since Thou hast waked this new desire, 
 Descend and touch my heart with fire ! 
 
 If Thou art Light essential, shine 
 With vivid power across my heart ; 
 
 So shall I see the light divine, 
 
 And feel the warmth its rays impart : 
 
 That living light my guide shall be, 
 
 And lead my spirit close to Thee. 
 
 But lo ! in mists I wander here, 
 
 Dark, cheerless, sad, unseen the way, 
 
 Pursued by many a doubt and fear, 
 Which drive my soul still more astray ; 
 
 And deeper still the darkness grows, 
 
 While tangled thorns my steps enclose. 
 
SPIRIT DIVINE! ESSENTIAL GOOD! H3 
 
 I see Thee not — I grope alone, 
 
 Yet round about me dost Thou move : 
 
 At times I catch a whispering tone, 
 And yearn to meet thy proffered love ; 
 
 But all in vain my strife must be — 
 
 I cannot, cannot come to Thee. 
 
 And must I ever search in vain, 
 
 Or darkly groping go astray ? 
 O Spirit ! Spirit ! speak again, 
 
 Dart through the gloom one piercing ray. 
 All hail ! It comes, though faint and far ; 
 All hail ! It shines, my Morning Star. 
 
 Oh blessed Light, how sweet thy ray ! 
 
 How cheering to my aching sight ! 
 Bright harbinger of coming day, 
 
 Rise higher, brighter be thy light ! 
 It grows — it spreads — the work of God, 
 And lo ! the morning shines abroad. 
 
 What wonders do mine eyes behold ! 
 
 How glorious is the sun-lit sky ! 
 Heaven' s azure curtains upward rolled 
 
 By angel-hands, 'mid harpings high ; 
 And mortal man to live and see 
 Unveiled the wondrous One in Three ! 
 
 Where now the shadows of the night, 
 The grief, the darkness, and the fear ? 
 
 They fall — they die — and Heaven's own light 
 Shines o'er the path, my steps to cheer ; 
 
 And brighter joys before me rise, 
 
 To gild the passage to the skies. 
 Q 
 
114 ON THE BLANK LEAF OF A BIBLE. 
 
 ON THE BLANK LEAF OF A BIBLE. 
 
 Mysterious Volume ! in thy sacred folds 
 What wondrous lights the opening eye beholds ; 
 Where Truth itself inspires the living lines, 
 And through each part with equal lustre shines. 
 
 Here Faith's broad vision finds extended scope, 
 And buoys the weary wing of patient Hope ; 
 Here placid Joy dissolves the melting soul, 
 And gentle Peace displays her mild control ; 
 Whole hosts of virtues take their fixed abode, 
 And Man becomes the temple of his God ! 
 
 Hail, sacred Volume ! bright inspiring page ! 
 Light of my youth and solace of my age ; 
 My faithful guide thro' each successive scene, 
 Still leading heavenward like a star serene ; 
 Thrice-hallowed light ! that changes Nature's doom, 
 And sheds a radiance o'er the joyless tomb ; 
 Be thou my guide till life's last fears shall cease, 
 And Time's last anguish settle into peace. 
 
 
EPITAPHS. 115 
 
 EPITAPH, 
 
 How poor and vain are all the hopes of Man ! 
 
 His life is finished ere his joy begins ; 
 Why talk of joy, since life's contracted span 
 
 Is filled by misery or disgraced by sins ? 
 
 Know thou that gazest on this lowly tomb, 
 
 My hopes and wishes once were bright as thine ; 
 
 But while I sought for bliss where pleasures bloom, 
 I met with Death, and now in dust recline. 
 
 Be thou more wise, and while life lends its aid 
 Prepare for Death, for Death will come to thee ; 
 
 When armed with virtue meet him undismayed, 
 Throw off thy mortal cares, and lie by me. 
 
 EPITAPH 
 
 ON FOUR CHILDREN INTERRED IN ONE GRAVE. 
 
 Four babes, like unblown rose-buds, torn 
 By Death from off one parent stem, 
 
 Hither by sorrowing friends were borne 
 To sleep, till God shall waken them. 
 
116 EPITAPHS. 
 
 Thrice liappy these, whose early race 
 Hath brought them to the distant goal, 
 
 Where, in this peaceful resting-place, 
 They fear no fever of the soul. 
 
 Here all unknown the cares of life, 
 Unfelt that tediousness of woe 
 
 Which wears the heart with ceaseless strife, 
 And poisons every joy below. 
 
 And shall we, then, with sorrows vain 
 Hang drooping o'er this silent tomb ? 
 
 These lovely flowers, revived again, 
 
 Amidst the bowers of heaven shall bloom. 
 
 EPITAPH. 
 
 Virtue and age together here repose 
 
 In gentle silence and oblivious rest ; 
 For Death, grown tender, did his eyelids close 
 
 As softly as an infant's at the breast. 
 
 And surely now the spirit must be blest 
 Whose parting smile lies stamped upon the clay, 
 
 As if, foretasting heaven, it had impressed 
 This tender proof, before it soared away, 
 Of everlasting life, that never can decay. 
 
THE BURIAL. H7 
 
 THE BURIAL. 
 
 The weary pilgrimage is o'er, 
 
 This is the resting-place, 
 Where mortal griefs are felt no more ; 
 
 Here ends tired Nature's race : 
 If rough or smooth, or dark or bright, 
 
 We find the toilsome way, 
 Yet here at last we all alight — 
 
 Here all Earth's children stay. 
 
 How heavily the chariots move 
 
 Which bear him to the tomb ! 
 Thus should it be with those we love 
 
 Who meet an early doom : 
 We would not haste to put away 
 
 The true, the tried, the dear ; 
 But wait awhile, and bathe the clay 
 
 With Friendship's parting tear. 
 
 But here at last the journey ends, 
 
 Here his forefathers lie ; 
 This narrow house holds ancient friends, 
 
 No stranger-dust is nigh : 
 His clay shall mingle with the source 
 
 From whence it first arose ; 
 And sire and son, who trod one course, 
 
 Together shall repose. 
 
118 ON THE DEATH OF GIDEON OUSELY. 
 
 The earth falls heavy on his breast, 
 
 And hides him from the eye; 
 But where is now the bosom-guest ? 
 
 Where doth the spirit fly ? 
 While we commit to holy ground 
 
 The body's useless clod, 
 Disdaining earth's contracted bound, 
 
 Hath she flown home to God ? 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF GIDEON OUSELY. 
 
 When heroes fall, admiring nations raise 
 
 Exalted trophies to record their praise ; 
 
 Huge granite columns of gigantic size, 
 
 Or marble temples towering to the skies ; 
 
 And gifted bards in consecrated song 
 
 Their honoured names to future times prolong : 
 
 Although, perchance, their only merit lay 
 
 In spreading woes along life's rugged way ; 
 
 And, madly profligate of human life, 
 
 Embroiled the world in bitterness and strife. 
 
 While men who live to benefit their kind, 
 
 And keep their deeds in bonds of love confined, — 
 
 Who soul and body in one sendee press, 
 
 To swell the sum of human happiness, 
 
 Pass from the earth without a single sigh, 
 
 Unhonoured live and unlamented die ; 
 
 And sleep forgotten in their nameless graves, 
 
 Like shattered vessels swallowed in the waves. 
 
SCENE IN WEXFORD CHURCHYARD. 119 
 
 SCENE IN WEXFORD CHURCHYARD, 
 
 The priests, in holy vestments clad, 
 
 Were chanting o'er the dead 
 A solemn mass for the repose 
 
 Of the spirit which had fled ; 
 The lighted tapers, burning bright 
 
 Around the silent bier, 
 Came glistering back, reflected 
 
 In many a falling tear. 
 
 For he that lay in Death's embrace 
 
 Was beautiful and gay, 
 And youth and beauty wake regret 
 
 When rudely snatched away ; 
 But those were tears that soon would dry, 
 
 And leave no trace behind, 
 Which merely might bedew the eye, 
 
 And leave untouched the mind. 
 
 I saw the father standing near 
 Where dead his first-born lay : 
 
 The heavy earth was falling sad 
 Upon the silent clay ; 
 
120 THE SLEEPING GIRL. 
 
 But not a word came from his lips, 
 No sigh upheaved his breast, 
 
 He struggled to becalm his heart : — 
 " His boy was now at rest." 
 
 He gazed upon the closing grave 
 
 With fixed and vacant eye, 
 And now and then his muscles moved, 
 
 But still I heard no cry ; 
 Though busy thought was gathering up 
 
 The ruins of his pride, 
 And memory said " How beautiful ! " 
 
 The loved one who had died. 
 
 THE SLEEPING GIRL. 
 
 Sleep on, my lovely child, 
 
 Thus pillowed on my breast ; 
 My dove, my undefiled, 
 
 Sleep on, and take thy rest : 
 My darling child, thy sire shall keep 
 True watch for thee, while thou dost sleep. 
 
 As on thy beauteous face 
 His eye intently dwells, 
 How fondly doth he trace 
 Those deep mysterious spells, 
 Which clasp his heart so closely round 
 With all a parent's love profound ! 
 
THE SLEEPING GIRL. 121 
 
 And magic Fancy weaves 
 
 For days of future years, 
 A bower of radiant leaves 
 Unsullied with thy tears, 
 Where blissful pleasures may abound, 
 And angel forms keep guard around. 
 
 Oh ! ever be thy sleep 
 As innocent as now : 
 Thou shalt not wake to weep, 
 Nor care becloud thy brow : 
 Awake — asleep — still may est thou be 
 From sin's unmeasured misery free. 
 
 I would not have my child 
 
 Mix in that senseless round, 
 Where, passionate and wild, 
 Guilt, madness, grief, abound; 
 In some sequestered vale, may est thou 
 Be kept as faultlessly as now. 
 
 Thou smilest in thy sleep — 
 
 Oh mayest thou ever smile ! 
 Great God ! in mercy keep 
 
 My child from grief and guile : 
 Be Thou thro' life her constant guide ; 
 And Innocence be at her side. 
 
 Awake, awake, my child ! 
 
 Awake to peace and joy ; 
 Beam forth thy spirit mild, 
 And ope thy lovely eye ! 
 Thou wakest smiling, with new charms ; 
 But must not leave thy Father's arms. 
 
 R 
 
122 TO MY FIRST-BORN. 
 
 TO MY FIRST-BORN. 
 
 All hail to thee, my first-born babe, 
 
 Young messenger of joy ! 
 A thousand blessings on thy head, 
 
 My own, my darling boy ! 
 Thy father's heart swells high with pride 
 
 Thy lovely face to see, 
 And all the beauty of his bride 
 
 Exults to find in thee. 
 
 How strange must thy sensations be, 
 
 Just merging into life ! 
 But why, my child, that piteous cry ? 
 
 What means this fruitless strife ? 
 Canst thou already feel the force 
 
 Of wretched nature's pain ? 
 Or would' st thou with instinctive fear 
 
 Shrink from the world again ? 
 
 Come, now thy face is brightening o'er, 
 
 Thy pains have fled away; 
 And wilt thou then be reconciled 
 
 In this dark world to stay ? 
 Thy mother's heart with fondness teems ; 
 
 And, pillowed on her breast, 
 Thy little griefs shall die away 
 
 In smiling dreams of rest. 
 
CHASTE AS THE FLOWER. 123 
 
 Now let me kiss thy soft young lip, 
 
 And press thee to my heart ! 
 What raptures to my bounding* soul 
 
 Thy cherub smiles impart ! — 
 All hail, once more, my first-born babe, 
 
 Sweet messenger of joy ! 
 A thousand blessings on thy head, 
 
 My own, my darling boy. 
 
 CHASTE AS THE FLOWER. 
 
 — * — 
 
 Chaste as the flower whose snowy breast 
 Expands to meet the blushing morn, 
 
 Thy bosom needs not thus be drest 
 Its matchless beauty to adorn ! 
 
 Sweet giver of delight — my wife ! 
 
 This lowly gift wilt thou despise ? — 
 Such trifles are a part of life, 
 
 And life for thee alone I prize ! 
 
 A simple flower, bestowed by Love, 
 
 Assumes a value not its own : 
 For in that trifling boon we prove 
 
 What language never could have shown. 
 
 Were worlds on worlds unnumbered mine, 
 And worlds on worlds I could impart, 
 
 I still would offer on thy shrine — 
 As best of all — a loving heart. 
 
124 TO JOHN HENRY. 
 
 TO JOHN HENRY. 
 
 \ c 
 Come here to me, my fair-haired boy, 
 
 And sit upon thy father's knee ; 
 Thou canst not tell what tides of joy 
 
 Roll through my heart/ caressing thee. 
 
 I gaze within thy full bright eye, 
 And watch its ever-varying ray, 
 
 Till in its azure depths I spy 
 
 What thou wilt be some future day. 
 
 I kiss thy soft, smooth, tender cheek, 
 And strain thee to my throbbing breast 
 
 Thy voice is music — speak, boy ! speak, 
 And bid thy father's heart be blest. 
 
 And whilst I thus, with fond delight, 
 Spell o'er thy graces, one by one, 
 
 The chords of love become more tight, 
 And life, in streams of joy, rolls on. 
 
 The days of distant years arise, 
 
 When I was just a thing like thee ; 
 
 And this green earth and painted skies 
 Were full of dreams and poetry ; 
 
THY HOME IS IN THE SPIRIT-LAND. 125 
 
 And life was fresh, and hope was young, 
 And earth was steeped in hues of heaven ; 
 
 And Joy across my spirit flung 
 His own divine pervading leaven. 
 
 Unseen, unfelt Sin's chilling power, 
 
 The dark reality of woe ; 
 For pleasure still is childhood's dower, 
 
 Whatever our manhood's days may know. 
 
 Grief has been mine, and guilt, and strife, 
 And hope has failed, and peace has flown ; 
 
 And all the agony of life 
 
 My heart, my bleeding heart, has known. 
 
 But these are past, my darling boy ! 
 
 My heart has all its world in thee : 
 I wish no brighter, holier joy 
 
 Than thus to have thee on my knee. 
 
 THY HOME IS IN THE SPIRIT-LAND. 
 
 — .$. — 
 
 Thy home is in the spirit-land, my child ! 
 
 Thy lifeless frame is still before my view : 
 Fair tenement ! how beautiful, how mild — 
 
 'Tis sleep, not death, that sheds this heavenly hue ! 
 
 Thy tongue is silent, and thine eye is dim ; 
 
 Thy lips return no answer to my kiss ; 
 There is no motion in thy rigid limb — 
 
 Awake, my child ! I love not sleep like this. 
 
126 THY HOME IS IN THE SPIRIT-LAND. 
 
 Have I not worshipped thee with my whole heart, 
 With most impassioned, most bewildering flame ? 
 
 Sweet life of life, my being's vital part, 
 
 Thy heart is cold — why is not mine the same ? 
 
 Alas, thy life has passed away, my boy, 
 
 While yet the dews of morning gemmed the ground 
 The earth — the sky were redolent of joy — 
 
 One universal brightness all around. 
 
 And I had pictured, for thy future years, 
 Long sunny vistas, warm with smiling joy ; 
 
 But now the shining landscape melts in tears, 
 And darkness settles o'er thy fate, my boy ! 
 
 Was heaven too thinly peopled, that it claimed — 
 So young, so loved — my darling for the sky ? 
 
 Peace, rebel heart ! — thy wildness must be tamed ; 
 Hush thy loud grief — 'twas good the boy should die. 
 
 Why should the blossom perish in the bud, 
 Ere half its sweetness mellows to the sense ? 
 
 Thou art man's Lord, Jehovah ! Thou art good ; 
 And Thou hast taken my fair infant hence. 
 
 O Heaven ! forgive me if I chide thy will — 
 I would not murmur : yet great Nature cries, 
 
 Through all her deep foundations, loud and shrill, 
 My boy is beautiful, and yet he dies ! 
 
 How can I give thy body to the worms, 
 
 And let it mingle with earth's common clay ! — 
 
 Even now their hideous and unsightly forms 
 Appal my sight, and eat my life away. 
 
LINES WRITTEN ON THE SEA-SHORE. 127 
 
 They We torn thee from my arms, and from my heart — 
 Not from my heart, for that is gone with thee : 
 
 With thy loved image life will never part, 
 While life retains or thought or memory. 
 
 The cold earth falls on thee — but on my soul 
 
 A leaden sorrow unresisted lies ; 
 While years of heavy anguish o'er me roll, 
 
 Until my lost one from the grave shall rise. 
 
 Shall rise ? — Oh God, I thank thee ! That sweet light 
 Sheds yet a living halo round the tomb ; 
 
 My boy shall rise ! — a cherub tall and bright, 
 And I shall meet him in his hour of bloom. 
 
 LINES WRITTEN ON THE SEA-SHORE. 
 
 The morning sun unclouded shines, 
 And stamps the sea with burning lines, 
 Glows in the waves intensely bright, 
 Like angel-paths of living light, 
 Too glorious far for human eyes 
 To trace their progress to the skies, 
 But waking up the wish to know 
 More loving worlds than this below. 
 
 Now darkness from excess of light 
 Absorbs the sense and shuts the sight ; 
 A blank abstracts the raptured soul, 
 And nothing but the sullen roll 
 
128 WRITTEN AMID THE RUINS OF HELMSLEY CASTLE. 
 
 Of booming waves is heard to roar 
 Rebounding from the rocky shore ; 
 While Fancy wings the labouring mind, 
 Where visions rise but half denned, 
 Yet tinged with light's refracted hues, 
 Dissolving in such splendid views 
 As amply pay for loss of sight 
 By wonders more intensely bright, 
 And makes her wishful to employ 
 Each hour in this ecstatic joy r 
 Contented on this dreamy shore 
 Till time and sense shall be no more. 
 
 WRITTEN AMID THE RUINS OF HELMSLEY 
 CASTLE. 
 
 Beshrew the hand that ruined thee, 
 
 Fair monument of olden times ; 
 Oblivion bright his memory, 
 
 The fit reward of useless crimes. 
 
 Old Time would not have laid thee low, 
 Untouched by him thy towers remain ; 
 
 No tempest struck the fatal blow, 
 
 The winds of heaven still rage in vain. 
 
 But lo ! thy stately halls excite 
 
 The vengeance of a caitiff crew ; 
 Thy loyal lord provokes their spite, 
 
 And patriot rage pays vengeance due. 
 
WRITTEN AMID THE RUINS OF HELMSLEY CASTLE. 129 
 
 But he that razed thee now is cold 
 
 And lifeless as this broken stone : 
 Far stronger fate his course controlled. 
 
 And where he rots is now unknown. 
 
 'Tis strange how creatures of a day 
 In frantic madness plunge and strain ! 
 
 Thy spoilers mix with common clay, 
 But still thy lordly towers remain. 
 
 Did I possess thy hallowed walls, 
 
 All sanctified by length of days, 
 Thy friendly gates and festive halls 
 
 In all their former pride I 'd raise. 
 
 But other hearts than mine possess, 
 Who deem thee as a thing of nought, 
 
 While I but lift my hands and bless 
 The maker who thy glories wrought. 
 
 For oh thou hast a winning voice, 
 
 That sweetly sings in fancy's ear ! 
 This old stone seat shall be my choice, 
 
 While forms of olden times draw near. 
 
 And sighing winds, whose murmuring sound 
 Comes soft and sweet thro' yon old hall, 
 
 Shall speak of those that sleep around, 
 Who once awoke at honour's call. 
 
 But they are gone, those spirits high, 
 Whose hallowed light may still be seen 
 
 Reflected where their ashes lie, 
 And ever be their memory green. 
 
 s 
 
 
130 TO AN UNBELIEVER, 
 
 Of all thy former glories, none 
 
 Beside thy broken fragments stay ; 
 
 The painted dome, the sculptured stone, 
 Like things of dust, have passed away. 
 
 And green, luxurious ivy grows 
 Triumphant on thy lofty wall, — 
 
 The last proud parasite who shows 
 Abiding glory in thy fall. 
 
 TO AN UNBELIEVER. 
 
 Unhappy man ! and wilt thou proudly dare 
 To lift thy reason o'er high heaven's decree, 
 
 Like those of old, who scorned that dying prayer 
 Sent forth by Him who died for them and thee ? 
 
 And so thy boasted reason is thy guide ? 
 
 Fallacious error ! What can reason know ? 
 Ere thou 'It believe, by reason must be tried 
 
 The solemn truths that heaven has deigned to show. 
 
 Comes not thy reason from some power unseen ? 
 
 Where dwells that power, and why was reason given ? 
 "Why doth thy reason from itself still screen 
 
 The wondrous links which bind thy soul to heaven ? 
 
 Can reason teach thee how the ground expands 
 The grain that falls within her bosom kind; 
 
 Or how the fibres shoot in lengthening bands ; 
 Or whence the fruit which on the stalk we find ? 
 
THE LAST BEQUEST. 131 
 
 If things like these, that fall beneath the sense, 
 
 Defy our reason, and are unexplained, 
 Whence springs in man the arrogant pretence 
 
 To say how God shall act — howGodshall be restrained? 
 
 ON AN EMINENT LAWYER PLEADING. 
 
 If time be valued for its use, how small 
 The worth of his who thus employs it all ! 
 How worse than useless must his time be thought, 
 Whose daily bread by daily lies is bought ; 
 Whose wit, thought, fancy, all are brought to bear 
 To make the worse the better cause appear. 
 
 THE LAST BEQUEST. 
 
 Oh Mother ! Mother ! cease to sigh ; 
 The tear should not bedim thine eye : 
 For though thus early I must die, 
 
 Yet think of all my pain ! 
 Again thy gushing fountains start ; 
 Ah, do not shake my dying heart ! 
 My Mother ! one fond kiss impart — 
 
 We ne'er shall kiss again. 
 
132 THE LAST BEQUEST. 
 
 I have a little gift for thee, 
 
 The last thou wilt receive from me, 
 
 And dear I know the boon will be, 
 
 Because the gift is mine ! 
 This rose, this pretty blushing rose, 
 Whose opening beauties now unclose, 
 Let it within thy breast repose 
 
 Till I shall life resign. 
 
 And when overpast that bitter hour 
 When nature yields to death's dark power, 
 Look then upon this little flower, 
 
 'Twill keep my memory green : 
 For years its leaves with thee will stay, 
 While my poor form will soon decay, 
 And every vestige pass away 
 
 Of what I once have been. 
 
 Then memory will fond vigils keep ; 
 And midnight may refuse her sleep, 
 That thou mayest find more time to weep 
 
 The unavailing tear. 
 And ofttimes thou wilt fondly trace 
 The outlines of thy first-born's face, 
 And Love will add his own bright grace 
 
 To make my image dear. 
 
THE MANIAC OF VINEGAR HILL. 133 
 
 THE MANIAC OF VINEGAR HILL. 
 
 " Sweet hill of beauty ! on thy brow, 
 Where sunbeams sleep so gently now, 
 Contending foemen fiercely stood, 
 And deluged thy fair breast with blood. 
 
 " Those stormy days are over now ; 
 And Infancy, upon thy brow, 
 In safety may those flowerets get 
 Whose roots with human blood were wet : 
 For gentle peace hath scattered far 
 The noisy sounds of civil war ; 
 And strife, and passion, and excess 
 Are hushed in solemn quietness. 
 But who art thou, so young, so fair, 
 Yet on thy brow such gloom and care ? 
 Dost thou, poor Wanderer, fear to tread 
 Upon the warrior's bloody bed ? 
 Thy timid fears may pass away : 
 This earth is now like common clay." 
 
 " I do not fear the warrior slain ; 
 Alas, he cannot live again ! 
 But memory will too oft recall 
 The story of my brother's fall ; 
 
134 THE MANIAC OF VINEGAR HILL. 
 
 And when I think of him, these eyes 
 Must pay poor sorrow's sacrifice." 
 
 " Sweet Maiden, let me dry thy tears, 
 And soothe away thy useless fears ! 
 But wherefore doth thy rigid eye 
 So strangely stare, when none are by?" 
 
 " Hush ! mark those demons standing there, 
 With furious eyes and snaky hair, 
 Their grinding teeth each other press, 
 And blood begrimes then hands and dress ; 
 And see, before those furies stands 
 A captive with his bounden hands ! 
 His eye upon the earth doth rest ; 
 No sigh upheaves his tranquil breast ; 
 Quite evenly he draws his breath, 
 Nor doth he blanch in sight of death : 
 Why doth he not their mercy crave, 
 To keep him from a bloody grave ? 
 Why makes he not a last appeal, 
 To try if hearts like theirs can feel ? 
 Alas ! why should he crave his life ? 
 His babes are dead, and dead his wife ; 
 They fell beside our murdered sire, 
 Or perished in the stifling fire, 
 Where Scullabogue's yet blackened shed 
 Frowns grimly o'er the unburied dead ! — 
 His wife, poor thing, in anguish wild, 
 Had hoped to save their youngest child ; 
 And, thrusting him below the door, 
 She deemed its dangers now were o'er. 
 
THE MANIAC OF VINEGAR HILL. 135 
 
 But, crawling from the crackling fire, 
 The babe came to its captive sire, 
 And crept, as he 'd been wont to creep, 
 About his legs, to play or sleep ! 
 A scream, how horrible and wild, 
 Burst from the father o'er his child ! 
 Whose quivering limbs, in anguish torn, 
 With hellish joy aloft were borne ; 
 And, ere his torturing cries had ceased, 
 Were thrown the savage fire to feast ! 
 How could'st thou, brother, still live on, 
 When all thy world of bliss was gone ? 
 How could' st thou bear this threefold fall, 
 To love so well and lose them all ? 
 Ah ! now I know the reason why — 
 Thou didst not feel afraid to die." 
 
 " God help thee, Maiden ! Thy poor brain, 
 With thoughts like these, will burst with pain." 
 
 " I cannot say if all I see 
 Be truth or idle fantasy ; 
 But since I saw my brother die 
 Strange powers of sight came o'er mine eye : 
 For, in the rayless midnight gloom, 
 Their shadowy forms will threaten doom ; 
 And mop and mow about my bed, 
 Or laugh in mockery o'er the dead. 
 Forgetting life, I ever seem 
 To wander in a pathless dream, 
 Where evermore that fatal sight 
 Still chokes the well-spring of delight ; 
 
136 FAREWELL TO THE FIVE. 
 
 And scenes of blood and sonnds of woe 
 
 Attend my steps where'er I go. 
 
 Too oft my tortured fancy strays 
 
 O'er other scenes, to other days ; 
 
 But when the sun shines sweetly 'round, 
 
 It brings me to this rising mound. 
 
 And much I love these gentle flowers, 
 
 Companions of my lonely hours, 
 
 Which nourish o'er my brother's tomb, 
 
 Where tears of mine still make them bloom. 
 
 FAREWELL TO THE FIVE. 
 
 WRITTEN FOR A FRIEND. 
 
 I am not what 1 used to be : 
 
 Time's ebbless tide hath borne me on, 
 'Till Youth's romantic poesy 
 
 And fairy hopes are almost gone ! 
 
 The noiseless chemistry of years 
 
 Dissolves and re-combines the frame ; 
 
 Dries up the sacred fount of tears, 
 And damps the spirit's ardent flame. 
 
 Youth's hour of prime, too bright to last, 
 Fast hastens onward to a close, 
 
 Till Life's whole glory is the Past ; 
 
 The Futxu-e ! — who the Future knows? 
 
FAREWELL TO THE FIVE. 137 
 
 It matters not ! Let memory light 
 
 The withered joys of bygone years ; 
 But since we cannot stay Time's flight, 
 
 We will not stain his wings with tears. 
 
 Though much is changed, not all is changed, 
 
 More than the lees of life remain : 
 Hope, Joy, Love, Friendship unestranged, 
 
 And Peace for Passion, may be gain. 
 
 The time hath been when each bright flower 
 Could win my warm, impassioned heart 
 
 To idolize it for an hour, 
 
 And then without regret to part. 
 
 Just like the bee in sportive mood, 
 
 Who gaily hums along the field, 
 The sweetest Rose I gaily wooed 
 
 But for the honey it might yield. 
 
 The time hath been, in other years, 
 
 When parting scenes were free from pain, 
 
 And would not move my eyes to tears, 
 Though sure we should not meet again. 
 
 But now, not thus from you I part, 
 
 My nature hath been made anew : 
 Where'er I wander, still my heart, 
 
 Unmoved, unchanging, stays with you ! 
 
 Visions of Truth, Joy, Beauty, Love, 
 
 Ye dwell for ever in my heart ; 
 Your mystic forms around me move ; 
 
 With them, at least, I will not part. 
 
 T 
 
138 FAREWELL TO THE FIVE. 
 
 Mine eyes your forms no longer see ; 
 
 My ears your voices do not hear ; 
 But love so strengthens memory , 
 
 I feel your presence ever near. 
 
 Sense has its tongue — its ear — its eye, 
 To hold communion with our kind ; 
 
 Souls speak the language of the sky. 
 And love commingles mind with mind. 
 
 This is enjoyment ! Earth is full 
 Of shadows that deceive our sight ; 
 
 Which promise bliss, but shed a dull, 
 Cold sickness, like a spirit-blight ! 
 
 This is enjoyment ! Heart with heart, 
 And soul with soul, becoming one ! 
 
 Minds sever not : let bodies part, 
 
 Since what we love can ne'er be gone. 
 
 Existence thus refined I prove ; 
 
 Though parted, still I find ye near ; 
 Free from earth's heaviness ye move, 
 
 All eye, all heart, all sense, all ear ! 
 
 Within this faery world ye are 
 
 Soft, gentle shades, surrounding me ; 
 
 Or one, or all, ye come from far, 
 
 Whatever my varying mood may be ! 
 
 If feeling bears a sombre hue, 
 
 And pensive sadness o'er me creeps, 
 
 Instinctively before my view 
 
 The graceful shade of Mary sweeps. 
 
FAREWELL TO THE FIVE. 139 
 
 Congenial to that shaded hour, 
 
 Thou, dark-eyed beauty, art most dear : 
 
 My nature bends beneath thy power, 
 And thus entreats thy distant ear. 
 
 To Mae y- Anne. 
 
 Pensive Maiden ! let me hear thee 
 Sing once more that touching strain ; 
 
 That seems, as thus my soul draws near thee, 
 The echo of my own heart's pain ! 
 
 A mighty spell thy voice possesses ; 
 
 My ear drinks in each varying tone : 
 But chiefly when thy lay distresses, 
 
 Soul, heart, and all become thine own. 
 
 I see thy dark eye beam and glisten, 
 
 O'er-shaded with its ebon veil ; 
 And as I sit intranced, and listen, 
 
 My soul dissolves — my senses fail ! 
 
 And wakeful fancy brings around thee 
 Congenial forms of higher mould : 
 
 Transported thus, I 've often found thee 
 Commingling with the shades of old ; 
 
 And listened to thy thrilling story 
 
 Of some deserted, dreary hall : 
 Bemoaned a nation's tarnished glory, 
 
 Or wept my country's fancied fall. 
 
140 FAREWELL TO THE FIVE. 
 
 Like one of Grecians mournful daughters 
 Fantastic Thought hath thee arrayed, 
 
 Placed in the midst of dreadful slaughters, 
 Of heroes slain, and states betrayed. 
 
 And then thy voice hath set me weeping, 
 Oppressed with woes I could not heal ; 
 
 Till oblivion o'er me creeping 
 Bade me cease to weep — to feel ! 
 
 Cease to feel ? Ah, never, never, 
 
 Whilst thy looks such wonders tell ! 
 
 My heart remains with thee for ever ; 
 Dark-haired Sybil, fare thee well ! 
 
 To Harriet. 
 
 Thy unobtrusive virtues fill the heart 
 
 With cherished feelings of sincere esteem ; 
 
 A gentle joyfulness thy smiles impart, 
 That still the spirit like a holy dream. 
 
 Thine is a bosom where each modest grace, 
 Each soft affection, each refined desire 
 
 Will find for aye a lasting dwelling-place, 
 And nestle round thy heart's unfailing fire. 
 
 Whene'er I gaze upon thy gentle face, 
 And read the volume of thy quiet eye, 
 
 My fancy loves thy future days to trace, 
 Serenely tranquil as an evening sky. 
 
FAREWELL TO THE FIVE. 141 
 
 Thou shalt be happy ; for thy heart is made 
 To bless and gladden all who dwell with thee : 
 
 Thy outward beauty time perchance may fade ; 
 But when it fades thou still shalt happy be. 
 
 Thy reign shall last — thy empire is the heart ; 
 
 Life brightens round thee with unfading hues : 
 'Tis easy first to meet thee ; but to part 
 
 The flinty heart to tenderness subdues. 
 
 Farewell, sweet spirit, gentle, loving, kind ; 
 
 My heart exults, rejoicing in thy love ! 
 A purer soul I ne'er expect to find ; 
 
 A kinder heart I do not wish to prove. 
 
 To Maeia. 
 
 There is on earth a peerless flower, 
 
 More fragrant than the Rose ; 
 But not in woodland or in bower 
 
 The fragile beauty grows : 
 A perfect transcript of the sky, 
 
 Would' st thou the treasure find, 
 It stands revealed before thine eye 
 
 In virtuous Woman's mind. 
 
 Elastic as the subtle air, 
 
 Full of celestial fire ; 
 A seraph from a distant sphere, 
 
 Far holier and higher ; 
 
142 FAREWELL TO THE FIVE. 
 
 Yet bending to our weakness still, 
 Friend, Mother, Child, or Wife, 
 
 Man's safeguard from impending ill- 
 The Angel of his Life ! 
 
 Amid life's vast variety 
 
 Of mingled truth and guile, 
 The bond that holds society 
 
 Is lovely Woman's smile. 
 Her gentle presence throws o'er all 
 
 The potency of Love ; 
 And half redeems man from his fall, 
 
 Before he soars above ! 
 
 And thus, sweet Maid, thy smiles impart 
 
 A sweetness to our grief, 
 Cool down the fever of the heart, 
 
 And make the days seem brief. 
 Thy polished manners shed a charm 
 
 Along life's rugged road ; 
 Pain of its barbed sting disarm, 
 
 And make toil love his load. 
 
 'Tis gladdening to a heart like mine, 
 
 To which the world hath ceased 
 With its attractive lights to shine, 
 
 Since years have thus increased, 
 To sun my spirit in the rays 
 
 Of that diviner fire, — 
 The virtue that around thee plays, 
 
 Unstained with low desire. 
 
FAREWELL TO THE FIVE. 143 
 
 I love to gaze on thy young face. 
 
 And watch thy playful soul 
 Imprint its undulating trace — 
 
 Its lights and shadows roll : 
 Now sad with sympathetic woe, 
 
 The tears suffuse thine eye; 
 And now, in joy's impassioned glow, 
 
 Bright as a summer sky ! 
 
 Thy life is in the spring of years ; 
 
 The future is to thee 
 Nor mixed with grief, nor dimmed with tears — 
 
 A land of Poetry ! 
 This is thy world : mine is the Past, 
 
 Where memory spreads a scene, 
 With broken shadows overcast, 
 
 And scattered lights between. 
 
 Yet o'er the space that separates 
 
 Thy early days from mine 
 The love that mingles different states 
 
 Extends its living line : 
 A mystic fellowship unites, 
 
 Communion pure, refined, 
 Which fills the soul with soft delights — 
 
 A fellowship of mind. 
 
144 FAREWELL TO THE FIVE. 
 
 To Elizabeth. 
 
 There is beauty in the Earth, 
 
 With its variegated dye, 
 Where the flowers have their birth, 
 
 Though they bloom, alas, to die ! 
 
 There is beauty in the Ocean, 
 
 Though terrible it be, 
 With its undulating motion 
 
 Of restless energy. 
 
 There is beauty in the Night, 
 With her crown of many stars, 
 
 Though the mystery of their light 
 Our eager hope debars. 
 
 There is beauty in the Fountain, 
 As its sparkling waters leap ; 
 
 There is beauty in the Mountain, 
 As it frowns abrupt and steep. 
 
 There is beauty in the Orbs 
 
 That blaze along the sky ; 
 But the beauty that the whole absorbs 
 
 Is the beauty of thine eye ! 
 
FAREWELL TO THE FIVE. 145 
 
 II. 
 
 As the young lark keeps singing 
 
 From morning till night, 
 Thy presence is bringing 
 
 Unceasing delight* 
 
 When the morning advances 
 
 His life-giving ray, 
 Thy young spirit dances 
 
 And meets him half-way. 
 
 As the sun by his brightness 
 
 Makes all things grow bright, 
 Thy pure bosom's lightness 
 
 Makes others grow light. 
 
 As flowerets exhaling 
 
 With fragrance abound, 
 Thy smile, never failing, 
 
 Sheds rapture around. 
 
 Twin sister of gladness. 
 
 Thy motions are joy ; 
 The spirit's dark sadness 
 
 Thy looks can destroy. 
 
 Health beams in thy features, 
 
 All beauty is thine ! 
 Ethereal creatures 
 
 Are not more divine. 
 
146 FAREWELL TO THE FIVE. 
 
 To Sarah. 
 
 Do I not love thee, Sister ? Ask thy heart 
 How deep, how constant is its love for me ! 
 
 As rocks by violence severed, though apart, 
 Retain remembrance of their unity, 
 Thus cleaves my soul's affection still to thee. 
 
 Far in my spirit's most profound abyss 
 Thy love is treasured as a sanctity : 
 
 From thence were I the priceless gem to miss, 
 
 Worlds could not purchase back my withered heart to 
 bliss ! 
 
 All hearts but thine by circumstance may be 
 
 Chilled o'er and frozen ; thine can ne'er grow cold : 
 
 Youth, Age, Health, Sickness, Wealth, or Poverty, 
 Are things by which thou canst not be controlled : 
 Thine is a perfect love — unbought, unsold ! 
 
 All other hearts partake of some alloy : 
 Of broken vows the tale is often told ; 
 
 But thine is all unmixed : thy one employ 
 
 To nourish this pure fire — to love me all thy joy. 
 
 There is no other feeling like to this 
 
 In Being's wide, illimitable range, 
 So perfect in its nature, full of bliss, 
 
 So free from mutability and change. 
 
FAREWELL TO THE FIVE. 147 
 
 Man's love or friendship accidents estrange ; 
 And pride or selfish folly break all ties, 
 
 All duties outrage, and all peace derange : 
 But pride or folly, accidents or lies, 
 Affect not love like this : all hatred it defies. 
 
 Unmixed with fear or jealousy, the flame 
 
 Burns bright and pure ; the gold dreads no alloy ; 
 
 Dishonoured, blighted, covered o'er with shame, 
 Thou'dst love me still — still in my being joy : 
 No power exists that could thy love destroy ! 
 
 Sweet Sister, thus I love thee, thus am thine ; 
 Copartner of thy hope — thy fear — thy joy : 
 
 Ties pure and holy, feelings all divine, 
 
 Unite and blend thy life, thy heart and soul with mine. 
 
 I smile in thy rejoicings — weep with thee ; 
 
 Thy hopes are mine, and mine are all thy fears : 
 Our spirits move by mystic sympathy, 
 
 Communion wonderful of smiles and tears, 
 
 And harmony exact as heavenly spheres. 
 The world may promise, but it cannot show 
 
 A balmy sweet like this which soothes and cheers ; 
 Grief's most unfailing antidote below, 
 Infallible to heal our madness or our woe ! 
 
 Such is thy love, and such is mine for thee, 
 Unmeasured, infinite, conceptionless ! 
 
 Twin-spirit of my being, thou shalt be 
 My resting-place for ever ; thy caress 
 Shed o'er my heart a perfect blessedness. 
 
148 CHILDHOOD. 
 
 I would not liave it otherwise ; and live 
 
 With none to love, with none to soothe and bless. 
 My heart expanding doth thy love receive, 
 More valued than the world — or all the world can give ! 
 
 Back to thy breast my wearied spirit flies, 
 
 When tossed and vexed on life's tempestuous sea ! 
 
 The beacon that allures me is- thine eyes, 
 Which ever beam in smiles to welcome me, 
 And brightest when the storm most wild may be. 
 
 My spirit's dwelling-place, my home of love, 
 My heart one moment never strays from thee, 
 
 The circle where my whole affections move 
 
 Concentred and confined, Love's mightiness to prove. 
 
 CHILDHOOD. 
 
 To me there 's something heavenly in the smile 
 
 That plays upon the infant's dimpling cheek : 
 My care-bound heart of woe it can beguile, 
 
 And chase dull sorrow by its lispings meek. 
 
 Those lispings dear to me a language speak, 
 More cheering to my heart than vulgar praise : 
 
 Like spring's warm rays succeeding winter bleak, 
 Their genial power about my spirit plays, 
 Recalling to my mind mine own blest early days. 
 
TO A. M. H. 149 
 
 The dear remembrance of those early days 
 
 Comes o'er my heart as soft as summer's breeze, 
 When thro' the fragrant fields young Zephyr strays, 
 
 Or makes low music in the rustling trees. 
 
 Oh happy childhood, how thy memories please ! 
 All then was innocence, and love, and joy, 
 
 And buoyant hope, with nought the heart to freeze — 
 No shame, its lively sallies to destroy, 
 Nor aught of sensual vice the sated soul to cloy. 
 
 I envy not the heart that cannot join 
 
 In those pure pleasures which the child delight ; 
 That feels not pleased, in sympathy divine, 
 
 To see the eye upraised in rapture bright : 
 
 For me it oft has shed a sacred light 
 Along those darkened hours of dreary woe, 
 
 When sad Misfortune shed her baneful blight, 
 And bade me then each wayward thought to throw 
 Far from my jaded soul, and every care forego. 
 
 TO A. M. H. 
 
 If virtue, sense, and taste combined, 
 A tender heart, a soul refined, 
 A bosom free from selfish care, 
 A liberal spirit that can share 
 In soft and generous sympathy 
 With others that less happy be, 
 May bless the owner with a power 
 To cheer life's gloomiest, darkest hour, 
 
150 A PORTRAIT. 
 
 To feel the purest bliss that 's given, 
 
 And lighten earth with joy of heaven, 
 
 And throw around the path we rove 
 
 A sacred halo of pure love — 
 
 That bliss, that light, that love be thine, 
 
 And ever on thy pathway shine, 
 
 Till life's last sigh shall heave thy breast, 
 
 And Heaven impart that holy rest, 
 
 Where every anxious care shall be 
 
 Lost in its long tranquillity. 
 
 A PORTRAIT. 
 
 Her sable locks in clusters fall 
 
 Adown her neck of snow, 
 And fling their graceful shadows o'er 
 
 The heaving orbs below ; 
 While backwards from her ivory brow, 
 
 In long and sweeping lines, 
 The glossy, smooth, and silken hair, 
 
 Like polished marble shines. 
 
 Around her mouth a thousand smiles 
 
 In dimpled archness play, 
 Or sit upon her ruby lips, 
 
 Or o'er her features stray ; 
 And stained upon her lilied cheek 
 
 Appears a rosy hue, 
 Where health and innocence are hid, 
 
 Like roses bathed in dew. 
 
WATERLOO. 151 
 
 But who may gaze upon lier eye, 
 
 (That mirror of the soul, 
 Where many fires concentred lie,) 
 
 Unbowed to her control ? 
 Black, piercing, lustrous, it unfolds 
 
 The heart's unlettered tone ; 
 And utters forth mysterious things 
 
 In language of its own. 
 
 Yet peerless as her beauty shines, 
 
 It shines in vain for me ; 
 My heart is like th' unchanging face 
 
 Of a long-frozen sea : 
 Deep waters roll along the abyss, 
 
 Yet cannot break the chain ; 
 And in my breast the pulse of love 
 
 Can never beat again. 
 
 WATERLOO. 
 
 The lines of War 
 
 Are spread afar 
 Along the battle-ground, 
 
 And trumpets shrill 
 
 From hill to hill 
 Wild death-notes fling around ; 
 
 Bright colours wave 
 
 Above the brave, 
 Loud rolls the rattling drum ; 
 
 And thro' the host, 
 
 From post to post, 
 The cry is — " See, they come \" 
 
152 WATERLOO. 
 
 " Now side by side," 
 Our Captain cried, 
 
 1 ' Stand steady, lads, to-day ; 
 And rank by rank, 
 From front to flank, 
 
 We '11 show them English play." 
 From man to man 
 The signal ran 
 
 Like quick, electric fire, 
 
 And deep, though still, 
 But mighty thrill 
 
 Of expectation dire. 
 
 The thickening throng 
 Now pour along — 
 
 What numbers crowd the field ! 
 Till hand to hand 
 The foemen stand, 
 
 And who the day shall yield ? 
 The bullets fly— 
 What thousands die ! 
 
 Loud rolls the rattling drum : 
 What thousands more 
 The dead press o'er ; 
 
 From every side they come ! 
 
 Behind a hill 
 One squadron still 
 
 Our Captain had reserved, 
 Lest by mischance, 
 In this wild dance, 
 
 His line of battle swerved. 
 When he beheld 
 Their ranks thus swelled, 
 
WATERLOO. 153 
 
 Grim gladness crossed his brow ; 
 And by their side 
 He stood and cried — 
 
 " Up, lads, and at 'em now ! " 
 
 Like bloodhounds slipt 
 The squadron skipt, 
 
 And wheeling round the hill, 
 With looks of pride 
 They loudly cried, 
 
 " Ay, Captain, so we will ! " 
 Like sudden hail 
 They swept the vale ; 
 
 Or like a torrent strong, 
 With headlong force 
 Both man and horse 
 
 Resistless bore along. 
 
 Sharp -piercing cries 
 From myriads rise — 
 
 What heaps on heaps are piled ! 
 Here thousands die — 
 There thousands fly — 
 
 In strange disorder wild. 
 What numbers fell 
 Tongue may not tell, 
 
 Such carnage met the view : 
 Yet thirty years 
 Of blood and tears 
 
 Were closed at Waterloo. 
 
]54 THE FALL 0F BABYLON. 
 
 THE FALL OF BABYLON, 
 
 i. 
 
 The time so long foretold 
 By gifted Seer of old, 
 The time at length draws nigh 
 Which woke the Prophet's cry. 
 
 In mystic trance confined, 
 The Future's heavy sable fold 
 By hands unseen was upward rolled ; 
 And far-extended coming years, 
 With all their varying smiles and tears, 
 Were present to his mind. 
 The prescient Sage, with awful looks elate, 
 Surveyed a kingdom's doom, and thus announced her 
 fate. 
 
 ii. 
 " Howl ye and wail, proud Princes of Babylon ! 
 
 Howl, for destruction descends from our God ! 
 The Mede and the Persian like hurricanes travel on, 
 And the scourge of the nations writhes under the rod. 
 Howl, howl, daughters of Babylon ! 
 
 Howl, for the day of destruction is nigh : 
 Howl, howl, ye daughters of Babylon ! 
 
 Howl, and the Dragon shall answer your cry. 
 
• THE FALL OF BABYLON. 155 
 
 The Banner of God on the mountain waves ; 
 His trumpet-voice hath awakened thy slaves : 
 To the ends of the Earth they have heard his call, 
 And the Nations are gathered to witness thy fall. 
 From valley and mountain, 
 From river and fountain, 
 From the hill and the plain, 
 And the broad champaign, 
 From the desert of sand, 
 And the fertile land — 
 
 They come ! they come ! 
 From the east and the north 
 The Nations rush forth, 
 With the clanging of swords, 
 And the tumult of words : 
 The rush and the rattle, 
 The madness of battle, 
 The neighing of steeds, 
 And the cry of wild deeds, 
 They come ! they come ! 
 With the deafening shout and the sullen roar 
 Of the angry sea on a rocky shore — 
 
 They come ! they come ! 
 Howl, howl, daughters of Babylon ! 
 
 Howl, for the day of destruction is nigh : 
 Howl, howl, ye daughters of Babylon ! 
 
 Howl, and the Dragon shall answer your cry. 
 
 in. 
 " Vain is the temple where Belus is shrined, 
 His priests and his altars are dust in the wind ; 
 And vain are thy gates, though constructed of brass, 
 For the foeman shall laugh without seeking to pass : 
 
156 THE FALL OF BABYLON. 
 
 Vain are thy walls, though uplifted to heaven ; 
 
 Vain are thy trenches, though deep as the sea ! 
 Thy turrets shall stand and thy walls be unriven, 
 
 Yet the Spoiler shall still find an entrance to thee. 
 In the midst of thy feast shall he break thro' thy dwelling, 
 For laughter and song shall be wailing and yelling : 
 Thro' the gate of thy nobles the foeman shall dash, 
 And the temple shall flame and the palace shall crash. 
 In the solemn depth of the silent night, 
 
 "When all the earth lies still, 
 The wolf shall be scared with noon-day light, 
 And the fox drop his prey with sudden fright, 
 
 And howl on the distant hill. 
 Howl, howl, daughters of Babylon ! 
 
 Howl, for the day of destruction is nigh : 
 Howl, howl, ye daughters of Babylon ! 
 
 Howl, and the Dragon shall answer your cry. 
 
 IV. 
 
 " Thy maidens shall shriek in the forced embrace 
 Of the swarthy sons of a hostile race, 
 While lover and friend he bleeding low 
 With the shivered brand and the broken bow : 
 And the mother shall rave with frantic moans 
 When her babe lies dashed on the rugged stones ; 
 And the hoary head, with its thin white hairs, 
 Shall grovel in dust with fruitless prayers. 
 Who heeds the despair of the new-made bride, 
 When the bridegroom is slain as he sleeps at her side ; 
 Or the children's wail when their parents die ; 
 Or the lover's moan, or the maniac's cry? 
 The Victors are shouting ; 
 The missiles are flying ; 
 
THE FALL OF BABYLON. 157 
 
 The city is blazing ; 
 
 The nobles are dying : 
 In vain are they calling 
 
 From dwelling to dwelling ; 
 The houses are falling, 
 
 'Mid shrieking and yelling ! 
 The river is filling, 
 
 But 'tis not with water : 
 The blood they are spilling 
 
 Runs red from the slaughter : 
 'Tis the feast of the sword, 
 
 Now drunken with gore, 
 And midnight will pass 
 
 Ere the banquet be o ; er ! 
 Howl, Babylon, howl ! for vengeance is nigh, 
 And none shall relieve thee, or pity thy cry. 
 
 v. 
 " But where is now thy pompous King, 
 His jewelled crown, his signet ring ? 
 Where shines that golden sceptre now 
 To which the prostrate world would bow ? 
 Where stands the throne of burnished gold, 
 Enriched with gems of price untold ? 
 Go seek him in his palace fair, 
 Or search those gardens hung in air : 
 Perchance he treads the sculptured hall, 
 Or stands to guard the lofty wall, 
 Or at the feast quaffs rosy wine, 
 Or dallies with a concubine ? 
 Not here, nor there the fallen King : 
 The sceptre 's broke, and lost the ring ; 
 The jewelled throne, the sparkling crown, 
 Like shattered shafts are fallen down ; 
 
158 THE FALL OF BABYLON. 
 
 And He, the haughty lord of all, 
 Has perished in the City's fall ! — 
 See, by the gates are heaps of dead — 
 Of those who fell when others fled : 
 Promiscuous piled the bodies he, 
 With stiffening limb and glazing eye, 
 With desperate wounds and gashes grim, 
 Besteeped in clotting blood they swim ! 
 Here Prince and Peer and Satrap fell; 
 But who their titles now may tell ? 
 Distinction sunk in common gore, 
 Who spells the names they lately bore ? 
 
 " Is this the King — this piece of clay — 
 
 Who ruled the world with iron sway ? 
 
 Is this the man before whose look 
 
 The trembling Earth with terror shook ; 
 
 Who swept the Nations from their place, 
 
 And crushed the Kings of every race ? 
 
 Is this the man whose slightest nod 
 
 Could deal destruction like a god ; 
 
 Who scorned the ground, and sought to rise 
 
 And reign the monarch of the skies ? 
 
 Who dared strike down thy soaring wing ? 
 
 Earth's rescued tribes with rapture ring — 
 
 1 How art thou fallen, mighty King ! ' — 
 
 Descending where dead Tyrants dwell, 
 
 The slaughtered kings rise up in hell, 
 
 And taunt him, as they hear his tread 
 
 Sound through the dwellings of the dead : — 
 
 ' Art thou become as weak as we ? 
 
 Hast thou, proud monarch, bowed the knee ? 
 
THE FALL OF BABYLON. 159 
 
 Thou, who could' st mock while we were slain, 
 And o'er the Earth alone would' st reign ? 
 How art thou fallen ! 'Tis even thus, 
 And thou art now like one of us ! 
 Yet honoured in our graves we sleep, 
 While Earth disdains thy bones to keep : 
 Thro' future days our names shall shine, 
 But infamy shall rest on thine. 
 'Tis just ! He sinks who soared so high, 
 And blazed terrific o'er the sky. 
 Avaunt ! we scorn thy sullen frown; 
 Derision mocks thy fallen crown.' 
 
 VII. 
 
 " Where the City once stood, 
 
 In the height of her pride, 
 Looking down on the flood 
 
 Where her ships used to ride ; 
 With her temples and walls 
 
 Reaching up to the sky, 
 And her long pillared halls, 
 
 And her gardens on high ; 
 With her squares and her streets, 
 
 And her high brazen gates ; 
 With her lakes and her fleets, 
 
 And her hundred estates ; 
 With her markets and marts, 
 
 Where the world kept its treasure, 
 And men flocked from all parts, 
 
 For traffic or pleasure 
 In her jewels and gold, 
 
 And her merchandize rare, 
 
160 THE PALL OF BABYLON. 
 
 And the treasures untold, 
 
 Without keeping or care ; 
 Where this Lady of Kingdoms, 
 
 This Empress of Earth, 
 Once sat in her glory, 
 
 And shouted with mirth, — 
 There the bittern shall wail o'er the dreary lake, 
 And the traveller start from the bed of the snake ; 
 The fox, and the wolf, and the leopard shall prowl 
 Thro' the desolate halls, where the lonely owl 
 Shall screech to his fellow at midnight dim, 
 While satyrs dance by with their gambols grim ; 
 And the lizard, and newt, and the toad shall creep o'er 
 The oozing slime on the marble floor, 
 And the jackal shall utter his doleful cry 
 Where the putrid corse in his path shall lie j 
 And the dragon shall hiss, and his howl prolong 
 Where the walls used to echo the voice of song ; 
 And the tiger shall growl o'er the half-gnawed dead 
 In the festive hall where the feast was spread ; 
 And the lion shall fashion his gloomy lair 
 In the bridal room of the young and fair : 
 
 While ivory thrones 
 
 And carven stones 
 Shall mouldering lie with dead men's bones : 
 
 And storied hall 
 
 And pillar tall 
 Shall sink to earth with that high wall. 
 
 Her race is run, 
 
 Her glory done, 
 
 And those dark mounds, 
 
 'Mid swampy grounds, 
 Are all that shall remain of Babvlon." 
 
OH WOMAN, WOMAN, EVER KIND. 161 
 
 VIII. 
 
 So spake the Seer. The Seer is dead and gone, 
 
 The earth still changing as the time rolls on ; 
 
 Yet after-years, for many an age, could show 
 
 The crumbling walls spread o'er the plains below ; 
 
 Where columns fair and massy stones were spread, 
 
 Like huge memorials of a city dead. 
 
 And now the Stranger strives, in vain, to trace 
 
 Where once the walls hemmed in that crowded space ; 
 
 The stately streets, where thousands used to pass, 
 
 Are sunk oblivious in the deep morass ; 
 
 The stately halls and towers that pierced the sky, 
 
 'Neath mounds of earth or barren sandhills lie ; 
 
 And that huge pile, which mocked the aching sight, 
 
 Is vanished like a vision of the night : 
 
 O'er all the scene a thick, impervious cloud 
 
 Hangs dense and heavy, like death's sable shroud ; 
 
 And till the Earth, her last dark story past, 
 
 Melt in the final fire, to be recast, 
 
 Men shall in vain seek her who sought and won 
 
 The curse of God — the mighty Babylon ! 
 
 OH WOMAN, WOMAN, EVER KIND. 
 
 Oh Woman, Woman, ever kind, 
 
 Thou best and brightest boon of heaven; 
 Thy form of grace — thy feeling mind — 
 In pleasing excellence combined ; 
 What perfect happiness we find 
 
 When heart for heart is freely given ! 
 
162 THE EVENING FIRE. 
 
 Man's harder nature may forget 
 
 The love that once inspired his breast : 
 
 Ensnared in folly's fatal net, 
 
 On schemes of wild ambition set ; 
 
 Till baffled hope awakes regret, 
 
 And care becomes his constant guest. 
 
 But only love thy nature knows : 
 
 Thy heart was formed for love alone ; 
 And sooner shall the blushing rose 
 Its fragrant leaves in darkness close 
 Than thy fond bosom find repose 
 
 Where Love has not upreared his throne. 
 
 THE EVENING FIRE. 
 
 The wintry blast howls fierce and loud, 
 
 Wild whistling through the leafless wood ; 
 With surly haste, the heavy cloud 
 
 Rolls darkly on, o'er field and flood : 
 The weary wight, whose lagging feet 
 
 Have borne him far through mud and mire, 
 Now longs to find a pleasant seat 
 
 Before some country evening fire. 
 
 When blasts of poverty assail, 
 
 And, stripped of fortune and of friends, 
 You see the homeless orphan quail, 
 
 As one by one each comfort ends ; 
 
THE EVENING FIRE. 163 
 
 And chilly night comes darkly on, 
 
 While cold and want awake desire, 
 Oh, kindly bid his fears begone, 
 
 And cheer him by your evening fire ! 
 
 From yonder coast behold the sea, 
 
 Impetnons, dash wild waves on high, 
 When Boreas, with his blusterers free, 
 
 Roams wildly o'er the frighted sky : 
 The sailor, — on the ocean tossed, 
 
 The blinding storm yet raging higher, 
 By adverse winds unkindly crossed, — 
 
 Would laugh before your evening fire. 
 
 The lonely prisoner, — long confined 
 
 In dismal dungeon, damp and drear, — 
 Feels all that sickness of the mind 
 
 Which darkens hope and feeds his fear ; 
 When harshly sounds the grating key, 
 
 And slow the turnkeys gruff retire, 
 How joyous would his feelings be 
 
 To rest before his evening fire ! 
 
 'Tis joyful, when the cares of day 
 
 Are hushed to silence and repose, 
 To bid the wheel of labour stay, 
 
 And see the screening shutters close ! 
 And then to meet a knot of friends, 
 
 While social joys each breast inspire ; 
 And cark, and care, and sorrow ends 
 
 Around the cheerful evening fire. 
 
164 OH LADY, FEAR NOT TO TRUST MY BARK. 
 
 OH LADY, FEAR NOT TO TRUST MY BARK. 
 
 " Oh Lady, fear not to trust my bark, 
 
 Though the winds be rough, and the night be dark ! 
 
 With Love at the helm, and brave men at my side, 
 
 Thro' the stormiest seas we '11 safely glide. 
 Then come, Lady, come, yon star is bright, 
 And bids thee trust in the Red-cross Knight." 
 
 " But wilt thou be true, Sir Knight," she cried, 
 " If I leave, for thee, my fond father's side ? 
 The skies are gloomy, the rude winds blow, 
 Oh, is it not wrong from my home to go ? " 
 " Nay, Lady, nay, our star is bright : 
 Fear not to trust in the Red-cross Knight." 
 
 The boat shot off from the sloping strand, 
 
 And the lady hath left her native land : 
 
 Her father's hall she will enter no more, 
 
 Nor will she behold her lover's shore : 
 
 For the hidden rocks make the waves run white 
 Where the lady was lost with the Red-cross Knight. 
 
MARY, I THINK OF THEE! 165 
 
 MARY, I THINK OF THEE! 
 
 When Morning's young and bashful ray 
 First trembles on its glimmering way, 
 While Nature hails the new-born day — 
 Mary, I think of thee ! 
 
 Or when the sun is naming high, 
 And proudly walks his own blue sky, 
 I upward gaze, and fondly sigh — 
 Mary, I think of thee ! 
 
 When star-browed Eve ascends her throne, 
 And heaven and earth are all her own, 
 I sigh to feel myself alone — 
 Mary, I think of thee ! 
 
 When Night unfurls her magic scroll, 
 Where forms of mystic brightness roll, 
 With all my warm, impassioned soul, 
 Mary, I think of thee ! 
 
166 THE OLD OWL. 
 
 THE OLD OWL. 
 
 An old Owl sat in an ivy tree, 
 
 And blinked as he looked at the moon ; 
 When a plump, sleek Mouse 
 Crept out of his house : 
 " Ho, ho \" said he, "what a supper for me ! 
 I am glad it is ready so soon." 
 
 The old Owl sat in the ivy tree, 
 His wife fast asleep by his side ; 
 He gave her a nudge, 
 But she only cried " Fudge ! " 
 "Look there," said he, "what a supper for me !" 
 " I wish you may get it," she cried. 
 
 The old Owl then from the ivy tree, 
 Like thistledown, silently fell : 
 " What a plague to one's life 
 Is a crusty old wife ! 
 What a plague ! " said he ; " but this supper for me 
 Will help me to bear it right well." 
 
 The old Owl then round the ivy tree, 
 On tiptoe, expectingly stole ; 
 But the sly, plump Mouse 
 Crept into his house ; 
 And going said he, " Come to supper with me ; 
 But stoop as you enter the hole." 
 
ISABEL. 167 
 
 The old Owl then to the ivy tree 
 
 Sneaked back, to the side of his wife : 
 " Now, where is the mouse ?" 
 Said his dutiful spouse : 
 " Come, come/ 5 said she, " where 's the supper for me ? 
 Let's share it between us, dear life \" 
 
 The old Owl sat in the ivy tree 
 And sulkily hung down his head : 
 She gave him a nudge, 
 But he only cried " Fudge V 
 " Come, come," said she, " where 's the supper forme?" 
 " Don't you wish you may get it V he said. 
 
 ISABEL 
 
 Those dove-like eyes of thine, 
 
 So dreamy, soft, and mild, 
 Bid fond affection pine 
 For those which used to shine 
 So brightly, when she smiled — 
 
 My Isabel ! 
 
 Long silken lashes throw 
 
 Deep shadows o'er thine eyes ; 
 
 Yet still the orbs below 
 
 With piercing lustre glow, 
 Like those I used to prize 
 
 In Isabel ! 
 
168 ISABEL. 
 
 Although my heart might burn 
 Beneath those melting rays, 
 
 It cannot, when I turn 
 
 To her for whom I mourn. 
 The light of my young days — 
 
 Sweet Isabel ! 
 
 The fault is not in thee, 
 
 Nor in my froward will ; 
 But when thine eyes I see, 
 My heart keeps whispering me 
 
 Of old affection still 
 
 For Isabel ! 
 
 Her eyes, though once so bright, 
 Will cheer my heart no more : 
 Yet oft the sleepless night 
 Brings back the pleasant light 
 They shed in days of yore — 
 
 My Isabel ! 
 
OLD AUTUMN. 169 
 
 OLD AUTUMN. 
 
 Let delicate Spring, with her sunshine and showers, 
 
 Exult as she opens the year; 
 And Summer, adorned with bright garlands of flowers; 
 
 Sing blithe, like the nightingale clear : 
 But jolly old Autumn, surrounded with sheaves, 
 
 Enrobed with the fruit of the vine, 
 Though at times he is seen in his sere yellow leaves, 
 
 Old Autumn, old Autumn be mine ! 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Of all the gay seasons that roll round the year, 
 
 Old Autumn, old Autumn for me ! 
 The King of the Harvest, the Lord of good cheer, 
 
 The Father of pastime and glee. 
 
 With his merry brown face and a good-humoured smile 
 
 He bundles the corn in the cart, 
 And he hums an old song to himself all the while, 
 
 That you feel is just warm from the heart. 
 " Here's enough, and to spare," he observes with delight, 
 
 " And the poor shall have plenty of bread ; 
 Their wives and their babes — what a beautiful sight ! — 
 
 Shall all be well clothed and fed." 
 
170 MY GRANDMOTHER. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Of all the gay seasons that roll round the year, 
 Old Autumn, old Autumn for me ! 
 
 The King of the Harvest, the Lord of good cheer, 
 The Father of pastime and glee. 
 
 When wit and good-humour in brotherhood meet, 
 
 To enliven the sadness of Earth, 
 And Time glides along, with old Care at his feet, 
 
 Lest he darken the sunshine of Mirth ; 
 When Nature reclines on her snow-covered bed, 
 
 As she hoards up her strength for the year, 
 What gladdens the heart, where affection is bred, 
 
 Like a jug of October strong beer ? 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Of all the gay seasons that roll round the year, 
 
 Old Autumn, old Autumn for me ! 
 The King of the Harvest, the Lord of good cheer, 
 
 The Father of pastime and glee. 
 
 MY GRANDMOTHER. 
 
 My Grandmother sits in her high-backed chair, 
 
 And works at her spinning-wheel, 
 With her light blue eyes and her flaxen hair, 
 
 And her boddice well stiffened with steel ; 
 And oh ! how I love the tales that she tells, 
 
 And the songs of antique rhyme ; 
 And I smile to see with what joy she dwells 
 
 On the days of the Olden Time. 
 
THE FADING FLOWER. 171 
 
 How oft have I sat, when a wee, wee child, 
 
 All breathless beside her wheel, 
 As she told me adventures strange and wild, 
 
 Till my hair all alive I could feel ! 
 And many a time has she made me weep, 
 
 With her songs of antique rhyme ; 
 Or lulled me awhile in her lap to sleep, 
 
 With her tales of the Olden Time. 
 
 Although she is old, and uneasily moves, 
 
 As she hobbles about with her cane, 
 Yet her mild, pleasant face with good-humour improves, 
 
 And I never yet heard her complain : 
 Still to children she sings, with her tremulous voice, 
 
 All her songs of antique rhyme ; 
 And it gladdens my heart as I see them rejoice 
 
 At her tales of the Olden Time. 
 
 THE FADING FLOWER. 
 
 Take back this fading flower, 
 
 It tells too sad a story; 
 For oh ! in one short hour 
 
 It loses all its glory. 
 Like thee, this sunny morn, 
 
 It bloomed with grace unbounded ; 
 But now it droops forlorn, 
 
 With withered leaves surrounded. 
 
172 THE SUNNY DAYS OF CHILDHOOD. 
 
 'Tis strange that things thus fair 
 
 Should make me feel so dreary ! 
 But trifles light as air 
 
 Are burdens to the weary ; 
 And this delightful flower, 
 
 Of Love the fairy token, 
 Recalls that fatal hour 
 
 My cup of joy was broken. 
 
 Thy airy footsteps light, 
 
 Thine eyes which glow with gladness, 
 Seem fading from my sight, 
 
 And fill my heart with sadness. 
 Then take the faded flower : 
 
 Its sickly breath seems sighing ; 
 And wakes the bitter hour 
 
 When those I loved lay dying. 
 
 THE SUNNY DAYS OF CHILDHOOD. 
 
 Oh the sunny days of childhood 
 
 Come freshly o'er my mind, 
 When wandering in the wild wood, 
 
 With all my playmates kind. 
 What groups of smiling faces, 
 
 What bright eyes still I see, 
 As memory fondly traces 
 
 Those scenes of childish glee ! 
 The brook with shallow water, 
 
 That gurgled down the dell, 
 
THE GRASSHOPPER. 173 
 
 Where we met the miller's daughter, 
 
 And sought the haunted well : 
 The Green with trees surrounded, 
 
 The church with ivy clad, 
 The school where fun abounded, 
 
 The merry games we had. 
 
 How oft I ask, regretful, 
 
 Where are my playmates now ? 
 And all the while forgetful 
 
 What years are on my brow ! 
 And thus with chequered feeling 
 
 I trace those scenes of joy; 
 Though age is o'er me stealing 
 
 I 'm still in heart a boy. 
 Oh happy, happy childhood ! 
 
 How merry was I then ! 
 Would I were in the wild wood, 
 
 A little child again. 
 
 THE GRASSHOPPER. 
 
 The grasshopper lives on the side of the hill, 
 
 In an old mossy house of his own, 
 Where he chirrups all day, like a minstrel gay, 
 
 For he minds not the king on his throne. 
 He has plenty of friends who rejoice in his song, 
 
 As they bask in the sun's pleasant ray ; 
 And life like sweet music with them glides along 
 
 For who are so happy as they ? 
 
174 LADY JANE. 
 
 The honey-bee halts in his pleasant career 
 
 To chat with his musical friend ; 
 The foraging field-mouse he pricks up his ear, 
 
 Where the daisy and buttercup bend ; 
 The little tomtit, as he hops o'er the stile, 
 
 Is certain to call on his way, 
 For the grasshopper likes him to gossip awhile ; 
 
 And who are so happy as they? 
 
 The butterfly merrily flutters along, 
 
 And whispers sweet things to the flowers ; 
 While the ladybird lingers to hum an old song, 
 
 Or chatter together for hours. 
 And thus while old Time trots along with his glass 
 
 The grasshopper chirrups away; 
 And his merry small friends skip about in the grass, 
 
 For who are so happy as they ? 
 
 LADY JANE. 
 
 The banner waves o'er tower and gate, 
 
 The bells ring loud and clear, 
 Bright maidens round the altar wait, 
 
 The mitred priest is near : 
 Lord Roland, in his bridal dress, 
 
 Is hobbling down the lane ; 
 His gay attendants round him press, — 
 
 But where is Lady Jane ? 
 
 Oh where is Lady Jane ? 
 
MY COTTAGE MAID. ] 75 
 
 The bridal feast is richly spread, 
 
 The wedding draught is drawn ; 
 New curtains deck the bridal bed, 
 
 As white as bishop's lawn : 
 The guests are all assembled now, 
 
 The wedding cups to drain ; 
 And all is ready for the Vow, — 
 
 But where is Lady Jane ? 
 
 Oh where is Lady Jane ? 
 
 A dark-eyed youth, in Lincoln green, 
 
 Came there at break of day : 
 The warder said he had not seen 
 
 The lady go away. 
 But far beyond Lord Roland's lands, 
 
 Within a rustic fane, 
 That dark-eyed youth exulting stands 
 
 Along with Lady Jane, 
 
 Along with Lady Jane ! 
 
 MY COTTAGE MAID. 
 
 My Cottage Maid is lowly born, 
 
 And wears a russet gown ; 
 But well she might a court adorn, 
 
 And dignify a crown : 
 She needs no ornamental art, 
 
 In simplest robes arrayed, 
 Where nature perfects every part- 
 
 My lovely Cottage Maid ! 
 
176 THE JOLLY WIND. 
 
 For splendid halls she does not sigh, 
 
 Where rank and fashion shine ; 
 Where all is sparkling to the eye, 
 
 Thongh hearts in secret pine. 
 Her cottage roof is thatched with straw, 
 
 No wealth is there displayed : 
 Yet she 's a gem, without a flaw, 
 
 My peerless Cottage Maid ! 
 
 The flower, on which delighted sips 
 
 The honey -loving bee, 
 Is not so fragrant as her lips, 
 
 Which bloom with smiles for me : 
 Her steps are all with music blest, 
 
 Her form is grace displayed ; 
 Earth ne'er possessed a lovelier guest — 
 
 My lovely Cottage Maid ! 
 
 THE JOLLY WIND. 
 
 Careering fast o'er land and sea, 
 
 The jolly Wind is gone a roaming, 
 Disturbing churches two or three, 
 
 And setting all the puddles foaming : 
 A strong old oak he overthrew, 
 
 And bent to earth the pliant willow : 
 With Betty's cloak away he flew, 
 
 And shook her mother's well-stuffed pillow. 
 
THE JOLLY WIND. 177 
 
 At shutters, only slightly closed, 
 
 He stopped, and made a wondrous rattle ; 
 Then laughed, while half-waked folks supposed 
 
 That fiends and men were doing battle. 
 Old tiles and chimney-pots he seized, 
 
 And hurled them down from shaky houses ; 
 And grinned to think how wives were teased, 
 
 Lest they should fall upon their spouses. 
 
 He bowled along the king's highway, 
 
 And threw the dust on market-people ; 
 Spread o'er the fields a stack of hay, 
 
 And ripped the lead- work off the steeple. 
 He took the bishop's hat and wig, 
 
 And, laughing, flung them in the river ; 
 Heaved o'er the roof a great fat pig, 
 
 And made the queer old sign-post shiver. 
 
 Down in the dirt a boy he threw 
 
 Who went to school with Jacky Horner ; 
 Upsetting, as away he flew, 
 
 An applewoman, near the corner. 
 And thus the wild, mischievous elf 
 
 Put all the earth in strange commotion ; 
 Until, at last, fatigued himself, 
 
 He fell asleep upon the ocean. 
 
 A A 
 
178 THE GALLANT FLAG OF ENGLAND. 
 
 THE GALLANT FLAG OF ENGLAND. 
 
 Oh the gallant flag of England 
 
 Rides bravely in the breeze, 
 O'er many a tall and goodly ship— 
 
 The Monarch of the Seas ! 
 Full twice five hundred years ago, 
 
 'Mid warring States it rose ; 
 And, like a comet in the sky, 
 
 Blazed fiercely o'er our foes : 
 In battles hot, and tempests loud, 
 
 It streamed above the wave, 
 And taught the wondering world to fear 
 
 The Island of the Brave ! 
 
 Oh the gallant flag of England 
 Bides bravely in the breeze, 
 
 O'er many a tall and goodly ship — 
 The Monarch of the Seas ! 
 
 What hallowed names bestud thee, 
 
 Like gems of priceless cost ; 
 What deeds of strife, what wreck of life, 
 
 Are on thy folds embossed ! 
 The hearts of oak that broke the waves 
 
 Were not more firm and true 
 Than those brave hearts that trod the deck, 
 
 A bold and fearless crew. 
 
THE GALLANT FLAG OF ENGLAND. 179 
 
 In every thread the memory lives 
 
 Of some devoted tar, 
 Whose lofty deeds have made our flag 
 
 Old England's brightest star ! 
 
 Oh the gallant flag of England 
 
 Rides bravely in the breeze, 
 O'er many a tall and goodly ship — 
 
 The Monarch of the Seas ! 
 
 In every sea, from pole to pole, 
 
 The Red-cross flag is seen, 
 The herald of old England's name, 
 
 Wide ocean's peerless queen : 
 From China's walls to old Cape Horn 
 
 She holds resistless sway ; 
 And sweeps along the Western sea 
 
 To Baffin's icy bay. 
 But though it leads our thunder forth 
 
 To earth's remotest line, 
 Unsullied honour is the light 
 
 That makes its glory shine. 
 
 Oh the gallant flag of England 
 Rides bravely in the breeze, 
 
 O'er many a tall and goodly ship- 
 The Monarch of the Seas ! 
 
 Oh the gallant flag of England, 
 Where valour, justice, right 
 
 Combine to cheer the drooping world 
 With Freedom's holy light ! 
 
180 A WOFUL BALLAD. 
 
 The swarthy tribes of burning climes — 
 
 The weak, the poor, the slave — 
 Have heard her voice, like thunder, boom 
 
 Along the trembling wave : 
 It rived in twain the galling chain, 
 
 And bade each tyrant know, 
 Who tramples down the rights of man, 
 
 Old England is his foe. 
 
 Oh the gallant flag of England 
 Rides bravely in the breeze, 
 
 O'er many a tall and goodly ship — 
 The Monarch of the Seas ! 
 
 A WOFUL BALLAD. 
 
 I must prepare my winding-sheet, 
 My hour is drawing nigh ; 
 
 Though life was never half so sweet, 
 I know that I must die. 
 
 A bell, in yonder haunted tower, 
 Three times rang in my ear ; 
 
 It was not rung by human power — 
 No bell is hanging there ! 
 
 I crossed the churchyard yesternight- 
 Three times the owlet cried ; 
 
 A figure, clothed in spectral light, 
 Came walking by my side. 
 
I LOVE THEE JUST THE SAME. 181 
 
 All week the death-watch, loud and long, 
 
 Has ticked about my bed ; 
 And thrice the raven's fatal song 
 
 Has croaked, to hail the dead. 
 
 An ugly toad crawled o'er my feet, 
 
 And, chuckling as he past, 
 " Prepare," he cried, " thy winding-sheet— 
 
 This day shall be thy last." 
 
 I dreamed it was my wedding-day : 
 
 The priest was wrapped in flame ; 
 And all the whole procession gay 
 
 Like skeletons became. 
 
 And now farewell ! My lamp of life 
 
 Is flickering, soon to fail 
 
 I wish I was a farmer's wife, 
 
 With half-a-pint of ale ! 
 
 I LOVE THEE JUST THE SAME. 
 
 When first I wooed thee to my arms, 
 
 What blooming looks were thine ; 
 Encircled with uncounted charms, 
 
 And all those charms were mine : 
 But now thy aged locks are gray, 
 
 And feeble is thy frame, 
 Shall I then cease to love thee ? Nay, 
 
 I love thee just the same. 
 
182 MY PRETTY POLL. 
 
 I call to mind how many times 
 
 We wandered side by side ; 
 When village-bells, with merry chimes, 
 
 Pealed clear at evening tide : 
 And though we cannot wander now, 
 
 So feeble is thy frame, 
 Despite those furrows on thy brow, 
 
 I love thee just the same. 
 
 Thro' all the varied scenes of life, 
 
 Thro' sunshine and thro' storm, 
 I Ve found thee still a loving wife, 
 
 With fond affection warm : 
 Then, though thy locks are now grown gray, 
 
 And feeble is thy frame, 
 Why should I cease to love thee ? Nay, 
 
 I love thee just the same. 
 
 MY PRETTY POLL. 
 
 My pretty Poll ! full well I know 
 
 Thou still art true to me ; 
 For now I find thee just as fond 
 
 As when I went to sea ! 
 Thy modest blush, thy bashful eye, 
 
 Bespeak a constant flame ; 
 Long, long ago they won my heart, 
 
 And still are just the same. 
 
THE HOUSEKEEPER. 183 
 
 Compelled to stay in foreign parts, 
 
 A captive and a slave. 
 How sad and weary seemed the time 
 
 Till I could cross the wave : 
 But now I 've gold enough to buy 
 
 The farm my father tilled — 
 The big old barn and bonny yard — 
 
 We soon will have them filled. 
 
 And thou 'It be mistress of my house, 
 
 And mistress of my heart ; 
 And best of all, my pretty Poll, 
 
 We never more shall part. 
 So now to church we ; 11 blithely go, 
 
 And have the knot well tied ; 
 And father Time may fold his wings, 
 
 When pretty Poll '$ my bride. 
 
 THE HOUSEKEEPER 
 
 AT RUFFORD ABBEY. 
 
 Where the jolly fat monks, in the days gone by, 
 
 Caroused, when their beads were told, 
 And moistened their clay as devotion grew dry, 
 
 While ballads, not vespers, were trolled, — 
 Though the monks are no more, yet the abbey still stands, 
 
 Despoiled of its cloisters and cells ; 
 And an old English lord, who possesses the lands, 
 
 With his buxom, old Housekeeper dwells. 
 
184 MY FATHER'S OLD STICK. 
 
 In an old-fashioned cap, whicli she wore when a bride, 
 
 And a gown jnst as stiff as brocade, 
 She bustles about, with her keys by her side, 
 
 More alive than man, master, or maid : 
 Thro' passage and hall, upstairs and below, 
 
 All over this ancient pile, 
 Will the blithe, buxom dame with her visitors go, 
 
 And she shows them the whole with a smile. 
 
 In her own little room, which is fitted all round 
 
 With cupboards, and closets, and shelves, 
 A pleasant collection of comforts is found, 
 
 Where she bids you take care of yourselves ; — - 
 And while you discuss the cold pie and strong beer, 
 
 She gossips with infinite glee ; 
 And it gladdens her soul if her stories you '11 hear 
 
 Of her Lord, and his long pedigree. 
 
 MY FATHER'S OLD STICK. 
 
 Do you see this old stick, 
 
 Gnarled, knotty, and thick, 
 With that comical face at the end ? 
 
 For its full weight in gold 
 
 It should not be sold, 
 Though my life on the sum might depend 
 
 'Twas my father's of yore, 
 
 And his father's before, 
 And now has descended to me ; 
 
 And while life warms my heart, 
 
 With the stick I won't part, 
 Whatever my portion may be. 
 
MY FATHER'S OLD STICK. 185 
 
 All these knots in its side 
 
 With old thoughts are supplied; 
 Each line is a link in the chain, 
 
 Where remembrance still clings 
 
 To the beautiful things 
 That old Time suffered not to remain. 
 
 Though 'tis late in the day, 
 
 And my hair is grown gray, 
 And the tear will, at times, dim my eye ; 
 
 Yet it bears me along, 
 
 Like a pleasant old song, 
 As I think of the days gone by. 
 
 When a frolicksome child, 
 
 With gladness half wild, 
 How I galloped astride this old stick ; 
 
 Or, a soldier in fun, 
 
 When I called it my gun, 
 And the cat for a Frenchman fled quick ! 
 
 When the fruit-boughs were bent, 
 
 Or a-nutting we went, 
 My wallet was speedily filled : 
 
 But those seasons are gone, 
 
 And old age has crept on, 
 And my limbs they are stiffened and chilled. 
 
 But though bending with age, 
 
 I pace life's last stage, 
 I mourn not for pleasures decayed ; 
 
 On this stick I depend, 
 
 Like a sturdy old friend, 
 Who never refuses his aid. 
 
 Then, believe me, this stick, 
 
 Gnarled, knotty, and thick, 
 
 B B 
 
186 THE COTTER'S RETURN. 
 
 With that comical face at the end, 
 For its full weight in gold 
 Shall never be sold, 
 
 Though my life on the sum might depend, 
 
 THE COTTER'S RETURN. 
 
 The sun is sinking down the West, 
 
 The crows fly to the wood, 
 The birds are all gone home to rest, 
 
 The mist creeps o'er the flood ; 
 The evening bells begin to chime, 
 
 The bees no longer roam, 
 And this is now the happy time 
 
 When my good man comes home. 
 
 I 've placed his slippers near the fire, 
 
 And made the hearthstone clean ; 
 I know he likes his easy chair 
 
 Beside the willow screen : 
 I love to see his sun-burnt face 
 
 Lit up with pleasant smiles ; 
 And oft he says this cozy home 
 
 Rewards him for his toils. 
 
 The moon is rising o'er the hill, 
 The sky is bright and clear ; 
 
 The swing of yonder distant gate 
 Is music to my ear : 
 
THE OLD HOLLY TREE. 187 
 
 His dog comes bounding up the lane — 
 
 I hear his homeward tread — 
 And here my good man comes again ; 
 
 My blessing on his head ! 
 
 THE OLD HOLLY TREE. 
 
 Let minstrels exult in the size of the Oak, 
 
 When he bears his broad back to the storm : 
 Why, I love him as well, and regret that the stroke 
 
 His ragged old trunk should deform ; 
 But the old Holly Tree is more pleasant to me, 
 
 As he spreads his bright leaves to the view, 
 For an emblem I see in the old Holly Tree 
 
 Of the friend that is faithful and true. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Oh the rough Holly Tree is the fellow for me, 
 
 For he lives when all others decay ; 
 Thro' the depths of the year, when the forest is sere, 
 
 The Holly is blooming and gay. 
 
 Although on the leaves that are nearest the ground 
 
 With weapons defensive he 's armed, 
 On the branches aloft not a prickle is found ; 
 
 Then why should his friends be alarmed ? 
 To the foes that assail may we also present 
 
 Our breasts ready-armed to their view ; 
 While, exulting with joy, our glad hearts are content 
 
 With the friend that is faithful and true. 
 
188 LORD THOMAS'S WEDDING. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Oh the rough Holly Tree is the fellow for me, 
 
 For he lives when all others decay ; 
 Thro' the depths of the year, when the forest is sere, 
 
 The Holly is blooming and gay. 
 
 When the earth lies enrobed in her mantle of snow, 
 
 And the grass is concealed from our eyes ; 
 When the leaves of the forest lie withered below, 
 
 And the branches like skeletons rise, — 
 The Holly Tree then, like a friend in our need, 
 
 Spreads out his green branches to view ; 
 And 'tis pleasant to think that, as life shall recede, 
 
 We Ve a friend that is faithful and true. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Oh the rough Holly Tree is the fellow for me, 
 
 For he lives when all others decay ; 
 Thro' the depths of the year, when the forest is sere, 
 
 The Holly is blooming and gay. 
 
 LORD THOMAS'S WEDDING. 
 
 The morning is fine and the maidens are gay, 
 Fair Elinor shines in her bridal array ; 
 But where is Lord Thomas, now daylight grows dim, 
 And his bride at the altar is waiting for him ? 
 
 Speed, speed to his castle, my little foot-page ; 
 
 Here 'a gold for thy guerdon — this ring for thy gage ; 
 
 Go tell the Lord Thomas if daylight be gone 
 
 When he seeks for his bride, he may seek and find none. 
 
THE BOGLE. 189 
 
 Now what are thy tidings, my little foot -page ; 
 Why comes not Lord Thomas to answer my gage ? 
 No bridal for him, for he cares not for thee ; 
 And in quest of another has sailed o'er the sea. 
 
 The daylight was gone, and the vespers were o'er, 
 When the sound of his footsteps rang loud on the floor ; 
 The maidens gave way, as he dashed them aside, 
 And rushed to the altar to seek for his bride. 
 
 Weep, weep now, Lord Thomas, thy false message rue ; 
 Thou hast broken a heart too confiding and true : 
 Beat thy breast, tear thy hair, and thy folly deplore ; 
 For Death has thy bride — she will waken no more ! 
 
 THE BOGLE. 
 
 Ha ! ha ! ha ! What a pleasant night is this ! 
 
 The stars are all abed, 
 
 The silly moon is dead, 
 
 The sky is black as pitch, 
 
 The hedge is like the ditch ; 
 
 A sheet of heavy fog 
 
 Is spread along the bog, 
 And the wolf cannot see the precipice ! 
 
 Ho ! ho ! ho ! What jolly fun for me, 
 
 To sport on the black pool's brink, 
 Where the blind worm crawls, 
 Where the old toad sprawls, 
 
190 THE BOGLE. 
 
 Where the black newt feeds 
 
 On the cold dank weeds, 
 
 And the tadpole swims 
 
 Round the dead child's limbs : — 
 What jolly fun for me, 
 The traveller to see 
 
 In the slimy water sink : 
 Ha ! ha ! in the slimy water sink. 
 
 Ha ! ha ! ha ! What a merry, merry thing 'twill be 
 To flash about his eyes, 
 To mock him when he cries, 
 And, laughing when he tries 
 From the cold wave to rise, 
 To plague him till he dies ! 
 Oh this is the sport for me — ha ! ha ! 
 Oh this is the sport for me ! 
 
 Ha ! ha ! ha ! What jovial sport I see ! 
 His wife is at the door, 
 And looks across the moor, 
 And hopes he will soon return ; 
 His little boy upstairs 
 Is saying all his prayers, 
 And the fire doth cheerily burn ; 
 At the door let her stay, 
 And the little boy pray, 
 Yet what are their prayers to me ? 
 Ha ! ha ! oh what are their prayers to me ? 
 
 By the blasted tree, 
 
 On the lonely heath, 
 Where the raging sea 
 
 Rolls dark beneath, 
 
GIVE ME A HOMELY RURAL COT. 191 
 
 I have led him on to the cave of Death : 
 
 The gibbet is there, 
 
 And the white bones bare ; 
 
 The eyeless skull 
 
 Of light is full; 
 
 The chattering teeth 
 
 Gape wide beneath. 
 
 While the fleshless jaw 
 
 Roars — ha ! ha ! ha ! 
 And rattles apace, for want of breath, 
 Ha! ha! ha! Ha! ha! ha! 
 And rattles apace, for want of breath, 
 
 GIVE ME A HOMELY RURAL COT, 
 
 Give me a homely rural cot, 
 
 With thatch and woodbine crowned, 
 In some sequestered quiet spot, 
 
 With old trees growing round : 
 Not grand or great, to foster pride ; 
 
 Nor mean, that I should be 
 As though I wished my face to hide 
 
 'Fore men of high degree. 
 
 There, with a kind and loving wife, 
 
 And children good and fair, 
 Give me to pass my happy life 
 
 Without a day of care : 
 With good old books to speed the time, 
 
 When wintry nights are long ; 
 And haply now and then a rhyme — 
 
 Some old heart-stirring song. 
 
192 THE DIN OF THE BATTLE. 
 
 In cheerful sport or healthful toil 
 
 My happy days should glide, 
 Contented, on my native soil, 
 
 With what that soil supplied : 
 With wealth enough to treat a friend, 
 
 And something for the poor, 
 That wandering beggars I may send 
 
 Rejoicing from the door. 
 
 And when at length my eyes grow dim 
 
 With long and cheerful years, 
 And strength forsakes each aged limb 
 
 As Death at last appears, 
 Without regret my bones I '11 lay 
 
 Beneath the churchyard clod, — 
 My dust to mix with kindred clay, 
 
 My soul to be with God. 
 
 THE DIN OF THE BATTLE DIED FAINT ON 
 THE EAR. 
 
 The din of the battle 
 
 Died faint on the ear, 
 The shout of the victor 
 
 Came mingled with fear, 
 When Eliza rushed forth 
 
 Where the savages stood, 
 To comfort her husband, 
 
 Now steeped in his blood. 
 
THE DIN OF THE BATTLE. 193 
 
 " Is it thus," she exclaimed. 
 
 As he lay on the plain, 
 " That our bridal is kept, 
 
 'Mid the wounded and slain ! 
 Where, instead of the songs 
 
 That should greet us to-day, 
 Are the groans of the dying, 
 
 Too feeble to pray ! 
 
 " Oh 'twas not for this 
 
 That I crossed the wide sea 
 Many thousands of miles, 
 
 With my thoughts full of thee ; 
 And, just as I find thee, 
 
 And call thee my own, 
 Thou art snatched from my arms, 
 
 And would' st leave me alone ! 
 
 " I '11 not stay behind thee, 
 
 My lover, my life ! 
 The grave where they '11 lay thee 
 
 Has room for thy wife ! 
 Could I love this strange land, 
 
 Where thy blood has been shed ? 
 'Twould upbraid me while living, 
 
 And spurn me when dead. 
 
 " Perchance the wild savage, 
 That struck thee, may come, 
 
 And drag thy Eliza 
 To pine in his home : 
 c c 
 
194 THE DIN OF THE BATTLE. 
 
 Oh slay me, my husband, 
 
 In pity, I pray ! 
 For the monsters are coming, 
 
 To drag me away. 
 
 "Thine eyes are grown dimmer, 
 
 Thy cheek waxes pale, 
 Thy hand grows more feeble, 
 
 Thy strength will soon fail : 
 Quick, quick with thy pistol ; 
 
 One shot, and 'tis o'er; 
 Let them come — 'tis in vain — 
 
 They can part us no more V 3 
 
 A flash and a shot, 
 
 And her spirit has fled ; 
 Another discharge, 
 
 And the husband is dead ! 
 Loving wildly but well, 
 
 They embraced and they died ; 
 And young Lumsden lies still 
 
 In the arms of his bride. 
 
 In the retreat from Ghuznee, when Lieut. Lumsden fell, desperately 
 "wounded, his young wife threw herself upon his body, and implored him 
 not to leave her to fall into the hands of the enemy. With a last effort 
 he drew his pistols from his belt, and put an .end, first, to her sufferings, 
 and then to his own. — See the account in the Neivspapers, Nov. 1842. 
 
HOW BRILLIANTLY THOSE EYES OF THINE. 195 
 
 HOW BRILLIANTLY THOSE EYES OF THINE, 
 
 How brilliantly those eyes of thine 
 
 Flash o'er the wondering soul, 
 And with a power almost divine 
 
 The captive heart control ! 
 
 Young Ghebers, at the break of day, 
 
 With fond devotion fall, 
 Rejoicing in the solar ray, 
 
 As on their God they call : 
 
 But could they view the lovelier light, 
 
 That sparkles in thine eye, 
 ; T would so absorb their ravished sight, 
 
 They ; d soon forsake the sky. 
 
 The thoughtful sage, who loves to trace 
 
 The starry orbs above, 
 Would sink beneath those melting rays, 
 
 And kindle into love ; 
 
 And misers, who for sordid gold 
 
 Are pining night and day, 
 Could they those brilliant orbs behold, 
 
 Would fling their hoards away. 
 
196 AWAKE, AWAKE, MY SINLESS CHILD! 
 
 AWAKE, AWAKE, MY SINLESS CHILD! 
 
 Awake, awake, my sinless child ! 
 
 All things but thee are waking ; 
 Awake, ere grief hath made me wild — 
 
 Thy mother's heart is breaking : 
 My child, my child, unclose thine eye, 
 Or dread will make thy mother die ! 
 
 Awake, awake, my guiltless boy ! 
 
 There is no sin about thee ; 
 My heart has now no other joy — 
 
 I cannot live without thee : 
 My child, my child, unclose thine eye, 
 Or dread will make thy mother die ! 
 
 And is thy ear so heavy now, 
 
 Thou canst not hear me speaking ? 
 
 What means this coldness on thy brow ? 
 Oh heaven, my heart is breaking ! 
 
 My child, my child, thy clay- cold bed 
 
 Shall pillow too thy mother's head ! 
 
BROKEN HEART-STRINGS. 197 
 
 BROKEN HEART-STRINGS. 
 
 Dear Lady, thy request is vain ; 
 I cannot sing that joyous strain : 
 The lute sounds ill with broken string, 
 And wounded hearts refuse to sing. 
 
 My heart-strings once with joy could move, 
 Or tremble at the touch of love ; 
 But, rudely struck, they snapt in twain, 
 And never can unite again. 
 
 My heart hath lost its master-key, 
 And sounds of joy are harsh to me : 
 For, sunk in grief's benumbing chill, 
 It vibrates not, nor ever will. 
 
 Then, Lady, ask no more from me 
 The voice of song and melody ! 
 And though I hear thy own sweet strain, 
 It soothes, but does not cure my pain. 
 
198 THE HOUR OF LOVE. 
 
 THE HOUR OF LOVE. 
 
 Oh meet me, love, 'tis just the hour 
 When beauty shines with sovereign power ; 
 And hill, and dale, and field, and grove 
 Invite us forth, in tones of love : 
 The hour of eve, so sweet and still, 
 That not a breath heaves round the hill, 
 Where listening Silence fears to move, 
 Lest she disturb the hour of love ! 
 
 The crimson clouds, in massy fold, 
 Hang o'er the light-god's couch of gold : 
 The wind lies hushed in deepest calm, 
 The air is full of floating balm : 
 The moth unfolds his powdered wing, 
 The merry birds have ceased to sing, 
 And honey-bees no longer rove : 
 Oh is not this the hour of love ? 
 
 Oh meet me in this balmy hour, 
 
 And let us seek our woodland bower ; 
 
 Where rippling brooks o'er pebbly stones 
 
 Sing quiet songs, in pleasant tones : 
 
 While Earth lies hushed, and Twilight spreads 
 
 Her dim thin veil above our heads, 
 
 Our lips may meet, and none reprove ; 
 
 For is not this the hour of love ? 
 
THE LIGHT OF HOPE. 199 
 
 THE LIGHT OF HOPE. 
 
 The light that Hope around us spreads 
 
 Is like the hallowed ray 
 Which morning o'er the pilgrim sheds, 
 
 To cheer his lonely way. 
 If Memory waken fond regrets. 
 
 With which the bosom swells, 
 The gloom that o'er the spirit sets 
 
 The light of Hope dispels. 
 
 Around the oak the ivy clings, 
 
 Even when the lightnings sear ; 
 Though in his boughs the tempest sings, 
 
 The ivy still is there ! 
 And should Misfortune blight our joys, 
 
 Or shed her hundred pains, 
 When life's last pleasure Fate destroys, 
 
 The light of Hope remains. 
 
 The flowers of spring may die away, 
 
 And summer birds depart, 
 And early friendships all decay, 
 
 Or wither round the heart : 
 Yet still our fading life may shew 
 
 What fruit experience gains ; 
 For thro' the winter of our woe 
 
 The light of Hope remains. 
 
200 HOW BLEST THE DAYS. 
 
 THE LARK THAT WARBLES IN THE SKY. 
 
 The lark that warbles in the sky 
 Far in his airy fields may roam, 
 
 But downward turns his anxious eye 
 To where his consort broods at home. 
 
 And though accustomed long to range, 
 By day — by night — o'er land and sea, 
 
 My faithful heart, that cannot change, 
 Still fondly, fondly stays with thee. 
 
 And as that bird, returning home, 
 
 Sings sweetest, hovering o'er his nest, 
 
 My heart, no longer doomed to roam, 
 Kejoicing, trembles to its rest. 
 
 HOW BLEST THE DAYS. 
 
 How blest the days when we were young, 
 
 When life was fresh and fair, 
 And hopes in blooming clusters hung, 
 
 And joy was always there ! 
 Those days, alas ! are past and gone ; 
 
 And what of life remains ? 
 To drag our weary being on, 
 
 Thro' Age's bitter pains. 
 
SHE SIGHED WHENE'ER SHE HEARD THY NAME. 201 
 
 Those early friends, in whose glad eyes 
 
 Our joys reflected shone, 
 Have travelled faster to the skies, 
 
 And we are left alone. 
 Our kindred in the grave are laid ; — 
 
 We — only we — remain ; 
 And life with us begins to fade ; 
 
 We travel on in pain. 
 
 Let years roll on, we murmur not ; 
 
 We Ve had our day of joy ; 
 The sun still gilds our lowly cot, 
 
 And cheers our last employ. 
 And hearts like ours, that live to love, 
 
 Need fear no coming woe ; 
 Death may our habitation move, 
 
 But Love will with us go. 
 
 SHE SIGHED WHENE'ER SHE HEARD THY NAME, 
 
 She sighed whene'er she heard thy name, 
 
 And her bright eye grew dim ; 
 She coldly heard her husband's praise, 
 
 And rarely smiled on him : 
 Her father's heart with gold he won, 
 
 Who basely sold his child ; 
 And, heedless of the tears she shed, 
 
 Looked on her grief and smiled. 
 
 D D 
 
202 THE ROSE THAT GREW UPON THY CHEEK. 
 
 Alas the day thou went'st away, 
 
 And left no trace behind ! 
 From that sad hour a fatal blight 
 
 Fell heavy on her mind : 
 The hand they sought she neither gave 
 
 Nor yet refused to give ; 
 Her one sweet dream of life was gone, 
 
 And now why should she live ? 
 
 The roses died upon her cheek ; 
 
 Her step grew faint and slow ; 
 Her silent tongue refused to speak 
 
 The tale of weary woe : 
 Borne down at length, her broken heart 
 
 Sighed its last grief away ; 
 And in this new-made lonely grave 
 
 They laid her yesterday. 
 
 THE ROSE THAT GREW UPON THY CHEEK. 
 
 The rose that grew upon thy cheek 
 
 Is blanched and faded now ; 
 The music of thy voice is weak, 
 
 And pallid is thy brow. 
 
 What mighty spell hath wrought this change 
 
 Upon thy beauteous frame ? 
 Disease and age to thee are strange, 
 
 And spotless is thy name ! 
 
HER HEART IS IN THE MINSTREL'S GRAVE. 203 
 
 Thou need'st not utter words to tell 
 
 The tale thy looks impart : 
 Oh thou hast loved, and loved too well, 
 
 And love has slain thy heart ! 
 
 HER HEART IS IN THE MINSTREL'S GRAVE. 
 
 Poor Mary, once our village pride, 
 Hath never smiled since Edwin died ! 
 The sweetest bird that ever sung 
 Had not such music as her tongue ; 
 The fairest flower could never show 
 Such beauty as her breast of snow ; 
 But dark despair hath seized her heart, 
 And will not with his victim part — 
 Her heart is in the Minstrel's grave ! 
 
 At early dawn his grave she seeks ; 
 The livelong day she never speaks ; 
 Her mother's sigh — her father's groan 
 Awaken no responding tone : 
 Her little sister plucks her dress, 
 But cannot shake her deep distress : 
 For though she fondly smoothes her hah*, 
 Her eyes with vacant wildness stare — 
 Her heart is in the Minstrel's grave ! 
 
 He loved as minstrels love alone ; 
 His heart and life were all her own : 
 For her he waked his sweetest lays ; 
 His harp first trembled in her praise ; 
 
204 HER HEART IS IN THE MINSTREL'S GRAVE. 
 
 Th' unvarying theme of all his praise, 
 Her name for ever in his lays; 
 His whole existence to her given, 
 Her wish his law, her smile his heaven — 
 Her heart is in the Minstrel's grave ! 
 
 The barren heath, whose joyless breast 
 In Nature's green was never dressed, 
 No mournful tone of grief excites, 
 With pictures sad of lost delights ! 
 The song of birds, the purling streams, 
 The painted clouds, light's lovely beams, 
 The verdant lawn, beflowered all o'er, 
 Can never charm poor Mary more — 
 Her heart is in the Minstrel's grave ! 
 
 The light hath faded from her eye ; 
 Her broken heart heaved one deep sigh, 
 A single wish her lip expressed, — 
 Where he was laid, there would she rest ! 
 And now fair flowers their tresses wave 
 Or sigh perfumes o'er Mary's grave ; 
 Her last fond wish is gratified, — 
 She sleeps his everlasting bride — 
 
 Poor Mary shares her Minstrel's grave ! 
 
THE DYING MINSTREL. 205 
 
 THE DYING MINSTREL. 
 
 The Minstrel's melody is o'er, 
 His pleasant songs are heard no more ; 
 The last sad lay his harp has rung, 
 His farewell roundelay is sung. 
 
 The fire that sparkles in his eye 
 Proclaims his swift mortality; 
 The death- stroke now is on his heart, 
 And rends expiring hope apart. 
 
 Farewell, dear harp ! thou shalt no more 
 Thy master's soul to joy restore; 
 Thy notes have ceased to charm his ear, 
 Thy spell is past — the end draws near. 
 
 Now lay him in that lonely grave 
 He chose, beside the moaning wave ; 
 The flinty rock's unsocial breast 
 Shall prove a quiet place of rest. 
 
 Not lonely there shall he abide ; 
 We '11 place his loved harp by his side : 
 In death as life, thro' good or ill. 
 He has his old Companion still. 
 
206 THE EXILE. 
 
 THE EXILE. 
 
 Doomed in exile still to languish, 
 
 After years of wearying woe, 
 Grief now sickens into anguish, 
 
 Though my tears refuse to flow. 
 O'er the dreary waste before me 
 
 Lights of other days will gleam ; 
 But the gloom that thickens o'er me 
 
 Soon dispels the pleasing dream. 
 
 Trees I planted, greenly growing, 
 
 Breathe no music in my ear ; 
 Roses, round my window blowing, 
 
 Shed perfume, and I not near. 
 Flowers I reared are freshly springing, 
 
 Far from me they spread and bloom ; 
 Birds I tamed are gently singing, 
 
 Not, alas ! to cheer my gloom. 
 
 In the fields that used to charm me, 
 
 On my own, my native shore, 
 Friends, whose sunny smiles could warm me, 
 
 Once I had, but have no more ! 
 Children, too, their sire caressing, 
 
 Fed my heart with holy joys, 
 Eager all to gain my blessing, 
 
 Bright-eyed girls, and blooming boys. 
 
THE BANISHED KNIGHT. 207 
 
 From my country forced to wander, 
 
 Pining on a foreign shore, 
 Memory still delights to ponder 
 
 On the joys which live no more. 
 Sadder still, from each fond token 
 
 Love hath treasured up for years ; 
 Till, Hope's chrystal chalice broken, 
 
 Life may now dissolve in tears. 
 
 THE BANISHED KNIGHT RETURNS AGAIN. 
 
 The banished Knight returns again, 
 
 To tread his native shore ; 
 His tarnished honour, free from stain, 
 
 Shines brighter than before. 
 Oppressed by his malicious foes, 
 
 O'er stormy seas he sailed, 
 And wandered sad in distant climes, 
 
 Till hope had well nigh failed. 
 
 But now he treads his native hills, 
 
 And breathes his native air, 
 What rapture through his bosom thrills ! 
 
 Earth never looked so fair. 
 Sad traces of the foemen's rage 
 
 His eye can see around; 
 His vassals scattered far and wide, 
 
 His hall a blackened mound. 
 
208 THE BANISHED KNIGHT. 
 
 But friends shall gather at his call, 
 
 And foes are none to fear ; 
 Again the fine baronial hall 
 
 Shall in its place appear : 
 The ruined Avail shall be repaired, 
 
 The turrets breast the sky, 
 And from the lofty battlements 
 
 His pennon proudly fly. 
 
 The spacious chimney shall be fed 
 
 With long-forgotten smoke ; 
 The cask shall flow as once it flowed, 
 
 'Mid many a homely joke ; 
 And sylvan games and rustic glee 
 
 Shall make the welkin gay ; 
 And good old English jollity 
 
 Resume its ancient sway. 
 
 His trusty brand and burnished shield 
 
 Again shall grace the wall; 
 The minstrers long-loved roundelay 
 
 Ring through the lofty hall ; 
 And ladies fair and stalwart knights 
 
 Shall tread the featly ball ; 
 And wassail mirth and revelry 
 
 Light up the ancient hall. 
 
THE MAID OF ARNO VALE. 209 
 
 WILLIAM TELL. 
 
 Bow down at thy insane command, 
 And yield obedience to a slave ! 
 
 Not while the sword is in my hand, 
 And He above who freedom gave. 
 
 I never learned to bow my knee 
 To any form of earthly make ; 
 
 And least of all, to things like thee 
 Could I that abject posture take. 
 
 Go, if thou canst, and bend the oak. 
 Or bid the winds thy will obey; 
 
 But never think to fix the yoke 
 
 On necks that scorn a tyrant's sway. 
 
 THE MAID OF ARNO VALE. 
 
 The rose-bud droops in Arno Vale, 
 
 The lily hangs its head ; 
 A mournful tale swells on the gale — 
 
 " The Maid of Arno 's dead ! » 
 Twelve maidens bright, in virgin white, 
 
 Her early death bewail, 
 As slowly to her grave they bear 
 
 The Maid of Arno Vale. 
 
 E E 
 
210 DELIGHTS OF DOUBLE-BEDDING. 
 
 The light that trembled in her eye, 
 
 The bloom her features wore, 
 May wake affection's fondest sigh, 
 
 But will not charm us more : 
 There 's silence in her mother's cot ; 
 
 Alas, how changed the tale ! 
 Her merry voice made all rejoice ; 
 
 Sweet Maid of Arno Vale ! 
 
 Yet she was lovely in her death, 
 
 And like a flower exhaled ; 
 No passion wild her breast defiled, 
 
 Where hope and peace prevailed. 
 Light on her heart the turf shall lie, 
 
 And fragrance load the gale, 
 Where lilies wave above her grave — 
 
 The Maid of Arno Vale. 
 
 DELIGHTS OF DOUBLE-BEDDING 
 
 AN ODE, 
 
 Respectfully dedicated to the Gentleman in the other Bed. 
 
 Oh thou, whose most infernal nose 
 Has kept up an incessant snore, 
 
 Forbade my weary eyes to close, 
 
 And rest and sleep to tatters tore, — 
 
 What horrors rushed across my brain, 
 When all the livelong night I lay 
 
 Condemned to listen to thy strain, 
 And raved to see returning day ! 
 
DELIGHTS OF DOUBLE-BEDDING. 211 
 
 How slow the lagging moments went : 
 
 They never moved so slow before : 
 I thought the night would ne'er be spent, 
 
 Prolonged with each repeated snore. 
 
 The very room wherein I lay 
 
 Seemed shaking in a mortal fright ; 
 Jugs, basins, glasses, danced away, 
 
 And rafters chattered all the night. 
 
 To cough or speak were vain ; in vain 
 
 To twitch or pull thy heavy corse : 
 Each hindrance set thee on again, 
 
 To snore with still-increasing force ! 
 
 If harassed nature sunk, and fell 
 
 One moment to a forced repose, 
 Before me passed some imp of hell, 
 
 And perched upon thy hated nose. 
 
 And spectres wild, and goblins grim, 
 Came gibing round, with foul grimace, 
 
 With noses stuck on every limb, 
 
 While one huge nose overspread each face ! 
 
 The thunder's voice was weak, compared 
 With that which bellowed in my ear ; 
 
 And fiery faces grinned and glared, 
 
 And scorched my brain as they drew near. 
 
 All space grew full of hideous sights, 
 And hideous sounds, and dismal groans ; 
 
 And from thy nose new swarms of sprites 
 Came trooping forth with maddening moans. 
 
212 DELIGHTS OF DOUBLE-BEDDING. 
 
 I stopped my ears and closed my eyes ; 
 
 The sounds and sights were still the same 
 My ears, my head were full of cries; 
 
 My brain was one wide sheet of flame. 
 
 To madness stung, I tried to fly ; 
 
 Fear lent me wings : from Earth I rose, 
 And upward gazed, when lo, the sky 
 
 Was one wide, villanous, vast nose ! 
 
 I sank to Earth ; but Earth was then 
 All filled with gaping noses grim, — 
 
 Some sailing thro' the shadowy glen, 
 While others scaled the mountains dim. 
 
 And as the number still increased, 
 Still louder grew the dreadful sound ; 
 
 Till all at once the thunder ceased — 
 And thou hadst left the room, I found ! 
 
 With what delight I barred thee out, 
 Chairs, tables piled against the door ! — 
 
 I 'd rather brave the battle-shout 
 Than hear again thy horrid snore. 
 
THE PIPE. 213 
 
 THE PIPE. 
 
 The world may still enjoy its strife, 
 Its honied words and biting jest, 
 
 While calmly glides my peaceful life, 
 Of this unchanging friend possessed ; 
 
 My pleasant Pipe ! I ask no more, 
 
 And never mind the miser's store. 
 
 This fragrant weed, whose curling cloud 
 Swims gracefully before my eyes, 
 
 Hath power the deepest grief to shroud, 
 And turn to smiles the mourner's sighs 
 
 Serenely rising, see it spread 
 
 In gentle whirls around my head ! 
 
 Let mockers laugh ! It matters not ; 
 
 Their folly still from ignorance grows : 
 A cheerful pipe, a quiet spot, 
 
 And never mind life's wearying woes : 
 Their life must be a bitter joke 
 Who never yet have learned to smoke. 
 
 My pleasant Pipe ! Yes, thou art all 
 Of real comfort life has known ; 
 
 When both have thee — the cobbler's stall 
 Is quite as happy as the throne : 
 
 Each wrinkling care away I wipe ; 
 
 For thou art mine, my pleasant Pipe ! 
 
214 CONN AUGHT. 
 
 THE MEETING. 
 
 As the devil one morning, in pensive mood, 
 
 Was walking along by a shadowy wood, 
 
 With downcast head and a drooping tail, 
 
 A lustreless eye and a face qnite pale, 
 
 He ran against a singular sprite, 
 
 In a motley dress of red and white, 
 
 With a portly paunch and a full-fed cheek, 
 
 A laughing eye, and his hair combed sleek. 
 
 The devil, amazed, uplifted his eye, 
 
 And he stared on the stranger sullenly : 
 
 "Wlio bid thee come here so soon?" quoth he; 
 
 " Thou should' st have stayed till I sent for thee." 
 
 " Why, then," said the other, "I'd better return? " 
 
 "Nay, nay," said the devil; "you'll do to burn." 
 
 And he knotted him fast with his supple tail, 
 
 And away they went in a shower of hail. 
 
 CONNAUGHT. 
 
 " To Hell or to Connaught " was Oliver's * curse ; 
 The former is bad, but the latter is worse : 
 For there you expect not a comfort to find, 
 And to suffer unceasingly make up your mind ; 
 
 * Cromwell's words in cutting down the Papists. 
 
CONNAUGHT. 215 
 
 But here you are led to expect on your way 
 
 The pleasures for which you are willing to pay. 
 
 Confiding in promises seemingly true, 
 
 What a prospect of villany opens to view ! 
 
 High rocks and deep bogs fill the country all round, 
 
 Unfruitful, unlovely, unwholesome, unsound ; 
 
 The clouds black and heavy, the sky never clear, 
 
 Not a single fine day can be had in a year ; 
 
 All things that were lovely are blasted and dead, 
 
 And Nature despondingly hangs down her head. 
 
 But the country, though savage, is not half so rude 
 As its savage possessors— a reprobate brood — 
 Whose manners are boorish, whose minds are profane ; 
 Whose features one never can see without pain ; 
 Whose morals are lifeless, their friendship deceit, 
 Religion a lie, and their traffic a cheat. 
 If you travel, the roads are most horribly rough ; 
 The coaches break down and your luggage flies off; 
 The horses are lame, and but seldom can see ; 
 And the coachman, a consummate scoundrel is he. 
 
 Woe, woe to the man that e'er travels this road ; 
 And woe to the man that takes up his abode 
 In these villanous houses of dirt and deceit, — 
 Where the host is too proud to be decent and neat, 
 But can make up his mind and his morals to cheat ; 
 Where the waiters are liars, the victuals like drugs, 
 The housemaids all sluts, and the beds full of bugs. 
 
216 THE SINGERS. 
 
 THE SINGERS 
 
 OF STREET CHAPEL. 
 
 Such singers as these are a public disgrace, 
 
 And ought to be kicked in contempt from the place ! 
 
 They mangle the tune, and they never keep time, 
 
 But make up a mess of confusion sublime : 
 
 Above they go merrily on with the wind, 
 
 While below they come limping six crotchets behind. 
 
 There 's White can sing well, yet he quavers so long, 
 
 He can never do right, from his fear to do wrong : 
 
 Macdonnel and Daker, and one or two more, 
 
 Just strike up a note, and directly give o'er : 
 
 Logier can teach others to sing or to squall, 
 
 But as for himself, why he sings not at all : 
 
 Poor Bran is now bolted, and Lindsay is hoarse, 
 
 And Coulter is off on his medical course : 
 
 Our Kent has no bugle to send forth a note, 
 
 And Maine cannot sing, from the width of his throat 
 
 Sometimes my black Jessop, the preacher, will try 
 
 To strike up a tune, but he strikes it awry ; 
 
 And ere he has gone thro' a line and a half, 
 
 He ends with a sound like the bleat of a calf : — 
 
 All taken together, they 're very well able 
 
 To make such a noise as might form a new Babel. 
 
THE SAILOR'S BRIDE. 217 
 
 THE SAILOR/S BRIDE. 
 
 There came to the shore a poor heart-broken maiden, 
 
 The spray on her white dress was heavy and cold ; 
 With the grief that is sleepless her spirit was laden, 
 
 And sadly she sighed as the waves wildly rolled. 
 O'er the deep-sonnding sea, where the rude waves were 
 
 dancing, 
 Like the coursers of death over graves madly prancing, 
 Still restless and frenzied her eye she kept glancing : 
 "He comes not," she cried ; "will he come back no more? 
 
 " On the day when he left me, to cross the wide ocean, 
 
 The sun gaily shone and the wind gently blew ; 
 And his sweet little ship, like a sea-bird in motion, 
 
 From billow to billow unceasingly flew : 
 And here on this spot, where the rough rock is broken, 
 The words which should bind all true lovers were spoken; 
 And still near my heart I can feel his last token : 
 I love him," she cried ; " will he come back no more ? 
 
 " And here, on this beach, how oft hath he told me, 
 While love shed his light o'er the pathway of life, 
 
 How rejoiced he should be in his arms to enfold me ; 
 This last voyage o'er, he would make me his wife. 
 
 There was truth on his lip when Fate called him to leave me; 
 
 In childhood and youth he would never deceive me : 
 
 Then why does he stay, when he knows it will grieve me ? 
 
 He comes not," she cried; " will he come back no more?" 
 
 F F 
 
218 AN ACROSTIC. 
 
 And thus the poor maid, in her frenzy deploring 
 
 The absence of him who now sleeps in his grave, 
 Still heaves her sad sighs as the wild winds are roaring, 
 
 And casts her lorn looks o'er the pitiless wave : 
 On the promise he made her still fondly relying, 
 And dressed as his bride, she will take no denying ; 
 Still wandering, and restless, heart-broken, and sighing, 
 "He comes not," she cries; "will he come back nomore?" 
 
 AN ACROSTIC. 
 
 May all the mercies heaven reserves in store, 
 As gifts of love, be thine for evermore : 
 Riches, if best, may God to thee impart, 
 Yet keep thee virtuous still in life and heart. 
 
 Arrayed in beauty and adorned with sense, 
 Nature in thee shines forth without pretence ; 
 No vain parade to catch the vulgar eye, 
 Ensnaring fools in senseless mockery. 
 
 Made as thou art this fair earth to adorn, 
 Upon thy lip ne'er sits the smile of scorn : 
 Lovely thyself, all loveliness shall be 
 Long in thy train, and truth reside with thee ; 
 Each heavenly grace shall in thy breast abide, 
 Nor will the Muses tarry from thy side. 
 
WEEP, WHILE I SING 219 
 
 WEEP, WHILE I SING! 
 
 Weep, while I sing ! Thy gentle tears 
 
 Can soothe a heart has sighed too long ; 
 Weep on, weep on ! for many years 
 
 I have not felt the power of song. 
 When last I sang, 'twas by the side 
 
 Of one who proudly bore my name ; 
 Oh would to heaven we both had died 
 
 Ere that dark hour of guilt and shame : 
 
 Weep, while I sing ! 
 
 Weep on, weep on ! That fatal night — 
 
 What dreams of boundless bliss were mine ! 
 The morning came, with grief and shame, 
 
 And Love forsook his broken shrine : 
 She lives they say, and memory may 
 
 Her heart like mine with anguish ring, 
 But never more can time restore 
 
 What makes me weep while thus I sing : 
 Weep, while I sing ! 
 
220 JANUARY. 
 
 JANUARY. 
 
 The wheel whirls round, and lo, the New-born Year 
 Bursts, like a god, Futurity's dark womb ! 
 
 Thin, shadowy forms stalk darkly in the rear, 
 And bear along a cradle and a tomb. 
 
 What message dost thou bring from lands unknown ? 
 
 Unfold thy tidings to each eager ear : 
 Art thou commissioned to affect a throne ; 
 
 Or, more important far, the poor to cheer ? 
 
 We know the tale thy predecessor told, 
 
 While nattering Hope her bland enchantments spread: 
 Yet patriots high have sold themselves for gold, 
 
 And hungry wretches died for want of bread. 
 
 Be thou a prophet of approaching joy ! 
 
 But oh, speak sooth, and let the bliss appear ! 
 Raise not a hope thou meanest to destroy : 
 
 Jov fill the sails and Truth the vessel steer. 
 
FEBRUARY. 221 
 
 FEBRUARY. 
 
 Though heavy cloud and dripping shower 
 Above thy murky pathway lower ; 
 Though miry ways and swampy grass 
 Still meet our steps where'er we pass ; 
 Though torrents roar adown the hills,, 
 And choke with ice the clacking mills ; 
 And though at times the crisped snow 
 Lies crunching on the ground below, — 
 Yet still we love thy course to trace, 
 And smile to see thy pleasant face. 
 
 For lo ! thy infant days disclose 
 The snowdrop pure and pale primrose, 
 And each succeeding morn displays 
 Fresh daisies shoot their little rays, 
 Where scented coltsfoot may be seen 
 Outspread beside some evergreen ; 
 While all along the meadows rise 
 Rich crocus troops, in brilliant dyes ; 
 And pansies, freaked in triple bloom, 
 Enliven Winter's waning gloom. 
 
 And hark how vocal Nature springs 
 To meet thy smile, on buoyant wings ! 
 The woodlark, perched on naked bush, 
 Is answered by the warbling thrush ; 
 
222 FEBRUARY. 
 
 The chaffinch charms the leafless spray, 
 And redbreasts still hop o'er the way ; 
 The bullfinch probes the opening bud, 
 Where insects breed, in quest of food ; 
 While noisy rooks, in ancient groves, 
 Are building nests for future loves. 
 
 Meantime the gander stalks the yard, 
 And o'er the sitting geese keeps guard ; 
 Young cocks with more than wonted pride 
 Strut up and down, their wives beside ; 
 While turkies, now " uncommon proud," 
 With heads erect are gobbling loud ; 
 And ducks dash gladly thro' the mire, 
 Rejoiced to see Old Frost retire : 
 The sparrows chirp, the pigeons coo, 
 And old barn-owls cry out " Tu-whoo ! " 
 While here and there a swallow flies 
 Too early from the southern skies. 
 
 While Nature thus renews the Earth, 
 Our hearths shall glow with social mirth : 
 The holly and the misletoe, 
 Now faded, from the walls must go ; 
 But still to cheer our household view, 
 The box shall shine with fresher hue : 
 Young Valentine with fond desire 
 Shall quicken many a lover's fire ; 
 While jolly Shrovetide rings his bell 
 Hot pancakes on the board shall swell ; 
 And homely joys and homely cheer 
 Shall make the Briton's homestead dear. 
 
MARCH. 223 
 
 MARCH. 
 
 " He cometh in like a lion and goeth out like a lamb," 
 
 Blow on, blow on, thou furious churl ! 
 
 Who heeds thee in thy mad career ? 
 Old withered leaves may leap and whirl, 
 
 But young ones sleep devoid of fear. 
 
 'Mid leafless branches wildly howl, 
 Or chase dark clouds along the sky ; 
 
 In lowering tempests blindly scowl, 
 Or toss brown waves of dust on high. 
 
 Yet will we smile to see thy frown ; 
 
 With jocund songs thy fury hail; 
 And when the storm comes thundering down^ 
 
 Exult amidst the shivering gale. 
 
 For lo ! thy winds, with spendthrift haste, 
 
 Exhaust their strength whilst thou art young ; 
 
 And ere regret observes the waste, 
 Repentant sighs are feebly flung, — 
 
 And thou art changed ! For savage storms 
 Bland, gentle zephyrs mildly play ; 
 
 For clouds of strange, portentous forms, 
 Blue skies prolong the lengthening day. 
 
224 APRIL. 
 
 And Nature hails the genial change, 
 Exulting thro' her wide domain, — 
 
 Invites young lambs new fields to range, 
 And decks with green the frosted plain. 
 
 Then, welcome, March ! Thy cordial smile, 
 Though masked beneath a frowning face, 
 
 Is free from that deceit and guile 
 
 Which holds on earth so high a place. 
 
 APRIL. 
 
 In her radiant robe of the rainbow's dye, 
 From her humid home in the showery sky, 
 
 Fair April comes again : 
 The blustering winds of March are past, 
 And the surly Winter is gone at last 
 
 Across the Northern main. 
 
 'Tis a joyous month, and the sunny showers 
 Awaken the breath of a thousand flowers 
 
 Fresh peeping from the ground : 
 Though the early snowdrop withers and dies, 
 Yet the daffodil, crowfoot, and snowflake rise, 
 
 And ladysmocks abound. 
 
 And the cowslips tall o'er the daisies wave, 
 And the marigold loves her roots to lave 
 
 Beside the marshy rill ; 
 And the flaunting tulip now courts the eye, 
 While heartsease and violets lowly lie 
 
 Afoot of the sunny hill. 
 
MAY. 225 
 
 And the budding trees are all breaking out 
 With blossoms and leaves, in a joyous shout, 
 
 Their feathery friends to call ; 
 And the swallow, and swift, and martin come, 
 With their merry notes, to their ancient home, 
 
 Still fast upon the wall. 
 
 And the wren, and redbreast, and landrail spring 
 To meet the cuckoo, again on the wing ; 
 
 And the bittern booms along : 
 The birds are all chirping that Winter is gone, 
 And the building of nests goes merrily on, 
 
 With twittering chatter and song. 
 
 MAY. 
 
 It is May — it is May — 
 
 And her festival day ; 
 Let us up and rejoicingly meet her half-way ! 
 
 'Mid bright-laughing Hours, 
 
 With garlands of flowers, 
 She comes in her glory — the beautiful May ! 
 
 On the threshold of Morn 
 
 Bring her own lovely thorn, 
 And like a young bride her fair temples adorn 
 
 With garlands of green 
 
 Let us grace the young queen, 
 And dance, as we meet her, to tabor and horn. 
 
 G G 
 
226 MAY. 
 
 Lo, the lark in the sky 
 
 Is attempting to spy 
 The glance that first beams from her joy-giving eye ; 
 
 And the musical throng 
 
 Will burst into song 
 The moment her banner is waving on high. 
 
 See, the lads cannot stay, 
 
 Though the lasses look gay, 
 And laughingly jeer them for running away ; 
 
 And the grandsire is off, 
 
 In despite of his cough, 
 Along with the children, to gather the May. 
 
 Cottage window and door 
 
 The May -bough hangs o'er, 
 And flourishes now as it flourished of yore ; 
 
 With a merry, wild shout 
 
 The welkin rings out, 
 For May-day shines bright on the village once more. 
 
 Let the merry drum roll ; 
 
 And bring the old bowl, 
 And drink a long life to each happy old soul ! 
 
 And the garlands we '11 bring, 
 
 While the young maidens sing, 
 Or foot the light dance round the merry May-pole. 
 
 Jolly Whitsun turns pale, 
 
 If you stint him of ale, 
 And his cheek waxes thin if the provender fail ; 
 
 But give him good cheer, 
 
 And no enemy fear, 
 He '11 thresh them like corn with the stroke of his flail. 
 
june. 227 
 
 JUNE. 
 
 Month of the merry face, mirth-loving June ! 
 
 Thou J rt with us once more — not a moment too soon ; 
 
 For the sky has been weeping that thou wert away, 
 
 And the earth scarcely smiled at the presence of May : 
 
 The trees were all drooping, and blushed to be seen, 
 
 They were waiting for thee, to break out into green : 
 
 Poor Flora stood nursing her lilacs and sloes ; 
 
 But lo ! at thy bidding she puts on the rose. 
 
 Here and there a poor daisy besprinkled the ground, 
 
 But noAv all the meadows her beauties have crowned : 
 
 The kingcup, the poppy, the clover, the bean, 
 
 The lily, the crowfoot — all bloom with their queen ; 
 
 The pinks and sweet-williams are daintily drest ; 
 
 And the earth, at thy presence, seems happy and blest. 
 
 The skylark awoke at the coming of May, 
 And the mavis and linnet enlivened the day ; 
 But the nightingale tarried to welcome thy birth, 
 And burst into song as thy foot touched the earth. 
 Oh welcome, thrice welcome, thou mirth-loving June ! 
 Thou 'rt with us once more — not a moment too soon ! 
 
 But where hast thou been since we parted last year ? 
 Our roses soon withered, our leaves they turned sere ; 
 And friends that we cherished, who smiled in thy ray, 
 Since then have grown cold, or been taken away ; 
 
228 June. 
 
 And eyes that we loved for affection's sweet light, 
 When we look on them now, they have ceased to look 
 The music of voices that prattled all day [bright ; 
 
 Has grown full of discord, or melted away ; 
 The earth has been changing from beauty and bloom 
 To heart-ache and sadness, to darkness and gloom ; 
 Not Winter alone, since we saw thee depart, 
 But the Winter that sank on the desolate heart ! 
 
 Thy suns are as bright, and thy skies are as clear, — 
 Canst thou give us the raptures we tasted last year? 
 The flame of affection thy beams may impart, 
 And kindle the love that lies cold in the heart ; 
 The chill of distrust at thy presence may melt, 
 And friends may yet feel as aforetime they felt ; 
 But again to our hearts thou canst never restore 
 The joy of our youth, when its season is o'er ! 
 The eye may seem bright, and the cheek wear a smile, 
 But where is the joy of the heart all the while? 
 The voice may be blithe, and the spirit be gay, 
 But the lightness of youth and its charm is away ; 
 We try back and back to recover the strain, 
 But the music of youth we can never regain. 
 Yet welcome, thrice welcome, thou mirth-loving June ! 
 Thou 'rt here once again — not a moment too soon ! 
 
 Yet why should we pine, though the seasons roll on, 
 Since the dark days along with the bright ones are gone ; 
 If the season of sunshine has fled from our view, 
 Its sins and its sadness have died away too ; 
 The June of the Past may not gladden our sight, 
 Yet the June of the Future is teeming with light. 
 
July. 229 
 
 Then let us enjoy the bright month as it flies, 
 
 And look for the good that each season supplies : 
 
 If the spring-time of youth cannot gladden the heart, 
 
 The wisdom of age greater peace may impart ; 
 
 And to look for the change which we know may come soon 
 
 Will be better than waiting for roses in June. 
 
 JULY. 
 
 Now, in his highest altitude, the Sun 
 
 Triumphant shines — his last great victory won ; 
 
 The lingering frost, defeated, quits the plain, 
 
 And noxious damps confess his sultry reign : 
 
 With Orient pomp he rules the lengthened day, 
 
 And Nature bows submissive to his sway. 
 
 The lofty mountain swelters at his feet, 
 
 And low moist meadows crack with constant heat : 
 
 The cooling spring, exhausted, runs no more, 
 
 And shrinking streams forsake the reedy shore : 
 
 Thin, fleecy clouds diminish in the air, 
 
 And tracts of moorland smoke beneath his glare : 
 
 The idle wind, dissolving in his ray, 
 
 Scarce moves the leaves, and feebly dies away : 
 
 The short-lived night pants faintly for the dew, 
 
 And heats intense the early morn subdue : 
 
 Dark, swampy ponds, in hoary forests found, 
 
 Now dried and baked, with reptiles strange abound : 
 
 Old mossy wells, with tangling roots overarched, 
 
 Sound husk and dry, as if their throats were parched ; 
 
 Loose stones and dust deface the beaten road, 
 
 And shoals of flies the maddening cattle goad. 
 
230 JULY. 
 
 Meantime, the feathered burghers of the grove 
 Forget their pastime, and are dead to love : 
 No rising lark salutes the early morn, 
 No warbling linnet animates the thorn ; 
 The thrilling thrush sits songless in the shade, 
 And solemn silence haunts the woodland glade. 
 
 In cooling streams, where cooling streams remain, 
 The cattle stand, nor heed the burning plain ; 
 With looks of calm, luxurious peace they stay, 
 And lash their sides, to drive the flies away : 
 Where ancient oaks extend their leafy screen 
 The new-shorn sheep in cool repose are seen ; 
 While lazy colts supinely stretch the limb, 
 And idle fish along the surface swim. 
 
 Meantime the mower whets his trusty scythe, 
 And, 'neath the dog-day's heat, still whistles blithe ; 
 With lusty sweeps he lays the ripened grass, 
 And turns oft smiling to his favourite lass, 
 Who, fork in hand, treads lightly in his road, 
 And spreads the swath his sinewy arms have mowed ; 
 Till, fully dried, they load the heavy wain ; 
 And lead it, shouting down the long green lane. 
 
 In days like these old Walton might be seen, 
 With rod and basket, cross the village green ; 
 Long ere the sun had drank the early dew 
 The prince of anglers to his station drew, 
 Beneath some tree whose sheltering branches gave 
 Their cooling shadows to the passing wave. 
 But ere the lines obtained his needful care, 
 The good old man the greensward pressed in prayer : 
 
AUGUST. 231 
 
 Though cheerful sport his happy heart could prize. 
 He ne'er forgot his business with the skies. 
 
 Oft when the sun protracts his burning beams 
 St. S within meets him with his cloudy streams ; 
 No gentle rains — no dewy mists he pours, 
 But copious floods and inundating showers : 
 Low-beetling clouds creep darkly o'er the sky, 
 And sudden flashes of fierce lightning fly ; 
 Contending vapours crowd the ethereal plain, 
 And rattling thunders shake the heavy rain ; 
 Impetuous floods descend from bursting clouds, 
 And pelting storms the shining landscape shrouds ; 
 Exhausted brooks with new-born fury swell, 
 And foaming waves roar down the rocky dell ; 
 Low-shrunken rivers rise with rushing rains, 
 O'ertop their banks, and deluge all the plains. 
 
 AUGUST. 
 
 Ha ! ha ! jolly August, thou'rt welcome, old fellow ! 
 We love thy brown face, and thy long locks of yellow : 
 Thy kerchief is off, and thy broad chest is bare, 
 And thy comely full chin has no dimples for Care. 
 
 Come along, come along ! Here 'a the wheat and the rye 
 Are both waiting for thee, to receive their last dye ; 
 Bluff Barleycorn vows, " Not an inch will he budge, 
 Till jolly old August shall help him to trudge." 
 
232 AUGUST. 
 
 Thou 'rt welcome, old boy ! Should it be in the day, 
 The grasshoppers' chirrup shall gladden thy way ; 
 And still thou art welcome : for, should it be night, 
 The glow-worm shall wait to afford thee his light. 
 
 Look here at these walls, how they 're loaded with fruit : 
 Just smile on them once and all palates we '11 suit ! 
 The garden, the orchard, the hill and the dale 
 Are teeming with plenty, and spice loads the gale. 
 
 Here 's Flora been waiting to crown thee with flowers, 
 And says she must stay till thou 'It visit her bowers ; 
 There amaranths flourish and marigolds bloom, 
 And thy path o'er the heath she has spread with perfume. 
 
 What a buxom array of blithe reapers are here, 
 To garner the treasures of health and good cheer ; 
 How they titter and laugh, nearly bursting with glee ; 
 Come along, come along, they are waiting for thee ! 
 
 Come along, then, old fellow ! we stay for thy smile ; 
 Come along, come along, and we'll cheer thee the while ; 
 The sirloin shall smoke, and the mighty ale foam, 
 As we shout our huzza, lads ! the harvest is home ! 
 
SEPTEMBER, 233 
 
 SEPTEMBER. 
 
 Up, lads, and away ! for the sport is begun, 
 And the woodland rings wild with the sound of the gun ; 
 The dogs rush delighted through stubble and fern, 
 And new coveys are rising wherever you turn. 
 
 Tally-ho ! the glad huntsman is winding his horn, 
 As he bounds o'er the fields, lately laden with corn : 
 Though Reynard steals off thro' the copse and old hollow, 
 Yet Ringwood has found him — hurrah, lads, let's follow ! 
 
 Away, lads ! the sun of his fierce beams is shorn, 
 And his eyelids are studded with dew in the morn ; 
 The welkin is teeming with gladness and song, — 
 Then, up and away, lads ! to join the wild throng. 
 
 Who 'd skulk in his bed or abide in the town, 
 When his free steps may press the sweet heathery down ? 
 Give me the wild breeze that blows fresh from the hill ; 
 And your smoky old towns, let 'em take them who will. 
 
 H H 
 
234 OCTOBER. 
 
 OCTOBER. 
 
 IL PENSEROSO. 
 
 Month of the changing leaf ! 
 
 Type of vicissitude ! 
 Why are thy days, though brief, 
 
 With such sadness imbued? 
 Dost mourn for the storm-days, 
 
 Frowning darkly and drear; 
 Or regret the bright, warm days 
 
 That gladdened the year ? 
 Man's hopes, like thy shed leaves, 
 
 Lie withering around, 
 And the sad heart that now grieves, 
 
 With gladness was crowned : 
 Youth, beauty, and manhood, 
 
 Falling frequent and fast ; 
 Shall the leaves of the wild wood 
 
 More enduringly last ? 
 
 L'ALLEGRO. 
 
 Here '& gamesome October — a hearty, hale fellow ! 
 Pretends to regret that his leaves are turned yellow : 
 The merry old rogue ! — when he knows very well 
 That the young leaves were there when the old ones fell. 
 
NOVEMBER. 235 
 
 Although the long leaves were so fair to the view, 
 Yet it was for the sake of the fruit that they grew ; 
 And now that the fruit in the garner lies by, 
 We may part with the leaves, and preserve a dry eye. 
 
 Who regrets that the leaf has dropped off from the vine, 
 When he quaffs his friend's health in a bumper of wine ? 
 Or frets that the corn waves no more in the dale, 
 When he holds the brown jug, as it foams with good ale ? 
 
 Then away with complaints at the fall of the leaf; 
 If it lessens our pleasure, it shortens our grief : 
 The grass may be withered, the branches be bare, 
 Yet the barns are well filled ! So be jogging, old Care. 
 
 NOVEMBER. 
 
 Now dark, and dull, and damp, and drear 
 November rules the changeful year ; 
 Huge murky clouds roll round his head, 
 And mists along his visage spread ; 
 With drizzly locks and features blue, 
 The Churl his dismal task goes through, 
 As though he felt a grim delight 
 To clip the day and lengthen night. 
 
 Poor Nature shrinks beneath his power, 
 And folds in fear each fragile flower ; 
 Shuts up each bud within her breast, 
 And hushes all her babes to rest : 
 
236 NOVEMBER. 
 
 For still she dreads his surly tones, 
 When 'neath his roar the forest groans ; 
 And sullen winds in anguish howl, 
 Or like tormenting furies growl. 
 
 Lo, at his damp, unhealthy tread 
 The latest charm of earth is fled : 
 O'er field or meadow let him pass, 
 His cold foot withers all the grass. 
 The peaceful streams and gentle brooks 
 Now foam and swell with threatening looks ; 
 And sea and land, and earth and sky 
 Are blurred beneath his blighting eye. 
 
 But though November's dreary reign 
 Destroys the beauties of the plain ; 
 Shuts in his cell the gloomy bee, 
 And tears the last leaf from the tree ; 
 Gives scarcely light to form a day, 
 And clogs the traveller's miry way, 
 Yet still within our hearts may rise 
 A light to gild the murky skies. 
 
 For let affection warm the breast, 
 Or friendship set the soul at rest ; 
 Let wit diffuse his sparkling ray, 
 And humour make the spirit gay ; 
 Or love his genial warmth impart, 
 And shed a sunshine o'er the heart, — 
 Then, if the outward sky be drear, 
 The light within our hearts is clear. 
 
DECEMBER. 237 
 
 But not alone in social joy 
 Should man his short-lived hours employ : 
 When trembling sad before his gate 
 The shivering, homeless beggars wait, 
 Like Heaven, in bounty let him give, 
 And smile to bid the dying live, — 
 That thus November's murky day 
 May shine on dreary hearts like May. 
 
 DECEMBER. 
 
 Forth from his treasure-house of storms 
 Now dark December stalks along, 
 
 Attended by the sullen forms 
 
 Of hoary Frost and Winter strong. 
 
 O'er Lapland's wild and rugged hills 
 He scuds beside the biting blast ; 
 
 Congeals to ice the trickling rills, 
 And binds the mighty rivers fast. 
 
 Along old Europe's town-clad plains 
 He drives the sleet and blinding storm ; 
 
 Shakes down the black and sullen rains, 
 And shrouds in mist his wizard form. 
 
 Hark how the ancient forest moans, 
 And trembles for her monarch oak, 
 
 Whose giant strength the fury owns 
 Of fell December's mortal stroke ! 
 
238 CHRISTMASS. 
 
 Ye sons of Want, ye houseless Poor, 
 
 Where hide ye now your shivering frames ? 
 
 Can Misery find no open door, 
 
 Till Death his wasted victim claims ? 
 
 Look here, ye men of wealth and pride, 
 Your brethren die for lack of food ! 
 
 For once let pomp be set aside, 
 And taste the joy of doing good. 
 
 CHRISTMASS. 
 
 Y-clad in furs and wrapped warm in < wool, 
 
 Old Christmass comes, to grace the closing year : 
 
 With sundry gifts his hands are crammed full : 
 
 Right blithe he looks with comfort and good cheer ; 
 And, rolicking with joy, he laugheth loud and clear. 
 
 About his head he wears a wreathen crown, 
 
 Of mistletoe and berried holly made : 
 A comely beard doth from his chin hang down ; 
 
 White hoary locks are on his shoulders laid ; 
 
 But in his sprit ely eye the fire is not decayed. 
 
 With looks devout he bendeth first full low, 
 And praiseth him who was in Bethlehem born ; 
 
 Right glad due love to his dread Lord to show, 
 
 Who gave his Son to stripes, and death, and scorn, 
 "And all," he saith, " for me — a lowly wretch forlorn!" 
 
CHRISTMASS. 239 
 
 Next on the poor he looks with friendly eye, 
 And becks the hungry to the large barn-door : 
 
 " Come hither, friends ! " he lustily doth cry ; 
 And then he scattereth freely from his store, 
 Nor mindeth who may come, provided they be poor. 
 
 Then divers gifts to all around he sends, 
 
 In hearty token of his right good will : 
 With commendations to his trusty friends, 
 
 Who, nathless, all do love his memory still ; 
 
 For whom he prayeth sooth, to keep them free from ill. 
 
 These duties done, he sitteth down to dine, 
 His appetite y-sharpened, ye may think ; 
 
 And soon he maketh inroad in the chine, 
 
 While knives and forks and pewter-platters chink, 
 With turkeys, .puddings, pies, y-washed down with 
 drink. 
 
 Then doth he call to bring the wassail bowl, 
 
 Which foameth soon with roasted crabs and ale ; 
 
 While round and round his merry eye doth roll : 
 
 " Come now," he saith ; " let 's have the song and tale, 
 And merry games and romps — our spirits to regale. 
 
 " But first bring forth," he cries, " the huge yule-block, 
 And let the chimney roar with cheerful flame ; 
 
 While it doth burn we will not mind the clock : 
 Let young men dance, and maidens do the same, 
 While old folks sit and chat. So now begin the game." 
 
THE 
 
 COTTAGER'S SABBATH 
 
PREFACE 
 
 TO THE FIRST EDITION. 
 
 My principal object in the following Poem has been 
 to delineate the simple manners of Cottage-life, as it 
 is still to be found in some of the rural districts of 
 England, where the happiest portion of my own days 
 has been spent. The language employed is purposely 
 simple, being more fitted to the thoughts than words 
 of loftier sound; while the incidents and characters 
 introduced are copied with the closest fidelity from real 
 life. If there be one thing more than another con- 
 nected with this subject of which I feel proud, it is the 
 happiness of living in a country where so many homely 
 men are found who embody in their lives the soundest 
 practical morality with the most exalted yet unpretend- 
 ing piety. To those who recognize the inseparable 
 connexion between virtue and peace I leave the fate 
 of The Cottager's Sabbath. 
 
 London, Nov. 15, 1841. 
 
THE 
 
 COTTAGER'S SABBATH 
 
 CANTO I. 
 
 Beside a lane diverging from a wood, 
 Where tall tree-tops o'erroofed the grassy way, 
 A whitewashed Cot in calm seclusion stood ; 
 And, sloping down to face the southern ray, 
 Before the door a well- stocked garden lay : 
 Clean-weeded beds by winding walks outspread, 
 Where household roots were ripening day by day, 
 And blossomed beans delicious perfume shed ; 
 While fruit-trees, bending low, arched closely overhead. 
 
 ii. 
 All round the place a look of comfort beamed, 
 True English comfort, homely, calm, and sweet : 
 The very trees amid their stillness seemed 
 With quiet joy their leafy friends to meet, 
 And on the roses smiled beside their feet : 
 The shaded lane, the soft and balmy air, 
 The breath of flowers new-waked the morn to greet, 
 All seemed so pure, so innocent, and fair, 
 That in such scenes as these man never need despair. 
 
246 THE COTTAGER'S SABBATH. 
 
 III. 
 
 Along the walls sweet-scented creepers hung, 
 Nailed here and there, their fragile stems to stay; 
 And after rain the gentle breezes flung 
 Such floating fragrance far across the way, 
 As lured the bees from distant fields to stray : 
 A rustic porch with straggling woodbine dressed, 
 And blooming roses, made the cottage gay ; 
 While near at hand, the plum-tree's welcome guest, 
 Three summers undisturbed, a thrush had built her nest. 
 
 In two small plots, with border-box hemmed round, 
 Rare healing plants and choicest potherbs grew ; 
 The garden-balm, 'mong village dames renowned, 
 And fragrant thyme, their rich aroma threw 
 O'er mint, and white-leaved sage, and bitter rue. 
 Not far from these, the straw-thatched beehives stood, 
 Where in and out all day incessant flew 
 The labouring bees, — so bent on public good, 
 That idlers none disgraced that busy neighbourhood. 
 
 A small round pond, with flagstone roughly lined, 
 Was scooped with care beneath the sloping hill, 
 From whence a rippling brook was taught to wind, 
 O'er jutting stones, in many a mimic rill, 
 With plashing sound the little pond to fill : 
 A grassy margin hemmed the water round, 
 No outlet seen the wasting waves to spill ; 
 "For by a sluice beneath a rustic mound 
 The water glided thro' a passage underground. 
 
THE COTTAGER'S SABBATH. 247 
 
 VI. 
 
 One quiet spot — a sweet, secluded nook — 
 Displayed a seat of strong, rough-rinded oak, 
 Where, at his ease, with some instructive book, 
 The Cotter oft his evening-pipe would smoke, 
 And meditate on Heaven, or God invoke. 
 There clustering nuts and long thin filberts hung, 
 Beneath the leaves which served their youth to cloak ; 
 While overhead the broad-leaved branches swung, 
 To which in knotted heaps the juicy walnuts clung. 
 
 VII. 
 
 In useless spots, or round about the fence, 
 Wild roses grew, or scented eglantine ; 
 But every part which labour could compense 
 Was made productive in a different line, 
 And oft would help the family to dine. 
 Here currants mixed with gooseberries did grow, 
 Or scarlet-runners might be seen to twine 
 Their long thin tendrils tapering from below, 
 Round rods which rose aloft, in many a goodly row. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Behind the cot a wooden shed was reared, 
 Where, safely housed, two hornless cows reposed ; 
 And near the pump a low, warm sty appeared, 
 In which the well-fed pig supinely dozed 
 Thro' half the day, his drowsy eyelids closed. 
 With nicest skill the cottage-roof was thatched, 
 Its homely walls of quarry-stone composed : 
 The simple door, with string and bobbin matched 
 Inside the roomy porch, showed it was wooden-latched. 
 
248 THE COTTAGER'S SABBATH. 
 
 Two little fields of twice five acres lay 
 Beyond the pales which formed the garden-fence : 
 In one was seen a stack of new-made hay, 
 Unthatched as yet, until the layers dense 
 Had settled free from inward heats intense. 
 Tall, thriving wheat the other field displayed ; 
 And young potatoes, grown at small expense ; 
 With rows of fruit-trees in long lines arrayed, 
 From which, in former years, his rent the Cotter paid. 
 
 But now the fields and cottage were his own, 
 With all the trees that in the hedge-rows grew ; 
 And in his humble history might be shown 
 The safest course a good man can pursue, 
 To raise his state, and still be just and true : 
 For he was one whose calm, reflective mind 
 Ambitious thoughts and feelings could subdue ; 
 In each event to Providence resigned, 
 His ever-cheerful heart some cause for praise could find. 
 
 Time was when he in thriftless trifles spent 
 Each hard day's earnings as the day rolled o'er, 
 Without regarding how his money went, 
 Quite sure, when all was gone, of earning more, 
 As he had done so many times before : — 
 A fit of sickness taught him to reflect, 
 And made him feel the curse of being poor ; 
 For those he 'd helped now blamed him for neglect, 
 And wondered one like him should aid from them expect. 
 
THE COTTAGER'S SABBATH. 249 
 
 XII. 
 
 To health restored, he fixedly resolved 
 To take his course, whatever might impede ; 
 For while he lay, his labouring thoughts revolved 
 The various plans by which he might succeed, 
 In future straits, to save himself from need : 
 And thus at last his judgment did decide, — 
 On no account his income to exceed • 
 But ere his wants or wishes were supplied, 
 A tenth of all he gained should first be laid aside. 
 
 This simple rule he always kept in mind, 
 Although his means in narrow compass lay : 
 Yet by degrees he soon began to find 
 That trifling sums, increasing day by day, 
 Would tell up fast if none were ta'en away. 
 The first five years twice twenty pounds he saved- 
 All clearly gained — no backward debts to pay : 
 His future means, on this foundation paved, 
 More ample soon became, and yielded all he craved. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 But not alone this steady path thro' life 
 Had he pursued, nor single-handed throve : 
 The cordial labours of his frugal wife 
 Sustained his mind and testified her love ; 
 In heart united both together strove : 
 While he toiled hard to till their bit of land, 
 She spun the yarn which into shirts they wove : 
 His simple meals, by her contrivance planned, 
 Were always nicely done, and ready to his hand. 
 
 K K 
 
250 THE COTTAGER'S SABBATH. 
 
 And thus, for more than one-and-twenty years, 
 Without a jar they journeyed on through life : 
 If e'er he drooped, she soothed away his fears ; 
 If she repined, he calmed her mental strife : 
 For both were wise — the husband and the wife. 
 Four healthy boys and two fine girls they had ; 
 Five still at home, but one, with promise rife, 
 Had gone abroad — a dark-eyed, fearless lad, 
 More thoughtless than they wished, but still, they hoped, 
 not bad. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 One Sabbath morn — (while yet the Earth was spread 
 With lingering mists — the gray sky tinged with gold, 
 Dull vapours coning round each green hill's head, 
 And indistinct the deep broad river rolled 
 Its dusky length along the marshes cold; 
 While yet the worm still revelled in the dew, 
 The fleecy flock yet slumbered in the fold, 
 Ere twice the cock his early larum crew) — 
 Two younger boys he took, the rising sun to view. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 For they had heard a village playmate say 
 How once a-year the sun danced in the sky ; 
 That when he rose upon the longest day, 
 In curious lines and rapid whirls he 'd fly, 
 And gambol up and down before the eye. 
 'Tis strange how wide such notions still prevail 
 In rural glens, where scattered hamlets lie, — 
 Each nursing up some legendary tale, 
 By old tradition spread thro' many an English dale. 
 
THE COTTAGER'S SABBATH. 251 
 
 When first his boys brought home this legend gray, 
 He only smiled, and said, " We '11 rise and see ! " 
 Because he judged that in such errors lay 
 Some lofty truth hard struggling to get free, 
 Or moral deep, with reason to agree : 
 And at the least this lesson he could teach, — 
 That facts, not words, their only guides should be ; 
 Lest, when their lives more dangerous years should reach, 
 They might neglect the truth for man's deceitful speech. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 To test this tale, they now approached a hill, 
 From whose high summit they could best behold 
 The glorious sun rise up serene and still, 
 Or else perform, as they were lately told, 
 His curious dance, in merry circles rolled. 
 Not much they talked while journeying on their way, 
 But watched to see the gates of light unfold, 
 Where amber clouds like half-drawn curtains lay, 
 In ample folds festooned around the couch of day. 
 
 xx. 
 O'er bright green fields, now thickly pearled with dew, 
 From whence the mists in straggling columns broke, 
 Like flying troops, unfolding to the view 
 The distant woods, where many a sturdy oak 
 Still stood erect, nor feared the woodman's stroke ; 
 Across a meadow, where the full-grown grass 
 In ridgy swathes a plenteous crop bespoke ; 
 Then o'er a brook with rustic bridge they pass, 
 And reach an inland lake, with surface smooth as glass. 
 
252 THE COTTAGER'S SABBATH. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Thin, vapoury flakes were steaming from the lake, 
 Presaging sultry hot the coming day : 
 Unheeding this, along its banks they take, 
 In lengthy sweeps, their undulating way, 
 Until they reach the lofty hill, which lay 
 In rugged slopes based firmly far and wide, 
 And coated o'er with moss and lichens gray ; 
 While here and there were jutting from its side 
 Huge fragments of hard rock that might till doomsday bide . 
 
 XXII. 
 
 A zigzag path, worn bare by hardy sheep, 
 With frequent bends wound gently up the hill : 
 Along this path and in a line they keep, 
 The youngest first, to please his anxious will ; 
 Who, proud and glad this honoured post to fill, 
 With looks elate before them sped amain : 
 But soon, his breath exhausted, he stood still 
 With heaving chest ; and then he stooped to gain 
 Some flowers beside the path, to hide his pride or pain. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 With mended pace to reach the top they ran 
 Before the sun displayed his glorious face ; 
 Though rays of light, like streams of fire, began 
 To wave in splendour, brightening near the place 
 Where he would first commence his upward race. 
 A solemn silence stilled the earth and sky, 
 As though great Nature's heart had paused to trace 
 That wondrous scene unfolded to the eye, 
 Where, robed in living light, the Godhead blazed on high. 
 
mwm. 
 
THE COTTAGER'S SABBATH. 253 
 
 Majestic, slow, the red round sun uprose, 
 Unlike aught earthly — simple — grand — divine ! 
 His Maker's image fashioned to disclose, 
 To spread through time Truth's everlasting line ; 
 Of God unseen the bright transparent sign ! 
 Then Nature breathed more freely than before ; 
 The dewy Earth threw incense on his shrine ; 
 The solemn trees a look of gladness wore ; 
 And songs of laughing flowers each passing zephyr bore. 
 
 With hands upraised to overshade their eyes, 
 The boys both gazed intently on the sun : 
 Serenely calm they then beheld him rise, 
 And anxious watched to see the dance begun, 
 Until their eyes were forced his rays to shun. 
 Half-blind, they felt imprinted on their view 
 Fictitious orbs, that still before them spun 
 In rapid whirls, and quickly-changing hue, 
 Now crimsoned o'er like blood — now yellow, green, or 
 blue. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 Some minutes passed ere they again could bear 
 To turn their eyes to view that brilliant light ; 
 Nor could they then, without reluctance, tear 
 Away the pleasing hope that yet he might 
 Some tricks perform before their eager sight : 
 But when, with stolen, oft-repeated glance, 
 They found him mounting fast the azure height, 
 And still pursue his steady, calm advance, 
 They both at once exclaimed, "The sun does never dance \" 
 
254 THE COTTAGER'S SABBATH. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 " The Sun does dance, my boys/' the Cotter said, 
 " Though not as you had vainly hoped to see : 
 His steady course, through endless circles led, 
 Is fixed for ages by that firm decree 
 Which made the rolling planets first agree. 
 Were he to move, eccentric, round and round, 
 This reeling Earth, from his attraction free, 
 Would rush confused beyond its present bound ; 
 And, dashing wild through space, the neighbouring stars 
 confound. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 " Yon glowing orb is one of many more 
 As large and bright as that we now behold ; 
 By night, like stars, we see them sprinkled o'er 
 The vast blue sky — that book of lettered gold, 
 Of wisdom full, which time may yet unfold. 
 Those stars are suns, each rolling in its course, 
 In order ranged, by that same Hand controlled 
 Which made them all, Himself of light the source, 
 Concerning whom these stars the livelong night discourse. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 " But while we live on this small earth below, 
 We cannot see the sun's extended round : 
 Till heaven is gained, 'tis not for man to know 
 The splendid sights with which the heavens abound, 
 Where suns and stars are all with glory crowned. 
 But when we stand on heaven's high hills divine, 
 And fling our vision through the vast profound, 
 Our piercing sight shall reach the endless line, 
 Where, like these dewdrops thick, the countless planets 
 shine." 
 
THE COTTAGER'S SABBATH. 255 
 
 " Oh had I wings," exclaimed the elder boy, 
 " To catch the glorious sun I 'd quickly fly ! 
 My panting heart would be so full of joy 
 To mount aloft, and live in that blue sky, 
 Far, far above yon lark, that soars so high." — 
 " You may live there, my son," the Father cried ; 
 " And will, if you are good, and truly try 
 To copy Him who once on Calvary died 
 To raise you to that sky, and throne you by his side." 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 The boys both gazed with pleasure in their eyes, 
 While thus their Father to their ears addressed 
 Those holy truths he wished them most to prize, 
 Which swayed for aye his own contented breast, 
 His guide thro' life, in death his only rest. 
 But evermore their youthful spirits wild 
 Broke out in strange remarks or joyful cries ; 
 A bird — a flower — a wall with stones ill-piled, 
 Provoked their ready mirth : the good man turned and 
 smiled. 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 To curb the mind with needless rules he thought 
 Might chafe their spirits, till they ceased to feel 
 Those pure emotions gushing forth unsought, 
 Like hidden springs, which rocks would fain conceal, 
 Till bursting streams their secret strength reveal. 
 To guide their feelings well with watchful eye, 
 And sway the heart by virtue's first appeal, 
 More lasting good he trusted would supply, 
 Than if on rigid rules he taught them to rely. 
 
256 THE COTTAGER'S SABBATH. 
 
 But now 'twas time to think of going back, 
 For here and there the smoke from chimneys rose ; 
 The sun was rising on his brilliant track, 
 And bees were busy where the wild thyme grows. 
 In far-off fields the congregated crows 
 Discussed affairs with noisy, keen debate, 
 Or heaved loose grassy sods which might disclose 
 The sleeping worm, awaked to sudden fate, 
 And writhing to escape ; but ah, alas ! too late. 
 
 xxxiv. 
 So down the hill and by the lake they went, 
 A different way to that by which they came : 
 In pleasant chat the happy hour was spent, 
 On various subjects needless here to name, 
 Except to note the Cotter's constant aim 
 To lead their opening minds in search of truth ; 
 For well he knew their after-life would claim 
 Its hue and tone from what they learned in youth, — 
 As saplings rise erect, or grow in forms uncouth. 
 
 xxxv. 
 
 Thus, when they passed a proud baronial hall, 
 With spreading wings and towers that pierced the sky, 
 For miles surrounded by a lofty wall, 
 Its owner's lordly pomp to gratify, 
 And hide its beauty from the curious eye, 
 The boys both wished a house like that their own ; 
 A park as large ; a great stone wall as high, 
 Where they might live in grandeur all alone : 
 Then would they never mind the king upon his throne. 
 
THE COTTAGER'S SABBATH. 257 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 " Nor need you mind the king upon his throne," 
 The Father said, " nor yet desire to gain 
 Such great estates as this man calls his own, 
 Which often yield less happiness than pain, 
 And make men sigh for absent peace in vain. 
 When we reflect how hard 'twill be to part 
 With these grand halls, and wealth's imposing train, 
 We may conclude 'tis far the wiser art 
 To seek what all may find, — a calm, contented heart. 
 
 " Once on a time there lived a mighty king, 
 Who wished to bow the wide world to his sway : 
 So forth he went — an eagle on the wing — 
 To war on kings and make their thrones his prey, 
 Destroying nations in his bloody way. 
 When all were conquered — all, on every side — 
 And no man lived who dared his word gainsay, 
 The grasping wretch was still dissatisfied, 
 And wanting something more, he like a baby cried." 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 Whereat the boys, half-wondering, wished to know 
 Why he should weep when thus possessed of all ; 
 When at his bidding men must come and go ; 
 And all the world before his feet must fall, 
 With boundless wealth and pleasure at his call ? 
 " Because," their Father said, " he hoped to find 
 The honey grow where God has placed the gall : 
 A foolish man, whose dark and erring mind 
 Would fill his hungry maw by feeding on the wind. 
 
 L L 
 
258 THE COTTAGER'S SABBATH. 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 " Not in the glare and glitter of great wealth, 
 Nor that which wealth produces — pomp and state ; 
 Nor yet in power conferred or got by stealth ; 
 Nor yet in fame or rank, however great, 
 Hath God confined the bliss of man's estate : 
 All these possessed can never give repose, 
 Or charm the stinging conscience to abate 
 The dreadful stripes she evermore bestows 
 Upon the guilty soul with still-increasing throes. 
 
 XL. 
 
 " All true enjoyment lies in Man's own mind, 
 Depending not on pomp or outward things : 
 A lowly heart, by heavenly grace refined, 
 Unceasing joy to its possessor brings, 
 And o'er his life unclouded sunlight flings : 
 Unruly passions banished from the breast, 
 With patient faith he bears the ill which clings 
 To human life, believing God knows best, 
 Submissive to his will, and with his fear impressed. 
 
 " On yonder cliff see that gigantic tree, 
 All torn and rifted, battling with the wind ! 
 Its huge long arms are peeled and crashed; and see 
 What ghastly rents deform its blighted rind, 
 And fibres withered where the ivy twined ! 
 'Twere better far that stately tree had grown 
 In some low vale, surrounded by its kind, 
 Than placed aloft in surly state alone, 
 Where, blasted by the storm, its pride is overthrown. 
 
THE COTTAGER'S SABBATH. 259 
 
 XLII. 
 
 " All things, save Man, contented with their lot, 
 Fulfil the task appointed them to do : 
 See how these bees toil on, complaining not : 
 The careful ants, the sultry summer through, 
 Prepare their wintry food, with caution due : 
 The cheerful birds their merry voices raise : 
 The various beasts their various ends pursue ; 
 Bird, beast, fish, insect, in ten thousand ways 
 Rejoice to do his will, and thus their Maker praise. 
 
 XLIII. 
 
 " But foolish Man, with lofty reason blest, 
 Forgets its use in pining discontent : 
 To-morrow's ills his present joys infest : 
 In idle hopes each useful hour is spent, 
 Or labours vain, abundance to augment : 
 True wisdom shows a far superior plan, — 
 That we should make the best of what is sent ; 
 Do, while we live, whatever good we can ; 
 And bear with cheerful thoughts the common lot of Man." 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 'Twas thus the Cotter chatted with his boys, 
 As on their homeward way they gently strolled, 
 Oft loitering slow to hear the pleasant noise 
 Made by a little brook, that onward rolled 
 O'er pebbly beds and sand that shone like gold : 
 Sometimes they stopped to catch the distant trill 
 Of larks unseen, whose merry music told 
 With what delight their little hearts must thrill, 
 Since thus their joyous songs the vaulted sky could fill. 
 
260 THE COTTAGER'S SABBATH. 
 
 And as they passed along their pleasant road, 
 By hill or dale, or long, green, sweeping lane, 
 Full many a cot and scattered farm-house showed 
 Their neat white walls above the smiling plain, 
 By fields surrounded, full of various grain : 
 From each lone house a thin blue smoke was seen 
 To rise quite straight, — a certain sign that rain 
 That day would not bedim the sky serene, 
 Nor with their evening walk unwelcome intervene. 
 
 A gipsy-camp beside a wood they passed, 
 Whereby a heap of smouldering ashes lay, 
 On which large logs of half-dried wood were cast, 
 To keep the fire from burning all away, 
 While they reposed till later in the day. 
 The tents were closed, no signs of life revealed, 
 Save growling dogs that warned them not to stay : 
 Beneath a hedge their panniers lay concealed, 
 And three strong asses fed within a neighbouring field. 
 
 XLVII. 
 
 The farmer's horses, for the day set free, 
 With gambols strange were frisking in the grass : — 
 The farmer's boys laughed loud their freaks to see ; 
 Or cracked rough jokes with neighbouring servant-lass; 
 Or peeled long sticks, their idle hours to pass. 
 In new-washed frock each shone, and showy vest, 
 A kerchief flaming as his sun-burned face : 
 Large, gaudy flowers stuck high upon his breast, 
 Strawhat,and tight-laced boots that half his legcomprest. 
 
THE COTTAGER'S SABBATH. 261 
 
 XLVIII. 
 
 A rustic youth, with leave to spend the day 
 Among his friends, they met upon the road, 
 Just where his sweetheart waited in his way 
 With blushing cheeks, and modest eyes that glowed 
 In bashful joy, as he the kiss bestowed. 
 Her russet gown was plain and neatly made, 
 A single bow her cottage bonnet showed ; 
 A kerchief blue, across her shoulders laid, 
 Half-opened in the front, her snowy neck displayed, 
 
 XLIX. 
 
 With looks of love and simple joy they went, 
 Her arm in his, exulting side by side, — 
 A happy picture of that calm content 
 Which causes life in quietness to glide, 
 When lowly thoughts extinguish foolish pride. 
 Heaven bless the pair, and happy may they be S 
 (Let not the great their humble state deride !) 
 With love unbroken may they live to see 
 Their children's children rise, and climb the old man's 
 knee. 
 
 L, 
 
 And thro' the fields they saw the milkmaid trip, 
 Her rustic songs unsung this holy day : 
 In short white gown, the pail placed on her hip, 
 With airy steps she trod her dewy way, 
 Just stopping as they passed " Good morn " to say. 
 Her rosy cheeks, her laughter-loving eyes, 
 Full pouting lips, and firm round limbs display 
 What cheerful health the early morn supplies 
 To those who labour love, and with the lark arise. 
 
262 THE COTTAGER'S SABBATH. 
 
 Beside the road a ruined abbey stood, 
 Its roofless walls with ivy overgrown ; 
 The crumbling stones and richly carven wood 
 Were here and there about the pathway strown 
 In scattered heaps, while fragments lay alone. 
 One lofty arch, yet perfect, served to show 
 How great the shock by which were overthrown 
 This goodly structure, now in ruin low, 
 And Home's imperial pride, with one gigantic blow. 1 
 
 LII. 
 
 Their path led onwards by a little brook, 
 That swept with mimic fury down a dell ; 
 Thence round a hill a farther circuit took, 
 And met the stream, where, with a sudden swell, 
 Heaved o'er a rock, with brawling noise it fell. 
 Then in a tiny lake the water lay, 
 Calm, clear, and cold, cooped in its rocky shell, 
 As though content upon its course to stay, 
 And rest in that still place, throughout the Sabbath-day. 
 
 LIII. 
 
 Beyond this lake, fixed on the sloping hill, 
 By lofty trees half-hidden from the view, 
 They neared a rustic, antiquated mill, 
 Where all the water of the stream ran through 
 To turn a wheel, that turned with much ado. 
 But now the wheel was idle ; for the stream 
 Was taught a different channel to pursue 
 Till that day passed, of all the days supreme, 
 Wherein poor mortals may their misspent time redeem. 
 
THE COTTAGER'S SABBATH. 263 
 
 Descending deeper thro' a rocky glen, 
 With hoary moss and ivy overgrown, 
 They passed a cave, called Rip the Robber's Den, 
 Wherein, Tradition said, he lived alone, 
 For many a year his wild retreat nnknown. 
 In long, dark nights his daring deeds were done, 
 In secret planned — the act — the gain his own ; 
 And while he thus detection cared to shun, 
 An easy life he lived — believing, fearing none. 
 
 LV. 
 
 At length, the story said, he went and stole 
 A mass of money from a rich old man, 
 And bore it off in safety to his hole, 
 Overjoyed that such success had crowned his plan. 
 But when to count his treasure he began, 
 A sudden noise alarmed his guilty breast : 
 With eager haste to get his gun he ran, 
 But stronger hands the weapon now possessed, 
 And all his courage fell. A jail may tell the rest. 
 
 That old man had a daughter, and she loved 
 A youth her father wished her not to love : 
 By night, he oft beneath her window moved, 
 To watch her shadow o'er the curtains move — 
 To heave long sighs and adverse fate reprove. 
 That night he watched the robber stealing by, 
 And dogged his steps, half-jealous, to the cove : 
 The old man smiled, and bade the youth draw nigh ; 
 And ere the thief was hung the bridal song rose high. 
 
264 THE COTTAGER'S SABBATH. 
 
 They left the glen, and by a grassy knoll 
 With quicker pace their homeward way ran o'er : 
 Now hungry grown with this long morning-stroll, 
 They took the path that lay straight on before, 
 For sight or sound resolved to stop no more ; 
 O'er gate, or hedge, or roughly- shap en stile, 
 Thro' half-formed gaps and brambles wild they tore : 
 Despite large boards with prohibitions vile, 2 
 They tripped the nearest way, which saved them full a 
 mile. 
 
 LVIII. 
 
 And so at last they reached that quiet lane, 
 Wherein their own sweet cottage they could see ; 
 And near the gate they saw their sisters twain, 
 And their young brother frisking like a bee, 
 Then bounding off to meet them, full of glee. 
 With eager joy the boys beheld him come, 
 And sprang to meet him, shouting " Here we be ! " 
 While, with a heart that never wished to roam, 
 The Cottage-Father came rejoicing to his home. 
 
 The anxious wife was waiting near the door, 
 And round her husband's neck her arms she threw, 
 With fond regard she welcomed him once more ; 
 While he more closely to his bosom drew 
 His long-tried friend, in every trial true. 
 Not theirs the love that cooled with marriage ties ; 
 The longer-lived the firmer fixed it grew : 
 They still were dearest in each other's eyes, 
 And deemed each other's smile by far the greatest prize. 
 
THE COTTAGER'S SABBATH. 265 
 
 LX. 
 
 The girls, too, came both clinging round their sire, 
 To gain in turn the long-accustomed kiss ; 
 For, happily, on the altar no strange fire 
 Had yet been lighted to destroy their bliss, 
 Or wake the sigh for other joy than this. 
 Wife, daughters, boys — all crowding roundhim — strove 
 Who first should gain (quite sure that none would miss) 
 That warm embrace, which daily served to prove 
 How fully they enjoyed his large, unceasing love. 
 
 M M 
 
266 THE COTTAGER'S SABBATH. 
 
 CANTO II. 
 
 And now the sun, in cloudless beauty bright, 
 Had warmed the earth, and half-absorbed the dew, 
 Save where, with tapering shadows twice their height, 
 Large leafy trees a cool protection threw 
 O'er all the tender herbs that near them grew. 
 The Cotter, who was predisposed to find 
 New cause for praise in all that met his view, 
 Rejoicing, stayed a little while behind, 
 
 To breathe the grateful thoughts that swelled within his 
 mind. 
 
 ii. 
 And well he might : for, stretched before his door, 
 Earth's richest scene — an English valley — lay, 
 With rural beauties thickly dotted o'er, 
 Farm-house and cot, and hedge-rows white with May, 
 And pastoral slopes in summer beauty gay ; 
 A sparkling stream, rude bridge, and dusty mill, 
 Long winding road 'twixt meadows full of hay, 
 An old church-spire beyond the distant hill, — 
 
 All bathed in brilliant light, reposed serenely still. 
 
THE COTTAGER'S SABBATH. 267 
 
 III. 
 
 And here and there odd figures might be seen, 
 Such as a Sabbath morning only shows, 
 Who, though they move, scarce break that deep serene 
 The Sacred Day o'er all the country throws, 
 When man and beast alike enjoy repose. 
 Here rustic swains were leaning o'er a gate, 
 The village news to gather or disclose ; 
 While o'er the bridge a farmer rode sedate, 
 And, in her Sunday gear, his wife displayed her state. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Meantime the Cotter's family went in, 
 A joyful group, without a single care : 
 All eager now their breakfasts to begin, 
 They eyed with joy the plain, substantial fare, 
 Then jointly ran to place their father's chair. 
 The youngest boy, with small, unsteady feet, 
 Mixed with the rest this joyful task to share; 
 Then toddling off to fetch him to his seat, 
 Cried, " Father, pray come in : my brothers want to eat." 
 
 v. 
 All things inside bespoke the day of rest, 
 Made clean and tidied up the night before : 
 Their Sunday clothes then taken from the chest ; 
 Their home-spun shirts were aired and well looked o'er; 
 Shoes, hats, andcoatswere brushed, and washed the floor. 
 The old dark wheel and distaff put away ; 
 Hoops, bows, and kites hung up behind the door : 
 Each thing removed that told of work or play, 
 Due preparation showed to keep the Sabbath Day. 
 
268 THE COTTAGER'S SABBATH. 
 
 VI. 
 
 For they had learned that He to whom they owed 
 Their lives, and all that made their being blest, 
 To cheer mankind in mercy had bestowed 
 One day in seven, to be a day of rest 
 For weary man, with worldly toils oppressed : 
 Wherefore to keep his law they ever strove, 
 And banished worldly feelings from the breast, 
 That thus they might the sacred Sabbath prove 
 A day of holy rest, of peace, and joy, and love. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Across the room a straight-backed settle stood, 
 One end upmnning to the chimney-nook ; 
 A snng, warm place when winter chills the blood, 
 And always cozy with its antique look, 
 Its overhanging shelf and iron crook. 
 On this the polished pothooks shining bright 
 Reflected back the pains their mistress took 
 To make their home a source of true delight, 
 By keeping household things in merest trifles right. 
 
 The warmest corner in that chimney-nook 
 The grandam held by long-acknowledged right ; 
 Where, on a small old table, lay that Book 
 From whence she drew a strong interior light, 
 Which glowed more brightly with her fading sight : 
 There would she sit the long warm summer's day, — 
 There would she sit the long cold winter's night ; 
 While evermore her Bible open lay, 
 In which at times she read, then knit her worsted gray. 
 
THE COTTAGER'S SABBATH. 269 
 
 IX. 
 
 Long had her husband lain within his grave, 
 Her sons and daughters, too, lay sleeping there : 
 All, all were dead, except the one who gave 
 His sheltering roof her wintry day to cheer, 
 And loved her truly, with whole heart sincere. 
 But oft the tear would gather in her eye, 
 As wakeful memory pictured those still dear : 
 Then would she smile, gaze dimly toward the sky, 
 And mutter to herself, " I 'm coming by-and-by." 
 
 Along the rafters, from the ceiling hung 
 Well-seasoned herbs in various bunches tied : 
 Part kept because an odour rich they flung, 
 And more because a medicine they supplied ; 
 But most of all, for seed thus housed and dried. 
 Here everlasting daisies bloomed with thyme, 
 There sage and rue hung closely side by side ; 
 While marjoram sweet with wormwood rank did chime, 
 Mint, horehound, featherfew, and more, unknown to 
 rhyme. 
 
 XI. 
 
 In good strong ropes two poles suspended hung, 
 Above the door and near the rafters placed, 
 From which in strings the home-fed flitches swung, 
 With hams and chaps and chines of bacon braced, 
 To keep from reist in coarse strong paper cased : 
 There rows of onions in their bright brown coats, 
 In netted cords were close together laced ; 
 And in a nook where sunlight seldom floats, 
 A bin was snugly placed, well filled with meal and oats. 
 
270 THE COTTAGER'S SABBATH. 
 
 XII. 
 
 A thick old plate fixed fast in ebon frame, 
 Beside the window placed against the wall, 
 The honoured post of looking-glass might claim, 
 Though slightly cracked and injured by a fall, 
 Had long before it left a baron's hall : 
 The salt-box clean its round brass nails displayed, 
 Beside the homely dresser, long and tall, 
 Where pewter plates on narrow shelves were laid, 
 Without one speck of dirt their mistress to upbraid. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Across the room outstretched the chimney wide, 
 Above a grate which stood upon the floor, 
 The shelf with brazen candlesticks supplied ; 
 While bright pan-lids hung near the cupboard-door, 
 A large old-fashioned thing with brass laid o'er. 
 There shone the pan to warm the chilly bed ; 
 The grater rough with many a gaping pore ; 
 A clredging-box, the mealy flour to spread ; 
 And toasting-fork of steel, to brown their home-made 
 bread. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 A few old chairs, all odd, but sound and strong, 
 As though at sundry times picked up by chance, 
 Some quaintly carved, with backs upright and long, 
 And one that bore the royal arms of France, 
 Without the crown, knocked off by some mischance. 
 Behind the door there stood a brass-faced clock, 
 From which in turn two giants did advance, 
 With knotted clubs against the bell to knock, 
 While Time pursued his flight regardless of the shock. 
 
THE COTTAGER'S SABBATH. 271 
 
 A cat and two young kittens full of play, 
 With merry gambols romped about the floor : 
 An old Dutch mastiff in a corner lay ; 
 And in a cage suspended near the door, 
 A speckled thrush his wild notes warbled o'er : 
 A jackdaw, lamed, the elder boy had found, 
 And nursed him well till he was lame no more ; 
 And when he called, the bird came hopping round, 
 And on his shoulder perched, or skipped about the ground. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 An old oak-table, quaintly carved below, 
 Where lions' claws and satyrs' heads were seen 
 In grim confusion, grinning in a row, 
 With here and there a cherub stuck between, 
 His chubby face half-laughing at the scene, 
 Was standing near the middle of the floor, 
 And laid thereon a napkin white and clean, 
 With home-baked wheaten bread half-covered o'er, 
 And mugs with porridge filled till they could hold no 
 more. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 With cheerful looks they gathered round the board, 
 Good health and hunger pictured in each face ; 
 But ere they ate, with reverence they adored, 
 A solemn silence filling all the place 
 While, simply sweet, the youngest girl said grace. 
 The children each this office took in turn, 
 A week about, that they might early trace 
 How God is mingled in each small concern 
 On which our lives depend, and so to love Him learn. 
 
272 THE COTTAGER'S SABBATH. 
 
 Then, with the relish hunger always feels, 
 And right good will, they took their homely fare, 
 More thankful far for these substantial meals 
 Than many men for daintiest dishes are, 
 By wealth procured, and cooked with greatest care : 
 For soft, luxurious habits had not spoiled 
 The appetites they gained from country air ; 
 And though at times fatigued and sadly moiled, 
 Yet greatly they enjoyed the food for which they toiled. 
 
 The breakfast o'er, the breakfast things removed, 
 And thanks returned by her who grace had said, 
 The pious Father took the Book he loved, 
 And in a clear, strong voice distinctly read 
 That part of Holy Writ, where Abraham led 
 His Isaac bound, the child of his old age, 
 On whom he gazed with mingled love and dread, 
 While journeying o'er that long dark pilgrimage, 
 In which his faith in God had made him first engage : 
 
 xx. 
 
 And how he laid him bound along the wood, 
 The big tears trembling as the victim smiled, 
 One hand upraised to shed his young, warm blood- 
 His Isaac's blood — the long, long-promised child — 
 The nestling of his heart — the kind — the mild ! 
 Oh Faith, how strange is thy exalted power, 
 By thoughtless fools rejected or reviled ! — 
 The hungry knife shall not his life devour : 
 He lives — he lives to show thy most triumphant hour! 
 
THE COTTAGER'S SABBATH. 273 
 
 In strains devout they then together raised 
 Their morning hymn to Abraham's God and friend ; 
 With artless words his providence they praised, 
 Which did thro' dangers of the night defend, 
 And showed that they might still on him depend. 
 For all the mercies which his hands supplied 
 (And all their mercies did from God descend) 
 They still would praise and trust him for their Guide, 
 While sun, and moon, and stars his goodness testified. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 Then kneeling down, with unaffected words 
 The Father's voice in prayer devout arose : 
 With modest skill he touched those trembling chords 
 The human heart in every station knows, 
 When light divine its hidden weakness shows. 
 Poor Nature's failings and her sins he wailed, 
 And strength besought temptation to oppose ; 
 Expressed a doubt that, where the strong had failed, 
 The poor weak lambs must fall, unless their God pre- 
 vailed. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 But soon his prayer assumed a bolder tone, 
 And notes of triumph mingled in the strain : 
 He spoke of Christ, — his passion and his throne, — 
 His melting heart, — his touch of human pain, — 
 His power supreme, and everlasting reign ! 
 And then his faith appeared to grasp the Cross, 
 And every moment firmer hold to gain, 
 Till worldly things were valueless as dross, 
 And life grew out of death, and gain came out of loss. 
 
 N N 
 
274 THE COTTAGER'S SABBATH. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 "Ay ! let the winds howl fiercely round their bark, 
 The surges rise, the thundering tempest roll, 
 The sky weep blood, the sun and stars grow dark, 
 The earth in flames, convulse from pole to pole ; 
 Yet what could harm the trusting Christian's soul ? 
 Was not the arm omnipotent their shield ? 
 Could not that arm both man and fiend control ? 
 And had not He, to whom all creatures yield, 
 His boundless love to Man in Jesus Christ revealed ?" 
 
 XXV. 
 
 With thoughts and feelings far too high for words, 
 His heartfelt prayer in praises died away ; 
 Delicious tones still trembling through the chords, 
 While broken visions in the distance lay, 
 In sunlight steeped, or glory's dim display. 
 The secret chambers of his heart were filled 
 With that pure light, whose everlasting ray 
 Descends from God, man's humble faith to gild, 
 And brighten o'er his hopes with ripening raptures 
 thrilled. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 And now the time for Sunday-school draws nigh, 
 Where both the boys and both the girls must go 
 To gain the truths these useful means supply, 
 Thro' which in goodness they may learn to grow, 
 And live respected, though their lot be low. 
 Their Father, now the leading teacher there, 
 Before the door is walking to and fro ; 
 Whereby they know they have no time to spare, 
 And so for school at once both girls and boys prepare. 
 
THE COTTAGER'S SABBATH. 275 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 The boys, soon ready, readied their caps, and went 
 To join their Father near the garden-gate : 
 But o'er the girls a longer time was spent, 
 To smooth their frocks, and place their collars straight; 
 To tie their bonnets, and their frills to plait. 
 All this the anxious Mother did with care, 
 And turned them round with looks of love elate : 
 Then kissed their cheeks, and bade them both beware 
 Their bonnets not to soil, nor yet their garments tear. 
 
 xxvm. 
 Outside the gate two cocks and many hens 
 Were cackling, scratching, pecking near at hand ; 
 While some, with chickens placed in wicker-pens, 
 With busy feet were raking in the sand, 
 Or with maternal care each danger scanned. 
 The ducks and geese were splashing in a pool, 
 Made long before to drain their fertile land, 
 Now mantled thick with duckweed green and cool, 
 'Mid which their pets made sport, as they went off to 
 school. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 With cheerful looks, and garments whole and clean, 
 They left their home, and sauntered down the lane 
 To where the school stood on the village-green, 
 Well-fenced around with strong oak -palings plain, 
 Each urchin rude from mischief to restrain . 
 It was an old, Elizabethan pile, 
 Built long before, and destined to maintain 
 Twelve scholars free, until a patron vile, 
 With smooth and oily words, the parish did beguile. 
 
276 THE COTTAGER'S SABBATH. 
 
 Not far from thence the Maypole stood in sight, 
 On which still hung the branches and the flowers 
 So lately used, but they had faded quite : 
 For Time his loveliest children still devours ; 
 And these, like men, have their appointed hours. 
 And yet, methinks, these rustic customs throw 
 A graceful charm about our English bowers, 
 That other lands in vain attempt to show, 
 Which makes old Father Time with more reluctance go. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 Around the green the village houses stood, — 
 Some back to back were placed, some side by side : 
 These built of brick, and those of brick and wood ; 
 Here high and tall — there low and straggling wide ; 
 And some which all descriptive power defied, — 
 High gable-ends with chimneys all awry, 
 And low, thatched roofs with houseleek well supplied : 
 With here and there a dove-cot round and high, 
 A cow-shed or a barn, a stable or a sty. 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 There stood the alehouse with its antique sign, 
 Whereon some waggish painter had portrayed 
 Three hogs in armour marching in a line, 
 As stiff and straight as if they knew the trade 
 Of cutting throats, like soldiers ready-made. 
 By some 'twas thought the satire was designed 
 To show how men, by brutish passions swayed, 
 Had lost all strength and dignity of mind, 
 And sunk into the beast — mere hogs in armour shrined. 
 

THE COTTAGER'S SABBATH. 277 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 Beside his house a blacksmith's forge appeared, 
 A low thatched building with an open shed; 
 Against its sides old crazy wheels were reared, 
 Or worn-out ploughs about the place were spread, 
 And one large weathercock without a head. 
 Some lazy louts with rough, unshaven chins, 
 The nuisance of each place where they are bred, 
 Were skulking there, and kicked each other's shins, 
 Or gibed the passer-by with vulgar jests and grins. 
 
 xxxiv. 
 
 The shop wherein on week-days might be seen, 
 At door and window, various things for sale, 
 Demurely now each aperture did screen 
 That faced the road — no sign of weight or scale ; 
 But turn the corner — what a different tale ! 
 There stands the man of measures and of weights, 
 On whom each idle slattern can prevail 
 To weigh the snuff or serve a pound of eights, 
 While she some patched-up lie with ready tongue relates. 
 
 And there, as if its master felt ashamed, 
 The butcher's shop had all the shutters closed, 
 Although the door wide open still proclaimed 
 How for his neighbour's welfare he exposed 
 His soul to sin, as if the devil dozed. 
 The baker, too, refining further still, 
 Behind the hatch with oily glibness prosed ; 
 Yet ready stood the hungry maw to fill, 
 Provided they who came put money in the till. 
 
278 THE COTTAGER'S SABBATH. 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 The carrier's cart, thick-splashed with mire and clay, 
 With rampant shafts stood near its owner's door : 
 The load of sundries just removed away 
 He brought from town, too late the night before 
 To take them home, though promised o'er and o'er ; 
 But carrier Joe so loved a jug of ale, 
 So often filled, and filled again once more, 
 Just while he heard or while he told a tale, 
 That Joe quite tipsy grew, for Joe was rather frail. 
 
 The village pinfold stood behind the school, 
 Where three old yews their heavy branches threw, 
 Which made the place in hottest summer cool, 
 And warm and snug when wintry breezes blew. 
 And this was right, for those confined ne'er knew 
 The subtle claims of property and law ; 
 And if they strayed where fresher herbage grew, 
 'Twas but because they felt great Nature draw 
 Her children to her breast, to fill their hungry maw. 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 The wooden stocks beside the pinfold stood, 
 Where petty rogues their vagrant limbs reclined, 
 A sorry scene ; — and yet for public good 
 These painful sights were all at first designed, 
 To show how closely sin and shame were twined. 
 There, too, the roundhouse, built of coarse, rough stone, 
 Wherein they kept those sturdy thieves confined 
 Whose itching palms, to stealing ever prone, 
 Their honest neighbours' goods could never leave alone. 
 
THE COTTAGER'S SABBATH. 279 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 Close by the school a little streamlet ran, 
 Of clear spring-water, o'er its pebbly bed ; 
 To which the village-maids with pot or pan, 
 Or brown stone jug, as fate or fancy led, 
 To fetch the sparkling fluid often sped. 
 And there young boys in summer days would wade, 
 Or splash their clothes which on the banks were spread : 
 Some, stretched supine, in lazy lengths were laid; 
 While some each other chased, or mimic tempest made. 
 
 Now o'er the green, beneath the sheltering trees, 
 From every side the village- children came, — 
 Here one by one, and there by twos and threes, 
 Of either sex, of various age and name, 
 All active things, save one, and he was lame. 
 Some tripped along like fairies o'er the green, 
 While others lagged like culprits full of shame ; 
 And here and there a taller girl was seen 
 Her little sister's steps to tend with careful mien. 
 
 XLI. 
 
 The doors unlocked, the ardent boys rushed in, 
 With smiling faces jostling to and fro, 
 Each striving hard to gain the favourite pin 
 Whereon his hat or cap he might bestow — 
 The greatest triumph which he then might know. 
 And then the girls, more modest and more mild, 
 With gentle steps came in, each curtsying low 
 Before their teachers, who looked on and smiled, 
 Rejoicing in their task to teach the poor man's child. 
 
280 THE COTTAGER'S SABBATH. 
 
 XLII. 
 
 Just as the clock tolled forth the hour of nine, 
 The school began with simple strains of praise ; 
 Exciting thus the children to combine 
 The pleasant song of gratitude to raise 
 To God, whose kindness still prolonged their days : 
 Then kneeling down, a solemn prayer was made, 
 That He would guide them thro' life's winding ways, 
 In darkness cheer, in strong temptation aid, 
 And o'er them still would cast His all-protecting shade. 
 
 And then the labours of the school began : 
 The classes placed to cipher, or to write ; 
 While younger groups about their teachers ran, 
 To spell or read, or weekly task recite, 
 Conned o'er and o'er, but yet not perfect quite : 
 Others there were not higher than the knee, 
 Whose lisping tongues might well afford delight, 
 As oft they tried to learn those letters three — 
 Great giants in their might — the wondrous ABC. 
 
 It was in sooth a very pleasant thing 
 To cast the eye along that crowded place ; 
 To watch the teachers as they strove to bring 
 The youthful mind, with pleasing hopes, to trace 
 The path which leads to wisdom, truth, and grace : 
 To note the boys their various parts pursue, 
 Demurely some, and some with strange grimace, 
 Afforded room to guess what each would do, 
 When, on life's larger stage, the man should rise to view. 
 
THE COTTAGER'S SABBATH. 281 
 
 XLV. 
 
 One dark-eyed boy was laughing, full of glee, 
 Because his neighbour's hat had fallen down : 
 For he was one who evermore could see 
 Some cause for fun — a very merry clown, 
 Who would laugh on, despite his teacher's frown ; 
 And one sly rogue, mischievously inclined, 
 Placed on another's head a feathery crown, 
 Then leaning back he pointed from behind, 
 To make the laughing boy new cause for laughter find. 
 
 An ardent youth, who far outstripped the rest, 
 Had fixed himself within a quiet nook, 
 With eager eye, his lip and brow compressed, 
 He sat absorbed and buried in his book : 
 Sometimes he gave a long and vacant look, 
 Where thro' a painted window streamed the light ; 
 Then by-and-by to read again betook, 
 As though each outward thing, however bright, 
 By that which filled his mind was blotted from the sight. 
 
 XL VII. 
 
 A pale-faced boy, a widow's only child, 
 Sat near the door, his long- accustomed place ; 
 With gentle haste he took his book and smiled, 
 As though he loved those precious lines to trace 
 Which Prophets sang of God's redeeming grace : 
 His large blue eyes shone brightly, though the bloom 
 By fell disease was banished from his face ; 
 And awful lines, prophetic of his doom, 
 Were traced along his brow, and marked himfor the tomb. 
 
 o o 
 
282 THE COTTAGER'S SABBATH. 
 
 XL VIII. 
 
 And some were there with dull and sleepy eyes, 
 Who never felt the animating fire 
 Which inborn genius to the heart supplies, 
 To prompt the struggling spirit to aspire 
 Where Fame exalts, and wondering crowds admire. 
 But those which formed by far the largest class 
 Had just enough of talent to acquire 
 The small amount of knowledge which would pass 
 Without distinguishment, amid the common mass. 
 
 And now, the school dismissed with praise and prayer, 
 About the green in joyful groups they strolled, 
 For some few moments which they had to spare, 
 Before the bell its well-known music tolled, 
 Inviting all to church, both young and old. 
 Then pair by pair, each hand in hand, they passed 
 In ranks grotesque, from laughter scarce controlled, 
 Although their teachers long keen glances cast ; 
 And, viewing all the line, the Cottager came last. 
 
 And while the bell knolled forth the Sabbath-day, 
 From various parts the congregation came : 
 Here walked a pair, most venerably gray ; 
 There by herself a stooped and withered dame ; 
 And next a cripple, from his childhood lame. 
 Then household groups moved slowly o'er the green ; 
 Or coy young girls, with eyes cast down for shame : 
 While farther on, amidst the woody screen, 
 The Squire's old roomy coach and Doctor's gig were seen. 
 
THE COTTAGER'S SABBATH. 283 
 
 LI. 
 
 Around the village grew an ancient wood, 
 A part of that huge forestry unfelled 
 Where Sherwood's hero, far-famed Robin Hood, 
 The freedom of those Saxon thieves upheld 
 Whose empty bags with Norman gold was swelled. 
 Yet history has not sullied their fair name, 
 Nor mixed them up with traitors that rebelled : 
 They were good patriots, fighting to reclaim 
 The country they had lost. Long live their honest fame ! 
 
 LII. 
 
 One part of this old forest still remained, 
 Of hoary oaks a venerable grove ; 
 Which all its antique majesty retained, — 
 Its massy boughs, its stems by lightning clove, 
 Or mossy coat with clustering ivy wove. 
 And in the midst of this wild sylvan scene 
 An open space was sunlit from above ; 
 Where, calmly placed, the village church was seen, 
 Surrounded by a wall, adorned with creepers green. 
 
 liii. 
 Before the porch a wide-extending yew, 
 Whose age extreme Tradition sought in vain, 
 O'er half the graves its sombre shadow threw, — 
 A needless boon : for those who now remain 
 Entombed below nor heed the sun nor rain. 
 An oaken seat, rough-hewn, ran round its bole, 
 Where Sorrow might repose or Age complain, — 
 Worm-eaten now, each legendary scroll 
 With rude devices grinned, half serious and half droll. 
 
284 THE COTTAGER'S SABBATH. 
 
 LIV. 
 
 A Gothic porch projected from the wall, 
 With loopholes pierced and battlements complete ; 
 One part disjointed, threatening soon to fall, 
 Where ill-piled stones protruding from their seat 
 Foretold how Time the builder would defeat. 
 From one huge rent a sapling ash had grown, 
 Its roots still nurtured in their dark retreat ; 
 And as they grew stone loosened after stone, 
 Until the tottering porch was partly overthrown. 
 
 The church itself, a venerable pile, 
 Though very old, was yet exceeding clean : 
 Long narrow windows, in the Gothic style, 
 Stuck here and there along the sides were seen, 
 With buttressed walls and massy flanks between. 
 A square stone tower, now ivy-crowned by time, 
 Contained the bell, which had for ages been 
 Still pealing forth the same dull iron chime, 
 Whereby it noted first the march of years sublime. 
 
 The walls and aisles with monuments were graced, 
 Whose quaint inscriptions homely truths conveyed 
 A large stone tomb, full in the centre placed, 
 Most eloquently spoke of hopes decayed, 
 And withered hearts now mouldering in its shade. 
 One fine old tablet, deeply carved, contained 
 The beggar's tale, who full of sores was laid 
 Beside the rich man's gate, and ne'er complained, 
 Although the fallen crumbs he asked he never gained. 
 
THE COTTAGER'S SABBATH. 285 
 
 LVII. 
 
 Above the oaken altar, towards the East, 
 Quaint legendary tales in fragments shone 
 Disjointed and obscure ; part like a feast, 
 And part like death — here crowns, and there a bone, 
 All things adverse in strange confusion strown. 
 As if odd portions of the rich-stained glass 
 From abbeys burned, cathedrals overthrown, 
 Or ruined halls, here gathered in a mass, 
 Subserved a pious use, and showed how ages pass. 
 
 LVUI. 
 
 A low-built gallery ran from wall to wall, 
 Carved thickly o'er with many a grotesque face, 
 In whose grim looks we vainly would recall 
 Those distant days, where fancy loves to trace 
 The outlines dim of valour, beauty, grace. 
 While down below large roomy pews were ranged, 
 Where sons still worshipped in their fathers' place 
 From age to age, by families unchanged, 
 Save one, the Stranger's pew, 3 from private use estranged. 
 
 Along the walls old tablets dimly told 
 The age, the name, and virtues of the dead : 
 Each had some tale peculiar to unfold ; 
 But all alike to one conclusion led, — 
 That Man, at last, must Death's dark valley tread : 
 The brave, the beautiful, the grave, the gay, 
 The warm young heart, the gray and hoary head, 
 In dull cold silence mixed together lay, 
 Life's poor distinctions lost, reduced to common clay. 
 
286 THE COTTAGER'S SABBATH. 
 
 LX. 
 
 But one small tablet, near the pulpit placed, 
 Seemed more attractive far than all the rest : 
 Its mournful tale was not in letters traced, 
 But shadowed forth in emblems which impressed, 
 With lasting force, their image in the breast : 
 Fixed on a slab of coal-black marble, lay 
 A thin white branch, with three fair rosebuds blest, 
 From which the first, in youthful beauty gay, 
 A sickle's slender edge had partly lopped away. 
 
 LXI. 
 
 This told the Pastor's story. He, poor man ! 
 Long years before, a widower was made, 
 With three young daughters, in whose veins there ran 
 The same disease that on their mother preyed, 
 By which he knew too well they all would fade. 
 And yet at times their youthful spirits rose 
 To such a height, as they around him played, 
 That he forgot what time would yet disclose, 
 Until some faint, slight sign unsluiced his secret woes. 
 
 LXII. 
 
 Oft when he gazed with passionate delight 
 On those fair forms just ripening into life, 
 Some turn would bring their mother to his sight, 
 And wake afresh the agony and strife 
 He first endured when parting from his wife. 
 And then his eyes with sudden tears would dim, 
 His heart the while with dismal fancies rife ; 
 And ghastly forms before him seem to swim, 
 While sickness seized his heart and paralyzed each limb. 
 
THE COTTAGER'S SABBATH. 287 
 
 LXIII. 
 
 Yet still he strove to banish from his mind 
 The fearful thought that all his girls must die : 
 With ceaseless care, he ever sought to find 
 Some cheerful scheme, to which they might apply, 
 And make old Time with lighter wings go by : 
 Now in the fields he strayed with them for hours, 
 Now in the woods they watched the wild birds fly ; 
 Now in their little garden, gathering flowers, 
 With which, with fairy hands, they decked their tiny 
 bowers. 
 
 LXIV. 
 
 And thus they grew to womanhood ; and one, 
 His eldest girl, was matchless in her mind, 
 And in her form, till it had undergone 
 The withering process, which he feared to find 
 Was lurking thief-like all his hopes behind : 
 For many a month he watched her day by day 
 Decrease in strength, but rise in soul refined, 
 Until at last her spirit broke away, 
 Half-shining, ere it passed, transparent thro' the clay. 
 
 LXV. 
 
 And now he stood, a mild, meek, smitten man, 
 In holy things to minister for God : 
 With artless words he told the gracious plan, 
 How Mercy used, and still would use, the rod, 
 And lay the brightest flowers beneath the sod. 
 " And why, my friends, why is it thus ?" he cried ; 
 " Why should our Heavenly Father bruise the clod ? 
 Because He would our souls from sin divide, 
 As gold by fire alone from dross is purified. 
 
288 THE COTTAGER'S SABBATH. 
 
 LXVI. 
 
 " Yet she was fair, as most of you can tell ; 
 And good, beyond the telling of the tongue : 
 Forgive me, then, if my full heart will swell, 
 And from mine eyes these scalding tears are wrung, 
 To lose her thus ; and she so good — so young ! — 
 Forgive me, Father ! — my torn heart is wild ! — 
 I knew not this before — how close she clung : 
 Thou hast her now — how beautiful, how mild ! 
 I would not wish her back — oh God, thou hast my child !" 
 
 LXVII. 
 
 With tears and sobs and oft-repeated sighs, 
 Both young and old her early death bewailed ; 
 While o'er his griefs the Father seemed to rise, 
 As mightier faith within his breast prevailed, 
 And tore the curtains which her glory veiled : 
 " She lives," he cried, " in circling beauty bright ! 
 The rock is firm ! — Jehovah hath not failed ! 
 Be ours the care to have our garments white, 
 And rise like her to shine with Jesus throned in light." 
 
 LXVI1I. 
 
 'Twas not in vain the lesson of that day ; 
 The tears were fruitful that bedewed the eye : 
 More hearts than one that hour began to pray, 
 And fit themselves for mansions in the sky, — 
 Now conscious of the truth, that each must die. 
 Thus Mercy lights the overwhelming gloom 
 Of Death's black shadows which around us lie ; 
 While Hope survives the universal doom, 
 And Life immortal shows transparent thro' the tomb. 
 

THE COTTAGER'S SABBATH. 289 
 
 CANTO III. 
 
 The service o'er, the congregation gone, 
 Alone and sad the Pastor lingered still, 
 That simple tablet by himself to con, 
 Although it waked afresh each bitter thrill, 
 And shook his soul with fears of future ill : 
 Yet still he gazed, half- shuddering at the sight, 
 Till, kneeling down, he cried, " Oh God, thy will, 
 Not mine, be done ! I know thy ways are right : 
 Forgive me if I mourn ! — she was so pure and bright." 
 
 Meanwhile towards home the Cottager returned, 
 With all his children clustering by his side ; 
 Except the youngest, who from grandam learned, 
 Behind the rest, how Christ for sinners died, 
 By wicked men on Calvary crucified. 
 His little eyes were full of tears, while she 
 Related how his wounds were gaping wide, 
 And the red blood came streaming down the tree 
 Where they had nailed him fast, a piteous sight to see. 
 
 p p 
 
290 THE COTTAGER'S SABBATH. 
 
 III. 
 
 Along the lane by which their cottage stood 
 They sauntered slowly homeward in the shade, 
 Oft catching glimpses thro' the opening wood, 
 Where snugly screened their own sweet cottage made 
 The fairest picture in the sunlit glade : 
 A thick white smoke above the chimney rolled, 
 In larger masses than was oft displayed, — 
 A sight the boys were happy to behold, 
 For well they knew this sign the dinner-time foretold. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Nor did they long with blank impatience wait, 
 Although they all for grandam had to stay, 
 Where poor old Pug was near the garden-gate, 
 And watched them come, then went a little way 
 And wagged his tail, as if he meant to say, 
 " I 'm glad you 're come, for though I here remain 
 I 'd rather meet you yonder blithe and gay : 
 My limbs are stiff with numbing age and pain, 
 But yet it warms my heart to see you here again." 
 
 Her fair face flushed from toiling near the fire, 
 The wife smiled kindly as they all came in : 
 She bade the girls fold up their best attire, 
 The boys to hang their caps on nail or pin, 
 But first to wipe their shoes and make no din : 
 Her husband's hat she then herself removed, 
 Delighted most that smiling look to win 
 By which she knew how fully he approved 
 Each action of her life, and still sincerely loved. 
 
THE COTTAGER'S SABBATH. 291 
 
 VI. 
 
 Placed on a cloth which her own hands had spun, 
 The dinner smoked inviting to the taste, — 
 A chine of bacon boiled, and nicely done, 
 (Not over-large, midway 'twixt thrift and waste,) 
 With young green peas and new potatoes graced : 
 A large hot pie, with fresh-pulled berries filled, 
 Displayed its round of good substantial paste, 
 Which showed how well the thrifty wife fulfilled 
 The duties of her place, in household matters skilled. 
 
 VII. 
 
 But, more than all, the children's eyes were cast 
 Where on a dish a large plum-pudding lay, 
 Not over-rich, yet richer than the last 
 Which they had seen, twelve months before that day, 
 For only once a-year such things had they ; 
 And this was made in memory of the son 
 Who by the soldiers had been lured away, 
 And now in foreign countries bore a gun, 
 Where he must still remain until the war was done. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 And three long, tedious years were passed and gone, 
 And brought no tidings to the parents' ears : 
 What could they do but still keep hoping on 
 For his return in penitential tears, 
 With mended life to cheer their latter years. 
 A neighbour's son, since then enlisted, went, 
 And from the mother, still oppressed with fears, 
 He bore a Bible, with her blessing sent, 
 And many an earnest prayer that George would yet 
 repent. 
 
292 THE COTTAGER'S SABBATH. 
 
 IX. 
 
 And so, whene'er the soldier's birth-day came, 
 The large plum-pudding on the board was seen ; 
 And oft they wished poor George might share the same, 
 And come again, to tell where he had been 
 Fighting the French in many a bloody scene. 
 Affection thns, and hope, were kept alive, 
 Though dismal fears at times would intervene ; 
 Lest, after all, their son should not survive 
 The dangers of the war, or e'er at home arrive. 
 
 Now when their meal was finished, and the grace 
 They ne'er forgot was said in fervent strain, 
 The girls began to straighten up the place, 
 The mother to remove what might remain 
 Till needed next, at supper-time again. 
 The father went the pig and cows to feed, 
 The boys to give the fowls the looked-for grain ; 
 While to the porch the grandam did proceed, 
 To teach the little boy his picture-book to read. 
 
 XI. 
 
 These useful labours all despatched, they came 
 With clean-washed hands, and faces fresh and fair : 
 A blue-checked apron on the frugal dame, 
 A clean white cap above her flaxen hair ; 
 And close beside her, in his little chair, 
 The youngest boy now sat, with serious look, 
 While one by one the rest in turn repair 
 To read a portion of that sacred Book, 
 Whose truths refresh the soul like Siloa's silent brook. 
 
THE COTTAGER'S SABBATH. 293 
 
 XII. 
 
 It chanced that day the portion which they read 
 Contained the story of the Froward Son, 
 Who, careless of the tears his father shed, 
 A mazy web of thoughtless folly spun, 
 In woe to end, although in joy begun. 
 It then portrayed the misery supreme 
 He had to bear when all his gold was gone, 
 And hunger fierce and wretchedness extreme 
 Made him the husks for swine luxurious food esteem. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 The story told, moreover, how at last 
 A better feeling came across his mind ; 
 And how his sire, forgetful of the past, 
 Looked on the ragged wretch, and wept to find 
 His son returned, to holier ways inclined. 
 The Cotter's heart beat strongly ; for he felt 
 The moral force of that instruction kind, 
 Which made his soul with soft emotions melt, 
 And long to clasp his child ere at his feet he knelt. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 And now the time the Cotter always spent 
 Each Sabbath-day in visiting the sick 
 Was drawing on ; and so, before he went 
 Away from home, he reached his Sunday stick, — 
 A sapling-oak, gnarled, knotty, strong, and thick. 
 But first he set the elder boys to learn 
 Two little tales which they themselves might pick 
 From some he named, that thus he might discern 
 Who best improved the time until he should return. 
 
294 THE COTTAGER'S SABBATH. 
 
 XV. 
 
 The girls lie knew would to their grandam read, 
 For thus they always spent the Sabbath-day ; 
 And as the wife some slight repose might need, 
 She 'd take a nap and doze an hour away, 
 While in her lap her youngest urchin lay. 
 The sultry noon a drowsy stillness shed, 
 Nor cat, nor kitten seemed disposed for play ; 
 The poor old dog lay panting in his bed, 
 Oft snapping at the flies that buzzed about his head. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Meanwhile from home the Cottager pursued 
 His lonely walk, where aged, hoary trees 
 Spread o'er his path that sylvan solitude 
 Which strikes the soul, in solemn scenes like these, 
 With conscious awe that God the heart still sees. 
 His way led onwards through a mossy dell, 
 At all times sheltered from the wintry breeze, 
 Where, as he passed, a burst of sunlight fell 
 And silvered o'er afresh the Lovers' Haunted Well. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 It was a spot well chosen to uphold 
 The name it bore, by long tradition known ; 
 For massy oaks, a thousand winters old, 
 In forms fantastic and uncouth had grown 
 From jutting crags and heaps of ragged stone. 
 Deep down the glen a rocky basin lay, 
 Where always bright the crystal waters shone ; 
 But ne'er ran o'er, and could not get away, 
 Although the weeping fount kept dripping night and day. 
 
THE COTTAGER'S SABBATH. 295 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 But that which filled and fixed the anxious sight 
 With secret awe and dark mysterious dread, — 
 A fair young girl of alabaster white 
 Knelt by the Well, and o'er it hung her head, 
 As though its depths contained her lover dead. 
 Her small thin hands she clasped in bitter woe ; 
 From her fair face hope's last faint beam had fled ; 
 While all her rigid features served to show 
 How wildly she deplored the youth who lay below. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 The tale was old, and all the country knew 
 How here two lovers met, in days of yore : 
 In secret nursed, the maiden's passion grew, 
 For she was rich, and he she loved seemed poor ; 
 And her proud sire betrothed her long before 
 To one whose birth was equal to her own : 
 But when was Love so blind as to implore 
 That other eyes should make the virtues known 
 He first discerns himself, and thinks he sees alone ? 
 
 xx. 
 
 The high-born youth her father had designed, 
 A few months hence, that lady fair should wed, 
 In stranger's garb, her worth resolved to find, 
 Lest he perchance, by erring custom led, 
 Might take a mate unsuited to his bed, 
 With borrowed name the maiden fair addressed, 
 Whose gentle nature, in retirement bred, 
 A mutual passion for the youth expressed, 
 And love, romantic love, reigned wholly in her breast. 
 
296 THE COTTAGER'S SABBATH. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 And thro' these woods the youthful lovers strayed, 
 Inhaling bliss young lovers only know ; 
 When life shines fair in early charms arrayed, 
 Without the shadow of approaching woe, 
 Its chilling bloom across their path to throw. 
 And day by day they sought this shady dell, 
 For here their passion first began to grow ; 
 With joy unveiled she loved to hear him tell 
 The tale that won her heart, beside the Haunted Well. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 But bliss like theirs was not designed to last ; 
 A plant so fair was sure to fade away ; 
 That brilliant sky would soon be overcast, 
 And clouds and storms defile the lovely day : 
 For earthly joys, alas, how short their stay ! 
 There, as they sat, with purest raptures filled, 
 The bolt was shot — the lover bleeding lay : 
 The maiden's heart with icy horror thrilled, 
 Transfixed beside the form her angry sire had killed. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 She never spoke ; but, kneeling by the Well 
 In which her lover's bleeding corse was thrown, 
 Seemed rooted there, as though some sudden spell 
 Congealed her frame to cold, unmelting stone, 
 Where life or heat would never more be known. 
 In angry tones her father bade her rise ; 
 She heard him not : her gentle soul had flown 
 To join her mate, where more auspicious skies 
 Would shine upon their bliss, and love immortalize. 
 
THE COTTAGER'S SABBATH. 297 
 
 With deep regret and unavailing tears 
 The father learned how his rash hand had slain 
 The very man that he had hoped for years 
 His daughter's hand, but not her heart, might gain, 
 For that he deemed was labour spent in vain. 
 But now his child, his only child, was dead, 
 And on his soul foul murder's bloody stain, 
 By vengeful conscience filled with constant dread, 
 And hopeless in his grief, to these old woods he fled. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 Beneath that tree and in yon little cave 
 He made his home — a cheerless, dreary place ; 
 There would he sit and look upon the wave, 
 His own dark story in its depths to trace, 
 While tears on tears went coursing down his face. 
 Years rolled away, and still within his cell 
 That old man mourned his sufferings and disgrace : 
 The friends who came he sought not to repel, 
 But never from his lips a single sentence fell. 
 
 At length the statue of his child was brought, 
 To sooth the torture of his wounded breast : 
 In foreign lands the costly stone was wrought 
 With such deep skill, the image seemed possessed 
 Of life itself, in marble whiteness dressed. 
 He gazed — he shook — his haggard eye grew wild, 
 Unearthly fears his trembling soul oppressed : 
 He looked again, and on the statue smiled, 
 Then sunk, and dying cried, " I come, I come, my child ! " 
 
 Q Q 
 
298 THE COTTAGER'S SABBATH. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 Since then, 'tis said, their spirits walk this glen 
 Once every year, the day the lover died : 
 They neither court, nor shun the gaze of men, 
 But hand in hand with pensive steps they glide 
 Till by the brink they all stand side by side. 
 Then o'er the spot just where the lover fell, 
 Still cursed and bare, with no green grass supplied, 
 Awhile they sit, as though they seemed to tell 
 Why first the place was called the Lovers' Haunted Well. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 This ancient tale, to rustic minds endeared, 
 The Cotter knew, but doubted when it said 
 How once a-year their spirits still appeared, 
 Like forms of earth, in thin white robes arrayed, 
 To tread with pensive steps this quiet glade : 
 'Twas his belief their gentle souls had flown 
 To dwell in bliss which no rude storms invade ; 
 And that the sire, by long repentance shown, 
 Had made his peace with God, and lived before his throne. 
 
 But well he knew how fancy loves to fill 
 With superstitious sights old spots like these ; 
 Where all around was so serene and still, 
 That leaves just parting from their parent trees 
 Were heard to sigh and whisper to the breeze : 
 Where flickering lights were grouped with heavy shades, 
 Then lost again before the gazer sees 
 How sudden sun-bursts shoot thro' narrow glades, 
 And light some moss-clad tree that in a moment fades. 
 
THE COTTAGER'S SABBATH. 299 
 
 XXX. 
 
 Where wreaths of mist, in dreamy twilight seen, 
 Are sleeping still, or waving to and fro, 
 Now creeping up amid the branches green, 
 Or squatting close along the ground below, 
 And now like forms of living things they go, — 
 No wonder minds, by previous fears oppressed, 
 In these dim scenes should feel their terrors grow, 
 Till moving mists should seem of life possessed, 
 And branches wild, uncouth in ghastly forms be dressed. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 With some such thoughts the Cotter left the wood, 
 Half-grieved to quit its cool, delightful shade, 
 And came where on its skirts a cottage stood, 
 Well thatched with straw, of stud and plaster made, 
 Time-worn in parts, but not at all decayed. 
 Before the gate there ran a little brook, 
 O'er which a plank of rough-hewn wood was laid ; 
 And in the porch, with pleased and smiling look, 
 An old man sat to hear God's true and holy Book. 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 That holy Book his lovely grandchild read, — 
 A gentle girl, some twenty summers old : 
 The glossy curls hung clustering round her head, 
 Or down her neck the auburn tresses rolled, 
 And in the sunshine glowed like burnished gold. 
 Her deep blue eyes had just the violet's shade 
 Lit up with sense, by modesty controlled, 
 Where filial love and fond affection made 
 A mingled charm more sweet than violets e'er displayed. 
 
300 THE COTTAGER'S SABBATH. 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 Close by the pales the Cottager remained, 
 To chat a moment with that fine old man, 
 Whose gathering age no lack of health sustained, 
 Although his days beyond the usual span 
 Of human life full twenty summers ran. 
 But few events his simple history knew, 
 For in that cottage first his life began ; 
 From youth to manhood in its walls he grew, 
 Till time above his brow a snowy covering threw. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 The few slight changes in his tranquil life 
 Seemed things of course, and scarce disturbed his rest : 
 The first of these was when he took a wife, 
 Of frugal ways and some few pounds possessed ; 
 With manners kind and rustic beauty blest. 
 Twice thirty years as man and wife they dwelt, 
 With no rude jars their quiet to molest ; 
 And when at last beside her grave he knelt, 
 He shed not many tears, though truly grieved he felt. 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 One child they had — a fearless, daring boy, 
 Who scorned the simple life his parents led ; 
 More stirring scenes to him afforded joy, 
 Where tempting hopes before his mind were spread 
 In golden hues, by magic fancy bred. 
 And so from home, although with tears, he went, 
 In crowded streets the path of life to tread ; 
 More happy far could he have been content 
 To stay and end his course where his young days were 
 spent. 
 
::■)'■ 
 
 
I 
 
 THE COTTAGER'S SABBATH. 301 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 Time brought him back as time with him had done, 
 His health exhausted, prematurely old ; 
 The race of man too rapidly begun, 
 The strife with life too feeble to uphold, 
 He reached the goal ere half his days were told. 
 Sick, sad, subdued, and weary of the strife, 
 His prospects blighted, and his heart grown cold, 
 He just returned, at home to end his life, 
 And left an infant girl, sole relict of his wife, 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 That infant girl to womanhood was grown, 
 The one, sole comfort of that old man's breast ; 
 While she perchance had feelings all her own, 
 In secret nursed and ne'er in words expressed, 
 Although her eyes some tender things confessed. 
 Thus when the Cotter asked them both to tea, 
 More knowing men than they were might have guessed 
 That those warm blushes on her cheeks must be 
 Excited by a cause more deep than they could see. 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 For neither knew, what she had long time known, 
 How George, the Cotter's son, had sought her hand, — 
 That her refusal of his suit alone 
 Had forced the youth to seek a foreign strand, 
 And carry arms in an unfriendly land. 
 How many times she wished that he would come ! 
 And schemes of future bliss she often planned : 
 Why should he now in distant countries roam, 
 When he might live with her so happily at home ? 
 
302 THE COTTAGERS SABBATH. 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 Then came the fear that other eyes might charm, 
 And wake the flame she smothered in his breast : 
 At other times her heart would take alarm, 
 And ghastly wounds or bloody death suggest ; 
 Or he might be imprisoned and oppressed. 
 And thus her thoughts kept wandering here and there, 
 And broken visions oft disturbed her rest ; 
 But Hope still whispered sweetly in her ear, 
 " He surely will come back !" and Hope overmastered 
 Fear. 
 
 XL. 
 
 So when her grandsire asked her " Should they go ?" 
 Her sparkling eyes shot forth a brilliant ray, 
 As if they said, " You must not answer No ? 
 'Twill be so pleasant thro' the wood to stray, 
 And hear the birds while sauntering on the way." 
 'Twas soon agreed ; for o'er the old man's heart 
 Her lightest wishes ruled with sovereign sway : 
 " Be sure," the Cotter said, " in time to start." — 
 "We will," the old man cried, " and soon at night depart." 
 
 XLI. 
 
 The Cotter then pursued his lonely walk, 
 From place to place, beneath the burning sun : 
 Sometimes he stopped at lowly huts to talk 
 Of Jesus Christ, God's everlasting Son, 
 And all the mighty wonders he had done. 
 He bade the mourner view His smiling face ; 
 Or warned the hardened sinner how to shun 
 The dreadful torments of that awful place, 
 Where hope will never smile on those who scorned His 
 grace. 
 
THE COTTAGER'S SABBATH. 303 
 
 XLIL 
 
 'Twas not in vain he laboured thus to save 
 Untutored souls from ignorance and woe : 
 For oft thro' him, though sinking to the grave, 
 Repenting tears from stony eyes would flow, 
 And dying men their Saviour learn to know ; 
 And oft some mind with doubt and fear oppressed, 
 By his instructions gladdened, felt a glow 
 Of holy sunshine warming thro' the breast, 
 And full of faith and joy had gone to endless rest. 
 
 XLIII. 
 
 Now from the road the Cotter turned aside, 
 And crossed a moor with gorse and bracken gay, — 
 A dreary waste, extending far and wide, 
 To where some colliers' huts were raised of clay, 
 In one of which a dying woman lay. 
 The little chamber where she kept her bed 
 With age and want of care was giving way ; 
 For long wide rents along the walls had spread, 
 And rafters cracked in two hung threatening o'er her 
 head. 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 The room was small, and scarce contained a thing 
 Besides the bed, which creaked with crazy age ; 
 And some worn garments, hung across a string, 
 All patched and rent, as though their utmost stage 
 Of servitude was merely to presage 
 Their owner's end, which now was drawing nigh, — 
 With little aid her sufferings to assuage, 
 Save what her poorer neighbours might supply 
 From their exhausted stores, until the wretch should die. 
 
304 THE COTTAGER'S SABBATH. 
 
 And die ere long the Cotter saw she must. 
 For Death was there, and battling for his prey ; 
 Her wasted form so near akin to dust, 
 That one slight shock the feeble pulse would stay, 
 And close the taper's intermittent ray. 
 Her face appeared a sharp and bony rim, 
 Her lips were thin and tinged with bluish grey ; 
 The hollow eye with gathering films was dim ; 
 And mortal coldness now had paralyzed each limb. 
 
 And this was she who, five short years before, 
 In pride of youth was called the Village Belle ! 
 Her cottage dress with simple taste she wore, 
 Put neatly on, and it became her well, 
 As many a youth with beating heart could tell. 
 The country lads contended who should gain 
 Sweet Mary's smile, and in her grace excel ; 
 But though they ne'er were treated with disdain, 
 Not one among them all her favour could obtain. 
 
 XLVII. 
 
 Could she not love, that thus she turned aside 
 Those pretty eyes, so soft and yet so bright ? — 
 How could it be ? — they knew it was not pride, 
 For Mary was not proud, though well she might 
 Be lifted up, if pride could e'er be right. 
 How was it then ? — had she her heart bestowed 
 Away from home, on one a stranger quite ? 
 Her rosy cheeks with mantling blushes glowed ; — 
 She loves! — but whom? they asked; — the coming summer 
 showed. 
 
THE COTTAGER'S SABBATH. 305 
 
 XL VIII. 
 
 A gay young spark lived in the neighbouring town 
 Where Mary went, each weekly market-day : 
 Her small straw hat and dress of russet brown 
 First caused the youth some civil things to say, 
 And by and by to meet her on the way. 
 He talked of love, of faithful, lasting love, 
 And never sought to turn her steps astray, 
 Till Mary's heart at length began to move, 
 And yielding to his wish, her fate with his she wove. 
 
 XLIX. 
 
 Their honeymoon was spent without a cloud : 
 But, three months o'er, a trivial change was seen ; 
 His voice was heard at intervals too loud, 
 And Mary sometimes wondered where he 'd been, 
 When hours beyond his time would intervene. 
 " Think him to blame ! Oh no ! she knew he 'd come ; 
 'Twas business kept him, something unforeseen : 
 Thank God, her Henry did not wish to roam ; 
 His heart was not at ease when absent from his home." 
 
 Was this the case ? — was Henry still so fond 
 Of her and home, that he could now forego 
 Those jovial scenes, which led him far beyond 
 Where Prudence stood, and, threatening future woe 
 To all his fond excuses, thundered " No" ? 
 Alas for him ! — alas for his young bride ! 
 The poisoned cup was working sure though slow : 
 If sought, when absent from his Mary's side, 
 Some festive scene alone his wavering heart supplied. 
 
 R R 
 
306 THE COTTAGER'S SABBATH. 
 
 LI. 
 
 But this poor Mary knew not : she believed 
 Her husband all fond woman's wish would find : 
 Had she then known, how would her heart have grieved, 
 That one so generous, one so good and kind, 
 For pleasure's cup should thus debase his mind ! — 
 And so at home she cheered her lonely breast 
 With pleasing hopes, to all the future blind ; 
 Strong in his love, she thought she should be blest 
 When,nestling to her heart, her babe should sweetly rest. 
 
 The babe was born — a healthy, lovely child ; — 
 Was ever mother half so full of joy ? — 
 Then Henry came, and took the babe, and smiled, 
 And called his wife a treasure, and his boy 
 The very thing he wanted, to employ 
 His vacant time, and please him day by day : 
 'Twould be so sweet to play with such a toy, — 
 To watch the mind first shed its dawning ray, 
 Till he could run, and speak, and merry gambols play. 
 
 What fickle stuff poor human nature is ! 
 One little week from this had scarcely fled, 
 Ere Henry strayed to scenes of sensual bliss, 
 And, wild with drink, to further folly led, 
 Was false the first time to his Mary's bed : 
 But she, poor thing ! still dreaming she was blest 
 With richer joys, her blooming hopes she fed; 
 The little nursling to her heart she pressed 
 With all a mother's pride, and gave the babe her breast. 
 
THE COTTAGER'S SABBATH. 307 
 
 Liv. 
 Her dream of bliss for months was yet prolonged, 
 For all her husband told her she believed ; 
 And when he said increasing business thronged 
 So fast upon him, that, however grieved 
 His heart might be, he could not get relieved, 
 The trusting wife, by fond affection swayed, 
 Without a doubt the lying tale received, 
 Until his state by fatal chance displayed 
 To her affrighted mind the dreadful truth betrayed. 
 
 LV. 
 
 Induced by one who called herself a friend 
 In Henry's absence to behold a play, 
 She went, but waited not to see the end, 
 For strange misgivings on her spirit lay 
 Lest this was wrong — her husband far away : 
 In hurrying home she passed a narrow street, 
 Where one faint lamp diffused a sickly ray, 
 And there with shameless jades she chanced to meet 
 Her husband reeling past with drunken-staggering feet. 
 
 LVI. 
 
 Aghast she stood, overwhelmed with sudden woe, 
 Her trembling limbs fast rooted to the ground : 
 Her brain felt scorched — no cooling tears would flow ; 
 And o'er her eyes a darkness most profound, 
 With horrors vaguely filled, seemed floating round. 
 How she reached home was not distinctly said ; 
 But months on months, in dark delirium bound, 
 She lay unconscious of the gloom which spread 
 In still-increasing depth round her devoted head ; — 
 
308 THE COTTAGER'S SABBATH. 
 
 LVII. 
 
 And when she waked to consciousness once more, 
 'Twas but to find her darkest fears too true ; 
 Her husband, now more reckless than before, 
 His vicious course determined to pursue, 
 Regardless of the ills that must accrue. 
 For days and weeks he kept himself away, 
 And left his wife in bitterness to rue 
 That this low vice her husband's heart should sway, 
 And blight their home of joy with ruinous decay. 
 
 LVIII. 
 
 Increasing still with each renewed excess, 
 The love of drink grew stronger day by day ; 
 What little shame he sometime might possess, 
 This fatal passion had removed away, 
 And all his better feelings prostrate lay : 
 His pride itself, which one time led him on 
 In dress to shine the gayest of the gay, 
 Even that last doubtful sentinel was gone, 
 And his dark mind depraved of self-respect had none. 
 
 LIX. 
 
 Then Want approached like to an armed man, 
 And tore the garments from his altered frame : 
 The cheek once healthy now grew pale and wan ; 
 The dull sunk eye had lost its former flame ; 
 And sneers and cold contempt sat on his name : 
 Cast off by those who taught him first to sin, 
 The first to tempt him and the first to blame, 
 He mixed with wretches who rejoiced to win, 
 Even at the price of life, their worshipped idol — Gin. 
 
THE COTTAGER'S SABBATH. 309 
 
 LX. 
 
 His poor meek wife in solitude remained, 
 Still toiling on to earn the scanty bread 
 Which scarce her own and baby's life sustained, 
 To rags reduced, and oft by hunger led 
 To look with gloomy pleasure on the dead : 
 Yet all the time her lips were never known 
 To blame the man whose fatal folly bred 
 Disease, and want, and anguish, now upgrown 
 To such a fatal height, that hope was overthrown. 
 
 LXI. 
 
 Years gloomed along, each darker than the last, 
 More sad, more cheerless, as they rolled away ; 
 More dark, because the brightness of the past 
 Still shed at times a faint and flickering ray 
 Like broken sunlight in a stormy day. 
 If on her face a sickly smile was seen, 
 It passed off soon, as though afraid to stay, 
 And rose perchance from thoughts of what had been 
 The visions of her mind, in other days serene. 
 
 If Henry, now a ragged, meagre wretch, 
 To where she lived at some odd times returned, 
 'Twas not to cheer her, but he came to fetch 
 Some household thing his feeble wife had earned, 
 To pawn for drink, for which he ever yearned. 
 Thus one by one the chairs and tables went, — 
 Pans, pots, and cups were into money turned ; 
 The very garments from her back he rent, 
 Regardless of her tears, and all for gin was spent. 
 
310 THE COTTAGER'S SABBATH. 
 
 LXIII. 
 
 At length, grown sick, and pinched for want of food, 
 She lay unable from her bed to rise : 
 Her little boy, at all times kind and good, 
 Her only friend, to soothe or sympathise, 
 Kept close beside her conch with weeping eyes. 
 The brutal husband to her chamber came 
 And seized her only blanket as a prize : 
 Then laughed while she, with Woman's modest shame, 
 Strove hard to hide her poor emaciated frame. 
 
 " Oh father, father ! " cried the weeping child, 
 " Tear not the blanket from poor mother's bed ! 
 What will she do, when wintry winds blow wild, 
 Sick as she is, and starved for want of bread ?" — 
 "What do I care?" the frantic villain said; 
 " I must have drink, and this more gin will buy : 
 Let go your hold, or I will strike you dead, 
 And sell you both ! — Why don't your mother die ? 
 She '11 need no blankets then : they want none in the 
 sky." 
 
 LXV. 
 
 With these unfeeling taunts he rudely tore 
 The scanty covering from the struggling boy, 
 Who fell exhausted on the rugged floor, 
 Bereft of sense, unable to annoy 
 With childish strife his father's fiendish joy. 
 Before he rose that father strode away, 
 As though he wished his offspring to destroy : 
 The wretched wife in speechless anguish lay, 
 Half-tempted to believe it was in vain to pray. 
 
THE COTTAGER'S SABBATH. 31 1 
 
 LXVI. 
 
 From that dark hour poor Mary's fate was sealed, 
 By want, and woe, and care so long distressed ; 
 Beneath the shock her feeble spirits reeled, 
 Long-lingering hope deserted her sad breast : 
 The grave — the grave — her only place of rest ! 
 One tie remained, a strong and tender tie, — 
 Her poor dear child must sink by want oppressed ; 
 No friendly neighbour could her place supply : 
 Were he but safe, how soon, how gladly would she die ! 
 
 LXVII. 
 
 " Fear not for him," the Cottager replied ; 
 u My boys shall take him to their little bed : 
 Whatever he needs I will myself provide, 
 And bring him up till he can earn his bread, 
 By honest toil to humble plenty led. 
 Fear not for him, but let your mind repose 
 On Christ alone, who once for sinners bled, 
 And now eternal happiness bestows 
 On all who trust in Him since from the grave he rose." 
 
 LXVIII. 
 
 Whilst thus, in tones of homely kindness full, 
 The good man tried to soothe away her fears, 
 A gentle calm her spirit seemed to lull, 
 Half-mixed with doubt, afraid to trust her ears : 
 And then overjoyed, she shed a flood of tears. 
 " Oh God, my God ! I will be thine," she cried ; 
 11 This pays me back the griefs of many years ! 
 My child, my child ! thy wants shall be supplied : 
 I die contented now \" — and saying this, she died. 
 
312 THE COTTAGER'S SABBATH. 
 
 CANTO IV. 
 
 A rural arbour in the garden stood, 
 Of beech-wood formed, with scented creepers lined ; 
 And in the midst a grotesque piece of wood, 
 With sundry stumps of trees in ragged rind, 
 To serve as chairs and table each designed. 
 Right overhead the branches formed a roof 
 Of curious work, so close together twined, 
 That human skill could ne'er with web and woof 
 Compose so fine a mesh, by nature waterproof. 
 
 ii. 
 The back and sides were walled with living green, 
 Where shades harmonious mingling met the view ; 
 And here and there moss-roses might be seen, 
 With jasmine and clematis, peeping through 
 The verdant wall, of variegated hue. 
 A bright laburnum near the entrance stood, 
 Its yellow ringlets waving to and fro ; 
 And roundabout a thick impervious wood, 
 Where clumps of flowers adorned the quiet neighbour- 
 hood. 
 
THE COTTAGER'S SABBATH. 313 
 
 III. 
 
 For many a year the Cottager had tried 
 To add new beauties to this favourite spot ; 
 The choicest flowers he trained against its side, 
 Each straggling branch he pruned or taught to knot 
 Its twisting fibres where he might allot. 
 Shrub, flower, and tree, for balm and beauty known, 
 Were all united in this rural-grot : 
 By fostering care to full perfection grown, 
 That leafy arbour now in matchless verdure shone. 
 
 When sultry suns shot down their fervid beams, 
 Without a cloud the gaping earth to screen, 
 And meadowy banks that sloped by sparkling streams 
 Were parched and brown, without a speck of green, 
 And drooping leaves on every tree were seen, 
 The shady arbour still expelled the heat, 
 No wandering ray e'er came the boughs between : 
 Kept by the Cotter always trimmed and neat, 
 On Sabbath-days they oft enjoyed this cool retreat. 
 
 v. 
 There, by his wife, the place he always chose, 
 The Cotter sat, while she dispensed the tea : 
 Poor George's sweetheart, blushing like a rose, 
 Took up the child and placed it on her knee, 
 Overjoyed and glad with George's friends to be. 
 The two young girls about the old man hung, 
 And stroked his hair, or chatted merrily ; 
 While both the boys around the stranger clung — 
 Poor Mary's orphan-child — to feel his loss too young. 
 
 s s 
 
314 THE COTTAGER'S SABBATH. 
 
 VI. 
 
 The massy loaf of hearth-baked wheaten bread 
 In thick, substantial slices wore away, 
 With fresh-made butter plentifully spread ; 
 While smoking cakes about the table lay, 
 With jam or jelly lined, to grace the day. 
 The cooling cress their garden-stream supplied, 
 And lettuce young, spread out in green array : 
 Thick yellow cream, her humble dairy's pride, 
 T ; enrich their fragrant tea, did the good dame provide. 
 
 VII. 
 
 While round the board the cheerful cups were sent, 
 They chatted gravely, as became their years : — 
 The old man spoke of some far-gone event ; 
 The Cotter's wife expressed her present fears 
 About her son, and shed some natural tears. 
 The boys and girls were busy with their cakes, 
 More pleased to eat than to regale their ears 
 With tales antique, which fitful memory wakes, 
 While deep-lethargic age with bygone fancies quakes. 
 
 Nor, while the youngsters thus their food enjoyed, 
 Did those in years this pleasing task reject \ 
 For one and all were seriously employed 
 With bread or cake, as fancy might direct, 
 Or appetite suggest, less circumspect. 
 Yet one was there, more joyous than the rest, 
 Who cake and tea did equally neglect : 
 And why ? — such pleasant feelings filled her breast, 
 For in her gentle heart young Love had made his nest. 
 
THE COTTAGER'S SABBATH. 315 
 
 IX. 
 
 And what was food, or what was tea to her ? — 
 Her own sweet fancies fed and filled her mind : 
 What bright deductions might not hope infer, 
 Since all around her looked so good and kind, 
 While no one guessed what secret ties might bind. 
 If George were here, she thought but did not say, 
 What lasting joys they might together find ! 
 " Let him return ; I '11 try to make him stay : 
 It was a foolish thing to let him go away." 
 
 x. 
 
 " Come Kate, my girl," the Cottager exclaimed, 
 " Your tea is cold — set down that prating boy : 
 Here, take this cake, which after Greorge is named ; 
 Nay, never blush, you need not now look coy ! 
 Would he were here to mingle in our joy \" — 
 " I wish he were," half trembled on her lip ; 
 And, all confused, she snatched the child's new toy, — 
 A penny-drum, from which she tried to sip ; 
 And, finding her mistake, let cup and saucer slip. 
 
 XI. 
 
 The Cotter's thoughts were otherwise engaged, 
 Or he had seen what Kate would fain conceal : 
 Not so his wife, whose watchful mind presaged 
 That her young heart about their son must feel 
 More than her lips were likely to reveal. 
 Alarmed at first, she scanned the maiden o'er, 
 Whose mild blue eyes replied to her appeal : 
 Their mutual looks a hidden meaning bore, 
 Well understood by both — both smiled — but nothing 
 more. 
 
316 THE COTTAGER'S SABBATH. 
 
 XII. 
 
 " Shall I" said Kate, " the tea-things take away ? " 
 The mother smiled, and nodding gave consent, 
 Rejoiced to see her feelings thus display 
 Their proper course ; and as the maiden went, 
 She thought that George with Kate might be content. 
 Then, nursing up her own fond thoughts, she smiled 
 Abstracted, pondering o'er the glad event ; 
 Until her husband rose, to please the child, 
 And let him crop a flower that grew too large and wild. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 When Kate returned, the Cottager proposed 
 That one and all should join to sing a Psalm ; 
 Since God their Father had to each disclosed 
 Such proofs of love, that well they might embalm 
 His Name in praise, this summer-evening calm. 
 No voice dissentient murmured as he rose 
 And towered above them, like a goodly palm : 
 With simple taste they sang the psalm he chose, 
 Melodious as it broke the Sabbath's deep repose. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 The pleasant anthem rising o'er the trees, 
 And melting sweetly in the deep-blue sky, 
 Is faintly answered by the trembling breeze 
 And warbling brook, which, gently wandering by, 
 Sang to the banks, whose murmuring leaves reply. 
 The distant woods grow vocal with their song, 
 Where long green glades between the tall trees lie, 
 Like hoary aisles in some cathedral strong, 
 Still making more sublime the sounds their depths 
 prolong. 
 
THE COTTAGER'S SABBATH. 317 
 
 XV. 
 
 " Come now, my boys/' the Cotter said, " we '11 hear 
 " The little tales that you have learned to-day ! 
 Here, James, stand up, and let your voice be clear ; 
 Mind well your stops ; and take great care to say 
 In proper tones each sentence, grave or gay." 
 The youngster's cheeks a transient blush overspread, 
 And then he coughed to clear his fears away : 
 More calm at length he lifted up his head, 
 And in a deep low voice what follows here he said. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 "The mournful breeze sighs sad through Codnor Hall, 
 Where nettles wild in broken casements grow ; 
 Thro' long wide cracks the scattered moonbeams fall, 
 And rustling weeds wave idly to and fro 
 O'er broken floors and gaping vaults below. 
 On roofless walls portentous Ruin scowls ; 
 A dreary change the voiceless chambers show : 
 For there the fox thro' each apartment prowls, 
 Disturbing as he creeps the dreams of sleeping owls. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 u Old, hoary moss mounts to the turret top ; 
 Dark ivy creeps in Beauty's broken bower ; 
 Disjointed stones from sinking arches drop ; 
 The wide hall-chimney, open to the shower, 
 More dreary looks than desolated tower. 
 'Mid long, rank weeds the aged thistle grows, 
 Where once the Lady's Garden used to flower ; 
 Where still is seen a weak and sickly rose, 
 That o'er the ruined waste a faded beautv throws. 
 
318 THE COTTAGER'S SABBATH. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 " Uncounted leaves fill up the choking moat, 
 Where fallen beams and broken columns lie ; 
 With scattered fragments of a rotten boat, 
 Confusedly mixed chaotic to the eye, — 
 Part standing quite erect, but more awry. 
 The massy gates like skeletons appear, 
 Whose crumbling dust their outward looks belie : 
 While gateways dark sepulchral terrors wear ; 
 And all about the place is silent, sad, and drear. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 "How changed the scene since first Lord Thomas brought 
 His youthful bride to grace his father's halls ! 
 When bannered knights and bright-eyed ladies sought 
 The festive joys that sparkled in these walls 
 In ceaseless round of masquerades and balls. 
 The new-born days new pleasures spread around, 
 And gladness reigned among his peasant-thralls ; 
 Each minstrel gay a merry audience found, 
 And loud obstreperous mirthmade roof and rafters sound. 
 
 xx. 
 
 "Month rolled on month, and yearson yearswere piled, 
 Without abatement of that tide of joy : 
 Around their path the rosy moments smiled ; 
 No cloud arose their sunshine to destroy, 
 Or accident befell that might annoy. 
 Wealth, honour, state, and pleasure at command, 
 A thousand menials toiled in his employ : 
 So far and wide did his domains expand, 
 It took a summer's day to ride across his land. 
 
THE COTTAGER'S SABBATH. 319 
 
 XXI. 
 
 " What ails Lord Thomas ? Gloomy, dark, severe, 
 By fits he starts or hurries up and down ; 
 Now stops to gaze, his wild eyes full of fear, 
 Then stalking high he casts an angry frown, 
 Or laughs in scorn his inward fears to drown. 
 What ails Lord Thomas ? — once so blithe and gay, 
 So rich and great, so full of fair renown ? 
 Alas for him ! the passion rose for play ; 
 And now the fatal dice have thrown his lands away. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 "Wherehides he now? — Rude strangers claim his Hall; 
 His wife hath sickened like a blighted flower : 
 Those summer-friends unmoved behold his fall, 
 Who hung about him in his day of power, 
 And lent their aid his substance to devour. 
 Where hides he now ? — Behold yon roofless shed, 
 To storms exposed, and soaking with the shower : 
 There may you see the great Lord Thomas dead, 
 Whose famished looks declare he diedforwant of bread ! " 4 
 
 When thus the boy his gloomy tale had done, 
 And stood in doubt, half-pleased and half-ashamed, 
 The Cotter's wife put forth her younger son, 
 But hoped his story might be better framed 
 Than James's tale, which he had rightly named. 
 The timid boy looked mildly in her face, 
 And won the smile his mute expression claimed : 
 Assured at once, he sunk in her embrace ; 
 Then, blushing to the brow, he took his brother's place. 
 
320 THE COTTAGER'S SABBATH. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 " Once on a time there lived a little boy, 
 So good and mild, lie never learned to frown : 
 His gentle heart was always full of joy, 
 And full of love ; and love was like a crown 
 Of glory round his brow, from God sent down. 
 Whoever saw him loved him ; for his eyes 
 Were so confiding, they were sure to drown 
 All cold reserve in gladness and surprise 
 That one was found on earth like angels in the skies. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 " The little birds all knew him, and would hop 
 About his path, and peep into his face ; 
 And one sweet Robin on the rail would stop 
 Till he came up, and showed of fear no trace, 
 But followed him about from place to place. 
 The sheep and cows were pleased to see him go, 
 And rabbits wild about his feet would race ; 
 The very fish by instinct seemed to know 
 The goodness of this boy, and signs of love would show. 
 
 " It chanced one day, as down a lane he passed, 
 In converse sweet with butterflies and flowers, 
 He found a lamb by envious thorns held fast, 
 Despite its piteous cries for many hours, 
 Its woolly coat all wet with driving showers. 
 ' My pretty lamb, I TL set you free/ he cried ; 
 And then to set it free he strained his powers : 
 ' Have patience, dear — how fast the thorns are tied ! 
 Be gentle, gentle now, or you will tear your side/ 
 
THE COTTAGER'S SABBATH. 321 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 " That little lamb and he at once were friends, 
 And where he went his woolly friend wonld go : 
 No matter who beside the lamb attends, 
 It never leaves him, let who will say no, 
 But clings about his legs its love to show. 
 Bright sunny days together they would pass, 
 Now romping, full of play, now wandering slow ; 
 And when fatigued, young thoughtless things, alas ! 
 They both would fall asleep together in the grass. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 " And thus they lived for many, many days, 
 Until at last the child was taken ill ; 
 His eyes grew dull — his head he could not raise, 
 But on his mother's knee lay sad and still, 
 And sometimes burned like fire, and then grew chill. 
 They laid him down within his little bed, 
 And brought the Leech to try his healing skill ; 
 But fast and fast the gathering fever spread, 
 And soon his speech grew wild with lightness of the head. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 " And all the time that little boy was pained 
 The patient lamb beneath his window lay : 
 It rained — it blew — but there the lamb remained, 
 The livelong night, though cold, and all the day, 
 And never once was seen to go away. 
 They gave him milk — they gave him dainty bread, 
 And all in vain — the food untouched would stay : 
 But when they came he reared his languid head, 
 And moaned, as if to ask ' Is my young master dead?' 
 
 T T 
 
322 THE COTTAGER'S SABBATH. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 " At length the fever left him, and the child 
 Seemed just awakened from a troubled sleep : 
 His mild blue eyes he opened, and he smiled 
 So sweetly on them, with a love so deep, 
 That all who saw him could not choose but weep. 
 1 Where is my lamb, my pretty lamb?' he cried; 
 ( I thought I heard him near the window creep : 
 Have I been ill ? — What 's this upon my side ? — 
 Dear mother, bring my lamb ! ' — ( He 's coming/ she 
 replied. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 "And oh the joy those two young things displayed 
 Once more to be together ! — 'Twas a sight 
 Where innocence, and love, and joy portrayed 
 What man would be, were his affections right ; 
 And what he may be by the Saviour's might. 
 Thrice-holy Lamb ! how great thy love must be, 
 To bleed for those who did thy goodness slight * 
 And since for Man thou diedst upon the tree, 
 Oh teach my trusting heart to cleave and cling to thee ! " 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 "Thank God ! " said Kate, her eyes suffused with tears, 
 " The child, the lamb are both preserved alive ! 
 While they were ill, I had so many fears 
 Lest, after all, they neither should survive, 
 To show the world how hearts in love can thrive." — 
 " Why, Kate, my girl ! " her aged grandsire said, 
 " To fall in love I think thou 'It soon contrive, 
 Thou speak' st so warm !" — Kate blushing hung her head, 
 Half-smiling to herself, but not a word she said. 
 
THE COTTAGER'S SABBATH. 323 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 "Now for a walk \" the Cottager exclaimed : — 
 " A walk, a walk ! " his laughing girls replied ; 
 The cheerful wife no vain excuses framed, 
 But dressed herself, while Kate each bonnet tied, 
 And took the youngsters frisking by her side. 
 Then down the lane the Cotter and his guest 
 Went sauntering first, the poor old dog their guide : 
 The three young boys about their mother pressed, 
 And Mary's orphan- child came thronging with the rest. 
 
 xxxiv. 
 The clear round sun was sinking down the sky, 
 And leafy trees extensive shadows threw ; 
 Majestic clouds like gorgeous drapery 
 Stretched far away in heaven's imperial blue, 
 Till, lost in air, they melted from the view. 
 Above the woods uprose a distant spire, 
 Where round and round the glossy rooks still flew : 
 The glittering vane glowed like a bird of fire, 
 Uprising towards the sky, to teach us to aspire. 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 O'er grassy vales with cot and orchard strowed, 
 Where sheep and cows thro' clover-pastures stray ; 
 The distant hills with golden sunshine glowed, 
 While clear smooth streams like molten silver lay 
 'Twixt meadow-lands, enriched with mounds of hay ; 
 And all around was so serene and still, 
 That not a leaf was quivering on the spray : 
 The gurgling stream that turned the clacking mill, 
 Infected by the heat, rolled idly down the hill ; — 
 
324 THE COTTAGER'S SABBATH. 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 Then faintly brawling underneath the trees, 
 It here and there caught glimpses of the sky ; 
 And made low answer to the murmuring bees 
 That to and fro laboriously did fly, 
 Still rifling sweet-lipped flowers that grew hard by. 
 Far in the distance sheep-bells tinkled clear ; 
 And now and then was heard the lapwing's cry : 
 While many a sound came softened on the ear 
 From song of woodland bird and low of brindled steer. 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 Thro' scenes like these they sauntered slowly on, 
 From field to field, oft stopping as they went, 
 Some curious herb or lofty tree to con, 
 While now and then each gladsome heart would vent 
 Wild bursts of joy, or dying flower lament. 
 Now here, now there, the happy children sped, 
 And each new joy a new excitement lent : 
 Now o'er the path large heaps of flowers they spread, 
 And now in mimic fear across the fields they fled. 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 "Come, boys," saidKate, "beyond this hill there stands 
 A fine old tree that 's called the Lover's Oak !" 
 Up sprang the lads, and seized her glowing hands, 
 And like young deer across the field they broke, 
 Or youthful steeds that never felt the yoke. 
 They gained the top, they scampered down the side, 
 To try their speed each other did provoke ; 
 On, on they went with still-increasing stride, 
 And scarcely could they stop when o'er the valley wide. 
 
THE COTTAGER'S SABBATH. 325 
 
 1 ' This tree/' said Kate but ere she more could say 
 
 Her features changed, her rosy cheeks grew pale, 
 Her whole regard was fixed on one who lay 
 Beneath the tree to rest his body frail, 
 Where grief or sickness told a heavy tale. 
 His pallid cheeks, and deeply-sunken eyes, 
 And faltering limbs, showed both must there prevail; 
 And thus exposed, with none to heed his cries, 
 Exhausted on the ground, the weakly creature lies ! 
 
 XL. 
 
 " What ails you, Kate ? " the boys astonished cried : 
 "Are you unwell, you shake and shiver so?" — 
 " No — not unwell — not now," poor Kate replied ; 
 " But who is that ?— It must be !— Is it ?— No ! 
 And yet it must be — yes, it is, I know ! — 
 Oh George/' she cried, ' ' you 're very, very ill ! " — 
 " I am indeed," he answered, murmuring low ; 
 " But yet, but yet I may recover still 
 
 If you" " Hush, hush ! " she cried ; " they 're coming 
 
 down the hill." 
 
 XLI. 
 
 " It matters not," the sickly youth replied, 
 " Who comes or goes : I care for none but thee ! — 
 How oft in dreams I 've wandered by thy side, 
 Thro' these sweet scenes, in converse kind and free ; 
 And wearying waked, an exile still to be. 
 These pleasant scenes, for which I fondly pined, 
 Just as they were in former years I see ; 
 And this old oak hath still upon its rind 
 The name of her I loved — both then and now unkind !" 
 
326 THE COTTAGER'S SABBATH. 
 
 XLII. 
 
 " Nor then nor now the least nnkind to thee, 
 Ill-judging youth ! — I loved thee far too well : 
 If thou hadst seen, what now thou shalt not see, 
 Thou might' st have known what maidens should not tell, 
 Although their hearts may nigh to bursting swell. 
 But thou art ill !— 'Tis idle to affect 
 The least reserve, when candour may dispel 
 The sickly doubt that leads thee to suspect 
 That I, who love so much, thy love should still reject." 
 
 As lamps half-mouldering dimly in a shrine 
 In doubtful strife heave nickering to and fro, 
 When newly trimmed with sudden radiance shine, 
 And all around their cheerful beamings throw, 
 Till shrine and saint with mellow brightness glow, 
 A new-born joy o'er George's features spread; 
 His care-worn face much younger seemed to grow ; 
 His sad, desponding looks at once had fled, 
 And from his sparkling eyes a sudden light was shed. 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 "And am I thus repaid for all my pains?" 
 Exclaimed the youth — ' ' Thrice happy, happy day ! 
 New life is pulsing through my throbbing veins, 
 The sickness of my heart has fled away : 
 My soul is glad, and nature looks more gay ! 
 Oh let me ever, ever thus be blest, 
 To distant lands I shall not wish to stray : 
 In thy dear arms my fainting heart shall rest, 
 And all my griefs be hushed, reposing on thy breast." 
 
THE COTTAGER'S SABBATH. 327 
 
 "Heyday! what 's here?" the Cottager exclaimed, 
 As unperceived he laid his hand on Kate : 
 She started back, and like a bird half-tamed 
 Would fly away to gain her former state ; 
 But checked by love, she there resolved to wait. 
 Meantime the Cotter cast his wondering eyes 
 From Kate to George, in doubt and self-debate ; 
 Till in his heart he felt the father rise, 
 And pure unmingled joy overcame his first surprise. 
 
 " My son, my son ! And is it thus," he cried, 
 " Thus sick on foot they send thee back to me ? — 
 Our country's soldiers ought to be supplied 
 With better means their distant homes to see 
 Than those who rule have now conferred on thee. 
 But never mind, thou shalt not go again 
 To risk thy life, whoe'er may disagree : 
 Let foolish France attack disordered Spain, 
 And quarrel as they list, thou shalt at home remain." 
 
 " Aye, that he shall, my poor dear sickly boy ! " 
 His mother cried, first bursting into tears ; 
 And then she laughed, overcome with sudden joy • 
 And this again was darkened o'er with fears 
 Lest George should die, so weakly he appears. 
 " But no, no, no ! thou wilt not die," she cried. — 
 Not yet, I hope," said George, "for many years- 
 
 Then turning round, he looked on Kate and sighed, 
 And whispered in her ear " if thou wilt be my bride." 
 
328 THE COTTAGER'S SABBATH. 
 
 Meantime the children capered with delight, 
 And clapped their hands, and scampered to and fro : 
 First one drew near, to see that all was right ; 
 Then back he ran, and placed them in a row, 
 To whisper in their ears — " 'Tis George, I know ! " 
 And then they clapped their little hands anew, 
 And shouted loud, their greater joy to show : 
 The youngest child, scarce knowing what to do, 
 First kissed the poor old dog, then clapped and shouted 
 too. 
 
 XLIX. 
 
 The first strong feelings of surprise and joy 
 Subsided soon in settled, calm delight ; 
 And then they thought what means they'd best employ 
 To move the youth, whose sick and weakly plight 
 Made all things seem a toil, however light. 
 First one proposed to fetch a horse and cart, 
 Another thought the horse alone was right : 
 " I '11 walk/' said George, and whispering Kate apart, 
 " I feel much stronger now, since you have eased my 
 heart." 
 
 L. 
 
 " Here, lean on me," the Cotter kindly said, 
 " For I am strong, and well can bear thy weight." 
 George took his arm, but turning round his head, 
 With beaming eyes, he gently beckoned Kate, 
 And said he wanted her to make all straight. 
 The blushing girl was quickly by his side, 
 Exulting most they had not come too late ; 
 " For if," she said, and as she said it sighed, 
 " If there he 'd lain all night exposed, he must have died." 
 
THE COTTAGER'S SABBATH. 329 
 
 Supported thus, they slowly wound along 
 The nearest path, which swept the river's side j 
 Where gurgling waves sent forth their evening- song 
 In gentle tones across the falling tide, 
 Till on the banks 'mid rustling reeds they died. 
 The clear smooth stream threw back the purple skies, 
 So mirror-like the level waves did glide : 
 Save here and there, where fish were seen to rise, 
 And dimpling circles make while catching evening flies. 
 
 LII. 
 
 The full round sun just touched the distant hill ; 
 His crimson face expanding seemed to glow 
 With tenfold beauty, while he lingered still, 
 As if reluctant halting, moving slow, 
 Until by force compelled he sunk below. 
 Majestic clouds had gathered round his head; 
 And when he went, their burning sides could show, 
 In many a mass of deeply- glowing red, 
 The glory of that light his parting beams had shed. 
 
 MIL 
 
 With frequent stops, the weary youth to rest, 
 They crept along till on the bridge they stood : 
 The sun's last beams were fading in the West, 
 And less distinct appeared the distant wood, 
 And rising mists obscured the dusky flood. [tears : 
 "Thank God!" said George, his dark eyes bright with 
 " How oft of this I 've thought 'mid scenes of blood ! 
 Just, just the same as in my younger years, 
 Amid the quiet trees, my native cot appears !" 
 
 u u 
 
330 THE COTTAGER'S SABBATH. 
 
 When near the porch the sickly youth they brought, 
 With new delight his trembling bosom shook : 
 For as they paused the pleasing view they caught 
 Of grandam reading in that holy Book 
 From whence her joy — her hope — her all she took. 
 A glimmering taper on the table shone, 
 Which in the gathering twilight made her look 
 Like some old saint in monumental stone, 
 So calm and rapt she seemed, while thus with God alone. 
 
 They entered in, and George before her came ; 
 Whereat she raised her head in vague surprise : 
 With vacant look she stared to hear her name ; 
 Then, filled with doubt, she from her chair did rise, 
 And gazed again, and then she rubbed her eyes. 
 " What ! is it thou, my long, long wandering child ? " 
 She stammered forth at length with sobs and cries : 
 " Come near, my boy ! " George came and gently 
 And then she laughed aloud, hysterically wild, [smiled; 
 
 LVI. 
 
 Meantime his mother bustled up and down, 
 And soon prepared the comfortable meal ; 
 With apron donned above her Sunday gown, 
 She laid the cloth — placed knife, and fork, and steel, 
 While Kate assisted with instinctive zeal. 
 The large brown loaf, cold meat, and homely pie 
 Were not allowed to make a vain appeal ; 
 But one and all with serious looks did ply, 
 Industrious and intent themselves to gratify. 
 
THE COTTAGER'S SABBATH. 331 
 
 LVII. 
 
 The supper done, they clustered round the fire, 
 Its warmth unneeded ; but the cheerful blaze 
 Seemed so attractive as the flames rose higher, 
 That young and old could not refuse to gaze 
 And vent their joy in varying homely phrase. 
 Thrice-hallowed spot ! more dear than splendid dome : 
 Well may we love thee, and well may we praise ; 
 For on his hearth, without a wish to roam, 
 An English bosom beats with deepest love of home. 
 
 LVIII. 
 
 Not oft forgetful of her thrifty rules, 
 The wife resolved, for once, to give a treat ; 
 And while they fixed the settle, chairs, and stools, 
 She brought a bottle from its dark retreat : 
 A large stone jar it seemed, with dust replete : 
 From this she poured a liquor, dark yet fine, 
 Then stirred the fire, the spicy drink to heat ; 
 A fragrant steam disclosed her full design, 
 And soon well-pleased they saw the home-made elder- 
 wine. 
 
 LIX. 
 
 The cheerful group with smiling faces sat 
 And sipped their wine, too hot for drinking fast, 
 Indulging freely in their harmless chat ; 
 While now and then fond looks the mother cast 
 On George, much bettered by his late repast. 
 His gladdening looks were sunshine to her heart ; 
 Her fears were gone — her boy was come at last : 
 He would no more from home and kindred part ; 
 And then with quivering joy the tears were seen to start. 
 
332 THE COTTAGER'S SABBATH. 
 
 LX. 
 
 "Nay, do not weep/' said George, with moistening eye 
 And faltering voice ; " I shall not roam again : 
 Let those who list to fields of battle fly, 
 And seek for glory 'mid the heaps of slain 
 That taint the air, unburied on the plain. 
 For me the charm can never more revive : 
 I woke to reason on the bed of pain, 
 And saw how States by peaceful arts may thrive, 
 Or sink in ruin when in maddening wars they strive. 
 
 LXI. 
 
 " Oh I have seen such sights of death and woe — 
 Such havoc wild in city, camp, and field, 
 When roused to fury, trampling on the foe, 
 Men crushed their fellows who refused to yield 
 Those sacred rights by Freedom's God revealed ! 
 Down fall the virtues — down the feelings fall; 
 With fiendish joy their brutal power they wield : 
 Wife — daughter — child — destruction seizes all, 
 And man is man no more — his milk is turned to gall ! 
 
 " My very soul now sickens as I think 
 Of those sad scenes that passed before mine eye ; 
 When, man by man, I saw my comrades sink, 
 With haggard look and wild heart-rending cry, 
 To live in pain, or else unpitied die. 
 I too had died, my Mother, were it not 
 That thou hadst sent this precious Book to lie 
 Beside my heart — a providential spot ; 
 For see, its well-bound back still holds the deadly shot ! " 
 
THE COTTAGER'S SABBATH. 333 
 
 LXIII. 
 
 "Thanks, thanks toHiM who ordereth all things well! " 
 The Mother sobbed, half-frantic with delight : 
 She laughed — she cried— and on his neck she fell ; 
 " I knew," she said, " that God would bring all right ; 
 For parents' tears are precious in His sight ! " 
 And then again she clasped him to her breast, 
 And sobbed aloud, until, exhausted quite, 
 Her tear-filled eye upon her son did rest 
 With love more deep than words have ever yet expressed. 
 
 Nor could the children, when their mother wept, 
 Help weeping too, although they knew not why ; 
 And as for Kate, although she silent kept, 
 And hung her head where none were standing by, 
 Yet joyous drops the happy George could spy. 
 A single tear stole down the Cotter's cheek, 
 In which perchance far greater strength might lie 
 Than outward signs, though forcible, could speak ; 
 For his emotions strong made all expressions weak. 
 
 LXV. 
 
 Their feelings calmed, the Cotter rose and said, 
 " Now let us pray ! " — And kneeling down they prayed 
 That God would still His saving mercies spread 
 About their path, and check them if they strayed, 
 Or felt their hearts by sinful feelings swayed. 
 For all His gifts they might attempt to raise 
 Their feeble songs, in grateful forms arrayed, 
 But how could words declare his gracious ways ? 
 With reverence they adored, and silence spoke His praise. 
 
334 THE COTTAGER'S SABBATH. 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 LXVI. 
 
 Such are thy sons, my Country ! Such shall still 
 Maintain thy glory to the end of time ! 
 When fail the warrior's arm, the statesman's skill, 
 Thy virtuous sons shall save their native clime, 
 And round thy shores Truth's banner wave sublime ! — 
 How poor the crown that rounds thy monarch's head ! 
 How dark the ermine when it shelters crime ! 
 Nor wit, nor genius thro' the land can spread 
 One single saving charm, when righteousness has fled. 
 
 LXVII. 
 
 Long live the home-born virtues which adorn 
 Thy fertile valleys with unborrowed charms ! 
 Still bloom thy fields prolific, full of corn ! 
 And heaven still keep thee from wild War's alarms ! 
 Thy best defence, the conscience pure, which arms 
 Thy firm, unyielding sons each ill to bear ; 
 And while their hearts the love of country warms, 
 Each poor ambition from their breasts they tear, 
 And tread the patriot's path, in light serene and clear. 
 
THE COTTAGER'S SABBATH. 335 
 
 LXVIII. 
 
 Dear Land, I love thee ! Land of honest hearts ! 
 Still, still the praise of love and truth be thine ! 
 Thy fame in war a poorer pride imparts 
 Than those home-virtues which around thee shine, 
 And gild thy lowly huts with light divine. 
 Still let your sires in God-like virtue rise ; 
 Still let your matrons truth with love combine : 
 So shall your sons — the humblest — honour prize, 
 And Britain still remain the favourite of the skies. 
 
NOTES 
 
 TO THE COTTAGER'S SABBATH. 
 
 Note 1. — Page 262. 
 
 "And Rome's imperial pride, with one gigantic blow." 
 
 When we read the history, or view the relics, of the religious huildings 
 which were overthrown hy the rude hands of our early Reformers, a feeling 
 of regret will sometimes steal over us, that so many splendid specimens of 
 art should have heen destroyed .; and yet, on reflection, we may see the 
 policy of their proceeding, as it would have heen impossible to have changed 
 the system of worship if the temples had been allowed to stand. The 
 force of habit and the influence of the senses were both powerfully in 
 favour of the old system ; and it required a total disruption of its external 
 symbols, before the more refined truths of the reformed religion could be 
 brought to take root in the minds of the people. The lovers of art may 
 regret the overthrow of abbeys and churches ; but the lovers of truth and 
 freedom should rejoice, that with them was destroyed the most pernicious 
 slavery that ever disgraced the world. 
 
 Note 2.— Page 264. 
 
 " Despite large boards, with prohibitions vile." 
 
 The practice of stopping the footpaths across fields has been carried 
 to a most vexatious extent in many rural districts, without regard to the 
 convenience of the public, or the right established by long usage. In many 
 cases, where the neighbouring squires have been of congenial views, they 
 have unscrupulously exercised their power, — removed the stile, — fenced 
 up the place with thorns, — and stuck up a large board with the notice that 
 " This road is stopped by order of the magistrates." If you inquire who 
 are the magistrates, the answer is — the very men through whose property 
 the road runs, who have thus perverted their magisterial appointment to 
 serve their own personal interests. One case I remember well, where the 
 stoppage of an old footpath compelled mc to walk three miles on the dusty 
 
 X X 
 
338 NOTES. 
 
 turnpike-road to get to a friend's house, instead of half a mile through beauti- 
 fully-wooded fields. 
 
 The first time I went that way after the stile was removed, I found a 
 grey-headed man, upwards of eighty years old, standing against the place, 
 with an expression of mingled grief and anger which I shall not soon 
 forget : — " I have passed this way," he said, " for more than seventy years, 
 and the first time was with my grandfather, who had used it since he was 
 a child ; and it is very hard to be shut out now." He faltered slowly 
 on his way, and the path still remains closed. 
 
 Note 3.— Page 285. 
 
 " The Stranger 's Pew." 
 
 Having to pass a Sunday in a rural village on the borders of Wales, on 
 going into the Church, (one of the most ancient I ever saw,) I was greatly 
 pleased to see a large pew fitted up with cushions and books, on which was 
 painted " The Stranger's Pew." As a stranger, the door was opened to me 
 as a matter of course ; and while waiting the commencement of the service, 
 I could not help contrasting this homely charity with the cold indifference 
 with which we are allowed to stand in the aisles of our stately metropolitan 
 churches, and wishing that their wardens would imitate these rustic 
 Christians in their kindness to the stranger. 
 
 Note 4. — Page 319. 
 
 " Whose famished looks declare he died for ivant of bread." 
 
 In the neighbourhood of Codnor Castle, Derbyshire, there is a story 
 prevalent, that the last of the Zouch family, formerly owners of very 
 extensive domains in that part of the country, died of want, as related in 
 the text. 
 
 THE END. 
 
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