ss *<-ym ,**%:■* « G --safe*' *<* *^\ >° .-safe* i<^ ►raw- *P*. IfS*^ ,40. »<^«*/ *o„ ' **% V ^V U j^ v-p w kfr • • • > * v • ^X ; o V ^ A* J- " 7 * d°+ W . ^ .gift V V Vitf :.. V ^&t.%. " deem not, ^midft this ivorldly ftrife, An idle art the Poet brings : Let high Philcfophy control, And Sages calm the Jir earn of Life, ^Tis he refines its fount ain-Jprings, The nobler pajjions of the foul" Campbell. ) by Mutbov of «*r . a Ptoberbial Plnlo^ophu:' &e. «^^^^i - IHmcu Corner, PatvrniTSfcr Kcmr . mm r f bn Special Fonnt'^toit. Bern Komi Di$in>t;Sg - - ? . ■ .* g ™ oriels of Wu^eg . CITHARA: A SELECTION FROM %\t 1 g r I t $ IS MARTIN F. TUPPER, ♦V AUTHOR OF "THREE HUNDRED SONNETS," " PROVERBIAL PHILOSOPHY, ETC. ETC. ETC. n% LONDON : Virtue Brothers & Co., i, Amen Corner, Paternqfter Row. 1863. ■i S~ J) 6*3 LONDON : PRINTED BY JAMES S. VIRTUE, CITY ROAD. Contents. PAGE Our Greeting to the Princefs Alexandra . . i The Poet's Miffion 4 The Atlantic Telegraph ..... 7 The Firjl Mejfage 9 Energy . . . . . . . .11 Orry the Dane . . . . . . . 15 King Veric . . . . . . 17 One among the Million . . . . 22 The Truth about Pity . . . . .24 Thefe Days . . . . . . 25 TAe Heart" s Harvejt . ,. . . . .28 Warmth . . . . . . . . 30 The Mingled Cup . . . . . . -32 A Maxim of Peace . . . . . . 34 Home ... . . . . . -36 Human Life . . . . . . . 39 -^ Night-fail in the Race of Alder ney . . . 41 Fons Parnqffi (the Solace of Song) . . . . 43 Revifiting Charterhoufe . . . . -45 Nature's Nobleman . . . . . 47 Never give up ! . . . . . . .48 vi Contents. PAGE The Sifters . . . . . . . . 49 Tlie Way of the World . . . . -5° Courage . . . . . . . . . 52 Envy -53 The Moon and Moonfliine . . . . . 54 Self-Pojejion $$ The Complaint of an Ancient Briton, difint erred ly Archceolo gifts . . . . . . '.-. $6 Farley Heath . . . . .'.--. -59 St. Martha s, near Guildford, Surrey . . . 62 Sloth _ . 72 Activity ........ 73 Adventure . . . . . . « 75 The Song of Sixteen . . . . ..77 Forty ........ 79 The Song of Seventy . . . . . . 80 " My Mind to me a Kingdom is" . . . 82 Threnos . . . . . . . . 93 The Dead ....... 95 A Memorial Window for the Anglo-Saxon Race . 98 The Anglo-Saxon Race . .. . . .101 Non Anglifed Angeli . . . . ... 102 Circumftance . . . . . . .105 Venus : a Reply' to Longfellow's " Mars " . . 106 God prefer ve the Queen! . . . . .108 Wifdoms Wi/h no The Mother s Lament . . . . .112 Truft 114 The New Year ll S To a Generous Youth . . . . ..117 Silence . . . . . . . .118 AU y s for the Bejl ! 119 Contents. vii PAGE The Riddle Read ..... I20 RetrofpeEi . . . . 122 P oft- Letters . . . . . 123 Fortitude: new Words to "Mynheer Van Dunk" 126 The Idiot : a true Tale of Terror I27 The Poor Mans Sunday .... I29 My own Place ..... . I30 England's Heart ...... 133 Bygones (for MuficJ .... ■ 134 Mercy to Animals ..... ■ 135 138 Another Harveft Hymn, 1849 T40 Arm! Thefirfi Rifle Ballad, January, 1852 . 142 Reply, to fundry who objecl to "Arm" . 144 The Laft Time ...... j 46 Never Mind ! 148 Rife, Britannia! Written and printed in 1846, anc I then headed by a ft range anticipation, "a i ftirring Song for Patriots in the year 1 860 ' 149 The Emigrant Ship ..... *5« Individuality ...... *53 The AJfurance of Horace . '55 Cruelty ....... 156 Old Haunts (for Mufic) .... *59 Children . . . . . 160 Dreams . . 162 Infant Chrift, with Flowers .... 163 Nobody Feels or Cares! . i*5 Low Spirits ....... 166 Canterbury Pilgrims : a " God-fpeed" 167 New Zealand: a Song for the Antipodes 168 The Labourer s Ballad . 170 viii Contents. PAGE The New Home . 173 Pauper Burials . ^77 A Word of Wifdom J 79 The Early Gallop . 180 Para Thina . 181 Self- Reliance . 182 My Epfom Ride . 183 Cafle. For the South Indian School- Book . 184 Engli/h Spirit . rtS The Inauguration of the Prince Conforms Statue (for Mafic) 188 A Rifle Ballad 189 The Battle of Roleia : a Military Ballad 190 Waterloo : a Ballad for the Soldier ^93 A Dirge for Wellington 202 Defence, not Defiance: a Rifle Song . 209 Eheu ! fugaces . 210 A Wedding Lyric for the Princefs of Prufiia . 211 Once More : a Lefijon from the Bruce s Spider . 213 The Senfe of Wrong • *i5 The Senfe of Right . 216 Railway Times 217 Detraction . 219 The Heart and the Mind . 220 What we all Feet . 222 The Gentleman • 223 Warning • 22j The Common Complaint 226 Anfwered 227 FaB .... . 228 The Good and the True . 229 Chaos Cry/iallizing . . 23O Contents. ix PAGE A Confolation ..... 232 A Sigh 2*33 Welcome ! ..... 134 Balm ....... 236 Selfiflinefs ..... 238 The Man about Town .... 239 Tang ley Pond ..... . 24O Charity ...... 242 Calculated Comfort .... 244 Paradife Loft ..... 2 45 246 Confidence ...... 247 Freedom ...... 248 Lo??o- ^o-o ^br MuficJ 250 2 5* Truth ....... 2 53 Dz/fy 2 54 Moving on . *55 England 's Welcome to the World: a Ballad for 1851 . 2 57 A Hymn for all Nations: tranflated into Thirty Languages, 1851 . 2 59 'or km an 261 ^ Z/fl/2 Ca/Z a£ the Palace of Glafs . 263 A Reverie about the Cry fiat Palace 265 Rich and Poor : a Ballad for Sympathy 266 The International, 1862 269 The Sabbath : a Ballad for the Labourer 270 Country Life ..... 273 From (< American Lyrics," 1851. To the Union ; 276 D if union 5 J 861 278 x Contents. PAGE Italy s Nemejis, i860 .... . 280 Slandered Worth ...... . 282 Bows and Rifles : a Song for Volunteers . 283 A Song for Rifle Clubs . 284 The Soldier Comforted .... . 28j The Gracious Meffage ..... . 286 The Hero's Wife: in Illuf ration of the Princej s Royal" s PiSlure ..... . 287 Soho : a Courfing Canzonet .... . 288 The Happy Man . 289 Memory (for Mujic) . . . . . . 290 Genius and Friends ..... 291 Cheer up ! (for Mujic) . 292 " How much worfe it might have been! " a Tex t for the DiJ contented . ■ 2 93 Down with Foreign Priejlcraft, 18 ji • 294 The Unit ....... • 2 9j The old Nefi (for Mujic) .... . 296 " Dieu et mon Droit: " a Loyal Text ■ 2 97 The Laurel Crown ..... . 298 An Efcape ...... 299 " Liberty — Equality — Fraternity ! " 300 The Prince of Wales in America, i860 . 306 True Nobility ...... 307 To Brother Jonathan, 1850 309 At Caftle Mona, i860 3i3 " Ye Thirty Noble Nations" 1851 3H Liberia to America . . . . . 3*9 To Certain of " the Fourth Eftate" 320 For the Invalid Ladies' Inftitution . . . 322 Bluchers " Forwards ! " ..... 32*3 Afpire . . . . . • • • 3^4 Contents. XI The Opium Trade ..... The Golden Mean ..... The Cotton Famine ..... Grey Hair ....... The Burnt Church, St. George s, Doncafter . Alice- Evelyn ...... One Gone Before Friends in Heaven . . . . Enfranchifed ...... The Ballqft- Heavers Requeft, 1863 The true Albert Memorial For the Bible, given by the Maidens of England to the Princefs Alice on her Marriage, July 1, 1862 . . A Pf aim for Harvefl . The Heart's Gallop . . . . . . PAGE 326 329 331 33* 333 334 337 338 339 34o 342 344 345 348 CITHARA. -x- ©ur imfing to % § imtm ^kmto; A hundred thoufand Welcomes ! A hundred thoufand Welcomes, And a hundred thoufand more ! O happy heart of England, Shout aloud, and fing, land, As no land fang before ! And let the paean foar And ring from more to more A hundred thoufand Welcomes, And a hundred thoufand more ! And let the cannons roar The joy-fmnn'd city o'er, And let the fieeples chime it A hundred thoufand Welcomes, And a hundred thoufand more, — And let the people rhyme it From neighbour's door to door, . From every man's heart's core, — A hundred thoufand Welcomes, And a hundred thoufand more ! To the Princefs Alexandra. ii. She comes ! the Maid of Denmark, The Raven,— NO ! The Dove ! The Royal Maid of Denmark, The darling child of Denmark, To be our Queen of Love 5 She comes ! His young and beauteous Bride, Behold her at the Prince's fide, His trueft crown, his joy and pride,— She comes ! All blerlings on her ! Our Albert-Edward's happy choice, Making the World's great foul rejoice That fuch a Prince has won her y For, fearch'd we all the nations round, No fairer, better could be found, None in whofe lot more hopes abound, Of joy, and peace, and honour ! Then, fhout amain with heart and voice, And let the ftartled welkin found From echoing fhore to fliore, A hundred thoufand Welcomes ! A hundred thoufand Welcomes ! And a hundred thoufand more ! in. O glad and glorious Day ! O multitude on multitude, O deep magnetic brotherhood, And yearning all one way ! To the Princefs Alexandra. O fpirit-ftirring cheers, O hearts that bnrft in tears All fobbing in the fun, And throbbing all as one ! O flags, like meteors gleaming, In mad excitement ftreaming ! O thundering guns and clanging peals ! O joy, wherewith all England reels, — Was ever fuch a Welcome In all the days of yore ? Was ever fuch a Triumph, Or ever fhall be more ? Let fluttering hearts confefs it, And ftreaming cheeks exprefs it, And prayers in lilence blefs it ! Let clapping hands in quick furprife, And, electric as She comes, Flags and flowers, trumpets, drums, Throbbing breafts and thrilling cries, Waving fcarfs and flalhing eyes, And all this furging multitude, This eager, overwhelming flood, Sifters and brothers; like a fea Rippling its million fmiles for Thee, — O let all thefe declare it, Let miles of fhouting fwear it, In all the years of yore Unparalleled before ! And Thou, moft welcome Wander r Acrofs the Northern Water, Our England's Alexandra — Our dear adopted Daughter — The Poefs MrJJton. Lay to thine heart, conn'd o'er and o'er, In future years remember' d well, The magic fervour of this fpell, That makes the Land from fhore to ihore, And makes all hearts and eyes brim o'er, Our hundred thoufand Welcomes ! Our fifty million Welcomes, And a hundred million more ! %\t Jwt's pssion. Not to flatter Kings, Not to ferve a Court, Born for nobler things Than to make them fport :■■ Loyal, gentle, kind, Yet honeft, frank, and free. Pure in life and mind, Mufl the Poet be. Meeknefs at his heart, With triumph on his brow ! This, the Chrillian's part, Is his daily vow -, Zealous for the beft His earneft fpirit can, As, at God's belief!, Swift to gladden Man. The Poet's MiJJion. Honour thou the Gift, Count it no man's Have 3 To the Lord uplift What his bounty gave 3 Let thy fpirit fpring Up to Heaven's gate, There on quivering wing Song to confecrate ! Song, — it foothes the heart 3 Song,— it charms the world 3 Song, — it is a dart By a giant hurl'd 3 Song,— a torrent's ftrength In its force is found, When, uproufed at length, Nations hear the found. Hark ! they hear, and feel, And may ileep no more 3 Hark ! the patriot peal Rings from more to fhore 3 And, in danger's hour, Stands the Poet then Girt about with power As a king of men. At his burning fpell Quakes the folid fhore, And with furging fwell Rifes Ocean's roar, The Poet's Miflion. Till the People's will Like a ftorm is heard, Conjured by the fkill Of their Poet's word. At his gentle voice All that ftorm is calm, And the heav'ns rejoice, And the breeze is balm, And Hofannas rife From a Nation's heart, Flaming to the ikies Through the Poet's art ! Art ? — it is his breath, That fong-burft of the Soul ; Art ? — it might be death His yearnings to control ; Not by fuch a name Call the glorious birth Of this heavenly flame Lit to kindle earth. As his heart may glow, Freely muft his fong Like an overflow Gufh out frelh and ftrong ; No conllraint be there His energies to tire, Zeal and love and prayer String the Poet's lyre ! World ! what a wonder is this, Grandly and limply fublime, — All the Atlantic abyfs Leapt in a nothing of time ! Even the feeds of the fun Half a day panting behind, In the flat race that is run, Won by a flam of the Mind ! Lo ! on this fenfitive link — It is one link, not a chain — Man with his brother can think Spurning the breadth of the Main ; Man to his brother can fpeak Swift as the bolt from a cloud, And where its thunders were weak There his leaft whifper is loud I Yea ; for as Providence wills, Now doth intelligent Man Conquer material ills, Wreftling them down as he can, — And by one weak little coil Under the width of the waves, Diftance and Time are his fpoil, Fetter'd as Caliban-flaves ! Ariel ? — right through the fea We can fly fwift as in air 5 Puck ? — forty minutes ihall be Sloth to the bow that we bear : Here is Earth's girdle indeed, Jufl a thought-circlet of fire, — Delicate Ariel freed, Sings, as fhe flies, on a wire ! Courage, O fervants of light, For you are fafe to fucceed 5 Lo ! you are helping the Right, And lhall be bleft in your deed ; Lo ! you lhall bind in one band, Joining the nations as one, Brethren of every land, Bleffing them under the fun ! This is Earth's pulfe of high health Thrilling with vigour and heat, Brotherhood, wifdom, and wealth, Throbbing in every beat 5 But you muff watch in good footh Left to falfe fever it fwerve, — Touch it with tenderer!: truth As the world's exquifite nerve ! The Firji Me f age. Let the firft MeiTage acrofs — High-hearted Commerce, give heed- Not be of profit or lofs, But one electric indeed : Praife to the Giver be given, For that He giveth man ikill, Praife to the great God of Heaven ! " Peace upon Earth, and Goodwill! " %\t first Sbsase. (strophe.) Poor World ! that in wickednefs Hell Enthrall' d by the powers of ill, And, groaning and travailing, figheft For better and happier mil, — Lo ! here is a chance For helping the right, And forcing advance In the enemy's fight, By godly confeflion and brotherly love ; By owning on Whom thou relief!:, And openly trufting the Ruler above ; By bidding the very firft thrill On the nerve of this telegraph wire Be — nothing of fcience, or profit and lofs ; But, flaihing electrical deeper and higher, World, let the firft heart-ftirring menage acrofs- (O MefTage ! rejoice as thou flieft, All faints and all angels who fill Infinity farther! and nigheft) — Be — " Glory to God in the Higheft ! Peace upon Earth, and Goodwill ! " (antistrophe.) Ay, Man ! who with energy trieft To conquer by ftrength or by fkill, Refolved, though in body thou dieft, In fpirit to wreftle up-hill, Lo ! here is a gain To be won by a word, If under the main The firfl that is heard Be brotherly kindnefs and heavenly praife 5 If, while thou in courage deficit The winds and the waves and all perils always, Enflaving thofe giants, until They meekly obey thy defire, — If thus, the firft whifper that proves thee their lord, Their mafter and gaoler by fetters of fire, Be this — the fublimefi and happieft word — (O MefTage ! rejoice as thou flieft, All faints and all angels who fill Infinity fartheft and nigheft) — Be — " Glory to God in the Higheft, Peace upon Earth, and Goodwill ! " ferp. Indomitable merit Of the flout old Englifh mind.! That makes a man inherit The glories of his kind — That fcatters all around him Until he Hands fublime, With nothing to confound him The conqueror of Time, — O mighty Perfeverance ! courage, Hern and flout, That wills and works a clearance Of every rabble rout, — That cannot brook denial And fcarce allows delay, But wins from every trial More flrength for every day, — Antagoniflic Power ! 1 praife — for praife I can — The God, the place, the hour That makes a man a Man — The God, from whom all greatnefs- The place, old England's more — The hour, an hour of latenefs (For Time may foon be o'er) — The Man — ay, every brother Of Anglo-Saxon race Who owns a Britifh mother In Freedom's dwelling-place ! ii. I feel, I feel within me That courage felf-poffeff'd-— The force, that yet ftiall win me The brightefl and the befl: — The ftalwart Englifh daring That fteadily fleps on, Unfwerving and unfparing Until the world is won, — The boldnefs and the quiet That calmly go ahead, In fpite of wrath and riot, In fpite of quick and dead, — Hot Energy to fpur me, Keen Enterprife to guide, And Confcience to upftir me, And Duty by my fide, And Hope before me finging Aflu ranee of fuccefs, And rapid Action fpringing At once to nothing lefs, And all the mighty movings That wreftle in my breaft, The longings and the lovings, The Spirit's glad unreft That fcorns excufe to tender Or Fortune's favour aik, And never will furrender, Whatever be the talk ! in. I cannot wait for chances, For luck I will not look ; In faith my fpirit glances At Providence — God's book 3 And there, difcerning truly, That right is might at length, I dare go forward duly In quietnefs and ftrength, Unflinching and unfearing, The flatterer of none, And in good courage wearing The honours I have won ! Let Circumftance oppofe me, I beat it to my will 3 And if the flood o'erflows me, I dive and item it Hill, — No hindering dull material Shall conquer or control My energies ethereal — My gladiator foul ! I will contrive oecafion, Not tamely bide my time 5 No Capture, but Creation Shall make my fport fublime ! Let lower fpirits linger For iign by beck or nod, I always fee the finger Of an onward-urging God ! IV. Not felfiih — not hard-hearted — Not vain, nor deaf, nor blind- From wifdom not departed, But in humblenefs of mind, Still fliall mine independence Stand manfully alone, Nor dance a tame attendance On any mortal throne, Difciple of no teacher Except the One in Heav'n, And yielding to no creature The Reafon He hath giv'n ! Oh thus, while contemplation In faith beholds above My glorious hope, Salvation, Eternity of Love, And while an Englifh fpirit Is bubbling at my heart, To ftrengthen and upftir it To play a giant's part, Orry the Dane. 15 No hindrance, nor misfortune — No man's neglect, nor ill, Shall bend me to importune One weak indulgence Hill 5 But with my God to nerve me, My foul fhall overwhelm All circumftance to ferve me In my Spiritual Realm ! ©rrj % §sw. In fifty keels and five Rufh'd over the pirate fwarm, Hornets out of the Northern hive, Hawks on the wings of the ftorm ; Blood upon talons and beak, Blood from their helms to their heels, Blood on the hand and blood on the cheek !- In five and fifty keels. O fierce and terrible horde That fhout about Orry the Dane, Clanging the fhield and claming the fword To the roar of the fiorm-toffed main ! And hard on the fhore they drive, Ploughing through fhingle and fand, — And high and dry thofe fifty and five Are haul'd in line upon land. i6 Orry the Dane. And ho ! for the torch frraightway, In honour of Odin and Thor, — And the blazing night is as bright as the day, As a gift to the gods of war ; For down to the melting fand, A.nd over each flaring matt, Thofe fifty and five they have burnt as they ftand To the tune of the furf and the blafl ! A ruthlefs, defperate crowd They trample the fhingle at Lhane, And hungry for flaughter they clamour aloud For the Viking, for Orry the Dane ! And fwift has he flown at the foe,, — For the cluttering clans are here, — But light is the club and weak is the bow To the Norfeman fword and fpear $ And woe to the patriot Manx, The right overthrown by the wrong, — For the fword hews hard at the daggering ranks, And the fpear drives deep and ftrong : And Orry the Dane Hands proud King of the bloodftained field, Lifted on high by the mouldering crowd On the batter' d bofs of his fhield. Yet, though fuch a man of blood, So terrible, fierce, and fell, King Orry the Dane had come hither for good, And govern'd the clans right well 3 King Veric. iy Freedom and laws and right, He fow'd the good feed all round, — . And built up high in the People's fight Their famous Tynwald mound.; And elders twenty and four He fet for the Houfe of Keys, And all was order from fhore to more In the faireft Ifle of the Seas : Though he came a Deflroyer, I wift, He remain'd as a Ruler to fave, And there he ileeps in the roadfide kill They call King Orry's grave^ ling, $ eric* Veric the King, in his chariot of war, Like a ftatue flraight upflood, As his fcythed wheels flaih'd fall and far, Smear'd with the Romans' blood; His huge bronze celt was crimfon with gore, And, round his unkempt head, The golden fillet his fathers wore Was dabbled with drops of red ! 1 8 King Veric. And rage in the monarch's eye blazed bright, And his cheek was deadly pale, For Plautius Aulus had won the fight With his mighty men in mail : The carrofs of hide and the wicker targe Were riddled far and near 5 And terrible was the praetorian charge, And keen the cohort's fpear. And over the hurt-wood, and over the heath, Alone — alive he fled -, For the car bore ftraight to his ftronghold of Leith The living — and the dead ! Young Mepati lay at his father's feet, Hew'd by the ruthlefs foe ; And the bloodhound may track on the trickling peat The pathlefs way they go. Young Mepati — well had he borne him then, On Fair-lee's fatal day, He boafled that ten of thofe bearded men Had vanifh'd from the fray ; His flint-head fhafts went merrily heme, As four hard hearts had felt 5 And fix of the fialwart guards of Rome Had bow'd to the ftripling's celt- Young Mepati, come of the Comian flock, — Ha! look! they hem him round, And down is he hurl'd in the battle fhock, And trampled to the ground, — King Veric. 19 But Veric has feen with his lightning eye, And ftruck as the bolt, goodfooth ! Like thundering Thor, with his hammer on high, He has faved the gallant youth ! But, woe ! for the foe had fmitten him fore - 3 And eight deep wounds in his front With red lips fwore how well the boy bore That hideous battle brunt ; Proudly the monarch fmiled on the child, In his refcuing arms upborne, — But — all of his fon that Veric has won Is a corpfe by the tigers torn ! Then, deep as the ocean's diftant roar, The father gave a groan ; And the Attrebate king by his gods he fwore He mould not die alone ! Back on their haunches fwift he fiopp'd Thofe untamed fiery fteeds, — As an eagle down on the dovecote drcpp'd, Or a whirlwind in the reeds. And was it then that the monarch's life By the Waverley witch was charm'd ? The javelin fleet of that ftern ftrife Around him flew unharm'd ! And weary he cleft with his wedge of war The hundredth foreign brow, Before he would flee in his iron car, As he is fleeing now. 20 King Veric. For lo ! to that falfe foe he has loft All that a king can lofe ; His veteran chiefs, his patriot hoft, Scatter' d as early dews : Treafon had wink'd at the Granger's gold, And faithlefs friends had fled, — And Mepati's felf — his darling bold — Alas ! that he is dead. He flies, as only a king may fly, In obftinate defpair, — On his hill-top high like a lion to die At bay in his own lair : And lo ! the black horfes are white with foam, Strong {training up the fteep, To carry the king to his ancient home, Yon far-feen caftle-keep ! But — woe upon woe ! for the wily foe Hath been before him there, And while the lion was prowling below, Hath fpoil'd the lion's lair 5 , Dead, dead and ftark, and fmear'd with gore, Beneath a fmouldering heap, Wife, daughters, and fons, and the grandfire hoar, On death's red allies fleep ! Then burft in agony, rage, and pain, That noble broken heart j And under his beetled brows like rain The fpouting tears did ftart : King Veric. 21 And down like a pole-axed bull he drops, And weak on the threshold lies ; The wellfpring of life freezes and flops — He dies — the hero dies ! But, look ! a light on his royal brow, A ftrange prophetic flame — The fpirit of Vola over him now In folemn calmnefs came ; He faw the Gael at the gates of Rome, And carnage on the track, And Britain's fpoilers hurrying iiome To drive the terror back, — He faw in the midfl of his native plains Fair-lee's polluted hill, — Where Rome fo long fhould forge her chains To bind the Briton ftill, — He faw it ruin'd, and burnt, and bare j And — from one mite of gold, He faw a Saxon flranger there Read off this tale of old ! ©ne among % $pU«ra. i. One among the million, fainting on the way, Stricken by the heat and the burden of the day, Look'd to me for comfort, as I heard him fay — " What am I but one among the million ? " Denfe are the crowds, and diffracting is the firife, A wreftle, and a buftle, and a battle to the knife ; Alas ! for the woefulnefs and wearinefs of life, To be but as one among the million ! " Everywhere a itruggle, and the ftruggle all for felf, The wickednefs of pleafure, or the worthleffnefs of pelf, While each Hands apart, thruft afide upon the fhelf, A folitary one among the million ! " A little wither'd grain amid the heap'd-up threfhing- floor, A leaf among the forefl, one leaf, and nothing more, A drop of the Atlantic, and a pebble on its more, A one fmall one among the million ! One among the Million. 23 " Unprized in my good, and unpitied in my fin, With none to care for how I fare without me or within, The tide rufhes by, and it fluns me with its din — Oh, comfort one among the million !" 11. One among the million ! gladly do I Hand To offer thee a brother's heart, and take a brother's hand 5 Oh, there are thoufand thoufands left, Elijah's count- lefs band, To comfort all among the million ! Is it not a bleffednefs, that Christ hath bled for thee; A wondrous and a glorious thing that He a man could be, A man, and yet the God of men, to refcue thee and me, And die for all among the million ? And is it not a happy thought, that, on the other fide Of time, with all its worrying cares, and all its petty pride, For " every one that thirfleth " floweth Life's eternal tide Of joys for all among the million ? And is it not a gladnefs, that man, thy brother man, And woman's gentle fifterhood, and childhood, where it can, Are eager here to blefs thee, — tho' Mammon feems to ban — To blefs, yes, all among the million ? 24 The Truth about Pity. Oh ! one among the million ! there are millions with thee flill, To lift thy load, and cheer thy heart, and help thee up this hill 5 Go on, and God go with thee ! He can comfort thee, and will 3 Ay, thee, and all among the million ! In fpite of adverfity, trouble, and fcorn, And all your philanthropy deems Wretched and ragged, and vile and forlorn, No fon of misfortune that ever was born Is really the wretch that he feems. The hardfhip your pity fo loudly bewails, Is lighter than fympathy dreams ; For habit makes eafy, and hope never fails, And other men's bitterer hardfliip avails To foo the a man more than it feems. Your fenfitive fpirit may feel that his fate With manifold mifery teems ; But either by patience thofe forrows abate, Or Dulnefs himfelf cannot fee that his ftate Is half fuch a wreck as it feems. Then look left your tendernefs, generous heart, So lavifh of liberal ftreams, By pity not only no comfort impart, But even may aggravate mifery's dart, By mowing how jagged it feems. No ! counfel religion, courageous content, And energy's dutiful fchemes, And how to take humbly the trial that's fent, And how to win Good, providentially meant In all that fo forrowful feems. Haste ! the poor old Earth is dying,- Do God fervice while you can 5 Hafte ! too hurriedly is flying All this halcyon chance of man ; Hafte ! for Time may be no longer- All created yearnings tend In a rapid ever ftronger To that cataract, The End ! Lo ! the cycled years revolving Turn to their firfl goal again, — Every Sphinx-enigma folving, Every riddle reading plain 5 26 Thefe Days. All things fpeak to man fublimely With Apocalyptic mouth, Nature's confummation timely Telling out from North to South. Yea, what privilege and gladnefs Dwell with modern men and things, Vainly waited for in fadnefs By old prophets and old kings : Children fee what fages doubted, Peafants know what patriarchs gueffed -, And the fword of Truth has routed Every lie from Eafl to Well. Ancient wrongs are being righted, — Ancient rights lift up their head ; Savage realms and tribes benighted Rife to life as from the dead; Ignorance is out of feafon, Wickednefs is glad to hide, — Nothing Hands but faith and reafon, Nothing falls but fin and pride. We, in days fo full and fleeting, Spend our lives on eagles' wings, Throng' d by marvels, marvels meeting, Flock' d about by wondrous things ; Every day the whole world's hiftory Spread out map-like ftirs the mind, Every day fome ripen' d myitery Stands confummate for mankind. Thefe Days. 27 Nineveh with ghoftly menage Rifes from her mounded graves ; Polar Ice has clued the PafTage Winding through its hummock'd waves; Saurian monilers crawl before us,— Storms their whirling laws avow, — All Creation fhouts in chorus, " Nothing fhall be fecret now ! " Earth's forgotten waftes and corners, Peopled thick through gold broadcaft, Tell the fcoffers and the fcorners How fhe is ' fubdued ' at lafl : God commands 5 and nothing frees us Till that word we all obey, — Even China bows to Jesus, Even Africa doth pray. Ravel-ikeins of old beginnings Tapeftried around the Crofs, — And Creation's final winnings Well out-balancing her lofs, — All fubdued, and all repleniih'd, All things, fealing up the fum, Preach, how nearly, It is finifh'd, Tell how foon the Christ will come. \mxU lartost. How little we know of each other ! How lightly and loofely are known ! How feldom is brother with brother The fame that he is when alone -, Though relatives round a man gather, Though cordial he feem with his friend, Not even the child and its father As fpirit with fpirit can blend. The depths of a man are not founded, The heights of his thoughts are not feen, The breadth of his feelings unbounded Is veiFd by Society's fcreen 5 We none of us heed what a greatnefs Is hidden away in the Heart That, mauVd in a well-bred fedatenefs, Is playing its company part. O Soul ! that in folitude yearneft For tenderer knowledge of friends, The intimate, honeft, and earner!:, Untainted by Self and its ends, — The Heart's Harveft. 29 Alas ! for the lies of romances, And ftolid reality's truth ; Alas ! for the generous fancies That gladden'd a man in his youth ! Not here, where in fpirit thou ftarvefl, Athirft for the flagons of love, Not here — is the happy heart-harveft That gladdens the bleffed above-; In heavenly meads we may reap it, — But now the heart's garden is found With fcarcely one flower to keep it Mapp'd out from the wildernefs round! Thofe cf fpirits made perfect" in glory! I long their companion to be, That Love's ever muiical flory Be fung by thofe reapers — and me 5 That Heart may difcover its treafures Unfearing,- to dear ones above, And all the full harvefl of pleafures Be reap'd by the Spirit of Love L Writer, whofoe'er thou art, Speaker, on whatever theme, Write and fpeak from heart to heart, Truly being what you feem 5 Thoughts and words alone have power When they reach us quick and frefh, And the fpirit of the hour Turns thefe fiones to hearts of fleih. Living truth, that bubbles hot Like a Geyfer in the foul, Boils and fleams and flackens not Till it overflows its bowl ; Strongly runs the current then, Swiftly all the fluices fill, And the fwollen hearts of men Make a river to thy will. Who can wonder that in vain Scores of dullards preach for years, Lulling confcience to its bane Faft. afleep in hopes and fears ? Warmth. 3 1 All is death : each foffil thought Word-embedded lies in clay, And no heart is touch' d or taught To feel, to tremble, or to pray. It is not eloquence, nor fkill, Nor any human power or art, That furely fways another's will, Controls his life and cheers his heart \ It is the frank and earneft plan Of fimple truth fincerely fpoken, That breaks the fpirit of a man, Or heals it up however broken. ' Seek then a living Warmth within To work with vital force without ; Drive from thee felfifhnefs and fin, And lure thy timorous graces out -, Then write or fpeak what impulfe wills, And no man fhall withfiand the power That from the lip of truth diftils In quicken' d feeling's thrilling hour. Happier under other fkies-, — So dreams man — Happier, link'd with other ties, Better, worthier, and more wife Were Life's plan : Anyhow but as things are, — So man dreams — Born beneath fome kindlier ftar Surely Life were nobler far Than now feems ! Moft of us are dreamers here, Wifhing a change ; Athirfi to fpice our common cheer, This, dull routine of daily fphere, With new and flrange. Moft are murmurers, kicking ftill Againft our lot -, Unbelieving God's wife will, That portions human good and ill, And favours not. Difcontent looks on, and longs, Envying other ; Counting up his fears and wrongs Each man covets what belongs To his brother ! Meantime, Duty's leaf and flower Both mull wither ; And, for Peace of Mind, — each hour Breeds its harpies to devour, Flapping hither ! Then does Life, fo vain at bell, Pine more weakly, Vampires draining it of reft, Where Contentment had been bleft Bearing meekly. Oh let be ! thy fate is fix'd, Call by Heaven 3 Future, Pall, and all betwixt Is a chalice fhrewdly mixt, — Mull and leaven : Well fermented, weal and woe Make foul's wine, — And hereafter thou lhalt know How Life's bitter yeall below Doth reline. Earth may make thee talle her gall, Or drink it up ; But Heaven fhall make amends for all When thou doll keep high fellival At God's own cup. D Jl Straw cf f raa Never have regrets, brother, But for fake of fin $ The treacherous heart within All too foon forgets, brother, How it felt, and was, in thought, Acting out the thing it ought. All thy will was well, brother, Well didft thou deferve -, Circumftance might fwerve, But, the truth to tell, brother, Confequences none forefee Never need be cares to thee. Always for the bell, brother, Hourly haft thou ftriven 5 Though to be forgiven, This fliall be thy tell, brother,— Did not honeft zeal obey Duty's impulfe every day ? What feem'd then fo right, brother, Let no cenfure now, No unkindly brow, Damage in thy light, brother ; ■1 A Maxim of Peace. 35 Yellerday did what it could ; Scorn not thou its humbler good ! To thyfelf be true, brother 5 Yield not to regret 5 Nor thy fpirit fret To do, or to undo, brother, What is now beyond thy fkill 5 Facts are fads, do what we will. Every Prefent feems, brother, Girt about with friends 5 Every Future fends Glory to thy dreams, brother ; But we all condemn too fall The friendlefs and the hopelefs Pall. Scorn not what thou wall, brother, — Trull not what thou art ; Watch thy coward heart -, Look to that thou hall, brother ; Nothing is within thy power, But the fwiftly palling hour. Therefore do not fet, brother, Sorrow on the pall -, When the die is call Never nurfe regret, brother : Only for thy lin be fad, For all belide be wifely glad ! $amt I foraged all over this joy-dotted earth, To pick its beft nofegay of innocent mirth Tied up with the bands of its wifdom and worth, — And lo ! its chief treafure, Its innermofl pleafure, Was always at Home ! I went to the Palace, and there my fair Queen On the arm of Her Hufband did lovingly lean, And all the dear babes in their beauty were feen, In fpite of the fplendour, So happy and tender, For they were at Home ! I turn'd to the cottage, and there my poor hind Lay fick of a fever, — all meekly refign'd, For oh ! the good wife was fo cheerful and kind, In fpite of all matters, An angel in tatters, And me was at Home ! I afk'd a glad mother, jafl come from the pcft With a letter fhe kiffed from a far-away coaft, What heart-thrilling news had rejoiced her the moft- And — gladnefs for mourning ! Her boy was returning To love her — at Home ! I fpoke to the foldiers and failors at fea, Where beft in the world would they all of them be ? And hark ! how they earneftly fhouted to me, With iron hearts throbbing, And choking and fobbing, — Oh land us at Home ! I came to the defk where old Commerce grew gray, And aik'd him what help'd him. this many a day In his old fmoky room with his ledger to flay ? And it all was the beauty, The comfort and duty, That cheer'd him at Home ! I ran to the court, where the fages of law Were wrangling and jangling at quibble and flaw,- — Oh wondrous to me was the ftrife that I faw! But all that fierce riot Was calm'd by the quiet That bleft them at Home ! I call'd on the fchool-boy, poor love-flricken lad, Who yearn'd in his lonelinefs, filent and fad, For the days when again he fhould laugh and be glad With his father and mother, And fifter and brother, All happy at Home ! I tapp'd at the door of the year-ftricken Eld, "Where age, as I thought, had old memories quell' d, — But Hill all his garrulous fancies outwell'd Strange old-fafhion'd flories Of pleafures and glories That once were at Home ! I whifper'd the prodigal, wanton and wild, — How changed from the heart that you had when a child, So teachable, noble, and modeft, and mild ! — Though Sin had undone him, Thank God that I won him, By looking at Home ! And then, when he wept and he vow'd better life, I haften'd to fnatch him from peril and flrife, By finding him wifely a tender young Wife, — Whofe love Ihould allure him, And gently fecure him A convert at Home ! So he that had raced after pleafure fo fall, And ftill as he ran had its goal overpaft, Found happinefs, honour, and bleffing at laft In all the kind dealings, Affections and feelings, That ripen at Home ! funmn %\lt i. By the wafte of toil and treafure For fo flender gains, — By the poor amount of pleafure Bought of many pains, — By the hopes and fears unceafing Both in turn put out, — By the worries iiill increafing With their rabble rout, — Human Life, thou robe of NefTus ! We are clad in cares $ And the very joys that blefs us Are but fnakes and fnares -, And the troubles and the trials, Somehow wifely fent, Seem to us pernicious vials Pour'd in punifhment ! 11. By each vaft anticipation And its meagre fact, — By fo flight appreciation Of each generous a6t, — 40 Human Life. By the coldnefs and the meannefs In too many found,-— By the hard unkindly keennefs Watching all around, — Human Life, thou face of Gorgon ! We are harden' d up, And each fympathetic organ Freezes at thy cup, And affection's purer! feeling Curdles into gall, And Religion's touch of healing . Does not fweeten all. in. By the Pall, — a word of fadnefs Wet with iilly tears , By the Prefent, — promifed gladnefs Cheating us for years 5 By the Future, — dread enigma, Who ihall guefs its truth ? By Fame's breath, and Slander's ftigma Vexing Age and Youth 5 — Human Life, O bitter fweetnefs, Chequer' d white and black, — Yet doll thou achieve the meetnefs Which thy children lack 5 Whatfoe'er the wind or weather, Joy it is to tell All things work for good together And lhall yet be well ! Night -fail in the Race of Alderney. 41 IV. By the thoufand tints of Beauty Dropt on every fide, — By the magic thought of Duty Whatfoe'er betide, — By the mercies yet about us Little underftood, By all elfe within, without us, Miniftering good, — Human Life ! O wondrous ftory ! Full of light and fhade, Soon ihalt thou be lit with glory That can never fade j Soon Affection and Ambition Shall be fully blown, And Our Life achieve its million On a Royal Throne ! % P#-sail m t\t |to ai Jitoneg- & Sprinkled thick with mining fluds, Stretches wide the tent of heaven, Blue, begemm'd with golden buds, — Calm, and bright, and deep, and clear, Glory's hollow hemifphere Arch'd above thefe frothing floods, Right and left afnnder riven, 42 Night -fail in the Race of Alderney. As our cutter madly feuds, By the fitful breezes driven, When exultingly me fweeps Like a dolphin through the deeps, And from wave to wave me leaps, Rolling in this yeafty leaven, — Ragingly that never fleeps, Like the wicked unforgiven ! ii. Midnight, foft and fair above, Midnight, fierce and dark beneath,- AU on high the fmile of love, All below the frown of death : Waves that whirl in angry fpite With a phofphorefcent light Gleaming ghaftly on the night, — Like the pallid fneer of Doom, So malicious, cold, and white, Luring to this watery tomb, Where in fury and in fright Winds and waves together fight Hideoufly amid the gloom, — As our cutter gladly feuds, Dipping deep her iheeted boom Madly to the boiling fea, Lighted in thefe furious floods By that blaze of brilliant ftuds, Gliflening down like glory-buds On the Race of Alderney ! $m Jsntassi. (the solace of soxg.) Ever babbling, ever bubbling, Bright as light and calmly clear, Cure for every trial troubling, Solace ever new and near, Fons Parnafli ! free and flowing, Fons Parnafh ! glad and glowing, Rarefied creative pleafure ! Oh ! they lie who say that Seng Is a merely graceful meafure, Jutt a luxury of leifure : Not an anthem fweet and ftrong Rich in fpiritual treafure That to Seraphs might belong, — Not a tender confolation All the cares of life among. Not the balm of broad creation In this maze of right and wrong, — Not the fecret foul's diftilling, Every nerve and fibre filling With intenfe ecftatic thrilling, — Evoe ! Fons Parnafli, Fons ebrie Parnafli ! 44 Fons ParnaJJi. ii. Ah ! thou fairy fount of fweetnefs, Well I wot how dear thou art In thy purity and meetnefs To my hot and thirfty heart, When, with fympathetic fleetnefs, I have raced from thought to thought, And, array' d in maiden neatnefs, By her natural tafte well taught, Thy young Naiad, thy Pieria, My melodious Egeria, Winfomely finds out my fancies Frank as Sappho, as unfought, — And with innocent wife-like glances Clofe befide my fpirit dances, As a lifter Ariel ought, — Tripping at her wanton will, With unpremeditated fkill, Like a guiliing mountain rill, Or a bright Bacchante, reeling Through the flights of thought and feeling, Half concealing, half revealing Whatfoe'er of fpirit's fire, Beauty kindling with defire, Can be caught in Word's attire ! Evoe ! Fons Parnaffi, Fons ebrie Parnaffi. ^felting ^|artol]fiti5e. A shadow, a vapour, a tale that is told, — Ah ! where is the figure fo true As juftly to picture my bygones of old Uprifing in dreamy review ? Thofe dim recollections, fepulchral and cold, Old feelings bedimm'd by the new, As over thefe hill-tops are miftily roll'd Thofe ghofi-looking columns of dew ! I went to the place that had known me of yore, To fee its familiar face ; And mournfully flood, — for it knew me no more 3 All flrange did I ftand in that place ! And it feem'd as if Hades had render' d its dead When, lefs by the light than the found, At the hint of a voice, in a fnow-fprinkled head Some fchool-fellow's features I found. O changes in feeling ! O chances of life ! O mercies, and perils, and fears ! What ages of trial, and travail, and flrife, Have fped fince thofe holiday years ! 46 Revijiting Charterhoufe. In half-drowning virion, as feen in a glafs, On a fudden the forrows and joys Of twenty long winters all hurriedly pafs, And, lock ! for once more we are boys. Yet here, like the remnant of fome gallant crew Juft fnatch'd from the deep in the dark, We gaze on each other, a florin-batter' d few Adrift on a perilous bark ! And mournful as Life, and myfterious as Death, Our common-place converfe is heard, For we feel as we fpeak that we live in a breath, And haply might die in a word ! And feelings are fickle, — and riches have wings, And nothing is Heady or fure, And even affections are changeable things, And — where can a heart be fecure ? All ! clouded and dreary, and folemn, and frill, And as by fome nightmare oppreft,— Come, heart ! break away from this choke and this chill, In God and thyfelf ever bleft. gl'ato' s IbUennt. Away with falfe fafhion, fo calm and fo chill, Where pleafure itfelf cannot pleafe ; Away with cold breeding, that faithleflly Hill Affects to be quite at its eafe 5 For the deepeft in feeling is higher!: in rank, The freefj: is firfl of the band, And Nature's own Nobleman, friendly and frank, Is a man with his heart in his hand ! Fearlefs in honefty, gentle yet juft, He warmly can love, — and can hate ; Nor will he bow down with his face in the dud To Fafhion's intolerant ftate : For beft in good breeding, and highefl in rank, Though lowly or poor in the land, Is Nature's own Nobleman, friendly and frank, The man with his heart in his hand ! His faihion is paflion, fincere and intenfe, His impulfes iimple and true, Yet temper' d by judgment, and taught by goodfenfe, And cordial with me, and with you : For the fmeit in manners, as highefl in rank, It is you, man ! or you, man ! who Hand Nature's own Nobleman, friendly and frank, — A man with his heart in his hand ! $tkt iiiie it$ !. Never give up ! it is wifer and better Always to hope, than once to defpair ; Fling off the load of Doubt's heavy fetter, And break the dark fpell of tyrannical Care : Never give up ! or the burthen may link you, — Providence kindly has mingled the cup, And in all trials or troubles, bethink you, The watchword of life mult be, Never give up ! Never give up ! there are chances and changes Helping the hopeful a hundred to one, And through the chaos High Wifdom arranges Ever fuccefs, — if you'll only hope on : Never give up ! for the wifelt is boldeft, Knowing that Providence mingles the cup, And of all maxims the bell, as the oldelt, Is the true watchword of Never give up ! Never give up ! — -though the grape-fhot may rattle, Or the full thunder-cloud over you burft, Stand like a rock, — and the Itorm or the battle Little fhall harm you, though doing their worll : Never give up ! — if adverlity preffes, Providence wifely has mingled the cup, And the bell counfel, in all your diftrefTes, Is the flout watchword of Never give up ! All-beauteous Lady Arabell Glanced fcornfully alide, — Alas ! for he hath loved her well, In fpite of all her pride ; Yet coldly to that noble heart In all its glowing youth, Away ! fhe cried, — and fpurn'd afide Its tendernefs and truth. Away ! — and at her feet he fell As cold and white as ftone ! And heartlefs Lady Arabell Has left him all alone : Alone, to live ? alone, to die ? Alone ? — Yet who art thou, — Some guardian angel from the Iky To blefs and aid him now ? Ah ! Florence loves young Cecil well, And pines this many a day, — For ftar-eyed lifter Arabell Hath won his heart away, — Hath won it all by treacherous arts To fling it all alide, And break a pair of loving hearts For triumph and for pride S E 50 The Way of the World. Fair Florence with her eyes of blue And locks of golden light j Dark Arabell's of raven hue With flafhing orbs of night 5 And has young Cecil chofen well Between that lifter pair, The proud and brilliant Arabell Or gentle Florence fair ? O bitter morn ! O bleffed morn ! For lo, he turns to love No more that raven queen of fcorn, But this fweet lifter dove : In fpite of luftrous Arabell And all her envious pride, Young Cecil loves his Florence well, And — Florence is his bride. %\t Wm at % ftgorl*. Oh ! but it 's war to the knife, man ! Selfilh and defperate ftrife, man ! Nothing will ferve But refolute nerve To battle the battle of life, man ! What do they care for your cares, man ? What are your troubles to theirs, man ? Nobody heeds How the heart bleeds, Nor how a poor fellow fares, man. The Way of the World. 5 1 Each for himfelf is the thought, man ; All the world elle is as nought, man : Each has his fill Of fighting up-hill, And fiercely the battle is fought, man ! Yes, — you may do good or ill, man, Battle as well as you will, man, Nobody cares, — Nobody's pray'rs Help in this battle up-hill, man ! Wrapt in a mantle of pride, man, Standing aloof and afide, man, Each one alone Hunts for his own, Cold as the world and as wide, man ! Ay, it is bitter to think, man, That you may fwim or you may link, man, With the world's glance Coldly alkance Watching you over the brink, man ! Everything's thrown on the fhelf, man, Other than pleaiure or pelf, man ! Be what you may, You 're clean flung away If you cannot ferve the worlds' Jelf, man ! draragt ! Dangers do but dare me, Terrors cannot fcare me, God my guide/ I'll bear me Manfully for ever, — Trouble's darkeft hour Shall not make me cower To the Spectre's power, — Never, never, never ! Up, my heart, and brace thee, While the perils face thee, In thyfelf encafe thee Manfully for ever, — Foes may howl around me, Fears may hunt and hound me,- Shall their yells confound me ? Never, never, never ! Conftant, calm, unfearing, Boldly perfevering, In good confcience fleering Manfully for ever, — Winds and waves defying, And on God relying, Shall He find me flying ? Never, never, never ! I ( 53 ) White-lipp'd fneerer, well I wot How you loathe the great and wife, How his brightnefs is a blot On your thunder-mantled fkies 5 How his fame and good men's love Make him hateful in your eyes, And when thus he foars above, How you ache to fee him rife ! O you feeming friend, found out, In detraction is your blifs, — Whifpering petty blame about, With a fubtle ferpent's hifs 5 Lo, the great man fcorns it all ; Lo, the wife man makes it mifs : Lo, the good man greets your gall With a kind forgiving kifs ! Brothers ! who have nobly earn'd Thanks and praife at leaft from man, If your good with fcorn is fpurn'd, And your bleffing met by ban, Brothers ! heed we not their hate Who would harm but never can, — With the wife, the good, the great, Let us conquer in the van ! Upon a flumbering lake at night The moon looks down in love, And there in chaften'd beauty bright A lifter fphere of lilver light Seems bathing from above. Anon, an evil man comes near, And a rude Hone he flings, Half in hate and half in fear, To crulh the calm accuiing fphere That looks fuch lovely things. He flung, and ftruck ; and in fwift race Round ran the Itartled waves -, He triumph' d for a little fpace 5 But fee ! how foon that fame calm face Again her beauty laves. So, friend, if envy hits thy name, Be Hill, it palfes foon ; Thy lamp is burning all the fame, And, even for that moonlhine Fame, It mull reflect its Moon. SeK-fosstnhnt. Whirling, eddying, ebbing Prefent, Foamy tide of flrife and noife, Mingled-bitter, mingled-pleafant, Loves and worries, cares and joys, — O ye changing chancing furges ! Calmly doth my Mind forecait How your reftlefs fpirit merges In the Future and the Pail! Lo, I ftand your mailer-pilot j Though the cataracts be near, Safe I fwing round rock or iflet, Strong and ilill, and god-like Here ! Stout I itand, and fway the tiller Through thefe rapids glancing down, While the very flood flows fuller, Frozen by my monarch -frown ! O'er the rock-entangled fhallows Staunch I fleer, adown the ftream ; And the Pail the Prefent hallows With its melancholy dream,— And the Future, nearing furely Like Niagara's cliff ahead, Steadily I reach, fecurely As a child that feels no dread ! 56 Complaint of an Ancient Briton. Yea, though Earth be torn afunder, — Or the fecret heart be vext, — Though with elemental thunder Or by petty cares perplext, Still I Hand, and rule the riot ; Still my deep calm foul is blefl With its own imperial quiet, The mblimity of Reft ! For, a Haunch and flalwarth true man, Fearing God, and none befide, — Nothing more, nor lefs, than human, Nothing human can betide That may difenthrone a ipirit Doom'd to reign in Time's decay, Grandly fated to inherit Endlefs peace in endlefs Day ! %\t tejjlaint aim Jtoricttt §nfon, DISINTERRED BY ARCH^OLOGISTS. Two thoufand years agone They heap'd my battle-grave, And each a tear and each a Hone My mourning warriors gave -, Complaint of an Ancient Briton. $j For I had borne me well, And fought as patriots fight. Till, like a Britifli chief, I fell Contending for the right. Seam'd with many a wound, All weakly did I lie 5 My foes were dead or dying round, — And thus I joy'd to die ! For their marauding crew Came treacherouily to kill, — The many came againft the few To rtorm our fa ere d hill. We battled, and we bled, We won, and paid the price, For I, the chief, lay down with the dead A willing facrifice ! My liegemen wail'd me long, And treafured up my bones, And rear'd my kid fecure and ftrong With tributary (tones : High on the breezy down, My native hill's own breaft, Nigh to the din of mine ancient town, They left me to my reft. I hoped for peace and calm Until my judgment hour, And then to awake for the victor's palm And patriot's throne of power ! And lo ! till this dark day Did men my grave revere ; Two thoufand years had pofted away, And ftill I flumber'd here : 58 Complaint of an Ancient Briton. But now there broke a noife Upon my lilent home, 'Twas not the Refurrection voice That burft my turfy tomb, — = But men of prying mind, Alas, my fellow men, Ravage my grave, my bones to find, With facrilegious ken ! Mine honour doth abjure Your new barbarian race $ Reftore, reftore my bones fecure To fome more facred place ! With mattock and with fpade Ye dare to break my reft $ The pious mound is all unmade My clan had counted bleft ; Take, take my buckler's bofs, My fword, and fpe'ar, and chain, — Steal all you can of this world's drofs, But — reft my bones again I know your modern boaft Is light, and learning's fpread, — Learn of a Celt to Ihow them moft In honour to the Dead ! Many a day have I wiled away Upon hopeful Farley Heath, In its antique foil digging for fpoil Of poflible treafure beneath -, For celts, and querns, and funereal urns, And rich red Samian ware, And fculptured Hones and centurions' bones May all lie buried there ! How calmly ferene, and glad have I been From morn till eve to ltay, My men, no ferfs, turning the turfs The happy livelong day 3 With eye' Hill bright, and hope yet alight, Willfully watching the mould, As the fpade brings up fragments of things Fifteen centuries old ! Pleafant and rare it was to be there On a joyous day of June, With the circling fcene all gay and green Steep'd in the lilent noon; When beauty diftils from the calm glad hills,- From the downs and dimpling vales 5 And every grove, lazy with love, Whifpereth tendered tales ! O then to look back upon Time's old track, And dream of the days long pa ft, When Rome leant here on his fentinel fpear And loud was the clarion's blaft — As wild and fhrill from Martyrs' Hill Echoed the patriot fhout, Or rufh'd pell-mell with a midnight yell The rude barbarian rout ! Yes 3 every flone has a tale of its own, A volume of old lore 5 And this white fand from many a brand Has polifTi'd gouts of gore ; When Holmbury-height had its beacon light, And Cantii held old Leith, And Rome Hood then with his iron men On ancient Farley Heath ! How many a group of that exiled troop Have here fung fongs of home, Chanting aloud to a wondering crowd The glories of old Rome ! Or lying at length have bafk'd their ftrength Amid this heather and gorfe, Or down by the well in the larch-grown dell Water' d the black war-horfe ! Look, look ! my day-dream right ready would feem The paft with the prefent to join, — For fee ! I have found in this rare ground An eloquent green old coin, Farley Heath. 61 With turquoife raft on its Emperor's buft — Some Caefar, auguft Lord, And the legend terfe, and the claftic reverfe, " Victory, valour's reward !"— Victory — yes ! and happinefs, Kind comrade, to me and to you, When fuch rich fpoil has crown' d our toil And proved the day-dream true ; With hearty acclaim how we hail'd by his name The Caefar of that coin, And told with a ihout his titles out, And drank his health in wine ! And then how bleft the noon-day reft Reclin'd on a grafly bank, With hungry cheer and the brave old beer, Better than Odin drank -, And the fecret balm of the fpirit at calm, And poetry, hope, and health, — Ay, have I not found in that rare ground A mine of more than wealth ! Si ftatjja's, NEAR GUILDFORD, SURREY. Holy precinct, mount of God, Where faints have bled and pilgrims trod, Martyrs' Hill — thy nobler name, Martyrs' Hill — thy fairer fame Than as call'd of her, whofe heart Chofe but late that better part, — Unto thee my praife I bring, Thee my foul delights to ling. Lo, the glorious landfcape round ! Tread we not enchanted ground ? From this bold and breezy height The charm' d eye fends its eagle flight O'er the panoramic fcene, Undulating, rich, and green 3 And with various pleafure roves From hill and dale, to fields and groves, Till the profpe£t mingling grey With the horizon fades away, Shutting in the diftant view By fainter lines of glimmering blue. Start we from the warm Soulh-Eaft; Spread the fine pictorial feaft: There the landmark tower of Leith Sentinels its purple heath 5 Nearer, Holmbury's moated hill, Highden-ball, and Ewhurft mill, Dewy Hafcomb's fir-fring'd knoll, Hind-head, and the Devil's Bowl, With peeps of far South-downs between Seaward doling up the fcene. Like a thunder-cloud, beneath Stretches drear the broad Blackheath : Scatter' d coins have feal'd the fod A claffic lite that Rome has trod, Field of many a defperate ftrife For conquer!:, liberty, or life, When the legion's fullen tramp Echoed oft from Farley-camp, And fome Caefar's ruthlefs fword Reap'd the rude barbarian horde, Britons, patriots, free brave men, But untkill'd to conquer — then. Turn w r e to this woodland made, Beyond the Hanger's hazel glade : Ah ! 'tis fad, though little llrange, That times, and things, and men fhould change 3 Sad, though little llrange to fee Albury, fuch fad change in thee. Thou wert in my infant dreams, My childiln pranks, my fchool-day fchemes ; My heart's young home, my pride and praife j Playground of my boyilh days ; 64 St. Marthas. Link'd with learning, goodnefs, truth, To the flory of my youth; Mix'd with hope's romantic plan, And loved, — now years have made me man. But, the brightnefs of thy praife Periih'd with thofe early days, — Thy fweet prime, too fair to laft, Spring-like came, and fmiled, and paft j And I note, adown the Vale, Thy good angel wandering pale, With folded wing and tearful eye Mourning for the days gone by 5 Now, like lome white wounded deer Hiding in the greenwood here 5 Now, befide that old church, faint Leaning, like a dying faint. Away : regard we yet again Nature's beauty, — and her bane : Alas ! that man fhould e'er intrude Where all but he are glad and good, — Alas, for yonder fairy glen, Nature's Eden, vex'd with men ! Mammon, from thofe long white mills With foggy fteam the profpe6t fills ; Chimneys red with fulphurous fmoke Blight thefe hanging groves of oak 5 And fy Ivan Quiet's gentle fcenes Lift — to the clatter of machines. Yet more ; in yonder rural dell, Where fy lphs and fauns might love to dwell, St. Martha s. 65 Among thofe alders, by the flream Stealing on with filver gleam, Blacken'd huts, fet wide apart, Grind their dark grain for murder's mart, Or, burlting with explofive might, Rage, and roar, and blaft, and blight- Enough, enough of toilfome Art ;. Frefh fweet Nature woos thy heart :. Gaze, then, on this weflern plain, A woody, various, rich champaign j Each in its hollow neftling down, The farm, the village, or the town j Field on field, and grove on grove, Wave-like, far as eye can rove, Till interfering lines of hill The blue horizon faintly fill. And, while thy fpirit praifes Earth, Its precious gifts, its wealth and worth, Forget not thou this glorious Sky, Oh ! lift thine eyes, thy heart on high ; Forget not Him, whofe mercy gave All the good we hope, or have 5 Him, whofe Prefence, far and near, Man's beft wifdom learns to fear Where above the green glad world Heaven's banners float unfurl* d, Gorgeous in each mighty fold Bathed in black, or fringed with gold ; Or, as clouds of fleecy white Sail in feas of azure light ; F 66 St. Marthas. Or, as ftreamers hurrying by Tell of tempefts in the Sky ; Or, like fnow-clad mountains, fland Giant wardens of the Land. Earthward once again ; the North ! Draw its good, its evil forth : Mile beyond mile of waving field, Rare to fee, and rich to yield ; The frequent village round its fpire 3 The fnug domain of rural fquire ; Yon dulky tracl: of Wafte and Mofs ; That iron roadway drawn acrofs 5 Windfor, throned o'er half the land ; And gambling Epfom's far-famed Stand ; While the dim diftance in a fhroud Is wrapp'd by London's fmoky cloud. Near us, Guildford's ancient town Between the hills is hiding down ; Decent Guildford, clean and fteep, Ranged about its caftle-keep, Relic of departed power, Grey and crumbling fquare old tower. Like fome warder at his poft Honefl: Booker's lofty boafi, Fine and feudal, fhames outright Pewley's telegraphic height, While it overtops with pride All the vaifal fcene befide, And, above that verdant fvvell, Sainted Catharine's Gothic cell. Wefhvard thence, a narrow track, Stretches far the bare Hog's-back : Ridging up, with hilly fides, Lo, the briftling boar divides Right and left a kindred fcene, Purple moors and meadows green, Or thofe feeming-vineyards wide, Farnham's wealth, and Surrey's pride. Forth from Merrow's happy plain And noble Clandon's rich domain, Newland's heights, and Combe beyond, And nutty Sherborne's cryflal pond, Eaftward to the landfcape's end The Hoping chalky Downs extend, Primal Hill, by man untamed, Frefh, unbounded, unreclaim'd • Now a lawn of herbage fweet Smooth as velvet to the feet, Now a jungle, matted denfe, A wildernefs of briar-fence : Here, an earthwork, fofTe and mound ; There, a race-courfe curving round ; Hollow'd pits, where in old times Bad marauders hid their crimes : Sad fepulchral groves of yew Solemn ranged in order due, Seeming of primeval birth, Solid as the ribs of earth, Where white Druids, years of yore, Roam'd thofe myftic circles o'er, 68 St. Marthas. Or calm kneeling on the fod Wifely worfhipp'd Nature's God. Yes, modern ; would thy pride condemn Or mail thy wifdom pity them ? They built no prifons for — the poor, Freely fed from door to door 5 Their foolifh mercy did not flrive To give the leafl that keeps alive, Their charity fought not to know How little poor men need below. But thou, — what means yon human pound, Brick'd and barr'd, and well wall'd round ? But that to thy fliame and fcorn Penal poverty may mourn How ill-chriflen'd liberals prove Words by deeds, and faith by love : For here, unpitied, Ipurn'd, alone, The Britifh Have muft grind and groan, Torn from children, friends, and wife, And buried in the midft of life. O Man ! thy love is chill and small ; O Nature ! thou art kind to all : This full wide theatre of views Bathed in Autumn's rainbow hues Recreates my frefhen'd fight Soft with made, and rich with light, And, faved from thoughts of pride and pelf, Reftores me to my cheerful felf. Let then a lateborn fon of Time Shadow forth the Paft fublime, St. Marthas. 69 And while, the greenfward laid along, He weaves his meditative fong, Tell what various tribes have trod With various hopes this ancient fod. The painted Briton, long of yore, Hunting down the wolf or boar ; The Roman watcher, polled here Leaning on his iron fpear 5 The fair-hair'd Angle, piling high Beacon-fires againft the Iky ; With vulture-eyes the hungry Dane Gloating o'er the fertile plain 3 Patriot Saxons, who with flood The Norman, conquering for good ; Monks, to blefs with book and bell ; Crufaders, bidding all farewell 5 Footfore Pilgrims, hither come Midway from St. Becket's tomb 3 Roundheads, chanting rebel prayers ; Gay, devoted Cavaliers ; Ruftics, on the Sabbath-day Duly toiling up to pray 5 Mourners, weeping round the bier Brought for humble burial here ; And thoufands more, in dretTes quaint, Than tongue can tell, or pencil paint, Have laugh'd, or wept, or fought their fill, Or lived, or died, on Martyrs' Hill. Martyrs' Hill! — before my mind Rife the triumphs of Mankind ! jo St. Martha s. Martyrs' Hill ! — and to my thought Back the crimes of men are brought : Yea : for on this facred fod Doubtlefs periih'd faints of God, And Elijah's chariot came Mingling with the martyrs' flame, To bear them from that aweftruck crowd In robes of light, on thrones of cloud. Then, the feed of holy blood Gave its hundredfold of good -, Barbarians heard, and thought, and felt, Glow'd, admired, and mourn' d, and knelt j Their very murderers came in fear To blefs the fainted victims here ; Penitent, with zealous hafte Aloft the ruftic temple placed, Keylefs arches, rough and round, Spanning high the blood-ftain'd ground, Of iron fandftone rudely built, Memorial of their grief — and guilt. Thereafter, Newark's princely priefl Added all this Gothic Eaft, — The modeft choir and tranfepts twain, Fitting well the Chriflian fane, Windows, deck'd in colours rich, The pointed arch and florid niche,— Contrail to yon Saxon nave, That limply mark'd the martyr's grave. Swept along Fate's rolling tide Generations lived, and died, St. Martha s. j i Thronging in fucceflion there With the facrifice of prayer : And a Martha's dubious name Half eclipfed that better fame, Symbol of degenerate years When earth ufurps our hopes and fears. Ages came and ages pari ; Till the flood of Time at laft Wafted on the modern race, Loving gain, and hating grace : So we draw to thy decay Silent ruin of to-day, An evil day of evil deeds, Selfifh fects and wrangling creeds, When faith is dead, and zeal grown cold, And churches can be bought and fold, Or left a prey to rot and rain, For lack of grace, and luft of gain. Ruin, I have loved thee long, And owed for years this humble fong ; While I pay the grateful debt, Hear me one petition yet. When in God's good time and way, I wake upon my dying day, Should I mil beneath thee dwell, As my fpirit lighs farewell, Let the fhadows from thy wall Be my hallow'd funeral pall 3 Let no city's clofe churchyard Steal from thee thy native bard 5 But where now I careleis lie Make me welcome when I die : On this thyme-enamell'd height Let me bid the world good-night 5 Sacred to my memory be All the fcene that circles thee ; And plant o'er me, in goodwill, A plain flone crofs on Martyrs' Hill. " A little more fleep, a little more flumber, A little more folding the hands to fleep," For quick-footed dreams, without order or number, Over my mind are beginning to creep, — Rare is the happinefs thus to be raptured By your wild whifpers, my Fanciful train, And, like a linnet, be careleffly captured In the foft nets of my beautiful brain. Touch not thefe curtains ! — your hand will be tearing Delicate tiffues of thoughts and of things 5 — Call me not ! — your cruel voice will be fearing Flocks of young vi lions on goffamer wings : Leave me, O leave me ! for in your rude prefence Nothing of all my bright world can remain, — Tiaou art a blight to this garden of pleafance, Thou art a blot on my beautiful brain ! Ceafe your dull lecture on cares and employment, Let me forget awhile trouble and flrife, Leave me to peace, — let me hufband enjoyment, This is the heart and the marrow of life ! For to my feeling the choicer! of pleafures Is to lie thus, without peril or pain, Lazily liftening the mufical meafures Of the fweet voice in my beautiful brain ! Hum, — for the halo of calmnefs is fpreading Over my fpirit as mild as a dove ; Hufh, — for the angel of comfort is ihedding Over my body his vial of love ; Hufh, — for new flumbers are over me Healing, Thus would I court them again and again, Hufh, — for my heart is intoxicate, — reeling In the fwift waltz of my beautiful brain ! Open the cafement, and up with the Sun ! His gallant journey is juft begun 5 Over the hills his chariot is roll'd, Banner'd with glory, and burnifh'd with gold, Over the hills he comes fublime, Bridegroom of Earth, and brother of Time ! Day hath broken, joyous and fair ; Fragrant and frefh is the morning air, — Beauteous and bright thofe orient hues, Balmy and fweet thefe early dews j Oh, there is health, and wealth, and blifs In dawning Nature's motherly kifs ! Lo, the wondering world awakes, "With its rofy-tipp'd mountains and gleaming lakes, With its fields and cities, deferts and trees, Its calm old cliffs, and its founding feas, In all their gratitude blefling Him Who dwelleth between the Cherubim ! Break away boldly from Sleep's leaden chain 3 Seek not to forge that fetter again 5 Rather with vigour and refolute nerve, Up, up, to blefs man, and thy Mailer to ferve, Thankful and hopeful, and happy to raife The offering of prayer, and the incenfe of praife ! Gird thee, and do thy watching well, Duty's Chriftian fentinel ! Sloth and Slumber never had part In the warrior's will, or the patriot's heart 5 Soldier of God on an enemy's fhore ! Slumber and floth thrall thee no more. How gladly would I wander through fome ftrange and favage land, The lailb at my faddle-bow, the rifle in my hand, A leafh of gallant maftifFs bounding by my fide, A.nd, for a friend to love, the noble horfe on which I ride ! Alone, alone — yet not alone, for God is with me there, The tender hand of Providence ihall guide me every- where, While happy thoughts and holy hopes, as fpirits calm and mild, Shall fan with their fweet wings the hermit-hunter of the wild ! Without a guide, — yet guided well, — young, buoyant, frefh, and free, Without a road, — yet all the land a highway unto me, Without a care, without a fear, without a grief or pain, Exultingly I thread the woods, or gallop o'er the plain ! Or, bruihing through the copfe, from his leafy home I ftart The ftately elk, or tuiky boar, the bifon, or the hart, j 6 Adventure. And then, with eager lpur, to fcour, away, away, Nor flop, until my dogs have brought the glorious brute to bay ! Or, if the gang of hungry wolves corne yelling on my track, I make my ready rifle fpeak, and fcare the cowards back 3 Or, if the lurking leopard's eyes among the branches fhine, A touch upon the trigger — and his fpotted fkin is mine ! And then the hunter's favoury fare at tranquil eventide, The dappled deer I mot to-day upon the green hill-fide : My feafled hounds are flumbering round befide the watercourfe, And plenty of fweet prairie-grafs for thee, my noble horfe. Hifl ! hifl ! I heard fome prowler marling in the wood ; I feized my knife and trufly gun, and face to face we flood ! The Grizzly Bear came rufhing on, — and, as he rufh'd, he fell ! Hie at him, dogs ! my rifle has done its duty well ! Hie at him, dogs ! one bullet cannot kill a foe fo grim \ ' The God of battles nerve a Man to grapple now with him, — And flraight between his hugging arms I plunge my whetted knife, Ha — ha ! it fplits his iron heart, and drinks the ruddy life! The Song of Sixteen. jj Frantic ftruggles — welling blood — the ftrife is almoft o'er, — The fhaggy monfter, feebly panting, wallows in his gore,— Here, lap it hot, my gallant hounds, — the blood of foes is fweet -, Here, gild withal your dewlapp'd throats, and walh your brawny feet ! So, fhall we beard thofe tyrants in their dens another day, Nor tamely wait, with flaviih fear, their coming in the way : And pleafant thoughts of peace and home fhall £11 our dreams to-night, For lo, the God of battles has help'd us in the fight ! 8 \}t j^mtg flf Saleeiu Who fhall guefs what I may be ? Who can tell my fortune to me ? For, braveft and brightefl that ever was fung May be — and fhall be— the lot of the young ! Hope, with her prizes and victories won, Shines in the blaze of my morning fan, Conquering Hope, with golden ray, Blelling my landfcape far away ; 78 The Song of Sixteen. All my meadows and hills are green, And rippling waters glance between, — All my Ikies are rofy bright, Laughing in triumph at yefter-night : My heart, my heart within me fwells, Panting, and ftirring its hundred wells 5— For youth is a noble feed that fprings Into the flower of heroes and kings ! Rich in the prefent, though poor in the pari, I yearn for the future, vague and vaft ; And lo ! what treafure of glorious things Giant Futurity fheds from his wings 5 Pleafures are there, like dropping balms, And glory and honour with chaplets and palms. And mind well at eafe, and gladnefs, and health, A river of peace, and a mine of wealth ! Away with your counfels, and hinder me not, — On, on let me prefs to my brilliant lot ! Young and flrong, and fanguine and free, How knoweft thou what I may be ? fab, Ah, poor youth ! in pitiful truth, Thy pride muft feel a fall, poor youth : What thou fhalt be well have I feen, — Thou fhalt be only what others have been. Haply, within a few fwift years, A mind bow'd down with troubles and fears, The commoner! drudge of men and things, Inilead of your — conquering heroes and kings ; ' Haply, to follies an early wreck, — For the cloud of prefumpticn is now like a fpeck, And with a whelming, fudden fweep The norm of temptation roars over the deep ; Lower the fails of pride, ram youth, — Stand to the lowly tiller of truth ; Quick, or your limber bark mail be The fport of the winds on a flormy fea ! Care and peril in lieu of joy, — Guilt and dread may be thine, proud boy : Lo, thy mantling chalice of life Is foaming with forrow, and licknefs, and flrife 3 Cheated by pleafure, and fated with pain, — Watching for honour, and watching in vain, — 8o The Song of Seventy. Aching in heart, and ailing in head, Wearily earning daily bread. —It is well. I difcern a tear on thy cheek : It is well, — thou art humbled, and filent, and meek : Now, — courage again ! and, with peril to cope, Gird thee with vigour, and helm thee with hope ! For life, good youth, hath never an ill Which hope cannot fcatter, and faith cannot kill ; And flubborn realities never mall bind The free-fpreading wings of a cheerful mind. Song of j&bmtg. I am not old — I cannot be old, Though threefcore years and ten Have wafted away, like a tale that is told, The lives of other men : I am not old ; though friends and foes Alike have gone down to their graves, And left me alone to my joys or my woes, As a rock in the midft of the waves : I am not old — I cannot be old, Though tottering, wrinkled, and grey -, Though my eyes are dim, and my marrow is cold, Call me not old to-day. The Song of Seventy. 8 1 For, early memories round me throng, Old times, and manners, and men, As I look behind on my journey fo long Of threefcore miles and ten. I look behind, and am once more young, Buoyant, and brave, and bold, And my heart can fing, as of yore it fung, Before they call'd me old. I do not fee her — the old wife there — Shrivell'd, and haggard, and grey> But I look on her blooming, and foft, and fair, As ihe was on her wedding-day : I do not fee you, daughters and fons, In the likenefs of women and men y But I kifs you now as I kiffed you once, My fond little children then : And, as my own grandfon rides on my 'knee Or plays with his hoop or kite, — I can well recollect I was merry as he — The bright-eyed little wight ! 'Tis not long lince, — it cannot be long, — My years fo foon were fpent, Since I was a boy, both flraight and ftrong, Yet now am I feeble and bent. 82 My Mind's Kingdom. A dream, a dream, — it is all a dream ! A flrange, fad dream, good footh $ For old as I am, and old as I feem, My heart is full of youth : Eye hath not feen, tongue hath not told, And ear hath not heard it fung, How buoyant and bold, though it feem to grow old, Is the heart, for ever young : For ever young, — though life's old age Hath every nerve unftrung ; The heart, the heart is a heritage That keeps the old man young ! I fpmfr ta me a f inborn is/' Eureka ! this is truth fublime, Defying change, out-wreflling time — Eureka ! well that truth is told, Wifely fpake the bard of old — Eureka ! there is peace and praife In this ftiort and fimple phrafe, A fea of comforts, wide and deep, Wherein my confcious foul to fteep, A hoard of happy-making wealth To doat on, miferly, by ftealth, Through Time my reafon's ripeft fruit, For all Eternity its root, My Mind's Kingdom. 83 Earth's harveft, and the feed of heaven, To me, to me, by mercy given ! Yes, Eureka ! — I have found it, And before the world will found it 3 This remains, and frill (hall flay When life's gauds have paifed away, This, of old my treafure-truth, The bofom joy that warm'd my youth, My happinefs in manhood's prime, My triumph down the ftream of time Till death mall lull this heart in age, A Jeathlefs glory crown my page, My grace-born truth and treafure this, — "My mind to me a kingdom is." Noble folace, true and flrong, Great reward for human wrong, With an inward blefling ftill To compenfate all earthly ill, To recompenfe for adverfe fates, Woes, or wants, or fcorns, or hates 3 To cherifh, after man's neglect, When foes deride, and friends fufpect, To foothe and blefs the fpirit bow'd Down by the felfifh and the proud, To lift the foul above this fcene Of petty troubles trite and mean, Oh ! there is moral might in this,— "My mind to me a kingdom is." Carve it deep, with letters bold, In the imperifhable gold, 84 My Mind's Kingdom. Grave it on fome primal rock That hath flood the earthquake fhock, Make that word a citizen Dwelling in the hearts of men, Stamp it on the printed page, Sound it on the ears of age, Gladden fympathifing youth With the foft mufic of this truth, This echo'd note of heavenly blifs, — "My mind to me a kingdom is." Ay, chide or fcorn, — I will be proud, — J am not of the common crowd 5 No ferf is here to outward things, — He rules with chiefs ! he reigns with kings ! Tell out thy fecret joys, my mind, Free and fearlefs as the wind, And pour the triumphs of the foul In words that like a river roll, Foaming on with vital force From their ever-gufhing fource, Fountains of truth, that overwhelm With fwollen flreams this royal realm, And in Nilotic richnefs fleep My heart's Thebaid, rank and deep ! Or bolder, as my thoughts infpire, Change that water into lire ! From the vext bowels of my foul Lava currents roar and roll, Burfling out in torrent wide Through my crater's ragged fide, My Mind's Kingdom. 85 Ruining on from field to field, Till all with boiling fione is feal'd, And my hot thoughts, in language pent, Stand their own granite monument ! Yes ! all the elements are mine, To crufh, create, ditfblve, combine, — All mine, — the confidence is juft, On God I ground my high-born truft To Hand, when pole is rent from pole, Calm in my majefty of foul, Watching the throes of this wreck'd world When from their thrones the Alps are hurl'd, When fire confumes earth, fea, and air, To fiand, unharm'd, undaunted there, And grateful ftill to boafl in this, — "My mind to me a kingdom is." Brother poet, dead fo long, Heed thefe echoes to thy fong, And love me now, where'er thou art, Yearning with magnetic heart From thy throne in fome bright fphere On this poor brother, grovelling here : For I too, I, can fioutly fing I am every inch a king ! A King of Thought, a Potentate Of glorious fpiritual fiate, A king of Thought, a king of Mind, Realms unmapp'd and undefined, — A King ! beneath no man's control, Invefied with a royal foul, 86 My Mind's Kingdom. Crown'd by God's imperial hand Before Him as a King to Hand, And by His wifdom train'd and taught To rule my realms as King of Thought. O thoughts ! how ill my fellow-men, — thoughts ! how fcantly my poor pen Can guefs or tell the myriad holt Wherewith you crowd my kingdom's coaft ! For I am hemm'd and throng' d about With your triumphant rabble rout, Hurried along by that mad flood, The joy-excited multitude, A conqueror, borne upon the foam Of his great people's gladnefs home, A monarch in his grandeft ftate, On whom a thoufand thoufand wait ! Lo ! they come — my Tribes of Thought, Fierce and flulh'd and fever-fraught ! From the horizon all around 1 hear with pride their coming found ; See ! their banners circling near, — Glittering groves of fhield and fpear, Flying clouds of troopers gay, Serried lines in dark array, Veterans calm with temper' d fword, And a difhevell'd frantic horde, — On they come with furious force, Tramping foot, and thundering horfe, On they come, converging loud, With clanging arms, a glorious crowd, Shouting impatient, fierce and free, For me their Monarch, yea, for me ! Then, in my majefty and power, I quell the madnefs of the hour, Bid that tumultuous turmoil ceafe, And frown my multitudes to peace. Each to his peril and his poft ! All huuYd throughout my mighty hoft : Courage clear, and duty flern, — ■ Heads that freeze and hearts that burn -, MarlhalFd ftraight in order due, Legions ! pafs in fwift review, Bending to my blazon'd Will, Loyal to that ftandard full, And hailing me with homage then King of Thoughts — and thus, of Men ? What ? am I powerlefs to control Nations by my fingle foul ? What? have I not made thoufands thrill By the mere impulfe of my will, When the flrong Thought goes forth, and binds Captive a wondering herd of minds? And is not this to reign alone, More than the ermine and the throne, The jewell'd flate, the gilded rooms, The mindlefs jay in peacock plumes ? Yes, — if the inmate foul outweighs Its dull clay houfe in power and praife, Yes, — if Eternity be true, And Time both falfe and fleeting too, 88 My Mind's Kingdom. Then, humbler kings, my boaft be this, " My mind to me a kingdom is." And what, though weak and flow of fpeech, 111 to comfort, dull to teach ? What, though hiding from the ken Of my fmall prying fellow-men, — Still within my muling mind Wifdom's fecret ftores I find, And, little noticed, fweetly feed On hidden manna, meat indeed, Bleffed thoughts I never told, Unconfider'd, uncontrolPd, Ruining by as thick and fafl As autumn leaves upon the blail, Or better like the gracious rain Dropping on fome thirfly plain. And is not this to be a king, To carry in my heart a fpring Of ceafelefs pleafures, deep and pure, Wealth cannot buy, nor power procure ? Yea, — by the poet's aril efs art, And the fweet fearchings of his heart, By bis unknown unheeded blifs, — "My mind to me a kingdom is." Place me on fome defert fhore Foot of man ne'er wander'd o'er ) Lock me in a lonely cell Beneath fome prifon citadel -, Still, here or there, within I find My quiet kingdom of the Mind : My Mind's Kingdom. 89 Nay, — mid the tempelt tierce and dark, Float me on peril's frailer! bark, My quenchlefs foul could fit and think And fmile at danger's dizzier! brink : And wherefore ? — God, my God, is ftill King of kings in good and ill, And where He dwelleth — everywhere— Safety fupreme and peace are there ; And where He reigneth — all around — Wifdom, and love, and power are found, And reconciled to Him and blifs, "My mind to me a kingdom is." Thus for my days 3 each waking hour Grand with majefty and power, Every minute rich in treafure, Gems of peace, and pearls of pleafure. And for my nights — thofe wondrous nights ! How manifold my Mind's delights, When the young truant, gladly caught In his own labyrinths of thought, Finds there another realm to range, The dynaflies of Chance and Change. O dreams, — what know I not of dreams i Their name, their very enence, feems A tender light, not dark nor clear, A fad fweet myflery wild and dear, A dull foft feeling unexplain'd, A lie half true, a truth half feign' d ; O dreams, — what know I not of dreams \ When Reafon, with inebriate gleams, Loofes from his wife control The prancing Fancies of the foul, And fober Judgment, flumbering Hill, Sets free Caprice to guide the Will. Within one night have I not fpent Years of adventurous banifhment, Strangely groping like the blind In the dark caverns of my mind ? Have I not dwelt, from eve till morn, Lifetimes in length for praife or fcorn, With fancied joys, ideal woes, And all fenfat ion's warmefl glows, Wondroufly thus expanding Life Through feeming fcenes of peace or ftrife, Until I verily reign fublime, A great creative king of Time ? And there are people, things, and places, Ufual themes, familiar faces, A fecond life, that looks as real As this dull world's own unideal, Another life of dreams by night, That, ftill forgotten, wanes in light, Yet feems itfelf to wake and fleep, And in that fleep dreams doubly deep, While thofe fame dreams may dream anon, Tangled mazes wandering on ! Yes ; I have often, weak and worn, Feebly waked at earlieft morn, As a fhip wreck' d failor, toft By the wild waves on fome rough coaft, Of perils pall remembering nought But fome dim cataracts of thought, My Mind's Kingdom. 91 And only roufed betimes to know That yerterday feems years ago ! And I can apprehend full well What old Pythagoras could tell Of other fcenes, and other climes, And other Selfs in other times ; For. oft my confcioufnefs has reeFd With fcores of " Richmonds in the field/' As, multiform, with no furprife, I fee myfelf in other guife, And wonderlefs walk fide by fide With mine own foul, felf- multiplied ! If it be royal then to reign Over an infinite domain, If it be more than monarch can To lengthen out the life of man, Yea, if a godlike thing it be To revel in ubiquity, Is there but empty boaft in this, — " My mind to me a kingdom is? " — Peace, ralh fool ; be proud no more, Count thy faults and follies o'er, Turn afide, and note within Thy fecret charnel-houfe of Sin, Thy bitter heart, thy covetous mind, Evil thoughts, and words unkind : Can fo foul and mean a thing Reign a fpiritual King ? Art thou not — yea, thou, myfelf, In hope a flave to pride and pelf? 92 My Mind's Kingdom. Art thou not, — yea thou, my mind, Weak and naked, poor and blind ? Yea, be humble, yea, be ftill ; Meekly bow that rebel Will 5 Seek not felfifhly for praife -, Go more foftly all thy days ; For to thee belongs no power, Wretched infect of an hour, — And if God, in bounteous dole, Hath grafted life upon thy foul, Know thou, there is out of Him Nor light in mind, nor might in limb ; And, but for One, who from the grave Of fin and death flood forth to lave, Thy mind, that royal mind of thine, So great, ambitious, and divine, Would but a root of anguifh be, A madnefs and a mifery, A bitter fear, a hideous care All too terrible to bear, Kingly, — but king of pains and woes, The fceptred flave to throbs and throes. Juftly then, my God, to Thee, My royal foul lhall bend the knee, — My royal foul, Thy glorious breath, By Thee fet free from guilt and death, Before Thy majefty bows down, Offering the homage of my crown, Well pleafed to fing in better blils, " My God to me a kingdom is." Vanity, vanity ! dead hopes and fears, Dim flitting phantoms of departed years, Unfatisfying fhadows, vague and cold, Of thoughts and things that made my joys of eld, Sad memories of the kindly words and ways And looks and loves of friends in. other days, — Alas ! all gone, — a dream, a very dream, A dream is all you are, and all you feem ! life ! I do forget thee : I look back, And lo, the defert wind has fwept my track : 1 Hand upon this bare and folid ground And, ftrangely waken' d, wonder all around ; How came I here r and whence ? and whither tend r Speak, friend ! — if death and time have fpared a friend Behold, the place that knew me well of yore Knoweth me not : and that familiar floor Where all my kith and kin were wont to meet Is now grown flrange, and throng' d by other feet. O foul ! my foul, conrlder thou that fpot, Root there thy gratitude, and leave it not 5 Still let remembrance, with a fwimming eye, Live in thofe rooms, nor pais them coldly by 3 Still let affection cling to thofe old days, And, yearning fondly, paint them bright with praife : 94 Threnos. O once my home — with all thy bleflings fled ! O forms and faces — gather' d to the dead ! O fcenes of joy and forrow — faded fait ! — How hollow found thy footlleps, ghoftlike past ! An aching emptinefs is all thou art, A famine hid within the cavern'd heart. Thou changelefs One, — how blefl: to have no change,- Only with Thee, my God, I feel not ftrange : Thou art the fame for ever and for aye, — To-morrow and to-day as yefterday, Thou art the fame, — a tranquil Prefent Hill ; There I can hide, and blefs Thy fovereign will : Yea, blefs Thee, O my Father ! that Thy love Call'd in an inftant to the blifs above From ills to come and grief and care and fear Thy type to me, moll honour'd and moll dear ! O true and tender fpirit, pure and good, So vext on earth and little underllood, Thy gentle nature was not fit for llrife, But quail'd to meet the waking woes of lite ; And therefore God our Father kindly made Thy fleep a death, left thou fhouldfl feel afraid ! I love the dead ! The precious fpirits gone before, And waiting on that peaceful fhore To meet with welcome looks and kifs me yet once more. I love the dead ! And fondly doth my fancy paint Each dear one, wafh'd from earthly taint, By patience and by hope made a moll gentle faint. O glorious dead ! Without one fpot upon the dreis Of your ethereal lovelinefs, Ye linger, round me Hill with earneft will to blefs. Enfranchifed dead ! Each fault and failing left behind, And nothing now to chill or bind, How glorioufly ye reign in majefiy of mind ! O royal dead ! The refting, free, unfetter' d dead, The yearning, confcicus, holy dead, The hoping, waiting, calm, the happy, changelefs dead ! I love the dead ! And well forget their little ill, Eager to balk my memory Hill In all their befl of words and deeds and ways and will. I blefs the dead ! Their good, half choked by this world's weeds, Is blooming now in heav r enly meads, And ripening golden fruit of all thofe early feeds. I truft the dead ! They underftand me frankly now, There are no clouds on heart or brow, But fpirit, reading fpirit, anfwereth glow for glow. I praife the dead ! All their tears are wiped away, Their darknefs turn'd to.perfecl day, — How blerTed are the dead, how beautiful be they ! O gracious dead ! That watch me from your paradife With happy tender ftarlike eyes, Let your fweet influence rain me bleffings from the Ikies. Yet, helplefs dead, Vainly my yearning nature dares Such unpremeditated prayers 3 All vain it were for them : as even for me theirs. The Dead. gj Immortal dead ! Ye in your lot are fix'd as fate,, And man or angel is too late To beckon back by prayer one change upon your ilate. O godlike dead, Ye that do reft, like Noah's dove, Fearlefs I leave you to the love Of Him who gave you peace to bear with you above ! And ye, the dead, Godlefs on earth, and gone aftray, Alas, your hour is pail away, — The Judge is jufr/5 for you it now were fin to pray. Still, all ye dead, Firfl may be lafl and lafl be firfl, — Charity counteth no man.curfl, But hopeth flill in Him whofe love would fave the worft. Therefore, ye dead, I love you, be ye good or ill, For God, our God, doth love me mil, And you He loved on earth with love that nought could chill. And fome, jufl dead, To me on earth moll deeply dear, Who loved and nurfed and blefl me here, I love you with a love that cafteth out all fear : 9 8 A Memorial Window. Come near me, Dead ! In fpirit come to me, and kifs, — No ! — I mufl wait awhile for this : A few few years or days, and I, too, feed on blifs ! FOR THE ANGLO-SAXON RACE. Honour and Arms ! The feals of Grace Upon this oriel glow : Arms, as when brothers may embrace, - And not to fight a foe ; The arms of peace, heraldic arms, With blazon richly dight, Made gorgeous with chivalric charms, And gilt with glory's light. Honour and Arms ! O brethren dear, I fee your nafhing eyes, I feel your true hearts harrying near From all outlandilh ikies, To balk one hour in one dear fpot, The kernel of your love, In poor old England unforgot, The bleft of God above ! A Memorial Window. 99 Centre of all, Britannia's fhield In praife unfullied mines, Rofe, fhamrock, thiflle round its field, A wreath of beauty twines ; Sweet Erin's harp of melody, With Scotia's canton fair, And thine own royal lions three Majeflic roaming there. Next, to thy right, a mighty fon, A flalwart giant grown, A wanton and a truant one, Yet a dear child to own! The flurdy flripes, — the glittering flars, Long may they blaze above, Not on the bloody helm of Mars, But in the crown of love ! Nearer thy heart another fiands, A twin, but one in two, And bringing homage with both hands From one wide heart moil true ; Stern Caledonia's thiflly praife Reveals her hardy child, Where Canada's mild beaver flrays To flock the weflern wild. Shining above, in orient light The morning fun upfoars, — Hindoflan's elephantine might Is fhadow'd on thofe fhores ; ioo A Memorial Window. Their lufcious fruits of tropic toil The fea-girt Indies breed, And forth from Afric's fouthern foil Springs Anglo-Saxon feed. Beneath Britannia's blazon fair Auftralia's emu Hands, And kangaroos are lkipping there On rich unpeopled lands ; New Zealand's war-boat paddles faft 5 And Borneo's royal fhip Makes many a pirate fcuming paft Beware " the Badger's " grip ! Old Egbert's crofs in golden light Is mining over all, And, on its right, no viper's bite Harms Malta's holy Paul 5 While huge Gibraltar's rock outftands, For briflling cannon cleft, Like Hercules with Samfon's hands To pillar up the left. Below, with praife each lelTer ftar In mingled luftre fmiles, The ftorm-fwept Falklands feen afar, And foft Ionian Ifles, With dark Sierra's libell'd beach, And Mandarin'd Hong Kong, And all who fpeak in Englifh fpeech, Or fing an Englilh fong. The Anglo-Saxon Race. 101 O heralds ! when and where before Were Earth's true honours feen, In brightnefs and in beauty more Than on this Gothic fcreen ? Where Britain, like a mother hen, Is gathering to her wings The world of Anglo-Saxon men, Creation's priefts and kings ! %\t 3ttfll0-jton $m. Stretch forth ! ftretch forth ! from the fouth to the north, From the e aft to the weft, — ftretch forth ! ftretch forth ! Strengthen thy ftakes, and lengthen thy cords, — The world -is a tent for the world's true lords ! Break forth and fpread over every place 5 The world is a world for the Saxon Race ! England fowed the glorious feed, In her wife old laws and her pure old creed, And her ftout old heart, and her plain old tongue, And her refolute energies, ever young, And her free bold hand, and her frank fair tace, And her faith in the rule of the Saxon Race ! Feebly dwindling day by day, All other races are fading away : io2 Non Anglifed Angeli. The fenfual South, and the fervile Eaft, And the tottering throne of the treacherous prieft $ And every land is in evil cafe But the wide-fcatter'd realm of the Saxon Race ! Englishmen everywhere ! brethren all ! By one great name on your millions I call, — Norman, American, Gael, and Celt, Into this fine mix'd mafs ye melt, And all the beft of your beft I trace In the golden brafs of the Saxon Race ! Englifhmen everywhere ! faithful and free ! Lords of the land, and kings of the fea, — Anglo-Saxons ! honeft and true, By hundreds of millions my word is to you, — Love one another ! as brothers embrace That the World may be bleft in the Saxon Race ! Ho ! ye fwift meffengers out of the North, Mercy's ambaffadors,— halle to go forth ! Speedily let your broad fails be unfurl' d, Winging your errand all over the world, Wafting your meffage of peace and goodwill, Brotherhood, godlinefs, fcience, and lkill ! Ye are the fait of the earth, and its health, — Ye are its gladnefs, its wifdom, and wealth, — Ye are its glory ! O Britain, thy fons, Thy flout Anglo-Saxons, thy refolute ones, Ever triumphant on every more, Are only triumphant for Good evermore ! Miniflers bright of the bounties of God, Where is the land by thefe angels untrod ? Tell it out, Africa, China, and Scinde, And Ifles of the Sea, and the uttermofl Inde, Tell out their zeal, and their grandeur of foul, From the lands of the Line to the mows of the Pole ! Tell out the goodnefs, the greatnefs, the grace, That follow their footfleps in every place ! Tell it out, thou, the firfl cradle of Man, Teeming with millions, ferene Hindoflan, — Tell how fair commerce, and juft-dealing might, Have bleft thee with peace, and adorn'd thee with light! Boundlefs Australia, help of the age, And heirloom of hope on Futurity's page, Lo ! thy vail continent, filent and fad, With the fong of the Saxon has learned to be glad -, Rejoicing to change the wild wafte and the fen Into wide-waving harvefts and cities of men ! Mighty Columbia, Star of the Weft, See, 'tis a world by the Saxon polfeft ! Glorious and glad, from the North to the South, Your millions praife God with an Englishman's mouth! 1 04 Non Angli fed Angeli. And all love a land where at home they would be — England, old England, the Home of the Free ! Dotted about on the width of the world, Her beacon is blazing, her flag is unfurl'd : Not a fhore, not a fea, not a deep defert wild, But pays its mute homage to Energy's Child, — Not a realm, not a people, or kingdom, or clan, But owns him the chief of the children of Man ! The foaming Atlantic hath render'd its ifles, And the dark Caribbean its tropical fmiles, And Southern Pacific thofe many-hued flowers, And Europe's Mid-Ocean thefe temples and towers- Their tribute the feas of Old India bring, And Borneo is proud of her new Britim King ! Yes ! for dear Britain, the Mother of Men, Rules all, under God, by the fword and the pen : She is the Delphi, the heart of the earth, The rock-rufhing fpring of humanity's worth ; And, if two hemifpheres profper, the caufe Lies in old England's Religion and Laws ! Yes ! for her realm is the Gofhen of light ; The wings of thefe Angels have fcatter'd the night ! Duteous and daring, as beauteous and llrong, They are helpers of Right, and avengers of Wrong : Fair in their fouls as their eyes and their locks, Stout in their hearts as their oaks and their rocks ! Ciratntstatttt, The waves, the winds of Circumftance ! What arm their ftrength can Hem ? What ftruggling mortal has a chance To bind or buffet them ? Againft thefe rapids who can fwim, — And not be hurl'd away- Over Niagara's boiling brim, — The torrent of To-day ? Ah ! truft not, Man, to thine own ftrength ; Ah ! boaft not of thy power 5 Thy befl in all its breadth and length Will break in any hour : Let but Temptation touch the line Electrical within, That fpark will fpring the fecret mine Of Nature's ready fin ! If fome fun-chance, and fome moon-change Of paflion's light and heat Within Occafion's comet-range By bad conjunction meet, — Behold, a Deluge ! to o'erwhelm The wifdom and the worth Of mortal's nobleft fpirit-realm, The pattern-man of earth ! O tower of ftrength ! O God, O Friend ! Defend us by Thy power 5 Till we have reach'd our trial's end, Uphold us every hour ! Each Hep we venture in advance Is full of woes unknown, If Thou enfranchife Circumftance, And leave us all alone ! a reply to Longfellow's "mars." Thou lover of the blaze of Mars, Come out with me to-night, For I have found among the ftars A name of nobler light. Thy boafl is of the unconquer'd Mind, The ftrong, the ftern,. the frill ; Mine of the happier Heart, refign'd To Wifdom's holy will. They call my fiar by Beauty's name, The gentle Queen of Love 5 And look ! how fair its tender flame Is flickering above : liar of peace, O torch of hope, I hail thy precious ray A diamond on the ebon cope To ihine the dark away ! Within my heart there is no light But cometh from above, 1 give the firll watch of the night To the fweet planet, Love : The liar of Charity and Truth, Of cheerful thoughts and fage, The lamp to guide my Heps in youth And gladden mine old age ! O brother, yield ! thy fiery Mars For all his mailed might Is not fo llrong among the liars As mine, the Queen of night : A queen to Ihine all nights away, And make the morn more clear, Contentment gilding every day, — — There is no twilight here ! Yes 5 in a trial world like this Where all that comes — is fent, Learn how divine a thing it is To fmile and be content ! ( ip8 ) §ais ptsttte % f mm How glorious is thy calling, My happy Fatherland ! While all the thrones are falling, In righteoufnefs to fland $ Amid the earthquakes heaving thus To reft in paflures green, — Then, God be praifed who helpeth us, And — God preferve the Queen ! How glorious is thy calling! In sun, and moon, and liars, To fee the figns appalling Of prodigies and wars, — - Yet by thy grand example Hill From lies the world to wean, Then, God be praifed who guards from ill, And — God preferve the Queen ! Within thy facred border Amid the founding feas, Religion, Right, and Order Securely dwell at eafe 3 God preferve the Queen. 109 And if we lift this beacon bright. Among the nations feen, We blefs the Lord who loves the right, And — God preferve the Queen ! Fair paflures and ftill waters Are ours withal to blefs The thronging fons and daughters Of exile and diflrefs -, For who fo free as Englifh hearts Are, fhall be, and have been ? Then, God be thanked on our parts, And — God preferve the Queen ! Though ftrife and fear and madnefs Are raging all around, There Hill is peace and gladnefs On Britain's holy ground -, But not to us the praife, — to us Our glory is to lean On Him who giveth freely thus, And — God preferve the Queen ! O nation greatly favour' d, If ever thou wouldft bring A facrifice well favour' d Of praife to God the King, Now, now, let all thy children raife In faith and love ferene, The loyal patriot hymn of praife Of — God preferve the Queen ! mfoatft »|. Ah, might I but efcape to fome fweet fpot, Oafis of my hopes, to fancy dear, Where rural virtues are not yet forgot, And good old cufloms crown the circling year : Where Hill contented peafants love their lot, And trade's vile din offends not nature's ear, But hofpitable hearths, and welcomes warm To country quiet add their focial charm : Some fmiling bay of Cambria's happy Ihore, A wooded dingle on a mountain-fide, Within the diftant found of ocean's roar, And looking down on valley fair and wide, Nigh to the village church, to pleafe me more Than vaft cathedrals in their Gothic pride, And blefl: with pious paflor, who has trod Himfelf the way, and leads his flock to God, — "There would I dwell, for I delight therein ! " Far from the evil ways of evil men, Untainted by the foil of others' fin, My own repented of, and clean again ; With health and plenty crown'd, and peace within, Choice books, and guiltlefs pleafures of the pen, And mountain-rambles with a welcome friend, And dear domeftic joys, that never end. Wifdom's Wijh. 1 1 1 There from the flowery mead, or fhingled more, To cull the gems that bounteous Nature gave, From the rent mountain pick the brilliant ore, Or feek the curious cryftal in its cave 5 And learning nature's Mafter to adore, Know more of Him who came the loft to fave ; Drink deep the pleafures contemplation gives, And learn to love the meaner! thing that lives. No envious wifh my fellows to excel, No fordid money-getting cares be mine ; No low ambition in high ftate to dwell, Nor meanly grand among the poor to fhine : But, fweet Benevolence, regale me well With thofe cheap pleafures and light cares of thine, And meek-eyed Piety, be always near, With calm Content, and Gratitude lincere. Refcued from cities, and forenfic ftrife, And walking well with God in Nature's eye, Bleft with fair children, and a faithful wife, Love at my board, and friendfhip dwelling nigh, Oh thus to wear away my ufeful life, And, when I'm call'd, in rapturous hope to die, Thus to rob heav'n of all the good I can, And challenge earth to fhow a happier man ! %\t fpoijtf s % «nt. My own little darling — dead ! The dove of my happinefs fled ! Juft Heaven, forgive But let me not live Now my poor babe is dead ! No more to my yearning breaft Shall that fweet mouth be preft 3 No more on my arm Nettled up warm Shall my fair darling reft ! Alas, for that dear glazed eye, Why did it dim or die ? Thofe lips fo foft I have kiffed fo oft Why are they ice, oh why ? Alas, little frocks and toys, Shadows of bygone joys, — Have I not treafure Of bittereft pleafure In thefe little frocks and toys ? The Mother s Lament. 113 Oh harrowing fight to behold That marble-like face all cold, That fmall cherilh'd form Flung to the worm, Deep in the charnel-mould ! Where is each heart-winning way, Thy prattle, and innocent play ? Alas, they are gone, And left me alone To weep for them night and day ! Yet why fhould I linger behind r Kill me too, Death mofl kind 5 Where can I go To meet thy blow And my fweet babe to find ? I know it, I rave half- wild ! But who can be calm and mild When the deep heart Is riven apart Over a dear dead child? I know it, I fhould not fpeak So boldly, — I ought to be meek, But love, it is flrong 3 And my fpirit is wrong, — Help me, my God ! I am weak ! tost. Yet will I truft; in all my fears, Thy mercy, gracious Lord, appears, To guide me through this vale of tears, And be my ftrength -, Thy mercy guides the ebb and flow Of health and joy, or pain and woe, To wean my heart from all below To Thee at length. Yes 5 welcome pain, — which Thou haft fent,- Yes 5 farewell bleffings, — Thou haft lent, With Thee alone I reft content, For Thou art Heav'n, — My truft repofes, fafe and ftill, On the wife goodnefs of Thy will, Grateful for earthly good — or ill, Which Thou haft given. O bleffed Friend ! O blifsful thought ! With happieft confolation fraught, — Truft Thee I may, I will, I ought, — To doubt were fin 5 Then let whatever florms arife, Their Ruler fits above the ikies, And lifting unto Him mine eyes, 'Tis calm within. The New Tear. 115 Danger may threaten, foes moleft, Poverty brood, difeafe infeft, Yea, torn affections wound the breafl For one fad hour, But Faith looks to her home on high, Hope cafts around a cheerful eye, And Love puts all the terrors by With gladdening power. %\l |bfo f M. The old man he is dead, young heir, And gone to his long account ; Come, nand on his hearth, and fit in his chair, And into his faddle mount ! The old man's face was a face to be fear'd, But thine both loving and gay -, Oh who would not choofe for that Hern white beard, A bright young cheek alway ? The old man he had outlived them all, His friends, he faid, were gone ; But hundreds are waffailing now in the hall, And true friends every one ! 1 1 6 The New Tear. The old man moan'd both fore and long Of pleafures pail, he faid ; But pleafures to come are the young heir's fong, The living, not the dead ! The old man babbled of old regrets, Alack ! how much he owed : But the young heir has not a feather of debts His heart withal to load ! The old man ufed to fhudder, and feem Remembering fecret fin ; But the happy young heir is as if in a dream, Paradife all within ! Alas ! for the old man, — where is he now ? And fear for thyfelf, young heir ; For he was innocent once as thou, As ruddy and blythe and fair : Reap wifdom irom his furrow'd face, Cull counfel from his fear ; Oh fpeed thee, young heir, in gifts and in grace, And bleflings on thee, — New Year ! fa a §twtxaus ffluijr. Unworldly child of feeling, With kindled eye and kindly heart Incautioufly revealing How loving and how true thou art, — Alas ! for men will ufe thee, And even while they ufe contemn, And in their turn refufe thee The help that thou hall yielded them. Yet holy angels love thee, And yearningly they fhield from harm, As glorious guards above thee, A fpirit found fo frefh and warm 5 And God Himfelf doth blefs thee, And all the fouls made perfect now In fympathy carefs thee, Rifling thine illumined brow ! Still, while I praife thy beauty, Thy characters of lovely light, In friendfhip's tender duty I counfel thee, dear youth, aright : Remember one true fentence — That " pearls fhould not be can 1 to fwine/ And never fhall repentance Becloud one generous act of thine. Mtmt ' Dear Nurfe of Thought, calm chaos-brooding dove, Thee, Silence, well I love 5 Mother of Fancy, friend and lifter mine, Silence, my heart is thine. Rarer than Eloquence, and fweeter far Thy dulcet paufes are ; Stronger than Mafic, charm Ihe ne'er fo well, Is, Silence, thy foft fpell. The rufhing cryftals throb about my brain, And thrill, and moot again, — Their teeming imagery crowds my fphere, If Silence be but here. Bodily reft is Sleep, the foothing fleep, Spirit-reft, Silence deep 5 O daily Difcord, ceafe, for mercy, ceafe ! Break not this happy peace. The melodies within alone are heard, By their own ftillnefs ftirr'd -, O mute, and motionlefs, — O death of ftrife, O precious lull in life ! Now know I how Pygmalion's fpirit ftern Could on a ftatue yearn, — The hufh'd, the beautiful, the calmly fair, The marble Silence there ! P 'i far % gest ! All 's for the beft! be fanguine and cheerful, Trouble and Sorrow are friends in difguife, Nothing but Folly goes faithlefs and fearful, Courage for ever is happy and wife : All for the belt,— if a man would but know it Providence wifhes us all to be bleft 5 This is no dream of the pundit or poet, Heaven is gracious, and — All 's for the beft ! All for the beft ! fet this on your ftandard, Soldier of fadnefs, or pilgrim of love, Who to the fhores of Defpair may have wander' d, A way-wearied fwallow, or heartftricken dove : All for the beft ! — be a man but confiding, Providence tenderly governs the reft, And the frail bark of His creature is guiding Wifely and warily all for the beft. All for the beft ! then fling away terrors, Meet all your fears and your foes in the van, And in the midft of your dangers or errors Truit like a child, while you ftrive like a man : All 's for the beft ! — unbiaffed, unbounded, Providence reigns from the Eafl to the Weft 3 And, by both wifdom and mercy furrounded, Hope and be happy that All 's for the beft ! %\t p*It leak World of forrow, care, and change, Even to myfelf I feem, As adown thy vale I range, Wandering in a dream : All things are fo ftrange. For, the dead who died this day, Fair and young, or great and good, Though we mourn them, where are they ? — With thofe before the flood -, Equally paft away ! Living hearts have fcantly time To feel fome other heart moft dear, Scarce can love the love fublime Unfelfillily lincere, — Death nips it in its prime ! Minds have hardly power to learn How much there is to know aright, Can dimly through the mill difcern Some little glimpfe of light,- — The order is, Return ! The Riddle Read. 1 2 1 Willing hands but juft begin Wifely to work for God and man, And fome poor wages barely win As one who well began, — The Mailer calls, Come in ! Well, — this is well : for well begun Is all the good man here may do ; He cannot hope to fee half done ; A furlong is crept through, And lo, the goal is won ! This is the life of fight and fenfe, And other brighter lives depend On all we here can juft commence ; But long before an end God calls His fervant hence. Take courage, courage : not in vain The Ruler hath appointed thus 3 Account it neither grief nor pain His mercy fpareth us — It is the labourer's gain. Here we begin to love and know ; And when God's willing grace perceives The plant of Heav'n hath roots to grow, He plucks the ranker leaves, And doth tranfplant it fo ! ftapMt How many years are fled, — How many friends are dead : Alas, how fail The pall hath pall, — How fpeedily life hath fped ! Places, that knew me of yore, Know me for theirs no more 5 And fore at the change Quite llrange I range Where I was at home before. Thoughts and things each day Seem to be fading away 5 Yet this is, I wot, Their lot to be not Continuing in one Hay ! A mingled melh it feems Of facts and fancy's gleams $ I fcarce have power From hour to hour To feparate things from dreams. Pojl-Letters. 123 Darkly, as in a glals, Like a vain fnadow they pafs -, Their ways they wend And tend to an end, The goal of life, alas ! Alas ? and wherefore fo r — Be glad for this palling Ihow 5 The world and its lull Back mult to their dull Before the foul can grow. Expand, my willing mind, Thy nobler life to find 5 Thy childhood leave Nor grieve to bereave Thine age of toys behind. fost-pters. Lottery tickets every day, — And ever drawn a blank : Yet none the lefs we pant and pray For prizes in that bank : Morn by morn, and week by week, They cheat us, or amufe, Whillt on we fondly hope, and feek Some Irirring daily news. 1 24 Poft-Letters. The heedlefs poftman on his path Is fcattering joys and woes ; He bears the feeds of life and death, And drops them as he goes ! I never note him trudging near Upon his common track, But all my heart is hope, or fear, With virions bright, or black ! I hope — what hope I not ? — vague things Of wondrous poffible good 5 I dread — as vague imaginings, A very viper's brood : Fame's funfhine, Fortune's golden dews May now be hovering o'er, — Or the pale lriadow of ill news Be cowering at my door ! Myftery ! mailer-key to life, Thou fpring of every hour, 1 love to wreftle in thy ftrife, And tempt thy perilous power ; I love to know that none can know What this day may bring forth, What blifs for me, for me what woe Is travailing in birth ! See, on my neighbour's threfhold ftands Yon carelefs common man, Bearing, perchance, in thofe coarfe hands — My Being's alter'd plan ! Pojl-Letters. 125 My germs of pleafure, or of pain, Of trouble, or of peace, May there lie thick as drops of rain Diflill'd from Gideon's fleece ! Who knoweth ? may not loves be dead, — Or thofe we loved laid low, — Who knoweth r may not wealth be fled, And all the world my foe ! Or who can tell if Fortune's hour (Which once on all doth mine) Be not within this morning's dower, A profperous morn of mine ? Ah, cold Reality ! — in fpite Of hopes, and endlefs chance, That bitter poftman, ruthlefs wight, Has cheated poor Romance : No letters ! Oh the dreary phrafe ! Another day forlorn : — And thus I wend upon my ways To watch another morn. Ceafe, babbler ! — let thofe doubtings ceafe : What ? mould a fon of heaven With the pure manna of his Peace Mix up this faithlefs leaven ? Not fo ! — for in the hands of God, And in none earthly will, Abides alike my ftarT and rod, My good, and feeming ill. NEW WORDS TO " MYNHEER VAN DUNK, Mine own flout heart ! You and I muft never part, But bravely get on together, — Through calm and ftrife, And the ups and downs of life, In winter, or fummer weather ! Singing, Oh ! for a true bold heart fhall be Neftled in its warm old place with me, Cheerful evermore, and frank, and free, Though the Mountains be drown d in the rolling Sea ! ii. Troubles, well feafon'd, as being well fent, No honeft man dreams of fcorning ; But he mixes them up in his cup of content, And fears no foes While he happily knows That Night muft end in Morning ! For a brave glad heart (hall always be Beating in its own warm neft with me, Cheerful evermore, and frank, and free, Though the Mountains be drown'd in the rolling Sea ! AT, %\t pot. A TRUE TALE OF TERROR. He was a bright and beauteous boy, A pretty one of four years old, Blue-eyed and ringleted with gold, And full of life and love and joy : A happy, funny, little child, With dimpled cheeks and laughing lips, From head to feet and finger-tips A thing with merriment half wild ! And how his mother glow'd to fee Her- darling's many winning wiles, And how his father's prouder imiles Reflected that fweet cherub's glee ! But, on one certain woefome eve, — It was a neighbour's wedding-day, Where every face was glad and gay — Their babe thofe poor fond parents leave. And Sarah has the child in truft,— And — there's her lover to be met, And- — how that fractious boy does fret That fiie mould leave him — but ibe mull $ 128 The Idiot. " Stop, fir, I '11 make you lie quite ftill !" So cruel Nurfe contrives that Dread Shall be the watcher in her Head, While fhe runs off to walk with Will. A dreffed-up Horror in a fheet Is fet befide that infant's cot ! Ha ! now he 's ftill enough, God wot, As, terror-flruck from head to feet, His large blue eyes freeze hard with fear, His rofy cheeks are marble pale, And from his lips a gibbering wail, — O mother ! — there is madnefs here ! Woe, woe ! they come — too late return' d- And run up quick their babe to kifs $ All filent ? Abfent ? What is this ? And candles to the fockets burn'd ? Upright the fheeted Horror Hood And, juft beneath an Idiot lay, Staring and flunn'd, and cold as clay ! Is it the child ? or painted wood ? O loft, loft, loft ! that foul fo dear Is palfied on its mental throne ! This dreffed-up Horror reigns alone Its King within — a lifelong Fear ! Ah, ftricken hearts ! Ah, bitter lot ! Mercy, O God ! and Help, O Man ! Mercy and Help — as beft we can, To cheer that horror-fhrouded cot ! % Hoax gtatt's j&mttotg. My holyday, and my holiday, A fabbath for body and foul ! My chance for a quiet time to pray, And my change from the City to ileal away For a happy country ftroll. It is God's good mercy, however it feem To Pharifees folly and fin, If I get well away on the wings of fleam, And let fweet meadows or woodland ftream Frefhen my heart within. you that are pious on leifure and wealth, And live in the country air, Think not I do it in fhame or by flealth, To me it is mercy, religion, and health, For God meets with me there ! 1 have only one day in the whole long week, While yours are all the feven $ So I leave my lodging, where gutters reek With every miafma that blanches the cheek, To breathe the breath of heaven. 130 My Own Place. I feek it of grace, and with gratitude find ; For the fcene fo green and calm Gladdens mine eyes, and comforts my mind, That I leave ail worries and fins behind, Gathering Gilead's balm. Yes, pfalms of the heart, and leffons of truth, And liturgies full of love, Live in the fields, renewing my youth, As I faunter (breaking the Sabbath, forfooth !) Like Adam in Eden, or corn-poppied Ruth, Dreaming of gardens above ! :g §m f to. Whoever I am, wherever my lot, Whatever I happen to be, Contentment and Duty iliall hallow the fpot That Providence orders for me 5 No covetous (training and flriving to gain One feverifh ftep in advance, — I know my own place, and you tempt me in vain To hazard a change and a chance ! I care for no riches that are not my right, No honour that is not my due ; But Hand in my Itation by day, or by night, The will of my Malter to do 5 My Own Place. 131 He lent me my lot, be it humble or high, And fet me my bufinefs here ; And whether I live in His fervice, or die, My heart fhall be found in my fphere ! If wealthy, I Hand as the fteward of my King ; If poor, as the friend of my Lord 5 If feeble, my prayers and my praifes I bring ; If Hal wart, my pen or my fword : If wifdom be mine, I will cherifh His gift ; If iimplenefs, balk in His love $ If forrow, His hope fhall my fpirit uplift 3 If joy, I will throne it above ! The good that it pleafes my God to beftow, I gratefully gather and prize -, The evil, — it can be no evil, I know, But only a good in difguife 3 And whether my llation be lowly or great, No duty can ever be mean, The factory cripple is fix'd in his fate As well as a King or a Queen ! For duty's bright livery glorifies all With brotherhood equal and free, Obeying, as children, the heavenly call, That places us where we fhould be ; A fervant, — the badge of my fervitude lhines As a jewel invefted by Heaven -, A monarch, — remember that juflice affigns Much fervice, where fo much is given ! 132 My Own Place. Away then with "helpings'* that humble and harm Though " bettering " trips from your tongue, Away ! for your folly would fcatter the charm That round my proud poverty hung : I felt that I flood like a man at my port, Though peril and hardfhip were there, — And all that your wifdom would counfel me mofl Is — "Leave it 5 — do better elfewhere." f f better were better indeed, and not worfe, I might go a-head with the reil; But many a gain and a joy is a curfe, And many a grief for the belt : No ! — duties are all the " advantage " I ufe ; I pine not for praife or for pelf 5 And, as for ambition, I care not to choofe My better or worfe for myfelf ! I will not, I dare not, I cannot ! — I Hand Where God has ordain'd me to be, An honeft mechanic — or lord in the land, — He fitted my calling for me : Whatever my flate, be it weak, be it ftrong, With honour, or fweat, on my face, This, this is my glory, my flrength, and my fong, I fland, like a ftar, in my place. €t$mV& peart England's heart ! Oh never fear The flurdy good old flock $ Nothing 's falfe or hollow here, But folid as a rock : England's heart is found enough, And fafe in its old place, Honefl, loyal, blithe, and bluff, And open as her face ! England's heart ! With beating nerves It rallies for the throne, — And, with Luther, well preferves The knee for God alone : England's heart is found enough, Unfhaken and ferene, Like her oak-trees true and tough And old, — but glad and green. England's heart ! All Europe hurl'd To ruin, ftrife, and dearth, Sees yet one Zoar in the world, The Gofhen of the earth 5 England's heart is found enough, — And — though the ikies be dark, Though winds be loud, and waves be rough- Safe, as Noah's ark ! England's heart, — ay, God be praifed, That thus, in patriot pride, An Englifh cheer can yet be raifed Above the flormy tide : Safe enough, and found enough, It thrills the heart to feel A man's a bit of Englifh fluff, True from head to heel ! UlEgotus. FOR MUSIC. " Let bygones be bygones," — they foolifhly fay, And bid me be wife and forget them ; But old recollections are active to-day, And I can do nought but regret them : Though the prefent be pleafant, all joyous and gay, And promifing well for the morrow, I love to look back on the years pafl away, Embalming my bygones in forrow. If the morning of life has a mantle of gray, Its noon will be blither and brighter, If March has its florm, there is funfhine in May, And light out of darknefs is lighter : Thus the prefent is pleafant, a cheerful to-day, With a wifer, a foberer gladnefs, Becaufe it is tinged with the mellowing ray Of a yefterday's funfet of fadnefs. \txq to %mm\$. boys and men of Britifh mould, With mother's milk within you ! A fimple word for young and old, A word to warn and win you : You 've each and all got human hearts As well as human features, So hear me, while I take the parts Of all the poor dumb creatures. 1 wot your lot is fometimes rough 5 But theirs is fomething rougher, — No hopes, no loves, — but pain enough, And only fenfe to furTer : You,' men and boys, have friends and joys, And homes and hopes in meafure, — But thefe poor brutes are only mutes, And never knew a pleafure. A little water, charF, and hay, And fleep, the boon of heaven, How great returns for thefe have they To your advantage given : And yet the worn-out horfe or afs Who makes your daily gaining, Is paid with goad and thong, alas ! Though nobly uncomplaining. 136 Mercy to Animals. Stop, cruel boy ! you mean no ill, But never thought about it, — Why beat that patient donkey fiill ? He goes as well without it : Here, tafle and try a cut or two, — Ha ! you can fhout and feel it ; Boy — that was Mercy's hint to you, — In fhorter meafure deal it. Stop, full en man : 'tis true to tell How ill the world has ufed you ; The farmers didn 't treat you well, The fquire's felf refufed you : But is that any reafon why A bad revenge you 're wreaking On that poor, lame, old horfe, — whofe eye Rebukes you without fpeaking ? Oh ! think not thou that this dumb brute Has no flrong Friend to aid him -, Nor hope, becaufe his wrongs are mute, They roufe not God who made him ! A little while, and you are — dead, With all your bitter feelings -, How will the Judge, fo juft and dread, Reward your cruel dealings ? Go, do fome good, before you die, To thofe who make your living :. They will not afk you reafons why, Nor tax you for forgiving : Mercy to Animals. 137 Their mouths are mute, but molt acute The woes whereby you wear them ; Then come with me, and only fee How eafy 'tis to fpare them ! Load for'ard ; neither goad nor flog : For reft your beaft is flagging : And do not let that willing dog Tear out his heart with dragging : Wait, wait awhile, thofe axles greafe, And lhift this buckle's fretting 5 And give that galling collar eafe 5 — How grateful is he getting ! So poor yourfelves, and fhort of joys, Unkindly ufed, unfairly, I fometimes wonder, men and boys, You 're merciful fo rarely : If you have felt how hunger gripes, Why famifh and ill-ufe 'em ? . If you've been wealed by fores and ftripes, How can you beat and bruife 'em. Oh, fear ! left God has taught in vain, And fo your hearts you harden ; Oh, hope ! for lo ! He calls again, And now 's the time for pardon : Yes, hafte to-day to put away Your cruelties and curfes, — And man at leaft, if not his beaft, Shall blefs me for my verfes. ( ^ ) $ Jartosi 3% m , i8 47 . O nation, Chriftian nation, Lift high the hymn of praife ! The God of our Salvation Is love in all His ways ; He bleffeth us, and feedeth Every creature of His hand, To fuccour him that needeth And to gladden all the land ! Rejoice, ye happy people, And peal the changing chime From every belfried fleeple In fymphony fublime : Let cottage and let palace Be thankful, and rejoice, And woods and hills and valleys Re-echo the glad voice ! Frcm glen and plain and city Let gracious incenfe rife, — The Lord of life and pity Hath heard His creatures' cries 3 And where in fierce oppreffing Stalk'd fever, fear, and dearth, He pours a triple blefling To fill and fatten earth ! A Harveji Hymn. 139 Gaze round in deep emotion : The rich and ripen'd grain Is like a golden ocean Becalm' d upon the plain 5 And we, who late were weepers Left judgment fhould deftroy, Now fing, becaufe the reapers Are come again with joy ! O praife the Hand that giveth — And giveth evermore, — To every foul that liveth Abundance flowing o'er ! For every foul He filleth With manna from above, And over all diftilleth The uncYion of His love. Then gather, Chrivtians, gather To praife with heart and voice The good Almighty Father, Who biddeth you rejoice : For He hath turned the fadnefs Of his children into mirth, And we will ling with gladnefs The harveft-home of earth ! gtto%r Jarbcst f pit, 1849. Again, through every county Of Britain's happy fhores The Great Creator's bounty Unflinted plenty pours; Again to Him returning In thankfulnefs we raife, Our hearts within us burning, The facrifice of praife. O great as is Thy glory, Thy goodnefs doth excel ! What harp can hymn the ftory r What tongue the tale can tell ? The boundlefs breadth of Nature Is fpread beneath Thy throne, And every living creature Is fed by Thee alone ! Rejoice ! for overflowing Is each abundant field 5 The Lord has blefl the fowing, The Lord has blefl the yield : The mower has mown double, The reaper doubly reap'd, And from the ihining ftubble Her head the gleaner heap'd. Another Harve/l Hymn. 141 Rejoice ! for mercy bleffes, And judgment fmites no more ; The God of grace potteries Araunah's threfhing-floor : The gains of honeft labour Are mower' d from above, And neighbour looks on neighbour In happinefs and love. O men of all conditions. The high or humbly-born, — Away with low leditions ! Away with lofty fcorn ! Mix kindly with each other, — For God has given to all The common name of brother, And gladdens great and fmall. And Erin ! thou that narvefi ' So patient on thy fod, — To thee, to thee, this harveir. Is come, the gift of God ! Cheer up, though woes opprefs thee ; Be diligent and true ; And, with thy Queen to blefs thee, Her King shall bless thee too ! Jinn! THE FIRST RIFLE BALLAD, JANUARY, 18^2, Englishmen up ! make ready your rifles ! Who can tell now what a day may bring forth ' Patch up all quarrels, and flick at no trifles,— Let the world fee what your loyalty 's worth ! Loyalty ? — felflfhnefs, cowardice, terror Stoutly will multiply loyalty's fum, When to aftoniih prefumption and error, Soon the fhout rifes, — the brigands are come ! Cannot we fee them ? — impatiently waiting, Hundreds of thoufands, all hungry for fpoil, Breathing out flaughter, and bitterly hating Britain and all that is born of her foil ! Jefait priefls and praetorian legions Clamour like hounds to be loofed on the prey, Eager to devaftate Proteflant regions, And to take vengeance for Waterloo day ! If the Kite wants to be counted an Eagle, What can he better be fcheming than this,- While a falfe peace our minds may inveigle, And we are fold to a Judas's kifs ? Suddenly, fecretly, boldly he '11 do it ! And the fharp fword, that will ravage the coafts, Then lhall run into the land, and go through it, If Britain fleeps at her fentinel-pofts ! Markfmen afhore ! make ready, make ready ! Honeft men flumber, but thieves are aftir ; Steamers afloat, — be llirring and Heady ! All will be loft, if your vigilance err : Every one, — fporting or fpinning or farming, Wifely defend what you have while you can, Steadily drilling, and fturdily arming, That you may fight for the right like a man ! Think of the rapine, the flames, and the Slaughter, If the fierce Algerine-Frenchman here flood ! Think, if you dare, of your wife and your daughter, Think of your little ones choked in their blood! What ! — is the wolf fo fqueamiih and tender As to be ftopp'd by a peacemonger's tear ? No ! — if it finds not a ftalwart defender Every man's home is a Golgotha here ! Up, then, and Arm ! it is wifdom and duty * We are too tempting a prize to be weak : Lo, what a pillage of riches and beauty, Glories to gain, and revenges to wreak ! Run for your rifles, and ftand to your drilling 5 Let not the wolf have his will, as he might If, in the midft of their trading and tilling, Englifhmen cannot — or care not to — fight ! TO SUNDRY WHO OBJECT TO " ARM. What ! will they tell us that timely precaution Caufes the peril it ftrives to avoid ? Or that true fafety is found in proportion With the true danger of being deftroy'd ? What ! with the wolf looking over the hurdles Muftn't the fhepherd be loading his gun? Or, while his liver with cowardice curdles, Should he cry Welcome, — and prudently run ? Further, — they hint, becaufe England is waking, This is a challenge, an infult, a threat, — That we affront them and taunt them, by taking Rational means for fecurity yet : Ha ! they would rather ftill fee us all fleeping, Then, as on Corinth and Carthage of old, Secretly creeping, and fuddenly leaping, Teach us — how kind is the wolf to the fold ! No ! let us all, — as erft we were bowmen When a Firft Richard or Edward was king, Now be found ready to fcare away foemen, True with the trigger, as once with the firing ! Not like your fuglemen dreffers and drillers Tailor' d and trufTed, and made ufelefs the while, But as Hern refolute rifle-Guerillas Able to pick off a man at a mile ! Think you thofe African-razzia heroes Would be as tame as they look at reviews ? Anything rather than — Guifes and Neroes, Playing at foldiering juft to amufe ? No, — in bad earneft for vengeance and plunder RuthlefTly would they be facking each farm, If we give way to the traitorous blunder That it is foolifh and timid to ARM ! Truly, we long to live kindly with neighbours ! Nobody dreams but of war as a curfe 3 But in the middle of peaceable labours, Ifn't it wife to be ready for worfe ? Change is the nature of things as of feafons ; Change may be nearer than any one knows ; And for the heft, as the ftrongeft of reafons, Let us ftand ready for friends or — for foes ! ARM, then, at once ! if no one attack us, Better than well, for the rifle may ruft : But, if the pirates be coming to fack us, Level it calmly, — and God be your truft ! Only, while yet there 's a moment, be fteady; Skilfully, duteouily, quickly prepare, — Then with a nation of Riflemen ready, Nobody '11 come, — becaufe no one will dare ( 14* ) %\t fast %m. Another year ? another year ! Who dare depend on other years r The judgment of this world is near, And all its children faint for fears : Famine, peftilence, and war, Mixt with praifes, prayers, and tears, Civil ftrife and focial jar, Spurr'd by pen, and ftirr'd by fword, Herald Him who comes from far In Elijah's fiery car, Our own returning Lord ! Look around, — the nations quail ! All the elements of ill Crowd like locufls on the gale And the dark horizon fill : Woe to earth, and all her feed ! Woe ! they run to ruin ftill : — He that runneth well may read Texts of truth the times afford, How, in earth's extreme!! need Cometh', cometh foon indeed Our own redeeming Lord ! Lo, the marvels pafling firange Every teeming minute brings $ Daily turns with fudden change The kaleidofccpe of things ; The Lafl Time. 147 But the Ruler, juft and wife, Orders all, as King of kings, — Hark ! His thunders fhake the Ikies, Lo ! His vials are outpour'd ! Earth in bitter travail lies, And Creation groans and cries For our expected Lord ! Stand in courage. Hand in faith ! Tremble not as others may 5 He that conquers hell and death Is the Friend of thofe who pray : And in this world's deftined woe He will fave His own alway From the trial's furnace glow, — Till the harveft all is ftored, Refcued from each earthly foe, And the terrible ones below, By our avenging Lord ! Yea, come quickly ! Saviour, come ! Take us to Thy glorious reft, All Thy children yearn for horne, Home, the heaven of Thy breaft ! Help, with inftant gracious aid ! That in juil affurance bleft We may watch — nor feel afraid — Every warning in Thy word, Signs and tokens all array' d In proof of that for which we pray'd,- The coming of the Lord ! ( i4« ) tkx ife I Soul, be ftrong, whate'er betide, God himfelf is guard and guide, — With my Father at my fide, Never mind ! Clouds and darknefs hover near, Men's hearts failing them for fear, But be thou of right good cheer, Never mind ! Come what may, fome work is done, Praife the Father through the Son, Goals are gain'd and prizes won, Never mind ! And if now the fkies look black, All the paft behind my back Is a bright and bleifed track ; Never mind ! Stand in patient courage ftill, Working out thy Mailer's will, Compafs good, and conquer ill 5 Never mind ! Rife, Britannia. 149 Fight, for all their bullying boaft, Dark temptation's evil hoft, This is thy predefined poft; Never mind ! Be then tranquil as a dove ; Through thefe thunderclouds above Shines afar the heaven of love, — Never mind ! $i« t iritmiraal WRITTEN AND PRINTED IN 1 846, AND THEN HEADED BY A STRANGE ANTICIPATION, cc A STIRRING SONG FOR PATRIOTS IN THE YEAR i860." To the tune of" Wha ivouldna fight for Charlie.'''' Rise ! ye gallant youth of Britain, Gather to your country's call, On your hearts her name is written, Rife to help her, one and all ! Carl: away each feud and faction, Brood not over wrong nor ill, — Roufe your virtues into aclion, For we love our country Hill, — ■ 150 Rife y Britannia. Hail, Britannia ! hail, Britannia ! Raife that thrilling fhout once more, Rife, Britannia ! Rule, Britannia ! Conqueror over fea and fhore ! France is coming, full of blufter, Hot to wipe away her ftain, Therefore, brothers, here we mufter Jull to give it her again ! And if foemen, blind with fury, Dare to crofs our ocean gulf, Wait not then for judge nor jury, — Shoot them as you would a wolf! For Britannia, juft Britannia, Claims our chorus as before, Rife, Britannia ! Rule, Britannia ! Conqueror over fea and ihore ! They may writhe, for we have gall'd them With our guns in every clime, — They may hate us, for we call'd them Serfs and fubjects in old time ! Boafting Gaul, we calmly fcorn you As old JEfop's bull the frogs, Come, and welcome ! for, we warn you, We fhall fling you to our dogs ! For Britannia, our Britannia, Thunders with a lion's roar, Rife, Britannia ! Rule, Britannia ! Conqueror over fea and fhore. See uprear'd our holy ftandard ! Crowd around it, gallant hearts ! What ? mould Britain's fame be ilander'd As by fault on our parts ? Let the rabid Frenchman threaten, Let the mad invader come, We will hunt them out of Britain, Or can die for earth and home ! For Britannia, dear Britannia, Wakes our chorus evermore, Rife, Britannia ! Rule, Britannia ! Conqueror over fea and more. Rife, then, patriots ! name endearing, Flock from Scotland's moors and dales, From the green glad fields of Erin, From the mountain homes of Wales, — Rise ! for fitter England calls you, Rise ! our commonweal to ferve, Rise !• while now the fong enthrals you Thrilling every vein and nerve, Hail, Britannia ! hail, Britannia ! Conquer, as thou didrl: of yore ! Rife, Britannia ! Rule, Britannia ! Over every fea and more. %\t Emigrant $$$. Far away, far away, The emigrant mip mufl fail to-day : Cruel fhip, — to look fo gay Bearing the exiles far away. Sad and fore, fad and fore, Many a fond heart bleeds at the core : Cruel dread, — to meet no more, Bitter forrow, fad and fore. Many years, many years, At bell will they battle with perils and fears : Cruel pilot, — for he fleers The exiles away for many years. Long ago, long ago ! For the days that are gone their tears fliall flow : Cruel hour, — to tear them fo From all they cheriih'd long ago. Fare ye well, fare ye well ! To joy and to hope it founds as a knell : Cruel tale it were to tell How the exile fighs farewell. Individuality. 153 Far away, far away ! Is there indeed no hope to-day ? Cruel and falfe it were to fay There are no pleafures far away. Far away, far away ! Every night and every day Kind and wife it were to pray, God be with them far away ! InMbitalitg, Measure not thyfelf with others, — Heed the work thou haft to do ; Each man's duty, not his brother's, Is his goal to keep in view : Nature, circumftance, and ftation, With what God from each exacls As his tribute to Creation, Thefe decide our aims and acts. Every creature fitly fafhion'd Hath its being's final caufe ; And our minds and hearts impaflion'd Beat with individual laws : All are various, differing meafures Fill us each with power to work, And the fpirit's fpecial treafures Latent in each bofom lurk. 154 Individuality. How fliouldft thou declare the caufes That have wrought thy brother thus ? Plaftic Wifdom never paufes In fuch modelling of us : How canft thou fuggeft the reafons For his bafer life or lot ? Matter has its changing feafons, Why fhould fpirit vary not ? Shall the Ardic blame the Torrid ? Shall the Eaft defame the Weft ? Shall the foot rebuke the forehead That it thinks in lazy reft ? Every creature to its million, Every bullet to its mark, Every man in his condition Wanted for the Church's Ark ! Scorn not, — envy not, — and judge not : Scorn is Folly's cruel wife 5 And, for Envy, — Churl, begrudge not Some poor brother's luck in life -, And, for Judgment, — to our Mafter Singly we muft ftand or fall j Life's Foreknower, and Forecafter, Wills and weighs, and fhapes it all ! %\t gssnnrace xrf %mm. I have achieved a tower of fame More durable than gold, And loftier than the royal frame Of Pyramids of old, — Which none inclemencies of clime, Nor flercefl winds that blow, Nor endlefs change, nor lapfe of time, Shall ever overthrow ! I cannot perifh utterly : The brighter part of me Muft live — and live — and never die, But baffle Death's decree ! Fori lriall always grow, and fpread My new-blown honours Hill, Long as the prieft and veflal tread The Capitolian hill. I ihall be fung, where thy rough waves, My native river, foam, — And where old Daunus fcantly laves And rules his ruflic home ; As chief and firft I mail be fung, Though lowly, great in might To tune my country's heart and tongue, And tune them both aright. Thou then, my foul, affurae thy ftate, And take thine honours due ; Be proud, as thy deferts are great, — To thine own praife be true ! Thou too, celeftial Mufe, come down, And with kind hafle prepare The laurel for a Delphic crown To weave thy Poet's hair. Will none befriend that poor dumb brute, Will no man refcue him ? — With weaker effort, gafping, mute, He {trains in every limb ; Spare him, O fpare : — he feels, — he feels ! Big tears roll from his eyes 5 Another crufhing blow ! — he reels, Staggers, — and falls, — and dies. Poor jaded horfe, my blood runs cold Thy guiltlefs wrongs to fee 5 To heav'n, O ftarv'd one, lame and old, Thy dim eye pleads for thee. Thou too, O dog, whofe faithful zeal Fawns on fome ruffian grim, — He ftripes thy fkin with many a weal, And yet, — thou lovefl him. Shame ! that of all the living chain That links Creation's plan, There is but one delights in pain, The favage monarch, — man ! O cruelty, — who could rehearfe Thy million difmal deeds, Or track the workings of the curfe By which all nature bleeds ? Thou meanefl crime, — thou coward fin, — Thou bafe, flint-hearted vice, — Scorpion ! — to fling thy heart within Thyfelffhall all fuffice 5 The mercilefs is doubly curfl, As mercy is " twice blefl 5" Vengeance, though flow, fhall come, — but firfl The vengeance of the breafl ! Why add another woe to life, Man, — are there not enough ? Why lay thy weapon to the ilrife ? Why make the road more rough ? Faint, hunger-fick, old, blind, and ill, The poor, or man or beaft, Can battle on with life uphill, And bear its griefs at leaft ; Truly, their cup of gall o'erflows ! But, when the fpite of men Adds poifon to the draught of woes, Who, who can drink it then ? Heard ye that iliriek ? — O wretch, forbear, Fling down thy bloody knife : In fear, if not in pity, fpare A woman, and a wife ! For thee fhe toils, unchiding, mild, And for thy children wan, Beaten and ftarved, with famine wild, To feafl thee, monfter man : Hufband and father, — drunkard, fiend ! Thy wife's, thy children's moan Has won for innocence a Friend, Has reach 'd thy Judge's throne -, Their lives thou madefl fad • but worfe Thy deathlefs doom fhall be, " No mercy " is the withering curfe Thy Judge hath paffed on thee : Heap on, — heap on, frefh torments add, — New fchemes of torture plan, No mercy ! Mercy's felf is glad To damn the cruel man. God ! God ! Thy whole creation groans, Thy fair world writhes in pain j Shall the dread incenfe of its moans Arife to Thee in vain ? The hollow eye of famine pleads, The face with weeping pale, The heart that all in fecret bleeds, The grief that tells no tale, Old Haunts. 159 Oppreflion's victim, weak and mild, Scarce fhrinking from the blow, And the poor wearied factory child, Join in the dirge of woe. O cruel world ! O fickening fear Of goad, or knife, or thong ; O load of evils ill to bear ! — How long, good God, how long ? ®Ifo f Witt*. FOR MUSIC. I love to linger on my track Wherever I have dwelt and parted -, In after years to loiter back, And feel as once I felt — young-hearted ! My foot falls lightly on the fward Yet leaves a deathlefs dint behind it, With tendernefs I Hill regard Its unforgotten print, to find it ! Old places have a charm for me The new cannot porTefs, for ever, Old faces — how I long to fee Thofe looks that here fhall blefs me never ! Yet, thefe are gone : — while all around Is changing with this changing hour, I '11 anchor en the folid ground, And root my memories there in power ! Harmless, happy little treafures, Full of truth, and truft, and mirth, Richer! wealth and purer! pleafures In this mean and guilty earth, — How I love you, pretty creatures, Lamb-like flock of little things, Where the love that lights your features From the heart in beauty fprings : On thefe laughing rofy faces There are no deep lines of fin, None of paflion's dreary traces That betray the wounds within ; But yours is the funny dimple Radiant with un tutor' d fmiles, Yours the heart, iincere and fimple, Innocent of felfiih wiles ; Yours the natural curling trefTes, Prattling tongues and fhynefs coy, Tottering Heps, and kind careffes, Pure with health, and warm with joy. Children. 1 6 1 The dull Haves of gain, or pallion Cannot love yon as they fhould, The poor worldly fools of fafhion Would not love you if they could : Write them childlefs, thofe cold-hearted, Who can fcorn Thy generous boon, And whofe fouls with fear have fmarted, Left — Thy bleffings come too foon. While he hath a child to love him No man can be poor indeed, While he trufts a Friend above him, None can forrow, fear, or need. But for thee whofe hearth is lonely And unwarm'd by children's mirth, Spite of riches, thou art only Defolate and poor on earth : All unkifT'd by innocent beauty, All unloved by guilelefs heart, All uncheer'd by fweetefl duty, — Childlefs one, how poor thou art ! gttuns, A dream — myfterious word, a dream ! What joys and forrows are enihrined In thofe dark hours we fondly deem A playtime for the truant mind : It is a happy thing to dream When rofy thoughts and virions bright Pour on the foul a golden flream Of rich luxurious delight 5 It is a weary thing to dream, When from the hot and aching brain As from a boiling caldron fleam The myriad forms in fancy's train ; It is a curious thing to dream, When fhapes grotefque of all quaint things Like laughing water-witches feem To fport in reafon's turbid fprings ; It is a glorious thing to dream, When full of wings and full of eyes Borne on the whirlwind or funbeam We race along the ftartled ikies 5 Infant Chriji, with Flowers. 163 It is a wondrous thing to dream Of tumbling with a fearful thock From fome tall cliff where eagles fcream, — To light upon a feather rock -, It is a terrible thing to dream Of flrangled throats, and heart-blood fpilt, And ghoils that in the darknefs gleam, And horrid eyes of midnight guilt : — Who fhall tell me what I dream ? Ages lingering in a night, — Thronging thoughts of things thatteem With wonder, terror, and delight ! 1830. Infant Cljrisi, toitjj $latoenL Yes, — I can fancy, in the fpring Of childhood's funny hours, That Nature's infant Prielt and King Loved to gaze on flowers -, For lightly, 'mid the wreck of all, When torn from Eden's bowers, Above the billows of the fall Floated gentle flowers : 164 Infant Chrijl, with Flowers. Unfallen, finlefs, undeflled, Frefh bathed in fummer fhowers, What wonder that the holy Child Loved to play with flowers ? In thefe He faw His Father's face, All Godhead's varied powers, And joy'd each attribute to trace In fweet unconfcious flowers : In thefe He found where Wifdom hides And modeft Beauty cowers, And where Omnipotence refides, And Tendernefs, — in flowers ! Innocent Child, a little while, Ere yet the temper!: lowers, Bafk Thy young heart in Nature's fmile, Her lovely fmile of flowers \ Thy young heart, — is it not array' d In feelings fuch as ours ? — Yes, being now of thorns afraid, I fee Thee crown' d with flowers. 1830. ( 1 65 ) |fotob2 Jftelij or tes ! The world is dying, its heart is cold, And well-nigh frozen dead, — A forrowful thing it is to grow old, With all the feelings fled, — Dull are its eyes, and difmal its voice, And a mourner's cloak it wears, For all have forgotten to love or rejoice, — Nobody feels or cares. Time was, when zeal and honour and joy, And charities cheering life, Mix'd grains of gold with the mafs of alloy, And flarr'd this night of ftrife 5 But now, it is all for a man's own felf, And not how his neighbour fares ; Except for pleafure, and pride, and pelf, Nobody feels or cares. Be wife, or a fool, — be good or be bad, To others it 's much the fame 5 They heed not a whit if you 're merry or fad, Or worthy of praife or blame : The world is reaping its broadcaft feed Of briers and thorns and tares, And the only word in which all are agreed Is — Nobody feels or cares ! pto joints. It is not Time, — I joy to fee My children growing up ; It is not Sin, — remorfe for me Holds out no bitter cup j Nor doth Mammon's dreary din Add its gloom to Time or Sin. It is not that the Pari: was fweet, — Many griefs were there 5 It is not that the Future's feet Are flirouded up in care $ Providence is wife, and kind, And I am ftrong for heart and mind. Why, then, be fad ? why thus, my heart, Difquieted within ? Great is the mercy that thou art Unfcared by care and fin 5 That Time to thee has fmall alloy, And Memory's thoughts are thoughts of joy. Why, then, fo fad ? — My friends of old Are dead and gone, or changed ; The poor dear nefl: of home is cold, And each old haunt eftranged 5 So that I walk a flranger there, With none to feel for how I fare ! Canterbury Pilgrims. 167 True, — many new-found friends may throng, And make a palling lhow j But ever as they ftream along Like dreams they come and go, — And, — however kind they be, They bring not back the Part, to me ! totertarjj pilgrims. A " GOD SPEED." Heaven fpeed you, noble band ! Link'd together, heart and hand, Sworn to feek that far-off land, Canterbury pilgrims,- Heaven fpeed you ! brothers brave, Waft you well by wind and wave ; Heaven fhield you ! Heaven fave ! Canterbury pilgrims ! Like a queen of fwarming bees, England, hived amid the feas, Sends you by a favouring breeze, Canterbury pilgrims, - With a mother's tender care, To her fouthern fitter there, Her young fifter, frefh and fair, Canterbury pilgrims Frefh the foil, and fair the clime, Lightly touch' d by toil or time, Scarcely tinged with care or crime, Canterbury pilgrims,- Go then, cheerfully go forth ! Haflen to replenifh earth With Old England's honefi worth, Canterbury pilgrims ! Ay — with induftry — for gold, Godliness — for wealth untold, Go, in Chriftian duty bold, Canterbury pilgrims,- Glad New Zealand bids you fhare Each man plenty, and to fpare, — God be with you then and there, Canterbury pilgrims ! A SONG FOR THE ANTIPODES. Queen of the South ! which the mighty Pacific Claims for its Britain in ages to be, Bright with fair vifions and hopes beatific, Glorious and happy thy future I fee ! Thither the children of England are thronging, There for true riches fecurely to fearch ; Not for thy gold, California, longing, But for fweet home, with enough, and a Church ! New Zealand. 169 There, a foft clime, and a foil ever teeming Summer's December, and Winter's July, The bright Southern Crofs in the firmament gleaming, The Dove, and the Crown, and the Altar on high, — There, the broad prairies with forefl and river, There, the fafe harbours are bidding men fearch For Thy beft bleffings, O heavenly Giver ! Home, with enough, and an Englishman's Church ! Yes 5 for Britannia, the Mother of Nations, Sends out her children, as teeming old Greece, Good men and great men, to Hand in their ftations, Merchants of plenty, and heralds of peace : Stout Anglo-Saxons ! Port Victory calls you ; Take the glad omen, and fpeedily fearch Where you fhall gather, whatever befalls you, Truer! of treafures, a Home and a Church ! Fifty years hence, — look forward and fee it, Realm of New Zealand, what then ihalt thou fee ? (Tf the world lives, at The Father's So be it) All fhall be greatnefs and glory with thee ! Even fhould Britain's decay be down-written In the dread doom-book that no man may fearch, Still ihall an Oxford, a London, a Britain, Gladden the South with a Home and a Church ! ( i7° ) %\t falnram's $alfafr. Fair work for fair wages ! — it 's all that we alk. An Englishman loves what is fair, — We'll never complain of the toil or the talk, If livelihood comes with the care -, Fair work for fair wages ! — we hope nothing elfe Of the mill, or the forge, or the foil, For the rich man who bays, and the poor man who fells, Mull pay and be paid for his toil. Fair work for fair wages ! — we know that the claim Is jufl between mailer and man ; If the tables were turn'd we would ferve him the fame, And promife we will when we can : We give to him induflry, mufcle, and thew, And heartily work for his wealth ; So he will as honeflly give what is due, Fair wages for labour in health. Enough for the day, and a bit to put by Againlt illnefs, and llacknefs, and age ; For change and misfortune are ever too nigh Alike to the fool and the fage 5 But the fool in his harvelt will wanton and walie, Forgetting the winter once more, While true Britilh wifdom will timely make hafte And fave for the "bafket and ftore !" "The Labourer s Ballad. 171 Ay; wantonnefs freezes to want, be affured, And drinking makes nothing to eat, And penury's wafting by wafte is fecured, And luxury ftarves in the ftreet ! And many a father with little ones pale, So rack'd by his cares and his pains, Might now be all right if, when hearty and hale, He never had fquander'd his gains ! We know that profperity's glittering fun Can fbine but a little, and then The harvefi is over, the fummer is done, Alike for the maft and men : If the factory fhip with its Captain on board Muft beat in adverfity's waves, One lot is for all ! — for the great cotton lord And the poorer! of Commerce's flaves 5 One lot! if extravagance reign'd in the home, Then poverty's wormwood and gall 3 If rational forefight of evils to come, A cheerful complacence in all : For fweet is the morfel that diligence earn'd, And fweeter, that prudence put by; And leffons of peace in affliction are learn'd, And wifdom that comes from on high ! For God, in his providence ruling above, And piloting all things below, Is ever unchangeable juftice and love, In ordering welfare or woe : 172 The Labourer s Ballad. He bleffes the prudent for heaven and earth, And gladdens the good at all times, — But frowns on the finner, and darkens his mirth, And lames his follies and crimes. Alas ! for the babes, and the poor pallid wife Hurl'd down with the fot to defpair, — Yet, — God fhall reward in a happier life Their punifhment, patience, and pray'r ! But woe to the caitiff, who, ftarved by his drinks, Was ftarving his children as well, — O man, break away from the treacherous links Of a chain that will drag you to Hell ! Come along, come along, man ! it 's never too late, Though drowning, we throw you a rope ! Be quick and be quit of fo fearful a fate, For while there is life there is hope ! So wifely come with us, and work like the reft, And fave of your pay while you can ; And Heaven will blefs you for doing your beft, And helping yourfelf like a man. For Labour is money, and Labour is health, And Labour is duty on earth 5 And never was honour, or wifdom, or wealth, But Labour has been at its birth ! The rich, — in his father, his friend, or himfelf, By head or by hand murl: have toil'd, And the brow that is canopied over with pelf, By Labour's own fweat has been foil'd ! Pent in wynds and clofes narrow, Breathing peftilential air, Crufh'd beneath oppreilion's harrow, Faint with famine, bow'd with care,- Gaunt Affliction's fons and daughters ! Why fo flow to hear the call Which The Voice upon the waters Preaches folemnly to all r Hark ! Did Ocean's tongue of thunder Hoarfely calling bids you fpeed To the fliores he held afunder Only for thefe times of need ; Now, upon his friendly furges Ever, ever roaring Come, All the fons of hope he urges To a new, a richer home ! England and her fea-girt filters Pine for want in feeming wealth ; Though the gaudy furface glifters, This is not the hue of health. Oh ! the honeft labour trying Vainly here to earn its bread, — Oh ! the willing workers dying, Unemploy'd, untaught, unfed ! 174 ^^e New Home. Thoufand fights that melt to pity, — Move to fear, or — tempt to fcorn ! Wretched fwarms in field and city, Wherefore are thefe paupers born ! — Shall I tell you, heirs of pleafure ? Shall I teach you, fons of pain ? Unto both, each in his meafure, Stir I now this earner!: ftrain. Lo ! to every human creature Born upon this bounteous earth, Speaks the God of grace and nature, Speaks for plenty or for dearth : Till the ground ; if not, thou ftarvefl 5 Fear fhall drive to duteous toil : Till the ground ; a golden harvefl Then fhall wave on every foil ! And behold ! the King All-glorious Unto Britain tythes the world, — Everywhere her crown victorious, Everywhere her crofs unfurl' d ! God hath given her diflant regions, Broad and rich ; and flore of fhips ; God hath added homeborn legions, Steep' d in trouble to the lips ! Join, then, in one holy tether Thofe whom man hath put afide, Thofe whom God would link together, Earth and labour well-applied : The New Home. l 7S Ho ! thou vaft and wealthy nation, Wing thy fleets to every place, Fertiliiing all Creation With the Anglo-Saxon race ! England's frank and lturdy bearing, Scotland's judgment, true and tried, Erin's headlong headlining daring, And the Welfhman's honefr. pride ; — Send thefe forth, and tame the favage, Sow his realms with Britifh homes, Where till now wild monfters ravage, Or the wilder Buihman roams. Let, as erft in Magna Graecia, Nobles, fages, join the ranks ; And for vacant Aultral-Afia Leave for good thefe f warming banks ; Not as exiled, — but with honour, Told in tale, and fung in fong ; With the Queen, — God's bleffing on her !- Speeding this good work along. Then the wildernefs fhall blorTom, And the defert, as the rofe 5 While dear Earth's maternal bofom With abundance overflows : Then (hall Britain gladly number Crowds of children, now her dread, That her onward march encumber With the living and — the dead ! 176 The New Home. Ay ! for bitter is the conteft As a ftruggle, life for life, Where the very meal thou wanteft Was for little ones and wife, — Where they flowly pine and perifh That the father may be ftrong, Some tafkmafter's wealth to cherifh, By his labour, right or wrong ! Hafte, then, all ye better natures, Help in what muft blefs the World : See, thofe cellar-crowded creatures To Defpair's own dungeon hurl'dj — Send — or lead them o'er the waters To the genial fhores, that give Britain's facred fons and daughters Man's great privilege — to Live ! There, — inftead of fcanty wages, Grinding rent and parifli tax, — In the wood, unheard for ages, Rings the cheerful freeman's axe 5 Whilft in yonder cozy clearing, Home, fweet Home, rejoices life, Full of thoughts and things endearing, Merry babes and rofy wife. There, — inftead of feftering alleys, Noifome dirt, and gnawing dearth,— Sunny hills and fmiling valleys Wait to yield the wealth of Earth ! Pauper Burials. ijj All She afks is — human labour, Healthy in the open air -, AH me gives is — every neighbour Wealthy, hale, and happy There ! janper §rals. O cruel tender mercies of the bad ! O foolifh wifdom of the mean and bafe ! Alas for charities that make men fad, And harden into brutes the human race ! From fuch philanthropy defend us,. Heaven, — From Hatefmanfhip like this for evermore Refcue, untainted by fuch bitter leaven, The wholefome natures of our honeft poor ! What, — is it not enough through life to brand With that un-Engliih word a i( pauper's " name Each aged rural worthy of the land, DrerTed in the dull drab livery of fhame, — To tear him from his home and bairns and wife, And. ufe him in the workhoufe as a flave, Till having water-gruel' d him from life, You hide his parifh coffin in the grave ? No ! now, it feems, to hold our "paupers " dead, That pauper burial-places mull be found, To ftigmatife, — albeit the fpirit 's fled, — The poor man's body rotting underground ! For deeper fcorn to make his widow weep, His cowering orphans flirink for humbler fhame, Becaufe, ay even in his laft long fleep, Your mercies blight their pauper father's name ! Dear Englifh poor! this wrong fhall never be, Whatever hardfhip elfe your lot befall , The grave at leail from tyrants fhall be free, An honourable open bed for all : Six feet in his churchyard, that hallow'd fpot, Is due of common right to every man Gone to the bourn where Mammon bleffes not, And where Its curfes may no longer ban. Ay ! we will have no Golgothas forfooth, No potters' fields to bury ftrangers in, No fkull-places for tyranny's hard tooth, Where that hyena Hill may gnaw and grin, — Death, the Deliverer, fhall be fanctified, In poor men's bodies as in rich men's bones, And poverty lhall lie " my lords " beflde, E'en though in life for bread they gave himftones. Enough ! if indignation fires my heart, I burn as univerfal England will, When, finding out the central fpider's art, We tear to fhreds his defpot-web of lkill : Hear, fhallow Statefman ! differences ceafe. Where for a foul earth's trial fcene is o'er ; And fo our brother, dead at laft in peace, Is Equal Man, a pauper now no more. %, Wetti of H&ftnr. Make the bell of all things, As thy lot is call ? Whatfoe'er we call things All is well at laft, If meanwhile, in cheerful power, Patience rules the fuffering hour. Make the beft of all things, — Howfoe'er they be 3 Change may well befall things If it 's ill with thee ; And if well, this prefent joy Let no future fears deftroy. Make the beft of all things, — That is Wifdom's word ; In the day of fmall things Is its comfort heard, — And its blefling foothes not lefs Any heyday of fuccefs. Make the beft of all things ; Difcontent's old leaven Falfely would foreftall things Antedating heaven, — But fmile thou and reft content, Bearing trials wifely fent. At five on a dewy morning, Before the blazing day, To be up and off on a high-mettled horfe Over the hills away, — To drink the rich fweet breath of the gorfe And bathe in the breeze of the Downs, Ha ! man, if you can, match blifs like this In all the joys of towns ! With glad and grateful tongue to join The lark at his matin hymn, And thence on faith's own wing to fpring And ling with Cherubim ! To pray from a deep and tender heart, With all things praying anew, The birds and the bees, and the whifpering trees, And heather bedropt with dew, — To be one with thofe early worfhippers, And pour the carol too ! Then, off again with a flacken'd rein, And a bounding heart within, To da(h at a gallop over the plain, Health's golden cup to win ! This, this is the race for gain and grace Richer than vafes and crowns ; And you that boafl your pleafures the moll Amid the fleam of towns, Come, tafle true blifs in a morning like this, Galloping over the Downs ! The fea ripples bright, and the clouds fail high, And the fun fhines clear in the pure blue iky, And the pailoral valleys are laughingly gay, And the harvefl is blefl with a brilliant day, And off I flroll to the free fea-flde, For an agate hunt in the down-dropping tide. bright pebble-beach, jufl wet from the fea, Thy glittering jewels are waiting for me ! And, even if haply no jewels be there, Thefe grand red cliffs, and this fweet frefh air, And the rocks in feaweed tapeflry clad Are pearls to my fpirit, making me glad. Ah, Nature ! loveliefl when mofl wild, Own me, — for I am thine own fond child,— 1 love thee in florm, I love thee in calm, And all thy folitudes are my balm, — But chiefefl I love to be lonely and free In my agate hunts by the fhore of the fea. Alone, — at the point of the fpear True Genius does battle, Alone, — Unhelp'd, and unhinder'd, by favour or fear, He wins what he wins as his own ; In fpite of his foes — and his friends, "With ftern felf- reliance he plans By means all his own to achieve all his ends, Alone,- — by God's help and not Man's ! Whatever was ever achieved Of Great in the world or of Good, Was never at firft by the many believed, But ever malign'd and withflood ; So, Genius goes on with a will, And Rurdily fights the good fight, Allured in himfelf that the victory ftill Shall Hand with the might and the right. And, when his great fight is well fought, A fight of hard flruggles and ftrong, The World, that hath never help'd Right as it ought, Will turn and repent of its wrong; But, utterly then will forget That, till the man made him a name, It never encouraged nor prophefied yet The greatnefs of Children of Fame. ( i»3 ) The breezy Downs, and a fpirited horfe, And the honey'd breath of the golden gorfe, And tinkling bells of the bleating ewes, And a bright panorama of changing views, And all that is peaceful and cheerful befide, thefe I get in my Epfom Ride ! Fifteen glad miles, road, common, or dell, My pretty grey Brenda has carried me well, — And bleft be the calms and the folitudes there Among the young leaves in the fweet fpring air, And — hundreds of happieft thoughts befide Gallop' d with me in my Epfom ride ! Nothing reck I for the Race itfelf, Its rogues with their poifon, or fools with their pelf j And, as for its covetous follies and fins, 1 care not a button which horfe wins, — Colours and riders and all befide Are nothing to me in my Epfom Ride ! But, friends at lunch in their dufty drags, And gay fatin jockeys on fwift fleek nags, And moving acres of human faces Watching their fate in the feverifh races, — Thefe are electric flaQies befide, Dotting the day of my Epfom Ride. Dream not thou that the day 's illfpent 5 For my heart has been cheer' d, and my mind unbent, And here in the faddle coming along, I 've jotted you, friend, this Derby fong, To prove that Pegafus trotted befide My pretty grey mare in my Epfom Ride. FOR THE SOUTH INDIAN SCHOOL-BOOK. Would God the days indeed were paft When men and brethren fcorn'd each other ! Would God the hour was come at laft When man in man beheld a brother ! Alas, for hatreds ! and the dearth Of love, where fo much is forgiven ; Alas, that evil weeds of earth So choke the bleffed flowers of Heaven ! O Reafon, fling thofe thorns afide That fpoil the Chriftian tiller's labour : O Faith, arife to baffle pride, And teach us all to love our neighbour. Let no enlighten'd Brahmin's eyes Be bound by prejudice fo blindly, As the poor Sudra to defpife, — But look on even Pariahs kindly. Engli/h Spirit. 185 Let none exclaim in boaft of birth, " Stand by thyfelf, for I am holy " — For God's Avatar when on earth Was only loving, meek, and lowly. His happy Gofpel urges all To live as brethren well and truly, For all were ruin'd by the Fall, And all may claim forgivenefs duly. Away, then, with thofe bitter feuds That clafs from clafs unjuitly fever- Exchange their banes for brotherhoods, And, Brethren ! be at one for ever. Away with Carte, the Simoom blaft. That muft each better feeling fmother,- Away with India's curfe of Cafte, And welcome every man a brother ! ^nglisjj Spirit. When every parifh had its butt, And every man his bow, And billhook dealt a fabre-cut As well as faggot blow, No rafh invader threaten"' d then To fcare us with alarms, For Englishmen, as Englilhmen, Were famous men-at-arms. 8 6 Englifh Spirit. But, fince the jealoufy of kings And clafs and party hate, And floth and mean peace-mongerings Had canker d us of late, On hireling regiments we hung, Defencelefs but for thofe : And to the lkirts of captains clung, As paid to fence with foes. But now, what Englifhmen were once We mall be fuch once more, — Our worthy fathers' worthy fons Will fentinel each fhore, And line each hedge, and man each height, And garrifon each grange, — And woe to every foreign wight Within our rifle range ! No daftard tongue ihall dare advife Subfervience to the foe, We '11 hang the quaking knave who tries A gentle front to fhow ; Our front fhows Death to every man Who dares our homes moleft; And we will kill him as we can, And, anyhow is befl ! Hide clofe, — look fharp, — behind a tree The rifle fureft hits $ And count it wife betimes to flee, As counfell'd by your wits : Engli/h Spirit. 187 To flee, but not as cowards can, For fear of death or pain, But, which may well become a man, That you may fight again. No quarter, is the Patriot's word, If brigands dare the deed -, Not even Mercy mail be heard Where Juftice hath decreed, And fhould fome ikulking cravens think Submiffion would be wife, Such doctrines in our noflrils flink — To gibbets fhall they rife ! Strategy mall not make us flinch To (bit fome Horfe-Guards' plan, But field by field, and inch by inch, We '11 druggie man to man 5 As individual prowefs may We \11 battle to the knife, And pirate hordes fhall pay their way At leaft with life for life ! O Mother England, true and dear, Free mother of free fons, Thou (halt not be imperill'd here By any traitorous ones ; Our fpirit is the fame as when Our fathers fining their bows, For half a million Englifhmen Point rifles at thy foes ! FOR MUSIC. From Arthur's myftic days, Through all the cycles fince, Never has lived a Name of praife To match our Blamelefs Prince ; All England's Great and Good Were fponfors to His fame, Alfred and pious Edward flood Hand-link'd to blefs That name ! O pure and generous Heart ! O wife and thoughtful Head ! — ■ Praifes to Heaven for all Thou art, The Living, not the Dead ! Yes, Albert, — Thou haft feen How truly England's love And the heart-homage of Thy Queen Have followed Thee Above ! And now, Thy Spirit freed, Is it not hovering nigh, To help us in our hallow'd deed And blefs us from on high ? Yes ! — happy, holy thought — Perchance Thy mufical hymn Mingled with ours from Heaven has caught The joys of Seraphim ! % pie |aM. King Alfred forth from Athelney leapt, 'Twas a thoufand years ago, — Thofe pirates thought that the Lion had flept, Becaufe to his lair he fo quietly kept 5 But out he lafh'd, and fuddenly fwept His den of the Danifh foe ! And brave Queen Befs, when at Tilbury Fort She rode out item and flow, Throng' d by her people, her guards, and her court, With Drake in the Channel, and Howard in port, O how that old Queen of the Pope made fport And jeer'd at a Spanifh foe ! And now, well mutter' d on common and heath, Victoria's fons will mow How wifely, though friends, we are arm'd to the teeth, And care for no power on earth, or beneath, — Should even a "faithful ally" flip fheath, And come fword in hand as a foe ! Ready, — ay, ready -, for freedom we Hand -, And fo the wide world fhall know That, girt by her children, one brotherly band, Riflemen fwarming all over the land, With plenty of Drakes in the Channel at hand, Old England fears no foe ! ( *9° ) %\t %m of loitk A MILITARY BALLAD. Ye children of the veterans Who fought for faithlefs Spain, And for ungrateful Portugal Pour'd out their blood like rain, — - Come near me, and hear me, For I would tell you well How gallantly your fathers fought, Or gloriouily they fell ! I fing Roleia's bloody ftrife, The firlt of many frays, When iron Wellefley led us on, Invincible always -, Roleia, gay and evergreen, Feftoon'd with vines and flowers, Roleia, fcorch'd and blood-bedew 1 d, — And half that blood was ours ! The feventeenth of Auguft It fhone out bright and clear, And £1111 we prefTd the Frenchman's flank, And hung upon his rear; From Brilos and Obidos Had we driven the bold Laborde, And now among the mountain rocks We fought him with the fword ! The Battle ofRoleia. 191 All golden is the plain with wheat, All purple are the hills With lufcious vineyards ripe and fweet, And laced with cryftal rills ; Yet muft the rills run down with gore, The corn be trampled red, Before Roleia's threfhing-floor Is glutted with her dead ! O cheerily the bugles fpoke, And all our hearts beat high When over Monte Junto broke The fun upon the iky ; Right early from Obidos We gladly fallied then A goodly hoft, in columns three, Of fourteen thoufand men. Brave Fergufon led on the left, And Trant the flanking right, With iron Arthur in the midft, The focus of the fight ; And faft by Welleiley's gallant fide The Craufurd rode amain, And Hill, the Britifh foldier's pride, And Nightingale, and Fane. Crouching like a tiger, In his high and rocky lair, The Frenchman howl'd and fhow'd his teeth And — wifti'd he wasn't there 3 ig2 T/ie Battle of Roleia. For Craufurd, Hill, and Nightingale Flew at him as he lay, And up our gallant fellows fprang As bloodhounds on the prey. And look ! we hunt the bold Laborde To Zambugeira's height, — While Trant with Fane and Fergufon Outflank him left and right ; And then with cheers we charge the front, With cheers the foe reply, — No child's play was that battle brunt, We fwore to win or die ! Rattled loud the mufkets' roar, — We ftruggled man to man, — The rugged rocks were wafh'd in gore, With gore the gullies ran ! Fiercely through thofe mountain paths Our bloody way we force, — And find in ftrength upon the heights The Frenchman, foot and horfe : Ah, then, my Ninth, and Twenty-ninth, Your courage was too hot, For down on your diforder'd ranks Secure they pour the lhot 5 But all their horfe and foot and guns Could never make you fly, — The lofing Frenchman fights and runs, But Britons fight — and die ! Waterloo. 193 Up to the refcue, Fergufon ! And keep the hard-fought hill ; Their chiefs are pick'd off, one by one, And lo, they rally ftill; They rally, and rufh ftoutly on,— The bold Laborde gives way, — The day is loft ! the day is won ! And ours is the day ! Then well retreating, fage and flow, Alternately in mafs, With charging horfe, the wily foe Gains Runa's rocky pafs -, And left us thus Roleia's field, With other fields in flore, Vimeira, Torres Vedras, And half a hundred more ! WtitXlBB. A BALLAD FOR THE SOLDIER. Thermopylae and Cannae Were glorious fields of yore, Leonidas and Hannibal Right famous evermore ; But we can claim a nobler name, A field more glorious too. The chief who thus achieved for us Victorious Waterloo. 1 94 Waterloo. Let others boaft of Caefar's hoft, Led on by Caefar's ikill, And how fierce Attila could rout, And Alaric could kill, — But we — right well, O hear me tell What Britifh troops can do, When marfhall'd by a Wellington To win a Waterloo ! Oh for a Pindar's harp to tune The triumphs of that day ! Oh for a Homer's pictured words To paint the fearful fray ! — Alas, my tongue and harp illflrung, In feeble tones and few, Hath little lkill, yet right good- will, To fing of Waterloo. Then gather round, my comrades, And hear a foldier tell How full of honour was the day When — every man did well ! And though a foldier' s fpeech be rough, His heart is hot and true, While thus he tells of Wellington At hard-fought Waterloo. Sublimely calm, our Iron Duke, A lion in his lair, Waited and watch'dwith fleeplefs eye To fee what France would dare j Waterloo. 195 Nor deign' d to ftir from Brimels Until he furely knew The foe was milling on his fate At chofen Waterloo. What? ihould the hunter wafle his ftrength, Nor hold his good hounds back, Before he knows they near the foes And open on the track ? No : let " furprife " blight Frenchman's eyes, For truly they fhall rue The giant ikill that, Hern and mil, Drew them to Waterloo ! Hotly the couriers gallop up To Richmond's fefiive fcene, — Alone, alone the chieftain flood Undaunted and ferene ; Ready,, ready, — ftaunch and fleady, — And forth the orders flew That march' d us off to Quatre Bras And whelming Waterloo. Begin, begin with Quatre Bras, That twinborn field of flame, Where many a gallant deed was done By many a gallant name 5 That battle-field, which feem'd to yield An earnefl and review Of all that Britifh courage dared And did at Waterloo. 196 Waterloo. We heard from far old Blucher's guns. At Ligny's blazing ftreet, And hurried on to Weimar's aid, Right glad the foe to meet ; A fcore of miles to Quatre Bras 5 But Hill to arms we flood, And cheerly ruih'd, without a paufe. . To win the Boifly wood : Then, jull like cowards, three to one, Before we could deploy, To crufh us, Ney and Excelmans Flew down with nendifh joy $ But ftout we Hood in hollow fquares, And fought, and kept the ground, While lancer fpears and cuiraffiers Were charging us all round ! Ay, ay, my men, we battled then Like wolves and bears at bay, And thoufands there among the dead With fable Brunfwick lay : And back to back in that attack The Ninety-fecond fought, — And " fteadily" the Twenty-eighth Behaved as Britons ought. Then up came Maitland with the Guards, Hurrah'! they clear the wood ; But Hill the furious Frenchmen charged, And flill we ftoutly ftood, Waterloo. 197 Till gentle night drew on, and that Drew off the treacherous Ney, For when the morning dimly broke — The fox had Hole away ! Thus much, my lads, for Quatre Bras 5 And now for Waterloo, Where lkill and courage did it all, With God's good help in view! For we were beardlefs raw recruits, And they, more numerous far, Were fierce muftachioed mighty men, The veterans of war. The God of battles helped us foon, As godlefs France drew nigh, — It was the great eighteenth of June, The fun was getting high, — And fuddenly two hundred guns At once with thundering throats Peal'd out their dreadful overture In deep volcano notes ! Then, by ten thoufands, horfe and foot, Came on the foaming Gaul, And Hill with briflling front we flood As folid as a wall : And flout Macdonnell's Hougoumont, The centre of the van, Was florm'd and florm'd and florm'd — in vain, — He held it like a man ! i 9 8 Waterloo. O who can count the myriad deeds That hundreds did in fight ? Ponfonby falls, and Picton bleeds, And — both are quench 'd in night : And many a hero fubakern, And hero private too, Beat Ajax and Achilles both In winning Waterloo ! What fhall I fay on that dread day Of Ferrier and his band ? Ten times he chafed the foes away, And charged them fword in hand ; Six of thofe ten he led his men With blood upon his brow,- — And weakly in the eleventh died To live in glory now ! Or, give a ftave to Shaw the brave, — In death the hero fleeps, — Hemm'd by a fcore, he knock'd them o'er, And hewed them down in heaps $ Till, wearied out, the lion flout, Befet as by a pack Of hungry hounds, fell full of wounds, But none upon his back ! And Halkett then before his men Daih'd forward and made prize (While both the lines for wonderment Could fcarce believe their eyes) Waterloo. 199 Of a gaily plumed French general Haranguing his array! — But Halkett caught him, fpeech and all, And bore him right away ! Thee too, De Lancey, generous chief, For thee a niche be found, — Wounded to death, he fcorn'd relief Whilft others bled around : And D'Oyley and Fitzgerald died, Juft as the day was won, — And Gordon by his general's fide — The fide of Wellington ! And Somerfet and Uxbridge then Gave each a limb to death ; Curzon and Canning cheer'd their men With their laft dying breath -, And gallant Miller, ftricken fore, With fainting utterance cries, " Bring me my colours ! wave them o'er Your colonel till he dies !" Then furious wax'd the Emperor That Britons wouldn't run, " Les betes, pourquoi ne fuient-ils pas : Et done, ce Vellington?" But "Vellington " ftill holds his own For eight red hours and more, Why comes not Marfbal Blucher down ? — -Ha ! — there 's his cannons' roar, — 200 Waterloo. ' Up, Guards, and at them ! Charge !" — the word Like forked lightning paffes, And lance and bayonet and fword Ruih on in glittering maffes ! Back, back, the furging columns roll In terrified difmay, And onward fliout againfl the rout The conquerors of the day ! O now the tide of battle, Is turn'd to feas of blood, When cafe and grape-mot rattle Among the multitude, And Fates led on by Furies, Deftroy the flying holt, And Chaos, mated with Defpair, Makes all the loft mofl loft ! Woe, woe ! thou caitiff-hero, Thou Emperor — and flave, Why didft not thou, too, nobly bleed With thofe devoted brave ? No, no,— the recreant's thought was felf, And " Sauve qui peut !" his cry, And verily at Waterloo Did Great Napoleon die ! He died to fame, while yet his name Was on ten thoufand tongues, That trufted him, and pray'd to him, And — curled him for their wrongs ! Waterloo. 201 O noble fouls ! Imperial Guard, Had your chief been but true, Ye would have flood and ftopp'd the rout At cruihing Waterloo ! Still as they fled from Wellington To Blucher's arms they flew $ Thefe two made up the Quatre Bras To clutch a Waterloo ! Ha ! Blucher's Pruffian vengeance Was fully fated then, When hated France upon the field Left forty thoufand men. Thus, comrades, hath a foldier told What Wellington's calm ikill, When help'd by troops of Britifh mould And God's Almighty will, Againft a Veteran triple force, On battle-field can do : — Then, three times three for Wellington, The Prince of Waterloo ! |l prg* for Welirngton. A voice of lamentation From the islands of the Sea ! Alas, thou forrowing Nation, Bereaved — alas for thee ! The wail as of a mother Weeping for her fon, — When fhall fhe bear another Like that illuftrious One ? O Britain, broken-hearted Bemoan the bitter day, — Thy Hero is departed, Thy Glory rent away : Alas! our joys are made to ceafe, Our praife of old is fled, Though firfl in war, and firft. in peace,- Our Wellington is dead ! Was he not both our torch of War, And Learning's peaceful lamp, Achilles in the battle-jar, And Neftor in the camp ? — Our light is from us taken To ihine in other ikies, And we are left, forfaken Of the valiant and the wife ! A Dirge for Wellington. 203 How are the mighty fcatter'd, That have loll their iron lord ! The fpear and fhield are fhatter'd, The battle and the fword ! The Champion of all Europe's rights Is gone to his long reft, — The Hero of a hundred fights With endlefs Peace is bleft ! Arife, angelic keepers That watch the waiting dead -, And turn, ye filent fieepers, Upon your narrow bed ! Arife, — and to thofe fhadowy bands Make this great fpirit known, The Guardian mind of many lands, The Saviour of his own ! Mournfully, with meafured pace, The fad proceffion brings Our chieftain to the refting-place Of heroes and of kings -, And mournfully the minute gun Tolls out to earth and air The groans of Britain, one by one, The fobs of her defpair. Step by ftep, with pomp and plume, And black funereal ftate, In folemn progrefs to the tomb They reach the facred gate 3 204 A Dirge for Wellington. Ye trumpets, hold your bated breath, Be frill, ye muffled drums, For to the hallow'd halls of Death The conquering hero comes ! Yea ! conquering ftill : — their leaden prifon (Through Him who died to fave) The dead fhall burfl, redeem'd and rifen Triumphant o'er the grave : The dead, — yea, this our Chief; though not By mortal might or power, But by God's Spirit, in his lot Shall fiand at that dread hour. Meekly with charitable gaze His faults or foibles fcan,- — For he might walk this earthly maze Not more, nor lefs, than man , Doubtlefs, he own'd to fins and wrongs Like all befide that live, — Yet unto us his good belongs, His ill — may God forgive ! But ftoutly too, with glad acclaim Tell out his honefl worth, — There never lived a child of fame More childlike on this earth ! Simple in heart, fincere in mind, Juft, refolute, and true, Duty was all he ftrove to find, And all he dared to do ! Duty, though Death were on the track, Though fcorn were in the way, Duty, though pleafure beckoned back, Or interefl lured aftray ; Duty, Great Chief ! thy glorious name Is link'd with Duty ftill, Through civic firife, and martial fame, Through good report and ill ! Oh, who fhall worthily record The trophies of his fame, The wifdom of his lightefb word, The weight of his great name r For kings and men of every clime Right nobly vied to raife His glory's monument fublime With pinnacles of praife ! Remember him, thou City Of perjured Sahib flain, How prompt his heart to pity, How glad to heal again -, Remember well his lightning eye, Falfe Scindiah, in that day When myriads could not fight nor fly The Viftorof Affaye ! Sad Lufitania ! loft and won In adverfe fortune's night, Remember him, whofe prefence fhone Thine Arbiter of Right ; 206 A Dirge for Wellington. Remember him, thy conquering Chief In red Vimeira's day, — ■ His gauntlet wiped thy tears of grief, And fwept thy foes away ! O refcued Spain, confider flill His glorious deeds for thee, — The wonders of his forceful lkill That faved and fet thee free ! Talavera ! Salamanca ! Vittoria ! — fated name, — And fcores bevlde found far and wide The echoes of his fame. Of Fabian caution, lingering well Before the leaguer' d foffe, Let ridgy Torres Vedras tell And ftorm-won Badajoz : Of Julian vigour, fwift to wreak Full vengeance on the Gaul, In thunder, San Sebaftian, fpeak To Ciudad's echoing wall ! a O thwarted France, in thy worft hour The fcourge and curfe of Man, — O fell incarnate luft of power, Thou baffled Corfican, — Yell out his praife, whofe trophied life Was crown' d by crufhing you, And fear'd your hydra-heads of ilrife In branding Waterloo ! I A Dirge for Wellington. 207 Weep, grateful Pruffia, well allied, And thou, black Brunfwick, weep ! And, Auflria, fwell this tribute tide Of forrow loud and deep : All nations well avenged in fight, All kingdoms of the world, Mourn him, who ftill to help the Right His battle flag unfurl' d. Bewail, O land, thy patriot true, The bulwark of thy ftate ; Clear to expound, and bold to do, In all things he was Great : Bewail, ye cliffs, that white and hoar By caftled Dover ftand, — Alas ! that ye fhall fee no more Our Nelfon of the Land ! Ah, bitter day ! I hear a groan From Britain's heart of oak : Forth from the altar and the throne That voice of anguiiri broke : Alas, that he fhould periih From the face of this dull earth, And leave us but to cherifh The remembrance of his worth ! Full of honours, full of years, Our Chief is dead and gone ! His epitaph a nation's tears, As for a firll-born fon : 208 A Dirge for Wellington. Though dead and gone, — yet mall he live ! Yea, live for earth, and heaven, — By all that Man to Mind can give, Or God to Soul hath given ! He lives, by trophies of the fword, By triumphs of the pen, — He lives, by noble deed and word Within the hearts of men : He is not dead, but fleepeth, — Then why mould Britain go, As one that forely weepeth Uncomforted in woe ? With every earthly honour won, And every praife achieved, With every human duty done His crown of light is weaved : On Heaven's own archives, man may truft, Not lefs than hiflory's page, His high reward is — With the Juft To live in every age ! ( 20 9 ) grihttt, not gtfafrtt. A KIFLE SONG. Nearer the muttering thunders roll, Blacker and heavier frowns the fky, — Yet our dauntlefs Englifh foul Faces the frorm with a fleady eye 3 Hands are flrong, where hearts are flout, Our rifles are ready — Look out ! No one wifhes the florm to roll here, No one cares fuch a devil to raife 3 And in brotherhood, not in fear, Only for peace an EnglifTiman prays ; Yet he may lhout in the midfl of the rout, Our rifles are ready — Look out ! Keep to your own like an honefl man, And here 's cur hand, and here's our heart : Let the world fee how wifely you can Play to the end a right neighbourly part 3 But, if mifchief is creeping about, Our rifles are ready — Look out ! No defiance is on our lips, Nothing but kindlinefs greets you here 3 Still, in the florm our dolphin ihips Round the Eddyflone dart and fleer 3 p 2 1 o Eheu ! fugaces. And on fhore, no doubt, no doubt, Our rifles are ready — Look out ! Not defiance, but only defence Hold we forth for humanity's fake 5 And, with the help of Omnipotence, We fliall ftand when the mountains quake, - Only in Him our hearts are flout, Our rifles are ready — Look out ! The flying years ! the flying years ! How rapidly they wing away, — With all their covey'd hopes and fears, A mingled flock of grave and gay ! Look on the Paft, — a dream, a dream Of faddening thoughts and cloudy things ; Look at the Future, — does it feem Lefs than a Fate with folded wings ? Look to the Prefent, — this indeed Is worth our all of cofl and care, — And daily bread for daily need Is Wifdom's folitary pray'r. % Metorag f grit for % frratess of f ntssk Heralds ! it pertains to you Styles and Titles to proclaim, — Annalifts ! with honour due To fnrround each high-born name, — Statefmen ! it is yours to raife Gratulations far and wide, — Princes ! aptly may ye praife Royal Houfes well allied. But the minftrel, not unfought, Whereof fhall his fpirit ling ? Whither guide his drifting thought, Whence his infpiration bring ? Blazon'd fhields, and kingly trees, Pomp, and Pride, and balanced Power, — He can yearn on none of thefe In this fellal happy hour. England's Daughter, Pruffia's Bride Deigns to liften to his lay, It were pleafurable pride Her to pleafe and praife to-day, — But with trembling ftill he lings Waiting for the facred fire, And his lingers, mid the firings, Wander idly o'er his lyre. 212 A Wedding Lyric. Should he touch that thrilling theme, Swift the human foul to move, Young affection's tender dream Bleft and blefling wedded love ? Should he tell of human hopes For this earth almoft too fair, And arede the horofcopes Of this glad affianced Pair ? No ! for Mercy doth forbid Man's dim guefs beyond his fenfe \ Let the Future Hill be hid In the fkirts of Providence : And, for all thofe holiefi things, Sacred are affection's flowers In the palaces of Kings As in humbled veftal bowers ! Lift not thou the veil — forbear — Minflrel, lay thy lyre afide $ Simply breathe a filent pray'r For the Bridegroom and the Bride : Pray that chance, and change, and time, Thefe true hearts may never fever 5 But, as now, with power fublime, Love may reign in Them for ever ! ®ut glow. A LESSON FROM THE BRUCE S SPIDER. With fix defeats half mad, The hunted Bruce in his lair At Rachrin's Ifle, all fullen and fad, Lion-like brooded there : " And mufl I yield me to ihame, Humbling my crown to the foe ? Shall Englifh Edward foar in his fame With Scotland's Bruce laid low ? Alas ! that the Red Comyn bled Beneath my dagger's blow, — Yes, yes ; my guilt, O thou Great Dead, Muft pay for it, woe for woe, — And Holy Land, in dear Scotia's flead, To the fallen Bruce be a funeral bed, — Ah me ! that it mull be fo ! " 11. It was a peafant's cot, With rafters rotten and old, And the Bruce lay there, but he heeded not That his canopy was not gold : 214 Once More. And, as he mufed in his watch, He noted, half in a dream, A fpider Twinging under the thatch, Swaying from beam to beam : Six times in its aim it fail'd, — A feventh — and lo ! the poor imp has prevail'd Through flout perfeverance in right ; And the Bruce leapt up at the humble fight, And the fortunate omen hail'd, And ftraightway fhouted, eager for fight, " Once more, — once more, for me And onward he march'd in his royal might Till the land of his love was free ! in. And fo, faint wrefiler of life, Many times foil'd and thrown, If thou wouldfl fiand like a man in the ftrife Where each muft ltruggle alone, Remember this word, "Once More," Be it feven, or feven times feven 5 Knock yet again at The Father's door -, Energy makes all Victory fure, — Away with the faithlefs leaven ! Onward, upward, never give in ! " Once more " is ever the watchword to win The crowns of Earth and Heaven ! Swollen torrent, dark and deep, Rufbing down the rocky fleep, — Tempeft-driven cloud on high, Scudding wildly through the iky, — Dread volcano, muttering death From red-hot lips with burning breath, — Scarce mall thefe in type reveal What the nobler ipirits feel When, in filence Hern and ftrong, They wreftle with the Senfe of Wrong. Ha ! — when infult hifies near, Or fcorn drops hemlock on the ear, Or fraud has triumph' d over right, Or gentleness is mock'd by might, Or only, worth is feen unprized, Or only, honour goes defpifed, Then, in a whirlwind chafes along The foul beneath a Senfe of Wrong ! Yes, Patriot of a race downtrod $ Yes, Martyr for a flander'd God ; Yes, Man of large and liberal mind Wroth with the meanneis of mankind $ Yes, all who love the lovely ftill And hate the vile with right good will, — Your hearts can echo to my long, And ache beneath the Senfe of Wrong ! %\t $tm of p# Calm in well-deferving, Happy at the heart, Duty does his part Steadfaft and unfwerving. How mould it affect him If fome mocking-birds Clamour at his words, Or the world neglect him ? Confcience is the treafure Lock'd within his breaft, — * What were all the reft To that inner pleafure ? Brother, funk in forrow, Find thy balm within, To-day a comfort win Before the heavenly Morrow. Feed upon this blefling Though thy path be rough, Let it be enough Such a grace poffeffing : And when wrongs come near thee Crowding to the fight, Let the fenfe of Right Make thee ftrong and cheer thee ! gailiraj firaw. O rapid days, electric hours, Flaming with all that kindles life, — O fhifting fcene of funs and fhowers, — O melodrame of love and ftrife, — Such flirring racing bouts as thefe Are too full of firong effects For Hale Simplicity to pleafe, Or equal what the world expects. Time was, a wonder lived nine days. And forry talents grew to fame 5 But now, one minute's curious gaze Is all we give to note or name : Glutted with news of all things ftrange, We fcarcely care to watch the turns Our quick kaleidofcope of Change Is working in the world's concerns. The framing river of events Rufnes adown its rocky fleep, And caufes, facts, and confequents Are hurl'd together in a heap, And keen Excitement's rainbow light Hangs iridefcent o'er the fall Of waters rufhing in their might, Solemnly overwhelming all, — 21 8 Railway Times. Ay, — a Niagara-life is ours ! No reft, but ever hurried on By the great deep's gigantic powers, By the ftrong wind Euroclydon, — Yea, by the mighty flood of Fate, Yea, by the gale of human crimes We fpeed along, as if " too late " Were the great terror of the times. The lotus-eaters all are dead 5 There is no nook for quiet thought 5 The halcyon birds of peace are fled, And calm contentment 's come to nought ; Spur on, — fpur on ! our fteeds are ftrong, No need to fpare them in the pace 5 With recklefs energy headlong We all refolve to win the race. O day of hot competing ftrife ! O crowded fcene of ftruggling fin ! What chance of any prize in life Has any tyro battling in ? The rareft worth wins little gold ; Wifdom has barely wit to live 5 What chance, compared with calms of old, Does all our hurly-burly give ? What chance ? — my counfel is, keep ftillj They do not drown who lie afloat, — And quietnefs fets free the will To pilot well the crankeft boat ; T)etra5iion. 219 And, — he that Hands aloof from flrife, Calmly refolved to thread the maze, Shall quell to his Succefs in life The riot of thefe rapid days. §ttxu\w\\. Thou canft. not help the thoufand things That might be better done 5 Corruption its black fhadow flings On all beneath the fun 3 Nor thought nor word nor deed can reach The purity our yearnings preach. Nothing is perfect 5 be content, — Thank God it is no worfe 5 Creation pays a bitter rent And fins beneath a curfe ; Thank God for bleiling Hill beftow'd, And grace to lift guilt's crufhing load. Thou canft not work thy nobler will Unvex'd by fin and ftrife 5 A mingled draught of good and ill Ts ftill the cup of life ; Take it and drink 5 for it is meet Thy fpirit quaff that bitter fweet. Detraction like a fcorpion Hands To ftrike at men and things 3 The fpider with her hideous hands Clings to the lkirts of kings 3 Be fure thy cot fhall not efcape The poifon of that dreaded fhape. Slander fhall mar thy pureft work, And fpot thy faireft robe 3 The cancer-roots of evil lurk Throughout the groaning globe 3 The thing well-done might better be 3 And there are thoufand faults in thee. %\t f mi anfr % Jpift. Warm heart, foft heart, generous and gentle, Full of fweet affections, fympathies, and loves, — How thou tranfcendeft all the merely mental, How doll thou exceed in all The Holy One approves ! In affliction's hour Gracious in thy power Tenderly thou comforteft a lifter in diftrefs, — And when matters brighten How thy fmiles enlighten Every one that looks on thee, an angel fent to blefs, Every eye that lights from thee its torch of hap- pinefs ! The Heart and the Mind. 221 Clear mind, keen mind, wall'd about with greatnefs, Conqueror unconquerable over human ill, Theban Coloflus fitting in fedatenefs, How art thou in majefly a mighty fpirit full ! In the day of trouble, Though its grief be double, Glorioufly thou triumpheft above the battle-din, And when, after fadnefs, All is turn'd to gladnefs, Thou remaineft calm, a true philofopher within, Calm amidil a univerfe of folly, ftrife, and fin ! Great heart ! great mind ! be ye both united, Knit in holy wedlock, mind and heart as man and wife, — So fhall the foul, to firength and beauty plighted, Bring forth all its precious fruits in perfect Chrifiian life! Ever full of feeling, Yet the fpirit Heeling Sturdily againft the wrongs and troubles of this earth ; Ever ftrong and fieady Yet in fpirit ready Heartily to pity or to love where love is worth, Lovingly to live the life begun at fecond birth ! ( 222 ) m\nt toe all #ecl. Ah ! Life, — fo purpofelefs yet fteep'd in felf, I do confefs thee, yea, I do condemn thee, So pack'd with pleafure, or fo plann'd for pelf, I do denounce thee, yea, I do contemn thee. Ah ! Life, — fo changeful, yet fo dull and tame, I dread and doubt thee, while I muft defpife thee, So lotteried, and ftill fo blank the fame, I wait and hope, defpairing while I prize thee. Ah ! Life, — be better 5 yet thou haft no crime Thus to abjure, for ftill thy will is worthy 5 Only thou weepeft for the wafte of time, And that thou art too ufelefs and too earthy. Ah ! Life, — enduringly I watch and wait ; Winter is patient, till the day be lengthen'd, And well-ripe fruit, delay' d but not too late, Cornea of a root by frofty forrow ftrengthen'd. Yes, Life ! in hope, for ever luring on, I wreftle in the crowd of men and manners, AfTured at laft to find thy Battle won, And Victory fanning me with purple banners. %\t §m\\tmm. Not alone by generous birth (Greatly though it famions men), Not by all the wealth of earth, Not by all the talents ten, Not by beauty, nor by wit, No, nor manners well refined, — Is that name of honour writ On the forehead of the mind. Poverty retains it oft, With the peafant it hath dwelt, And its influence fweet and foft In the fcholarlefs been felt ; Lowly birth, and forrow's power, All that want of all things can, Have not marr'd — nor made — one hour This true knight, the Gentleman. Charity, — unfelfifh zeal Left a forrow or a fhame Any one be made to feel Undeferving fcorn or blame, — Dignity, the generous fenfe That himfelf is heir outright To that heritage immenfe, — King and pried of worlds of light, — 224 The Gentleman. Lowlinefs of heart withal, — Purity of word and life — Courage,— -not for arms to call But to quell infurgent ftrife, — Honour, — for the good and true With Bayard to guard the van, — And what courtefies are due, Thefe make up the Gentleman. Ay, Sir, calm and cold and proud, Trufl me, for the word is true, There are thoufands in the crowd Finer gentlemen than you ; More, — for all your courtly birth And each boon by fortune given, Know that gentlemen of earth Are always gentle fons of heaven. Chefterfields, and modes, and rules For polilh'd age or flilted youth, And high breeding's choice!! fchools Need to learn this deeper truth, That to acl:, whate'er betide, Nobly on the Chriftian plan, This is Hill the fureft guide, How to be the Gentleman ! ( 22 5 ) ffl Think not, O man, that ftrong Temptation's hour, For all thy might of mind, is pail to thee ; Dream not, prefumptuous, that thy ftate is free From evil chance and change and Satan's power. Hot Nature ftill may vex thy foul within, And fire its houfe with wantonnefs or ftrife, Still can thy heart make ihip wreck of its life, And drown in gulphs of dark tumultuous fin. How canft thou guefs the trials coming near, Or whether fome loft fpirit be not fent To lure thy pride to fome due punifhment, For that, high-minded, thou haft cart, off fear? O never is there fafety for the foul Oat of true humblenefs : the purefl faint Shall burfl through grace, and habit's good conflraint, If lufl and pride within him win control. Then, be thou ware, frail creature ! watch and pray ; Thou haft no ftores, but only manna given 3 Go, flee temptation at the gates of heaven, And humbly alk thy daily bread to-day. a ( 226 ) Tyrannic Circumftance ! whofe jealous power Guards every turn,, and watches every hour, With fecret influences controlling ftill The conduct and the fpirits, and the will, Alas, — that each of us is feen a Have, In fetters from the cradle to the grave ! What ? — am 1 free ? each natural bent within, Inherited infirmity and fin, The brain, the difpofition, and the fhape, And new-hatch'd paflion, flumbering or agape With tafles inclined for normal peace or ftrife, Thefe warp the man, and mould his heart and life. What ? — am I free ? each artifice without, Wherein convention hedges us about, Family likeneffes of make and mind, Habit, example, ufage harm or kind, And every tone and temper all around, Thefe link the chain to keep the freeman bound. Poor Gulliver, the giant of the fkies, Is tied to earth by countlefs petty ties ; Helplefs in head and body, hands and feet, Worried by pigmies with their arrowy fleet, Humbled to wants, and cow'd by difefteem, And feeing things around as in a dream, Proftrate he lies, — with all his wit and power Made captive to the trifles of the hour ! ( 22 7 ) And yet, — What is this ruthlefs Circumflance ? A ftolid Fate ? or trivial thing of Chance ? What, O thou difcontented ! is this Power Guiding thy way, and guarding every hour ? Is it aught elfe than God's paternal care, — His providence o'erruling everywhere, His kind and mighty and myllerious Will That nx'd thee where thou art, and holds thee ftill O blind and ignorant, — who doll not know That all our checks and trials here below, Our inner croffes, and our outer cares, Our wants, temptations, forrows, fears, and fnares, That all the difappointment and the ftrife Which baffle hope and break the reft of life, All, all arefent, — and ordered from above In ftric~T.eft juftice and profoundeft Love ! A Have ? in fetters ? — Yes, for thou art bound To toil awhile for everything around 5 Not to himfelf may any creature live, — Not to delights his time and talents give, — Not think of Gain amidft a world of Lofs, — But duteoufly go forth, and bear — a crofs ! Thou canft not choofe : the lot is call for thee : Thy care be ftill in Duty's path to be 5 Under all hindrance ftriving for the bell, — And leaving Heaven to care for all the reft. ( 228 ) The die is caft, — be fatisfied 5 The chance is paft, — be Hill : For this, no more Occafion's tide Can waft thee good or ill ) The hour is gone, the deed is done* And all the battle loft or won. Stand on the Fa<5t in patience ftrong, And never nurfe regret 5 Bid this ftern Prefent, right or wrong, That dreamy Paft forget ; And work with all thy lkill and power The living duties of the hour. All elfe is nought, all elfe is dead, Difguife it as we may 5 Caufes with yeflerday have fped, Remits are here to-day ; Take them, and ufe them as ye can Right loyally for God and Man. The Thought that was not born a Thing Is only falfe Romance ; Reality is Nature's King, Unfearing change or chance ; When men can ftand upon a Fa 61, Duty mows clear, and Faith may act. ( 22 9 ) %\t (§m)s anfo t\t toe. Nothing lafls that is not good 5 Nothing Hands that is not true : — What a thing mifunderftood, What a thought kept out of view ! O pretences, fhams, and cheats, You may ltrut your little day, — But Confufion fwiftly meets And furely drives you all away ! Never yet was Truth affail'd, But the hraggle gave it ftrength ; " Great is Truth and has prevail' d " Always comes to pafs at length : Never yet was good attack' d, But the very foe that fmote Whiten' d up what flander black' d, And abjured what malice wrote ! What is Good ? — the pure and kind ; What is Truth r — the wife and right ; And, in Matter as in Mind, Both will live in death's defpite : But the bad, the falfe, the bale, Barely breathe one feverim hour, Dying out of every place Like a rootlefs nofegay flower. 230 Chaos Cryftallizing. How then comes it, that fo oft Good men droop, and good things drown? How, that Lies are throned aloft, While fo many Truths die down ? — How ? — For juft a little while, And by jufl a herd of fools, Cheats are praifed, and fhams beguile, And fin is ltout where Satan rules : Ay, — but look a little higher, Forward poll your eager eye, You that glorioufly afpire, And on God and Right rely ; Evil perifhes,— forfake it, — Falfehood dies — renounce its fway, — But the Good, for treafure take it, — And fecure the True to-day ! Give it only time enough, Every thing fhall find its place ; Every creature wins its race, Though the courfe be rough. All is not Miftake on earth 5 Providence fulfils its plan 5 And Creation, down to man, Juflifles its birth. Chaos Cryft affixing. 231 Folly builds her Babel tower, Where, — fince Wifdom well permits, — Grey Old Sin a Nimrod fits For his human hour : Let a little time have fled, And anon it topples down ; And we tear away the crown From that ufurper's head ! All mall yet be right at laft ; Coining Day fhall clear it up ; And Creation's ftirrup-cup Sweeten all the pail. Good achieves its glorious ends $ Soon for Evil's tranfient reign, Spite of guilt and grief and pain, Making rich amends. Now, like cryftallizing falts, All is feen confufion here ; But right foon it fhall appear Wifdom makes no faults : Atom to its atom flies, Every bevill'd angle fits, Till at length fair Order fits Enthroned on earth and Ikies. ( 2 3* ) God be thank'd that ftorms blow over, God be praifed that faith endures 1 Nature, univerfal lover, Ever works fuch timely cures ; Wolf-like fears may Hill be howling, But they come not near us oft If we fcare them in their prowling By the torch of hope aloft ! Oh the many dreads and troubles Wifdom Ihows us, — only ihows ; To the brim the cauldron bubbles But it feldom overflows 5 To correct us and to try us Brood the black tempefluous fkies, But thofe terrors come not nigh us If they find, or make us — wife. He, that is the Source and Sender, Knows how trouble chafiens ftill; But Himfelf is our defender When that trouble works for ill : Thus, our faith may trull Him blindly Should He fend us help or grief, For His Sovereignty deals kindly Both in trial and relief ! ( 2 33 ) & & O Life ! — what a dream, What a tale that is told ! How ftrangely I feem On a fudden grown old ; With records behind me Of years by the fcore, And all to remind me That they are no more ! The friends of my prime Are dead, or grown gray, Or diflanced by time, Or ftolen away ; And as my thought ranges O'er people and things, Perpetual changes My memory rings ! Ah ! days that are pall, — How vague to mine eyes As periihing fall Recollections arife ! O pity and forrow That feelings decay, And ev'ry To-morrow Out-clamours To-day ! 234 Welcome. But folemn in footh Is Yefterday's page,, — Alas ! for my youth, Alas ! for mine age, Alas ! is the fighing From heart and from head, For pleafures fo flying And pleafures fo fled ! fflbta ! Yes! welcome, right welcome — and give us your hand,— I like not to Hand in the cold ! If new friends are true friends I can't underftand Why hearts fhould hold back till they 're old ; For life is fo fhort, and there 's fo much to do, And fo many pleafures and cares — And fomewhere I 've read that, though angels are few, They 're fure to be met unawares ! The eye of fincerity ftiines like a ftar Through the clouds of fufpicion and doubt ; I love its fair luflre, and lure it from far, And wouldn't for worlds put it out : Welcome. 235 Away with fuch wifdom, as Hiking the chance Of killing young love with old fears — The face that is honeft. is known at a glance, And needn't be fludied for years ! And when petty Prudence would put me to fchool About caution, and care, and all that, I trull that, like fome folks, I yield to the rule Of wearing a head in my hat ; But more that remains is better than brains, And I know not that fome folks are bleft, Like me, with a fhare in a cuftom more rare, Of wearing a heart in the breafl ! Then come with all welcome ! I fear not to fling Referve to the winds and the waves, And never can cling to the cold-blooded thing Society makes of its Haves : Thou dignified dullard, fo cloudy and cold, Get out of the funfhine for me 5 But, hearty good friend ! whether new one or old, A Welcome for Ever to thee ! ( 2 3 6 ) Patience yet one little hour, Pale, unloved, uncourted flower, Seeing not the fun 5 Patience, — heart of depth and duty, Yearning for the fmiles of beauty, Never catching one : Patience, — martyr following faintly, Gentle nun, ferene and faintly, Kneeling in the duft ; Oh not vain thy long-enduring! Still with meekeft might fecuring Triumph to thy trull ! Hufhing every mutter d murmur, Tranquil Fortitude the firmer Girdeth thee with flrength ; While, no treafon near her lurking, Patience, in her perfect working, Shall be Queen at length. And, behold ! thy pious daring Is a glorious crown preparing For thine own fweet brow -, Precious pearls of fofteft luflre Shall with brighteft jewels clufter Where the thorns are now ! Faith and Patience ! filler, brother, — Lean in love on one another, Calm for good or ill : Comforted by furely knowing That the Ruler is bellowing Strength in fitting Hill ! O ye virgin fpirits walling, O ye hearts of thoufands, halting Darkly to decay, Through the blight of difappointment,- Tenderly, with precious ointment, Lull thofe cares away 5 Tenderly, with wife beguilings, Court fweet Patience for her mailings On that ruin drear ; Soon, with other filler graces, Shall fhe make your hearts and faces Laugh away their fear : Self-Contentment, bright-eyed Duty, Faith in his archangel beauty, Joy, and Love fublime, Follow, — Patience, where thy finger Gently beckons Hope to linger On the wrecks of time ! How little and how lightly We care for one another ! How feldom and how flightly Confider each a brother ! For all the world is every man To his own felf alone, And all befide no better than A thing he will not own. And (>, the fhame and fadnefs, To fee how iniincerely The heart, that in its gladnefs Went forth to love men dearly, Is chill'd, and all its warmth repell'd As juft a low miitake, And half the cordial yearnings quell' d It felt for others' fake. The fervice it would render Is call'd intrufive boldnefs, And thus, that heart fo tender, Now hardening to coldnefs, Returns, returns, — a blighted thing ! To fcorn thofe early days, The frelhnefs of its green young fpring, Its beauty and its praife. %\t Pan stout f ohm. Evil-eyed loiterer, pilgrim of fafhion, Sunlefs and hard is thy froft-bitten heart ; Scoffing at nature's affection and paflion, Till thou haft made the fad angels depart : Sinner and fool ! to be fearing and fealing All the fweet fountains of fpirit and truth — Quick to be free from the frefhnefs of feeling, Swift to efcape from the fervours of youth. Woe to thee — woe ! for thy criminal coldnefs ; Oh, I could pity thee, defolate man, But that thofe eyes, in their infolent boldnefs, Tempt me to fcorn fuch a ftate, if I can : Wearied of hunting the fhadows of pleafures, Thou art half dead in the prime of thy days, Emptied of Heaven's and Earth's better treafures, Victim and Have to the world and its ways ! Early and late at thy dull diflipation, Liflleffly indolent even in fin, What is thy foul but a pool of ftagnation, Calmnefs without, and corruption within ? Happinefs, honour, and peace, and affection — Thefe were thy heritage every one, — But as thou meeteft them all with rejection, They have rejected thee, Prodigal Son ! 240 Tangley Pond. O that humility, gracious as duteous. Lighten'd thofe eyelids fo heavy with fcorn ! O that fincerity, blefled as beauteous, Gilded thy night with the promife of morn ! Franknefs of mind is the bell of high breeding- Kindnefs of foul the true Gentleman's part 5 And the firfl: fafhion all fafhions exceeding, . Is the warm gufh of a generous heart ! Wangles Jonfr. All on a happy fummer's day When the air is warm and m'll, And thundery clouds are louring gray Over the landfcape green and gay Around St. Martha's Hill,— How pleafant it is, with a cheerful friend Of beautiful Nature fond, Acrofs the fields our ways to wend, And here the calm fweet hours to fpend Fifhing at Tangley Pond. I love the tapering rod to wield, And caft the fenfitive float, Till down it runs with the line outreel'd And a fierce old pike, flill fcorning to yield, Flounders about in the boat : c Ta72gley Pond. 241 I love the angle, — to watch and wait For the perch fo lubtle and {till, Till deep in his hole he has gorged the bait, And gluttony fixes a tyrant's fate With a good gimp-hook in his gill : I love the quiet, — the lull from care, — The lake, all clear and calm, — The flowering reeds, and the wild fowl there,- The trees afleep in the fultry air, And all things breathing balm. Old Tangley Pond, — my boyhood's haunt, My manhood's holiday reft, — Let any that will my fondnefs taunt, And mock while thus thy praife I chaunt, Lull'd on thy tranquil breaft. Oh yes,---there is peace and quietnefs here If nowhere found beyond ; The way one's fpirit to foothe and cheer Is— angle awhile, in the prime of the year, At dear old Tangley Pond. Fair Charity, thou rarefr, beft, and brighter! ! Who would not gladly hide thee in his heart, With all thine angel-guefts, — for thou delightefr. To bring fuch with thee, — never to depart ? Cherub, with what enticement thou inviteft, Perfect in winning beauty as thou art, World-wearied man to plant thee in his bofom, And graft upon his cares thy balmy blofTom. Fain would he be frank-hearted, generous, cheerful, Forgiving, aiding, loving, trufting all, — But knowledge of his kind has made him fearful All are not friends, whom friends he longs to call ; For prudence makes men cold, and mifery tearful, And interefl bids them rife upon his fall, And while they feek their felfifh own to cherifh, They leave the wounded flag alone to perifh. Man may rejoice that thy fweet influence hallows His intercourfe with all he loves — in Heaven : But canft. thou make him love his fordid fellows, And mix with them untainted by their leaven ? How can he not grow cautious, cold, and callous, When he forgives to feventy-times feven, And mil repeated wrongs, unwept for, harden The heart that 's never fued nor fought to pardon ? Referve's cold breath has chill'd each warmer feeling, Ingratitude has frozen up his blood, Unjufl neglect has pierced him pail all healing, And fcarr'd a heart that panted to do good ; Slowly, but furely, has diflrufl been Heeling His mind_, much wrong' d, and little underflood : Would charity unfeal affection's fountain ? Alas ! 'tis crufh'd beneath a marble mountain. Yet the belief that he was loved by other Could root and hurl that mountain in the fea, Oblivion's depth the height of ill would fmother, And all forgiven, all forgotten be \ Man then could love his once injurious brother With fuch a love as none can give but he 5 The fun of love, and that alone, has power To bring to bright perfection love's fweet flower ! Soft rains, and, zephyrs, and warm rains can vanquifh The ilubborn tyranny of winter's frofl 3 Once more the fmiling valleys ceafe to languifh, Drefl out in frefher beauties than they loll : So fprings with gladnefs from its bed of anguifh The heart that felt not, when reviled and crofl, But, once beloved, — oh then, not once but often, Love's funny fmile the rockiert heart will foften ! ( 244 ) Recollect, as well you may, (You that pine and brood in forrow), If there 's little luck to-day, More is left to come to-morrow ; Every prefent grows to paft Almolt while the grumbler heeds it : But, for pleafure made to laft, Look to where the future feeds it. Coming chances muft be more, (Realbn will herfelf remind us), And all prizes crowd before If the blanks are all behind us 5 Therefore never go downcaft, But let cares lit all the lighter, Since a dark and lucklefs pall Argues all the future brighter. ( 2 45 ) prates fast. Alas for trouble and care and fin, And bitternefs, hate, and flrife ! That the heart grows cold and callous within, As Honed by the hail and ftunn'd by the din Of the ftorm- driven defert of life. Alas ! that the world is winning the game, — And — who then is counting the coil ? O fpeed, — for fear, for glory, for fhame, Let Satan be baulk'd of his murderous aim, For, the Hake is — a foul to be loft ! Where ftands Paradife, after the fall ? Alas ! it has wither' d away, — The flime of the ferpent is over us all, And Nature has veil'd with a funeral-pall Her beautiful face in decay ! €\mhhm. (in dactylic stanzas.) Lover of goodnefs, and friend to the beautiful, Ever go forth with a fmile on thy cheek, Knowing that God will profper the dutiful, Gladden the holy, and honour the meek ; Ever go on, though fortune be rigorous, Bearing as Providence wifely may will. Strong in good confcience, with energy vigorous, Building up good, and demolifhing ill. There is a fpirit, that fadly and tearfully Goes to its duties, a flave to its talks ; There is a fpirit that lioutly and cheerfully Toils in the funfhine, and toils as it batks ; Both may be labouring, ripely and readily, Chriftians and hulbandmen tilling the foil, But the one lings, while he labours fo Iteadily, And the fad other fheds tears at his toil. Be of this wifer and better fraternity, Nurling contentednefs 11111 in thy brealt ; So mail thy heart, for time and eternity, Ache though it mult, be for ever at reft : Peace is the portion of hopeful audacity, Routing the worli and fecuring the bell:, And the keen vilion of Chriltian fagacity Sees for us all that we all may be blelt ! €anik\\tt (IN SAPPHIC STANZAS.) Never went man coarageouny to dangers Fear and his conflant fpirit being Grangers, But, while he faced his enemies and hew'd them, Soon he fubdued them : As he goes onward, perils feem to fcatter, Mind ever fhows the conqueror of matter 5 Even the mountain crags that toppled o'er him Open before him 5 Even the torrents, riotoufly wrathful, Are to his footfteps fordable and pathful ; Even the prowlers, in the defert roaming, Fly at his coming. O man of faith, of energy, and boldnefs, — Onward ! in fpite of darknefs and of coldnefs, — Forward ! for Conqueft with triumphal pleafance Waits for thy prefence : Never, on Right and Providence relying, Fail'd of fuccefs, while duteoufly trying, He, who refolves and wreftles like a Roman, Yielding to no man ! ( * 4 8 ) Jttttora. (iTST ALCAIC STANZAS.) Bulwark of England, GoD-given Liberty ! Name much malign' d, yet noble and glorious, How rarely the marles who claim thee Judge as they ought of the fools that maim thee ! No part haft thou with clamorous demagogues, Red revolution fcares thee and fcatters thee, And defpots have flolen thy llandard Only to render thee fcorn'd and flander'd : Still to enflave the credulous multitude Is their intent in utter effrontery ; O treafon, O fhame, and O wonder, That the one tramples the many under ! Man, when his Maker made him and fafhion'd him, Man Hood as free as Mercy could order it, — Free, faving Religion in feafon, Saving the bridle and bit of Reafon. And when, as now, the Fall and its accidents Drove him from God to human fociety, Still Reafon, Religion, and Franknefs Stand as the pruners of Freedom's ranknefs : Freedom. 249 Reafon, Religion, counfel and fanftify Unto good order governing minifters, And Franknefs gives up to his brother Much of his own, for the fake of other. Freeman ! thy neighbour alfo has liberties ; This may fubtracl: his rights from thy heritage, — But Freedom without moderations Were but the licence of pirate nations. England ! in thee mines Liberty's excellence -, We are as free as ferves for humanity, Freefpoken, freejudging, freeacting, Nobody fpying, and none exacting. We love the Queen, and guard her with loyalty, She loves the People, ruling us faithfully, And thofe who amongft us are wifer Counfel her, each as a free advifer. Thus we reform whate'er is iniquitous, Thus we remove whatever is obfolete, Yet always refolve to deal fairly Even with thofe who deferve it rarely : Thus in the light of rational liberty Each of us walks a patriot Engliftiman — Courageous, but boafting it never 3 Moderate, honeft, and patient ever. And we can love our brethren in flavery, Giving them all, with prodigal fympathy, Our prayers, our blood, our treafure — All we can give, without flint or meafure : 25° Long Ago. And we can hate the bafe and tyrannical, Vowing to cruih oppreffion and cruelty — And fharing with peoples and races All Chriftianity's gifts and graces. England the free is Europe's deliverer, Standing with France, co- warders of Liberty \ And Englifhmen know how to ufe it, — Engliihmen only will not abufe it ! FOR MUSIC. What a gloom and what a chill Hang about old haunts of ours, — Where, at childhood's wayward will, Long ago we gather' d flowers ; Where, in youth's romantic prime, Long ago we met and parted, In the olden golden time When we went fo eager-hearted ! Ah ! but in thofe long agoes, With their dreamy dear old places And forgotten joys and woes And their unforgotten faces, How much forrow ever hides, Leaving what we loved behind us ; While, how fwift our life-dream glides, Thefe fad long agoes remind us ! f mt Jbrttir. Poor Arctic ! once awhile my floating home Full of kind faces, my right royal yacht, Alas ! how fwift and terrible a lot Has caught and whelm' d thee in the billowy foam. The gay faloon was ringing with its mirth, — Sudden Collifion comes with frightful crafh, And over all the riotous waters dafh, Rulhing from deck to deck, from berth to berth ! I will not coldly try to paint in rhyme Thofe thoufand horrors ; let the fobbing fea Chant its wild requiem over thine and thee, And darknefs fpread above its pall fublime. Rather fhall memory linger on the days When girt with friends, I fomewhile paced thy deck, Watching the diflant iceberg's fparkling fpeck, Or the broad fun down-fetting in a blaze : The nautilus would flretch its paper fail Crefting the fwell to catch our eager eyes, Or petrels from the cradling trough would rife, Or the lharp fin of fome black balking whale : 252 The Loft Arffiic. And then, the merry games, and kindly looks Of pleafant fhipmates, and the noonday Hakes, How many knots an hour the good fhip makes — Roufing the dozers from their chefs and books : And then,— Woe, woe ! that on fuch fcenes as thefe The Viking, Death, mould like a pirate burft, And drag them all, in gulphing waves immerft, Down to the charnel-caverns of the feas ! All, — but the dingers to fome finking boat Loft in the fog, or on that raft — Defpair; One — only one of feventy ! — lingereth there, While buoy'd around him upturn'd corpfes float ! All, — but the Abdiel-captain of the crew, Who, finking nobly with his finking fhip, Then battled back to life with dauntlefs lip, — A righteous Jonah, faithful found and true. All? — yet a remnant — (of five hundred fouls Hope breathes a tithe) — miraculoufly faved ; Above the reft, where firft that Viking raved, His mighty banner the dark Ocean rolls ! O Life, and luxury, and hope, and health, And fuddenly — Deftruction ! who can know How huge the fun of man's and woman's woe When my poor Arctic fank with all her wealth ? ( 2 53 ) Be true, be true ! whate'er befide Of wit, or wealth, or rank be thine, Unlefs with fimple truth allied, The gold that glitters in thy mine Is only drofs, the brals of pride Or vainer tinfel, made to fhine. Be true, be true ! the prize of earth From God alike with man forfooth, The real nobility of birth To age, maturity, or youth, The very crown of creature-worth, Is eafy, guilelefs, open Truth. Be true, be true ! to nerve your arm For any good ye wifh to do 5 To fave yourfelves from fin and harm, . And win all honours old and new - 7 To work on hearts as with a charm, — The maxim is, Be true, be true ! Be true, be true ! that eafy prize So loveable to human view, So laudable beyond the ikies, Alas ! is reach' d by very few — - The fimple ones, though more than wife, Whofe motto is, Be true, be true ! ( 254 ) lata- Duty ! fhorn of which the wifeft And the befl were little worth, How with dignity thou rifeft O'er the littlenefs of earth : How thou blefTeft each condition Shedding peace and glory round. Even binding hot Ambition In thy fervice to be found ! Duty, — though the lot be lowly, God's broad-arrow thou art feen Making very trifles holy, And exalting what were mean ; In this thought the poor may revel That, obeying Duty's word, Humblefl want is on a level With my lady or my lord. Duty, — feen in lofty fiat ion As the brightefl jewel there, Providence doth blefs the nation Where thy badge its rulers bear 5 England ! God regards with favour Both thy Queen and People too, For that Duty's precious favour Still is found in all they do. ( *55 ) fSobftuj urn. In vain, — there is no refpite and no reft, No flagging in our headlong recklefs race ; In vain with clutching grafp and yearning breafl We ftrive to check the fieeds of Time and Space. All rufhes on ; no creature flops an hour j The babe, the boy, the man, the dotard — dies ; Perpetual changes vex the wayfide flower, And the great worlds careering through the Ikies. Yet is it fad that Beauty fcarce can bloom, Hardly can Wifdom drop one word of truth, Before the fage is humbled to the tomb, And wrinkles gather round the eyes of youth. Alas ! becaufe it hardens us at heart, This conftant moving-on, — this phantom fcene Of daily hourly meetings foon to part, And made to be as they had never been. New hopes, new motives, all things ever new Expelling all things old, however dear, Uproot the mind from growing ftrong and true, And the poor heart in all its longings fear. 256 Moving on. A gloom, a folemn fadnefs, and a hope — A mighty hope, but mix'd with bitter fear, All lie within this fad reflection's fcope That nothing — nothing — hath continuance here. We wake, — and yefterday is thrown behind To play to-day's half-mafqueraded part 5 Energy cheering on the hopeful mind, But pale-faced Memory holding back the heart. Alas ! I cannot read thefe thoughts aright ; I fain would fay that we (hall fee once more Some refurrection of the vifions bright That here, like mountain-mifts, have fwept us o'er. I fain, in this perpetual moving-on, Would fee the fhadowy type of flabler things ; Old loves renew' d, old victories re won, Old chords reflruck upon the old heartftrings ! If otherwife, it were a waile, — a lofs Of truth and beauty, happinefs and love 5 But — there are all redemptions in the Crofs, And more than Space and Time in Heaven above ! ( 2 57 ) ingto's Wtltam to t\]t WbxDj. A. BALLAD FOR l8jl. A voice of happy greeting to the Nations of the World ! A flag of peace for every ihore, on every fea, unfurl' d ! A Word of brotherhood and love to each who hears the call, — A Welcome to the World of Men, a Welcome, one and all! O children of a common flock, O brothers all around, In kindlinefs and fy mpathy receive the joyful found 5 Old England bids you welcome all, and wins you to her Ihore, To fee how men of every clime may help each other more. Old England greets ycu lovingly, as friend fhould greet a friend, And only prays that peaceful days may never have an end ; And only hopes, by doing good, the good of all to gain, And lb Goodwill from brethren mil, right gladly to attain ! Come on then to this Tournament of Peace, and ikilful Art, Come on, fair Europe's chivalry, and play the Bayard's part ! 258 England's Welcome to the World. For honour, Auftria, fpur away, for honour, gentle France ! For honour, Rufs, and Swede, and Turk, — come on with levell'd lance ! Come on amain, high-hearted Spain ! indufirious Hol- land, come ! Italy, Perfia, Greece, and Ind, — fill up the Nations' fum! And chiefly with us, heart to heart, come on, and tilt for fame, Columbia, — thou that England art in everything but name ! Not, as long fince, for deeds of death, — but deeds to gladden life 3 Provoking each for other's good to join the generous ftrife ! As in thofe games at Pytho, or in old Nemaea's grove, Where Graecia's bell and worthieft for honour only flrove. Come, wreftle thus in peace with us, and vie for glory's prize, Bring out your wares of rarefl work, and wealthieft merchandife $ Let every Craft of every clime produce its brilliant befl:, The dazzling zone of Venus, and Minerva's ftarry crefi ! Let Science add the miracles that human reafon works When tracking out the Mind of God that in all Nature lurks, — The Wonderful, that He hath made Beneficent to man, And gives us wit to fathom it, and ufe it as we can ! A Hymn for all Nations. 259 Oh, there are fecrets choice and ftrange, that men have not found out, Though up and down the earth we range, and forage round about, The hidden things of Mercy's heart, the Beautiful Sublime, That God hath meant to cheer us on adown the nream of Time : Adown the flream of Time, until we reach that happier more, Where fin and pain come not again, and grief is grief no more * For that, O nations, wifely ftrive to do all good you can, And gratefully, as unto God, live brotherly with Man ! % Jpm for all |M Mounting on eagle wings of cherubim, They linger not to deck the temple-porch, — But ferving One whofe temple is all fpace, They feek Him always and in every place ! 334 Alice Evelyn. Yet, muft we note the low eftate of Man, And help on earth his earthly nature Hill 5 And, it is wife and duteous, where we can, To counteract by good permitted ill ; And, if we work eternal Mercy's plan, We glorify our God through man's free will 5 And He that bade us worfhip Him aright Said, — Make My court and fervice your delight. Therefore, with energy and zeal difcreet, Haflen to raife this holy houfe again ; With decent fplendour, as is right and meet, Give God once more His confecrated fane : He waits in grace to blefs your willing feet, And thofe who ferve Him, never ferve in vain : So bring your offerings, and your alms outpour, And rear St. George for God and Man once more ! Beautiful Alice, ferene little faint, My treafure ! — O better than mine, — What mind can imagine, or eloquence paint Thy gladnefs and glory divine ? A bright happy fpirit, made perfect and free, On whom The Good Jesus hath fmiled, This ecftacy now hath beatified thee, My bleffed and beautiful child ! Alice Evelyn. 335 Ah ! fairefl, and pureft, and deareft of all, Sweet babe of two years and a half, How painful a pleafure it is to recall The ring of thy once merry laugh -, How touching to dream of that loved little face With its martyr-expreffion of pain, And the tender blue eyes where angelical grace Shone patiently fmiling again ! What virion was ever more piteous than this, — To watch her, fo wan and fo weak, With white little hands reaching up for a kifs, When faint and unable to fpeak ; What memory ever fo joyous, — that oft Thofe dear little hands fhe would raife, So tremblingly feeble, fo fmall and fo foft, In prayer and the mufic of praife ! O Death ! what a lovelinefs, holy and calm, All filently folemnly fweet, Inverted with blifs and anointed with balm My babe from her face to her feet ! The iilken fringed eyelailies flept on her cheek, And her mouth was a rofe-bud half-blown, And her fingers were folded fo prayerfully meek, And her foot was a lily in flone ! In an ark fnowy-white with its lilvery fheen, And fcatter'd with flow' rets of fpring, Deep under the turf all mouy and green, We have left thee, thou dear little thing ! 336 Alice Evelyn. In hope, though in grief, — in affection and prayer, Affured of the foon-coming hour When that precious root, buried tearfully there, Shall fhoot up again as a flower ! With hyacinth bulbs we have yearningly traced In her garden her muflcal name, And know that wherever each bulb hath been placed It furely ftiall bloffom the fame -, So thou, hidden rootlet of life and of light, Though feeming to moulder away, Shalt break away bright from the prifon of Night To bloom for Eternity's day ! My glorified Alice ! look joyouily down Wherever in fpirit thou art, And fuffer the gleam of thy wings and thy crown To gladden the eyes of my heart ! Thofe thin picking fingers, at reft from all pain, Stretch forth from the ikies for a kifs, — That faltering tongue, let me hear it again, " P'aying p'ayers," as a fpirit in blifs ! My beauty ! my darling ! my precious ! my prize ! My cherub, my faint, and my fweet ! My child that haft won the bright goal of the ikies, My herald in heaven to meet ! O thanks be to God, that his bountiful love To me the glad blefling hath given, My babe — to be heir of His glory above, My daughter — His daughter in Heaven ! My pretty one beneath the fod, My pretty one beyond the Iky, My darling gone to be with God, And nevermore to moan or die, — My Alice ! faft afleep in flowers Beneath the fhadow of the Crofs, How bleft is fuch a lofs as ours When thou art gainer by that lofs ! Befide the now deferted nave Of dear old ivied Albury Church, Befide our own anceflral grave, Befide the defecrated porch, — Our pretty darling lies beneath Her matted quilt of now' rets fair, And at her head, as bleffing death, The crofs of Jesus watches there. Sweet fpirit, pure and meek and mild, O patient martyr gone to blifs, I love thee, my moft precious child, Too deeply to repine at this : I long indeed to fee thofe eyes, And kifs their beauty o'er and o'er, But I fhall fee thee in the fkies, And there will kifs them evermore. O spirits made perfect ! How dear will ye be, In the bright happy world, where affections are free ! Unfetter'd from all the heart-flavery here, Unwarp'd by the world in its love or its fear, Uncheck'd in their impulfes — mifunderftood, Unchill'd in their warmth, and all glowing for good. O glorious and glad ! when in fulnefs and power The foul fliall expand like an amaranth flower, And open her beauties for every eye, And ihed out her fragrance on all that come nigh, And freely fly forth on the wings of a dove, And float in a rapture of purified love ! — There, foon in the garments of praife fhall I fee The fpirits that here have been deareft to me, Thofe beautiful darlings, by memory lhrined In the roots of the heart and the flem of the mind, On the magical leaves of afle&ion impreft, And burft into bloffom as fpirits made bleft ! How happy hereafter in union moil fweet Such cherifhed and glorified dear ones to meet ! And here, to look forward to thofe gone before In the joy and the hope of fuch meeting once more ! And now, to look upward and feel without fear That thefe are His meflengers helping us here ! ( 339 ) Landed in fafety on the Tranquil Shore Where Change and Sin and Sorrow vex no more, What heart can wifh that Happy Spirit back, Or guefs the glories of his heavenly track ? For, thofe afcending wings have pierced the height Where Holy Jesus reigns, enthroned in light, And, as a finner fhould his Saviour meet, Albert ! thy lips have kifT'd His bleffed feet, Till the fcarr'd hands, for us once crucified, Raifed thee and throned thee by His gracious fide, Among the faints to fhare their great reward, For ever and for ever with the Lord ! O what were all the beft of earthly blifs, What all the honours of the world to this ? What better, than in both worlds to be bleft, With all Time's prizes, — and Eternal Reft ? Wife, temperate, chafte, the pattern for a Prince Undreamt till Arthur, nor enfampled fince, Religioufly he walk'd his ufeful life, Undimm'd by pleafure's floth and faction's flrife, The brave and modeft Leader in the van Of all that elevates and teaches Man, Till, quicken' d by his gift for doing good, Earth bloom'd again an Eden where He Hood ! 34° The Balla/l-Heavers y Requeft. Though in half-felfifh forrow ftill we grieve, And fcarce our lofs can meafure or believe, Though ne'er till now, fince time and kings began, Hath a whole Nation, mourning for one man, Wept, as a mother for her only fon, The blamelefs, peerlefs, admirable One, — Yet, heart of England, — yet, O widow'd Queen ! Heeding that brighter world, and things unfeen, And the glad Spirit well enfranchifed thus, — Who, who could hope to have Him back with us ? What love would wifh impri fon' d here once more The Glorious Freeman of that Tranquil Shore I 1863. " There was a Man, a Prince among men. As good as he was great, — We fhall not look on his like again, And he help' d our low eftate : The poor man's Friend, as the rich man's Chief, We loved him all over the land ; For never was human trouble or grief But he comforted, counfell'd, and brought it relief, And cheer'd it heart and hand ! " And us hath he faved from the middleman's gripe, Refcued from drink and its gall, — To us he was ever the model and type Of huiband, and father, and all, — He blefl: us while here, — and now that he 's gone, According to Bible ftory, His earner!: kind eyes, let us hope, blefs on, For each of us thinks of their light, as a fon Of his Father's eyes in glory. ! "That Prince among men, moll gracious Queen, Thou lov T edft. him better than we, And, dear to us all as He hath been, Dearer He was to Thee 3 Then, for his fake, fo bold would we make,— A pricelefs gift we alt $ A picture of Him from his Wife to take, To keep it in honour for his dear fake, And all in its light to baik !" The Good Queen heard with a throbbing breaft, Where Sorrow and Hope ftill itrove -, And doubled the boon of their frank requefl In her Queenly mother-love 5 For She faid, u My friends, take His, take mine, I am His — as none can fever — Together in kindlieft. memory fhri-ne My Great Good Lord in his reft divine, And me in my love for ever ! " ( 342 ) %\t tote JUOtert ^tmxml Honour ! — an Albert Order for the wife, the true, the good — To balance The Victoria Crofs for deeds of hardihood 5 Honour ! — a jewell'd medal of the Face we held fo dear, Where all the virtues ihow'd like ftars, and flione fo bright and clear : A Badge for Civil Merit, — our Albert's inmoft thought, Witnefs'd by every word He ipake, by every work He wrought 5 That jufter Memory of the Man and the High place He nll'd, Than all our quarried marbles, or our molten bronze could build. Enough, O Queen, of honours for the Magnates of the State -, Enough, — though well deferved, — of flars and titles for the Great ; — In praife of Albert, now at length bid England's Heralds find An Order for the holy heart, and for the mighty mind ! The whole World's Worthies need fome wreath for civic good well done, And gladly would accept it as from That Tranflated One, The True Albert Memorial. 343 Named His Companions, following Him, in all things " treu undfeft" And vow'd, like Him, to Good, before they enter into reft! And England's Worthies, — noble band! not even friendly France, To make her Legion of the Great, had fuch a golden chance, — Both fons and daughters, of all ranks, whom Hiftory's true pen Shall write upon the rolls of Fame, as injihe hearts of men ! O Queen, who alfo liveft there, regard thefe in Thy love ! Reward them as the friends of Him who refts in blifs above, — Let honour, for thine Albert's fake, on excellence defcend, And make true worth on every more Thy ftrong though humble friend ! Look up and down the land, O Queen ! — there is no lack of good So that Thou feek it not in men of place-and-party brood 5 Look up and down the world, and fearch for true worth everywhere, And where Thou findeft Merit, give thine Albert's Order there ! 344 For the Bible. So, let what fculptured Hones befide that Sainted Spirit praife, A nobler monument to Him Thy forrowing love fhall raife — A temple built in living Hones — of man's and woman's worth — The Order of Good Albert for the Excellent of Earth ! $at t\t Sifrle, The Maidens of England to the Princess Alice on her Marriage, July i, 1862. On this bright day, thy lifters, dear Princefs, Thy million lifters over all the land, In fair concentric groups, a maiden band, Surround thee, with glad eagernefs to blefs, And place a token in thy gentle hand Of their warm willies for thy happinefs : Take it, — a fimple book, — a common gift ; And yet more precious than the gems and gold Pour'd on thy marriage tables, feven times told 5 For this hath grace the fpirit to uplift Above the pleafures and the pains of Time, Helping thy way with mercies from above, Cheering its goal with hopes of blifs fublime, And crowning all the joys of wedded love. ( 345 ) Jl f saint fat farlral O bless the God of harveft, praife Him through the land, Thank Him for his precious gifts, his help, and liberal love : Praife Him for the fields, that have render' d up their riches, And, dreft in funny ilubbles, take their fabbath after toil; Praife Him for the clofe-fhorn plains, and uplands lying bare, And meadows, where the fweet-breath'd hay was itack'd in early fummer; Praife Him for the wheat-fheaves, gather' d fafely into barn, And fcattering now their golden drops beneath the founding flail $ Praife Him for the barley-mow, a little hill of fweetnefs, Praife Him for the cluttering hop, to add its fragrant bitter 5 Praife Him for the wholefome root, that fatten'din the furrow, Praife Him for the mellow fruits, that bend the groaning bough : For bleflings on thy balket, and for bleffings on thy ftore, 346 A Pf aim for Harveji. For fkill and labour profper'd well, by gracious funs and fliowers 5 For mercies on the home, and for comforts on the hearth, O happy heart of this broad land, praife the God of harvefl ! All ye that have no tongue to praife, we will praife Him for you, And offer on our kindling fouls the tribute of your thanks : Trees and lhrubs, and the multitude of herbs, gladden- ing the eyes with verdure, For all your leaves and flowers and fruits, we praife the God of harvefl: ! Birds, and beetles in the duft, and infects flitting on the air, And ye that fwim the waters in your fcaly coats of mail, And fleers, refting after labour, and timorous flocks afold, And generous horfes, yoked in teams to draw the creaking wains, For all your lives, and every pleafure folacing that lot, Your fleep, and food, and animal peace, we praife the God of harvefl: ! And ye, O fome who never pray'd, and therefore cannot praife 5 Poor darkling fons of care and toil and unillumined night, A Pf aim for Harveft. 347 Who role betimes, but did not afk a bleffing on your work ; Who lay down late, but render' d no thank-offering for that bleffing Which all unfought He fent, and all unknown ye gather' d, — Alas ! for you and in your flead, we praife the God of harveft ! O ye famine-ftricken glens, whofe children fhriek'd for bread, And noifome alleys of the town, where fever fed on hunger, — O ye children of defpair, bitterly bewailing Erin, Come and join my cheerful praife, for God hath anfwer'd prayer: Praife Him for the better hopes, and figns of better times, Unity, gratitude, contentment -, induflry, peace, and plenty 3 Blefs Him that His chaftening rod is now the fceptre of forgive nefs, And in your joy remember well to praife the God of harveft ! Come, gladly come along with me, and fwell this grateful fong, Ye nobler hearts, old England's own, her children of the foil : All ye that fbw'd the feed in faith, with thofe who reap'd in joy, 348 The Heart's Gallop. And he that drove the plough afield, with all the icatter'd gleaners. And maids who milk the lowing kine, and boys that tend the ftieep, And men that load the fluggifh wain or • neatly thatch the rick, — Shout and ling for happinefs of heart, nor flint your thrilling cheers, But make the merry farmer's hall refound with glad rejoicings, And let him fpread the hearty feaft for joy at harveft- home, And join this cheerful fong of praife, — to blefs the God of harveft ! %\t fflttf * § A mindful man, but hearted like a child, Lived near my dwelling: he was frank and glad, Though many forrows might have made him fad ; But, to fay footh, his cheerfulnefs beguiled The way of life fo well, that trouble's power Was half unheeded, like a pafiing fhower : Still as he went he fang, hoping the belt, And refllefs energy claim 'd every hour, The Heart's Gallop. 349 And with a buoyant fpirit he was bleft. One day we rode together on the grafs, Talking of bygone years and all the reft, So look'd for and fo fwiftly feen to pafs, When, as my gloomier fpirit figh'd Alas ! Thus to his pony's gallop keeping time His heart exulting pour'd itfelf in rhyme : — " Huzzah, — huzzah ! For fo much thrown behind my back, And fo many patches of light on my track, And fo much done, and fo much won, And life's race hitherto honeftly run, For honour and hope, and enough, and to fpare, And perfect Providence everywhere, — For peace and pleafure by nights and days, Huzzah ! give God the praife ! " Huzzah for the pari:, whatever betide 5 Huzzah ! in piety, not in pride : Grateful and glad may the fpirit be feen, And humble at heart though triumphant in mien, While Sincerity rings right out Where Vanity lying would darken with doubt, — For happinefs, honour, and help always, Huzzah ! give God the praife ! " Yes, — for friends on every fhore, Loving and bleffing us more and more, — Yes, — for a fowing in every clime, To bud and to bear to the end of time, — 350 The Heart's Gallop. Yes, — for a reaping rare and good, A heavenly harveft of angels' food, Mercies, comforts, pardoning love, And grace upon earth, and glory above, O friend ! with me our chorus raife, Huzzah ! give God the praife ! " BEG AO£A. Janies S» Virtue, Printer, City ftoad, London. ^ofttcal flSlorfes bg tfje same &uti)or. THREE HUNDRED SONNETS. PROVERBIAL PHILOSOPHY. (The fame Translated into French and German.) BALLADS FOR THE TIMES. LYRICS. GERALDINE, And other Poems. KING ALFRED'S POEMS. From the Anglo-Saxon. A THOUSAND LINES: HACTENUS: SACRA POESIS. &C. &C. ^rosc 32Sorli& i»8 tfie same gJutJw. PROBABILITIES : An Aid to Faith. STEPHAN LANGTON; Or, the Days of King John. THE CROCK OF GOLD. HEART. THE TWINS. MSOF SMITH'S RIDES AND REVERIES. PATERFAMILIAS'S DIARY. AN AUTHOR'S MIND. A MODERN PYRAMID. &c. &c. *#* It is pojjille that this hook may at fome time he followed hy a fecond Jimilar Volume under the title of "Barbiton, a companion to Cithara:" wherein would he comprifed the Play of Alfred j Geraldine, a fequel to Christabel 5 and a multitude of remaining Poems hy the fame Author. C74 89 : "of « 8 ° A ^ *•'•••' «*■ Cl^ ^ 6 * < 4? .. ****** V V .*• V o II i ^^ **& • • • ■ A . ^fr & y ** ^v •assist ^H »p*. ,«.«• <•*©* '♦»• v -a 1 - ^ **4£ir*S 4.K ^ v L 6? «*• HECKMAN |^ BINDERY INC. |8| f^ JAN 89 ' i "~ N. MANCHESTER, INDIANA 46962 6* j 5 * xv v^ • OIO * *? s>* *H/,