 |
 | Miscellaneous poems (1861) |  |
iii
DEDICATORY SONNET,
TO MR. JOHN HEYWOOD, THE PRINTER AND PUBLISHER OF THIS LITTLE BOOK.
Heywood, to thee, friend I have not yet seen,I dedicate these lastlings of my muse,
Because that thou hast laboured to diffuse
Free knowledge, pure, refining, and serene.
Not unsuccessful have thy efforts been,
Among the striving spirits of thy town;
For thou hast won a calm and fair renown,
And worldly triumphs, neither few nor mean.
A true exemplar of the toiling crowd,
Thou hast, by honest energy and skill,
Made circumstance subservient to thy will,
Using the chances Providence allowed.
Simple is this my song, but let it be
My recognition of thy worth and thee.
J. C. PRINCE.
Hyde,
July, 1861.
28
LINES TO THE PEOPLE OF ASHTON-UNDER-LYNE, ON THE INAUGURATION OF THEIR INFIRMARY.
Fair town of toil, whose enterprise and power
Expand and strengthen every day and hour,
To thy brave sons all honour and all praise!
For they have laboured with one mind to raise
A free asylum for the suffering poor,
And opened wide its hospitable door.
When sudden sickness lays the poor man low,
And fills his house with hopelessness and woe,
While want looks out from each surrounding face,
Here is his calmest and securest place;
When quick disaster smites him unaware,
And shrouds his mind in shadows of despair,
Here he may find a refuge if he will,
Prompt help, sweet quiet, sympathy and skill,
And every needful effort to restore
The husband—father—to his home once more.
Expand and strengthen every day and hour,
To thy brave sons all honour and all praise!
For they have laboured with one mind to raise
A free asylum for the suffering poor,
And opened wide its hospitable door.
When sudden sickness lays the poor man low,
And fills his house with hopelessness and woe,
While want looks out from each surrounding face,
Here is his calmest and securest place;
When quick disaster smites him unaware,
And shrouds his mind in shadows of despair,
Here he may find a refuge if he will,
Prompt help, sweet quiet, sympathy and skill,
And every needful effort to restore
The husband—father—to his home once more.
Honour and praise unto the wealthy band
Who gave their gold with unbegrudging hand,—
Gave energy, experience, and mind,
To the wise purpose, manfully designed;
Until they saw, with not unholy pride,
The good work done, the people satisfied:
Praise to the toiling thousands! they could see
The power and beauty of swect charity;
Gave from their humble earnings what they could,
For the fulfilment of the general good;
With ready hands and willing hearts obeyed
The impulse of humanity, that swayed
Their better natures with a magic rod,
And made them bow—unconsciously—to God.
Who gave their gold with unbegrudging hand,—
Gave energy, experience, and mind,
To the wise purpose, manfully designed;
Until they saw, with not unholy pride,
The good work done, the people satisfied:
49
The power and beauty of swect charity;
Gave from their humble earnings what they could,
For the fulfilment of the general good;
With ready hands and willing hearts obeyed
The impulse of humanity, that swayed
Their better natures with a magic rod,
And made them bow—unconsciously—to God.
Courage, fair Ashton! nobly hast thou done
In this one thing, but not in this alone;
For though thy sons are rough in mien and speech,
Have much to learn, and much, perchance, to teach,
They are not destitute of those desires
Which a true sense of liberty inspires;
And in the march of progress, fain would find
A forward rank, not to be left behind.
In this one thing, but not in this alone;
For though thy sons are rough in mien and speech,
Have much to learn, and much, perchance, to teach,
They are not destitute of those desires
Which a true sense of liberty inspires;
And in the march of progress, fain would find
A forward rank, not to be left behind.
But where's thy park? within whose quiet bowers
Thy toiling sons may spend their leisure hours,
In social converse, or in thoughtful calm,
To the worn mind a sweet and strengthening balm,
Far better than the noisy haunts of sin,
That sap the body, soil the soul within,
And keep its fluttering and feeble wings
Down to the level of all vulgar things.
Thy toiling sons may spend their leisure hours,
In social converse, or in thoughtful calm,
To the worn mind a sweet and strengthening balm,
Far better than the noisy haunts of sin,
That sap the body, soil the soul within,
And keep its fluttering and feeble wings
Down to the level of all vulgar things.
Thou hast thy schools, and labourest to increase
Those Sabbath homes of knowledge and of peace;
May they still grow in numbers and renown,
Thronged with the happy children of the town,
Extracting wisdom from the Sacred Page,
The light of youth, the comfort of old age,
The precious Bible, destined to expand
The power and freedom of our native land.
Those Sabbath homes of knowledge and of peace;
May they still grow in numbers and renown,
Thronged with the happy children of the town,
50
The light of youth, the comfort of old age,
The precious Bible, destined to expand
The power and freedom of our native land.
Thou hast thy Institute. Ah! there, indeed,
Thou might'st increase thy energy and speed,
Infuse more life, impart more strength and grace,
Give more attractions to that needful place;
Draw greater numbers to partake the store
Of useful knowledge, pure and priceless lore,
Treasured in books that rouse the slumbering mind
To thoughts devoted, lofty, and refined;
Books written for twin truth and virtue's sake,
To keep man's spirit healthfully awake.
Let it not lag and languish,—from this hour
Afford it new appliances and power,
And some day to its credit may belong
Some famous son of science or of song.
Thou might'st increase thy energy and speed,
Infuse more life, impart more strength and grace,
Give more attractions to that needful place;
Draw greater numbers to partake the store
Of useful knowledge, pure and priceless lore,
Treasured in books that rouse the slumbering mind
To thoughts devoted, lofty, and refined;
Books written for twin truth and virtue's sake,
To keep man's spirit healthfully awake.
Let it not lag and languish,—from this hour
Afford it new appliances and power,
And some day to its credit may belong
Some famous son of science or of song.
On, sons of Ashton! pause not by the way,
On towards the dawning of a brighter day!
Take ye a worthy and exalted place
'Mong those who dignify the human race;
And while I live, the honours that ye gain
Shall wake my lowly harp to a triumphant strain.
On towards the dawning of a brighter day!
Take ye a worthy and exalted place
'Mong those who dignify the human race;
And while I live, the honours that ye gain
Shall wake my lowly harp to a triumphant strain.
56
ADDRESS SPOKEN AT A NEW RELIGIOUS AND LITERARY INSTITUTE, ASHTON-UNDER-LYNE.
There is no nobler labour for mankind
Than to instruct and elevate the mind,
To pour into the eager ears of youth
The words of unadulterated truth;
To teach the untutored of maturer age,
The glorious precepts of the Sacred Page;
To chase the clouds of prejudice away,
And show bright glimpses of a purer day;
To win the heart by charity and love,
And give the soul an impulse towards above;
To watch and strive, with strong yet patient zeal,
For all pertaining to the human weal;
To own the highest and the holiest laws,
Fight boldly for the one transcendant cause:
And for our comfort this great truth is given,—
That while we love our kind, we win the love of Heaven.
Than to instruct and elevate the mind,
To pour into the eager ears of youth
The words of unadulterated truth;
To teach the untutored of maturer age,
The glorious precepts of the Sacred Page;
To chase the clouds of prejudice away,
And show bright glimpses of a purer day;
To win the heart by charity and love,
And give the soul an impulse towards above;
To watch and strive, with strong yet patient zeal,
For all pertaining to the human weal;
To own the highest and the holiest laws,
Fight boldly for the one transcendant cause:
And for our comfort this great truth is given,—
That while we love our kind, we win the love of Heaven.
Such is our purpose, brother, sister, guest—
Such our pure purpose;—be our labours blest;
Be ours a strenuous and united band,
Heart knit with heart, and hand allied with hand,
In the good work, how hard so e'er it be,
Which brings us closer in humanity.
Let us assemble, whensoe'er we can,
To hold calm counsel, to serenely plan
Aught that God willeth we should strive to do,
Of brave, yet gentle, generous, and true.
Here let good books arouse the slumbering mind
To thoughts all holy, lofty, and refined;
Books written for twin truth and virtue's sake,
To keep man's spirit healthfully awake:
But chiefly let God's oracle be sought,
With all its grandeur of transcendant thought,
Its grace, its glory, its consoling power,
Its wisdom fitted to the varied hour,
Its earthly language unto Heaven allied,
The Christian's treasure-page, and comforter, and guide.
Such our pure purpose;—be our labours blest;
Be ours a strenuous and united band,
Heart knit with heart, and hand allied with hand,
In the good work, how hard so e'er it be,
Which brings us closer in humanity.
57
To hold calm counsel, to serenely plan
Aught that God willeth we should strive to do,
Of brave, yet gentle, generous, and true.
Here let good books arouse the slumbering mind
To thoughts all holy, lofty, and refined;
Books written for twin truth and virtue's sake,
To keep man's spirit healthfully awake:
But chiefly let God's oracle be sought,
With all its grandeur of transcendant thought,
Its grace, its glory, its consoling power,
Its wisdom fitted to the varied hour,
Its earthly language unto Heaven allied,
The Christian's treasure-page, and comforter, and guide.
Here let the voice of earnest men be heard,
Till the glad bosom is divinely stirred—
Stirred with the best emotions, half akin
To angel natures, free from grief and sin;
And may each word of truthfulness that flows
From gracious lips give gladness and repose,
Or so infuse the soul with holy fire,
That it shall glow with faith, and gloriously aspire.
Till the glad bosom is divinely stirred—
Stirred with the best emotions, half akin
To angel natures, free from grief and sin;
And may each word of truthfulness that flows
From gracious lips give gladness and repose,
Or so infuse the soul with holy fire,
That it shall glow with faith, and gloriously aspire.
Let us go forth, not arrogant and vain,
Nor with a thought of worldly praise or gain,
But, like the Apostles of the elder day,
To point the path, and lead ourselves the way;
Let us go forth with tolerance and good-will,
And strive our sacred duties to fulfil;—
Duties that urge us to the noble toil
Of breaking up a weed-encumbered soil,
Where tares of sinfulness too freely rise,
And choke the better stem that struggles towards the skies.
Nor with a thought of worldly praise or gain,
But, like the Apostles of the elder day,
To point the path, and lead ourselves the way;
Let us go forth with tolerance and good-will,
And strive our sacred duties to fulfil;—
Duties that urge us to the noble toil
Of breaking up a weed-encumbered soil,
58
And choke the better stem that struggles towards the skies.
We have a church, and we, a faithful band,
With not a haughty and oppressive hand,
Dare to uphold it in this changeful hour,
And vindicate its purity of power;
Yet do we own that each may choose his way,
If it but leadeth into perfect day;
For with one common lot, one hope, one heaven,
Let every heart forgive, and be itself forgiven.
With not a haughty and oppressive hand,
Dare to uphold it in this changeful hour,
And vindicate its purity of power;
Yet do we own that each may choose his way,
If it but leadeth into perfect day;
For with one common lot, one hope, one heaven,
Let every heart forgive, and be itself forgiven.
Lord! in whose honour we thus humbly try.
To bring thy stray ones nearer to the sky,
Help us, inspire us, strengthen us to dare
All that is worthy in this world of care;
Oh! teach us how to teach, that we may sow
Thy truth, broadcast, o'er all the fields below.
Oh! make our land the noblest of the free,
An agent faithful to Thy Son and Thee;
So that she spread on each benighted shore,
Thy blessed Word, Thy everlasting lore,
Pregnant with promise to the human race,
If they but seek Thy clemency and grace
With contrite hearts, and ask with earnest prayer
A portion of Thy Heaven, to dwell for ever there!
To bring thy stray ones nearer to the sky,
Help us, inspire us, strengthen us to dare
All that is worthy in this world of care;
Oh! teach us how to teach, that we may sow
Thy truth, broadcast, o'er all the fields below.
Oh! make our land the noblest of the free,
An agent faithful to Thy Son and Thee;
So that she spread on each benighted shore,
Thy blessed Word, Thy everlasting lore,
Pregnant with promise to the human race,
If they but seek Thy clemency and grace
With contrite hearts, and ask with earnest prayer
A portion of Thy Heaven, to dwell for ever there!
59
KINDLY WORDS.
The wild rose, mingled with the fragrant bine,
Is calmly graceful, beautiful to me,
And glorious are the countless stars that shine
With silent splendour over earth and sea;
But gentle words, and hearts where love has room,
And cordial hands that often clasp my own,
Are better than the fairest flowers that bloom,
Or the unnumbered stars that ever shone.
Is calmly graceful, beautiful to me,
And glorious are the countless stars that shine
With silent splendour over earth and sea;
But gentle words, and hearts where love has room,
And cordial hands that often clasp my own,
Are better than the fairest flowers that bloom,
Or the unnumbered stars that ever shone.
The fostering sun may warm the fields to life,
The gentle dew refresh the drooping flower,
And make all beauteous things supremely rife
In gorgeous summer's grand and golden hour;
But words that breathe of tenderness and love,
And genial smiles, that we are sure are true,
Are warmer than the summer sky above,
And brighter, gentler, sweeter than the dew.
The gentle dew refresh the drooping flower,
And make all beauteous things supremely rife
In gorgeous summer's grand and golden hour;
But words that breathe of tenderness and love,
And genial smiles, that we are sure are true,
Are warmer than the summer sky above,
And brighter, gentler, sweeter than the dew.
It is not much the selfish world can give,
With all its subtle and deceiving art,
And gold and gems are not the things that live,
Or satisfy the longings of the heart;
But, oh! if those who cluster round the hearth
Sincerely soothe us by affection's powers,
To kindly looks and loving smiles give birth,
How doubly beauteous is this world of ours!
With all its subtle and deceiving art,
And gold and gems are not the things that live,
Or satisfy the longings of the heart;
But, oh! if those who cluster round the hearth
Sincerely soothe us by affection's powers,
To kindly looks and loving smiles give birth,
How doubly beauteous is this world of ours!
66
POETRY: AN ACROSTIC.
Pure and unstained, I live in Cowper's lore;On heavenward pinions I with Milton soar;
Ever and anon I change with playful Burns,
The peasant's mirth, the lover's grief by turns;
Reft of all hope, with ill-starred White complain,
Yielding to Byron all my scornful strain.
84
WINTER THOUGHTS.
Stern Winter! stormy, sullen, cold, and dun,
Thou joyless outcast from the genial sun,
Thou gloomiest offspring of the rolling year,
With front forbidding, awful, and austere,—
I feel thy shadows round about me fall,
Heavy and silent, like a funeral pall;
And bow beneath thy season of decay,
As though my hopes of Spring had passed away.
Thou joyless outcast from the genial sun,
Thou gloomiest offspring of the rolling year,
With front forbidding, awful, and austere,—
I feel thy shadows round about me fall,
Heavy and silent, like a funeral pall;
And bow beneath thy season of decay,
As though my hopes of Spring had passed away.
Thou fierce disturber of the flight of time,
Pregnant with painful thoughts, and deeds of crime,
With every rush of the impetuous gale,
O'er the sad landscape comes thy voice of wail.
Thy threatenings look incessant from the skies,
Which seem to sicken in thy dark disguise,
And bend,—a mighty canopy of woe,—
O'er the blank features of the world below.
Pregnant with painful thoughts, and deeds of crime,
With every rush of the impetuous gale,
O'er the sad landscape comes thy voice of wail.
Thy threatenings look incessant from the skies,
Which seem to sicken in thy dark disguise,
And bend,—a mighty canopy of woe,—
O'er the blank features of the world below.
Mournful remembrancer! thy presence brings
A thousand pictures of distressful things
Within the town's thick wilderness of walls,
Where want prevails, where wretchedness appals;
Of beings crowded in their sordid homes,
Where hope, nor joy, nor sunlight ever comes;
Where houseless vice, and houseless virtue, too,—
Prospective death and danger in their view,—
Lie down together on the cruel stones,
And stir the air with curses and with groans!
A thousand pictures of distressful things
Within the town's thick wilderness of walls,
Where want prevails, where wretchedness appals;
Of beings crowded in their sordid homes,
Where hope, nor joy, nor sunlight ever comes;
Where houseless vice, and houseless virtue, too,—
Prospective death and danger in their view,—
89
And stir the air with curses and with groans!
Even where Royalty, with graceful pride,
Hath spread its gardens, beautiful and wide;
Where smooth lakes slumber, and where fountains play
In curves of crystal in the face of day,
To please the ear, and sparkle in the eye
Of idle Fashion, as it flutters by;—
There, even there, when night holds solemn reign,
The heirs of wedded penury and pain,
The lost, the scorned, the trampled of their kind,—
Fellows in misery, if not in mind,—
Herd like the brutes, forgetfulness to win,
A hideous heap of indigence and sin!
Hath spread its gardens, beautiful and wide;
Where smooth lakes slumber, and where fountains play
In curves of crystal in the face of day,
To please the ear, and sparkle in the eye
Of idle Fashion, as it flutters by;—
There, even there, when night holds solemn reign,
The heirs of wedded penury and pain,
The lost, the scorned, the trampled of their kind,—
Fellows in misery, if not in mind,—
Herd like the brutes, forgetfulness to win,
A hideous heap of indigence and sin!
Funereal month! thy cold oppressive frown,
Piercing the tangled byways of the town,
Shadows a thousand hearthstones, where the soul
Is warped and withered, by the stern control
Of such realities as almost seem
The dark distortions of a madman's dream:
Fathers sit brooding o'er their wretched state,
With looks of anger, and with hearts of hate;
Mothers, with haggard and bewildered air,
Survey their little starvelings, and despair;
Children, grown prematurely old, decay
In apathetic squalor, day by day,
And still and stealthy cunning takes the place
Of childhood's natural gaiety and grace;
While their harsh destiny implants such seeds
As rankly germinate in moral weeds,
Which thrust the flowers of gentleness apart,
And drain the dews of goodness from the heart.
Piercing the tangled byways of the town,
Shadows a thousand hearthstones, where the soul
Is warped and withered, by the stern control
Of such realities as almost seem
The dark distortions of a madman's dream:
Fathers sit brooding o'er their wretched state,
With looks of anger, and with hearts of hate;
Mothers, with haggard and bewildered air,
Survey their little starvelings, and despair;
Children, grown prematurely old, decay
In apathetic squalor, day by day,
And still and stealthy cunning takes the place
Of childhood's natural gaiety and grace;
While their harsh destiny implants such seeds
As rankly germinate in moral weeds,
90
And drain the dews of goodness from the heart.
Perchance within those lazar-dens of shame,
Insidious sickness worms the famished frame;
Pierces the vitals of its passive prey,
And drinks the life-blood, drop by drop, away.
Where is the yielding couch, the quiet room,
The constant taper-light to cheer the gloom,
The cleanly hearthstone, and the genial fire,
The cordial ready at the lips' desire,
The kind hand, busy in its sad employ,
The gentle tongue that speaks of future joy,
The punctual visit of the skilful leech,
Who comes to practice patience, not to preach,
The Pastor, asking comfort from above,
The mild, anticipating looks of love,
Of those whose welcome presence has the power
To take some sadness from the dying hour?—
Alas! not there! No solace, no repose
In the lone lurking-place of many woes;
No cup of balm, no pillow softly laid,
No earthly hope, no spiritual aid;
But darkness, desolation, and despair,
With craving hunger's selfish cries, are there:
While time, suspended on his weary wings,
Seems hovering like a nightmare, till he brings
Death, the dread waker from the sleep of life,—
The inevitable power which quells all mortal strife.
Insidious sickness worms the famished frame;
Pierces the vitals of its passive prey,
And drinks the life-blood, drop by drop, away.
Where is the yielding couch, the quiet room,
The constant taper-light to cheer the gloom,
The cleanly hearthstone, and the genial fire,
The cordial ready at the lips' desire,
The kind hand, busy in its sad employ,
The gentle tongue that speaks of future joy,
The punctual visit of the skilful leech,
Who comes to practice patience, not to preach,
The Pastor, asking comfort from above,
The mild, anticipating looks of love,
Of those whose welcome presence has the power
To take some sadness from the dying hour?—
Alas! not there! No solace, no repose
In the lone lurking-place of many woes;
No cup of balm, no pillow softly laid,
No earthly hope, no spiritual aid;
But darkness, desolation, and despair,
With craving hunger's selfish cries, are there:
While time, suspended on his weary wings,
Seems hovering like a nightmare, till he brings
Death, the dread waker from the sleep of life,—
The inevitable power which quells all mortal strife.
Strange contrast!—see, yon palace windows gleam
From rooms made gorgeous as an eastern dream,
Where Art hath brought her triumphs, rich and rare,
Where subtle perfumes hang upon the air;
Where mirrors shine with oft-reflected blaze,
And glowing canvas tempts the listless gaze;
Where splendid trifles strew the yielding floor,
Where lusty lacqueys loiter at the door;
Where costly dainties court the pampered taste,
And southern nectars run to wanton waste;
Where silken couches woo the languid form,
And all is bright, and indolent, and warm:
While mazy music, skilfully expressed,
Lulls Fortune's weary idol into rest.
From rooms made gorgeous as an eastern dream,
91
Where subtle perfumes hang upon the air;
Where mirrors shine with oft-reflected blaze,
And glowing canvas tempts the listless gaze;
Where splendid trifles strew the yielding floor,
Where lusty lacqueys loiter at the door;
Where costly dainties court the pampered taste,
And southern nectars run to wanton waste;
Where silken couches woo the languid form,
And all is bright, and indolent, and warm:
While mazy music, skilfully expressed,
Lulls Fortune's weary idol into rest.
And yet, there are, within a Christian's call,
Without the barrier of that stately wall,
Shapes of humanity, unhoused, unfed,
The sky their curtain, and the earth their bed,
Which writhe like vipers near the rich man's feet,
Frenzied for food his dogs refuse to eat;
Or suffer uncomplainingly, and die,
'Mid blessings broad and boundless as the sky!
Without the barrier of that stately wall,
Shapes of humanity, unhoused, unfed,
The sky their curtain, and the earth their bed,
Which writhe like vipers near the rich man's feet,
Frenzied for food his dogs refuse to eat;
Or suffer uncomplainingly, and die,
'Mid blessings broad and boundless as the sky!
In God's own Book I read to understand—
“The poor shall never cease from out the land:”
But shall they pine, with sickening hope deferred,
For what kind Nature gives to brute and bird?
Shall they exist in darkness and distrust,
Doubting if God be merciful and just?
Formed with immortal faculties, by Him
Adored and circled by the Seraphim,
Him who has given the humblest worm a law,
Sustained the skies, and kept the stars in awe,—
Shall they, oppressed with famine and with fears,
Sow health and hope, and gather nought but tears?
Obey and toil, grow fretful and complain,
Reason, implore, grow mad,—and all in vain?
“The poor shall never cease from out the land:”
But shall they pine, with sickening hope deferred,
For what kind Nature gives to brute and bird?
Shall they exist in darkness and distrust,
Doubting if God be merciful and just?
Formed with immortal faculties, by Him
Adored and circled by the Seraphim,
Him who has given the humblest worm a law,
Sustained the skies, and kept the stars in awe,—
92
Sow health and hope, and gather nought but tears?
Obey and toil, grow fretful and complain,
Reason, implore, grow mad,—and all in vain?
Forbid it, God, who gavest these creatures birth!
Forbid it, lovely and prolific earth!
Ye mild and moral principles of right,
Rise up against it with a face of light;
And all ye holier sympathies that lie
Hid in the depths of onr humanity,
Wake from your useless slumbers, and withstand
This growing griewance of our fatherland.
Forbid it, lovely and prolific earth!
Ye mild and moral principles of right,
Rise up against it with a face of light;
And all ye holier sympathies that lie
Hid in the depths of onr humanity,
Wake from your useless slumbers, and withstand
This growing griewance of our fatherland.
Strong Wealth, hast thou no largess to bestow
On the poor child of ignorance and woe?
Hast thou no slender sacrifice to make,
No self-denial for thy brother's sake?
Thou hast the power,—oh! cultivate the will
To 'meliorate the dire extent of ill
Which spreads and threatens, even at thy side,
Flinging reproach upon thy thoughtless pride.
Search for the truth, and thou shalt find a way
To hoard up comfort for a future day;
Search for the truth, and let the truth impart
A pure and generous impulse to thy heart;—
An impulse whose sweet exercise shall be
A tenfold blessing back again to thee!
On the poor child of ignorance and woe?
Hast thou no slender sacrifice to make,
No self-denial for thy brother's sake?
Thou hast the power,—oh! cultivate the will
To 'meliorate the dire extent of ill
Which spreads and threatens, even at thy side,
Flinging reproach upon thy thoughtless pride.
Search for the truth, and thou shalt find a way
To hoard up comfort for a future day;
Search for the truth, and let the truth impart
A pure and generous impulse to thy heart;—
An impulse whose sweet exercise shall be
A tenfold blessing back again to thee!
93
LEGENDARY FRAGMENT.
“Maiden, as bright as the Hunter's star,
When it shines in its cloudless home afar;
Dove of the forest, whose timorous eyes
Are tender as April's tearful skies;
Whose hand is as small as the red oak leaf,
Whose foot as the lark's spread wing is brief;
Whose step is the step of the antelope's child,
As it bounds o'er the prairie, gracefully wild;
Whose voice is as soft as a rill in the moon,
Or the brooklet's flow at the hour of noon;—
Whither, O maiden! goest thou now,
With the drooping form, and thy bashful brow?”
When it shines in its cloudless home afar;
Dove of the forest, whose timorous eyes
Are tender as April's tearful skies;
Whose hand is as small as the red oak leaf,
Whose foot as the lark's spread wing is brief;
Whose step is the step of the antelope's child,
As it bounds o'er the prairie, gracefully wild;
Whose voice is as soft as a rill in the moon,
Or the brooklet's flow at the hour of noon;—
Whither, O maiden! goest thou now,
With the drooping form, and thy bashful brow?”
“I go to the Idols this springtide morn,
That my loving heart may be less forlorn;
I go to lay down the gifts of my Brave,
Whom they from all danger can shield and save:
The song-sparrow's crest I take with me,
For it sang to us both from the forest tree;
And the spirit-bird's tail, so rich and rare,
And the shells that were dyed in the sunset fair,
And the beads that he brought from a far-off land,
And the skin of the lynx that fell by his hand,
Before the mocassins bedecked his feet,
Ere he murmured to me his love-tale sweet.
I go to ask them to shield his heart
Against the Maha and his poisonous dart;
To give to his arm true vigour and aim,
To his feet the speed of the prairie-flame;
To make his voice like the thunder-boom,
When the hills are clothed with a lurid gloom:
And when there is Maha blood on the track,
And a cluster of Pawnee scalps at his back,
To let him return to my longing breast,
That he may have solace, and joy, and rest,
While I wipe the sweat from his weary brow,
And love him as deeply as I do now:—
The Idols, man, woman, and dog of stone,
That stand on the willow-bank, wildly alone.”
That my loving heart may be less forlorn;
I go to lay down the gifts of my Brave,
Whom they from all danger can shield and save:
The song-sparrow's crest I take with me,
For it sang to us both from the forest tree;
And the spirit-bird's tail, so rich and rare,
And the shells that were dyed in the sunset fair,
And the beads that he brought from a far-off land,
111
Before the mocassins bedecked his feet,
Ere he murmured to me his love-tale sweet.
I go to ask them to shield his heart
Against the Maha and his poisonous dart;
To give to his arm true vigour and aim,
To his feet the speed of the prairie-flame;
To make his voice like the thunder-boom,
When the hills are clothed with a lurid gloom:
And when there is Maha blood on the track,
And a cluster of Pawnee scalps at his back,
To let him return to my longing breast,
That he may have solace, and joy, and rest,
While I wipe the sweat from his weary brow,
And love him as deeply as I do now:—
The Idols, man, woman, and dog of stone,
That stand on the willow-bank, wildly alone.”
FINIS.
| Miscellaneous poems (1861) | |