 | Dramatic chapters, poems and songs |  |
181
POEMS AND SONGS.
182
Lusit amicitiæ interdum velatus amictu,
Et benè composità veste fefellit amor,
Mox iræ assumpsit cultus, faciemque minantem,
Inque odium versus, versus et in lacrymas;
Ludentem fuge, nec lacrymanti, aut crede furenti;
Idem est dissimili semper in ore Deus. [OMITTED]
Unus perfectus Deus est, qui cuncta creavit,
Cuncta fovens, atque ipse fovens super omnia in se:
Quis capitur mente tantum, qui mente videtur:—
Georgius.
Et benè composità veste fefellit amor,
Mox iræ assumpsit cultus, faciemque minantem,
Inque odium versus, versus et in lacrymas;
Ludentem fuge, nec lacrymanti, aut crede furenti;
Idem est dissimili semper in ore Deus. [OMITTED]
Unus perfectus Deus est, qui cuncta creavit,
Cuncta fovens, atque ipse fovens super omnia in se:
Quis capitur mente tantum, qui mente videtur:—
Georgius.
God! let the torrents, like a shout of nations,
Answer, and let the ice plains echo, God!
God! sing ye meadow streams with gladsome voice!
Ye pine groves, with your soft and soul-like sounds!
Coleridge.
Answer, and let the ice plains echo, God!
God! sing ye meadow streams with gladsome voice!
Ye pine groves, with your soft and soul-like sounds!
Coleridge.
183
TO MY EARLIEST FRIEND, HENRY MARSDEN, ESQRE.
These Poems ARE AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED.
184
Les plus simples objets; le chant d'une fauvette,
Le matin d'un beau jour, le verdure des bois,
Le fraîcheur d'une violette;
Mille spectacles, qu'autrefois
On voyoit avec nonchalance,
Transportent aujourd'hui, présentent des appas
Inconnus à l'indifference
Et que la foule ne voit pas.
Gresset.
Le matin d'un beau jour, le verdure des bois,
Le fraîcheur d'une violette;
Mille spectacles, qu'autrefois
On voyoit avec nonchalance,
Transportent aujourd'hui, présentent des appas
Inconnus à l'indifference
Et que la foule ne voit pas.
Gresset.
The common earth, the air, the skies,
To him are opening Paradise.
Gray.
To him are opening Paradise.
Gray.
There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream,
The earth, and every common sight,
To me did seem
Apparelled in celestial light,
The glory and the freshness of a dream.
Wordsworth.
The earth, and every common sight,
To me did seem
Apparelled in celestial light,
The glory and the freshness of a dream.
Wordsworth.
185
THE ANGEL-WATCH, OR THE SISTERS.
A daughter watched at midnight
Her dying mother's bed;
For five long nights she had not slept,
And many tears were shed:
A vision like an angel came,
Which none but her might see;
“Sleep, duteous child,” the angel said,
“And I will watch for thee!”
Her dying mother's bed;
For five long nights she had not slept,
And many tears were shed:
A vision like an angel came,
Which none but her might see;
“Sleep, duteous child,” the angel said,
“And I will watch for thee!”
Sweet slumber like a blessing fell
Upon the daughter's face;
The angel smiled, and touched her not,
But gently took her place;
And oh, so full of human love
Those pitying eyes did shine,
The angel-guest half mortal seemed—
The slumberer half divine.
Upon the daughter's face;
The angel smiled, and touched her not,
But gently took her place;
And oh, so full of human love
Those pitying eyes did shine,
The angel-guest half mortal seemed—
The slumberer half divine.
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Like rays of light the sleeper's locks
In warm loose curls were thrown;
Like rays of light the angel's hair
Seemed like the sleeper's own.
A rose-like shadow on the cheek,
Dissolving into pearl;
A something in that angel's face
Seemed sister to the girl!
In warm loose curls were thrown;
Like rays of light the angel's hair
Seemed like the sleeper's own.
A rose-like shadow on the cheek,
Dissolving into pearl;
A something in that angel's face
Seemed sister to the girl!
The mortal and immortal each
Reflecting each were seen;
The earthly and the spiritual
With death's pale face between.
O human love, what strength like thine?
From thee those prayers arise
Which, entering into Paradise,
Draw angels from the skies.
Reflecting each were seen;
The earthly and the spiritual
With death's pale face between.
O human love, what strength like thine?
From thee those prayers arise
Which, entering into Paradise,
Draw angels from the skies.
The dawn looked through the casement cold—
A wintry dawn of gloom,
And sadder showed the curtained bed,—
The still and sickly room:
“My daughter?—art thou there my child?
Oh, haste thee, love, come nigh,
That I may see once more thy face,
And bless thee, ere I die!
A wintry dawn of gloom,
And sadder showed the curtained bed,—
The still and sickly room:
“My daughter?—art thou there my child?
Oh, haste thee, love, come nigh,
That I may see once more thy face,
And bless thee, ere I die!
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If ever I were harsh to thee,
Forgive me now,” she cried;
“God knows my heart, I loved thee most
When most I seemed to chide;
Now bend and kiss thy mother's lips,
And for her spirit pray!”
The angel kissed her; and her soul
Passed blissfully away!
Forgive me now,” she cried;
“God knows my heart, I loved thee most
When most I seemed to chide;
Now bend and kiss thy mother's lips,
And for her spirit pray!”
The angel kissed her; and her soul
Passed blissfully away!
A sudden start!—what dream, what sound,
The slumbering girl alarms?
She wakes—she sees her mother dead
Within the angel's arms!
She wakes—she springs with wild embrace—
But nothing there appears
Except her mother's sweet dead face—
Her own convulsive tears.
The slumbering girl alarms?
She wakes—she sees her mother dead
Within the angel's arms!
She wakes—she springs with wild embrace—
But nothing there appears
Except her mother's sweet dead face—
Her own convulsive tears.
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THE POETICAL AND THE PRACTICAL.
Spirit versus Matter.
Melted amethysts and rubies richer tints may ne'er effuseThan the Light which paints the rainbow, lends the West its brilliant hues;
Yet that light which meets the Morning, scattering jewels on her way,
Bounteous as an Eastern Princess, is the light of common day!
So with Poetry, though gleaming with Imagination's fire,
'Mid the heaven of Invention seeking ever to aspire!
Yet accordant to all natures, poetry her gifts can wreathe,
Lending sweetness, grace, and feeling, like the common air we breathe.
As Eternity's before us, and within us, and behind,
So is Poetry pervading the eternal sphere of Mind,
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Foremost in the cause of Freedom, foremost in the People's cause!
And the people were ungrateful could they now forget the good
Which the Poets sought and won them, when more feared than understood.
Wise to calculation only is the Age in which we live,
Ever honouring the most highly those who have the most to give!
Feelings which have ne'er extended from the narrow space of self,
Merging holier, loftier objects in an atmosphere of pelf!
Shame upon this Mammon-worship! Shame upon this lucre-love!
Life adorers of mere matter, sceptics to the life above!
Come, I'm counsel for the Poets; enter ye the Court of Fame:
Chaucer, Shakespeare, Milton, Dryden; answer each one to your name;
Ye, that with unfailing geniusius bade humanity advance,
With dominion in your voices, and with empire in your glance;
Ye, that with heroic daring sought the people in distress,
Seeking to o'erbridge the chasm 'tween their hope and their success.
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Equal justice for the lowest, equal laws, and federal love!
Shout we for the sensual only? still the practical applaud?
There is something more than matter which the mind of man should laud,
Something more than sordid fortune, something more for souls to crave,
Than a gaudy pageant passing from a banquet to a grave.
As the Sun, so Education yields the globe its partial light;
Half the world exults in brightness, whilst the rest is plunged in night.
Talk of Stephenson and Railways? of the miracles of Steam?
Lauding high those vapour-pinions, swifter than the solar beam?
Lauding high and vaunting loudly Powers connecting clime with clime,
Narrowing space, and far extending the capacities of Time?
Prate of Stephenson and Shakespeare—grant the first the loftier dower?
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Shame upon this Mammon-worship! Shame upon this lucre-love!
Life adorers of mere matter, sceptics to the life above.
Open ye the play of Hamlet—and a breath of Shakespeare's power
Speeds ye to the gates of Denmark in the fraction of an hour!
Steam 'gainst Soul? What, match a vapour 'gainst a meteor of the night?
Stephenson's a mole, a tortoise, to the old Shakesperian flight.
Meteor-rushing would ye travel? travel then on Shakespeare's page,
On the Lyric or Heroic—on the Broad or Narrow guage!
Prate of Lines from York to London, or from London 'cross the Tweed?
Shakespeare's lines are universal: judge ye for yourselves, and read.
Not its length but its duration is the glory of a line;
Shakespeare's will endure for ever—lines eternal, lines divine.
Oh, you do not know the Poet—cannot comprehend his skill—
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Oh, you do not know the Poet, or you never would compare
Any genius in creation with a genius so rare!
Shame upon this Mammon-worship! Shame upon this lucre-love!
Life adorers of mere matter, sceptics to the life above.
If our birth were first in Heaven, for our three score years and ten,
Afterwards, to earth translated, find eternal life with men,
I might marvel less at wisdom which prefers this soul less lust,
I might sorrow less at worship signalising worldly dust;
But for beings born to wither in some few brief years from earth,
Clinging with a childish passion unto toys of little worth;
Three score years for Pomp to glitter—three score years for Wealth to glare;
Then—Eternity in heaven: what can Wealth avail ye there?
Then Eternity in heaven, like a whisper is it heard;
Oh, that language thrills—appals me—as were thunder in each word.
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Out upon the craft which teaches scorn of every thing but gold:
Out upon the slavish minions, vain disciples of a creed
Which believes in God, yet never acts as if it thus believed:
'Tis the vassalage of Reason to an artificial sway,
Govern'd by a false convention—modes and fashions of a day:
'Tis the vassalage of spirit to an arbitrary tone,
Granting to a mean usurper its hereditary throne.
Gold is God—the very letters, Mammon, aid thee, as thou bidd'st:
GOLD is GOD!—thou sayést truly—GOD, with L seen in the midst.
If still worshippers of Matter, Watt your deity may be;
True believers in the Spirit find still mightier gods than he.
If still worshippers of Matter, Stephenson your vows may claim;
Spirit bends to other altars, bright with spiritual fame.
Spirit from the mystic future lifts the veil with radiant hand,
Still “Excelsior!” exclaiming, seeking still the Better Land.
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I could clasp the Poet's fictions with a reverence as fond!
What is Life without Affection? 'tis existence without light,—
'Tis a quarantine eternal, with the wished-for land in sight!
Long as infancy is blissful to the mother's flowing breast,
Long as Love creates a heaven Poets only have exprest,
Long as in the kindred circle friendship and devotion reign,
Will the Poet be remembered—will be loved the Minstrel's strain:
Thought and feeling still enlarging, still revealing higher powers,
Wreathing with immortal beauty life's most spiritual hours,
High revealments and attainments—which, whatever path we've trod,
Are the angels that from darkness call us to the light of God!
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THE BRITISH FLAG.
Thank God I am a Briton.
Nelson.
Nelson.
Though Nelson's name hath fled
Like a dirge, along the deep,
Where the old heroic dead
In their ocean glory sleep!
Is the Lion-flag of England's triumph o'er?—
No!—where'er oppression raves,
Still that Flag the battle braves;—
And Britannia rules the waves
As of yore!
Like a dirge, along the deep,
Where the old heroic dead
In their ocean glory sleep!
Is the Lion-flag of England's triumph o'er?—
No!—where'er oppression raves,
Still that Flag the battle braves;—
And Britannia rules the waves
As of yore!
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For Freedom long she bled
And her treasure widely cast;
'Till Slavery bowed its head
As her victor pennant passed:—
And the chains of Afric fell at her decree!
While the shout of millions broke
From Oppression's shatter'd yoke,
As Britannia bravely spoke—
Ye are free!
And her treasure widely cast;
'Till Slavery bowed its head
As her victor pennant passed:—
And the chains of Afric fell at her decree!
While the shout of millions broke
From Oppression's shatter'd yoke,
As Britannia bravely spoke—
Ye are free!
Now “Hearts of Oak” may tell
Of the Flag of England's fame;—
When fort and bastion fell
'Neath her battle-bolts of flame!—
And Acre's vaunted walls were overthrown.
Still for glory—not for gain—
Doth her Flag triumphant reign,
And the empire of the main
Is her own!
Of the Flag of England's fame;—
When fort and bastion fell
'Neath her battle-bolts of flame!—
And Acre's vaunted walls were overthrown.
Still for glory—not for gain—
Doth her Flag triumphant reign,
And the empire of the main
Is her own!
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WRECK OF THE STEAM-SHIP THE “PRESIDENT.”
There were aching hearts in England,
Sad watchings through the day,
For a noble ship, the President,
Upon her homeward way,
'Midst the wild Atlantic waters
The stormy ocean's prey!—
Sad watchings through the day,
For a noble ship, the President,
Upon her homeward way,
'Midst the wild Atlantic waters
The stormy ocean's prey!—
There were manly forms and daring
Within that stately bark;
And many a bosom beautiful
That Love had made its ark;
And lips that bloomed—'till tempest gloomed—
And struck their beauty dark!—
Within that stately bark;
And many a bosom beautiful
That Love had made its ark;
And lips that bloomed—'till tempest gloomed—
And struck their beauty dark!—
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Where the gulph-stream meets the soundings
With long terrific roar,
The ship was seen contending
The blast and billows o'er;—
But never human sight beheld
That fated vessel more!
With long terrific roar,
The ship was seen contending
The blast and billows o'er;—
But never human sight beheld
That fated vessel more!
From out the topmost beacon,
Through weary day and night,
The hardy watchmen steadily
Gaz'd o'er the billows' flight;
But not a wreck of mast or deck
Swept ever on their sight.
Through weary day and night,
The hardy watchmen steadily
Gaz'd o'er the billows' flight;
But not a wreck of mast or deck
Swept ever on their sight.
Upon that sea of sorrow
How many thoughts were tost!—
When, like a weary mariner,
Hope o'er those waters crost,
And left the heart to bear its part,
Or break—when all was lost!—
How many thoughts were tost!—
When, like a weary mariner,
Hope o'er those waters crost,
And left the heart to bear its part,
Or break—when all was lost!—
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No tongue may herald tidings,
No human science show
That awful page of destiny,
That record dark of woe—
Engulf'd 'midst ocean's secrets
Ten thousand fathom low!—
No human science show
That awful page of destiny,
That record dark of woe—
Engulf'd 'midst ocean's secrets
Ten thousand fathom low!—
Yet shall the stars, thou Ocean,
Their dying lustre shed;
Thy waves' expiring motion
Dry o'er their charnel-bed;
And Time yet see the mystery,
Incarnate with the dead.
Their dying lustre shed;
Thy waves' expiring motion
Dry o'er their charnel-bed;
And Time yet see the mystery,
Incarnate with the dead.
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SO DARKLY, BRIGHTLY, BEAMING.
So darkly, brightly, beaming;
Her raven hair a midnight threw—
Her very glances seeming
To mourn the hearts, they nightly slew.
Her eyes, beyond all praising,
Were oh, so dark—so deep a hue;
I lost my heart in gazing,
And all but lost my senses too!
Her raven hair a midnight threw—
Her very glances seeming
To mourn the hearts, they nightly slew.
Her eyes, beyond all praising,
Were oh, so dark—so deep a hue;
I lost my heart in gazing,
And all but lost my senses too!
So softly, sweetly, parting;
Her very lips seem'd formed to heal
The wounds, her eyes were darting;
But lips, like eyes,—one's soul could steal!
There seem'd a league between them,
A league to render earth divine;
Oh, would I ne'er had seen them,
Or would she were for ever mine!
Her very lips seem'd formed to heal
The wounds, her eyes were darting;
But lips, like eyes,—one's soul could steal!
There seem'd a league between them,
A league to render earth divine;
Oh, would I ne'er had seen them,
Or would she were for ever mine!
227
IF THOU SPEAK'ST.
If thou speak'st, though snows surround thee,
Still the birds believe 'tis Spring;
And with transport flutter round thee
More to listen than to sing!
If thou smil'st—'tis beauty's summer,
And thou dost misguide the rose;—
And the lark, the latest comer,
Heaven-ward with the mission goes!
Still the birds believe 'tis Spring;
And with transport flutter round thee
More to listen than to sing!
If thou smil'st—'tis beauty's summer,
And thou dost misguide the rose;—
And the lark, the latest comer,
Heaven-ward with the mission goes!
If from Nature's golden portal
Thou bewild'rest nature's own,
How should I, who am but mortal,
'Scape the witchery of thy tone?
What is Earth if thou forsake it?
What the seasons unto me?
Earth is what thou deign'st to make it;
Life is winter without thee!
Thou bewild'rest nature's own,
How should I, who am but mortal,
'Scape the witchery of thy tone?
What is Earth if thou forsake it?
What the seasons unto me?
Earth is what thou deign'st to make it;
Life is winter without thee!
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LIFE.
Love's a song, and Life's the singer,
Hope sits listening to the strain,
'Till old Time, that discord bringer,
Jars the music of the twain.
Love, and Life, and Time, together
Rarely yet were friendly found;
If Love heralds sunny weather,
Time to other duties bound,
Buries Life half underground:—
Oh, the lot of Life how sad!
Hope sits listening to the strain,
'Till old Time, that discord bringer,
Jars the music of the twain.
Love, and Life, and Time, together
Rarely yet were friendly found;
If Love heralds sunny weather,
Time to other duties bound,
Buries Life half underground:—
Oh, the lot of Life how sad!
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Why should Time thus fail to cherish
All that lends existence worth?
Wherefore should Love droop and perish
As but doom'd to woe on earth?
Love, and Life, and Time, together
Better friends we trust may be;
If Time's of inconstant feather,
Love and Hope should still agree:—
Life is lost between the three!
Oh, the lot of Life how sad!
All that lends existence worth?
Wherefore should Love droop and perish
As but doom'd to woe on earth?
Love, and Life, and Time, together
Better friends we trust may be;
If Time's of inconstant feather,
Love and Hope should still agree:—
Life is lost between the three!
Oh, the lot of Life how sad!
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GOVERN YOUR TEMPER.
Oh, govern your temper! for music the sweetest
Was never so sweet—nor one half so divine—
As a heart kept in tune, which the moment thou greetest
Breathes harmony dearer than notes can combine!
Never say it is nature, and may not be cured;
One tithe of the time, which to music we yield,
Would render the conquest of temper ensured,
And bring us more music than song e'er revealed.
Was never so sweet—nor one half so divine—
As a heart kept in tune, which the moment thou greetest
Breathes harmony dearer than notes can combine!
Never say it is nature, and may not be cured;
One tithe of the time, which to music we yield,
Would render the conquest of temper ensured,
And bring us more music than song e'er revealed.
Oh, govern your temper—for roses the fairest
Were never so fair, nor so rich in perfume,
As the flowers, which e'en thou, chilly Winter, yet sparest—
The flowers of the heart, which unchangingly bloom!
Never think it is nature,—for oh, if it were,
The sooner the spirit of nature is shewn
That the spirit of heaven is higher than her,
The sooner—the longer—will love be our own!
Were never so fair, nor so rich in perfume,
As the flowers, which e'en thou, chilly Winter, yet sparest—
The flowers of the heart, which unchangingly bloom!
Never think it is nature,—for oh, if it were,
The sooner the spirit of nature is shewn
That the spirit of heaven is higher than her,
The sooner—the longer—will love be our own!
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SOON FORGOT.
When the mother's heart is gone
From the children she hath borne,
Claims the poor—the buried-one—
Thought or prayer—by night or morn?
No:—to pleasure's path again
Swift their careless feet return;
Little is she thought of then,—
When the heart that loved is gone!
From the children she hath borne,
Claims the poor—the buried-one—
Thought or prayer—by night or morn?
No:—to pleasure's path again
Swift their careless feet return;
Little is she thought of then,—
When the heart that loved is gone!
Tears, like passing dew-drops found
Half the summer-roses o'er;—
Soon as shaken to the ground
Eye and rose look sad no more!
Build not where ye most would trust;
Lay no store of hope in one!—
Filial gratitude is dust,—
When the heart that loved is gone!
Half the summer-roses o'er;—
Soon as shaken to the ground
Eye and rose look sad no more!
Build not where ye most would trust;
Lay no store of hope in one!—
Filial gratitude is dust,—
When the heart that loved is gone!
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TWILIGHT.
When the mists of the twilight
Day's glories displace;
Like a delicate veil
O'er a beautiful face:
When the breath of the roses
First mingles with ours;
And the spirit of Love
Is awake 'mid the flowers:
When starlight and twilight
In Night's bosom meet,
Oh, Love hath no moment,
No meeting so sweet!
Day's glories displace;
Like a delicate veil
O'er a beautiful face:
When the breath of the roses
First mingles with ours;
And the spirit of Love
Is awake 'mid the flowers:
When starlight and twilight
In Night's bosom meet,
Oh, Love hath no moment,
No meeting so sweet!
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When a shade of dejection,
Like twilight appears;
And the cheek of affection
Is star-like with tears!
When the voice of emotion
First trembles to prove
Its truth and devotion—
Its passion and love!
Then starlight and twilight
In Love's bosom meet!
And Life hath no moment—
No meeting so sweet!
Like twilight appears;
And the cheek of affection
Is star-like with tears!
When the voice of emotion
First trembles to prove
Its truth and devotion—
Its passion and love!
Then starlight and twilight
In Love's bosom meet!
And Life hath no moment—
No meeting so sweet!
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WHEN FIRST.
When first my eyes beheld thee smile
My heart fled to thee in that gaze,
But when I heard thee speak awhile
I ceased thy lovely form to praise!
For higher gifts thy being bore
Than those a beauteous cheek endow;
And if I lost my heart before,
Oh, love, my soul flew with it now!—
My heart fled to thee in that gaze,
But when I heard thee speak awhile
I ceased thy lovely form to praise!
For higher gifts thy being bore
Than those a beauteous cheek endow;
And if I lost my heart before,
Oh, love, my soul flew with it now!—
And heart and soul shall still be thine,
Come what may come of ills the worst;
As faithful to thy life's decline,
As when they wooed and loved thee first!
As birds oft sing their sweetest song
When every leaf hath left the tree;
So when thy bloom hath vanished long,
My heart shall fonder cling to thee!
Come what may come of ills the worst;
As faithful to thy life's decline,
As when they wooed and loved thee first!
As birds oft sing their sweetest song
When every leaf hath left the tree;
So when thy bloom hath vanished long,
My heart shall fonder cling to thee!
244
KING BACCHUS.
King Bacchus grew merry one night over-late,
For friend after friend kept imploring his stay;
Till Time, out of patience, no longer would wait,
So he threw down his sands and went frowning away.
“Never mind, my old fellow,” cried Bacchus, “we'll try
If we can't make these sands into something less dry!”
For friend after friend kept imploring his stay;
Till Time, out of patience, no longer would wait,
So he threw down his sands and went frowning away.
“Never mind, my old fellow,” cried Bacchus, “we'll try
If we can't make these sands into something less dry!”
So he kindled a fire, till the glow and the glare
Seem'd almost too much e'en for friendship to bear;
And with compounds, that magic alone might surpass,
He melted Time's sands to a beautiful glass!
And if by the dozen his friends came before,
When he gave them a glass they flocked in by the score.
Seem'd almost too much e'en for friendship to bear;
And with compounds, that magic alone might surpass,
He melted Time's sands to a beautiful glass!
And if by the dozen his friends came before,
When he gave them a glass they flocked in by the score.
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Then Time, who is rarely a man of his word,
The moment this secret of wonder was heard,
Came back for his sands; but gay Bacchus replied,
And laughed at old Time till he nearly had died,
“Take them, boy, from this glass!” And ere aught could be said,
Old Time snatch'd the glass from poor Bacchus, and fled!
The moment this secret of wonder was heard,
Came back for his sands; but gay Bacchus replied,
And laughed at old Time till he nearly had died,
“Take them, boy, from this glass!” And ere aught could be said,
Old Time snatch'd the glass from poor Bacchus, and fled!
But Bacchus the noble invention retain'd,
And glass after glass in an ecstasy plann'd;
Whilst Time, the queer rogue, much as usual remain'd,
For instead of red wine he fill'd his with red sand.
Only look at his vintage! his sand-glass sublime!
Ha! ha! let us laugh; let us laugh at old Time.
And glass after glass in an ecstasy plann'd;
Whilst Time, the queer rogue, much as usual remain'd,
For instead of red wine he fill'd his with red sand.
Only look at his vintage! his sand-glass sublime!
Ha! ha! let us laugh; let us laugh at old Time.
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HOPE FOR THE BEST.
Why should we ever be shading
Moments of parting with tears,
Moments so speedily fading,
Yet bearing the memory of years!
Though Fate our destinies sever—
Though for a season deprest—
Trusting in Providence ever,
Still let us hope for the best!
Moments of parting with tears,
Moments so speedily fading,
Yet bearing the memory of years!
Though Fate our destinies sever—
Though for a season deprest—
Trusting in Providence ever,
Still let us hope for the best!
There is a star yet above us,
Shining for happier days!
There is a spirit to love us,
Beaming beyond the star's rays!
Though for a time we may sever,
Clasp this deep truth to thy breast,
Trusting in Providence ever—
Come what there may—is the best!
Shining for happier days!
There is a spirit to love us,
Beaming beyond the star's rays!
Though for a time we may sever,
Clasp this deep truth to thy breast,
Trusting in Providence ever—
Come what there may—is the best!
247
BELIEVE ME.
Believe me, or believe me not,
At other shrine I ne'er could bow;
The world itself might be forgot—
But never thou—oh, never thou!
Though absent, I recall'd thy charms;
And wished—as lovers when they part—
I'd, like the vine, a thousand arms,
To clasp thee—hold thee—to my heart.
At other shrine I ne'er could bow;
The world itself might be forgot—
But never thou—oh, never thou!
Though absent, I recall'd thy charms;
And wished—as lovers when they part—
I'd, like the vine, a thousand arms,
To clasp thee—hold thee—to my heart.
There's not a pulse within my breast
But thrills and trembles at thy touch;
Forget?—oh, no! the fear is lest
My soul may love thee overmuch!
Thy very name each feeling warms;
And oft, though vain, the wish will start,
That, vine-like, I'd a thousand arms
To clasp thee ever to my heart!
But thrills and trembles at thy touch;
Forget?—oh, no! the fear is lest
My soul may love thee overmuch!
Thy very name each feeling warms;
And oft, though vain, the wish will start,
That, vine-like, I'd a thousand arms
To clasp thee ever to my heart!
250
THERE ARE MOMENTS IN LIFE.
There are moments in life—though alas for their fleetness!—
As brilliant with all that existence endears
As if we had drained the whole essence of sweetness
That Nature intended should last us for years!
They pass—and the soul, as it swells with emotion,
Believes that some seraph hath hallowed the clime;
For never were pearls from the bosom of ocean
So precious and dear as those moments of time.
As brilliant with all that existence endears
As if we had drained the whole essence of sweetness
That Nature intended should last us for years!
They pass—and the soul, as it swells with emotion,
Believes that some seraph hath hallowed the clime;
For never were pearls from the bosom of ocean
So precious and dear as those moments of time.
That moment when hearts which have long been divided
First meet, after absence hath tried them in vain;
Oh, years of affection, when smoothly they've glided,
Can yield not a moment so blissful again.
When friends, that a word had estranged, have forgiven
The word, and unite, hand and heart, as of old,
Oh, such moments of peace are like moments from heaven:
They are gifts from a world which the angels behold!
First meet, after absence hath tried them in vain;
Oh, years of affection, when smoothly they've glided,
Can yield not a moment so blissful again.
When friends, that a word had estranged, have forgiven
The word, and unite, hand and heart, as of old,
Oh, such moments of peace are like moments from heaven:
They are gifts from a world which the angels behold!
251
LET US TRY.
If we cannot have all that we wish upon earth,
Let us try to be happy with less if we can;
If wealth be not always the guerdon of worth,
Worth, sooner than Wealth, makes the happier man.
Is it wise to be anxious for pleasures afar—
And the pleasures around us to slight or decry?—
Asking Night for the sun,—asking Day for the star?
Let us conquer such faults, or at least let us try.
Let us try to be happy with less if we can;
If wealth be not always the guerdon of worth,
Worth, sooner than Wealth, makes the happier man.
Is it wise to be anxious for pleasures afar—
And the pleasures around us to slight or decry?—
Asking Night for the sun,—asking Day for the star?
Let us conquer such faults, or at least let us try.
If the soil of a garden be worthy our care,
Its culture delightful, though ever so small;
Oh, then let the Heart the same diligence share,
And the flowers of affection will rival them all.
There ne'er was delusion more constantly shown,
Than that wealth every charm of existence can buy;
As long as love, friendship, and truth are life's own,
All hearts may be happy, if all hearts will try!
Its culture delightful, though ever so small;
Oh, then let the Heart the same diligence share,
And the flowers of affection will rival them all.
There ne'er was delusion more constantly shown,
Than that wealth every charm of existence can buy;
As long as love, friendship, and truth are life's own,
All hearts may be happy, if all hearts will try!
252
I TOLD YOU.
I told you Roses ne'er would wed
Their bloom to wintry air;
But then, you press'd my lips, and said
The rose you loved bloom'd there!—
I said the wintry day was bare,
The sun far out of view;
You smiled, and vowed my golden hair
Was sunlight unto you!
Their bloom to wintry air;
But then, you press'd my lips, and said
The rose you loved bloom'd there!—
I said the wintry day was bare,
The sun far out of view;
You smiled, and vowed my golden hair
Was sunlight unto you!
253
I said the woods no more rejoice
With notes, more sweet than words;
But, oh, you whisper'd then, my voice
Was sweeter than the birds:
And still whatever charm I named
That lends to Spring delight,
You, for your own loved maiden, claim'd,
And lived but in her sight!
With notes, more sweet than words;
But, oh, you whisper'd then, my voice
Was sweeter than the birds:
And still whatever charm I named
That lends to Spring delight,
You, for your own loved maiden, claim'd,
And lived but in her sight!
Blow, chilling winds of Winter, blow!
Whilst Love the heart illumes,
Life's roses still exist 'mid snow—
And Spring eternal blooms!
Roll, heavy clouds of Winter, roll!
Love, from the dark, hath thrown
A sunlight over heart and soul
More bright than heaven's own!
Whilst Love the heart illumes,
Life's roses still exist 'mid snow—
And Spring eternal blooms!
Roll, heavy clouds of Winter, roll!
Love, from the dark, hath thrown
A sunlight over heart and soul
More bright than heaven's own!
259
THE WIFE OF SIR WALTER RALEIGH.
“Tell Fortune of her blindnesse,
Tell Nature of decay,
Tell Friendship of unkindnesse,
Tell Justice of delay:
And if they dare reply,
Then give them all the lye.”
Sir Walter Raleigh.
Tell Nature of decay,
Tell Friendship of unkindnesse,
Tell Justice of delay:
And if they dare reply,
Then give them all the lye.”
Sir Walter Raleigh.
Day, like a warrior, stood
Upon the western height,
And pour'd his bright spears like a flood
Against the hosts of Night;
While banner-cloud and gleamy crest
Grew crimson in the stormy West!
Upon the western height,
And pour'd his bright spears like a flood
Against the hosts of Night;
While banner-cloud and gleamy crest
Grew crimson in the stormy West!
Night called her hosts of pride,
To mark the Sun-King die;
And threw her starry pennons wide,
In triumph o'er the sky.
The monarch of the world of light
Fell throneless 'neath the foot of Night!
To mark the Sun-King die;
And threw her starry pennons wide,
In triumph o'er the sky.
The monarch of the world of light
Fell throneless 'neath the foot of Night!
264
From morn to cloudy eve
One paced the castle-tower;
So beautiful—oh, could she grieve
Who looked as though each hour
Brought roses to her lips, her cheek;
As music stayed to hear her speak!
One paced the castle-tower;
So beautiful—oh, could she grieve
Who looked as though each hour
Brought roses to her lips, her cheek;
As music stayed to hear her speak!
And yet she wept, as one
Whose happiness was o'er;
The sunlight of whose soul was gone,
Whose life might bloom no more;
Whose years had faded fast, though few;
Like leaves whose veins ran lightning through!
Whose happiness was o'er;
The sunlight of whose soul was gone,
Whose life might bloom no more;
Whose years had faded fast, though few;
Like leaves whose veins ran lightning through!
For he—her loved, her lord,
Her husband, whose renown
Lent fame to Britain's state and sword,
Shed glory o'er its crown—
Learnt that the debts which nations owe
Find cancel brief in headsman's blow!
Her husband, whose renown
Lent fame to Britain's state and sword,
Shed glory o'er its crown—
Learnt that the debts which nations owe
Find cancel brief in headsman's blow!
He whose heroic hand
Proved ever first to guard
The bulwarks of his native land,
Unmindful of reward,
Save that illustrious spirits claim
Within the godlike rolls of Fame!—
Proved ever first to guard
The bulwarks of his native land,
Unmindful of reward,
Save that illustrious spirits claim
Within the godlike rolls of Fame!—
265
He, the observed of all
Amidst the courtly throng,
Whom laurelled Spenser once did call
The nightingale of song;
Whose gifts to win all hearts appear'd—
Was't he the rabble scoffed and jeered?
Amidst the courtly throng,
Whom laurelled Spenser once did call
The nightingale of song;
Whose gifts to win all hearts appear'd—
Was't he the rabble scoffed and jeered?
Oh, noble to the last,
And to his death resigned,
He smiled upon the world, and passed
To seek that World of Mind,
That bright, that intellectual spring,
Hid 'neath the Everlasting wing!
And to his death resigned,
He smiled upon the world, and passed
To seek that World of Mind,
That bright, that intellectual spring,
Hid 'neath the Everlasting wing!
Nor murmur, nor complaint,
Nor sigh for hopes decayed,
Nor did his manly heart once faint,
When grasp'd the headsman's blade!
“'Tis a sharp medicine to endure,”
He said, “but rarely fails to cure!”
Nor sigh for hopes decayed,
Nor did his manly heart once faint,
When grasp'd the headsman's blade!
“'Tis a sharp medicine to endure,”
He said, “but rarely fails to cure!”
Long past the hour his head
Fell gory 'neath the steel,
His wife yet listened for his tread;
Some hearts would surely feel!
All were not hardened as the throne;
Some rescue yet would save her own!
Fell gory 'neath the steel,
His wife yet listened for his tread;
Some hearts would surely feel!
All were not hardened as the throne;
Some rescue yet would save her own!
266
And still the castle-tower
She paced each dreary day;
She knew, she said, it was his hour;
He would not long delay:
He loved his child with love too strong,
Living or dead, to quit them long!
She paced each dreary day;
She knew, she said, it was his hour;
He would not long delay:
He loved his child with love too strong,
Living or dead, to quit them long!
And thus she hourly pined,
Till winter o'er her breast
Shed paleness, and her bloom declined
Like rose some foot hath press'd.
The light which could that bloom renew
Shone only 'midst the angel dew!
Till winter o'er her breast
Shed paleness, and her bloom declined
Like rose some foot hath press'd.
The light which could that bloom renew
Shone only 'midst the angel dew!
How, like a broken reed,
All worldly trust departs!
There is no hope for earthly need,
No rest for weary hearts,
Save his whose trust the Cross hath blest,
Eternal Hope! immortal Rest!
All worldly trust departs!
There is no hope for earthly need,
No rest for weary hearts,
Save his whose trust the Cross hath blest,
Eternal Hope! immortal Rest!
271
VOICE OF THE NIGHTINGALE.
Voice of the nightingale,
Heard in the twilight vale,
Waking the silence to music and love;
Sweet is thy vesper vow,
Holy and tender now,
Worthy the spirits which list thee above.
Heard in the twilight vale,
Waking the silence to music and love;
Sweet is thy vesper vow,
Holy and tender now,
Worthy the spirits which list thee above.
Once, in complaining tone,
Notes that were Sorrow's own
Gush'd from thy breast as if thrill'd with some wrong;
Then, as if Hope sprang high,
Up to the choral sky
Swept thy full heart on the wings of thy song.
Notes that were Sorrow's own
Gush'd from thy breast as if thrill'd with some wrong;
Then, as if Hope sprang high,
Up to the choral sky
Swept thy full heart on the wings of thy song.
272
Hid in thy hermit-tree,
Musing in melody,
Breath'st thou that strain to some home of the past?
Whence thy sweet nestlings fled,
Those thy fond care had fed:
Gav'st thou them wings but to leave thee at last?
Musing in melody,
Breath'st thou that strain to some home of the past?
Whence thy sweet nestlings fled,
Those thy fond care had fed:
Gav'st thou them wings but to leave thee at last?
Thus 'tis in life, sweet bird,
They whom our hearts preferr'd—
They whom we cherish'd and hoped to call ours—
Left us for others then:
Who would be mothers, then,
When o'er affection such destiny lours!
They whom our hearts preferr'd—
They whom we cherish'd and hoped to call ours—
Left us for others then:
Who would be mothers, then,
When o'er affection such destiny lours!
Yet in thy lonely lot
Still dost thou sorrow not
Vainly as those who far less should repine;
Oh, in his solitude,
Would that man's gratitude
Soar'd to his Maker in vespers like thine!
Still dost thou sorrow not
Vainly as those who far less should repine;
Oh, in his solitude,
Would that man's gratitude
Soar'd to his Maker in vespers like thine!
Voice of the nightingale,
Heard in the twilight vale,
Filling with sweetness thy hermitage lone,
Blest is thy vesper vow,
Holy and tender now;
Would that man's gratitude equalled thine own!
Heard in the twilight vale,
Filling with sweetness thy hermitage lone,
Blest is thy vesper vow,
Holy and tender now;
Would that man's gratitude equalled thine own!
277
BALLAD.
Why leave ye thus your father's hall,
And hie to the gate so oft?—
'Tis only to watch the moonlight fall
O'er the waves that sleep so soft.
And why do ye seek one small blue flower
Through every sylvan spot?—
Oh, 'tis but a gem for a maiden's bower,
A little “forget me not!”
And hie to the gate so oft?—
'Tis only to watch the moonlight fall
O'er the waves that sleep so soft.
And why do ye seek one small blue flower
Through every sylvan spot?—
Oh, 'tis but a gem for a maiden's bower,
A little “forget me not!”
280
Why wear ye that wreath so dim and dry,
With its leaves all pined and dead?—
The maid look'd up with a tearful eye,
But never a word she said.
And why for every word ye speak
Have ye twenty sighs of late?—
The maiden hath hied, with a blushing cheek,
Again to the moonlight gate.
With its leaves all pined and dead?—
The maid look'd up with a tearful eye,
But never a word she said.
And why for every word ye speak
Have ye twenty sighs of late?—
The maiden hath hied, with a blushing cheek,
Again to the moonlight gate.
Hark! is it a sound, indeed, that rings?
A hoof o'er the wild road press'd?
Oh, is it her own true knight that springs,
And folds her to his breast?
And is it that wreath so dark and dry
That meets her knight's fond kiss?
Again was a tear in the maiden's eye,
But, oh! 'twas a tear of bliss.
A hoof o'er the wild road press'd?
Oh, is it her own true knight that springs,
And folds her to his breast?
And is it that wreath so dark and dry
That meets her knight's fond kiss?
Again was a tear in the maiden's eye,
But, oh! 'twas a tear of bliss.
281
LONELY AGE.
The gate is swinging from the hasp,
The garden plat shrinks, less and less,
'Mid weed and seed, and things that clasp
All beauty in their hideousness;
The wildness seems to grow and grow,
However late or long I strive;
There's nothing blooms! It was not so
When Ellen was alive!
The garden plat shrinks, less and less,
'Mid weed and seed, and things that clasp
All beauty in their hideousness;
The wildness seems to grow and grow,
However late or long I strive;
There's nothing blooms! It was not so
When Ellen was alive!
The neighbours for a time were kind,
And rarely passed without a word;
But they who grieve have friends to find!
And sorrow tires when often heard!
So by another path they go
Across the brook, beyond the hive,
And few come near:—it was not so
When Ellen was alive!
And rarely passed without a word;
But they who grieve have friends to find!
And sorrow tires when often heard!
So by another path they go
Across the brook, beyond the hive,
And few come near:—it was not so
When Ellen was alive!
284
IF THY FORM.
If thy form be matchless fair
'Tis a form that still eludes me,
If thy lips make sweet the air
They are lips that still exclude me;
Say those eyes are stars of night
They are stars that oft mislead me;
Say those curls are beams of light
They from light to darkness speed me.
'Tis a form that still eludes me,
If thy lips make sweet the air
They are lips that still exclude me;
Say those eyes are stars of night
They are stars that oft mislead me;
Say those curls are beams of light
They from light to darkness speed me.
287
Say thou'rt proud—thou shouldst be told
Pride, like ice-drops in the morn, love,
Glittering on some flow'ret cold,
Ruin what they would adorn, love!
Say thou'rt dear—yet should'st thou know
Love must on affection feed, love,—
Where affection cannot grow,
Life is sorrowful indeed, love.
Pride, like ice-drops in the morn, love,
Glittering on some flow'ret cold,
Ruin what they would adorn, love!
Say thou'rt dear—yet should'st thou know
Love must on affection feed, love,—
Where affection cannot grow,
Life is sorrowful indeed, love.
Say those eyes are stars of night
They are stars that oft mislead me,
Say those curls are beams of light
They from light to darkness speed me:
Bid thy beauty dazzle less—
Lest the world should all adore, love;
Bid thy lips some love express—
And than worlds I'll love thee more, love.
They are stars that oft mislead me,
Say those curls are beams of light
They from light to darkness speed me:
Bid thy beauty dazzle less—
Lest the world should all adore, love;
Bid thy lips some love express—
And than worlds I'll love thee more, love.
288
LOVING AND FORGIVING.
Oh, loving and forgiving—
Ye angel-words of earth,
Years were not worth the living
If ye too had not birth!
Oh, loving and forbearing—
How sweet your mission here;
The grief that ye are sharing
Hath blessings in its tear.
Ye angel-words of earth,
Years were not worth the living
If ye too had not birth!
Oh, loving and forbearing—
How sweet your mission here;
The grief that ye are sharing
Hath blessings in its tear.
289
Oh, stern and unforgiving—
Ye evil words of life,
That mock the means of living
With never-ending strife.
Oh, harsh and unrepenting—
How would ye meet the grave,
If Heaven, as unrelenting,
Forbore not, nor forgave!
Ye evil words of life,
That mock the means of living
With never-ending strife.
Oh, harsh and unrepenting—
How would ye meet the grave,
If Heaven, as unrelenting,
Forbore not, nor forgave!
Oh, loving and forgiving—
Sweet sisters of the soul,
In whose celestial living
The passions find control!
Still breathe your influence o'er us
Whene'er by passion crost,
And, angel-like, restore us
The paradise we lost.
Sweet sisters of the soul,
In whose celestial living
The passions find control!
Still breathe your influence o'er us
Whene'er by passion crost,
And, angel-like, restore us
The paradise we lost.
290
EXPRESSION AND BEAUTY.
It was one of those faces, so gifted with graces,
Such sweetness of thought, such expression was in it;
Your eyes were enchanted, as if from their places—
Your heart—if you had one—was gone in a minute.
Yet it was not that Beauty reigned paramount there,
That the lip and the cheek were to magic allied,
'Twas a softness of feature, so winningly fair,
Expression seem'd worth every beauty beside!
Such sweetness of thought, such expression was in it;
Your eyes were enchanted, as if from their places—
Your heart—if you had one—was gone in a minute.
Yet it was not that Beauty reigned paramount there,
That the lip and the cheek were to magic allied,
'Twas a softness of feature, so winningly fair,
Expression seem'd worth every beauty beside!
I care not for clever, vain creatures, that ever
Are dreaming of conquests, and captives o'erthrown;
His heart is not lost, though awhile he may sever,
Who gets, in exchange, a good heart for his own!—
And sweet is the feeling, delicious the duty,
When hearts beat the same till existence is run;
For, oh! by Expression—as often as Beauty—
The soul of the Lover—the Husband—is won!
Are dreaming of conquests, and captives o'erthrown;
His heart is not lost, though awhile he may sever,
Who gets, in exchange, a good heart for his own!—
And sweet is the feeling, delicious the duty,
When hearts beat the same till existence is run;
For, oh! by Expression—as often as Beauty—
The soul of the Lover—the Husband—is won!
292
WHY LEAPS MY HEART?
Why leaps my heart as 'twould rejoice?
Why lists it as to some dear voice?
I sit alone; no whisper nigh:
Why leaps this restless heart so high?—
Why lists it as to some dear voice?
I sit alone; no whisper nigh:
Why leaps this restless heart so high?—
Why burns my cheek, of late so fair,
As Love had cast its rose-leaves there?
There is but one whose step could throw
O'er this thin cheek so bright a glow!
As Love had cast its rose-leaves there?
There is but one whose step could throw
O'er this thin cheek so bright a glow!
293
There is but one, and he's afar;—
Afloat beneath a northern star:
There is but one, whose step if nigh
Could make my fond heart leap so high!—
Afloat beneath a northern star:
There is but one, whose step if nigh
Could make my fond heart leap so high!—
And hark . . a step indeed is heard—
A hasty step—a hurried word:—
She knows the music of that sound,
The very room with joy swims round.
A hasty step—a hurried word:—
She knows the music of that sound,
The very room with joy swims round.
Oh, is there bloom on earth so sweet
As spreads the cheek when lovers meet?
When heart to heart they clasped remain
Who never hoped to meet again?
As spreads the cheek when lovers meet?
When heart to heart they clasped remain
Who never hoped to meet again?
302
YES, TELL ME 'TIS HOPELESS.
Yes, tell me 'tis hopeless—my spirit is such
That nothing but sadness can enter it more;
I have trusted to love and to friendship too much,
And am bankrupt of all that I treasured before!
Like flowers that in darkness their nutriment find,
Yet close their sad eyes when the morning appears,
So the hopeless and dark are the food of my mind;
The dew of my heart is the night-fall of tears!
That nothing but sadness can enter it more;
I have trusted to love and to friendship too much,
And am bankrupt of all that I treasured before!
Like flowers that in darkness their nutriment find,
Yet close their sad eyes when the morning appears,
So the hopeless and dark are the food of my mind;
The dew of my heart is the night-fall of tears!
Yes, tell me 'tis hopeless—'tis better to grow
Familiar with sorrow, and welcome its name;
Yet that she could be false—could betray me—but, no,
Such feeling is folly—such weakness is shame!
Oh, once—but the time and the spirit are gone—
My heart like an eagle could soar, though opprest;
Though hoping were hopeless I still could hope on—
But now I hope nothing—ask nothing—but rest!
Familiar with sorrow, and welcome its name;
Yet that she could be false—could betray me—but, no,
Such feeling is folly—such weakness is shame!
Oh, once—but the time and the spirit are gone—
My heart like an eagle could soar, though opprest;
Though hoping were hopeless I still could hope on—
But now I hope nothing—ask nothing—but rest!
305
THERE'S A DUTY.
Yes, still there's a duty on earth to perform
Though hearts may have suffer'd till life appears lone,
There are feelings affection should ever keep warm,
Making other hearts happy should gladden our own.
Though hearts may have suffer'd till life appears lone,
There are feelings affection should ever keep warm,
Making other hearts happy should gladden our own.
To live for ourselves is to narrow the sphere
Of feeling to nothing—and what can atone
For the loss of that sweetest humanity here—
Making other hearts happy—to gladden our own!
Of feeling to nothing—and what can atone
For the loss of that sweetest humanity here—
Making other hearts happy—to gladden our own!
'Tis an impulse the nearest to virtue allied
Thus to solace misfortune wherever 'tis shewn,
And though life may have left little pleasure beside—
Making other hearts happy will gladden our own!
Thus to solace misfortune wherever 'tis shewn,
And though life may have left little pleasure beside—
Making other hearts happy will gladden our own!
309
SORROW.
Sorrow—sorrow—full of sorrow;
Not a stone within the street
But—if it could accents borrow—
Would the self-same strain repeat!
Youth of struggle and endurance;
Weary manhood downward hurled;
Age, but with one last assurance
Centred in another world!
Not a stone within the street
But—if it could accents borrow—
Would the self-same strain repeat!
Youth of struggle and endurance;
Weary manhood downward hurled;
Age, but with one last assurance
Centred in another world!
Sorrow—sorrow—full of sorrow
Year to year we onward go;
Seeking hope in that to-morrow—
Which, when sought, deceives us so!
Oh, affection, friendship, kindness,
Often are ye found asleep;
Often pass ye by in blindness
Wretches that but live to weep.
Year to year we onward go;
Seeking hope in that to-morrow—
Which, when sought, deceives us so!
Oh, affection, friendship, kindness,
Often are ye found asleep;
Often pass ye by in blindness
Wretches that but live to weep.
310
I SOUGHT MY LOVE.
I sought my love in yonder flower,
Appearing like an angel star;
I sought her vainly, hour by hour,
Though she be fair as angels are.
Appearing like an angel star;
I sought her vainly, hour by hour,
Though she be fair as angels are.
I sought my love by yonder tree,
All musical with summer birds;
And sweet the songs, but not for me:
They could not give her sweeter words.
All musical with summer birds;
And sweet the songs, but not for me:
They could not give her sweeter words.
I sought her when the stars gleam'd west,
By stream that glides the veined round;
And I saw heaven in its breast,
And thought at last my love was found!
By stream that glides the veined round;
And I saw heaven in its breast,
And thought at last my love was found!
But, ah! each hope inconstant pass'd;
Nor flower, nor tree, nor streamlet's fall:
I found my love in night's sharp blast,
Whose false, false breath, hath ruin'd all.
Nor flower, nor tree, nor streamlet's fall:
I found my love in night's sharp blast,
Whose false, false breath, hath ruin'd all.
313
CONRADIN.
It was about the end of the year 1267, that the young Conradin, aged only
sixteen years, arrived at Verona with ten thousand cavalry, to claim the
inheritance of which the popes had despoiled his family. Conradin entered
the kingdom of his fathers, and met Charles of Anjou in the plain of Tagliacozzo,
on the 23rd of August, 1268. A desperate battle ensued: victory long
remained doubtful. Two divisions of the army of Charles were already
destroyed; and the Germans, who considered themselves the victors, were
dispersed in pursuit of the enemy, when the French prince fell on them with
his body of reserve, and completely routed them. Conradin was brought to
Charles, who, without pity for his youth, esteem for his courage, or respect
for his just right, sentenced him to death. He was beheaded in the market-place
at Naples, on the 26th of October, 1268.
Sismondi.
The harvest fields shone bright
'Neath the blue Italian sky;
And clustering vines in purple light
From the western hills waved high:
When a distant sound, like gathering seas,
Swept o'er the mild, autumnal breeze.
'Neath the blue Italian sky;
And clustering vines in purple light
From the western hills waved high:
When a distant sound, like gathering seas,
Swept o'er the mild, autumnal breeze.
314
Again! and, like the blast
Through forests old and drear,
That startling sound in wildness pass'd—
'Twas the rush of shield and spear,
The heavy march of warlike men,
Deep echoing through the narrow glen.
Through forests old and drear,
That startling sound in wildness pass'd—
'Twas the rush of shield and spear,
The heavy march of warlike men,
Deep echoing through the narrow glen.
O'er stern Abruzzo's height,
A martial horn peals far;
'Tis the signal shrill of deadly fight,
The iron voice of war!
Scarf, plume, and banner, wave around:
Fierce helmets gleam, and chargers bound.
A martial horn peals far;
'Tis the signal shrill of deadly fight,
The iron voice of war!
Scarf, plume, and banner, wave around:
Fierce helmets gleam, and chargers bound.
Who cheers the warriors on?
What chief of glorious deeds?
Ah! where's the light of Valour gone,
That a crested stripling leads?
Away! the hour of hope redeem;
Lo! here the spears of Anjou gleam!
What chief of glorious deeds?
Ah! where's the light of Valour gone,
That a crested stripling leads?
Away! the hour of hope redeem;
Lo! here the spears of Anjou gleam!
And yet, that youthful knight
Owns no dishonour'd line;
For, if the Victory crowned the right,
Young Conradin, 'twere thine!
Sound, warriors, sound your battle strain!
Ye stand on Tagliacozzo's plain!
Owns no dishonour'd line;
For, if the Victory crowned the right,
Young Conradin, 'twere thine!
Sound, warriors, sound your battle strain!
Ye stand on Tagliacozzo's plain!
315
Grasp, grasp your brands, and slay!
Hark! like a tempest's roar,
The fiend of battle shrieks for prey,
Bathes his wild sword in gore!
And many a fair and stately head
Lies crushed beneath the chargers' tread.
Hark! like a tempest's roar,
The fiend of battle shrieks for prey,
Bathes his wild sword in gore!
And many a fair and stately head
Lies crushed beneath the chargers' tread.
Where rolls the reddest sea,
Still Conradin speeds there,
To champion immortality,
To triumph o'er despair!
Brave youth! thy foes, the Gauls, give way:
Thine, thine's the hottest sword to-day!
Still Conradin speeds there,
To champion immortality,
To triumph o'er despair!
Brave youth! thy foes, the Gauls, give way:
Thine, thine's the hottest sword to-day!
Ho! Anjou to the van!—
Thy veterans yield before
This boy, this mockery of a man,
Who tames thy scorn with gore:
Better for thee had older hand
Met thy all-famed, all-conquering band.
Thy veterans yield before
This boy, this mockery of a man,
Who tames thy scorn with gore:
Better for thee had older hand
Met thy all-famed, all-conquering band.
Ho! Anjou to the van!—
The soul of combat warm;
Or home! and own thy chieftains ran
From Conradin's young arm!
'Twill be a warlike deed to tell,
And suit thine ancient minstrel well!
The soul of combat warm;
Or home! and own thy chieftains ran
From Conradin's young arm!
'Twill be a warlike deed to tell,
And suit thine ancient minstrel well!
316
Back! back! the clarions ring!
'Tis sword to sword—and see!
A thousand gallant lances spring
For Gaul and Victory!
What power may turn the conflict now?
Lost—lost!—where, Conradin, art thou?
'Tis sword to sword—and see!
A thousand gallant lances spring
For Gaul and Victory!
What power may turn the conflict now?
Lost—lost!—where, Conradin, art thou?
The first upon the field—
The last to quit the fight—
I mark thee all too brave to yield,
Still battling 'midst the flight:
And many a haughty crest is lower'd
Beneath the lightning of thy sword!
The last to quit the fight—
I mark thee all too brave to yield,
Still battling 'midst the flight:
And many a haughty crest is lower'd
Beneath the lightning of thy sword!
The heavy morn rose red
O'er the sorrowing and the slain;
Where thousands found a gory bed,
On Tagliacozzo's plain:
And cloven shield, and shatter'd crest,
The havoc of the brand confess'd.
O'er the sorrowing and the slain;
Where thousands found a gory bed,
On Tagliacozzo's plain:
And cloven shield, and shatter'd crest,
The havoc of the brand confess'd.
Where droops that flower of might,
Young Conradin the brave?
Not where the bugle sounds to fight;
Where rival standards wave:
He moves where frowns the fatal wheel,
The chain, the rack, the headsman's steel!
Young Conradin the brave?
Not where the bugle sounds to fight;
Where rival standards wave:
He moves where frowns the fatal wheel,
The chain, the rack, the headsman's steel!
317
And shall Earth breathe no more
Her hope, her joy, for him?
Is the bright spring of glory o'er;
His morn of manhood dim?
Hath Tyranny no milder doom
Than traitor's death, than felon's tomb?
Her hope, her joy, for him?
Is the bright spring of glory o'er;
His morn of manhood dim?
Hath Tyranny no milder doom
Than traitor's death, than felon's tomb?
I saw him in that hour
Of battle's fierce alarm;
When banner'd legions own'd his power,
And quail'd beneath his arm;
But prouder glance, nor statelier brow,
Nor firmer front, were his, than now.
Of battle's fierce alarm;
When banner'd legions own'd his power,
And quail'd beneath his arm;
But prouder glance, nor statelier brow,
Nor firmer front, were his, than now.
Mark, Anjou! the stern gleam
Of that avenging eye
Shall be to thee a living dream,
A curse that may not die:
'Twill haunt the midnight of thy mind—
A foe thou canst not slay or bind!
Of that avenging eye
Shall be to thee a living dream,
A curse that may not die:
'Twill haunt the midnight of thy mind—
A foe thou canst not slay or bind!
'Tis o'er! one startling glare,
One deep and deadly blow,
And headless falls the royal heir
Of Hohenstauffen low!
Wake, Vengeance! nerve thy heart and hand!
Strike, Freedom, for thy native land!
One deep and deadly blow,
And headless falls the royal heir
Of Hohenstauffen low!
Wake, Vengeance! nerve thy heart and hand!
Strike, Freedom, for thy native land!
318
COME, HALLOW THE GOBLET.
Come, hallow the goblet with something more true
Than the words we forget in a minute,
For the toast is to wine, as the flower to the dew,
And lends all the sweetness that's in it!
Then fill—for a worthier toast ne'er was found
Since man clung to man, like a brother;
'Tis this—and oh! let its whole spirit go round!—
Here's—“The heart that can feel for another!”
Than the words we forget in a minute,
For the toast is to wine, as the flower to the dew,
And lends all the sweetness that's in it!
Then fill—for a worthier toast ne'er was found
Since man clung to man, like a brother;
'Tis this—and oh! let its whole spirit go round!—
Here's—“The heart that can feel for another!”
'Tis a sentiment sacred to every breast
That knows how uncertain's the morrow;
And that gleams of the goblet are seldom the best
To brighten our moments of sorrow!
No! tis when misfortune and misery frown,
And our griefs are too heavy to smother,
That we prove the best toast that the banquet may crown,
Is—“The heart that can feel for another.”
That knows how uncertain's the morrow;
And that gleams of the goblet are seldom the best
To brighten our moments of sorrow!
No! tis when misfortune and misery frown,
And our griefs are too heavy to smother,
That we prove the best toast that the banquet may crown,
Is—“The heart that can feel for another.”
325
OH, BLEST THE HOME.
Oh, blest the Home where Love is known,
And early feelings alter not,
Where Friendship's power makes glad each hour,
And truth and kindness falter not!
Where self-control still guards the whole
Unchanged, whatever ills betide;
Oh, though bereft—whilst Home is left—
'Tis worth all other wealth beside!
And early feelings alter not,
Where Friendship's power makes glad each hour,
And truth and kindness falter not!
Where self-control still guards the whole
Unchanged, whatever ills betide;
Oh, though bereft—whilst Home is left—
'Tis worth all other wealth beside!
Whilst there we meet, e'en care is sweet;
For sorrow binds us nearer yet!
No cold reply whilst Love sits by,
No,—grieving hearts grow dearer yet!—
And blest the tears Affection cheers;—
We ne'er should know how loved we were,
If Life had not some change of lot,
Some woe for Love to soothe and share.
For sorrow binds us nearer yet!
No cold reply whilst Love sits by,
No,—grieving hearts grow dearer yet!—
And blest the tears Affection cheers;—
We ne'er should know how loved we were,
If Life had not some change of lot,
Some woe for Love to soothe and share.
327
THEY HAVE MET.
They have met, and they have spoken,
They have parted, but to find
That those links of love are broken,
Which no time, nor tongue, can bind!
It was thought—oh, hope deceiving!—
That if once their hearts were heard,
Then the past—and all its grieving,—
Would be pardon'd at a word!
They have parted, but to find
That those links of love are broken,
Which no time, nor tongue, can bind!
It was thought—oh, hope deceiving!—
That if once their hearts were heard,
Then the past—and all its grieving,—
Would be pardon'd at a word!
328
It was hoped that all disguises
Would at length be thrown aside;
But the lip that Pride advises,
Soon must taste the tears of pride!
It was thought a look had changed them;
That a word would all restore:
But that word hath more estranged them—
They have met, to meet no more!
Would at length be thrown aside;
But the lip that Pride advises,
Soon must taste the tears of pride!
It was thought a look had changed them;
That a word would all restore:
But that word hath more estranged them—
They have met, to meet no more!
Sad 'tis, Love, that hearts should know thee
Still so strong in every need;
Yet a little word o'erthrow thee,
As thou wert but weak indeed!
Yet not Love, but Pride, hath spoken—
And with fruitless tears they'll find
That those links of love are broken
Which no time, nor tongue, can bind!
Still so strong in every need;
Yet a little word o'erthrow thee,
As thou wert but weak indeed!
Yet not Love, but Pride, hath spoken—
And with fruitless tears they'll find
That those links of love are broken
Which no time, nor tongue, can bind!
329
IF YOU KNEW.
If you knew how much I treasure
Every little word you say,
That an accent of displeasure
Grieves my heart for many a day:
You would pause ere word or whisper
Wounded one who loves so dear,
Nor attend each coxcomb lisper,
Mincing fops, who win your ear!
Every little word you say,
That an accent of displeasure
Grieves my heart for many a day:
You would pause ere word or whisper
Wounded one who loves so dear,
Nor attend each coxcomb lisper,
Mincing fops, who win your ear!
330
Creatures in whose selfish being
Nothing high, or noble dwells,
In existence only seeing
Their poor, narrow, empty selves!
Creatures in whose feeling never
Sprang a thought for others weal,
Vain, and eager but to sever
Those whose better hearts can feel!
Nothing high, or noble dwells,
In existence only seeing
Their poor, narrow, empty selves!
Creatures in whose feeling never
Sprang a thought for others weal,
Vain, and eager but to sever
Those whose better hearts can feel!
If you knew how much I treasure
E'en the slightest thing you touch,
You would pause, in your displeasure,
Ere you wronged my heart so much:
Easy, o'er the surface floating,
To be light—and gay—and free!—
'Tis for hearts too fond and doating—
To feel mute and sad—like me!
E'en the slightest thing you touch,
You would pause, in your displeasure,
Ere you wronged my heart so much:
Easy, o'er the surface floating,
To be light—and gay—and free!—
'Tis for hearts too fond and doating—
To feel mute and sad—like me!
331
HAWKING IN THE OLDEN TIME.
The olden time, the golden time—
The good, old, merry time;
It is the beauteous morning prime,
I hear the opening chime!
Green mount and dale, and woody vale,
With eager voices sound;
As lord, and knight, and lady bright,
Ride forth with hawk and hound;
In the olden time, the golden time—
The good, old, merry time!
The good, old, merry time;
It is the beauteous morning prime,
I hear the opening chime!
Green mount and dale, and woody vale,
With eager voices sound;
As lord, and knight, and lady bright,
Ride forth with hawk and hound;
In the olden time, the golden time—
The good, old, merry time!
With hawk and hound athwart the plain
Their gallant coursers sweep,
And silver curb—embroider'd rein—
May scarce their mettle keep;
As forth they ride to river-side
Their noble game to seek;—
And soon the heron's plume of pride
Bleeds 'neath the falcon's beak;
In the olden time, the golden time,—
The old, romantic time!
Their gallant coursers sweep,
And silver curb—embroider'd rein—
May scarce their mettle keep;
As forth they ride to river-side
Their noble game to seek;—
332
Bleeds 'neath the falcon's beak;
In the olden time, the golden time,—
The old, romantic time!
See! flash of wings from out the ford!
The wild Hern speeds her way—
The towering Merlin, like a sword
Hangs o'er his watchful prey!
He darts!—at one mad swoop the hern
Avoids the destin'd blow;
They chase—they fight—o'ertake—return—
Amidst the cheers below;—
Of the olden time, the golden time,
The manly, sportive time!
The wild Hern speeds her way—
The towering Merlin, like a sword
Hangs o'er his watchful prey!
He darts!—at one mad swoop the hern
Avoids the destin'd blow;
They chase—they fight—o'ertake—return—
Amidst the cheers below;—
Of the olden time, the golden time,
The manly, sportive time!
For music, song, and banquet-room,
Who'd give his bounding steed?
The healthful breeze—the morning bloom—
His falcon's wing of speed?
The sport with grace and spirit light,
The heart-exciting call,
For all the boasted charms of night,
The masquers and the ball?
Of the olden time, the golden time,
The good, old English time!
Who'd give his bounding steed?
The healthful breeze—the morning bloom—
His falcon's wing of speed?
The sport with grace and spirit light,
The heart-exciting call,
For all the boasted charms of night,
The masquers and the ball?
Of the olden time, the golden time,
The good, old English time!
333
SELFISHNESS.
Oh could we but see how the heartstrings entwine
Round the being they love, round whose life they have grown,
What hand could e'er break that affection divine,
Or forget others' feelings in seeking its own?
Too frequent is self but the object we seek,
And careless of others our pleasures select;
And often because the poor flow'ret is weak
We wound the affection we ought to protect!
Round the being they love, round whose life they have grown,
What hand could e'er break that affection divine,
Or forget others' feelings in seeking its own?
Too frequent is self but the object we seek,
And careless of others our pleasures select;
And often because the poor flow'ret is weak
We wound the affection we ought to protect!
Yet unmanly the heart and unworthy the name
That could trifle with feelings thus holy and pure;
But the falser the fires on love's altar that flame
The darker the sorrow its vot'ries endure.
Let our feelings unbiass'd their sentiments speak,
And the world and its sordid inducements reject;
Nor aim at advantage which injures the weak,
Nor wound the affection we ought to protect.
That could trifle with feelings thus holy and pure;
But the falser the fires on love's altar that flame
The darker the sorrow its vot'ries endure.
Let our feelings unbiass'd their sentiments speak,
And the world and its sordid inducements reject;
Nor aim at advantage which injures the weak,
Nor wound the affection we ought to protect.
334
THE COVENANTER'S SON.
Young Allan of the Hielands, my brother dear, is gone,
And dreary through the long, long nights, I sit and weep alone;
At times I hear his spirit-voice within the twilight dim,
And sleep brings but an aching dream of days gone by, and him!—
Of him, and of that fearful hour, when from our own fire-side,
And from the Bible where he knelt to seek his soul's best guide,
They dragg'd my brother forth to death—to death, as 'twere a crime
To worship as our fathers in the Covenanters' time.
And dreary through the long, long nights, I sit and weep alone;
At times I hear his spirit-voice within the twilight dim,
And sleep brings but an aching dream of days gone by, and him!—
Of him, and of that fearful hour, when from our own fire-side,
And from the Bible where he knelt to seek his soul's best guide,
They dragg'd my brother forth to death—to death, as 'twere a crime
To worship as our fathers in the Covenanters' time.
335
My mother shriek'd—her woe was wild—she clasped their cruel knees,—
But tears, nor yet her sad white hairs, might plead with men like these:
They dragg'd him to the lonely moor, that foul and fateful night,
And slew him there, amidst our cries, and prayers, before our sight!
I saw him kneel in manly bloom their deadly guns before—
I clasp'd him in my arms a corse—all gash'd, and red with gore:
They left us to our misery—like slaves of guilt they fled—
With the curse of Heaven, and the brand of Cain upon their head!
But tears, nor yet her sad white hairs, might plead with men like these:
They dragg'd him to the lonely moor, that foul and fateful night,
And slew him there, amidst our cries, and prayers, before our sight!
I saw him kneel in manly bloom their deadly guns before—
I clasp'd him in my arms a corse—all gash'd, and red with gore:
They left us to our misery—like slaves of guilt they fled—
With the curse of Heaven, and the brand of Cain upon their head!
My mother, like one half deranged, lay moaning wild and deep,
And gazing on the corpse—that gaze had made e'en marble weep!—
I would have whisper'd comfort, had not anguish choked my breath—
I would have prayed—but all my words seem'd crimson'd o'er with death!
We buried him in secret, and in secret wept him dead;
But, from that night, my mother pined, and never left her bed!—
I toil for food, from morn to eve, and soothe her as I may:—
But what can heal the broken heart? recall the mind's lost ray?
And gazing on the corpse—that gaze had made e'en marble weep!—
I would have whisper'd comfort, had not anguish choked my breath—
I would have prayed—but all my words seem'd crimson'd o'er with death!
336
But, from that night, my mother pined, and never left her bed!—
I toil for food, from morn to eve, and soothe her as I may:—
But what can heal the broken heart? recall the mind's lost ray?
And he, the truest, best of friends, young Bruce of Ronadell,
Has sued me to become his bride—and, oh, I love him well;
But never will I quit thy side—no, no! my mother dear—
Though he should choose some lovelier bride, and leave me, weeping, here!
Some happier one, who loves him more—but that could never be:
Oh, if—if I should lose my love, my mother dear, for thee—
If coldly he should turn away, and other maiden wed—
Then, let me, let me die with thee—thy grave my bridal bed!
Has sued me to become his bride—and, oh, I love him well;
But never will I quit thy side—no, no! my mother dear—
Though he should choose some lovelier bride, and leave me, weeping, here!
Some happier one, who loves him more—but that could never be:
Oh, if—if I should lose my love, my mother dear, for thee—
If coldly he should turn away, and other maiden wed—
Then, let me, let me die with thee—thy grave my bridal bed!
337
SONG.
I wish my love were some sweet flower,
And I some happy roaming bee,
Light winging to her woodland bower,
And all her sweetness waiting me.
And I some happy roaming bee,
Light winging to her woodland bower,
And all her sweetness waiting me.
I wish my love were some fair bird,
And I some young and favourite tree,
Where she might come, and sing, unheard,
Unseen, by all—save love and me.
And I some young and favourite tree,
Where she might come, and sing, unheard,
Unseen, by all—save love and me.
I wish I were the leaves that shield
The rose from harm, and she the rose,
Together sweet our lives to yield,
Together in our death repose.
The rose from harm, and she the rose,
Together sweet our lives to yield,
Together in our death repose.
339
THE FLOWER AND THE RUIN.
What charm in this dark ruin,
What pity canst thou find,
That thou, sweet flower, art wooing
The breeze to blow more kind?
Its rugged walls frown lonely
Where old friends used to meet;
All fled, fond flower—thou only
Art still unchang'd and sweet!
What pity canst thou find,
That thou, sweet flower, art wooing
The breeze to blow more kind?
Its rugged walls frown lonely
Where old friends used to meet;
All fled, fond flower—thou only
Art still unchang'd and sweet!
O'er thoughts, that tears awaken—
O'er friends that ne'er return—
How many hearts forsaken,
Like thee, dark ruin, mourn?
Yet, oh! though fate hath bound them
With many a chain of ill,
Some human flower twines round them—
Midst ruin loves them still!
O'er friends that ne'er return—
How many hearts forsaken,
Like thee, dark ruin, mourn?
Yet, oh! though fate hath bound them
With many a chain of ill,
Some human flower twines round them—
Midst ruin loves them still!
341
LET THERE BE LIGHT.
Let there be light!—Creation heard
The mandate of its God—the first;
And Light flashed onward at His word—
An universe from darkness burst!
The mandate of its God—the first;
And Light flashed onward at His word—
An universe from darkness burst!
Let there be light!—and for the Mind
That inward light of Man was given—
That glorious gift of humankind
Which emulates the rays of heaven!
That inward light of Man was given—
That glorious gift of humankind
Which emulates the rays of heaven!
Let there be light!—and Jesus trod
The sin-stained earth, to seek and save;
Led by the radiant hand of God
To light the death-bed and the grave!
The sin-stained earth, to seek and save;
Led by the radiant hand of God
To light the death-bed and the grave!
342
For this—Apostles prayed and wept,—
For this—the Saviour left the skies,
To watch the night of error set!
To bid the Christian Morn arise!
For this—the Saviour left the skies,
To watch the night of error set!
To bid the Christian Morn arise!
That light on every shore be thrown:
Where'er the savage once abode,
There may the Bethlehem Star be known—
There may we find the Church of God!
Where'er the savage once abode,
There may the Bethlehem Star be known—
There may we find the Church of God!
We bless Thee for the Light of earth,—
We bless Thee for the Mind's pure flame;
For Light our Saviour brought to birth,—
Eternal God, we bless Thy Name!
We bless Thee for the Mind's pure flame;
For Light our Saviour brought to birth,—
Eternal God, we bless Thy Name!
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