 | Household Verses |  |
194
TO I. AND G. H.
ON THEIR LEAVING WOODBRIDGE. WITH A COPY OF BURNS'S POEMS.
In memory of the hoursBy us together spent;
Strewed with the thornless flowers
Of pangless merriment.
In memory, too, of some,
When clouds were in our sky;
When hearts with grief were dumb,
And tears were in each eye!
For the bitter, and the sweet,
Which endear alike “lang syne,”
Hearts like your own will greet
This trivial gift of mine.
The life we live on earth
Is dark and bright by turns;
And in sorrow, or in mirth,
Few bards can equal Burns!
195
FRAMLINGHAM CASTLE.
Fallen as thou art, dismantled pile!
From thy once palmy state;
Thy ruins may outlast a while
Splendours of later date.
From thy once palmy state;
Thy ruins may outlast a while
Splendours of later date.
Still stand thy battlemented towers,
Firm as in by-gone years;
As if within yet ruled the powers
Of England's haughtiest peers.
Firm as in by-gone years;
As if within yet ruled the powers
Of England's haughtiest peers.
Since thou, by kings or nobles proud,
Wert first upreared and swayed,
Piles grand as thou their heads have bowed
In dark oblivion's shade:
Wert first upreared and swayed,
Piles grand as thou their heads have bowed
In dark oblivion's shade:
196
And glittering structures, richly dight,
Have, long since thy decline,
Crumbled away, and left no site
Their memory to enshrine.
Have, long since thy decline,
Crumbled away, and left no site
Their memory to enshrine.
But thou, at least to distant view,
Still bear'st a gallant form;
Thy canopy—heaven's vault of blue,
Or crest—the lowering storm.
Still bear'st a gallant form;
Thy canopy—heaven's vault of blue,
Or crest—the lowering storm.
Still upon moat and mere below
Thine ivied towers look down;
And far their giant shadows throw
With feudal grandeur's frown.
Thine ivied towers look down;
And far their giant shadows throw
With feudal grandeur's frown.
And though thy star for aye be set,
Thy glory past and gone,
Fancy might deem thine inmate yet
Bigod! or Brotherton!
Thy glory past and gone,
Fancy might deem thine inmate yet
Bigod! or Brotherton!
Or Howard brave, who fought and died
On Bosworth's bloody field;
Or bigot Mary, who the tide
Of martyr-blood unsealed!
On Bosworth's bloody field;
Or bigot Mary, who the tide
Of martyr-blood unsealed!
197
Such were thine inmates! Who are
left
As dwellers in thy hold?
The abject, and the hope-bereft,
The helpless, poor, and old!
As dwellers in thy hold?
The abject, and the hope-bereft,
The helpless, poor, and old!
Yet, haply, among these may be
Some, to the world unknown,
Who hold a higher hope in fee,
Than Mary on her throne!
Some, to the world unknown,
Who hold a higher hope in fee,
Than Mary on her throne!
198
HELMINGHAM HALL.
“The stately homes of England!
How beautiful they stand,
Amidst their tall ancestral trees,
O'er all the pleasant land!”
Hemans.
How beautiful they stand,
Amidst their tall ancestral trees,
O'er all the pleasant land!”
Hemans.
Such is this ancient moated Hall;
And on it as I fondly gaze,
Well may it unto thought recall
The visions of departed days.
And on it as I fondly gaze,
Well may it unto thought recall
The visions of departed days.
Imagination might, at will,
Bring back its revelry and mirth;
And people its apartments still
With inmates proud, of noble birth.
Bring back its revelry and mirth;
And people its apartments still
With inmates proud, of noble birth.
199
Such, in youth's visionary hour,
Had been, perchance, my chosen theme,
Till, duped by Fancy's vivid power,
I half believed her idle dream.
Had been, perchance, my chosen theme,
Till, duped by Fancy's vivid power,
I half believed her idle dream.
But now far stronger is the spell,
Beyond what words can e'er express,
Which unto thought appears to dwell
In its own silent loneliness!
Beyond what words can e'er express,
Which unto thought appears to dwell
In its own silent loneliness!
Though much of what was gay and bright,
Which once its earlier annals crowned,
And seemed to lend it life and light,
Within its walls no more be found;
Which once its earlier annals crowned,
And seemed to lend it life and light,
Within its walls no more be found;
Enough is left to tell a tale
Of all of which the world is proud;
And waken thoughts of more avail
Than those which court us in a crowd!
Of all of which the world is proud;
And waken thoughts of more avail
Than those which court us in a crowd!
For many a relic still is there
Of its old pomp and pageantry;
Of fashions—that once charmed its fair,
And swayed its gallant chivalry.
Of its old pomp and pageantry;
Of fashions—that once charmed its fair,
And swayed its gallant chivalry.
200
And some there are of purer grace,
To win the eye, to reach the heart;
Where admiration yet may trace
The touches of a master's art.
To win the eye, to reach the heart;
Where admiration yet may trace
The touches of a master's art.
Memorials on its walls yet live,
Bright tints, fair forms, which time defy;
Imparting all that these can give
Of earth's frail immortality!
Bright tints, fair forms, which time defy;
Imparting all that these can give
Of earth's frail immortality!
A POSTSCRIPT IN 1845.
Such wert thou, as I saw thee last,
When “silent loneliness” was thine;
But now a change has o'er thee past,
And renovated glories shine.
When “silent loneliness” was thine;
But now a change has o'er thee past,
And renovated glories shine.
I wish the story may be true,
And that thou mayst new charms have won
In other eyes—though in my view
Thy beauty may be half undone.
And that thou mayst new charms have won
In other eyes—though in my view
Thy beauty may be half undone.
201
MARY'S DIRGE.
“To live in hearts we leave behind— Is not
to die!”
Campbell.
If this be true—thou art not
dead!
For though thy outward life be fled,
Thine inward one still lives
In more than one void aching heart,
And there, though tears unbidden start,
Unto its own immortal part
Undying sweetness gives.
For though thy outward life be fled,
Thine inward one still lives
In more than one void aching heart,
And there, though tears unbidden start,
Unto its own immortal part
Undying sweetness gives.
202
For what is life? Not empty breath!
Nor do we sink in utter death
When that frail boon is gone:
Still true those blessed words must be,
E'en now, we trust, fulfilled to thee,
“The pure in heart their God shall see!”
And thou art living on!
Nor do we sink in utter death
When that frail boon is gone:
Still true those blessed words must be,
E'en now, we trust, fulfilled to thee,
“The pure in heart their God shall see!”
And thou art living on!
Living a life more pure and blest
Than can, in this world of un-rest,
On mortals be conferred:
A life to endless bliss allied,
Which He, our sinless Saviour, died
For his own ransomed to provide,
And sealed it by His word!
Than can, in this world of un-rest,
On mortals be conferred:
A life to endless bliss allied,
Which He, our sinless Saviour, died
For his own ransomed to provide,
And sealed it by His word!
Thy kindness, truthfulness, and love,
Thy gifts and graces from above,
Which earth could not supply;
These formed, in truth, thy hidden life,
Were with unearthly blessings rife,
They perished not in time's short strife,
Nor can they ever DIE!
Thy gifts and graces from above,
Which earth could not supply;
These formed, in truth, thy hidden life,
Were with unearthly blessings rife,
They perished not in time's short strife,
Nor can they ever DIE!
203
Hence I can echo not their tone
Who of thee speak with grief alone,
And, in short-sighted gloom,
Lament for thy untimely lot,
As if they understood it not,
Or in their sorrow half forgot
It ends not with the tomb!
Who of thee speak with grief alone,
And, in short-sighted gloom,
Lament for thy untimely lot,
As if they understood it not,
Or in their sorrow half forgot
It ends not with the tomb!
I sorrow—but mourn not for thee!
For oh! what human lot could be
More free from earthly leaven,
Than that which lent thee here below
The freshest brightness earth can show,
The purest bliss it can bestow,
Then gave thee, while unchilled their glow,
To vanish into heaven!
For oh! what human lot could be
More free from earthly leaven,
Than that which lent thee here below
The freshest brightness earth can show,
The purest bliss it can bestow,
Then gave thee, while unchilled their glow,
To vanish into heaven!
I mourn for them—yet left behind,
Whose hopes, loves, joys, were intertwined
Around thy presence bright;
O'er whom it cast a gentle ray,
Chasing some transient clouds away,
And shedding light surpassing day,
Now veiled awhile in night.
Whose hopes, loves, joys, were intertwined
Around thy presence bright;
O'er whom it cast a gentle ray,
Chasing some transient clouds away,
And shedding light surpassing day,
Now veiled awhile in night.
204
But not a night which ought to mar
Immortal spirits! Like a star,
Thy memory there may rise!
To such a radiant angel still;
Love's gentle mission to fulfil;
And for Grief's icy, sickening chill,
To waken Hope's ecstatic thrill,
With Faith's—triumphant over ill,
In realms beyond the skies!
Immortal spirits! Like a star,
Thy memory there may rise!
To such a radiant angel still;
Love's gentle mission to fulfil;
And for Grief's icy, sickening chill,
To waken Hope's ecstatic thrill,
With Faith's—triumphant over ill,
In realms beyond the skies!
205
A POET'S MEMORIAL
OF A DEPARTED FRIEND.
The modest violet, half concealed
from sight,
But scattering odours round it—lovelier seems:
The spotless lily, by the moon's pale light,
Shows yet more beauteous in its silvery beams:
But scattering odours round it—lovelier seems:
The spotless lily, by the moon's pale light,
Shows yet more beauteous in its silvery beams:
The skylark, viewless in heaven's arch above,
Appears unearthly music to impart:—
Each grace and blessing worthiest of our love
Eludes the eye—but more to touch the heart.
Appears unearthly music to impart:—
Each grace and blessing worthiest of our love
Eludes the eye—but more to touch the heart.
And such the charm of thy retiring worth,
Which shunned display, nor ever sought to roam
Beyond the spot to which it owed its birth,
“True to the kindred points of heaven and home!”
Which shunned display, nor ever sought to roam
Beyond the spot to which it owed its birth,
“True to the kindred points of heaven and home!”
206
Oh! may the memory of that worth
yet give
To its late earthly home a hallowing leaven;
There in the spirits of survivors live,
And whisper comfort from thy home in heaven!
To its late earthly home a hallowing leaven;
There in the spirits of survivors live,
And whisper comfort from thy home in heaven!
207
“JESUS CHRIST THE SAME YESTERDAY, TO-DAY, AND FOR EVER!”
The firmest friends may change,
The best beloved may leave us,
Familiar ones—grow strange,
Or death of all bereave us.
The best beloved may leave us,
Familiar ones—grow strange,
Or death of all bereave us.
Where is the love undying?
The Friend who never fails?
In whom the heart, relying,
May trust—when grief assails!
The Friend who never fails?
In whom the heart, relying,
May trust—when grief assails!
Behold the Lamb! who beareth
Believers' sins away:
For such He ever careth—
And now! as yesterday!
Believers' sins away:
For such He ever careth—
And now! as yesterday!
208
TO ANNA---.
IN THE FIRST LEAF OF A COPY OF THE RELIQUARY.
Not for its minstrel worth, do we,
Dear Anna, thus present to thee
Our unpretending tome;
But in the hope that thou mayest prize
Aught that is linked by slightest ties
Unto thy future home!
Dear Anna, thus present to thee
Our unpretending tome;
But in the hope that thou mayest prize
Aught that is linked by slightest ties
Unto thy future home!
Beneath its roof, my gentle friend,
Most of these pages have been penned;
And, to a heart like thine,
The spot to which they owe their birth,
May give them a far prouder worth
Than critics would assign.
Most of these pages have been penned;
And, to a heart like thine,
The spot to which they owe their birth,
May give them a far prouder worth
Than critics would assign.
209
Accept them as a pledge sincere
Of our warm wish to see thee here,
Your wedding tour once ended,
Because with thee the happiness
Of one we love, and ours no less,
Is intimately blended.
Of our warm wish to see thee here,
Your wedding tour once ended,
Because with thee the happiness
Of one we love, and ours no less,
Is intimately blended.
A POSTSCRIPT;
IN THE LAST LEAF OF THE SAME VOLUME. ADDED SOME YEARS AFTER.
Since the foregoing lines were writ,
Years have flown by, as years will flit,
Succeeding one another;
And thou, a blissful maiden then,
Hast added claims to prompt my pen,
A grateful wife and mother.
Years have flown by, as years will flit,
Succeeding one another;
And thou, a blissful maiden then,
Hast added claims to prompt my pen,
A grateful wife and mother.
210
The sweetest rose will have its thorn;
And passing clouds the brightest morn
May shade with transient sadness;
So of the ills life needs must bear,
Thou mayst, dear friend, have had a share,
To make more prized its gladness.
And passing clouds the brightest morn
May shade with transient sadness;
So of the ills life needs must bear,
Thou mayst, dear friend, have had a share,
To make more prized its gladness.
But—be the future like the past;
And thou mayst confidently cast
Thy cares on Him—who careth
For them whose filial trust and love,
First seek His blessing from above,
Who all their burthens beareth!
And thou mayst confidently cast
Thy cares on Him—who careth
For them whose filial trust and love,
First seek His blessing from above,
Who all their burthens beareth!
1845.
211
STANZAS.
[Oh! mourn not for the early blest]
Oh! mourn not for the early blest,
Called from a world of care away;
And gathered to her blissful rest,
In the bright realms of sunless day!
Called from a world of care away;
And gathered to her blissful rest,
In the bright realms of sunless day!
The more her innocence and worth
Combine to make her memory dear;
The fitter seems her flight from earth,
To that far purer, happier sphere.
Combine to make her memory dear;
The fitter seems her flight from earth,
To that far purer, happier sphere.
Shall we, in selfish sorrow cold,
Mourn—when the Shepherd, in his love,
Takes from his lower earthly fold
Another lamb to one above?
Mourn—when the Shepherd, in his love,
Takes from his lower earthly fold
Another lamb to one above?
212
In this some danger needs must
dwell;
Around it spoilers seek their prey;
But there we know that all is well!
For nothing can that flock dismay.
Around it spoilers seek their prey;
But there we know that all is well!
For nothing can that flock dismay.
Or shall we mourn so sweet a flower
Appeared to blossom—but to die;
Because in this, its earthly bower,
Its charms no longer greet our eye?
Appeared to blossom—but to die;
Because in this, its earthly bower,
Its charms no longer greet our eye?
Look up! with Faith's meek eye serene,
Beyond the grave's dark, chilling gloom,
And there that flowret shall be seen
Unfolding in immortal bloom.
Beyond the grave's dark, chilling gloom,
And there that flowret shall be seen
Unfolding in immortal bloom.
The Heavenly Gardener shall we blame,
Who hath transplanted it from sight,
And, knowing best its fragile frame,
Placed it where storms can never blight?
Who hath transplanted it from sight,
And, knowing best its fragile frame,
Placed it where storms can never blight?
Mourn not for her! but rather mourn,
Since there our sorrow cannot err,
For some who yet on earth sojourn,
That gladly would change lots with her.
Since there our sorrow cannot err,
For some who yet on earth sojourn,
That gladly would change lots with her.
213
Mourn rather for the living dead!
Than for the seeming dead—who live!
These need no tears our grief can shed;
But those far more than we can give!
Than for the seeming dead—who live!
These need no tears our grief can shed;
But those far more than we can give!
There are who live but in the name
Of what the world as LIFE declares!
Oh! doubt not these more truly claim
Our tears; more deeply still our prayers!
Of what the world as LIFE declares!
Oh! doubt not these more truly claim
Our tears; more deeply still our prayers!
For them let tears and prayers be
rife,
That He who still is—as of old,
The Resurrection, and The Life!
May such with pitying eye behold.
That He who still is—as of old,
The Resurrection, and The Life!
May such with pitying eye behold.
But mourn not for the early blest,
Called from a world of care away;
And gathered to her blissful rest,
In the bright realms of sunless day!
Called from a world of care away;
And gathered to her blissful rest,
In the bright realms of sunless day!
2nd Month 4th, 1845.
214
A CHILD'S DREAM.
What know we of the glorious sights
Which bless an infant's dream?
Or, could we guess them, what more meet
To be a poet's theme?
The hope that e'en a glimpse of such
My numbers might make known,
To fond imagination brings
A day-dream of its own.
Which bless an infant's dream?
Or, could we guess them, what more meet
To be a poet's theme?
The hope that e'en a glimpse of such
My numbers might make known,
To fond imagination brings
A day-dream of its own.
'Tis of a child of five years old,
Upon whose peaceful sleep
Fair visions of another world
With silent footsteps creep;
Soft as the dew on summer flowers,
Or moonlight on the sea,
The influence of that blissful dream
To Fancy seems to be.
Upon whose peaceful sleep
Fair visions of another world
With silent footsteps creep;
215
Or moonlight on the sea,
The influence of that blissful dream
To Fancy seems to be.
The cheek, upon the pillow pressed,
Wears joy's delightful tinge:
The eyes are closed, yet joy's bright tear
Steals through the eyelid's fringe:
The lips are voiceless, yet they wear
The sweetest smile of bliss,
A smile so sweet, it well might chide
The fondest mother's kiss.
Wears joy's delightful tinge:
The eyes are closed, yet joy's bright tear
Steals through the eyelid's fringe:
The lips are voiceless, yet they wear
The sweetest smile of bliss,
A smile so sweet, it well might chide
The fondest mother's kiss.
Thou happy sleeper! might I tell
Where now thy spirit roams,
The lot it shares, how poor would seem
The pomp of proudest domes!
Fame, wealth, or grandeur never yet
A pleasure could impart,
So pangless and so pure as those
Which now possess thy heart.
Where now thy spirit roams,
The lot it shares, how poor would seem
The pomp of proudest domes!
Fame, wealth, or grandeur never yet
A pleasure could impart,
So pangless and so pure as those
Which now possess thy heart.
216
For thou art in “the land of thought!”
And far hast left behind
The fading happiness of earth,
For raptures more refined:
Thine seems a foretaste of the boon
Appointed for the blest;
“Where the wicked cease from troubling,
And the weary are at rest!”
And far hast left behind
The fading happiness of earth,
For raptures more refined:
Thine seems a foretaste of the boon
Appointed for the blest;
“Where the wicked cease from troubling,
And the weary are at rest!”
Thy spirit's yet unfolded bud
May seem too young to bear
The full effulgence of that light
Which bursts around thee there;
Thy “vital spark of heavenly flame”
May shine with trembling ray,
Amid the bright and sunless blaze
Of heaven's unclouded day.
May seem too young to bear
The full effulgence of that light
Which bursts around thee there;
Thy “vital spark of heavenly flame”
May shine with trembling ray,
Amid the bright and sunless blaze
Of heaven's unclouded day.
Yet, in thy measure, fancy deems
Thy soul may now partake
Those glories, which the harps and songs
Of angels ever wake;
And to thy sight, unconsciously,
Are transient glimpses given,
Whose bright beatitudes fulfil
A child's sweet dream of heaven!
Thy soul may now partake
Those glories, which the harps and songs
Of angels ever wake;
217
Are transient glimpses given,
Whose bright beatitudes fulfil
A child's sweet dream of heaven!
And is it not a lovely scene
That greets thy vision now?
Where gratitude warms every breast,
And joy lights every brow!
Where tears are wiped from every eye,
And sickness comes not near,
And hope in certainty fulfilled
Has banished every fear!
That greets thy vision now?
Where gratitude warms every breast,
And joy lights every brow!
Where tears are wiped from every eye,
And sickness comes not near,
And hope in certainty fulfilled
Has banished every fear!
What seest thou in that realm sublime?
The spirits of the just,
Made perfect through the blood of Him,
In whom they placed their trust?
The tuneful seraph host, that raise
Their songs around the throne,
Giving to God, and to the Lamb,
The praise that is their own?
The spirits of the just,
Made perfect through the blood of Him,
In whom they placed their trust?
The tuneful seraph host, that raise
Their songs around the throne,
Giving to God, and to the Lamb,
The praise that is their own?
218
Or look'st thou on the Tree of Life
Whose foliage yet may heal
The nations—and the earlier curse
Of Eden's tree repeal?
Or gazest thou upon that stream,
Like clearest crystal bright,
Proceeding from Jehovah's throne,
And glorious from His light?
Whose foliage yet may heal
The nations—and the earlier curse
Of Eden's tree repeal?
Or gazest thou upon that stream,
Like clearest crystal bright,
Proceeding from Jehovah's throne,
And glorious from His light?
Vain though it seem to ask or think
What sights and sounds divine,
May rise in slumber's tranquil hour
On spirits pure as thine;
Not wholly so, if, while he sings,
Within the minstrel's soul,
The influence of such heavenly themes
May earth-born cares control.
What sights and sounds divine,
May rise in slumber's tranquil hour
On spirits pure as thine;
Not wholly so, if, while he sings,
Within the minstrel's soul,
The influence of such heavenly themes
May earth-born cares control.
Sleep, happy dreamer! sleep in peace,
And may thy mental powers
By visions such as these be nursed
For future waking hours;
That so, from death's last dreamless sleep,
Thy spirit may ascend,
To know the fulness of all joy,
In glory without end!
And may thy mental powers
By visions such as these be nursed
For future waking hours;
219
Thy spirit may ascend,
To know the fulness of all joy,
In glory without end!
A POSTSCRIPT.
“No child,” some critic may perchance
exclaim,
“Would dream like this; or dream of heaven at all!”
And how knowest thou, despite thy critic fame,
What heavenly dreams on childhood's slumbers fall?
“Would dream like this; or dream of heaven at all!”
And how knowest thou, despite thy critic fame,
What heavenly dreams on childhood's slumbers fall?
One wiser far than thou, who cannot
err
In aught of heaven or heavenly things disclosed,
Of guileless hearts the best interpreter,
Hath said—of such that kingdom is composed!
In aught of heaven or heavenly things disclosed,
Of guileless hearts the best interpreter,
Hath said—of such that kingdom is composed!
Unlearn thy worldly wisdom; be no more
By self-conceit presumptuously beguiled;
But rather study that sweet, lowlier lore,
Which makes its learner as a little child!
By self-conceit presumptuously beguiled;
But rather study that sweet, lowlier lore,
Which makes its learner as a little child!
220
JOHN EVELYN.
A true philosopher! well taught to scanThe works of nature, those of art to prize;
The latter cordially to patronize,
But to the first, their Author, and their plan,
Giving that homage of far ampler span
Awarded by the good, the great, the wise:
A hearty lover of old household ties;
And, to crown all, a Christian gentleman!
Such wert thou, Evelyn, in a busy age
Of restless change, to dissipation prone;
And, at thy death, upon thy coffin-stone,
Hast left this record, worthy many a page,
That “all not honest,” on this mortal stage,
“Is vain! and nothing wise save piety alone! ”
Evelyn is buried at Wotton, under a tomb of freestone, shaped like a coffin; with an inscription thereon, by his own direction, stating that, “Living in an age of extraordinary events and revolutions, he had learned from thence this truth, which he desired might be thus communicated to posterity; That all is vanity which is not honest! and that there is no solid wisdom but in real piety!”
221
A COLLOQUY WITH MYSELF.
“As I walked by myself, I talked to
myself,
And myself replied to me;
And the questions myself then put to myself,
With their answers, I give to thee.
Put them home to thyself, and if unto thyself
Their responses the same should be,
O look well to thyself, and beware of thyself,
Or so much the worse for thee.”
And myself replied to me;
And the questions myself then put to myself,
With their answers, I give to thee.
Put them home to thyself, and if unto thyself
Their responses the same should be,
O look well to thyself, and beware of thyself,
Or so much the worse for thee.”
What are riches? Hoarded treasures
May, indeed, thy coffers fill;
Yet, like earth's most fleeting pleasures,
Leave thee poor and heartless still.
May, indeed, thy coffers fill;
Yet, like earth's most fleeting pleasures,
Leave thee poor and heartless still.
What is pleasure? When afforded
But by gauds that pass away,
Read its fate in lines recorded
On the sea-sands yesterday.
But by gauds that pass away,
Read its fate in lines recorded
On the sea-sands yesterday.
222
What is fashion? Ask of folly;
She her worth can best express.
What is moping melancholy?
Go and learn of idleness.
She her worth can best express.
What is moping melancholy?
Go and learn of idleness.
What is truth? Too stern a preacher
For the prosperous and the gay;
But a safe and wholesome teacher
In adversity's dark day.
For the prosperous and the gay;
But a safe and wholesome teacher
In adversity's dark day.
What is friendship? If well founded,
Like some beacon's heavenward glow;
If on false pretensions grounded,
Like the treacherous sands below.
Like some beacon's heavenward glow;
If on false pretensions grounded,
Like the treacherous sands below.
What is love? If earthly only,
Like a meteor of the night;
Shining but to leave more lonely
Hearts that hailed its transient light.
Like a meteor of the night;
Shining but to leave more lonely
Hearts that hailed its transient light.
But when calm, refined, and tender,
Purified from passion's stain,
Like the moon, in gentle splendour,
Ruling o'er the peaceful main.
Purified from passion's stain,
Like the moon, in gentle splendour,
Ruling o'er the peaceful main.
223
What are hopes? But gleams of brightness,
Glancing darkest clouds between;
Or foam-crested waves, whose whiteness
Gladdens ocean's darksome green.
Glancing darkest clouds between;
Or foam-crested waves, whose whiteness
Gladdens ocean's darksome green.
What are fears? Grim phantoms, throwing
Shadows o'er the pilgrim's way,
Every moment darker growing
If we yield unto their sway.
Shadows o'er the pilgrim's way,
Every moment darker growing
If we yield unto their sway.
What is mirth? A flash of lightning,
Followed but by deeper gloom.
Patience?—More than sunshine brightening
Sorrow's path, and labour's doom.
Followed but by deeper gloom.
Patience?—More than sunshine brightening
Sorrow's path, and labour's doom.
What is time? A river flowing
To eternity's vast sea;
Forward, whither all are going,
On its bosom bearing thee.
To eternity's vast sea;
Forward, whither all are going,
On its bosom bearing thee.
What is life? A bubble floating
On that silent, rapid stream;
Few, too few, its progress noting,
Till it bursts and ends the dream.
On that silent, rapid stream;
Few, too few, its progress noting,
Till it bursts and ends the dream.
224
What is death—asunder rending
Every tie we love so well?
But the gate to life un-ending,
Joy in heaven! or woe in hell!
Every tie we love so well?
But the gate to life un-ending,
Joy in heaven! or woe in hell!
Can these truths, by repetition,
Lose their magnitude or weight?
Estimate thy own condition,
Ere thou pass that fearful gate.
Lose their magnitude or weight?
Estimate thy own condition,
Ere thou pass that fearful gate.
Hast thou heard them oft repeated?
Much may still be left to do:
Be not by profession cheated;
Live! as if thou knew'st them true!
Much may still be left to do:
Be not by profession cheated;
Live! as if thou knew'st them true!
225
ORFORD.
A SONNET, INSCRIBED TO MY FRIEND JOHN WODDERSPOON.
Rememberest thou that pleasant summer daySpent by us at old Orford, like a dream?
How, as we went, the morning's fitful gleam
Made the bleak “walks” and barren heaths look gay!
Rememberest thou the hour we wiled away
In ferrying over Ore's broad, billowy stream;
And all our converse, held on many a theme,
As at our feet the German Ocean lay?
But, above all, rememberest thou the hour
We gave that noble room; which well may vie,
In its rude grandeur of simplicity,
With any—feudal baron in his power
Could wish to feast in; and, from its high tower,
Beheld, well-pleased, our humble hostelrie!
226
ORFORD CASTLE.
Beacon for barks that navigate the streamOf Ore, or Alde, or breast old Ocean's spray;
Land-mark for inland travellers—far away
O'er heath and sheep-walk—as bright morning's beam,
Or evening sunset's richer, mellower gleam
Lights up thy weather-beaten turrets grey;
Still dost thou bear thee bravely in decay,
As if thy by-gone glories were no dream!
E'en now with lingering grandeur thou look'st down
From thy once fortified, embattled hill,
Striving thine ancient office to fulfil;
And though thy keep be now the only crown
Of Orford's desolate and dwindled town,
Seem'st to assert thyself its sovereign still.
227
THE DEPARTED.
Much as we prize the active worth
Of those who, day by day,
Tread with us on this toilsome earth
Its devious, thorny way;
A charm more hallowed and profound,
By purer feelings fed,
Imagination casts around
The memory of the dead!
Of those who, day by day,
Tread with us on this toilsome earth
Its devious, thorny way;
A charm more hallowed and profound,
By purer feelings fed,
Imagination casts around
The memory of the dead!
They form the living links—which bind
Our spirits to that state
Of being—pangless, pure, refined,
For which, in faith, we wait.
By them, through holy hope and love,
We feel, in hours serene,
Connected with a world above,
Immortal, and unseen!
Our spirits to that state
Of being—pangless, pure, refined,
For which, in faith, we wait.
228
We feel, in hours serene,
Connected with a world above,
Immortal, and unseen!
“The dead are like the stars by day,
Withdrawn from mortal eye;”
Yet holding unperceived their way
In heaven's unclouded sky.
The mists of earth to us may mar
The splendour of their light;
But they, beyond sun, moon, or star,
Shine on—in glory bright.
Withdrawn from mortal eye;”
Yet holding unperceived their way
In heaven's unclouded sky.
The mists of earth to us may mar
The splendour of their light;
But they, beyond sun, moon, or star,
Shine on—in glory bright.
In this brief world of chance and change,
Who has not felt and known
How much may alter, and estrange
Hearts fondly deemed our own?
But those whom we lament awhile,
“Not lost, but gone before,”
Doubt cannot darken, sin defile,
Or frailty alter more!
Who has not felt and known
How much may alter, and estrange
Hearts fondly deemed our own?
But those whom we lament awhile,
“Not lost, but gone before,”
Doubt cannot darken, sin defile,
Or frailty alter more!
229
For death its sacred seal hath set
On bright and by-gone hours!
And they—whose absence we regret,
Seem more than ever OUR'S!
Our's—by the pledge of love, and faith,
And hope of heaven on high;
A trust—triumphant over death
In immortality!
On bright and by-gone hours!
And they—whose absence we regret,
Seem more than ever OUR'S!
Our's—by the pledge of love, and faith,
And hope of heaven on high;
A trust—triumphant over death
In immortality!
230
ON A DRAWING OF NORWICH MARKET-PLACE
BY COTMAN. TAKEN IN 1807.
“Towered cities please us then,
And the busy hum of men.”
Milton.
And the busy hum of men.”
Milton.
Moments there are, in which
We feel it is not good to be alone!
Shrined in our narrow niche,
As if we would all fellowship disown.
We feel it is not good to be alone!
Shrined in our narrow niche,
As if we would all fellowship disown.
And least of all—for me,
A poor recluse and book-worm, is it good
An alien thus to be,
Standing aloof from my own flesh and blood!
A poor recluse and book-worm, is it good
An alien thus to be,
Standing aloof from my own flesh and blood!
In desk-work through the day,
In minstrel labour to the noon of night,
I would not wear away
My sympathy with every social right.
In minstrel labour to the noon of night,
I would not wear away
My sympathy with every social right.
231
In many an hour of thought,
And solitary, musing mood of mind,
Good is it to be brought
Thus into intercourse with humankind!
And solitary, musing mood of mind,
Good is it to be brought
Thus into intercourse with humankind!
To see the populous crowd
Who throng the busy market's ample space;
To hear their murmur loud;
And watch the workings of each busy face.
Who throng the busy market's ample space;
To hear their murmur loud;
And watch the workings of each busy face.
To let my fancy roam,
As fancy will, would we but grant her leave,
With each—unto his home!
There finding what may glad the heart—or grieve!
As fancy will, would we but grant her leave,
With each—unto his home!
There finding what may glad the heart—or grieve!
On all around to look,
With a true heart to feel and sympathize;
As reading in a book,
Those countless windows—looking down like eyes—
With a true heart to feel and sympathize;
As reading in a book,
Those countless windows—looking down like eyes—
On the dense mass below!
Oh! who can guess what feelings, past and gone,
Of varied weal or woe,
Throbbed in the busiest there—or lookers-on!
Oh! who can guess what feelings, past and gone,
Of varied weal or woe,
Throbbed in the busiest there—or lookers-on!
232
Needs there a graver thought,
To give the motley scene more solemn power?
How quickly is it brought
By that old church's lengthened roof and tower!
To give the motley scene more solemn power?
How quickly is it brought
By that old church's lengthened roof and tower!
It looks down on the scene,
Where buyers—sellers—earn their daily bread;
Forming a link between
The busy living—and the silent dead!
Where buyers—sellers—earn their daily bread;
Forming a link between
The busy living—and the silent dead!
And, ever and anon,
High above all that hubbub's mingled swell,
For some one—dead and gone,
Is heard its deep, sonorous funeral bell!
High above all that hubbub's mingled swell,
For some one—dead and gone,
Is heard its deep, sonorous funeral bell!
Thirty-eight years gone by,
Thus did this motley, moving medley look!
And still, unto mine eye,
It utters more than any printed book.
Thus did this motley, moving medley look!
And still, unto mine eye,
It utters more than any printed book.
Its transcript—to my heart,
Tells more than prose or verse can ever scan,
In glimpses that impart
The natural brotherhood of man with man!
Tells more than prose or verse can ever scan,
In glimpses that impart
The natural brotherhood of man with man!
233
FOR THE QUEEN'S ALBUM.
COMPOSED IN A DREAM.
Introductory Note to the two following Album Verses.
Once, and once only in my life, I was in the royal presence: at some courtly festival, I opine; for I “sate at meat” with unwonted company, and surrounded by regal splendour. Chide me not, gentle reader, with presumption; for it was— in a dream! and I am sure no waking thoughts of mine led me there. In this most strange conjunction, I was called on for a contribution to the Royal Album! Awake, under such circumstances, I feel certain I could not have written letter or line: in my sleep I was bolder, and actually perpetrated two stanzas; which I subjoin, as a literary curiosity, having been, veritably, composed in a dream.
A blessing on thy crownéd head!My country's youthful Queen!
If such may be or sung or said,
Amid this courtly scene!
And if a poet's loyal love
Might more than this impart,
Oh! may that blessing from above
Sink deep into thy heart!
234
TO THE DEBEN.
“scenes that soothed
Or charmed me young, no longer young, I find
Still soothing, and of power to charm me still!”
Cowper.
Or charmed me young, no longer young, I find
Still soothing, and of power to charm me still!”
Cowper.
No stately villas, on thy side,
May be reflected in thy tide;
No lawn-like parks, outstretching round,
The willing loiterer's footsteps bound
By woods—that cast their leafy shade,
Or deer that start across each glade;
No ruined abbey, grey with years,
Upon thy marge its pile uprears;
Nor crumbling castle, valour's hold,
Recalls the feudal days of old.
May be reflected in thy tide;
No lawn-like parks, outstretching round,
The willing loiterer's footsteps bound
By woods—that cast their leafy shade,
Or deer that start across each glade;
No ruined abbey, grey with years,
Upon thy marge its pile uprears;
Nor crumbling castle, valour's hold,
Recalls the feudal days of old.
235
Nor dost thou need that such should be.
To make thee, Deben, dear to me:
Thou hast thine own befitting charms,
Of quiet heaths, and fertile farms,
With here and there a copse to fling
Its welcome shade, where wild birds sing;
Thy meads, for flocks and herds to graze;
Thy quays and docks, where seamen raise
Their anchor, and unfurl their sail
To woo and win the favouring gale.
To make thee, Deben, dear to me:
Thou hast thine own befitting charms,
Of quiet heaths, and fertile farms,
With here and there a copse to fling
Its welcome shade, where wild birds sing;
Thy meads, for flocks and herds to graze;
Thy quays and docks, where seamen raise
Their anchor, and unfurl their sail
To woo and win the favouring gale.
And, above all, for me thou hast
Endearing memories of the past!
Thy winding banks, with grass o'er-grown,
By me these forty years well known,
Where, eve or morn, 'tis sweet to rove,
Have oft been trod by those I love;
By those who, through life's by-gone hours,
Have strewed its thorny paths with flowers,
And by their influence made thy stream
A grateful poet's favourite theme.
Endearing memories of the past!
Thy winding banks, with grass o'er-grown,
By me these forty years well known,
Where, eve or morn, 'tis sweet to rove,
Have oft been trod by those I love;
By those who, through life's by-gone hours,
Have strewed its thorny paths with flowers,
And by their influence made thy stream
A grateful poet's favourite theme.
236
TO A VERY YOUNG HOUSE-WIFE.
To write a book of Household Song,
Without one verse to thee,
Whom I have known and loved so long,
Were all unworthy me.
Without one verse to thee,
Whom I have known and loved so long,
Were all unworthy me.
Have I not seen thy needle plied
With as much ready glee,
As if it were thy greatest pride
A sempstress famed to be?
With as much ready glee,
As if it were thy greatest pride
A sempstress famed to be?
Have I not ate pies, puddings, tarts,
And bread—thy hands had kneaded,
All excellent—as if those arts
Were all that thou hadst heeded?
And bread—thy hands had kneaded,
All excellent—as if those arts
Were all that thou hadst heeded?
237
Have I not seen thy cheerful smile,
And heard thy voice—as gay,
As if such household cares, the while,
To thee were sport and play?
And heard thy voice—as gay,
As if such household cares, the while,
To thee were sport and play?
Yet can thy pencil copy well
Landscape, or flower, or face;
And thou canst waken music's spell
With simple, natural grace.
Landscape, or flower, or face;
And thou canst waken music's spell
With simple, natural grace.
Thus variously to play thy part,
Before thy teens are spent,
Honours far more thy head, and heart,
Than mere accomplishment!
Before thy teens are spent,
Honours far more thy head, and heart,
Than mere accomplishment!
So wear the wreath thou well hast won;
And be it understood
I frame it not in idle fun
For girlish womanhood.
And be it understood
I frame it not in idle fun
For girlish womanhood.
But in it may a lesson lurk,
Worth teaching now-a-days;
That girls may do all household work,
Nor lose a poet's praise!
Worth teaching now-a-days;
That girls may do all household work,
Nor lose a poet's praise!
238
SONNET, TO THE MEMORY OF GAINSBOROUGH;
SUGGESTED BY THE FRONTISPIECE.
By scenes like this thine earlier taste was fedFor Nature's beauty in each lone recess,
Where, with her richest sylvan loveliness,
She courts her fond enthusiast's lingering tread!
Embowering foliage—arching over-head
Steep, broken sand-banks, she knows how to dress
In charms few pencils could like thine express,
Heightened by gleams of light through darkness shed.
This spot, in early life a haunt of thine,
And honoured still, because it bears thy name,
Is drawn by one who feels how dear that claim
To Nature's votaries; nor would wish to shine,
Either in execution, or design,
By other arts than those which won thee fame!
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