 | Old Year Leaves |  |
xvii
[The leaves which in the autumn of the years]
The leaves which in the autumn of the years
Fall auburn-tinted from their parent trees,
Swept from dismembered boughs by ruthless breese,
Through Winter's weary reign of want and fears
Will lie in drifts; and when the snowdrop cheers—
Frail firstling of the flowers—they still are there,
There still, although the balmy southern air
And budding boughs proclaim that Spring appcars.
Fall auburn-tinted from their parent trees,
Swept from dismembered boughs by ruthless breese,
Through Winter's weary reign of want and fears
Will lie in drifts; and when the snowdrop cheers—
Frail firstling of the flowers—they still are there,
There still, although the balmy southern air
And budding boughs proclaim that Spring appcars.
So lost hopes severed by the stress of life
Unburied lie before our wistful eyes,
Though none but we regard their fell dccay;
And ever amid the stir of worldly strife
Fresh aims and fuller purposes arise
Between the faded hopes of yesterday.
Unburied lie before our wistful eyes,
Though none but we regard their fell dccay;
And ever amid the stir of worldly strife
Fresh aims and fuller purposes arise
Between the faded hopes of yesterday.
3
MISCELLANEOUS PIECES.
THE RIVER OF THOUGHT.
The strong River of Thought has an ayechangeful course,
Yet for ever it springs from the same changeless source
Where God-given Truth in its grandeur doth reign,
The regal physician of Man's mental pain.
Yet for ever it springs from the same changeless source
Where God-given Truth in its grandeur doth reign,
The regal physician of Man's mental pain.
Sometimes in high joyance it glideth along
With glamour of music and gladness of song:—
While borne on its bosom gay pleasure-boats sail,
Rejoicing a while in the light laughing gale.
With glamour of music and gladness of song:—
While borne on its bosom gay pleasure-boats sail,
Rejoicing a while in the light laughing gale.
4
Sometimes like the stream which has sunk under ground,
Yet still keeps its course mid the darkness profound,
Unknown and alone it must hold on its way,
Till emerging at length in the full light of day.
Yet still keeps its course mid the darkness profound,
Unknown and alone it must hold on its way,
Till emerging at length in the full light of day.
Sometimes like the mountain's fierce torrent it flows,
And all that can hinder its progress o'erthrows;—
Possessing the power of immutable right,
And strong in the strength of invincible might.
And all that can hinder its progress o'erthrows;—
Possessing the power of immutable right,
And strong in the strength of invincible might.
Crass Ignorance surely succumbs to its sway,
As boldly it takes its all-conquering way,—
While keen-sighted Knowledge appears in its train,
The sweetener of pleasure, the soother of pain.
As boldly it takes its all-conquering way,—
While keen-sighted Knowledge appears in its train,
The sweetener of pleasure, the soother of pain.
Unceasingly hated by many, yet some
Unceasingly love it, though oft they are dumb.
Yet whatever betides, and wherever it flows,
'Tis the noble who love it, the weak who oppose
Unceasingly love it, though oft they are dumb.
Yet whatever betides, and wherever it flows,
'Tis the noble who love it, the weak who oppose
5
Great River of Thought! our strange world doth not know
The evil you check, and the good you bestow:—
May Time teach the lesson, 'twill then comprehend
How well and how often you prove its true friend.
The evil you check, and the good you bestow:—
May Time teach the lesson, 'twill then comprehend
How well and how often you prove its true friend.
8
WHISPERING WINDS.
Whispering winds strange musings carry
To our hearts as they sweep by:—
Thoughts that often thrilling tarry
Though the winds may wailing die.
To our hearts as they sweep by:—
Thoughts that often thrilling tarry
Though the winds may wailing die.
To the sailor, watchful pacing
On the deck of ship at sea,
Bring they dreams of danger facing,
Mid the tempest's mockery.
On the deck of ship at sea,
Bring they dreams of danger facing,
Mid the tempest's mockery.
To the exile, hoping, fearing,
Wandering on an alien strand,
Bring they memories endearing
Of his much-loved Father-land.
Wandering on an alien strand,
Bring they memories endearing
Of his much-loved Father-land.
9
To the weary heavy-hearted
Often bring they thoughts of peace,
Of the peace where, pain departed,
Woe and weariness shall cease.
Often bring they thoughts of peace,
Of the peace where, pain departed,
Woe and weariness shall cease.
Sometimes bring they only sorrow
To the stricken in their train,
Imaging a dread to-morrow
Which will but augment their pain.
To the stricken in their train,
Imaging a dread to-morrow
Which will but augment their pain.
Bring they unto some new pleasure
And each trace of care destroy,
While to others yield a measure
Of distress that mars their joy.
And each trace of care destroy,
While to others yield a measure
Of distress that mars their joy.
Yet these forms of varied feeling
In this feature all agree,
That o'er every soul is stealing
Thought of an Eternity.
In this feature all agree,
That o'er every soul is stealing
Thought of an Eternity.
10
HELPFULNESS.
Behold a fine tree growing in a field,
Apart from any other, and alone,
With nothing to preserve it or to shield
It from the wind, yet it is ever known
To thrive as well as trees whose lot is thrown
In sheltered woods, saved from the wintry blast.
And first from it in spring is heard the tone
Of singing birds; for, while its branches last,
It is a blessing where its lonely lot is cast.
Apart from any other, and alone,
With nothing to preserve it or to shield
It from the wind, yet it is ever known
To thrive as well as trees whose lot is thrown
In sheltered woods, saved from the wintry blast.
And first from it in spring is heard the tone
Of singing birds; for, while its branches last,
It is a blessing where its lonely lot is cast.
How well if often thus with man it were,
For surely cheering others on their way
Would wondrously relieve our ceaseless care,
And dissipate the gloom of Life's drear day,
By teaching us that Love will truly pay
An hundredfold again what we bestow
Upon our brother toilers; none can say
The blessings that we reap when thus we show
Our sympathy for men by sharing in their woe.
For surely cheering others on their way
Would wondrously relieve our ceaseless care,
And dissipate the gloom of Life's drear day,
By teaching us that Love will truly pay
An hundredfold again what we bestow
Upon our brother toilers; none can say
The blessings that we reap when thus we show
Our sympathy for men by sharing in their woe.
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THE SOURCE OF SONG.
What maketh the true poet sing?
Is it sense of deep injuries thrown
On the weak by the strong, which sting
His heart, till to song he is prone?
Is it sense of deep injuries thrown
On the weak by the strong, which sting
His heart, till to song he is prone?
Is it sight of some beautiful lake
All aflame with the dying sun's rays,—
O'er whose breast the acacias shake
Soft tresses of feathery sprays?
All aflame with the dying sun's rays,—
O'er whose breast the acacias shake
Soft tresses of feathery sprays?
Is it thought of some beautiful form
That fays well might deign to assume;
Displaying with ardour full warm,
How noble is youth's early bloom?
That fays well might deign to assume;
Displaying with ardour full warm,
How noble is youth's early bloom?
Is it thought of his dear mother-land,—
The deep longing that she be supreme:
Aspiration as loyal as grand,
Which to sons should be more than a dream?
The deep longing that she be supreme:
Aspiration as loyal as grand,
Which to sons should be more than a dream?
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Is it pleasure in physical health—
The supreme unacquirable dower,
Far greater in blessing than wealth,
And almost as mighty in power?
The supreme unacquirable dower,
Far greater in blessing than wealth,
And almost as mighty in power?
Is it simple desire to excel?
Or ambition that's highest and best,
Which longs among mankind to dwell,
To show by true life what is blest?
Or ambition that's highest and best,
Which longs among mankind to dwell,
To show by true life what is blest?
With such things the poet must strive,
And sometimes they impel him to sing,
Till in fortunate hour they may drive
Him for aid to re-touch his lute's string.
And sometimes they impel him to sing,
Till in fortunate hour they may drive
Him for aid to re-touch his lute's string.
But the primary cause which impels,—
More resistless than aught of these things,—
Is this: that within him there dwells
A soul which but lives when he sings.
More resistless than aught of these things,—
Is this: that within him there dwells
A soul which but lives when he sings.
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A STORM SONG.
The surges in anger are beating
On the rocks and the shingle-strewn shore,
And though with a hiss aye retreating,
They come in fierce fury once more.
On the rocks and the shingle-strewn shore,
And though with a hiss aye retreating,
They come in fierce fury once more.
Most sternly the billows are breaking
In wreaths white with purest of spray,—
Still further their great wrath awaking,
As forward they dash on their way.
In wreaths white with purest of spray,—
Still further their great wrath awaking,
As forward they dash on their way.
The wild wailing wind that is blowing,
The dreariness far out to sea,
The feelings that come without knowing
In truth what their nature may be.
The dreariness far out to sea,
The feelings that come without knowing
In truth what their nature may be.
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All these, and much more now oppress me
As musing I gaze on the strand:—
Yet though in some sense it distress me,
How noble a storm is,—how grand!
As musing I gaze on the strand:—
Yet though in some sense it distress me,
How noble a storm is,—how grand!
The ships in the bay are so swaying,
Their cables can scarce bear the strain:—
Their beams with the water are playing
While sailing is utterly vain
Their cables can scarce bear the strain:—
Their beams with the water are playing
While sailing is utterly vain
As the gale is against them completely;
The rain how it ceaselessly falls,
Clouds scud o'er the sky, ah how fleetly!
And harsh are the sea-birds' shrill calls.
The rain how it ceaselessly falls,
Clouds scud o'er the sky, ah how fleetly!
And harsh are the sea-birds' shrill calls.
The storm is now spent and departed
And yet its effects still remain,—
Two mothers are made broken-hearted,
Their boys will not greet them again.
And yet its effects still remain,—
Two mothers are made broken-hearted,
Their boys will not greet them again.
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How wondrous it is that Creation
Is aye in perpetual strife,
And shows not, for man's emulation,
How calmness should regulate life!
Is aye in perpetual strife,
And shows not, for man's emulation,
How calmness should regulate life!
Can it be that when Man in his madness
To Evil at first became thrall,
All Nature was forced with sore sadness
To join his unspeakable fall?
To Evil at first became thrall,
All Nature was forced with sore sadness
To join his unspeakable fall?
16
A SONG FOR POLAND IN 1878.
Ah, how cruel the thraldom and bitter the bonds
Of our wretched and down-trodden nation!
Not a throb of our hearts but in anguish responds
To the sight of such dire desolation:
And in scarce-spoken words we are heard to declare
Woe hath made us wellnigh broken-hearted,
Dark and dreary the prospect; dear Poland, despair,
Since thy liberty now hath departed.
Of our wretched and down-trodden nation!
Not a throb of our hearts but in anguish responds
To the sight of such dire desolation:
And in scarce-spoken words we are heard to declare
Woe hath made us wellnigh broken-hearted,
Dark and dreary the prospect; dear Poland, despair,
Since thy liberty now hath departed.
Other peoples get freedom, while we in the dust
Alone and forsaken are lying;
Ever lower and lower continually thrust,
Men's love of their country fast dying.
While the Government check with malicious intent
Any change for our good which is started.
Dark and dreary the prospect; let Poland lament,
Since her liberty's light hath departed!
Alone and forsaken are lying;
Ever lower and lower continually thrust,
Men's love of their country fast dying.
While the Government check with malicious intent
Any change for our good which is started.
Dark and dreary the prospect; let Poland lament,
Since her liberty's light hath departed!
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No! Revenge on the tyrants who work us such ill
Mid their bland hypocritical prating:—
And arouse ye, undaunted, remembering that still
Retribution is certainly waiting.
Let our nation awake which now slumbering lies!
Not a moment be longer down-hearted!
For rejoicing may come if proud Poland arise,
And her freedom return which departed.
Mid their bland hypocritical prating:—
And arouse ye, undaunted, remembering that still
Retribution is certainly waiting.
Let our nation awake which now slumbering lies!
Not a moment be longer down-hearted!
For rejoicing may come if proud Poland arise,
And her freedom return which departed.
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WHAT ALL MAY DO.
Our past life must perish,Our future arise,
And oft what we cherish
Most speedily dies:—
There are griefs for whose changing
We helplessly long,
Though we feel our arranging
Is hopelessly wrong:—
But if we live rightly,
We have in our power
To gather up brightly,
From each fading hour,
A thought-woven treasure
Of justly-earned joy,
Whose bountiful measure
No grief can destroy.
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REWARD OF PARLIAMENTARY DOCILITY.
A Brother to a Sister.
My dear—
As words though sincere,
Are at best but ‘small beer,’
My party (in office) have made me a peer:
A step which the press I do hope won't deem queer,
Nor question its justice, not slightingly sneer,
(What I've done to deserve it is not very clear,
Save doing as bid, when divisions were near—
Thus causing our Whip's drooping spirits to cheer,)
But be that as it may, I subscribe myself here
John Anthony Snobbins,
Are at best but ‘small beer,’
My party (in office) have made me a peer:
A step which the press I do hope won't deem queer,
Nor question its justice, not slightingly sneer,
(What I've done to deserve it is not very clear,
Save doing as bid, when divisions were near—
Thus causing our Whip's drooping spirits to cheer,)
But be that as it may, I subscribe myself here
John Anthony Snobbins,
(now) Lord Abinmere.
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SONNETS ON THE POWER OF THOUGHT.
In Converse.
Who can predict what power for distant daysToward good or ill lies centred in a Thought
Which flashing through the mind unmeant, unsought,
Is uttered suddenly in careless phrase?
Ill that no future good can stingless make
In the effects wrought by its blighting force;—
Great good that floweth from the all-good Source,
The Fount from which all purity we take.
Sometimes thought's mighty aims in secret lurk
And labour silently, their aim concealed,
Until the crisis comes; sometimes revealed
They zealously pursue their varied work.
Reflecting wisely thus may we be taught
Not rashly to express each flippant thought.
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In Writing.
If so it be with speech, how much the moreWith written language! Speech perforce decays,
'Neath Time's destroying touch. Ere many days
Gone is mayhap the fruit which wise words bore:
That written doth remain,—its import not
Dependent on frail Memory's brittle thread
To keep it safe, or number with the dead
At her capricious will. None can say what
Momentous destiny may be assigned
To some brief trivial letter. Authors too
Who lightly pen, to please the public view,
Works strenuous and yet stained with vice, will find
A day of certain retribution come
When all their loud excuses will be dumb.
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In Art.
The power of Thought in art! Who has not foundAnd marked its subtle influence? We see
Its magic in a picture wondrously,
Whose canvas by its presence made renowned
Bears witness to the fact. When we behold
A stately building, and perceive the skill
Which shapes each column at the sculptor's will
Till it attains at length th' exquisite mould
That he has long desired. When we are thrilled
By some soft cadence rippling on the ear
Of sweetest music,—as though far and near
With a celestial choir the air were filled:—
Then, and then always, may we truly find
What power of thought lies in the human mind!
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In Proverbs, &c.
The power of Thought in Proverbs!—oftentimesWe find its glittering essence centred there,
All crystallized, as if indeed it were
A bright and flawless diamond.—Silly Rhymes
Which oft we hear repeated are not dross
Entirely,—here and there rare pearls of thought
Appear upon their surface, genius-wrought;
Had they not been, we must have borne a loss.
O mighty power of Thought, it may not be
Within the sphere of any man to find
Thought undiscovered by a brother-mind,
Though deep and boundless is thy shoreless sea:—
And yet thy potent pathway is the groove
In which, by thee propelled, the change-girt world doth move.
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IN MEMORY OF The gallant men who fell fighting at Isandhlwana, South Africa, in a surprise by the Zulus, 23d January 1879.
Steadfast they stood,—nor feared to face the foeThough twenty-fold outnumbered,—calm, alone
They bore the brunt of battle on them thrown,
And bravely strove against the ignoble blow:
Yet doubtless mid the din of deadly strife
Came softened thoughts of home and loved ones dear:
And many a prayer was prayed in faith sincere
That they might meet anew in deathless life.
We mourn their loss (a wound Time scarce can heal)—
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Among us. May we soon efface the stain
From England's flag,—while more and more we feel
A sense of joy, which in our hearts will stay,
That Britain still can boast these ‘heroes of to-day.’
Feb. 22d, 1879.
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VIOLET.
‘A tale of sorrow’? Ay, I know,One fraught with sharp and sudden woe,
A story of undoubted truth,
Beclouding all my sunny youth;
And though with arbitrary sway
Stern Time has turned my locks to grey,
Though furrowed wrinkles on my brow
Proclaim that I am agèd now,
Though signs of trouble you may trace
In the expression of my face,—
Though trembling is my bloodless hand,
And scarcely under due command,
Though devious is my tottering tread,
Though bent with weight of years my head;
Though my whole look, my gait, my air,
Show sad though common signs of care,
Yet fadeless, unforgotten, clear,
To mental sight its scenes appear.
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As playmate,—brothers I had none.
A lovely rose-lipped child was she,
Dear as my very life to me;
Now, almost mournful in their birth,
Rise thoughts of these dead days of mirth;
I see her framing daisy-chains
While I assist, and for my pains
Receiving, as repayment meet,
The chaplet from her when complete.
And as o'er both the restless years
Resistless rolled their hopes and fears,
They only bound us by a bond
More durable and just as fond.
O happy he who thus hath known
Such union ere his lot was thrown
Amid the changes and the strife
And heart-wounds of the world's strange life!
Even dreams of such communion to the bruised and wearied soul,
Are ever found the truest balm to make it strong and whole.
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Yes: years rolled on, with little change
For us in Duty's daily range.
My sister—Violet her name,—
In beauty grown, remained the same
In character. Her guileless grace,
Almost a proverb in the place,
To those she loved exceeding fond,
And gentle unto all beyond.
Ever for right most firm and strong,
Aye valiantly rebuking wrong,
And seeking in whatever mood
To shun the ill and do the good.
Her figure pleasing as her mien,
Her summers numbering seventeen;
Her rippling hair of darkest hue,
Her eyes not oft describèd blue,
But some rare tint,—and pen can ne'er
Portray the radiance glowing there.
For us in Duty's daily range.
My sister—Violet her name,—
In beauty grown, remained the same
In character. Her guileless grace,
Almost a proverb in the place,
To those she loved exceeding fond,
And gentle unto all beyond.
Ever for right most firm and strong,
Aye valiantly rebuking wrong,
And seeking in whatever mood
To shun the ill and do the good.
Her figure pleasing as her mien,
Her summers numbering seventeen;
Her rippling hair of darkest hue,
Her eyes not oft describèd blue,
But some rare tint,—and pen can ne'er
Portray the radiance glowing there.
There was a youth whom Violet thought
Worthy her love, and he had caught
A kindred flame of chaste desire;
A truer love could none require,
Parents and friends were satisfied,
And well they might be; all descried
That union of such virtuous worth
Would prove the happiest on earth.
Worthy her love, and he had caught
A kindred flame of chaste desire;
A truer love could none require,
Parents and friends were satisfied,
And well they might be; all descried
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Would prove the happiest on earth.
Our lawn stretched to a deep broad stream:
On summer eves 'twas like a dream
To watch the gentle moonbeams play
Across its wide and glittering way;
To trace the tremor of the trees
Slow moving in the soft night breeze,
And as on either side they bend
Each towards the other as a friend
Talking with comrade dear,—to think
These trees, converse they, on this river's brink?
On summer eves 'twas like a dream
To watch the gentle moonbeams play
Across its wide and glittering way;
To trace the tremor of the trees
Slow moving in the soft night breeze,
And as on either side they bend
Each towards the other as a friend
Talking with comrade dear,—to think
These trees, converse they, on this river's brink?
On the stream's tide we kept a boat,
Not often did it idly float
In peace near to the summer shore;
For one alone could ply its oar
With pleasure. In the sultry noon,
With bees and birds and trees in tune,
How sweet to glide in it, and screen
'Neath willows from the scorching sheen;
Thus Violet full oft had been.
Not often did it idly float
In peace near to the summer shore;
For one alone could ply its oar
With pleasure. In the sultry noon,
With bees and birds and trees in tune,
How sweet to glide in it, and screen
'Neath willows from the scorching sheen;
Thus Violet full oft had been.
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And so one day—the heat was great,
And, we conjecture, to abate
Its force, she to the water dipped
To lave her hands,—in quickly slipped
The boat's light oar; that then she tried
To reach it, bending on one side,—
Till gone too far to stay, 'twould seem,
She slid into the treacherous stream.
And, we conjecture, to abate
Its force, she to the water dipped
To lave her hands,—in quickly slipped
The boat's light oar; that then she tried
To reach it, bending on one side,—
Till gone too far to stay, 'twould seem,
She slid into the treacherous stream.
Too late an oarless boat was found,
And near, a maiden, soul-less, drowned,
In whose fair face and gloomless mien
Death in his gentlest form was seen.
One lover more o'erwhelmed with grief,
Whose tears as yet brought no relief,
Who, righteous and untouched by guile,
Ne'er sought another maiden's smile;
A brother who through all his coming years
Will strive to dry his brethren's bitter tears.
And near, a maiden, soul-less, drowned,
In whose fair face and gloomless mien
Death in his gentlest form was seen.
One lover more o'erwhelmed with grief,
Whose tears as yet brought no relief,
Who, righteous and untouched by guile,
Ne'er sought another maiden's smile;
A brother who through all his coming years
Will strive to dry his brethren's bitter tears.
‘A common story, this,’ I hear one say,—
‘Not worth the telling.’ Nay, stern critic, nay;
Each man's heart-tragedy, if truly told,
Will interest some, although to most 'tis cold
And commonplace. No case of mental pain
Which crushes not, but strengthens, can be vain.
‘Not worth the telling.’ Nay, stern critic, nay;
35
Will interest some, although to most 'tis cold
And commonplace. No case of mental pain
Which crushes not, but strengthens, can be vain.
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HEART ECHOES.
While the sunlight's glory dying
Tints the pebbly sea-kissed strand,
And the night-chilled breezes sighing,
See the shadows wrap the land—
Faint, yet powerful, sad, yet tender,
Come fond thoughts of vanished years,
Waking sweet soul-thrills that render
Joy that is akin to tears.
Ah, how real are these dreams!
And the past the present seems.
Tints the pebbly sea-kissed strand,
And the night-chilled breezes sighing,
See the shadows wrap the land—
Faint, yet powerful, sad, yet tender,
Come fond thoughts of vanished years,
Waking sweet soul-thrills that render
Joy that is akin to tears.
Ah, how real are these dreams!
And the past the present seems.
Visions of a gentle maiden
Beautiful and pure as fair,
And of eves whose gales love-laden
Wanton with her auburn hair;
For 'twas when soft summer's beauty
Made the earth with gladness rife
First I felt, as well as duty,
What deep joy might be in life:
Ah, how real are these dreams!
And the past the present seems.
Beautiful and pure as fair,
And of eves whose gales love-laden
Wanton with her auburn hair;
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Made the earth with gladness rife
First I felt, as well as duty,
What deep joy might be in life:
Ah, how real are these dreams!
And the past the present seems.
Memories are swiftly thronging
Of that span of treasured past,
When the joy to me belonging
Was, alas! too bright to last:
Still do I remember clearly
What I asked with trembling voice,
And her words, ‘I love you dearly,
And am proud to be your choice.’
Ah, how real are these dreams!
And the past the present seems.
Of that span of treasured past,
When the joy to me belonging
Was, alas! too bright to last:
Still do I remember clearly
What I asked with trembling voice,
And her words, ‘I love you dearly,
And am proud to be your choice.’
Ah, how real are these dreams!
And the past the present seems.
We were ‘wedded, happy-hearted,’
And our future path seemed bright,
Who could tell we should be parted,
Love's glad sun obscured in night?
Yet before another spring-tide
Shed abroad its myriad charms,
Bitter blow! my darling left me,—
Dying calmly in my arms.
Ah, how real, fraught with woe,
Rise these dreams of long ago!
And our future path seemed bright,
Who could tell we should be parted,
Love's glad sun obscured in night?
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Shed abroad its myriad charms,
Bitter blow! my darling left me,—
Dying calmly in my arms.
Ah, how real, fraught with woe,
Rise these dreams of long ago!
Still amid my sore dejection,
In its comfort ever new,
Comes the soothing, sweet reflection,
To each other we were true.
For some end God sendeth sorrow,
And when this at length is gained
I shall meet my bride in Heaven
Happy, holy, and unstained.
There no longer fraught with woe
Rise the dreams of long ago.
In its comfort ever new,
Comes the soothing, sweet reflection,
To each other we were true.
For some end God sendeth sorrow,
And when this at length is gained
I shall meet my bride in Heaven
Happy, holy, and unstained.
There no longer fraught with woe
Rise the dreams of long ago.
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THE POET'S POWERLESSNESS.
Unto the poet's mental eye how clearAppears a scene he would in wise words weave
Into the varied texture of his verse!
A scene it is of beauty unsurpassed,—
Of hoary mountains whose gigantic peaks
Approach the sky,—of a fair wooded vale,—
And of a rushing rivulet, whose sound
Re-echoes in his ears. A simple theme
Methinks to handle, yet at once he finds
How hard it is to choose the magic words
With which to make the spell he trusts will bind
The senses of his readers. Ever thus
He feels it in description,—also when
Depicting subtle feelings of the soul,—
Indeed in every subject meet for song:—
And so he feels that words are at the best
Most ineffective colours to paint well
A theme Imagination-glorified.
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THE OMNIPRESENCE OF POETRY.
There's poetry in everything,
If poets could but find
How best its subtle power to bring
To breathe upon the mind.
If poets could but find
How best its subtle power to bring
To breathe upon the mind.
It lurks in all of Nature's store,
Alike on land and main,—
Where far from shore the breakers roar,
And on the quiet plain.
Alike on land and main,—
Where far from shore the breakers roar,
And on the quiet plain.
'Mid lofty mountains whose proud peaks
Appear to pierce the sky,—
In valleys where the farmer seeks
His busy tasks to ply.
Appear to pierce the sky,—
In valleys where the farmer seeks
His busy tasks to ply.
'Mid scenes where babbling brooklets haste,
Engirt with flowery strand;
Where man's harsh turmoil makes a waste
Of erst a beauteous land
Engirt with flowery strand;
Where man's harsh turmoil makes a waste
Of erst a beauteous land
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In mighty cities never dumb
With sounds of human life,
In villages where seldom come
Cares born of human strife.
With sounds of human life,
In villages where seldom come
Cares born of human strife.
'Mid friends and kindred everywhere,
In talks with those we love
When happy intercourse we share;—
In thoughts of things above.
In talks with those we love
When happy intercourse we share;—
In thoughts of things above.
Enwove with every feeling here,
Part of each joy and pain,
And permeating love sincere
Which never can be vain.
Part of each joy and pain,
And permeating love sincere
Which never can be vain.
For Poetry's white hands can mould,
From all of Earth, pure leaven;—
And who shall say it will not hold
A noble place in Heaven!
From all of Earth, pure leaven;—
And who shall say it will not hold
A noble place in Heaven!
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FRAGMENT FOR MUSIC.
Softly swaying
Are the flowers,
Scents betraying
'Mid the showers:
Gently moving
Are the trees,
Not reproving
The rude breeze.
Are the flowers,
Scents betraying
'Mid the showers:
Gently moving
Are the trees,
Not reproving
The rude breeze.
Stars shine quiet
Though the storm's
Cloudlets riot
O'er their forms:
Moonrays mildly
Shed their light,
Though still wildly
Wails the night.
Though the storm's
Cloudlets riot
O'er their forms:
Moonrays mildly
Shed their light,
Though still wildly
Wails the night.
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Mountains never
In their might
Care if ever
Lost to sight:
Plants must wither
And be lost
When comes thither
Biting frost.
In their might
Care if ever
Lost to sight:
Plants must wither
And be lost
When comes thither
Biting frost.
Lower creatures
Scarce complain,
Nor their features
Change with pain;
Though Toil's burden
Ne'er is done,
Though no guerdon
Can be won.
Scarce complain,
Nor their features
Change with pain;
Though Toil's burden
Ne'er is done,
Though no guerdon
Can be won.
At each season
Man makes moan
Though glad reason
Is his own;—
Notwithstanding
In his might
Earth commanding,
Wrong or right.
Man makes moan
Though glad reason
Is his own;—
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In his might
Earth commanding,
Wrong or right.
47
AN EVENING LANDSCAPE.
The sun has set, and shades of evening close,
And all around there reigns profound repose;
And not a sound is heard, save when the breeze
In fitful gusts comes rustling through the trees;
And with its facile force their branches sways,
Like spectres moving in the moon's faint rays.
And all around there reigns profound repose;
And not a sound is heard, save when the breeze
In fitful gusts comes rustling through the trees;
And with its facile force their branches sways,
Like spectres moving in the moon's faint rays.
Ah, little change the face of nature knows,
Compared with life's oft-changing joys and woes,
And while poor, puny man departs as fast
As smoke is scattered by the wintry blast;
Its aspect will continue as of yore,
Till God decrees that Time shall be no more.
Compared with life's oft-changing joys and woes,
And while poor, puny man departs as fast
As smoke is scattered by the wintry blast;
Its aspect will continue as of yore,
Till God decrees that Time shall be no more.
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THE GUERDON OF TRIBULATION NOT INCURRED BY GUILT.
Oh say not that the world is sad
Without redeeming feature,
Oh say not that the world is glad
And holds no hopeless creature.
Without redeeming feature,
Oh say not that the world is glad
And holds no hopeless creature.
No life is ever filled with woe
However great its sadness,
No lot can be all joy, although
Most glorious seems its gladness.
However great its sadness,
No lot can be all joy, although
Most glorious seems its gladness.
With endless grief Life is not fraught,
Nor with all bliss and beauty,
By varied influence we are taught
How to fulfil our duty.
Nor with all bliss and beauty,
By varied influence we are taught
How to fulfil our duty.
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If happy be our lot assigned,
Of sorrow slight our burden,
Yet work on still with steadfast mind
Assured shall be our guerdon:
Of sorrow slight our burden,
Yet work on still with steadfast mind
Assured shall be our guerdon:
But a crown more rich to those shall be
From pain much less exempted,
If conquering the same foes as we,
Although more sorely tempted.
From pain much less exempted,
If conquering the same foes as we,
Although more sorely tempted.
Thus every woe our souls within,
Though stern its present sadness,
If meekly borne, nor caused by sin,
Augments our future gladness.
Though stern its present sadness,
If meekly borne, nor caused by sin,
Augments our future gladness.
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THE TRUE TREASURE.
Living brings us bitter sorrow,
Oft our hearts refuse submission,
While we yearn for a to-morrow
Which shall change our dark condition.
Oft our hearts refuse submission,
While we yearn for a to-morrow
Which shall change our dark condition.
Love may bring us bitter sadness
When we find our love can never
More impart the sense of gladness
Which we thought it would for ever.
When we find our love can never
More impart the sense of gladness
Which we thought it would for ever.
Joy may bring us bitter trouble,
Faith give place to Falsehood's anguish,
Hope may prove an empty bubble
When bereft of it we languish.
Faith give place to Falsehood's anguish,
Hope may prove an empty bubble
When bereft of it we languish.
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Worldly peace may bring us only
More of pain and less of quiet,—
And departing leave us lonely,
Battling in the world's rude riot.
More of pain and less of quiet,—
And departing leave us lonely,
Battling in the world's rude riot.
Faith in man may bring delusion,
Oftentimes, when it has perished,
We discover with confusion
'Twas a phantom that we cherished.
Oftentimes, when it has perished,
We discover with confusion
'Twas a phantom that we cherished.
Trust in God is truest treasure,
For of change it holds no leaven,—
If we live aright, its measure
Makes us holy, worthy Heaven.
For of change it holds no leaven,—
If we live aright, its measure
Makes us holy, worthy Heaven.
53
EDGAR VANNING:
A SKETCH.
- Edgar Vanning.—A young man near the close of a successful University career.
- Alethea Stanton.—His betrothed.
PERSONS.
SCENE I.
Edgar's college rooms. Edgar seated at a table, holding in his hand an open letter, which informs him that he has succeeded in obtaining a much-coveted University honour.Edgar.
Truly a grand—a noble thing is life,
And with what joy a young man's life is fraught,
When, with a mind matured, a happy heart,
And resolution firm, he gazes forth
Upon the boundless world! He knows its snares,
Its pitfalls, and its quicksands; yet to him
'Tis given to avoid them. He is not
A foolish simple boy fired with strange thoughts
Of schemes impracticable, which should cure
The ills that are the bane of social life
In these our modern days.
And with what joy a young man's life is fraught,
When, with a mind matured, a happy heart,
And resolution firm, he gazes forth
Upon the boundless world! He knows its snares,
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'Tis given to avoid them. He is not
A foolish simple boy fired with strange thoughts
Of schemes impracticable, which should cure
The ills that are the bane of social life
In these our modern days.
Yet though he feels
Not youth's enthusiasm, nor its sense—
So all-absorbing that success is sure:
Though conscious of his failures and his faults,
Though knowing well his many weaknesses,—
Yet hath he self-respect, and knoweth too
His capabilities;—and hopes, ay, longs
By steadfast effort to effect some good,
Which shall, however small, still serve to show
That all his life hath not been barrenness.
But these are stern thoughts—let them pass—there flows
The fresh untrammelled blood of buoyant life
Full joyous through my veins; my mind is clear,
My intellect is cultured, and I hope
My heart is happy. I have lately said
That life to such is gladness, let me not
Belie so recent words.
Not youth's enthusiasm, nor its sense—
So all-absorbing that success is sure:
Though conscious of his failures and his faults,
Though knowing well his many weaknesses,—
Yet hath he self-respect, and knoweth too
His capabilities;—and hopes, ay, longs
By steadfast effort to effect some good,
Which shall, however small, still serve to show
That all his life hath not been barrenness.
But these are stern thoughts—let them pass—there flows
The fresh untrammelled blood of buoyant life
Full joyous through my veins; my mind is clear,
My intellect is cultured, and I hope
My heart is happy. I have lately said
That life to such is gladness, let me not
Belie so recent words.
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Ay, when I think
Of that great love which nestles in my soul,
Like a fair darling child of three years old
On her fond father's breast:—when it is true
That this love hath its guerdon, I should be
For ever gladsome: I remember well
The retinue of unreturning years
And many a day and hour which made them up,
Since she, who is my heart's desire, and I
Had our first meeting. We were children both—
Our parents were firm friends, and we were thrown
Often together: and as Dante loved
His Beatrice, so I Alethea,—
Save that his Beatrice was proudly cold,
While my Alethea was meek and kind;—
And that as children we ne'er thought of love,
Although we loved so young we cannot tell
When love at first began. What subtle joy
It is to think that we are one in heart,
Together soon to tread Life's hardened ways!
What peace to me to think—a brief time past—
There comes to me a help-meet truly meet,
No speaker of sham sentiment, or words
Of mawkish weary platitudes, but one
Who strengthens me to do the right, who strives
To urge me on to goodly deeds and great.
O how refreshing oft it is to leave
My studies stern, and theories dim and cold,
To commune with reality so bright!
How sweet to bring at last the rich reward
Of lengthened brain-wrought labour, and to say
‘Thy sympathy hath helped me to succeed.’
Of that great love which nestles in my soul,
Like a fair darling child of three years old
On her fond father's breast:—when it is true
That this love hath its guerdon, I should be
For ever gladsome: I remember well
The retinue of unreturning years
And many a day and hour which made them up,
Since she, who is my heart's desire, and I
Had our first meeting. We were children both—
Our parents were firm friends, and we were thrown
Often together: and as Dante loved
His Beatrice, so I Alethea,—
Save that his Beatrice was proudly cold,
While my Alethea was meek and kind;—
And that as children we ne'er thought of love,
Although we loved so young we cannot tell
When love at first began. What subtle joy
It is to think that we are one in heart,
Together soon to tread Life's hardened ways!
What peace to me to think—a brief time past—
There comes to me a help-meet truly meet,
No speaker of sham sentiment, or words
Of mawkish weary platitudes, but one
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To urge me on to goodly deeds and great.
O how refreshing oft it is to leave
My studies stern, and theories dim and cold,
To commune with reality so bright!
How sweet to bring at last the rich reward
Of lengthened brain-wrought labour, and to say
‘Thy sympathy hath helped me to succeed.’
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SCENE II.
A quiet summer evening. Alethea standing in a secluded part of the garden of her home adjacent to an old plantation. Time.—A few days before the day fixed for her marriage.Alethea.
A few days more! Ah what a change for me,
A happy change! O kind few days that bring it—
A blissful change! Speed swift bright days that bring it,—
A change the sense of which thrills through my soul,
And makes it burst its bonds and soar in song.
A few days more, a few days more,
Ah what a change for me!
Then I shall enter through Love's door
To full felicity.
No more alone to bear one fear,
Or have an untold dread,
To leave my path, his sweet voice hear
And choose his path instead.
Ah what a change for me!
Then I shall enter through Love's door
To full felicity.
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Or have an untold dread,
To leave my path, his sweet voice hear
And choose his path instead.
A few days more, then it will be
My duty to obey,—
A duty pleasant, joyous, free
As warbler's winsome lay.
I'll seek to do each fond behest,
To merit each fond smile,—
I'll strive to make his life more blest
His sadness to beguile.
My duty to obey,—
A duty pleasant, joyous, free
As warbler's winsome lay.
I'll seek to do each fond behest,
To merit each fond smile,—
I'll strive to make his life more blest
His sadness to beguile.
He praises oft my sunny hair,
And lauds my peach-bloom cheeks,—
I would I were far far more fair
When thus my dear one speaks.
I feel unworthy him, and yet
He takes me for his wife,—
I'll yield to him—to pay my debt—
The service of my life.
And lauds my peach-bloom cheeks,—
I would I were far far more fair
When thus my dear one speaks.
I feel unworthy him, and yet
He takes me for his wife,—
I'll yield to him—to pay my debt—
The service of my life.
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Of sylvan solitude! The tall old oaks
Near which I stand have seen full many a year,
And sheltered many a maiden such as I
Beneath their branches, and in future time
Will shelter many more. My favourite flower,
The white convolvulus, climbs in the hedge
In spotless beauty as it used to do
In summers long gone by; and as it will,
Fanned by the breath of summers yet to come;
Nature is all unchanged, and yet to me
How changed it seems to-night! Despite my joy
A curious sense of sadness steals upon me,
When I reflect that guileless happy days
Of thoughtless youth are now for ever past,
That though life's grandest, highest, gift is mine,
A love returned tenfold, yet doubtless too
A share of sorrow is appointed me!
70
SCENE III.
A dull autumn morning. Alethea at a window looking out on the depressing prospect. Time.—Several months after.Alethea.
The blow is softened now by kindly Time,
And I can breathe again. On this the day
Poor Edgar starts for clearer sunnier skies
I first can ponder on these dreary weeks
Which lately heavily have passed away.
How different from the glad and trustful days
I thought they would have proved!
And I can breathe again. On this the day
Poor Edgar starts for clearer sunnier skies
I first can ponder on these dreary weeks
Which lately heavily have passed away.
How different from the glad and trustful days
I thought they would have proved!
When first I heard
That he was stricken by a sickness sore,
A sickness nigh to death, I scarcely felt
Deep sorrow, but a paralysing pain
My senses dulled. I had no power to think,
And life seemed dead within me; but at length
Came slowly back to me the happy thought,
Yes—happy even 'mid such grief as mine:
My loved one needed help, and oh what joy
Was mine to give it, and I almost blessed
The form of his distress, that at the least
It did not keep me from him. For what woe
Unspeakable must be endured by those
Whose loved ones have been smitten, and who know
That they are suffering helpless and alone,
And that the same disease which tortures keeps
Apart from them the dear ones whose kind voice
And sympathetic touch is their chief stay.
If such a case of misery were mine,
Contagion's direst mischief I would brave
If I could thereby comfort those I love.
That he was stricken by a sickness sore,
A sickness nigh to death, I scarcely felt
Deep sorrow, but a paralysing pain
My senses dulled. I had no power to think,
And life seemed dead within me; but at length
Came slowly back to me the happy thought,
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My loved one needed help, and oh what joy
Was mine to give it, and I almost blessed
The form of his distress, that at the least
It did not keep me from him. For what woe
Unspeakable must be endured by those
Whose loved ones have been smitten, and who know
That they are suffering helpless and alone,
And that the same disease which tortures keeps
Apart from them the dear ones whose kind voice
And sympathetic touch is their chief stay.
If such a case of misery were mine,
Contagion's direst mischief I would brave
If I could thereby comfort those I love.
A chill received when heated and fatigued
One day in Summer's youth-time (when the breeze
Had Winter's breath still on it) was enough
To lay my Edgar low. Physicians came
And went, with faces grave and measured tread;
The case was serious, they said, and none
Could tell the issue. They were clever men
Nor meant to be unkind; yet when I saw
Them watch his pangs of pain and laboured breathing
With interest all professional and cold,
It wellnigh made me mad.
One day in Summer's youth-time (when the breeze
Had Winter's breath still on it) was enough
To lay my Edgar low. Physicians came
And went, with faces grave and measured tread;
The case was serious, they said, and none
Could tell the issue. They were clever men
72
Them watch his pangs of pain and laboured breathing
With interest all professional and cold,
It wellnigh made me mad.
The crisis came
And passed;—the point once turned, he slowly gained
A little strength. The cautious doctors said
His youth would grapple on the side of life,
And he might yet recover. But for him
Should be no more of hard and brain-wrought toil
Or anxious eager thought:—his life must pass
In quiet,—and his winters he must spend
For several years abroad. Thus he will leave
Chill England's shores to-day. Ah cruel blast
And muddy cold grey sky that drives him from me!
Oh callous North-wind, couldst thou not restrain
Thy blighting force and let my darling live
In the same land as I? Life-giving Sun,
Oh why dost thou not shine, when, if thou didst,
It would rejoice so many yearning hearts!
And passed;—the point once turned, he slowly gained
A little strength. The cautious doctors said
His youth would grapple on the side of life,
And he might yet recover. But for him
Should be no more of hard and brain-wrought toil
Or anxious eager thought:—his life must pass
In quiet,—and his winters he must spend
For several years abroad. Thus he will leave
Chill England's shores to-day. Ah cruel blast
And muddy cold grey sky that drives him from me!
Oh callous North-wind, couldst thou not restrain
Thy blighting force and let my darling live
In the same land as I? Life-giving Sun,
Oh why dost thou not shine, when, if thou didst,
It would rejoice so many yearning hearts!
73
SCENE IV.
Early morning. Edgar standing on a balcony enjoying the fresh balmy air and watching the last traces of the sunrise die away in the sky.Edgar.
So yesterday was Christmas-day, and yet
Such weather joyous and unwinter-like,—
In truth such weather as in recent years
We northerners but rarely have received
In sunless seasons which we summer call
Merely from force of custom.
Such weather joyous and unwinter-like,—
In truth such weather as in recent years
We northerners but rarely have received
In sunless seasons which we summer call
Merely from force of custom.
Many trees
Retain their leaves—and fair it is to see
Green leaves at Christmas-time, while gorgeous flowers,
Which never bloom in Britain save when placed
In houses cramped and stifling with damp heat,
Display their beauty in the open air.
A few days since I saw—exquisite sight!
An avenue of fine camellia plants,
And all in fullest flower! and as I looked
Up the long vista while the luscious red
Commingled in my vision with the white,
And as I further gazed upon the scene
Of which they were the centre, and drank in
Its wondrous loveliness, I felt deep joy
That still amid its mingled pain and grief
Such sweetness is preserved on earth to soothe
And elevate men's thoughts. They who have lived
Only in climates where the fickle weather
Is changeful as the winds, can never know
The bliss of living where, come calm or storm,
No blighting blast can reach to wither up
Our vital energies and make our life
A misery. This is not such a clime
As Italy's in winter, where the sun
Makes summer as its warm rays penetrate,
But in the shade the cutting searching wind
Blows keenly from the snowy Apennines;
Nor such a clime as that whose azure waves
Reflect with dazzling force the Day-king's heat
Upon the olive-groves and pine-clad crags
Of the gay Riviera;—but whose warmth
Dies with the day, and night is damp and cold.
Here winds are never cold nor ever harm
With treacherous touch the trustful invalid,
Who, lured by the soft sunlight, walks abroad.
Here balmy night is pleasant and as mild
As is the day, while the defiled sea-shore
Appears, at least at night, most beautiful
Viewed from a distance; and the dotted lights
From many a cottage on the lone crag-sides
Vie with the stars from out the deep blue sky
In forming a fair circlet round the bay
Like flashing jewels round the shapely arm
Of youth-dowered maid.
Retain their leaves—and fair it is to see
Green leaves at Christmas-time, while gorgeous flowers,
Which never bloom in Britain save when placed
In houses cramped and stifling with damp heat,
Display their beauty in the open air.
A few days since I saw—exquisite sight!
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And all in fullest flower! and as I looked
Up the long vista while the luscious red
Commingled in my vision with the white,
And as I further gazed upon the scene
Of which they were the centre, and drank in
Its wondrous loveliness, I felt deep joy
That still amid its mingled pain and grief
Such sweetness is preserved on earth to soothe
And elevate men's thoughts. They who have lived
Only in climates where the fickle weather
Is changeful as the winds, can never know
The bliss of living where, come calm or storm,
No blighting blast can reach to wither up
Our vital energies and make our life
A misery. This is not such a clime
As Italy's in winter, where the sun
Makes summer as its warm rays penetrate,
But in the shade the cutting searching wind
Blows keenly from the snowy Apennines;
Nor such a clime as that whose azure waves
Reflect with dazzling force the Day-king's heat
Upon the olive-groves and pine-clad crags
75
Dies with the day, and night is damp and cold.
Here winds are never cold nor ever harm
With treacherous touch the trustful invalid,
Who, lured by the soft sunlight, walks abroad.
Here balmy night is pleasant and as mild
As is the day, while the defiled sea-shore
Appears, at least at night, most beautiful
Viewed from a distance; and the dotted lights
From many a cottage on the lone crag-sides
Vie with the stars from out the deep blue sky
In forming a fair circlet round the bay
Like flashing jewels round the shapely arm
Of youth-dowered maid.
What were the lines I strung
Together, to employ an idle hour?
Together, to employ an idle hour?
Christmas in the summer sunshine! O how beautiful it seems,—
Clothed in gladness are its moments, realising poets' dreams,
While its hours pass swiftly from us, how we wish they were for aye,
That their bright and buoyant pleasure with its guilelessness might stay.
Clothed in gladness are its moments, realising poets' dreams,
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That their bright and buoyant pleasure with its guilelessness might stay.
Christmas in the summer sunshine! softly blows the scented breeze
And its coming stirs the frondage of the stately staid palm-trees.
Calm the noble realm of Ocean, fair the dotted fishing skiffs,
And the verdant cactus growing on the gaunt uprising cliffs.
And its coming stirs the frondage of the stately staid palm-trees.
Calm the noble realm of Ocean, fair the dotted fishing skiffs,
And the verdant cactus growing on the gaunt uprising cliffs.
All of Flora's cultured beauty freely is revealed to view,
And among the vine-clad ridges of sweet wild-flowers not a few,
Soft azaleas, rich gardenias, ope their blossoms to the air,
With the rose, and trained geranium:—while its wild type too is there.
And among the vine-clad ridges of sweet wild-flowers not a few,
Soft azaleas, rich gardenias, ope their blossoms to the air,
With the rose, and trained geranium:—while its wild type too is there.
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Fitting the moon's glorious radiance for the people as they pass
On the eve of merry Christmas, to and from the midnight mass;
And for strolling serenaders who invade the silent hours
With what doubtless they consider some of music's choicest flowers.
On the eve of merry Christmas, to and from the midnight mass;
And for strolling serenaders who invade the silent hours
With what doubtless they consider some of music's choicest flowers.
Christmas in the summer sunshine! neither snow nor frost are here,
Which, though they may charm the healthy, fill the invalid with fear;
And in sooth, with dear ones round him, spends he happily the day,
Pining not for that loved treasure—his chill home so far away.
Which, though they may charm the healthy, fill the invalid with fear;
And in sooth, with dear ones round him, spends he happily the day,
Pining not for that loved treasure—his chill home so far away.
Yet! 'tis the far away that makes me sad,
For distance is indeed a barrier,
Let bards say what they will; for though I hope
Hale health is coming back, I sometimes feel
As though I had not very long to live;
And if 'tis so, it seems a cruel fate
To have to spend my few remaining days
So far away from those my heart holds dear,
But chiefly from the one my whole soul loves.
For distance is indeed a barrier,
Let bards say what they will; for though I hope
Hale health is coming back, I sometimes feel
78
And if 'tis so, it seems a cruel fate
To have to spend my few remaining days
So far away from those my heart holds dear,
But chiefly from the one my whole soul loves.
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SCENE V.
A quiet spot in the garden of Edgar's home. Several months afterwards. Edgar and Alethea.Edgar.
The doctors think that I shall ne'er be well.
They do not say so openly, but still
It is not hard to understand the drift
Of their calm-spoken diplomatic phrases
About ‘much care’ and ‘quiet’ and ‘escape
From English winters to the sunny south;’
And when I asked if my complaint were cured,
They hesitated, hemmed, then, smiling, said,
‘Alleviated were the better term.’
Ah, it is hard to hear a cruel fate
Thus subtly hinted at in civil words
And courteous commonplaces, and to have
One's hopes annihilated in soft tones,
Meant to be pitiful, perchance, but which
Seem by their wily softness but to scorn
And counterfeit a kindness not heart-felt.
'Tis bitter to reflect my roll of years
Will probably be briefer than of those
My comrades—and no better men than I
(And this when life to me was ever sweet).
'Tis bitter to reflect that theirs may be
The bright career of steadfast earnest toil
Towards some right worthy goal, which, gained at last,
Rewards them with a name, while unto me
'Tis given but to spend in listless calm
My few remaining days.
They do not say so openly, but still
It is not hard to understand the drift
Of their calm-spoken diplomatic phrases
About ‘much care’ and ‘quiet’ and ‘escape
From English winters to the sunny south;’
And when I asked if my complaint were cured,
They hesitated, hemmed, then, smiling, said,
‘Alleviated were the better term.’
Ah, it is hard to hear a cruel fate
Thus subtly hinted at in civil words
And courteous commonplaces, and to have
One's hopes annihilated in soft tones,
Meant to be pitiful, perchance, but which
Seem by their wily softness but to scorn
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'Tis bitter to reflect my roll of years
Will probably be briefer than of those
My comrades—and no better men than I
(And this when life to me was ever sweet).
'Tis bitter to reflect that theirs may be
The bright career of steadfast earnest toil
Towards some right worthy goal, which, gained at last,
Rewards them with a name, while unto me
'Tis given but to spend in listless calm
My few remaining days.
But bitterer still
It is, that I must loose you now, my love,
From cherished vows which we have interchanged.
For 'twere not right that I should link your fate
With mine as now it is, and bring perchance
On others—innocent—the hopeless bane
Of cureless sickness which I feel myself.
Grief is the rule of this our carthly life,
And joy but the exception; wherefore then
Should I expect of joy a greater share
Than is apportioned unto thousands who
Have suffered, still are suffering, or will suffer
As helplessly as I:—and surely too
My mind should be far calmer than is his
Who sowed himself the seeds of his disease,
Whose every pang is now intensified
By keen remorse, and seething in whose soul
No thought save one—the ever-gnawing thought
But for himself what he would now have been.
Yet oh, Alethea, 'tis crushing grief
To lose you, darling, were it not my duty,
My duty thought and prayed about for weeks,
I could not say the word to set you free.
It is, that I must loose you now, my love,
From cherished vows which we have interchanged.
For 'twere not right that I should link your fate
With mine as now it is, and bring perchance
On others—innocent—the hopeless bane
Of cureless sickness which I feel myself.
Grief is the rule of this our carthly life,
And joy but the exception; wherefore then
Should I expect of joy a greater share
Than is apportioned unto thousands who
Have suffered, still are suffering, or will suffer
81
My mind should be far calmer than is his
Who sowed himself the seeds of his disease,
Whose every pang is now intensified
By keen remorse, and seething in whose soul
No thought save one—the ever-gnawing thought
But for himself what he would now have been.
Yet oh, Alethea, 'tis crushing grief
To lose you, darling, were it not my duty,
My duty thought and prayed about for weeks,
I could not say the word to set you free.
Alethea.
The word to set me free! that were indeed
Most difficult to say, for we are bound
Indissolubly:—and though, Edgar dear,
You tell me that for us all hope is o'er
Of earthly union: yet there still remains
A radiant future seen through mists of tears,
Since present life is not our whole existence.
Your name means ‘happy honour,’ and mine own
‘Truth:’—if we live our little span of days
Worthy of such high names, it will be well
82
On your poor face and mark the touch of pain,
Then, though I feel that doubtless you are right
In that you say, it makes me doubly sad
To think the fate that makes you suffer so,
Remorseless and unsatisfied, compels
You thus to blight your life; but if fond love
And sympathy can cheer, you yet may find
Some earthly joy remaining even to you.
83
SCENE VI.
Midwinter in a certain little island abroad. A pretty room with opened windows overlooking a lovely garden, and a still lovelier prospect beyond. Time.—A few years afterwards, towards sunset, and only a few days before Edgar's death. Edgar and Alethea.Edgar.
Truly a grand, a noble thing is life—
This most I feel when I am passing from it;
And life is fair, whatever cynics say.
But yesterday I lay upon my couch
And looked upon the clear wide-stretching bay,
Far, far beneath me shimmering in the sun.
I saw th' exquisite azure of the sky,
The dainty outlines of palm-branches shown
More clearly by the strong light showered upon them,
The countless clustering vines and varied trees
In all the gentle ever-pleasing glow
84
Which makes each cultivated garden here
Appear a paradise. Banana-trees
I saw with all their load of luscious fruit
The graceful guava-trees with light-green leaves
The loquats with their deeper verdant tints,—
The little plant they call ‘Brazilian cherry,’
With bright green leaves, and fruit of strawberry size,—
The stately yam-tree with its blossoms white
And lily-like;—fair to the eye indeed,
A tree whose oval leaves afford good shade
In summer. Surely it is strangely sweet
To loiter in such gardens when cool Night
Has conquered the fierce ardour of the day,—
And see the meek moon rise o'er azure seas,—
And view the tranquil heavens don their jewels,
And hear machêtes swift tingling forth an air
Of music,—haply a soft mazy dance.
Yet, dear Alethea, it is decreed
That I must leave you, darling, but although
'Tis sad to leave you and this beauteous world,
'Tis sweet to die amid such loveliness.
85
Condemned me to this sickness slow and sure
Immured in one close room from day to day,
Through the long, lagging, weary winter-time,
But given me the means wherewith to dwell
In climate such as this where balmy air
And sunshine even in winter, are not wanting;
A climate where the invalid can pass,
However languid, many happy hours
Communing with God's fair earth out of doors.
Do you remember, dear, some years ago
You told me if fond love and sympathy
Could soothe me that I surely should be cheered?
And you have kept your word: I have been cheered,
And comforted, and though no marriage-bond
Has been between us as we once had hoped,
Our souls have been as one. Take my poor thanks
For coming thus to sojourn where I dwelt
And giving me your loving tireless care
'Mid all my pain and suffering, made less hard
To bear by your kind presence.
86
I am glad
It was my lot to render you this service,—
A service small indeed compared with love
Such as I bear you, darling.
Edgar.
When I die,
Let me be buried in my native land,
Not here, although I love this sea-girt shore,
Where graveyards are embowered mid beauteous trees,
And overlook mayhap light rippling waves
As blue as the deep azure heavens above them,
Round whose rude tombs the scented roses cling.
And still bloom on throughout the sunny year.
But let me rather lie where chilling rain
And bitter sleet shall in the winter-time
Beat on my resting-place. For what care I
Though placid snows spread o'er my quiet grave
Their spotless mantle, though wild wintry winds
87
And if 'twere here, perchance it would not be
For ever left in pcace. Alethea,
For Time we shall be separated soon,
But do not grieve o'ermuch. For me 'twill be
A glad release from pain, and you and I
Shall meet in yon pure Home of Love at last.
91
VERSES OF TRAVEL.
A BISCAYAN SUNSET.
April 17th, 1879.
A golden halo gilds the sky,
And the wind-unruffled sea,
A scene it is where poet's eye
Could subtle loveliness descry
Unweariedly.
And the wind-unruffled sea,
A scene it is where poet's eye
Could subtle loveliness descry
Unweariedly.
Hark! from afar the deep-toned roar
Of the Atlantic surge—
Yon sail will soon be seen no more
Now light-illumed: 'tis fleeting o'er
The sea-scape's verge.
Of the Atlantic surge—
Yon sail will soon be seen no more
Now light-illumed: 'tis fleeting o'er
The sea-scape's verge.
92
The stars appear—strange visions rise;
Of man's dim destiny
How typical are these calm skies!
While like to man the sad sea lies
Troubled though free.
Of man's dim destiny
How typical are these calm skies!
While like to man the sad sea lies
Troubled though free.
No wingèd wanderer slowly cleaves
The silence in his flight;—
His burning throne the Warmth-King leaves
While the fair firmament receives
The crown'd Queen Night.
The silence in his flight;—
His burning throne the Warmth-King leaves
While the fair firmament receives
The crown'd Queen Night.
93
AFTER SUNSET OFF PAUILLAC, FRANCE.
April 18th, 1879.
Day hath departed, save a few faint streaksOf light that fleck the bosom of the sky;
These, and these only, stay to testify
Of proud Night's conquest. Hark! that sound bespeaks
Our nearness to the Ocean, and I see
Its ripples at my feet;—a soft clear song
Is brceze-borne from a vessel's deck along.
The crew with musical monotony
Raise anchor swiftly, and the ship doth glide
In silence, save for the chant growing low
Wave-wafted landwards. Little doth she know
If calms will come, or fiercest storms betide:—
Alas, o'er life's strange sea we all must sail
Like her, nor know if calm or tempest will prevail.
94
ON A DISTANT PROSPECT OF THE PYRENEES.
Majestic snow-crowned mountains distant far,
Yet to man's seeming near! How oft we feel
In life 'tis even thus! though there the view,
That seems so close before us full and fair,
May ne'er be realized, while here it needs
But purpose long-sustained to gain the goal
And prove the seeming real.
Yet to man's seeming near! How oft we feel
In life 'tis even thus! though there the view,
That seems so close before us full and fair,
May ne'er be realized, while here it needs
But purpose long-sustained to gain the goal
And prove the seeming real.
Whilst I gaze
Upon your cloud-capt summits, thoughts arise
Telling of eager spirits not a few
Who like to me have looked in ages past,
Filled with the selfsame dream of human change,
And your immutability compared
With man's brief mundane course. How many too
Have lounged and looked on your cloud-piercing peaks,
Nor felt the deep reflection such a scene
Is fitted well to give! Strange! but 'tis so,
And will be ever while the world endures;
That which to one seems passion-fraught, sublime,
Another views,—deems fine,—and passes on.
Upon your cloud-capt summits, thoughts arise
Telling of eager spirits not a few
Who like to me have looked in ages past,
Filled with the selfsame dream of human change,
And your immutability compared
With man's brief mundane course. How many too
Have lounged and looked on your cloud-piercing peaks,
Nor felt the deep reflection such a scene
95
And will be ever while the world endures;
That which to one seems passion-fraught, sublime,
Another views,—deems fine,—and passes on.
96
A DIRGE OF DECAY.
[_]
Near Argelez in the Department of the Hautes Pyrénées, France, are several ruins of old castles said to have been built by the English in the 15th century.
Within these walls
Now half-forgotten, lonely and decayed,
Only the birds their resting-place have made,
And scarce a step within them ever falls.
Now half-forgotten, lonely and decayed,
Only the birds their resting-place have made,
And scarce a step within them ever falls.
Yet doubtless here
Stupendous deeds of valour have been wrought,—
Deeds that to many thousands then were fraught
With heart-felt weal or deep and direful fear.
Stupendous deeds of valour have been wrought,—
Deeds that to many thousands then were fraught
With heart-felt weal or deep and direful fear.
Brave of the brave
Our soldiers must assuredly have been,
So long to hold for our proud Island-queen
This land which then seemed far across the wave.
Our soldiers must assuredly have been,
So long to hold for our proud Island-queen
This land which then seemed far across the wave.
101
Yes, far from aid,
From friends, from home, must have appeared their lot,
And yet (O courage great!) they faltered not,
Nor, filled with craven terror, were afraid;
From friends, from home, must have appeared their lot,
And yet (O courage great!) they faltered not,
Nor, filled with craven terror, were afraid;
Not even though
Full oft encompassed, like unto a stag
By hounds engirt; but rallied round their flag,
And kept its honour stainless from the foe.
Full oft encompassed, like unto a stag
By hounds engirt; but rallied round their flag,
And kept its honour stainless from the foe.
Why is it then
That low in ruins are these castles laid?
It is because old courage had decayed,—
It is because old fire had left our men.
That low in ruins are these castles laid?
It is because old courage had decayed,—
It is because old fire had left our men.
This should we learn
While earth remaineth thus,—wars cannot cease;
That everything hath limits,—even peace;
So let the lamp of ancient courage burn.
While earth remaineth thus,—wars cannot cease;
That everything hath limits,—even peace;
So let the lamp of ancient courage burn.
102
LINES ON LOOKING UP THE VALE OF BARÉGES FROM ST. SAUVEUR, HAUTES PYRÉNÉES, FRANCE.
Lo! what a glorious prospect is revealedOf mountains, snow, and verdant loveliness;
Upon the sloping sides of monarch heights
Reposes now the mist, most gracefully,
In wreaths almost transparent; presently
Its mass divides, and clear against the sky
Appears each giant summit grandly calm,
And seeming proud that its lone God-wrought strength
So long defies decay. One ever feels
In gazing on such scenes how weak is man,
Yet still how much his art hath made increase
To this rare store of beauty. Each small patch
Perceived upon the mountain-side, reclaimed
103
To cheer the eye. To me it often seems
As though no prospect were indeed complete
Without some trace of toil to leaven it.
104
FROM LA RAILLÈRE TO PONT D'ESPAGNE AND LAC DE GAUBE.
O path which seems to have a loveliness
More than of Earth,
How can one who has viewed thy scenes express
The thoughts that unto them have owed their birth?
More than of Earth,
How can one who has viewed thy scenes express
The thoughts that unto them have owed their birth?
How can he tell of all the wondrous way
Where grandeur vies
With beauty, rich and rare, to bear the sway
In winning and retaining ravished eyes?
Where grandeur vies
With beauty, rich and rare, to bear the sway
In winning and retaining ravished eyes?
How can he tell of rocks and ridges wild
Which lie around?
Of mighty mountain-peaks on high up-piled?
Of ceaseless cataracts' majestic sound?
Which lie around?
Of mighty mountain-peaks on high up-piled?
Of ceaseless cataracts' majestic sound?
105
How can he well describe rich-foliaged trees
That screen the sides?
Blown to and fro by gentle summer breeze,—
In chasms where the vale the rocks divides.
That screen the sides?
Blown to and fro by gentle summer breeze,—
In chasms where the vale the rocks divides.
How can he well describe the stately pines
Steadfast and strong?
(True type of one whose sun not always shines,
And yet who bravely bears grief's load along.)
Steadfast and strong?
(True type of one whose sun not always shines,
And yet who bravely bears grief's load along.)
High-foaming Cérizet can he portray?
Beyond the power
Of language even feebly to convey
Its peerless beauty, wonder-working dower.
Beyond the power
Of language even feebly to convey
Its peerless beauty, wonder-working dower.
Much less the wilder falls at Pont d'Espagne
Truly sublime,—
Whose weird white floods sing songs of sturdy strain,
For aye the same in nature-ordered time.
Truly sublime,—
Whose weird white floods sing songs of sturdy strain,
For aye the same in nature-ordered time.
106
When Lac de Gaube is reached, how can he tell
The silent sight
Of snow and glaciers? Soon our bosoms swell
With feelings half of fear, half of delight.
The silent sight
Of snow and glaciers? Soon our bosoms swell
With feelings half of fear, half of delight.
The fairy rainbow tints which o'er the falls
Glimmer and play,
The stilly clearness of the lake enthralls,
Yes this and all, in us soon holds full sway.
Glimmer and play,
The stilly clearness of the lake enthralls,
Yes this and all, in us soon holds full sway.
Though none can well describe these scenes, shall not
They in the mind
Remain to bring forth fruit, a gladsome spot
In memory, a gift for good designed!
They in the mind
Remain to bring forth fruit, a gladsome spot
In memory, a gift for good designed!
109
AT ORTHEZ
SONNET
[_]
On seeing a Sham Fight of French Troops at Orthez, in exactly the same position as those occupied by the English and French Armies in the memorable action of February 14th, 1814.
A February day in years long fled,
A fiercely raging battle hour by hour,
At length gained by a mind of mighty power
Through wonder-working skill.
A fiercely raging battle hour by hour,
At length gained by a mind of mighty power
Through wonder-working skill.
French troops are spread
Along the ridge of hills and fertile vales
Where that stern strife was once. For mimic war
They are arranged precisely as of yore,
Is the result as in the old men's tales
Who saw the real conflict? Nay, not so,
The French now hold the heights. Fictitious foes
Are beaten by the patriots who oppose.
‘The English hounds who wrought our pride's o'erthrow,’
Doubtless thinks many a soldier, ‘now would feel,
If they were here once more, the force of Frenchmen's steel.’
Along the ridge of hills and fertile vales
Where that stern strife was once. For mimic war
They are arranged precisely as of yore,
Is the result as in the old men's tales
Who saw the real conflict? Nay, not so,
The French now hold the heights. Fictitious foes
Are beaten by the patriots who oppose.
‘The English hounds who wrought our pride's o'erthrow,’
Doubtless thinks many a soldier, ‘now would feel,
If they were here once more, the force of Frenchmen's steel.’
113
THE ESCORIAL, 1879.
[_]
The Escorial, a glooming pile, standing at the foot of the Guadarrama range of mountains, is the burial-place of the Spanish Kings, and it is so vast that it looks imposing even amid natural grandeur.
How sternly the Escorial stands,—
The burial-place of kings,
Who at disloyal Death's commands
Must leave their princely things,
The burial-place of kings,
Who at disloyal Death's commands
Must leave their princely things,
And hie to this stupendous pile,
That looks so cold and lone,—
Where nature scarcely dares to smile,
And verdure seems unknown,—
That looks so cold and lone,—
Where nature scarcely dares to smile,
And verdure seems unknown,—
114
To this sad spot where Summer's glare
Beats fiercest and most strong,—
Where swooping from his mountain lair
Winter abideth long.
Beats fiercest and most strong,—
Where swooping from his mountain lair
Winter abideth long.
Ah, yes, it must be change indeed
From grandeur such as theirs
To such a spot to come with speed,
To be Corruption's heirs.
From grandeur such as theirs
To such a spot to come with speed,
To be Corruption's heirs.
For evermore to lay aside
Insignia of power,—
All-humbled stately monarch pride
In death's still awful hour.
Insignia of power,—
All-humbled stately monarch pride
In death's still awful hour.
And yet 'twere better thus to be
Entombed 'mid marble walls,
Where even his foot who comes to see
In seeming reverence falls,
Entombed 'mid marble walls,
115
In seeming reverence falls,
Than to be huddled with the rest
In some dank burial-ground,
Where in a few years' time at best
One's place could not be found.
In some dank burial-ground,
Where in a few years' time at best
One's place could not be found.
Men prate that Nature ne'er obtains
Her long-predestined dues,
And show that we with mighty pains
Should alter all our views
Her long-predestined dues,
And show that we with mighty pains
Should alter all our views
On points of sepulchre. For me,
Though o'er it fall Oblivion's frost,
I trust for aye my grave shall be
Neither disturbed nor lost.
Though o'er it fall Oblivion's frost,
I trust for aye my grave shall be
Neither disturbed nor lost.
119
LINES ON PASSING IN AN EXPRESS TRAIN THROUGH BADAJOZ,
NOTED FOR ITS FAMOUS SIEGE DURING THE PENINSULAR WAR.
And is this Badajoz? where once was heard
The clash of arms, and breaching cannons' roar,
Where from the dim-lit parallels came forth
The forlorn hope at Duty's stern command?
Where swords and bayonets bristled on cold walls,
And multitudes of marksmen sought to stay
The assailing columns in their onward course?
Where, when the town was gained, grim Plunder stalked
Amid its devastated streets, and made
Them ghastlier even than War?
Years yield strange fruit
Of alteration in forsaken paths;
Yet was I strangely struck with the great change
Wrought here in Badajoz.
The clash of arms, and breaching cannons' roar,
Where from the dim-lit parallels came forth
The forlorn hope at Duty's stern command?
Where swords and bayonets bristled on cold walls,
And multitudes of marksmen sought to stay
The assailing columns in their onward course?
Where, when the town was gained, grim Plunder stalked
Amid its devastated streets, and made
Them ghastlier even than War?
Years yield strange fruit
Of alteration in forsaken paths;
Yet was I strangely struck with the great change
Wrought here in Badajoz.
Can it be true
That here a most prosaic railway-station
Is now erected, with its telegraph,
Poor restaurant, and porters to be ‘tipped’?
And that of travellers, who tread its platform
When trains a moment stop, scarce any think
Of that bold siege which for all coming years
Has blazoned ‘Badajoz’ on Fame's high scroll?
That here a most prosaic railway-station
Is now erected, with its telegraph,
120
And that of travellers, who tread its platform
When trains a moment stop, scarce any think
Of that bold siege which for all coming years
Has blazoned ‘Badajoz’ on Fame's high scroll?
122
CINTRA in 1879.
Cintra, our Byron gave thy name to fameBy his description grand, and sweet, and true;
But though thy ‘mountain's ever beauteous brow’
And many other objects are unchanged,
Yet altered are full many of the scenes
On which the poet looked, and mused and sang.
No ‘frugal monks their little relics show’
To strangers at ‘Our Lady's house of woe.’
One sees their tiny cells, their cork-wood walls,
Honorius's cave, and that is all.
The former home of ‘England's wealthiest son’
No longer has its ‘portals gaping wide,’
Its ‘halls deserted,’ or great ‘giant weeds’
Within its garden ground:—but it is fair,
Fair as the lordly traveller declared
It was of yore. While ‘Marialva's dome’
Is changed in that 'tis now historical,
123
Its interest was eclipsed by other themes
Of ever-varying War:—the deed performed
Within its gates too recent not to be
Left unto record of the daily gossip,
And comments of the press which rarely live.
All now is different:—a classic scene
Thou standest, Cintra, clothed with more of fame
(To English minds at least) from Byron's words
Than from thy matchless beauty, could that be.
And mayhap, in the years to come, some poet
Treading the self-same scenes will tell how one,
A writer of poor verses, tried to tell
What changes there had been since Byron wrote;
And he, in turn, with glowing eloquence
Will paint with poet's art the tide of Change
On Cintra since these lines were given forth.
127
A LESTÉ SUNRISE IN MADEIRA.
Many-hued the sky this morn,
Beautiful the day is born,
Fleecy clouds on every side
Sunshine's coming seem to hide,
But the other cloudlets stand
Ready waiting its command.
Beautiful the day is born,
Fleecy clouds on every side
Sunshine's coming seem to hide,
But the other cloudlets stand
Ready waiting its command.
Ay, they are a gorgeous group,
Almost each tint in the troop,
Red, and light blue, and maroon,
And some white appearing soon,
And a glorious purple shade
Over all is deftly laid.
Almost each tint in the troop,
Red, and light blue, and maroon,
And some white appearing soon,
And a glorious purple shade
Over all is deftly laid.
128
O'er the mountains purple clouds
Of deep colour hang, like shrouds;
Purple masses faint are shed
O'er the Ocean's wave-strewn bed,
Fine the light which now one sees,
On the palms and tropic trees.
Of deep colour hang, like shrouds;
Purple masses faint are shed
O'er the Ocean's wave-strewn bed,
Fine the light which now one sees,
On the palms and tropic trees.
Swiftly fades the splendid sky
To a dimly purple dye;
Gently stirs the landward breeze
Shapely-formed banana-trees.
Dawn's first freshness wears away,
And begins the balmy day.
To a dimly purple dye;
Gently stirs the landward breeze
Shapely-formed banana-trees.
Dawn's first freshness wears away,
And begins the balmy day.
129
MADEIRA—MOONLIGHT.
Stealing softly o'er the mountains,
Skirting Funchal's scattered town,
To the eastward, comes the moonlight
Flinging its effulgence down;
Making every object glitter
In its clear and tranquil sheen,
While the Ocean lately troubled
Seemeth lapt in peace serene.
Skirting Funchal's scattered town,
To the eastward, comes the moonlight
Flinging its effulgence down;
Making every object glitter
In its clear and tranquil sheen,
While the Ocean lately troubled
Seemeth lapt in peace serene.
Subtle moonlight! how thy radiance
With a magic often shown
Touches and refines a landscape
With a glamour all thine own!
So thou causest here the houses
Mean, nay squalid, in the light,
To appear a pearly pureness
Rather than a dirty white.
With a magic often shown
Touches and refines a landscape
With a glamour all thine own!
So thou causest here the houses
Mean, nay squalid, in the light,
To appear a pearly pureness
Rather than a dirty white.
130
For the filth and streets so narrow,
With vile odours bred by day,
Save for Nature's glorious grandeur,
Takes admiring thoughts away;
But the moonbeam maketh all things
Gain at least a semblance meet,
Till at length the wide-spread prospect
Has an aspect almost sweet.
With vile odours bred by day,
Save for Nature's glorious grandeur,
Takes admiring thoughts away;
But the moonbeam maketh all things
Gain at least a semblance meet,
Till at length the wide-spread prospect
Has an aspect almost sweet.
131
AT SANTA CRUZ DE TENERIFE.
Feb. 19, 1880.
'Tis fashionable now to say
That skill displayed in war is wrong,
That they who formed our England's sway,
And made her empire firm and strong,
That skill displayed in war is wrong,
That they who formed our England's sway,
And made her empire firm and strong,
Were callous cut-throats nothing less,—
Who joyed in war for its own sake,—
Who yearned to banish happiness,
Who loved with blood their thirst to slake.
Who joyed in war for its own sake,—
Who yearned to banish happiness,
Who loved with blood their thirst to slake.
And yet while landing here to-day,
On the same shore which years ago
Saw from its crag-encircled bay
Our Nelson's only overthrow,
On the same shore which years ago
Saw from its crag-encircled bay
Our Nelson's only overthrow,
132
I thought, Do those who grub and prose,
And by their lights their betters try,
Perform their life-tasks more than those
Whose task is but ‘to do or die’?
And by their lights their betters try,
Perform their life-tasks more than those
Whose task is but ‘to do or die’?
135
GIBRALTAR.
1880.
‘Sweet Seville’ has been sung—and Cadiz too
By Byron, for the beauty of her girls,—
Yet know I not that one hath given thy due
To thee on whose proud crest the cloud-wreath curls.
By Byron, for the beauty of her girls,—
Yet know I not that one hath given thy due
To thee on whose proud crest the cloud-wreath curls.
Let me attempt thy praise, then, for I know
That worthier pens will write of foreign towns,—
For now no place has praise with us, if so
It be mayhap a jewel of our Crown's.
That worthier pens will write of foreign towns,—
For now no place has praise with us, if so
It be mayhap a jewel of our Crown's.
‘Sweet Seville's’ Guadalquivir, famed in song,
Is nothing save a nearly stagnant stream.
The beauty of the Cadiz maiden throng
Exists,—but in a ‘poet's airy dream.’
Is nothing save a nearly stagnant stream.
136
Exists,—but in a ‘poet's airy dream.’
Here in Gibraltar all retains an air
Of honest truth. Odourless streets are clean,
And everything is made the most of, where
Man's art avails to soften down the scene.
Of honest truth. Odourless streets are clean,
And everything is made the most of, where
Man's art avails to soften down the scene.
The gardens of the Alameda, full
Of semi-tropic plants and shady trees,
Pleasant to lounge in their recesses cool
On summer eves to catch the soft sea-breeze.
Of semi-tropic plants and shady trees,
Pleasant to lounge in their recesses cool
On summer eves to catch the soft sea-breeze.
Yet great the toil and patience must have been
Before at last was made such rocky ground
To nourish shrub, or plant, or aught of green.
Cheering it is to hear the home-like sound
Before at last was made such rocky ground
To nourish shrub, or plant, or aught of green.
Cheering it is to hear the home-like sound
Of English tongues,—to see our cared-for men,—
Contrasted with the Spaniards wan and weak,
Guarding their posts, as they with eager ken
Look on our cannon, which have but to speak—
Contrasted with the Spaniards wan and weak,
Guarding their posts, as they with eager ken
Look on our cannon, which have but to speak—
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To put their lines to rout. How lovely gleams
The Rock at sunrise! The grey looming clouds
Glow in the new-born light like glorious dreams,
While Shadow still the tranquil bay enshrouds.
The Rock at sunrise! The grey looming clouds
Glow in the new-born light like glorious dreams,
While Shadow still the tranquil bay enshrouds.
Ay, grim Gibraltar, thou indeed art fair!
And more than that, a place in which one may
Live with true home-like comfort, and a share
Of a good climate, brightening Life's dull day.
And more than that, a place in which one may
Live with true home-like comfort, and a share
Of a good climate, brightening Life's dull day.
138
GRANADA.
Fair Granada, our masters of the penHave written much of thee, and not a few
Who ne'er have seen thee, hold dream-wrought and fair,
A city in their fancy by thy name
Seen clearly in their mental eyes, as if
'Twere mirrored in their senses. Thus with me;
But when I saw, my fond ideal fell.
It was not that thy famed Alhambra hill
Lacked grandeur, or its silent courts were void
Of architectural wealth, or that the Vega,
Shut in by mountains and the silent snows,
Was aught save fair; yet still the impression stays
Unceasingly within me, caused perchance
By narrow Spanish streets, dull, dirty, white,
139
And fresh-wrought antique work amid the old
In the Alham bra's courts destroy their charm.
142
THE CERTOSA OF PAVIA;
A GREAT ITALIAN CONVENT, AND GRAND WORK OF ART.
Great monument of human skill!How vast must be the power and scope
Of minds which can conceive,—of hands
That shape such edifices rare;—
And doth the splendid sight not show
Convincingly how wondrous is
The grandeur, mightiness of Man,
Despite his body frail, and train
Of weary woes, which almost ever
Attends him, ere King Death with sway
Imperious demands his spoil?
And do such sights not educate,
If we may phrase it thus, the soul,
Leading us far more to believe
In the proud majesty of Art?
The marble cuttings exquisite
147
Gorgeous; yet though so finely wrought,
Designed in truly simple taste,
The stately stalls of workmanship
Replete with loveliness and rich
In cunning inlaid work. The aspect
Of the exterior, the carvings
So realistic near the door—
The outer door—of Roman coins
(Though strange to see these Pagan heads)
At entrance to a Christian church.
All, all make up a noble whole,
And fill the heart with feelings which
'Twere better that it ne'er forgot.
149
SONGS AND LYRICS.
151
THE LATE AUTUMN IS DYING.
The late Autumn is dying,
Dead leaves strew the land—
Signs of sorrow now lying
On every hand;
While I walk full of sadness
In a garden once fair,
Where before all was gladness,
I find trouble there.
Dead leaves strew the land—
Signs of sorrow now lying
On every hand;
While I walk full of sadness
In a garden once fair,
Where before all was gladness,
I find trouble there.
In a hedge-row wind-shaken
To wildest unrest,
Forlorn and forsaken,
I see a bird's nest,—
Its soft down decaying—
Its fledglings all flown,—
Nought save the shell staying
Deserted and lone.
To wildest unrest,
Forlorn and forsaken,
I see a bird's nest,—
Its soft down decaying—
Its fledglings all flown,—
Nought save the shell staying
Deserted and lone.
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Then the thought cometh cleaving
The depths of my mind—
Soon we too must be leaving
Our loved homes behind,—
The drear tomb will enclose us,
Life's pilgrimage o'er,—
“And the place that now knows us
Shall know us no more.”
The depths of my mind—
Soon we too must be leaving
Our loved homes behind,—
The drear tomb will enclose us,
Life's pilgrimage o'er,—
“And the place that now knows us
Shall know us no more.”
153
UNFULFILLED YEARNINGS.
When Summer's sweetest influence
Is shed o'er plain and hill,
And Nature gains her recompense
For working Winter's will,
We feel a void—a weary sense
Of something wanting still.
Is shed o'er plain and hill,
And Nature gains her recompense
For working Winter's will,
We feel a void—a weary sense
Of something wanting still.
In Autumn, when each searing leaf
With sorrow aye is fraught,
And every garnered golden sheaf
Yields fruit for saddest thought,
We feel a void—our spirits' grief
For something vainly sought.
With sorrow aye is fraught,
And every garnered golden sheaf
Yields fruit for saddest thought,
We feel a void—our spirits' grief
For something vainly sought.
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When Winter with his ice-cold hand
Grasps giant-like the ground,
And stiff and stark lies all the land
In frost's firm fetters bound,
We feel a void—we understand
'Tis something still unfound.
Grasps giant-like the ground,
And stiff and stark lies all the land
In frost's firm fetters bound,
We feel a void—we understand
'Tis something still unfound.
When Spring returns with fairest face,
Filling the earth with song,
And gladness seems in every place,
And love and life are strong,
Ah me! even then we fail to trace
The dream for which we long.
Filling the earth with song,
And gladness seems in every place,
And love and life are strong,
Ah me! even then we fail to trace
The dream for which we long.
155
GLAD DREAMS OF THE FUTURE COME O'ER US.
Glad dreams of the Future come o'er us,
All radiantly spotless and bright,
And bid us look up—for before us
Are vistas of boundless delight.
All radiantly spotless and bright,
And bid us look up—for before us
Are vistas of boundless delight.
O come when our bosoms are weary,
Life-burdened and longing for rest,
And point through the darkness still dreary
To a land which by sunlight is blest.
Life-burdened and longing for rest,
And point through the darkness still dreary
To a land which by sunlight is blest.
O come when the world has been gaining
O'er our souls an insidious sway,
Our fickle rash footsteps restraining
From wandering out of the way.
O'er our souls an insidious sway,
Our fickle rash footsteps restraining
From wandering out of the way.
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O come, that o'er all of Earth's changes
Your light as a guide may be shed,
Whether like unto others, or strange is,
The path that in Life we must tread.
Your light as a guide may be shed,
Whether like unto others, or strange is,
The path that in Life we must tread.
And when finished at length is Life's story,
Completed its words and its acts,
Then burst on our sight in your glory
Not as dreams, but immutable facts.
Completed its words and its acts,
Then burst on our sight in your glory
Not as dreams, but immutable facts.
159
A SONG OF HOPE.
The vinery's foliage
In Autumn grows sere,
For its wealth of bright beauty
Fades out with the year:
All its branches, where lately
Grape clusters were spread,
Become barren and sapless
And seem as though dead.
In Autumn grows sere,
For its wealth of bright beauty
Fades out with the year:
All its branches, where lately
Grape clusters were spread,
Become barren and sapless
And seem as though dead.
But long ere the soft Spring
Clothes the land in glad green,
On its boughs beauteous blossoms
Are lavishly seen,
As it uses the warmth
Which is placed in its power,
And so rallies more swiftly
From Winter's rude hour.
Clothes the land in glad green,
On its boughs beauteous blossoms
Are lavishly seen,
As it uses the warmth
Which is placed in its power,
And so rallies more swiftly
From Winter's rude hour.
160
Thus if we, when some sorrow
O'erwhelming appears,
And which threatens to banish
The light of our years,
Would the blessings still left
In our service employ,
Then whate'er be the issue,
'Twould bring us but joy.
O'erwhelming appears,
And which threatens to banish
The light of our years,
Would the blessings still left
In our service employ,
Then whate'er be the issue,
'Twould bring us but joy.
161
HOW OFT ARISE TO SOOTHE OUR WOE.
How oft arise to soothe our woe,
And dissipate our sadness,
Fond dreams of faces long ago
When life was love and gladness.
Like, yet unlike the lights that guide
The storm-tossed o'er the ocean,
They in our secret souls abide,
Cherished with deep devotion.
And dissipate our sadness,
Fond dreams of faces long ago
When life was love and gladness.
Like, yet unlike the lights that guide
The storm-tossed o'er the ocean,
They in our secret souls abide,
Cherished with deep devotion.
The halcyon Past seems to possess,
When we review its story,
One radiance of happiness,
Nor cloud to dim its glory;
So ah, 'tis well, when lonely lies
Life's pathway girt with sorrow,
That sometimes visions fair should rise
Which from our Past we borrow.
When we review its story,
One radiance of happiness,
Nor cloud to dim its glory;
162
Life's pathway girt with sorrow,
That sometimes visions fair should rise
Which from our Past we borrow.
165
HAPPINESS HERE.
There is happiness, dearest—
True happiness here,—
Though the troubles thou fearest
Perchance may appear:
For mid every emotion
Of weal or of woe,
Our depths of devotion
No respite shall know.
True happiness here,—
Though the troubles thou fearest
Perchance may appear:
For mid every emotion
Of weal or of woe,
Our depths of devotion
No respite shall know.
Yes,—in Life's twisted tissue
Of gladness and grief,
Love, whate'er be the issue,
Still renders relief.
So there's happiness, dearest—
True happiness here,—
Though the troubles thou fearest
Perchance may appear.
Of gladness and grief,
Love, whate'er be the issue,
Still renders relief.
So there's happiness, dearest—
True happiness here,—
Though the troubles thou fearest
Perchance may appear.
166
A SONG IN THE SOUTH.
The proud sun is setting, most fair to behold,
Going down to his rest in a garment of gold,
And, like a young maiden who wishes good-bye
To her dear chosen lover, deep blushes the sky,
All its beautiful tints, ah! how fair to behold
As the sun goeth down in his garment of gold.
Going down to his rest in a garment of gold,
And, like a young maiden who wishes good-bye
To her dear chosen lover, deep blushes the sky,
All its beautiful tints, ah! how fair to behold
As the sun goeth down in his garment of gold.
Light blue and dark blue and purple are there,
Red, brown, and golden with bounty how rare!
Black clouds o'er the mountains, white clouds o'er the sea,
And a landward breeze cometh soft, joyous, and free.
A prospect how glorious in truth to behold
As the sun goeth down in his garment of gold.
Red, brown, and golden with bounty how rare!
Black clouds o'er the mountains, white clouds o'er the sea,
And a landward breeze cometh soft, joyous, and free.
A prospect how glorious in truth to behold
As the sun goeth down in his garment of gold.
167
All wondrously blent as He only can do
Who gives to each tint its own delicate hue,
Who makes Nature's paintings so gorgeously grand,
That man can but copy, not daring to stand
In rivalry open. Yes, fair to behold
Is the sun going down in his garment of gold.
Who gives to each tint its own delicate hue,
Who makes Nature's paintings so gorgeously grand,
That man can but copy, not daring to stand
In rivalry open. Yes, fair to behold
Is the sun going down in his garment of gold.
168
TWILIGHT MEMORIES.
How once I loved the twilight hour
Of Summer's blissful day,
While watching from each leafy bower
The daylight die away,
And clasping in mine own the hand
Of one I loved the best,
Whose converse soothed, as the sight of land
Doth mariners distressed.
Of Summer's blissful day,
While watching from each leafy bower
The daylight die away,
And clasping in mine own the hand
Of one I loved the best,
Whose converse soothed, as the sight of land
Doth mariners distressed.
Right bravely he had borne his part
In Earth's incessant strife,
Still labouring on with dauntless heart
Amid the ills of Life.
Had known adversity and pain,—
Hopes blighted—bitter wrong,—
Yet all to sour his soul were vain:
In Heaven-born strength 'twas strong.
In Earth's incessant strife,
Still labouring on with dauntless heart
Amid the ills of Life.
Had known adversity and pain,—
Hopes blighted—bitter wrong,—
Yet all to sour his soul were vain:
In Heaven-born strength 'twas strong.
169
And oft he talked of his vanished years
In the gentle gloaming tide,
Bidding me all my joys and fears
Implicitly confide,
And wisely would my future trace,
Then leaving things of Time,
In raptured tones and with upturned face
Would speak of themes sublime.
In the gentle gloaming tide,
Bidding me all my joys and fears
Implicitly confide,
And wisely would my future trace,
Then leaving things of Time,
In raptured tones and with upturned face
Would speak of themes sublime.
His that strange wordless eloquence,
Always a wondrous power,
Which sways the soul with a force intense
In the calm of such an hour.
And when I walk where shadows steal
O'er Summer's fairy view,
I never, never fail to feel
That influence anew.
Always a wondrous power,
Which sways the soul with a force intense
In the calm of such an hour.
And when I walk where shadows steal
O'er Summer's fairy view,
I never, never fail to feel
That influence anew.
170
A WINTRY MOOR AT NIGHT.
My way led o'er a wintry waste
When evening shades were falling,
And the soft sheep-bells rung in haste
The fleecy flocks were calling,—
For still a few had strayed afield
To wander mid the heather,
Seeking the food the hill-sides yield
Despite such withering weather.
Chorus. A wintry moor! A wintry moor!
Alone at dark of night,
Where in the world may one procure
More desolate a sight?
When evening shades were falling,
And the soft sheep-bells rung in haste
The fleecy flocks were calling,—
For still a few had strayed afield
To wander mid the heather,
Seeking the food the hill-sides yield
Despite such withering weather.
Chorus. A wintry moor! A wintry moor!
Alone at dark of night,
Where in the world may one procure
More desolate a sight?
Black barren rocks were on the right,
Uprising bleak and lone,
Like the fabled forms of men of might
Fast petrified to stone.
And far and wide on every side,
The mazy mist extended,
Slowly its mass did upwards glide,
Till with the sky it blended.
Chorus. A wintry moor! etc.
Uprising bleak and lone,
Like the fabled forms of men of might
Fast petrified to stone.
171
The mazy mist extended,
Slowly its mass did upwards glide,
Till with the sky it blended.
Chorus. A wintry moor! etc.
I thought of deeds of darkness done
On that drear waste so lonely!
That there had perished many an one
For lack of succour only.
And I strode along with swifter pace,
A thrill o'er my bosom stealing,
Reaching at last my resting-place
With pleasurable feeling.
Chorus. A wintry moor! etc.
On that drear waste so lonely!
That there had perished many an one
For lack of succour only.
And I strode along with swifter pace,
A thrill o'er my bosom stealing,
Reaching at last my resting-place
With pleasurable feeling.
Chorus. A wintry moor! etc.
172
A SEA SONG.
I could not as a landsman live,
Pursuing his poor pleasure,
Each dull delight his course may give
Has nought in it to measure
With the true transport of the soul,
O'er every sense prevailing,
When 'neath our feet the wild waves roll,
We o'er the ocean sailing.
Chorus. A sailor's life! a sailor's life!
Upon the swelling sea,
Whose surges roar in ceaseless strife—
A sailor's life for me.
Pursuing his poor pleasure,
Each dull delight his course may give
Has nought in it to measure
With the true transport of the soul,
O'er every sense prevailing,
When 'neath our feet the wild waves roll,
We o'er the ocean sailing.
Chorus. A sailor's life! a sailor's life!
Upon the swelling sea,
Whose surges roar in ceaseless strife—
A sailor's life for me.
I love it when in summer-time
It lies, all ill concealing,
And o'er its ripples comes the chime
Of church-bells softly stealing.
I love it when in grandest storm,
Like some great monster playing;
It spurns on high the vessel's form,
To mock it ere its slaying.
Chorus. A sailor's life! etc.
It lies, all ill concealing,
And o'er its ripples comes the chime
Of church-bells softly stealing.
173
Like some great monster playing;
It spurns on high the vessel's form,
To mock it ere its slaying.
Chorus. A sailor's life! etc.
Then, as our voyage is nearly gone,
And soon to port returning,
I love the waves which waft me on
To soothe my constant yearning.
And when the dear land is espied—
Dispelling all our sadness—
I bless the swiftly flowing tide
Which bears me on to gladness.
Chorus. A sailor's life! etc.
And soon to port returning,
I love the waves which waft me on
To soothe my constant yearning.
And when the dear land is espied—
Dispelling all our sadness—
I bless the swiftly flowing tide
Which bears me on to gladness.
Chorus. A sailor's life! etc.
174
WHY DO I TRACE.
Why do I trace
On your loved face
Such weary wealth of sorrow,
Where late beamed joy
With nought to cloy,
Caused by the cares to-morrow?
On your loved face
Such weary wealth of sorrow,
Where late beamed joy
With nought to cloy,
Caused by the cares to-morrow?
The world I know
Is full of woe,
Encircled round with trouble,—
Yet merely sighs
And mournful eyes,—
But make our griefs redouble.
Is full of woe,
Encircled round with trouble,—
Yet merely sighs
And mournful eyes,—
But make our griefs redouble.
Look up in haste!
Nor longer waste
Your life in weak bemoanings;—
Cast grim Despair
From out his lair!
You've known enough of groanings.
Nor longer waste
Your life in weak bemoanings;—
175
From out his lair!
You've known enough of groanings.
No skies o'ercast
One whit more fast
Because we thus are cheerful,—
Clouds come apace
With frowning face
Full oft when we are tearful.
One whit more fast
Because we thus are cheerful,—
Clouds come apace
With frowning face
Full oft when we are tearful.
Then may we here
Spurn foolish fear,
Nor let fond Hope forsake us,
So having joy
With nought to cloy
Until the storm o'ertake us.
Spurn foolish fear,
Nor let fond Hope forsake us,
So having joy
With nought to cloy
Until the storm o'ertake us.
176
A PRACTICAL THEORY OF LIFE.
When musing on the course of Life
How many seem its phases,
Yet every one of them is rife
With trebly tangled mazes.
How many seem its phases,
Yet every one of them is rife
With trebly tangled mazes.
And though our prospects all are fair,
A scene made for enjoying,
Some canker-worm intrudeth there
Our perfect bliss destroying.
A scene made for enjoying,
Some canker-worm intrudeth there
Our perfect bliss destroying.
One man is strong and has delight
Merely in Life's possessing,
But pinching Poverty's bleak blight
Marreth his every blessing.
Merely in Life's possessing,
But pinching Poverty's bleak blight
Marreth his every blessing.
177
Another's wealth and friends agree
To lavish pleasures on him,
Yet look, alas! 'tis clear to see
Disease's curse upon him;
To lavish pleasures on him,
Yet look, alas! 'tis clear to see
Disease's curse upon him;
Disease—for which weak human skill
Gives scant alleviation,—
He is doomed to dread Existence still
Despite his smiling station.
Gives scant alleviation,—
He is doomed to dread Existence still
Despite his smiling station.
A third has pulse of purest health
Which yields him nought save gladness,
But private griefs amid his wealth
Impart a sense of sadness.
Which yields him nought save gladness,
But private griefs amid his wealth
Impart a sense of sadness.
If we the daily deeds recite
Which form Life's present measure,
The wrong preponderates o'er the right,
And suffering over pleasure.
Which form Life's present measure,
The wrong preponderates o'er the right,
And suffering over pleasure.
And thus whate'er our lot may be,
Our life is but a bubble,
Blown from some bleak and cruel sea
By the tornado Trouble.
Our life is but a bubble,
Blown from some bleak and cruel sea
By the tornado Trouble.
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Ah! what a mystery is this!
And yet if we revolve it,
Perchance we may not muse amiss,
But find a clue to solve it.
And yet if we revolve it,
Perchance we may not muse amiss,
But find a clue to solve it.
It oft appears absurd to believe
In a God of infinite kindness,
Who, seeming paradox, can leave
Us in such woe and blindness,
In a God of infinite kindness,
Who, seeming paradox, can leave
Us in such woe and blindness,
In perfect Goodness—omnipotent Power,
Permitting Evil to enter
Its fair dominions, and to shower
Such griefs on man, their centre,
Permitting Evil to enter
Its fair dominions, and to shower
Such griefs on man, their centre,
But if we accept the sceptic view,
Denying a God and Life's fruition,
What do we gain even were that true?
For it is merely demolition
Denying a God and Life's fruition,
What do we gain even were that true?
For it is merely demolition
Of many hopes which man holds dear
Of a swiftly coming morrow,
When we shall know with joy sincere
No sense of sin or sorrow,
Of a swiftly coming morrow,
When we shall know with joy sincere
No sense of sin or sorrow,
179
Without revealing to our sight
A future fair and clearer:
Nay, leaving all in deepest night—
Far darker, lone and drearer.
A future fair and clearer:
Nay, leaving all in deepest night—
Far darker, lone and drearer.
For we still must bear the woes of Life
With the longings which oft come o'er us
Whilst seeing no rest beyond its strife,
Save nothingness before us.
With the longings which oft come o'er us
Whilst seeing no rest beyond its strife,
Save nothingness before us.
While a Heavenly hope amid our woe
Will cheer our Life's endeavour,
And yield us nought save good, although
At death it may fly for ever.
Will cheer our Life's endeavour,
And yield us nought save good, although
At death it may fly for ever.
Thus, even if we set aside
Religion's proofs completely,
It gives more joy our minds to guide
Till, apprehending meetly
Religion's proofs completely,
It gives more joy our minds to guide
Till, apprehending meetly
That doubtless though upon the earth
Our path is oft perplexing,
Its lack of love and chastened mirth
Our spirits sorely vexing,
Our path is oft perplexing,
Its lack of love and chastened mirth
Our spirits sorely vexing,
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There must exist a place which gained
Through faith and strong endeavour,
What seems unjust will be explained,
Or rectified for ever:—
Through faith and strong endeavour,
What seems unjust will be explained,
Or rectified for ever:—
That there's a God who made Man's mind
With certain comprehension,
But yet Who has seen fit to bind
Its limits of extension.
With certain comprehension,
But yet Who has seen fit to bind
Its limits of extension.
Who also deemed it best for Man
Here to experience sadness,
As training for a higher plan
Of grandly growing gladness.
Here to experience sadness,
As training for a higher plan
Of grandly growing gladness.
Thus human Reason's utmost sphere
Of thought is reached full early;
And thus to us men's lots appear
So often dealt unfairly.
Of thought is reached full early;
And thus to us men's lots appear
So often dealt unfairly.
That Life's dark mysteries but transcend,
Not contradict our reason,
And so when earthly life shall end
There comes a sun-lit season,
Not contradict our reason,
And so when earthly life shall end
There comes a sun-lit season,
181
When with enlarged God-given powers
And intellects commanding,
One bliss of Heaven's bright halcyon hours
Shall be the understanding
And intellects commanding,
One bliss of Heaven's bright halcyon hours
Shall be the understanding
Of problems which distressed the sage
Of deepest skill and learning,
But now that we have burst our cage
Are easy of discerning,
Of deepest skill and learning,
But now that we have burst our cage
Are easy of discerning,
While “themes with which we cannot cope”
Fade 'neath our Heavenly vision,
“And Earth's worst phrenzies, marring hope,
Will mar not Hope's fruition.”
Fade 'neath our Heavenly vision,
“And Earth's worst phrenzies, marring hope,
Will mar not Hope's fruition.”
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EVENING THOUGHTS.
It was evening, and sadness
Around me was cast—
For rejoicing and gladness
Too swiftly were past.
Then methought with deep anguish,
In Life's dreary day,
All we love must soon languish
And wither away.
Around me was cast—
For rejoicing and gladness
Too swiftly were past.
Then methought with deep anguish,
In Life's dreary day,
All we love must soon languish
And wither away.
Ah! how futile each token
Of love given here,
Merely made to be broken
When friendships grow sere;
Though sweet youth's summer morning
Dawned balmy and bright,
Yet our sorrow soon scorning,
It darkened to night.
Of love given here,
Merely made to be broken
When friendships grow sere;
Though sweet youth's summer morning
Dawned balmy and bright,
Yet our sorrow soon scorning,
It darkened to night.
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Thus in bitter bewailing
I poured forth my grief,
When this glad hope prevailing
Gave richest relief:
As the blossoms of May-time
Must fade and grow sere,
Ere the ripe Autumn gay time
Of fruit can appear,
I poured forth my grief,
When this glad hope prevailing
Gave richest relief:
As the blossoms of May-time
Must fade and grow sere,
Ere the ripe Autumn gay time
Of fruit can appear,
So Love's bright buds immortal
Must seemingly die,
Ere within Heaven's portal
They blossom on high,
In fruition for ever
To each constant soul
Who through faithful endeavour
Gains Life's glorious goal.
Must seemingly die,
Ere within Heaven's portal
They blossom on high,
In fruition for ever
To each constant soul
Who through faithful endeavour
Gains Life's glorious goal.
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THOUGHT-LINKS.
Mysterious are the links that firmly bindOur trains of thought together. First we brood
On some small trivial matter—tiny germ
Of somewhat grander musings—then we find
A thread is woven with our thought, and lo
It leads to higher themes!—vast vistas new
For serious contemplation:—and we gain
Sublimest heights, while God-reflected thoughts
Transcending Reason flood our human mind.
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JOY AND GRIEF.
Nought gives true happiness unless it touch
Some chord of subtle feeling in the soul,
And thus what oft appear most trivial things
Impart such great delight:—a kindly phrase,
A friendly greeting in the street, or snatch
Of melody but for a moment heard:—
Or even some phrases in a general talk
Addressed to others, heard through being near.
Each of us is an instrument, but each
Is in some notes at least diversely strung
From all our fellows. The musician Joy
With mystic power can play upon our hearts,
And through the heart can ope the hidden door
That guards the sanctuary of the soul.
Some chord of subtle feeling in the soul,
And thus what oft appear most trivial things
Impart such great delight:—a kindly phrase,
A friendly greeting in the street, or snatch
Of melody but for a moment heard:—
Or even some phrases in a general talk
Addressed to others, heard through being near.
Each of us is an instrument, but each
Is in some notes at least diversely strung
From all our fellows. The musician Joy
With mystic power can play upon our hearts,
And through the heart can ope the hidden door
That guards the sanctuary of the soul.
Grief has an equal power, and quickly finds
The portals of the soul, but having found,
He enters not to play with skilful touch,
But roughly beats with rude untutored hand
Upon responsive tender notes, and so
Instead of music only discord comes.
The portals of the soul, but having found,
187
But roughly beats with rude untutored hand
Upon responsive tender notes, and so
Instead of music only discord comes.
189
AFTER FIVE YEARS.
After five years!
What changes will have come
Among the circle of our firmest friends!
Some will have gone to widely severed lands,—
While others—than whom none seemed closer bound
In silken chains of love—will then perchance,
Urged by some paltry source of petty feud,
Made greater by their pride, have ceased to meet
In harmony. And silent callous Death
Will certainly have stayed the mortal course
Of not a few, though friends we have not now
We shall know then.
What changes will have come
Among the circle of our firmest friends!
Some will have gone to widely severed lands,—
While others—than whom none seemed closer bound
In silken chains of love—will then perchance,
Urged by some paltry source of petty feud,
Made greater by their pride, have ceased to meet
In harmony. And silent callous Death
Will certainly have stayed the mortal course
Of not a few, though friends we have not now
We shall know then.
In circumstances also
What changes will have dawned! The man esteemed
Almost a pauper now may then have wealth
Unbounded,—he whose store of riches seems
Limitless now may be a beggar then.
He who enjoys the bliss of nerveless health
May then be broken down and weak of limb,
While he who now an invalid, though dowered
With youth, his ills all conquered, may be strong.
What alterations will have come to pass
What changes will have dawned! The man esteemed
Almost a pauper now may then have wealth
190
Limitless now may be a beggar then.
He who enjoys the bliss of nerveless health
May then be broken down and weak of limb,
While he who now an invalid, though dowered
With youth, his ills all conquered, may be strong.
Throughout the world! Peace in the place of war
Or war in place of peace; and the appearance
Of present party strife in politics
Will then be altered quite,—while topics new
Will eagerly be canvassed. Many names
Novel to us will then have sprung to fame
In Life's inconstant whirl, while designations
Notorious now may even be then forgotten.
Yet there is one thing while the Earth remains
That will not change, and that one thing is—Change.
195
MATERNAL LOVE.
Maternal love is ever tender and kind,
From sinful dross of selfishness refined;
In infant years it is a tender guide
To keep us safe from harm on every side;
And when our cherished childhood's days are past,
It nerves us to endure the world's rough blast.
From sinful dross of selfishness refined;
In infant years it is a tender guide
To keep us safe from harm on every side;
And when our cherished childhood's days are past,
It nerves us to endure the world's rough blast.
Its mellowed memory is with us still,
In joy or sorrow, happiness or ill,
And like some beauteous flower of growth sublime,
Transplanted for awhile to this chill clime,
It sheds its sweetest fragrance on our way,
Reviving drooping hearts in Life's dark day.
In joy or sorrow, happiness or ill,
And like some beauteous flower of growth sublime,
Transplanted for awhile to this chill clime,
It sheds its sweetest fragrance on our way,
Reviving drooping hearts in Life's dark day.
200
PARTING WORDS.
How oft the parting words of loved ones dear
Are cherished fondly all our lifetime here,
And Memory, in calm reflection's hour,
Recalls them to the mind with vivid power;
And frequently most bitterly we feel
The impotence of Time our grief to heal.
Are cherished fondly all our lifetime here,
And Memory, in calm reflection's hour,
Recalls them to the mind with vivid power;
And frequently most bitterly we feel
The impotence of Time our grief to heal.
Ah! tender parting words, how soon is felt
Your influence the hardest heart to melt—
And as a babe upon its mother's breast
Is soothed unconsciously to quiet rest,
So gradually it steals o'er each sad soul,
And holds our feelings in its firm control.
Your influence the hardest heart to melt—
And as a babe upon its mother's breast
Is soothed unconsciously to quiet rest,
So gradually it steals o'er each sad soul,
And holds our feelings in its firm control.
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HOMEWARD.
I.
Each moment nearing fast her home,A ship is cleaving through the foam,—
Home! ah, how sweet to those
Who in strange lands have absent been,
But still recalling each loved scene—
Their heart with rapture glows.
Thus there is boundless joy on board,
And jocundly with one accord
Are all prepared to land;
For when this last long night is done
Their hopes rise with the morrow's sun,—
Their haven is at hand.
Some sense-o'erstrainèd cannot sleep,
And through the watches wakeful keep,—
Longing for dawn of light;
202
The night is dark, save now and then
When stars appear in sight.
II.
What was that crash! that dismal soundWhich echoes through the darkness round—
That sharp soul-stricken scream?
The glance doth on confusion fall,
Those on the deck are wild, and all
Is like a dreadsome dream.
The ship has struck not far from shore,
But boisterously the billows roar,
Along a rock-bound bay;
Two boats are manned to put to land,
And struggling hard to gain the strand,
Pull through the blinding spray,
Leaving the rest to face their fate as best they may.
III.
The scene so lately still and calmSeems nothing now save loud alarm,
And dread and direful woe—
203
On deck or down below.
While wind and seething waters vie
In working ill around,
Like sorcerers resolved to try
Their secret arts profound.
Shrill shrieks are heard on every side,
And none now aid nor seek to guide
The mad unresting crowd,
Who, scarce aware of what they do,
Pace passionately the deck; a few
Murmur a prayer heartfelt and true,
Or bitter moans—or curses too
In accents lewd and loud.
IV.
Down in a cabin lies a childHeedless of death or tumult wild,
By sleep with blissful dreams beguiled:
A man reclines, removed a space,
Scarce entered middle life—
Yet in whose face you well may trace
Sad signs of care and strife.
204
V.
Now to the infant's side he springs,And very speedily he brings
His charge from down below.
He casts one glance upon the storm,
Then tightly grasps the tiny form—
Nor shrinking seems to know.
VI.
His thoughts revert to long ago,When fragile as this little child,
A mother's love upon him smiled
As it assuaged each infant woe:—
And taught him to be true and brave
In this weak world of sordid strife,
And even content to part with life
Did it perchance another save.
And then he prays to One above
To guide him in this deed of love.
VII.
From the doomed ship without delayThrough the wild waves he cleaves his way,
Needing surpassing strength
205
To hold his burden and to bear
A swim of such a length.
The ruthless waters round him roll,
He well-nigh loses all control—
Yet still he struggles on;
And clasping to his breast the child,
He grapples with the billows wild
Till strength is almost gone.
VIII.
But see! his task is nearly o'er,If he can swim a few yards more,
They surely reach the longed-for shore;
Brief moments now their fate will show
Whether it be of weal or woe.
IX.
And still he shapes his steadfast courseStraight onward to the land,
Yet with each stroke makes less the force
Which he can still command.
But all seems well—an instant more
Will see them safely on the shore.
206
X.
Sudden a gasp—a gurgling sound—A short convulsive groan,—
And nothing now is heard around
Save the fierce storm alone.
For he has sunk to rise no more,
Exhausted with the conflict sore,
And as a rain-drop falling on a lake
Ripples its surface, yet can scarcely break
The depths beneath, so softly thus sinks he
Into the Ocean of Eternity.
207
AN OCEAN GLOAMING.
I pray you, hark,—
What is it that each seems to crave,
As over each mid-ocean wave
It groweth dark?
What is it that each seems to crave,
As over each mid-ocean wave
It groweth dark?
The angry gale
Strikes our stout ship in mockery,
And now they fiercely fight to see
Who shall prevail.
Strikes our stout ship in mockery,
And now they fiercely fight to see
Who shall prevail.
The seething spray
Dashes on high, and has the whole
Range of the deck without control
Under its sway.
Dashes on high, and has the whole
Range of the deck without control
Under its sway.
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Our sturdy ship's
Tossings and creaks are like to pain,
And ofttimes in the surging main
Her beams she dips.
Tossings and creaks are like to pain,
And ofttimes in the surging main
Her beams she dips.
Look, just in sight,
Two creamy piles of foam between,
A little barque is rolling seen
Mid gathering night.
Two creamy piles of foam between,
A little barque is rolling seen
Mid gathering night.
A signal goes
Quick up her mast and there remains;
“Where now she is,” the mate explains,
“She scarcely knows,
Quick up her mast and there remains;
“Where now she is,” the mate explains,
“She scarcely knows,
And asks that we
Should tell her.” Swiftly our reply
Runs up the mast, and then we try
To find if she
Should tell her.” Swiftly our reply
Runs up the mast, and then we try
To find if she
Perceives the sign,
Ere yet she's out of sight. Full slow
Pass the dread hours ere Morning's glow
Makes Night to pine,
Ere yet she's out of sight. Full slow
Pass the dread hours ere Morning's glow
Makes Night to pine,
209
And die away.
But when the light is come at length,
We're sheltered safe from Ocean's strength
Within the bay.
But when the light is come at length,
We're sheltered safe from Ocean's strength
Within the bay.
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A SUMMER SCENE.
Bright beams of sunlight gild the lawn,
And the whole landscape seems as drawn
From some enchanter's treasure;—
The songsters carol loud and clear,
Ah, how I dearly love to hear
Their sweet melodious measure.
And the whole landscape seems as drawn
From some enchanter's treasure;—
The songsters carol loud and clear,
Ah, how I dearly love to hear
Their sweet melodious measure.
And while I loiter 'neath the trees,
Delicious perfumes by the breeze
Are wafted from the hay-field,
Where village urchins pleasure court,
And making round the ricks their sport,
Transform it to a play-field.
Delicious perfumes by the breeze
Are wafted from the hay-field,
Where village urchins pleasure court,
And making round the ricks their sport,
Transform it to a play-field.
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Must this fair vision fade away?
It must—and for its death to-day
I feel a sense of sorrow;
But gladness comes to fill its place
When Hope reminds with smiling face—
“'Twill live again to-morrow.”
It must—and for its death to-day
I feel a sense of sorrow;
But gladness comes to fill its place
When Hope reminds with smiling face—
“'Twill live again to-morrow.”
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SUMMER SORROW.
Each season hath its sadness, and for meSummer not least of all. I know not why,
But though its sylvan beauty soothes my soul
Into delicious reveries; while birds,
Discoursing music, fill my dreamy mind
With melodies, and thoughts, and deep delight,
I never felt before—yet still there lurks
Within my heart a strange unfathomed grief,
Which, even amidst harsh Autumn's ravages,
Or grim old Winter's storms, I rarely feel.
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A SUMMER EVENING IN THE WOODS.
How beautiful the forest looks to-night,
The trees just moving in the still calm air;
And very many of the birds delight
In warbling forth their notes without a care.
The graceful boughs which erst were gaunt and bare
Have donned their fairest dress; the insects keep
A dreamy, murmuring revel everywhere;
But in the woodland glades, so dark and deep,
Save but for these few sounds, all nature seems to sleep.
The trees just moving in the still calm air;
And very many of the birds delight
In warbling forth their notes without a care.
The graceful boughs which erst were gaunt and bare
Have donned their fairest dress; the insects keep
A dreamy, murmuring revel everywhere;
But in the woodland glades, so dark and deep,
Save but for these few sounds, all nature seems to sleep.
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The stars come slowly out, and very soon
The summer day in peace and calmness ends;
And by-and-by, as rises slow the moon,
Her light with splendour on the scene descends:
While she amid the clouds her pathway wends
Majestic as a queen, and they stand near
Like courtiers round her throne; each object lends
Fresh beauty to the landscape dim, yet clear
Enough to let its wondrous loveliness appear.
The summer day in peace and calmness ends;
And by-and-by, as rises slow the moon,
Her light with splendour on the scene descends:
While she amid the clouds her pathway wends
Majestic as a queen, and they stand near
Like courtiers round her throne; each object lends
Fresh beauty to the landscape dim, yet clear
Enough to let its wondrous loveliness appear.
Scenes like to this exert a mighty power
To soothe us, and to cause our minds to stray—
If only for a brief and transient hour—
From weary cares which fill them day by day;
And soon our thoughts fly swiftly far away
To some bright reminiscence of the past,
And for a while engrossed with it they stay;
And when our reverie is done at last,
How deeply we regret such moments fly so fast!
To soothe us, and to cause our minds to stray—
If only for a brief and transient hour—
From weary cares which fill them day by day;
And soon our thoughts fly swiftly far away
To some bright reminiscence of the past,
And for a while engrossed with it they stay;
And when our reverie is done at last,
How deeply we regret such moments fly so fast!
215
TWILIGHT THOUGHTS.
How charming is the summer eve, removed from cities far,Where Nature's spotless loveliness nought intervenes to mar;
Where wild-rose and convolvulus are woven in the hedge,
And buttercups and foxgloves gay rise from the brooklet's edge;
Where zephyrs waft their sweetest scents adown the waving wood,
And the soothing songs of Nature's choir impel us to intrude:—
When shadows creep across our path, and Day is well-nigh dead,
'Tis then that Summer ever seems her glamour best to spread.
216
Than when on such a scene we gaze in sympathy around?
And often will some fair wild flowers more truly touch the heart
Than the resplendent trophies of rare botanic art;
The sweet-briar which, perchance unseen, pours perfume on the air,
I would not barter for what proved the florist's proudest care;
I'll leave the rich their bowers of art in which to rear rare flowers,
Enough for me each common plant in Summer's gloaming hours.
217
A LESSON IN THE GLOAMING.
One even of a summer's day
I walk scarce whither knowing,
Save by a river's side I stray
Where balmy winds are blowing.
I walk scarce whither knowing,
Save by a river's side I stray
Where balmy winds are blowing.
'Tis the loved hour of twilight's close,
When o'er the landscape stealing,
The last faint ray of sunset glows,
Its beauty half revealing.
When o'er the landscape stealing,
The last faint ray of sunset glows,
Its beauty half revealing.
Rich foliage hides the rippling stream
From the fair view completely,
And gently as in halcyon dream,
Its murmur softly, sweetly,
From the fair view completely,
And gently as in halcyon dream,
Its murmur softly, sweetly,
Comes zephyr-borne, as on I move
With light heart void of sadness,
Nor caring what to-morrow prove,
So that to-day be gladness.
With light heart void of sadness,
220
So that to-day be gladness.
Sudden is heard the plash of oars,
A sense of pleasure bringing,—
While plaintively a rower pours
His soul thus out in singing:
A sense of pleasure bringing,—
While plaintively a rower pours
His soul thus out in singing:
In Summer's choicest day,
When round each fragrant spray
The blithesome breezes stray—
Ah, what delight!
But brightest days contain
The seeds of future pain,
And Winter comes again,
Their bliss to blight!
When round each fragrant spray
The blithesome breezes stray—
Ah, what delight!
But brightest days contain
The seeds of future pain,
And Winter comes again,
Their bliss to blight!
Not so the joys of Mind,
Unfathomed, unconfined,
They soar and leave behind
Trammels of Earth:—
They teach mankind to face
Both honour and disgrace,
And gain at last the Place
Which gave them birth.
Unfathomed, unconfined,
They soar and leave behind
Trammels of Earth:—
They teach mankind to face
Both honour and disgrace,
And gain at last the Place
Which gave them birth.
The boat sweeps on,—the words depart
In cadences alluring,—
But they have pierced my flippant heart,
And left a mark enduring.
In cadences alluring,—
But they have pierced my flippant heart,
And left a mark enduring.
221
MEADOW MUSINGS.
While treading with purest of pleasure
The pathways grass-grown of the fields,
The thought that will come without measure
Is strange as the fruit that it yields.
The pathways grass-grown of the fields,
The thought that will come without measure
Is strange as the fruit that it yields.
We dream that on spot we are standing
To gaze on the glorious view—
Perchance some stern Druid commanding
Performèd his orisons due,
To gaze on the glorious view—
Perchance some stern Druid commanding
Performèd his orisons due,
Ere vengeful and fierce as his foeman,
And eager for spoil and applause,
He ventured to meet the bold Roman
To fight in his dear country's cause.
And eager for spoil and applause,
He ventured to meet the bold Roman
To fight in his dear country's cause.
222
Some Saxon, it may be, with sadness
Here mourned the mailed Norman's advance,
And on the morrow he ended his madness
At the point of the enemy's lance.
Here mourned the mailed Norman's advance,
And on the morrow he ended his madness
At the point of the enemy's lance.
Perchance after great baron's wassail—
In days when such doings were rife,
With feudal foes here fought each vassal
In bitter inglorious strife.
In days when such doings were rife,
With feudal foes here fought each vassal
In bitter inglorious strife.
Or the Roundhead recounted the glory
Of routing the gay Cavalier,
Nor wept, while reciting the story,
For former companions a tear.
Of routing the gay Cavalier,
Nor wept, while reciting the story,
For former companions a tear.
And still as the swiftly winged Ages
Press on with impetuous pace,
The fools of the Earth and its sages
May pause for a while in this place.
Press on with impetuous pace,
The fools of the Earth and its sages
May pause for a while in this place.
Then darting away, will commingle
In the turmoil with which Life is fraught,
And never again will they single
This spot out for care or for thought.
In the turmoil with which Life is fraught,
And never again will they single
This spot out for care or for thought.
223
FLOWER-GATHERING.
Two merry children in a meadow see,
With faces all aglow with Childhood's glee—
While finding fragrant flowrets here and there
To weave into a chaplet fresh and fair,
Till of the sweet wild flowers they gaily make
A guerdon to reward the pains they take.
With faces all aglow with Childhood's glee—
While finding fragrant flowrets here and there
To weave into a chaplet fresh and fair,
Till of the sweet wild flowers they gaily make
A guerdon to reward the pains they take.
So 'tis, methinks, amid Life's tedious toil,
And sordid strife and harassing turmoil;
As surely as we seek, we pleasures find,
Which bring kind Hope to cheer each mournful mind:
And our attempts to seize them oft repay
By showering blessings on our weary way.
And sordid strife and harassing turmoil;
As surely as we seek, we pleasures find,
Which bring kind Hope to cheer each mournful mind:
And our attempts to seize them oft repay
By showering blessings on our weary way.
224
GARDEN MUSINGS.
Ah, what a sadness wells within our soulWhilst loitering in garden where erewhile
We used to hold sweet interchange of thought
With a dearly lovèd lost one; and to know
Such days are dead for ever! That for us,
Though May-time blossoms make the orchard trees
Most beauteous to behold, and every sense
In bliss is saturated by the wealth
Of Nature's charms profusely spread around,
There yet remains enthroned within our heart
A deep, dull void, which nought on earth can fill.
225
A COMPARISON.
The landscape bright is very fair to see,
And all around the birds are blithely singing;
And yonder to that venerable tree
Tenaciously the ivy's boughs are clinging.
And all around the birds are blithely singing;
And yonder to that venerable tree
Tenaciously the ivy's boughs are clinging.
But soon the tree is felled and ta'en away,
And each slight tendril from its trunk is taken;
And now the ivy's beauty will decay,
Bereft of its support, lone, and forsaken.
And each slight tendril from its trunk is taken;
And now the ivy's beauty will decay,
Bereft of its support, lone, and forsaken.
So frequently it happens with us all,
Round some lov'd object twin'd is our affection,
But soon 'tis snatched away beyond recall,
And leaves us nothing save its recollection.
Round some lov'd object twin'd is our affection,
But soon 'tis snatched away beyond recall,
And leaves us nothing save its recollection.
226
Then deepest grief and anguish rend the breast,
And oft we seem to hear a voice repeating:
“Our life is but a shadow at the best,
And nought abides, but all is brief and fleeting.”
And oft we seem to hear a voice repeating:
“Our life is but a shadow at the best,
And nought abides, but all is brief and fleeting.”
229
IN TENEBRIS LUX.
'Tis night, and darkness as a pall
Enwraps the sable scene,
Nor doth one glimmering ray recall
Where sunshine erst hath been.
Enwraps the sable scene,
Nor doth one glimmering ray recall
Where sunshine erst hath been.
Till the moon peereth 'neath a cloud
'Mong floods of borrowed light,
And piercing through the landscape's shroud,
Dispels the gloom of night.
'Mong floods of borrowed light,
And piercing through the landscape's shroud,
Dispels the gloom of night.
So 'tis in life; mid deepest woe,
Oft drawing nigh despair,
God-borrowed beams alone still show
That joy abideth there.
Oft drawing nigh despair,
God-borrowed beams alone still show
That joy abideth there.
230
A MORNING MEDITATION.
Now the black night will speedily be gone,
And the delicious dawning draweth near—
Charming each sense, while calmly gazing on
The freshly budding beauty which is here;
Almost a paradise doth soon appear,
Dowered with a glittering flood of dewdrops bright;
As the sun's radiance from a higher sphere
Seems to produce, even by its gladsome sight,
In careworn human hearts a wonderful delight.
And the delicious dawning draweth near—
Charming each sense, while calmly gazing on
The freshly budding beauty which is here;
Almost a paradise doth soon appear,
Dowered with a glittering flood of dewdrops bright;
As the sun's radiance from a higher sphere
Seems to produce, even by its gladsome sight,
In careworn human hearts a wonderful delight.
Ah! who at sunrise could be aught save glad!
For 'tis a prototype of perfect day,
When we shall wake to bliss, no longer sad,
And feel the glowing God-begotten ray
Which bids us fling aside all fears which may
Still cleave to us; and with enraptured soul
Speed to the land where trouble flees away
Before His presence, that long-looked-for goal,
Where all Earth's weary wounds for ever are made whole.
For 'tis a prototype of perfect day,
When we shall wake to bliss, no longer sad,
And feel the glowing God-begotten ray
231
Still cleave to us; and with enraptured soul
Speed to the land where trouble flees away
Before His presence, that long-looked-for goal,
Where all Earth's weary wounds for ever are made whole.
232
THE WARBLERS' MISSION.
One bright day, sad and weary,
I wandered the fields,
Which often, when dreary,
Much happiness yields,—
Yet not softest of sighing
Of sweet summer breeze,
Nor the beauties near lying,
My burden could ease.
I wandered the fields,
Which often, when dreary,
Much happiness yields,—
Yet not softest of sighing
Of sweet summer breeze,
Nor the beauties near lying,
My burden could ease.
But a bird's note of gladness,
Clear borne on the air,
Changed my sense of strange sadness
And sorrowful care;—
And full soon o'er me stealing,
In place of my grief,
Came a rapturous feeling
Of peace and relief.
Clear borne on the air,
Changed my sense of strange sadness
And sorrowful care;—
And full soon o'er me stealing,
In place of my grief,
Came a rapturous feeling
Of peace and relief.
233
Then I wondered if pinions
Were given birds thus
To work, mid God's dominions,
A mission to us;—
Of shedding, midst sadness,
Rejoicing and love,
And through soothing and gladness,
To guide us above.
Were given birds thus
To work, mid God's dominions,
A mission to us;—
Of shedding, midst sadness,
Rejoicing and love,
And through soothing and gladness,
To guide us above.
So perchance they flew ever,
Devoting their days
With ceaseless endeavour
To carolling praise:—
As true types, though terrestrial,
Till song-time be o'er,
Of the angels celestial
Who chant and adore.
Devoting their days
With ceaseless endeavour
To carolling praise:—
As true types, though terrestrial,
Till song-time be o'er,
Of the angels celestial
Who chant and adore.
234
MIDNIGHT MUSINGS.
The moonbeams' pure brightness
Has entered my room,
Thus shedding some lightness
Where late all was gloom.
Yet it leaves much uncertain
Which Day would make clear,
For the Night's darksome curtain
Still lies dim and drear.
Has entered my room,
Thus shedding some lightness
Where late all was gloom.
Yet it leaves much uncertain
Which Day would make clear,
For the Night's darksome curtain
Still lies dim and drear.
So, methinks, as in sadness
I restlessly toss,
'Tis with dreams of past gladness
Our spirits that cross:—
Though oftentimes cheering
Our souls by their light,
We by their appearing
Perceive our deep night.
I restlessly toss,
'Tis with dreams of past gladness
Our spirits that cross:—
Though oftentimes cheering
Our souls by their light,
We by their appearing
Perceive our deep night.
235
“'TIS GONE.”
“'Tis gone,” with mournful voice we say,
When some great joy departs;
And we pursue our weary way
With sad and heavy hearts.
When some great joy departs;
And we pursue our weary way
With sad and heavy hearts.
“'Tis gone,” with gladsome voice we cry,
When grief or pain is o'er:—
And all the prospect far and nigh
Is brighter than before.
When grief or pain is o'er:—
And all the prospect far and nigh
Is brighter than before.
Seems it not strange that keenest woe
This phrase can thus express,
And yet be often used to show
The highest happiness?
This phrase can thus express,
And yet be often used to show
The highest happiness?
236
ACROSTICS.
BURNS.
Born of the people with a dower of song;—Unlearnt in academic lore, yet strong;
Ranging each chord of lyric minstrelsy
'Neath genius-tutored fingers grandly free;
Still sweet and clear thy tones for Time eterne shall be.
238
COWPER.
Calm and clear-toned the music of thy song,Of depths diviner than to bards belong,
Who scale Parnassian heights with sordid aim:—
Pure as a ray of brightly flashing flame
Eradiating from Truth's torch to show
Rash Man a heavenward path amid Life's woe.
239
THE ELDER HOOD.
How brilliant and how versatile art thou,—Of every style a master. Deep-souled thought
On many themes is here, rare puns, and now
Disports a freak of fancy genius-fraught.
240
KIRKE WHITE.
Kind and true-hearted was thy youthful life,
In every manly attribute most rife;
Rich in a mind rare cultured, and which sought
Knowledge with pursuit keen, and ever thought
Each effort well repaid that learning brought.
In every manly attribute most rife;
Rich in a mind rare cultured, and which sought
Knowledge with pursuit keen, and ever thought
Each effort well repaid that learning brought.
Wise thought on such as thee doth cheer the heart,
Having their course before us as a chart,
In which is shown a way whereby each one,
Though sore the toil and scorching be Life's sun,
Elated shall receive God's glad “Well done.”
Having their course before us as a chart,
In which is shown a way whereby each one,
Though sore the toil and scorching be Life's sun,
Elated shall receive God's glad “Well done.”
241
A LIFE-CHRONICLE.
I.
Long years ago a peasant boyLives as his widowed mother's joy,
Her cherished firstborn son;
For though her love the others share,
They are but babes—for them the care
Of life has scarce begun.
While the brave brother manfully
Strives steadfastly to gain their bread,
Resolved to do as well as he
Is able in their father's stead.
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II.
He little learning could acquire,Except when sitting at the fire,
When work was done on a wintry night,
But then it was his chief delight
To linger o'er some well-conned page,
Dowered with the wisdom of the sage.
His thought for every lesser one
How charming 'twas to view;
And often would he join the fun
As leader of the crew.
Yet sometimes when apart from man,
Upon the lone hill-side,
His future anxiously would scan,
And long for one to guide
His steps to higher spheres of life,
If even through severest strife.
III.
But soon his mood would grow more gay,Like lark which soars at dawn of day;
And then before his eyes would play
Visions of regions far away.
243
Till some brief years were o'er,
And then a fond farewell to say,
And leave his native shore,
Boldly to seek his fortune there,
And never yield him to despair.
IV.
The time now comes to say farewell,That word how full of sadness!
And yet for aught which one may tell
The harbinger of gladness.
At least to think so sore he tries
When with stout heart but wistful eyes
He bids them not to grieve,
Saying they soon shall have surprise
Which they will scarce believe.
Then gently doth bright dreams unfold
Of his return with wealth untold.
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V.
Long years have passed, and now once moreHe views again his native shore;
Nor has his stay been spent in vain,
For ere he crosses now the main
He has of gold an ample store,
And better still a well-earned name
For honest worth, with nought of shame.
His now indeed a bright career,
In which each blessing given man here
Is granted to him, as if sent
As guerdon for his past content,
While amid much labour patiently
He strove against grim poverty;
And succouring the deep-distressed,
Proved now the passion of his breast.
So when at length in death he slept
Many a mourner for him wept.
245
A DREAM OF LONG AGO.
A dream of youth comes o'er me—
A dream of long ago,
When life was light before me,
Nor knew the taint of woe.
A dream of long ago,
When life was light before me,
Nor knew the taint of woe.
'Tis of a sun-lit village
Built by the bright sea's strand,
With widespread fields in tillage
Stretching on every hand,—
Built by the bright sea's strand,
With widespread fields in tillage
Stretching on every hand,—
Save on one side where moorland
The landscape closes in,
Which, though men deemed it poor land,
Was dowered with blooming whin.
The landscape closes in,
Which, though men deemed it poor land,
Was dowered with blooming whin.
246
Here there were boundless pleasures
For me, a town-bred boy;
Here first I found the treasures
That country-folk enjoy.
For me, a town-bred boy;
Here first I found the treasures
That country-folk enjoy.
Great was my bliss bird-nesting,
When butterflies I sought,
Or when in quiet resting
On turf with fragrance fraught.
When butterflies I sought,
Or when in quiet resting
On turf with fragrance fraught.
Its charms indeed were legion,
With its odours of wild flowers;
It seemed a fairy region
To spend the halcyon hours.
With its odours of wild flowers;
It seemed a fairy region
To spend the halcyon hours.
Once with a strange emotion,
I found a blackbird's brood,
And watched the dam's devotion,
Yet dreaded to intrude.
I found a blackbird's brood,
And watched the dam's devotion,
Yet dreaded to intrude.
I loved this moorland dearly,
With its spots for rest and play—
And in my day-dreams clearly
Still see it day by day.
With its spots for rest and play—
And in my day-dreams clearly
Still see it day by day.
247
How pretty looked the river—
Which gave the spot its name—
As its wavelets used to quiver
Beneath the sunset's flame,
Which gave the spot its name—
As its wavelets used to quiver
Beneath the sunset's flame,
Which dyed them with a lightness
That soon must disappear,
Fit emblem of the brightness
Which human life has here.
That soon must disappear,
Fit emblem of the brightness
Which human life has here.
What sport to watch the fishers
As they left their homes at morn—
Surrounded with well-wishers,
Holding dread and fear in scorn!
As they left their homes at morn—
Surrounded with well-wishers,
Holding dread and fear in scorn!
And how gladsome were the greetings
When they returned at night,
And merry were the meetings,
For faces all were bright.
When they returned at night,
And merry were the meetings,
For faces all were bright.
Life here had much of gladness
Despite its dull day's round,—
And less of care and sadness
Than oft in cities found.
Despite its dull day's round,—
And less of care and sadness
Than oft in cities found.
248
How great was my diversion
(I was but eight years old)
When I went a short excursion,
A cart my chariot bold.
(I was but eight years old)
When I went a short excursion,
A cart my chariot bold.
As onward thus I travelled
Mid balmy summer air,
Life's skein for me was ravelled
With bliss in place of care.
Mid balmy summer air,
Life's skein for me was ravelled
With bliss in place of care.
I saw them cutting fuel
To feed their wintry fire,
And, ah, I thought it cruel
When bidden to retire.
To feed their wintry fire,
And, ah, I thought it cruel
When bidden to retire.
How pleasant the postman meeting,
With his merrily sounding horn,
And his grave yet gladsome greeting
Bestowed on me each morn.
With his merrily sounding horn,
And his grave yet gladsome greeting
Bestowed on me each morn.
While the village people ever,
Though rude and unrefined,
To me seemed good and clever
Because they all were kind.
Though rude and unrefined,
To me seemed good and clever
Because they all were kind.
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Ah, vision calm and cheering!
Soul-soothing none the less,
Despite the callous sneering
Cold cynics may profess.
Soul-soothing none the less,
Despite the callous sneering
Cold cynics may profess.
Thy memories shall not perish
Whate'er betide of grief—
Yes, evermore I'll cherish
This dream to bring relief.
Whate'er betide of grief—
Yes, evermore I'll cherish
This dream to bring relief.
252
IMAGINATION'S HARVEST.
Oh, how powerless we seem to secure Fancy's dream,
Though before our rapt gaze it be floating;
And to garner a mine of the rich gems that shine,
Yet are lost for the lack of our noting.
Though before our rapt gaze it be floating;
And to garner a mine of the rich gems that shine,
Yet are lost for the lack of our noting.
Thus in sickness sometimes, like strange musical chimes,
Come sweet visions enchanting to meet us;
But they pass from our sight like a bird in its flight,
And are gone ere their gladness can greet us.
Come sweet visions enchanting to meet us;
But they pass from our sight like a bird in its flight,
And are gone ere their gladness can greet us.
253
Then, if buoyant in health, they deny us their wealth,
And leave us to commonplace duties;
Though with bliss Life is fraught, we scarce harbour a thought
Of their wondrous though swift-fleeting beauties.
And leave us to commonplace duties;
Though with bliss Life is fraught, we scarce harbour a thought
Of their wondrous though swift-fleeting beauties.
While oft in our mind when their traces we find,
We would pen their pure brilliance for others,
But the glories we see, though entrancing they be,
Are as nought in the eyes of our brothers.
We would pen their pure brilliance for others,
But the glories we see, though entrancing they be,
Are as nought in the eyes of our brothers.
255
HISTORICAL PIECES.
257
HUBERT.
Scene I.
—The garden of a Manor House on a summer evening.- —Sir Ralph Harton, a frail old man, whose wife had been dead for years.
- Hubert, his only child in opening manhood.
Dramatis Personæ.
Hubert.
Hurrah! at length the people spring
To vindicate their right,
And vainly now shall strive the King
To vanquish them in fight.
At last Laud's long despotic course
Draws ruin in its train,
Soon Hampden's words of frenzied force
The victory shall gain—
While Charles will rue with deep remorse
The part which he hath ta'en.
For England's might shall rise in fight
Throughout the groaning land—
258
Our homes on every hand.
Our wrongs shall be wiped out in gore,
We'll vanquish what was vaunted,
And so it shall be said once more
That Britons are undaunted.
Then shall we hold a Parliament
Untrammelled, true, and free;
The Stuart's line will aye repent
Their deeds of tyranny.
Secret intrigues shall not affright,
Nor unordained taxation—
And life will prove a dear delight
To each one in the nation!
Sir Ralph.
And yet, my son, this coming strife
Will yield us grievous woe;
Though risking life where death is rife,
God grant you ne'er may know
The agony a father feels
When from his fond child parted;
Wounds such as these Time seldom heals,
But leaves him broken-hearted.
What anguish 'tis to separate
When Nature's ties are nearest!
259
Which tears me from my dearest.
Still go, my son, nor lingering stay,
All private wishes must give way
When the public weal in a righteous cause
Demands a defence for our ancient laws.
Yet even when the cause is one
To which my thoughts respond,
How hard it seems to lose thee, son;
I long to gaze beyond
The darkness which enshrouds thy lot
Amid the surging strife—
Of Gertrude, Hubert, think'st thou not?
Gertrude thy promised wife.
Her father hastes with all his men
To take the monarch's side;
Will he permit his daughter then
To be a traitor's bride?
Hubert.
Lately on evening calm as this
We met in woodland yonder,
Sealing our troth with fervent kiss,
Knowing we had grown fonder,
Yet 'twas our lot to ponder
On what, alas! we now must do;
260
Feeling it was our parents' due,
At least, that we should meet no more
Until the present strife was o'er.
And thus our pressing grief we strove to smother,
By vowing constant faith to one another.
So still to me is Gertrude dear,
We do not part for ever;
Then, father mine, thy spirit cheer,
Though now we're forced to sever.
Scene II.
—A room in the Manor House. Hubert and Gertrude alone. Time.—Three years afterwards.Hubert.
Alas! my honoured father dead,
A blighting blow indeed has sped
When I was absent; Gertrude, love,
Thou seem'st a being from above
Sent to relieve my crushing woe,
By bliss which mortals rarely know.
Few words may tell why I am here,
In thy dear face delighting,
261
Our severed ties uniting.
How weary is this woeful time
Of pillaging and slaughter!
No party deeming war a crime,
Blood flowing fast as water.
The golden grain one rarely sees
That all are now requiring,
Few buds upon the orchard trees,
Which ruthless foes are firing,
Shrieks of despair borne by the breeze
Whence peasants are retiring.
The hurried tramp of armèd men,
The musketry's rude rattle,
The cries and imprecations when
Amid the brunt of battle.
Such are the sounds which greet mine ear,
Till, saddened with the fray,
I come, my love, to rest me here,
If only for a day.
Gertrude.
My story too is very brief,
But 'tis a tale of truest grief.
Ah! Hubert, I felt lone and drear
When thou went'st forth to fight the foe,
262
Along its path of loveless woe.
The links seemed loosed which brightly bound
Our hopes and hearts in love profound.
My father grew morose and stern,
And harshly swore that I should learn
My folly thus to thwart his will
By loving a rebel Roundhead still,
And that he would go forth and bring
For me another lover—
Who dauntlessly would serve the King,
As I should soon discover.
While thus beset on every side,
With none to counsel or to guide,
I scarce knew what I ought to do,
Then to Sir Harton's house I flew,
Craving protection there;
And graciously with features pale
He gravely listened to my tale,
Granting me all my prayer.
He let me take a daughter's part—
Loving me dearly from his heart;
But feebler grew he day by day,
Dreaming of thee who wert away,
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And oft he longed as erst of yore
To mount his stately steed once more
To join thee in the field.
But lacking strength, “Heaven's will be done,
Though strong the yearning for my son,
Whom God protect and shield.”
I need not tell thee how his strength
Stole stealthily away: at length
He knew that death was near,
And like a wan and sickly child,
By sleep when blissfully beguiled,
He died without a fear.
Hubert.
Thanks, Gertrude darling, for thy care,
Ah! had I but been near to share
Thy deep devotion to my sire,
It had been more mine own desire,
Than that by deeds of might my name
Should win in war a soldier's fame.
This is no time for honeyed word,
Yet what from thy sweet lips I've heard
Has bid me bless and love thee more
Than in the peaceful days of yore.
But, Gertrude, I must leave thee now—
264
For I my good steed must allow
Three hours in which to carry
His master unto his command
Of Levellers the nearest band.
The struggle now is nearly done,
With Cromwell none can cope—
When a great conflict has been won
Gone is each royal hope.
Thy sire and mother are in Spain
(Having in safety crossed the main);
Then with my vassals still abide,
Nor from my home depart—
Until I come to call thee bride
With blithely beating heart.
Oh! give me now a last embrace,
One glance of thy bright eye
Will nerve me aught on earth to face,
Even though it be to die.
Scene III.
—Interior of a wretched hovel. Hubert lying wounded. Group of soldiers. Time.—A few days later.1st Sol.
'Tis sad our captain too should feel
The stroke of the Malignants' steel,
265
He scarcely seemed of mortal mould;
And yet among the wounded he
Would tender as a woman be.
The dying heard with joy his tread,
Invoking blessings on his head.
So kind to all, so gentle too,
He gave to each his proper due,
And ever exercised his power
To check us in a wanton hour.
2nd Sol.
Cease, ere he wakes—
Hubert.
(Opening his eyes—)
Why am I here,
In this abode so bare and drear?
Why this strange mist before mine eyes,
Whence phantoms of the past arise?
Why this weak trembling of the frame,
And feelings which I cannot name?
1st Sol.
Thou'rt wounded, Captain, but we feel
Assured our leech thy hurt can heal.
Hubert.
Nevermore, my race is run,
Here I shall not long remain,
All my life on earth is done—
Save, perchance, some hours of pain.
266
Gertrude darling, come to me,
Even mid the din of strife.
When shall I the dear day see
When I rapturous call thee wife?
(Again he is conscious.)
Approach, my men, I grow more weak,
My strength speeds swift away,
Then promise me while yet I speak
My mandate to obey.
When I am dead, with charger fleet
Unto my home repair,
And tell the lady Gertrude sweet,
My last thoughts were of her.
And lay me where my fathers sleep,
Within yon lone churchyard,
Where the weird willow seems to keep
A solitary guard.
Farewell! I thank you from my heart
For all the kindness on your part,
May God—
1st Sol.
See the celestial light
Illume his features, as his spirit takes its flight.
267
THE BATTLE OF LOUDONHILL.
June 1st, 1679.
[_]
The Scottish Presbyterians, forbidden by the arbitrary enactments of Charles II. to hold religious services according to their much-cherished manner, were fain to do so in secret. Graham of Claver-house, Viscount Dundee, has earned immortal infamy by the cruelties he exercised while dispersing these assemblies with his troopers. It is one of those occasions which is here attempted to be described.
I.
'Tis Sabbath morn—fair Nature's faceShowers smiles of freshly glowing grace
On mountain, crag, and glen,—
As if to prove to Him above
Its silent share of lowly love
Amid proud sullen men;
And blithely birds chant loud their lays
Of adoration and of praise.
268
II.
Much people from around are here,Yet with a mien of awe and fear,—
But oft their faces seem to cheer
As though some blessed boon were near.
Women and men with one accord
Are gathered now upon the sward,
Vanished at once each petty feud,—
They are resolved to serve the Lord
In way which unto them seems good.
III.
“Have ye heard of that rash raidRuthless Claverhouse has made?”
Thus in accents firm yet low
Oft they murmur to and fro—
“He has ta'en of us the best,
But he shall not seize the rest—
Until at least we struggle sore
To hold our own in fight,
And pray amid the conflict's roar
‘For Scotland and the right.’
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IV.
“Why should the King dictate to usAn alien way to serve the Lord?
We will not bear such thrall, and thus
Are met this day with one accord;
Place sentinels on every hill
To give us all fit warning due:
Then put good trust in God's wise will
And in our cause and weapons true.”
V.
“If our sweet sisters see the signOf danger passed along the line
Of distant scouts, they quit the glen,—
The strife not left to craven men.”
So speaks a patriarch in the midst, and now
The congregation at God's footstool bow,
And with united voices humbly there
They plead for pardon and for peace in prayer.
VI.
Then plaintively they sing a psalm,And hear the “Word of Life;”
270
Presaging coming strife.
For see! there hastes a messenger,
Of toil-worn form but dauntless air:
“Look to your ranks, rouse ye like men,—
The black dragoons have gained the glen.”
VII.
Full speedily the men divideIn companies, on either side
According to their arms;
A motley host indeed they seem,
As now the sun's meridian beam
Makes scythes and mattocks burnished gleam
Among the weapons soldiers deem
Fitter for war's alarms.
VIII.
The aged minister with head made bareAmid a solemn silence offers prayer;
“Lord, spare the green and take the ripe; we know
Thou rulest all things in this world of woe;
Then grant but this and Scotland's just demand,
Aught else we leave in Thy Almighty Hand.”
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IX.
The pleading ends; each peasant hiesHis proper place to fill;
Along their front a marsh there lies—
Behind their post a hill.
While resolutely thus they tread,
Of father, mother, wife,
Doubtless they think, yet dare the dread
And danger of the strife,
Feeling its issue will restore
Freedom to their down-trodden shore.
X.
Lo! list to the sound which now bursts on the ear,A sound that full oft hath begotten wild fear—
The prelude to plunder and rapine and woe,
As all in the bold little army well know.
Pricking swift as the billows when ploughed by the gale,
While their steeds spurn the turf as they dash up the vale,
The dragoons are seen moving, and every man
Views the dark crest of Claverhouse leading the van.
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XI.
“Now look to your carbines,” cries he with a laugh—“And each ranting rebel you'll scatter like chaff,
The harvest is over, the thrashers are come,
With swords for their flails, for their music a drum,
And your famous leech-craft will certainly heal
The festering wound of the Covenant's zeal.”
XII.
Sharp comes the volley—from the valeShrouded in sable smoke
Strange sounds arise; and when a wail
Pierces its cloud-wrapt cloak,
Perchance it is a sign that one
Ends there his earthly strife—
His lowly race at last hath run,
Entering eternal life.
Perchance a sign that one of those
Who scoffed and had no fear,
His summons come, reluctant goes
Before God to appear.
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XIII.
Yet still the peasants ne'er o'erthrownWith patient courage hold their own;
Try as they may, the soldiers see
They win not thus the victory.
So Claverhouse recalls each man
Till he direct some further plan,
The lines upon his stubborn face
Showing he feels the dire disgrace
That well-tried troops—false Charles's boast—
Should vanquished be by peasant host.
XIV.
But soon enraged he orders allThe cavalry within his call
Full at the charge with frenzied force
Across the moss to take their course,
Seeking to make the rout complete
By crushing all beneath their feet.
And gallantly the men advance
With pointed sword, and glittering lance,
And crests which in the sun-beams dance.
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XV.
But every effort is in vain,And steeds, though guided by the rein,
Are all around fast falling;
And their fierce foemen now are closing
Thick in upon them, and opposing,
Their ranks now past recalling.
The marsh has stopped their march indeed
There can be no denying,
And many a man and many a steed
Dyed darkly now lie dying.
And all their splendour melts away
Like dew-drops at the dawn of day.
XVI.
Like as a vulture when bereft of preyLong hovers ere it baffled soars away,
Stern Claverhouse had waited thus in vain,
Till now he turns his rampant charger's rein;
Shouting, in his rough voice, the loud command,
“Retreat,” unto the remnant of his band
275
XVII.
And thus the victory is won,And many hearts made glad—
Yet grieving that a Sabbath's sun
Should see a sight so sad.
And well they know they have not broke
The rigour of the Despot's yoke,
And oft they pause and ponder wearily
On what must hap ere Scotland can be free.
XVIII.
Loudon! thy fame shall ne'er be lost,Even if it only showed the cost
Our fathers paid for Liberty,
That priceless jewel of the free,
Thus nerving us with effort strong
To combat Tyranny and Wrong.
276
AN EPISODE IN THE BATTLE OF FUENTES D'HONORE.
1811.
The horse of the armies, in hostile array,
Haste to prove their proud prowess in mortal affray—
And the soldiers' fierce oaths that are bandied around
Add a fresh sense of horror to battle's stern sound.
Thus the squadrons are nearing each other, when lo!
An hussar leaves our line and makes straight for the foe,
And stung by his tauntings to furious force,
Direct at one soldier he urges his horse—
Who, seeing such frenzy of hate with sore fear,
Sets spurs to his steed, and swift speeds for the rear,
While the other his charger gives rashly the rein,
And both gallop recklessly over the plain.
Our men greet their comrade with cheers long and loud,
While the French are struck mute as he flies through their crowd;
So the chase is continued far, far, in advance
Of the glancing of bayonet or glittering of lance;
Yet our gallant hussar is in perilous plight,
The enemy near him—no friends now in sight:
And to reach his companions perforce he must go
Through the densely ranged ranks of the furious foe—
Who, deeming their victory a certainty, vow
Though he passed their line once, he will not pass it now.
And hard they press on him—escape seems in vain,
Though he spur his steed onward with loose slackened rein.
Haste to prove their proud prowess in mortal affray—
And the soldiers' fierce oaths that are bandied around
Add a fresh sense of horror to battle's stern sound.
Thus the squadrons are nearing each other, when lo!
An hussar leaves our line and makes straight for the foe,
And stung by his tauntings to furious force,
Direct at one soldier he urges his horse—
Who, seeing such frenzy of hate with sore fear,
Sets spurs to his steed, and swift speeds for the rear,
277
And both gallop recklessly over the plain.
Our men greet their comrade with cheers long and loud,
While the French are struck mute as he flies through their crowd;
So the chase is continued far, far, in advance
Of the glancing of bayonet or glittering of lance;
Yet our gallant hussar is in perilous plight,
The enemy near him—no friends now in sight:
And to reach his companions perforce he must go
Through the densely ranged ranks of the furious foe—
Who, deeming their victory a certainty, vow
Though he passed their line once, he will not pass it now.
And hard they press on him—escape seems in vain,
Though he spur his steed onward with loose slackened rein.
But the men of his regiment are anxious to save
A comrade, though reckless, thus daring and brave;
So, drawing their sabres, swift forward they dash
And charge on the cowards with crest-cleaving crash.
Thus the moment which seemed his sad fate to have sealed
A goodly array of our soldiers revealed,
And amid the mad melée of general strife
He regained his companions with honour and life.
A comrade, though reckless, thus daring and brave;
278
And charge on the cowards with crest-cleaving crash.
Thus the moment which seemed his sad fate to have sealed
A goodly array of our soldiers revealed,
And amid the mad melée of general strife
He regained his companions with honour and life.
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DEVOTION OF PRINCE PONIATOWSKI.
Leipsic, 1813.
Bravely the French have fought, but all by treachery is lost,
And nought is left save to retreat, though now at fearful cost;
In gloomy tones Napoleon gives the unfamiliar word—
With curses on the enemy it everywhere is heard;
“And you, Prince Poniatowski, keep the Southern Faubourg, while
Across the Pleisse and Elster the vanguard can defile.”
“My men are few, your Majesty; they must in time give way.”
“Still you will surely strive to hold the post as best you may.”
“Doubt us not, sire, we'll keep good guard,” speaks he with a deep sigh.
“None of my Polish legion but for you would gladly die.”
And nought is left save to retreat, though now at fearful cost;
In gloomy tones Napoleon gives the unfamiliar word—
With curses on the enemy it everywhere is heard;
“And you, Prince Poniatowski, keep the Southern Faubourg, while
Across the Pleisse and Elster the vanguard can defile.”
“My men are few, your Majesty; they must in time give way.”
“Still you will surely strive to hold the post as best you may.”
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“None of my Polish legion but for you would gladly die.”
The morning light soon growing bright, shows clearly to the foe
The French retreat has now commenced, though sad and strangely slow;
And columns of the Allies advance to do their duty
By dashing on to devastate a scene once filled with beauty;
But gallantly their rushing ranks the brave rearguard restrain,
Full long their valiant charge is vain an entrance to obtain,
And when, but step by step, the bold defenders are retiring,
'Tis whilst resisting steadfastly with still continued firing;
All their companions now have crossed a broad bridge which is mined—
If they can pass securely o'er, they soon may safety find.
The French retreat has now commenced, though sad and strangely slow;
And columns of the Allies advance to do their duty
By dashing on to devastate a scene once filled with beauty;
But gallantly their rushing ranks the brave rearguard restrain,
Full long their valiant charge is vain an entrance to obtain,
And when, but step by step, the bold defenders are retiring,
'Tis whilst resisting steadfastly with still continued firing;
All their companions now have crossed a broad bridge which is mined—
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Hark to the sudden hellish crash! these heroes' hope has gone!
The mine has prematurely burst—the careless stream rolls on;
The people fire from off the roofs, the foe press on the rear,
A moment 'tis of agony, of overwhelming fear.
Proud Poniatowski sees the flash of hostile sabres rise,
And to his Polish cuirassiers, he petulantly cries—
“'Tis best to fall with honour now while each his weapon plies.”
The mine has prematurely burst—the careless stream rolls on;
The people fire from off the roofs, the foe press on the rear,
A moment 'tis of agony, of overwhelming fear.
Proud Poniatowski sees the flash of hostile sabres rise,
And to his Polish cuirassiers, he petulantly cries—
“'Tis best to fall with honour now while each his weapon plies.”
Turning his horse, he shapes his course 'mong bayonets all opposing,
Around his stalwart martial form the enemy are closing—
One shot has smote him in the arm, another midst his dress,
Striking the gay insignia which his great renown express.
He plunges madly through the Pleisse, the strength at his command
Is perfectly exhausted ere he feebly gains the land;
Alas! 'tis but to mark the foe thronging the Elster's shore,
And leaping swift into its tide, he sinks to rise no more.
Around his stalwart martial form the enemy are closing—
One shot has smote him in the arm, another midst his dress,
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He plunges madly through the Pleisse, the strength at his command
Is perfectly exhausted ere he feebly gains the land;
Alas! 'tis but to mark the foe thronging the Elster's shore,
And leaping swift into its tide, he sinks to rise no more.
Farewell, lost Poland's noble son! how meet the day would be
Whereon the land which gave thee birth once more was rendered free.
Whereon the land which gave thee birth once more was rendered free.
285
DUTY STRONGER THAN PAIN.
1795.
The good ship Rose with thirteen men and but eight guns is steering
Along the gay Italian coast, in quest of privateering,
When at the breaking of the day before upon the lee
What gallantly her crew have sought at last they gladly see.
Three armed feluccas are in view, and soon begins the fight,
And the ruthless Rose her broadside fires with overwhelming might,
For valiantly her noble crew with vigour ply each gun,
When suddenly a shot lays low of their small number, one;
His foot is crushed, and eager hands would bear him from the deck,
But with a voice which falters not he seeks their care to check—
“I shall not leave you, comrades bold,” heroically he cries,
“For I can use a musket still, although I cannot rise;
Then to your posts, nor think of me, our numbers are too few
To spare even one, and readily my duty I can do.”
Along the gay Italian coast, in quest of privateering,
When at the breaking of the day before upon the lee
What gallantly her crew have sought at last they gladly see.
Three armed feluccas are in view, and soon begins the fight,
And the ruthless Rose her broadside fires with overwhelming might,
For valiantly her noble crew with vigour ply each gun,
When suddenly a shot lays low of their small number, one;
293
But with a voice which falters not he seeks their care to check—
“I shall not leave you, comrades bold,” heroically he cries,
“For I can use a musket still, although I cannot rise;
Then to your posts, nor think of me, our numbers are too few
To spare even one, and readily my duty I can do.”
The battle rages bravely on, and soon 'tis clear to see
That gallantly our doughty men have gained the victory—
And was it aught of wonder that so it should be when
Such fearless hearts impelled the hands of our staunch sailors then?
God grant that if once more our tars should fight upon the wave,
They may be then as free from fear, as generous, and as brave.
That gallantly our doughty men have gained the victory—
And was it aught of wonder that so it should be when
Such fearless hearts impelled the hands of our staunch sailors then?
God grant that if once more our tars should fight upon the wave,
They may be then as free from fear, as generous, and as brave.
294
A SEA ENCOUNTER.
1758.
The gallant ships Southampton and Melampe brave the gale
In noble guise, as mutually they forth together sail,
With massive mast bent to the blast, and canvas full and free,
A stirring sight they seem—befitting well an English sea—
With many blithesome hearts on board as heedless and as gay
As if Life were merely made for mirth—nought save a holiday.
In noble guise, as mutually they forth together sail,
With massive mast bent to the blast, and canvas full and free,
A stirring sight they seem—befitting well an English sea—
With many blithesome hearts on board as heedless and as gay
As if Life were merely made for mirth—nought save a holiday.
And now, behold, off Yarmouth roads there burst upon their sight
Two Gallic frigates in full sail, which they resolve to fight.
The Melampe is the swifter barque, and fastest gains the foe,
Who to return her fusillade with interest are not slow—
So ere the crew of the Southampton reach the strife, they learn
In a distressed disabled state she has been forced astern;
Then, like a dastard, one French ship in dread doth steer away,
But madly the Southampton's guns upon the other play
Like monsters of destruction, who cannot brook delay.
Two Gallic frigates in full sail, which they resolve to fight.
295
Who to return her fusillade with interest are not slow—
So ere the crew of the Southampton reach the strife, they learn
In a distressed disabled state she has been forced astern;
Then, like a dastard, one French ship in dread doth steer away,
But madly the Southampton's guns upon the other play
Like monsters of destruction, who cannot brook delay.
The French engage with reckless rage—the fight grows hour by hour,
Each vessel's crew, with purpose true, striving with passion's power;
Each seaman seeking still to keep the honour of his nation
By carrying mid the hostile ranks dire woe and desolation;
And the hissing roar of rushing shell and the blinding red-hot hail,
All demonstrate what dreadful force they now use to prevail.
Hour after hour thus passes swift in unremitting strife,
And of the French full eighty men have yielded up their life—
But as the sixth hour draweth on they suddenly give way,
Their falling flag proclaiming wide that they have lost the day.
Each vessel's crew, with purpose true, striving with passion's power;
Each seaman seeking still to keep the honour of his nation
By carrying mid the hostile ranks dire woe and desolation;
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All demonstrate what dreadful force they now use to prevail.
Hour after hour thus passes swift in unremitting strife,
And of the French full eighty men have yielded up their life—
But as the sixth hour draweth on they suddenly give way,
Their falling flag proclaiming wide that they have lost the day.
We trust such times as these shall ne'er again mar Britain's story,
Yet bravery, howe'er displayed, shall aye retain its glory.
Yet bravery, howe'er displayed, shall aye retain its glory.
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