Poems; original and translated by Charles Rann Kennedy ... and Two Poems by the Rev. Rann Kennedy. New Edition. By Charles Rann Kennedy |
Poems; original and translated | ||
THE POET'S DREAM.
I.
Tis all a dream, the worldling says.
If dream it be, 'tis not of earth,
But in a higher sphere had birth.
That fades at blush of morning-light;
No fantasy, that at the breath
Of waking Reason vanisheth.
Seen now and alway, far and near,
And ever to the earnest view
Unfolding revelations new.
And with her richest colours warm,
Imprest with Nature's mystic seal,
And shown to man for human weal.
II.
Who all they cannot feel despise,
To whom a universe is nought
Beyond their narrow range of thought.
And deems it a vast citadel,
And little thinks the eagle's eye
Is piercing to the mid-day sky.
The starlit heaven all beams with love,
And countless worlds are rolling there;
Yet what doth plodding peasant care?
Nor starlight him nor moon detains;
The moonbeam lights him to his cot,
Yet otherwise he feels it not.
Each following wave is like the last:
What wonder is there in that sea,
With all its dull monotony?
Its music o'er me gently steal;
And every passing wave to me
Is full of new variety.
III.
She watches long, she gathers food,
She warms them with her downy breast,
She spreads her wing to guard their rest;
None there could be, while she was near:
O love maternal! how I bless
Thy self-devoting tenderness!
That busy toil of love behold;
Versed in the schoolman's wordy lore,
They call it instinct, think no more:
A lesson meant for selfish man!
Dearer the Poet's dream to me
Than all their vain philosophy.
IV.
I love the snowdrop's pensive mien,
The honeysuckle's graceful twine,
The primrose coy, the eglantine.
The vale no sweeter blossom shows:
Thine opening bud is like the smile
Of infant joy, that knows no guile:
Thou bloomest in the solitude,
Teaching that e'en the thorny shade
Was for delight and beauty made.
Did I not think thee wonderful:
Yet thousands pass thee by, and see
Nought but a poor wild flower in thee.
V.
Kind Nature to perfection brings;
And nothing is so poor or small,
But yet is great, as part of all.
Hath meaning in the faintest sound;
And thoughts with busy purpose rife
Are call'd by shadows into life.
Himself in ample pride surveys:
All else, as thro' a glass obscure,
Before him flits in miniature.
And crawling after earthly pelf,
He grasps the dust, calls that his own,
Life, wealth, enjoyment, that alone.
Mingle with it full soon thou must.
Dearer the Poet's dream to me
Than thy misnamed reality.
VI.
Vain-glorious mortal? Tell me how.
The laws of Nature he must learn,
Who false and real would discern.
She scatters plenty for thy use,
She biddeth thee the essence cull
Of all the sweet and beautiful.
If thou wert like the honey-bee,
Tasteful and wise: but oh, beware!
The fruit has gall, the flower a snare.
To treasure stores for winter's hour?
Or wastest thou the season's prime,
Borne thoughtless down the stream of time?
With golden promise bright to-day:
But ere the morrow's dawn hath shone,
Like wither'd blossoms, they are gone.
VII.
To passing strangers maketh known,
That in yon grave doth one abide,
Who pious lived, lamented died.
His peace, his slumber, all for gold;
He walk'd with purpose dark and blind;
He shut his heart 'gainst all mankind:
A buckler strong as adamant;
In vain: by avarice enslaved,
For more and more he ever craved:
Yet burn'd with thirst unquenchable;
His heart was arid as the sand
That gleams on Libya's desert-strand:
While many a scowl of pleasure grim
Told that the very slaves he fed
Rejoiced to see their tyrant dead.
With all his care, his toil, his pain?
No: in a dream his life he spent,
To gain that worthless monument.
VIII.
The life-sustaining elements,
The precious seed of heavenly flame
That animates this mortal frame.
Tis full of sunny juice divine!
See, see; those bubbling streams invite
To bathe the soul in soft delight!
The madman breathless drinks it up;
With riot laughter swells his eye,
It rolls, it swims in ecstasy:
And seem to move at his command:
Yes; imps of hell! they dance for glee,
To see that frantic revelry!
Who now is soaring to the sky:
From earth, not heaven, those raptures come;
The drunkard's wild delirium.
IX.
The tender thrill, the soft alarm,
And all that fancy e'er combined
To make the love of womankind:
It is a Goddess who inspires!
Mark ye the splendour of that face,
Her every motion full of grace!
And in her look such witchery!
It were a taste for Gods to sip
The bloom from off that rosy lip!
Its note is soft as fairy-song,
More sweet than murmur in the glade
By gently falling waters made.
Shalt find a Goddess to adore;
Parch'd will that lip and pale have grown,
Tuneless and harsh that silver tone:
The blushes that enchant thee now,
All with thy love will disappear,
Or linger in remembrance drear.
Love tempts not mortals to their bane:
Tis not celestial Love supplies
Thy wanton thoughts and burning sighs:
That makes thy pulse so wildly beat:
Base earthly passions in thee stir:
Awake, thou idol-worshipper!
X.
Sought far and wide, and found nowhere:
More flitting than a shade. Who knows
From whence it came, or whither goes?
While listening senates peal applause;
The people bless their happy lot,
And hail him for a patriot;
Like ocean waves from shore to shore;
Then silence; and they die away,
Like tones of some forgotten lay.
They tell a new, a different tale;
The people mourn; and he the cause;
They curse the man, revile his laws:
Yet courage! he hath inward strength
To bear him up! Ah, no! he shrinks
Before the cruel blow; he sinks,
When riven by the lightning-stroke,
Sapless and bare and honour-shorn,
Stands on the blasted heath forlorn.
XI.
While nations ring the funeral knell.
O madness! One there lived, whose breath
Was victory, whose frown was death:
On throne and altar fierce he trod;
He moved and found no resting-place;
Shook the broad hills his thunder-pace:
And thousand thousands round him flew,
For him to fight, for him to bleed,
His name their watchword and their creed:
And sternly bade the Monarch yield;
But Winter call'd her vassal train,
Famine and frost and hurricane:
Shriek'd vale and mountain as she pass'd;
With wrath more deadly than the sword
Upon the foe her tempests pour'd:
The mighty men of war lay low,
The blood was frozen in their veins,
Their bones were scatter'd on the plains.
March'd proudly from their fatherland:
Of fields, of glory dreamt the brave,
Of conquest or a soldier's grave.
Who scorn'd the earth and heaven defied?
I wis not what his visions were;
But his awaking was despair.
XII.
The poet's love can never die:
He pants for gales that ever blow,
He thirsts for streams that ever flow:
Yet dazzling as the orb of day,
Light as the silver-shining rill,
Yet, as the ocean, deep and still.
Now sparkles like the butterfly,
Now like a swallow skims the stream,
Now basks him in the sunny beam.
To hear his lay, the winds are mute,
And air and heaven and earth and sea
Swell with deep love and sympathy.
O'er regions vast, to man unknown;
He comes, and tells where he hath been,
He comes, and tells what he hath seen;
Of his unearthly wanderings,
And whispers into kindred ears
A music tuned for happier spheres.
Of love divine he finds the trace,
In woman more than beauty sees,
In life unnumber'd mysteries:
Fresh glories ever weaveth he;
Truthful and bright and spirit-free
He dreams of immortality.
WOMAN.
[I.]
All our joys from thee begin:
Tis our sweetest task to woo thee,
Tis our dearest hope to win.
All was bright in earth and sky;
All rejoiced; his bosom only
Heav'd with pain, he knew not why:
Thrill'd through all his frame was he,
As when waters uncongealing
Dance in light and liberty:
All he had desired was there,
Gift of Heaven, for him created,
Love to wake, and bliss to share.
II.
Sports with every flower that blows,
Tasting sweets, but none approving,
Till he finds the summer rose;
And the flower he loves the best
Courts with all his softest breezes,
Lingers on her balmy breast:
But alone with rosy chain
In a bower of bliss enduring
Woman can his heart detain.
III.
In his dismal dream-like moods;
Thinks himself the clearest-sighted,
When o'er darkest thought he broods:
At the break of morning-tide,
Melancholy dreams to banish,
Cometh woman to his side;
In the light of beauty free
He beholds himself awaken
To a blest reality.
IV.
Dark and wild his spirits flow;
With his neighbour war he wages
Of his brother makes a foe:
Rouse the billows of the deep,
Mermaids rising o'er the ocean
Sing the troubled waves to sleep;
Unto woman's gentle sway,
She shall breathe a charm so tender,
All his rage shall melt away.
V.
On the bed of sickness pines,
When the wretch with anguish weary
To despair his heart resigns,
Woman sheds her rainbow smile,
Speaks the word of hope to cheer him
And the painful hour beguile.
Such the voice we hope to hear,
Such the light to shine before us
Streaming from a happier sphere.
All our joys from thee begin:
Tis our sweetest task to woo thee,
Tis our dearest hope to win.
MORNING.
Nearer now and nearer;
Silver-bright in a robe of light,
Clearer now and clearer?
Radiant are her glances:
Twilight fades, and distant shades
Melt as she advances.
Waving down her shoulder:
Clouds with fringe of saffron tinge
Like a scarf enfold her:
Like the bloom of roses;
Like the flush of a maiden's blush,
That her love discloses.
Spirits young and airy,
From their sleep in the misty deep
Rise to greet the fairy.
Gaily flock around her,
Fluttering and frolicking,
Happy to have found her.
In mine ear is ringing:
Oh that I had wings to fly!
There would I be singing!
Sheds benignly o'er them;
Yet she will be mounting still
In the clouds before them.
Into sunny splendours:
Who can tell to what holy spell
She her soul surrenders?
As when one believing
Mysteries unearthly sees
Past the mind's conceiving:
Faster falls and stronger;
And those eyn so dazzling shine,
I can gaze no longer:
Is my mortal yearning)
Drink the rays, till in their blaze
Were my bosom burning.
Of those forms remaining,
In the clear blue atmosphere
Silent beauty reigning:
Mountains fall asunder,
Hills arise and kiss the skies;
Lost am I in wonder!
CHANTICLEER.
Now shakes his pinion strong, his dames awaking,
The gallant Chanticleer:
Down leaping from his perch, and slumber scorning,
Thrice lifts he up his head, and thrice the morning
Greets with a lusty cheer.
Like silver chimes from out the steeple ringing
Thy song is, Chanticleer:
Glad tidings thou to sons of earth revealest,
To dreams and darkness an alarum pealest
Scattering their spectres drear.
The bat in air with drowsy murmur flitting,
They hide them, Chanticleer:
The famish'd wolf about the graveyard howling,
The midnight robber in the forest prowling,
They slink away for fear.
Have quit their dewy glens as blithe and cheery
As thou art, Chanticleer:
What glee, when all the air with song they sprinkle,
A thousand plumes aloft with splendour twinkle,
The sun approaching near!
Thinks of her toilsome task and scanty earning,
Till warn'd by Chanticleer,
Her lamp and embers she prepares to kindle,
Then says her early prayer, and plies her spindle,
To feed the children dear.
Him from his pallet-bed thou callest daily,
Thou neighbour Chanticleer:
The stubborn breast of earth with might subduing,
He renovates the year.
Tis time, he knows, altho' the morn shines dimly,
When croweth Chanticleer:
Soon shall he scour the mead, the vale, the dingle,
While hound and horn their noisy uproar mingle,
Sweet music to his ear.
That love the balmy air, the morning's beauty,
Hearken to Chanticleer:
From him, ye sluggards, inspiration borrow,
Awake, arise, and dream not of the morrow,
For lo, to-day is here.
Thou rousest me from soft refreshing slumber,
Thy matin voice I hear:
I go to wander o'er the sunlit mountain,
I go to plunge me in the sparkling fountain
Thanks to thee, Chanticleer!
THE STREAM OF LIFE.
Waters pour along;
Rill from mountain gushing
Cheers the earth with song;
Rivers full of gladness
Kiss the meadows fair;
Cataracts in madness
Plunge they reck not where.
Wherefore do ye flow?
O'er the meads and mountains
Whither do ye go?
Gliding, leaping, springing,
Endless waterfall,
Murmuring, roaring, singing,
Sea receives you all.
In a varied stream;
Manhood's brisk endeavour
Follows youthful dream;
Make the moments fly;
Soldiers in the battle
Strive they know not why.
Do we toil and play?
Busy hours and pleasure
Whither lead us they?
All in restless motion
Ever hurrying fast,
In a boundless ocean
Death receives at last.
HUMANITY.
Why do the moonbeams play
O'er rippling waters, like a child
Upon a holiday?
And bids it gently move;
Birds wake their tuneful melody,
And fill the air with love.
That from the greenwood peeps,
In verdure glistening after shower
Like beauty when it weeps.
Their anger passes by;
And lovely is the tempest's lull,
And sweet the rainbow sky.
That human hearts may learn
To tame the savage and the wild,
To soothe the proud and stern.
Unbend thy haughty brow:
Twas gentle woman gave thee birth,
And once a child wast thou:
And thou wert born for woe:
Then welcome joy, that comes to bless,
And check not pity's flow.
Without a smile to cheer,
And heavier would affliction come
Unsoften'd by a tear.
COURAGE.
Praise to each heart, that honest courage warms:Praise to the soldier disciplin'd in arms,
Who firm and fearless on the battle-day
One duty knows, his leader to obey,
Hears but the word that him to victory calls,
And in the moment of his glory falls.
Yea, not unblest is he. Yet happier those,
Who make no war but with their country's foes,
Ne'er draw the sword but in a rightful cause,
For their own hearth and home, their faith, their laws.
And happier still is he, who ne'er put on
The soldier's garb, no laurel ever won;
But bears a heart of purpose firm and high,
To fight the great life-battle manfully,
Himself, his pride and passions to subdue,
The path of right unswerving to pursue,
Despising pleasure, wealth, and world-renown,
Earning his heavenly meed, a bright immortal crown.
THE PARTING LOOK.
No sparkling gem for me:
I need not, Love, such tokens hold,
To make me think of thee.
To bring thee back to view;
Within my breast thine image dwells,
My heart reflects it true.
With mimic colours glow;
For others let the stately form
From sculptur'd marble grow.
Each feature bright and rare,
Each line of loveliness and grace;
The soul is wanting there.
Upon the parting day?
The last and sad farewell we took
When I was torn away?
Said more than tongue could tell:
I read the anguish of thy soul
That choked the word Farewell.
That moment to restore:
But love, fond love recalls it still
To live for evermore.
A SERENADE.
Here are none our steps to view;
Nothing but the wind thou hearest
Murmuring the night-air through.
(Moonbeams now the mountains kiss;)
When the lover's heart is lightest:
Oh, for him no time like this!
Mountains blaze with hotter fires;
But the lover's warmth it freezes,
Heart from heart dismay'd retires.
Tender thoughts begin to move;
Heart again for heart is yearning,
And the spirit wakes to love.
Into that which we conceal;
Jealous ears are quick to hear us,
If we speak of that we feel.
Softly round him weaves her veil;
Then can he his hopes discover,
Then the maiden hear his tale.
Nought there was but moon and sky,
They their influence shedding o'er us,
In thine ear I breath'd a sigh;
Throbb'd with gentle pang my breast;
Laura's eye with kindness glisten'd,
I was loved and I was blest.
Here are none our steps to see;
With thy lover nought thou fearest,
Thou art all the world to me.
THE ROSE.
Written for my Daughter Rose's First Birthday.
And many a flower sweetly blows;
But one is the dearest of all to me;
Tis the joy of my heart, 'tis the Rose.
I have snowdrops fair, I have pansies rare,
I have daisies that carpet the ground,
The whitethorn of May with its delicate spray,
And woodbine that clusters around:
But the flower of my soul hath a lustre more bright,
And a loveliness deeper than those;
The pride of the garden, the summer's delight,
Oh! the queen of them all is the Rose.
The tulip with rich scarlet glows,
A mantle of gold the daffodil wears;
Yet none may compare with the Rose.
This darling of mine, her blush is divine;
She smiles like the Goddess of day;
I feast on the bliss of her dewy kiss,
Till it charms my sense away.
As their bud and their bloom they disclose;
I blend them in garlands, I twine them in bowers;
In my bosom I carry the Rose.
With her hail and her storm and her snows;
And things that are fairest in our pleasant home
Must wither alike with the Rose:
The perishing green of this sylvan scene
Bleak winds of November shall sweep,
The glories of June on earth shall be strewn,
And flowers in their cold bed shall sleep:
But whilst I have life, my love shall endure;
Like a fountain for ever that flows,
Like a sunbeam that shines immortal and pure,
Is the love of my heart for the Rose.
THE ROSE'S ADDRESS.
Spoken by my Daughter Rose at some private theatricals on her Seventh Birthday.
Just seven Summers have gone by,Since first a little bud was I:
Time works a change; so I suppose,
I'm now expanding to a Rose.
The morn that welcom'd me to earth
My parents fondly for my sake
A day of mirth and gladness make,
And twine me of mine own sweet flower
A garland for the festal hour.
Yet this, my friends, I'd have ye know,
Is not design'd for empty show,
But simply wreath'd, that I may wear
A rose for every passing year,
To mind me on my natal day
How quick the summers glide away,
And teach me, as in years I rise,
I ought to grow more good and wise.
THE ROSE'S ADDRESS
On her Eighth Birthday.
Another year hath flitted by;How quick the hours and minutes fly!
Another rose adorns my brow,
And I am changed, I know not how.
It is for you, my friends, to tell,
If I have used the minutes well,
The symbol of a new-born year.
I greet you all: may your good will
And gentle thoughts attend me still;
And I will study all my days,
How best I may deserve your praise.
THE ROSE'S ADDRESS
On her Ninth Birthday.
Another year a ninth rose brings,And I must speak more pretty things.
The Muses were in number nine,
Preceptresses of song divine:
Nine roses may perchance inspire
My lips with some poetic fire.
A rose am I, and therefore wear
A rosy garland round my hair:
But these which on my brow you see
Are blossoms not akin to me;
For I am from a distant place,
A rosebud of another race:
I on a lovely summer's morn
Mid vales of Hertfordshire was born,
Than those which shed their sweetness here.
To that dear home my memory clings
With many fond imaginings,
How there within the garden bower
I bloom'd a little infant flower.
Yet wheresoe'er I may be found
Transplanted from my native ground,
Contented with my lot I'll be,
And wear a smile of gaiety;
At least when friends are in my view
So gracious and so kind as you.
PROLOGUE TO AN ALBUM.
A present for my daughter MayOn her returning natal day.
Tis ask'd, this Album to begin,
That I should put some tribute in:
Then let me first in simple verse
The customary wish rehearse,
That many a birthday she may see
As happy as on earth can be.
As prologue to the little book,)
A word or two upon its use
Were not amiss to introduce.
Let nothing be permitted here
In any fashion to appear,
In print or writing, rhyme or prose,
That doth not to the mind disclose
Or open to the fancy's view
Some glimpses of the just and true.
I do not ask for lofty rhyme,
Inventive power or strains sublime,
Which might exalt an author's name
To pinnacles of worldly fame:
Yet I would have it understood,
Whatever enters must be good,
In moral sound, without offence
To purity and innocence,
A lesson for the virtuous fair,
E'en though a sportive garb it wear.
Such offerings bring ye: none but they
Are worthy of my daughter May.
THE DANCING CHILD.
That floats on summer's breast,
When not a leaf is seen to stir,
And winds are lull'd to rest.
That curls upon the deep,
When Ocean in his stilly cave
Begins to wake from sleep.
Tis like a shadowy gleam
Cast by the aspen quivering
Upon a mountain stream.
That steals along in fear,
Lest happy lovers in their bower
Her passing tread should hear.
That dance their airy rings;
A lighter fairy here behold
Than all the poet sings.
Of earthly mould is she;
No wizard nor enchanter's wand
Could make her bound so free.
Nor name of sorrow knew,
Tis this that makes her dance in air
So elfin-like to view.
In every step is joy:
Oh, let not age her infant dreams
Too ruthlessly destroy.
THE MAID OF LUCERNE.
The deer upon the fern:
There stood beside the glassy lake
A maiden of Lucerne.
Was like the wave, clear blue,
Soft as the ray a moonlit sky
Upon the water threw.
“Oh, all is sad to me;”
She said—“I cannot choose but weep,
Whene'er this spot I see.
Under the linden bough:
The tears were falling down my cheek,
As they are falling now.
My gallant mountaineer:
And gently he my fears did chide,
And kiss'd away the tear.
His long white plume it waved;
His broad sword-hilt he grasp'd and swore
Danger and death he braved:
That he would rich return,
And happy then our days should be
In his own dear Lucerne.
In poverty to bide;
For surely riches ne'er were meant
Fond lovers to divide.
Why should the Switzer roam?
The mountain heights our castles are,
The pleasant vale our home;
And sings his country song;
He hath no care his heart to grieve;
Merry he trips along:
On holidays is seen,
Contending for the rustic prize,
Or dancing on the green;
And clasps his maiden dear,
And sweetly smiles, and whispers low
What she is pleased to hear:
And look'd so fond and true,
And whisper'd words so warm and soft
That to my heart he grew.
Each swifter than the last:
But now I only weep and sigh
To think upon the past.
And I have hoped in vain:
Though day and night I wish and pray,
He cometh not again.
He ne'er had left me so;
I should have wept and pray'd and knelt,
Or e'er I let him go.
And I did all believe:
Oh, why should maids to men give ear,
Or men fond maids deceive?
He never will return:
And vainly I my grief deplore
Upon thy banks, Lucerne.”
ELYSIUM.
Fortunatorum nemorum sedesque beatas.
Quæ gratia currûm
Armorumque fuit vivis, quæ cura nitentes
Pascere equos, eadem sequitur tellure repostos.
And gloomy realms of Pluto's rule
The happy Soul hath come:
And hark, what music on the breeze?
Twas like the tune of summer-bees,
A myriad-floating hum.
A welcome to his blest abode,
That melody of sound:
And lo, the sky all azure-clear,
And liquid-soft the atmosphere:
It is Elysian ground.
The great Olympian Father's will
Are given these happy glades;
Where they from all corruption free
In unrestricted liberty
May dwell, etherial shades.
Amaracus and myrtle bloom,
And flowers of brightest hue,
The rose, the hyacinthine bell,
And amaranth and asphodel,
Are ever young and new.
Or glide with undulation sweet
Their verdant shores along;
And echoes are in every dale
Of airy harp and nightingale
And babbling water-song.
Each spirit moves in endless space
Advancing as he wills:
The summer lightnings gleam not so,
As life with ever varying flow
The tender bosom thrills.
Though consciousness they still retain
Of joys they left behind:
Whate'er on earth they held most dear,
To pure enjoyment hallow'd here
In golden dream they find.
Hath stretcht his weary limbs at ease,
And laid his burden down:
Around him gather'd harvests blithe
The field with plenty crown.
Bethinks him of his vanquish'd foes,
And martial sounds begin
To rattle in his slumbering ear,
The rolling drum, the soldier's cheer,
And dreadful battle-din.
Hath sever'd from a worthy mate,
Expects the destin'd hour,
When she shall come his bliss to share,
In beauty clad, divinely fair,
With love's immortal dower.
He sees her imaged to his mind,
And for her brow he weaves
A mystic bridal coronel,
Such as no poet's tongue can tell,
Nor human heart conceives.
Of fond companions hand in hand
Is led into the grove;
And straight for his beloved he looks;
Around the vales, the meads, the brooks,
His eyes impatient rove.
Reclined he sees, by her is seen,
And in a moment both
Together rush, like sunbeams meet,
And in a perfect union sweet
Renew their early troth:
Around the pair in rapture stand,
And songs triumphal chime:
Oh, this is love, and life to live,
Such joy as Hymen cannot give;
Soul-harmony sublime!
THE SOLAR SYSTEM.
In long array the angels stood to view;
Thro' the vast empyrean thunders roll'd;
God to his great design pronounced it true.
The host of planets into motion sprang,
Dazzling with sudden whirl the angels' ken;
Louder and louder hallelujahs rang.
A rush of elements and flash of fire,
As comets hurl'd abroad, or lightning-gleams
Shot thro' the void in darkness to expire.
Wheel in a circle and revolving go,
Each in a track of unextinguish'd light;
Order and beauty from confusion grow.
Swing in a mystic dance those radiant spheres,
Chiming their choral hymn, whose echoes fall
Thro' depths of silence on celestial ears.
They feel thy stirring power, thy doom fulfil:
The universe thy light, thy law displays,
The harmony of thine almighty will.
SCIENCE AND POESY.
Pursued his chariot-way,
Unyoked his coursers in the main
And quench'd his burning ray:
He guides revolving spheres;
Earth wheeling her appointed course
Completes the days and years.
The morning dawns and fades,
The mountains blaze with noonday flame,
And cast their evening shades;
Outspreads her bounteous store;
The field with fruit and harvest glows,
The streams their music pour.
Though Science wrings from time
The secrets of the vast unknown;
Though striving Heaven to climb,
And seems of power divine;
The heart from earth she cannot raise
To worship at her shrine.
Her golden-stringed lyre;
The heart of man she captive takes,
And sets his soul on fire;
And realms of beauty shows,
And then his eye, before so dim,
All bright and piercing grows.
Still wondrous art he learns,
And by her magic influence
Earth into Heaven he turns.
FAME.
The poet cries, as Flaccus did;
“One have I built more firm than brass,
And higher than the pyramid.”
In cold oblivion shalt lie:
The epitaph thou shalt not read,
That speaks thy praise to passers by.
From north to south, from east to west;
But thou her voice shalt never hear;
Its echoes ne'er shall break thy rest.
Or it may float upon the wind
Unto an ear that heeds it not,
And leave no kindred thought behind.
With all his mystic treasur'd lore;
And many a sage, that mighty was
In olden time, is known no more:
We strive in vain their forms to see;
Like shadows thro' the dim obscure,
They vanish at our scrutiny.
Before our tribe on earth had place;
They wrote on parchment, stone, or wood;
Yet what of them is now the trace?
Hath been the mighty Spoiler's prey,
The true, the beauteous, the sublime,
With land and ocean swept away.
The wreck of ages yet survives;
Writer and book have perish'd both;
An ichthyosaurus both outlives.
THOUGHT AND DEED.
Full many an idle deed may do;
Yet not a deed or thought shall perish,
Not one but he shall bless or rue.
There's not a bough or leaf can fall,
But of its falling heed is taken
By One that sees and governs all.
And buried in the earth remain;
Yet from its juices rank and rotten
Springs vegetating life again.
And nothing ever wholly dies,
And things, that are destroyed in seeming,
In other shapes and forms arise.
Of unseen works by spirit wrought;
And not a work, but hath its issue
With blessing or with evil fraught.
All memory of the sinful past;
Yet oh, be sure, thy sin shall find thee,
And thou shalt know its fruits at last.
THE MURDERER.
Methought I was alone! Yet if a single eyeBeheld the bloody deed, oh, whither shall I fly?
And what if none of mortal? The eye of God was there:
From Him I cannot fly; for He is everywhere.
I wander from my home; yet He is ever near:
I travel o'er the sea; yet still his voice I hear:
Above the thunder-roar of billows and of skies
His voice is in mine ear: Thou murderer! it cries.
In busy crowds I plunge; but all my presence shun,
As if they surely knew the deed that I had done:
I go from place to place, turn sunshine into gloom;
My guilt is like my shadow, to mind me of my doom:
The curse of Cain is this. I saw an infant late,
That in her arms a mother was holding at the gate;
It threw its little eyes in curious haste around,
And still in every object some new enjoyment found;
And then on me it look'd, and shudder'd with affright,
And to the bosom shrank recoiling at my sight.
With pallid quivering lip: Thou man of blood, away!
Yet I was once a child, and innocent as he;
And shone the light of heaven as hopefully on me:
A happy home was mine, and I had parents fond,
Who cherish'd and who loved me all other things beyond:
I've heard them tell how often they listen'd to my talk,
And how my mother led me upon the green to walk;
And how she used to sit beside me as I slept,
And watch me till the tear upon her eyelid crept:
They gave me names endearing, their darling pet, their lamb;
They little thought that I should e'er be what I am!
The steeple-bell it rang, as we to church did go;
I well knew every note, as it swung to and fro:
A song of peace it was, that told of happier climes;
Of this I did not think, tho' I loved the merry chimes;
But now I cannot bear to hear a village bell;
The merriest note to me is like a funeral knell.
That hand is stiff and cold, that guided me with care;
That voice is hush'd, that taught me to lisp my infant prayer;
And sunken are those eyes, that loved my sports to view,
Or, as away I bounded, my roving steps pursue.
How gently would they chide me, that I their counsel spurn'd,
As from some feat of peril a truant I return'd!
For I rejoiced in freedom to roam the mountains o'er,
To see the broken clefts and hear the torrent roar,
To pierce thro' rugged paths, the precipice to scale,
Outrun the forest-deer, and fly before the gale.
And mock'd the rising waves, but never frown'd on me:
Majestic in its fury swept over me the blast,
And pine and cedar groan'd, I quail'd not as it pass'd:
I listen'd to the thunder, and wish'd it not to cease;
It tore the cloudy rack, but left my heart at peace:
For innocence was there; the passions unassay'd;
Acquaintance none with hate and anger I had made:
Twas first in human haunts that these I learn'd to know;
Twas there I first encounter'd the rival and the foe;
There felt the breath of scorn, the lip of cold disdain,
The rankling bite of malice, that loves another's pain:
Then passions to inflame me with feverish force began;
The bitter fruit was this of fellowship with man.
The lion's rage is quench'd, when he hath seized the prey;
He makes not of his pangs a pastime and a play:
It is the human beast that wreaks his deadly spite,
Leaves venom in the wound, in torture takes delight.
Relentless tyrant man! Accursed be his race!
And curst the hours when I among them found a place!
Nay, rather curst be thou, who dar'st thy race malign!
No mercy thou didst show: a fiendish arm was thine!
Fast, warm the lifestream flow'd, the blood that thou didst spill:
Twas red upon the earth; 'tis red and streaming still:
No sea can wash it out: the blood that once is shed
Shall live to cry aloud upon the guilty head.
Oh, could some mountains rise myself and me between!
Yet mountains mountain-piled could never hide that scene!
The past were now my present, eternity begun.
A single thought, a moment, my wrathful arm had stay'd,
Perchance some pitying angel had summon'd to my aid:
Ah me! revengeful wrath nor man nor angel heeds,
But instant to its purpose like the lightning speeds.
Yes: stormful were my passions; to monster strength they grew;
No friendship on my youth did shed its kindly dew;
And they were in the grave, whose tender love had tried
To heal my festering wounds and soothe my angry pride:
And lonely I was left! Behold that ragged boy:
His footstep lightly moves, and in his heart is joy;
Or, if with pain it swells, the teardrop softly flows,
He tells his mother all, and comfort she bestows.
But I have none my grief to comfort or to share;
My crime may not be whisper'd in the silent air.
Communion, converse, welcome, and sympathy denied,
Myself I cannot pity; the fount of tears is dried.
The sun is sinking low, day hastens to its close,
And weary toilworn mortals shall have a brief repose;
The world shall be at rest; pain, poverty, disease,
All wretchedness but mine, shall be awhile at ease:
The vulture of the desert shall to her couch repair,
The foxes to their hole, the tiger to his lair:
But I can rest no more; no slumber visits me;
From thoughts that rack my soul no midnight sets me free;
But hideous dreams affright me, unearthly shapes arise;
I see that bleeding ghost with his red glaring eyes;
With fever on my brow and despair in my heart:
The dreams pursue me still, and nowhere can I flee;
Rest, refuge there is none, nor peace nor hope for me.
THE RIVER WYE.
The Wye rises very near the Severn, in the wilds of Plinlimmon; and after flowing through part of South Wales, Herefordshire, and Monmouthshire, empties itself into the Severn a little below Chepstow. The two rivers thus form all but an island.
Who will dare to follow,
Where ye overleap
Glens and caverns hollow?
O'er the darkness hover:
Where they hide themselves
Man may not discover.
Heard I not a moaning,
Melancholy sound,
Like a fairy groaning?
From the mountain risen:
Doth she not rejoice
To have left her prison?
Speaks her mournful-hearted;
For she comes alone,
From her sister parted;
She in deep recesses
Of the mountain-womb
Clasp'd with fond caresses.
Where was it she miss'd her?
Vaga, luckless maid,
Hast thou lost thy sister?
Thou shalt yet behold her;
In thy loving arm
Shalt again enfold her.
Lonely thou shalt ramble,
Many a weary mile,
Over brake and bramble;
Precipices under;
Places ever new
Thou shalt see and wonder;
Thou shalt often cheer thee,
Merry bound along,
And the woods shall hear thee;
Timorous and humble,
Now adown the steep
Bold and headlong tumble.
Of thy stilly waters
Mirror'd shall be seen
Cambria's fairest daughters;
Of thy hanging billow
Starry beams shall dance,
Rainbows make their pillow.
England shall receive thee;
Here soft beauty reigns;
Nothing more shall grieve thee:
Spires and lofty towers,
Castles peeping through
Ivy-cluster'd bowers;
All their riches mingle;
Verdure mantling o'er
Every dell and dingle:
Groves that bend to woo thee,
Thousand mazy rills
Pouring life into thee:
Home no more regretting,
E'en thy sister dear
For a while forgetting,
Many a nook and alley
Winding round and round,
Wouldst for ever dally.
Other thoughts will move thee,
When with visage pale
Hangs the moon above thee:
On the ruin yonder!
In those moss-grown walls
Shapes unearthly wander:
Through the shafted portal
Voices float in air,
Seeming more than mortal.
Echoing come so faintly?
From the tomb they rise,
Shadowy beings saintly:
E'er reveal their faces,
Though their footsteps leave
On the sward no traces:
Tis their ancient dwelling;
To each other talk,
Of their sorrows telling;
Sins to be forgiven,
Of the judgment-doom,
Of their faith in heaven.
Thou must sleep no longer!
Let thy waters rise
Swifter now and stronger:
All their depths in motion;
With a frothy surge
Heaving like the ocean;
In thy bosom rages;
Sure, that swelling breast
Something new presages:
Comes a nymph to meet thee,
Hither on the breeze
Music wafts to greet thee:
She of whom thou dreamest;
Ah! how comely grown,
Little yet thou deemest!
Hasten; thou shalt find her
With her yellow hair
Streaming loose behind her,
All majestic flowing,
On her virgin face
Crystal beauty glowing;
Up with joy thou leapest;
With a cry of glee
Down the vale thou sweepest:
Warm with love thou springest,
And the closer prest
Closer aye thou clingest.
Nothing more can sever:
To the boundless sea
Roll ye on for ever.
THE RAILWAY.
I look'd upon the bustling scene that broke upon my sight;
A motley crowd, the young, the old, the busy and the gay,
And carriage close to carriage link'd in long and bright array.
And spat forth hissing steam, as if impatient to be gone:
The signal rang; and like a ship just launch'd into the main,
With unimpeded easy march majestic moved the train.
And soon its full collected force in thunder roll'd along;
And swifter than the swiftest wind that flies from pole to pole,
Thought after thought incessantly came rushing on my soul.
The prospect all before him lies, no obstacle he knows;
No dalliance can him surprise, no weariness delay;
He never turns to pick the flowers that spring beside his way.
On huge earth-piles we mounted, and the vale beneath was spread:
Ye mighty of our kindred, what are hill and vale to you?
Ye raise the low, the rough ye plane, all Nature ye subdue.
They lifted up their heads, and stood regarding us with awe;
But us from field and meadow far the rapid moment bore,
And flocks were grazing, husbandmen were tilling as before.
We heed it not, perhaps in brief bewilderment we gaze;
We live among her harmonies, but study not their laws,
We reap creation's fairest fruit, but think not of the cause.
And children frolick'd on the grass, and laugh'd in merry mood;
And when the bulky train they saw, and heard the loud uproar,
They paus'd not in their merriment, but only laugh'd the more.
They think to move our wonder, when they only move our mirth:
The barge with all its bravery comes splashing down the tide,
But nought the little fishes care that under water glide.
And straight before with gaping jaws a cavern I beheld;
And all beyond that narrow mouth look'd hideous and grim,
A vista long of darkness lit by glimmering torches dim.
To dash thyself, and shiver'd in a thousand pieces fall!
And fearful tis to plunge into that solitary gloom!
How dare the living to explore the silence of the tomb?
The hollow echoes right and left reverberating ran:
And on it went right steadily. Thus Courage ever fares,
When forward on the path she goes, which Prudence well prepares.
And daylight brightly shone, and all was beautiful again;
And often, when in deepest gloom of sorrow we abide,
There breaks upon our dreariness a sudden morning tide.
Then slacken'd his impetuous course our wary charioteer;
The engine, like a hard-mouth'd steed that feels the curbing hand,
Came puffing to the station-side, and halted at command.
To some their toils have ended, when to others they begin;
And new companions still we find, and still the old we lose,
The dearest friends we cannot keep, the best we seldom choose.
Here's one with flushing countenance and sweat upon his brow
Down running to the platform comes; alas! too late, too late!
The train is off; for time and tide for no man ever wait.
And much I saw, and never did my spirit feel fatigue;
And if at times my weary eye on vacancy would rest,
The busy thought was never still self-stirring in my breast.
And neighbourhood, could one discern, with lessons deep is fraught;
Tis strange, that man from brother man small interval should part,
And nought they see or understand of one another's heart.
Like Selfishness, that holds her own, and gives to none a share;
The poor man heaven-canopied; the hailshot and the rain,
The tempest-wind may buffet him, and he may not complain.
The gardenman roots out the weed, but cherishes the rose;
Yet Heaven on flower and weed alike its dewy nurture sends,
And light and shade of human life mysteriously blends.
As in the solitude of heaven two stars each other greet;
And passing things seem'd shadowlike to flit before their eyes;
Their world was all within themselves, a dream of paradise.
And she had laugh'd and prattled much; but now with alter'd mien
Said, looking in her mother's face, “When shall we be at home?”
Her mother loook'd at her again; I thought the tears would come:
Upon her face the widow's cap its shade of sadness threw:
No husband waited her return; his step she would not hear;
And home to her a desert was, that once had been so dear.
Of troubling thoughts and memories to her they were not full:
The time may come, when she will look upon the dreary past,
And ask with sad remembrance, why the years have flown so fast.
Deep meanings in that furrow'd cheek and arching forehead lie:
Methought, in one keen flashing look the past and future met,
A struggle 'twas to seize on hope, and cast away regret;
Some nurseling of his anxious heart he darkly brooded o'er:
Could I thy meaning penetrate? Revolvest thou some plan
With honour pregnant to thyself and benefit to man?
A miserable prey to catch? Whate'er thou dost design,
The web shall be unwound at length, the mystery be told,
And dark be light, and thou thyself and others thee behold.
Forgetting them in sympathy for others' weal and woe:
To love and friendship let me live; no other hope is mine;
A few kind hearts are beating yet; and I will not repine.
The hearts of them thou carriest are swifter yet than thou.
A fiercer flame enkindles them. Tumultuous and blind,
In hope, in fear, they hurry on; thou laggest far behind.
Thou canst not yet move fast enough for Avarice and Guilt;
For her that counts and gloats upon the pelf she cannot see,
For her that flies from all the world, herself can never flee.
We cannot lengthen human life. The end is still as near.
Unstay'd by us, thro' light and darkness, over deep and shoal,
The billowy time-river sweeps right onward to its goal.
That with the spirit of the age thou dost too well agree;
Thou seemest with remorseless step self-confident to fly,
And man doth vaunt Salmoneus-like, and heavenly power defy.
Whose seraph-wing is waving now, illumining the earth!
And wondrous that machinery, that thunderpace of thine;
Yet he that moulded thee doth own his origin divine.
And thou shalt be to high and low, to rich and poor a friend;
And thou shalt scatter wide the seed of plenteousness and peace;
And man shall move him to and fro, and knowledge true increase.
THE HORSES.
RACER.Thro' my lattice the dawn I saw,
And fresh I rose from my bed of straw;
And quick the heart within me stirr'd,
Soon as my rider's voice I heard.
HUNTER.
I rose while yet the morn was pale;
With eager breath I snuff'd the gale;
But when I heard the bugle sound,
I knew no rest and I paw'd the ground.
I rose from the turf whereon I lay,
While night was melting into day;
For waked was I by sound of drum,
I knew the hour of battle was come.
RACER.
They led me where in long array
My rivals stood all sleek and gay;
And when I look'd on their gallant trim,
My blood it thrill'd thro' every limb.
HUNTER.
They led me where in medley throng
My comrades stood all stout and strong;
I laugh'd aloud, and shook my mane,
I long'd to be scouring o'er hill and plain.
WAR-HORSE.
They led me where for fight array'd
My comrades stood in full brigade;
I long'd to be charging on the foe,
And man and horse in the dust to throw.
RACER.
My rider wore a cap of blue,
His coat was all of crimson hue:
Light were the colours, and bright they shone:
It was a brave caparison!
A scarlet coat my rider had;
His countenance, like his heart, was glad;
And his glowing cheek and flashing eye
Shone like the sun in the eastern sky.
WAR-HORSE.
A coat of scarlet too had mine,
That shone with gold and silver-twine,
A helm of steel, and a waving plume
That frown'd as black as the midnight gloom.
RACER.
In line we stood; the signal rang;
Then from the barrier forth we sprang;
The turf before us like velvet spread,
Melted the ground beneath my tread.
HUNTER.
The hounds they bay'd, the horn it blew,
They scour'd the underwood thro' and thro';
And soon there rose a brisk halloo;
The game was up, and away we flew.
WAR-HORSE.
The music in our ears that play'd
Was the roar of deafening cannonade;
Thro' clouds of smoke we led the way
With steady march to begin the fray.
Oh! twas a glorious sight to see
Our feats of strength and rivalry;
While shouts behind and shouts before
But urged us on to speed the more.
HUNTER.
Oh! twas a glorious sight to see
The burst of chase o'er vale and lea;
Steeds bravely vieing with dogs and men:
It was no time for dallying then!
WAR-HORSE.
Oh! twas a dreadful sight to see
The meeting of hostile cavalry;
The torn-up earth with the fallen spread,
The dying mingled with the dead!
RACER.
Foremost I shot, and strain'd my eyes
To see the goal and win the prize;
I saw it not, and I flew with the wind,
For I heard the tramping of feet behind.
HUNTER.
The chase grew hotter, and on I went
Dashing o'er all impediment,
Springing aloft like a bird of air,
Plunging headlong, I reck'd not where.
Over the bodies and bloody plash,
All amid bullets and sabre-clash,
Bravely to conquer, or nobly to die,
Where the combat was thickest, there flew I.
RACER.
I look'd, and I saw the goal at length,
And I gather'd all my might and strength,
And ere another minute had flown,
The line was pass'd, and the prize my own.
HUNTER.
The prey was in view, he was faint and slack,
Close at his heels the yelling pack;
Foaming I came and panting for breath,
Just as he gave his shriek of death.
WAR-HORSE.
One onset more! They spurr'd our flanks,
We fell like a tempest on broken ranks;
All was slaughter and mingled cry,
Ours were the shouts of victory.
To C. W.
[The father of the lady to whom these lines are addressed was an officer in the Indian army, and served in the campaign against Tippoo Saib. He was severely wounded, and lost his hearing and his sight. His daughter was for many years in constant attendance upon him, conversing and reading to him with her fingers.]
A daughter's faithful service was at hand,
Recalling to his ear full many a page
Of ancient wisdom and a classic age;
Blest maiden, who could recompense the care
Of such a father, and his loss repair!
Nor less, Cecilia, do we view in thee
An image true of filial piety;
Whose parent through a dreary length of years
Afflicted sore a double burden bears.
An ear is his with cold obstruction bound,
Dead to the world of harmony and sound;
Eyes lustreless, that never greet the day
Or feel the bright effulgence of her ray:
But for a daughter's love, the same sad gloom
That wraps the senses would the mind entomb.
Thou, fond one, at his side art ever near,
His wants to aid, his solitude to cheer:
By finger-speech to commune with thy sire,
By touches light and nimble to convey
Whatever pen could write or tongue could say.
From silent darkness thou hast set him free,
Thou mak'st the deaf to hear, the blind to see.
Accomplish'd lovely dame, by nature fit
To dazzle by thy beauty or thy wit,
Expert in mazes of the dance to swing,
Or wake sweet echoes from the tuneful string,
Thy soul, for ever placid and serene,
Eschews the tumult of the festive scene,
The gay saloon, the rout, the midnight ball
Content to quit for sacred duty's call.
Be thine the meed to virtuous daughters given,
A father's blessing and approving Heaven!
ODE
On the Birth of the Prince of Wales, November 1841.
That peal that shakes the ground?
Again and yet again! I know the sound!
Tis the cannon's voice that says Rejoice!
England an heir hath found!
A Prince, a Prince is born! The welcome word
From tongue to tongue hath pass'd along,
And the City's heart is stirr'd!
From street to street in throngs they meet;
Men are there with brows of care,
Children by the mother led;
Sickness hath forsook her bed,
Poverty hath ceased to toil,
Hush'd is angry strife and broil;
All one thought inspires:
Quick and anxious hurrying by,
They ask each other eagerly
If 'tis a dream that mocks their fond desires.
It is no dream! That chime of bells
With all its power from the lofty tower
The tale of gladness tells:
And lo where on high, saluting the sky,
Our country's loyal banner is unfurl'd:
Arise, arise, rejoice, thou City of the world!
To crown our hopes is come;
Beams the light of heavenly grace
On yonder kingly dome.
Princely Child and Mother fair,
The hopes of all our race:
And he is near, to England dear,
Who sees reflected from an infant face
Himself, the Father to a line of kings.
Victoria smiles upon her boy,
Victoria knows the joy,
That only from a parent's bosom springs;
Or haply down the royal cheek
A pearly tear-drop steals,
Telling what no words can speak,
All the wife, the parent feels.
Yes, she shall melt with tender love opprest;
She, in whose heart all England treasur'd lies,
And mightiest empire's destinies,
Now in her hour of weakness shall be blest:
She for her babe shall breathe the silent prayer,
And for a while forget a kingdom's care.
There shall be mirth and festival,
And none so poor but in that festive glee
Shall have their share, while sport and game
And pageantries proclaim
A nation's jubilee.
Cities a blaze of splendour shall raise,
Dazzling the moon, and turning night to day,
Till morning-blush hath summon'd him away.
In Cambrian vales the minstrel wild
Llewellyn's heir shall sing,
Llewellyn's heir and England's child
The mountain echoes ring.
Nor Scotia's voice, nor Erin shall be dumb;
Her song of triumph o'er the wave shall come:
Some hand of fire shall seize the lyre,
And to a sacred rapture wake the string.
Your mirth be temper'd: bend the knee
To Him who for our Queen hath wrought
From pangs of death delivery:
To Him whose mercies never end
Let this our lowly orison ascend.
To prince and peasant, high and low,
Look, we beseech, with aspect mild
Upon the Mother and the Child!
The Mother to her strength restore,
Upon the Child thy mercies pour!
Grant that he grow
To manhood's prime and kingly majesty,
And learn his people and himself to know:
True to our faith, our laws, and liberty,
A light to us, a minister to Thee!
Oh, while I pray on this auspicious day,
Do Thou my soul inspire!
Now blessed be the morn
On which this child was born!
Blest be his princely Sire!
Long life to her that England's sceptre sways;
But still be thine, O Lord, the glory and the praise!
THE BRITISH EMPIRE.
Written on the occasion of the Birth of the Prince of Wales, November 1841.
Big with a nation's joy my heart o'erflows,
And bids me speak my triumph to the air:
Hear me, ye winds; proclaim
To all of British name,
To join the choral song, the gladness share.
Victoria's race shall never die!
Roll, Father Thames, roll onward to the sea,
And tell the waves their destiny:
Subjects of our crown are they:
Bid them now to Britain's shore
With dance and music let them come,
Sparkling, light, and frolicsome:
Victoria's heir is born this day;
Her children's children still shall rule these isles:
Let earth and ocean wear their newest smiles!
And bid all nations hail,
Where'er the British sail
Hath borne from home her roving mariners,
Bold hearts and true, an empire to subdue,
Or succour frail distress,
Or clear the wilderness,
Or open mighty worlds to Wisdom's view.
Your colours unbind, and give to the wind!
All by the bay of dark Biscay
Speed ye along and never stay,
Carry the news of our joyful day
To the pillars twain, where in the main
The Sun-god dipp'd his car,
And Calpe's rock defies the shock
Of tempest and of war:
The gardens trim where the oranges bloom,
And the honey-bee loves their rich perfume;
In ancient story sung;
The rugged strand of Ithaca's land,
To which the Wanderer clung;
Zacynthian fruity fields, and uplands blue
Of olive-clad Corfu:
Linger not, but hasten on
To vales of piny Lebanon;
There shall ye say,
A son to her is born, whose thunderstroke
On Acre's walls cast wild dismay
And Egypt's empire shook.
Ye Syrian maids, your garlands twine,
Rejoice, ye girls of Palestine!
Ye may sit at ease in your rosy bowers,
And chant your lays at evening hours:
To Sion's holy mount and Siloa's brook
The pilgrim now may come with hymn and prayer,
Unscathed by Copt and Mameluke,
Secure of Paynim snare.
Tis Britain doth command:
Steer for Afric's parch'd domain,
For Sierra's gleaming sand,
Whose dusky children bless the hand
That broke th' oppressor's chain.
And headland clad with vines,
Whose peaceful key of the southern sea
Britannia ne'er resigns;
Onward thence o'er the main immense,
Where earth's great round with a zone is bound,
Where the windless prow
Is hurried along by the ocean's flow,
To the spicy gales that fill your sails
From groves of myrrh and frankincense,
To the sultry tide where the dolphins glide
Gamboling oft on the amber spray,
And mariners ever devoutly pray
For the albatross their masts to cross
And speed their homeward way.
To rugged coasts of Malabar,
To Comorin's peak and rich Golconda's vale;
Go tell the tale
In palmy groves, where India's patient son
Weaves the soft web, and, when his work is done,
Hies from the noontide beam
To rest him in the shade
By overarching banyan made;
On Jumna's stream,
Where the hunters ride in their towers of pride
On Ganges' fertile flood, and snow-clad Himmaleh.
Tends the fair flock, and sings the rural lay;
His thoughts are far away
On Lomond's lake, or where a thousand rills
Pour down the side of mossy Cruachan:
Soft is the air, and cloudless heaven above;
Birds with gay plume the tranquil breezes fan,
And flowers of radiant beauty light the grove:
Him nor the cloudless heaven nor breezes mild
Nor gaudy-feather'd birds so well can please,
As the bare heath and mountains, where a child
He wander'd free and wild,
Full of young hopes and fantasies,
And when the eagle scream'd,
To him more musical it seem'd
Than sweetest song of nightingale;
And storms that o'er the mountain roll'd,
And mists that tipt with gold
Rose steaming from the vale,
To him more glorious to behold
Than skies of brightest azure were.
He too of Britain's joy shall hear:
With quicker heat his veins will beat,
When the glad tidings come,
To think of his native home:
For he knows full well, his heart can tell,
There shall be song and mirth on Scottish ground,
And pipe and flute shall not be mute,
And many a foot in ectasy shall bound.
O merry Scottish cheer!
O bonny kinsmen dear!
By exiles most beloved, tho' loved in vain!
O silver-whispering lakes!
O heather-blooming brakes!
There happy once was he; there would he be again!
And hoist their flags of victory:
The shore is yet with ruin strew'd,
The city wrapt in gloom,
Slaves who their own destruction woo'd
In silence wait their doom;
The Briton from deck surveys the wreck
Of the stormy battle-day,
His fury quench'd, like a lion drench'd
With blood of his mangled prey.
Mild is his soul, save when at glory's call
He comes resolved to conquer or to fall;
Remorseful pity then away he throws,
While all his country in his bosom glows;
No power can resist him then,
Like a demon of strife, he mows down life,
And tramples on groaning men.
Him shall calmer thoughts employ,
Holier transports now,
Tidings of a nation's joy
Lighting up his brow:
Leaps not his heart at the happy news?
Methinks I can see the jovial crews;
I can hear the swell of their loud hurrah,
As they shout Long live Victoria!
What panic shall seize the pale Chinese!
Methinks I can see the Mandarin,
How he starts in his silken tent
At the sound of English merriment,
As if he had heard the battle-din.
Woe to ye, children of Cathay!
Where is all your vast array?
Where the pride of Tartar chivalry?
Invincible hosts are on your coasts;
Your feeble squadrons flee:
Not with the leopard strives the tender hind;
Birds of venturous flight
The sovereign eagle's might,
When struggling in his claw, too late shall find.
Haste from the field, and prompt submission yield;
With suppliant voice, not arms, accost the foe;
The meek he spares, but lays the haughty low.
Ye winds, your murmur cease:
A vision bright appears in sight,
The meek-eyed angel, Peace,
With love and mercy crown'd:
Upon th' Atlantic main she waves her dewy wings,
Her rainbow locks in air streaming, while thus she sings:
Hath blest the shores of Albion!
Peace and joy to all she sends,
Gracious arm to all extends;
Happy they whom she befriends.
Mild is her empire, just her reign:
She forges not a ruthless chain,
In vassalage the brave to keep,
And make his noble spirit weep;
She doth not arm the spoiler's hand;
She doth not send a flaming brand
To fright the peaceful, wound the just,
Or lay their cities in the dust;
She never strikes, till strike she must;
Then, at the word, right faithfully
Her ministers of vengeance fly,
A dark oppressive atmosphere.
Countless on their watery way
Bound her vessels light and gay;
Light as clouds that sail at e'en
Earth and silver moon between;
Gay as the larks that scorn
To rest on summer's morn.
See how they dance o'er the broad expanse,
Ever careering, never fearing;
Albion o'er the wave appearing
Calm and high, her sceptre shows;
Free and safe the wanderer goes;
They that rove to vex the seas,
Outrage foul and treacheries,
Vanish hence, nor dare, I ween,
To meet the wrath of the Ocean Queen.
In lone Guiana's sounding woods,
Or by the torrent floods,
That in thunder leap down Niagara's steep,
As if from heaven they fell:
Whether wrapt in furry hide
Ye chariot o'er the snowpath wide
To meet the blasts of Labrador;
Or whether on the heaving breast
Of Lawrence, breezy gulf, ye rest
The merry dashing oar,
That shed their silver blaze
On Abraham's height, which England's champion clomb
To win a deathless conquest and a tomb:
Ye who in tropic isles abide
The summer's torrid glare,
Where earthquakes rend the solid mountain-side,
Where the harvest in heaps a hurricane sweeps,
Or fever-damp from rain and swamp
Infects the putrid air:
Ye who on Winter's icy ground
Pursue the grisly bear,
Or huge Leviathan with steely wound,
Oft as he rises thro' the bleeding surge,
To flight and madness urge:
Ye who in Arctic regions frore
With storms eternal to the farthest bound
Of Nature pierce, her mysteries to explore:
Think of your native land, your mother home!
For she shall be to you
A mother fond and true;
Each gale that blows on balmy wing
The bounties of her love shall bring.
The name of England is a star
Your duteous path to cheer,
On watery wastes, on fields of war,
Thro' the world's vast length 'tis honour, strength;
A spell to assuage the tyrant's rage,
The savage to control,
To arm with might the freeman's right,
And thrill the patriot's soul.
With English birth and England's worth
What titles can compare?
Such wealth endures; it all is yours,
To boast, to feel, to share;
Her glorious hopes, her goodly seed
On Time's maturing bosom cast,
Her chronicles of thought and deed,
The memory of her mighty past.
Sons of one soil, tho' space may sever,
Yet kindred love unites for ever:
As fairy harps each other greet
With silver tones, that whining stray
Till one into another play;
Thus mutual aspirations meet,
And patriots waft o'er land and sea
The spirit of their loyalty.
Unblest is he, that cold and stern
For distant land ne'er heaved a sigh,
Whose hopes and wishes ne'er return
To where a father's ashes lie.
And what be they, who dare betray
Their fealty and faith,
To do their country scath?
Heirs of misrule, thro' sin and darkness borne,
While phantoms they pursue,
Themselves forsaken, outcast and forlorn,
Their madness they shall rue.
Shall be your guardian shrine,
Where still shall sit a Prince revered
Of ancient Saxon line.
Glad homage pay to his sceptred sway;
For in his behest ye shall all be blest.
Your hardy race from place to place,
In many a distant clime,
Shall be seeking abodes,
Traversing pathless roads,
In the east, in the west,
Like birds on their quest of a home of rest;
From whom, far scatter'd in revolving time,
A fruitful seed shall rise,
And lift Britannia's glory to the skies.
Victoria's heir shall view them from his throne,
And claim increasing millions for his own:
From side to side of his kingdom wide
His wakeful eye shall range,
His princely love, where'er they rove,
No distance shall estrange.
True royalty is this;
To feel how sacred is a people's charge,
Imperial care with empire to enlarge,
A nation's hopeful destinies to guide,
For weal of coming ages to provide;
On far and near, on great and small
With equal light and warmth to shine,
Of wisdom bounteous and benign
An omnipresence felt by all.
Thus at the sun's command the planets roll:
He of that radiant universe the soul,
Abiding in his majesty supreme,
Creation's law proclaims; the tuneful theme
Each planet echoing as it whirls along,
Responsive to his mighty thunder-song,
The fountain of their joy they circle round,
And thro' eternal space their harmonies resound.
TO HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS PRINCE ALBERT.
This Sonnet was prefixed to the Translation of Virgil, dedicated by permission to His Royal Highness, and published in 1849. It alludes more particularly to certain improvements in the course of Cambridge studies, suggested by the Prince after he had become Chancellor of the University.
Of him whose virtues have her people blest;
And for our glory shall it live exprest
In many a page of story and of song.
Yet marvel not, amidst a grateful throng,
If Granta's sons, her wisest and her best,
Should haste to pour in language unreprest
The overflowing of the heart and tongue.
Camus, the morn with beauty shone serene,
When Albert stept upon thy reedy shore;
The Muse a look of love and promise wore;
And Science now unshackled may be seen
With stately form and loftier than before
Pacing the alleys of thy margent green.
TO PATIENCE SWINFEN.
For an explanation of this Sonnet, I must refer to my Report of the case of Swinfen v. Swinfen, argued in the Court of Common Pleas in November, 1856. A perusal of the affidavits, which are annexed, will enable my readers to appreciate the calumnious attack made upon me, and the motives of those who made it. I trust that neither calumnies nor menaces (even from High Quarters) will ever deter me from doing my duty.
For thou shalt purge the volumes of her laws
Of many an idle page, of errors, flaws
By Ignorance traced, the record of her shame.
Thine was a courage singly to exclaim
'Gainst Might perverting Justice. For thy cause
Truth, Wisdom, Virtue, stand. The glad applause
Of millions greets thee. Honour'd be thy name!
The canting tones of dull Servility
In halls of Themis shall be heard no more;
And tricksters shall unlearn their crafty lore:
So potent is thy spell! At sight of thee
Behold where Treason skulks with conscious dread,
And base Corruption hangs her guilty head.
THE LATE DR. SAMUEL WARNEFORD.
The munificent benefactions of this gentleman are well known to his countrymen. For many years he devoted a large part of his income to public charities. The present Sonnet was first published in 1850, when Dr. Warneford had lost the use of his limbs.
In this sojourn of transitory woe
Imaginations holy, thoughts that glow
With earnest love sublime, thine hours employ.
Thou buildest up what time shall ne'er destroy:
While hearts of myriads, who thy goodness know,
With grateful benedictions overflow,
True faith is thine, and hopes without alloy.
No earthly triumphs can compare with these:
The guerdon of the righteous who can tell?
What angel forms, what influences cheer
Thine afternoon of life? Upon thine ear
Methinks already strains of rapture swell,
The prelude of celestial harmonies.
ON A DECEASED LADY.
The spirit of the beautiful is gone!No more do I behold that form of grace
Too frail for life, that earnest speaking face,
The seraph lustre in those eyes that shone.
Oh! thou art snatcht from earth, thou lovely one!
Yet in my soul's remembrance thou a place
Shalt ever hold; no other form can chase
Thine image thence; for there is like thee none.
Oft from her stem the rose ungently torn
Falls in the lap of earth, yet on the wind
Her fragrance to refresh new life is borne:
And thou art early lost, yet leav'st behind
Heart-quickening thoughts, that make us less forlorn.
Then fare thee well, thou flower of womankind!
MY COTTAGE IN HERTFORDSHIRE.
Heathbourne, thy rugged pines, thy furzy bound,So thick with bush and bramble overgrown,
Speak of a bygone time, perchance unknown
To living memory, when all around
Was barren joyless waste, no cottage crown'd
Reign'd o'er the scene and claim'd it for her own.
But now, dear Heathbourne, on thy cultured ground
Man's dwelling stands, within thy peaceful glade
The garden smiles in loveliness array'd;
On yonder modest wall the fig and vine
Luxuriant spread their leaves; thro' ivy shade
The honeysuckle peeps; and jessamine
And blushing rose their richest sweets combine.
VIEW OF A MANUFACTURING TOWN.
A wilderness of brickwork chokes the plain:A murky twilight covers it with gloom,
That lightnings could not clear nor suns illume:
Smoke from enormous chimneys pours amain
With flames that thro' the sooty darkness glare:
Infernal engines ply their strength within,
Redoubling stroke on stroke, with iron din
And ceaseless thunder-noise, stunning the air.
The forge 'twould seem of some Cyclopian crew:
No place for such as dote on mountain view,
On sylvan glade and flower-enamell'd ground:
But would ye see of life a picture true,
Tis here: in every motion, every sound,
Man breathes and pants and labours all around.
MALTHUSIAN THEORY.
Together dwell, within a narrow space
A myriad-swarming thriving populace;
For whom the Earth her bounty never scants,
Teeming with harvest equal to their wants.
Britons, herein the will of Heaven I trace:
Is it a crime to multiply our race
In us, this blessed Isle's inhabitants?
Fear we that Nature from her fruitful field
To toil should cease a recompense to yield?
Oh! she hath treasures that can never fail,
Stores inexhausted, virtues unreveal'd:
And hands and hearts unknowing how to quail
Shall still o'er dearth and penury prevail.
NATIONAL IMMORALITY.
Tis we that barren are; of earnest zeal,
Of hearts that boldly think and nobly feel;
Courage, that scorns the humble to oppress,
To serve the vicious, or the proud caress;
Virtue, that labours for the commonweal.
A selfish tribe no Providence will bless.
Behold; within our realm hath grown apace
A crop of foul desires and passions base,
Of vanities and vices, that pollute
The air of England and her sons disgrace.
Till from the nation's heart these weeds ye root,
What hope that it can bear a goodly fruit?
ALARMISTS.
On deeds of ancient story love to dwell,
And future eras by the past foretell:
In that which is to what hath been before
Some likeness they can find, and fancy more:
They mind us oft, how Rome or Carthage fell,
And with untimely sorrow ring the knell
Of England's glory, and her doom deplore.
Delusions fond! There is no book of fate
In which the doom of nations we can read.
Hold fast to virtue! This upholds a state:
To idle presage none but fools give heed.
Twas British hearts that made Britannia great:
Long may the land preserve her noble breed!
ENGLAND'S GLORY.
Deep musing on the glorious tales it told,
When to my sight, as thro' a mist unroll'd,
Appear'd the mighty of a bygone age,
Moving like spectres on a magic stage,
That gave in long succession to behold
Princes and starred peers and warriors bold,
And many a hoary statesman, bard and sage.
And one of godlike mien stood near the while,
Methought he seem'd the Genius of our isle;
And as each group advanced, triumphantly
He waved his hand and hail'd them with a smile;
And I could read in his majestic eye
The promise of a bright futurity.
DEMAGOGUES.
For tis usurp'd by men who in a name
Contrive the means to cloke their selfish aim.
It grieves me that in Virtue's catalogue
A place her baleful opposites should find;
Strut without shame, and vent their noisy rage,
To catch the vulgar ear and cheat mankind.
Freedom and Justice! ye whose sacred call
Commanded once the spirits of the brave!
Why now on ears unheeding doth it fall?
The demagogue, the braggart, and the slave
Profane ye with their praise; and statesmen sneer
At sounds that once were to a nation dear.
CHARTISTS.
Whose lot is toil and ignorance and pain,
Whom force alone and iron laws restrain,
Oft o'er their fancied wrongs in silence brood;
Or if, their heads full of conceptions crude,
They rise, and in a voice that cannot feign
They bellow forth their rage and fierce disdain,
In impious curses heaven and earth include.
E'en sworded Justice hath a tear for them.
Shame to the few with craftier heads endow'd,
Who lift not up their voices to condemn,
But into phrensy drive th' unhappy crowd,
And raise a hurricane they cannot stem:
Woe to their heads! the nation cries aloud.
BRITAIN AND IRELAND.
What matters ancient name or origin?
Long have we all in close communion dwelt
As comrades, neighbours, countrymen, and kin;
Shared common glories, and in danger felt
One hope, one courage bound our hearts within.
Erin and Britain! kindly Nature dealt,
That placed you side by side, and hemm'd you in
This narrow corner of the mighty sea,
Bidding the waves, that uncontroll'd and free
Around ye roll, your rocky shores defend.
O happy isles, could ye but comprehend
The will of Heaven, fond Sisters ye should be,
Nor ever but in works of love contend.
THE THIRTY YEARS PEACE.
Which yet in characters of blood we trace,
When thirty years of homicide and crime
With ravages deform'd fair Europe's face.
But that so long beneath our western skies
Its prelude to a nation's funeral cries,
Should move the grateful heart and thankful tongue.
Alas! the spirits that for carnage thirst
Still range abroad unseen, with malice rife
To gather up the elements of strife:
Which Heaven avert! Thou, England, be the first
To quell their impious rage; and rallying round
Thy peaceful standard may the world be found!
THE LATE SIR ROBERT PEEL.
Cleaving the waves, and spreading all her sail,
As birdlike she would fly before the gale;
That met by adverse storms and beaten back
Skilful would shift her course, and turn and tack
This way and that, still earnest not to fail
Press for the port, and spite of storms prevail.
And lo a statesman, who the power doth lack
His onward path undevious to pursue;
And ever and anon he seems to veer
Wide of the goal, which still he keeps in view,
And whither strives with all his might to steer:
Beset by faction, to his country true,
Him his great heart doth on his journey cheer.
THE LATE LORD DENMAN.
For thou of England's justice long hast weigh'd
With even hand the scales, nor ever made
From right to wrong the balance to incline.
Others, I ween, more ready may be found
The law's Bœotian riddles to explain,
Words from their meanings cunningly to strain,
Or reason out of nonsense to compound:
Twas thine a nobler virtue to achieve:
Truth sat upon thy tongue, which ne'er could deign
To hide the heart, to flatter or deceive:
The sunbright heaven is not from taint more free,
Than was the bench of Themis, graced by thee.
When shall our country see the like again?
SHAKSPEARE AND MILTON.
Shakspeare and Milton, I have lived with you,Have mused upon your lessons oft and long,
And listen'd to the music of your tongue,
Ye prophets of the holy and the true:
And bold from such companionship I grew;
As from the stream of your immortal song
A life-sustaining nourishment it drew.
Interpreters from Heaven to man were ye,
Eagles of never-drooping poesy,
Whose pinions to the founts of light could soar.
Insphered like stars in glory ye abide,
For bard and seer to gaze, your country's pride,
The wonder of the world, for evermore!
FRIENDSHIP.
As oft the star that shines at eventideConsoles the hapless wanderer on his way
With kind assurance of a gentle ray,
His solitude to cheer, his path to guide:
Tis thus when man is by misfortune tried,
Some gentle presence doth his fears allay,
When he with comfort to his heart can say,
That truth and pity still on earth abide.
Eternal Goodness! from thy spirit flows
The beam of mercy, kindled at our birth
In human hearts, to soften mortal woes:
Without which all were chaos on the earth,
A wilderness of dark deformity,
Void of the light that elevates to thee.
CHARITY.
Stern Winter with her iron fingers coldHath fasten'd on the earth; with icy chain
She manacles the waters of the plain,
Pond, lake, and stream, and many a river bold:
Yet Father Thames and Severn, as of old,
Uplift their billows and their course maintain;
Hasting with mighty purpose to the main,
They roll along majestic, uncontroll'd.
And when it pleases Heaven with chastening hand
A nation to afflict, th' ignoble crowd
Shrink in themselves, by selfish terrors cow'd;
A generous few their hearts the more expand;
Their presence pierces thro' the gloomy cloud,
And sheds a ray of blessing on the land.
PHILANTHROPY.
All that is good, eternal Lord, is thine:This universal globe, creation's plan,
The virtues and the energies of man,
Are wonders of beneficence divine.
Thy glorious works for our instruction shine;
To worship and admire, as best we can,
The features of their marvellous design.
A few are chosen (still be thine the praise),
To whom at distance infinite is given
To imitate the wisdom of thy ways.
Ye righteous, who unweariedly have striven
Your monuments of bounteous love to raise,
Abide on earth, to do the will of Heaven.
DEMOSTHENES.
Oh for a voice like thine, Demosthenes,An eloquence to us but little known,
Drawn from the oracles of faith alone!
How welcome would it be in times like these!
It was the spirit of thy fatherland
In thunder crying—Athens must be free!
What patriot, thus arous'd, could idle be?
What freeman could the sacred call withstand?
Truth is most mighty, spoken by the true.
Ye sons of Athens, never had the cant
Of the declaimer or the sycophant
Led ye against the spears of Macedon:
All without struggle had the victor won,
And dying Freedom had not slept with you.
MARS AND MINERVA.
Committing trespass on his ground,
(I might perhaps have spoken plainer,
But decency would be no gainer;)
They blush'd, they titter'd, and they mock'd;
Poor Venus, no one would receive her;
The married gods were in a fever;
“Whose turn is next to come, I pray?”
Alarm'd was Hercules for Hebe,
And Phœbus for his sister Phœbe:
“This is a sad affair, my love:
What can be done?” Saith Jove to Juno,
“I really cannot tell; do you know?”
Suppose we find a wife for Mars:
If we can get him once to marry,
At home he will be forced to tarry.”
Inquired the King of Gods and men:
To which she answer'd with a query,
“What think you of Minerva, deary?”
“Who vows to live and die a maid!”
“Such vows,” replied the Consort regal,
“Are neither binding, sir, nor legal.
The match brings great advantages;
Our son with Pallas for adviser
Must surely steadier grow and wiser:
Would soon amend his mode of life:”
Her counsel to reform the pickle
Did mightily the Thunderer tickle:
He rang the bell for Ganymede:
“We'll drink to Mars and his corrector!”
Saturnia smiled, and sipp'd the nectar:
With hearty laugh the Monarch cried,
And drain'd his cup of sparkling ruby:
“He don't deserve her though, the booby!”
Yet promise of a dowry rare,
Of title high and princely splendour,
Soon overcame his scruples tender:
And would not hear of being woo'd;
By slow degrees her heart relented,
And she, to please papa, consented.
Jupiter met the son of May;
They sat down sociably together,
And, after talking of the weather,
You mean to wed, sir, I am told,
Your daughter to the God of battle?
Is't true, or only tittle-tattle?”
To speak to you about this match:
For to advise is my vocation:”
Jove nodded here in approbation:
Speak boldly out, and nothing blink:
There's not a person whose opinion
I value more in my dominion.”
Upon the War-god's character;
But you must be aware most fully
That he's a blusterer and a bully:
For him is quite professional;
He's always kicking up a riot,
And only you can keep him quiet:
The peace of heaven he can't disturb;
For Strength that lacketh rhyme or reason
Ne'er prospers nor in sport nor treason.
Submits to you and you alone;
Your self-born child; so you proclaim her;
We the Celestials Wisdom name her:
Though she can fight when she's a mind,
As Mimas and that ruffian Cœus
Found to their cost, with big Typhœus:
And put to flight the rebel crew:
Without her Ægis, where, I wonder,
Would Jove have been with all his thunder?
I don't admire your politics:
To Mars you'd give the peerless Maiden
With burden of your empire laden!
Not pleased at your command to quit;
But fortified by this alliance
He'll set your Highness at defiance.”
“I never more in earnest spoke:
If Mars should wed the fair Virago,
For aught I see, to pot we may go.
His lack of wit by her supplied—
I know not if the rascal scurvy
Won't turn Olympus topsy-turvy.”
The same as now, to stand by me?
Think you, Cyllenius, there is danger
That marriage will from Jove estrange her?”
By virtue of the nuptial vows:
And who's to say, she would not rather
Obey her Husband than her Father?
And Force keep under her command:
Let witless Force be Wisdom's master,
And nought can follow but disaster.”
Again in approbation nods:
“Well, my good Hermes, have you spoken:
The match from this day off is broken.”
THE REFERENCE.
All in a circuit town,
(List to my song, ye learned throng
Array'd in wig and gown:
This case I ne'er did see;
I tell it as a little bird
Did whisper unto me:)
A special jury cause;
Huge briefs before the counsel lay
With volumes of the laws;
His voice was clear and strong,
And launch'd into an opening speech
Which threaten'd to be long:
Each juror lent his ear,
With hope the plaintiff's bosom swell'd,
Defendant quaked for fear:
Unto himself did say,
“Sure at the Bishop's I'm engaged
To dine this very day;
And Duchess will be there;
I really cannot stop away
From such a grand affair:
The Bishop dines at six,
To-morrow I to London go;
I'm in a pretty fix.”
Of quick invention try;
To 'scape from his distressful plight
A way the Judge did spy;
Then up his mind he made:
“Now, Brother, to your statement I
Have close attention paid;
It hath to me occurr'd,
A case like this—'twere not amiss
That it should be referr'd.”
A desperate case had he;
And “with your Lordship,” he exclaim'd,
“I perfectly agree.”
I could be well inclined,
But my attorney, worthy man,
Is of a different mind.”
As back his head he drew,
And at the man of tape a glance
Significant he threw:
“My Lord, I always find
Your Lordship to the parties is
Considerate and kind;
Or peradventure three,
We 'll try this matter to arrange
As it arranged should be.”
The Judge did straight reply;
“And minutes two or three to wait
Objection none have I.”
(To watch them had been fun,)
Their little pates together put
To see what could be done:
The plaintiff he look'd blue:
“I came to seek for justice here;
My cause is good and true.”
His Lordship to oppose:
Against the summing up 'tis rare
The verdict ever goes.”
Importeth not to say;
The plaintiff and his lawyer bold
Reluctantly gave way:
The elder of the twain:
“My Lord, this interval of time
Hath not been spent in vain;
What humbly we advise”—
“They could not”—quoth the learned Judge,
“Have done a thing more wise:
Will my conviction share,
That this long suit and sad dispute
Is best arranged elsewhere.”
A gracious mildness wore;
The very wig upon his cheek
Grew smoother than before:
And sat them down at ease;
Each blandly on the other smiled:
They'd pocketed their fees:
A youth unknown to fame,
Yet boasting of a fair descent;
Lickspittle was his name;
In ambush wont was he
Beside his silken friends to wait,
Expectant referee:
Which meet it is ye know;
On arbitrations four or five
Young counsel fat may grow.
As briefly as I can:
The Sergeant's voice declared the choice;
Lickspittle was the man.
And at the trumpet's sound
The chariot of the Judge was heard
Fast rolling o'er the ground;
And I can well believe,
To think how clever he had been,
He giggled in his sleeve.
THE WEDNESBURY MINER.
A gamecock rare had he;
Never a better or finer
All Staffordshire did see:
Would fight with a four-year-old;
The fowls were all panic-stricken
At his bearing so gallant and bold:
His breast it was white as snow;
The Miner's eyes they glisten'd,
Whenever he heard him crow:
On barley and cakes and ale,
And when to battle he led him,
Was sure he could never fail:
And every stake he won;
The neighbours all were daunted,
For he his match had none;
A chap to the Miner came,
Whose eyes and face were sable,
And Nicholas was his name:
That never has yet been tried;
And I'll make a match with Boxer
For fifty guineas a side!”
For fifty guineas a side!
They fixt the day of meeting
At Wedn'sbury next Shrovetide.
There posted a motley crew;
From Bilston all came flocking
And Wolverhampton too;
The coalmen of Dudley eame down,
The pin and the button-makers
From smoky Brummagem-town:
The cocks were both brought in,
And Nick the Miner greeted
With a nod and half a grin:
And spectrelike to view,
Yet he seem'd for combat eager,
And he crowed as loud as two:
They gave the word of command;
Each bird marched bold and steady
Out of the master's hand:
They met with pinion and heel,
And fierce was the clapping and spurring,
And bright the flashing of steel:
To fowls as well as to men!
Great Boxer, his bosom gory,
Fell never to rise agen.
He scarce could believe his eyes;
The amazement he was under
All power of speech defies:
Then off his jacket he threw;
“The devil himself is in it
But I'll be revenged on you!”
Was echoed from the crowd:
“Come on, and I'll pound you to gruel!”
The Miner call'd aloud:
Soon as the challenge he heard;
“The devil then be my backer!
I'll take you at your word!”
Unearthly was the sound;
They whisper'd “Lord preserve us!”
But form'd a circle round:
For at the very first blow
The Miner the iron-sinew'd
Was in the dust laid low:
Turn'd pale when the sight they saw;
They shiver'd and quaked and trembled,
And looked at old Nick with awe:
A change came over his mien;
And horns appear'd on his forehead,
Where none before had been:
A pestilent brimstone smell,
And a pigtail curling spiry:
Sure 'twas an Imp of hell!
And kick'd the benches down,
And fast as legs could tear 'em
They scamper'd out of the town;
The coalmen in frantic mood,
The pin and the button-makers,
As if by the devil pursued.
The Miner was left alone,
And what became of him after,
Was never to mortal known.
Poems; original and translated | ||