University of Virginia Library

SONNETS.

WRITTEN IN THE FLY-LEAF OF MY FATHER'S OLD COPY OF IZAAK WALTON'S COMPLETE ANGLER.

As fondly these discoloured leaves I turn,
Outsteal, methinks, sweet breathings of the May;
Of flower-embroidered fields, and new-mown hay,
And sound of oaten pipe, and “trotting burn,”
And lark and milkmaid's song. Among the fern
And blue bells once again I seem to lie,
A happy child; my father angling nigh,
Intent, as 'twere our daily bread to earn,
On his mute pastime. In that quiet nook
Nestling, o'ershadowed by a pollard beach,
And poring dear old Izaak! on thy book,
Lessons I learnt the schools can never teach,—
Lessons that time can ne'er efface, nor age
Nor worldly teachings, from the heart's warm page.

ON HEARING FOR THE FIRST TIME THE BELLS FROM A NEW CHURCH

As on my churchward path I walked to-day,
Another church bell from the west first heard
(Sound “pleasanter than song of earliest bird”)
With the soft air came mingling. On my way
I paused a moment, for the Voice said—“Stay,
And listening, lift thine heart in silent prayer,
That I to many a long closed ear, may bear
The call awakening:—Lift thine heart and pray
That many to their father's house so brought,
(Some careless, or but curious,) there may find
And taste the well with living waters fraught:
And going forth renewed in heart and mind,
May walk hereafter, ever faithful found,
Like pilgrims to a better country bound.”

TO THE CROWN PRINCE OF HANOVER.

“Whom the Lord loves he chastens.” Upon thee
Betimes, O Prince! the loving hand severe
Was laid, to give the world assurance clear
How sweet the uses of adversity.
How perfect, more than outward sense, may be
The inward vision, purged by heavenly truth,
Which gave thee to discern in blooming youth
Things that pertain to Heaven. So fixing free
Thy faith immutable, that, all prepared,
On the unerring will thou dost await,
Whether to give thee back the sense impaired,
Or, dooming darkness for thy mortal state,
To open first thine eyes where they shall meet
The Saviour's, smiling from the mercy-seat.

TO THE MOTHER OF LUCRETIA AND MARGARET DAVIDSON.

O lady! greatly favoured, greatly tried—
Was ever glory, ever grief like thine,
Since hers, the Mother of the Man Divine,
The Perfect One—The Crowned—The Crucified?
Wonder and joy, high hope and chastened pride
Thrilled thee, intently watching hour by hour
The fast unfolding of each human flower,
In hues of more than mortal brilliance dyed.
And then the blight—the fading—the first fear—
The sickening hope—the doom—the end of all—
Heart withering, if indeed all ended here.—
But from the dust, the coffin, and the pall,
Mother bereaved! thy tearful eyes upraise—
Mother of Angels! join their songs of praise.

[Oh, pleasant Cloud-land! many a structure fair]

Oh, pleasant Cloud-land! many a structure fair
In thy romantic region have I reared,
When life was new and countless paths appeared,
Leading to happiness. Even early care
(For it came early) scarcely could impair
The ærial masonry; rebuilt as fast
As by unkind reality down-cast.
But then the springs of youth began to wear
Of Youth and Hope: the toppling fabrics fell
Each after other crushed—the Builder last,
Storm-beat to earth. But there I cannot dwell;
Too hard the soil—too cold the bitter blast—
The soil too treacherous.—I must away
To the warm regions of the perfect day.

[Unthinking youth! How prodigal thou art]

Unthinking youth! how prodigal thou art,
Lavish and reckless of thy priceless wealth,
Time, talents, energies, occasion, health,
And large capacity of mind and heart
For knowledge—happiness. The spendthrift's part
Thou playest, and the wanton's: all the while
Stealthily dodging thee with bony smile,
Coldly derisive, and uplifted dart,
The fell Anatomy.—A wakening day,
Tardy and startling comes—“I will arise;
And gird my loins, and get me on my way
And overtake Time yet,” the dreamer cries;
But on he speeds who never yet would wait,
And that fell watcher whispers now—“Too late!”

[Forgive, O Father! the infirmity]

Forgive, O Father! the infirmity
Of thy poor child of dust; that when I muse
On things to come, my wildered thoughts refuse
To dwell upon the glorious imagery
That clothes thy promises:—Heaven's hierarchy,
“Thrones, dominations,” uncreated Light,
The Everlasting and the Infinite.
But oh! the blessedness by faith to see
That pitying face divine of him who bore
Our mortal nature, shedding human tears
For human sorrows: and with him, no more
To weep—to be the sport of hopes and fears,
Our own—our best beloved—upon his breast,
Till the time comes, who take their happy rest.

[On, on upon our mortal course we go]

On, on upon our mortal course we go,
Striving and struggling, pressing forward all
To the same goal—a grave; and many fall
On all sides, out of sight e'er well we know
Whither or how,—the way still crowded so
With others in advance; till here and there
(As when the woodman's axe is laying bare
Old forest stems) appears a gap.—And lo!
The foremost rank grows thin—they drop away
Faster and faster on those steps we tread,
Till scarce a straggler on our path doth stray;
And now the last is gone. The narrow bed
For us lies ready—our life's tale is told
To the concluding leaf.—We are the old.

[“Patient I am, resigned and calm,” ye say]

“Patient I am, resigned and calm,” ye say;
Yet there are seasons of strong agony,
Unseen by all but the All-seeing Eye,
When Nature passionately breaks away,
Like a long pent-up torrent, from all stay
Of reason and of grace, and I could cry—
“Give me this thing, O Lord! or let me die;”
But that a hand upon my lips doth lay
Its merciful restraint; and then, like rain,
Streams gently down a heart-relieving shower;
And self-rebuked, the soul prepares again,
Strengthened in weakness, to abide her hour
And the Lord's leisure; casting, as most meet,
Her all—her sins and sorrows—at His feet.

TO AN OLD FAMILY PORTRAIT.

Oh, lovely Lady! my fair Ancestress!
Of all familiar faces I have known
From earliest recollection, thine alone
In my declining day of dark distress
Looks on me now with pitying gentleness,
All others far away. Those earnest eyes,
Melting, methinks, with living sympathies,
Meet mine, and to a heart in heaviness
Discourse with eloquent utterance passing speech.
Thou hast known sorrow in thy little day,
For thou wert human: thy sweet patience teach
(That thou wert patient those mild features say)
To thy sad daughter, in her strange estate
Sore tried—so mated, yet so desolate.

[We came together at life's eventide]

We came together at life's eventide,
Fast friends of twenty years; cementing now
For brief duration here, with holiest vow,
Our earthly union, sealed and sanctified
By an immortal hope. His mind would guide,
His strength support, methought, my feeble frame,
God strengthening both; in him the vital flame
Burnt up so brightly yet:—so side by side,
Mutually comforting, we might descend
The downward way slow dark'ning; but than death
Worse darkness was at hand—more doleful end—
Not worst—not final. When with life's poor breath
All here is finished, gloriously restored,
Thee shall I meet, beloved! in likeness of thy Lord!

ON MY HUSBAND'S BIRTHDAY.

Sixty and seven hast thou fulfilled this day,
My Husband, of the appointed years of man;
Now resting from thy labours a brief span
Before the final close. I dare not pray
That the mysterious veil be drawn away
Which parts thee from this world and all its woes:
So parted, thou dost hold perhaps—God knows—
Higher communion, for thy portion lay
In a fair heritage—“an heavenly.”—Aye,
When goodliest here, toward that better land
Thy thoughts still tended, and with all thy might
The Master's work committed to thine hand
Thou didst—deep mindful of the coming night.
Lord! in thine own good time make thou his darkness light!