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Poems

By Henry Nutcombe Oxenham. Third Edition
Oxenham, Henry Nutcombe (1829-1888)
  
[dedication]

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[section]
 I. 
I. THE SENTENCE OF KAÏRES.
 II. 
II. THE FATE OF COLUMBUS.
 III. 
III. STANZAS FOR MUSIC.
 IV. 
IV.
 V. 
V. THE POET AND THE SAINT.
 VI. 
VI. THE LIFE-DIRGE OF EGYPT'S DEAD.
 VII. 
VII. FRIENDSHIP.
 VIII. 
VIII. THE PILGRIM BOAT ON THE RHINE.
 IX. 
IX. MAYENCE AT SUNSET.
 X. 
X. MECHLIN.
 XI. 
XI. ON THE DEATH OF A FAVOURITE DOG.
 XII. 
XII. STRIFE AND PEACE.
 XIII. 
XIII. SOLITUDE.
 XIV. 
XIV. THE LEGEND OF ST. CATHARINE.
 XV. 
XV. THE VIRGIN MOTHER.
 XVI. 
XVI. THE VESPER-BELL.
 XVII. 
XVII. THE FUNERAL OF THE LAST OF THE STUARTS.
 XVIII. 
XVIII.
 XIX. 
XIX. TO MY BROTHER ON HIS FIFTH BIRTHDAY.
 XX. 
XX.
 XXI. 
XXI. TO MY SISTER.
 XXII. 
XXII. BEREAVEMENT.
 XXIII. 
XXIII. TRIAL.
 XXIV. 
XXIV. SEPARATION.
 XXV. 
XXV. DINAS EMLYN.
 XXVI. 
XXVI. THE THREE PEALS OF THE ANGELUS.
 XXVII. 
XXVII. TO A FRIEND LEAVING OXFORD.
 XXVIII. 
XXVIII. THE HEAVENLY STRANGER .
 XXIX. 
XXIX. THE HOLY ANGELS.
 XXX. 
XXX. IN TEMPORE VESPERI ERIT LUX.
 XXXI. 
XXXI. A CHANCE MEETING.
 XXXII. 
XXXII. THE MIDNIGHT MASS OF THE NATIVITY.
 XXXIII. 
XXXIII. THE MANGER OF THE HOLY NIGHT.
 XXXIV. 
XXXIV. THE CHILDREN'S HYMN.
 XXXV. 
XXXV. AN EASTER GREETING.
 XXXVI. 
XXXVI. THE END OF MAN.
 XXXVII. 
XXXVII. TO L. H. D.
 XXXVIII. 
XXXVIII. A CHARACTER.
 XXXIX. 
XXXIX. WAR PIECES, 1855.
 XL. 
XL. THE MARTYR BOY .
 XLI. 
XLI. THE CHILD-CHRIST ON THE CROSS.
 XLII. 
XLII. SNOWDONIA.
 XLIII. 
XLIII. EUCHARISTICA.
 XLIV. 
XLIV. MATER DOLOROSA.
 XLV. 
XLV. MATER CORONATA.
 XLVI. 
XLVI. BEATUS SIS, CARISSIME!
 XLVII. 
XLVII. THE MARTYRDOM AT CANTERBURY.
 XLVIII. 
XLVIII. FAREWELL TO HARROW.
 XLIX. 
XLIX. REQUIEM ÆTERNAM.
 L. 
L. MEDIÆVAL INFLUENCES.
 LI. 
LI. IN MEMORIAM C. H. C.

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112

XLII. SNOWDONIA.

Farewell! 'tis a stranger his blessing bequeaths,
Refuse not the offering he tremblingly brings,
For the harp of the North no fond patriot wreathes,
And chill is the hand that swept o'er its wild strings.
Thy minstrels no more sing of saintly Gwydellyn,
Or of Arthur who routed the infidel Dane,
Yet fancy shall dwell on the feats of Llewellyn,
And dirge-like re-echo their once potent strain.
Farewell to the tints of thy shadow-stained mountains,
Farewell to the mist-wreaths that hang on their brow,
Farewell to the voice of thy clear sparkling fountains,
That merrily gush to the valleys below!
Full often in day-dreams of youthful emotion
The heart shall revisit thy wood-skirted lakes,
Though bright be the smile of the summer-lit ocean,
A brighter on them the soft mountain-breeze wakes.
How fair are the sunbeams aërially blending
On Snowdon in veins of green varying light,
And, if from the mountain-top clouds are descending
Are not earth's brightest joys ever shrouded in night?
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