University of Virginia Library

SONNETS.

I
ON THE MONUMENT TO NELSON AT TAYNUILT.

Stranger, if thou hast wondering seen the grey
Huge-planted stones on Sarum's breezy downs,
Where once the Druid reigned with awful sway
Above the might of croziers and of crowns,
See here their antitype—a crude block raised
By sweatful smelters on this wooded strand
To him, whose valour, like a meteor, blazed
O'er the wide ocean. With more curious hand
Sculptor and mason oft did league their skill
To memorize his name; but this rude stone,
Perched in his unhewn ruggedness alone,
Stands, a stout witness of heroic will,
In face of thee, fair Cruachan, and all
Thy subject Bens, and Heaven's blue vaulted hall.

II
BEN CRUACHAN IN A DARK EVENING.

As a fair mountain when the day hath run
His course, and scanty stars are faintly seen,
Swathes him in folds of sombre mantle dun,
Shorn of the purple glories and the green;
So a fair lady—saddest of sad sights—
Who yields her humour to a peevish whim,
Casts out the radiant Phœbus, and for him
Brings in a devil, who blows out all the lights.
O, if ye knew, all dames with lovely faces,
How much ye mar your beauty with your spleen,
You'd covet more than finest silks and laces
The spirit-power that paints the fleshly screen!
Manners are masks; but keep the fountain bright,
And thy whole body shall be full of light.

III
JOHN BRIGHT AT TAYNUILT.

(I).

Sayst thou?—and he was truly seated here
That stout broad-breasted, firmly-planted man,
Who with brave heart, blithe look, and jovial cheer,
To victory led the democratic clan.
There are who deem there is no truth in history,
Lies count by hundredweights, and truth by grains;
But I'll speak plainly out and say, the mystery
Lies only in their lack of sense and brains;
This fact I know, by one strong word, REFORM,
Bright hotly stirred the people's fretful mind,
Till Whig and Tory grew with envy warm,
And spurred with him, not to be left behind;
Some served their party bravely, some betrayed,
And all danced well as this proud piper played.

IV.
JOHN BRIGHT AT TAYNUILT.

(II).

What? lodged he here and sat in that same chair,
The thunder-tongued, high-purposed democrat;
He was an honest man, I'll stand for that—
And where he sate I'll sit well seated there.
No doubt his hand a seething broth did brew,
Perhaps too strong for old John Bull's digestion,
But 'twas a needful purge beyond all question
He deemed, life's crazy framework to renew.
If he was wrong, and history tells no tales,
Then who was right, if false then who was true,
When Whig and Tory spread their rival sails
To catch sweet favour from the gale he blew?
All sinned: but they transgressed all honest rules
Who knocked the workman down, then made bread with his tools.