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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/20764-8.txt b/20764-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..474973f --- /dev/null +++ b/20764-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,7765 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Death of Saul and other Eisteddfod +Prize Poems and Miscellaneous Verses, by J. C. Manning + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Death of Saul and other Eisteddfod Prize Poems and Miscellaneous Verses + +Author: J. C. Manning + +Release Date: March 15, 2007 [EBook #20764] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DEATH OF SAUL AND OTHERS *** + + + + +Produced by Al Haines + + + + + + + + + + +THE DEATH OF SAUL: + +AND OTHER + +EISTEDDFOD PRIZE POEMS + +AND + +MISCELLANEOUS VERSES. + + +BY + +J. C. MANNING + +(CARL MORGANWG. + + + + +SWANSEA: + +J. C. MANNING, 9, CASTLE STREET. + +AND ALL BOOKSELLERS. + + +PRICE SIX SHILLINGS. + + +1877. + + + + +DEATH OF SAUL + +AND + +OTHER POEMS. + + + + +THE EISTEDDFOD COMMITTEE + +AND THE + +"DEATH OF SAUL." + + +Being restricted by the Wrexham Eisteddfod Committee to 200 lines, I +was obliged to lop away from the bulk of the following poem just +sufficient for their requirements. I have always declaimed, from a +physical point of view, against the pernicious influence of +light-lacing, and this being so, it was not likely I could go at once +and mentally encase my delicate muse, for a permanency, in a straight +waistcoat, at the behest of any committee in the world. What would she +have thought of me? If, therefore, the committee, or any member of it, +should by chance observe that the "Death of Saul," as I now produce it, +is of a more comprehensive character than the "Death of Saul" for which +they were good enough to award me the first prize, they will see the +poem without the temporary stays in which I was necessitated to encase +it in order to make it acceptable to them and their restrictive tastes. +To squeeze a poem of nearly 400 lines into the dimensions of one of +200, is, in my opinion, an achievement worthy of a prize in itself; and +as half of the original had a gold medal awarded to it, the whole of +it, I should think, ought to be worth two. I trust Eisteddfod +committees, when they contemplate putting the curb upon us poor poets, +will think of the Wrexham National Eisteddfod, and how half the "Death +of Saul" took a first prize. + + + + + + TO THE PUBLIC. + + Let the bright sun of Approbation shine + In warmth upon the humble rhymester's line, + And, like the lark that flutters tow'rds the light, + He spreads his pinions for a loftier flight. + The chilling frowns of critics may retard, + But cannot kill, the ardour of the Bard, + For, gaining wisdom by experience taught, + As grass grows strong from wounds by mowers wrought, + Success will come the Poet's fears to assuage, + Crowning his hopes with Poesy's perfect page. + + + + +PREFACE. + + +The verses which make up this volume have been written at intervals, +and under the most varied and chequered circumstances, extending over a +period of five-and-twenty years. If, therefore, they bear upon their +surface variety of sentiment and incongruity of feeling, that fact will +explain it. I am fully aware that some of the pieces are unequal in +merit from a purely artistic point of view, but I have felt that my +audience will be varied in its composition, and hence the introduction +of variety. The tone, however, of the whole work, I believe to be +healthy; and where honest maxims, combined with homely metaphor, are +found to take the place of high constructive art, they will, I know, be +excused by votaries of the latter, for the sake of those whose hearts +and instincts are much more sensitive to homely appeals than to the +charms of mere artistic effect. The pieces have all been written, +together with many other effusions, at such leisure moments as have +been accorded to one who, during the whole time of their composition, +has had to apply himself, almost without cessation, to the performance +of newspaper press duties; and those who know anything about such +things need not be told that a taste for versification is, to a +press-man, as a rule, what poverty is to most people--a very +inconvenient and by no means a profitable companion. In my own case, +however, the inconvenience has been a pleasure, and I have no reason to +find fault as to profit. From the fitful excitement of journalistic +duties I have turned to "making poetry," as Spenser defines the art, as +a jaded spirit looks for rest, and have always felt refreshed after it. +My only hope in connection with the poetry I have thus made is, that +those who may incline to read what I have written will take as much +pleasure in reading as I have taken in writing it, and that the result +to myself will be a justification for having published the work, to be +found only in that public appreciation which I hope to obtain, + +SWANSEA.----J. C. MANNING. + + + + + CONTENTS. + + + To the Public + Preface + Dedication + The Wrexham Eisteddfod and the "Death of Saul" + Historical Note + DEATH OF SAUL + Episode the First + Episode the Second + Episode the Third + Episode the Fourth + Palm Sunday in Wales + Elegy on the late Crawshay Bailey, Esq. + Nash Vaughan Edwardes Vaughan; a Monody + Monody on the Death of Mrs. Nicholl Carne + Elegiac Stanzas on the Death of Mrs. Grenfell + In Dreams + Mewn Cof Anwyl: on the Death of John Johnes, Esq., of Dolaucothy + Elegiac + In Memoriam + To Clara + E.H.R. + A.R. + Venus and Astery + To a Royal Mourner + Beautiful Wales + Gwalia Deg + The Welsh Language: to Caradawc, of Abergavenny + Englyn i'r Iath Gymraeg + A Foolish Bird + I'd Choose to be a Nightingale: to Mary (Llandovery) + True Philanthropy: to J. D. Llewellyn, Esq., Penllergare + Disraeli + Down in the Dark: the Ferndale Explosion + DAISY MAY:--Part the First + Part the Second + Part the Third + Lines, accompanying a Purse + Forsaken + Christmas is Coming + Heart Links + The Oak to the Ivy + Epigram on a Welshwoman's Hat + Shadows in the Fire + The Belfry Old + Beautiful Barbara + Song of the Silken Shroud + A University for Wales + Griefs Untold + I Will + Dawn and Death + Castles in the Air + The Withered Rose + Wrecks of Life + Eleanor + New Year's Bells + The Vase and the Weed + A Riddle + To a Fly Burned by a Gaslight + To a Friend + Retribution + The Three Graces + The Last Rose of Summer + The Starling and the Goose + The Heroes of Alma + A Kind Word, a Smile, or a Kiss + Dear Mother, I'm Thinking of Thee + The Heron and the Weather-Vane + The Three Mirrors + The Two Clocks + Sacrifical: on the Execution of Two Greek Sailors at Swansea + Wales to "Punch" + Welcome! + Change + False as Fair + Heads and Hearts + Fall of Sebastopol + To Lord Derby + Unrequited + The Household Spirit + Had I a Heart + A Bridal Simile + Song + I would my Love + Death in Life + Song of the Strike + Nature's Heroes: the Rhondda Valley Disaster + Elegy on the Death of a Little Child + Magdalene + Love Walks with Humanity Yet + The Two Trees + Stanzas + Verses, written after Reading a Biography of His Grace the + Duke of Beaufort + A Simile + The Two Sparrows + Floating Away + A Floral Fable + Ring Down the Curtain + The Telegraph Post + Breaking on the Shore + Hurrah! for the Rifle Corps + Be Careful when you Find a Friend + Brotherly Love + England and France + Against the Stream + Wrecked in Sight of Home + Sonnet + Sebastopol is Won + Hold Your Tongue + My Mother's Portrait + Never More + Lines on the Death of the Rev. Canon Jenkins, Vicar of Aberdare + Filial Ingratitude + The Vine and the Sunflower + POETIC PROVERBS: + I.--Danger in Surety + II.--A Wise Son + III.--Hope Deferred + IV.--Virtue's Crown + V.--Sorrow in Mirth + Christmas Anticipations + Golden Tresses + Hope for the Best + Gone Before + Henry Bath: Died October 14th, 1864 + Song of the Worker + The Brooklet's Ambition + St. Valentine's Eve + Lost + Lilybell + Gone + Life Dreams + Aeolus and Aurora; or, the Music of the Gods + Sonnet + Sleeping in the Snow + With the Rain + Ode, on the Death of a Friend + Lines: to a Young Lady who had jilted her Lover + Vicarious Martyrs: to a Hen-pecked Schoolmaster + Stanzas: on seeing Lady Noel Byron + To Louisa + The Orator and the Cask + The Maid of the War + Impromptu: on being asked by a Lady to write a Verse in her Album + Mary: a Monody + On the Marriage of Miss Nicholl Carne + Impromptu: on the Death of Mr. Thomas Kneath, a well-known + Teacher of Navigation, at Swansea + EXTRACTS FROM UNPUBLISHED MANUSCRIPT: + Humility Oppressed + Upward Strivings + Truthfulness + Love's Influence + Value of Adversity + Misguiding Appearances + Virgin Purity + Man's Destiny + Love's Incongruities + Retribution + Love's Mutability + A Mother's Advice + Sunrise in the Country + Faith in Love + Unrequited Affection + The Poet's Troubles + Echoes from the City + Love's Wiles + Hazard in Love + A Mother's Love + "The Shadow of the Cross" + Curates and Colliers: on reading in a Comic Paper absurd + comparisons between the wages of Curates and Colliers + Wanted--a Wife: a Voice from the Ladies + Sympathy + A Fragment + Law versus Theology: on an Eminent County Court Judge + The Broken Model + Impromptu: on an Inveterate Spouter + A Character + Couplet + Pause: on the hesitation of the Czar to Force a Passage of + the Danube, June, 1877 + The Test of the Stick + Note: concerning Iuan Wyllt, an Eisteddfod at Neath, and + a First Prize Poem + + + + +TO THE + +MOST HONOURABLE THE MARQUESS OF BUTE: + + +WITH A GRATEFUL SENSE OF HIS LORDSHIP'S GENEROUS AND + +OTHERWISE DISINTERESTED DESIRE, + + +IN ACCEPTING THE DEDICATION OF THE WORK, + + +TO ALONE FURTHER THE VIEWS AND ENCOURAGE THE LITERARY + +ASPIRATIONS OF THE WRITER, + + +THIS VOLUME, + + +BY HIS LORDSHIP'S PERMISSION, + + +IS DEDICATED, + + +WITH EVERY SENTIMENT OF RESPECTFUL ADMIRATION OF HIS + +TALENT AND WORTH, + + +BY HIS LORDSHIP'S OBLIGED AND OBEDIENT SERVANT, + + +THE AUTHOR. + + + + +DEATH OF SAUL. + +PRIZE POEM. + +WREXHAM NATIONAL EISTEDDFOD, 1876. + + +"The Vicar of Wrexham delivered his award on the 28 poems in English or +Welsh, on 'The Death of Saul' ('_Marwolaeth Saul_'). The prize 5 +pounds 5s. was given by Dr. Williams, Chairman of the Committee, and a +gold medal was given by the Committee. The Vicar said the best +composition was an English poem, signed 'David.' It was written in a +style well adapted to the subject, in language dignified and sonorous, +with not a little of the rhythmic cadence of Paradise Lost. It was +real poetry; suggestive, and at times deeply impressive--the poetry of +thought and culture, not of mere figure and fancy, and it was well +calculated to do honour to its author, and to the National Eisteddfod +of Wales. 'David' was among his fellow-competitors as Saul was amongst +his brethren, higher than any of them from his shoulders upwards, and +to him he awarded the prize which his poem well deserved." + + + + +HISTORICAL NOTE. + +The design followed out in the succeeding poem has been to touch upon +the leading historical incidents of Saul's career that lead up to and +explain his tragic death on Mount Gilboa. With him, nearly 3,000 years +ago, commenced the Monarchical government of the Israelites, who had +previously been governed by a Theocracy. The Prophet Samuel, who +anointed Saul, was the last of the High Priests or Judges under this +Theocracy, which existed for 800 years, and died out with the +acceptance of Saul, by the Israelites, as "King of all the tribes of +Israel." The incidents touched upon range from the proclamation of +Saul as King, by Samuel (1095 B.C.), to the fall of the hapless Monarch +at the battle of Gilboa, 40 years afterwards. + + + + +Death of Saul + + As through the waves the freighted argosy + Securely plunges, when the lode star's light + Her path makes clear, and as, when angry clouds + Obscure the guide that leads her on her way, + She strikes the hidden rock and all is lost, + So he of whom I sing--favoured of God, + By disobedience dimmed the light divine + That shone with bright effulgence like the sun, + And sank in sorrow, where he might have soared + Up to the loftiest peak of earthly joy + In sweet foretaste of heavenly joys to come. + Called from his flocks and herds in humble strait + And made to rule a nation; high in Heaven + The great Jehovah lighting up the way; + On earth an upright Judge and Prophet wise + Sent by the Lord to bend his steps aright; + Sons dutiful and true; no speck to mar + The noble grandeur of a proud career; + Yet, from the rays that flickered o'er his path, + Sent for his good, he wove the lightning shaft + That seared his heart, e'en as the stalwart oak, + Soaring in pride of pow'r, falls 'neath the flash, + And lies a prostrate wreck. Like one of old, + Who, wrestling with the orb whose far-off light + Gave beauty to his waxen wings, upsoared + Where angels dared not go, came to his doom, + And fell a molten mass; so, tempting Heaven, + Saul died the death of disobedient Pride + And self-willed Folly--curses of mankind! + Sins against God which wrought the Fall, and sent, + As tempests moan along the listening night, + A wail of mournful sadness drifting down + The annals of the world: unearthly strains! + Cries of eternal souls that know no rest. + + +Episode the First. + +THE ISRAELITES DEMAND A KING, AND SAUL IS GIVEN TO RULE OVER THEM. + + "God save the King!" the Israelites exclaimed, (_a_) + When, by the aged Prophet summoned forth + To Mizpeh, all the tribes by lot declared + That Saul should be their ruler. Since they left + The land of Egypt and its galling stripes, + Till then, the only living God had been + Their King and Governor; and Samuel old, + The last of Israel's Judges, when he brought + The man they chose to be their future King, + And said: "Behold the ruler of your choice!" + Told them of loving mercies they for years + Had from the great Jehovah's hand received, + And mourned in sorrowing tones that God their Judge + Should be by them rejected: and they cried + "A King! give us a King--for thou art old (_b_) + "And in those ways thou all thy life hast walked + "Walk not thy sons: lucre their idol is-- + "And Judgment is perverted by the bribes + "They take to stifle justice: give us, then, + "A King to judge us. Other nations boast + "Of such a chief--a King, give us a King!" + So Saul became the crowned of Israel-- + The first great King of their united tribes. + + +Episode the Second. + +SAUL DISAPPOINTS THE EXPECTATIONS OF JEHOVAH, AND + IS VISITED WITH THE ALMIGHTY'S DISPLEASURE. + + Brave is the heart that beats with yearning throb + Tow'rds highest hopes, when, wandering in the vale, + Some snowy Alp gleams forth with flashing crown + Of golden glory in the morning light. + Brave is the heart that lovingly expands + And longs the far-off splendour to embrace. + Thus yearned the heart of Saul, when from his flocks + The Prophet led him forth, and, pointing up + Tow'rds Israel's crown, exclaimed: "See what the Lord + Hath done for thee!" But Saul upon the throne + Grew sorely dazed. Though brave the heart, the brain + Swam in an ecstasy of wildering light-- + A helmless boat upon a troubled sea. + Men nursed in gloom can rarely brook the sun; + And many a life to sombre paths inured + The sunshine of Prosperity hath quenched, + As dewdrops glistening on the lowly sward + Like priceless jewels ere the morning breaks, + Melt into space when light and heat abound, + As though they ne'er had been. Relentless fate! + This ruthless law the world's wide ways hath fringed + With wreckage of a host of peerless lives; + And Saul is numbered 'mongst the broken drift. + Saul, though the Lord's anointed, saw not God: + But--curse of life! ingratitude prevailed. + His faith waxed weak as days of trial came: + And when, deserted by his teeming hosts + At Gilgal, he the Prophet's priestly right + In faithless haste assumed, the Prophet cried + "The Lord hath said no son of thine shall reign + O'er Israel!" (_c_) Yet, heedless of the voice + Of warning which a patient God vouchsafed, + With disobedience lurking in his heart, + He strove to shield the King of Amalek-- + He whom the Lord commanded him to kill-- + Seizing his flocks and herds for selfish gain + Beneath the garb of sacrificial faith-- + Sin so distasteful to the Lord that Saul + Sat in the dark displeasure of his God. (_d_) + And out from this displeasure, like the dawn + From dusky night, the youthful David sprang-- + The Lord's anointed, yea, the Lord's beloved: + Sweet Bard of Bethlehem! whose harp divine, + Tuned to the throbbings of a guileless heart, + Soothed the dark spirit of the sinful King, + And woke his life to light and hope again, (_e_) + But ah! the sling and stone his envy roused, + And envy hate begat. 'Tis ever so: + The honest fealty of a noble soul + To all that's brave, and true, and good in life, + Will meet malicious hindrance. So the King + This brave young bard and warrior of the Lord + In ruthless persecution sought to kill. + Twice, with a true nobility of heart + Which to the noble heart alone belongs, + The slayer of Goliath stayed his hand + When Saul lay at his mercy. "Take thy life; + "Thou art the Lord's anointed, sinful, though, + "And faithless to the truth as shifting sand!" + Thus David spake, and went his weary way, + An exile from the land he loved so well. + So Saul had steeled his heart and set his face + Against the living God, and thus he lay + Beneath the great Jehovah's awful ban. + + +Episode the Third + +SAUL, DESERTED BY THE ALMIGHTY, CONSULTS THE WITCH + OF ENDOR, AND HIS FALL IS FORETOLD BY THE + SPIRIT OF THE DEAD PROPHET. + + As o'er the earth a darkling cloud appears, + And grows in blackness till the scathing shaft + Comes forth with swelling thunder, so the cloud, + Black unto bursting with the wrath divine, + Hung o'er the head of Israel's erring King. + The light of heavenly faith from him was gone, + And life was full of dreary, dark despair. + Outstretched along the plains of Shunem lay + The army of the heathen Philistines--(_f_) + A countless horde, at whose relentless head + Achish, the King of Gath, with stern acclaim + Breathed war against the Israelitish host. + Heedless of help from God, the wretched Saul + Had called his tribes together, and they swarmed + Along the plains of Gilboa, whence they saw + The mighty army of their heathen foe + Lie like a drowsy panther in its lair + With limbs all wakeful for the hungry leap. + "Enquire me of the Lord!" the King had said, + Communing with the doubtings of his heart. + But answer came not. Dreams were dumb and dark-- + Unfathomed mysteries. No Urim spake; + And Prophets wore the silence of the grave. + So Saul, the King, disheartened and disguised, + Went forth at night.(_g_) The rival armies lay + Sleeping beneath the darksome dome of Heaven, + And all was still, save when the ghostly wind + Swept o'er the plains with melancholy moan. + That night the shadowy shape of one long dead + Stood face-to-face with Saul, in lonely cave, + The Witch of Endor's haunt. Ah, me--the fall! + To degradation deep that man hath slid + Who 'gainst the Lord in stiff-necked folly strives + Choosing the path of cabalistic wiles-- + The dark and turbid garniture of toads, + And philters rank of necromantic knaves-- + Who spurns the hand which, by the light of Heaven, + Points clear and straight along the spacious road + Which angel feet have trod. Ah, me--the fall! + And sad the fate of him who shuns the truth: + Who, like the lonely Saul, eschews the light, + And leagues with darkness--listening for the voice + Of angels in abodes where devils dwell. + So the dead Prophet and the erring King, + By Heaven's own will, not by the witch's craft, + Confront each other in the dark retreat. + The dreamy shadow speaks: "Wherefore," it saith, + "Dost thou disquiet me!" (_h_) And from the earth + Came the sepulchral tones, which, floating up, + Joined the weird meanings of the hollow wind, + And swept in ghostly cadences away + Like exiled souls in pain. And Saul replied; + "I'm sore distressed: Alas! the living God + "Averts His face and answers me no more; + "What"--and the pleading voice, in trembling tones + That might have won a stony heart to tears, + Asks of the shadowy shape--"What shall I do!" + And hollow voices seem to echo back + The anguish-freighted words--"What shall I do!" + 'Twas hell's own mockery! The blistering heat-- + Like burning blast, hot and invisible-- + That scorched the heart of Saul, was but the breath + Of Satan, gloating o'er the moral death + Of him who, chosen of Jehovah, lay + A victim to those foul Satanic wiles + Which the sworn enemy of God had planned + In inmost hate. "I cannot scale the height + "Of Him 'gainst whom eternal enmity + "I've sworn," it seemed to say: "but--soothing thought! + "Deep in the hearts of mortals _He_ hath named + "To do His bidding, will I thrust my darts, + "And through their wounds, as His ambassadors, + "The spirit bruise of Him who sent them--thus!" + And then again, as though his breaking heart + Were cleft with red-hot blade, the voice of Saul + Is heard in mortal anguish breathing out + The soul-subduing tones--"What shall I do?" + Dead silence intervenes; and then again + The spirit of the Prophet slowly speaks: + "To-morrow thou and thine," it faintly said, + "Shalt be with me; and Israel's mighty host + "Shall be the captives of the heathen foe!" + The fateful answer smites the listener low, + And utter darkness falls upon his life. + + +Episode the Fourth. + +BATTLE OF GILBOA AND THE DEATH OF SAUL. + + The morrow came: the bloody fray began. + The sun shone fierce and hot upon the scene. + Lashed into fury like a raging sea + The wrestling multitude for vantage strove + With deadly chivalry. On Gilboa's mount + The King looked forth and watched the sanguine strife, + Clothed in the golden panoply of war. + Upon his brow the stately monarch wore + The crown of all the tribes of Israel, + A-fire with jewels flashing in the sun + In bitter mockery of his trampled heart. + Noble in mien, yet, with a sorrowing soul, + Anxious his gaze--for in the sweltering surge + Three sons of Saul were battling with the rest; + His first-born, Jonathan; Abinadab; + And Melchi-shua--idols of his life! + Around him like a hurricane of hail + The pinioned shafts with aim unerring sped, + Bearing dark death upon their feathery wings. + The clashing sword its dismal carnage made + As foe met foe; and flashing sparks out-flew + As blade crossed blade with murderous intent. + The outcry rose--"They fly! they fly!" The King + Looked down upon the fray with trembling heart. + The bloody stream along the valley ran, + And chariots swept like eagles on the wind + On deathly mission borne. The conflict fierce + Waxed fiercer--fiercer still; the rain of gore + Wetted the soddened plain, and arrows flew + Thicker and faster through the darkening air. + The barbėd spear, flung forth with stalwart arm, + Sped like a whirlwind on its flight of death. + Along the ranks the warrior's clarion call + Inspired to valorous life the struggling hosts, + And shouts of victory from contending hordes + Blended with sorrowing moans of dying men. + "Thy sons, O King!" a breathless herald cried, + Fresh from the carnage, bowing low his head, + Where Saul, heart-weary, watched the dreadful strife + On Gilboa's height. "Thy sons, O mighty King!" + The herald cried, and sank upon the ground + By haste exhausted. Saul, with fitful start, + Upraised the prostrate messenger. "My sons! + "What of them? Speak!" he gasped, with startled look, + "Dead!" moaned the herald, and an echo came, + As though deep down in some sepulchral vault + The word was spoken. From the heart of Saul + That mournful echo came--so sad and low! + "Dead! dead! Ah, woe is me!" he sadly sighed. + "My sons--my best beloved! Woe! Woe--alas!" + And as he spake, e'en while his head, gold-crowned, + Bent low in pain beneath the crushing blow, + An arrow from the foe his armour smote, + And pierced his breast, already rent with grief. + Then stepped with hurried tread a servant forth, + And plucked the arrow from its cruel feast, + Rending his robe to stanch the purple stream. + "Heed not the wound!" exclaimed the King. "Too late! + "Where Heaven smites, men's blows are light indeed." + Then bending o'er his breast his kingly head + He wept aloud: "Rejected of the Lord; + "My sons among the slain; my valorous host + "In bondage of the heathen--let me die!" + So sobbed the King, as down the bloody plain + The chariots of the foe came thundering on; + And horsemen cleft the air in hot array-- + A mighty stream of chivalry and life! + The Israelites had fled, and at their heels + The roaring tumult followed like a storm + That rolls from world to world. And through the blast + Of warfare came a weak and wailing voice + Moaning in utter anguish--"Let me die!" + 'Twas Saul the Anointed--Israel's fallen King: + Crushed 'neath the hand of an offended God! + "Lo!" cried the King, and raised his tearful eyes, + "The Philistines are near, pierce thou my breast!" + And, turning round, his kingly breast he bared, + Bidding his armour-bearer thrust his sword + Hilt-deep into his heart. "Better to die + "By friendly hand," he cried, "than owe my death + "To yonder hated victors. Quick! Thy sword! + "Thrust deep and quickly!" But the faltering hand + That held the sword fell nerveless. "Mighty King! + "I dare not!" spake the trembling armourer. + "Then by my own I die," exclaimed the King. + And as he spake he poised the glittering blade + Point upward from the earth, and moaning fell + Upon the thirsty steel. The ruddy gush + Came spurting through the armour that he wore, + And steamed in misty vapour to the sky + In voiceless testimony to the truth + Of words once spoken by the living God! + Aghast the faithful armour-bearer stood. + "O, mighty King! I die with thee!" he said, + And, falling on his sword, the blood of both + Commingled, as from ghastly wounds it ran + In trickling streamlets down Mount Gilboa's side. (_i_) + As ebbs and flows the sea with troubled throb + 'Twixt shore and shore, or as the thistle-down + Halts in the eddies of the summer wind + In trembling doubt, so do the flickering souls + Of dying men float fearingly between + The earth and unseen worlds that lie beyond. + So hung the life of Saul, whose bitter cup, + Still at his lips, contained its bitterest dregs. + Prostrate he lay, by bloody sword transfixed; + A corpse his pillow; arms extended out, + And body bent in agony of pain, + The flame of life still fluttering at his heart + A waning lamp. He heard the tumult swell. + Bondage was worse than death. "They come! They come!" + He moaned. "Stand ye upon my breast," he said, + To one, a stranger, lingering near the spot, + "And force the gurgling stream back on my heart, + "To quench the life within me. Quick! They come!" + The stranger did the cruel bidding. (_j_) Hark! + "The King!" the foemen cry, and fiercely rusht + Upon the Royal captive, who, till then, + Had lain by them unseen. But while the shout + Swept like a storm along the swelling ranks + The soul of Saul went drifting through the dark, + Like some fair ship with sails and cordage rent, + Out from the stormy trials of his life, + To tempt the terrors of an unknown sea. + And then the cry of lamentation rose + In Israel, and the Hebrew maidens hung + Their speechless harps upon the willow branch, + And mourned the loved and lost unceasingly. + + + +(_a_) Nevertheless the people refused to obey the voice of Samuel; and +they said, Nay, but we will have a King over us, that we also may be +like all the nations. And Samuel said to all the people, "See ye him +whom the Lord hath chosen." And all the people shouted and said, "God +save the King!"--I SAMUEL, viii. and ix. 19, 20, 24. + +(_b_) And it came to pass, when Samuel was old, that he made his sons +judges over Israel. And his sons walked not in his ways, but turned +aside after lucre, and took bribes, and perverted judgment.--I SAMUEL, +viii., 1, 2. + +(_c_) And Saul said, "Bring hither a burnt offering," and he offered +the burnt offering. And Samuel came, and Saul went out to meet him. +And Samuel said, "What hast thou done? Thou hast not kept the +commandment of the Lord thy God which he commanded thee, and thy +kingdom shall not continue."--I SAMUEL, xiii., 10, 14. + +(_d_) And Samuel said, "The Lord sent thee, and said go and utterly +destroy the sinners, the Amalekites. Wherefore didst thou not obey the +voice of the Lord, but didst fly upon the spoil?" And Saul said unto +Samuel, "The people took of the spoil, sheep and oxen, to sacrifice +unto the Lord thy God at Gilgal." And Samuel said, "Behold, to obey is +better than sacrifice, and to hearken than the fat of rams. For +rebellion is as the sin of witchcraft, and stubbornness is as iniquity +and idolatry. Because thou hast rejected the word of the Lord, he hath +also rejected thee."--I SAMUEL, xv,, 18, 23. + +(_e_) And it came to pass, when the evil spirit from God was upon Saul, +that David took an harp, and played with his hand. So Saul was +refreshed, and was well, and the evil spirit departed from him.--I +SAMUEL, xvi., 23. + +(_f_) And the Philistines gathered themselves together, and came and +pitched in Shunem; and Saul gathered all Israel together, and they +pitched in Gilboa.--I SAMUEL, xxviii., 4. + +(_g_) Then said Saul unto his servants, "Seek me a woman that hath a +familiar spirit, that I may go to her and enquire of her." And his +servants said to him, "Behold, there is a woman that hath a familiar +spirit at Endor." And Saul disguised himself, and came to the woman by +night. And he said, "I pray thee, divine unto me by the familiar +spirit, and bring him up whom I shall name of thee."--I SAMUEL, +xxviii., 7, 8. + +(_h_) And Samuel said to Saul, "Why hast thou disquieted me, to bring +me up?" And Saul answered, "I am sore distressed, for the Philistines +make war against me, and God is departed from me, and answereth me no +more. Therefore I have called thee, that thou mayest make known unto +me what I shall do." And Samuel said, "Because thou obeyedst not the +voice of the Lord, nor executedst not his fierce wrath upon Amalek, +therefore hath the Lord done this thing unto thee this day. To-morrow +shalt thou and thy sons be with me; and the Lord also shall deliver the +host of Israel into the hand of the Philistines." Then Saul fell +straightway all along on the earth.--I SAMUEL, xxviii., 15, 20. + +(_i_) And the battle went sore against Saul, and the archers hit him, +and he was sore wounded of the archers. Then said Saul unto his +armour-bearer, "Draw thy sword, and thrust me through therewith, lest +these uncircumcised come and thrust me through." But his armour-bearer +would not, therefore Saul took a sword and fell upon it. And when his +armour-bearer saw that Saul was dead, he fell likewise upon his sword, +and died with him.--I SAMUEL, xxxi., 3, 5. + +(_j_) And David said unto the young man, "How knowest thou that Saul +and Jonathan his son be dead?" And the young man that told him said: +"As I happened by chance upon Mount Gilboa, behold, Saul leaned upon +his spear: and lo! the chariots and horsemen followed hard after him. +And he said unto me, Stand, I pray thee, upon me, and slay me; for +anguish is come upon me, because my life is yet whole within me. So I +stood upon him, and slew him, because I was sure that he could not +live, after that he was fallen."--II SAMUEL, i., 5, 10. + + + + +PALM SUNDAY IN WALES. + +FLOWERING SUNDAY. + + +PRIZE POEM. + +WREXHAM NATIONAL EISTEDDFOD, 1876. + +Fifteen competed for the prize of 5 pounds, and a silver medal for the +best English poem, never before published, upon any distinctively Welsh +subject. Mr. Osborne Morgan, M.P., Mr. Trevor Parkins, and the Rev. +Ll. Thomas adjudicated. The latter gave the award. + + + Out by the hedgerows, along by the steep; + Through the meadows; away and away, + Where the daisies, like stars, through the green grass peep, + And the snowdrops and violets, waking from sleep, + Look forth at the dawning day. + + Down by the brooklet--by murmuring rills, + By rivers that glide along; + Where the lark in the heavens melodiously trills, + And the air the wild blossom with perfume fills, + The shimmering leaves among. + + Through the still valley; along by the pool, + Where the daffodil's bosom of gold + So shyly expands to the breezes cool + As they murmur, like children coming from school, + In whisperings over the wold. + + In the dark coppice, where fairies dwell, + Where the wren and the red-breast build; + Along the green lanes, through dingle and dell, + O'er bracken and brake, and moss-covered fell, + Where the primroses pathways gild. + + Hither and thither the tiny feet + Of children gaily sped, + In the cool grey dawn of the morning sweet, + Plucking wild flowers--an offering meet + To garnish the graves of the dead. + + + Out from the beaten pathway, quaint and white, + The village church--a crumbling pile--is seen; + It stands in solitude midst mounds of green + Like ancient dame in moss-grown cloak bedight. + + The mantling ivy clings around its form-- + The patient growth of many and many a year. + As though a gentle hand had placed it there + To shield the tottering morsel from the storm. + + A sombre cypress rears its mournful head + Above the porch, through which, in days gone by, + Young men and maidens sped so hopefully, + That now lie slumbering with the silent dead: + + The silent dead, that round the olden pile + Crumble to dust as though they ne'er had been. + Whose graven annals, writ o'er billows green, + Though voiceless, tell sad stories all the while. + + And as they speak in speechless eloquence, + The waving shadows of the cypress fall + In spectral patches on the quaint old wall, + Nodding in wise and ghostly reticence + + In silent sanction at the stories told + By each decrepit, wizen-featured stone, + That seems to muse, like ancient village crone + Belost in thought o'er memories strange and old. + + Outside the stunted boundary, a row + Of poplars tall--beside whose haughty mien + And silky rustlings of whose robes of green + The lowly church still humbler seems to grow. + + A-near the lych-gate in the crumbling wall, + A spreading oak, grotesque and ancient, stands, + Like aged monk extending prayerful hands + In silent benediction over all, + + 'Twas early morn: the red sun glinted o'er + The hazy sky-line of the far-off hill: + Below, the valley slept so calm and still-- + A misty sea engirt by golden shore. + + Out in the dim and dreamy distance rose + A spectral range of alp-like scenery-- + Mountain on mountain, far as eye could see, + Their foreheads white and hoar with wintry snows. + + And as I leaned the low-built wall upon + That shut the little churchyard from the road, + Children and maidens into Death's abode, + With wild flow'rs laden, wandered one by one. + + And in their midst, stooping and white with age, + Rich in their wealth of quaint old village lore, + Came ancient dames, with faces furrowed o'er, + That told of griefs in life's long pilgrimage. + + The sun is rising now: the poplar tips + Are touched with liquid light: the gravestones old, + And hoary church, are flushed with fringe of gold, + As though embraced by angel's hallowed lips. + + And with the morning sunshine children roam + To place wild flowers where the loved ones slept; + O'er father, mother, sister--long since swept + Away by death--with blossoms sweet they come. + + Silent reminders of abiding love! + What tender language from each petal springs! + Affection's tribute! Heart's best offerings! + Wanderers, surely, from the realms above! + + For heart-to-heart, and life-to-life, had been + The loves of those who were and those who are; + Till death had severed them--O, cruel bar! + Leaving a dark and unknown stream between. + + And on that stream, in loving fancy tossed, + Each faithful heart its floral tribute threw, + As though the hope from out the tribute grew + To bridge the gulf the one beloved had crossed. + + Near yonder grave there stands a widowed life: + Husband and son beneath the grave-stone rest: + Some laurels tell, by tender lip caressed, + The changeless love of mother and of wife. + + And o'er the bright green leaflets as they lie + She scatters snowdrops with their waxen leaves, + And all the while her troubled bosom heaves + In tenderness, with many a sorrowing sigh. + + Out from the light, to where the cypress shade + In mournful darkness falls, a figure crept; + And as she knelt, the morning breezes swept + A cloud of hair about her drooping head. + + Her feet were small and slender, bare and white-- + White as the daisy-fringe on which she trod; + Like shimmering snowdrops in the greening sod, + Or glow-worms glistening in the Summer night. + + And as deep down in gloomy chasms seen + By those up-looking, stars in daylight shine, + So shone the beauty of her face divine + In the dark shadows of the cypress green. + + Her girlish hands a primrose wreath enwove, + With fingers deft, and eyes with tears bedimmed: + No lovelier face the painter's art e'er limned, + No poet's thought e'er told of sweeter love + + Than that young mother's, as, with tender grace, + She kissed the chaplet ere she laid it down + Upon a tiny hillock, earthy-brown-- + Of first and only child the resting place. + + And then the few stray blossoms that were left + She kissed and strewed upon the little mound-- + Looked lingering back towards the sacred ground, + As from the shade she bore her heart bereft. + + As gentle ripples, from the side we lave + Of placid lake, will reach the other side, + So, o'er Death's river--silent, dark, and wide-- + Blossoms may bear the kiss that mother gave. + + Or, if in fervent faith she deemed it so, + The thought to joyless lives a pleasure brings, + And who shall tell, where doting fondness clings, + The loss which hearts bereaved can only know? + + And who shall doubt that to such love is given, + Borne upward, clothed in perfume to the sky, + The pow'r to reach, in death's great mystery, + Lost hearts, and add a bliss to those of Heaven? + + Other sad pilgrims came. A mother here + A duteous daughter mourns, whose days had been + A ceaseless blessing--an oasis green + On life's enfevered plain: a brooklet clear, + + That ran the meadows of glad lives along, + Till, like a stream that meanders to the sea, + In the dark Ocean of Eternity + Lost was their source of laughter, light, and song. + + And yonder, clothed in darksome silence, grieves + A loving daughter near a mother's tomb-- + Down by the stunted wall in willow-gloom + And shadows thrown by sombre cypress leaves: + + And as, in life, the waving kerchief speaks + The words of friends departing which the heart + Is all too full to utter e're we part + For ever, so the sorrowing daughter seeks + + In thought one recollection more to wave + To one long dead; and asks in speechless woe + Primrose and snowdrop on the mound below + To bear love's messages beyond the grave! + + And in the golden sunshine children come + With prattling tongue and winsome, rosy face-- + Like blossoms flowering in a lonely place-- + And lay their tributes o'er each narrow home + + Where lies the helpless beacon of their lives + In darkness quencht--gone ere their infant thought + Could realise the loss which Death had wrought-- + The stab the stern Destroying Angel gives. + + And o'er each silent grave Love's tributes fall-- + The primrose, cowslip, gentle daffodil-- + The snow-drop, and the tender daisy--till + God's acre sleeps beneath a flowery pall. + + And now the sun in all its glory came + And lit the world up with a light divine, + Casting fresh beauty o'er each sacred shrine: + Breathing on all things an inspiring flame. + + As if the God of Light had bade it be, + In sweet reward for pious rite performed; + As if, with human love and fondness charmed, + The Lord had smiled with love's benignity. + + For not to this old churchyard where I stand + Is audience of the dead, through flow'rs, confined + A nation's heart--a nation's love--combined, + Make it the sweet observance of the land. + + In humble cot--in proud patrician halls, + The Floral Festival fills every breast; + And o'er the grass, where'er the loved ones rest, + The lowly flow'r with choice exotic falls. + + And as they fall upon the sacred spot, + Sacred to every heart that strews them there, + They seem to sing in voices low and clear: + "Though gone for evermore--forgotten not! + + "Though never more--still evermore--above + "Eternal will their deathless spirits reign. + "No more until above to meet again: + "Till then send up sweet messages of love." + + So sang the blossoms with their odorous breath-- + Or so in fancy sang they unto me; + "No more--yet evermore, eternally! + "Though lost, alas! remembered still in death!" + + + + +ELEGY + +ON THE LATE CRAWSHAY BAILEY, ESQ., + +"THE IRON KING." + + +PRIZE POEM: + +ABERGAVENNY EISTEDDFOD, 1874. + +The programme opened with a competition for the best English Elegy on +the late Crawshay Bailey, Esq., for which a prize of 10 pounds was +given, and a bardic chair, value 5 pounds, by Mr. William Lewis. +There were twelve competitors, and each composition was confined to a +limit of 200 lines. + + + Sadly the sea, by Mynwy's rugged shore, + Moans for the dead in many a mournful strain. + A voice from hearts bereft cries "Come again;" + But wavelets whisper softly, "Never more!" + + The restless winds take up the solemn cry, + As though--an age of sorrow in each breath-- + The words, "O, come again," could call back Death + From the far-off, unseen Eternity. + + "Our dwellings darkened when his life went out: + "We stand in cold eclipse, for gone the light + "Which made our cottage-homes so warm and bright; + "And shadows deepen o'er the world without. + + "Come back--come back!" Upon the mournful wind + These words fall weirdly as they float along, + Melting the soul to tears: for lo! the song + Rises from hearts that seek but ne'er will find: + + Save one more billow on the sea of graves; + One joyaunt voice the fewer in life's throng; + One hand the less to help the world along; + One Hero more 'mongst earth's departed Braves. + + For who that in life's battle-field could fight + As he has fought, whose painless victories + Transcended war's heroic chivalries, + Could in his country's heart claim nobler height? + + None may the niche of glory haplier grace, + None may the crown of greatness proudlier wear, + Than he upon whose tomb the silent tear + Falls slowly down from many a drooping face. + + Faces whose hard and rugged outlines show + Life's daily struggle--O, how bravely fought! + Faces to which the only gladness brought + Came from the Friend who yonder lieth low. + + Let us in mournful retrospect commune + O'er what that still cold heart and brain have won: + A hymn of life in lispings first begun, + Ending in harmony's most perfect tune. + + As comes the sun from out the darkling-night, + And strikes, as did the patriarch of old, + Life's barren rocks, which flush with green and gold, + And pour out waters glad with living light, + + So, crowned with blessings, in the far-off days, + Like Midas, Mynwy's monarch touched the earth, + Wrought golden plenty where once reigned a dearth, + And raised an empire he alone could raise. + + No service his, of slavery, to bind + With tyrant fancy vassals to his will: + All hearts beat quick with sympathetic thrill + For one who loved the humblest of their kind. + + His kingdom rang with fealty from the free-- + Such blessed faith as faith itself ensures. + His reign alone that sway which e'er secures + A subject's true and trustful sympathy. + + So love men's love begat in bounteous flow; + It blossomed round his path as flowers bloom, + Filling his life with such a rare perfume + Of heart's devotion kings can seldom know. + + His master-mind, with almost boundless reach, + Planned work so vast that mankind, wondering still, + Could scarcely compass his gigantic will + Which grasped great things as ocean clasps the beach. + + His home of homes was where the Cyclops forged + Their bolts, as though for Jove to hold his own: + His fondest study where, through ages grown, + The silent ores old Cambria's mountains gorged. + + Mammoth machines that, with incessant whirl, + Rolled onward ever on their ponderous way: + Gigantic marvels, deafening in their play, + And swift, industrious, never-ending swirl. + + All these he loved, as men alone can love + The things that win their love: to _him_ they shone + Instinct with living beauty all their own, + Touched with a light divine as from above. + + _For_ them, and _with_ them, toiled he day by day + In true companionship: they were his Friends, + Bound by the tie whose influence never ends, + By faithful bonds which never pass away. + + And as the sunflower looks towards the light + All through the livelong day, so did his heart + Ne'er from this bond of love play recreant part, + But every moment beat that heart aright; + + A heart so large and true--true to the core; + So spacious that the great might enter in; + Yet none too poor its sympathy to win, + And every throb a pleasure at their door. + + And so, through all the toilful hours of thought, + He reared a world-wide pinnacle of fame, + Whose summit reached, his heart was still the same, + Undazed by splendours which his hand had wrought. + + Long stood he on the topmost peak of praise + From tongues of men, as mountains tipped with snow + Stand with their lofty foreheads all a-glow, + Lit up with beauty by the sun's bright rays. + + His life was climaxed by a kinglier dower + Than even kings themselves can hope to reach; + No grander, prouder lesson can we teach, + Than win great things by self-inherent power. + + Brighter examples manhood cannot show, + Than with true hand, brave heart, and sleepless mind, + To build up name and fortune 'midst their kind, + From grains and drops--as worlds and oceans grow. + + So, in the rare meridian of his time, + In pride of conscious strength, he stood alone, + A king of kings upon his Iron Throne, + Wrought out from humble step to height sublime, + + As shadows lengthen in the setting sun, + So spread the stature of his later life, + Which, like Colossus, o'er earth's busy strife, + Towered grandly till that life's last sand was run. + + And so he passed away, as meteors die; + Leaving a trail of splendour here on earth + To mark the road he took in virtuous worth, + In sterling truth, and rare integrity. + + These are the living landmarks he has left: + Bright jewels in his earthly sojourn set, + Whose brilliance seen, those looking ne'er forgot: + A glorious heritage for friends bereft. + + Such gems as those who mourn may still adore, + Whose glistening rays men's footsteps lead aright + Through life's dark way, like glow-worms in the night, + Or angel-glintings from the eternal shore. + + As round decaying flowers perfume clings + In silent tribute to the blossoms dead, + So memory, brooding o'er his spirit fled, + Nought but the sweetest recollection brings. + + + + +ELEGIES + + +NASH VAUGHAN EDWARDES VAUGHAN. + +(OF RHEOLA.) + +DIED SEPTEMBER 18TH, 1868. (_a_) + + + I. + + Let bard on battle-field, in sounding verse, + Proclaim to distant time the warrior-deed + That makes a hero, whose triumphal hearse + Rolls graveward o'er a thousand hearts that bleed + In widowed agony. Let golden lyre + Of regal Court engaged in worldly strife + Clothe princely foibles with poetic fire, + And crown with fame a king's ignoble life. + Let chroniclers of Camp and Court proclaim + A Warrior's greatness, and a Monarch's fame. + Be mine with verse the tomb of one to grace + Whose nobler deeds deserve a nobler place. + + + II. + + The lofty fane that cleaves the glowing sky, + And heavenward points with golden finger-tip-- + Structure whence flows the sacred harmony + Of prayer and praise from Christian heart and lip: + The ranging corridors where--blest the task-- + 'Tis ours to soothe the fever and the pain + Of wounded natures, who, despairing, ask + For healing touch that makes them whole again. + These are the monuments that proudly stand + On corner stones--fruit of his princely hand: + Homes for the poor, wound-stricken to the sod; + And altars for the worship of his God. + + + III. + + The blazing meteor glares along the sky; + The thunder shakes the mountain with its roar; + But meteors for a moment live--then die: + The thunder peals--and then is heard no more. + The most refreshing rains in silence fall; + The most entrancing tones are sweet and low; + The greatest, mightiest truths, are simplest all; + Life's dearest light comes forth in voiceless flow; + E'en so his heart and hand were ever found + Flinging in mute beneficence around + The germs of Truth and Charity combined, + To heal the heart and purify the mind. + + +(_a_) The life of Mr. Vaughan was one daily round of charitable deeds, +in furtherance of religion and social amelioration. His munificent +donation to the Swansea Hospital, offered conditionally, led to the +enlarged foundation of that noble institution, which stands a silent +tribute to his memory. This Elegy was written at the request of the +late Mr. John Williams, proprietor of the _Cambrian_, Swansea, who, in +the letter requesting me to write the verses, said: "Such noble +qualities as Mr. Vaughan possessed deserve everything good which human +tongue can say of them." + + + + +MONODY. + +ON THE DEATH OF MRS. NICHOLL CARNE. (_a_) + + Down the long vista of historic years + I look, and through the dusky haze descry + Funereal pomp, and Royal pageantry, + Gracing the tombs of queens, and kings, and peers. + + I see on marble monuments deep hewn + The name and fame of mighty and of great, + Who lie in granite effigy and state, + Waiting the summons to the last Tribune. + + But 'mongst the hero-host that shrouded sleep + 'Neath purple banner and engraven stone, + Death hath not numbered one among his own + More regal-souled than she for whom we weep. + + Though a right Royal lineage she could claim, + Proudly descendant from a Cambrian King; + She was content to let her virtues bring + Something more noble than a Royal name. + + Her's was no sceptered life in queenly state: + Yet queen she was, in all that makes a Queen; + No deeds heroic marked her life serene: + Yet heroine she in all that makes us great. + + Through all the phases of a blameless life + She lingered round the threshold of the poor: + Where brighter scenes less noble minds allure, + Her's was the joy to move 'midst martyr-strife. + + To watch where hearts, by poverty o'ercome, + Lay weak and wailing; and to point above, + With words of hope, of comfort, and of love, + Till brighter, happier, grew each cottage home. + + And wine and oil fell plenteous from her hand, + To cheer the wounded on life's weary way: + While, for the human wrecks that round her lay, + Her beacon-light beamed o'er the darkling strand. + + Her's was a life of Love; then, of deep griefs, + We'll rear a monument unto her name, + More leal and lasting than the chiselled fame + Of mighty monarchs or heroic chiefs. + + And see! the virtues of the parent stem + Break forth in blossom o'er the branching tree: + Long may such fair, such bright fruition be, + Of those bereaved their proudest diadem. + + With sheltering arms--with hearts for ever green, + By love united, may they still unite; + So shall they gladden still the sainted sight + Of one who is not, but who once has been. + + +(_a_) Mrs. Carne, relict of the late Rev. R. Nicholl Carne, of Dimlands +Castle, and mother of R. C. N. Carne, Esq., Nash Manor, and of J. W. N. +Carne, Esq., Dimlands and St. Donat's Castles, died November 28th, +1866, at Dimlands, in the 94th year of her age. Deceased could claim a +Royal Welsh lineage, being the 34th in unbroken descent from Ynyr, King +of Gwent and Dyfed. Her long life was distinguished by unostentatious +acts of charity and good works. + + + +ELEGIAC STANZAS + +ON THE DEATH OF MRS. PASCOE ST. LEGER GRENFELL, + MAESTEG HOUSE, SWANSEA. DIED JANUARY 8TH, 1868. + + + This world heroic souls can little spare + That battle bravely with life's every ill: + When days are dark that saintly smiles can wear, + And all around with heavenly glory fill. + + This world can little spare the Christian heart + That holds with tearful faith the hand of God + With never-yielding grasp; and takes full part + In works divine on earth's degenerate sod. + + This world can little spare the gentle voice + That woos the sinful from the dreamy road + Of human frailties, making hearts rejoice, + Relieving souls of many a bitter load. + + This world can little spare the bounteous hand + That Plenty plants where Want oft grew before; + Raising the latchet as with angel-wand, + To cheer the darksome cottage of the poor. + + Virtues like these the world can little spare + That fleck life's road like snowdrops in the Spring, + Making it beautiful; and, virtue rare! + Silent and heedless of the bliss they bring. + + But if the world should weep, how must they mourn + For whom her goodness bloomed a thousand-fold + More sweet in tender love? E'en as the dawn + Crowns all it looks on with a fringe of gold. + + So did affection gird in rosy might + The home which by her presence was adorned, + Where came an aching void: for lo! their light + Was quencht by death and in the tomb in-urned. + + Not quencht. Ah, no! For Heaven's eternal gates + Flew open, and in robes which angels wear + Her sainted spirit entered; and it waits + For those that were beloved to join it there. + + + + +IN DREAMS. + + I. + + When they carried away my darling + To a kingdom beyond the sky, + I knew what the angels intended, + So I stifled the tear and the sigh, + But I prayed she might send me a message + Of love from the realms of the blest, + As to me a whole life of repining + Was the cost of her Heaven of rest. + + + II. + + Yes: I prayed she might send me a message; + One word from her mansion of bliss; + One ray from her features angelic: + From her sweet lips the saintliest kiss; + And I question the wind, as it wanders + As though from the regions above, + But it whispers in sadness, and brings me + From the absent no message of love. + + + III. + + At night I grow weary with watching + The stars, as I sadly surmise + Which of all those bright jewels resplendent + Borrow light from my lost one's eyes: + Then I sleep--and a vision approaches; + And again all my own she would seem: + But on waking my Love has departed, + And my heart aches to find it a dream. + + + IV. + + Oh, I prayed she might send me a message; + But nought the sweet missive will bring: + The breath of the morning, the sunlight, + The carol of birds on the wing, + Come to gladden my heart with their gladness; + But joyless and tuneless each seems; + And the only sad joy that is left me + Is to live with my dearest in dreams. + + + + +"MEWN COF ANWYL." (_a_) + +The above words, wrought in imperishable flowers, were placed on the +coffin of the late Mr. John Johnes, of Dolaucothy, at the time of his +interment at Cayo, by his youngest daughter, to whom the following +elegiac stanzas are respectfully inscribed. + + + I. + + "Mewn cof anwyl." + So sings the lorn and lonely nightingale, + Sighing in sombre thicket all day long, + Weaving its throbbing heartstrings into song + For absent mate, with sorrowing unavail. + And every warble seems to say--"Alone!" + While every pause brings musical reply: + Sad Philomel! Each sweet responsive sigh + Is but the dreamy echo of its own. + + + II. + + "Mewn cof anwyl." + So sings the West wind through the darkling eve, + In spirit-wanderings up and down the wold, + Each mournful sorrow at its heart untold, + Sighing in secret--as the angels grieve, + "Bring back my love!" sobs the bereaved wind; + And sleeping flow'rets waken at the sound, + Shedding their dewy tears upon the ground: + "She seeks," they whisper, "who shall never find!" + + + III. + + "Mewn cof anwyl." + So sings all night the never-resting sea; + And stars look down with tender, loving eyes; + The air is filled with saddening memories + Of what was once--but ne'er again may be. + "Here lie the lost!" the ocean seems to moan; + "I yearn to clasp them to my throbbing heart + "In fond embrace: The lost--myself a part! + So near--so near--and yet I mourn alone!" + + + IV. + + "Mewn cof anwyl." + As roses, crusht and dead, in silence leave + Their precious heritage of perfume rare, + So the good name our dear departed bear + Reflects in cheering light on those who grieve; + And memory, brooding o'er the love thus left, + In tender fancy crowns the dream with tears, + Till, as the hue that on bright rain appears, + Peace comes to comfort lonely hearts bereft. + + +(_a_) In loving memory. + + + + +ELEGIAC. + + 'Tis not with rude, irreverent feet, + I tread where sacred sorrows lie; + But gently raise, in accents meet, + My voice in earnest sympathy: + In sympathy with one bereaved, + Who mourns a loss which all deplore: + Whose grief by Hope is unrelieved-- + For tears bring back the Past no more. + + 'Tis not in words the wound to heal + Which tenderest ties, when broken, make; + 'Tis not in language to conceal + The griefs which snapped affection's wake + But sorrows, stinging though they be, + In sympathy some sweetness find, + Which may assuage, though slenderly, + The grief that clouds a manly mind. + + + + +IN MEMORIAM. + + The blameless life of her whose grave I strew + With flow'rs of thought deep gathered from the heart + Of heavenliest things was formed the greater part: + No sentiment but love her bosom knew. + + Her influence, like the sunlight from on high, + That flames with splendour every opening flower, + Stole o'er us silently: yet O, the power! + Charming our household world resplendently. + + And little hearts tow'rds that sweet influence yearned; + And little voices loved to lisp her name; + For when, to them, the world was dark, she came, + Love-bright, and so their lives in beauty burned. + + In beauty burned with pure and happy glow; + Their joys were her's. In thought I see her now, + Love prompted, sitting with a dreamy brow, + Planning the pleasures she might never know. + + Her's was the hand that wreathed so daintily + With flow'rs each fissure Circumstance had formed, + And, by its touch, like snows by sunsets warmed, + Each rigid thought was softened rosily. + + Her's was the heart, by noblest impulse moved, + That beat with earnest fondness all divine; + That filled life's cup of joy with rarest wine, + For those who proudly felt they were beloved. + + But soft! God's edict 'twas, that, from above, + Laden with anguish, came with cruel blow. + 'Twas Heaven's gain: the grief those only know + Who lost her just as they had learnt to love. + + Ah, me: the cost to be to Heaven akin: + The harvest ripens round the Eternal gate: + The pure in soul and saintliest-hearted wait: + The Reaper comes and plucks the nearest in. + + Ah, me: the cost life's fairest flower to be: + Petal and spray all elegance and grace: + Each blossom beauteous as an angel's face; + And yet, alas! the first to drop and die. + + Ah, me: the cost life's tenderest chords to wake, + With sweet enchantment breaking up the air; + To know each tone will call forth many a tear: + Each tender touch a heart or spirit-ache. + + Ah, me: the cost for human hearts to claim + Where God before His perfect seal had set, + Like mortals straying into Heaven unlet, + We perish gazing on celestial flame. + + + + +TO CLARA. + + 'Twas a short decade that thou and I + Walked hand-in-hand through the world together; + When the cruel clouds obscured our sky, + And bitter and bleak was life's daily weather. + But a brave little heart was thine--and so, + Though it might have been lighter had fortune willed it, + It battled, in boundless faith I know, + And just as the sunshine 'gan to grow + The hand of Death reached forth--and chilled it. + + The blow was unkind; but Heaven knows best: + I felt that my loss was to thee a blessing; + For I knew, when I laid thee down to rest, + I was giving an angel to angels' caressing: + Thy love to my heart was ever dear, + With thy gentle voice and thy brave endeavour; + Though briefly we wandered together here, + Two souls were cemented with smile and tear, + That, one on earth, will be one for ever. + + + + +E. H. R. + +DIED NOVEMBER 30TH, 1867. + + + She came in beauty like the sun, + And flusht with hope each heart and eye, + As roses redden into life + When Summer passes by. + + And like the sun she calmly set, + With love's own golden glory crown'd, + In light whose rays for evermore + In mem'ry will abound. + + + + +A. R. + +DIED APRIL 21ST, 1865. + + + In silent grief the blow we'll bear: + Though gone, with us she'll still abide. + Her name a shape of love will wear, + In viewless influence by our side. + + + + +MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. + + +VENUS AND ASTERY + +A LEGEND OF THE GODS. (_a_) + + Ah! hapless nymph! Doomed for a time to bear + The badge which none but fickle lives should wear. + How oft the envious tongue creates the dart + That cleaves the saintly soul and breaks the heart: + How oft the hasty ear full credence gives + To words in which no grain of truth survives: + Were Juno just, her heart would now delight + Turning thy dappled wings to waxen white, + Where jealous Venus and her envious train + By falsehood fixed an undeservėd stain. + + +(_a_) Astery, one of the most beautiful of Venus's nymphs, and, as +Spenser says, + + "Excelling all the crew + In courteous usage and unstained hue," + +Is said to have been instructed "on a day" by her mistress to go forth +with her companions gathering flowers with which to adorn her forehead. +She did so, and being more industrious than the rest, gathered more +flowers than any of them. On being praised by Venus, her companions, +being envious of her, told the goddess that Astery had been assisted by +Cupid, Venus's son, in culling the blossoms. For this supposed offence +she was immediately turned by Venus into a butterfly, and her wings, +which before were white, were stained with the colours of all the +flowers she had gathered, "for memory of her pretended crime, though +crime none were."--_Spenser's "Muiopotmos"_, 1576. + + + + +TO A ROYAL MOURNER. + +1864. + + 'Twere wise, O Queen, to let thy features shine + Upon thy faithful people once again; + As Summer comes to light the paths of men, + So would thy presence round our hearts entwine. + + It is not meet our Queen of Queens should stay + Lifelong and tearful in the sombre glade, + Whither, to hide the wound which Heaven made, + She shrank, as shrinks the stricken deer away. + + We do not ask thy heart to let us in + With all the freeness of an early day: + Nor hope to bear thy greatest grief away, + As though, with thee, that grief had never been. + + But, as the silent chancel leaves the sun + To shine through mellowing windows on the floor, + So would we enter thy great heart once more, + Subdued, in reverence of the sainted one. + + We wept with thee when throbbed the passing-bell, + And felt thy great affliction from afar: + We mourned that such a grief thy life should mar, + And loved thee more for loving him so well. + + One pearly thought surrounds that sombre time; + One golden hope enframes the past regret: + We thank our Father thou art with us yet, + The more majestic for thy grief sublime. + + + + +BEAUTIFUL WALES. + +There is a little history attached to the following lines. Twenty +years ago, my friend, Mr. Arthur J. Morris, at that time an accountant +at the Llwydcoed Ironworks, Aberdare, and subsequently manager at the +Plymouth Ironworks, Merthyr Tydfil, but now deceased, asked me to write +a song in praise of Wales. I did so, and wrote and sent him the words +of "Beautiful Wales," a Welsh translation of which was made and +forwarded to me by Mr. Daniel Morgan (Daniel ap Gwilym), of Aberaman, +Aberdare. A short time afterwards I received a request from Mr. R. +Andrews, of Manchester (whom I never saw and do not know) for +permission to set the words to music, which permission I gave, and the +song (English version) was published by Robert Cocks and Co., London. +It has long since been out of print. I found, on receiving some copies +of the music, that the tune was merely an adaptation of a well-known +dance tune, and some years ago I wrote to Mr. Brinley Richards on the +subject, who regretted that the words had not been wedded to more +suitable music. The matter, however, was lost sight of by myself, and +I was under the impression that the song had been forgotten. To my +surprise it suddenly cropped up as a great favourite of the Sunday +schools, and I have myself heard it sung at school anniversaries to +various tunes. It would seem, therefore, that after playing the +vagrant for goodness knows how long, it became a reformed character, +was taken in hand by school children, and by them adopted as a pet and +made a favourite of. + + + + +BEAUTIFUL WALES. + + I know a land whose sunny shore + The sea's wild waves embrace, + Whose heart is full of mystic lore + That flashes from its face; + A land where cloud-kissed mountains are, + And green and flowery vales, + Where Poesy lingers like a star: + That land is sunny Wales. + + Wales, the wild--the beautiful, + The beautiful--the free; + My heart and hand are thine, O land + Of magic minstrelsy. + + And in this mystic land of mine + What dainty maids there be, + Whose faces shine with love divine, + Like sunlight on the sea. + The boasted fair of other climes + That live in songs and tales + Will never be more fair to me + Than those of sunny Wales. + + Wales, the wild--the beautiful, + The beautiful--the free; + My heart and hand are thine, O land + Of magic minstrelsy. + + + + +GWALIA DEG. + + Mi wn am wlad, a'i garw draeth + Gofleidir gan y don, + Sy'n orlawn o gyfrinawl ddysg + 'R hwn draetha'i gwyneb llon: + Gwlad yw lle mae mynyddoedd ban, + A glynoedd gwyrdd eu lliw; + Lle'r erys awenyddiaeth glaer: + Hoff Walia heulawg yw. + + Gwalia wyllt, wyt decaf wlad; + Wyt decaf wlad--wlad rydd! + Dy eiddo i gyd wyf fi, O dud + Y swynawl gerdd ddiludd. + + Ac yn y wlad gyfrinawl hon, + Ceir merched uchel fri, + Sydd a'u gwynebau'n t'w'nu fel + Goleuni haul uwch lli. + Prydferthwch ffrostiawl gwledydd pell, + Sy'n byw yn ngerddi'r byd, + Nis byddant byth brydferthach im + Na rhai fy heulawg dud. + + Gwalia wyllt, wyt decaf wlad; + Wyt decaf wlad--wlad rydd! + Dy eiddo i gyd wyf fi, O dud + Y swynawl gerdd ddiludd. + + + + +THE WELSH LANGUAGE. + +My bardic friend "Caradawc," of Abergavenny, sent me the following +Englyn, with a request that I would write an English translation: + +ENGLYN I'R IAITH GYMRAEG. + + Iaith anwyl y Brythoniaid;--Iaith gywrain-- + Iaith gara fy Enaid; + Iaith gry, iaith bery heb baid, + Gorenwog Iaith Gwroniaid. + + IOAN DAFYDD A'I CANT. + + + + +To which was written and forwarded the following reply; + +ON THE WELSH LANGUAGE. + + A language to love--when our tongues in love speak it; + A language to hate--when 'tis spoken by fools; + A language to live--when the pure in life seek it, + A language to die--when the lying tongue rules; + A blessing--when blessings lead men to enjoy it; + A curse--when for cursing 'tis used as a rod; + The language of Satan--when devils employ it; + When angels indite it--the language of God. + + + + +A FOOLISH BIRD. + + An ostrich o'er the desert wide, + With upturned beak and jaunty stride, + In stately, self-sufficient pride, + One day was gently roaming. + When--dreadful sound to ostrich ears, + To ostrich mind the worst of fears-- + Our desert champion thinks he hears + The dreaded hunter coming. + Ill-fated bird! He might have fled: + Those legs of his would soon have sped + That flossy tail--that lofty head-- + Far, far away from danger. + But--fatal error of his race-- + In sandy bank he hid his face, + And thought by this to evade the chase + Of the ostrich-bagging ranger. + So he who, like the ostrich vain, + Is ign'rant, and would so remain, + Of what folks do, it's very plain + In folly's road he's walking. + For if in sand you hide your head + Just to escape that which you dread, + And, seeing not, say danger's fled: + 'Tis worse than childish talking. + + + + +"I'D CHOOSE TO BE A NIGHTINGALE." + +Answer to a Poem which appeared in a daily paper, with the above title, +signed "Mary" (Llandovery.) + + Gentle Mary! Do you know + What it is you crave? + Listen! As the flowers grow + O'er the dismal grave, + So, when sweetest sings the bird + Thou would'st like to be, + When in twilight's hour is heard + The magic melody, + Harshly comes the cruel thorn + Against the songster's breast, + And melting music thus is born + Of pain and sad unrest (_a_) + So if like Philomel thou'dst sing, + And happiness impart, + Thy breast must bear the cruel sting + That haunts the songster's heart. + + +(_a_) There is a poetic legend, which says that when the Nightingale +sings the sweetest, it presses its breast against a thorn. + + + + +TRUE PHILANTHROPY. + +Written on hearing that J. D. Llewelyn, Esq., of Penllergare, had +refused a public Testimonial, the offer of which was evoked by his +unbounded charity and unostentatious acts of philanthropy, which +recognition it was desired to inaugurate in the shape of a statue of +himself, placed in front of the Swansea hospital--an institution which +owes so much to his munificent liberality. + +MARCH 6th, 1876. + + Friend of the poor, for whom thy ceaseless thought + Is as the sun, that warms the earthy clod + Into a flush of blossom beauty-fraught, + Waking in hearts by poverty distraught + Glimpses in life of Heaven and of God. + + And as the sun sends forth his golden beams + In silence, all unweeting of their worth, + So from thy life in silent beauty streams + That Heaven-born charity which never seems + To know itself--and blushes at its birth. + + No sculptor's art thy goodness need proclaim: + The knowledge lives in hearts that feel its power-- + A love more lasting than a marbled fame: + Brooding in silence o'er thy cherished name, + As light is worshipped by the voiceless flower. + + + + +DISRAELI. + + O'er the Present proudly striding + Like Colossus o'er the wave, + And a beacon-light high holding, + While the tempests loudly rave: + Laying bare in truthful teaching + Treach'rous breakers round the bay, + That the good old barque of England + May in safety sail away: + Though the tongue of fiercest Faction + In its Folly may deride, + Still he stands in lofty learning + Like a giant o'er the tide, + While the murmuring wavelets passing + Far beneath his kingly hand, + Looking upward, blindly babble + Where they cannot understand. + + When his country's proudest sceptre + He was called upon to sway, + Ruled he with a noble purpose + That will never pass away: + So, the Future, of his striving + With its trumpet-tongue shall tell: + How he battled for the Bible; + How he loved old England well: + How his nature, though not faultless + (Human nature may not be), + Bore the never-dying impress + Of life's truest chivalry, + How they wrote upon the marble, + Where he lay beneath the sod: + "Faithfully he served his country," + "Truthfully he served his God." + + + + +DOWN IN THE DARK. + +A RECOLLECTION OF THE FERNDALE COLLIERY EXPLOSION. + NOVEMBER, 1867. + + Down in the dark--in the blinding dark; + Away from the sunshine bright above: + Away from the gaze of those they love, + They are lying stony and stark. + + Down in the dark--deep down in the dark, + With the terror of death in each sightless eye, + Which tells how hard 'tis to burn and die + Down--down in the poisonous dark. + + Up in the light--in the broad noon-light-- + Poor hearts are breaking: hot tears are shed, + As, tenderly shrouding each cinder-like head, + It is hid from the aching sight. + + Up in the light--in the soft gas-light + Of the draperied room, in luxurious guise; + In our comfort forgetting who plods and plies + Far down in eternal night. + + Up in the light--further up in the light; + In the pure clear light of a Queenly crown, + A widowed monarch is looking down + Tow'rds the dark, with compassion bedight. + + Up in the light--further up in the light-- + From the dazzling light of a Maker's throne-- + The angel of Pity came down to zone + Human hearts through that dreadful night. + + + + +DAISY MAY. + +A STORY OF CHRISTMASTIDE LONG AGO. + + PART THE FIRST. + + "Don't bolt the door, John," said the Dame, + Who sat esconced in oaken chair, + The good man paused, and back he came, + Silent, and with a troubled air. + + "To night 'tis just a year ago + Since Daisy left," the mother sighed. + "Don't blame the child, I loved her so; + But better had our darling died." + + The father spake not. Glistening bright + A tear stole down the mother's cheek. + "A year to-night! A year to-night! + I sometimes think my heart will break." + + 'Tis Christmas-eve, and in that cot + The good old couple grieve and yearn + For one, though absent, ne'er forgot: + "Don't bolt the door, she may return." + + "She may return." The midnight chime + With mystic music fills the air, + And bears the news, "'Tis Christmas time," + In sobbing wavelets everywhere. + + + PART THE SECOND + + Our village pride was Daisy May; + A fairy being, all too good + For earthly thought--as bright as day-- + Just blooming into womanhood. + + The low, sweet music of her voice, + Was like the sound of rippling rills; + It bade the listening heart rejoice, + And won as with enchanting spells. + + Her eyes, like violets dipt in dew, + The soul enthralled with tender glance, + That gave to things a brighter hue, + And fringed our lives with new romance. + + And from her forehead, white as pearl, + There hung a cloud of golden hair, + Whose lustre threw around the girl + A halo such as angels wear. + + "Ah, me!" sighed many a village swain, + "Her love what bliss 'twould be to win + He whom the beauteous prize shall gain + Will open Heaven and enter in." + + And as she passed with girlish grace + She met the glance of every eye, + Till blushes fluttered o'er her face + Like roses when the sun goes by. + + But while in virgin life she walkt; + While sunlight round her footsteps played, + Abroad unbridled Passion stalked: + She loved, and, trusting, was betrayed. + + And in the city, 'mongst the gay, + Far, far from friends who mourned her fate, + She flung Love's precious pearls away, + And woke, but woke, alas, too late. + + She woke to find herself alone, + Save baby sleeping at her breast: + In that vast city all unknown, + Unloved, unpitied, and unblest. + + Unloved by one who swore to love; + Unpitied by the cruel crowd; + Unblest by all save Him above, + To whom she prayed in grief aloud. + + In fitful dreams she saw, and oft, + That humble cottage by the burn; + And heard a voice, so sweet and soft: + "Don't bolt the door, she may return." + + "She may return." Delicious dream. + "Then mother loves me still," she sighed. + Ah! little knew she of the stream + Of tears that mother shed and dried. + + Of weary watches in the night; + Of aching heart throughout the day; + Of darkened hours that once were bright, + Made glad by her now far away. + + And when, in unforgiving mood, + The father urged his tenets stern, + How oft that mother tearful stood: + "Don't bolt the door, she may return." + + + PART THE THIRD. + + 'Tis Christmas Eve: the midnight chime + With mystic music fills the air, + And bears the news, "'Tis Christmas time," + In sobbing wavelets everywhere. + + Without, the weird wind whistles by; + Clothed is the ground with drifting snow; + Within, the yule logs, piled on high, + Their cheery warmth and comfort throw. + + And in that cottage by the moor, + Where father, mother, mourning dwell. + The fire is bright, where hearts are sore + The chime to them a mournful knell. + + "What's that?" the mother faintly said: + "Methought I heard a weary sigh." + The father sadly shook his head: + "Tis but the wind that wanders by." + + Again the Dame, with drowsy start-- + "It is no dream--I heard a groan." + Oh, the misgivings of her heart! + "'Tis but the music's murmuring moan." + + They little thought, while thus they sighed, + That at their threshold, fainting, lay + The child for whom they would have died, + For whom they prayed both night and day. + + 'Twas bitter chill! The snowy fall + Came drifting slowly through the air, + And gently clothed with ghostly pall + The wasted form that slumbered there. + + And all the live-long night she slept, + While breaking hearts within grew sore; + While father, mother, mourned and wept, + She lay in silence at the door. + + Till, in the morning, all aglow, + The sun, in looking o'er the hill, + Like sculptured marble in the snow, + Saw Daisy, stony, stark, and still. + + Then tenderly, in coffined state, + The hapless girl they grave-ward bore, + And, as they mourned her cruel fate, + Her tomb with flowers scattered o'er. + + Leaving the broken-hearted child + To sleep in peace beneath the sod, + And he who first her heart beguiled + To cope with conscience and his God. + + + + +LINES: + +ACCOMPANYING A PURSE GIVEN TO A FRIEND ON HIS BIRTHDAY. + + The Purse I send to you, my friend, + Is empty, but if wishes warm + Could fill it, 'twould be brimming o'er + With handfuls of the golden charm. + The only wealth I have to give + Are words which may be worth a thought. + Be sure, as you would prosperous live, + While earning sixpence spend a groat: + Your purse will then grow slowly full, + A friend in need you'll always find, + And comforts, which can only flow + From plenty and a peaceful mind. + + + + +FORSAKEN. + + 'Twas a white water-lily I saw that day, + With its leaves looking up to the sky, + And baring its breast to the sportive play + Of the wavelets dancing by. + And O for the music the streamlet made, + As it floated in ripples along; + Round the beautiful blossom it eddied and played + With a voice full of silvery song. + + So all through the Summer the lily laughed, + And with glances of loving and light + Drank in fresher beauty with each dainty draught + Of the water so playful and bright. + "And is it for ever," the floweret sighed, + "That thy vows of affection will last?" + "For ever and ever!" the streamlet replied, + And, embracing her, hurried past. + + The Summer days vanished--the Winter came: + Ah! where could the lily be? + The sun still warmed with its golden flame; + But the streamlet had gone to the sea. + And the blossom that once, with its bosom of white, + Like a star from the heavens shone, + Lay frozen and dead. Ah, sorrowful plight! + It had died in the dark alone. + + + + +CHRISTMAS IS COMING. + + Christmas is coming with merry laugh, + With a merry laugh and a joyful shout, + And the tidings are flung with an iron tongue + From a thousand steeples pealing out; + Hang up the holly--the mistletoe hang; + Bedeck every nook round the old fireside; + Make bright every hearth--let the joy-bells clang + With a warm-hearted welcome to Christmas-tide. + + Christmas is coming! But some will see + By the old fireside a vacant place; + And a vision will flit through the festive glee + Of an absent--a never-returning face; + And a voice that was music itself last year + Will be mournfully missed in the even-song; + And children will speak, with a gathering tear, + Of the virtues which now to the dead belong. + + Christmas is coming! Look back o'er the past: + Is there nought to forgive? Is there nought to forget? + Have we seized all the chances of life that were placed + In our path: or in this have we nought to regret? + Have we fought on life's battle-ground manfully--true, + While success, like a butterfly, flew from our reach? + Have we pressed in pursuit of the prize as it flew? + Has the Past, in its dying, no lesson to teach? + + Christmas is coming! But who shall say + That at Christmas-time they again may meet? + For graves lie thick in the crowded way; + And we elbow Death in the open street + Let Folly embitter the festival hour + With a tongue that would injure--a heart that would hate! + True wisdom is blest with a nobler dower: + In another year it may be too late. + + Christmas is coming! The wealthy will sit + In purple, fine linen, and sumptuous state; + 'Twere well in their plenty they should not forget + The poor that stand meek at the outer gate. + For who can foreshadow the changes of life? + See! yesterday's King is an outcast to-day; + Success comes in time to the strong in the strife; + And Fortune's a game at which paupers can play. + + Christmas is coming? The trader will quail + Over ledgers unsquared--and accounts overdue: + And his pen fain would tell all the sorrowful tale + Which his heart, full of fear, has not courage to do! + Had he all that is owing, how happy his heart; + How buoyant his footstep--how joyous his face; + But his debtors from gold as their life's blood will part; + And their hoard lies untouched o'er a brother's disgrace. + + But Christmas is coming with merry laugh, + Amid pain, amid pleasure, with joyful shout, + And the tidings are flung with an iron tongue + From a thousand steeples pealing out. + Hang up the holly--the mistletoe hang; + Bedeck every nook round the old fireside: + Let us bury our care: let the joy-bells clang + With a warm-hearted welcome to Christmas-tide. + + + + +HEART LINKS. + + The mist that rises from the river, + Evermore--evermore, + Tells how hearts are born to sever + As of yore--as of yore. + But the silvery mist returneth + Sparkling dew and blessed rain; + So the loving heart, though distant, + Comes again--comes again. + + The stars that shine in brightness o'er us + In the sky--in the sky, + Speak of loved ones gone before us + Born to die--born to die, + Who, in days of earthly sadness, + O'er us watch with tender love, + As the starlight falls around us + From above--from above. + + The rose that gives, before it leaves us, + Fragrance rare--fragrance rare, + Links of love in absence weaves us + Sweet to wear--sweet to wear; + So true hearts in love united + Bound by pure affection's chain, + Though in life or death divided, + Meet again--meet again. + + + + +THE OAK TO THE IVY. + + 'Twas in my Spring of palmy gladness + First I met thee, Ivy wife; + Then my brow, untouched by sadness, + Bloomed with regal-foliaged life; + Proud my arms hung forth in blessing + O'er thy trustful spirit dear, + And my heart, 'neath thy caressing, + Wore a Spring-dress all the year! + Time wings on: my strength is fleeing, + And my leafy beauties too; + Still thou clings't around my being, + Changeless--ever true. + + Churlish Autumn hath uncrowned me, + Still I feel thy fond embrace; + Winter sad throws gloom around me: + Sweet! thou smil'st up in my face; + Spring arrives with flowery treasures, + Summer skips by, sun-caressed; + Yet thou, envying not their pleasures, + Bloom'st upon my rugged breast. + Time wings on: my strength is fleeing, + And my leafy beauties too; + Still thou cling'st around my being, + Changeless--ever true. + + Though my limbs grow old and weary, + Trembling in the wintry air; + And my life be dark and dreary-- + Still I feel that thou art near; + Stripped of all my blossoms golden, + 'Reft of stalwart forest pride-- + Sere and sallow, leafless, olden; + Yet remain'st thou by my side. + Time wings on: my strength is fleeing, + And my leafy beauties too; + Life-long cling'st thou round my being, + Changeless--ever true. + + + + +EPIGRAM + +ON A WELSHWOMAN'S HAT. + + "O changeful woman! Constant man!" + Has been the theme for buried ages. + But here's the truth: say "No" who can-- + Ye bards, philosophers, and sages: + Men buy their Hats all kinds of shapes; + Our own Welshwomen change their's never; + 'Tis with their Hats as with their loves-- + Where fancy rests the heart approves, + And, loving once, they love for ever! + + + + +SHADOWS IN THE FIRE. + + She sat and she gazed in the fire: + In the fire with a dreamy look: + And she seemed as though she could never tire + Of reading the fiery book. + + She saw, midst the embers bright, + A figure both manly and fair, + Blue eyes that shone with a loving light: + And showers of nut-brown hair. + + She saw her own image stand + By that form on a sunny day: + One kiss of the lip: one grasp of the hand: + And her heart was borne away. + + She saw, through the flickering flame, + A bier in a darkened room: + And a coffin that bore her idol's name + Was hurried away to the tomb. + + She saw, from a distant strand, + A missive sent over the main: + The letter was writ by a stranger's hand: + And she sighed for her lover in vain. + + So she sat and she gazed in the fire: + In the fire, with a dreamy look: + And she seemed as though she could never tire + Of reading the fiery book. + + + + +THE BELFRY OLD. + + On a New Year's Eve, by a belfry old, + With a sea of solemn graves around, + While the grim grey tower of the village church + Kept silent ward o'er each grassy mound, + With a cloak of ivy about it grown, + Fringed round, like fur, with a snowy fray; + On a New Year's Eve I watched alone + The life of the last year ebbing away. + + Anon there came from the belfry out + A strange wild sound as of pleasure and pain; + For the birth of the new a jubilant shout: + For the death of the old a sad refrain. + And the voice went throbbingly through the air, + Went sobbing and sighing, with laughter blent; + All the echoes awakening everywhere; + A guest that was welcomed wherever, it went. + + I thought, as the sound of each babbling bell + Came gushing away from the belfry old, + That stories such as the dying tell + Were up in that belfry being told: + As the words men mutter in life's last fear + Seem to shrink from Eternity back to Time, + So it seemed to me that each echo clear + Came back from the grave with a lesson sublime. + + "Yet another year!" it seemed to say; + Gone one more year in the battle of life; + With its yearnings in gloom for the coming day, + Its pantings for peace 'mid the daily strife; + Clay lips that kissed but a year ago + With the fervent warmth of life and love; + Dear eyes that gladdened bright homes below + In one short year with the stars above. + + Gone one more year, with its masses that prayed + For the daily bread that so seldom came; + With its lives whom sinning could never degrade, + Till the canker of want brought guilt and shame. + Gone one more year, with its noble souls + Who raised up the weary in hours of need; + With its crowds that started for wished-for goals, + And drooped by the way, broken-hearted indeed. + + Gone one more year, with its wearisome woes; + Its pleasures hoped for--never seen: + Its swallow-winged friends: its fair-faced foes: + Its sorrow which happiness might have been: + Its cant and its cunning: its craft and crime: + Its loves and its hates: its hopes and fears: + Its lives that, reaching tow'rds heights sublime, + Fell short of the mark in a sea of tears. + + Gone one more year, to tell all the rest + How wise the old world had gotten of late: + How fools still flourish, by wealth caressed: + How the noble of mind meet a pauper's fate; + How the infidel heart, accursed, defies + All hopes of Heaven--all fears of hell: + How the saintly preach from the book of lies, + And scoff at the truths which Saviours tell. + + How the pious who poison the poor man's food + In shoddy and shop grow golden and grand: + How the rent-roll harbours the stolen rood-- + The emblazoned escutcheon the bloody hand: + How women and men to the altar hie, + And swear to the promise they rarely keep; + How Vice, a shameless and living lie, + Gets honours which Virtue never can reap. + + Gone one more year: there is no return. + Press onward, still onward, for weal or woe. + Beat heart: throb brain: hot eyelids burn: + Man's troubles and trials who cares to know? + Birth, marriage, and death: death, marriage, and birth, + Are the treadmill steps of this wheel of strife; + Cloak, draught, and a crust--then a hole in the earth: + And the struggle for these is the story of life. + + So sang the bells in the belfry old, + Or so it seemed to me they sang; + And the year died out as the moments rolled, + Still o'er its bier the joy-bells rang: + 'Twas mourning an instant, merriment then, + And the ghastly shroud where the old year lay-- + How like is the humour of bells and men-- + Became swaddling-clothes for the New Year's Day. + + + + +BEAUTIFUL BARBARA. + + Beautiful Barbara--Barbara bright, + As bright and as fresh as the dainty dawn, + What is it disturbeth her bosom white, + As the breeze into billows kisseth the corn? + + Beautiful Barbara--silent and shy, + Shy as the dove, as the dove as fond, + What a dreaminess lives in her hazel eye, + As she looketh away through the valley beyond. + + Through the valley beyond, where the daisies blush, + Where the woodbines bloom and the rivulets run; + Through the valley beyond, where, in evening's hush, + Beautiful Barbara's heart was won. + + And the maiden Barbara, fair and forlorn, + The grass-green meadow looketh along; + The morrow was fixed for her wedding morn, + And she vieweth in vision the bridal throng. + + She looketh, and weepeth, and looketh in vain: + Her heart was trustful; his heart was untrue; + And beautiful Barbara mingleth amain + Her tears with the daisies and the dew. + + And the harvest moon sat silent and pale, + Silent and pale o'er the far-off hill: + And the sun in the morning flushing the vale + Saw beautiful Barbara stark and still. + + Stark and still, with a forehead of white, + Round which the dew-drop coronal shone; + And the sunbeams came with their laughing light, + But beautiful Barbara sleepeth on. + + 'Twas a trying path for her dainty feet, + For such dainty feet as her's to tread. + So her trampled heart 'gainst its bars had beat, + Till it bravely broke and heavenward fled. + + + + +SONG OF THE SILKEN SHROUD. + + Out in Babylon yonder, + By the gas-lights' dull red glare, + In a stifling room--a living tomb, + With never a breath of air, + A slender girl is sitting; + At her feet a silken cloud, + Which music makes, while her young heart aches, + As she stitches the rustling shroud. + And this is the song the glistening silk + Sings, out in the work-room yonder: + + "Quick! quick! quick! + "My lady is waiting to roam. + "If you wish to die, the needle ply; + "You can die when you reach your home." + + And while the gas-lights flicker and play + The life of the sempstress ebbs away + In the West End work-room yonder. + + Out in Babylon yonder, + In the blaze of the ball-room gay, + My lady sits; while round her flits + A skeleton slender and grey. + And the ghastly spectre standeth + By the side of my lady fair + So mournfully bland, and with bony hand + It plays with her costume rare. + And this is the song the ghostly guest + Sings, out in the ball-room yonder: + + "Look! look! look! + "Sit ye scornful and proud. + "Your boddice a hearse; every stitch a curse; + "Your skirt a silken shroud." + + For while the gas-lights flickered in play + The life of the sempstress ebbed away + In the West End work-room yonder. + + + + +A UNIVERSITY FOR WALES. + +WRITTEN IN 1867, AND INSCRIBED TO THOSE WHO WERE THEN + ENGAGED IN THE NOBLE AND PATRIOTIC WORK OF PROVIDING ONE. + + In the cause of Education + Let us raise the standard high, + And in tones of exultation + "Upward--onward!" be the cry. + Let us rear this Fane of Learning-- + Beauteous Temple of the Mind; + Where true hearts, for knowledge yearning, + May the priceless jewel find. + + In the cause of Education + Let the glorious altar stand, + As a bulwark of the nation, + As a blessing in the land. + Let an unsectarian fabric + Grow in grandeur from the sod, + As a crown upon our manhood, + As a monument to God. + + In the cause of Education + Let the wealth which Wisdom owns + Be out-scattered open-handed + To uprear this Throne of Thrones: + And, like bread upon the waters, + Hearts that give from store of gold + Will, in never-dying blessings, + Richly reap a thousand-fold. + + In the cause of Education, + In the search for simple Truth, + In the proud Confederation + Which ennobles striving youth, + Let each heart's best pulses quicken, + Patriotic souls up-leap, + Till, mind-freighted, sails the fabric + Like an ark upon the deep. + + + + +GRIEFS UNTOLD. + + In silence blooms the Summer rose, + With damask cheek and odorous breath, + And ne'er a ruddy leaf that blows + Whispers of canker or of death: + But sweetly smiles the lovely flower + All through the sunshine warm and gay, + And tells not of the canker-dower + That eats its inmost heart away. + + In gladness rolls the river bright + Down through the meadow grassy-green, + With ripples full of laughing light + That wake with joy the sunny scene. + From morn till morn, with cheery tread, + The stream walks on with ne'er a sigh, + Nor tells of pebbles hard and dead + That deep below the surface lie. + + + + +"I WILL." + + It is Christmas Eve, and the dance is o'er: + "Good night--good night all round!" + And the red light streams through the open door, + Like a sprite on the snowy ground. + And faces peer down the glowing dell + From the cottage warm and bright, + To see the last of the village belle + Who stands in the pale moonlight. + And waving her hand with a last farewell, + Is lost from their yearning sight. + But not alone is that maiden fair + Of the pearl-white face and the golden hair. + + "Thou knowest I love thee, Blanche," he said, + Who walked by the maiden's side, + And her cheeks flushed up with a sweeter red + When he asked her to be his bride. + Though humble, their love was pure as light-- + As pure as the snow they trod; + And the peal from the belfry woke the night + Like a voice from the Throne of God: + Or plaudits of angels glad with delight + At their Maker's approving nod. + Through a manly bosom it sent a thrill, + For it came with the bells did the girl's "I will." + + + + +DAWN AND DEATH. + + The sobbing winds of winter + Lingered sadly round the door, + Then ran in mystic meanings + Through the dark across the moor; + The window panes were streaming + With the tears which heaven wept, + And a mother sat a-dreaming + O'er an infant as it slept: + Its little hands were folded; + And its little eyes of blue + Were clothed in alabaster + With the azure peeping through: + Its face, so still and star-like, + Was as white as maiden snow: + And it breathed in faintest ripples, + As the wavelets come and go. + + The morn in golden beauty + Through the lattice gaily peept, + But muffled was the window + Of the room where darling slept: + The mother's heart was breaking + Into tears like Summer cloud, + For a starry face was circled + With a little lily shroud; + And a soul from sunny features + Like a beam of light had fled: + Before her, like a snowdrop, + Her miracle lay dead! + Ah! 'Twas cruel thus to chasten, + Though her loss was darling's gain: + And her heart would rifle Heaven + Could she clasp her babe again. + + + + +CASTLES IN THE AIR. + + Autumn's sun was brightly blazing + Like a suit of golden mail; + Flocks along the mead were grazing; + Lambkins frollicked through the vale. + Brooklets gossipped o'er their beauty; + Leaves came down in whisp'ring showers; + And the vine-trees, lush and fruity, + Climbed and clung in am'rous bowers: + + Beauty--gladness-- + Floated round me everywhere; + Still in sadness + Built I castles in the air-- + In the soft and dreamy air. + + Far above me, like a spirit, + Rose an alp in proud array, + And my heart so yearned to near it + As I in the valley lay. + Ah, thought I, yon summit seemeth + Like a throne, so pure and bright; + Lo! how grandly-great it gleameth, + Crown'd with everlasting light! + + Then I started + From the valley calm and fair, + Hopeful-hearted, + Tow'rds the castle in the air-- + High up in the dreamy air. + + Many a tortuous path and winding + Rid my soul embattle through; + Many a thorn of bitter finding + Choked my way with perils new: + Upward still, footsore and bleeding, + On with lonesome heart I pressed; + And I heard the chimes receding + In the vale so calm and blest. + + Still I wandered + Up the pathway rough and drear, + Till I pondered + By the castle in the air-- + Like a spirit in the air. + + I had reached the lofty glory; + I had gained the alpine peak; + Lowly lay the world before me-- + Yet my heart was like to break! + Where I stood 'twas cold and dreary--- + Crown'd with white and glistening snow: + "Ah," I sighed, with heart a-weary-- + "Distance lent the golden glow!" + + Thus Fame ever + Woos men from earth's valleys fair, + Oft to shiver + Near life's castles in the air-- + In the far-off wintry air. + + + + +THE WITHERED ROSE. + + I had a silver chalice once + Of exquisite design, + In shape 'twas like the human heart + This little vase of mine. + I plucked a rose and placed the flow'r + Within the shiny cup, + And drank the incense hour by hour + The rosebud offered up. + And as it opened leaf by leaf + Its beauties spreading wide, + I saw no blossom such as mine + In all the world beside. + + The sunlight came, but came in vain, + And day succeeded day, + But leaf by leaf my rosebud drooped, + Until it passed away. + And thus in life we look for love + From other loves apart-- + A gift from Heavenly hand above-- + And plant it near the heart; + But Death comes forth with chilly touch; + The blossom droops and dies; + And breaking hearts are filled alone + With fragrant memories. + + + + +WRECKS OF LIFE. + + I sat upon the shingly Beach + One sunny Summer-day, + A-listening to the mystic speech + Of a million waves at play. + And as I watched the flowing flood + I saw a little child, + Who near a mimic fabric stood + Of shells his hands had piled. + And as he turned to go away, + He said, with look of sorrow: + "Build up I cannot more to-day-- + "I'll come again to-morrow!" + + The morrow came--he thither hied-- + Looked for his castle gay; + But while he'd slept the cruel tide + Had washt it all away. + And thus in life we gaily build + Shell castles in the air; + Our hopes the fairy fabrics gild + With colours bright and rare: + But the dark flood of human strife + Rolls onward while we sleep, + And o'er the wrecks, where waves ran rife, + We waken but to weep. + + + + +ELEANOR: + +DIED ON HER WEDDING DAY. + + Scarce nineteen Summers had breathed their bloom, + Had breathed their bloom on her dainty cheek, + When they bore her away to the voiceless tomb + With hearts so full they were like to break. + And down in the churchyard old and green, + In the churchyard green where the yew-tree waves, + A dark little mound of earth is seen-- + One billow more to the sea of graves. + + Dear heart! How sad, in the gorgeous light, + In the gorgeous light of a purple dawn, + With life so hopeful of pure delight, + Away from the world to be rudely torn! + To be rudely torn in the tender hour, + In the tender hour when her heart was young; + While the virgin dew on the opening flower + With a trembling joy like a jewel hung. + + Ere the budding soul, so sweetly shy, + Had opened its core to the coming kiss + Of an earthly love that was born to die + Ere it filled her heart with its hallowed bliss. + So down in the churchyard old and green, + In the churchyard green where the yew-tree waves, + A dark little mound of earth is seen-- + One billow more to the sea of graves. + + Scarce nineteen Summers had breathed their bloom, + Had breathed their bloom on her dainty cheek, + And they bore her away to the voiceless tomb + With hearts so full they were like to break: + With hearts so full even this belief + Dispelled not a tear from their aching eyes-- + Though they saw their beloved through clouds of grief + An angel beyond in the golden skies. + + + + +NEW YEAR'S BELLS. + + Hearest thou that peal a-telling + Night-noon stories to the Sky; + Hark! each wave of sound comes welling + Like a scolded angel's cry; + And the voice the belfry flingeth + Sobbing from its brazen breast, + Like a god in trouble singeth, + Waking half the world from rest; + Now it wails in murmuring sadness, + As a child at words unkind; + Now it comes with merry gladness, + Floating weirdly on the wind. + Ah! 'tis sad;---yet sprightly-hearted; + Song of Birth and gloomy Bier; + Death-dirge for the Days departed; + Carol for the coming Year. + Is it that the voice reminds thee + Of the wasted moments past? + Saith it that the New Year finds thee + Where it left thee last? + + Doth the merry music taunt thee, + How the Palace love had reared + Mocks with echoes now, that haunt thee + Where thou dream'dst they would have cheered? + Moan the bells with thee in sorrow + O'er a little mound of green, + Rising up from graveyard furrow + Bleakly blank upon the scene? + Doth the tender language, stealing + O'er the soul with soothing swell, + Waken thoughts from sweet concealing: + Joyous tale for chimes to tell; + Reviving dainty hours of gladness, + Fresh as daisies in the spring, + As birds in summer, void of sadness, + Songs, heart-buried, wake and sing? + Doth the sea of music bear thee + Back again upon the Past, + To show thee that the New Year finds thee + Happier than the last? + + Doth it tell of plans laid glowing + On the anvil of thy heart; + Times thou'st raised thy hand for throwing + In life's battle many a dart? + How each plan unstricken lingered + Till the mouldful heat was gone? + How each dart was faintly fingered, + Resting in the end unthrown; + Of the Faith thou pawn'dst for Fancies-- + Substance for a fadeful beam? + Doth it taunt with bartered chances-- + Sterling strength for drowsy dream? + Doth it brand thee apathetic? + Twit with lost days many a one? + Doth it chant in words emphatic + "Gone for aye; for ever gone?" + Is it that the voice reminds thee + Of the wasted moments past? + Saith it that the New Year finds thee. + Wiser than the last? + + 'Tis not so!--and still, as ever, + Time's a jewel in its loss; + But, possessed in plenty, never + Held as ought but worthless dross. + Like lost truant-boys we linger + Whimpering in Life's mazy wood, + Heedless of the silent finger + Ever pointing for our good; + Each, in plodding darkness groping, + Clothes his day in dreamy night, + 'Stead of boldly climbing, hoping, + Up the steeps towards the light, + Where, as metal plucks the lightning + Flashing from the lofty sky, + Sturdy purpose, ever heightening, + Grasps an Immortality. + Let not future peals remind thee, + Then, of wasted moments passed; + Let not future New Years find thee + Where each left thee last. + + + + +THE VASE AND THE WEED: + +A PLEA FOR THE BIBLE. + + I had a vase of classic beauty, + Rare in richly-carved design; + Memento of an ancient splendour + Was this peerless vase of mine. + A master-hand of old had graved it: + Hand for many a year inurned: + And out from every line and tracing + Germs of genuine genius yearned. + I took the gem and proudly placed it + On a pillar 'mongst the flowers, + And watcht how radiance round it hovered, + Bathed with sunlight and with showers. + A little weed-like plant grew near it, + And anon crept o'er its face; + Until at length, with stealth insidious, + It quite obscured its classic grace, + And where was once a noble picture + Of the Beauteous and the True, + There hung a mass of straggling herbage + Flecked with blooms of sickly hue. + The Summer passed: the plant had flourished, + As every weed in Summer will; + When Winter came and struck the straggler + To the heart with bitter chill. + It died: the winds of March played round it, + Laughing at its wretched plight. + Then blew it from its slender holding, + Like a feather out of sight. + But still in undimmed freshness standing, + Reared the vase its classic face; + Rare in its old, eternal beauty, + Majestic in its pride of place. + + + + +A RIDDLE. + + A riddle of riddles: Who'll give it a name? + A portrait of God in a worm-eaten frame. + A mount in his own eye--in others' a mite; + The foot-boy of Wrong, and the headsman of Right; + A vaunter of Virtue--yet dallies with Vice; + From the cope to the basement bought up at a price; + A vane in his friendship--in folly a rock; + In custom a time-piece--in manners a mock; + A fib under fashion--a fool under form; + In charity chilly--in wealth-making warm: + In hatred satanic--a lambkin in love; + A hawk in religion with coo of a dove; + A riddle unravelled--a story untold; + A worm deemed an idol if covered with gold. + A dog in a gutter--a God on a throne: + In slander electric--in justice a drone: + A parrot in promise, and frail as a shade; + A hooded immortal in life's masquerade; + A sham-lacquered bauble, a bubble, a breath: + A boaster in life-time--a coward in death. + + + + +TO A FLY: + +BURNED BY A GAS-LIGHT. + + Poor prostrate speck! Thou round and round + With wildering limp dost come and go; + Thy tale to me, devoid of sound, + Bears the mute majesty of woe. + In bounding pride of revelry, + Seared by the cruel, burning blast, + Thy fall instructive is to me + As fall of States and Empires vast. + + No sounding theme from lips of fire, + No marvel of the immortal quill, + Can teach a moral, sterner--higher, + Than thou, so helpless and so still. + Reft as thou art by blistering burn-- + Blinded and shorn--poor stricken Fly! + The wise may stoop and lessons learn + From thy unmeasured agony. + + It tells how maid, in guileless youth, + Flies tow'rds her Love with trusting wing, + Bruises her heart 'gainst broken truth, + And falls, like thee, a crippled thing. + How man in bacchanalian sphere + Soars to the heat of Pleasure's sun, + Then, by gradations dark and drear, + Sinks low as thee, poor wingless one: + How hearts from proud Ambition's height + Have drooped to darkest, lowest hell-- + From blazing noon to pitchy night, + With pangs a demon-tongue may tell: + How aspirations glory-fraught + Have gained the goal in dark despair; + How golden hopes have come to nought + But wailings in the midnight air. + + There! and the life I ne'er could give + In pitying tenderness I've ta'en; + Far better thus to die, than live + A life of helpless, hopeless pain. + Ambitious hearts--high-vaulting pow'rs-- + That aim to grasp life's distant sky, + See through the spirit-blinding hours + What wrought the fall of yonder Fly. + + + + +TO A FRIEND. + + I fear to name thee. If I were + To do so, I could never tell + What virtues crown thy nature rare; + 'Twould pain thy heart--I know it well. + + Thou dost not ask for thy reward + In words that all the world may hear, + For thoughtful acts and kind regard + By thee for others everywhere. + + Thou seek'st alone for grateful thought + From those to whom thy worth is known; + So for much good thine heart hath wrought + Find gratitude within mine own. + + + + +RETRIBUTION. + + A spider once wove a right marvellous net, + Whose equal no human hand ever wove yet, + So complete in design was each beautiful fret, + And finished in every particular. + And the wily old architect, proud of his craft, + Ensconced in a snug little sanctum abaft, + Laid wait for the flies; and he chuckled and laughed, + As he pricked up his organs auricular. + + A week had elapsed, and the spider still wrought + Fell ruin on all the frail flies that he caught; + All right rules of decency set he at nought: + Each meal made him much more rapacious. + But his foot got entangled one horrible hour, + As he rushed forth a poor screaming fly to devour, + And to get his leg free was far out of his pow'r, + Secure was our spider sagacious. + + Where now is the beautiful fabric of gauze? + Behold! in the centre, by one of his claws, + A dead spider is hanging surrounded by flaws + And many a struggle-made fracture. + 'Twas hard, in the height of his fly-killing fun, + And sad, in the light of a Summer-day sun, + To die all alone, as that spider had done, + In a mesh of his own manufacture. + + + + +THE THREE GRACES. + + I. + + Her hair is as bright as the sunbeam's light, + And she walks with a regal grace, + And she bares full proud to the empty crowd + The wealth of her wondrous face; + And her haughty smile thus speaks the while: + "Approach me on bended knee!" + She's a beautiful star I could worship afar, + But--her love's not the love for me. + + + II. + + Her hair is as black as the raven's back, + And her face--what a queenly one; + And her voice ripples out like the trembling shout + Of a Lark when he sings to the sun; + But her form is filled with a soul self-willed + That would lord o'er a luckless he; + Pride reigns in her breast, like snow in a nest, + And--her love's not the love for me. + + + III. + + Her hair--what mind I the tint of her hair, + When her eyes are the tenderest blue; + And her loving face bears many a grace + Lit up with a sunny hue? + When I find--O I find, that her heart is kind-- + That she goes not abroad to see + The World--or be seen. Her love, I ween, + Is the love that was made for me. + + + + +THE LAST ROSE OF SUMMER. + + Where now is the Summer's last Rose, + That reigned like a queen on the briar? + 'T is faded! and o'er its grave glows + The glad warmth of Winter's first fire. + + We welcome the Flame with delight, + As we welcomed the Rose in the Spring: + But the blossom's as nought in our sight + 'Mid pleasures which Firesides bring. + + And so with life's swallow-winged friends: + The Rose is adored in its day; + But when its prosperity ends + 'T is cast like a puppet away. + + + + +THE STARLING AND THE GOOSE. + +A FABLE. + + A silly bird of waddling gait + On a common once was bred, + And brainless was his addle pate + As the stubble on which he fed; + Ambition-fired once on a day + He took himself to flight, + And in a castle all decay + He nestled out of sight. + "O why," said he, "should mind like mine + "Midst gosling-flock be lost? + "In learning I was meant to shine!" + And up his bill he tossed. + "I'll hide," said he, "and in the dark + "I'll like an owl cry out + ("In wisdom owls are birds of mark), + "And none shall find me out!" + And so from turret hooted he + At all he saw and heard; + Hoo-hoo! Hoo-hoo! What melody! + And what a silly bird! + At length a Starling which had flown + Down on the Castle wall + Thus spake: "Why what a simple drone + "You are to sit and bawl! + "Though _you_ presume _an Owl_ to be, + "It's not a bit of use! + "Your body though folks cannot see + "They know the diff'rence--pardon me! + "Betwixt the screech of Owl up tree + "And the cackling of a Goose!" + + + + + THE HEROES OF ALMA. + + OCTOBER, 1854. + + Heaven speed you, Braves! Undaunted lion-hearts + Well have you thus redeemed a solemn trust, + And added, by your bright heroic deeds, + Another lustrous ray to deck the brow, + Of this the good Old Land, whose gladdened heart + Leaps forth for very joy and thankfulness, + Proud of the gallant sons she calls her own; + Right nobly have you ta'en the gauntlet up + Ambition flung before the world, and fought + 'Gainst Evil, Might, and hated Despot-law; + Bled, conquered, clipped the wings of soaring Pride, + And earned in Serf-land such a brilliant name + Time's breath can never dim. But list!--a wail + Of sorrowing sadness sweeps across the Land, + With which the up-sent jubilant psalm is blent. + 'Reft orphans' cries, in mournful cadence soft, + Sobs wrung from widows' broken, bleeding hearts; + And fond hoar-headed parents' sighs and tears, + Commingling all, merge in a requiem sad + For those brave hearts that fell in Freedom's cause. + Then let us plant Fame's laurels o'er their graves, + And keep them green with tears of gratitude. + + + + +A KIND WORD, A SMILE, OR A KISS. + + There's a word, softly spoken, which leadeth + The erring from darkness and night; + There's an effortless action that sheddeth + A sun-world of gladdening light; + There's a sweet something-nothing which bringeth + A fore-taste of Paradise bliss: + Full and large is the love that up-springeth + From kind words, a smile, or a kiss. + + Eyes a-plenty with tears have been blinded, + Hearts legion in sadness have bled, + And many of earth's angel-minded + In grief have gone down to the dead, + And the world, with its bright laughing gladness, + Oft changed to a frowning abyss, + By vain mortals refusing, in madness, + A kind word, a smile, or a kiss. + + + + +DEAR MOTHER I'M THINKING OF THEE. + +NEW YEAR'S DAY, 1855. + + In the hush of night, when the pale starlight + Through my casement silently steals; + When the Moon walks on to the bower of the Sun, + And her beautiful face reveals: + When tranquil's the scene, and the mist on the green + Lies calm as a slumbering sea, + From my lattice I peep, 'ere I lay down to sleep, + And whisper a prayer for thee: + Mother! Dear Mother! + O, blessings on thee! + From my lattice I peep, 'ere I lay down to sleep, + And think, dear Mother, of thee. + + When the dew goes up from the white lily cup + In rose-coloured clouds to the sky; + When the voice of the Lark trembles out from the dark, + And the winds kiss the flowers with a sigh; + When the King of Dawn, like a world new-born, + Scatters love-light over the lea; + From my lattice I peep, when I wake from sleep, + And whisper a prayer for thee: + Mother! Dear Mother! + O, blessings on thee! + From my lattice I peep, when I wake from sleep, + And think, dear Mother, of thee. + + + + +THE HERON AND THE WEATHER-VANE. + +A FABLE. + + A weather-vane on steeple top + Had stood for many a day, + And every year a coat of gold + Increased his aspect gay. + Subservient to the changing air, + Each puff he'd quickly learn + To obey with sycophantic twist + And never-failing turn. + + A Heron once, from lowly fen, + Soared up in stately flight; + But, striking 'gainst the gilded vane, + He fell in sorry plight: + And as, with wounded wing, he lay + Down in the marsh below, + He thus addressed the glittering thing, + The cause of all his woe: + + "Vain upstart! 'tis from such as thee + That Merit, lowly born, + In striving oft to win a name, + Wins nought but bitter scorn: + But for such treacherous knaves as thou, + What crowds of souls would soar + With lofty swoop, that now, like me, + Will mount, Ah! never more! + + It fits thee well, that lacquer suit, + Base flunkey as thou art! + Though bright, it never covered brain; + Though gilded, ne'er a heart! + Rather than wear upon my back + Such livery as thine, + I'd earn an honest crust, and make + The scullion's calling mine." + + + + +THE THREE MIRRORS. + +A FABLE. + + Three mirrors of the usual sort + Were gifted once with power of thought; + And as they hung against the wall + They felt that they were prophets all. + The first, a plate-glass o'er the fire; + The next, a concave, standing higher; + A portly convex 'tother side + Made up the three; and as he eyed + His brother mirrors, brilliant each, + Thus gave to thought the rein of speech: + "Such power as mine who ever saw? + If in my face without a flaw + Men chance to gaze, they taller seem + Than what they are: delightful scheme! + I like to elongate the truth; + What else but flattery pleases youth? + A boy who in my face should scan + Will grow as tall as any man!" + Says convex; "That is not the case + With me; for those who in _my_ face + Should chance to look, themselves will find + Turned into things of dwarfish kind. + To praise mankind is what I hate: + What says our neighbour, Master Plate?" + The plate-glass then essayed to speak; + Said he: "My friends, I never seek + So to distort the things I see + That none can tell what things they be. + I find it more convenient far + To show mankind just what they are!" + A table the dispute had heard, + And asked for leave to say a word. + "Agreed," rejoined the glassy crowd: + When thus the table spoke aloud: + "The virtues which you each would claim + As yours, are virtues but in name. + You, Concave, lessen what you see, + Though well you know 't should larger be. + While Convex, aye to flattery prove, + Makes mounts of what are mites alone. + Plain-spoken Plate, in wrong the least, + Would tell a beast it _was_ a beast, + Forgetting 'tis not always right + To judge from what appears in sight. + Your faces ought to blush for shame, + And yet you think you're not to blame! + You know that men are slow to think, + And will of _any_ fountain drink; + Who fear their brain's behest to do, + So frame their faith from such as you! + Judged by the simplest human rules, + You are the knaves--and they the fools." + + + + +THE TWO CLOCKS. + +A FABLE. + + A country dame, to early-rising prone, + Two clocks possessed: the one, a rattling Dutch, + Seldom aright, though noisy in its tone, + With naughty knack of striking two too much. + The other was a steady, stately piece, + That rang the hour true as the finger told: + For many a year 't had kept its corner place; + The owner said 'twas worth its weight in gold! + One washing-eve, the Dame, to rise at four, + Sought early rest, and, capped and gowned, did droop + Fast as a church, to judge from nasal snore, + That broke the silence with a hoarse hor-hoop: + When all at once with fitful start she woke; + For that same tinkling Dutchman on the stair + Had told the hour of four with clattering stroke, + And waked the sleeper ere she was aware. + "Odd drat the clock!" she sighed; but, knowing well + The cackling thing struck two at least a-head, + She turned; and back to such deep slumber fell, + But for her snore you might have thought her dead. + And so she slept till four o'clock was due, + When t'other time-piece truly told the tale; + Straightway the drowsy dame to labour flew, + And soon the suds went flirting round the pail. + + + MORAL. + + Whoe'er breaks faith in petty ways + Will never hold a friend; + While he who ne'er a trust betrays + Gets trusted to the end. + + + + +SACRIFICIAL. + +WRITTEN AFTER WITNESSING THE EXECUTION OF TWO + GREEK SAILORS AT SWANSEA, MARCH, 1859. + + The morning broke fair, with a florid light, + And the lark fluttered upward in musical flight, + As the sun stept over the distant height + In mantle purple and golden. + The blue bounding billows in waltzing play + Lookt up in the face of the coming day, + And sang, as they danced o'er the sandy bay, + Their sea-songs mystic and olden. + + High up, on the gable of yonder jail, + The workmen are plying with hammer and nail, + And the slow-rising framework hinteth a tale + Of mournful and sombre seeming. + 'Tis the gibbet that rears its brow on high, + And the morn-breezes pass it with many a sigh, + As it stands gazing up to the fair blue sky + Like a spectre dumbly dreaming. + + Through lane and alley: through alley and street + The echoes are startled by hurrying feet; + And thousands, in action fitful and fleet, + Press on to the execution. + The squalid-faced mother her baby bears; + And the father his boy on his shoulder rears: + The frail and the sinning emerge in pairs + From darkness and destitution. + + Aloft on the gibbet two beings stand, + Whose foreheads are smirched with the murder-brand, + Whose lives, by the lawgivers bungling and bland, + Declared are to justice forfeit. + Below, like a statue stark and still, + A legion of faces, in brutish will, + Gaze up to the gallows with many a thrill, + And thirst for the coming surfeit. + + But one more look at the silvery sea: + One thought of the lark in its musical glee; + One breath of the sweet breeze, balmy and free; + One prayer from two hearts that falter; + And Lo! in reply to a mortal's nod, + From the gibbet-tree dangle two pieces of clod, + Their souls standing face-to-face with their God, + Each wearing a hangman's halter. + + Ah! shrink from the murderer; quaint, wise world + Yea: shudder at sight of him; sanctified world! + Go: plume him up deftly; clever old world! + Till he shines like a gilded excrescence: + Then strangle him dog-like--a civilised plan! + Quick! trample his life out: he's not of the clan: + He stinks in the nostrils of saintly man, + Though fit for the Infinite's presence! + + + + +WALES TO "PUNCH." + +On his milking the amende honourable to Wales and the Welsh, in + some verses, the last of which was the following: + + "And _Punch_--incarnate justice, + Intends henceforth to lick + All who shall scorn and sneer at you: + You jolly little brick." + + + I'm glad, old friend, that you your error see, + Of sneering where you cannot understand: + You've owned your fault: let by-gones by-gones be; + Past blows from _Punch_ forgetting--there's my hand. + Lick whom you list--creation if you please: + Let those who choose laugh at me: let them sneer; + I earn, before I eat, my bread and cheese; + I love my language; and I like my beer. + Content with what I have, so that it come + Through honest sources: happy at my lot, + I seek not--wish not--for a fairer home. + Hard work: my Bible: children: wife: a cot: + These are my birthright, these I'll strive to keep, + And round my humble hearth affection bind: + From Eisteddfodau untold pleasures reap; + And try to live at peace with all mankind. + Then glad am I that you your error see, + Of sneering where you cannot understand: + You've owned your fault: let by-gones by-gones be; + Past blows from _Punch_ forgetting--there's my hand. + + + + +WELCOME! + +The following was written as a Prologue, to be read at the opening of +the Wrexham National Eisteddfod, 1876. It was not successful in taking +the offered prize, but as the adjudicator who made the award was +pleased to say it was "above the average," I have thought its +publication here will not be out of place. + + + Welcome! thrice welcome--one and all, + To this our Nation's Festival; + Be 't Peer or peasant; old or young: + Welcome! thrice welcome, friends among. + If Peer--no title that he bears-- + No decoration that he wears-- + Can the proud name of Bard excel, + Or pale the badge he loves so well. + If Peasant--he may here be taught + That none are poor who, rich in thought, + Possess in Mind's high utterings + A nobler heritage than kings. + If old--what once you were you'll see: + If young--what p'rhaps one day you'll be-- + For youth yearns upward to the sage; + And childhood's joy delighteth age. + Come rich--come poor--come old and young, + And join our Feast of Art and Song. + What forms our banquet all shall know, + And hungry homeward none must go. + We boast not here of knife or platter; + Our feast is of the mind--not matter, + Along our festive board observe + No crystal fruit--no rare preserve: + No choice exotic here and there, + With wine cup sparkling everywhere: + No toothsome dish--no morsel sweet-- + Such savoury things as people eat; + So if for these you yearn--refrain! + For these you'll look and long in vain. + Our Feast's composed of dainty dishes-- + To suit far daintier tastes and wishes. + While for the splendour of our wine-- + I've oftimes heard it called divine: + For who that drinks of Music's stream, + Or quaffs of Art's inspiring theme, + Shall say that both are things of earth-- + That both are not of heavenly birth? + While gathered blossoms fade away, + The Poet's thoughts for ever stay-- + E'en as the rose's perfumed breath + Survives the faded flow'ret's death. + No pleasure human hand can give + Is lasting--all things briefly live. + But sounds which flow from Minstrelsy + Vibrate through all eternity! + Then welcome! welcome! one and all, + To this, our Nation's Festival. + Come rich--come poor: come old and young + And join our Feast of Art and Song! + + + + +CHANGE. + + In the Summer golden, + When the forests olden + Shook their rich tresses gaily in the morn; + And the lark upflew, + Sprinkling silver dew + Down from its light wing o'er the yellow corn; + When every blessing + Seem'd the earth caressing, + As though 'twere fondled by some love sublime, + Strong in her youthful hope, + Upon the sunny slope + A maid sat, dreaming o'er the happy time-- + Dreaming what blissful heights were hers to climb. + + In the Winter dreary, + When the willow, weary, + Hung sad and silent o'er the frozen stream; + And the trembling lark + Murmur'd, cold and stark, + In wailful pathos o'er its vanish'd dream; + When the bleak winds linger'd + And dead flowerets finger'd, + When all earth's graces, pale and coffin'd, slept, + With joys for ever flown, + In the wide world alone, + Over a broken faith a maiden wept-- + Yet, with unswerving love, true vigil kept. + + + + +FALSE AS FAIR. + + My heart was like the rosebud + That woos the Summer's glance, + And trembles 'neath its magic touch + As breeze-kisst lilies dance: + So, like the faithless Summer, + She kissed me with a sigh, + And woke my life to gladness, + Then passed in beauty by. + My heart was like the blossom + That blooms beside the brook, + And revels in its silvery laugh, + Its bright and sunny look: + So, like the graceful streamlet, + She kissed me with a sigh, + And woke my life to gladness, + Then passed in beauty by. + + + + +HEADS AND HEARTS. + + The Head fell in love one day, + As young heads will oftentimes do; + What it felt I cannot say: + That is nothing to me nor to you: + But this much I know, + It made a great show + And told every friend it came near + If its idol should rove + It could ne'er again love, + No being on earth was so dear. + + So Time, the fleet-footed, moved on, + And the Head knew not what to believe; + A whole fortnight its Love had been gone, + And it felt no desire to grieve. + Its passion so hot + In a month was forgot; + And in six weeks no trace could be found; + While, in two months, the Head, + Which should then have been dead, + For another was looking around. + + The Heart fell in love one day: + The mischief was very soon done! + It tried all it could to be gay; + But loving, it found, was not fun. + For hours it would sit + In a moping fit, + And could only throb lively and free + When that one was near + Which it felt was so dear, + And when that one was absent--Ah, me! + + So the days and the nights hurried on; + And the Heart nursed in silence its thought: + To a distance its idol had gone, + Then it felt how completely 'twas caught: + Other hearts came to sue: + To the absent 'twas true-- + Loving better the longer apart: + Thus while Love in the head + Is very soon dead, + It is deathless when once in the heart. + + + + +FALL OF SEBASTOPOL. + +1855. + + "Advance!" was the cry that shot up to the sky + When the dawn of the day had begun; + And the steel glistened bright in the glad golden light + Of a glorious Eastern sun. + And the words rang clear, with no trembling fear-- + "Brave Britons! on you I rely!" + And the answer pealed out with a mighty shout-- + "Sebastopol falls, or we die!" + Advance!--Advance!--Men of England and France! + "Sebastopol falls, or we die!" + Now the death-storm pours, and the smoke up-soars, + And the battle rages with furious might, + And the red blood streams, and the fire-flash gleams, + And the writhing thousands--God! God! what a sight. + The hoarse-throated cannon belch fiery breath, + And hurl forth the murderous rain, + Which dances along on its message of death, + And sings o'er the dying and slain! + Crash! Crash! Then a leap and a dash! + Hand to hand--face to face, goes the fight; + The bayonets plunge, and the red streams plash, + And up goes a shout of delight-- + "The enemy runs!--Men flinch from their guns! + On! Forward! For God and for Right! + Advance!--Advance!--Men of England and France! + Press forward, for Freedom and Right! + On--On--On! Hurrah! the goal's won; + See! the old colours flutter and dance, + And proudly they wave over Tyranny's grave: + Well done! Men of England and France--Hurrah! + Hurrah! for old England and France!" + + + + +TO LORD DERBY. + +1877. + + As the monarch that grows in the forest, and rears + Its brow ever green to the firmament bright, + So, stedfast and sturdy, thy proud form appears, + Of patriots the hope, and thy country's delight. + + Through thy heart, firm and true as the oak trees that stand + In the soil of Old England--in which _thou_ hast grown, + There runs the same life which _they_ draw from the land, + And the heart of thy country 's the life of thine own. + + With the seal of Nobility set by thy Sire, + Thou tread'st in his steps as thou bearest his name; + And the glow that he added to Albion's fire + Reflects through the Past and enhances thy fame. + + Where Freedom is free'st, thou takest thy stand: + Where Tyranny threatens, thy misson is told; + And thy tongue, which we hail as the Voice of the Land, + Speaks the wish of a nation heroic and bold. + + And bright will the name be of England, as long + As safe in thy keeping her honour remains-- + 'Twill stand 'mongst the noblest in story and song, + And be worthy the purest and loftiest strains. + + + + +UNREQUITED. + + A beautiful Streamlet went dancing along, + With its bright brow fretted with flow'rs, + And it leapt o'er the woodland with many a song, + And laughed through the sunny hours. + Away and away! + All the blue Summer day, + The streamlet went laughing away. + + A willow Tree grew near the light-hearted brook, + And hung o'er the Beauty in pride: + And he yearned night and day for a kiss or a look + From the streamlet that flowed at his side. + But away and away, + All the blue Summer day, + The streamlet went laughing away. + + All his leaves and his blossom he shower'd on her head, + And would gladly have given his life: + But to all this affection the streamlet was dead, + And she laughed at the willow's heart-strife. + And away--away, + All the blue Summer day, + The streamlet went laughing away. + + "Ah, me," quoth the willow: "how false was the dream!" + And, drooping, heart-broken he died; + While his last leaf in love he let fall on the stream + That so coldly flowed on at his side. + And away--away, + All the blue Summer day, + The streamlet went laughing away. + + + + +THE HOUSEHOLD SPIRIT. + + A spirit stealeth up and down the stairs + Noiseless as thistle-down upon the wind: + So calm--so sweetly calm--the look it wears: + Meltful as music is its voice--and kind. + Like lustrous violets full of twinkling life + Two orbs of beauty light its face divine: + And o'er its cheeks a dainty red runs rife, + Like languid lilies flusht with rosy wine. + Its velvet touch doth soothe where dwells a pain; + Its glance doth angelize each angry thought; + And, like a rainbow-picture in the rain, + Where tears fall thick its voice is comfort-fraught. + How like a seraph bright it threads along + Each room erewhile so desolate and dark, + Waking their slumbering echoes into song + As laughs the Morn when uproused by the lark. + Methinks a home doth wear its heavenliest light + When haunted by so good, so fair a sprite. + + + +HAD I A HEART. + + Had I a heart to give away + As when, in days that now are o'er, + We watcht the bright blue billows play, + Roaming along the sounding shore; + When joys like Summer blossoms bloom'd, + When love and hope were all our own; + I'd bring that heart--to sadness doomed-- + And let it beat for thee alone. + + Had I a heart to give away, + Its daily thought in life would be, + Like yonder bird, with trembling lay, + To sing sweet songs, dear love, of thee. + But, ah! the heart that once was mine + Is mine, alas! no more to give; + And joys that once were joys divine + In mem'ry now alone can live. + + + + +A BRIDAL SIMILE. + + Adown the world two grand historic streams + With stately flow moved on through widening ways, + Rich with the glory of life's noblest dreams, + Bright with the halo of life's sunniest days. + Out from their depths two blithesome streamlets ran, + O'er which the smiles of Heaven hourly shone; + Till, meeting: Ah! then life afresh began, + For both, embracing, mingled into one. + + From yonder rose two crystal dewdrops hung + But yestermorn. The sun came forth and kissed + The gems that to the perfumed blossom clung, + And clothed them with a robe of purple mist. + The soft warm wind of Heaven gently breathed + Upon the twain: they hung no more apart; + But, with the sweetness of a rosebud wreathed, + Blent soul with soul and mingled heart with heart. + + Live on, united pair: with love so blest + Your pathway ought but sunny may not be. + Live on, united pair: and be the breast + Of thornless roses yours unceasingly. + And as the river to the ocean flies + Be yours to pass as gently from life's shore: + Then, like sweet fragrance when the blossom dies, + Leave names to live in mem'ry evermore. + + + + +SONG. + + They tell me thou art faithless, Love! + That vows thy lips have sworn-- + The smiles which light thy lovely face-- + Are false as April morn; + My brightest dreams of happiness + They wish me to forget: + But, No! the spell that won my love + Doth bind my spirit yet. + + They tell me thou art faithless, Love! + And changeful as a dream: + They say thou'rt frail as drifts of sand + That kiss the laughing stream; + They whisper if I wed thee, Sweet! + My heart will know regret: + But, No! the spell that won my love + Doth bind my spirit yet. + + + + +I WOULD MY LOVE. + + I would my Love were not so fair + In sweet external beauty: + And dreamt less of her charms so rare, + And more of homely duty. + The rose that blooms in pudent pride + When pluckt will pout most sorely; + P'rhaps she I'm wooing for my bride + Will grow more self-willed hourly. + Her form might shame the graceful fay's; + Her face wears all life's graces: + But wayward thoughts and wayward ways + Make far from pretty faces. + + I would my Love were not so fair + (I mean it when I breathe it): + What though each hair be golden hair, + If temper ill dwells 'neath it? + Her lips would make the red rose blush, + Her voice trolls graceful phrases, + Her brow is calm as Evening's hush, + Her teeth as white as daises. + Her cheeks are fresh as infant Day's, + Round which cling Beauty's traces: + But wayward thoughts and wayward ways + Make far from pretty faces. + + + + +DEATH IN LIFE: + +A TRUE STORY. + +The following simple narrative is founded on fact. A young village +couple married, and soon after their marriage went to live in London. +Success did not follow the honest-hearted husband in his search for +employment, and he and his young wife were reduced to actual want. In +their wretchedness a child was born to them, which died in the midst of +the desolate circumstances by which the young mother was surrounded. +For three years the mother was deprived of reason--a gloomy period of +Death in Life--and passionately mourned the loss of her first-born. An +eminent London practitioner, to whom her case became known, was of +opinion that reason would return should a second child be born to the +disconsolate mother. This proved to be correct; and after three years +of mental aberration the sufferer woke as from a dream. For many +months after the awakening she was under the impression that her second +child was her first-born, and only became aware of the true state of +the case when it was gently broken to her by her husband. + + + I. + + Lovely as a sunbright Spring is, + Yonder trembling maid advances, + Clothed in beauty like the morning-- + Like the silver-misted morning-- + With a face of shiny radiance, + Tinted with a tinge of blushes, + Like reflections from a goblet + Filled with wine of richest ruby. + + Now she nears the low church portal-- + Flickers through the white-washed portal, + Lighting up the sleepy structure, + As a sunbeam lights the drowsy + Blossom into wakeful gladness. + See! she stands before the altar, + With the chosen one beside her; + And the holy Mentor murmurs + Words that link their lives like rivets, + Which no force should break asunder. + Now the simple prayer is ended; + And two souls, like kissing shadows, + Mingle so no hand shall part them! + Mingle like sweet-chorded music; + Mingle like the sighs of Summer-- + Like the breath of fruit and blossom; + Mingle like two kissing raindrops-- + Twain in one. Thrice happy maiden! + Life to thee is like the morning, + As the fresh-faced balmy morning, + Full of melody and music; + Full of soft delicious fragrance; + Full of Love, as dew-soaked jasmins + Are of sweet and spicy odour; + Full of Love, as leaping streamlets + Are of life. Thrice happy maiden! + + + II. + + Turn we to a lowly dwelling-- + One amongst a million dwellings-- + Where a mother silent rocketh + To-and-fro with down-let eyelids, + Gazing on her sleeping infant, + While the just-expiring embers + Smoulder through the gloomy darkness. + On the shelf a rushlight flickers + With a dull and sickly glimmer, + Turning night to ghostly, deathly, + Pallid wretchedness and sadness, + Just revealing the dim outline + Of a pale and tearful mother, + With a babe upon her bosom. + "Thus am I," she muttered, wailing, + "Left to linger lorn and lonely + In the morning of my being. + If 'twere not for thee, my sweet babe, + Lily of my life's dark waters-- + Silver link that holds my sad heart + To the earth--I fain would lay me + Down, and sleep death's calm and sweet sleep. + Oh! how sweetly calm it must be. + In the green and silent graveyard, + With the moonlight and the daisies! + If 'twere not for thee, my loved one, + I could lay me down and kiss Death + With the gladness I now kiss thee. + Oh! how cold thy tiny lips are! + Like a Spring-time blossom frozen. + Nestle, dear one, in my bosom!" + And the mother presst the sleeper + Closer--closer, to her white breast: + Forward, backward--gently rocking; + While the rushlight flickered ghastly. + Hark! a footstep nears the dwelling; + And the door is flung wide open, + Banging backward 'gainst the table; + And a human being enters, + Flusht with liquor, drencht with water! + For the rain came down in torrents, + And the wind blew cold and gusty. + "Well, Blanche!" spake the thoughtless husband, + Not unkindly. "Weeping always." + "Yes, Charles, I could ne'er have slumbered + Had I gone to bed," she answered. + Then she rose to shut the night out, + But the stubborn wind resisted, + And, for spite, dasht through the crevice + Of the window. "Foolish girl, then, + Thus to wait for me!" he muttered. + When a shriek--so wild, so piercing-- + Weirdly wild--intensely piercing-- + Struck him like a sharp stiletto. + Then another--and another! + Purging clear his turbid senses. + "Blanche!" he cried; and sprang towards her + Just in time to save her falling; + And her child fell from her bosom, + Like a snow-fall from the house-top + To the earth. "Blanche! Blanche!" he gaspt out; + "Tell me what it is that pains thee." + But her face was still as marble. + Then he kissed her cheeks--her forehead-- + Then her lips, and called out wildly: + "Blanche, my own neglected darling, + Look, look up, and say thou livest, + Speak, if but to curse thy husband-- + Curse thy wretched, heartless husband." + Then her eyelids slowly opened, + And she gazed up in his white face, + White as paper as her own was! + "Charles!" she sighed, "I have been dreaming: + Is my child dead?" "No!" he answered, + "See, 'tis sleeping!" "Dead!" the mother + Murmured faintly, "Sleeping--sleeping!" + In a chair he gently placed her: + Then he stooped to take the child up, + Kisst and placed it on her bosom. + Frantic then the mother hugged it; + Gazed a moment; then with laughter + Wild, she made the room re-echo-- + "They would take my bonny baby-- + Rob me of my dainty darling, + Would they? Ha! ha! ha!" she shouted. + And she turned her large blue eyes up + With a strange and fitful gazing, + Laughing till the tears chased madly + Down her cheeks of pallid whiteness. + "Dear, dear Blanche!" her husband murmured, + Stretching out his hand towards her; + But she started wildly forward, + Crouched down in the furthest corner, + And, with face tear-dabbled over, + And her hair in long, lank tresses, + With a voice so low and plaintive + 'Twould have won a brute to lameness, + Faintly sobbed she: "Do not take it! + Do not take it!--do not take it!" + And she hugged her infant closer, + Sobbing sadly, "Do not take it!" + "Blanche! dear Blanche!" her husband faltered, + With a voice low, husht, and chokeful, + "I--I am thy worthless husband!" + Then he walkt a step towards her; + But the girl with 'wildered features + Drew her thin hand o'er her forehead, + And in wandering accents muttered: + "Husband? Husband? No, not husband! + I am still a laughing maiden; + Yet methought I had been married, + And bore such a sweet, sweet baby-- + Such a fair and bonny baby! + Baby--baby--hush; the wild winds + Sing so plaintive. Hush--h!" And then she + Laid the child upon the cold floor, + And, with hair in wild disorder, + Laughing, crying, sobbing, talking, + O'er it hung, like March a-shivering + O'er the birth of infant April. + Lightly then her husband toucht her + On the shoulder; but she look'd not-- + Spake not--moved not. Slowly rose she + From her kneeling, crouching posture; + And she stood a hopeless dreamer, + With the child a corpse beside her! + + + III. + + In a dry and sun-parch'd graveyard, + In a small corpse-crowded graveyard, + With the lurid sky above it, + With the smoke from chimneys o'er it, + With the din of life around it-- + Din of rushing life about it; + Sat a girlish, grief-worn figure, + Croucht up in the darkest corner, + With her pallid face turned upwards; + To and fro in silence rocking + On a little mound of dark dirt. + Like a veiled Nun rose the pale moon, + Draped about with fleecy vapour; + And the stars in solemn conclave + Came to meet her--came to greet her, + To their convent home to bear her: + She had soared above the dingy + Earth, and left the world behind her. + As she passed she lookt down sadly, + Gazed with silent, noble pity, + At the girlish, grief-worn figure, + Sitting in the darkest corner + Of that small corpse-crowded graveyard, + With her pallid face turned upwards, + On a little mound of dark dirt. + Round about from windows flickered + Lights, which told of inside revels; + Rooms, with mirth and banquets laden, + Sobbing kisses, soft embraces, + Feasts of Love, and feasts of Pleasure, + Ruby lips, and joyous laughter. + Then the buzz of life grew softer, + Broken only by the tramping + Of a troop of bacchanalians, + Reeling through the streets deserted, + With their loud uproarious language. + Still the girlish, grief-worn figure, + Croucht in dark and dreary corner + Of that small corpse-crowded graveyard, + With her pallid face turned upwards, + On a little mound of dark dirt. + The gray herald of the Morning, + Dapple-clad, came forth to tell the + Sleepy world his Lord was coming. + Straight the drowsy buildings leapt up + Like huge giants from their slumber, + And, with faces flusht and ruddy, + Waited for the King of Morning! + Lo! he comes from far-off mountains, + With a glory-robe about him, + With a robe of gold and purple; + And a buzz of mighty wonder + Rises as, with step majestic, + And with glance sublime, he walks on, + Gathering his robe about him, + To his West-embowered palace, + Still the girlish, grief-worn figure, + Croucht in dark and dreary corner + Of that small corpse-crowded graveyard, + With her pallid face turned upwards, + To and fro in silence rocking, + On a little mound of black dirt! + When the box which held her treasure + Had been borne from home and buried, + She had followed, undetected; + And when all had left the graveyard + She had crept to that small hillock, + Trembling like a half-crusht lily; + Yearning towards the child beneath her, + Yet, the while, to earth-life clinging + By a link--bruised but unbroken. + Whilst at home her frantic husband + Called aloud in vain for "Blanche!" + + + IV. + + Hours flew by like honey-laden + Bees, with sting and honey laden: + Days, like ghostly shadows, flitted + By; and weeks and months rolled onward + With a never-ceasing rolling, + Like the blue bright waves a-rolling, + Never quiet--never ending! + Still the girlish, grief-worn figure, + Might be seen, with vacant glances, + Threading through life's rushing whirlpool-- + Gliding, like a sunbeam, o'er it-- + To that small corpse-crowded graveyard; + Where for hours she'd sit and murmur, + With a wild and plaintive wailing; + "Come back, darling! Come back, darling; + Come, for I am broken-hearted." + When at home, with nimble fingers + Oft she'd clothe a doll and call it + Her sweet babe--her darling baby-- + Her long-absent, long-lost baby! + Her fair bonny-featured baby! + And her husband would bend o'er her, + With low words of pure affection-- + As when first he woo'd and won her. + And her home was not the dungeon-- + The sad, dark, and dismal dungeon-- + The cold death-vault of her infant, + With the drear and ghastly rushlight: + But a home of cottage comfort, + Every sweet of love and loving. + Yes! the wan and pallid mother + Found on that dark night, a husband-- + Found a home; but--lost her reason! + + + V. + + "Do not, for the world, awake her! + 'Twere her death-knell to awake her!" + Urged the old and careful nursewife. + "Let me look but for a moment-- + Gaze but for one little moment!" + 'Twas the voice of Charles that pleaded: + Softly, then, he drew the curtain, + Gently, fearful, drew the curtain-- + "Charles!--dear Charles!" a faint voice murmured, + In a tone so weak and lowly, + Sweetly weak and soul-subduing. + "Blanche!--my sweet one!" gasp'd the husband, + "Dost thou know me?--God, I thank thee!" + Then he threw his arms around her, + And, amidst a shower of kisses, + Truest, purest, grateful kisses, + Drew the loved one to his bosom: + And the babe that nestled near her + Covered he with warm caresses. + Reason, like a golden sunbeam + On a lily-cup, had lightened + Her sweet soul so dark and turbid-- + For three years so darkly turbid; + Three long years so dark and turbid. + "Charles, my dream has been a sad one," + Spake she, like expiring music, + Shadowed with a mournful sadness. + "I have dreamt they stole my baby, + Buried my dear, darling infant!" + Then she took the babe and kiss'd it, + Presst it to her snowy bosom; + And, with voice low, soft, and grateful, + Murmured, "Charles, I am _so_ happy! + Do not weep--I'm _very_ happy!" + + + VI. + + Reader! 'tis no idle fiction: + Once a lovely, laughing maiden-- + Lovely as a Summer morning, + Lived and loved, as I have told thee; + Lost her babe, as I have told thee; + And a mental night came o'er her + Like a ghastly, gaping fissure, + Like a chasm of empty darkness. + As a new-made grave in Summer + Bulges up dark and unsightly, + With the bright blue sky above it, + And the daisies smiling round it, + So, with all its doleful darkness, + Fell the dream of that fair suff'rer + O'er her mind with inward canker, + Like a slug upon the rose-leaf! + Then she woke, as I have told thee, + After three years' trance-like sleeping, + Knowing not she had been sleeping; + And for months she never doubted + That the child she loved and fondled + Was lier long-dead darling first-born! + Happy hearts all feared to tell her: + Death in Life again they dreaded. + + Now no Death in Life they fear; + Blanche is happy all the year. + + + + +SONG OF THE STRIKE. + +1874. + + With features haggard and worn; + With a child in its coffin--dead; + With a wife and sons o'er a fireless hearth, + In a hovel with never a bed; + While the wind through lattice and door + Is driving the sleet and rain, + A workman strong, with sinews of steel, + Sits singing this dismal refrain: + Strike! Strike! Strike! + Let the bright wheels of Industry rust: + Let us earn in our shame + A pauper's name, + Or eat of a criminal crust. + + Ah! What though the little ones die, + And women sink weary and weak; + And the paths of life, with suffering rife, + Be paved with the hearts that break? + While souls, famine-smitten and crusht, + Seek food in the skies away, + This workman strong, with sinews of steel, + Sits singing his terrible lay: + Strike! Strike! Strike! + Let the bright wheels of Industry rust: + Let us earn in our shame + A pauper's name, + Or eat of a criminal crust. + + And while the dark workhouse gate + Is besieged by a famishing crowd, + Forge, hammer, and mine, with their mission divine, + Lie dumb, like a corpse in a shroud. + And Plenty, with beckon and smile, + Points up at the golden rain + That is ready to fall to beautify all, + But is checked by the dread refrain: + Strike! Strike! Strike! + Let the bright wheels of Industry rust: + Let us earn in our shame + A pauper's name, + Or eat of a criminal crust. + + Alas! That a spirit so brave, + That a heart so loyal and true, + Should crouch in the dust with a sightless trust + At the nod of a selfish few. + Alas! That the olden ties-- + The links binding Master and Man-- (_a_) + Should be broken in twain, and this ghostly refrain + Cloud all with its shadowy ban: + Strike! Strike! Strike! + Let the bright wheels of Industry rust: + Let us earn in our shame + A pauper's name, + Or eat of a criminal crust. + + +(_a_) In a recent address to his workmen, Mr. Robert Crawshay, the +extensive ironmaster, of Cyfarthfa Castle, said: "The happy time has +passed, and black times have come. You threw your old master +overboard, and took to strangers, and broke the tie between yourselves +and me. When the deputation came up to me at the Castle, and I asked +them to give me a fortnight to work off an old order of rails, and they +refused, I then told them the old tie was broken; and from that day to +this it has." + + + + +NATURE'S HEROES. + +DEDICATED TO THE WELSH MINERS WHO BRAVELY + RESCUED THEIR FELLOWS AT THE INUNDATION + OF THE TYNEWYDD COLLIERY. + +FRIDAY, APRIL 20TH, 1877. (_a_) + + Hero from instinct, and by nature brave, + Is he who risks his life a life to save; + Who sees no peril, be it e'er so great, + Where helpless human lives for succour wait; + Who looks on death with selfless disregard; + Whose sense of duty brings its own reward. + Such are the Braves who now inspire my pen: + Pride of the gods--and heroes among men. + The warrior who, on glorious battle plain, + Falls bravely fighting--dies to live again + In fame hereafter: this he, falling, knows; + And painless hence are War's most painful blows. + This is the hope that buoys his latest breath, + Stanches the wound, and plucks the sting from death. + But humbler hearts that sally forth to fight + 'Gainst foes unseen, in realms of pitchy night, + Ne'er dreaming that the chivalrous affray + Will e'er be heard of--more than heroes they, + And more deserving they their country's praise + Than nobler names that wear their country's bays. + Duty, which glistens in the garish beam + That makes it beautiful--as jewels gleam + When sunlight pours upon them--lacks the pow'r, + The grandeur, which, in dark and secret hour, + Crowns lowly brows with bravery more bright + Than fame achieved in Glory's dazzling light. + Nature's heroics need but suns to shine + To show the world their origin divine: + And as the plant in darksome cave will grow + Whether warm sunshine bless its face or no, + A secret impulse yearning day and night + In hourly striving tow'rds the unseen light, + So lives the hero-germ in every heart-- + Of earthy life the bright, the heavenly part: + The pow'r that brings the blossom from the sod, + And gives to man an attribute of God. + + +(_a_) Four men and a boy were entombed for nine days, from noon on +Wednesday, April 11th, to mid-day on Friday, April 20th, in the +Tynewydd Pit, Rhondda Valley. They were at length rescued by the +almost super-human efforts of a band of brave workers, who, at the risk +of their lives, cut through 38 yards of the solid coal-rock in order to +get at their companions, working day and night, and, at times, +regarding every stroke a prelude to almost certain death. Their heroic +exertions were crowned with success, and they received the recorded +thanks of their Queen and country, having the further honour bestowed +upon them of being the first recipients of the Albert medal, given by +Her Majesty for acts of exceptional bravery. + + + + +ELEGY + +ON THE DEATH OF A LITTLE CHILD. + + He came: + As red-lipt rosebuds in the Summer come: + A tiny angel, let from Heav'n to roam, + With laughing love to clothe our childless home + The God-sent cherub came. + + He lived + One little hour; What bliss was in the space! + Our lives that day were fringed with fresher grace + And in the casket of our darling's face + What honeyed hopes were hived. + + He droopt: + And o'er our souls a mighty sorrow swept, + With many fears the night-long watch we kept, + Tearful and sad: Yet even as we wept + Our star-faced beauty droopt. + + He died: + And darksome grew our life's bright morning sun. + Gloomy the day so radiantly begun. + What joy, what joy, without our darling one, + Is all the world beside? + + Tis past: + The perfumed rosebud of our life is dead: + Helpless we bend, and mourn the cherub fled, + Even as the bruisėd reed bends low its head + Before the cruel blast. + + + + +MAGDALENE. + + Penitent! Penniless! + Where can she go? + Her poor heart is aching + With many a woe. + Repentant--though sinning: + Remorseful and sad, + She weeps in the moonlight + While others are glad. + Shrink not away from her, + Stained though she be: + She once, as the purest, + Was sinless and free: + And penitence bringeth + A shroud for her shame: + Hide it forgetfully; + Pity--nor blame. + + Penniless! Penitent! + Gone every hope: + Warm lights are gleaming + From basement to cope. + Plenty surroundeth her: + Starving and stark, + Lonely she pleadeth + Out in the dark. + The cold moon above her, + The black stream below, + No friendly voice near her: + Where can she go? + Turned every face from her + Closed every door: + Plash in the moonlight! + She pleadeth no more. + + + + +LOVE WALKS WITH HUMANITY YET. + + Though toilers for gold stain their souls in a strife + That enslaves them to Avarice grim, + Though Tyranny's hand fills the wine cup of life + With gall, surging over the brim; + Though Might in dark hatefulness reigns for a time, + And Right by Wrong's frownings be met; + Love lives--a guest-angel from heaven's far clime, + And walks with humanity yet. + + And still the world, Balaam-like, blind as the night, + Sees not the fair seraph stand by + That beckons it onward to Morning and Light, + Lark-like, from the sod to the sky; + Love, slighted, smiles on, as the Thorn-crown'd of old, + Sun-featured and Godlike in might, + Its magic touch changing life's dross into gold, + Earth's darkness to Paradise bright. + + As gems on Death's fingers flash up from the tomb + And rays o'er its loneliness shed; + As flowerets in early Spring tremblingly bloom + Ere Winter's cold ice-breath has fled; + So Love, rainbow-like, smiles through sadness and tears, + Bridging up from the earth to the sky; + The grave 'neath its glance a bright blossom-robe wears, + As the Night smiles when Morn dances by. + + The rich mellow sunshine that kisses the earth, + The flow'rs that laugh up from the sod, + The song-birds that psalm out their jubilant mirth + Heart-rapt in the presence of God, + The sweet purling brooklet, with voice soft and low, + The sea-shouts, like peals from above, + The sky-kissing mountains, the valleys below, + All tell us to live and to love. + + + + +THE TWO TREES. + +A FABLE. + + Two trees once grew beside a running brook: + An Alder, one, of unassuming mien: + His mate, a Poplar, who, with lofty look, + Wore, with a rustling flirt, his robe of green. + With pompous front the Poplar mounted high, + And curried converse with each swelling breeze; + While Alder seemed content to live and die + A lowly shrub among surrounding trees. + + And many a little ragged urchin came + And plucked the juicy berries from the bough + Of teeming Alder, trading with the same, + Thus earning oft an honest meal, I trow: + But stuck-up Poplar glanced with pride supreme + At such low doings--such plebeian ties-- + Cocked up his nose, and thought--oh! fatal dream!-- + To grow, and grow, until he reached the skies. + + Each Autumn Alder brought forth berries bright, + And freely gave to all who chose to take: + Each Summer, Poplar added to his height, + And wore his robe with loftier, prouder shake, + One day the woodman, axe on shoulder, came, + And laid our soaring Poplar 'mongst the dead, + Stripped off his robe, and sent him--O the shame!-- + To prop the gable of a donkey shed. + + + MORAL. + + Whoe'er, like Alder, strives to aid + The lowly where he can, + Shall win respect from every soul + That bears the stamp of man: + But he who, Poplar-like, o'er-rides + Poor mortals as they pass, + Will well be used if used to prop + A stable for an ass. + + + + +STANZAS: + +WRITTEN IN THE SHADOW OF A VERY DARK CLOUD. + + "Never saw I the righteous forsaken," + Once sang the good Psalmist of old; + "Nor his seed for a crust humbly begging." + How oft has the story been told! + But the story would ne'er have been written, + Had the writer but lived in our day, + When thousands with hunger are smitten-- + No matter how plead they or pray. + + They may say there's a lining of silver + To the darkest--the dreariest cloud: + That garniture, white fringe, and flowers, + Grace the black pall, the coffin, and shroud. + But the lining at best is but vapour; + Silk and lacquer to nothingness fade + After hearts in their sorrow have broken + O'er the wrecks which Adversity made. + + They may say that the box of Pandora + Holds reward in the bottom at last + For those who strive on in the searching. + And forget the fierce blows of the Past. + But late comes the voice of approval, + And worthless the cup and the crust, + When, in striving, by Death overtaken, + We lie lone and low in the dust. + + They may say that right-living and thinking + Will keep the grim wolf from the door; + But how many Saints are there sinking + Whose crime is to live and be poor! + Let the knave promulgate the deception, + And dress the world's wounds with such salve; + It is false--while rank Villainy prospers, + And Virtue 's permitted to starve. + + They may say--but mankind is a fiction + That puzzles the wisest to read; + And life is a vast contradiction-- + A fable--a folly indeed. + He happy in heart is who careth + No jot for mankind or its ways, + To defy the world's frown he who dareth, + Unconscious of blame or of praise. + + + + +VERSES: + +WRITTEN AFTER READING A BIOGRAPHY OF HIS GRACE + THE DUKE OF BEAUFORT, TO WHOM THESE LINES + ARE RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED. + +1877. + + Like a Sea with its source in the distance belost, + That upholds on its breast and contains in its heart + Countless treasures and gems of which none know the cost-- + All the brightest achievements of Science and Art: + + So the proud race of Somerset flows down the Past, + With its Statesmen and Warriors--kinsmen of Kings: + With its learning and culture--its heritage vast-- + And its virtues which inborn Nobility brings. + + In the Wars of the Roses three Somersets gave + Up their lives for their Monarch in danger's dark hour, + And the rain of their hearts'-blood that watered each grave + Brought a still brighter flush to their Destiny's flow'r. + + And when men the fair features of Liberty smeared + With the stain of Licentiousness through the dark Past, + 'Twas a Somerset England's proud Standard upreared + O'er the stronghold of Raglan--and bled to the last: + + A stronghold whose name once a Warrior bore + Who with courage undaunted chivalrously led + The brave soldiers of England through carnage and gore; + Where a Czar bade defiance--a Somerset bled. + + Long the foremost in loyalty, forum, and field; + Where the sword wins renown or where politics grace: + Always first to be doing--the latest to yield: + All these are the virtues, the pride of thy race. + + In the face of thy life like a mirror we see + All the lives of true Englishmen shaped as thine own, + For the tastes and pursuits which form nature in thee + Are the food from whose sustenance Britons have grown. + + When Philanthropy leads, in its fights for the Poor, + No sincerer heart follows more keenly than thine; + For there's nought else in life hath more pow'r to allure, + Where the soul takes delight in the mission divine. + + All the ages the wild storms of Faction have raved, + Though alluring the paths in which traitors have trod, + Not a moment hast thou or thine ancestors waived + In your love for Old England, its Throne, and its God. + + + + +A SIMILE. + + In early Morning, tall and gaunt, + Our shadows reach across the street; + Like giant sprites they seem to haunt + The things we meet. + + But at noon-tide more dwarfed they fall + Around about each sun-crown'd thing; + Yet lengthen out, and grow more tall, + Towards evening. + + And thus Dependence among men + Is largely seen in Childhood's stage; + At Mid-life hides; but comes again + With hoary age. + + + + +THE TWO SPARROWS. + +A FABLE. + + Two Sparrows, prisoned in a room, + Kept, every now and then, + Dashing against the window-panes, + Which threw them back again: + And many a time, with trembling heart, + They flew towards the light, + But something which they could not see + Still stopped them in their flight: + + A-tired they hopped about the floor, + And watched the sunshine gay, + And each one asked within himself + "Why ca'nt I get away?" + Another try: another dash, + As though with heart and soul; + And one, by chance, the barrier broke, + And bounded through the hole. + + His comrade heard the merry chirp + He gave till out of sight, + Then, fluttering round, to free himself + He tried with all his might. + But at that moment Puss came in, + And on him cast an eye, + Then took the trembler in her claws + And taught him how to die. + + + MORAL. + + How oft in life, though never meant, + Men gain their point by Accident, + Or Chance--that foe to 'stablished rules; + The guiding-star of knaves and fools. + + + + +FLOATING AWAY. + + A maiden sat musingly down by the side + Of Life's river that flowed at her feet, + And she watcht the dark stream 'neath the willows glide + In its voiceless and stately retreat. + 'Twas a solemn tide-- + Deep, dark, and wide, + And fringed with a sedgy fray: + In the morning--at night-- + Through darkness and light, + It floated--floated away. + + The maid was light-hearted, with features as fair + As the sunbeams that played o'er her face, + And her bosom was garnisht with flowerets rare + That gave to it many a grace: + And she playfully sung, + As she plucked and flung + Each blossom as bright as the day + From her breast to the stream + That like a drear dream + Went floating--floating away. + + The sun in its brightness illumined the sky; + The lark loudly carolled aloft; + The breezes swept onward with many a sigh, + And kissed with caresses soft. + Still, still the fair maid + By the dark river strayed, + And flung forth in thoughtless play + Each bud from her breast + In wilful unrest, + And laught as it floated away. + + Up the tall pine trees clomb the shadows of eve + To welcome the coming night; + And the recreant bird in the twilight was heard + Wending nest-ward in plaintive plight; + When, too long delay'd, + In haste rose the maid + Heart-tired of her flirting play. + And she saw the last gleam + Of her flow'rs down the stream + Floating--floating away. + + The blossoms so chaste that had made her more fair + With their sweetness, their perfume, and light, + Were gone--and her bosom, now cheerless and bare, + Grew cold in the dewy night. + Thus they who, in youth, + Mistake flirting for truth, + And fritter their love but in play, + Will behold, like the maid, + All their brightest charms fade, + And floating for ever away. + + + + +A FLORAL FABLE. + + A sweet geranium once, in pride of place + 'Mongst rare exotics in a Palace lived; + With watchful care from tender hands it thrived, + Standing in lofty sphere with odorous grace. + + The smiling Sun, each morning making call, + Such tender looks and such sweet kisses gave, + That in a little time, true as I live, + He to the tender flow'r was all in all. + + But true love's course, 'tis said, ne'er smooth did run: + The pretty flower was sent, now here, now there, + Until at length she found more humble sphere, + Far, far removed from kisses of the sun. + + Here, with dejected look, she pined anew, + Placed in the lattice of a lowly cot, + In pent-up alley, fever-fraught and hot, + And wore from day to day a sicklier hue. + + No blessed sunlight flusht her dainty cheek, + No cooling breeze refreshed her pallid brow, + Droopful she stood--methinks I see her now, + Nursing the grief of which she might not speak. + + A blinding wall shut out her darling sun, + Tow'rds which, with prayerful arm, she hourly reached + In mute appeal; and lovingly beseeched, + As 'twere, to gaze upon the worshipped one. + + No soul e'er panted its dear love to see + With dreams more tender than the dying plant-- + Hoping and yearning, with a hungering want, + Sun-ward in all her heart's idolatry. + + But Ah! the fickle sun, from flow'r to flow'r, + In lusty love did revel all the day, + Nor thought of her, now dying far away, + Whom he had kissed through many a rosy hour. + + In dead of night, when great hearts die, the storm + Swept down the barrier that blocked out the light, + And in the morn, refreshing, pure, and bright, + The sun came leaping in, so soft and warm. + + But sunshine came too late. The blossom brave, + While yearning for dear light and warmth, had died. + As men will sometimes die waiting the tide + That flows at length to eddy round--a grave. + + + + +"RING DOWN THE CURTAIN." + +"Ring down the Curtain" were the last dying words of a young and +beautiful American actress, who died of consumption when in the zenith +of her popularity. + + Ring down the curtain; + So ends the play! + Night-time is coming; + Past is the day. + Sang I in sadness + Adorned with a smile; + Pourtraying gladness + And dying the while! + How my brow burneth-- + With fever oppressed: + How my heart yearneth + For silence and rest. + Soothe me to slumber: + Why should ye sigh? + Ring down the curtain; + 'Tis pleasant to die! + + Ring down the curtain: + Critics depart! + The end of your blaming-- + A wearisome heart: + Fame which your praise brought-- + A Summer-day cloud: + Fruit of my toiling-- + A coffin and shroud! + Light though, and fitful, + The dreams of my life, + My soul like a vessel + From ocean of strife + Calmly and peaceful + To her haven doth fly: + Ring down the curtain-- + 'Tis pleasant to die! + + + + +THE TELEGRAPH POST. + +A FABLE. + + A telegraph post by the roadside stood + In a village humble and fair, + And he raised his head, did this column of wood, + As high as he could in the air: + "Oh, Oh!" quoth he, as along the wire + The news from the wide world through + Hurried backwards and forwards in words of fire, + Breathing promises fair, or threatenings dire, + Never heeding the post as they flew. + + "Oh, Oh!" quoth he: "That I should stand here + "And bear on my shoulders high + "Such an upstart lot, who no manners have got + "To pass _me_, who upraises them, by! + "I'll stand it no longer,"--and thinking, no doubt, + To bring down the wires in his fall, + He stumbled: but no! for above and below + The other posts stood--the wires wouldn't let go: + And our post couldn't tumble at all. + + And there he hung like a helpless thing, + Till his place by another was ta'en; + And the foolish post with dry sticks a host + On the firewood stack was lain. + "You ignorant dolt!" said a Raven wise + Who sat on the wall bright in feather-- + "You must have been blind. When to tumble inclined + "You should with your neighbouring posts have combined + And have all stood or fallen together." + + + MORAL. + + Units, as units, are helpless things + In the soul-stirring struggles of life; + But Success is the laurel which Unity brings + To crown the true heart in the strife. + + + + + BREAKING ON THE SHORE. + + I saw the sunbeams dancing o'er the ocean + One Summer-time. Bright was each laughing wave; + I felt a thrill to see their sweet emotion, + Each happy in the kiss the other gave: + But Winter came with all its storm and sadness, + And every wave that kissed and smiled before + Bid long farewell to dreams of sunny gladness + And broke its heart upon the stony shore. + + So like the Summer crown'd with many a blessing + She dawn'd upon this lonely heart of mine: + And life grew lovely with her sweet caressing + As blooms the thorn claspt by the bright woodbine: + But now, Alas! in churchyard bleak she's lying, + And dearest joys are gone to come no more: + Like yonder wave, for absent sunbeam sighing, + My heart with grief is breaking on life's shore. + + + + +HURRAH FOR THE RIFLE CORPS + +SET TO MUSIC AND PUBLISHED IN 1856. + + The fair Knights of old, with trappings of gold, + And falchions that gleamed by their side, + Went forth to the fight with hearts gay and light + To war 'gainst Oppression and Pride: + And though long since dead, it must not be said + That the proud reign of Chivalry 's o'er-- + There are many as bold as the brave Knights of old + To be found in the Rifle Corps. + Hurrah! Hurrah! for the Rifle Corps; + May they ever be ready to stand + In defence of the Right, and be willing to fight + For the Queen and their native land. + + Old England intends with the world to be friends, + While Honour with Peace is combined; + But the moment her foe lifts his hand for a blow, + All friendship she flings to the wind. + Should an enemy dare e'en as much as prepare + To bring War's alarms to our shore, + He will find every coast bristling o'er with a host + Of the brave-hearted Rifle Corps. + Hurrah! Hurrah! for the Rifle Corps; + May they ever be ready to stand + In defence of the Right, and be willing to fight + For the Queen and their native land. + + Let the wine goblet brim with red wine to the rim-- + Let Beauty look on all the while, + As with eyes that approve in the language of love + She crowns the proud toast with a smile: + May each Rifle be seen round the Throne and the Queen + Should danger e'er threaten our shore: + And with many a shout let the echo ring out-- + Three cheers for the Rifle Corps! + Hurrah! Hurrah! for the Rifle Corps; + May they ever be ready to stand + In defence of the Right, and be willing to fight + For the Queen and their native land. + + + + +CAREFUL WHEN YOU FIND A FRIEND. + +SET TO MUSIC AND PUBLISHED. + + O if in life you'd friends obtain, + Be careful how you choose them; + For real friends are hard to gain, + And trifling things may lose them. + Hold out your hand to every palm + That reaches forth to greet you; + But keep your heart for those alone + Who with pure friendship meet you. + Then if in life a friend you'd find, + Be careful how you choose one; + True friends are scarce among mankind: + A trifling thing may lose one. + + A friend your heart may now relieve, + And one day want relieving; + So if from others you'd receive + Ne'er shrink from wisely giving. + Be grateful when you find a friend-- + The heart that's thankless--spurn it; + Let conscience guide you to the end-- + Take friendship and return it. + Then if in life a friend you'd find, + Be careful how you choose one; + True friends are scarce among mankind: + A trifling thing may lose one. + + When days grow cold the swallow flies, + Till sunshine bright returneth; + When life grows dark false friendship dies: + True friendship brighter burneth. + An angel fair, twin-born of Love, + It lights life's pathway for us; + And like the stars that shine above, + At night beams brighter o'er us. + Then if in life a friend you'd find, + Be careful how you choose one; + True friends are scarce among mankind: + A trifling thing may lose one. + + + + +BROTHERLY LOVE. + +SET TO MUSIC AND PUBLISHED. + + There's a place in this world, free from trouble and strife, + Which the wise try their hardest to find, + Where the heart that encounters the sharp thorns of life + Will meet nought that's harsh or unkind; + Where each tries his best to make joy for the rest-- + In sunshine or shadow the same; + Where all who assemble in Friendship's behest + Are Brothers in heart and in name. + Let brotherly love continue-- + Let the flag of the Craft be unfurled; + We 'll join hand-in-hand + While united we stand: + 'Tis the way to get on in the world. + + There's a pleasure in life go wherever we may, + 'Tis one of all pleasures the best-- + To meet as we travel by night or by day + One friend that's more true than the rest. + Whose heart beats responsive to Friendship and Love, + In Faith, Hope, and Charity's call; + Who, blind to our follies, is slow to reprove, + And friendly whate'er may befal. + Let brotherly love continue-- + Let the flag of the Craft be unfurled; + We 'll join hand-in-hand + While united we stand: + 'Tis the way to get on in the world. + + Then let us, my brothers, through life's busy scene, + Should sadness or sorrow appear, + Be true to our promise, as others have been, + And strive the dark pathway to cheer. + Our stay is but short in this valley below; + On all sides we troubles may scan; + Let us help one another wherever we go, + And make them as light as we can. + Let brotherly love continue-- + Let the flag of the Craft be unfurled; + We 'll join hand-in-hand + While united we stand: + 'Tis the way to get on in the world. + + + + +ENGLAND AND FRANCE. + +WRITTEN DURING THE CRIMEAN WAR. + +(FOR MUSIC.) + + Let the proud Russian boast of his granite-bound coast, + And his armies that challenge the world; + Let him stand in his might against Freedom and Right, + With his flag of Oppression unfurled: + Old England and France hand-in-hand will advance + In the wide path of Progress and Glory, + That will win them a name on the bright scroll of Fame, + Everlasting in song and in story. + Old England and France, then, for ever; + Brave France and Old England for ever; + And while the world stands may the glorious Twin-lands + Be united in friendship together. + + Both by land and by sea this land of the free-- + Britannia, the Queen of the wave, + Proudly stands side by-side, and in Friendship allied, + With France, the gallant and the brave: + Whilst the stern Tyrant raves at his nobles and slaves, + Old England and France frown defiance, + And both bravely press on till the goal shall be won-- + Then Hurrah! for the glorious alliance! + Old England and France, then, for ever; + Brave France and Old England for ever; + And while the world stands may the glorious Twin-lands + Be united in friendship together. + + + + +AGAINST THE STREAM. + +(FOR MUSIC.) + + How oft, in life's rough battle, we, + Struck down by hard adversity, + In saddest hour of trial see + No friend with helping hand. + Then in despair beneath the wave + We sink, with none to help or save. + When if we 'd been both bold and brave + We might have reached the land. + Should things go wrong this is the plan; + Forget the past as best you can, + Then turn your sleeves up like a man + And pull against the stream. + + Yes, pull against the stream, my friends; + That lane is long which never ends; + That bow ne'er made which never bends + To shoot its arrow home. + If twenty times you miss your aim, + Or ten times twenty lose the game, + Keep up your spirits all the same-- + Your turn is sure to come. + Should things go wrong this is the plan; + Forget the past as best you can, + Then turn your sleeves up like a man + And pull against the stream. + + In love or pleasure, work or play, + Men cannot always win the day, + For mixed among life's prizes gay + What hosts of blanks are found. + Though skies to-day be overcast-- + Though bitter blows the wintry blast-- + The Summer days will come at last + With hope and sunshine crown'd. + Should things go wrong this is the plan; + Forget the past as best you can, + Then turn your sleeves up like a man, + And pull against the stream. + + + + +WRECKED IN SIGHT OF HOME. + +(FOR MUSIC.) + + The ship through the sunshine sails over the sea, + From many a distant clime comes she, + Freighted with treasure, see how she flies + Cheerily over the foam. + Hearts are all happy, cheeks are all bright, + The long-absent land appears in sight; + Little they dream that the beautiful prize + Will be wrecked in sight of home! + + The storm breaks above them, the thunders roll, + The ship gets aground on the hidden shoal, + And the turbulent waters dash over the barque, + And cries from the doomed ship come. + Till nothing is left the tale to tell, + But the angry roar of the surging swell; + So the grand old vessel goes down in the dark-- + Wrecked in sight of home. + + And thus as we wander through life's rugged way, + Fighting its battles as best we may, + Seeking in fancy a far-distant spot + To rest when we've ceased to roam: + And just as the haven of comfort appears, + Our hopes are all turned into sadness and tears, + We droop near the threshold--ne'er enter the cot-- + Wrecked in sight of home. + + + + +SONNET. + + I could not love thee more, if life depended + On one more link being fixed to Affection's chain; + Nor cease to love thee--save my passion ended + With life; for love and life were blanks if twain! + I could not love thee less; the flame, full-statured + Leaps from the soul, and knows no infancy; + But like the sun--majestic, golden-featured, + Soars like a heav'n of beauty from life's sea. + I would not love thee for thy radiant tresses, + Rich budding mouth, and eyes twin-born of Light. + No: Charms less fadeful thy dear heart possesses-- + Gems that will flash through life's noontide and night. + But simple words fall short of what I'll prove: + Accept them but as lispings of my love. + + + + +SEBASTOPOL IS WON. + +1855. + +SET TO MUSIC AND PUBLISHED. + + Dance on! ye vaulting joy-bells, shout + In spirit-gladdening notes, + Whilst mimic thunders bellow out + From cannons' brazen throats: + "Tyrant! awake ye, tremblingly; + The advent has begun: + Hark! to the mighty jubilant cry-- + "Sebastopol is won!" + Ring out, rejoice, and clap your hands, + Shout, patriots, everyone! + A burst of joy let rend the sky: + Sebastopol is won! + + No dream of brilliant conquest 'twas, + Nor selfish hope of gain, + That sent the blood mad-rushing through + And through each Briton's vein; + No! such was not the spell that nerved + Old England for the fight, + Her war cry with her brother braves' + Was "Freedom, God, and Right!" + Ring out, rejoice, and clap your hands, + Shout, patriots, everyone! + A burst of joy let rend the sky: + Sebastopol is won! + + Shame! shame! upon the craven souls + Of those who trembling stood, + And would not--dare not--lend a hand + To stay this feast of blood! + Whose cringing spirits lowly bowed + Before the despot-glance + Of him whose star now pales before + Brave England! Mighty France! + Ring out, rejoice, and clap your hands, + Shout, patriots, everyone! + A burst of joy let rend the sky; + Sebastopol is won! + + Tho' hoary grows the mother-land + Her enemies may learn + That 'neath her smile so queenly-grand + There lives a purpose stern! + Then Britons chant exulting paeans, + Long pent-up joy release; + From yonder flaming pile upsoars + The Morning Sun of Peace! (_a_) + Ring out, rejoice, and clap your hands, + Shout, patriots, everyone! + A burst of joy let rend the sky: + Sebastopol is won! + + +(_a_) I am sorry to find that the aspiration here embodied has been +falsified. War is now raging (1877), and from precisely the same +causes as those which led to the Crimean war, nearly a quarter of a +century ago. + + + + +HOLD YOUR TONGUE. + +SET TO MUSIC AND PUBLISHED. + + I've often thought, as through the world I've travelled to and fro, + How many folks about me--above me and below-- + Might make this life more happy, if old as well as young + Would bear in mind the maxim which bids them hold their tongue. + Hold your tongue--hold your tongue--you'll ne'er be thought a dunce: + Hold your tongue and think twice before you loose it once: + Hold your tongue--for quiet folks are oft reputed wise: + Hold your tongue, but open wide your ears and your eyes. + + How oft we find that words unkind unhappy lives will make; + That loving hearts through idle words will bleed and sometimes break; + What mischief have we scattered all our bosom friends among, + Which might have been avoided had we only held our tongue. + Hold your tongue--hold your tongue: you'll ne'er be thought a dunce: + Hold your tongue and think twice before you loose it once: + Hold your tongue--for quiet folks are oft reputed wise: + Hold your tongue, but open wide your ears and your eyes. + + The kindly deeds men do in life their own reward will bring; + But where they come with trumpet-words, their sweetness bears a sting: + The silent giver 's most beloved right-thinking folks among; + So when you do a kindly thing, be sure you hold your tongue. + Hold your tongue--hold your tongue: you'll ne'er be thought a dunce: + Hold your tongue and think twice before you loose it once: + Hold your tongue--for quiet folks are oft reputed wise: + Hold your tongue, but open wide your ears and your eyes. + + Yes: hold your tongue, except in life when days of sorrow come; + Then speak to raise a drooping heart, or cheer a darksome home. + If none of these--let silence be the burden of your song: + He holds his own, nor hurts his friend, who learns to hold his tongue. + Hold your tongue--hold your tongue; you'll ne'er be thought a dunce: + Hold your tongue and think twice before you loose it once: + Hold your tongue--for quiet folks are oft reputed wise: + Hold your tongue, but open wide your ears and your eyes. + + + + +MY MOTHER'S PORTRAIT. + +SET TO MUSIC AND PUBLISHED. + + Ah! Well can I remember: + "She'll come no more," they said. + Her last sweet words, they told me, + Were blessings on my head. + Ah! Well can I remember + What sadness all things wore + In childhood, when they told me + "She'll come--she'll come no more!" + Awake or asleep, + Sweet prize above all other; + Close to my heart I'll keep + The likeness of my mother. + + Ah! Well can I remember, + Those eyes were filled with tears-- + The face that smiled upon me + Seemed sad with many fears: + "Who'll care for thee, my sweet one?" + "Who'll love thee now?" she cried: + Then from her arms they bore me-- + 'Twas then, they said, she died. + Awake or asleep, + Sweet prize above all other: + Close to my heart I'll keep + The likeness of my mother. + + What though, through cloud and sunshine, + Bright thoughts around me cling: + Though friends in kindness greet me, + No mother's love they bring. + I see her form before me; + I see the sad, sweet smile; + And yet my heart is lonely, + So lonely, all the while. + Awake or asleep, + Sweet prize above all other: + Close to my heart I'll keep + The likeness of my mother. + + + + +NEVER MORE. + +FOR MUSIC. + + A tear-drop glistened on her cheek, + Then died upon the sand. + With aching heart, as though 'twould break, + She waved her trembling hand. + And as the vessel cleft the foam + And fled the rocky shore, + She sought alone her cottage home + And murmur'd "Never more!" + + He ne'er returned. She droopt for him + With all her girlish love; + And oft her thoughts would lightly skim + The sea, like Noah's dove. + But every wave that danced along + Like silver to the shore + Brought back the burden of her song, + And murmur'd "Never more!" + + + + +LINES + +ON THE DEATH OF THE REV. CANON JENKINS, VICAR OF ABERDARE. + + If the great heart of Lifetime in unison beats + With Eternity's throb through Infinity's space, + Then our thoughts of thy goodness, which love oft repeats, + May vibrate in thy bosom, though lost be thy face. + + Thy life was a martyrdom: noble the part + Of self-abnegation thou playd'st for the Poor; + Whose gratitude fixes thy name in each heart, + Where in Memory's shrine 'twill for ever endure. + + + + +FILIAL INGRATITUDE. + +A FABLE. + + An oak tree falling on the mead, + By woodman's stroke laid low, + Saw, as a handle to the axe + Which wrought the fatal blow, + A bough that once upon his breast + Drew nurture from his heart, + And as a tender, helpless shoot, + Grew of his life a part. + "Woe! woe!" he sighed, as on the earth + He drew expiring breath: + "That what I nurtured at its birth + "Should rend my heart in death!" + + + + +THE VINE AND THE SUNFLOWER. + +A FABLE. + + A very young Vine in a garden grew, + And she longed for a lover--as maidens do; + And many a dear little tendril threw + About her in innocent spirit. + For she yearned to climb upward--who is it that don't? + Only give _man_ a chance, and then see if he wont: + To rise in the world, though some fail to own 't, + Is a weakness we all inherit. + + So this very young Vine, with excusable taste, + And knowing such things for her good were placed, + Looked all round the garden with glances chaste + For a something her faith to pin to. + The fair little wisher had thoughts of her own, + Nor cared for the pleasure of climbing alone; + To perhaps the same feeling most ladies are prone, + But that question we'll not now go into. + + The first thing that came in her youthful way + Was a gold-featured Sunflower--gaudy and gay-- + Who dressed himself up in resplendent array, + And gazed on the sun as an equal. + "Look! look!" quoth the Vine: "He's a lover of mine: + "And see how the gold round his face doth shine!" + So at once she began round the stem to twine; + But mark what befel in the sequel. + + One morning, soon after, a hurricane rose: + And as most people know, when the storm-god blows, + The hollow of heart is the thing that goes + To the ground--and the wind sweeps past it. + So the arrogant Sunflower, lofty in pride, + And hollow from root to branch beside, + Soon tumbled before the stormy tide, + And lay where the wind had cast it. + + It was well for the Vine that her tendrils' hold + Was a clasp that a moment served to unfold; + So she turned from the thing that she thought was gold + With a heart for the warning grateful: + And that which had dazzled her youthful eyes-- + Which filled her young bosom with sweet surprise-- + The flow'r which she took for a golden prize-- + Became all to her that was hateful. + + + + +POETIC PROVERBS. + + I. + + "If thou be surety for thy friend, thou art snared with the words of + thy mouth,"--PROVERBS vi. _v._ 1, 2. + + Think well, my son, before you lend + Your name as bond for any friend; + Or, when the day of reckoning comes, + Come broken hearts and blighted homes. + Think well, my son, before you give + Your trusty word, that knaves may live: + Be not for such the stepping-stone, + But strive to earn and keep thine own. + + + II. + + "A wise son maketh a glad father; but a foolish son is the heaviness + of his mother."--PROVERBS x, _v._ 1. + + Be wise, my son, as o'er the earth + Thou walk'st in search of wealth or fame; + Return her love who gave thee birth-- + His, who thy youthful guide became. + That mother's heart must cease to beat; + That father's voice must cease to guide; + Oh! then what recollections sweet + Will cheer thy life's dark eventide. + + + III. + + "Hope deferred maketh the heart sick; The desire accomplished is + sweet to the soul.--PROVERBS xiii, _v._ 12, 19. + + I am watching--I am waiting; + And my heart droops sad and low. + No glad message brings me comfort + As the moments come and go. + While the flowers bask in sunshine; + While birds sing on every tree; + I am weary--weary, waiting-- + For a message, love, from thee. + + + IV. + + "A virtuous woman is a crown to her husband."--PROVERBS xii, _v._ 4. + + As is the lustre to the lily; + As is the fragrance to the rose; + As is the perfume to the violet + In sweet humility that grows. + As is the glad warmth of the sunshine + Whene'er the earth is dark and cold; + So, to the loving heart that wears it, + Is Virtue's purest crown of gold. + + + V. + + "Even in laughter the heart is sorrowful, and the end of that mirth + is heaviness."--PROVERBS xiv, _v._ 13. + + What though kind friends that gather round me + Seek to make my heart rejoice? + I miss the face I love so dearly-- + Miss the music of thy voice; + And though I smile, as if in gladness, + Tis but the phantom of a smile; + My heart, in sorrowing and sadness, + Mourns thy absence all the while. + + + + +CHRISTMAS ANTICIPATIONS. + + As the sun looks down on the ice-bound river + Melting the stream that is frozen o'er, + So gladness to hearts that the long years sever + Comes with old Christmas as of yore. + For the hearth glows bright in the yule-log's light, + And we look for the face that is far away: + 'Twill come with the morn--with the wakening dawn, + And our hearts will be happy on Christmas Day. + + The holly-branch laughs with its berries bright, + As we hang it up high in the air; + The mistletoe shakes with subdued delight + The leaves that its branches wear; + The ivy smiles out from its place on the wall; + And the fire-light gives welcome cheer; + We have dreamt they are coming--and, one and all, + Are wondering "Will they be here?" + + Christmas bells are ringing--ringing, + Ringing out the olden chime; + Choristers are singing--singing, + Singing carols, keeping time; + And my heart is waiting--waiting, + Waiting for the day so near; + For my Love is coming--coming, + Coming with the glad New Year. + + As flowerets turn towards the sun, + As streams run to the sea, + So yearns my heart for Christmas-time + That brings my love to me! + + + + +GOLDEN TRESSES. + + Like threads of golden sunshine + By angels' fingers wove, + Sweet as the scented woodbine, + Are the tresses of my love. + The winds that whisper softly + I'd give my life to be, + That I might kiss those tresses bright, + And die in ecstasy. + + Those threads of golden sunshine + Like bonds my heart enchain, + And when in dreams I wander + They win me back again. + They throw a gleam of glory + O'er the pathway where I go, + As when of old, in splendour bright, + Heav'n's angels walkt below. + + + + +HOPE FOR THE BEST. + + Hope on for the best; where's the use of repining: + Droop not by the way, for there's work to be done; + Great ends are attained, not by fretting and whining-- + By patience and labour the goal must be won. + Fear not the world's frown: though it spurn the down-falling, + 'Twill shrink from a lamb if in lion-skin dresst; + Whate'er be thy trouble--however enthralling-- + Press onward, despair not, and hope for the best. + + If sorrow o'ertake thee--then be not faint-hearted; + Life ne'er was ordained to be shadeless and bright; + One morn from the other by night-time is parted; + The sun always shines though we see not the light; + Misfortunes in life, like the nettle, prove harmless, + If grappled stout-hearted and fearlessly presst; + Rich sweets, without bitters, soon cloy and grow charmless, + Then press on, despair not, and hope for the best. + + + + +GONE BEFORE. + + The silent night is coming on, + The day is gone and past; + The willows waving to and fro + Their mournful shadows cast. + I'm thinking o'er the happy years + We wandered side by side, + And Oh, my heart is filled with tears, + I've lost my darling bride. + Softly sighs the evening breeze, + And soothes my bosom sore, + While angel voices seem to sing: + "Not lost, but gone before." + + I think of her whose gentle voice + My drooping spirit cheered; + In fancy see her eyes grow bright, + When prosp'rous days appeared. + And as--like vessels that from storms + To quiet havens glide-- + We neared the haven of our hopes, + I lost my darling bride. + Softly sighs the evening breeze, + And soothes my bosom sore, + While angel voices seem to sing: + "Not lost, but gone before." + + + + +HENRY BATH: + +DIED OCTOBER THE 14TH, 1864. + +"For the charitable heart is as a flowing river: it moveth meekly and +in silence, and scattereth abroad its blessings to beautify the world." + + + Ever the silent river flows + Adown the mead in speechless eloquence, + More telling than the language of the tongue; + Its heart reflecting Heaven's own radiance + In unmarred beauty as it glides along. + + Ever the silent river flows: + And in its depths, of untold wealth the source, + What sleeping myst'ries, hidden and serene, + Lie in their latent, undevelopt force; + Yet on it moves as though it ne'er had been. + + Ever the silent river flows: + No shadowy nook escapes its placid glance; + Tow'rds cavern dark with velvet step it steals; + And passing on as though in dreamful trance, + The story of its mission unreveals. + + Ever the silent river flows: + It clothes the meadows with a fleecy mist; + Softens earth's arid heart with gentle rain, + Till by the warm and sunny Morning kisst + Nature looks upward--fresh and bright again. + + Ever the silent river flows: + And weeping willows, reaching prayerfully + As though in adoration, droop to greet + The dreamy river as it passes by; + And throw their leafy blessings at its feet. + + Ever the silent river flows: + All Nature tells the story of its worth: + A daily miracle--morn, noon, and night + Softly beneficent: of joy the birth: + A voiceless messenger of hope and light. + + Ever the silent river flows: + And so, in gentle meekness and sweet stealth, + Out from the life of him whose loss we mourn + There flowed of Charity a boundless wealth, + To cheer the Poor by griefs and sorrows torn. + + Ever the silent river flows: + For ever and for ever flowing on: + So runs the river of his goodness rare, + A noble heritage from sire to son; + With grateful hearts abounding everywhere. + + + + +SONG OF THE WORKER. + +TO BE SUNG IN PRAISE OF THOSE WHO DESERVE IT, BY + THOSE WHO THINK SO. + + The strokes of the hammer ring out day and night, + And the huge wheels whirl and they spin: + The sky is on fire with the forge's light-- + Oh, Oh! for the roar and the din. + The sparks fly aloft like a starry cloud, + And the voices of workmen ring + With a cheery refrain both happy and loud, + And this is the song they sing: + Bless thee, my master--bless thee; + Prosperity always be thine. + May plenty in store ever garnish thy door, + And each day bring its blessings divine. + + The cottage that stands by the mountain side + Is bright with the cheerful fire, + And the house-wife gazes with honest pride + On the faces of husband and sire, + Who, fresh from the forge, with their brawny hands + The food that they eat have won, + And this is the wish that each breast expands + Ere the bountiful meal is begun: + Bless thee, my master--bless thee; + Prosperity always be thine. + May plenty in store ever garnish thy door, + And each day bring its blessings divine. + + 'Tis dark in that cottage: and sorrow is there; + For sickness brings troubles amain; + The sigh from affliction is heard on the air, + And sad sounds the mournful refrain. + But, sun-like in winter, a friend in their need + Pours the light over lattice and floor: + And these are the words that emblazon the deed + From the heart that with love brimmeth o'er: + Bless thee, my master--bless thee; + Prosperity always be thine. + May plenty in store ever garnish thy door, + And each day bring its blessings divine. + + A hand that is princely: the heart of a king: + All kindness and goodness combined; + A name that will long, with the virtues we sing, + Deep--deep in our hearts be enshrined. + And may the strong bond of affection like this + Be the pledge of good faith to the end; + For sad will the day be should ever we miss + From our midst such a true-hearted friend. + Bless thee--a thousand hearts bless thee: + Prosperity always be thine. + May plenty in store ever garnish thy door, + And each day bring its blessings divine. + + + + +THE BROOKLET'S AMBITION. + + In a sweet little glen, + Far from footsteps of men, + Once a bright-featured Brooklet was born, + It could boast of its birth + From a hole in the earth + Well protected by bramble and thorn. + For a time 'twas content, + Nor on wandering bent, + Till the raindrops fell plenteous and free, + And disturbed the sweet rest + Of the rivulet's breast, + By whispering tales of the sea. + + What the rain had to tell + Made the rivulet swell, + And grow large and more large by degrees, + Till it broke with a bound + From the hole in the ground, + And was lost in a forest of trees. + But it found its way out, + And meandered about + O'er the meadow, the lowland, and lea, + Till it came, full of pride, + With a thousand beside, + And emptied itself in the sea. + + But alas for the stream! + And alas for its dream + Of ambition! such dreamings were o'er, + When it found to its cost + As a stream it was lost + The moment it leapt from the shore. + So like rivulets--men, + Humbly born in life's glen, + Proudly dream as the lowlands they lave, + That they're each one a sea, + Whilst they're only--ah, me! + Of life's ocean at best but a wave. + + + + +ST. VALENTINE'S EVE. + + A dear little name I placed under my pillow + On St. Valentine's eve, just to work out a charm, + For 'twas said if I dreamed of the maiden who owned it, + I should wed her as certain as sunshine is warm: + And lo! in my sleep, a sweet vision came o'er me: + A fair-featured maiden--and beauteous as fair-- + In attitude graceful stood smiling before me, + With eyes dark and lustrous, and brown flowing hair: + Her hand I took hold of, and gently endeavoured + The rosiest of rose-coloured lips to impress; + I whispered her name--and the vision departed: + The name that I whispered was--No: you must guess! + + + + +LOST! + + A dark form lingers on the lea, + In the moon-lit night-- + In the cold white light, + Beneath the shade of an old oak tree, + Like a dusky sprite, + Or ghost newly sped + From the voiceless dead; + And the flowers droop round it weeping, + While the sad moon streams + Her white-wan beams + O'er the world as it lieth sleeping. + And ere the morn + A wail forlorn + Will arise from a lost one weeping. + + A soft step leaves the cottage door + In the moon-lit night, + Like a leaflet's flight; + A pure heart leaps, full of rich love-lore, + Tow'rds the dusky sprite + That stands like a shade + From the voiceless dead, + And the flowers droop round them weeping, + While the sad moon streams + Her white-wan beams + O'er the world as it lieth sleeping; + And ere the morn + A wail forlorn + Will arise from a lost one weeping. + + + + +LILYBELL. + + Little Lily she was fair-- + O how fair no tongue can tell! + Life was bright beyond compare + Filled with love and Lilybell. + + Little Lily came the day + Both our hearts were lorn and lone. + Oh! what bliss it was to say + "Lilybell is all our own!" + + Little Lily stay'd and smiled + On us for a year or so, + Then they came and took the child + Upward where the angels go. + + Little Lily left a mark-- + Mark of light where e'r she trod: + Left her footprints in the dark, + Just to guide us up to God. + + Upward, then, we look alway: + Pray and shed the silent tear; + Hoping soon will come the day + We shall join our darling there. + + + + +GONE! + +SUGGESTED ON HEARING OF THE DEATH, ONLY A FEW + DAYS APART, OF TWO INFANT CHILDREN OF AN + ESTEEMED FRIEND. + + Gone! Like a ray, that came and kissed some flow'rs, + Charming their loneliness with many a hue; + But cheering only, as such marvels do, + A few short hours. + + Gone! Like a dew-drop-jewel of the mist, + That lives the briefest moment in the morn; + Sparkling in purity upon a thorn; + Then heaven-ward kisst. + + Gone! Like a Summer-wind, that woke a thrill + In every leaf it fondled as it fled, + Then left each leaflet drooping low its head + Mournful and still. + + Gone! Like a swelling wail at Autumn time, + That went with such sad cadences away, + 'Twas thought a God from Heav'n had come astray + Weeping sublime. + + Gone! Like a dream of beauty in the night, + That came to tell a fair and welcome tale, + Then left the wakening dreamer to bewail + The dead delight. + + + + +LIFE DREAMS. + + Behold yon truant schoolboy, cap in hand, + Bound o'er the gilded mead with frantic whoop, + And to each butterfly give ready chase; + Till one more gaudy than the flutt'ring rest + Starts up before his gaze. Then darts he forth + To clutch the prize, which ever and anon + Lingers on shiny flow'r till nearly caught, + Then flickers off with tantalizing flirt. + The youth with hopeful heart keeps up the chase, + And so intent upon the game, that he + Sees not the yawning slough beneath his feet, + Until he finds himself o'er head and ears + In dreary plight. And so it is through life: + From youth to age man dreams of happiness: + Grasps every gilded bubble that upsoars, + Fondly believing each to be the prize + His fancy pictured. Still the wished-for joy + Is far beyond his reach as e'er it was; + Yet, buoyed with hope, he sees, or thinks he sees, + The coming future bearing in its arms + The smiling Beauty that he pants to grasp. + With palpitating heart and trembling hand + He reaches forth to pluck the prize--when lo! + The treach'rous earth expanding at his feet, + He finds in place of happiness--a grave. + + + + +AEOLUS AND AURORA: + +GIVING A LITTLE INFORMATION AS TO THE MUSIC OF THE GODS. (_a_) + + Said Aurora to Aeolus, as they sat o'er their bohea, + Surrounded by Zephyruses--exactly three times three-- + "Olus, dear, a new piano is the thing of things we want." + I regret to say Aeolus raised his eyes and said "We dont!" + So unlike his mournful manner, when his sweet sad harp he plays; + And he heav'd a sigh regretful as he thought of other days-- + As he thought of early moments, ere Aurora's heart was won-- + Ere beefsteak was fifteen pence a-pound, and coals five crowns a-ton; + Ere nine little West-winds murmured round his table every meal, + And the tones of a piano nought but sweetness could reveal, + As his own Aurora played it in the home of her mamma, + Ere his own Aurora, blushing, had referred him to papa. + All these feelings moved Aeolus, but to climax in "We dont!" + As he heard "A new piano is the thing of things we want." + It was settled--who could help it? For Aurora, like the rest + Of winning little women, knew that kisses pleased the best; + It was settled--who could help it? So, the local paper brought, + The quick eye of Aurora these glad words of comfort caught (_b_) + "Dear Aeolus," said Aurora, "this is quite the thing for me;" + "All is just as it all should be--it's a _lady's_ property: + "P'rhaps her husband 's short of money; + p'rhaps the rent they want to pay; + "P'rhaps--" but cutting short my story, the piano came next day. + Yes--the walnut case _was_ "beautiful" for beeswax made it so; + And the keyboard _was_ by Collard--"Collard's registered," you know. + It is true, it _was_ full compass; but the "richness" wasn't much; + And a feature felt in vain for was the "repetition touch." + Yes--it _was_ a "trichord cottage," and "but little used" had been; + And the wood, like those who bought it, all inside was very green. + It was worth a score of guineas--e'en if really worth a score: + And the "lady" who was "leaving" ere she left sold three or four, + Piping hot from minor makers, though all Collard's make-believe; + And at each recurring victim laughed a laugh within her sleeve. + Of course no breach of morals to the seller I impugn, + Although it cost five pounds a-year to keep the thing in tune. + I rather blame the buyers two for napping being caught: + And that's the way "Aeolus dear" a new piano bought. + + + +(_a_) The foregoing lines were written several years ago, and published +at the time, with the view of exposing a fraud too frequently practised +upon people in search of so-called "bargains." Aeolus and Aurora are +no imaginary characters. + +(_b_) A lady removing from ----------, is desirous of selling her +Piano. A full rich tone, 7 octaves, in beautiful walnut case, trichord +cottage, repetition touch, registered keyboard, by Collard, but little +used. 27 guineas will be accepted, worth 60.--Apply to, &c. + + + + +SONNET: + +ON BEING ASKED MY OPINION UPON THE MATTER TO WHICH IT REFERS. + + Should'st thou find in thy travels a maid that is free, + And content to love nought in the wide world but thee; + With a face that is gentle--be 't dark or be 't fair; + And a brow that ne'er ceases good-temper to wear; + With a soul like a rosebud that's not yet unfurled-- + All strange to the tricks and the ways of the world; + And a mind that would blush at its fanciful roam, + Should it dream there are spheres more delightful than home, + With a love that would love thee alone for thy sake + In bonds which adversity never could break. + Should'st thou find such a treasure--then unlock thy heart, + And place the bright gem in its innermost part; + Watch over it tenderly--love it with pride; + And gratefully crown it thy heaven-sent bride. + + + + +SLEEPING IN THE SNOW. + +(FOR MUSIC.) + + "O, let me slumber--let me sleep!" + The fair-haired boy in whispers sighed; + Then sank upon the snowy steep, + While friendly hearts to rouse him tried. + "O, let me sleep!" and as he spake + His weary spirit sought its rest, + And slept, no more again to wake, + Save haply there--among the blest. + Sleep--sleep--sleeping: + He sleeps beneath the starry dome; + And far away his mother, weeping, + Waits his coming home. + + We raised him gently from the snow, + And bore him in our arms away. + The sweet white face is smiling now-- + Made whiter by the moon's pale ray. + And when the sun in beauty rose + We laid him in the silent tomb, + Where mountains with eternal snows + High up tow'rds Heaven grandly loom. + Sleep--sleep--sleeping: + He sleeps beneath the starry dome; + And far away his mother, weeping, + Waits his coming home. (_a_) + + + +(_a_) The late Artemus Ward, in his "American Drolleries," tells a +pathetic story of a boy, a German, who died from the severity of the +weather, while travelling, in company with others, in the vicinity of +the Rocky Mountains. He was the only child of a widowed mother. The +intense cold induced drowsiness; and while being forced along by his +companions with the view of counteracting the effects of the frost, his +continued cry, uttered with soul-stirring plaintiveness, was: "Let me +sleep--let me sleep." Unable to save him, his companions permitted him +to lie down and "fall asleep in the snow"--a sleep from which he never +woke. + + + + +WITH THE RAIN. + + A Dewdrop and a Violet + Were wedded on an April day; + The Dewdrop kisst his pretty pet, + Then by the Sun was called away. + The drooping flow'r bewailed her choice; + "My love will never come again!" + But from the clouds came answering voice: + "I come, my darling, with the rain!" + + The Violet had jealous fears, + And told her sorrow to the Rose: + "Say--is he faithful?" O those tears! + The blossom whispered--"Goodness knows!" + The recreant dewdrop came at last, + And eased his love of all her pain: + With kisses sweet her sorrows passed, + And life anew came with the rain. + + + + +ODE: + +ON THE DEATH OF A VERY INTIMATE FRIEND, A + YOUNG SURGEON, WHO DIED FROM FEVER, AFTER + ATTENDING A PATIENT. + + 'Tis sad indeed to chant a dirge of gloom-- + To weave the cypress for a youthful brow: + To moan a requiem o'er an early tomb, + And sing in sorrow as I'm singing now. + While men raise mausoleums to die brave-- + With flimsy flatt'ries gilded tombs besmear-- + We need no banner o'er our Brother's grave + To tell what wealth of worth lies buried there. + + Gone! and the word re-echoes with a sound + Mournful as muffled bells upon the wind; + Sad in its influence on all around-- + Telling of griefs that still remain behind. + A thousand hearts may throb with tender swell-- + Though every soul in deepest sorrow grieves, + How much he was beloved they only tell; + But who shall gauge the yawning breach he leaves? + + Dark is the social world in which he moved-- + Lending his aid unmindful of the cost. + Stilled is the heart the sternest 'mongst us loved; + Dim is the lustrous jewel we have lost. + For souls like his, so tender and so great, + Are pearls that stud the earth like stars the sky: + Above--the password at celestial gate; + Below--the germ of immortality. + + Gone! Just as life was breaking, full of hope-- + Clothed in the gorgeous beauty of its morn; + Free in Ambition's ever-widening scope, + A pictured prospect exquisitely drawn. + As void of self as angels are of sin, + What sweet anticipations stirred his brain: + What heights for others would he strive to win; + What little for himself he'd seek to gain. + + But while the world was bathed in golden light; + While beauty breathed from every opening flower; + While streamlets danced along with gay delight; + While mellow music filled each songful bower; + With heart-warm friends whose love ran brimming o'er + For him who, full of life, stood with them then; + In such an hour Death led him from the shore; + And gone the worth we ne'er may know again. + + + + +ON THE DEATH OF A FRIEND. + + She left a mournful void upon our hearts; + Within her home she left a vacant place: + But, as the setting sun at eve imparts + A holy twilight calm to nature's face, + So, chastened, bend we o'er the early tomb + Of one who to us all was very dear, + Whose cherished memory, like a fragrant bloom, + Will live embalmed in recollection's tear. + + + + +LINES: + +WRITTEN IN THE PRAYER BOOK OF A YOUNG LADY + WHO HAD JILTED HER LOVER. + + To love unbeloved--O how painful the bliss! + By such passion our heart-strings we sever: + Like raindrops in rivers, which die with a kiss, + We are lost in life's waters for ever. + + + + +VICARIOUS MARTYRS: + +WRITTEN AND SENT AS A VALENTINE TO MY HEN-PECKED SCHOOLMASTER. + + I wonder if thy Tyrant knows + That every peck she gives to _thee_ + Brings down a perfect show'r of blows + On my companions and on me. + Martyrs vicarious are we all: + Too great a coward thou to rule + Thy wife, or let thy vengeance fall + On _her_--and so thou flog'st the school. + + + + +STANZAS: + +WRITTEN AT TUNBBRIDGE WELLS IN 1854, AFTER HAVING + SEEN LADY NOEL BYRON, WIDOW OF THE POET, + LORD BYRON, WHO WAS STAYING THERE + FOR THE BENEFIT OF HER HEALTH. + + Like the Moon that is waning, thou movest along-- + Silent, pensive, and pale--through thy sorrow's dark Night; + For thou draw'st from the rays of our bright Sun of Song + The white coldness that lives where reflected 's the light. + + And the stars which in fancy around thee I see, + As in bright golden fire they eternally shine, + Seem to cast from their splendour a lustre on thee, + As of light from thy husband's effusions divine. + + In the flush of his fame were thy virtues unseen, + By his blinding effulgence of genius hid: + Could he now see thy face, with its sorrow serene, + Much might he unsay--undo much that he did, + + For I see in that face all the sorrows he told-- + All the sadness he meant in his marvellous lore; + And the shadows of Memory, silent and old, + Seem to come with the light from Eternity's shore. + + And I feel, though the world said his spirit and thine + Were as wide as the sun and the moon are apart, + That the beams of his love o'er thy bosom still shine-- + That the thought of his passion still nurtures thy heart. + + + + +TO LOUISA: + +WHEN A YEAR OLD. + + My sweet one, thou art starting now + In life's heart-saddening race, + With Innocence upon thy brow + And Beauty in thy face; + A tiny star among the host + That fleck the arc of life; + A tiny barque on ocean tossed, + To brave its billowy strife. + May Virtue reign supremely o'er + And round thy footsteps cling; + While Faith and Hope for evermore + Celestial numbers sing. + O may thy life be one glad dream + Of bright unclouded joy; + Thy love one pure and sunny theme + Of bliss without alloy. + Should Fate or Fortune's dazzling rays + Lead thee to other climes, + Then, darling, let this meet thy gaze, + And think of me sometimes. + + + + +THE ORATOR AND THE CASK + +A FABLE. + +INTRODUCING A CHARACTER FROM LIFE. + + A speaker of the suasive school, + Who more resembled knave than fool, + His prospects gauged once on a time, + And sought how he might upward climb. + The scheme Political had failed; + The star of Piety had paled; + The Convert Drunkard would not tell-- + His friends the cheat had learnt to smell. + All things our changeful friend had tried-- + Had spouted far and shouted wide. + When all at once--ah! happy thought: + The Temp'rance cause in tow was brought. + And with it, up and down the land, + Our hero roamed with lofty hand, + Consigning to a dreadful place, + Whose name this fable must not grace, + All men--the one who touched a drop, + With him who knew not when to stop. + Arriving in a town one day, + He on his string began to play; + And mounted on a brandy cask + With noisy speech went through his task. + The barrel on whose head he stood + At length gave vent in warmth of blood: + "Ungracious varlet--stay thy hand: + "What! run down those on whom you stand?" + Then, utterance-choked, he tumbled o'er, + Casting the speaker on the floor. + And as he rolled along the street-- + "Let me consistent teachers meet!" + He said--"or give me none at all + To teach me how to stand or fall!" + Thus seekers after Truth declaim + 'Gainst teachers--teachers but in name-- + Who live by what they deprecate, + And love the thing they seem to hate-- + Who like the speaker raised on high + On barrel-top, 'gainst barrels cry: + Who, though of others Temp'rance ask, + Are slaves themselves to th' brandy flask. + + + + +THE MAID OF THE WAR. + +SET TO MUSIC AND PUBLISHED ON THE DEPARTURE OF + MISS FLORENCE NIGHTINGALE AND HER STAFF + OF NURSES FOR THE CRIMEA. + + When the cannon's loud rattle + Told tales of the battle, + And the nations turned pale at the rout; + When the clarion rang madly, + And maidens wept sadly, + And swords leapt with fire-flashes out; + One frail girl of beauty + Shrank not from her duty, + But raised her sweet voice 'bove the roar; + Her bright smiles of kindness + Played o'er the dark blindness: + 'Twas Florence, the Maid of the War. + + When thousands, down-falling, + For help were out-calling-- + Neglected, on straw-pallet cast-- + A fair form drew near them + To aid and to cheer them; + Her shadow they kissed as it passed, (_a_) + When they droopt in their sadness, + Or raved in their madness, + She left her glad home from afar + To heal up their sorrows, + And tell of bright morrows; + 'Twas Florence, the Maid of the War. + + + +(_a_) So impressed were some of the wounded soldiers in the hospital at +the kindness and gentle treatment received at the hands of Miss +Nightingale, that, unable otherwise to testify their gratitude, they +kissed her shadow as it fell upon the pillow of the pallets, on which +they lay. One poor fellow is said to have done this with his latest +breath. + + + + +IMPROMPTU: + +ON BEING ASKED BY A LADY TO WRITE A VERSE IN HER ALBUM. + + If I could place my thoughts upon thy heart + As on this virgin page I now indite, + What words unspoken would I not impart + Which only on my own I dare to write? + + + + +MARY: + +DIED MAY 30TH, 1860. + + But one short hour + She came and tripped it o'er the rugged earth, + Like a light sunbeam o'er the troubled wave; + Then shrank in silence to her little grave, + A rose-bud bitten at its opening birth. + + The hand of death + Had ta'en before her one who loved her well + With all the fondness of a Mother's heart, + Whose darling's soul was made of Heav'n a part + E're sank the echoes of her own death-knell. + + And so she died: + Before her mind scarce knew the way to live. + But sorrowing tears 'twere useless now to shed: + Our hopes must bloom, or mingle with the dead, + As Heav'n alone deems fit to take or give! + + + + +LINES: + +ON THE MARRIAGE OF MISS ELIZABETH MARY NICHOLL + CARNE, FEBRUARY 6TH, 1868. + + Oh, blessed Love! that clothes with laughing flowers + Life's martyr-crown of thorns, and raises up + The heart to hold communion with its God, + 'Tis thine, this day, with golden clasp, to bind + The volume of a life, where sterling worth + And beauty go to make the story up. + A maiden, one, who, when on tiptoe, sees + Her history running through a line of Kings: + In fame how excellent; in life how pure; + As though the virtues of her ancestry + Had found new utterance in her virtuous self. + As rain-drops, trickling through the hills of Time, + Commingling gather, till, in sparkling life, + They come, a streamlet, happy in the sun, + To gladden all with beauty, so the gems + That thickly fleck an old ancestral name + From time how distant, centre in the soul + Of her who comes this day with loving smile + To crown a husband with such wealth of worth + As 'tis her own to give. Thrice happy pair! + May cloudlets never dim the arc of light + That should engirdle all their lives, and make + Their home a paradise. If such should come, + May they be transient as a summer cloud + That mars but for a moment, yet to make + The sky more beautiful. May truest Love + Be with them ever, garnishing their lives + With bliss perpetual, and lighting up + Their footsteps o'er the earth, as when, of old, + God's angels walked with men. So shall they live + A life which loving hearts alone may know. + + + + +IMPROMPTU: + +ON THE DEATH OF MR. THOMAS KNEATH, A WELL-KNOWN + TEACHER OF NAVIGATION, AT SWANSEA. + + He pupils taught to brave the gale + Secure on life's tempestuous sea; + Then, pupil he of Death, set sail + To navigate Eternity. + + The students taught by him--return + In safety to their friends ashore; + But tutor Death, so cold and stern, + Brings back his pupils--never-more. + + + + +EXTRACTS FROM SOME UNPUBLISHED MANUSCRIPT. + + + HUMILITY OPPRESSED. + + Blame not the world: + But blame its law that makes it crime akin + To be of lowly birth--to lack the gold + Whereby to coat the mask to cheat the world + Of sterling merit. See yon beauteous fly + Breaking its plumage 'gainst the glassy pane, + Till spent and weary, yearning tow'rds the sun. + E'en so the lowly-born but large of soul + See not, but feel, the chilling barrier + Set up by Pride to mar their sky-ward flight + To liberty and life. + + + UPWARD STRIVINGS. + + See, when the simple moth doth blindly rush + To reach the flame, its life oft pays the debt + Of folly. Yet 'tis nobler thus to die + Midst all the brightness of a waking life, + Than from the world ooze out through darkened ways + By beggarly instalments--none to feel + Thy life but thine own poor ignoble self: + And none to tell the moment of thy death + Save those who profit by it. + + + TRUTHFULNESS. + + Ne'er seek, by artful guise of words, to taint + The truth with falsehood's hue. Poor, trembling Truth! + Trust in her would be boundless, if our tongues + Uttered the coin as fashioned in the heart. + And then poor Heart would have no need to send + Her champion blushes to the cheeks to tell + The world how basely she had been traduced. + + + LOVE'S INFLUENCE. + + O love sublime! + How thy sweet influence agitates the soul, + Voicing its hidden chords, as breathing winds + Wake the rude harp to thrilling melody. + All things must pass away; but love shall live + For ever. 'Tis th' immortal soul of life. + Scathless and beauteous midst th' incongruous mass + Of desolated hearts and stricken souls, + And spirits faintful 'neath a world of woe, + And dusky millions in the mine of life; + And all the rank corruption of the earth-- + Its weeds, its thorns, its sadness-breeding hate; + Its selfishness, its swallow-pinioned friends; + Its rottenness of core and lack of truth: + When all have changed, save Nature and itself, + This Heaven-sent flow'r of Eden--peerless love-- + Shall blossom in Evangel purity, + And sanctify a host to people Heaven. + + + VALUE OF ADVERSITY. + + Friction with sorrow rubs perception keen; + And dear-bought knowledge makes us prophets all. + + + MISGUIDING APPEARANCES. + + What! Is the graveyard sod less fresh and green-- + The daisies there less like the meadow flow'r-- + Because pollution slumbers at their roots? + Judge not thou, then, by what appears to be, + But what exacting Conscience tells thee is. + + + VIRGIN PURITY. + + As fair a soul as ever came from God, + And one more gentle never walkt the earth + In mortal guise. Of sweet external, too: + Fresh as the wakening morn with violet breath; + And every action, look, thought, word, and trace, + Were strung to tuneful melody. Her life + Was music's echo--stealing o'er the soul + Like dying strains, soft and retiringly. + In childish grace to womanhood she grew, + And like the virgin lily stood and smiled-- + Flinging around the fragrance of herself + Unweeting of the blessings that she brought. + + + MAN'S DESTINY. + + All human actions are ordained of God, + And for the common good: yet men see not + The strings that keep earth's puppets on the move; + But whine and whimper--wondering at the ways + By which unlook'd-for ends are brought about: + As blind imprisoned birds bruise out their lives + Against the cruel bars they cannot see. + + + LOVE'S INCONGRUITIES. + + Experience tells the world it were as mad + To link the Present with the sluggish Past, + As wed the ways of winsome, wanton youth, + To lean and laggard age. I pitied her: + Made her the mistress of my countless wealth-- + Loving with doting and uxorious love. + And the ripe graces of her radiant mind + Shone out resplendent. But my withered life + Woke to her love with sere and sickly hope; + As some departed June, won with the sighs + Of waning Winter, turns and spends a day + For very pity with the lonely eld, + Who greets her sunny visit with a glance + Of cold inanity, and strives to smile. + O had I known this little hour of time + When life was young--or knew it not at all! + Then my heart's buoyance, at such love as her's, + Had blossom'd brightly--as the merry May + Skips from the golden South with balmy breath, + Breathing upon the dark and thorn-clad fields, + Till fragrant buds peep out like love-lit eyes, + And hedges redden as she walks along. + As these--her love and mine. But _now_--alas! + + + RETRIBUTION. + + O that the wretchedness entailed by sin + Might form the prelude--not the after-piece. + How few there are would brave the hurricane: + How few the crimes mankind would have to count. + + + LOVE'S MUTABILITY. + + My heart is dark again. + My tree of life but yestermorn was flusht + With golden fruit: to-day it creaks in pain, + And wintry winds moan through its leafless boughs. + Time, some hours younger, saw me clasp the sky + Of hope with radiant brow: the plodding churl + May see me now go stumbling in the dark, + And blindly groping for the hand of Death + To lead me hence. O life! O world! O woman! + + + A MOTHER'S ADVICE. + + _Mother_. Clarence, my darling boy, + The world to which thou yearn'st is grey with crime; + And glittering Vice will bask before thy face, + As serpents lie in sedgy, o'ergrown grass, + In glossy beauty, whilst Life's potent glance + Will thrall thy soul as with a spirit-spell: + But hold thy heart, a chalice for the Good + And Beautiful to crush, with pearly hands, + The mellow draught which purifies the thought, + And lights the soul. Thirst after knowledge, child. + Thy face shall shine, then, brightly as a king's, + As did the prophets' in the olden time + When holding converse with the living God. + As rain-drops falling from the sky above + Upon the mountain-peak remain not there, + But hasten down to voice the simple rill, + So knowledge, born of God, should be attained + By peasant as by peer--by king or slave. + Have faith--large faith. Some of life's mightiest great + Have peered out, like the moon from frowning hills, + Then ventured forth, and walkt their splendour'd night + In pale, cold majesty; while some have dasht + On sun-steeds through the ocean of the world, + As comets plough the shoreless sea of stars, + Blinding old Earth with wreaths of splendid foam + And sparkling sprays: others have strode the world + Like a Colossus, and the glory-light + That streamed up from the far, far end of time, + Hath smote their lofty brows, and glinted down + Upon the world they shadowed: some have lived + And cleft their times with such a whistling swoop + That plodding minds seemed reeling 'tother way-- + Men who had suffering-purified their souls + To angel rarity, that they might scan, + Like old Elijah, e'en the throne of God, + And live. + + _Clarence_. Thy voice doth marshal on my soul + To battle, and to dream of noble things. + Thy golden words I'll graft upon my heart + Like blossoms wedded to the granite rock. + But, Mother, weep not! Why should April tears + Come with the sunshine of thy voice? + + + _Mother_. Bless thee, + God bless thee, Clarence! May thy sorrows be + Light and evanescent as vapoury wreaths + That fleck the Summer blue. My dreams shall wing + Their way to thee, as moonbeams pierce the night. + And I will send my soul up in a cloud + Of thought to Heav'n, wreathed with a Mother's prayer, + For thee. Farewell--and be thou blest. + + + SUNRISE IN THE COUNTRY. + + What a sweet atmosphere of melody + And coolness falls upon the troubled heart, + Like oil upon the wave. Dance on--dance on-- + Ye couriers of the sun--full-throated choir; + And sky-ward fling your sobbing psalmody-- + A sunrise offering to the coming day. + On--on: still higher! Still rolls the torrent down, + Bearing the soul up in a cloud of sprays, + The world seems deluged with a golden shower: + Myriads of larks trill out their morning psalm, + As though the stars were changed to silver bells + Timbrelling forth their sweet melodious bursts + In joyous welcome of the maiden Morn. + + + FAITH IN LOVE. + + Man's faith in woman's love + Is all the darken'd earth can boast of Heaven. + That faith destroyed--farewell to happiness, + And joy, and worldly hope, and all that goes + To deify mankind. + + + UNREQUITED AFFECTION. + + She was a simple cottage-girl, + But lovely as a poet's richest thought + Of woman's beauty--and as false as fair. + I've writhed beneath the witchery of her voice + As cornfields palpitate beneath the breeze-- + Have sued with praying hands--lavished my life + Upon her image, as the bright stars pour + Their trembling splendours on the cold-heart lake-- + Wounded my manliness upon the rock + Of her too fatal beauty, like a storm + That twines with sobbing fondness round the neck + Of some sky-kissing hill, bursts in his love, + Then slowly droops and flows about her feet + A puling streamlet,--whilst a gilded cloud + Is toying with the brow of his Beloved! + 'Twas gold that sear'd the love-bud of her heart; + To bitter ashes turned my life's sweet fruit; + And sent my soul adrift upon the world + A wandering, worthless wreck. + + + THE POET'S TROUBLES. + + To be possess'd of passion's ecstasy + Outswelling from the heart; the teeming brain + Afire with glowing light; as when the sun + Catches the tall tree-tops with Summer warmth, + And draws the trembling sap with impulse sweet + Through every fibre up to th' glory-crown; + To feel the breath of some rare influence + Of subtle life suck at the throbbing soul + As though into infinity to kiss + The yielding passion subtle as itself; + To see the hand of God in everything; + To hear His voice in every sound that comes; + To long, and long, with passionate desire, + To speak the language which the dream divine + Incessantly implies; to live and move + In Fancy's heav'n--yet know that earth still holds + The fancy captive: these the daily death + Of many minds that wrestle all in vain + 'Gainst that which Heav'n in cruel kindness sends + To teach mankind humility. Ah, me! + The pow'r to feel the touch of Paradise + And to enjoy it not--as hungering men + Have died ere now, gazing upon the food + By heartless gaolers placed beyond their reach. + + + ECHOES FROM THE CITY. + + The modern Babylon + Sleeps like a serpent coil'd up at my feet. + London--huge model of the great round earth, + The teeming birthplace and the mausoleum + Of millions; where dark graves and drawing-rooms + Gaze from each other into each; where flow'rs + Of blushing life droop in the grasp of Vice + Like blossoms in the fingers of a corpse; + Where cank'rous gold sways, millions with a nod + To abject slavery, buying men up + As toys for knaves to play with in the game + Of life; where Truth is kicked from foot to foot, + Till in bewilderment she cries aloud + And swears to save her life she is a lie; + Where Love and Hate, in masquerading guise, + Pell-mell dance on; chameleon Charity, + In all its varying phases, crawls along-- + Now shrinking up dark courts in russet tint, + And then, in bold and gaudy colours dresst + Which publish trumpet-tongued its whereabouts, + It takes a garish stand before the world + And calls itself an angel. Thus for aye-- + For ever, rolls the dark and turbid stream + In feverish unrest. + + + LOVE'S WILES. + + When Beauty smiles upon thee--have a care. + Kingdoms ere this have hinged upon a kiss + From woman's lips: and smiles have won a crown. + Glances from bright eyes of a gentle maid, + Whose cheeks would redden at a mouse's glance, + Have hearts befool'd that in their noble strength + Had shaken Kingdoms down. Have thou a care. + + + HAZARD IN LOVE. + + My sorrowing heart is like the blasted oak + That claspt the dazzling lightning to its breast, + Yielding its life up to the burning kiss. + Springs came along and fondled all in vain, + And Summers toy'd with warm and am'rous breath; + But nought in life could e'er again restore + The greening foliage of its early days. + Man never loves but once--then 'tis a cast + For life or death. If death--alas the day! + If life--'twere perfect Paradise. + + + A MOTHER'S LOVE. + + And friends fell from me--all, save God, and one + Beside--and she my mother--gentle, true. + As the bleak wind sweeps o'er the trembling limbs + Of some fair tree denuded of its dress, + How oft is seen, upon the topmost spray, + One lonely leaf, which braves the passing storm + Of Winter, and when gladsome Spring arrives, + And blossoms bloom in beauty all around, + It bends its brow and silent falls away. + So droopt that friend, who, through the livelong day + Of icy cold that chill'd my inmost life, + Sat like a bird upon the outside branch, + And sweetly sang me songs of coming Spring. + + + "THE SHADOW OF THE CROSS." + + 'Tis everywhere! The babe that sees with pain + The look of feign'd displeasure on the face + Of doting mother; and the mother who + Lays down the babe to rest--no more to wake; + The youth and maiden fair who tempt the stream + Of love that never brings them to the goal + Their fancy pictured; hearts that droop and break: + Upon life's thorny way; old age that sees + Long-hoped for peace among the silent dead + And deems it life to die. The shadow falls + Athwart the sunny hopes of every heart, + And shadowy most when gentle arms extend + For love's embrace, and find it not--as night + Is darkest near the dawn. Brighter the flame + Of light celestial 'twixt which and our hearts + The blessed Cross doth stand, sharper the shade + That falls upon our lives, as greatest gains + Involve the pains of great adventurings; + Or, nearer Death, nearer eternal Life. + + + + +CURATES AND COLLIERS. + +ON READING IN A COMIC PAPER VERY ABSURD COMPARISONS + BETWEEN THE WAGES OF CURATES AND COLLIERS. + + If colliers were curates, and curates were colliers, + I wonder what price the best coal would be then; + Whether meat would be dearer, or Heaven be nearer, + Or truth be less earnestly preached among men. + + I know that the incomes of curates are slender; + But curates get luxuries colliers ne'er see, + Which they don't have to pay for, nor work night and day for, + In mines dark and slushy on back and bent knee. + + Keep pulpits for curates--but pay them good stipends: + Keep mines for the colliers--but pay colliers well: + O, the Pit--no detraction--brings Pulpit reaction, + For pulpits would sicken if collieries fell. + + Then go, sneering cynic--write nonsense and fiction + On champagne and velvet, on satin and sin; + Though the joke may be able, 'tis false as a fable, + And shows what a fog Fleet-street sometimes gets in. + + + + +WANTED: A WIFE. + +A VOICE FROM THE LADIES. + +Being a reply to "M. C. D.," who advertised in a Swansea Newspaper for +a wife, 1856. + + Deputed by some lady friends, + Who think, with me, when ought offends, + 'Tis best to have it out at once, + Not nurse your wrath like moping dunce, + I venture forth--(now don't be hard, + And sneer, "Dear me, a female bard!" + I'm not the only Bard that's seen + Inditing verse in crinoline. (_a_) + I say--deputed by a few + Young ladies: 'tis no matter who: + I come--(of vict'ry little chance)-- + With "M. C. D." to break a lance; + To intimate our great surprise + To hear ourselves called--merchandise, + To be obtained--(there's no disguising + The fact)--obtained by advertising! + Obtained for better or for worse, + Just like a pony, pig, or horse. + And now, Sir, Mister "M. C. D.," + Pray, tell us, whomso'er you be, + D'ye think a lady's heart you'll gain + By such a process? O how vain! + + + +(_a_) These monstrosities--I mean the _balloons_, not the bards--are +now out of date--thank goodness! + + + + + With us, we hold in blank disgrace + The man who fears to show his face. + A tim'rous heart we all despise: + But we adore the flashing eyes, + The manly form--the lofty hand; + The soul created to command. + Love comes to us, no bidden guest, + For him who loves and rules us best. + The rosy god lights not his taper + For him who, in a trading paper, + Behind a printed notice screens, + And fears to tell us what he means. + Why don't he to the busy marts + Come forth and seige our tender hearts? + 'Tis wrong to buy pigs in a poke: + To wed so--what a silly joke! + In promenade, church, or bazaar, + At proper moments, there we are, + To be secured by manly hearts, + And, when secured, to do our parts + To temper life with him we love, + And woman's fondest instincts prove; + To yield submission to his will, + And, faulty though, to love him still. + Then "M. C. D." I pray refrain: + By means like these no wife you'll gain: + If you've no manlier mode to try, + We'll single live, and single die. + + + + +FRAGMENTS AND TRIFLES. + + + SYMPATHY. + + A Wit, reduced in means, in Market-place + Hawk'd buns all hot. A chum, with sorrowing face, + Came up--condoled: the Wit exclaimed "Have done! + "Your sympathy be bothered--BUY A BUN!" + + + + + A FRAGMENT. + + Once on a time a grimy sweep + Was creeping down the street, + When Quartern Loaf, the biker's boy, + Below he chanced to meet: + "Sweep!" sneered the baker: and the sweep + Gave Puff a sooty flout; + But Puff-crumb did not deal in soot, + So turned his face about; + Nor did he care to soundly drub + The imp of dirty flues: + "Go change your clothes!" said he, "and then + "I'll thrash you when you choose! + "It will not do for me to fight + "With such a sooty elf; + "My jacket's white, 'twould soon be black + "By tussling with yourself!" + + + + +LAW VERSUS THEOLOGY: + +ON AN EMINENT COUNTY COURT JUDGE. + + Some pulpit preachers think so very deep + That drowsy listeners find themselves asleep; + But the deep-thoughted law which ---- teaches + Makes "wide awake" all those to whom _he_ preaches. + + + + +THE BROKEN MODEL: + +TO ONE WHO WELL DESERVED THE STRICTURES WHICH + THESE LINES CONTAIN. + + When Nature saw she'd made a perfect man + She broke the mould and threw away the pieces, + Which being found by Satan, he began + And stuck the bits together--hence the creases, + The twists, the crooked botches, that we find-- + Sad counterfeits of Nature's perfect moulding; + Hearts wrongly placed--a topsy-turvy mind-- + Things that deserve the scorn of all beholding. + It needs no oracle in Delphic shade + To name the model from which _thou_ wert made. + + + + +IMPROMPTU: + +ON AN INVETERATE SPOUTER. + + If wealth of words men wealth of wisdom call'd, + And measured Genius by the way she bawled, + Then ---- would be the head of all the crew, + The King of Genius and of Wisdom too. + + + + +A CHARACTER. + + In childhood spoilt: a misery at school; + In wooing, what you might expect--a fool. + In small things honest, and in great a knave; + At home a tyrant, and abroad a slave. + + + + +COUPLET: + +ON A PAUPER WHOSE WEALTH GREW FASTER THAN HIS MANNERS. + + Paupers grown rich forget what once they've been, + Though, born a pig the snout is always seen. + + + + +PAUSE! + +ON THE HESITATION OF THE CZAR TO FORCE A PASSAGE + OF THE DANUBE, JUNE, 1877. + + Aye--hesitate! "Soldiers who stop to think + Are lost." So said a soldier (_a_) ere he died: + Lost, then, art thou--thus shivering on the brink. + Death was thy father's cure for humbled pride! + + + +(_a_) Wellington. + + + + +THE TEST OF THE STICK. + + Mick Malone on the tramp, weary, dusty, and warm, + Thought a pint of good ale wouldn't do him much harm; + But before he indulged--just for Conscience's sake-- + He thought he'd the views of Authority take. + So poising his stick on the ground--so they say, + He resolved on the beer if it fell the beer way; + If it went the contrary direction--why then + He'd his coppers retain, and trudge onward again. + The shillalegh, not thirsty, went wrong way for Mick, + Who again and again tried the Test of the Stick, + Till, worn out with refusing, the sprig tumbled right: + "Bring a pint!" sang out Pat, which he drank with delight; + And smacking his lips as he finished his beer, + Cried--"Success, Mick, me boy! always persevere!" + + + + +NOTE: + +CONCERNING IUAN WYLLT, AN EISTEDDFOD AT NEATH, AND MY FIRST PRIZE POEM. + +I think I ought to mention here, that the "Ode on the Death of a very +Intimate Friend" (page 199), was written in 1853, before I came to +reside in Wales. About three or four years after this--I forget the +date--a prize was offered at an Eisteddfod held at Neath, by Mr. James +Kenway, the then Mayor, for the best monody on the death of Mr. Edward +Evans. I competed for the prize, and obtained it. The model of the +Ode was taken by me in writing the Monody, the general conditions of +the two events being somewhat similar, and much of the same language is +used in both poems. I may add, as a matter that may be interesting to +some, that the Neath Eisteddfod prize was the first for which I +competed, and the first I obtained. The adjudicator was the late Mr. +J. Roberts (Iuan Wyllt), whose death, as I write these lines, is being +recorded in the newspapers. In adjudicating upon the poem, Mr. Roberts +said: "In this production we have the traces of a muse of a superior +order. The language is chaste and poetic, the versification is clear +and melodious, and the mournfully pathetic strain that pervades the +whole elegy harmonises well with the sorrowful character of the +subject. As regards both matter and manner, the writer has excelled by +many degrees all the other competitors, and his elegy is fully +deserving the offered prize." It is not too much to say, that to the +encouragement contained in the foregoing remarks of Iuan Wyllt was due +the spirit of emulation which led me subsequently to compete at the +various Elsteddfodau in the Principality with so much success. + + + + +THE END. + + + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Death of Saul and other Eisteddfod +Prize Poems and Miscellaneous Verses, by J. C. Manning + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DEATH OF SAUL AND OTHERS *** + +***** This file should be named 20764-8.txt or 20764-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/0/7/6/20764/ + +Produced by Al Haines + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. 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Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + http://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/20764-8.zip b/20764-8.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..d1cde44 --- /dev/null +++ b/20764-8.zip diff --git a/20764.txt b/20764.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..1694dfa --- /dev/null +++ b/20764.txt @@ -0,0 +1,7765 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Death of Saul and other Eisteddfod +Prize Poems and Miscellaneous Verses, by J. C. Manning + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Death of Saul and other Eisteddfod Prize Poems and Miscellaneous Verses + +Author: J. C. Manning + +Release Date: March 15, 2007 [EBook #20764] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DEATH OF SAUL AND OTHERS *** + + + + +Produced by Al Haines + + + + + + + + + + +THE DEATH OF SAUL: + +AND OTHER + +EISTEDDFOD PRIZE POEMS + +AND + +MISCELLANEOUS VERSES. + + +BY + +J. C. MANNING + +(CARL MORGANWG. + + + + +SWANSEA: + +J. C. MANNING, 9, CASTLE STREET. + +AND ALL BOOKSELLERS. + + +PRICE SIX SHILLINGS. + + +1877. + + + + +DEATH OF SAUL + +AND + +OTHER POEMS. + + + + +THE EISTEDDFOD COMMITTEE + +AND THE + +"DEATH OF SAUL." + + +Being restricted by the Wrexham Eisteddfod Committee to 200 lines, I +was obliged to lop away from the bulk of the following poem just +sufficient for their requirements. I have always declaimed, from a +physical point of view, against the pernicious influence of +light-lacing, and this being so, it was not likely I could go at once +and mentally encase my delicate muse, for a permanency, in a straight +waistcoat, at the behest of any committee in the world. What would she +have thought of me? If, therefore, the committee, or any member of it, +should by chance observe that the "Death of Saul," as I now produce it, +is of a more comprehensive character than the "Death of Saul" for which +they were good enough to award me the first prize, they will see the +poem without the temporary stays in which I was necessitated to encase +it in order to make it acceptable to them and their restrictive tastes. +To squeeze a poem of nearly 400 lines into the dimensions of one of +200, is, in my opinion, an achievement worthy of a prize in itself; and +as half of the original had a gold medal awarded to it, the whole of +it, I should think, ought to be worth two. I trust Eisteddfod +committees, when they contemplate putting the curb upon us poor poets, +will think of the Wrexham National Eisteddfod, and how half the "Death +of Saul" took a first prize. + + + + + + TO THE PUBLIC. + + Let the bright sun of Approbation shine + In warmth upon the humble rhymester's line, + And, like the lark that flutters tow'rds the light, + He spreads his pinions for a loftier flight. + The chilling frowns of critics may retard, + But cannot kill, the ardour of the Bard, + For, gaining wisdom by experience taught, + As grass grows strong from wounds by mowers wrought, + Success will come the Poet's fears to assuage, + Crowning his hopes with Poesy's perfect page. + + + + +PREFACE. + + +The verses which make up this volume have been written at intervals, +and under the most varied and chequered circumstances, extending over a +period of five-and-twenty years. If, therefore, they bear upon their +surface variety of sentiment and incongruity of feeling, that fact will +explain it. I am fully aware that some of the pieces are unequal in +merit from a purely artistic point of view, but I have felt that my +audience will be varied in its composition, and hence the introduction +of variety. The tone, however, of the whole work, I believe to be +healthy; and where honest maxims, combined with homely metaphor, are +found to take the place of high constructive art, they will, I know, be +excused by votaries of the latter, for the sake of those whose hearts +and instincts are much more sensitive to homely appeals than to the +charms of mere artistic effect. The pieces have all been written, +together with many other effusions, at such leisure moments as have +been accorded to one who, during the whole time of their composition, +has had to apply himself, almost without cessation, to the performance +of newspaper press duties; and those who know anything about such +things need not be told that a taste for versification is, to a +press-man, as a rule, what poverty is to most people--a very +inconvenient and by no means a profitable companion. In my own case, +however, the inconvenience has been a pleasure, and I have no reason to +find fault as to profit. From the fitful excitement of journalistic +duties I have turned to "making poetry," as Spenser defines the art, as +a jaded spirit looks for rest, and have always felt refreshed after it. +My only hope in connection with the poetry I have thus made is, that +those who may incline to read what I have written will take as much +pleasure in reading as I have taken in writing it, and that the result +to myself will be a justification for having published the work, to be +found only in that public appreciation which I hope to obtain, + +SWANSEA.----J. C. MANNING. + + + + + CONTENTS. + + + To the Public + Preface + Dedication + The Wrexham Eisteddfod and the "Death of Saul" + Historical Note + DEATH OF SAUL + Episode the First + Episode the Second + Episode the Third + Episode the Fourth + Palm Sunday in Wales + Elegy on the late Crawshay Bailey, Esq. + Nash Vaughan Edwardes Vaughan; a Monody + Monody on the Death of Mrs. Nicholl Carne + Elegiac Stanzas on the Death of Mrs. Grenfell + In Dreams + Mewn Cof Anwyl: on the Death of John Johnes, Esq., of Dolaucothy + Elegiac + In Memoriam + To Clara + E.H.R. + A.R. + Venus and Astery + To a Royal Mourner + Beautiful Wales + Gwalia Deg + The Welsh Language: to Caradawc, of Abergavenny + Englyn i'r Iath Gymraeg + A Foolish Bird + I'd Choose to be a Nightingale: to Mary (Llandovery) + True Philanthropy: to J. D. Llewellyn, Esq., Penllergare + Disraeli + Down in the Dark: the Ferndale Explosion + DAISY MAY:--Part the First + Part the Second + Part the Third + Lines, accompanying a Purse + Forsaken + Christmas is Coming + Heart Links + The Oak to the Ivy + Epigram on a Welshwoman's Hat + Shadows in the Fire + The Belfry Old + Beautiful Barbara + Song of the Silken Shroud + A University for Wales + Griefs Untold + I Will + Dawn and Death + Castles in the Air + The Withered Rose + Wrecks of Life + Eleanor + New Year's Bells + The Vase and the Weed + A Riddle + To a Fly Burned by a Gaslight + To a Friend + Retribution + The Three Graces + The Last Rose of Summer + The Starling and the Goose + The Heroes of Alma + A Kind Word, a Smile, or a Kiss + Dear Mother, I'm Thinking of Thee + The Heron and the Weather-Vane + The Three Mirrors + The Two Clocks + Sacrifical: on the Execution of Two Greek Sailors at Swansea + Wales to "Punch" + Welcome! + Change + False as Fair + Heads and Hearts + Fall of Sebastopol + To Lord Derby + Unrequited + The Household Spirit + Had I a Heart + A Bridal Simile + Song + I would my Love + Death in Life + Song of the Strike + Nature's Heroes: the Rhondda Valley Disaster + Elegy on the Death of a Little Child + Magdalene + Love Walks with Humanity Yet + The Two Trees + Stanzas + Verses, written after Reading a Biography of His Grace the + Duke of Beaufort + A Simile + The Two Sparrows + Floating Away + A Floral Fable + Ring Down the Curtain + The Telegraph Post + Breaking on the Shore + Hurrah! for the Rifle Corps + Be Careful when you Find a Friend + Brotherly Love + England and France + Against the Stream + Wrecked in Sight of Home + Sonnet + Sebastopol is Won + Hold Your Tongue + My Mother's Portrait + Never More + Lines on the Death of the Rev. Canon Jenkins, Vicar of Aberdare + Filial Ingratitude + The Vine and the Sunflower + POETIC PROVERBS: + I.--Danger in Surety + II.--A Wise Son + III.--Hope Deferred + IV.--Virtue's Crown + V.--Sorrow in Mirth + Christmas Anticipations + Golden Tresses + Hope for the Best + Gone Before + Henry Bath: Died October 14th, 1864 + Song of the Worker + The Brooklet's Ambition + St. Valentine's Eve + Lost + Lilybell + Gone + Life Dreams + Aeolus and Aurora; or, the Music of the Gods + Sonnet + Sleeping in the Snow + With the Rain + Ode, on the Death of a Friend + Lines: to a Young Lady who had jilted her Lover + Vicarious Martyrs: to a Hen-pecked Schoolmaster + Stanzas: on seeing Lady Noel Byron + To Louisa + The Orator and the Cask + The Maid of the War + Impromptu: on being asked by a Lady to write a Verse in her Album + Mary: a Monody + On the Marriage of Miss Nicholl Carne + Impromptu: on the Death of Mr. Thomas Kneath, a well-known + Teacher of Navigation, at Swansea + EXTRACTS FROM UNPUBLISHED MANUSCRIPT: + Humility Oppressed + Upward Strivings + Truthfulness + Love's Influence + Value of Adversity + Misguiding Appearances + Virgin Purity + Man's Destiny + Love's Incongruities + Retribution + Love's Mutability + A Mother's Advice + Sunrise in the Country + Faith in Love + Unrequited Affection + The Poet's Troubles + Echoes from the City + Love's Wiles + Hazard in Love + A Mother's Love + "The Shadow of the Cross" + Curates and Colliers: on reading in a Comic Paper absurd + comparisons between the wages of Curates and Colliers + Wanted--a Wife: a Voice from the Ladies + Sympathy + A Fragment + Law versus Theology: on an Eminent County Court Judge + The Broken Model + Impromptu: on an Inveterate Spouter + A Character + Couplet + Pause: on the hesitation of the Czar to Force a Passage of + the Danube, June, 1877 + The Test of the Stick + Note: concerning Iuan Wyllt, an Eisteddfod at Neath, and + a First Prize Poem + + + + +TO THE + +MOST HONOURABLE THE MARQUESS OF BUTE: + + +WITH A GRATEFUL SENSE OF HIS LORDSHIP'S GENEROUS AND + +OTHERWISE DISINTERESTED DESIRE, + + +IN ACCEPTING THE DEDICATION OF THE WORK, + + +TO ALONE FURTHER THE VIEWS AND ENCOURAGE THE LITERARY + +ASPIRATIONS OF THE WRITER, + + +THIS VOLUME, + + +BY HIS LORDSHIP'S PERMISSION, + + +IS DEDICATED, + + +WITH EVERY SENTIMENT OF RESPECTFUL ADMIRATION OF HIS + +TALENT AND WORTH, + + +BY HIS LORDSHIP'S OBLIGED AND OBEDIENT SERVANT, + + +THE AUTHOR. + + + + +DEATH OF SAUL. + +PRIZE POEM. + +WREXHAM NATIONAL EISTEDDFOD, 1876. + + +"The Vicar of Wrexham delivered his award on the 28 poems in English or +Welsh, on 'The Death of Saul' ('_Marwolaeth Saul_'). The prize 5 +pounds 5s. was given by Dr. Williams, Chairman of the Committee, and a +gold medal was given by the Committee. The Vicar said the best +composition was an English poem, signed 'David.' It was written in a +style well adapted to the subject, in language dignified and sonorous, +with not a little of the rhythmic cadence of Paradise Lost. It was +real poetry; suggestive, and at times deeply impressive--the poetry of +thought and culture, not of mere figure and fancy, and it was well +calculated to do honour to its author, and to the National Eisteddfod +of Wales. 'David' was among his fellow-competitors as Saul was amongst +his brethren, higher than any of them from his shoulders upwards, and +to him he awarded the prize which his poem well deserved." + + + + +HISTORICAL NOTE. + +The design followed out in the succeeding poem has been to touch upon +the leading historical incidents of Saul's career that lead up to and +explain his tragic death on Mount Gilboa. With him, nearly 3,000 years +ago, commenced the Monarchical government of the Israelites, who had +previously been governed by a Theocracy. The Prophet Samuel, who +anointed Saul, was the last of the High Priests or Judges under this +Theocracy, which existed for 800 years, and died out with the +acceptance of Saul, by the Israelites, as "King of all the tribes of +Israel." The incidents touched upon range from the proclamation of +Saul as King, by Samuel (1095 B.C.), to the fall of the hapless Monarch +at the battle of Gilboa, 40 years afterwards. + + + + +Death of Saul + + As through the waves the freighted argosy + Securely plunges, when the lode star's light + Her path makes clear, and as, when angry clouds + Obscure the guide that leads her on her way, + She strikes the hidden rock and all is lost, + So he of whom I sing--favoured of God, + By disobedience dimmed the light divine + That shone with bright effulgence like the sun, + And sank in sorrow, where he might have soared + Up to the loftiest peak of earthly joy + In sweet foretaste of heavenly joys to come. + Called from his flocks and herds in humble strait + And made to rule a nation; high in Heaven + The great Jehovah lighting up the way; + On earth an upright Judge and Prophet wise + Sent by the Lord to bend his steps aright; + Sons dutiful and true; no speck to mar + The noble grandeur of a proud career; + Yet, from the rays that flickered o'er his path, + Sent for his good, he wove the lightning shaft + That seared his heart, e'en as the stalwart oak, + Soaring in pride of pow'r, falls 'neath the flash, + And lies a prostrate wreck. Like one of old, + Who, wrestling with the orb whose far-off light + Gave beauty to his waxen wings, upsoared + Where angels dared not go, came to his doom, + And fell a molten mass; so, tempting Heaven, + Saul died the death of disobedient Pride + And self-willed Folly--curses of mankind! + Sins against God which wrought the Fall, and sent, + As tempests moan along the listening night, + A wail of mournful sadness drifting down + The annals of the world: unearthly strains! + Cries of eternal souls that know no rest. + + +Episode the First. + +THE ISRAELITES DEMAND A KING, AND SAUL IS GIVEN TO RULE OVER THEM. + + "God save the King!" the Israelites exclaimed, (_a_) + When, by the aged Prophet summoned forth + To Mizpeh, all the tribes by lot declared + That Saul should be their ruler. Since they left + The land of Egypt and its galling stripes, + Till then, the only living God had been + Their King and Governor; and Samuel old, + The last of Israel's Judges, when he brought + The man they chose to be their future King, + And said: "Behold the ruler of your choice!" + Told them of loving mercies they for years + Had from the great Jehovah's hand received, + And mourned in sorrowing tones that God their Judge + Should be by them rejected: and they cried + "A King! give us a King--for thou art old (_b_) + "And in those ways thou all thy life hast walked + "Walk not thy sons: lucre their idol is-- + "And Judgment is perverted by the bribes + "They take to stifle justice: give us, then, + "A King to judge us. Other nations boast + "Of such a chief--a King, give us a King!" + So Saul became the crowned of Israel-- + The first great King of their united tribes. + + +Episode the Second. + +SAUL DISAPPOINTS THE EXPECTATIONS OF JEHOVAH, AND + IS VISITED WITH THE ALMIGHTY'S DISPLEASURE. + + Brave is the heart that beats with yearning throb + Tow'rds highest hopes, when, wandering in the vale, + Some snowy Alp gleams forth with flashing crown + Of golden glory in the morning light. + Brave is the heart that lovingly expands + And longs the far-off splendour to embrace. + Thus yearned the heart of Saul, when from his flocks + The Prophet led him forth, and, pointing up + Tow'rds Israel's crown, exclaimed: "See what the Lord + Hath done for thee!" But Saul upon the throne + Grew sorely dazed. Though brave the heart, the brain + Swam in an ecstasy of wildering light-- + A helmless boat upon a troubled sea. + Men nursed in gloom can rarely brook the sun; + And many a life to sombre paths inured + The sunshine of Prosperity hath quenched, + As dewdrops glistening on the lowly sward + Like priceless jewels ere the morning breaks, + Melt into space when light and heat abound, + As though they ne'er had been. Relentless fate! + This ruthless law the world's wide ways hath fringed + With wreckage of a host of peerless lives; + And Saul is numbered 'mongst the broken drift. + Saul, though the Lord's anointed, saw not God: + But--curse of life! ingratitude prevailed. + His faith waxed weak as days of trial came: + And when, deserted by his teeming hosts + At Gilgal, he the Prophet's priestly right + In faithless haste assumed, the Prophet cried + "The Lord hath said no son of thine shall reign + O'er Israel!" (_c_) Yet, heedless of the voice + Of warning which a patient God vouchsafed, + With disobedience lurking in his heart, + He strove to shield the King of Amalek-- + He whom the Lord commanded him to kill-- + Seizing his flocks and herds for selfish gain + Beneath the garb of sacrificial faith-- + Sin so distasteful to the Lord that Saul + Sat in the dark displeasure of his God. (_d_) + And out from this displeasure, like the dawn + From dusky night, the youthful David sprang-- + The Lord's anointed, yea, the Lord's beloved: + Sweet Bard of Bethlehem! whose harp divine, + Tuned to the throbbings of a guileless heart, + Soothed the dark spirit of the sinful King, + And woke his life to light and hope again, (_e_) + But ah! the sling and stone his envy roused, + And envy hate begat. 'Tis ever so: + The honest fealty of a noble soul + To all that's brave, and true, and good in life, + Will meet malicious hindrance. So the King + This brave young bard and warrior of the Lord + In ruthless persecution sought to kill. + Twice, with a true nobility of heart + Which to the noble heart alone belongs, + The slayer of Goliath stayed his hand + When Saul lay at his mercy. "Take thy life; + "Thou art the Lord's anointed, sinful, though, + "And faithless to the truth as shifting sand!" + Thus David spake, and went his weary way, + An exile from the land he loved so well. + So Saul had steeled his heart and set his face + Against the living God, and thus he lay + Beneath the great Jehovah's awful ban. + + +Episode the Third + +SAUL, DESERTED BY THE ALMIGHTY, CONSULTS THE WITCH + OF ENDOR, AND HIS FALL IS FORETOLD BY THE + SPIRIT OF THE DEAD PROPHET. + + As o'er the earth a darkling cloud appears, + And grows in blackness till the scathing shaft + Comes forth with swelling thunder, so the cloud, + Black unto bursting with the wrath divine, + Hung o'er the head of Israel's erring King. + The light of heavenly faith from him was gone, + And life was full of dreary, dark despair. + Outstretched along the plains of Shunem lay + The army of the heathen Philistines--(_f_) + A countless horde, at whose relentless head + Achish, the King of Gath, with stern acclaim + Breathed war against the Israelitish host. + Heedless of help from God, the wretched Saul + Had called his tribes together, and they swarmed + Along the plains of Gilboa, whence they saw + The mighty army of their heathen foe + Lie like a drowsy panther in its lair + With limbs all wakeful for the hungry leap. + "Enquire me of the Lord!" the King had said, + Communing with the doubtings of his heart. + But answer came not. Dreams were dumb and dark-- + Unfathomed mysteries. No Urim spake; + And Prophets wore the silence of the grave. + So Saul, the King, disheartened and disguised, + Went forth at night.(_g_) The rival armies lay + Sleeping beneath the darksome dome of Heaven, + And all was still, save when the ghostly wind + Swept o'er the plains with melancholy moan. + That night the shadowy shape of one long dead + Stood face-to-face with Saul, in lonely cave, + The Witch of Endor's haunt. Ah, me--the fall! + To degradation deep that man hath slid + Who 'gainst the Lord in stiff-necked folly strives + Choosing the path of cabalistic wiles-- + The dark and turbid garniture of toads, + And philters rank of necromantic knaves-- + Who spurns the hand which, by the light of Heaven, + Points clear and straight along the spacious road + Which angel feet have trod. Ah, me--the fall! + And sad the fate of him who shuns the truth: + Who, like the lonely Saul, eschews the light, + And leagues with darkness--listening for the voice + Of angels in abodes where devils dwell. + So the dead Prophet and the erring King, + By Heaven's own will, not by the witch's craft, + Confront each other in the dark retreat. + The dreamy shadow speaks: "Wherefore," it saith, + "Dost thou disquiet me!" (_h_) And from the earth + Came the sepulchral tones, which, floating up, + Joined the weird meanings of the hollow wind, + And swept in ghostly cadences away + Like exiled souls in pain. And Saul replied; + "I'm sore distressed: Alas! the living God + "Averts His face and answers me no more; + "What"--and the pleading voice, in trembling tones + That might have won a stony heart to tears, + Asks of the shadowy shape--"What shall I do!" + And hollow voices seem to echo back + The anguish-freighted words--"What shall I do!" + 'Twas hell's own mockery! The blistering heat-- + Like burning blast, hot and invisible-- + That scorched the heart of Saul, was but the breath + Of Satan, gloating o'er the moral death + Of him who, chosen of Jehovah, lay + A victim to those foul Satanic wiles + Which the sworn enemy of God had planned + In inmost hate. "I cannot scale the height + "Of Him 'gainst whom eternal enmity + "I've sworn," it seemed to say: "but--soothing thought! + "Deep in the hearts of mortals _He_ hath named + "To do His bidding, will I thrust my darts, + "And through their wounds, as His ambassadors, + "The spirit bruise of Him who sent them--thus!" + And then again, as though his breaking heart + Were cleft with red-hot blade, the voice of Saul + Is heard in mortal anguish breathing out + The soul-subduing tones--"What shall I do?" + Dead silence intervenes; and then again + The spirit of the Prophet slowly speaks: + "To-morrow thou and thine," it faintly said, + "Shalt be with me; and Israel's mighty host + "Shall be the captives of the heathen foe!" + The fateful answer smites the listener low, + And utter darkness falls upon his life. + + +Episode the Fourth. + +BATTLE OF GILBOA AND THE DEATH OF SAUL. + + The morrow came: the bloody fray began. + The sun shone fierce and hot upon the scene. + Lashed into fury like a raging sea + The wrestling multitude for vantage strove + With deadly chivalry. On Gilboa's mount + The King looked forth and watched the sanguine strife, + Clothed in the golden panoply of war. + Upon his brow the stately monarch wore + The crown of all the tribes of Israel, + A-fire with jewels flashing in the sun + In bitter mockery of his trampled heart. + Noble in mien, yet, with a sorrowing soul, + Anxious his gaze--for in the sweltering surge + Three sons of Saul were battling with the rest; + His first-born, Jonathan; Abinadab; + And Melchi-shua--idols of his life! + Around him like a hurricane of hail + The pinioned shafts with aim unerring sped, + Bearing dark death upon their feathery wings. + The clashing sword its dismal carnage made + As foe met foe; and flashing sparks out-flew + As blade crossed blade with murderous intent. + The outcry rose--"They fly! they fly!" The King + Looked down upon the fray with trembling heart. + The bloody stream along the valley ran, + And chariots swept like eagles on the wind + On deathly mission borne. The conflict fierce + Waxed fiercer--fiercer still; the rain of gore + Wetted the soddened plain, and arrows flew + Thicker and faster through the darkening air. + The barbed spear, flung forth with stalwart arm, + Sped like a whirlwind on its flight of death. + Along the ranks the warrior's clarion call + Inspired to valorous life the struggling hosts, + And shouts of victory from contending hordes + Blended with sorrowing moans of dying men. + "Thy sons, O King!" a breathless herald cried, + Fresh from the carnage, bowing low his head, + Where Saul, heart-weary, watched the dreadful strife + On Gilboa's height. "Thy sons, O mighty King!" + The herald cried, and sank upon the ground + By haste exhausted. Saul, with fitful start, + Upraised the prostrate messenger. "My sons! + "What of them? Speak!" he gasped, with startled look, + "Dead!" moaned the herald, and an echo came, + As though deep down in some sepulchral vault + The word was spoken. From the heart of Saul + That mournful echo came--so sad and low! + "Dead! dead! Ah, woe is me!" he sadly sighed. + "My sons--my best beloved! Woe! Woe--alas!" + And as he spake, e'en while his head, gold-crowned, + Bent low in pain beneath the crushing blow, + An arrow from the foe his armour smote, + And pierced his breast, already rent with grief. + Then stepped with hurried tread a servant forth, + And plucked the arrow from its cruel feast, + Rending his robe to stanch the purple stream. + "Heed not the wound!" exclaimed the King. "Too late! + "Where Heaven smites, men's blows are light indeed." + Then bending o'er his breast his kingly head + He wept aloud: "Rejected of the Lord; + "My sons among the slain; my valorous host + "In bondage of the heathen--let me die!" + So sobbed the King, as down the bloody plain + The chariots of the foe came thundering on; + And horsemen cleft the air in hot array-- + A mighty stream of chivalry and life! + The Israelites had fled, and at their heels + The roaring tumult followed like a storm + That rolls from world to world. And through the blast + Of warfare came a weak and wailing voice + Moaning in utter anguish--"Let me die!" + 'Twas Saul the Anointed--Israel's fallen King: + Crushed 'neath the hand of an offended God! + "Lo!" cried the King, and raised his tearful eyes, + "The Philistines are near, pierce thou my breast!" + And, turning round, his kingly breast he bared, + Bidding his armour-bearer thrust his sword + Hilt-deep into his heart. "Better to die + "By friendly hand," he cried, "than owe my death + "To yonder hated victors. Quick! Thy sword! + "Thrust deep and quickly!" But the faltering hand + That held the sword fell nerveless. "Mighty King! + "I dare not!" spake the trembling armourer. + "Then by my own I die," exclaimed the King. + And as he spake he poised the glittering blade + Point upward from the earth, and moaning fell + Upon the thirsty steel. The ruddy gush + Came spurting through the armour that he wore, + And steamed in misty vapour to the sky + In voiceless testimony to the truth + Of words once spoken by the living God! + Aghast the faithful armour-bearer stood. + "O, mighty King! I die with thee!" he said, + And, falling on his sword, the blood of both + Commingled, as from ghastly wounds it ran + In trickling streamlets down Mount Gilboa's side. (_i_) + As ebbs and flows the sea with troubled throb + 'Twixt shore and shore, or as the thistle-down + Halts in the eddies of the summer wind + In trembling doubt, so do the flickering souls + Of dying men float fearingly between + The earth and unseen worlds that lie beyond. + So hung the life of Saul, whose bitter cup, + Still at his lips, contained its bitterest dregs. + Prostrate he lay, by bloody sword transfixed; + A corpse his pillow; arms extended out, + And body bent in agony of pain, + The flame of life still fluttering at his heart + A waning lamp. He heard the tumult swell. + Bondage was worse than death. "They come! They come!" + He moaned. "Stand ye upon my breast," he said, + To one, a stranger, lingering near the spot, + "And force the gurgling stream back on my heart, + "To quench the life within me. Quick! They come!" + The stranger did the cruel bidding. (_j_) Hark! + "The King!" the foemen cry, and fiercely rusht + Upon the Royal captive, who, till then, + Had lain by them unseen. But while the shout + Swept like a storm along the swelling ranks + The soul of Saul went drifting through the dark, + Like some fair ship with sails and cordage rent, + Out from the stormy trials of his life, + To tempt the terrors of an unknown sea. + And then the cry of lamentation rose + In Israel, and the Hebrew maidens hung + Their speechless harps upon the willow branch, + And mourned the loved and lost unceasingly. + + + +(_a_) Nevertheless the people refused to obey the voice of Samuel; and +they said, Nay, but we will have a King over us, that we also may be +like all the nations. And Samuel said to all the people, "See ye him +whom the Lord hath chosen." And all the people shouted and said, "God +save the King!"--I SAMUEL, viii. and ix. 19, 20, 24. + +(_b_) And it came to pass, when Samuel was old, that he made his sons +judges over Israel. And his sons walked not in his ways, but turned +aside after lucre, and took bribes, and perverted judgment.--I SAMUEL, +viii., 1, 2. + +(_c_) And Saul said, "Bring hither a burnt offering," and he offered +the burnt offering. And Samuel came, and Saul went out to meet him. +And Samuel said, "What hast thou done? Thou hast not kept the +commandment of the Lord thy God which he commanded thee, and thy +kingdom shall not continue."--I SAMUEL, xiii., 10, 14. + +(_d_) And Samuel said, "The Lord sent thee, and said go and utterly +destroy the sinners, the Amalekites. Wherefore didst thou not obey the +voice of the Lord, but didst fly upon the spoil?" And Saul said unto +Samuel, "The people took of the spoil, sheep and oxen, to sacrifice +unto the Lord thy God at Gilgal." And Samuel said, "Behold, to obey is +better than sacrifice, and to hearken than the fat of rams. For +rebellion is as the sin of witchcraft, and stubbornness is as iniquity +and idolatry. Because thou hast rejected the word of the Lord, he hath +also rejected thee."--I SAMUEL, xv,, 18, 23. + +(_e_) And it came to pass, when the evil spirit from God was upon Saul, +that David took an harp, and played with his hand. So Saul was +refreshed, and was well, and the evil spirit departed from him.--I +SAMUEL, xvi., 23. + +(_f_) And the Philistines gathered themselves together, and came and +pitched in Shunem; and Saul gathered all Israel together, and they +pitched in Gilboa.--I SAMUEL, xxviii., 4. + +(_g_) Then said Saul unto his servants, "Seek me a woman that hath a +familiar spirit, that I may go to her and enquire of her." And his +servants said to him, "Behold, there is a woman that hath a familiar +spirit at Endor." And Saul disguised himself, and came to the woman by +night. And he said, "I pray thee, divine unto me by the familiar +spirit, and bring him up whom I shall name of thee."--I SAMUEL, +xxviii., 7, 8. + +(_h_) And Samuel said to Saul, "Why hast thou disquieted me, to bring +me up?" And Saul answered, "I am sore distressed, for the Philistines +make war against me, and God is departed from me, and answereth me no +more. Therefore I have called thee, that thou mayest make known unto +me what I shall do." And Samuel said, "Because thou obeyedst not the +voice of the Lord, nor executedst not his fierce wrath upon Amalek, +therefore hath the Lord done this thing unto thee this day. To-morrow +shalt thou and thy sons be with me; and the Lord also shall deliver the +host of Israel into the hand of the Philistines." Then Saul fell +straightway all along on the earth.--I SAMUEL, xxviii., 15, 20. + +(_i_) And the battle went sore against Saul, and the archers hit him, +and he was sore wounded of the archers. Then said Saul unto his +armour-bearer, "Draw thy sword, and thrust me through therewith, lest +these uncircumcised come and thrust me through." But his armour-bearer +would not, therefore Saul took a sword and fell upon it. And when his +armour-bearer saw that Saul was dead, he fell likewise upon his sword, +and died with him.--I SAMUEL, xxxi., 3, 5. + +(_j_) And David said unto the young man, "How knowest thou that Saul +and Jonathan his son be dead?" And the young man that told him said: +"As I happened by chance upon Mount Gilboa, behold, Saul leaned upon +his spear: and lo! the chariots and horsemen followed hard after him. +And he said unto me, Stand, I pray thee, upon me, and slay me; for +anguish is come upon me, because my life is yet whole within me. So I +stood upon him, and slew him, because I was sure that he could not +live, after that he was fallen."--II SAMUEL, i., 5, 10. + + + + +PALM SUNDAY IN WALES. + +FLOWERING SUNDAY. + + +PRIZE POEM. + +WREXHAM NATIONAL EISTEDDFOD, 1876. + +Fifteen competed for the prize of 5 pounds, and a silver medal for the +best English poem, never before published, upon any distinctively Welsh +subject. Mr. Osborne Morgan, M.P., Mr. Trevor Parkins, and the Rev. +Ll. Thomas adjudicated. The latter gave the award. + + + Out by the hedgerows, along by the steep; + Through the meadows; away and away, + Where the daisies, like stars, through the green grass peep, + And the snowdrops and violets, waking from sleep, + Look forth at the dawning day. + + Down by the brooklet--by murmuring rills, + By rivers that glide along; + Where the lark in the heavens melodiously trills, + And the air the wild blossom with perfume fills, + The shimmering leaves among. + + Through the still valley; along by the pool, + Where the daffodil's bosom of gold + So shyly expands to the breezes cool + As they murmur, like children coming from school, + In whisperings over the wold. + + In the dark coppice, where fairies dwell, + Where the wren and the red-breast build; + Along the green lanes, through dingle and dell, + O'er bracken and brake, and moss-covered fell, + Where the primroses pathways gild. + + Hither and thither the tiny feet + Of children gaily sped, + In the cool grey dawn of the morning sweet, + Plucking wild flowers--an offering meet + To garnish the graves of the dead. + + + Out from the beaten pathway, quaint and white, + The village church--a crumbling pile--is seen; + It stands in solitude midst mounds of green + Like ancient dame in moss-grown cloak bedight. + + The mantling ivy clings around its form-- + The patient growth of many and many a year. + As though a gentle hand had placed it there + To shield the tottering morsel from the storm. + + A sombre cypress rears its mournful head + Above the porch, through which, in days gone by, + Young men and maidens sped so hopefully, + That now lie slumbering with the silent dead: + + The silent dead, that round the olden pile + Crumble to dust as though they ne'er had been. + Whose graven annals, writ o'er billows green, + Though voiceless, tell sad stories all the while. + + And as they speak in speechless eloquence, + The waving shadows of the cypress fall + In spectral patches on the quaint old wall, + Nodding in wise and ghostly reticence + + In silent sanction at the stories told + By each decrepit, wizen-featured stone, + That seems to muse, like ancient village crone + Belost in thought o'er memories strange and old. + + Outside the stunted boundary, a row + Of poplars tall--beside whose haughty mien + And silky rustlings of whose robes of green + The lowly church still humbler seems to grow. + + A-near the lych-gate in the crumbling wall, + A spreading oak, grotesque and ancient, stands, + Like aged monk extending prayerful hands + In silent benediction over all, + + 'Twas early morn: the red sun glinted o'er + The hazy sky-line of the far-off hill: + Below, the valley slept so calm and still-- + A misty sea engirt by golden shore. + + Out in the dim and dreamy distance rose + A spectral range of alp-like scenery-- + Mountain on mountain, far as eye could see, + Their foreheads white and hoar with wintry snows. + + And as I leaned the low-built wall upon + That shut the little churchyard from the road, + Children and maidens into Death's abode, + With wild flow'rs laden, wandered one by one. + + And in their midst, stooping and white with age, + Rich in their wealth of quaint old village lore, + Came ancient dames, with faces furrowed o'er, + That told of griefs in life's long pilgrimage. + + The sun is rising now: the poplar tips + Are touched with liquid light: the gravestones old, + And hoary church, are flushed with fringe of gold, + As though embraced by angel's hallowed lips. + + And with the morning sunshine children roam + To place wild flowers where the loved ones slept; + O'er father, mother, sister--long since swept + Away by death--with blossoms sweet they come. + + Silent reminders of abiding love! + What tender language from each petal springs! + Affection's tribute! Heart's best offerings! + Wanderers, surely, from the realms above! + + For heart-to-heart, and life-to-life, had been + The loves of those who were and those who are; + Till death had severed them--O, cruel bar! + Leaving a dark and unknown stream between. + + And on that stream, in loving fancy tossed, + Each faithful heart its floral tribute threw, + As though the hope from out the tribute grew + To bridge the gulf the one beloved had crossed. + + Near yonder grave there stands a widowed life: + Husband and son beneath the grave-stone rest: + Some laurels tell, by tender lip caressed, + The changeless love of mother and of wife. + + And o'er the bright green leaflets as they lie + She scatters snowdrops with their waxen leaves, + And all the while her troubled bosom heaves + In tenderness, with many a sorrowing sigh. + + Out from the light, to where the cypress shade + In mournful darkness falls, a figure crept; + And as she knelt, the morning breezes swept + A cloud of hair about her drooping head. + + Her feet were small and slender, bare and white-- + White as the daisy-fringe on which she trod; + Like shimmering snowdrops in the greening sod, + Or glow-worms glistening in the Summer night. + + And as deep down in gloomy chasms seen + By those up-looking, stars in daylight shine, + So shone the beauty of her face divine + In the dark shadows of the cypress green. + + Her girlish hands a primrose wreath enwove, + With fingers deft, and eyes with tears bedimmed: + No lovelier face the painter's art e'er limned, + No poet's thought e'er told of sweeter love + + Than that young mother's, as, with tender grace, + She kissed the chaplet ere she laid it down + Upon a tiny hillock, earthy-brown-- + Of first and only child the resting place. + + And then the few stray blossoms that were left + She kissed and strewed upon the little mound-- + Looked lingering back towards the sacred ground, + As from the shade she bore her heart bereft. + + As gentle ripples, from the side we lave + Of placid lake, will reach the other side, + So, o'er Death's river--silent, dark, and wide-- + Blossoms may bear the kiss that mother gave. + + Or, if in fervent faith she deemed it so, + The thought to joyless lives a pleasure brings, + And who shall tell, where doting fondness clings, + The loss which hearts bereaved can only know? + + And who shall doubt that to such love is given, + Borne upward, clothed in perfume to the sky, + The pow'r to reach, in death's great mystery, + Lost hearts, and add a bliss to those of Heaven? + + Other sad pilgrims came. A mother here + A duteous daughter mourns, whose days had been + A ceaseless blessing--an oasis green + On life's enfevered plain: a brooklet clear, + + That ran the meadows of glad lives along, + Till, like a stream that meanders to the sea, + In the dark Ocean of Eternity + Lost was their source of laughter, light, and song. + + And yonder, clothed in darksome silence, grieves + A loving daughter near a mother's tomb-- + Down by the stunted wall in willow-gloom + And shadows thrown by sombre cypress leaves: + + And as, in life, the waving kerchief speaks + The words of friends departing which the heart + Is all too full to utter e're we part + For ever, so the sorrowing daughter seeks + + In thought one recollection more to wave + To one long dead; and asks in speechless woe + Primrose and snowdrop on the mound below + To bear love's messages beyond the grave! + + And in the golden sunshine children come + With prattling tongue and winsome, rosy face-- + Like blossoms flowering in a lonely place-- + And lay their tributes o'er each narrow home + + Where lies the helpless beacon of their lives + In darkness quencht--gone ere their infant thought + Could realise the loss which Death had wrought-- + The stab the stern Destroying Angel gives. + + And o'er each silent grave Love's tributes fall-- + The primrose, cowslip, gentle daffodil-- + The snow-drop, and the tender daisy--till + God's acre sleeps beneath a flowery pall. + + And now the sun in all its glory came + And lit the world up with a light divine, + Casting fresh beauty o'er each sacred shrine: + Breathing on all things an inspiring flame. + + As if the God of Light had bade it be, + In sweet reward for pious rite performed; + As if, with human love and fondness charmed, + The Lord had smiled with love's benignity. + + For not to this old churchyard where I stand + Is audience of the dead, through flow'rs, confined + A nation's heart--a nation's love--combined, + Make it the sweet observance of the land. + + In humble cot--in proud patrician halls, + The Floral Festival fills every breast; + And o'er the grass, where'er the loved ones rest, + The lowly flow'r with choice exotic falls. + + And as they fall upon the sacred spot, + Sacred to every heart that strews them there, + They seem to sing in voices low and clear: + "Though gone for evermore--forgotten not! + + "Though never more--still evermore--above + "Eternal will their deathless spirits reign. + "No more until above to meet again: + "Till then send up sweet messages of love." + + So sang the blossoms with their odorous breath-- + Or so in fancy sang they unto me; + "No more--yet evermore, eternally! + "Though lost, alas! remembered still in death!" + + + + +ELEGY + +ON THE LATE CRAWSHAY BAILEY, ESQ., + +"THE IRON KING." + + +PRIZE POEM: + +ABERGAVENNY EISTEDDFOD, 1874. + +The programme opened with a competition for the best English Elegy on +the late Crawshay Bailey, Esq., for which a prize of 10 pounds was +given, and a bardic chair, value 5 pounds, by Mr. William Lewis. +There were twelve competitors, and each composition was confined to a +limit of 200 lines. + + + Sadly the sea, by Mynwy's rugged shore, + Moans for the dead in many a mournful strain. + A voice from hearts bereft cries "Come again;" + But wavelets whisper softly, "Never more!" + + The restless winds take up the solemn cry, + As though--an age of sorrow in each breath-- + The words, "O, come again," could call back Death + From the far-off, unseen Eternity. + + "Our dwellings darkened when his life went out: + "We stand in cold eclipse, for gone the light + "Which made our cottage-homes so warm and bright; + "And shadows deepen o'er the world without. + + "Come back--come back!" Upon the mournful wind + These words fall weirdly as they float along, + Melting the soul to tears: for lo! the song + Rises from hearts that seek but ne'er will find: + + Save one more billow on the sea of graves; + One joyaunt voice the fewer in life's throng; + One hand the less to help the world along; + One Hero more 'mongst earth's departed Braves. + + For who that in life's battle-field could fight + As he has fought, whose painless victories + Transcended war's heroic chivalries, + Could in his country's heart claim nobler height? + + None may the niche of glory haplier grace, + None may the crown of greatness proudlier wear, + Than he upon whose tomb the silent tear + Falls slowly down from many a drooping face. + + Faces whose hard and rugged outlines show + Life's daily struggle--O, how bravely fought! + Faces to which the only gladness brought + Came from the Friend who yonder lieth low. + + Let us in mournful retrospect commune + O'er what that still cold heart and brain have won: + A hymn of life in lispings first begun, + Ending in harmony's most perfect tune. + + As comes the sun from out the darkling-night, + And strikes, as did the patriarch of old, + Life's barren rocks, which flush with green and gold, + And pour out waters glad with living light, + + So, crowned with blessings, in the far-off days, + Like Midas, Mynwy's monarch touched the earth, + Wrought golden plenty where once reigned a dearth, + And raised an empire he alone could raise. + + No service his, of slavery, to bind + With tyrant fancy vassals to his will: + All hearts beat quick with sympathetic thrill + For one who loved the humblest of their kind. + + His kingdom rang with fealty from the free-- + Such blessed faith as faith itself ensures. + His reign alone that sway which e'er secures + A subject's true and trustful sympathy. + + So love men's love begat in bounteous flow; + It blossomed round his path as flowers bloom, + Filling his life with such a rare perfume + Of heart's devotion kings can seldom know. + + His master-mind, with almost boundless reach, + Planned work so vast that mankind, wondering still, + Could scarcely compass his gigantic will + Which grasped great things as ocean clasps the beach. + + His home of homes was where the Cyclops forged + Their bolts, as though for Jove to hold his own: + His fondest study where, through ages grown, + The silent ores old Cambria's mountains gorged. + + Mammoth machines that, with incessant whirl, + Rolled onward ever on their ponderous way: + Gigantic marvels, deafening in their play, + And swift, industrious, never-ending swirl. + + All these he loved, as men alone can love + The things that win their love: to _him_ they shone + Instinct with living beauty all their own, + Touched with a light divine as from above. + + _For_ them, and _with_ them, toiled he day by day + In true companionship: they were his Friends, + Bound by the tie whose influence never ends, + By faithful bonds which never pass away. + + And as the sunflower looks towards the light + All through the livelong day, so did his heart + Ne'er from this bond of love play recreant part, + But every moment beat that heart aright; + + A heart so large and true--true to the core; + So spacious that the great might enter in; + Yet none too poor its sympathy to win, + And every throb a pleasure at their door. + + And so, through all the toilful hours of thought, + He reared a world-wide pinnacle of fame, + Whose summit reached, his heart was still the same, + Undazed by splendours which his hand had wrought. + + Long stood he on the topmost peak of praise + From tongues of men, as mountains tipped with snow + Stand with their lofty foreheads all a-glow, + Lit up with beauty by the sun's bright rays. + + His life was climaxed by a kinglier dower + Than even kings themselves can hope to reach; + No grander, prouder lesson can we teach, + Than win great things by self-inherent power. + + Brighter examples manhood cannot show, + Than with true hand, brave heart, and sleepless mind, + To build up name and fortune 'midst their kind, + From grains and drops--as worlds and oceans grow. + + So, in the rare meridian of his time, + In pride of conscious strength, he stood alone, + A king of kings upon his Iron Throne, + Wrought out from humble step to height sublime, + + As shadows lengthen in the setting sun, + So spread the stature of his later life, + Which, like Colossus, o'er earth's busy strife, + Towered grandly till that life's last sand was run. + + And so he passed away, as meteors die; + Leaving a trail of splendour here on earth + To mark the road he took in virtuous worth, + In sterling truth, and rare integrity. + + These are the living landmarks he has left: + Bright jewels in his earthly sojourn set, + Whose brilliance seen, those looking ne'er forgot: + A glorious heritage for friends bereft. + + Such gems as those who mourn may still adore, + Whose glistening rays men's footsteps lead aright + Through life's dark way, like glow-worms in the night, + Or angel-glintings from the eternal shore. + + As round decaying flowers perfume clings + In silent tribute to the blossoms dead, + So memory, brooding o'er his spirit fled, + Nought but the sweetest recollection brings. + + + + +ELEGIES + + +NASH VAUGHAN EDWARDES VAUGHAN. + +(OF RHEOLA.) + +DIED SEPTEMBER 18TH, 1868. (_a_) + + + I. + + Let bard on battle-field, in sounding verse, + Proclaim to distant time the warrior-deed + That makes a hero, whose triumphal hearse + Rolls graveward o'er a thousand hearts that bleed + In widowed agony. Let golden lyre + Of regal Court engaged in worldly strife + Clothe princely foibles with poetic fire, + And crown with fame a king's ignoble life. + Let chroniclers of Camp and Court proclaim + A Warrior's greatness, and a Monarch's fame. + Be mine with verse the tomb of one to grace + Whose nobler deeds deserve a nobler place. + + + II. + + The lofty fane that cleaves the glowing sky, + And heavenward points with golden finger-tip-- + Structure whence flows the sacred harmony + Of prayer and praise from Christian heart and lip: + The ranging corridors where--blest the task-- + 'Tis ours to soothe the fever and the pain + Of wounded natures, who, despairing, ask + For healing touch that makes them whole again. + These are the monuments that proudly stand + On corner stones--fruit of his princely hand: + Homes for the poor, wound-stricken to the sod; + And altars for the worship of his God. + + + III. + + The blazing meteor glares along the sky; + The thunder shakes the mountain with its roar; + But meteors for a moment live--then die: + The thunder peals--and then is heard no more. + The most refreshing rains in silence fall; + The most entrancing tones are sweet and low; + The greatest, mightiest truths, are simplest all; + Life's dearest light comes forth in voiceless flow; + E'en so his heart and hand were ever found + Flinging in mute beneficence around + The germs of Truth and Charity combined, + To heal the heart and purify the mind. + + +(_a_) The life of Mr. Vaughan was one daily round of charitable deeds, +in furtherance of religion and social amelioration. His munificent +donation to the Swansea Hospital, offered conditionally, led to the +enlarged foundation of that noble institution, which stands a silent +tribute to his memory. This Elegy was written at the request of the +late Mr. John Williams, proprietor of the _Cambrian_, Swansea, who, in +the letter requesting me to write the verses, said: "Such noble +qualities as Mr. Vaughan possessed deserve everything good which human +tongue can say of them." + + + + +MONODY. + +ON THE DEATH OF MRS. NICHOLL CARNE. (_a_) + + Down the long vista of historic years + I look, and through the dusky haze descry + Funereal pomp, and Royal pageantry, + Gracing the tombs of queens, and kings, and peers. + + I see on marble monuments deep hewn + The name and fame of mighty and of great, + Who lie in granite effigy and state, + Waiting the summons to the last Tribune. + + But 'mongst the hero-host that shrouded sleep + 'Neath purple banner and engraven stone, + Death hath not numbered one among his own + More regal-souled than she for whom we weep. + + Though a right Royal lineage she could claim, + Proudly descendant from a Cambrian King; + She was content to let her virtues bring + Something more noble than a Royal name. + + Her's was no sceptered life in queenly state: + Yet queen she was, in all that makes a Queen; + No deeds heroic marked her life serene: + Yet heroine she in all that makes us great. + + Through all the phases of a blameless life + She lingered round the threshold of the poor: + Where brighter scenes less noble minds allure, + Her's was the joy to move 'midst martyr-strife. + + To watch where hearts, by poverty o'ercome, + Lay weak and wailing; and to point above, + With words of hope, of comfort, and of love, + Till brighter, happier, grew each cottage home. + + And wine and oil fell plenteous from her hand, + To cheer the wounded on life's weary way: + While, for the human wrecks that round her lay, + Her beacon-light beamed o'er the darkling strand. + + Her's was a life of Love; then, of deep griefs, + We'll rear a monument unto her name, + More leal and lasting than the chiselled fame + Of mighty monarchs or heroic chiefs. + + And see! the virtues of the parent stem + Break forth in blossom o'er the branching tree: + Long may such fair, such bright fruition be, + Of those bereaved their proudest diadem. + + With sheltering arms--with hearts for ever green, + By love united, may they still unite; + So shall they gladden still the sainted sight + Of one who is not, but who once has been. + + +(_a_) Mrs. Carne, relict of the late Rev. R. Nicholl Carne, of Dimlands +Castle, and mother of R. C. N. Carne, Esq., Nash Manor, and of J. W. N. +Carne, Esq., Dimlands and St. Donat's Castles, died November 28th, +1866, at Dimlands, in the 94th year of her age. Deceased could claim a +Royal Welsh lineage, being the 34th in unbroken descent from Ynyr, King +of Gwent and Dyfed. Her long life was distinguished by unostentatious +acts of charity and good works. + + + +ELEGIAC STANZAS + +ON THE DEATH OF MRS. PASCOE ST. LEGER GRENFELL, + MAESTEG HOUSE, SWANSEA. DIED JANUARY 8TH, 1868. + + + This world heroic souls can little spare + That battle bravely with life's every ill: + When days are dark that saintly smiles can wear, + And all around with heavenly glory fill. + + This world can little spare the Christian heart + That holds with tearful faith the hand of God + With never-yielding grasp; and takes full part + In works divine on earth's degenerate sod. + + This world can little spare the gentle voice + That woos the sinful from the dreamy road + Of human frailties, making hearts rejoice, + Relieving souls of many a bitter load. + + This world can little spare the bounteous hand + That Plenty plants where Want oft grew before; + Raising the latchet as with angel-wand, + To cheer the darksome cottage of the poor. + + Virtues like these the world can little spare + That fleck life's road like snowdrops in the Spring, + Making it beautiful; and, virtue rare! + Silent and heedless of the bliss they bring. + + But if the world should weep, how must they mourn + For whom her goodness bloomed a thousand-fold + More sweet in tender love? E'en as the dawn + Crowns all it looks on with a fringe of gold. + + So did affection gird in rosy might + The home which by her presence was adorned, + Where came an aching void: for lo! their light + Was quencht by death and in the tomb in-urned. + + Not quencht. Ah, no! For Heaven's eternal gates + Flew open, and in robes which angels wear + Her sainted spirit entered; and it waits + For those that were beloved to join it there. + + + + +IN DREAMS. + + I. + + When they carried away my darling + To a kingdom beyond the sky, + I knew what the angels intended, + So I stifled the tear and the sigh, + But I prayed she might send me a message + Of love from the realms of the blest, + As to me a whole life of repining + Was the cost of her Heaven of rest. + + + II. + + Yes: I prayed she might send me a message; + One word from her mansion of bliss; + One ray from her features angelic: + From her sweet lips the saintliest kiss; + And I question the wind, as it wanders + As though from the regions above, + But it whispers in sadness, and brings me + From the absent no message of love. + + + III. + + At night I grow weary with watching + The stars, as I sadly surmise + Which of all those bright jewels resplendent + Borrow light from my lost one's eyes: + Then I sleep--and a vision approaches; + And again all my own she would seem: + But on waking my Love has departed, + And my heart aches to find it a dream. + + + IV. + + Oh, I prayed she might send me a message; + But nought the sweet missive will bring: + The breath of the morning, the sunlight, + The carol of birds on the wing, + Come to gladden my heart with their gladness; + But joyless and tuneless each seems; + And the only sad joy that is left me + Is to live with my dearest in dreams. + + + + +"MEWN COF ANWYL." (_a_) + +The above words, wrought in imperishable flowers, were placed on the +coffin of the late Mr. John Johnes, of Dolaucothy, at the time of his +interment at Cayo, by his youngest daughter, to whom the following +elegiac stanzas are respectfully inscribed. + + + I. + + "Mewn cof anwyl." + So sings the lorn and lonely nightingale, + Sighing in sombre thicket all day long, + Weaving its throbbing heartstrings into song + For absent mate, with sorrowing unavail. + And every warble seems to say--"Alone!" + While every pause brings musical reply: + Sad Philomel! Each sweet responsive sigh + Is but the dreamy echo of its own. + + + II. + + "Mewn cof anwyl." + So sings the West wind through the darkling eve, + In spirit-wanderings up and down the wold, + Each mournful sorrow at its heart untold, + Sighing in secret--as the angels grieve, + "Bring back my love!" sobs the bereaved wind; + And sleeping flow'rets waken at the sound, + Shedding their dewy tears upon the ground: + "She seeks," they whisper, "who shall never find!" + + + III. + + "Mewn cof anwyl." + So sings all night the never-resting sea; + And stars look down with tender, loving eyes; + The air is filled with saddening memories + Of what was once--but ne'er again may be. + "Here lie the lost!" the ocean seems to moan; + "I yearn to clasp them to my throbbing heart + "In fond embrace: The lost--myself a part! + So near--so near--and yet I mourn alone!" + + + IV. + + "Mewn cof anwyl." + As roses, crusht and dead, in silence leave + Their precious heritage of perfume rare, + So the good name our dear departed bear + Reflects in cheering light on those who grieve; + And memory, brooding o'er the love thus left, + In tender fancy crowns the dream with tears, + Till, as the hue that on bright rain appears, + Peace comes to comfort lonely hearts bereft. + + +(_a_) In loving memory. + + + + +ELEGIAC. + + 'Tis not with rude, irreverent feet, + I tread where sacred sorrows lie; + But gently raise, in accents meet, + My voice in earnest sympathy: + In sympathy with one bereaved, + Who mourns a loss which all deplore: + Whose grief by Hope is unrelieved-- + For tears bring back the Past no more. + + 'Tis not in words the wound to heal + Which tenderest ties, when broken, make; + 'Tis not in language to conceal + The griefs which snapped affection's wake + But sorrows, stinging though they be, + In sympathy some sweetness find, + Which may assuage, though slenderly, + The grief that clouds a manly mind. + + + + +IN MEMORIAM. + + The blameless life of her whose grave I strew + With flow'rs of thought deep gathered from the heart + Of heavenliest things was formed the greater part: + No sentiment but love her bosom knew. + + Her influence, like the sunlight from on high, + That flames with splendour every opening flower, + Stole o'er us silently: yet O, the power! + Charming our household world resplendently. + + And little hearts tow'rds that sweet influence yearned; + And little voices loved to lisp her name; + For when, to them, the world was dark, she came, + Love-bright, and so their lives in beauty burned. + + In beauty burned with pure and happy glow; + Their joys were her's. In thought I see her now, + Love prompted, sitting with a dreamy brow, + Planning the pleasures she might never know. + + Her's was the hand that wreathed so daintily + With flow'rs each fissure Circumstance had formed, + And, by its touch, like snows by sunsets warmed, + Each rigid thought was softened rosily. + + Her's was the heart, by noblest impulse moved, + That beat with earnest fondness all divine; + That filled life's cup of joy with rarest wine, + For those who proudly felt they were beloved. + + But soft! God's edict 'twas, that, from above, + Laden with anguish, came with cruel blow. + 'Twas Heaven's gain: the grief those only know + Who lost her just as they had learnt to love. + + Ah, me: the cost to be to Heaven akin: + The harvest ripens round the Eternal gate: + The pure in soul and saintliest-hearted wait: + The Reaper comes and plucks the nearest in. + + Ah, me: the cost life's fairest flower to be: + Petal and spray all elegance and grace: + Each blossom beauteous as an angel's face; + And yet, alas! the first to drop and die. + + Ah, me: the cost life's tenderest chords to wake, + With sweet enchantment breaking up the air; + To know each tone will call forth many a tear: + Each tender touch a heart or spirit-ache. + + Ah, me: the cost for human hearts to claim + Where God before His perfect seal had set, + Like mortals straying into Heaven unlet, + We perish gazing on celestial flame. + + + + +TO CLARA. + + 'Twas a short decade that thou and I + Walked hand-in-hand through the world together; + When the cruel clouds obscured our sky, + And bitter and bleak was life's daily weather. + But a brave little heart was thine--and so, + Though it might have been lighter had fortune willed it, + It battled, in boundless faith I know, + And just as the sunshine 'gan to grow + The hand of Death reached forth--and chilled it. + + The blow was unkind; but Heaven knows best: + I felt that my loss was to thee a blessing; + For I knew, when I laid thee down to rest, + I was giving an angel to angels' caressing: + Thy love to my heart was ever dear, + With thy gentle voice and thy brave endeavour; + Though briefly we wandered together here, + Two souls were cemented with smile and tear, + That, one on earth, will be one for ever. + + + + +E. H. R. + +DIED NOVEMBER 30TH, 1867. + + + She came in beauty like the sun, + And flusht with hope each heart and eye, + As roses redden into life + When Summer passes by. + + And like the sun she calmly set, + With love's own golden glory crown'd, + In light whose rays for evermore + In mem'ry will abound. + + + + +A. R. + +DIED APRIL 21ST, 1865. + + + In silent grief the blow we'll bear: + Though gone, with us she'll still abide. + Her name a shape of love will wear, + In viewless influence by our side. + + + + +MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. + + +VENUS AND ASTERY + +A LEGEND OF THE GODS. (_a_) + + Ah! hapless nymph! Doomed for a time to bear + The badge which none but fickle lives should wear. + How oft the envious tongue creates the dart + That cleaves the saintly soul and breaks the heart: + How oft the hasty ear full credence gives + To words in which no grain of truth survives: + Were Juno just, her heart would now delight + Turning thy dappled wings to waxen white, + Where jealous Venus and her envious train + By falsehood fixed an undeserved stain. + + +(_a_) Astery, one of the most beautiful of Venus's nymphs, and, as +Spenser says, + + "Excelling all the crew + In courteous usage and unstained hue," + +Is said to have been instructed "on a day" by her mistress to go forth +with her companions gathering flowers with which to adorn her forehead. +She did so, and being more industrious than the rest, gathered more +flowers than any of them. On being praised by Venus, her companions, +being envious of her, told the goddess that Astery had been assisted by +Cupid, Venus's son, in culling the blossoms. For this supposed offence +she was immediately turned by Venus into a butterfly, and her wings, +which before were white, were stained with the colours of all the +flowers she had gathered, "for memory of her pretended crime, though +crime none were."--_Spenser's "Muiopotmos"_, 1576. + + + + +TO A ROYAL MOURNER. + +1864. + + 'Twere wise, O Queen, to let thy features shine + Upon thy faithful people once again; + As Summer comes to light the paths of men, + So would thy presence round our hearts entwine. + + It is not meet our Queen of Queens should stay + Lifelong and tearful in the sombre glade, + Whither, to hide the wound which Heaven made, + She shrank, as shrinks the stricken deer away. + + We do not ask thy heart to let us in + With all the freeness of an early day: + Nor hope to bear thy greatest grief away, + As though, with thee, that grief had never been. + + But, as the silent chancel leaves the sun + To shine through mellowing windows on the floor, + So would we enter thy great heart once more, + Subdued, in reverence of the sainted one. + + We wept with thee when throbbed the passing-bell, + And felt thy great affliction from afar: + We mourned that such a grief thy life should mar, + And loved thee more for loving him so well. + + One pearly thought surrounds that sombre time; + One golden hope enframes the past regret: + We thank our Father thou art with us yet, + The more majestic for thy grief sublime. + + + + +BEAUTIFUL WALES. + +There is a little history attached to the following lines. Twenty +years ago, my friend, Mr. Arthur J. Morris, at that time an accountant +at the Llwydcoed Ironworks, Aberdare, and subsequently manager at the +Plymouth Ironworks, Merthyr Tydfil, but now deceased, asked me to write +a song in praise of Wales. I did so, and wrote and sent him the words +of "Beautiful Wales," a Welsh translation of which was made and +forwarded to me by Mr. Daniel Morgan (Daniel ap Gwilym), of Aberaman, +Aberdare. A short time afterwards I received a request from Mr. R. +Andrews, of Manchester (whom I never saw and do not know) for +permission to set the words to music, which permission I gave, and the +song (English version) was published by Robert Cocks and Co., London. +It has long since been out of print. I found, on receiving some copies +of the music, that the tune was merely an adaptation of a well-known +dance tune, and some years ago I wrote to Mr. Brinley Richards on the +subject, who regretted that the words had not been wedded to more +suitable music. The matter, however, was lost sight of by myself, and +I was under the impression that the song had been forgotten. To my +surprise it suddenly cropped up as a great favourite of the Sunday +schools, and I have myself heard it sung at school anniversaries to +various tunes. It would seem, therefore, that after playing the +vagrant for goodness knows how long, it became a reformed character, +was taken in hand by school children, and by them adopted as a pet and +made a favourite of. + + + + +BEAUTIFUL WALES. + + I know a land whose sunny shore + The sea's wild waves embrace, + Whose heart is full of mystic lore + That flashes from its face; + A land where cloud-kissed mountains are, + And green and flowery vales, + Where Poesy lingers like a star: + That land is sunny Wales. + + Wales, the wild--the beautiful, + The beautiful--the free; + My heart and hand are thine, O land + Of magic minstrelsy. + + And in this mystic land of mine + What dainty maids there be, + Whose faces shine with love divine, + Like sunlight on the sea. + The boasted fair of other climes + That live in songs and tales + Will never be more fair to me + Than those of sunny Wales. + + Wales, the wild--the beautiful, + The beautiful--the free; + My heart and hand are thine, O land + Of magic minstrelsy. + + + + +GWALIA DEG. + + Mi wn am wlad, a'i garw draeth + Gofleidir gan y don, + Sy'n orlawn o gyfrinawl ddysg + 'R hwn draetha'i gwyneb llon: + Gwlad yw lle mae mynyddoedd ban, + A glynoedd gwyrdd eu lliw; + Lle'r erys awenyddiaeth glaer: + Hoff Walia heulawg yw. + + Gwalia wyllt, wyt decaf wlad; + Wyt decaf wlad--wlad rydd! + Dy eiddo i gyd wyf fi, O dud + Y swynawl gerdd ddiludd. + + Ac yn y wlad gyfrinawl hon, + Ceir merched uchel fri, + Sydd a'u gwynebau'n t'w'nu fel + Goleuni haul uwch lli. + Prydferthwch ffrostiawl gwledydd pell, + Sy'n byw yn ngerddi'r byd, + Nis byddant byth brydferthach im + Na rhai fy heulawg dud. + + Gwalia wyllt, wyt decaf wlad; + Wyt decaf wlad--wlad rydd! + Dy eiddo i gyd wyf fi, O dud + Y swynawl gerdd ddiludd. + + + + +THE WELSH LANGUAGE. + +My bardic friend "Caradawc," of Abergavenny, sent me the following +Englyn, with a request that I would write an English translation: + +ENGLYN I'R IAITH GYMRAEG. + + Iaith anwyl y Brythoniaid;--Iaith gywrain-- + Iaith gara fy Enaid; + Iaith gry, iaith bery heb baid, + Gorenwog Iaith Gwroniaid. + + IOAN DAFYDD A'I CANT. + + + + +To which was written and forwarded the following reply; + +ON THE WELSH LANGUAGE. + + A language to love--when our tongues in love speak it; + A language to hate--when 'tis spoken by fools; + A language to live--when the pure in life seek it, + A language to die--when the lying tongue rules; + A blessing--when blessings lead men to enjoy it; + A curse--when for cursing 'tis used as a rod; + The language of Satan--when devils employ it; + When angels indite it--the language of God. + + + + +A FOOLISH BIRD. + + An ostrich o'er the desert wide, + With upturned beak and jaunty stride, + In stately, self-sufficient pride, + One day was gently roaming. + When--dreadful sound to ostrich ears, + To ostrich mind the worst of fears-- + Our desert champion thinks he hears + The dreaded hunter coming. + Ill-fated bird! He might have fled: + Those legs of his would soon have sped + That flossy tail--that lofty head-- + Far, far away from danger. + But--fatal error of his race-- + In sandy bank he hid his face, + And thought by this to evade the chase + Of the ostrich-bagging ranger. + So he who, like the ostrich vain, + Is ign'rant, and would so remain, + Of what folks do, it's very plain + In folly's road he's walking. + For if in sand you hide your head + Just to escape that which you dread, + And, seeing not, say danger's fled: + 'Tis worse than childish talking. + + + + +"I'D CHOOSE TO BE A NIGHTINGALE." + +Answer to a Poem which appeared in a daily paper, with the above title, +signed "Mary" (Llandovery.) + + Gentle Mary! Do you know + What it is you crave? + Listen! As the flowers grow + O'er the dismal grave, + So, when sweetest sings the bird + Thou would'st like to be, + When in twilight's hour is heard + The magic melody, + Harshly comes the cruel thorn + Against the songster's breast, + And melting music thus is born + Of pain and sad unrest (_a_) + So if like Philomel thou'dst sing, + And happiness impart, + Thy breast must bear the cruel sting + That haunts the songster's heart. + + +(_a_) There is a poetic legend, which says that when the Nightingale +sings the sweetest, it presses its breast against a thorn. + + + + +TRUE PHILANTHROPY. + +Written on hearing that J. D. Llewelyn, Esq., of Penllergare, had +refused a public Testimonial, the offer of which was evoked by his +unbounded charity and unostentatious acts of philanthropy, which +recognition it was desired to inaugurate in the shape of a statue of +himself, placed in front of the Swansea hospital--an institution which +owes so much to his munificent liberality. + +MARCH 6th, 1876. + + Friend of the poor, for whom thy ceaseless thought + Is as the sun, that warms the earthy clod + Into a flush of blossom beauty-fraught, + Waking in hearts by poverty distraught + Glimpses in life of Heaven and of God. + + And as the sun sends forth his golden beams + In silence, all unweeting of their worth, + So from thy life in silent beauty streams + That Heaven-born charity which never seems + To know itself--and blushes at its birth. + + No sculptor's art thy goodness need proclaim: + The knowledge lives in hearts that feel its power-- + A love more lasting than a marbled fame: + Brooding in silence o'er thy cherished name, + As light is worshipped by the voiceless flower. + + + + +DISRAELI. + + O'er the Present proudly striding + Like Colossus o'er the wave, + And a beacon-light high holding, + While the tempests loudly rave: + Laying bare in truthful teaching + Treach'rous breakers round the bay, + That the good old barque of England + May in safety sail away: + Though the tongue of fiercest Faction + In its Folly may deride, + Still he stands in lofty learning + Like a giant o'er the tide, + While the murmuring wavelets passing + Far beneath his kingly hand, + Looking upward, blindly babble + Where they cannot understand. + + When his country's proudest sceptre + He was called upon to sway, + Ruled he with a noble purpose + That will never pass away: + So, the Future, of his striving + With its trumpet-tongue shall tell: + How he battled for the Bible; + How he loved old England well: + How his nature, though not faultless + (Human nature may not be), + Bore the never-dying impress + Of life's truest chivalry, + How they wrote upon the marble, + Where he lay beneath the sod: + "Faithfully he served his country," + "Truthfully he served his God." + + + + +DOWN IN THE DARK. + +A RECOLLECTION OF THE FERNDALE COLLIERY EXPLOSION. + NOVEMBER, 1867. + + Down in the dark--in the blinding dark; + Away from the sunshine bright above: + Away from the gaze of those they love, + They are lying stony and stark. + + Down in the dark--deep down in the dark, + With the terror of death in each sightless eye, + Which tells how hard 'tis to burn and die + Down--down in the poisonous dark. + + Up in the light--in the broad noon-light-- + Poor hearts are breaking: hot tears are shed, + As, tenderly shrouding each cinder-like head, + It is hid from the aching sight. + + Up in the light--in the soft gas-light + Of the draperied room, in luxurious guise; + In our comfort forgetting who plods and plies + Far down in eternal night. + + Up in the light--further up in the light; + In the pure clear light of a Queenly crown, + A widowed monarch is looking down + Tow'rds the dark, with compassion bedight. + + Up in the light--further up in the light-- + From the dazzling light of a Maker's throne-- + The angel of Pity came down to zone + Human hearts through that dreadful night. + + + + +DAISY MAY. + +A STORY OF CHRISTMASTIDE LONG AGO. + + PART THE FIRST. + + "Don't bolt the door, John," said the Dame, + Who sat esconced in oaken chair, + The good man paused, and back he came, + Silent, and with a troubled air. + + "To night 'tis just a year ago + Since Daisy left," the mother sighed. + "Don't blame the child, I loved her so; + But better had our darling died." + + The father spake not. Glistening bright + A tear stole down the mother's cheek. + "A year to-night! A year to-night! + I sometimes think my heart will break." + + 'Tis Christmas-eve, and in that cot + The good old couple grieve and yearn + For one, though absent, ne'er forgot: + "Don't bolt the door, she may return." + + "She may return." The midnight chime + With mystic music fills the air, + And bears the news, "'Tis Christmas time," + In sobbing wavelets everywhere. + + + PART THE SECOND + + Our village pride was Daisy May; + A fairy being, all too good + For earthly thought--as bright as day-- + Just blooming into womanhood. + + The low, sweet music of her voice, + Was like the sound of rippling rills; + It bade the listening heart rejoice, + And won as with enchanting spells. + + Her eyes, like violets dipt in dew, + The soul enthralled with tender glance, + That gave to things a brighter hue, + And fringed our lives with new romance. + + And from her forehead, white as pearl, + There hung a cloud of golden hair, + Whose lustre threw around the girl + A halo such as angels wear. + + "Ah, me!" sighed many a village swain, + "Her love what bliss 'twould be to win + He whom the beauteous prize shall gain + Will open Heaven and enter in." + + And as she passed with girlish grace + She met the glance of every eye, + Till blushes fluttered o'er her face + Like roses when the sun goes by. + + But while in virgin life she walkt; + While sunlight round her footsteps played, + Abroad unbridled Passion stalked: + She loved, and, trusting, was betrayed. + + And in the city, 'mongst the gay, + Far, far from friends who mourned her fate, + She flung Love's precious pearls away, + And woke, but woke, alas, too late. + + She woke to find herself alone, + Save baby sleeping at her breast: + In that vast city all unknown, + Unloved, unpitied, and unblest. + + Unloved by one who swore to love; + Unpitied by the cruel crowd; + Unblest by all save Him above, + To whom she prayed in grief aloud. + + In fitful dreams she saw, and oft, + That humble cottage by the burn; + And heard a voice, so sweet and soft: + "Don't bolt the door, she may return." + + "She may return." Delicious dream. + "Then mother loves me still," she sighed. + Ah! little knew she of the stream + Of tears that mother shed and dried. + + Of weary watches in the night; + Of aching heart throughout the day; + Of darkened hours that once were bright, + Made glad by her now far away. + + And when, in unforgiving mood, + The father urged his tenets stern, + How oft that mother tearful stood: + "Don't bolt the door, she may return." + + + PART THE THIRD. + + 'Tis Christmas Eve: the midnight chime + With mystic music fills the air, + And bears the news, "'Tis Christmas time," + In sobbing wavelets everywhere. + + Without, the weird wind whistles by; + Clothed is the ground with drifting snow; + Within, the yule logs, piled on high, + Their cheery warmth and comfort throw. + + And in that cottage by the moor, + Where father, mother, mourning dwell. + The fire is bright, where hearts are sore + The chime to them a mournful knell. + + "What's that?" the mother faintly said: + "Methought I heard a weary sigh." + The father sadly shook his head: + "Tis but the wind that wanders by." + + Again the Dame, with drowsy start-- + "It is no dream--I heard a groan." + Oh, the misgivings of her heart! + "'Tis but the music's murmuring moan." + + They little thought, while thus they sighed, + That at their threshold, fainting, lay + The child for whom they would have died, + For whom they prayed both night and day. + + 'Twas bitter chill! The snowy fall + Came drifting slowly through the air, + And gently clothed with ghostly pall + The wasted form that slumbered there. + + And all the live-long night she slept, + While breaking hearts within grew sore; + While father, mother, mourned and wept, + She lay in silence at the door. + + Till, in the morning, all aglow, + The sun, in looking o'er the hill, + Like sculptured marble in the snow, + Saw Daisy, stony, stark, and still. + + Then tenderly, in coffined state, + The hapless girl they grave-ward bore, + And, as they mourned her cruel fate, + Her tomb with flowers scattered o'er. + + Leaving the broken-hearted child + To sleep in peace beneath the sod, + And he who first her heart beguiled + To cope with conscience and his God. + + + + +LINES: + +ACCOMPANYING A PURSE GIVEN TO A FRIEND ON HIS BIRTHDAY. + + The Purse I send to you, my friend, + Is empty, but if wishes warm + Could fill it, 'twould be brimming o'er + With handfuls of the golden charm. + The only wealth I have to give + Are words which may be worth a thought. + Be sure, as you would prosperous live, + While earning sixpence spend a groat: + Your purse will then grow slowly full, + A friend in need you'll always find, + And comforts, which can only flow + From plenty and a peaceful mind. + + + + +FORSAKEN. + + 'Twas a white water-lily I saw that day, + With its leaves looking up to the sky, + And baring its breast to the sportive play + Of the wavelets dancing by. + And O for the music the streamlet made, + As it floated in ripples along; + Round the beautiful blossom it eddied and played + With a voice full of silvery song. + + So all through the Summer the lily laughed, + And with glances of loving and light + Drank in fresher beauty with each dainty draught + Of the water so playful and bright. + "And is it for ever," the floweret sighed, + "That thy vows of affection will last?" + "For ever and ever!" the streamlet replied, + And, embracing her, hurried past. + + The Summer days vanished--the Winter came: + Ah! where could the lily be? + The sun still warmed with its golden flame; + But the streamlet had gone to the sea. + And the blossom that once, with its bosom of white, + Like a star from the heavens shone, + Lay frozen and dead. Ah, sorrowful plight! + It had died in the dark alone. + + + + +CHRISTMAS IS COMING. + + Christmas is coming with merry laugh, + With a merry laugh and a joyful shout, + And the tidings are flung with an iron tongue + From a thousand steeples pealing out; + Hang up the holly--the mistletoe hang; + Bedeck every nook round the old fireside; + Make bright every hearth--let the joy-bells clang + With a warm-hearted welcome to Christmas-tide. + + Christmas is coming! But some will see + By the old fireside a vacant place; + And a vision will flit through the festive glee + Of an absent--a never-returning face; + And a voice that was music itself last year + Will be mournfully missed in the even-song; + And children will speak, with a gathering tear, + Of the virtues which now to the dead belong. + + Christmas is coming! Look back o'er the past: + Is there nought to forgive? Is there nought to forget? + Have we seized all the chances of life that were placed + In our path: or in this have we nought to regret? + Have we fought on life's battle-ground manfully--true, + While success, like a butterfly, flew from our reach? + Have we pressed in pursuit of the prize as it flew? + Has the Past, in its dying, no lesson to teach? + + Christmas is coming! But who shall say + That at Christmas-time they again may meet? + For graves lie thick in the crowded way; + And we elbow Death in the open street + Let Folly embitter the festival hour + With a tongue that would injure--a heart that would hate! + True wisdom is blest with a nobler dower: + In another year it may be too late. + + Christmas is coming! The wealthy will sit + In purple, fine linen, and sumptuous state; + 'Twere well in their plenty they should not forget + The poor that stand meek at the outer gate. + For who can foreshadow the changes of life? + See! yesterday's King is an outcast to-day; + Success comes in time to the strong in the strife; + And Fortune's a game at which paupers can play. + + Christmas is coming? The trader will quail + Over ledgers unsquared--and accounts overdue: + And his pen fain would tell all the sorrowful tale + Which his heart, full of fear, has not courage to do! + Had he all that is owing, how happy his heart; + How buoyant his footstep--how joyous his face; + But his debtors from gold as their life's blood will part; + And their hoard lies untouched o'er a brother's disgrace. + + But Christmas is coming with merry laugh, + Amid pain, amid pleasure, with joyful shout, + And the tidings are flung with an iron tongue + From a thousand steeples pealing out. + Hang up the holly--the mistletoe hang; + Bedeck every nook round the old fireside: + Let us bury our care: let the joy-bells clang + With a warm-hearted welcome to Christmas-tide. + + + + +HEART LINKS. + + The mist that rises from the river, + Evermore--evermore, + Tells how hearts are born to sever + As of yore--as of yore. + But the silvery mist returneth + Sparkling dew and blessed rain; + So the loving heart, though distant, + Comes again--comes again. + + The stars that shine in brightness o'er us + In the sky--in the sky, + Speak of loved ones gone before us + Born to die--born to die, + Who, in days of earthly sadness, + O'er us watch with tender love, + As the starlight falls around us + From above--from above. + + The rose that gives, before it leaves us, + Fragrance rare--fragrance rare, + Links of love in absence weaves us + Sweet to wear--sweet to wear; + So true hearts in love united + Bound by pure affection's chain, + Though in life or death divided, + Meet again--meet again. + + + + +THE OAK TO THE IVY. + + 'Twas in my Spring of palmy gladness + First I met thee, Ivy wife; + Then my brow, untouched by sadness, + Bloomed with regal-foliaged life; + Proud my arms hung forth in blessing + O'er thy trustful spirit dear, + And my heart, 'neath thy caressing, + Wore a Spring-dress all the year! + Time wings on: my strength is fleeing, + And my leafy beauties too; + Still thou clings't around my being, + Changeless--ever true. + + Churlish Autumn hath uncrowned me, + Still I feel thy fond embrace; + Winter sad throws gloom around me: + Sweet! thou smil'st up in my face; + Spring arrives with flowery treasures, + Summer skips by, sun-caressed; + Yet thou, envying not their pleasures, + Bloom'st upon my rugged breast. + Time wings on: my strength is fleeing, + And my leafy beauties too; + Still thou cling'st around my being, + Changeless--ever true. + + Though my limbs grow old and weary, + Trembling in the wintry air; + And my life be dark and dreary-- + Still I feel that thou art near; + Stripped of all my blossoms golden, + 'Reft of stalwart forest pride-- + Sere and sallow, leafless, olden; + Yet remain'st thou by my side. + Time wings on: my strength is fleeing, + And my leafy beauties too; + Life-long cling'st thou round my being, + Changeless--ever true. + + + + +EPIGRAM + +ON A WELSHWOMAN'S HAT. + + "O changeful woman! Constant man!" + Has been the theme for buried ages. + But here's the truth: say "No" who can-- + Ye bards, philosophers, and sages: + Men buy their Hats all kinds of shapes; + Our own Welshwomen change their's never; + 'Tis with their Hats as with their loves-- + Where fancy rests the heart approves, + And, loving once, they love for ever! + + + + +SHADOWS IN THE FIRE. + + She sat and she gazed in the fire: + In the fire with a dreamy look: + And she seemed as though she could never tire + Of reading the fiery book. + + She saw, midst the embers bright, + A figure both manly and fair, + Blue eyes that shone with a loving light: + And showers of nut-brown hair. + + She saw her own image stand + By that form on a sunny day: + One kiss of the lip: one grasp of the hand: + And her heart was borne away. + + She saw, through the flickering flame, + A bier in a darkened room: + And a coffin that bore her idol's name + Was hurried away to the tomb. + + She saw, from a distant strand, + A missive sent over the main: + The letter was writ by a stranger's hand: + And she sighed for her lover in vain. + + So she sat and she gazed in the fire: + In the fire, with a dreamy look: + And she seemed as though she could never tire + Of reading the fiery book. + + + + +THE BELFRY OLD. + + On a New Year's Eve, by a belfry old, + With a sea of solemn graves around, + While the grim grey tower of the village church + Kept silent ward o'er each grassy mound, + With a cloak of ivy about it grown, + Fringed round, like fur, with a snowy fray; + On a New Year's Eve I watched alone + The life of the last year ebbing away. + + Anon there came from the belfry out + A strange wild sound as of pleasure and pain; + For the birth of the new a jubilant shout: + For the death of the old a sad refrain. + And the voice went throbbingly through the air, + Went sobbing and sighing, with laughter blent; + All the echoes awakening everywhere; + A guest that was welcomed wherever, it went. + + I thought, as the sound of each babbling bell + Came gushing away from the belfry old, + That stories such as the dying tell + Were up in that belfry being told: + As the words men mutter in life's last fear + Seem to shrink from Eternity back to Time, + So it seemed to me that each echo clear + Came back from the grave with a lesson sublime. + + "Yet another year!" it seemed to say; + Gone one more year in the battle of life; + With its yearnings in gloom for the coming day, + Its pantings for peace 'mid the daily strife; + Clay lips that kissed but a year ago + With the fervent warmth of life and love; + Dear eyes that gladdened bright homes below + In one short year with the stars above. + + Gone one more year, with its masses that prayed + For the daily bread that so seldom came; + With its lives whom sinning could never degrade, + Till the canker of want brought guilt and shame. + Gone one more year, with its noble souls + Who raised up the weary in hours of need; + With its crowds that started for wished-for goals, + And drooped by the way, broken-hearted indeed. + + Gone one more year, with its wearisome woes; + Its pleasures hoped for--never seen: + Its swallow-winged friends: its fair-faced foes: + Its sorrow which happiness might have been: + Its cant and its cunning: its craft and crime: + Its loves and its hates: its hopes and fears: + Its lives that, reaching tow'rds heights sublime, + Fell short of the mark in a sea of tears. + + Gone one more year, to tell all the rest + How wise the old world had gotten of late: + How fools still flourish, by wealth caressed: + How the noble of mind meet a pauper's fate; + How the infidel heart, accursed, defies + All hopes of Heaven--all fears of hell: + How the saintly preach from the book of lies, + And scoff at the truths which Saviours tell. + + How the pious who poison the poor man's food + In shoddy and shop grow golden and grand: + How the rent-roll harbours the stolen rood-- + The emblazoned escutcheon the bloody hand: + How women and men to the altar hie, + And swear to the promise they rarely keep; + How Vice, a shameless and living lie, + Gets honours which Virtue never can reap. + + Gone one more year: there is no return. + Press onward, still onward, for weal or woe. + Beat heart: throb brain: hot eyelids burn: + Man's troubles and trials who cares to know? + Birth, marriage, and death: death, marriage, and birth, + Are the treadmill steps of this wheel of strife; + Cloak, draught, and a crust--then a hole in the earth: + And the struggle for these is the story of life. + + So sang the bells in the belfry old, + Or so it seemed to me they sang; + And the year died out as the moments rolled, + Still o'er its bier the joy-bells rang: + 'Twas mourning an instant, merriment then, + And the ghastly shroud where the old year lay-- + How like is the humour of bells and men-- + Became swaddling-clothes for the New Year's Day. + + + + +BEAUTIFUL BARBARA. + + Beautiful Barbara--Barbara bright, + As bright and as fresh as the dainty dawn, + What is it disturbeth her bosom white, + As the breeze into billows kisseth the corn? + + Beautiful Barbara--silent and shy, + Shy as the dove, as the dove as fond, + What a dreaminess lives in her hazel eye, + As she looketh away through the valley beyond. + + Through the valley beyond, where the daisies blush, + Where the woodbines bloom and the rivulets run; + Through the valley beyond, where, in evening's hush, + Beautiful Barbara's heart was won. + + And the maiden Barbara, fair and forlorn, + The grass-green meadow looketh along; + The morrow was fixed for her wedding morn, + And she vieweth in vision the bridal throng. + + She looketh, and weepeth, and looketh in vain: + Her heart was trustful; his heart was untrue; + And beautiful Barbara mingleth amain + Her tears with the daisies and the dew. + + And the harvest moon sat silent and pale, + Silent and pale o'er the far-off hill: + And the sun in the morning flushing the vale + Saw beautiful Barbara stark and still. + + Stark and still, with a forehead of white, + Round which the dew-drop coronal shone; + And the sunbeams came with their laughing light, + But beautiful Barbara sleepeth on. + + 'Twas a trying path for her dainty feet, + For such dainty feet as her's to tread. + So her trampled heart 'gainst its bars had beat, + Till it bravely broke and heavenward fled. + + + + +SONG OF THE SILKEN SHROUD. + + Out in Babylon yonder, + By the gas-lights' dull red glare, + In a stifling room--a living tomb, + With never a breath of air, + A slender girl is sitting; + At her feet a silken cloud, + Which music makes, while her young heart aches, + As she stitches the rustling shroud. + And this is the song the glistening silk + Sings, out in the work-room yonder: + + "Quick! quick! quick! + "My lady is waiting to roam. + "If you wish to die, the needle ply; + "You can die when you reach your home." + + And while the gas-lights flicker and play + The life of the sempstress ebbs away + In the West End work-room yonder. + + Out in Babylon yonder, + In the blaze of the ball-room gay, + My lady sits; while round her flits + A skeleton slender and grey. + And the ghastly spectre standeth + By the side of my lady fair + So mournfully bland, and with bony hand + It plays with her costume rare. + And this is the song the ghostly guest + Sings, out in the ball-room yonder: + + "Look! look! look! + "Sit ye scornful and proud. + "Your boddice a hearse; every stitch a curse; + "Your skirt a silken shroud." + + For while the gas-lights flickered in play + The life of the sempstress ebbed away + In the West End work-room yonder. + + + + +A UNIVERSITY FOR WALES. + +WRITTEN IN 1867, AND INSCRIBED TO THOSE WHO WERE THEN + ENGAGED IN THE NOBLE AND PATRIOTIC WORK OF PROVIDING ONE. + + In the cause of Education + Let us raise the standard high, + And in tones of exultation + "Upward--onward!" be the cry. + Let us rear this Fane of Learning-- + Beauteous Temple of the Mind; + Where true hearts, for knowledge yearning, + May the priceless jewel find. + + In the cause of Education + Let the glorious altar stand, + As a bulwark of the nation, + As a blessing in the land. + Let an unsectarian fabric + Grow in grandeur from the sod, + As a crown upon our manhood, + As a monument to God. + + In the cause of Education + Let the wealth which Wisdom owns + Be out-scattered open-handed + To uprear this Throne of Thrones: + And, like bread upon the waters, + Hearts that give from store of gold + Will, in never-dying blessings, + Richly reap a thousand-fold. + + In the cause of Education, + In the search for simple Truth, + In the proud Confederation + Which ennobles striving youth, + Let each heart's best pulses quicken, + Patriotic souls up-leap, + Till, mind-freighted, sails the fabric + Like an ark upon the deep. + + + + +GRIEFS UNTOLD. + + In silence blooms the Summer rose, + With damask cheek and odorous breath, + And ne'er a ruddy leaf that blows + Whispers of canker or of death: + But sweetly smiles the lovely flower + All through the sunshine warm and gay, + And tells not of the canker-dower + That eats its inmost heart away. + + In gladness rolls the river bright + Down through the meadow grassy-green, + With ripples full of laughing light + That wake with joy the sunny scene. + From morn till morn, with cheery tread, + The stream walks on with ne'er a sigh, + Nor tells of pebbles hard and dead + That deep below the surface lie. + + + + +"I WILL." + + It is Christmas Eve, and the dance is o'er: + "Good night--good night all round!" + And the red light streams through the open door, + Like a sprite on the snowy ground. + And faces peer down the glowing dell + From the cottage warm and bright, + To see the last of the village belle + Who stands in the pale moonlight. + And waving her hand with a last farewell, + Is lost from their yearning sight. + But not alone is that maiden fair + Of the pearl-white face and the golden hair. + + "Thou knowest I love thee, Blanche," he said, + Who walked by the maiden's side, + And her cheeks flushed up with a sweeter red + When he asked her to be his bride. + Though humble, their love was pure as light-- + As pure as the snow they trod; + And the peal from the belfry woke the night + Like a voice from the Throne of God: + Or plaudits of angels glad with delight + At their Maker's approving nod. + Through a manly bosom it sent a thrill, + For it came with the bells did the girl's "I will." + + + + +DAWN AND DEATH. + + The sobbing winds of winter + Lingered sadly round the door, + Then ran in mystic meanings + Through the dark across the moor; + The window panes were streaming + With the tears which heaven wept, + And a mother sat a-dreaming + O'er an infant as it slept: + Its little hands were folded; + And its little eyes of blue + Were clothed in alabaster + With the azure peeping through: + Its face, so still and star-like, + Was as white as maiden snow: + And it breathed in faintest ripples, + As the wavelets come and go. + + The morn in golden beauty + Through the lattice gaily peept, + But muffled was the window + Of the room where darling slept: + The mother's heart was breaking + Into tears like Summer cloud, + For a starry face was circled + With a little lily shroud; + And a soul from sunny features + Like a beam of light had fled: + Before her, like a snowdrop, + Her miracle lay dead! + Ah! 'Twas cruel thus to chasten, + Though her loss was darling's gain: + And her heart would rifle Heaven + Could she clasp her babe again. + + + + +CASTLES IN THE AIR. + + Autumn's sun was brightly blazing + Like a suit of golden mail; + Flocks along the mead were grazing; + Lambkins frollicked through the vale. + Brooklets gossipped o'er their beauty; + Leaves came down in whisp'ring showers; + And the vine-trees, lush and fruity, + Climbed and clung in am'rous bowers: + + Beauty--gladness-- + Floated round me everywhere; + Still in sadness + Built I castles in the air-- + In the soft and dreamy air. + + Far above me, like a spirit, + Rose an alp in proud array, + And my heart so yearned to near it + As I in the valley lay. + Ah, thought I, yon summit seemeth + Like a throne, so pure and bright; + Lo! how grandly-great it gleameth, + Crown'd with everlasting light! + + Then I started + From the valley calm and fair, + Hopeful-hearted, + Tow'rds the castle in the air-- + High up in the dreamy air. + + Many a tortuous path and winding + Rid my soul embattle through; + Many a thorn of bitter finding + Choked my way with perils new: + Upward still, footsore and bleeding, + On with lonesome heart I pressed; + And I heard the chimes receding + In the vale so calm and blest. + + Still I wandered + Up the pathway rough and drear, + Till I pondered + By the castle in the air-- + Like a spirit in the air. + + I had reached the lofty glory; + I had gained the alpine peak; + Lowly lay the world before me-- + Yet my heart was like to break! + Where I stood 'twas cold and dreary--- + Crown'd with white and glistening snow: + "Ah," I sighed, with heart a-weary-- + "Distance lent the golden glow!" + + Thus Fame ever + Woos men from earth's valleys fair, + Oft to shiver + Near life's castles in the air-- + In the far-off wintry air. + + + + +THE WITHERED ROSE. + + I had a silver chalice once + Of exquisite design, + In shape 'twas like the human heart + This little vase of mine. + I plucked a rose and placed the flow'r + Within the shiny cup, + And drank the incense hour by hour + The rosebud offered up. + And as it opened leaf by leaf + Its beauties spreading wide, + I saw no blossom such as mine + In all the world beside. + + The sunlight came, but came in vain, + And day succeeded day, + But leaf by leaf my rosebud drooped, + Until it passed away. + And thus in life we look for love + From other loves apart-- + A gift from Heavenly hand above-- + And plant it near the heart; + But Death comes forth with chilly touch; + The blossom droops and dies; + And breaking hearts are filled alone + With fragrant memories. + + + + +WRECKS OF LIFE. + + I sat upon the shingly Beach + One sunny Summer-day, + A-listening to the mystic speech + Of a million waves at play. + And as I watched the flowing flood + I saw a little child, + Who near a mimic fabric stood + Of shells his hands had piled. + And as he turned to go away, + He said, with look of sorrow: + "Build up I cannot more to-day-- + "I'll come again to-morrow!" + + The morrow came--he thither hied-- + Looked for his castle gay; + But while he'd slept the cruel tide + Had washt it all away. + And thus in life we gaily build + Shell castles in the air; + Our hopes the fairy fabrics gild + With colours bright and rare: + But the dark flood of human strife + Rolls onward while we sleep, + And o'er the wrecks, where waves ran rife, + We waken but to weep. + + + + +ELEANOR: + +DIED ON HER WEDDING DAY. + + Scarce nineteen Summers had breathed their bloom, + Had breathed their bloom on her dainty cheek, + When they bore her away to the voiceless tomb + With hearts so full they were like to break. + And down in the churchyard old and green, + In the churchyard green where the yew-tree waves, + A dark little mound of earth is seen-- + One billow more to the sea of graves. + + Dear heart! How sad, in the gorgeous light, + In the gorgeous light of a purple dawn, + With life so hopeful of pure delight, + Away from the world to be rudely torn! + To be rudely torn in the tender hour, + In the tender hour when her heart was young; + While the virgin dew on the opening flower + With a trembling joy like a jewel hung. + + Ere the budding soul, so sweetly shy, + Had opened its core to the coming kiss + Of an earthly love that was born to die + Ere it filled her heart with its hallowed bliss. + So down in the churchyard old and green, + In the churchyard green where the yew-tree waves, + A dark little mound of earth is seen-- + One billow more to the sea of graves. + + Scarce nineteen Summers had breathed their bloom, + Had breathed their bloom on her dainty cheek, + And they bore her away to the voiceless tomb + With hearts so full they were like to break: + With hearts so full even this belief + Dispelled not a tear from their aching eyes-- + Though they saw their beloved through clouds of grief + An angel beyond in the golden skies. + + + + +NEW YEAR'S BELLS. + + Hearest thou that peal a-telling + Night-noon stories to the Sky; + Hark! each wave of sound comes welling + Like a scolded angel's cry; + And the voice the belfry flingeth + Sobbing from its brazen breast, + Like a god in trouble singeth, + Waking half the world from rest; + Now it wails in murmuring sadness, + As a child at words unkind; + Now it comes with merry gladness, + Floating weirdly on the wind. + Ah! 'tis sad;---yet sprightly-hearted; + Song of Birth and gloomy Bier; + Death-dirge for the Days departed; + Carol for the coming Year. + Is it that the voice reminds thee + Of the wasted moments past? + Saith it that the New Year finds thee + Where it left thee last? + + Doth the merry music taunt thee, + How the Palace love had reared + Mocks with echoes now, that haunt thee + Where thou dream'dst they would have cheered? + Moan the bells with thee in sorrow + O'er a little mound of green, + Rising up from graveyard furrow + Bleakly blank upon the scene? + Doth the tender language, stealing + O'er the soul with soothing swell, + Waken thoughts from sweet concealing: + Joyous tale for chimes to tell; + Reviving dainty hours of gladness, + Fresh as daisies in the spring, + As birds in summer, void of sadness, + Songs, heart-buried, wake and sing? + Doth the sea of music bear thee + Back again upon the Past, + To show thee that the New Year finds thee + Happier than the last? + + Doth it tell of plans laid glowing + On the anvil of thy heart; + Times thou'st raised thy hand for throwing + In life's battle many a dart? + How each plan unstricken lingered + Till the mouldful heat was gone? + How each dart was faintly fingered, + Resting in the end unthrown; + Of the Faith thou pawn'dst for Fancies-- + Substance for a fadeful beam? + Doth it taunt with bartered chances-- + Sterling strength for drowsy dream? + Doth it brand thee apathetic? + Twit with lost days many a one? + Doth it chant in words emphatic + "Gone for aye; for ever gone?" + Is it that the voice reminds thee + Of the wasted moments past? + Saith it that the New Year finds thee. + Wiser than the last? + + 'Tis not so!--and still, as ever, + Time's a jewel in its loss; + But, possessed in plenty, never + Held as ought but worthless dross. + Like lost truant-boys we linger + Whimpering in Life's mazy wood, + Heedless of the silent finger + Ever pointing for our good; + Each, in plodding darkness groping, + Clothes his day in dreamy night, + 'Stead of boldly climbing, hoping, + Up the steeps towards the light, + Where, as metal plucks the lightning + Flashing from the lofty sky, + Sturdy purpose, ever heightening, + Grasps an Immortality. + Let not future peals remind thee, + Then, of wasted moments passed; + Let not future New Years find thee + Where each left thee last. + + + + +THE VASE AND THE WEED: + +A PLEA FOR THE BIBLE. + + I had a vase of classic beauty, + Rare in richly-carved design; + Memento of an ancient splendour + Was this peerless vase of mine. + A master-hand of old had graved it: + Hand for many a year inurned: + And out from every line and tracing + Germs of genuine genius yearned. + I took the gem and proudly placed it + On a pillar 'mongst the flowers, + And watcht how radiance round it hovered, + Bathed with sunlight and with showers. + A little weed-like plant grew near it, + And anon crept o'er its face; + Until at length, with stealth insidious, + It quite obscured its classic grace, + And where was once a noble picture + Of the Beauteous and the True, + There hung a mass of straggling herbage + Flecked with blooms of sickly hue. + The Summer passed: the plant had flourished, + As every weed in Summer will; + When Winter came and struck the straggler + To the heart with bitter chill. + It died: the winds of March played round it, + Laughing at its wretched plight. + Then blew it from its slender holding, + Like a feather out of sight. + But still in undimmed freshness standing, + Reared the vase its classic face; + Rare in its old, eternal beauty, + Majestic in its pride of place. + + + + +A RIDDLE. + + A riddle of riddles: Who'll give it a name? + A portrait of God in a worm-eaten frame. + A mount in his own eye--in others' a mite; + The foot-boy of Wrong, and the headsman of Right; + A vaunter of Virtue--yet dallies with Vice; + From the cope to the basement bought up at a price; + A vane in his friendship--in folly a rock; + In custom a time-piece--in manners a mock; + A fib under fashion--a fool under form; + In charity chilly--in wealth-making warm: + In hatred satanic--a lambkin in love; + A hawk in religion with coo of a dove; + A riddle unravelled--a story untold; + A worm deemed an idol if covered with gold. + A dog in a gutter--a God on a throne: + In slander electric--in justice a drone: + A parrot in promise, and frail as a shade; + A hooded immortal in life's masquerade; + A sham-lacquered bauble, a bubble, a breath: + A boaster in life-time--a coward in death. + + + + +TO A FLY: + +BURNED BY A GAS-LIGHT. + + Poor prostrate speck! Thou round and round + With wildering limp dost come and go; + Thy tale to me, devoid of sound, + Bears the mute majesty of woe. + In bounding pride of revelry, + Seared by the cruel, burning blast, + Thy fall instructive is to me + As fall of States and Empires vast. + + No sounding theme from lips of fire, + No marvel of the immortal quill, + Can teach a moral, sterner--higher, + Than thou, so helpless and so still. + Reft as thou art by blistering burn-- + Blinded and shorn--poor stricken Fly! + The wise may stoop and lessons learn + From thy unmeasured agony. + + It tells how maid, in guileless youth, + Flies tow'rds her Love with trusting wing, + Bruises her heart 'gainst broken truth, + And falls, like thee, a crippled thing. + How man in bacchanalian sphere + Soars to the heat of Pleasure's sun, + Then, by gradations dark and drear, + Sinks low as thee, poor wingless one: + How hearts from proud Ambition's height + Have drooped to darkest, lowest hell-- + From blazing noon to pitchy night, + With pangs a demon-tongue may tell: + How aspirations glory-fraught + Have gained the goal in dark despair; + How golden hopes have come to nought + But wailings in the midnight air. + + There! and the life I ne'er could give + In pitying tenderness I've ta'en; + Far better thus to die, than live + A life of helpless, hopeless pain. + Ambitious hearts--high-vaulting pow'rs-- + That aim to grasp life's distant sky, + See through the spirit-blinding hours + What wrought the fall of yonder Fly. + + + + +TO A FRIEND. + + I fear to name thee. If I were + To do so, I could never tell + What virtues crown thy nature rare; + 'Twould pain thy heart--I know it well. + + Thou dost not ask for thy reward + In words that all the world may hear, + For thoughtful acts and kind regard + By thee for others everywhere. + + Thou seek'st alone for grateful thought + From those to whom thy worth is known; + So for much good thine heart hath wrought + Find gratitude within mine own. + + + + +RETRIBUTION. + + A spider once wove a right marvellous net, + Whose equal no human hand ever wove yet, + So complete in design was each beautiful fret, + And finished in every particular. + And the wily old architect, proud of his craft, + Ensconced in a snug little sanctum abaft, + Laid wait for the flies; and he chuckled and laughed, + As he pricked up his organs auricular. + + A week had elapsed, and the spider still wrought + Fell ruin on all the frail flies that he caught; + All right rules of decency set he at nought: + Each meal made him much more rapacious. + But his foot got entangled one horrible hour, + As he rushed forth a poor screaming fly to devour, + And to get his leg free was far out of his pow'r, + Secure was our spider sagacious. + + Where now is the beautiful fabric of gauze? + Behold! in the centre, by one of his claws, + A dead spider is hanging surrounded by flaws + And many a struggle-made fracture. + 'Twas hard, in the height of his fly-killing fun, + And sad, in the light of a Summer-day sun, + To die all alone, as that spider had done, + In a mesh of his own manufacture. + + + + +THE THREE GRACES. + + I. + + Her hair is as bright as the sunbeam's light, + And she walks with a regal grace, + And she bares full proud to the empty crowd + The wealth of her wondrous face; + And her haughty smile thus speaks the while: + "Approach me on bended knee!" + She's a beautiful star I could worship afar, + But--her love's not the love for me. + + + II. + + Her hair is as black as the raven's back, + And her face--what a queenly one; + And her voice ripples out like the trembling shout + Of a Lark when he sings to the sun; + But her form is filled with a soul self-willed + That would lord o'er a luckless he; + Pride reigns in her breast, like snow in a nest, + And--her love's not the love for me. + + + III. + + Her hair--what mind I the tint of her hair, + When her eyes are the tenderest blue; + And her loving face bears many a grace + Lit up with a sunny hue? + When I find--O I find, that her heart is kind-- + That she goes not abroad to see + The World--or be seen. Her love, I ween, + Is the love that was made for me. + + + + +THE LAST ROSE OF SUMMER. + + Where now is the Summer's last Rose, + That reigned like a queen on the briar? + 'T is faded! and o'er its grave glows + The glad warmth of Winter's first fire. + + We welcome the Flame with delight, + As we welcomed the Rose in the Spring: + But the blossom's as nought in our sight + 'Mid pleasures which Firesides bring. + + And so with life's swallow-winged friends: + The Rose is adored in its day; + But when its prosperity ends + 'T is cast like a puppet away. + + + + +THE STARLING AND THE GOOSE. + +A FABLE. + + A silly bird of waddling gait + On a common once was bred, + And brainless was his addle pate + As the stubble on which he fed; + Ambition-fired once on a day + He took himself to flight, + And in a castle all decay + He nestled out of sight. + "O why," said he, "should mind like mine + "Midst gosling-flock be lost? + "In learning I was meant to shine!" + And up his bill he tossed. + "I'll hide," said he, "and in the dark + "I'll like an owl cry out + ("In wisdom owls are birds of mark), + "And none shall find me out!" + And so from turret hooted he + At all he saw and heard; + Hoo-hoo! Hoo-hoo! What melody! + And what a silly bird! + At length a Starling which had flown + Down on the Castle wall + Thus spake: "Why what a simple drone + "You are to sit and bawl! + "Though _you_ presume _an Owl_ to be, + "It's not a bit of use! + "Your body though folks cannot see + "They know the diff'rence--pardon me! + "Betwixt the screech of Owl up tree + "And the cackling of a Goose!" + + + + + THE HEROES OF ALMA. + + OCTOBER, 1854. + + Heaven speed you, Braves! Undaunted lion-hearts + Well have you thus redeemed a solemn trust, + And added, by your bright heroic deeds, + Another lustrous ray to deck the brow, + Of this the good Old Land, whose gladdened heart + Leaps forth for very joy and thankfulness, + Proud of the gallant sons she calls her own; + Right nobly have you ta'en the gauntlet up + Ambition flung before the world, and fought + 'Gainst Evil, Might, and hated Despot-law; + Bled, conquered, clipped the wings of soaring Pride, + And earned in Serf-land such a brilliant name + Time's breath can never dim. But list!--a wail + Of sorrowing sadness sweeps across the Land, + With which the up-sent jubilant psalm is blent. + 'Reft orphans' cries, in mournful cadence soft, + Sobs wrung from widows' broken, bleeding hearts; + And fond hoar-headed parents' sighs and tears, + Commingling all, merge in a requiem sad + For those brave hearts that fell in Freedom's cause. + Then let us plant Fame's laurels o'er their graves, + And keep them green with tears of gratitude. + + + + +A KIND WORD, A SMILE, OR A KISS. + + There's a word, softly spoken, which leadeth + The erring from darkness and night; + There's an effortless action that sheddeth + A sun-world of gladdening light; + There's a sweet something-nothing which bringeth + A fore-taste of Paradise bliss: + Full and large is the love that up-springeth + From kind words, a smile, or a kiss. + + Eyes a-plenty with tears have been blinded, + Hearts legion in sadness have bled, + And many of earth's angel-minded + In grief have gone down to the dead, + And the world, with its bright laughing gladness, + Oft changed to a frowning abyss, + By vain mortals refusing, in madness, + A kind word, a smile, or a kiss. + + + + +DEAR MOTHER I'M THINKING OF THEE. + +NEW YEAR'S DAY, 1855. + + In the hush of night, when the pale starlight + Through my casement silently steals; + When the Moon walks on to the bower of the Sun, + And her beautiful face reveals: + When tranquil's the scene, and the mist on the green + Lies calm as a slumbering sea, + From my lattice I peep, 'ere I lay down to sleep, + And whisper a prayer for thee: + Mother! Dear Mother! + O, blessings on thee! + From my lattice I peep, 'ere I lay down to sleep, + And think, dear Mother, of thee. + + When the dew goes up from the white lily cup + In rose-coloured clouds to the sky; + When the voice of the Lark trembles out from the dark, + And the winds kiss the flowers with a sigh; + When the King of Dawn, like a world new-born, + Scatters love-light over the lea; + From my lattice I peep, when I wake from sleep, + And whisper a prayer for thee: + Mother! Dear Mother! + O, blessings on thee! + From my lattice I peep, when I wake from sleep, + And think, dear Mother, of thee. + + + + +THE HERON AND THE WEATHER-VANE. + +A FABLE. + + A weather-vane on steeple top + Had stood for many a day, + And every year a coat of gold + Increased his aspect gay. + Subservient to the changing air, + Each puff he'd quickly learn + To obey with sycophantic twist + And never-failing turn. + + A Heron once, from lowly fen, + Soared up in stately flight; + But, striking 'gainst the gilded vane, + He fell in sorry plight: + And as, with wounded wing, he lay + Down in the marsh below, + He thus addressed the glittering thing, + The cause of all his woe: + + "Vain upstart! 'tis from such as thee + That Merit, lowly born, + In striving oft to win a name, + Wins nought but bitter scorn: + But for such treacherous knaves as thou, + What crowds of souls would soar + With lofty swoop, that now, like me, + Will mount, Ah! never more! + + It fits thee well, that lacquer suit, + Base flunkey as thou art! + Though bright, it never covered brain; + Though gilded, ne'er a heart! + Rather than wear upon my back + Such livery as thine, + I'd earn an honest crust, and make + The scullion's calling mine." + + + + +THE THREE MIRRORS. + +A FABLE. + + Three mirrors of the usual sort + Were gifted once with power of thought; + And as they hung against the wall + They felt that they were prophets all. + The first, a plate-glass o'er the fire; + The next, a concave, standing higher; + A portly convex 'tother side + Made up the three; and as he eyed + His brother mirrors, brilliant each, + Thus gave to thought the rein of speech: + "Such power as mine who ever saw? + If in my face without a flaw + Men chance to gaze, they taller seem + Than what they are: delightful scheme! + I like to elongate the truth; + What else but flattery pleases youth? + A boy who in my face should scan + Will grow as tall as any man!" + Says convex; "That is not the case + With me; for those who in _my_ face + Should chance to look, themselves will find + Turned into things of dwarfish kind. + To praise mankind is what I hate: + What says our neighbour, Master Plate?" + The plate-glass then essayed to speak; + Said he: "My friends, I never seek + So to distort the things I see + That none can tell what things they be. + I find it more convenient far + To show mankind just what they are!" + A table the dispute had heard, + And asked for leave to say a word. + "Agreed," rejoined the glassy crowd: + When thus the table spoke aloud: + "The virtues which you each would claim + As yours, are virtues but in name. + You, Concave, lessen what you see, + Though well you know 't should larger be. + While Convex, aye to flattery prove, + Makes mounts of what are mites alone. + Plain-spoken Plate, in wrong the least, + Would tell a beast it _was_ a beast, + Forgetting 'tis not always right + To judge from what appears in sight. + Your faces ought to blush for shame, + And yet you think you're not to blame! + You know that men are slow to think, + And will of _any_ fountain drink; + Who fear their brain's behest to do, + So frame their faith from such as you! + Judged by the simplest human rules, + You are the knaves--and they the fools." + + + + +THE TWO CLOCKS. + +A FABLE. + + A country dame, to early-rising prone, + Two clocks possessed: the one, a rattling Dutch, + Seldom aright, though noisy in its tone, + With naughty knack of striking two too much. + The other was a steady, stately piece, + That rang the hour true as the finger told: + For many a year 't had kept its corner place; + The owner said 'twas worth its weight in gold! + One washing-eve, the Dame, to rise at four, + Sought early rest, and, capped and gowned, did droop + Fast as a church, to judge from nasal snore, + That broke the silence with a hoarse hor-hoop: + When all at once with fitful start she woke; + For that same tinkling Dutchman on the stair + Had told the hour of four with clattering stroke, + And waked the sleeper ere she was aware. + "Odd drat the clock!" she sighed; but, knowing well + The cackling thing struck two at least a-head, + She turned; and back to such deep slumber fell, + But for her snore you might have thought her dead. + And so she slept till four o'clock was due, + When t'other time-piece truly told the tale; + Straightway the drowsy dame to labour flew, + And soon the suds went flirting round the pail. + + + MORAL. + + Whoe'er breaks faith in petty ways + Will never hold a friend; + While he who ne'er a trust betrays + Gets trusted to the end. + + + + +SACRIFICIAL. + +WRITTEN AFTER WITNESSING THE EXECUTION OF TWO + GREEK SAILORS AT SWANSEA, MARCH, 1859. + + The morning broke fair, with a florid light, + And the lark fluttered upward in musical flight, + As the sun stept over the distant height + In mantle purple and golden. + The blue bounding billows in waltzing play + Lookt up in the face of the coming day, + And sang, as they danced o'er the sandy bay, + Their sea-songs mystic and olden. + + High up, on the gable of yonder jail, + The workmen are plying with hammer and nail, + And the slow-rising framework hinteth a tale + Of mournful and sombre seeming. + 'Tis the gibbet that rears its brow on high, + And the morn-breezes pass it with many a sigh, + As it stands gazing up to the fair blue sky + Like a spectre dumbly dreaming. + + Through lane and alley: through alley and street + The echoes are startled by hurrying feet; + And thousands, in action fitful and fleet, + Press on to the execution. + The squalid-faced mother her baby bears; + And the father his boy on his shoulder rears: + The frail and the sinning emerge in pairs + From darkness and destitution. + + Aloft on the gibbet two beings stand, + Whose foreheads are smirched with the murder-brand, + Whose lives, by the lawgivers bungling and bland, + Declared are to justice forfeit. + Below, like a statue stark and still, + A legion of faces, in brutish will, + Gaze up to the gallows with many a thrill, + And thirst for the coming surfeit. + + But one more look at the silvery sea: + One thought of the lark in its musical glee; + One breath of the sweet breeze, balmy and free; + One prayer from two hearts that falter; + And Lo! in reply to a mortal's nod, + From the gibbet-tree dangle two pieces of clod, + Their souls standing face-to-face with their God, + Each wearing a hangman's halter. + + Ah! shrink from the murderer; quaint, wise world + Yea: shudder at sight of him; sanctified world! + Go: plume him up deftly; clever old world! + Till he shines like a gilded excrescence: + Then strangle him dog-like--a civilised plan! + Quick! trample his life out: he's not of the clan: + He stinks in the nostrils of saintly man, + Though fit for the Infinite's presence! + + + + +WALES TO "PUNCH." + +On his milking the amende honourable to Wales and the Welsh, in + some verses, the last of which was the following: + + "And _Punch_--incarnate justice, + Intends henceforth to lick + All who shall scorn and sneer at you: + You jolly little brick." + + + I'm glad, old friend, that you your error see, + Of sneering where you cannot understand: + You've owned your fault: let by-gones by-gones be; + Past blows from _Punch_ forgetting--there's my hand. + Lick whom you list--creation if you please: + Let those who choose laugh at me: let them sneer; + I earn, before I eat, my bread and cheese; + I love my language; and I like my beer. + Content with what I have, so that it come + Through honest sources: happy at my lot, + I seek not--wish not--for a fairer home. + Hard work: my Bible: children: wife: a cot: + These are my birthright, these I'll strive to keep, + And round my humble hearth affection bind: + From Eisteddfodau untold pleasures reap; + And try to live at peace with all mankind. + Then glad am I that you your error see, + Of sneering where you cannot understand: + You've owned your fault: let by-gones by-gones be; + Past blows from _Punch_ forgetting--there's my hand. + + + + +WELCOME! + +The following was written as a Prologue, to be read at the opening of +the Wrexham National Eisteddfod, 1876. It was not successful in taking +the offered prize, but as the adjudicator who made the award was +pleased to say it was "above the average," I have thought its +publication here will not be out of place. + + + Welcome! thrice welcome--one and all, + To this our Nation's Festival; + Be 't Peer or peasant; old or young: + Welcome! thrice welcome, friends among. + If Peer--no title that he bears-- + No decoration that he wears-- + Can the proud name of Bard excel, + Or pale the badge he loves so well. + If Peasant--he may here be taught + That none are poor who, rich in thought, + Possess in Mind's high utterings + A nobler heritage than kings. + If old--what once you were you'll see: + If young--what p'rhaps one day you'll be-- + For youth yearns upward to the sage; + And childhood's joy delighteth age. + Come rich--come poor--come old and young, + And join our Feast of Art and Song. + What forms our banquet all shall know, + And hungry homeward none must go. + We boast not here of knife or platter; + Our feast is of the mind--not matter, + Along our festive board observe + No crystal fruit--no rare preserve: + No choice exotic here and there, + With wine cup sparkling everywhere: + No toothsome dish--no morsel sweet-- + Such savoury things as people eat; + So if for these you yearn--refrain! + For these you'll look and long in vain. + Our Feast's composed of dainty dishes-- + To suit far daintier tastes and wishes. + While for the splendour of our wine-- + I've oftimes heard it called divine: + For who that drinks of Music's stream, + Or quaffs of Art's inspiring theme, + Shall say that both are things of earth-- + That both are not of heavenly birth? + While gathered blossoms fade away, + The Poet's thoughts for ever stay-- + E'en as the rose's perfumed breath + Survives the faded flow'ret's death. + No pleasure human hand can give + Is lasting--all things briefly live. + But sounds which flow from Minstrelsy + Vibrate through all eternity! + Then welcome! welcome! one and all, + To this, our Nation's Festival. + Come rich--come poor: come old and young + And join our Feast of Art and Song! + + + + +CHANGE. + + In the Summer golden, + When the forests olden + Shook their rich tresses gaily in the morn; + And the lark upflew, + Sprinkling silver dew + Down from its light wing o'er the yellow corn; + When every blessing + Seem'd the earth caressing, + As though 'twere fondled by some love sublime, + Strong in her youthful hope, + Upon the sunny slope + A maid sat, dreaming o'er the happy time-- + Dreaming what blissful heights were hers to climb. + + In the Winter dreary, + When the willow, weary, + Hung sad and silent o'er the frozen stream; + And the trembling lark + Murmur'd, cold and stark, + In wailful pathos o'er its vanish'd dream; + When the bleak winds linger'd + And dead flowerets finger'd, + When all earth's graces, pale and coffin'd, slept, + With joys for ever flown, + In the wide world alone, + Over a broken faith a maiden wept-- + Yet, with unswerving love, true vigil kept. + + + + +FALSE AS FAIR. + + My heart was like the rosebud + That woos the Summer's glance, + And trembles 'neath its magic touch + As breeze-kisst lilies dance: + So, like the faithless Summer, + She kissed me with a sigh, + And woke my life to gladness, + Then passed in beauty by. + My heart was like the blossom + That blooms beside the brook, + And revels in its silvery laugh, + Its bright and sunny look: + So, like the graceful streamlet, + She kissed me with a sigh, + And woke my life to gladness, + Then passed in beauty by. + + + + +HEADS AND HEARTS. + + The Head fell in love one day, + As young heads will oftentimes do; + What it felt I cannot say: + That is nothing to me nor to you: + But this much I know, + It made a great show + And told every friend it came near + If its idol should rove + It could ne'er again love, + No being on earth was so dear. + + So Time, the fleet-footed, moved on, + And the Head knew not what to believe; + A whole fortnight its Love had been gone, + And it felt no desire to grieve. + Its passion so hot + In a month was forgot; + And in six weeks no trace could be found; + While, in two months, the Head, + Which should then have been dead, + For another was looking around. + + The Heart fell in love one day: + The mischief was very soon done! + It tried all it could to be gay; + But loving, it found, was not fun. + For hours it would sit + In a moping fit, + And could only throb lively and free + When that one was near + Which it felt was so dear, + And when that one was absent--Ah, me! + + So the days and the nights hurried on; + And the Heart nursed in silence its thought: + To a distance its idol had gone, + Then it felt how completely 'twas caught: + Other hearts came to sue: + To the absent 'twas true-- + Loving better the longer apart: + Thus while Love in the head + Is very soon dead, + It is deathless when once in the heart. + + + + +FALL OF SEBASTOPOL. + +1855. + + "Advance!" was the cry that shot up to the sky + When the dawn of the day had begun; + And the steel glistened bright in the glad golden light + Of a glorious Eastern sun. + And the words rang clear, with no trembling fear-- + "Brave Britons! on you I rely!" + And the answer pealed out with a mighty shout-- + "Sebastopol falls, or we die!" + Advance!--Advance!--Men of England and France! + "Sebastopol falls, or we die!" + Now the death-storm pours, and the smoke up-soars, + And the battle rages with furious might, + And the red blood streams, and the fire-flash gleams, + And the writhing thousands--God! God! what a sight. + The hoarse-throated cannon belch fiery breath, + And hurl forth the murderous rain, + Which dances along on its message of death, + And sings o'er the dying and slain! + Crash! Crash! Then a leap and a dash! + Hand to hand--face to face, goes the fight; + The bayonets plunge, and the red streams plash, + And up goes a shout of delight-- + "The enemy runs!--Men flinch from their guns! + On! Forward! For God and for Right! + Advance!--Advance!--Men of England and France! + Press forward, for Freedom and Right! + On--On--On! Hurrah! the goal's won; + See! the old colours flutter and dance, + And proudly they wave over Tyranny's grave: + Well done! Men of England and France--Hurrah! + Hurrah! for old England and France!" + + + + +TO LORD DERBY. + +1877. + + As the monarch that grows in the forest, and rears + Its brow ever green to the firmament bright, + So, stedfast and sturdy, thy proud form appears, + Of patriots the hope, and thy country's delight. + + Through thy heart, firm and true as the oak trees that stand + In the soil of Old England--in which _thou_ hast grown, + There runs the same life which _they_ draw from the land, + And the heart of thy country 's the life of thine own. + + With the seal of Nobility set by thy Sire, + Thou tread'st in his steps as thou bearest his name; + And the glow that he added to Albion's fire + Reflects through the Past and enhances thy fame. + + Where Freedom is free'st, thou takest thy stand: + Where Tyranny threatens, thy misson is told; + And thy tongue, which we hail as the Voice of the Land, + Speaks the wish of a nation heroic and bold. + + And bright will the name be of England, as long + As safe in thy keeping her honour remains-- + 'Twill stand 'mongst the noblest in story and song, + And be worthy the purest and loftiest strains. + + + + +UNREQUITED. + + A beautiful Streamlet went dancing along, + With its bright brow fretted with flow'rs, + And it leapt o'er the woodland with many a song, + And laughed through the sunny hours. + Away and away! + All the blue Summer day, + The streamlet went laughing away. + + A willow Tree grew near the light-hearted brook, + And hung o'er the Beauty in pride: + And he yearned night and day for a kiss or a look + From the streamlet that flowed at his side. + But away and away, + All the blue Summer day, + The streamlet went laughing away. + + All his leaves and his blossom he shower'd on her head, + And would gladly have given his life: + But to all this affection the streamlet was dead, + And she laughed at the willow's heart-strife. + And away--away, + All the blue Summer day, + The streamlet went laughing away. + + "Ah, me," quoth the willow: "how false was the dream!" + And, drooping, heart-broken he died; + While his last leaf in love he let fall on the stream + That so coldly flowed on at his side. + And away--away, + All the blue Summer day, + The streamlet went laughing away. + + + + +THE HOUSEHOLD SPIRIT. + + A spirit stealeth up and down the stairs + Noiseless as thistle-down upon the wind: + So calm--so sweetly calm--the look it wears: + Meltful as music is its voice--and kind. + Like lustrous violets full of twinkling life + Two orbs of beauty light its face divine: + And o'er its cheeks a dainty red runs rife, + Like languid lilies flusht with rosy wine. + Its velvet touch doth soothe where dwells a pain; + Its glance doth angelize each angry thought; + And, like a rainbow-picture in the rain, + Where tears fall thick its voice is comfort-fraught. + How like a seraph bright it threads along + Each room erewhile so desolate and dark, + Waking their slumbering echoes into song + As laughs the Morn when uproused by the lark. + Methinks a home doth wear its heavenliest light + When haunted by so good, so fair a sprite. + + + +HAD I A HEART. + + Had I a heart to give away + As when, in days that now are o'er, + We watcht the bright blue billows play, + Roaming along the sounding shore; + When joys like Summer blossoms bloom'd, + When love and hope were all our own; + I'd bring that heart--to sadness doomed-- + And let it beat for thee alone. + + Had I a heart to give away, + Its daily thought in life would be, + Like yonder bird, with trembling lay, + To sing sweet songs, dear love, of thee. + But, ah! the heart that once was mine + Is mine, alas! no more to give; + And joys that once were joys divine + In mem'ry now alone can live. + + + + +A BRIDAL SIMILE. + + Adown the world two grand historic streams + With stately flow moved on through widening ways, + Rich with the glory of life's noblest dreams, + Bright with the halo of life's sunniest days. + Out from their depths two blithesome streamlets ran, + O'er which the smiles of Heaven hourly shone; + Till, meeting: Ah! then life afresh began, + For both, embracing, mingled into one. + + From yonder rose two crystal dewdrops hung + But yestermorn. The sun came forth and kissed + The gems that to the perfumed blossom clung, + And clothed them with a robe of purple mist. + The soft warm wind of Heaven gently breathed + Upon the twain: they hung no more apart; + But, with the sweetness of a rosebud wreathed, + Blent soul with soul and mingled heart with heart. + + Live on, united pair: with love so blest + Your pathway ought but sunny may not be. + Live on, united pair: and be the breast + Of thornless roses yours unceasingly. + And as the river to the ocean flies + Be yours to pass as gently from life's shore: + Then, like sweet fragrance when the blossom dies, + Leave names to live in mem'ry evermore. + + + + +SONG. + + They tell me thou art faithless, Love! + That vows thy lips have sworn-- + The smiles which light thy lovely face-- + Are false as April morn; + My brightest dreams of happiness + They wish me to forget: + But, No! the spell that won my love + Doth bind my spirit yet. + + They tell me thou art faithless, Love! + And changeful as a dream: + They say thou'rt frail as drifts of sand + That kiss the laughing stream; + They whisper if I wed thee, Sweet! + My heart will know regret: + But, No! the spell that won my love + Doth bind my spirit yet. + + + + +I WOULD MY LOVE. + + I would my Love were not so fair + In sweet external beauty: + And dreamt less of her charms so rare, + And more of homely duty. + The rose that blooms in pudent pride + When pluckt will pout most sorely; + P'rhaps she I'm wooing for my bride + Will grow more self-willed hourly. + Her form might shame the graceful fay's; + Her face wears all life's graces: + But wayward thoughts and wayward ways + Make far from pretty faces. + + I would my Love were not so fair + (I mean it when I breathe it): + What though each hair be golden hair, + If temper ill dwells 'neath it? + Her lips would make the red rose blush, + Her voice trolls graceful phrases, + Her brow is calm as Evening's hush, + Her teeth as white as daises. + Her cheeks are fresh as infant Day's, + Round which cling Beauty's traces: + But wayward thoughts and wayward ways + Make far from pretty faces. + + + + +DEATH IN LIFE: + +A TRUE STORY. + +The following simple narrative is founded on fact. A young village +couple married, and soon after their marriage went to live in London. +Success did not follow the honest-hearted husband in his search for +employment, and he and his young wife were reduced to actual want. In +their wretchedness a child was born to them, which died in the midst of +the desolate circumstances by which the young mother was surrounded. +For three years the mother was deprived of reason--a gloomy period of +Death in Life--and passionately mourned the loss of her first-born. An +eminent London practitioner, to whom her case became known, was of +opinion that reason would return should a second child be born to the +disconsolate mother. This proved to be correct; and after three years +of mental aberration the sufferer woke as from a dream. For many +months after the awakening she was under the impression that her second +child was her first-born, and only became aware of the true state of +the case when it was gently broken to her by her husband. + + + I. + + Lovely as a sunbright Spring is, + Yonder trembling maid advances, + Clothed in beauty like the morning-- + Like the silver-misted morning-- + With a face of shiny radiance, + Tinted with a tinge of blushes, + Like reflections from a goblet + Filled with wine of richest ruby. + + Now she nears the low church portal-- + Flickers through the white-washed portal, + Lighting up the sleepy structure, + As a sunbeam lights the drowsy + Blossom into wakeful gladness. + See! she stands before the altar, + With the chosen one beside her; + And the holy Mentor murmurs + Words that link their lives like rivets, + Which no force should break asunder. + Now the simple prayer is ended; + And two souls, like kissing shadows, + Mingle so no hand shall part them! + Mingle like sweet-chorded music; + Mingle like the sighs of Summer-- + Like the breath of fruit and blossom; + Mingle like two kissing raindrops-- + Twain in one. Thrice happy maiden! + Life to thee is like the morning, + As the fresh-faced balmy morning, + Full of melody and music; + Full of soft delicious fragrance; + Full of Love, as dew-soaked jasmins + Are of sweet and spicy odour; + Full of Love, as leaping streamlets + Are of life. Thrice happy maiden! + + + II. + + Turn we to a lowly dwelling-- + One amongst a million dwellings-- + Where a mother silent rocketh + To-and-fro with down-let eyelids, + Gazing on her sleeping infant, + While the just-expiring embers + Smoulder through the gloomy darkness. + On the shelf a rushlight flickers + With a dull and sickly glimmer, + Turning night to ghostly, deathly, + Pallid wretchedness and sadness, + Just revealing the dim outline + Of a pale and tearful mother, + With a babe upon her bosom. + "Thus am I," she muttered, wailing, + "Left to linger lorn and lonely + In the morning of my being. + If 'twere not for thee, my sweet babe, + Lily of my life's dark waters-- + Silver link that holds my sad heart + To the earth--I fain would lay me + Down, and sleep death's calm and sweet sleep. + Oh! how sweetly calm it must be. + In the green and silent graveyard, + With the moonlight and the daisies! + If 'twere not for thee, my loved one, + I could lay me down and kiss Death + With the gladness I now kiss thee. + Oh! how cold thy tiny lips are! + Like a Spring-time blossom frozen. + Nestle, dear one, in my bosom!" + And the mother presst the sleeper + Closer--closer, to her white breast: + Forward, backward--gently rocking; + While the rushlight flickered ghastly. + Hark! a footstep nears the dwelling; + And the door is flung wide open, + Banging backward 'gainst the table; + And a human being enters, + Flusht with liquor, drencht with water! + For the rain came down in torrents, + And the wind blew cold and gusty. + "Well, Blanche!" spake the thoughtless husband, + Not unkindly. "Weeping always." + "Yes, Charles, I could ne'er have slumbered + Had I gone to bed," she answered. + Then she rose to shut the night out, + But the stubborn wind resisted, + And, for spite, dasht through the crevice + Of the window. "Foolish girl, then, + Thus to wait for me!" he muttered. + When a shriek--so wild, so piercing-- + Weirdly wild--intensely piercing-- + Struck him like a sharp stiletto. + Then another--and another! + Purging clear his turbid senses. + "Blanche!" he cried; and sprang towards her + Just in time to save her falling; + And her child fell from her bosom, + Like a snow-fall from the house-top + To the earth. "Blanche! Blanche!" he gaspt out; + "Tell me what it is that pains thee." + But her face was still as marble. + Then he kissed her cheeks--her forehead-- + Then her lips, and called out wildly: + "Blanche, my own neglected darling, + Look, look up, and say thou livest, + Speak, if but to curse thy husband-- + Curse thy wretched, heartless husband." + Then her eyelids slowly opened, + And she gazed up in his white face, + White as paper as her own was! + "Charles!" she sighed, "I have been dreaming: + Is my child dead?" "No!" he answered, + "See, 'tis sleeping!" "Dead!" the mother + Murmured faintly, "Sleeping--sleeping!" + In a chair he gently placed her: + Then he stooped to take the child up, + Kisst and placed it on her bosom. + Frantic then the mother hugged it; + Gazed a moment; then with laughter + Wild, she made the room re-echo-- + "They would take my bonny baby-- + Rob me of my dainty darling, + Would they? Ha! ha! ha!" she shouted. + And she turned her large blue eyes up + With a strange and fitful gazing, + Laughing till the tears chased madly + Down her cheeks of pallid whiteness. + "Dear, dear Blanche!" her husband murmured, + Stretching out his hand towards her; + But she started wildly forward, + Crouched down in the furthest corner, + And, with face tear-dabbled over, + And her hair in long, lank tresses, + With a voice so low and plaintive + 'Twould have won a brute to lameness, + Faintly sobbed she: "Do not take it! + Do not take it!--do not take it!" + And she hugged her infant closer, + Sobbing sadly, "Do not take it!" + "Blanche! dear Blanche!" her husband faltered, + With a voice low, husht, and chokeful, + "I--I am thy worthless husband!" + Then he walkt a step towards her; + But the girl with 'wildered features + Drew her thin hand o'er her forehead, + And in wandering accents muttered: + "Husband? Husband? No, not husband! + I am still a laughing maiden; + Yet methought I had been married, + And bore such a sweet, sweet baby-- + Such a fair and bonny baby! + Baby--baby--hush; the wild winds + Sing so plaintive. Hush--h!" And then she + Laid the child upon the cold floor, + And, with hair in wild disorder, + Laughing, crying, sobbing, talking, + O'er it hung, like March a-shivering + O'er the birth of infant April. + Lightly then her husband toucht her + On the shoulder; but she look'd not-- + Spake not--moved not. Slowly rose she + From her kneeling, crouching posture; + And she stood a hopeless dreamer, + With the child a corpse beside her! + + + III. + + In a dry and sun-parch'd graveyard, + In a small corpse-crowded graveyard, + With the lurid sky above it, + With the smoke from chimneys o'er it, + With the din of life around it-- + Din of rushing life about it; + Sat a girlish, grief-worn figure, + Croucht up in the darkest corner, + With her pallid face turned upwards; + To and fro in silence rocking + On a little mound of dark dirt. + Like a veiled Nun rose the pale moon, + Draped about with fleecy vapour; + And the stars in solemn conclave + Came to meet her--came to greet her, + To their convent home to bear her: + She had soared above the dingy + Earth, and left the world behind her. + As she passed she lookt down sadly, + Gazed with silent, noble pity, + At the girlish, grief-worn figure, + Sitting in the darkest corner + Of that small corpse-crowded graveyard, + With her pallid face turned upwards, + On a little mound of dark dirt. + Round about from windows flickered + Lights, which told of inside revels; + Rooms, with mirth and banquets laden, + Sobbing kisses, soft embraces, + Feasts of Love, and feasts of Pleasure, + Ruby lips, and joyous laughter. + Then the buzz of life grew softer, + Broken only by the tramping + Of a troop of bacchanalians, + Reeling through the streets deserted, + With their loud uproarious language. + Still the girlish, grief-worn figure, + Croucht in dark and dreary corner + Of that small corpse-crowded graveyard, + With her pallid face turned upwards, + On a little mound of dark dirt. + The gray herald of the Morning, + Dapple-clad, came forth to tell the + Sleepy world his Lord was coming. + Straight the drowsy buildings leapt up + Like huge giants from their slumber, + And, with faces flusht and ruddy, + Waited for the King of Morning! + Lo! he comes from far-off mountains, + With a glory-robe about him, + With a robe of gold and purple; + And a buzz of mighty wonder + Rises as, with step majestic, + And with glance sublime, he walks on, + Gathering his robe about him, + To his West-embowered palace, + Still the girlish, grief-worn figure, + Croucht in dark and dreary corner + Of that small corpse-crowded graveyard, + With her pallid face turned upwards, + To and fro in silence rocking, + On a little mound of black dirt! + When the box which held her treasure + Had been borne from home and buried, + She had followed, undetected; + And when all had left the graveyard + She had crept to that small hillock, + Trembling like a half-crusht lily; + Yearning towards the child beneath her, + Yet, the while, to earth-life clinging + By a link--bruised but unbroken. + Whilst at home her frantic husband + Called aloud in vain for "Blanche!" + + + IV. + + Hours flew by like honey-laden + Bees, with sting and honey laden: + Days, like ghostly shadows, flitted + By; and weeks and months rolled onward + With a never-ceasing rolling, + Like the blue bright waves a-rolling, + Never quiet--never ending! + Still the girlish, grief-worn figure, + Might be seen, with vacant glances, + Threading through life's rushing whirlpool-- + Gliding, like a sunbeam, o'er it-- + To that small corpse-crowded graveyard; + Where for hours she'd sit and murmur, + With a wild and plaintive wailing; + "Come back, darling! Come back, darling; + Come, for I am broken-hearted." + When at home, with nimble fingers + Oft she'd clothe a doll and call it + Her sweet babe--her darling baby-- + Her long-absent, long-lost baby! + Her fair bonny-featured baby! + And her husband would bend o'er her, + With low words of pure affection-- + As when first he woo'd and won her. + And her home was not the dungeon-- + The sad, dark, and dismal dungeon-- + The cold death-vault of her infant, + With the drear and ghastly rushlight: + But a home of cottage comfort, + Every sweet of love and loving. + Yes! the wan and pallid mother + Found on that dark night, a husband-- + Found a home; but--lost her reason! + + + V. + + "Do not, for the world, awake her! + 'Twere her death-knell to awake her!" + Urged the old and careful nursewife. + "Let me look but for a moment-- + Gaze but for one little moment!" + 'Twas the voice of Charles that pleaded: + Softly, then, he drew the curtain, + Gently, fearful, drew the curtain-- + "Charles!--dear Charles!" a faint voice murmured, + In a tone so weak and lowly, + Sweetly weak and soul-subduing. + "Blanche!--my sweet one!" gasp'd the husband, + "Dost thou know me?--God, I thank thee!" + Then he threw his arms around her, + And, amidst a shower of kisses, + Truest, purest, grateful kisses, + Drew the loved one to his bosom: + And the babe that nestled near her + Covered he with warm caresses. + Reason, like a golden sunbeam + On a lily-cup, had lightened + Her sweet soul so dark and turbid-- + For three years so darkly turbid; + Three long years so dark and turbid. + "Charles, my dream has been a sad one," + Spake she, like expiring music, + Shadowed with a mournful sadness. + "I have dreamt they stole my baby, + Buried my dear, darling infant!" + Then she took the babe and kiss'd it, + Presst it to her snowy bosom; + And, with voice low, soft, and grateful, + Murmured, "Charles, I am _so_ happy! + Do not weep--I'm _very_ happy!" + + + VI. + + Reader! 'tis no idle fiction: + Once a lovely, laughing maiden-- + Lovely as a Summer morning, + Lived and loved, as I have told thee; + Lost her babe, as I have told thee; + And a mental night came o'er her + Like a ghastly, gaping fissure, + Like a chasm of empty darkness. + As a new-made grave in Summer + Bulges up dark and unsightly, + With the bright blue sky above it, + And the daisies smiling round it, + So, with all its doleful darkness, + Fell the dream of that fair suff'rer + O'er her mind with inward canker, + Like a slug upon the rose-leaf! + Then she woke, as I have told thee, + After three years' trance-like sleeping, + Knowing not she had been sleeping; + And for months she never doubted + That the child she loved and fondled + Was lier long-dead darling first-born! + Happy hearts all feared to tell her: + Death in Life again they dreaded. + + Now no Death in Life they fear; + Blanche is happy all the year. + + + + +SONG OF THE STRIKE. + +1874. + + With features haggard and worn; + With a child in its coffin--dead; + With a wife and sons o'er a fireless hearth, + In a hovel with never a bed; + While the wind through lattice and door + Is driving the sleet and rain, + A workman strong, with sinews of steel, + Sits singing this dismal refrain: + Strike! Strike! Strike! + Let the bright wheels of Industry rust: + Let us earn in our shame + A pauper's name, + Or eat of a criminal crust. + + Ah! What though the little ones die, + And women sink weary and weak; + And the paths of life, with suffering rife, + Be paved with the hearts that break? + While souls, famine-smitten and crusht, + Seek food in the skies away, + This workman strong, with sinews of steel, + Sits singing his terrible lay: + Strike! Strike! Strike! + Let the bright wheels of Industry rust: + Let us earn in our shame + A pauper's name, + Or eat of a criminal crust. + + And while the dark workhouse gate + Is besieged by a famishing crowd, + Forge, hammer, and mine, with their mission divine, + Lie dumb, like a corpse in a shroud. + And Plenty, with beckon and smile, + Points up at the golden rain + That is ready to fall to beautify all, + But is checked by the dread refrain: + Strike! Strike! Strike! + Let the bright wheels of Industry rust: + Let us earn in our shame + A pauper's name, + Or eat of a criminal crust. + + Alas! That a spirit so brave, + That a heart so loyal and true, + Should crouch in the dust with a sightless trust + At the nod of a selfish few. + Alas! That the olden ties-- + The links binding Master and Man-- (_a_) + Should be broken in twain, and this ghostly refrain + Cloud all with its shadowy ban: + Strike! Strike! Strike! + Let the bright wheels of Industry rust: + Let us earn in our shame + A pauper's name, + Or eat of a criminal crust. + + +(_a_) In a recent address to his workmen, Mr. Robert Crawshay, the +extensive ironmaster, of Cyfarthfa Castle, said: "The happy time has +passed, and black times have come. You threw your old master +overboard, and took to strangers, and broke the tie between yourselves +and me. When the deputation came up to me at the Castle, and I asked +them to give me a fortnight to work off an old order of rails, and they +refused, I then told them the old tie was broken; and from that day to +this it has." + + + + +NATURE'S HEROES. + +DEDICATED TO THE WELSH MINERS WHO BRAVELY + RESCUED THEIR FELLOWS AT THE INUNDATION + OF THE TYNEWYDD COLLIERY. + +FRIDAY, APRIL 20TH, 1877. (_a_) + + Hero from instinct, and by nature brave, + Is he who risks his life a life to save; + Who sees no peril, be it e'er so great, + Where helpless human lives for succour wait; + Who looks on death with selfless disregard; + Whose sense of duty brings its own reward. + Such are the Braves who now inspire my pen: + Pride of the gods--and heroes among men. + The warrior who, on glorious battle plain, + Falls bravely fighting--dies to live again + In fame hereafter: this he, falling, knows; + And painless hence are War's most painful blows. + This is the hope that buoys his latest breath, + Stanches the wound, and plucks the sting from death. + But humbler hearts that sally forth to fight + 'Gainst foes unseen, in realms of pitchy night, + Ne'er dreaming that the chivalrous affray + Will e'er be heard of--more than heroes they, + And more deserving they their country's praise + Than nobler names that wear their country's bays. + Duty, which glistens in the garish beam + That makes it beautiful--as jewels gleam + When sunlight pours upon them--lacks the pow'r, + The grandeur, which, in dark and secret hour, + Crowns lowly brows with bravery more bright + Than fame achieved in Glory's dazzling light. + Nature's heroics need but suns to shine + To show the world their origin divine: + And as the plant in darksome cave will grow + Whether warm sunshine bless its face or no, + A secret impulse yearning day and night + In hourly striving tow'rds the unseen light, + So lives the hero-germ in every heart-- + Of earthy life the bright, the heavenly part: + The pow'r that brings the blossom from the sod, + And gives to man an attribute of God. + + +(_a_) Four men and a boy were entombed for nine days, from noon on +Wednesday, April 11th, to mid-day on Friday, April 20th, in the +Tynewydd Pit, Rhondda Valley. They were at length rescued by the +almost super-human efforts of a band of brave workers, who, at the risk +of their lives, cut through 38 yards of the solid coal-rock in order to +get at their companions, working day and night, and, at times, +regarding every stroke a prelude to almost certain death. Their heroic +exertions were crowned with success, and they received the recorded +thanks of their Queen and country, having the further honour bestowed +upon them of being the first recipients of the Albert medal, given by +Her Majesty for acts of exceptional bravery. + + + + +ELEGY + +ON THE DEATH OF A LITTLE CHILD. + + He came: + As red-lipt rosebuds in the Summer come: + A tiny angel, let from Heav'n to roam, + With laughing love to clothe our childless home + The God-sent cherub came. + + He lived + One little hour; What bliss was in the space! + Our lives that day were fringed with fresher grace + And in the casket of our darling's face + What honeyed hopes were hived. + + He droopt: + And o'er our souls a mighty sorrow swept, + With many fears the night-long watch we kept, + Tearful and sad: Yet even as we wept + Our star-faced beauty droopt. + + He died: + And darksome grew our life's bright morning sun. + Gloomy the day so radiantly begun. + What joy, what joy, without our darling one, + Is all the world beside? + + Tis past: + The perfumed rosebud of our life is dead: + Helpless we bend, and mourn the cherub fled, + Even as the bruised reed bends low its head + Before the cruel blast. + + + + +MAGDALENE. + + Penitent! Penniless! + Where can she go? + Her poor heart is aching + With many a woe. + Repentant--though sinning: + Remorseful and sad, + She weeps in the moonlight + While others are glad. + Shrink not away from her, + Stained though she be: + She once, as the purest, + Was sinless and free: + And penitence bringeth + A shroud for her shame: + Hide it forgetfully; + Pity--nor blame. + + Penniless! Penitent! + Gone every hope: + Warm lights are gleaming + From basement to cope. + Plenty surroundeth her: + Starving and stark, + Lonely she pleadeth + Out in the dark. + The cold moon above her, + The black stream below, + No friendly voice near her: + Where can she go? + Turned every face from her + Closed every door: + Plash in the moonlight! + She pleadeth no more. + + + + +LOVE WALKS WITH HUMANITY YET. + + Though toilers for gold stain their souls in a strife + That enslaves them to Avarice grim, + Though Tyranny's hand fills the wine cup of life + With gall, surging over the brim; + Though Might in dark hatefulness reigns for a time, + And Right by Wrong's frownings be met; + Love lives--a guest-angel from heaven's far clime, + And walks with humanity yet. + + And still the world, Balaam-like, blind as the night, + Sees not the fair seraph stand by + That beckons it onward to Morning and Light, + Lark-like, from the sod to the sky; + Love, slighted, smiles on, as the Thorn-crown'd of old, + Sun-featured and Godlike in might, + Its magic touch changing life's dross into gold, + Earth's darkness to Paradise bright. + + As gems on Death's fingers flash up from the tomb + And rays o'er its loneliness shed; + As flowerets in early Spring tremblingly bloom + Ere Winter's cold ice-breath has fled; + So Love, rainbow-like, smiles through sadness and tears, + Bridging up from the earth to the sky; + The grave 'neath its glance a bright blossom-robe wears, + As the Night smiles when Morn dances by. + + The rich mellow sunshine that kisses the earth, + The flow'rs that laugh up from the sod, + The song-birds that psalm out their jubilant mirth + Heart-rapt in the presence of God, + The sweet purling brooklet, with voice soft and low, + The sea-shouts, like peals from above, + The sky-kissing mountains, the valleys below, + All tell us to live and to love. + + + + +THE TWO TREES. + +A FABLE. + + Two trees once grew beside a running brook: + An Alder, one, of unassuming mien: + His mate, a Poplar, who, with lofty look, + Wore, with a rustling flirt, his robe of green. + With pompous front the Poplar mounted high, + And curried converse with each swelling breeze; + While Alder seemed content to live and die + A lowly shrub among surrounding trees. + + And many a little ragged urchin came + And plucked the juicy berries from the bough + Of teeming Alder, trading with the same, + Thus earning oft an honest meal, I trow: + But stuck-up Poplar glanced with pride supreme + At such low doings--such plebeian ties-- + Cocked up his nose, and thought--oh! fatal dream!-- + To grow, and grow, until he reached the skies. + + Each Autumn Alder brought forth berries bright, + And freely gave to all who chose to take: + Each Summer, Poplar added to his height, + And wore his robe with loftier, prouder shake, + One day the woodman, axe on shoulder, came, + And laid our soaring Poplar 'mongst the dead, + Stripped off his robe, and sent him--O the shame!-- + To prop the gable of a donkey shed. + + + MORAL. + + Whoe'er, like Alder, strives to aid + The lowly where he can, + Shall win respect from every soul + That bears the stamp of man: + But he who, Poplar-like, o'er-rides + Poor mortals as they pass, + Will well be used if used to prop + A stable for an ass. + + + + +STANZAS: + +WRITTEN IN THE SHADOW OF A VERY DARK CLOUD. + + "Never saw I the righteous forsaken," + Once sang the good Psalmist of old; + "Nor his seed for a crust humbly begging." + How oft has the story been told! + But the story would ne'er have been written, + Had the writer but lived in our day, + When thousands with hunger are smitten-- + No matter how plead they or pray. + + They may say there's a lining of silver + To the darkest--the dreariest cloud: + That garniture, white fringe, and flowers, + Grace the black pall, the coffin, and shroud. + But the lining at best is but vapour; + Silk and lacquer to nothingness fade + After hearts in their sorrow have broken + O'er the wrecks which Adversity made. + + They may say that the box of Pandora + Holds reward in the bottom at last + For those who strive on in the searching. + And forget the fierce blows of the Past. + But late comes the voice of approval, + And worthless the cup and the crust, + When, in striving, by Death overtaken, + We lie lone and low in the dust. + + They may say that right-living and thinking + Will keep the grim wolf from the door; + But how many Saints are there sinking + Whose crime is to live and be poor! + Let the knave promulgate the deception, + And dress the world's wounds with such salve; + It is false--while rank Villainy prospers, + And Virtue 's permitted to starve. + + They may say--but mankind is a fiction + That puzzles the wisest to read; + And life is a vast contradiction-- + A fable--a folly indeed. + He happy in heart is who careth + No jot for mankind or its ways, + To defy the world's frown he who dareth, + Unconscious of blame or of praise. + + + + +VERSES: + +WRITTEN AFTER READING A BIOGRAPHY OF HIS GRACE + THE DUKE OF BEAUFORT, TO WHOM THESE LINES + ARE RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED. + +1877. + + Like a Sea with its source in the distance belost, + That upholds on its breast and contains in its heart + Countless treasures and gems of which none know the cost-- + All the brightest achievements of Science and Art: + + So the proud race of Somerset flows down the Past, + With its Statesmen and Warriors--kinsmen of Kings: + With its learning and culture--its heritage vast-- + And its virtues which inborn Nobility brings. + + In the Wars of the Roses three Somersets gave + Up their lives for their Monarch in danger's dark hour, + And the rain of their hearts'-blood that watered each grave + Brought a still brighter flush to their Destiny's flow'r. + + And when men the fair features of Liberty smeared + With the stain of Licentiousness through the dark Past, + 'Twas a Somerset England's proud Standard upreared + O'er the stronghold of Raglan--and bled to the last: + + A stronghold whose name once a Warrior bore + Who with courage undaunted chivalrously led + The brave soldiers of England through carnage and gore; + Where a Czar bade defiance--a Somerset bled. + + Long the foremost in loyalty, forum, and field; + Where the sword wins renown or where politics grace: + Always first to be doing--the latest to yield: + All these are the virtues, the pride of thy race. + + In the face of thy life like a mirror we see + All the lives of true Englishmen shaped as thine own, + For the tastes and pursuits which form nature in thee + Are the food from whose sustenance Britons have grown. + + When Philanthropy leads, in its fights for the Poor, + No sincerer heart follows more keenly than thine; + For there's nought else in life hath more pow'r to allure, + Where the soul takes delight in the mission divine. + + All the ages the wild storms of Faction have raved, + Though alluring the paths in which traitors have trod, + Not a moment hast thou or thine ancestors waived + In your love for Old England, its Throne, and its God. + + + + +A SIMILE. + + In early Morning, tall and gaunt, + Our shadows reach across the street; + Like giant sprites they seem to haunt + The things we meet. + + But at noon-tide more dwarfed they fall + Around about each sun-crown'd thing; + Yet lengthen out, and grow more tall, + Towards evening. + + And thus Dependence among men + Is largely seen in Childhood's stage; + At Mid-life hides; but comes again + With hoary age. + + + + +THE TWO SPARROWS. + +A FABLE. + + Two Sparrows, prisoned in a room, + Kept, every now and then, + Dashing against the window-panes, + Which threw them back again: + And many a time, with trembling heart, + They flew towards the light, + But something which they could not see + Still stopped them in their flight: + + A-tired they hopped about the floor, + And watched the sunshine gay, + And each one asked within himself + "Why ca'nt I get away?" + Another try: another dash, + As though with heart and soul; + And one, by chance, the barrier broke, + And bounded through the hole. + + His comrade heard the merry chirp + He gave till out of sight, + Then, fluttering round, to free himself + He tried with all his might. + But at that moment Puss came in, + And on him cast an eye, + Then took the trembler in her claws + And taught him how to die. + + + MORAL. + + How oft in life, though never meant, + Men gain their point by Accident, + Or Chance--that foe to 'stablished rules; + The guiding-star of knaves and fools. + + + + +FLOATING AWAY. + + A maiden sat musingly down by the side + Of Life's river that flowed at her feet, + And she watcht the dark stream 'neath the willows glide + In its voiceless and stately retreat. + 'Twas a solemn tide-- + Deep, dark, and wide, + And fringed with a sedgy fray: + In the morning--at night-- + Through darkness and light, + It floated--floated away. + + The maid was light-hearted, with features as fair + As the sunbeams that played o'er her face, + And her bosom was garnisht with flowerets rare + That gave to it many a grace: + And she playfully sung, + As she plucked and flung + Each blossom as bright as the day + From her breast to the stream + That like a drear dream + Went floating--floating away. + + The sun in its brightness illumined the sky; + The lark loudly carolled aloft; + The breezes swept onward with many a sigh, + And kissed with caresses soft. + Still, still the fair maid + By the dark river strayed, + And flung forth in thoughtless play + Each bud from her breast + In wilful unrest, + And laught as it floated away. + + Up the tall pine trees clomb the shadows of eve + To welcome the coming night; + And the recreant bird in the twilight was heard + Wending nest-ward in plaintive plight; + When, too long delay'd, + In haste rose the maid + Heart-tired of her flirting play. + And she saw the last gleam + Of her flow'rs down the stream + Floating--floating away. + + The blossoms so chaste that had made her more fair + With their sweetness, their perfume, and light, + Were gone--and her bosom, now cheerless and bare, + Grew cold in the dewy night. + Thus they who, in youth, + Mistake flirting for truth, + And fritter their love but in play, + Will behold, like the maid, + All their brightest charms fade, + And floating for ever away. + + + + +A FLORAL FABLE. + + A sweet geranium once, in pride of place + 'Mongst rare exotics in a Palace lived; + With watchful care from tender hands it thrived, + Standing in lofty sphere with odorous grace. + + The smiling Sun, each morning making call, + Such tender looks and such sweet kisses gave, + That in a little time, true as I live, + He to the tender flow'r was all in all. + + But true love's course, 'tis said, ne'er smooth did run: + The pretty flower was sent, now here, now there, + Until at length she found more humble sphere, + Far, far removed from kisses of the sun. + + Here, with dejected look, she pined anew, + Placed in the lattice of a lowly cot, + In pent-up alley, fever-fraught and hot, + And wore from day to day a sicklier hue. + + No blessed sunlight flusht her dainty cheek, + No cooling breeze refreshed her pallid brow, + Droopful she stood--methinks I see her now, + Nursing the grief of which she might not speak. + + A blinding wall shut out her darling sun, + Tow'rds which, with prayerful arm, she hourly reached + In mute appeal; and lovingly beseeched, + As 'twere, to gaze upon the worshipped one. + + No soul e'er panted its dear love to see + With dreams more tender than the dying plant-- + Hoping and yearning, with a hungering want, + Sun-ward in all her heart's idolatry. + + But Ah! the fickle sun, from flow'r to flow'r, + In lusty love did revel all the day, + Nor thought of her, now dying far away, + Whom he had kissed through many a rosy hour. + + In dead of night, when great hearts die, the storm + Swept down the barrier that blocked out the light, + And in the morn, refreshing, pure, and bright, + The sun came leaping in, so soft and warm. + + But sunshine came too late. The blossom brave, + While yearning for dear light and warmth, had died. + As men will sometimes die waiting the tide + That flows at length to eddy round--a grave. + + + + +"RING DOWN THE CURTAIN." + +"Ring down the Curtain" were the last dying words of a young and +beautiful American actress, who died of consumption when in the zenith +of her popularity. + + Ring down the curtain; + So ends the play! + Night-time is coming; + Past is the day. + Sang I in sadness + Adorned with a smile; + Pourtraying gladness + And dying the while! + How my brow burneth-- + With fever oppressed: + How my heart yearneth + For silence and rest. + Soothe me to slumber: + Why should ye sigh? + Ring down the curtain; + 'Tis pleasant to die! + + Ring down the curtain: + Critics depart! + The end of your blaming-- + A wearisome heart: + Fame which your praise brought-- + A Summer-day cloud: + Fruit of my toiling-- + A coffin and shroud! + Light though, and fitful, + The dreams of my life, + My soul like a vessel + From ocean of strife + Calmly and peaceful + To her haven doth fly: + Ring down the curtain-- + 'Tis pleasant to die! + + + + +THE TELEGRAPH POST. + +A FABLE. + + A telegraph post by the roadside stood + In a village humble and fair, + And he raised his head, did this column of wood, + As high as he could in the air: + "Oh, Oh!" quoth he, as along the wire + The news from the wide world through + Hurried backwards and forwards in words of fire, + Breathing promises fair, or threatenings dire, + Never heeding the post as they flew. + + "Oh, Oh!" quoth he: "That I should stand here + "And bear on my shoulders high + "Such an upstart lot, who no manners have got + "To pass _me_, who upraises them, by! + "I'll stand it no longer,"--and thinking, no doubt, + To bring down the wires in his fall, + He stumbled: but no! for above and below + The other posts stood--the wires wouldn't let go: + And our post couldn't tumble at all. + + And there he hung like a helpless thing, + Till his place by another was ta'en; + And the foolish post with dry sticks a host + On the firewood stack was lain. + "You ignorant dolt!" said a Raven wise + Who sat on the wall bright in feather-- + "You must have been blind. When to tumble inclined + "You should with your neighbouring posts have combined + And have all stood or fallen together." + + + MORAL. + + Units, as units, are helpless things + In the soul-stirring struggles of life; + But Success is the laurel which Unity brings + To crown the true heart in the strife. + + + + + BREAKING ON THE SHORE. + + I saw the sunbeams dancing o'er the ocean + One Summer-time. Bright was each laughing wave; + I felt a thrill to see their sweet emotion, + Each happy in the kiss the other gave: + But Winter came with all its storm and sadness, + And every wave that kissed and smiled before + Bid long farewell to dreams of sunny gladness + And broke its heart upon the stony shore. + + So like the Summer crown'd with many a blessing + She dawn'd upon this lonely heart of mine: + And life grew lovely with her sweet caressing + As blooms the thorn claspt by the bright woodbine: + But now, Alas! in churchyard bleak she's lying, + And dearest joys are gone to come no more: + Like yonder wave, for absent sunbeam sighing, + My heart with grief is breaking on life's shore. + + + + +HURRAH FOR THE RIFLE CORPS + +SET TO MUSIC AND PUBLISHED IN 1856. + + The fair Knights of old, with trappings of gold, + And falchions that gleamed by their side, + Went forth to the fight with hearts gay and light + To war 'gainst Oppression and Pride: + And though long since dead, it must not be said + That the proud reign of Chivalry 's o'er-- + There are many as bold as the brave Knights of old + To be found in the Rifle Corps. + Hurrah! Hurrah! for the Rifle Corps; + May they ever be ready to stand + In defence of the Right, and be willing to fight + For the Queen and their native land. + + Old England intends with the world to be friends, + While Honour with Peace is combined; + But the moment her foe lifts his hand for a blow, + All friendship she flings to the wind. + Should an enemy dare e'en as much as prepare + To bring War's alarms to our shore, + He will find every coast bristling o'er with a host + Of the brave-hearted Rifle Corps. + Hurrah! Hurrah! for the Rifle Corps; + May they ever be ready to stand + In defence of the Right, and be willing to fight + For the Queen and their native land. + + Let the wine goblet brim with red wine to the rim-- + Let Beauty look on all the while, + As with eyes that approve in the language of love + She crowns the proud toast with a smile: + May each Rifle be seen round the Throne and the Queen + Should danger e'er threaten our shore: + And with many a shout let the echo ring out-- + Three cheers for the Rifle Corps! + Hurrah! Hurrah! for the Rifle Corps; + May they ever be ready to stand + In defence of the Right, and be willing to fight + For the Queen and their native land. + + + + +CAREFUL WHEN YOU FIND A FRIEND. + +SET TO MUSIC AND PUBLISHED. + + O if in life you'd friends obtain, + Be careful how you choose them; + For real friends are hard to gain, + And trifling things may lose them. + Hold out your hand to every palm + That reaches forth to greet you; + But keep your heart for those alone + Who with pure friendship meet you. + Then if in life a friend you'd find, + Be careful how you choose one; + True friends are scarce among mankind: + A trifling thing may lose one. + + A friend your heart may now relieve, + And one day want relieving; + So if from others you'd receive + Ne'er shrink from wisely giving. + Be grateful when you find a friend-- + The heart that's thankless--spurn it; + Let conscience guide you to the end-- + Take friendship and return it. + Then if in life a friend you'd find, + Be careful how you choose one; + True friends are scarce among mankind: + A trifling thing may lose one. + + When days grow cold the swallow flies, + Till sunshine bright returneth; + When life grows dark false friendship dies: + True friendship brighter burneth. + An angel fair, twin-born of Love, + It lights life's pathway for us; + And like the stars that shine above, + At night beams brighter o'er us. + Then if in life a friend you'd find, + Be careful how you choose one; + True friends are scarce among mankind: + A trifling thing may lose one. + + + + +BROTHERLY LOVE. + +SET TO MUSIC AND PUBLISHED. + + There's a place in this world, free from trouble and strife, + Which the wise try their hardest to find, + Where the heart that encounters the sharp thorns of life + Will meet nought that's harsh or unkind; + Where each tries his best to make joy for the rest-- + In sunshine or shadow the same; + Where all who assemble in Friendship's behest + Are Brothers in heart and in name. + Let brotherly love continue-- + Let the flag of the Craft be unfurled; + We 'll join hand-in-hand + While united we stand: + 'Tis the way to get on in the world. + + There's a pleasure in life go wherever we may, + 'Tis one of all pleasures the best-- + To meet as we travel by night or by day + One friend that's more true than the rest. + Whose heart beats responsive to Friendship and Love, + In Faith, Hope, and Charity's call; + Who, blind to our follies, is slow to reprove, + And friendly whate'er may befal. + Let brotherly love continue-- + Let the flag of the Craft be unfurled; + We 'll join hand-in-hand + While united we stand: + 'Tis the way to get on in the world. + + Then let us, my brothers, through life's busy scene, + Should sadness or sorrow appear, + Be true to our promise, as others have been, + And strive the dark pathway to cheer. + Our stay is but short in this valley below; + On all sides we troubles may scan; + Let us help one another wherever we go, + And make them as light as we can. + Let brotherly love continue-- + Let the flag of the Craft be unfurled; + We 'll join hand-in-hand + While united we stand: + 'Tis the way to get on in the world. + + + + +ENGLAND AND FRANCE. + +WRITTEN DURING THE CRIMEAN WAR. + +(FOR MUSIC.) + + Let the proud Russian boast of his granite-bound coast, + And his armies that challenge the world; + Let him stand in his might against Freedom and Right, + With his flag of Oppression unfurled: + Old England and France hand-in-hand will advance + In the wide path of Progress and Glory, + That will win them a name on the bright scroll of Fame, + Everlasting in song and in story. + Old England and France, then, for ever; + Brave France and Old England for ever; + And while the world stands may the glorious Twin-lands + Be united in friendship together. + + Both by land and by sea this land of the free-- + Britannia, the Queen of the wave, + Proudly stands side by-side, and in Friendship allied, + With France, the gallant and the brave: + Whilst the stern Tyrant raves at his nobles and slaves, + Old England and France frown defiance, + And both bravely press on till the goal shall be won-- + Then Hurrah! for the glorious alliance! + Old England and France, then, for ever; + Brave France and Old England for ever; + And while the world stands may the glorious Twin-lands + Be united in friendship together. + + + + +AGAINST THE STREAM. + +(FOR MUSIC.) + + How oft, in life's rough battle, we, + Struck down by hard adversity, + In saddest hour of trial see + No friend with helping hand. + Then in despair beneath the wave + We sink, with none to help or save. + When if we 'd been both bold and brave + We might have reached the land. + Should things go wrong this is the plan; + Forget the past as best you can, + Then turn your sleeves up like a man + And pull against the stream. + + Yes, pull against the stream, my friends; + That lane is long which never ends; + That bow ne'er made which never bends + To shoot its arrow home. + If twenty times you miss your aim, + Or ten times twenty lose the game, + Keep up your spirits all the same-- + Your turn is sure to come. + Should things go wrong this is the plan; + Forget the past as best you can, + Then turn your sleeves up like a man + And pull against the stream. + + In love or pleasure, work or play, + Men cannot always win the day, + For mixed among life's prizes gay + What hosts of blanks are found. + Though skies to-day be overcast-- + Though bitter blows the wintry blast-- + The Summer days will come at last + With hope and sunshine crown'd. + Should things go wrong this is the plan; + Forget the past as best you can, + Then turn your sleeves up like a man, + And pull against the stream. + + + + +WRECKED IN SIGHT OF HOME. + +(FOR MUSIC.) + + The ship through the sunshine sails over the sea, + From many a distant clime comes she, + Freighted with treasure, see how she flies + Cheerily over the foam. + Hearts are all happy, cheeks are all bright, + The long-absent land appears in sight; + Little they dream that the beautiful prize + Will be wrecked in sight of home! + + The storm breaks above them, the thunders roll, + The ship gets aground on the hidden shoal, + And the turbulent waters dash over the barque, + And cries from the doomed ship come. + Till nothing is left the tale to tell, + But the angry roar of the surging swell; + So the grand old vessel goes down in the dark-- + Wrecked in sight of home. + + And thus as we wander through life's rugged way, + Fighting its battles as best we may, + Seeking in fancy a far-distant spot + To rest when we've ceased to roam: + And just as the haven of comfort appears, + Our hopes are all turned into sadness and tears, + We droop near the threshold--ne'er enter the cot-- + Wrecked in sight of home. + + + + +SONNET. + + I could not love thee more, if life depended + On one more link being fixed to Affection's chain; + Nor cease to love thee--save my passion ended + With life; for love and life were blanks if twain! + I could not love thee less; the flame, full-statured + Leaps from the soul, and knows no infancy; + But like the sun--majestic, golden-featured, + Soars like a heav'n of beauty from life's sea. + I would not love thee for thy radiant tresses, + Rich budding mouth, and eyes twin-born of Light. + No: Charms less fadeful thy dear heart possesses-- + Gems that will flash through life's noontide and night. + But simple words fall short of what I'll prove: + Accept them but as lispings of my love. + + + + +SEBASTOPOL IS WON. + +1855. + +SET TO MUSIC AND PUBLISHED. + + Dance on! ye vaulting joy-bells, shout + In spirit-gladdening notes, + Whilst mimic thunders bellow out + From cannons' brazen throats: + "Tyrant! awake ye, tremblingly; + The advent has begun: + Hark! to the mighty jubilant cry-- + "Sebastopol is won!" + Ring out, rejoice, and clap your hands, + Shout, patriots, everyone! + A burst of joy let rend the sky: + Sebastopol is won! + + No dream of brilliant conquest 'twas, + Nor selfish hope of gain, + That sent the blood mad-rushing through + And through each Briton's vein; + No! such was not the spell that nerved + Old England for the fight, + Her war cry with her brother braves' + Was "Freedom, God, and Right!" + Ring out, rejoice, and clap your hands, + Shout, patriots, everyone! + A burst of joy let rend the sky: + Sebastopol is won! + + Shame! shame! upon the craven souls + Of those who trembling stood, + And would not--dare not--lend a hand + To stay this feast of blood! + Whose cringing spirits lowly bowed + Before the despot-glance + Of him whose star now pales before + Brave England! Mighty France! + Ring out, rejoice, and clap your hands, + Shout, patriots, everyone! + A burst of joy let rend the sky; + Sebastopol is won! + + Tho' hoary grows the mother-land + Her enemies may learn + That 'neath her smile so queenly-grand + There lives a purpose stern! + Then Britons chant exulting paeans, + Long pent-up joy release; + From yonder flaming pile upsoars + The Morning Sun of Peace! (_a_) + Ring out, rejoice, and clap your hands, + Shout, patriots, everyone! + A burst of joy let rend the sky: + Sebastopol is won! + + +(_a_) I am sorry to find that the aspiration here embodied has been +falsified. War is now raging (1877), and from precisely the same +causes as those which led to the Crimean war, nearly a quarter of a +century ago. + + + + +HOLD YOUR TONGUE. + +SET TO MUSIC AND PUBLISHED. + + I've often thought, as through the world I've travelled to and fro, + How many folks about me--above me and below-- + Might make this life more happy, if old as well as young + Would bear in mind the maxim which bids them hold their tongue. + Hold your tongue--hold your tongue--you'll ne'er be thought a dunce: + Hold your tongue and think twice before you loose it once: + Hold your tongue--for quiet folks are oft reputed wise: + Hold your tongue, but open wide your ears and your eyes. + + How oft we find that words unkind unhappy lives will make; + That loving hearts through idle words will bleed and sometimes break; + What mischief have we scattered all our bosom friends among, + Which might have been avoided had we only held our tongue. + Hold your tongue--hold your tongue: you'll ne'er be thought a dunce: + Hold your tongue and think twice before you loose it once: + Hold your tongue--for quiet folks are oft reputed wise: + Hold your tongue, but open wide your ears and your eyes. + + The kindly deeds men do in life their own reward will bring; + But where they come with trumpet-words, their sweetness bears a sting: + The silent giver 's most beloved right-thinking folks among; + So when you do a kindly thing, be sure you hold your tongue. + Hold your tongue--hold your tongue: you'll ne'er be thought a dunce: + Hold your tongue and think twice before you loose it once: + Hold your tongue--for quiet folks are oft reputed wise: + Hold your tongue, but open wide your ears and your eyes. + + Yes: hold your tongue, except in life when days of sorrow come; + Then speak to raise a drooping heart, or cheer a darksome home. + If none of these--let silence be the burden of your song: + He holds his own, nor hurts his friend, who learns to hold his tongue. + Hold your tongue--hold your tongue; you'll ne'er be thought a dunce: + Hold your tongue and think twice before you loose it once: + Hold your tongue--for quiet folks are oft reputed wise: + Hold your tongue, but open wide your ears and your eyes. + + + + +MY MOTHER'S PORTRAIT. + +SET TO MUSIC AND PUBLISHED. + + Ah! Well can I remember: + "She'll come no more," they said. + Her last sweet words, they told me, + Were blessings on my head. + Ah! Well can I remember + What sadness all things wore + In childhood, when they told me + "She'll come--she'll come no more!" + Awake or asleep, + Sweet prize above all other; + Close to my heart I'll keep + The likeness of my mother. + + Ah! Well can I remember, + Those eyes were filled with tears-- + The face that smiled upon me + Seemed sad with many fears: + "Who'll care for thee, my sweet one?" + "Who'll love thee now?" she cried: + Then from her arms they bore me-- + 'Twas then, they said, she died. + Awake or asleep, + Sweet prize above all other: + Close to my heart I'll keep + The likeness of my mother. + + What though, through cloud and sunshine, + Bright thoughts around me cling: + Though friends in kindness greet me, + No mother's love they bring. + I see her form before me; + I see the sad, sweet smile; + And yet my heart is lonely, + So lonely, all the while. + Awake or asleep, + Sweet prize above all other: + Close to my heart I'll keep + The likeness of my mother. + + + + +NEVER MORE. + +FOR MUSIC. + + A tear-drop glistened on her cheek, + Then died upon the sand. + With aching heart, as though 'twould break, + She waved her trembling hand. + And as the vessel cleft the foam + And fled the rocky shore, + She sought alone her cottage home + And murmur'd "Never more!" + + He ne'er returned. She droopt for him + With all her girlish love; + And oft her thoughts would lightly skim + The sea, like Noah's dove. + But every wave that danced along + Like silver to the shore + Brought back the burden of her song, + And murmur'd "Never more!" + + + + +LINES + +ON THE DEATH OF THE REV. CANON JENKINS, VICAR OF ABERDARE. + + If the great heart of Lifetime in unison beats + With Eternity's throb through Infinity's space, + Then our thoughts of thy goodness, which love oft repeats, + May vibrate in thy bosom, though lost be thy face. + + Thy life was a martyrdom: noble the part + Of self-abnegation thou playd'st for the Poor; + Whose gratitude fixes thy name in each heart, + Where in Memory's shrine 'twill for ever endure. + + + + +FILIAL INGRATITUDE. + +A FABLE. + + An oak tree falling on the mead, + By woodman's stroke laid low, + Saw, as a handle to the axe + Which wrought the fatal blow, + A bough that once upon his breast + Drew nurture from his heart, + And as a tender, helpless shoot, + Grew of his life a part. + "Woe! woe!" he sighed, as on the earth + He drew expiring breath: + "That what I nurtured at its birth + "Should rend my heart in death!" + + + + +THE VINE AND THE SUNFLOWER. + +A FABLE. + + A very young Vine in a garden grew, + And she longed for a lover--as maidens do; + And many a dear little tendril threw + About her in innocent spirit. + For she yearned to climb upward--who is it that don't? + Only give _man_ a chance, and then see if he wont: + To rise in the world, though some fail to own 't, + Is a weakness we all inherit. + + So this very young Vine, with excusable taste, + And knowing such things for her good were placed, + Looked all round the garden with glances chaste + For a something her faith to pin to. + The fair little wisher had thoughts of her own, + Nor cared for the pleasure of climbing alone; + To perhaps the same feeling most ladies are prone, + But that question we'll not now go into. + + The first thing that came in her youthful way + Was a gold-featured Sunflower--gaudy and gay-- + Who dressed himself up in resplendent array, + And gazed on the sun as an equal. + "Look! look!" quoth the Vine: "He's a lover of mine: + "And see how the gold round his face doth shine!" + So at once she began round the stem to twine; + But mark what befel in the sequel. + + One morning, soon after, a hurricane rose: + And as most people know, when the storm-god blows, + The hollow of heart is the thing that goes + To the ground--and the wind sweeps past it. + So the arrogant Sunflower, lofty in pride, + And hollow from root to branch beside, + Soon tumbled before the stormy tide, + And lay where the wind had cast it. + + It was well for the Vine that her tendrils' hold + Was a clasp that a moment served to unfold; + So she turned from the thing that she thought was gold + With a heart for the warning grateful: + And that which had dazzled her youthful eyes-- + Which filled her young bosom with sweet surprise-- + The flow'r which she took for a golden prize-- + Became all to her that was hateful. + + + + +POETIC PROVERBS. + + I. + + "If thou be surety for thy friend, thou art snared with the words of + thy mouth,"--PROVERBS vi. _v._ 1, 2. + + Think well, my son, before you lend + Your name as bond for any friend; + Or, when the day of reckoning comes, + Come broken hearts and blighted homes. + Think well, my son, before you give + Your trusty word, that knaves may live: + Be not for such the stepping-stone, + But strive to earn and keep thine own. + + + II. + + "A wise son maketh a glad father; but a foolish son is the heaviness + of his mother."--PROVERBS x, _v._ 1. + + Be wise, my son, as o'er the earth + Thou walk'st in search of wealth or fame; + Return her love who gave thee birth-- + His, who thy youthful guide became. + That mother's heart must cease to beat; + That father's voice must cease to guide; + Oh! then what recollections sweet + Will cheer thy life's dark eventide. + + + III. + + "Hope deferred maketh the heart sick; The desire accomplished is + sweet to the soul.--PROVERBS xiii, _v._ 12, 19. + + I am watching--I am waiting; + And my heart droops sad and low. + No glad message brings me comfort + As the moments come and go. + While the flowers bask in sunshine; + While birds sing on every tree; + I am weary--weary, waiting-- + For a message, love, from thee. + + + IV. + + "A virtuous woman is a crown to her husband."--PROVERBS xii, _v._ 4. + + As is the lustre to the lily; + As is the fragrance to the rose; + As is the perfume to the violet + In sweet humility that grows. + As is the glad warmth of the sunshine + Whene'er the earth is dark and cold; + So, to the loving heart that wears it, + Is Virtue's purest crown of gold. + + + V. + + "Even in laughter the heart is sorrowful, and the end of that mirth + is heaviness."--PROVERBS xiv, _v._ 13. + + What though kind friends that gather round me + Seek to make my heart rejoice? + I miss the face I love so dearly-- + Miss the music of thy voice; + And though I smile, as if in gladness, + Tis but the phantom of a smile; + My heart, in sorrowing and sadness, + Mourns thy absence all the while. + + + + +CHRISTMAS ANTICIPATIONS. + + As the sun looks down on the ice-bound river + Melting the stream that is frozen o'er, + So gladness to hearts that the long years sever + Comes with old Christmas as of yore. + For the hearth glows bright in the yule-log's light, + And we look for the face that is far away: + 'Twill come with the morn--with the wakening dawn, + And our hearts will be happy on Christmas Day. + + The holly-branch laughs with its berries bright, + As we hang it up high in the air; + The mistletoe shakes with subdued delight + The leaves that its branches wear; + The ivy smiles out from its place on the wall; + And the fire-light gives welcome cheer; + We have dreamt they are coming--and, one and all, + Are wondering "Will they be here?" + + Christmas bells are ringing--ringing, + Ringing out the olden chime; + Choristers are singing--singing, + Singing carols, keeping time; + And my heart is waiting--waiting, + Waiting for the day so near; + For my Love is coming--coming, + Coming with the glad New Year. + + As flowerets turn towards the sun, + As streams run to the sea, + So yearns my heart for Christmas-time + That brings my love to me! + + + + +GOLDEN TRESSES. + + Like threads of golden sunshine + By angels' fingers wove, + Sweet as the scented woodbine, + Are the tresses of my love. + The winds that whisper softly + I'd give my life to be, + That I might kiss those tresses bright, + And die in ecstasy. + + Those threads of golden sunshine + Like bonds my heart enchain, + And when in dreams I wander + They win me back again. + They throw a gleam of glory + O'er the pathway where I go, + As when of old, in splendour bright, + Heav'n's angels walkt below. + + + + +HOPE FOR THE BEST. + + Hope on for the best; where's the use of repining: + Droop not by the way, for there's work to be done; + Great ends are attained, not by fretting and whining-- + By patience and labour the goal must be won. + Fear not the world's frown: though it spurn the down-falling, + 'Twill shrink from a lamb if in lion-skin dresst; + Whate'er be thy trouble--however enthralling-- + Press onward, despair not, and hope for the best. + + If sorrow o'ertake thee--then be not faint-hearted; + Life ne'er was ordained to be shadeless and bright; + One morn from the other by night-time is parted; + The sun always shines though we see not the light; + Misfortunes in life, like the nettle, prove harmless, + If grappled stout-hearted and fearlessly presst; + Rich sweets, without bitters, soon cloy and grow charmless, + Then press on, despair not, and hope for the best. + + + + +GONE BEFORE. + + The silent night is coming on, + The day is gone and past; + The willows waving to and fro + Their mournful shadows cast. + I'm thinking o'er the happy years + We wandered side by side, + And Oh, my heart is filled with tears, + I've lost my darling bride. + Softly sighs the evening breeze, + And soothes my bosom sore, + While angel voices seem to sing: + "Not lost, but gone before." + + I think of her whose gentle voice + My drooping spirit cheered; + In fancy see her eyes grow bright, + When prosp'rous days appeared. + And as--like vessels that from storms + To quiet havens glide-- + We neared the haven of our hopes, + I lost my darling bride. + Softly sighs the evening breeze, + And soothes my bosom sore, + While angel voices seem to sing: + "Not lost, but gone before." + + + + +HENRY BATH: + +DIED OCTOBER THE 14TH, 1864. + +"For the charitable heart is as a flowing river: it moveth meekly and +in silence, and scattereth abroad its blessings to beautify the world." + + + Ever the silent river flows + Adown the mead in speechless eloquence, + More telling than the language of the tongue; + Its heart reflecting Heaven's own radiance + In unmarred beauty as it glides along. + + Ever the silent river flows: + And in its depths, of untold wealth the source, + What sleeping myst'ries, hidden and serene, + Lie in their latent, undevelopt force; + Yet on it moves as though it ne'er had been. + + Ever the silent river flows: + No shadowy nook escapes its placid glance; + Tow'rds cavern dark with velvet step it steals; + And passing on as though in dreamful trance, + The story of its mission unreveals. + + Ever the silent river flows: + It clothes the meadows with a fleecy mist; + Softens earth's arid heart with gentle rain, + Till by the warm and sunny Morning kisst + Nature looks upward--fresh and bright again. + + Ever the silent river flows: + And weeping willows, reaching prayerfully + As though in adoration, droop to greet + The dreamy river as it passes by; + And throw their leafy blessings at its feet. + + Ever the silent river flows: + All Nature tells the story of its worth: + A daily miracle--morn, noon, and night + Softly beneficent: of joy the birth: + A voiceless messenger of hope and light. + + Ever the silent river flows: + And so, in gentle meekness and sweet stealth, + Out from the life of him whose loss we mourn + There flowed of Charity a boundless wealth, + To cheer the Poor by griefs and sorrows torn. + + Ever the silent river flows: + For ever and for ever flowing on: + So runs the river of his goodness rare, + A noble heritage from sire to son; + With grateful hearts abounding everywhere. + + + + +SONG OF THE WORKER. + +TO BE SUNG IN PRAISE OF THOSE WHO DESERVE IT, BY + THOSE WHO THINK SO. + + The strokes of the hammer ring out day and night, + And the huge wheels whirl and they spin: + The sky is on fire with the forge's light-- + Oh, Oh! for the roar and the din. + The sparks fly aloft like a starry cloud, + And the voices of workmen ring + With a cheery refrain both happy and loud, + And this is the song they sing: + Bless thee, my master--bless thee; + Prosperity always be thine. + May plenty in store ever garnish thy door, + And each day bring its blessings divine. + + The cottage that stands by the mountain side + Is bright with the cheerful fire, + And the house-wife gazes with honest pride + On the faces of husband and sire, + Who, fresh from the forge, with their brawny hands + The food that they eat have won, + And this is the wish that each breast expands + Ere the bountiful meal is begun: + Bless thee, my master--bless thee; + Prosperity always be thine. + May plenty in store ever garnish thy door, + And each day bring its blessings divine. + + 'Tis dark in that cottage: and sorrow is there; + For sickness brings troubles amain; + The sigh from affliction is heard on the air, + And sad sounds the mournful refrain. + But, sun-like in winter, a friend in their need + Pours the light over lattice and floor: + And these are the words that emblazon the deed + From the heart that with love brimmeth o'er: + Bless thee, my master--bless thee; + Prosperity always be thine. + May plenty in store ever garnish thy door, + And each day bring its blessings divine. + + A hand that is princely: the heart of a king: + All kindness and goodness combined; + A name that will long, with the virtues we sing, + Deep--deep in our hearts be enshrined. + And may the strong bond of affection like this + Be the pledge of good faith to the end; + For sad will the day be should ever we miss + From our midst such a true-hearted friend. + Bless thee--a thousand hearts bless thee: + Prosperity always be thine. + May plenty in store ever garnish thy door, + And each day bring its blessings divine. + + + + +THE BROOKLET'S AMBITION. + + In a sweet little glen, + Far from footsteps of men, + Once a bright-featured Brooklet was born, + It could boast of its birth + From a hole in the earth + Well protected by bramble and thorn. + For a time 'twas content, + Nor on wandering bent, + Till the raindrops fell plenteous and free, + And disturbed the sweet rest + Of the rivulet's breast, + By whispering tales of the sea. + + What the rain had to tell + Made the rivulet swell, + And grow large and more large by degrees, + Till it broke with a bound + From the hole in the ground, + And was lost in a forest of trees. + But it found its way out, + And meandered about + O'er the meadow, the lowland, and lea, + Till it came, full of pride, + With a thousand beside, + And emptied itself in the sea. + + But alas for the stream! + And alas for its dream + Of ambition! such dreamings were o'er, + When it found to its cost + As a stream it was lost + The moment it leapt from the shore. + So like rivulets--men, + Humbly born in life's glen, + Proudly dream as the lowlands they lave, + That they're each one a sea, + Whilst they're only--ah, me! + Of life's ocean at best but a wave. + + + + +ST. VALENTINE'S EVE. + + A dear little name I placed under my pillow + On St. Valentine's eve, just to work out a charm, + For 'twas said if I dreamed of the maiden who owned it, + I should wed her as certain as sunshine is warm: + And lo! in my sleep, a sweet vision came o'er me: + A fair-featured maiden--and beauteous as fair-- + In attitude graceful stood smiling before me, + With eyes dark and lustrous, and brown flowing hair: + Her hand I took hold of, and gently endeavoured + The rosiest of rose-coloured lips to impress; + I whispered her name--and the vision departed: + The name that I whispered was--No: you must guess! + + + + +LOST! + + A dark form lingers on the lea, + In the moon-lit night-- + In the cold white light, + Beneath the shade of an old oak tree, + Like a dusky sprite, + Or ghost newly sped + From the voiceless dead; + And the flowers droop round it weeping, + While the sad moon streams + Her white-wan beams + O'er the world as it lieth sleeping. + And ere the morn + A wail forlorn + Will arise from a lost one weeping. + + A soft step leaves the cottage door + In the moon-lit night, + Like a leaflet's flight; + A pure heart leaps, full of rich love-lore, + Tow'rds the dusky sprite + That stands like a shade + From the voiceless dead, + And the flowers droop round them weeping, + While the sad moon streams + Her white-wan beams + O'er the world as it lieth sleeping; + And ere the morn + A wail forlorn + Will arise from a lost one weeping. + + + + +LILYBELL. + + Little Lily she was fair-- + O how fair no tongue can tell! + Life was bright beyond compare + Filled with love and Lilybell. + + Little Lily came the day + Both our hearts were lorn and lone. + Oh! what bliss it was to say + "Lilybell is all our own!" + + Little Lily stay'd and smiled + On us for a year or so, + Then they came and took the child + Upward where the angels go. + + Little Lily left a mark-- + Mark of light where e'r she trod: + Left her footprints in the dark, + Just to guide us up to God. + + Upward, then, we look alway: + Pray and shed the silent tear; + Hoping soon will come the day + We shall join our darling there. + + + + +GONE! + +SUGGESTED ON HEARING OF THE DEATH, ONLY A FEW + DAYS APART, OF TWO INFANT CHILDREN OF AN + ESTEEMED FRIEND. + + Gone! Like a ray, that came and kissed some flow'rs, + Charming their loneliness with many a hue; + But cheering only, as such marvels do, + A few short hours. + + Gone! Like a dew-drop-jewel of the mist, + That lives the briefest moment in the morn; + Sparkling in purity upon a thorn; + Then heaven-ward kisst. + + Gone! Like a Summer-wind, that woke a thrill + In every leaf it fondled as it fled, + Then left each leaflet drooping low its head + Mournful and still. + + Gone! Like a swelling wail at Autumn time, + That went with such sad cadences away, + 'Twas thought a God from Heav'n had come astray + Weeping sublime. + + Gone! Like a dream of beauty in the night, + That came to tell a fair and welcome tale, + Then left the wakening dreamer to bewail + The dead delight. + + + + +LIFE DREAMS. + + Behold yon truant schoolboy, cap in hand, + Bound o'er the gilded mead with frantic whoop, + And to each butterfly give ready chase; + Till one more gaudy than the flutt'ring rest + Starts up before his gaze. Then darts he forth + To clutch the prize, which ever and anon + Lingers on shiny flow'r till nearly caught, + Then flickers off with tantalizing flirt. + The youth with hopeful heart keeps up the chase, + And so intent upon the game, that he + Sees not the yawning slough beneath his feet, + Until he finds himself o'er head and ears + In dreary plight. And so it is through life: + From youth to age man dreams of happiness: + Grasps every gilded bubble that upsoars, + Fondly believing each to be the prize + His fancy pictured. Still the wished-for joy + Is far beyond his reach as e'er it was; + Yet, buoyed with hope, he sees, or thinks he sees, + The coming future bearing in its arms + The smiling Beauty that he pants to grasp. + With palpitating heart and trembling hand + He reaches forth to pluck the prize--when lo! + The treach'rous earth expanding at his feet, + He finds in place of happiness--a grave. + + + + +AEOLUS AND AURORA: + +GIVING A LITTLE INFORMATION AS TO THE MUSIC OF THE GODS. (_a_) + + Said Aurora to Aeolus, as they sat o'er their bohea, + Surrounded by Zephyruses--exactly three times three-- + "Olus, dear, a new piano is the thing of things we want." + I regret to say Aeolus raised his eyes and said "We dont!" + So unlike his mournful manner, when his sweet sad harp he plays; + And he heav'd a sigh regretful as he thought of other days-- + As he thought of early moments, ere Aurora's heart was won-- + Ere beefsteak was fifteen pence a-pound, and coals five crowns a-ton; + Ere nine little West-winds murmured round his table every meal, + And the tones of a piano nought but sweetness could reveal, + As his own Aurora played it in the home of her mamma, + Ere his own Aurora, blushing, had referred him to papa. + All these feelings moved Aeolus, but to climax in "We dont!" + As he heard "A new piano is the thing of things we want." + It was settled--who could help it? For Aurora, like the rest + Of winning little women, knew that kisses pleased the best; + It was settled--who could help it? So, the local paper brought, + The quick eye of Aurora these glad words of comfort caught (_b_) + "Dear Aeolus," said Aurora, "this is quite the thing for me;" + "All is just as it all should be--it's a _lady's_ property: + "P'rhaps her husband 's short of money; + p'rhaps the rent they want to pay; + "P'rhaps--" but cutting short my story, the piano came next day. + Yes--the walnut case _was_ "beautiful" for beeswax made it so; + And the keyboard _was_ by Collard--"Collard's registered," you know. + It is true, it _was_ full compass; but the "richness" wasn't much; + And a feature felt in vain for was the "repetition touch." + Yes--it _was_ a "trichord cottage," and "but little used" had been; + And the wood, like those who bought it, all inside was very green. + It was worth a score of guineas--e'en if really worth a score: + And the "lady" who was "leaving" ere she left sold three or four, + Piping hot from minor makers, though all Collard's make-believe; + And at each recurring victim laughed a laugh within her sleeve. + Of course no breach of morals to the seller I impugn, + Although it cost five pounds a-year to keep the thing in tune. + I rather blame the buyers two for napping being caught: + And that's the way "Aeolus dear" a new piano bought. + + + +(_a_) The foregoing lines were written several years ago, and published +at the time, with the view of exposing a fraud too frequently practised +upon people in search of so-called "bargains." Aeolus and Aurora are +no imaginary characters. + +(_b_) A lady removing from ----------, is desirous of selling her +Piano. A full rich tone, 7 octaves, in beautiful walnut case, trichord +cottage, repetition touch, registered keyboard, by Collard, but little +used. 27 guineas will be accepted, worth 60.--Apply to, &c. + + + + +SONNET: + +ON BEING ASKED MY OPINION UPON THE MATTER TO WHICH IT REFERS. + + Should'st thou find in thy travels a maid that is free, + And content to love nought in the wide world but thee; + With a face that is gentle--be 't dark or be 't fair; + And a brow that ne'er ceases good-temper to wear; + With a soul like a rosebud that's not yet unfurled-- + All strange to the tricks and the ways of the world; + And a mind that would blush at its fanciful roam, + Should it dream there are spheres more delightful than home, + With a love that would love thee alone for thy sake + In bonds which adversity never could break. + Should'st thou find such a treasure--then unlock thy heart, + And place the bright gem in its innermost part; + Watch over it tenderly--love it with pride; + And gratefully crown it thy heaven-sent bride. + + + + +SLEEPING IN THE SNOW. + +(FOR MUSIC.) + + "O, let me slumber--let me sleep!" + The fair-haired boy in whispers sighed; + Then sank upon the snowy steep, + While friendly hearts to rouse him tried. + "O, let me sleep!" and as he spake + His weary spirit sought its rest, + And slept, no more again to wake, + Save haply there--among the blest. + Sleep--sleep--sleeping: + He sleeps beneath the starry dome; + And far away his mother, weeping, + Waits his coming home. + + We raised him gently from the snow, + And bore him in our arms away. + The sweet white face is smiling now-- + Made whiter by the moon's pale ray. + And when the sun in beauty rose + We laid him in the silent tomb, + Where mountains with eternal snows + High up tow'rds Heaven grandly loom. + Sleep--sleep--sleeping: + He sleeps beneath the starry dome; + And far away his mother, weeping, + Waits his coming home. (_a_) + + + +(_a_) The late Artemus Ward, in his "American Drolleries," tells a +pathetic story of a boy, a German, who died from the severity of the +weather, while travelling, in company with others, in the vicinity of +the Rocky Mountains. He was the only child of a widowed mother. The +intense cold induced drowsiness; and while being forced along by his +companions with the view of counteracting the effects of the frost, his +continued cry, uttered with soul-stirring plaintiveness, was: "Let me +sleep--let me sleep." Unable to save him, his companions permitted him +to lie down and "fall asleep in the snow"--a sleep from which he never +woke. + + + + +WITH THE RAIN. + + A Dewdrop and a Violet + Were wedded on an April day; + The Dewdrop kisst his pretty pet, + Then by the Sun was called away. + The drooping flow'r bewailed her choice; + "My love will never come again!" + But from the clouds came answering voice: + "I come, my darling, with the rain!" + + The Violet had jealous fears, + And told her sorrow to the Rose: + "Say--is he faithful?" O those tears! + The blossom whispered--"Goodness knows!" + The recreant dewdrop came at last, + And eased his love of all her pain: + With kisses sweet her sorrows passed, + And life anew came with the rain. + + + + +ODE: + +ON THE DEATH OF A VERY INTIMATE FRIEND, A + YOUNG SURGEON, WHO DIED FROM FEVER, AFTER + ATTENDING A PATIENT. + + 'Tis sad indeed to chant a dirge of gloom-- + To weave the cypress for a youthful brow: + To moan a requiem o'er an early tomb, + And sing in sorrow as I'm singing now. + While men raise mausoleums to die brave-- + With flimsy flatt'ries gilded tombs besmear-- + We need no banner o'er our Brother's grave + To tell what wealth of worth lies buried there. + + Gone! and the word re-echoes with a sound + Mournful as muffled bells upon the wind; + Sad in its influence on all around-- + Telling of griefs that still remain behind. + A thousand hearts may throb with tender swell-- + Though every soul in deepest sorrow grieves, + How much he was beloved they only tell; + But who shall gauge the yawning breach he leaves? + + Dark is the social world in which he moved-- + Lending his aid unmindful of the cost. + Stilled is the heart the sternest 'mongst us loved; + Dim is the lustrous jewel we have lost. + For souls like his, so tender and so great, + Are pearls that stud the earth like stars the sky: + Above--the password at celestial gate; + Below--the germ of immortality. + + Gone! Just as life was breaking, full of hope-- + Clothed in the gorgeous beauty of its morn; + Free in Ambition's ever-widening scope, + A pictured prospect exquisitely drawn. + As void of self as angels are of sin, + What sweet anticipations stirred his brain: + What heights for others would he strive to win; + What little for himself he'd seek to gain. + + But while the world was bathed in golden light; + While beauty breathed from every opening flower; + While streamlets danced along with gay delight; + While mellow music filled each songful bower; + With heart-warm friends whose love ran brimming o'er + For him who, full of life, stood with them then; + In such an hour Death led him from the shore; + And gone the worth we ne'er may know again. + + + + +ON THE DEATH OF A FRIEND. + + She left a mournful void upon our hearts; + Within her home she left a vacant place: + But, as the setting sun at eve imparts + A holy twilight calm to nature's face, + So, chastened, bend we o'er the early tomb + Of one who to us all was very dear, + Whose cherished memory, like a fragrant bloom, + Will live embalmed in recollection's tear. + + + + +LINES: + +WRITTEN IN THE PRAYER BOOK OF A YOUNG LADY + WHO HAD JILTED HER LOVER. + + To love unbeloved--O how painful the bliss! + By such passion our heart-strings we sever: + Like raindrops in rivers, which die with a kiss, + We are lost in life's waters for ever. + + + + +VICARIOUS MARTYRS: + +WRITTEN AND SENT AS A VALENTINE TO MY HEN-PECKED SCHOOLMASTER. + + I wonder if thy Tyrant knows + That every peck she gives to _thee_ + Brings down a perfect show'r of blows + On my companions and on me. + Martyrs vicarious are we all: + Too great a coward thou to rule + Thy wife, or let thy vengeance fall + On _her_--and so thou flog'st the school. + + + + +STANZAS: + +WRITTEN AT TUNBBRIDGE WELLS IN 1854, AFTER HAVING + SEEN LADY NOEL BYRON, WIDOW OF THE POET, + LORD BYRON, WHO WAS STAYING THERE + FOR THE BENEFIT OF HER HEALTH. + + Like the Moon that is waning, thou movest along-- + Silent, pensive, and pale--through thy sorrow's dark Night; + For thou draw'st from the rays of our bright Sun of Song + The white coldness that lives where reflected 's the light. + + And the stars which in fancy around thee I see, + As in bright golden fire they eternally shine, + Seem to cast from their splendour a lustre on thee, + As of light from thy husband's effusions divine. + + In the flush of his fame were thy virtues unseen, + By his blinding effulgence of genius hid: + Could he now see thy face, with its sorrow serene, + Much might he unsay--undo much that he did, + + For I see in that face all the sorrows he told-- + All the sadness he meant in his marvellous lore; + And the shadows of Memory, silent and old, + Seem to come with the light from Eternity's shore. + + And I feel, though the world said his spirit and thine + Were as wide as the sun and the moon are apart, + That the beams of his love o'er thy bosom still shine-- + That the thought of his passion still nurtures thy heart. + + + + +TO LOUISA: + +WHEN A YEAR OLD. + + My sweet one, thou art starting now + In life's heart-saddening race, + With Innocence upon thy brow + And Beauty in thy face; + A tiny star among the host + That fleck the arc of life; + A tiny barque on ocean tossed, + To brave its billowy strife. + May Virtue reign supremely o'er + And round thy footsteps cling; + While Faith and Hope for evermore + Celestial numbers sing. + O may thy life be one glad dream + Of bright unclouded joy; + Thy love one pure and sunny theme + Of bliss without alloy. + Should Fate or Fortune's dazzling rays + Lead thee to other climes, + Then, darling, let this meet thy gaze, + And think of me sometimes. + + + + +THE ORATOR AND THE CASK + +A FABLE. + +INTRODUCING A CHARACTER FROM LIFE. + + A speaker of the suasive school, + Who more resembled knave than fool, + His prospects gauged once on a time, + And sought how he might upward climb. + The scheme Political had failed; + The star of Piety had paled; + The Convert Drunkard would not tell-- + His friends the cheat had learnt to smell. + All things our changeful friend had tried-- + Had spouted far and shouted wide. + When all at once--ah! happy thought: + The Temp'rance cause in tow was brought. + And with it, up and down the land, + Our hero roamed with lofty hand, + Consigning to a dreadful place, + Whose name this fable must not grace, + All men--the one who touched a drop, + With him who knew not when to stop. + Arriving in a town one day, + He on his string began to play; + And mounted on a brandy cask + With noisy speech went through his task. + The barrel on whose head he stood + At length gave vent in warmth of blood: + "Ungracious varlet--stay thy hand: + "What! run down those on whom you stand?" + Then, utterance-choked, he tumbled o'er, + Casting the speaker on the floor. + And as he rolled along the street-- + "Let me consistent teachers meet!" + He said--"or give me none at all + To teach me how to stand or fall!" + Thus seekers after Truth declaim + 'Gainst teachers--teachers but in name-- + Who live by what they deprecate, + And love the thing they seem to hate-- + Who like the speaker raised on high + On barrel-top, 'gainst barrels cry: + Who, though of others Temp'rance ask, + Are slaves themselves to th' brandy flask. + + + + +THE MAID OF THE WAR. + +SET TO MUSIC AND PUBLISHED ON THE DEPARTURE OF + MISS FLORENCE NIGHTINGALE AND HER STAFF + OF NURSES FOR THE CRIMEA. + + When the cannon's loud rattle + Told tales of the battle, + And the nations turned pale at the rout; + When the clarion rang madly, + And maidens wept sadly, + And swords leapt with fire-flashes out; + One frail girl of beauty + Shrank not from her duty, + But raised her sweet voice 'bove the roar; + Her bright smiles of kindness + Played o'er the dark blindness: + 'Twas Florence, the Maid of the War. + + When thousands, down-falling, + For help were out-calling-- + Neglected, on straw-pallet cast-- + A fair form drew near them + To aid and to cheer them; + Her shadow they kissed as it passed, (_a_) + When they droopt in their sadness, + Or raved in their madness, + She left her glad home from afar + To heal up their sorrows, + And tell of bright morrows; + 'Twas Florence, the Maid of the War. + + + +(_a_) So impressed were some of the wounded soldiers in the hospital at +the kindness and gentle treatment received at the hands of Miss +Nightingale, that, unable otherwise to testify their gratitude, they +kissed her shadow as it fell upon the pillow of the pallets, on which +they lay. One poor fellow is said to have done this with his latest +breath. + + + + +IMPROMPTU: + +ON BEING ASKED BY A LADY TO WRITE A VERSE IN HER ALBUM. + + If I could place my thoughts upon thy heart + As on this virgin page I now indite, + What words unspoken would I not impart + Which only on my own I dare to write? + + + + +MARY: + +DIED MAY 30TH, 1860. + + But one short hour + She came and tripped it o'er the rugged earth, + Like a light sunbeam o'er the troubled wave; + Then shrank in silence to her little grave, + A rose-bud bitten at its opening birth. + + The hand of death + Had ta'en before her one who loved her well + With all the fondness of a Mother's heart, + Whose darling's soul was made of Heav'n a part + E're sank the echoes of her own death-knell. + + And so she died: + Before her mind scarce knew the way to live. + But sorrowing tears 'twere useless now to shed: + Our hopes must bloom, or mingle with the dead, + As Heav'n alone deems fit to take or give! + + + + +LINES: + +ON THE MARRIAGE OF MISS ELIZABETH MARY NICHOLL + CARNE, FEBRUARY 6TH, 1868. + + Oh, blessed Love! that clothes with laughing flowers + Life's martyr-crown of thorns, and raises up + The heart to hold communion with its God, + 'Tis thine, this day, with golden clasp, to bind + The volume of a life, where sterling worth + And beauty go to make the story up. + A maiden, one, who, when on tiptoe, sees + Her history running through a line of Kings: + In fame how excellent; in life how pure; + As though the virtues of her ancestry + Had found new utterance in her virtuous self. + As rain-drops, trickling through the hills of Time, + Commingling gather, till, in sparkling life, + They come, a streamlet, happy in the sun, + To gladden all with beauty, so the gems + That thickly fleck an old ancestral name + From time how distant, centre in the soul + Of her who comes this day with loving smile + To crown a husband with such wealth of worth + As 'tis her own to give. Thrice happy pair! + May cloudlets never dim the arc of light + That should engirdle all their lives, and make + Their home a paradise. If such should come, + May they be transient as a summer cloud + That mars but for a moment, yet to make + The sky more beautiful. May truest Love + Be with them ever, garnishing their lives + With bliss perpetual, and lighting up + Their footsteps o'er the earth, as when, of old, + God's angels walked with men. So shall they live + A life which loving hearts alone may know. + + + + +IMPROMPTU: + +ON THE DEATH OF MR. THOMAS KNEATH, A WELL-KNOWN + TEACHER OF NAVIGATION, AT SWANSEA. + + He pupils taught to brave the gale + Secure on life's tempestuous sea; + Then, pupil he of Death, set sail + To navigate Eternity. + + The students taught by him--return + In safety to their friends ashore; + But tutor Death, so cold and stern, + Brings back his pupils--never-more. + + + + +EXTRACTS FROM SOME UNPUBLISHED MANUSCRIPT. + + + HUMILITY OPPRESSED. + + Blame not the world: + But blame its law that makes it crime akin + To be of lowly birth--to lack the gold + Whereby to coat the mask to cheat the world + Of sterling merit. See yon beauteous fly + Breaking its plumage 'gainst the glassy pane, + Till spent and weary, yearning tow'rds the sun. + E'en so the lowly-born but large of soul + See not, but feel, the chilling barrier + Set up by Pride to mar their sky-ward flight + To liberty and life. + + + UPWARD STRIVINGS. + + See, when the simple moth doth blindly rush + To reach the flame, its life oft pays the debt + Of folly. Yet 'tis nobler thus to die + Midst all the brightness of a waking life, + Than from the world ooze out through darkened ways + By beggarly instalments--none to feel + Thy life but thine own poor ignoble self: + And none to tell the moment of thy death + Save those who profit by it. + + + TRUTHFULNESS. + + Ne'er seek, by artful guise of words, to taint + The truth with falsehood's hue. Poor, trembling Truth! + Trust in her would be boundless, if our tongues + Uttered the coin as fashioned in the heart. + And then poor Heart would have no need to send + Her champion blushes to the cheeks to tell + The world how basely she had been traduced. + + + LOVE'S INFLUENCE. + + O love sublime! + How thy sweet influence agitates the soul, + Voicing its hidden chords, as breathing winds + Wake the rude harp to thrilling melody. + All things must pass away; but love shall live + For ever. 'Tis th' immortal soul of life. + Scathless and beauteous midst th' incongruous mass + Of desolated hearts and stricken souls, + And spirits faintful 'neath a world of woe, + And dusky millions in the mine of life; + And all the rank corruption of the earth-- + Its weeds, its thorns, its sadness-breeding hate; + Its selfishness, its swallow-pinioned friends; + Its rottenness of core and lack of truth: + When all have changed, save Nature and itself, + This Heaven-sent flow'r of Eden--peerless love-- + Shall blossom in Evangel purity, + And sanctify a host to people Heaven. + + + VALUE OF ADVERSITY. + + Friction with sorrow rubs perception keen; + And dear-bought knowledge makes us prophets all. + + + MISGUIDING APPEARANCES. + + What! Is the graveyard sod less fresh and green-- + The daisies there less like the meadow flow'r-- + Because pollution slumbers at their roots? + Judge not thou, then, by what appears to be, + But what exacting Conscience tells thee is. + + + VIRGIN PURITY. + + As fair a soul as ever came from God, + And one more gentle never walkt the earth + In mortal guise. Of sweet external, too: + Fresh as the wakening morn with violet breath; + And every action, look, thought, word, and trace, + Were strung to tuneful melody. Her life + Was music's echo--stealing o'er the soul + Like dying strains, soft and retiringly. + In childish grace to womanhood she grew, + And like the virgin lily stood and smiled-- + Flinging around the fragrance of herself + Unweeting of the blessings that she brought. + + + MAN'S DESTINY. + + All human actions are ordained of God, + And for the common good: yet men see not + The strings that keep earth's puppets on the move; + But whine and whimper--wondering at the ways + By which unlook'd-for ends are brought about: + As blind imprisoned birds bruise out their lives + Against the cruel bars they cannot see. + + + LOVE'S INCONGRUITIES. + + Experience tells the world it were as mad + To link the Present with the sluggish Past, + As wed the ways of winsome, wanton youth, + To lean and laggard age. I pitied her: + Made her the mistress of my countless wealth-- + Loving with doting and uxorious love. + And the ripe graces of her radiant mind + Shone out resplendent. But my withered life + Woke to her love with sere and sickly hope; + As some departed June, won with the sighs + Of waning Winter, turns and spends a day + For very pity with the lonely eld, + Who greets her sunny visit with a glance + Of cold inanity, and strives to smile. + O had I known this little hour of time + When life was young--or knew it not at all! + Then my heart's buoyance, at such love as her's, + Had blossom'd brightly--as the merry May + Skips from the golden South with balmy breath, + Breathing upon the dark and thorn-clad fields, + Till fragrant buds peep out like love-lit eyes, + And hedges redden as she walks along. + As these--her love and mine. But _now_--alas! + + + RETRIBUTION. + + O that the wretchedness entailed by sin + Might form the prelude--not the after-piece. + How few there are would brave the hurricane: + How few the crimes mankind would have to count. + + + LOVE'S MUTABILITY. + + My heart is dark again. + My tree of life but yestermorn was flusht + With golden fruit: to-day it creaks in pain, + And wintry winds moan through its leafless boughs. + Time, some hours younger, saw me clasp the sky + Of hope with radiant brow: the plodding churl + May see me now go stumbling in the dark, + And blindly groping for the hand of Death + To lead me hence. O life! O world! O woman! + + + A MOTHER'S ADVICE. + + _Mother_. Clarence, my darling boy, + The world to which thou yearn'st is grey with crime; + And glittering Vice will bask before thy face, + As serpents lie in sedgy, o'ergrown grass, + In glossy beauty, whilst Life's potent glance + Will thrall thy soul as with a spirit-spell: + But hold thy heart, a chalice for the Good + And Beautiful to crush, with pearly hands, + The mellow draught which purifies the thought, + And lights the soul. Thirst after knowledge, child. + Thy face shall shine, then, brightly as a king's, + As did the prophets' in the olden time + When holding converse with the living God. + As rain-drops falling from the sky above + Upon the mountain-peak remain not there, + But hasten down to voice the simple rill, + So knowledge, born of God, should be attained + By peasant as by peer--by king or slave. + Have faith--large faith. Some of life's mightiest great + Have peered out, like the moon from frowning hills, + Then ventured forth, and walkt their splendour'd night + In pale, cold majesty; while some have dasht + On sun-steeds through the ocean of the world, + As comets plough the shoreless sea of stars, + Blinding old Earth with wreaths of splendid foam + And sparkling sprays: others have strode the world + Like a Colossus, and the glory-light + That streamed up from the far, far end of time, + Hath smote their lofty brows, and glinted down + Upon the world they shadowed: some have lived + And cleft their times with such a whistling swoop + That plodding minds seemed reeling 'tother way-- + Men who had suffering-purified their souls + To angel rarity, that they might scan, + Like old Elijah, e'en the throne of God, + And live. + + _Clarence_. Thy voice doth marshal on my soul + To battle, and to dream of noble things. + Thy golden words I'll graft upon my heart + Like blossoms wedded to the granite rock. + But, Mother, weep not! Why should April tears + Come with the sunshine of thy voice? + + + _Mother_. Bless thee, + God bless thee, Clarence! May thy sorrows be + Light and evanescent as vapoury wreaths + That fleck the Summer blue. My dreams shall wing + Their way to thee, as moonbeams pierce the night. + And I will send my soul up in a cloud + Of thought to Heav'n, wreathed with a Mother's prayer, + For thee. Farewell--and be thou blest. + + + SUNRISE IN THE COUNTRY. + + What a sweet atmosphere of melody + And coolness falls upon the troubled heart, + Like oil upon the wave. Dance on--dance on-- + Ye couriers of the sun--full-throated choir; + And sky-ward fling your sobbing psalmody-- + A sunrise offering to the coming day. + On--on: still higher! Still rolls the torrent down, + Bearing the soul up in a cloud of sprays, + The world seems deluged with a golden shower: + Myriads of larks trill out their morning psalm, + As though the stars were changed to silver bells + Timbrelling forth their sweet melodious bursts + In joyous welcome of the maiden Morn. + + + FAITH IN LOVE. + + Man's faith in woman's love + Is all the darken'd earth can boast of Heaven. + That faith destroyed--farewell to happiness, + And joy, and worldly hope, and all that goes + To deify mankind. + + + UNREQUITED AFFECTION. + + She was a simple cottage-girl, + But lovely as a poet's richest thought + Of woman's beauty--and as false as fair. + I've writhed beneath the witchery of her voice + As cornfields palpitate beneath the breeze-- + Have sued with praying hands--lavished my life + Upon her image, as the bright stars pour + Their trembling splendours on the cold-heart lake-- + Wounded my manliness upon the rock + Of her too fatal beauty, like a storm + That twines with sobbing fondness round the neck + Of some sky-kissing hill, bursts in his love, + Then slowly droops and flows about her feet + A puling streamlet,--whilst a gilded cloud + Is toying with the brow of his Beloved! + 'Twas gold that sear'd the love-bud of her heart; + To bitter ashes turned my life's sweet fruit; + And sent my soul adrift upon the world + A wandering, worthless wreck. + + + THE POET'S TROUBLES. + + To be possess'd of passion's ecstasy + Outswelling from the heart; the teeming brain + Afire with glowing light; as when the sun + Catches the tall tree-tops with Summer warmth, + And draws the trembling sap with impulse sweet + Through every fibre up to th' glory-crown; + To feel the breath of some rare influence + Of subtle life suck at the throbbing soul + As though into infinity to kiss + The yielding passion subtle as itself; + To see the hand of God in everything; + To hear His voice in every sound that comes; + To long, and long, with passionate desire, + To speak the language which the dream divine + Incessantly implies; to live and move + In Fancy's heav'n--yet know that earth still holds + The fancy captive: these the daily death + Of many minds that wrestle all in vain + 'Gainst that which Heav'n in cruel kindness sends + To teach mankind humility. Ah, me! + The pow'r to feel the touch of Paradise + And to enjoy it not--as hungering men + Have died ere now, gazing upon the food + By heartless gaolers placed beyond their reach. + + + ECHOES FROM THE CITY. + + The modern Babylon + Sleeps like a serpent coil'd up at my feet. + London--huge model of the great round earth, + The teeming birthplace and the mausoleum + Of millions; where dark graves and drawing-rooms + Gaze from each other into each; where flow'rs + Of blushing life droop in the grasp of Vice + Like blossoms in the fingers of a corpse; + Where cank'rous gold sways, millions with a nod + To abject slavery, buying men up + As toys for knaves to play with in the game + Of life; where Truth is kicked from foot to foot, + Till in bewilderment she cries aloud + And swears to save her life she is a lie; + Where Love and Hate, in masquerading guise, + Pell-mell dance on; chameleon Charity, + In all its varying phases, crawls along-- + Now shrinking up dark courts in russet tint, + And then, in bold and gaudy colours dresst + Which publish trumpet-tongued its whereabouts, + It takes a garish stand before the world + And calls itself an angel. Thus for aye-- + For ever, rolls the dark and turbid stream + In feverish unrest. + + + LOVE'S WILES. + + When Beauty smiles upon thee--have a care. + Kingdoms ere this have hinged upon a kiss + From woman's lips: and smiles have won a crown. + Glances from bright eyes of a gentle maid, + Whose cheeks would redden at a mouse's glance, + Have hearts befool'd that in their noble strength + Had shaken Kingdoms down. Have thou a care. + + + HAZARD IN LOVE. + + My sorrowing heart is like the blasted oak + That claspt the dazzling lightning to its breast, + Yielding its life up to the burning kiss. + Springs came along and fondled all in vain, + And Summers toy'd with warm and am'rous breath; + But nought in life could e'er again restore + The greening foliage of its early days. + Man never loves but once--then 'tis a cast + For life or death. If death--alas the day! + If life--'twere perfect Paradise. + + + A MOTHER'S LOVE. + + And friends fell from me--all, save God, and one + Beside--and she my mother--gentle, true. + As the bleak wind sweeps o'er the trembling limbs + Of some fair tree denuded of its dress, + How oft is seen, upon the topmost spray, + One lonely leaf, which braves the passing storm + Of Winter, and when gladsome Spring arrives, + And blossoms bloom in beauty all around, + It bends its brow and silent falls away. + So droopt that friend, who, through the livelong day + Of icy cold that chill'd my inmost life, + Sat like a bird upon the outside branch, + And sweetly sang me songs of coming Spring. + + + "THE SHADOW OF THE CROSS." + + 'Tis everywhere! The babe that sees with pain + The look of feign'd displeasure on the face + Of doting mother; and the mother who + Lays down the babe to rest--no more to wake; + The youth and maiden fair who tempt the stream + Of love that never brings them to the goal + Their fancy pictured; hearts that droop and break: + Upon life's thorny way; old age that sees + Long-hoped for peace among the silent dead + And deems it life to die. The shadow falls + Athwart the sunny hopes of every heart, + And shadowy most when gentle arms extend + For love's embrace, and find it not--as night + Is darkest near the dawn. Brighter the flame + Of light celestial 'twixt which and our hearts + The blessed Cross doth stand, sharper the shade + That falls upon our lives, as greatest gains + Involve the pains of great adventurings; + Or, nearer Death, nearer eternal Life. + + + + +CURATES AND COLLIERS. + +ON READING IN A COMIC PAPER VERY ABSURD COMPARISONS + BETWEEN THE WAGES OF CURATES AND COLLIERS. + + If colliers were curates, and curates were colliers, + I wonder what price the best coal would be then; + Whether meat would be dearer, or Heaven be nearer, + Or truth be less earnestly preached among men. + + I know that the incomes of curates are slender; + But curates get luxuries colliers ne'er see, + Which they don't have to pay for, nor work night and day for, + In mines dark and slushy on back and bent knee. + + Keep pulpits for curates--but pay them good stipends: + Keep mines for the colliers--but pay colliers well: + O, the Pit--no detraction--brings Pulpit reaction, + For pulpits would sicken if collieries fell. + + Then go, sneering cynic--write nonsense and fiction + On champagne and velvet, on satin and sin; + Though the joke may be able, 'tis false as a fable, + And shows what a fog Fleet-street sometimes gets in. + + + + +WANTED: A WIFE. + +A VOICE FROM THE LADIES. + +Being a reply to "M. C. D.," who advertised in a Swansea Newspaper for +a wife, 1856. + + Deputed by some lady friends, + Who think, with me, when ought offends, + 'Tis best to have it out at once, + Not nurse your wrath like moping dunce, + I venture forth--(now don't be hard, + And sneer, "Dear me, a female bard!" + I'm not the only Bard that's seen + Inditing verse in crinoline. (_a_) + I say--deputed by a few + Young ladies: 'tis no matter who: + I come--(of vict'ry little chance)-- + With "M. C. D." to break a lance; + To intimate our great surprise + To hear ourselves called--merchandise, + To be obtained--(there's no disguising + The fact)--obtained by advertising! + Obtained for better or for worse, + Just like a pony, pig, or horse. + And now, Sir, Mister "M. C. D.," + Pray, tell us, whomso'er you be, + D'ye think a lady's heart you'll gain + By such a process? O how vain! + + + +(_a_) These monstrosities--I mean the _balloons_, not the bards--are +now out of date--thank goodness! + + + + + With us, we hold in blank disgrace + The man who fears to show his face. + A tim'rous heart we all despise: + But we adore the flashing eyes, + The manly form--the lofty hand; + The soul created to command. + Love comes to us, no bidden guest, + For him who loves and rules us best. + The rosy god lights not his taper + For him who, in a trading paper, + Behind a printed notice screens, + And fears to tell us what he means. + Why don't he to the busy marts + Come forth and seige our tender hearts? + 'Tis wrong to buy pigs in a poke: + To wed so--what a silly joke! + In promenade, church, or bazaar, + At proper moments, there we are, + To be secured by manly hearts, + And, when secured, to do our parts + To temper life with him we love, + And woman's fondest instincts prove; + To yield submission to his will, + And, faulty though, to love him still. + Then "M. C. D." I pray refrain: + By means like these no wife you'll gain: + If you've no manlier mode to try, + We'll single live, and single die. + + + + +FRAGMENTS AND TRIFLES. + + + SYMPATHY. + + A Wit, reduced in means, in Market-place + Hawk'd buns all hot. A chum, with sorrowing face, + Came up--condoled: the Wit exclaimed "Have done! + "Your sympathy be bothered--BUY A BUN!" + + + + + A FRAGMENT. + + Once on a time a grimy sweep + Was creeping down the street, + When Quartern Loaf, the biker's boy, + Below he chanced to meet: + "Sweep!" sneered the baker: and the sweep + Gave Puff a sooty flout; + But Puff-crumb did not deal in soot, + So turned his face about; + Nor did he care to soundly drub + The imp of dirty flues: + "Go change your clothes!" said he, "and then + "I'll thrash you when you choose! + "It will not do for me to fight + "With such a sooty elf; + "My jacket's white, 'twould soon be black + "By tussling with yourself!" + + + + +LAW VERSUS THEOLOGY: + +ON AN EMINENT COUNTY COURT JUDGE. + + Some pulpit preachers think so very deep + That drowsy listeners find themselves asleep; + But the deep-thoughted law which ---- teaches + Makes "wide awake" all those to whom _he_ preaches. + + + + +THE BROKEN MODEL: + +TO ONE WHO WELL DESERVED THE STRICTURES WHICH + THESE LINES CONTAIN. + + When Nature saw she'd made a perfect man + She broke the mould and threw away the pieces, + Which being found by Satan, he began + And stuck the bits together--hence the creases, + The twists, the crooked botches, that we find-- + Sad counterfeits of Nature's perfect moulding; + Hearts wrongly placed--a topsy-turvy mind-- + Things that deserve the scorn of all beholding. + It needs no oracle in Delphic shade + To name the model from which _thou_ wert made. + + + + +IMPROMPTU: + +ON AN INVETERATE SPOUTER. + + If wealth of words men wealth of wisdom call'd, + And measured Genius by the way she bawled, + Then ---- would be the head of all the crew, + The King of Genius and of Wisdom too. + + + + +A CHARACTER. + + In childhood spoilt: a misery at school; + In wooing, what you might expect--a fool. + In small things honest, and in great a knave; + At home a tyrant, and abroad a slave. + + + + +COUPLET: + +ON A PAUPER WHOSE WEALTH GREW FASTER THAN HIS MANNERS. + + Paupers grown rich forget what once they've been, + Though, born a pig the snout is always seen. + + + + +PAUSE! + +ON THE HESITATION OF THE CZAR TO FORCE A PASSAGE + OF THE DANUBE, JUNE, 1877. + + Aye--hesitate! "Soldiers who stop to think + Are lost." So said a soldier (_a_) ere he died: + Lost, then, art thou--thus shivering on the brink. + Death was thy father's cure for humbled pride! + + + +(_a_) Wellington. + + + + +THE TEST OF THE STICK. + + Mick Malone on the tramp, weary, dusty, and warm, + Thought a pint of good ale wouldn't do him much harm; + But before he indulged--just for Conscience's sake-- + He thought he'd the views of Authority take. + So poising his stick on the ground--so they say, + He resolved on the beer if it fell the beer way; + If it went the contrary direction--why then + He'd his coppers retain, and trudge onward again. + The shillalegh, not thirsty, went wrong way for Mick, + Who again and again tried the Test of the Stick, + Till, worn out with refusing, the sprig tumbled right: + "Bring a pint!" sang out Pat, which he drank with delight; + And smacking his lips as he finished his beer, + Cried--"Success, Mick, me boy! always persevere!" + + + + +NOTE: + +CONCERNING IUAN WYLLT, AN EISTEDDFOD AT NEATH, AND MY FIRST PRIZE POEM. + +I think I ought to mention here, that the "Ode on the Death of a very +Intimate Friend" (page 199), was written in 1853, before I came to +reside in Wales. About three or four years after this--I forget the +date--a prize was offered at an Eisteddfod held at Neath, by Mr. James +Kenway, the then Mayor, for the best monody on the death of Mr. Edward +Evans. I competed for the prize, and obtained it. The model of the +Ode was taken by me in writing the Monody, the general conditions of +the two events being somewhat similar, and much of the same language is +used in both poems. I may add, as a matter that may be interesting to +some, that the Neath Eisteddfod prize was the first for which I +competed, and the first I obtained. The adjudicator was the late Mr. +J. Roberts (Iuan Wyllt), whose death, as I write these lines, is being +recorded in the newspapers. In adjudicating upon the poem, Mr. Roberts +said: "In this production we have the traces of a muse of a superior +order. The language is chaste and poetic, the versification is clear +and melodious, and the mournfully pathetic strain that pervades the +whole elegy harmonises well with the sorrowful character of the +subject. As regards both matter and manner, the writer has excelled by +many degrees all the other competitors, and his elegy is fully +deserving the offered prize." It is not too much to say, that to the +encouragement contained in the foregoing remarks of Iuan Wyllt was due +the spirit of emulation which led me subsequently to compete at the +various Elsteddfodau in the Principality with so much success. + + + + +THE END. + + + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Death of Saul and other Eisteddfod +Prize Poems and Miscellaneous Verses, by J. C. 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