University of Virginia Library

MINOR POEMS.

WELLINGTON:

OR, THE HERO'S FUNERAL.

I.

INTRODUCTION.

A COMPARISON.

But while the riband, star, and coronet
With mingled radiance in one warrior met,
Austerely simple to the last he stood,
A hero great by being good!
In unity of heart and mind
Thus he and Nelson are combined
For prowess, deeds, and all we prize
When perils round a nation rise:
The first became the Nelson of all lands,
The second proved our Wellington by sea;
And both were weapon'd by Almighty hands
To guard the island-fortress of the free:
Nor when the bomb-shell blazed, and roll'd the culverin
From iron lips of death its thunder and its din,
From Tagus to the Thames
From Sambre to the Seine
Is there a brand that shames
The spot where he hath been!—
The Man was never in the Hero lost
Nor Valour glorified at Virtue's cost.

II.

NIGHT-SCENES ON NOVEMBER 17.

November's night is harsh and cold;
Like banners seem the clouds up-roll'd
Sable and dusk, in starless heaven,
And, here and there, by night-gales driven;
Fiercely and fast the loud-toned rain
Rattles against the window-pane;
But neither wet nor winter's chill
The mingled rush becalm of myriads coming still:—
Through dusky lane, and street, or lighted square
London is moved, and motion ev'rywhere!

MIDNIGHT.

III. DAWN.

But the cloudy dawn is waking
And the day-blush dimly breaking:
Again the fevers of excitement roll
Tides of emotion through that public soul
Which heaves vast London, while 'mid hearts that mourn,
A dead Immortal to his tomb is borne.
A thrilling freshness in the bracing air
Gives sudden token that the wind is fair;
Or the blue forehead of the Sky afar
Glows like a gem of lustre one lone star,
Whose quiv'ring radiance, exquisitely bright,
Throbs through the air, and fascinates the sight.
Relenting Winter hath subdued her rain,
And, lo! the clearing heavens are calm again:—
A beaming change of blessed weather
To welcome hearts convened together,
As though the conscious Atmosphere would pay
Some genial homage to this glorious day.

IV. MORNING.

And now go forth!—a spectacle to see
Eternalized in mind and memory.
Yet, when the Muse of History records
The pomp we celebrate, in deathless words,
She will not pause o'er car and cavalcade,
Or mailéd hosts in banner'd pomp array'd;
But this will be the truth, to tell,—
That Empires loved one Man so well,
A million and a half of mourners came
Whose hearts were motto'd with his cherish'd name!
The People make the pageant then;
His monument is living men;
And never in the past of hero-crowded time
Look'd Hannibal so great, or Pompey so sublime!
And why? because the Chief of Waterloo
Teaches all ages what firm Will can do
When, all intol'rant of the mean and low,
Virtue his friend, and Vice his only foe,
Each baser passion from the bosom hurl'd,—
The vanquisher of Self is victor of the World!
Career and character, where thus combined,
Both make and move the hist'ry of mankind,
When perill'd Crisis and o'erwhelming Power
Need more than strategy to front the hour.

V.

On window, roof, and balcony,
Where foot can stand, or eye can see;
By churchyard-gate, or garden-wall,
Near porch and palace, hut and hall
Crowd human forms, like clust'ring bees
That swarm at noon on summer-trees;
While, clashing with incessant jar,
Rush chariot-wheels and rolling car;
Horse and horsemen then combine,
Clear the way, and close the line:—
Still, the trooping thousands come!
Deeper yet the distant hum;
Ev'ry form and ev'ry face
Apparell'd with emotion's trace;
Each for each, and all on all
For succour in loud chorus call,
Till the whirling air around
Surges like a sea of sound!

VI. THE PROCESSION FORMS.

VII. THE CHARGER.

But yet awaits a tearful Sight,
Though not with martial splendour dight.
As some lone bugle, when the fight is done,
That wails a death-note, while the dying sun
Goes down on carnage-cover'd fields,
O'er sad imagination wields
A spell more potent than the cannon-roar,
So, yon last steed which bears its Chief no more,
Pierces the heart with pathos all its own
And moves each chord with some responsive tone;
Where now, the last to close the cavalcade
That through three miles its winding pomp display'd,
A groom-led Charger riderless
Comes drooping in its loneliness,
As though the meek-eyed Creature felt
Funereal sorrow through it melt.
And, who that saw the boot and spur,
And did not feel his life-blood stir,
When that denuded Steed a type was made to be
That glory is the garb earth puts on vanity!

VIII. MILITARY SCENE.

Hark! again the muffled drum,
While the plumed Battalions come
Timing deep their measured tread
To the March surnamed the Dead,
Six in file, in single rank,
Ringing out a hollow clank:—
Mingle with the martial scene
Mailéd Guard and red Marine,
Foot and Horse-Artillery,
And brigades of Infantry:
For thus, each Regiment sent its type to show
Some fitting token of funereal woe;
And when, to end the vast array,
Hussar and Lancer lined the way,
The wailing Piper, next, a pibroch blew
And coronach that thrill'd the soul of Feeling through!

IX. FUNERAL-CAR.

But lo! with gloomy scutcheons glorious
Each telling of the Past victorious,
Engraved by heraldry of war,
Comes rolling on the laurell'd Car
Under the shade of whose triumphant pall
Imagination dreams the earthly all
Of Arthur, Duke of Wellington!—
The greatest Hero Time has gazed upon.
And never since bereavèd patriots met
In solemn anguish and sublime regret
Round the mourn'd bier of warrior, saint or king,
Could grateful Mem'ry into action bring
Such impulses of thrilling awe
As sanctified the scene I saw,
Drawn by twelve steeds of sable hue
When first the Death-car roll'd in view.

X. A LIVING SPECTACLE.

'Twas not the pomp, the banner, nor the plume,
Nor all which glorifies a Warrior's tomb,
That touch'd with superhuman power
The awful pathos of that deathless hour.
'Twas moral Grandeur! 'twas the true sublime
Of sacred Nature soaring out of time,
And drinking in from worlds which faith can see
The inspirations of eternity.
And one such moment grasps an age of life,
With more than poetry and passion rife;
Making us feel immortal instincts rise
And claim celestial kinship with the Skies.

XI.

Round that high Car though countless hosts assembled,
And under pawing steeds the pathways trembled,
You might have heard your heart-pulse beat,
So hush'd became the o'eraw'd Street!
And pale, as if with inward prayer,
The living Mass stood gazing there,
With heads uncover'd and with moisten'd eyes,
Whose silence utter'd, “There a Hero lies!
From whom, when call'd to bid the earth farewell,
The truncheons of eight laurell'd Armies fell;
The pillar of our Church and State,
By self-renouncement nobly great;
Who in the storm of public danger stood
Bold as the rock that baffles ocean's flood,
And when the lion-flag of warfare was unfurl'd
Bade Vict'ry rear it high, and wave it round the world!”

XII. EUROPEAN HOMAGE.

Upon his honour'd Bier, attendant,
With nodding plume and waving pendant,
Alone not Britain sent the bearers of his pall;
But, moved by gallant chivalry
That breathed of heart-nobility,
Seven Marshals graced with Heraldry,
From foreign lands, spontaneously from all,
Have come to tell of his career
Whose prowess friend and foe revere,
Each bearing in the crape-bound hand
Some bâton of extinct command
Monarchs or princes had in life bestow'd
On that brave Chief, to whom their Kingdoms owed
A vaster debt than peerless Rank can pay,
Or golden Orders in their gemm'd array.
Belgium and Prussia, Portugal and Spain,
And distant Russia, from her ice-bound plain,
With Hanover, and England too,
Remember'd mighty Waterloo!
But Austria sent no warrior-chief
Her own to blend with British grief;
Coldly apart from those united kings
Who each their homage to a Hero brings,
Preferr'd to stand, and gracelessly forget
The Past she burdens with an unpaid debt,
Because a woman-scourger in his body felt
A Nemesis for that vile blow he dealt;
Alas! that in an hour like this, the pride
Of less than Littleness was gratified!
And caused a Kingdom thus to stand alone,
Nor honour Him who saved her shaken throne.

XIII. VETERANS AND MOURNERS.

XIV. PROCESSION TO THE CATHEDRAL.

Again we listen! for the cornet's wail
Pours on the wind its melancholy tale.
Upward, o'er the troop-lined way
Flank'd in full and firm array,
Still the banner'd Pomp proceedeth,
Horse and horseman onward leadeth;
Mourning hearts with inward chime
To the Dead March beating time;
Near and nearer still they come
To the Hero's burial-home,
Under the arching shade of yon cathedral-dome.

XV. FAREWELL.

Ere between the church-yard gate
Car and cavalcade have enter'd,
Still for thoughtful eyes await
Such a scene and sight concenter'd,
As all the pomps which fascinate the gaze,
The wreaths of conquest, and the palms of praise
Can rival not,
But sink forgot,
When England's sworded Prince appears;
And, marching by him, touch'd with manly tears,
Saluting warriors slowly move,
And shadow forth the signs of love
On face and feature, which betoken
What quiv'ring words could not have spoken,
But now with tearful eloquence they tell,—
The British army bid their Chief farewell!

XVI. ST. PAUL'S.

XVII.

Thus amidst the boom of bells
Tolling their funereal-knells,
The organ-peal, and cannon-roar
Re-echoed round the temple-door,
With all due pomp of heraldry,
With each befitting pageantry,
'Mid waving banners to his tomb is borne
Great Wellington!—and soon shall wailing horn
And cadence of the muffled drum
Tell the awed Soul the last is come!
For, ducal crown and scutcheon'd bier
Will be engulph'd, and disappear;
Down the chasm, dark and deep
Yearning eyes will strain and weep;
Then, the staff of office broken
Will reveal its sign and token;
And the Garter-King proclaim
More than ever earth-wide fame
Gave heroic Man before,
Or the brightest patriot bore.

THE BURIAL.

XVIII.

XIX. MORAL CONTRAST.

XX.

PATRIOTISM.

THE PEOPLE.

Yet bounds the heart with patriotic bliss
Through all excitements of a morn like this,
To think, how nobly have the People proved
They well can honour whom they wisely loved!
For while they paid to peerless Wellington
A homage Alexander never won,
The lofty and the low, our peasants and our peers
Have met and mingled here, unchill'd by frowns or fears,
In this metropolis of varied Man
Where Nature musters every type she can;
And yet, no impious Wrong hath once profaned
The sabbath-peace of sentiment which reign'd;
But all was just, magnanimous, sincere;
And, heralded by many a votive tear,
The sun went down with no recorded crime
And left the British character sublime!

XXI. THE HERO.

XXII. FINAL APOSTROPHÈ.

SHADOWS OF DEATH.

VISION-SCENES.

CONTRASTS.

Such are thy delegates, disastrous Power!
Which make the martyr'd world thy prey, and seize
Their victims when and where they please. Alike
To thee the palace or the hut, the hall
Of Pleasure or the house of Wo.—A king
Mounts his high throne, with starry robes begirt;
Each look commands, and bright that royal brow
Beneath the burden of his jewell'd crown;
Before him princely courtiers bow their heads,
And on their fawning cheeks his smiles reflect,
And hover round him like a human god!
Thy bow is bent, thy dooming arrow shot,
And like a cloud-shade by the sun destroyed
Melts the great monarch from his pride and power!
The pale companion of the speechless earth,
A vault his palace, like his brother clay
Corrupted—bid his Court adore him now!

ANTICIPATIONS.

To die!—this gorgeous world of life and love
Forsake, and fleet beyond the bounds of thought;
To feel the death-dews creeping o'er each limb,
Our life-stream curdle, and the heart grow cold;
To be the flesh-worm's feast; to mould away
And blend our being with embracing dust;
All this, together with imagined wails
Of friends, whose tearful eyes attend our bier,—
Calls a chill horror round the name of death,
Which daunts the good, and makes the bad despair.

ANALOGIES.

ASSOCIATIONS.

In banquet-halls, where queenly pleasures bloom,
And bright-faced Joy and young-eyed Beauty meet,
To them the shadows of the grave extend.
How oft, as unregarded on a throng
Of lovely creatures, in whose liquid eyes
The heart-warm feelings bathe, I've fondly look'd
With all a Poet's passion, and have wish'd
That years might never mar those perfect smiles,—
How often Death, as with a viewless wand
Has touched the scene, and witch'd it to a tomb,
Where beauty dwindled to a ghastly wreck
While moaning spirits of the Future cried,
Thus will it be when Time has work'd revenge!

LIFE A GRADUAL DEATH.

Our Yesterday is dead; our Morrow dies;
This hour is pining, and the breath we draw
So carelessly, our souls may waft—to where?
Our ages are but periodic tombs
Of those that went before: for childhood seems
The death of infancy; and childhood dies
When youth commences, which itself departs
In daring manhood; then old age begins,
Whose wrinkle deepens into manhood's grave:
Thus death is imaged by our very life!
And hope and pleasure, feeling, action, fame,
Have each their sepulchre: our visions melt
To dimness in Reality's chill tomb;
Creation's self a burning death must die,
And in eternity shall Time expire!

STREET FUNERAL.

And o'er the laughing holiday of life
When men are cheerful as the dancing beam
How often death's terrific darkness frowns!
See! where they come, the black-robed funeral train,
Solemn as silent thunder-clouds athwart
The noon-day sky: from heaven a radiance dies
The flowing pall with hues of mocking light;
Around Life moves his mighty throng, and deep
The death-bells wail along the ebbing air:
But one poor week hath vanish'd,—and that form,
Now clay-cold in the narrow coffin stretch'd,
Stalk'd o'er the street which takes him to his tomb!
On with the mourning train!—the crowd divide
Before them with a busy hum, then close
Behind, like billows by a prow dispersed
That sever but to clash and roar again!

ANGEL OF DEATH.

Angel of Darkness! out of hell evoked,
With dread the bosom of Creation thrill'd
When fell thy shadow over Eden's bower,
Whose beauty wither'd like the spirit's bloom
When the rich breath of young affection dies.
Look back! appall'd Imagination! gaze
Thine eye to dimness, o'er the track of time
Scathed by his fury! mark the demonwing'd,
'Tis Death! the Uncontrollable! his flight
Begins, whose path wears Desolation's smile!
And how eternity its gate unbars
To let them in, those fleet and countless dead,
While myriads melt and vanish, like the gleams
That flash from fever's eye!—

HIS TRIUMPH.

Thy spell hath work'd,
Thou King of woes! thy wand hath been obey'd;
Destruction saw it, and Her deeds reply!
The sea hath buried in her floating tomb,
The fire devour'd, the blighting pest consumed,
The rocking earthquake into atoms crush'd,
And conflagration, havoc, siege, and war,
And malady which like a fiend-breath acts,
Have martyr'd,—what an unimagined host
Since the first grave for Adam's corpse unclosed!
And, oh, let mother, maid, and orphan tell,
Let parent, friend, whate'er affection clasps
Or sweet relationship of soul implies,—
How tears have rain'd from lids that watch'd and wept
As each beloved one, like a featured Shade
Melted in mute eternity! For Death
Hath cull'd his victims from the choicest bowers
And gardens of Existence: fair as bright
And pure as paradise before the Fall
Have babes departed, ere one smiling look
Hath travers'd earth, or seen the life of things:
And voiceless as the uncomplaining dews
That wither on the dusky cheek of Night,
The silent victims of the heart's decay
Have perish'd! while within the dart was fix'd
And rankling; not a sigh their secret told:
For pure and proud, and delicate as light
Their being faded: 'twas the blight of soul,
The mildew of the mind, that check'd and chill'd
Their health of spirit: friend and parent yearn'd
Around them, wondering where the venom lurk'd
Which thus with cruel stealth defaced and marr'd
That earth-born seraph, Beauty robed for heaven!
But still they faded with a calm decline
Serene as twilight; leaving early death
A lovely secret, by th' Almighty known.

DEATH'S PROGRESS.

What is the Past?—The sepulchre of time
Where lies the dust which once form'd living man.
By thousands oft, or one by one, decay
Hath reap'd mankind for thy dread harvest, Death!
Thus in the forest, where a leafy host
Hangs on the mercy of autumnal winds
In withering tremor, when a howling gust
Havocs the branches, throngs of leaves descend
Countless and quick as human glances fall;
But when the air is tranced, with thrilling tone
A leaflet drops,—how awfully distinct!
To him whose moralising dream surveys
A hue of death on each consumptive bough.

DEATH HAS NO HISTORIAN.

And Thou! pale Chronicler of perish'd years,
Whose page is studded with the dyes of sin
And blood, or brighten'd with deceptive gleams
Of miscall'd glory, what can thy dark book
Of History teach?—but half what Truth has been!
The heat, the struggle, the majestic toils
Of high contention, which colossal Minds
Exhibit on the stage of human dreams,
By thee are traced with emulative glow;
But hadst Thou, by omniscient aid inspired,
The dread instruction from each dying lip
Recorded,—what a page for conscience thine!
A thrilling sermon for the soul to read
Whose text would be, eternity unveil'd!

IDEAL VIEWS.

Around thee, for awhile, the den recal,
The shore, the blood, the battle-wasted fields,
The dungeon, rock, or sickly chamber dim
Where nature gasp'd or groan'd its last farewell!
From death-beds back the curtain draw, and see
How Clay and Spirit to the last contend.
Advance, and view a haughty sinner die!
Behold the brow where thought satanic reign'd,
The glance which threaten'd to appal the tomb,
The hand whose motion made a tempest rise
In hearts and empires!—hark! the voice
That once created valour by its sound,
How fruitless all, how infantile and vain!
He dies, as underneath our foot the dews,
Gone at a touch of death! Or mark the bed
Where he whose spirit had his God unthroned,
Annihilated Heaven, Hereafter mock'd,
And call'd the world a fatherless Unknown,
Lies wild and restless as the moaning wave:
His guilt hath set eternity on fire
And shuddering, like a shrivell'd leaf,—he dies!

DYING SAINTS.

DEATH NEVER PAUSES.

STORM.

SHIPWRECK.

Alone upon the leaping billows, lo!
What fearful Image works its way? A ship,
Shapeless and wild, as by the Storm begot;
Her sails dishevell'd, and her massy form
Disfigured, yet tremendously sublime:
Prowless and helmless through the waves she rocks,
And writhes, as if in drowning agony:
Like valour when amid o'erwhelming foes
The vessel combats with the battling waves,
Then fiercely dives below:—the Thunders roll
A requiem, and the Whirlwinds howl for joy.

THE CREW.

And where are they, who from the breezy deck
Beheld the sun in orient glory rise
Like a divinity, and breathed a prayer
O'er the fresh promise of a placid sea?
Float they in lifeless masses through the deep?
Look! where a flash of lightning stripes the sea,
Like straw upon the wind a bark is whirl'd
From wave to wave: within, a pale-faced crew
Sit dumb as phantoms; with their eyes bedimm'd,
Their locks foam-sprinkled, and their lips unclosed;
And when the clouds their fires unsheath, against
The wizard glare their upturn'd faces gleam
In one despairing row! Their doom is seal'd
Above: Death howls in every wolfish blast
And rides on each gigantic wave: the sea
Their sepulchre shall make; their coffins be
Her caves, until the summon'd Ocean hear
The death-trump, and her tombless dead arise.

CALM AND LANDSCAPE.

Wave, wind, and thunder have departed: shrunk
The vision'd ocean from our mental view,
And lo! a landscape, green as Painting loves,
Or sunshine veil'd when Milton's spirit-gaze
Saw Paradise around him wave her flowers
While glorious Adam with his Maker walk'd,
Or Eve her shadow on the lake admired.
On yonder vernal mead, a cherub boy
Is bounding, playful as a breeze new-born,
Light as the beam which dances by his side.
Phantom of Beauty! with his golden locks
Gleaming like water-wreaths,—a flower of Life
To whom the fairy world is fresh, the sky
A glory, and the Earth one huge delight!
His brow makes joy; his eyes are Pleasure's own;
While Innocence, from out the budding lip
Darts her young smiles along his rounded cheek:
Grief hath not dimm'd the brightness of his form;
Love and affection o'er him spread their wings,
And Nature, like a nurse, with sweetest look
Her child attends. The humming bee will bound
From out the flower, nor sting his baby-hand;
The birds address him from the blossom'd trees,
And suppliantly the fierce-eyed mastiff fawn,
Come when he may, to court his playful touch.

INFANCY.

To rise all rosy from the arms of Sleep,
And, like the sky-bird, hail the bright-cheek'd Morn
With trills of song; then o'er the cowslipp'd mead
The blue-wing'd butterfly to chase, or play
With curly streams; or, led by watchful Love,
Admire the chorus of the trooping waves,
When the young breezes laugh them into life;
Or listen to the mimic ocean-roar
That waves have buried in a sea-shell's depth;
From sight and sound to catch intense delight
And frolic meaning from each happy face,—
Make his fond round of infantile romance.
And when at length dejected Evening comes
Joy-worn he nestles in the welcome couch
With kisses warm upon his cheek, of heaven
To dream, till morning wakes him to the world.

THE DEAD INFANT.

Into a curtain'd room the Scene hath changed,
Where a wan semblance of the mournful sun
Lies dreaming on the walls. Dim-eyed and sad,
And dumb with agony, two parents bend
O'er a pale Image in a coffin laid,
More exquisite than Death in marble looks,—
Their infant once, the laughing, leaping boy,
The bud of life, the nursling of their souls!
Pain touch'd him, and the life-glow fled away
Swift as a gay hour's fancy: fresh and cold
As Winter's shadow, with his eyelids seal'd
Like violet lips at eve, he lies enrobed
An offering for the Grave; but, bright and pure
The infant martyr hath to heaven been call'd,
Lisping soft hallelujahs with the choir
Of sinless babes, imparadised above.

CHURCHYARD.

BETRAYED AFFECTION.

In beauty moulded like a shape of love
From the damp earth behold her meekly rise,
As delicate as when the worshipp'd form
Bade Envy stand abash'd, while youth and grace
Round her fair mien a faultless magic threw.
Light of her home, impassion'd forth she came
And where she moved a thousand Hearts were drawn!
But he who won her warm in virgin-truth,
Belied his homage and betray'd her trust;
Then, like a haunted tomb the erring maid
By the cold World was shunn'd, nor found one spot
Of shelter, from th' accusing eye of Scorn:
Till far away, from all her scene of wo
The unlamented mourner came, with griefs
Like thunder-scars upon her soul engraved!

SECLUSION AND DEJECTION.

In a lone hamlet all retired she dwelt
In meekness and remorse: but Sorrow taught
Her kindliness to bloom; and by the Poor
A heaven-born Lady was she rightly deem'd,
Whose smile made every peasant-cottage bright
And took from Poverty the sting of shame.
Among the hermit-walks, and ancient woods
When mantled with the melancholy glow
Of eve, she wander'd oft; and when the wind
Like a stray infant down autumnal dales
Roam'd wailingly, she loved to mourn and muse;
To commune with the lonely orphan-flowers
And through sweet nature's ruin trace her own.

PARTING HOUR.

YOUTHFUL GENIUS.

Upon the mountain, with Thy hectic cheek
And soul outlooking from the lifted eye
As if the beauty of some thought were seen,
Why, who art Thou, undaunted by the storm
In rolling anthems round thee gather'd? Clouds
Swell back; and underneath wild Ocean roars
As though her waves were all to whirlpools lash'd:
Yet canopied with thunder, there thou stand'st
Till feeling like a storm of music wakes
And trembles through thy being! Art thou there
A Spirit tempest-born, and on the rock
Enthroned, to parley with the thunder-peals?

INSPIRATIONS.

PENALTIES AND PAINS.

But, oh! thou Victim of a mental curse,
The fire and fever of the soul are thine
Which burn within, like Desolation's breath!
Body and mind, before they bloom, decay;
And ere upon the rock of high renown
The banner of thy fame exulting waves
Lost in the tomb thy buried hopes will lie
And o'er thy name Oblivion's pall descend!
The path to glory is a path of death
To feeling hearts, all gifted though they be
And martyrs to the Genius they adore:
The wear of passion, and the waste of thought,
The glow of inspiration, and the gloom
That like a night-shade mars the brightest hour,
And that fierce rack on which a faithless World
Will make thee writhe—all these ennerving pangs,
With agonies which mock the might of words,
Thou canst not bear: thy temple is a tomb!

PESTILENCE.

The Scene hath vanish'd! swelling like a mist
From out a marshy vale at morn, behold!
A City, dimly-vision'd: on the view
It grows, till full in vast perfection seen.
There all is mute and motionless; no spires
Hallow the air with heavenly chime; no flags
Or banners shiver in the suppling breeze;
No eager steps sound pattering through the streets;
No life seems in it,—silent as a shade!
Look up! the sickly clouds like corpses lie
Along the heavens; and yonder dark canal
Flags like a monstrous serpent stretch'd in death;
The houses shed a monumental gloom:
The Pestilence is there!

CITY OF THE PLAGUE.

MOONLIGHT SCENE.

Turn to a vision of contrasted joy:
Ne'er since creation out of chaos roll'd
With the mild bloom of young existence fresh
Around it, hath more glorious night bedecked
The World, than that which beautifies her now.
The stars like ruminating spirits walk
The mellow sky, from whence the queenly moon
With a maternal aspect eyes the earth,
Tranced into dreamy stillness by her smile.
No! not a breeze, nor bird is on the wing;
The shy sweet flowers have shut their dewy lids,
And distant trees, upon the dark-brow'd hills,
Like shadowy sentinels are ranged. And now
The reign of heart-romance! the lulling hour
When aspirations from the mystic heaven
Effused, the high-toned mind awake with thoughts
Which angels love: but see! beneath
Yon hill, down where the wrinkled brooklets flash
In liquid revelry, the silver'd Deep
Lies bare unto the moon; and on her breast,
In swan-like glory, glides a white-wing'd boat
Calm as a cloud along its blue career.

LOVERS.

Within, like Beings from a purer sphere
A youth and his confiding maiden sit,
Her yielding waist environ'd with his arm:
Above them, beautiful the starry dome!
Beneath, the sighing of romantic waves
Woke from their slumber, or melodious heave
Of tide, the panting of the World's great heart—
Breaks on the pleasing calm: oh, lovely pair!
Warm is the gush of young affection; sweet
The overflowing of affianced hearts
Each into each with holy rapture pour'd;
Now is the spring-time of the soul, whose bloom
Is love, but once ne'er felt, and ne'er but once
Enjoy'd! On would ye float for ever thus
O'er moonlight seas, in one immortal bliss—
Silence! the language of delighted hearts.

CONSUMPTION.

THE LOVED ONE DIES.

A year hath travell'd to eternity;
And now, the shadows of the grave grow dark
Upon the maiden; yet no fruitless wish
Or word abrupt, unlovely thoughts betrays
Of gloom and discontent within; she fades
As gently as the flower declines,—not false
To living claims, and yet for death prepared.
Beautiful resignation, and the hopes
From the rich fountain of her faith derived,
Around her a seraphic air have breathed
Of wither'd loveliness. The gloss of life
And worldly dreams are o'er; but dewy Morn,
And dim-eyed Eve, and all the mental gleams
Of rapture, darted from regretted joys,
Delight her still; and oft when Twilight comes,
She gazes on the damask glow of heaven
With all the truth of happier days, until
A sunny fancy wreathes her faded cheek;
'Tis but a pleasing echo of the Past,
A music rolling from remember'd hours!
The day is come, by Death led gently on;
With pillow'd head all gracefully reclined
And glossy curls in languid clusters wreath'd,
Within a cottage-room she sits to die:
Where from the window, in a western view,
Majestic Ocean rolls. A summer-eve
Veils the calm earth, and all the glowing air
Stirs faintly, like a pulse; against the shore
The waves advance with undulating joy,
While o'er the midway-deep her eye-glance roams,
Where like a sea-god glares the travell'd Sun
O'er troops of billows marching in his beam.
From earth to heaven, from heaven to earth her eyes
Are lifted, bright with wonder and with awe,
Till through each vein reanimation rolls!—
'Tis past; and now her filmy glance is fix'd
On the rich heavens, as though her spirit gazed
On that immortal World, to which 'tis bound:
But sunset, like a burning palace fades,
In hues of visionary pomp destroy'd;
And Day and Beauty have together died:
For there like sculptured Death the maiden lies,
More exquisite than Love's embodied dream!

WAR.

The smoke, the thunder, and the din of War!
Loud as an ocean leaping into life
I hear the storm of battle swell. Advance;
And listen to the cloud-ascending peals
Of Cannon, from whose lips a lightning glares!
Hark! how the bugle-echoes beat the air,
And how the deep-roll'd drums their wrath resound,
While on the throbbing Earth the Sun looks down
Like a dread war-fiend, with a fierce delight.
Death! here thou art; and here the flashing swords
Shall reap thy harvest, and devoted souls
By thousands rush into the hands of God!

FIELD OF DEATH.

Noon into eve, and eve to night hath roll'd;
The heavens with starry eyes are set: but, see!
No wafted banners, flapping like the wings
Of eagles in their glorious strength; no steeds
Pawing and prancing with erected manes;
No warriors hand to hand; no sword to sword
Confronted, till from out some bloody gap
Their spirits bound into eternity!—
But heaps of corses, lines of dead laid out,
Unhelmeted, or gash'd and gory; men
Whose morning-beauty shamed the risen sun,
With glassy eyeballs gleaming on the moon!
A living host hath deaden'd into clay:—
No more! away, O Death! and count thy dead.

THE CAPTIVE.

THE METROPOLIS AND DEATH.

THE DESERTED ONE.

THE UNDESCRIBED.

These fearful visions of thy varied power
Appalling Death! with dreader ones compared,
Reflect a shadow of thy murderous sway,—
Thy ceaseless havoc through the realms of Life.
Let others paint thee on the desert-heath
Where, melting into blood, with lukewarm limbs
A gory wretch lies gasping and alone;
Or in the roofless and deserted homes,
Where fires have blacken'd on the blister'd walls;
Or in the Suicide,—lo! where he stands
With visage colourless, with look aghast
And spirit shivering through his guilty frame!

DEATH'S UNIVERSAL REIGN.

Yes! far or near, where'er the life-blood flows,
By ruin, violence, or calm decay
Death's ravages are felt: the very dust
That in our daily walks we tread, hath once
Some breathing mould of Beauty been. O earth!
Thou grave, and mother! in thy hollow breast
What faded myriads are entomb'd! Your dead
Give back, departed Ages, and arise
Ye spirits of the Past!—they come, they come!
From mountain and from cave, from vault and tomb
The Dead are darting into life again!
The generations that have been, from Earth's
Young dawn, to moments on their very wing
Behold them! sumless as the ocean sand;
A world of Life walks o'er a world of Death;
Till all are buried in one deep Abyss,
The tomb of passion, prejudice, and time!

WHAT ALL HAVE FELT.

To die, is Nature's universal doom;
The Past hath braved it, and the Future shall;
Though little deem we, as we laugh the hours
Along like echoes dandled by the wind,
How swift our path is verging to the grave.
Terrific Power! how often in the hush
Of midnight, when the thoughtless learn to think,
The gay grow solemn, and the foolish wise,
Visions of thee come floating o'er the mind
Like exhalations from a grave! How oft
We feel an awfulness the soul o'ershade
As if 'twere soaring to the throne of God,
Till in one thought of heaven we bury all
The breathing universe of life and man!

HUMAN FATE.

A death-cloud rises with the star of Life;
And ere upon the world our hearts expand,
Like flower-buds opening to the kiss of Morn,
With gay and guiltless love, the voice of doom
Awakes; this sermon from the grave is preach'd;
We live to die, and die again to live
A spirit-life in unimagined worlds!
First, Infancy, whose days are prattling dreams;
Next, Childhood, crown'd with beauty, health, and joy,—
Those wizard three, which make the mind like spring,
The breath, the bloom and sunshine of the soul;—
Then, Manhood, most majestic; through the heavens
Piercing with haughty eye, and printing earth
With kingly steps; ambition, love, and care,
And energy, in wild and restless play
For ever heaving like a wave of fire;
And then comes passionless and feeble Age
That droops and drops into the silent grave!
Here ends the scene of life; one moment wept,
The next forgotten; let the curtain fall,
Oblivion has our tale,—we lived, and died!

PAST AND FUTURE.

Thousands of years beneath thy sway have groan'd
Unwearied Death! how many more shall bear
The burden of the curse, no human tongue
Can tell, for they are chronicled above;
Though ofttimes number'd by a guilty mind
When thunders, like dread oracles, the world
Awake. Yet, come it will, however late,
That day foretold when Death himself shall die!
And generations, now but dust and worms,
Rise into being with an angel-shout
And on the winds of glory soar to heaven!

PREPARATION.

ALLEVIATIONS.

And, glory to the Power which brings the heart
In sympathy with Time! how much remains
In the pure freshness of ideal life,
For him who loves the bloom of Days no more!
A meditative walk by wood or mead,
The lull of streams, and language of the stars
Heard in the heart alone; an inward view
Of all which beautified or graced his youth,
Is yet enjoy'd; and with that bliss are found
The feelings flowing from a better World.

SPIRITUAL TRIUMPH.

Then, melt, ye horrors! which the grave begets,
And turn to glory, by the spell of faith
Transform'd; for Christ hath overcome the tomb.—
What though 'tis awful, when the pulse of Life
Is bounding, and the blood seems liquid joy;
To look Corruption in its ghastly face,
The mind is Man! no sepulchre for souls
Can dust and darkness frame; like God apart
In calm eternity they act and think:
The shroud, the hearse, the life-alarming knell,
The grave's cold silence, and the vision'd friends
Whose dreams will hover round our chill decay,
Harrow our living dust, and give to Death
A sting that dwells not in his own dark power.
We die in body, but in soul we live,
When flesh and spirit sunder; then our chains
Are riven, and celestial freedom dawns!
The fetter'd eagle whom a narrow cage
Imprison'd, where so oft his haughty wings
In wild unrest have beat his hated walls
With blood-stain'd plumage, while his eyeballs glared
Proudly along the blue and boundless sky
Above him,—free and fetterless at last
On plumes of ecstasy can soar away
And mount, and mingle with the heaven he loves!

RETROSPECTIONS.

PARTING THOUGHTS.

And now
Though haply mellow'd by correcting time,
I thank thee, Heaven! that this bereaving World
Hath not diminish'd the undaunted hopes
Of youth, in manhood's more imposing cares.
Nor titled pomp, nor princely mansions swell
The cloud of envy o'er my heart; for these
Are oft delusive, though adored: but when
The Holy and the Beautiful from God
Descend into my being; when I hear
The oracles which from Creation-shrines,
Roll their deep melody round listening hearts;
Or gaze on Virtue, till her glory seems
Emmanuel's shadow by a Saint expressed;
Then feel I envy for immortal words,
And the full pulse of Poetry begins
To waken in me, with exulting throb
No language echoes! then the spirit yearns
To dash my feelings into deathless verse
Which may administer to Time unborn,
And tell some lofty Soul, how I have lived
A worshipper of Nature, and of Thee.

A VISION OF HEAVEN.

A FRAGMENT.

A VISION OF HELL.

A FRAGMENT.

UNIVERSAL PRAYER.

THE STAGE COACH.

SCARBOROUGH.

A DESCRIPTIVE SKETCH.