The fairy sports of infancy,
Youth's golden age, and manhood's prime, Home, country, kindred, friends,—with thee, I find in this far clime.
Thrice welcome, little English flower! I'll rear thee with a trembling hand: O, for the April sun and shower, The sweet May dews of that fair land, Where daisies, thick as starlight, stand In every walk!-that here may shoot Thy scions, and thy buds expand, A hundred from one root.
Thrice welcome, little English flower! To me the pledge of hope unseen; When sorrow would my soul o'erpower For joys that were, or might have been, I'll call to mind how, fresh and green, I saw thee waking from the dust; Then turn to heaven with brow serene, And place in God my trust.
Wine, oil, refreshment; he was heal'd; I had myself a wound conceal'd; But from that hour forgot the smart, And peace bound up my broken heart.
In prison I saw him next, condemn'd To meet a traitor's doom at morn; The tide of lying tongues I stemm'd, And honour'd him midst shame and scorn: My friendship's utmost zeal to try, He ask'd, if I for him would die ; The flesh was weak, my blood ran chill, But the free spirit cried, “I will.” -
Then in a moment to my view The Stranger darted from disguise, The tokens in his hands I knew, My Saviour stood before mine eyes: He spake; and my poor name He named; "Of me thou hast not been ashamed: These deeds shall thy memorial be; Fear not, thou didst them unto Me."
THE STRANGER AND HIS FRIEND.
"Ye have done it unto me."-Matt. xxv. 40.
A POOR wayfaring man of grief Hath often cross'd me on my way, Who sued so humbly for relief, That I could never answer, "Nay;" I had not power to ask his name, Whither he went, or whence he came, Yet was there something in his eye, That won my love, I knew not why. Once, when my scanty meal was spread, He enter'd; not a word he spake :- Just perishing for want of bread; I gave him all; he bless'd it, brake, And ate, but gave me part again; Mine was an angel's portion then, For while I fed with eager haste, That crust was manna to my taste.
I spied him, where a fountain burst
Clear from the rock; his strength was gone; The heedless water mock'd his thirst, He heard it, saw it hurrying on:
I ran to raise the sufferer up;
Thrice from the stream he drain'd my cup, Dipt, and return'd it running o'er;
I drank, and never thirsted more.
'Twas night; the floods were out; it blew A winter hurricane aloof;
I heard his voice abroad, and flew
To bid him welcome to my roof;
I warm'd, I clothed, I cheer'd my guest, Laid him on my own couch to rest; Then made the hearth my bed, and seem'd In Eden's garden while I dream'd.
Stript, wounded, beaten, nigh to death, I found him by the highway side:
I roused his pulse, brought back his breath, Revived his spirit, and supplied
NIGHT turns to day :
When sullen darkness lowers,
And heaven and earth are hid from sight
Cheer up, cheer up!
Ere long the opening flowers,
With dewy eyes, shall shine in light.
Storms die in calms:
When over land and ocean
Roll the loud chariots of the wind, Cheer up, cheer up!
The voice of wild commotion Proclaims tranquillity behind.
Winter wakes spring:
When icy blasts are blowing
O'er frozen lakes, through naked trees Cheer up, cheer up!
All beautiful and glowing,
May floats in fragrance on the breeze.
War ends in peace:
Though dread artillery rattle,
And ghastly corpses load the ground, Cheer up, cheer up!
Where groan'd the field of battle,
The song, the dance, the feast go round.
Toil brings repose:
With noontide fervours beating,
When droop thy temples o'er thy breast, Cheer up, cheer up!
Gray twilight, cool and fleeting,
Wafts on its wing the hour of rest.
Death springs to life:
Though brief and sad thy story,
Thy years all spent in care and gloom, Look up, look up!
Dawn through the portals of the tomb
YOUTH, fond youth! to thee in life's gay morning, New and wonderful are heaven and earth; Health the hills, content the fields adorning, Nature rings with melody and mirth; Love invisible, beneath, above,
Conquers all things; all things yield to love.
Time, swift time, from years their motion stealing, Unperceived hath sober manhood brought: Truth, her pure and humble forms revealing, Peoples fancy's fairy-land with thought; Then the heart, no longer prone to roam, Loves, loves best, the quiet bliss of home.
Age, old age, in sickness, pain, and sorrow, Creeps with lengthening shadow o'er the scene; Life was yesterday, 'tis death to-morrow, And to-day the agony between :
Then how longs the weary soul for thee, Bright and beautiful eternity!
ASPIRATIONS OF YOUTH.
HIGHER, higher will we climb Up the mount of glory,
That our names may live through time
In our country's story:
Happy, when her welfare calls, He who conquers, he who falls,
Deeper, deeper let us toil
In the mines of knowledge- Nature's wealth and learning's spoil Win from school and college; Delve we there for richer gems Than the stars of diadems. Onward, onward will we press Through the path of duty; Virtue is true happiness, Excellence true beauty: Minds are of supernal birth,
Let us make a heaven of earth.
Close and closer then we knit Hearts and hands together, Where our fireside comforts sit In the wildest weather:
O they wander wide, who roam For the joys of life, from home:
Nearer, dearer bands of love Draw our souls in union, To our Father's house above, To the saints' communion; Thither every hope ascend, There may all our labours end.
THE FALLING LEAF.
WERE I a trembling leaf, On yonder stately tree, After a season gay and brief, Condemn'd to fade and flee;
I should be loath to fall Beside the common way,
Weltering in mire, and spurn'd by all, Till trodden down to clay.
Nor would I choose to die All on a bed of grass,
Where thousands of my kindred lie, And idly rot in mass.
Nor would I like to spread
My thin and wither'd face
In hortus siccus, pale and dead,
A mummy of my race.
No, on the wings of air Might I be left to fly,
I know not and I heed not where,
A waif of earth and sky!
Or flung upon the stream,
Curl'd like a fairy-boat,
As through the changes of a dream, To the world's end to float!
Who that hath ever been,
Could bear to be no more?
Yet who would tread again the scene He trod through life before?
On, with intense desire, Man's spirit will move on;
It seems to die, yet like Heaven's fire, It is not quench'd, but gone.
ADDRESSED TO A YOUNG LADY.
A STAR would be a flower;
So down from heaven it came,
And in a honeysuckle bower
Lit up its little flame.
There on a bank, beneath the shade, By sprays, and leaves, and blossoms made,
It overlook'd the garden ground,
-A landscape stretching ten yards round; O what a change of place
From gazing through eternity of space!
Gay plants on every side Unclosed their lovely blooms, And scatter'd far and wide Their ravishing perfumes: The butterfly, the bee,
And many an insect on the wing,
Full of the spirit of the spring,
Flew round and round in endless glee, Alighting here, ascending there, Ranging and revelling everywhere.
Now all the flowers were up, and drest In robes of rainbow-colour'd light; The pale primroses look'd their best, Peonies blush'd with all their might; Dutch tulips from their beds Flaunted their stately heads; Auriculas, like belles and beaux,
Glittering with birth-night splendour, rose ;
And polyanthuses display'd
The brilliance of their gold brocade :
Here hyacinths of heavenly blue Shook their rich tresses to the morn, While rose-buds scarcely show'd their hue, But coyly linger'd on the thorn,
Till their loved nightingale, who tarried long, Should wake them into beauty with his song. The violets were past their prime, Yet their departing breath
Was sweeter, in the blast of death,
Than all the lavish fragrance of the thyme.
Amidst this gorgeous train,
Our truant star shone forth in vain; Though in a wreath of periwinkle,
Through whose fine gloom it strove to twinkle, It seem'd no bigger to the view
Than the light-spangle in a drop of dew. -Astronomers may shake their polls, And tell me,-every orb that rolls Through heaven's sublime expanse Is sun or world, whose speed and size Confound the stretch of mortal eyes, In nature's mystic dance: It may be so
Or aught indeed that they can show; Yet till they prove what they aver, From this plain truth I will not stir, -A star's a star!--but when I think Of sun or world, the star I sink; Wherefore in verse, at least in mine, Stars, like themselves, in spite of fate, shall shine.
Now, to return (for ve have wander'd far) To what was nothing but a simple star; -Where all was jollity around, No fellowship the stranger found. Those lowliest children of the earth, That never leave their mother's lap, Companions in their harmless mirth, Were smiling, blushing, dancing there, Feasting on dew, and light, and air, And fearing no mishap,
Save from the hand of lady fair, Who, on her wonted walk,
Pluck'd one and then another, A sister or a brother,
From its elastic stalk;
Happy, no doubt, for one sharp pang, to die On her sweet bosom, withering in her eye.
Thus all day long that star's hard lot, While bliss and beauty ran to waste, Was but to witness on the spot Beauty and bliss it could not taste,
At length the sun went down, and then
Its faded glory came again, With brighter, bolder, purer light, It kindled through the deepening night, Till the green bower, so dim by day, Glow'd like a fairy-palace with its beams; In vain, for sleep on all the borders lay,
The flowers were laughing in the land of dreams.
Our star, in melancholy state, Still sigh'd to find itself alone, Neglected, cold, and desolate, Unknowing and unknown. Lifting at last an anxious eye, It saw that circlet empty in the sky Where it was wont to roll, Within a hair-breadth of the pole: In that same instant, sore amazed, On the strange blank all nature gazed; Travellers, bewilder'd for their guide, In glens and forests lost their way; And ships, on ocean's trackless tide, Went fearfully astray.
The star, now wiser for its folly, knew Its duty, dignity, and bliss at home; So up to heaven again it flew, Resolved no more to roam.
One hint the humble bard may send To her for whom these lines are penn'd: -O may it be enough for her To shine in her own character! O may she be content to grace, On earth, in heaven, her proper place!
On the exploit of Arnold Winkelried at the battle of Sempach, in which the Swiss, fighting for their independence, totally defeated the Austrians, in the fourteenth century.
"MAKE way for liberty!"-he cried; Made way for liberty, and died!
In arms the Austrian phalanx stood, A living wall, a human wood! A wall, where every conscious stone Seem'd to its kindred thousands grown;
A rampart all assaults to bear,
Till time to dust their frames should wear; A wood like that enchanted grove* In which with fiends Rinaldo strove, Where every silent tree possess'd A spirit prison'd in its breast, Which the first stroke of coming strife Would startle into hideous life, So dense, so still, the Austrians stood, A living wall, a human wood! Impregnable their front appears, All horrent with projected spears, Whose polish'd points before them shine, From flank to flank, one brilliant line, Bright as the breakers' splendours run Along the billows, to the sun.
Opposed to these a hovering band Contended for their native land:
Peasants, whose new-found strength had broke From manly necks th' ignoble yoke, And forged their fetters into swords, On equal terms to fight their lords: And what insurgent rage had gain'd, In many a mortal fray maintain'd;
See Tasso's Jerusalem Delivered, canto xviii. ̧
Marshall'd once more at freedom's call, They came to conquer or to fall, Where he who conquer'd, he who fell, Was deem'd a dead, or living Tell! Such virtue had that patriot breathed, So to the soil his soul bequeathed, That wheresoe'er his arrows flew, Heroes in his own likeness grew, And warriors sprang from every sod Which his awakening footstep trod.
And now the work of life and death Hung on the passing of a breath; The fire of conflict burnt within, The battle trembled to begin;
Yet, while the Austrians held their ground, Point for attack was nowhere found, Where'er the impatient Switzers gazed, The unbroken line of lances blazed; That line 'twere suicide to meet, And perish at their tyrants' feet,- How could they rest within their graves, And leave their homes, the homes of slaves? Would they not feel their children tread With clanging chains above their head?
It must not be: This day, this hour, Annihilates th' oppressor's power; All Switzerland is in the field, She will not fly, she cannot yield- She must not fall; her better fate Here gives her an immortal date. Few were the number she could boast; But every freeman was a host, And felt as though himself were he On whose sole arm hung victory.
It did depend on one, indeed; Behold him,-Arnold Winkelried! There sounds not to the trump of fame The echo of a nobler name. Unmark'd he stood amid the throng. In rumination deep and long, Till you might see, with sudden grace, The very thought come o'er his face, And by the motion of his form Anticipate the bursting storm; And by th' uplifting of his brow
Tell where the bolt would strike, and how.
But 'twas no sooner thought than done, The field was in a moment won :-
"Make way for liberty!" he cried, Then ran, with arms extended wide, As if his dearest friend to clasp ; Ten spears he swept within his grasp.
"Make way for liberty!" he cried; Their keen points met from side to side: He bow'd amongst them like a tree, And thus made way for liberty.
Swift to the breach his comrades fly; "Make way for liberty!" they cry, And through the Austrian phalanx dart,
As rush'd the spears through Arnold's heart; While, instantaneous as his fall,
Rout, ruin, panic, scatter'd all:
An earthquake could not overthrow A city with a surer blow.
Thus Switzerland again was free: Thus death made way for liberty!
FOR THE FIRST LEAF OF A LADY'S ALBUM.
FLOWER after flower comes forth in spring, Bird after bird begins to sing;
Till copse and field in richest bloom, Sparkle with dew, and breathe perfume,- While hill and valley, all day long, And half the night, resound with song, So may acquaintance, one by one,
Come like spring-flowers to meet the sun, And o'er these pages pure and white,
Kind words, kind thoughts, kind prayers indite, Which sweeter odour shall dispense Than vernal blossoms to the sense;
Till woods and streams less fair appear
Than autographs and sketches here: -Or like the minstrels of the grove, Pour strains of harmony and love, The music made by heart to heart, In which the least can bear a part, More exquisite than all the notes Of nightingales' and thrushes' throats. Thus shall this book, from end to end, Show in succession friend on friend, By their own living hands portray'd, In prose and verse, in light and shade, By pen and pencil,-till her eye, Who owns the volume shall descry On many a leaf some lovely trace, Reminding of a lovelier face! With here and there the humbler line, Recalling such a phiz as mine.
THE FIRST LEAF OF AN ALBUM.
Ut pictura, poesis.-Hor. de Art. Poet. Two lovely sisters here unite To blend improvement with delight; Painting and poetry engage
By turns to deck the Album's page.
Here may each glowing picture be The quintessence of poesy, With skill so exquisitely wrought, As if the colours were pure thought,- Thought from the bosom's inmost cell, By magic tints made visible, That, while the eye admires, the mind Itself, as in a glass, may find.
And may the poet's verse, alike, With all the power of painting strike; So freely, so divinely trace,
In every line the line of grace; And beautify, with such sweet art, The image-chamber of the heart,
That fancy here may gaze her fill, Forming fresh scenes and shapes at will, Where silent words alone appear, Or, borrowing voice, but touch the ear.
Yet humble prose with these shall stand, Friends, kindred, comrades, hand in hand, All in this fair enclosure meet,
The lady of the book to greet, And, with the pen or pencil, make These leaves love-tokens, for her sake. Sheffield, 1828.
TIME EMPLOYED, TIME ENJOYED.
ADDRESSED TO A YOUNG LADY FROM WHOM THE AUTHOR HAD RECEIVED AN ELEGANTLY WROUGHT WATCH-POCKET.
WITHIN this curious case
Time's sentinel I place,
Who, while calm unconscious slumber Shuts creation from mine eyes, Through the silent gloom shall number Every moment as it flies, And record, at dawn of day, Thrice ten thousand pass'd away.
On each of these my breath May pause 'twixt life and death; By a subtler line depending Than the ray of twinkling light Which the smallest star is sending Every moment through the night; For, on films more finely spun, All things hang beneath the sun.
Rapt through a wildering dream, Awake in sleep I seem; Sorrow wrings my soul with anguish, Joy expands my throbbing breast; Now overwhelm'd with care I languish, Now serene and tranquil rest: Morning comes; and all between Is as though it ne'er had been.
But time has daylight hours, And man immortal powers; Waking joys and sleepless sorrow, Worldly care, celestial peace; Life renewing every morrow, Not with death itself shall cease: Man, through all eternity, What he here hath been shall be!
May she, whose skilful hand This fairy net-work plann'd, Still in innocent employment, Far from vanity and vice, Seek the pearl of true enjoyment, On her path to Paradise:
Time, for earth or heaven employ'd, (Both have claims,) is time enjoy'd.
Every day to her in flight Bequeath a gem at night,
Some sweet hope, some hallow'd pleasure,
From remembrance ne'er to part;
Hourly blessings swell the treasure Hidden in her grateful heart;
And may every moment cast Brighter glory on her last!
A VOYAGE ROUND THE WORLD. EMBLEM of eternity, Unbeginning, endless sea!
Let me launch my soul on thee.
Sail, nor keel, nor helm, nor oar, Need I, ask I, to explore
Thine expanse from shore to shore.
By a single glance of thought, Thy whole realm's before me brought, Like the universe, from naught.
All thine aspects now I view, Ever old, yet ever new; Time nor tide thy powers subdue.
All thy voices now I hear; Sounds of gladness, grandeur, fear Meet and mingle in mine ear.
All thy wonders are reveal'd: Treasures hidden in thy field! From the birth of nature seal'd. But thy depths I search not now, Nor thy limpid surface plough With a foam-repelling prow.
Eager fancy, unconfined, In a voyage of the mind Sweeps along thee like the wind.
Here a breeze, I skim thy plain; There a tempest, pour amain Thunder, lightning, hail, and rain. Where the billows cease to roll, Round the silence of the pole, Thence set out my venturous soul!
See, by Greenland cold and wild, Rocks of ice eternal piled; Yet the mother loves her child;
And the wildernesses drear To the native's heart are dear; All life's charities dwell here.
Next, on lonely Labrador, Let me hear the snow-falls roar, Devastating all before.
Yet even here, in glens and coves, Man, the heir of all things, roves, Feasts and fights, and laughs and loves.
But a brighter vision breaks O'er Canadian woods and lakes;
-These my spirit soon forsakes.
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