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Poems and Essays

By the late William Caldwell Roscoe. (Edited with a Prefatory Memoir, by his Brother-in-law, Richard Holt Hutton)
Roscoe, William Caldwell (1823-1859)

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MINOR POEMS.
  
[Clouds and mists and vapours dim]
  
THE FALSE FONTANLEE.
  
F. M.
  
AD PYRRHAM.
  
TO LAURA R.,
  
ARIADNE.
  
A NIGHTINGALE IN EASTBURY WOODS.
  
AFTER THE HUNGARIAN WAR.
  
OPPORTUNITY.
  
LINES AFTER MY FATHER'S DEATH.
  
TO THE PLANET VENUS,
  
[Rarely to our mortal eyes]
  
TO THE MARCH SUN.
  
A DREAM AND NO DREAM.
  
VENIT.
  
[When I asked her, “Wilt thou kiss me?’]
  
THE GOLDEN DAYS.
  
LOVE'S CREED.
  
[On many an English lady's face]
  
EXCUSE.
  
[A presence! a glory celestial!]
  
SONG.
  
OVER THE WEST.
  
“FREI IST DER BURSCH!”
  
TO LITTLE A. C. IN THE GARDEN AT EASTBURY.
  
FOR EVER.
  
AFTER MY SISTER'S DEATH.
  
AT THE SAME TIME.
  
AT NIGHT, AFTER MY SISTER'S DEATH.
  
[Why fear that the departed grieves]
  
FORD GREY OF WERKE TO HIS MISTRESS.
  
[I have a thought that fain would speak]
  
“IF IT DIE, IT BRINGETH FORTH MUCH FRUIT.”
  
MUSIC.
  
A BLIND GIRL'S QUESTIONINGS.
  
BEFORE DAWN.
  
BY THE SEASHORE.
  
A VISION.
  
[Lord, at thy feet we do not kneel]
  
THE YEAR OF LOVE.
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SONNETS.
  
A WET AUTUMN.
  
AT THE CHESHIRE POINT, LINLEY WOOD.
  
[Like a musician that with flying finger]
  
AT NIGHT.
  
MY FATHER'S DEATH.
  
TO MY MOTHER.
  
GIBSON'S STATUE OF AURORA.
  
TO M. S.
  
M. S.
  
TO THE REV. JOHN HAMILTON THOM.
  
[O Muse the Comforter! that in this vale]
  
TO A LADY PREFERRING CALM TO PASSIONATE POETRY.
  
LAUDATRIX TEMPORIS ACTI.
  
MIDNIGHT ON NEW YEAR'S EVE.
  
THE TWO NIGHTS.
  
A CHRISTMAS SONNET.
  
[Sad is my lot; among the shining spheres]
  
TO A FRIEND IN GRIEF.
  
TO A FRIEND.
  
IN DEJECTION. I.
  
IN DEJECTION II.
  
I
  
II
  
III
  
DAYBREAK IN FEBRUARY.
  
SYMBOLS OF VICTORY.
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ELIDUKE, COUNT OF YVELOC.
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ACT I
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ACT II.
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ACT III.
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ACT IV.
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ACT V.
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VIOLENZIA.
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ACT I.
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ACT II.
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 VIII. 
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ACT III.
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ACT IV.
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ACT V.
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[The bubble of the silver-springing waves]

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49

TO LITTLE A. C. IN THE GARDEN AT EASTBURY.

Come, my beauty, come, my bird;
We two will wander, and no third
Shall mar that sweetest solitude
Of a garden and a child,
When the fresh elms are first in bud,
And western winds blow mild.
Clasp that short-reaching arm about a neck
Stript of a deeper love's more close embrace,
And with the softness of thy baby-cheek
Press roses on a care-distained face.
What? set thee down, because the air
Ruffles too boldly thy brown hair?
Walk then, and as thy tiny boot
Presses the greenness of the sod,
Teach me to see that tottering foot
Uplifted and set down by God;
Teach me a stronger, tenderer hand than mine
Sways every motion of thy infant frame;
Bid me take hold, like thee, and not repine,—
Weak with my errors and deserved shame.
50

How? home again? ah, that soft laughter
Tells me what voice thou hankerest after.
Run, run, with that bright shining face,
And little hands stretched forth apart,
Into a mother's fond embrace,
Close, closer to her heart.
I too will turn, for I discern a voice
Which whispers me that I am far from home;
Bids me repent, and led by holier choice
Back to a Father's open bosom come.
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